We awoke to a spectacular morning, and a 45 minute drive across Mainland took us to another ferry which took us to the island of Hoy.
Fine views of hilly Hoy from our ferry crossing
From there we drove west to Randwick Beach where we commenced our walk.
Foxgloves brightening up the multitude of greens as we walk up to the cliff sideThe locals are quite friendly, if not too chattyMr A leading the wayThere is barely any wind, making for a gorgeous July morningI even didn’t bring a coat…but the beanie stays!We can see a glimpse of the ‘Old Man’ on the horizon as our path winds us through the heather The Old Man of Hoy is a 449-foot (137-metre) sea stack on Hoy, part of the Orkneyarchipelago off the north coast of Scotland. Formed from Old Red Sandstone, it is one of the tallest stacks in the United Kingdom. The Old Man is popular with climbers, and was first climbed in 1966. Created by the erosion of a cliff through hydraulic action some time after 1750, the stack is not more than a few hundred years old, but may soon collapse into the sea.
It was a fabulous walk, and gave us a real taste of the islands when the weather is fine. On a day like this, it would be hard to beat the turquoise waters and white sand beaches, pure and litter-free with no crowds. But we know this is a rare treat.
Before we drove back to the ferry, we decided to do a short side walk up to a tomb; Dwarfie Stane. Incredibly it had been carved out of the rock at a time pre-dating metal tools. The stone on the left was used to plug the entrance. Today you can crawl inside for a look, and two of our fellow walkers tested out the acoustics with a song!
Dwarfie Stane – the name arisen from ledgends of dwarfs due to the low access. The tomb dates to between 3500 and 2500 BC and is the only example of an above ground bolder which has been carved out internally in the British Isles
It was a chilly ferry ride back to Mainland, but to avoid sea sickness we remained outside, wrapped up as best as possible against the icy windchill!
Brrr!
10th July – Rain on Main(land)
Well, it wouldn’t be Scotland without a little bit of moisture, and on this day I think the whole UK was copping it! We arose to heavy grey skies, and they stuck with us all day long, adding some incredible atmosphere to our visits.
Summer weather in Scotland!
On this day we were heading to a small stretch of land between the Loch of Stennis and Loch of Harray to the Ring of Brodgar and the Standing Stones of Stenness – both of which are incidentally older than the more famous Stonehenge, possibly the oldest ‘henge’ in the British Isles (history keeps on being revised, so am sure this will eventually be wrong!).
A village is revealed beside the Loch – mounds and stones, entranceways to doors, fireplaces and more – incredibleOnce the coach party had departed it was possible to feel the mysterious magic about the Stenness stones
We left the Standing Stones and crossed the bridge to walk to the Ness of Brodgar. The wind whistled across the treeless plane, the raindrops whirling around our heads and stinging our eyes, and yet it still added to the amazing atmosphere.
The Stenness Watch Stone keeps an eye on things beside a modern bridge which we cross on foot to visit the Ness of Brodgar
On the other side of the bridge is the Ness of Brodgar, an archaelogical site of several large buildings – some 25 metres long with walls 4 metres thick! Current estimates put it at around 5,000 years ago, and it is believed the buildings were in use for around 1,000 years before they were taken down and buried. The site was only discovered in 2002, and for most of the year it is covered up to protect it from the elements. It was only found because the owner of the nearby house commissioned a team to sow a wildflower meadow in the field beside her home…and they hit more than they bargained for! It is said that local people are nervous to stick a spade in the ground in case they find another historical artifact.
Despite the rain, archaeologists from the world over were busy painstakingly uncovering history from 3000 BCPottery, bones, stone tools and mace heads have been uncovered
We continued our walk next to the Ring of Brodgar – like Stonehenge and Avebury, it is an almost perfect circle. This stone circle has never been excavated, so its interior mysteries still remain. It is set up within a circular ditch.
A mown path through the wildflowers takes us to our first view of the Ring on the horizonA magical moment as the sun emerges briefly, lighting up the stones which are surrounded by heather, buttercups and a multitude of little wildflowersYou can see the layers of the bedrock splitting over time
It’s just incredible to think these stones were all carved out by hand and placed here by ancient civilisations.
Kirkwall was our final destination for the day. I had a wander through St Magnus Cathedral. It is the oldest cathedral in Scotland, built by the Norse Earls of Orkney. While Mr A looked around the museum and browsed the shops in town, I marvelled at the history and many plaques within the church bearing surnames from my family tree. What relatives they were I am unsure, but it was still exciting to see!
St Magnus Cathedral – 1137The Halcro family name stands strong
11th July – Kirkwall reveals more ancestors
Thursday dawned grey and windy, but the rain decided to hold off and there were even hints of sunshine to be seen. After our usual Tesco visit to pick up lunch, we were on our way.
A rare sight of trees around these farm buildings, offering them a little shelter from the relentless winds
Tucked away as we drive along is this magnificent structure built from local stone. Created in the 1600s, it is called the Rendall Doocot – a dovecote built to house pigeons. These birds provided meat for the family at nearby Hall of Rendall. We poked our heads inside and noted there are still pigeons making this their home – I suspect they’re not used for meat these days though.
A short drive past here we caught our ferry for the day, over to the island of Rousay.
Nothing like a bit of uphill to wake up the legs in the morningLunch was beside this stunning beach at Saviskaill, watching a seal swim along the shoreline Local stone is plentiful and put to use everywhere – this over a drainage ditch
After lunch we drove around to the south-west coast, apparently described as ‘the most important historical mile’ in Britain. Our visit commenced with a visit to Midhowe Broch. A broch is a roudhouse building, unique to Scotland, found mostly on the islands and North Highlands. The word broch is derived from the Lowland Scots ‘brough’, meaning fort.
