Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Conclusion: "Frae Orkney Down to Dover"

But give me a ramblin' rover, 
Frae Orkney down to Dover. 
We will roam the country over 
And together we'll face the world. 
- "The Ramblin' Rover" by Silly Wizard

When I returned from my trip, I watched an episode of Time Team that showed them digging at Caerleon. I felt a twinge of smugness - I had been there, I had roamed that Roman amphitheatre and I had seen it with my own eyes before the TV ever brought it to me.

This was the best decision ever. So now I will list some of the Very Important Things that might help you on your own trip to Britain.

1) International Driving Permit - Australians, pick one of these up from NRMA for $42.

2) Overseas Visitor Pass - a really cheap way to get into most of the properties governed by English Heritage (details here). You can get into a range of places from Dover Castle to Stonehenge to Lindisfarne Priory. Parking is free or discounted at some of these places if you have an OVP. You can pick up your pass from a staffed site.

3) Historic Scotland Explorer Pass - similar to the above but fewer places are included in it (check it out at this link). However, it will see you into select places from the border all the way to Orkney! It's a cheaper option and quite good for queue jumping - it also gets you a discount on audio tours at Edinburgh Castle. Be warned though that your printout IS your ticket so you will need to keep it in a plastic sleeve.

"Frae Orkney…"

4) Book tickets online whenever you can. You can often get tickets cheaper if you purchase beforehand (eg. the Tower of London). It is very handy to have tickets ready because you can get in quickly without wasting time on paying.

4) Buy an Oyster card online and have it sent to you before you leave home (we used this site). When you get it pre-loaded you can just zap it the first time you enter the London underground. Fares are much cheaper on the Oyster card.

5) If you intend to see a lot of Britain, get a hire car. Public transport is not at all kind to places like Arbor Low. I advise that either you be over the age of 25 or have a handy brother named Cazy who is over 25 to avoid the ridiculous price hike on insurance. Do NOT upgrade to a giant car because quaint little towns are not the place for those. However, a four-wheel drive is not a bad idea for more…adventurous locations.

6) Be prepared to do a lot of walking. Get decent shoes if you intend to slosh through the mud at Stonehenge or dodge sheep shit near Hadrian's Wall. Or even just for traipsing around Edinburgh - don't waste money on bus tickets.

"…down to Dover."

7) Occasionally book a serviced apartment instead of a hotel. Sometimes the slightly extra price is worth it - especially if you get your own kitchen and that sacred item, the washer/dryer. We subsidised these visits by staying in a few dives.

8) Making your own meals will save you a lot of money. If you can, pinch some croissants and packets of spreads from your hotel's breakfast buffet. Bread, spreads and driving snacks can be bought from supermarkets. I travelled with plastic cutlery, bowls and plates which helped a lot! On some nights we were too tired to go out so we had cheap instant noodles instead (most, if not all, hotels come with a kettle).

9) Movie tickets are cheaper in Torquay than in Edinburgh. Just saying.

10) Be careful. You might catch the travelling bug. This is incurable. And already this roving rambler is dreaming of another trip, another adventure...

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Days 38 & 39: The Southern Hemisphere

I boarded the plane but the two passengers in my row were noisy and so planned to nab my own row of seats (the flight had quite a few empty seats in Economy). The moment the plane was in the air and the seatbelt sign winked out, it was chaos! Passengers fought for, won and lost potential beds. I had my fair share of frustration.

The nearest three-seater was reserved by a woman in the row behind it when she threw a pink cushion on it before take off. The next three-seater was stolen by a rude man - but this turned out to be a good thing because those arm rests didn’t fold up (they were exit rows, tables and entertainment folded away into arm rests).

Eventually, I found a brilliant four-seater two rows from the back of the plane. Two of the armrests kept falling down but I managed to fold myself around the problem. Four pillows, four blankets, four headsets...heaven! And right near toilets too.

My time was spent watching programmes, reading books, snacking after walks around the plane - and glorious napping which managed to mostly put me on Sydney time.

Breakfast was blah, but it didn’t matter because suddenly at 5:10am we touched down in my home city. I ignored the e-Passport lines (glasses always bamboozle the machines), waited for and got my suitcase (to my relief there was no vodka smell or staining) which was freezing and breezed through customs.

