Days 22 & 23 - LHR-DXB-SYD

I enjoyed dinner at Pret A Manger at Heathrow Airport, then had dessert at the Pilot Bar with The Husband. I topped it off with what the menu simply listed as “tea” – it turned out to be the most boring (and most unsurprising) brew: English Breakfast!

The mysterious "tea"

We eventually boarded and headed for Dubai, where the plane took on fuel while we waited endlessly at Gate A2. A woman approached security while we were there. I took one look at her and thought of that Taylor Swift lyric - “I knew you were trouble when you walked in”. She just had that look to her.

And I was right. Boy. I’m not sure why she felt that antagonising security (in Dubai, no less) was a good idea. I saw her later on the plane and wondered if I knew her from my supermarket days as an irksome customer. She had a sour, scrunched-up face.

Our seats were right at the back of the plane again (we didn’t mind – it was near the toilets and food stations), then looked over to see a very ill-looking man. He’d been vomiting from London and yet had got back on. After half an hour of us waiting endlessly on the tarmac, he and his wife decided to deplane. Their bags followed. Then, finally, we began the 13-hour leg of our journey.

Instead of watching movies and playing sudoku as I had on the first leg (I think the sudoku nearly caused me to fall asleep – a no-no when trying to get back onto Sydney time!), I curled up in my two seats with two pillows and two blankets. The plane was now even emptier than before and people were happily lying down with three or four seats to themselves. The Husband and I shared a four-seater, staying close to each other.

The flight didn’t feel endless. I liked the idea of us chasing tomorrow the whole time, but in winning we forfeited a day in the calendar.

We touched down at 5:33am, which wasn’t too bad considering the delay at Dubai. We filed out into the relatively quiet immigration area and deserted baggage claim. Only one flight had arrived – we were the first in! – so it was not at all stressful for me.

I declared the fox-fur scarf I’d bought in Finland – the customs guy asked me if I’d bought it because I wrote crime novels lol. I write romance, by the way. He then said “oh, one of these!” and since I hadn’t killed the fox, I could be on my way.

I always try to do the right thing! And I always get greeted by eyerolls.

Still, eyerolls are better than a fine.

Taxi home – where we couldn’t locate my brother-in-law at first, but then we saw him sleeping underneath the dining table!?!? Lol!

Anyway, I’m doing the laundry while The Husband naps. He does not possess my ability to sleep on the plane.

I had fun overseas, but I’m glad to be home!

Days 20 & 21 - Heathrow

Day Twenty

Breakfast was a little later than we expected. The Husband had a “full Cornish breakfast” and I opted for continental, though was surprised when food started arriving at our table – breads, pastries, cheeses, meats! All very yummy stuff.

We encountered difficulty with rolling our suitcases to the carpark because the wind was so strong – it felt like I was ramming my suitcase against a brick wall!

We bid adieu to this grand view

We stopped at two Services on our way to Heathrow (Troll GPS took us there via Bristol!), though these breaks didn’t seem to stop my butt from going number and then aching – in that order. I’m not sure how that works either!

At the first Services, I bought water and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Our cashier loved my “I can’t adult today” shirt.

“Some days I can’t,” I told her honestly.

The second Services provided us with lunch – The Husband had Burger King and I optsed for Starbucks (a chilli beef/rice thing!). We then encountered dismal (but not world-ending) traffic. It seems that just like other airports, Heathrow is difficult to drive to, especially on a Saturday.

But at least we left the motorway, seeking petrol. We found it and ditched our car at the rental place. Within minutes, we were on the company’s shuttlebus to Terminal 5 (with two employees), where we were able to snag a taxi.

The hotel near the airport was a sight for sore eyes. This will be the first time I’ve stayed a night here! I usually only use their day room feature.

We asked for late check-out, purchased breakfast and then went upstairs. Somehow The Husband coaxed me into a nap and now I’m looking forward to room service.

***

Day Twenty-One

The waiting for our flights tonight has begun. We woke after 8am, then went down to the breakfast buffet which was pretty decent.

I edited photos, queued them up on DeviantArt and managed to nap for a bit. Lunch in the bar area followed – I had some crumbed chicken and tasty spring rolls. The food was delayed by a cold grill and the cleaning up of breakfast.

More napping!! It’s now approaching 4pm and I’m a ball of nerves about this 24-hour transfit.