You can see the fortifications along the cliff-edge to protect the broch from being taken by the sea
Situated on the north side of Eynhallow Sound, this broch is part of an ancient iron age settlement, much of which has already been lost to coastal erosion. It would have been inhabited by important community members, with its own spring-fed water tank, and a hearth with sockets which may have held a roasting spit.
After exploring this building, we followed along the coastline to the Midhowe Chambered Cairn. This is around 5,400 years old. It is protected from the elements by an elaborate hangar, with raised pathways allowing visitors to explore the burial chambers without damaging them.
Rousay resident, Walter Grant, was the instigator of the excavation of this tomb, and he constructed the protective hangar in 1935-6 before giving it to the nationThe remains of 25 human skeletons (including two children) were found in the tomb, which was buried within a mound.
Access to human history here feels so tangible. You can see the chips in the stone where they were carved into place, almost as though they happened last week. It feels almost churchlike, with the aisle down the middle and the stalls either side.
As we left the tomb, we followed the coastline past seals basking on the rocks.
I bet those dark rocks warm up nicely in the sunshine
Our next destination along this coastal stroll was the farm of Brough, and low and behold, the Halcro name re-emerges. They were certainly quite prevalent in these islands. I tried to hold back from letting people know they were visiting another of ‘my’ houses!
We continued to where an active dig was happening. They were happy to stop and give us an impromptu talk about what they were finding, excited that there were literally layers upon layers of history in this one site alone. One of the serveral archaeology students digging at the site brought up their finds tray, showing us the many cows teeth and pieces of old china they had found on that morning.
Incredible patience is required to gently sift through the soil in case some major find is revealed. I can’t help but think of my ancestors perhaps sipping on a warm cup of tea here, while watching out to sea at the maelstrom in the bay, where the Atlantic Ocean meets the North Sea.
We hiked back up the hill to our mini-bus to start heading back to the ferry.
So many shades of green
We had only driven a short way when we spotted another tomb – these islands are literally covered in ancient artifacts, and those of us with remaining energy, climbed up the hill, braving the field of cows, to Taversöe Tuick, another chambered cairn on two levels, built around 5,200 years ago.
Calf feeling rather safe beside it’s mother
It was a rather quick look around the cairn (is it possible we had lost some of our enthusiasm for ancient tombs?), before heading back to the ferry.
This marked our final night in the Orkney Islands, and so we were allowed to go back to our rooms to shower and change before going out to dinner. It was our finest restaurant yet, The Foveran, delicious local food (I may have had my fifth serve of scallops in the past week!), with incredible views out to sea.
Our fellow walking crew (minus one who chose not to join us for dinners)
It was an incredible few days on Orkney – every day had been packed with activities from start to finish, making the absolute most of the lovely walks, wildlife and history the islands have to offer. It would have been incredibly hard to book all this yourself. It is virtually impossible to be spontaneous on the little car ferries between the islands, with spaces reserved for locals.
But despite all the amazing things we had seen and done, we have to admit we were ready for some warmer temperatures and a drop in the wind!
Location: Edinburgh and the Orkney Islands, Scotland
Author: Mrs A
Ok, I admit we are a little late posting this, but it has been a very busy summer! We are now on another holiday, this time in France, so I have had a few moments to reflect on our July trip. It will be in 3 parts due to the many photos!
4 July: Off to bonny Scotland
While we officially booked this trip in October last year, the initial seeds for exploring the archipelago of Orkney were sewn back during the Covid lockdown of 2020 when my cousin was working hard to explore our ancestry. She was able to trace on our mother’s side back to Orkney, stumbling on direct links to the King of Norway back in the 1500s. Very exciting! Mark always called me a princess, and now I know I am (or the tip of my little finger is, at least!).
Finally this much anticipated trip was upon us, and we took an EasyJet flight up from Bristol to Edinburgh and checked into our hotel. We had two nights before boarding a short flight over to Orkney Mainland.
Dinner was a fabulous seafood feast at Fishers in the City, somewhere I had eaten at in 2019, but was very keen to bring Mark for our incredible meal of fresh oysters, scallops, squid and other local delicacies.
Dinner didn’t disappoint – even Mr A said it was one of the finest dining experiences he has consumed
5 July: Edinburgh’s underworld
Edinburgh is a bustling and pedestrian-friendly city with a variety of shops, overlooked by the magnificent castle on top of an extinct volcano.
Windswept on the Royal Mile, Edinburgh
It’s been a few years since we last explored this friendly city, and (although some of the local residents could have done with subtitles) it was great to see new things. After a morning of Mr A satisfying his outdoor shop addiction, we attended a tour of one of the ‘underground streets’ of Edinburgh, a 1600s laneway which had been compulsory purchased and used as foundations in the 1700s to create a new indoor marketplace.
The Real Mary King Close – named after Mary King, a fabric merchant who built her own business after her husband’s death, a tour of the close is brought to life by one of the costumed character tour guides. Image source: Forever Edinburgh
The history was fascinating, and it was incredible exploring the low ceilinged rooms and even seeing the hand printed walls still preserved after all these years. It was presented in a somewhat theatrical way, with our guide dressed up and performing as though she was a resident from the lane which distracted a little from the interesting stories.