My parents greeted me - Mum took a photo. Ugh! 24+ hours in the same Dalek T-shirt. I must have looked terrifying.

I was driven home and arrived just before 7am. Souvenirs took a while to sort out but luckily most of my clothes were clean! 

I was finally, truly, home.

Monday, December 9, 2013

Days 36 & 37: London


Day 36

My plan was to not go out much today and simply chill. By midday, I was still in my pyjamas (daggy clothes were sodden from the washing machine), happily chatting to people on Skype. 

I planned to go to Oxford Street’s Selfridges that evening to meet Dan Aykroyd. The knowledge of his appearance was a birthday present from similarly-obsessed Canadian Internet friend.

Anyway, I decided to pass on the tube (only two stops) and walked in the drizzle, determined not to use my broken umbrella. After fifteen minutes and several streets lacking proper crossings, I reached the Marble Arch and shed my favoured thin black fleece, continuing on to the large building I recognised from Google street view.

I stumbled into Selfridges and dodged a sea of suited people holding out perfume sticks before finding my way to the lower ground level.

At 5pm, I charged a 700ml bottle of Crystal Head Vodka to my backup card (the other two cards failed me - whoops) and had a blue wristband snapped on me (red bands for those who got there first). I lined up with the other restless plebs and amused myself by leaning on shelves of candles branded as “Dirtique” and by smiling at those dressed up as Ghostbusters. A security guy told us Dan Aykroyd had been running 30 minutes late all day, so it was a little after 6pm when he arrived.

Before this, I had chatted with people in the queue. Memorably, one guy was insisting that Ghostbusters was a better film than The Blues Brothers, much to the derision of myself and others. This loon, in his Ghostbusters shirt, proclaimed, “It’s SUCH a good movie!” 

I wish I’d asked the cute guy beside me out for a drink afterwards...

The line moved and then I was pulling the skull-shaped vodka receptacle out for an Asian employee to give to Dan Aykroyd - older but very recognisable. He sounded just the way he should! The skull that was signed a couple before mine was for a woman who apparently fainted!

I sat beside Dan Aykroyd as he signed the skull. He then pinched a piece of paper I had with me and signed that too. As I had forgotten my camera, I managed to wrangle a second handshake from him. I professed my love of The Blues Brothers and he asked me if I was a musician to which I replied, “No, but I have you to thank for my great taste in music.”

He said something about the American Playbook and I was released from that surreal booth. I powered back to my apartment, clutching my previous signed cargo. I fretted as I cocooned the bottle in plastic, then in a beanie and a shirt before gently resting it in my suitcase. Let’s hope it survives the trip!

Spoiler: it survived the trip.



***


Day 37

The day began with trepidation - me, running around re-packing things and fretting about the crystal skull (I still am). I attempted food and felt off about it but still forced my way through Nutella on toast, strawberries and milk. Thusly fortified, I coasted upstairs at 9:30am and checked out. My request to book a taxi was met with confusion - wouldn’t I rather walk to Paddington and take the Heathrow express?

I looked pointedly at my luggage and divulged that I was going to a hotel near Heathrow. I read newspapers shouting about gang rapist paedophiles and Angelina Jolie’s double mastectomy for twice as long as I had been prepared to wait. This should have been my first clue about the incompetence of my driver. 

He made it out of London well enough but drove right past my hotel and proceeded to get hopelessly lost in West Drayton before using two roundabouts to get me to where I need to be. No tip from me! I hurriedly checked in to my day room.

I packed early and made my way downstairs. Checking out was easy, the wait for the taxi was okay and the drive was very friendly. He was incredulous when I told him that my trip did not cost £45 000!

I had to use my Aussie passport and happily my bag was not too heavy (though I think the limit is 30kg now). The hand luggage screening was crazy but I set off no alarms nor was I pulled aside. 

In Pret-a-Manger. It’s nice.

Flight in 3 hours...

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Days 34 & 35: London


Day 34

Had a slow morning while my brother enjoyed a free breakfast downstairs (the hotel stole my face washer the previous night so this was recompense). I ate the brownie he gave me for my birthday - the mead is now mine too, as he can’t take home.