Wish me luck. :)

Day 19 - Port Isaac & Tintagel

We packed up to leave Coram Tower but hit a snag; we wanted to take the rubbish out, as there was a fair bit of it. But no garbage bags had been supplied! Welcome to self-contained accomodation in the UK.

I mean, honestly, I get why there was only one roll of toilet paper, but no garbage bags? Who brings those on a holiday? And why should we buy a pack of 50 when we only need one!?

Ugh. So we opted to leave the rubbish where it was. We dropped off the keys at Wessex House (a very tight carpark – the couple pulling up behind us to do the same definitely wasn’t good for my nerves). And then we were off, heading from Dorset to Cornwall!

We intended to stop at a Services, but oddly we didn’t find one for 40 minutes – so unusual for England! I had a brownie and a deluxe hot chocolate. Our cashier commented on the amount of chocolate I would be consuming.

Our bellies and fuel tank full, we again hit the road – and rolled our eyes at the many Services we were now encountering. At least 3 in 20 minutes!

I thought of Jon as we drove past signs for Castle Drogo, Britain’s youngest castle and featured in my 2013 travel journal. Troll GPS, unsurprisingly, took us down an awful, tiny B road lined with moss-covered walls – as opposed to another B road that had plenty of room to spare. Eek!

I had wanted to go to a certain carpark at Port Isaac. Troll GPS decided to take us there via its sister port, Port Gaverne. Good God, that road was tiny, tense and terrifying. I felt as angry and out of sorts as Doc Martin did in the first season of his TV show – and, well, that show was the reason we came here.

Port Isaac doubles as Portwenn in the series Doc Martin. It looked lovely on my TV screen at home. I had no idea how gorgeous the place is in real life.

Parked the car, paid for the privilege, braved the 20p toilets – and then just gawped at the Atlantic Coast. The excellent weather magnified the natural beauty before us. It looked like someone had tossed wooden park benches all over the coast in this part of Cornwall – incentive to trek out to them, I wonder?

Whoa

We ambled down the tiny, crooked streets of Port Isaac. Navigating them on foot was difficult for us, but even more so for the cars and vans sharing the same space. The road we followed bent and sloped down towards the beach, taking us past the Old School Hotel and Restaurant, which acts as a primary school in the TV show. Here there were takeaway shops and an exquisite view of the cove beneath us. There were stone breaks keeping the boats safe from the ocean waves.

The cliffs standing over the startlingly blue/green water just made it all the more jaw-dropping – and, of course, we could see Doc Martin’s house all the way across the cove. It looked like it stood an eternity away from us!

I spy a grumpy doctor's house!

It wasn’t that far, though. The roads we followed weren’t very long in the end. I did feel like we were being squeezed by the tall buildings on either side of the street, but soon enough we could see down to the (sandy!) beach. Again a great view. The Port Isaac Lifeboat Station was nothing special, though it was offering basic refreshments and proudly bore a sign proclaiming that it was in Portwenn.

We slipped through the narrow opening that had been the basis of me cancelling our rental of Doc Martin’s house – I’d feared I wouldn’t be able to get the car through the gap, but in person (i.e. not on Google Street View) it didn’t seem so bad. There were nearby 20p toilets.

Up we walked (it was a gentle incline) to the house made famous by television. It’s smaller than the large house beside it, but the stone exterior makes it look so friendly. Happily, there were very few people around (one woman apologised and quickly darted past while I was lining up a shot – nice of her), so we were able to pose for photos and just generally enjoy the two-punch of the house and its great view.

We almost rented this house!

Finally, we left. The deed was done. One item on the bucket list crossed off.

We passed a pack of enthusiastic tourists on the way down – whew, I love our timing!

The pasty shops we came across had nothing as exciting what we had in Lyme Regis (it seems Dorset makes better Cornish pasties than the Cornish!), so we settled on chips and nuggets at a place near the Old School. We then lingered on a coastal path leading back to the carpark, eating chips while we admired the beauty of Port Isaac (taking one last look at Doc Martin’s house, of course).

The Husband observed that he likes Lyme Regis more. I’m not sure. Port Isaac may have scary roads but it’s hills aren’t so steep. Plus it is waaay prettier.

We were stalked by an opportunistic seagull (passers-by kept remarking, in amused voices, about our feathered friend – I got sick of it after the fifth person commented!) until I ran at it with a shout. Thus freed of the interloper, we returned to the car.