Dinner was at Sen, a little independent Vietnamese in the University Quarter. The food and menu was so delicious and interesting, we decided to book in for the following week too!
6 July: Another day, another flight
And so off we went to our ultimate destination, the Orkney Islands. It was a quick flight from Edinburgh to Kirkwall, and then a 10 minute taxi ride to our accomodation. The aerial views as we crossed the archipelago were magnificent, with turquoise waters lapping on white sandy beaches. The only thing missing was woodland. We could see the islands stretching across into the horizon, with barely a tree in sight.
A patchwork of greens to greet us
Our first impression of Kirkwall was somewhat grey and unremarkable. The majority of houses are single storey bungalows, or semi-detached, looking like they are on a 1970s council housing estate. Most have been rendered with pebble-dash, and together with the grey skies, and icy-cold July wind, made for a not-so good first impression.
We had dinner in town, the first of many dishes of hand-dived scallops, a speciality the Orkneys are famous for, and met our group guide at 9.30pm for a quick update on the plan for the following morning.
Delicious!
7 July: Westrayreveals its wonders
It was an early start for a huge Scottish breakfast, before loading our walking and photography gear into the back of a mini bus and meeting our fellow hikers for the week; three single ladies, one single man and another couple. The supermarket was our next stop, to pick up yet more food to make up our picnic for the day. This pattern continued all week.
Next it was off to board our ferry to the Isle of Westray, a 90 minute ride away from Orkney Mainland.
Threatening skies on our ferry journey In between the gloomy skies, glimpses of sunshine turning the water into glittering diamonds
Once there, we drove up to the north of the island, where we parked up, donned our backpacks and took off on a hike.
There was little else around us, the occasional farmhouse and plenty of cattle and sheep. No other people to be seen.
A cuddly looking calf watches on curiously as we walk past
I was carrying my telephoto lens on this walk, so was hopeful for no rain. We had been told this was a great nesting area for seabirds, including Arctic Tern, Northern Gannet, Common Guillemot, Kittiwake and the much anticipated Atlantic Puffin.
Arctic Skuas, known as the pirates of the coast, soared along the coastline, ready to thieve the freshly caught fish from other birds.
We followed the coastline, seeing that breeding season was in full swing, with birds perched precariously along the cliff side with their young looking small and vulnerable with the huge drop below.
Northern Fulmar – Rarely seen from land except at colonies such as this – the male is beaded with water droplets, fresh from catching fish for his partnerWrapped up and ready for anything, Mr A got a lot of use out of his binocularsBlack Guillemots wearing their breeding colours – fabulous scarlet legs matching the inside of their mouthRazorbills having a chat on the edge of the cliff. If you look carefully into the shadowy crevice, you will spot an Atlantic Puffin listening in!A Northern Gannet soars along the coastline before diving torpedolike into the ocean for fish.A male Gannet has just brought food to his partner on the cliffsRain jacket and waterproof trousers blocked the wind quite nicely, along with the essential wooly hat!
We were dressed up warm against the cold wind that seemed to be ever present in the Orkneys, the treeless land offering little shelter or resistance, but once mesmerised by the birds, forgot all about the temperatures.
You could sit and watch the interaction between the birds for hours, accompanied by a constant cacophony of calls
And, of course, the Puffins! They showed up in their comical way, like little clowns with their brightly coloured beaks and legs and yellow cheek spots.
And suddenly a Puffin appears on the cliff beside us! He’s in full breeding colours with white face and bright yellow cheek and a white extension to the beak between the black and red colouring.You know that classic picture of a Puffin with a bunch of fish in its beak? Well, I didn’t capture that one – just this one holding a feather!
It was hard to tear ourselves away, but after consuming our lunches we continued on our walk.
Mr A chatting to our fascinating guide, Alayne, who was a great storyteller with a lot of knowledge about the islands
A short drive in our minibus took us to the ruins of a castle with a chequered history. Noltland Castle was built for Gilbert Balfour, master of Mary Queen of Scots’ household in the late 16th century. Apparently 71 gun holes dot the walls, making it as much of a fortress as a manor house. Apparently he was quite paranoid about being murdered!
Commanding views across the relatively flat landscape
After leaving this castle, we were taken on a short walk to another one – Castle o’Burrian, a squat sea stack with a bustling Atlantic Puffin colony. We sat on the cliff edge watching in wonder at the birds as they made their clumsy, fluttering flight, sitting amongst the sea pinks and grasses, and taking many photos.
Puffin kisses – rubbing beaks to show affection – apparently they mate for life and this is a bonding ritual they undertake after being out at seaGetting ready for take-offJust bobbingA non-Puffin! Walking along the cliff back to our minibus we get the feeling we are being watched…and indeed we are. Far beneath us is a seal. There are two types found in Orkney; the Grey Seal and the Common/Harbour seal. About 15% of the world’s population of Grey seal lives here, and they are well known for following in the water as people walk along the shore!
Our final destination before our journey back was to a tiny museum which, among many other incredible discoveries, housed Scotland’s earliest representation of a human form, uncovered at an archaeological dig in 2009.
The Westray Wife – found at the Links of Noltland. Made from sandstone
A ferry back to Mainland, and dinner in a local restaurant concluded our day by 10pm, just in time for sunset.
8th July – Scara Brae and Stromness
Our start was a little later this morning, as we didn’t need to catch any ferries, our day entirely on Mainland.
Can you spot Twatt? Apparently the sign has been stolen so many times they no longer use one!
The day dawned bright and sunny, and although the wind remained, it felt quite a bit warmer and so one or two less layers were donned.