We checked out at 11:30am. He waited for his taxi while I put my luggage into storage. I hugged him goodbye then miserably walked to Southwark alone. I’m in Fratelli writing up the last two days.

I did that and returned to the hotel to catch my 3pm taxi. I was conveyed through moderate traffic around sharp bends (I had to rescue the Celtic Mead at one point!) and odd sculptures hugging Hyde Park’s perimeter. 

I arrived at my swanky hotel and my friendly taxi driver lifted my suitcase up the steps. I gave him £20 for the £19 fare and entered, whereupon I was given the news that I had been upgraded to a better apartment. Plenty of natural light, heaps of room, epic purple lighting in the bedroom, washer/dryer, other stuff...just bliss. A birthday treat!

Wonderful blissful sleep awaited me when I curled up on the double bed.



***


Day 35

I woke leisurely at 8:30am and turned on my phone, glad I had switched it off as Cazy had texted me from Dubai an hour earlier. I did some washing then I burst out into the sunshine (well, I was beneath a sky with large patches of blue).

I headed for Hyde Park. It is large, insanely so. I snapped copious photos of flowers and structures after exploring only thirty metres of path. As I passed foundations on a bridge-type area, I spotted a cute photographer through my viewfinder. He was aiming his camera right at me. I discreetly edged closer, taking photos all the while - we seemed to have very different eyes.

Water, water everywhere.

I then followed him at a casual pace up to some trees and thought about introducing myself but it was just too weird. I bailed along the path where I came across two shady men. One appeared to echo my footsteps so I went up to an ugly brick gazebo on a tiny path - he followed so I hurriedly rejoined the main path, walking behind a female photographer for protection.

More monuments appeared as I continued to walk - and then I was gleefully taking photos of water and swans and squirrels!! 


I ambled to a tree mosaic marking the death of a noticeboard tree and rang Mum while I took photos. I continued our conversation as I walked towards the Marble Arch - it should have been easy but many paths were closed off with fences clothed in green fabric. I bade farewell to Mum (so much wind was disrupting our conversation!) then happily noted the entrance to Marble Arch tube station.

I immortalised the area with my SLR, beginning with the Marble Arch itself before working my way past a giant horse head statue (was it meant to be eating grass, being upside like that?) and three fountains in a row which were dirty but some guy was nearby cleaning the area.


I returned to the Marble Arch and confirmed the information in my sketchy memory (that it was indeed taken from Buckingham Palace in the 19th century when the new facade was built) by reading a sign. Tourists nearby were feeding pigeons and staging photos of the act. I shook my head, eyeing the white splatters of poo everywhere, then descended to the tube.

Marble Arch

I caught the Central line one stop over to Bond Street and changed onto Jubilee (one train did not open its doors to us and left without any more explanation than the electronic wording “out of service”). 

Off I came at London Bridge, back into Fratelli for it pleases and calms me. There are many others here working on laptops as I write this. It seems odd to want to retire back to my apartment already, before 2pm.

Ha. It’s my “retreat”. I may do as I please!

Happily, I managed to alight at Green Park and returned to Buckingham Palace for some non-telescopic photos. Somewhere towards Trafalgar Square a band must have been playing for I heard the music and felt the drums dancing in my heart. I am still uneasy about the lax attitude when it comes to crossing the roads to the Palace. It’s chaos!

A quiet hour outside Buckingham Palace.

Took the tube back to Lancaster Gate and only got slightly lost on my way to the apartment. I continued my regime of clothes washing, reading books and watching TV shows.

Gosh, I need to pack properly but the jeans are not 100% dry.

Saturday, December 7, 2013

Day 33: London

Extremely conscious of my impending birthday and that this was my brother’s last full day with me, I felt very nervous. 

We arrived at Green Park tube station a little before 9:45am and strolled to Buckingham Palace to find a spot for the Changing of the Guard. People already lined the famous fence so Cazy suggested we stand behind two children near the gate. Surprisingly, they and their mother moved, giving us an enviable and unobstructed view (well, there was still a fence!).