BUT it was still way too early to head for Tintagel, so we went to a nearby café for drinks. The café sold a multitude of Doc Martin keyrings and postcards. It seems the townsfolk like to make a buck off the popularity of their town. I don’t blame them! And they are nice people.

Finally, time to go to Tintagel!

The roads weren’t terrible – and we avoided the worst of them by ignoring our deranged B-road-loving Troll GPS. Some careful driving later and we were at Tintagel. We found our B&B easily enough. And I managed to get the car through the tiny entrance (bordered by posts) to the driveway – only to discover that there were no freaking spots left!

Sigh. Finally, in a nearby carpark I struck gold – 3 pounds for a whole day, which isn’t too bad.

We tried to find our way to Tintagel Castle, first walking east on Atlantic Road, but then we found two English Heritage signs.

“Castle this way,” Sign #1 informed us.

“Yes, really,” insisted Sign #2. Lol!

These signs successfully turned us back in the right direction. Before we descended to the castle, we paid for our tickets and I was given old 5-pound notes as change (at 12pm today, you could no longer spend them – damn it, now we have two!).

Down, down, down we went…to a picturesque meeting of the land and sea.

More magnificence – Cornwall really knows how to put on a show! The wind threw water in our faces: an undignified welcome. We didn’t dare attempt Merlin’s Cove – the tide was more assuredly in.

Cornwall is gorgeous

I looked up, up, up at the ruins on the great cliff above us and was awestruck. This was a place of legend.

We began the treacherous climb, passing by the staffed gate, then continued on. With a handbag and camera out, it. was a struggle for me – especially with people coming down the narrow steps. Finally, we made it to the lower section of the castle. The jagged rocks revealed the age of the ruins, but they weren’t old enough to have been here during King Arthur’s time (and both time and man are disputed by historians).

Open wide, you're still outside

This section was ordered built in the 13^th century by the Earl of Cornwall – he knew of the Arthurian legends tethered to this mammoth seaside rock and, I suppose, wanted to some of that shine to rub off on him (side note: Arthur was supposedly conceived here).

The castle fell to ruin. And no one lives there now. Well, the earl lived on and ruled Germany. So maybe the legends did empower him in some way.

We climbed up more stairs, battling increasing winds, to view the clumps of stones that heralded Dark Age ruins. There wasn’t much to see. I wondered how hard it would have been for people to move about outside the buildings up here – the wind shoved at me, knocking me aside. Thank goodness I wasn’t pushed in the direction of the “sheer cliff”!!

It was literally a breathtaking view. I struggled to breathe.

Forget the castle - how about that view!

We took selfies, but my wild, knotted hair covered my face and transformed me into Cousin Itt! We descended shortly after this, taking note of the Great Hall which had a sign promising us that it had been much larger once, before erosion gobbled up some of it. The main keep, too, is thought to have met the same fate. Superb views and defensible positions are great and all, but this is a major flaw for a building site.

I sat inside the cosy shelter made for Florence Nightingale Richards, who was the gatekeeper and guide in the 19^th century (also named after a certain woman, it seems!). No lick of wind dared to enter her shelter.

After this bracing adventure, and the climb back down the stairs, we settled in at the Beach Café. I was in dire need of tea! We had to break a larger note, as our old 5-pound notes would not be accepted.

We could have 2 quid each for a Land Rover ride to the top of the hill, but decided to walk since the weather was so fine.

We found our rooms at the B&B without hassle, though we had to carry the suitcases up two flights of stairs. It was 4pm and I’d spent some time sitting in the sun in the garden, waiting until someone would appear to check us in. Obviously that someone did show up. I wasn’t too bothered; the sun had revived me.

Sea view – lovely. Room – far too hot, thanks to the radiator! We had to turn it off and keep the window open all night.

We sought dinner at a nearby pub. I ordered the curry of the day (a child handed me cutlery and sauces lol). The Husband had a local pale ale and I a piña colada.

We made it back to our room at the B&B and watched Sailor Moon.

Days 17 & 18 - Lyme Regis

Day Seventeen

The day began slowly. We stayed on the couch for a while, then managed to get ready after 10am and plod our way down to the Cobb, an artificial harbour constructed in the 19^th century.