We started off with a drive across to the north-west of the island, where we did a spectacular coast walk to another major bird colony.
Our walk’s start point affords us a great view of Old Man Hoy, a sea stack off the coast of the island of HoyA huge Northern Gannet colony on the cliffs – the noise is incredible!There are many wild rabbits on this part of the island, including several black ones we spotted. There are no major raptors around to catch them, since the last Golden Eagle failed to rear chicks and died out in 1982.The huge seabird colony at Marwick Head – turn up your sound for the full effect! Up on top of the headland is the Kitchener Memorial, built to commemorate the HMS Hampshire which hit a mine in Marwick Bay in 1916. It sunk in just 15 minutes, resulting in more than 700 lives lost.Black-legged Kittiwakes perch alongside Razorbills on precarious and often uncomfortable looking ledges, raising their young
Finishing our walk we headed down to Sand Geo, a beach by some old fisherman’s huts for our lunch. Out of the wind it was almost warm! The huts themselves date to the 1800s and were designed as shelters for the local fisherman, house boats and equipment.
Looking up at the fisherman’s hutsSand Geo, our picturesque lunch spotA non highland cow using a bull as a pillowThe motley crew of hikers
Scara Brae was our next destination, much anticipated and read about in advance, though once we arrived we realised that most of what we had researched was already out of date and superseded with new learning – even the information in the visitor centre was now out of date.
Scara Brae is Europe’s most complete and well preserved Neolithic village which literally emerged from the sand dunes after storms in 1850. You can almost imagine the amazement as literally overnight houses were revealed, complete with stone beds, dressing tables, fireplaces, drainage and even toilets were revealed. People would have lived here between about 3180 BCE to about 2500 BCE, and at the time the Orkney Islands would have been far further south, with a much warmer climate.
The site sits on the edge of a white sand bayThe houses had drainage and stone bed areas, and would have had stone slabs on the roofIt felt quite eerie seeing such familiar things from more than 5,000 years agoThe houses had curved walls, not corners as seen on the right hand side, and no windows. The ‘dresser’ front and centre of the room was thought to display precious things, the beds surrounding the fire in the centre of the home
The house from which the village was first discovered is called Skaill House, and in it I was able to find a huge family tree on a wall which mentioned people on my family tree. By this stage I have lost trace of what relative Bishop Honeyman was, but we certainly have Honeyman genes in us somewhere!
My house! Ha ha!The beach in front of the house, surrounded by sand dunesThe family tree, which somehow leads to me on the Honeyman side
Our route took us on another short walk, this time to another magnificent sea stack along the coast, with some fauna and flora unique to Orkney along the way.
Yesnaby Castle sea stack – we watched the three kayakers explore the caves in the cliffI wonder how long until this completely collapses?When you get close to the ground you see it is rich in tiny plants and flowers, all adapted to existing in these harsh conditions – the purple flowers are wild thyme, the yellow are TormentilPrimula scotia – the Scottish Primrose – endemic to just three areas – Caithness, Sutherland and Orkney. It is commonly overlooked as its flowers are so tinyThis bee didn’t look well, but was alive. It is an endangered Moss Carder Bumblebee, and only found in the far northwest of the Scottish mainland, Orkney and some of the Hebridean islands.
We jumped back into the bus for our final destination for the day, the small town of Stromness, where more people from my family tree lived, and then sailed from to Canada to become founding members of the European settlers there.
It was just spine tingling seeing the well from which the ships would have filled up their water for the journey, and finding the oldest house in Stromness, which would have been modern in my ancestors time, and perhaps somewhere they would have visited.
Marking the location of the wellThe entrance to the oldest remaining house in Stromness – built in 1716 and known as the Miller’s House
It’s easy to delve down rabbit holes on the interweb and a quick read about the time my ancestors would have lived there reveals a town with no sewerage, little fresh water, and no indoor sanitisation. Not a hard place to leave, once would assume, when invited to settle a new land with the promise of fine farmland and adventures across the oceans.
Stromness HarbourOld fisherman’s cottagesThe water was very serene
A pub dinner concluded our amazing day, and again we were home in time for sunset, just after 10pm.
10:10pm and the sun is just going down. At this time of year the dusk stretches out until around midnight, and then it starts getting light again around 4am!
It won’t surprise you to learn that the trend of showery weather continued after we departed Josselin. Lunch supplies were sourced from the supermarket before we left – today was going to be quite a long ride, with few options of places to stop.
The next downpour is approaching – our path east followed the left hand side of the River Oust.
Fun fact: Brittany is considered to be a Celtic Nation, along with Wales, Cornwall, Ireland, Scotland and the Isle of Man – In the UK there are many rivers known as the River Ouse – a derivative of the Celtic word ‘Usa’, from *udso-, which simply means ‘water’. ‘River Ouse’ therefore means ‘River Water’. It may be that the Oust has similar origins.
This part of the river is rather picturesque, lined with trees and a perfectly smooth surface that would put British roads to shame, just fabulous riding country.
A vibrant grey, black and yellow Grey Wagtail stops for a rest from catching insects over the waterYellow Iris lined waterways
And so our meditation continued, taking us back into the rhythm of our journey, always listening, watching for splashes, aromas of the pungent decaying leaves from last autumn’s fall tingling the nostrils, our senses constantly alert in the absence of the multitude of distractions in everyday life. The definition of a holiday.