As we waited (argh, until 11am), people piled in behind us, pressing us against the fence and my knees into my bag (I had placed it between my body and the fence to keep it safe). The tops of arrow-shaped features in the black-painted fence were stripped of paint, dulled into grey tips from where millions of hands have grabbed them - now including mine.

After 11am, there were more than just two guards swaying on their feet - a man with a sword pottered about then the old guard showed up, accompanied by a loud band and guards upon horses. The new guard then arrived, also with a band. To our delight, the guards shuffled through the pebbles underfoot to align themselves with each other (the crowd tittered).

 

Then the old guard band played “Skyfall” by Adele which sounds amazing in brass. And dude, a James Bond song in the grounds of Buckingham Palace with the Queen’s standard flying! The other band played an epic rendition of the Les Mis medley. Afterwards, the gaurds marched in odd formations and the bands folded up their music. All the groups marched out (including the gathering of apparently important people who were allowed to watch from the steps of the palace) and the press of bodies behind us lessened.

Hold your breath and count to ten...

We took obligatory snaps of the area, including the Victoria Memorial, then walked up to Trafalgar Square which unfortunately was walled off for some sporting event. I managed to get photos of Nelson’s Column.


We dropped by the hotel (Cazy’s camera’s battery was failing us again) and had lunch at a great burger place in Southwark on Clink Street (although this should have sated us, we still bought brownies at Borough Market). Cazy walked directly back but I caught the tube from London Bridge to Westminster to 1) get telescopic shots of Big Ben and 2) get a friend a lighter from the London Eye.

The telescopic lens did not reveal Peter Pan.

I was hampered by heavy sprinkling and slow, annoying tourists (including Americans who thought we were all checking the wrong way for traffic) but I was successful. Being ignorant of the way to Waterloo, I recrossed Westminster Bridge and took the tube to Southwark. I was pleased to pass Cazy on my way back to the hotel - he was on his way to Hyde Park.

I chilled for a while and he returned. We then toasted my birthday with Celtic Mead. 

Went to sleep, knocked out thoroughly by 14% alcohol.

Friday, December 6, 2013

Day 32: Devon

I awoke to an empty room and the trilling of my phone alarm. I gathered together my meagre things, ate a simple breakfast and waited downstairs, chatting to the landlady. Then I waited outside in the chilly morning air - Jon was ten minutes late. But when he turned up, he came bearing gifts. He and his parents gave me my first birthday presents and cards of the year - handmade bookmarks and books on Devon.

We first headed to Babbacombe Downs where Jon gleefully parked across four spots before we traversed down a valley to the seaside. The water was a stunning light turquoise which Jon was unused to. A couple followed us down to sip at their coffees while admiring the same view. 

Down, down, Babbacombe Downs!

Jon drove us to Kents Cavern via Gleneagles (where Monty Python stayed to film Flying Circus and where a hotel owner inspired John Cleese to create Fawlty Towers). After paying and displaying, we discovered that there were no cave tours for an hour. We decided to try the tea place recommended by Jon’s mother - Angels. I was finally able to have real tea for the first time in weeks (I chose lapsang souchong). 

BASIL!!!!

I scoffed my scones (they had genuine Devon clotted cream) while Jon sipped idly at his Pepsi and laughed at my inability to spread the cream - it became more like artistic drizzling, I’ll admit. I hurried him on because by then (10:20) we only had ten minutes to make it to the cave tour - we made it!

There was a corny light show at the entrance of Kents Cavern, complete with a recorded narrator that sounded like it was from the 1990s. The guide returned for us when the light show finished and led us past a hyena den, informing us that the caves were formed at the bottom of an ocean a staggering amount of time ago. The guide showed us stalagmites and stalactites that take hundreds of millions of years to grow into connected columns that resemble phalluses.


We viewed a “face” (a naturally formed feature) that may have been worshipped by Romans as coins and tokens from that era were found placed before it. A growing lump on one rock was explained as a favourite of Beatrix Potter’s - a wishing stone which I palmed twice, wishing to contribute to Australian literary culture.

The face of a titan?

We entered an ancient bear’s den where the guide plunged us into true darkness - how did our ancestors ever live here 500 000 years ago? 