The Cobb has stone-built piers either side of an opening that warns boats to be “DEAD SLOW”. It has been repaired and improved since Jane Austen visited this place, but a lot of it she would have found familiar. Once we descended the steep hill and negotiated some traffic, we saw it for ourselves.

It was very windy this morning, so my hair went everywhere and The Husband pointed out the sign cautioning us not to go onto highest part of the Cobb (it sloped, could get quite slippery and had no railing between pier and undulating sea).

Take a stroll into the Regency era

The view, though, was lovely so I had to get up there, however briefly – and briefly it was, as I do not like to worry The Husband (he is not a strong swimmer).

Clouds smeared the horizon, but it was still pleasant and I must have uttered the word “beautiful” at least 6 times.

Lyme Regis isn’t that different from any other English seaside town I’ve visited; however, it has its place in literary history. Much like Whitby in that respect, I suppose. Whitby was made famous by Bram Stoker; here it was Jane Austen.

I looked at some stairs on the pier and fancied that they were the ones that Louisa fell down in Persuasion. Unlikely, though, and “Granny’s Teeth” certainly didn’t qualify either – these steps had the appearance of rotted, jagged teeth worn to the gum – for they came after Jane Austen’s visit to Lyme (Regis). They were probably added because of her book.

Granny's Teeth

We walked along the beach (sand was divided from pebbles by a cement break) and then headed back up the hill towards our home, albeit on a different road than the one we’d used on our way down to the water earlier.

We passed by Pyne House, 10 Broad Street, where Jane Austen is said to have stayed. It was much smaller than I expected. But beside it was a similarly small shop boasting that it was “bigger on the inside”. That, and Pyne House’s blue door, made me exclaim, “It’s a TARDIS!”

Fancy that, Jane Austen in a TARDIS.

For lunch, we went to a pasty shop (there were three of them on the same stretch of road!). Good food – and a large hot chocolate – revived me.

In my clutches, from earlier browsing, I had fudge and gemstone jewellery. I can’t help it! They are my vices! And I like quaint shops in quaint towns. Plus, I needed that pendant to match two sets of earrings I own. And as for the earrings I bought – I do not have any that are blue goldstone! Well, I do now.

Back “home” to relax.

PS: Tesco is still closed! They looked to be dismantling the whole shop.

***

Day Eighteen

A day of relaxation. We did nothing until lunchtime, when we again sought sustenance in The Cornish Bakery. I love pasties! Oh how I will miss munching through one before attacking a frothy hot chocolate.

Most of the day has been spent watching Sailor Moon. Lol. I am really enjoying it.

Idle hands lead to relaxation

Day 16 - Maiden Castle & West Bay

Woke up at 7:17am very suddenly and with a gasp – I’d forgotten where I was and I’d been sprung from a strange dream in which ships full of zombies circulated the globe. No one took this fleet seriously, despite my warnings, and soon there were very few governments left in the world. They soon all fell. And I had to hide from the entire human race.

Our adventure began at about 9am, when we set out on narrow roads (well, mostly safe A roads, but the last stretch was hairy) to find Maiden Castle. I’d neglected to tell The Husband that it was an abandoned hillfort, not a castle of the stone variety.

“It’s just a big hill!” he exclaimed, disappointed and thoroughly unimpressed.

But to me it was pure gold. An ancient settlement! Immense defensive earthworks! Seeing the hillfort on foot doesn’t do it justice, I think – aerial photos I’d looked at earlier revealed how amazingly big it is and how much work went into this thing.

It was a bit of a hike up to the western entrance, but so worth it. We encountered confusing paths and deep ditches that were supposed to stymie attackers. Sadly, these impressive earthworks could not keep the Romans at bay. They defeated the inhabitants and moved the main settlement to where Dorchester is now (“chester”, of course, indicates that it was the site of a Roman fort).

The hillfort was covered in sheep and shit. Signs with useful information were sparse and, at this time of day, humans were sparse too. 

We traipsed up onto a “wall” (one of the many impressive ridges surrounding the enclosure, which would have been full of people) and enjoyed the epic view. Wow! You could see any army coming at you from there. We could also see a nearby burial mound.

Not just a big hill

We left, bound for West Bay and hopefully some public toilets!

A spot for the car was easy enough to find – West Bay wasn’t busy yet at 11am and we were able to make use of the parking on Station Road, on pebbles that revealed just how close we were to the beach. That and the dune at the end of the carpark!