Yes that is a boat way in the distance – the first one we have spotted on our travels. Much of the Nantes-Brest canal has not been navigable – many of the bridges were destroyed during WWII and rebuilt quickly, not allowing space for boats to pass underneath…and another first – a Mute Swan – in the UK they are plentiful along the waterways, but here we have travelled many kilometres before seeing this, our first one in France!
Our route was diverted due to maintenance along the towpath, which added a few extra kilometres, taking us off along quiet country lanes, past sleepy farms and fields of flowers.
The bees love this mauve tansy-leaf phacelia – this is planted as a green manure to regenerate the soil. At the end of the season it will be ploughed back into the field, enriching it with nitrogen.
Our journey ended in the town of Redon, a junction point of the Oust River, which we were following, and the Vilaine, which winds north to Rennes and from there flows out into the Atlantic Ocean at Pénestin.
Dramatic skies over the marina at Redon – plenty of navigable waters means boating is quite popularAfter days of traffic free riding, being confronted with large lorries and other vehicles was quite a shock to the system!
Dinner was at a delicious Cambodian and Asian restaurant, Saveurs d’Asie. As lovely as French food is, you do sometimes need a little variety and spice in your life!
Saturday 18th May – Redon to Guipry-Messac (47km)
We awoke to a strange phenomenon – a dry forecast, sunshine and lots of cyclists! Yes it was the weekend, and it seems every group of friends in Redon jumps on their bike and goes riding.
There are many circuits signposted – most starting along the River Vilaine, and then weaving off through quiet countryside. The dry weather had everyone out, and it was a joy to see.
As we wove our way to the Vilaine, we came across one cyclist who wasn’t going on towpaths. I don’t think either of us had seen a bike towing a caravan before, but if you dive down that particular Google rabbit hole, you will find quite a few articles talking about it!
Off on a different kind of adventure to us!
And so we turned north for the first time this trip, and began following the Vilaine River towards Rennes.
It was a spectacular morning, with families cruising on the river, and a lot of cyclists. None stopped for a picnic like we did though, and enjoyed a feast of a lunch with a fine view.
Our typical lunch – salad with fish and hummus, coupled with a cup of herbal tea. I carried the vinaigrette in my bike’s drink bottle holder! Superb!
It really wasn’t long before all the other cyclists had turned off and it was back to being the two of us riding along the river. When I say the two of us, I meant us and many birds. In fact so many cuckoos that I renamed our route ‘Cuckoo Valley’.
At one point along our cycle we looked up into the blue skies, spotting some huge birds circling in the warm wind currents. I looked them up – White Storks, and not a baby between them!
A long way up! White Storks looking black against the sky
We continued on our way north, relishing the dry weather.
Wildflowers galore along the water’s edgeThe train from Rennes to Morlaix crossing a bridgeNo waterproofs – hurrah!Poppies starting to bloom in a field
On we rode to our destination for the day, the sleepy little village of Guipry-Messac. Or so we thought it was sleepy. It seems to be going through a bit of a revival, with some very grand houses often recently renovated, and more on their way.
We booked what looked like to be the best restaurant in town, located in the middle of the river, accessible by bridge, and after a chilled out end to the day, strolled down for our meal.
Fine dining indeedOur first proper sunset of the tripOur restaurant in an old water mill – there are glass tiles through which you can see the wheel turning below you
The restaurant was quite well attended, and we appeared to be the only tourists, and certainly the only non-French people there. We worked out that this village is only a 30 minute train commute into the nearest city, Rennes, and therefore would be an attractive location for those who want a little peace and quiet outside of their working life. It certainly ticked all our boxes
Sunday 19th May – Guipry-Messac to Rennes (50 km)
We farewelled our host, conveying in broken French that we regretted not being able to learn more about his beautiful home and grounds, and giving his little dog, Scot, a final cuddle before we mounted our steeds and continued our journey north.
It was another fine day, and beautiful ride. As a sunny Sunday, there were other cyclists and pedestrians about, particularly as we rode on towards Rennes.
Magnifient bridge for trains crossingThis is a rejuvenated quarry. We stopped off here after hearing bird calls which my Merlin App identified as Peregrine Falcons. A birder arrived soon after we did carrying a spotting scope, and told me he had been watching the birds for months, and they had a nest with chicks on the cliffs. He let us see the female Peregrine through his scope, sitting up in one of the trees watching us. What a special experience!
Lunch was in a picturesque location along the river on one of the many picnic benches conveniently placed. The river led us right into the centre of Rennes, after which the town had many cycleways guiding us right to our accomodation.
More fresh salad and some bread from breakfast for our lunch picnic, along with a cup of tea
Our home for the next two nights was an unusual hotel, The Magic Hall. It is a bar and restaurant too, with one large communal table for people to eat at, and people are encouraged to cook their own meals. In addition to all this, it also had a recording studio! It had a very good vibe.
Cheers!
We celebrated our arrival with a drink, before storing our bikes in the hotel and settling into our film-themed room. All of the rooms had a different theme, and ours was predominantly Pulp Fiction based, with photography from the film framed around the walls.
We strolled into town to find some dinner, spotting an Asian-themed Poke Bowl and Bao Bun takeaway spot. Just what we fancied. As soon as we arrived, the heavens literally opened, turning the streets into rivers and sending people dashing under umbrellas and into stores. We settled down the enjoy our food.
Looking out into the very wet courtyard – raining in Rennes – what a surprise!
Monday 20th May – A day in Rennes (15km walked)
One of the great challenges in France seems to be finding a business open, there seems to be few chances to spend money with anyone. This warm, sunny Monday morning was just like this.