The guide lit dry moss in sea shells (I had noticed an odd burning smell before he revealed these implements) which was apparently a good way to ward off hyenas while providing a source of lighting and cooking without creating an overwhelming amount of smoke.

Later, I ascended past the exhibits in the cave and, after I bought more than was wise from the gift shop, Jon conveyed me to Daddyhole which had a marvellous view of Paignton (and its pier). 


I then discovered an unattended table full of £1 books which was almost too tempting to pull myself away from. Luckily the spectacular views were the greater temptation.

We then stopped briefly at Torquay Pier to snap pics of yachts (it’s a sad rundown cement pier where Jon had sailed during his tenure in Scouts) then made our way to Cockington. Jon parked in an area that said “Restricted Zone - no parking Good Friday to September” but he insisted that everyone parked there.

We walked beneath an arch onto a lovely pathway that led us past vibrant flowers, historic buildings (eg. the restored gamekeeper’s cottage - burned down in 1990), a still and serene pond, an odd topless tree, a large house and then a pleasant little village. 


Here we hired a horse and carriage (white with brown spots - the horse, that is!). The woman took us up the road and grumbled about people parking where they shouldn’t - that would be us! There was a silver car parked behind Jon with a youth inside texting on his phone.

The woman paused by his car and her horse spitefully dropped a load of shit beside the car door. We clattered off, laughing at the priceless expression on the youth’s face but mindful not to reveal our own guilt to our 'driver'. Under the arch we went, past the same topless tree before being carted past giddy packs of children who cried, “Horsie!! Hello horsie!” 

They waved - not at us, of course! The horse caused a lot of excitement.

We were deposited at the large house then made our way back to the illegally parked car. No ticket, no fines and no horrified youths in silver cars awaited us.

Tourist traps but oh so fun.

We bypassed a Sainsbury’s before pulling up at Newton Abbot train station. Jon and I chatted for a while before his parking limit expired. I trundled across to platform 3, hoping Jon gave my hastily written note of thanks to his parents (whom I never met!).

I took up two seats on the train, reading one of my birthday presents, before I switched to the iPod. I made it to London Paddington just in time for a 30p toilet stop. I’m not a fan of train toilets.

I arrived at the hotel to find my brother in bed after his day trip to the Isle of Wight. We ate at a quaint “French” place in Southwark. “Home” to relax and sleep!

Thursday, December 5, 2013

Day 31: Devon

A poor night’s sleep, coupled with a nightmare about being late for the train, saw me staggering from my bed at 5:30am. I stuffed myself into my clothes, shoved a Nutella sandwich down my gullet and threw last minute items into my handbag and backpack. The hotel rang up at 6:03.

I hurried downstairs and leaped into the taxi, instructing, “London Paddington overground please.”

As it was not Sunday, I had the pleasure of being driven past Buckingham Palace (the road is closed on that day). £20 later (eek!), the driver disappeared, leaving me to discover that the entrance for the overground and underground was the same. I paid 30p to make use of the toilets near platforms 10-13 then waited on a freezing seat, surrounded by pigeons (one was missing a “foot”). 

My train was announced as ready to board so I clambered on and into my aisle seat. I had the window seat to myself and could have had my pick of any other seat in the sparsely inhabited carriage. I passed the time by reading a copy of Metro, napping, texting Mum and excitedly watching the water in Dawlish - in Coast, I have seen that part of the track swamped by waves! That did not happen today.

Jon picked me up at Newton Abbot and we chatted like old friends as he drove us to Dartmoor. He informed me that we would be seeing Haytor, the granite tor that is apparently the easiest to walk to. I unwisely joked that it sounded like "hater". Haytor clearly took offence because when we arrived beneath it, the wind shook the car and tried to barricade my door. Once outside, it was even worse. We fought our way up to the tor - and this is supposed to be the easiest to get to!? Gosh, I’m glad we didn’t try the others! 

Haytor exudes evil.

Horrendous gales blew us about, nearly knocking me into a pile of wild pony poo. It was hard to aim with the camera as my telescopic lens was battered from side to side. The tor and the surrounding hills were very picturesque. Jon says the wind has never been like that before.