After using the (frankly scary) toilets, we walked down to the water’s edge. The Husband stopped many times to shake stones out of his shoes, a somewhat comical sight. It was hard to slough through the stones, though they were smaller near the waves.

The Jurassic cliffs have such a different look to other parts of the country we’ve seen and they are beautiful, if scruffy looking (and they do lose chunks at times, so we were careful!).

I posed for a photo there, at the foot of the cliffs, as many others were doing. Of course, this is where Danny’s body lay in the first episode of Broadchurch.

Paging David Tennant

I had a hankering for ice cream, so I bought too many scoops (“Serious Chocolate” was the name of my choice) and beamed, licking my treat, as I explored the town I’d come to know as “Broadchurch” on the TV. While we ate fatty lunch food from a vendor (she saw me with the ice cream and laughingly asked if I was having my pudding before my tea!), I rang Mum who was very jealous as she likes Broadchurch too.

I found the show’s “police station” – just apartments in real life. How amusing. Though The Husband did say he could see how it doubled as a police station, because of the concrete stairs in front of it.

The Husband finished his own ice cream as we navigated our way “home”. We spent the afternoon watching Doctor Who and occasionally enjoyed the view we have of the bay from our rental.

I think I’m finally relaxing. :)

Day 15: AMS-LCY

Woke early again. The neighbours were a little noisy last night, but they quietened down after midnight. Breakfast was ready when we went down. Again, I availed myself of the sprinkles and bread. Then it was time to go.

We waved off the front desk’s offer to get a taxi (apparently they can make it up the street) and instead made for the taxi rank. A good choice – vans were unloading in the street, thus blocking any taxi that would have tried to go to the hotel. The drive wasn’t too bad, even in peak, and we were at Amsterdam Airport Schiphol super early.

Check in went well. Bag drop went well. Boarding passes let us into the security area. All kept going well.

Then disaster struck.

We bookended a seething queue of people, a mob that seemed to stretch into infinity. My anxiety began to gnaw at me. The pain in my shoulders and back from my heavy bag compounded the problem.

I squirmed, unhappy, miserable, unable to break out of my exponential panic. We were never going to get out! The people were pressing in around me! We merged with yet another queue, then finally we go through security. A woman gave me a pat-down, which sparked my dislike of being touched.

A whole hour had passed since we’d joined the queue. And now it was time for passport control. Ugh – none of the chip-reading gates were open, so hundreds of people from multiple outgoing flights were squished through a handful of staffed gates. We got into the fast-moving EU queue (British passports at the ready) and watched many people get turned away from the “premium” queue before they desperately joined our queue instead – I’m sure some people missed their flights!

I started having the stirrings of an anxiety attack. I must have looked awful because a security guard came over to ask if I was okay!

Finally, we made it out, with much less time to kill than usual. But I still had an hour to drink a hot chocolate and eat something sweet. I’m glad we always arrive at airports 3 hours before our international flights, even in Europe. What a disaster that could have been.

The flight to London City Airport was as packed as the Heathrow one. I couldn’t fit any of my hand luggage overhead due to too many people bringing on those bulky mini suitcases. Squished all my stuff under the seat in front of me.

Though we left late, we landed a whole minute early – which made it feel like we’d never left Schiphol, because London is one hour behind Amsterdam and the flight time is less than 60 minutes!

We escaped with our suitcases to the car rental place, where it take agggges for them to release a car to us (they had a newbie on the front desk who looked like he had no idea what he was doing). I’m glad we booked ahead – a group of men beside me, who’d only booked that morning, wanted a small car and ended up with a minibus!

The woman overseeing the newbie was concerned that we had a lot of luggage, but we wanted a small car (and managed to fit everything) to get through tiny country lanes.

After some mishaps (the GPS was stuck in French and I didn’t know where the parking brake was), we got on our way, hoping to go around the city.

Our Troll GPS had other ideas.

It started okay. But then I looked out the left window and saw the Tower of London!?! Oh shit! We got tangled in the streets of downtown London and the GPS tried to make us drive down The Mall, even though it was closed. Mayhem!

Somehow we ended up free in Hammersmith. I worried about the congestion tax, but later discovered that it’s a bank holiday, so no tax was required (and that’s why The Mall was shut!).

Whew.