Rennes – the city that sleeps!Lovely cobbled streets and very few people
Rennes is the capital city of Brittany. Like so many of the villages and towns we had cycled through, it is known for its medieval half-timbered houses, and the grand Rennes Cathedral.
Magnificent cathedral
The city is home to 66,000 students, with the 8th largest university in France, and the overall vibe is young and modern. It is one of France’s ‘silicon valley’s’ considered a centre of technical innovation, and has been voted the most liveable city in France. We loved how some of the old architecture had been melded with the ultra modern in an arty and interesting way which didn’t feel at odds with the historical centre.
Part of the old city wall which has been integrated with the growing centrePart of the university emerges from this old church building, with rotating mirror windows that catch the sunlight and send beams across the courtyard
Quintin, one of the hotel managers (an expat who grew up near Exeter in Devon, UK but who has lived in France for most of his adult life) told us that cars were moved out of the city in 2020, and the bicycle became the primary mode of transport, along with the metro and travelling on foot. It was lovely to stroll around cobbled streets without motor vehicles, no fear of being run down or our ears assaulted with the roar of engines after our days of the sounds of nature.
Parc du Thabor is in the centre of the city – once the domain of monks with no access to the everyday person, today it is a beautiful park full of water features, mature trees, and stunning rose gardens. They also had an aviary, mostly visited by excited children who delighted in poking sticks through the cage for the (mostly Australian – cockatiels, rosellas, budgerigars, zebra finches and so on) birds to land on.
Reflecting on RennesParc du Thabor is a place of serenity – many flowers and a newly fledged blue tit chick being fed by busy parents
We marvelled at how many people were in the park, and why they were not at lectures or working on this Monday morning. A quick Google search revealed it was a public holiday, one of many in France, this one to mark Whit Monday (celebrating the ‘birth’ of the Christian church). It also semi-explained why all the shops were closed (I say semi, as the opening hours often excluded Monday anyhow!).
We finished our visit to Rennes with dinner at a seafood restaurant, served by a waiter who delighted in telling all visitors how good their French was (even if it was terrible!).
Oysters as an entree – very tasty indeed
Tuesday 21 May: Rennes to Morlaix by train, then Morlaix to Roscoff by bike…or not for Mr A (28.5 km cycled)
We farewelled the friendly folk at The Magic Hall, and rode off towards Rennes train station, from which we had booked a train to take us and our bikes back to Morlaix, and from there we would cycle back to Roscoff for our final night.
The first 500 metres went without issue, but then we heard a loud ‘crack’ and Mr A could no longer pedal his bike. The carbon belt (instead of a metal chain), had snapped! What a nightmare!
Uh-oh, no more cycling til this can be replaced
I quickly got onto Google to see whether there was a bike shop nearby, and rode off to ask whether they could help. Mark soon scooted behind me, and they checked the size. Unfortunately they had the next size up, but not the one we needed.
On the way to the station there was another shop, so I rode off to buy lunch for the train journey, while Mr A scooted the bike to the next shop. Unfortunately we were unlucky again. It would take 2 days to order one in. We were ferrying back to the UK tomorrow, so could not wait. So we headed to the train.
Boarding the train was not as awful as we anticipated, with our pre booked large cycle space allowing our bikes to be stored level – far better than the ridiculous tiny space on UK trains where you have to hook your heavy bikes up somehow.
This is how bikes should be carried on trains – they even had their own seatbelt
The journey was spent translating and sending messages to all the bike shops in Morlaix in the hope they might have a spare belt there. Annoyingly, the message was the same – it would take 2-3 days for the right size belt to arrive.
We got to Morlaix and spoke to the taxi drivers at the station, but none of them was willing to carry a heavy e-bike to Roscoff. I then noticed a load of Europcar hire vans parked on the other side of the station. Perhaps we could hire one of those? We found the hire shop, conveniently right opposite the station, complete with staff who could speak English fluently. Mr A hired a van for 90 minutes for €50 and took off with his bike in the back.
It was another sunny afternoon, so rather than drive the final stage, I jumped on my bike and rode to Roscoff.
My view as I rode into Roscoff
Mr A arrived back in Roscoff by bus some time later, and we sat down by the harbour in a bar with outside seating for a calming beverage. Phew. That was a stressful day, but we had made it!
Our harbour side view – even on a Tuesday evening it was busy with people playing pétanque and enjoying the warm weather
Roscoff is a very sweet fishing village, which also is home to the Brittany Ferries port to Plymouth and Ireland. It was bustling on this warm, sunny evening, but we were so tired from our day, we skipped dinner and went to our sea-view room to relax.
Wednesday 22 May – Roscoff to Plymouth – the end of the trip
It was an early start, with Mr A scooting his bike to the port at 7am, and me following shortly later under pedal-power. Cyclists boarded first, and we were soon on our way back across the English Channel to the UK, an easy end to a superb holiday.
Getting ready to leave the ferry at Plymouth
Reflections on an amazing cycling adventure in Brittany by Mr A
“Ah ….the serenity”..is a famous line from an Australian movie called The Castle, and is contentedly uttered breathlessly by one of the main characters. Now I use the phrase, like many other Australians, in moments of bliss, where life is at a slow pace, stress free and often when in nature.
For me this is the essence of what this trip meant to me. Take noisy combustion engined vehicles out of your holiday equation, and what you experience around you fundamentally alters. Then slow down your viewing to that of about three times your walking speed. Fast enough to propel you through a variety of different landscapes, slow enough to allow you to stop whenever something catches your eye, ears or nose. This is cycle touring, and I love it.