Dartmoor

It sprinkled when we arrived at Drogo Castle (after the satnav sent us down tiny country lanes). We only paid for access to the gardens - thank goodness. It turned out to only be 100 years old, a wannabe castle that served as a family residence. Gardens were so-so. But any photographer will know how to make the best out of Drogo Castle.

It shames the name Drogo!

We avoided the cafe queue (though I did not avoid the gift shop) and sped off for lunch at Berry Pomeroy Castle which was built in the 16th century. The sprinkling eased while we at the cafe; it rained heavily for a minute or two. After my green tea washed down my ham and brie sandwich, we purchased tickets at the English Heritage shack outside the castle ruins.

Berry Pomeroy Castle

We waved off the audio guides and entered through the gate. The moat was noticeably filled in. We roamed through the towers (they had well-designed slots for canons - I read in the guidebook later that these were made fifteen years before most castles starting using these slots instead of arrow slits).

The evolution of the arrow slit

I took photos of everything, including the exposed fireplaces and the graffiti. One such scrawl said “HELL”. The ghost of the White Lady did not grace us with her ghostly presence. A tooth-comb effect on a building signalled that instead falling to battle damage it had instead never been completed to begin with due to a lack of funds. 

Construction never finishes on time, no matter the century.

This castle was never able to stand up to attack. We left via the gift shop (ha!) and Jon then dropped me at the hotel. He did come in with me while I paid for the single room. There is no TV. I began this entry and napped.

Jon picked me up at 6pm and we had dinner near Paignton Pier before zipping next door to collect our tickets for an 8pm showing of Star Trek Into Darkness aka Star Trek XII!

Back to hotel. Sleepy. :)

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Day 30: London

We woke after 8am and began vigorously packing. After dropping off postcards and swiping the credit card, I joined Cazy in the car. It was a frustrating drive to Waverly station because of the traffic but we managed to drop the car off fifteen minutes early. I minded the bags while my brother ran off to find a tag for his suitcase.

By 11am we were on Platform 2. When the train arrived half an hour later, the suitcase racks were already bursting but we were allowed to stash our three suitcases in the front carriage. I had to then clamber into my seat by the window, made difficult by the table doing its best to topple me and bruise my thighs.

The journey began, two older dudes already well established across from us. I got a hot chocolate and later cheese sandwiches despite asking for chicken. I was able to chat at length with a friend on Skype before the first class wifi died horribly.

I napped out of frustration and awoke to watch the fields whiz by. Six hours of rattling and occasionally resting at a station later, we arrived at King’s Cross station. We lugged our many bags and trappings to the taxi stand and smushed ourselves into the back. Our driver was a woman wearing chic sunglasses and the door beside me kept unlocking and locking whenever the vehicle sped up after stopping - this happened either at traffic lights or at road works. 

We were eventually deposited at our hotel in Southwark and tipped our speedy driver generously before checking in. 

Dinner was pricey but lovely - near Borough Market. Cazy was very nice to accompany me to London Paddington so I could get the lay of the land. At one of the tube stations where we changed lines, we saw a dazed woman lying on her side on the platform, a tapered trail of vomit leading from her chunky lips. Once we reached London Paddington, Cazy helped me pick up tomorrow’s tickets.

We came back to our room and now I must sleep. 

Adieu!

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

Day 29: Edinburgh

Another early start - ugh. Breakfast was at 7:30am then we hit the road by 8:30am for our terribly long drive to Edinburgh (approx. six hours - how did I ever survive the twelve hours between Sydney and Brisbane as a child?). After an hour, we had to allow for an emergency bathroom stop in Brora. It was a customer-only toilet at a servo but I was only to happy to pay the £1.50 (Coke Zero, mais oui) for the glorious privilege. Whew.

The fog was shocking but cleared enough near Golspie to catch one last glimpse of the beach. We battled slow drivers (trucks, caravans, idiots) then paused for lunch in Perthshire - it look a bit long but was nice.

We capped off the last hour with a visit to a Shell then checked into the hotel from some days earlier. So began our races - me to the post office with books and Cazy to book a ghost tour (and to pick up train tickets). He then enlisted me in helping him post stuff. I grumbled a bit (I had washing to finish!) but cheered myself up at a Sainsbury’s afterwards.