We recovered in a Services on the road to Salisbury. It looked very familiar – I realised I’d been there 4 years ago on a tour to Stonehenge.

And I saw Stonehenge again.

It looks oddly small as you drive past it, though the stones are actually quite large in person. I was reminded of my trip in 2013 and smiled. I am so fond of those times Cazy and I shared together.

A huge traffic jam was outside the Neolithic monument (coming from our direction), but it was not there because people wanted to see Stonehenge. No, it was the end of a long weekend and everyone was queueing to go home.

Troll GPS returned to take us down questionable B roads. We came across families with prams and they crossly told me to slow down – I was bemused to see them in the middle of nowhere. I’d rather people didn’t cover an entire road when they’re walking in a pack, since there would have been ample room for the car if they’d kept to the sides. It wasn’t my intention to annoy folk; I had kept to the signposted speed until they appeared.

The GPS then nearly killed us on a route that took us across the A road we needed. I was honked, narrowly avoiding disaster, but how could I have seen any cars coming around that blind turn? Ugh. Driving in England is…harrowing, to say the least.

But at last we came to Lyme Regis. Yay for narrow lanes that induce heart attacks!

Having just read on the plane the bit were Jane Austen’s characters in Persuasion enter Lyme (the Regis came later), I felt like I was walking – er, driving – in the footsteps of fiction and history.

Picked up the rental keys and fumbled our way to Coram Tower, a historic building with a fucktonne of stairs. Why oh why did I rent the apartment with a view? In such an old building, no less!?

Coram Tower - starring STAIRS

A trip to Tesco revealed the bank holiday that had been chasing us from London. The shelves were a bit bare (the Tesco will be closed tomorrow in lieu of today – we were grateful!) but we managed to get what we needed, including toilet paper!

Then we settled in for the night, watching Top Gear on BBC iPlayer (this place has a TV, so we assume it has a TV licence!). The apartment is quite draughty, owing to gaps between the glass windows and the stone sills, but radiators help with that.

Not a bad place to stay.

Days 27-30 - The Long Journey Home

Day 27

Had a lazy morning involving a trip to Pret-A-Manger for a late breakfast. We found Waverley Station easily and began the long wait for our train to Kings Cross. I had to climb my way through a long queue to use the toilet! We got our luggage stowed without having to fight people then sat back to enjoy our first class trip. It’s always nice to travel in style.

When we arrived in London we took the taxi at 6pm to our hotel. It was still light and warm as we walked the short distance to the Gourmet Burger Kitchen across the Thames - we used the Millennium Bridge which is for pedestrians only. It still had slow-moving traffic, caused by tourists, nut vendors and idiots on their phones. We enjoyed our burgers in Southwark (along with an elderflower drink - I’ve become too fond of elderflower during this trip and I have no idea how I will survive without in Sydney) then it was my turn to cause a hold up on the bridge.

There are nice views either way on the Thames - especially if you want a shot of The Shard! I also realised how close we were to St Paul’s Cathedral (not St Paul’s Church which I mistakenly went to at the beginning of the British leg of our trip haha!), rebuilt after the Great Fire of London in 1666.

A brilliant summer evening in London.

The late evening lighting was beautiful on the cathedral, giving it an almost divine look. The blue sky above it - sublime. The closed doors drawing no tourists into my photos - perfect. One could have a religious experience just taking photos of it!

You can't ask for better lighting than that.

Went back to the hotel. This trip is winding down. I don’t want to leave but I want to go home. I miss it. I miss reliable and fast wifi!

Hopefully the flight goes well tomorrow. May the Force be with me.

***

Days 28-30

Yet another lazy morning before transferring to our “day room” where we passed the time with free wifi. We got to Heathrow a little after 6pm - did VAT refund, had food etc - then we were boarding, bound for Sydney via Dubai. I spent this first leg watching movies.

Dubai was far less painless than the flights. I always had someone behind me (a different person both times!) who kept putting their feet on my armrest! I crushed their toes with my elbows until they learned their lesson. Also, the button to put my chair back didn’t work which made me upset until an attendant revealed to me that there was another button under the chair. Thank goodness!

On the second leg I finished a book then listened to thunderstorm ambient music so I could sleep. Eventually I gave up, but soon enough we were in Sydney at 5:15am but wait - some non-QANTAS ground crew had left shit all over the bay we needed to pull into it. We had to wait for it to be cleared. Ugh.