Then you add in a traffic free cycling infrastructure, that Brittany (and the rest of mainland Europe) has a plethora of, and you have an almost endless set of well marked paths (the Eurovelo network) on which to explore this fascinating continent. Someone else has already done the route finding for you, diversions labelled to point you to sustenance, or accomodation that you won’t find on Booking.com. To see this almost endless set of touring possibilities opened up, just a ferry ride away, is totally amazing and feeds the wanderlust that has always fuelled our pleasure centres.
Finally, the holiday for me created memories I will value of people we connected with because we were staying in guest houses and small privately owned hotels. For instance, the couple who had moved from the industrial heart of England to the rural depths of Britanny, purchasing a friend’s boutique canal-side hotel, neither having ever been in the hospitality business before. Bold move right? No going back once you jump into a much cheaper property market (as we have also done). Or the guy running another small hotel, who I was a little intrigued about, and observed to as we left (thanks to Google Translate), “I wonder what your story is?”. That night he took the time and trouble (and trust) to share via long text what that story was. Very moving, and inspiring actually.
Strangers intersecting on their life paths, and learning a little of each other on the way, perhaps changing their own views a little as a result. For me this is a wonderful element to this type of holiday, and so different to our city break type trips. I’ve enjoyed the latter, but am left feeling a little like “did we really touch and feel this place?”, after a few days of dashing round the sights, staying in big anonymous hotels. With cycle touring, the possibility to really get an insight into the country is so different.
So thats my two penny’s worth on the trip.
Things may have been challenging at times, but we both had a superb time, worked well together to solve problems, and are looking forward to planning our next adventure. Thank you for joining us on this one!
We have just arrived home from a superb ten days exploring Brittany by e-bike. Day after day of riding along stunning canals, lined with yellow flag irises, the cacophony of birdsong from the multitude of wrens, cuckoos, woodpeckers, blackbirds, robins and more accompanying the crunch of gravel as our wheels turned. At almost every bend in the river or canal we were welcomed by the heady scent of May tree blossom, a perfume so powerful we never failed to turn and admire the small white flowers. And yes, it rained, but the sun shone too, and we really appreciated those warm rays when they came.
The initial dream for this trip came from Mr A, after he had returned from a 10 day adventure with our friend Owen, cycling from Roscoff to Saint-Brieuc in Brittany late last September. They both returned gushing with stories of the people they had met, the incredible food and stunning weather which accompanied them on their trip.
In January this year, the winter weather dreary and wet, our hearts heavy with the loss of Tassie, Mr A and I sat at our kitchen bench, booked our ferry tickets to France, with the intention of repeating at least some of the adventure they undertook. We set about planning our route and accommodation. May, we thought, will be the sunniest month, the spring flowers, the birds, it will be perfect.
Yes, the adventure was to be on pedal-assisted bikes – these are not mopeds, we have to pedal to get the help from the motors, cheating in the eyes of some cycling purists, but for us, it means we actually get out there and see the world on two wheels AND enjoy the process. The only way to go!
Saturday 11 May – Plymouth, Devon, UK
And so finally we found ourselves in Plymouth. We parked the car in a secure space, and loaded the bikes with our panniers, and took off into town for an explore before dinner. The weather was glorious, and the waterside absolutely packed with semi-naked people enjoying the weather and making the most of the outside seating at the many pubs along there. We stopped for a drink, chatting with a couple from Cornwall, just a few miles down the road.
Dinner had been booked at a seafood restaurant in a very salubrious area of Plymouth, the newly gentrified Royal William Yard, a collection of Grade I listed buildings which were formerly Royal Navy supply yards, built in 1825. It shone out as a jewel in Plymouth, particularly on this sunny evening.
Yup – all our clothes, toiletries, stove and picnic gear – even a table – are in these panniers!It was a Provence Rose kind of evening
After dinner, we jumped on the bikes and rode a short way to Brittany Ferries, where we were soon boarded, and holed up in our cabin for the overnight sailing.
A fine sunset to see us off
Sunday 12 May – Roscoff to Morlaix, Brittany (39 km)
Author: Mr A
And we’re on tour! We left Plymouth last night and took the overnight ferry to Roscoff in Brittany, to kick off 11 days cycle touring around this fabulous part of France.
Initially we are following the route Owen and I did last September, but then continuing on further south down the Nantes – Brest canal and then over to the regions capital, Remmes.
Well it got off to a good start, with a smooth crossing, although with a 4.30 alarm this morning to get us docked by 5, it felt like a long day already.
And. we have touchdown in France (after 3 hours of very broken sleep!)A glorious sunrise to welcome us to France as we ride straight from the ferry onto the cycle trailQuiet country lanes escort us around the coastA sea mist soon rolls in, obscuring the sunBoats along the coast look like they are almost flying, as sea and sky combine
We had a very easy ride around the coast though, stopping to snag the last baguette in a little village shop for a picnic brunch with a view across the Morlaix estuary, and quickly followed by a cheeky nap on a bench.
We cycled in past this rather grand marina on the Morlaix River
We were soon in Morlaix itself, a town Owen and I had really liked. It doesn’t feel over touristed in this part of Brittany, and everyone is very welcoming.