Dinner sorted, we walked up to the Mercat and met Robin, our guide. Cazy made wisecracks about Batman and we met people from Melbourne and Hamilton. Robin was not Scottish but seems to have been in Edinburgh long enough to give detailed accounts and narration of past events. He singled Cazy out as a victim - my brother acted along merrily, screaming when prompted. 

Dusk on the Royal Mile

My brother seemed to be a stand in for a Macbeth-type character (he encountered hags who promised kingship in his future). Robin then took us down a close which was very old and narrow - not the sort of place I’d want to use at night in the 19th century, especially if people were lurking there, puffing on cigars...

Robin, with his black cape and mainland European accent, regaled us with a story about a guy who diddled his sister and all manner of creatures. Then we ambled down the sloping close to Cowgate, following the road then turning left to access the Edinburgh Vaults. There was still a light sky above us when we entered. Robin lit a candle for himself but offered none to us! We descended uneven steps to an uneven floor. The vaults were lit with strategically placed white candles.

Basically, the vaults are archways that were built beneath the South Bridge in the 18th century for tradesmen but the rooms were not waterproof so instead a lot of lowlifes moved in - illegal trade and gambling flourished. The vaults were filled in to stop these activities and were rediscovered in the 1980s. Ghost stories, naturally, became the stock in trade.

Robin led us into the Cobbler’s room which is supposed to be safe because of that ghost’s positive vibes. His pile of stones lay on the left but on the right the stones belonged to the Woman in Black who does not let women pass by her corner safely. Robin instructed us to show our modern shoes to the Cobbler as we passed. I wonder what he thought of my joggers!

Don't forget to show your shoes!

The next room we stopped in once stored barrels of wine. According to Robin, this was where a ghostly child played. Then it was time for Mr. Boots’s room - very small, somewhat claustrophobic. Cazy was eager to take another photo here as when he’d taken one days earlier it seemed that an evil ghostly face had appeared. I listened patiently to tales of Mr. Boots’s possessing people but by then I was convinced the vaults were not haunted.

The vaults

At the end, Robin took us to a museum room but I was more interested in the still open gift shop next door. I bought a magnet and a can of Irn Bru!

Cazy and I emerged into the night, though our way home was lit by bars and strip joints.

Back at our hotel, I finished the laundry and toasted my last night in Edinburgh with the Irn Bru.

A long day awaited in a few hours. 

To sleep I went.

Monday, December 2, 2013

Day 28: Orkney

An early start saw us eating breakfast at 7:30am before we zipped down to Gills Bay. We managed to grab the last parking spot and lined up dutifully, concerned about the light sprinkling of rain. Would our Orkney day tour be a washout?

We had been given cardboard tickets which were snapped up again while we waited for the cars and trucks to unload from the ferry. We walked on via the ramp and took up three seats each. Car and truck owners crammed their vehicles onto the lower deck then joined us. In about 20 minutes, we were ready and left the terminal.

We heard alarms which was a bit concerning - until I went onto the upper deck to take photos with the telescopic lens and discovered the cause. The rocking of the ferry kept setting off car alarms! I was pitched about the deck and had to lean heavily on the railing to get back down. Once inside, I had a biscuit and regretted it because I felt seasickness slam into me with each jar of the ferry.

It didn’t help that greasy food tainted the air and my view of the outside was obscured by fogged up glass (which was made in Australia, by the way). I lay back, rang Mum and then napped my queasiness away. Cazy also snoozed.

We arrived at St. Margaret’s Hope just before 10am and were greeted by our guide who was holding a sign. He welcomed us and we set off in his grey squarish people-mover with me in the front and Cazy behind us. Our guide offered a commentary as we drove and I watched Orkney whiz by outside my window. He made a comment about me hugging my camera and I honestly replied that I find looking at the scenery through a viewfinder a bit restrictive. 

We passed the Italian chapel and various stone monuments as well as driving over concrete blocks ordered to be placed by Churchill to stop enemy submarines (these blocks now form bridges connecting the islands). Block ships (wrecks) had been used before the barriers and are still there today.

We first knew our guide was a bit strange when he referred to the Ring of Brodgar as his spiritual base and he told us that as a child in Birmingham he had never felt like he fit in there and he bonded more with the other cultures in the British Isles. Hence the move to Orkney three decades prior. This kind of man makes me believe in reincarnation.