Customs were not bothered to search our bags after we revealed we were declaring teabags. I suspect they rolled their eyes once they let us through. We were met by my parents outside and were driven home just as darkness lifted. :D

Our house-sitter, my future brother-in-law, had washed the bed sheets - what a wonderful thing to come home to!! Now to wash everything else…

Day 26: Balmoral & Braemer

We were served breakfast bang on the dot (8:15am, as requested) downstairs by our hostess’ harried husband who was attempting to serve people who evidently had turned up before their order time. He explained patiently to an American couple how to properly smoke salmon and outlined how Grantown-on-Spey came to be to four idiotic Australians (sometimes I despise my countrymen) who seemed to be more interested in pestering him with questions than letting him do his job.

Grantown was ordered to be built by Sir James Grant, a local lord who, after “clearing” his tenants, wanted a place for them to live, rather than lose them overseas. We had just missed the 250th anniversary of this - our English host seemed quite enamoured with this Sir James and his practices (he was also against deforestation in the 18th century!).

While I ate my porridge (“nasty stuff” our host said - I held up Nutella and assured him “I came prepared!”), the Aussies then got the year of the First Fleet’s arrival hopelessly wrong. We left at 9am because A) I wanted to avoid crowds at the castles, B) I wanted to get there before the Aussies who were also planning to go and C) I was desperate to get to Edinburgh at a reasonable time, made slightly difficult by the spare tyre.

I was cautious on the B roads and single lanes. Some idiot bus driver ignored a sign that showed a sharply rising and falling bridge. It was tiny so the bus could not cross it - but we did, dodging the pedestrians it disgorged. Oh how I hate passing places that look dodgy to a spare tyre.

Balmoral Castle awaited. We walked over the river to the ticket office where we boarded a trailer pulled by a Land Rover which took us up to the castle. We had a pleasant walk past the stables (these held vehicles important to the British royal family, including one which was tall enough inside for the Queen to exit standing up) then through the gardens which were bursting with produce and flowers due to be cut for the royal family on the weekend.

Flowers and food fit for a queen.

The castle would be closed the next day so that the Queen could enjoy her summer holiday there. Yesterday Antiques Roadshow filmed at Balmoral. Staff members were still fussing about how they had looked on television. Apparently the grounds had been crowded - we timed our visit perfectly.

The castle was folly-like, built as a summer escape. The only large room was the ballroom. It held a dinky car used by the Queen then Prince Charles in childhood. It was sweet, watching a reel of child!Charles playing with his sister.

Balmoral Castle

The ground staff were friendly. Ride On Mower Guy even helped a woman get a better shot of the castle. We walked around the part of the castle where Queen Victoria would have stayed then had pancakes at the cafe before being driven back to the gate. A nice little place. It has freaky natural water though. The “brown water” feeding Balmoral comes through peat so it looks like dark urine, even after you flush the toilet!!

I wonder if Queen Victoria ever had pancakes here?

We left just as the crowds were arriving then drove 9 miles to Braemer Castle, which had a slightly more impressive past. It was a fortified 17th century hunting lodge turned anti-Jacobite garrison turned family home. It began as a tower so the guy who owned it wouldn’t get nabbed by jealous neighbours!

A wall encircles the tower. The stairs inside were wider than I expected, but it was never meant to be a stronghold. The family left some years ago so the community runs and restores it now. There was a very friendly woman in the gift shop who I discussed the weirdly negative reviews on Trip Advisor with.

I especially liked the 18th century soldier graffiti in the mess/dining room. Touching it sent an exciting shock from my fingers up my arm. There was a tartan on display in another room; it was given to the lady of the castle by Bonnie Prince Charlie in return for her help. Very interesting castle.

We headed back to Edinburgh at the excruciating speed of 50mph which pissed off a whole bunch of people (trucks and caravans included!) on the dual carriageways. Damn spare tyre of doom. I got honked at by one truck. But we made it back!

We dropped off car, explained the spare tyre to a guy and then got very lost with heavy suitcases on our way to out hotel. Tears and sweat were shed until I, the introvert, asked a nearby smoker where to go. It worked!

Then we had a lunch/dinner at 4:30 at the Hard Rock Cafe. I figured I’d be okay having two meals in one - haha nope. My lack of gallbladder causes some interesting side effects, but I am very glad to be without that dastardly organ.