Our first port of call was Skara Brae, a Neolithic village that has been battered into all but a few homes by the encroaching sea. After chatting to the people behind the counter at the visitor centre, our guide took us into a replica house and pointed out the beds, dresser and toilet made of stone (I of course recognised these things because of Neil Oliver!).

We then walked back in time, thanks to stones lining the path to the village. Each stone listed humanity’s great achievements (eg. man on the moon, the Inca civilsation and the pyramids). We arrived at the beach wall which the Neolithic homes clung to. The structures were open and set into the ground below the gravel track.


Our guide told us some history, informed us that a grass roof had been installed to protect the stones on one of the houses and then assisted me in locating the best angles for my photos. The community was not this close to the sea millennia ago but it’s a great waterfront property now!

A surprisingly familiar sight, complete with beds and "dressing table".

We gave patronage to the gift shop and the cafe. Then it was back into the car for the Ring of Brodgar. On the way, our guide told us how he met his second (much younger) wife - she went on one of this tours - and said, “Within an hour I knew I would marry her.” 

He did - twelve months later. His daughter from his previous marriage has moved to Perth, a city he finds intolerable compared to Malaysia. Our guide also informed us that Orcadians generally do not consider themselves Scottish and thus care little about next year's referendum.

We arrived at the Ring of Brodgar beneath clouds but we escaped rain and sight-reducing fog. The guide took us around the stones, pointing out various burial mounds surrounding the area (eg. the plum cake mound which has lost its namesake shape - I asked if it had been excavated and it had, confirming my suspicions that it had been tampered with). The stones themselves were impressive, though much narrower and thinner than what was used at Stonehenge, having been pulled as is from the water.


I was drawn to a stone and its energy, unable to keep myself from touching it - then our guide explained that it was the mother stone, the one to which he goes to for his spirituality. I came away from that stone with a strange sense of self. 

He showed us to “my Indian chief” which was a stone that bore an uncanny resemblance to a photo of a Native American chief he later showed us. He also pointed out a stone struck by lightning in 1980 - it was fractured with a piece of it lying on the ground. The stones are loaded with iron which has led many to believe that lightning strikes may explain the other broken stones.


As we walked away, I glanced back at the stones, wondering about their energy. Then we were rumbling along to the Standing Stones of Stennes - very few stones remained and even one part had been modified to match the events in a famous fictional tale. This was near Odin’s Cottage, named for the Odinstone which had a hole in it but has since broken and been lost.

The Standing Stones of Stennes

Our guide then conveyed us to St Magnus, a Nordic church, for a hasty visit while he lurked in a bus stop. It was a nice cathedral (gave Kirkwall its borough status) but I couldn’t help but long for Stirling’s Church of the Holy Rude. 


We turned back to our car, hastily snapping pics of the opposing ruins. A longer drive took us back to the Italian chapel, made from corrugated iron but painted and prepared beautifully by Italian prisoners of war during WWII.

"Size matters not."

Apparently Catholics from all sorts of countries worshipped there - it still functions as a church. The painting job is so brilliant that inside it feels roomy and you could honestly believe that stonework surrounds you. 

One of the most beautiful interiors I've ever seen.

The gates inside close against a raised heart on the floor - the story goes that an Italian POW left his heart in Orkney upon returning home to his wife.

I've left my heart in worse places!

Our guide stopped at a shop nearby where we sampled ice cream and Cazy bought an Orcadian beer. Then we drove slowly past the blocks, pausing long enough to hop out and view them. Our guide parked near one filled in with sand. Apparently the sand has even covered some WWII block ships completely! 

One of the many blocks that protected Orkney during WWII.

“Lovely,” I muttered upon spotting a dead seal on the beach.

When we checked in at the ferry we still had ages to wait so our guide drove us to a viewpoint of the oil terminal. We returned to the ferry, bade him farewell and waited.

The ride back still made me queasy but I fixed this with fresh air, a book about Skara Brae and a nap.

Returned to Gill’s Bay about 6pm. An easy evening back at the hotel.

And that’s that.