Later I put on an episode of Star Trek Enterprise which was on TV but my fiancé hadn’t seen season 4 - shock, horror!!

Day 25: Loch Ness

The day started well. We left beneath a very well-behaved sky, putting behind us Skye and its terribly slow caravans and roadworks. We grumbled about idiots going at slow speeds and refusing to pass slower vehicles, causing queues. We complained about still more slow idiots who held up traffic without pulling into a bay. Little did we know we would be one of those idiots by the end of the day.

We parked back at Eilean Donan Castle for a bathroom stop. I was alarmed at how long it was taking to get to Loch Ness. By the time we pushed off from the castle, I was thinking we should avoid Fort George because I was tiring and wanted to get off the road.

I cruised at 60mph. The road narrowed. A caravan came at me. I moved to the side - looked like a slight ditch there maybe - then boom-psshh! Crap!

My fiancé confirmed my hypothesis by saying he thought we’d blown the front left tyre. I found a safe place to pull into on the second attempt, then re-parked to ensure my fiancé had enough room to change the tyre without hanging out onto the road. I had heard horror stories about people being hit by cars while doing this. While I freaked (I had been very calm until I had nothing to do!), my fiancé set to work, jacking up the car and getting out the shitty “space saver” spare tyre which looked awfully thin. A sticker said we could only go 50mph on this!

I managed to help at one point by showing my fiancé how to loosen the nuts - I never knew being forced to do this one task at a Year 12 camp would come in handy! Then I stepped back, conceding to greater knowledge and experience. I rang the car hire company who put me onto a call out. Talking to the call out people was faking annoying. The guy needed to know exactly we had stopped. I was on the A887 but where? Near the A87 intersection? But where?

My fiancé had to rejack, having used the wrong spot. I firmly told him not to rest his foot under the car. Yikes! Finally he got the spare on - oh dear, his hands were filthy! As we cautiously drove on, he rang to cancel our call out then asked what to do. Our car hire company suggested we find one of their tyre places but we had no idea when we’d find one. Because we were returning it the next day at Edinburgh, they seemed alright with us just dropping it off as is. We had paid for full insurance.

After driving like a slow idiot and not being able to overtake caravans, I got us to Urquhart Castle on Loch Ness (my fiancé wondered just how many of the people we got annoyed with earlier had been on spare tyres). I somehow nabbed the last parking spot. Crazily busy! It wasn’t like this in spring!

People. People everywhere.

Cafe stop for a late lunch - badly needed. I was still shaking from adrenalin as we went outside and I could barely focus, even though the weather was much better than during my spring visit in 2013. It took a late phone call to Australia, finally achieved while I stood on the Grant Tower, to calm me down. My dad reassured me that people could drive on spares for weeks. An extra day would be okay. I finally, finally relaxed.

Grant Tower

The castle was crawling with tourists. So frustrating! Summer is not a good time to explore Scottish landmarks. Getting up and down the Grant Tower in this day and age, with queues and screaming children, was surely harder for us than the armed men who stormed it multiple times. Damn!

You know you want more photos of ruins. Admit it.

I loved explaining the ruins and telling my fiancé about the stupidity of the castle owners. They had such an impressive gatehouse, but a shit narrow wall on the water gate side - and this gate was not so strong and used more often! We discovered that the bagpipe music pervading the area came not from speakers but from an actual player. Lovely.

*hums loudly*

I left, feeling calmer, though I did not acquire the desired coasters to match the one I have at home. Sadface. I continued to drive at 50mph as dictated by the shitty tyre, annoying the hell out of everyone on the roads. The car insisted tyre pressure was off (ya think!?) and the bigger blown out tyre took too much room in the boot. Grrr!

We arrived unscathed in Grantown-on-Spey which looked peculiarly neat - I later discovered it was a planned Georgian town. That explained the vaguely English look! Our hostess at the B&B was very helpful and chatty. She booked a place for dinner for us.

We were amused by the waitresses at the restaurant - there wasn’t much to do before the rush so they were very chatty. Some were newbies and just learning. One discussed Cecil the Lion with game hunters. Others made fun of the hostess at our B&B (!!? that is just not on!). But the food was good.

Hopefully tomorrow’s trip to Edinburgh goes well on that blasted tyre…