The town of Morlaix is dominated by a huge granite railway viaduct, built in just 2 years (1861-63) by 2,000 workers.We found a path that led us across the viaduct, giving a fabulous unique view of the townHalf timbered houses from the 16th Century line many of Morlaix’s streets
The sun made a showing, so it was a no rush lunch with a delicious big salad. Everything always tastes just so fresh here. Two sales, one ice cream, a beer and lite bottle of water all for less than 40 Euros.
Our home for the night, a gorgeous old manor house in its own private grounds, and very grand rooms with a fab brekky. All for the princely sum of 125 Euros! Great value here.
We slept really well!
Monday 13 May – Morlaix to Rostrenen (82 km)
Author: Mrs A
Rain greeted us as soon as we awoke, and did not stop all day. This was to be our longest day of riding, also the hilliest with a few rail trails alongside the canal towpaths. I will not lie, it was tough, and I really felt my 50% closed airway on the half a kilometre of climbing!
We left Morlaix, sourcing ourselves a fresh baguette on the way out, the kindly baker cutting it in half so we could stow it away in a waterproof pannier. It was not long before we were on traffic-free pathways. The stress of vehicles in poor visibility removed, we were free to concentrate on avoiding potholes and keeping upright in the somewhat slippery conditions.
Mr A enjoying a downhill segment of an old railwaySheltering under a bridge for a drink break – still smiling!
We were in as much waterproof protection as possible, right down to our socks, but it was no match to the heavy precipitation which endured throughout the day. Fortunately it was not cold, and we still managed to smile through the damp and have a superb ride through the countryside.
Our typical view as we cycled the towpaths, very few people out in this weather, but anyone we did see always calling out “Bonjour” with a wry smile
Our destination for the night was a canalside house near the village Rostrenen. Thankfully our host was well aware that on a Monday night there was no food to be purchased, so had offered to cook for us.
We arrived late afternoon, finding an ex-pat Brit running the B&B, who is also a cycling fanatic. He was very forgiving of our dripping state, helped us hose off our muddy bags and bikes, and set up drying racks for our jackets and trousers. We had really fallen on our feet.
Postcards in the reception area give some suggestion as to what we might have seen on a blue-sky day
Dinner was served after we had showered and changed into dry clothes, our room strewn with all our wet stuff, attempting to dry them over radiators and towel rails. We shared a bottle of wine with our host, as he shared tales of how he and his wife had ended up in France.
After a long day, we turned in for the night, I just about glimpsed a tinge of pink in the clouds as I drew the curtains…the sun was setting and had even shown its face for the occasion. Hopefully the next day would be a little drier.
Tuesday 14th May – Rostrenen to Pontivy (60 km)
Author: Mrs A
Sunshine!
The day started off with 15 minutes of sunshine…followed by 30 minutes of rain…which pretty much set off the trend for the day. After yesterday’s soaking however, we were happy to accept any amount of dry time!
We had not long left our accommodation before we stumbled across our first challenge – a tree down across the path. We consulted with a couple of local walkers, who said it must have fallen overnight, and with the help of Google, I plotted a short diversion via quiet lanes. Problem quickly solved.
The sunny spells gradually got a bit longer, and at times during the day we even left off our waterproofs – only having to stop a short while later to put them back on!
Our ride continued along the Nantes-Brest canal, weaving its way past locks and old lock-keeper cottages. Wagtails seemed to guide us along our path, flitting in and out of the trees, landing on the floor just ahead of us, only to repeat the process again. You could not help but absorb their joy.
Brightly coloured Foxgloves offer a break from the multitude of greens
We were not far from our destination for the day, Pontivy, when I spotted something interesting on the other side of the water – an otter! It also spotted us and dove under the water, only to pop up right in front of us, then disappear into the riverbank before I could grab the camera. I will never forget seeing that beady eye and twitching whiskers as it gave a final kick and disappeared into the undergrowth.
An otter lives here!
Pontivy is a small town, like Morlaix, full of half-timbered buildings, but unlike Morlaix, only a few places to eat and drink. And eating and drinking was on our minds once we had arrived at our hotel, as we were meeting our friends from Wales, Lauris and Ed. They were on holiday in France, and had diverted their journey to come and meet us for an evening.
We stored our bikes in the hotel’s secure garage, and after a quick freshen up joined our friends for drinks and nibbles before a superb dinner in a restaurant just down the road. I had booked it online, using Google translate to explain my dairy-free dietary requirements (a strange concept in butter-filled northern France!), and their chef was well prepared to make me a delicious meal without milk. Amazing. A fun night out.
Wednesday 15 May: Pontivy to Josselin (54 km)
Author: Mrs A
We had breakfast with our friends, before packing up for our day’s ride. We started off a little dusty after our late night, but soon blew the cobwebs away as we got back into the rhythm of riding.
The freedom of having everything with you and simply following a cycle trail means your mind has a moment to drift and absorb everything around you. It’s such an exhilarating feeling, knowing you are safe from traffic, and instead free to smell, hear, observe and absorb life along the canal.
About mid-day we passed the point where Mr A and Owen had turned left. We were now on new territory for both of us.
A Grey Heron takes flight as we ride pastMr A and Owen took the rigol d’Hivern (Hilvern channel – built to funnel water into the Nantes-Brest Canal) towards Saint-Brieuc at this point
The weather had improved to the point where the sunny periods were longer than the rain, but we kept those waterproofs handy, as when the clouds decided to leak, it was pretty heavy!
Before long we began seeing a few more cyclists and dog walkers along the path, always a sure sign we are approaching a settlement, and lo and behold, we had arrived at Josselin.
Josselin Castle, quite a magnificent sight as we arrive into town
We’d not eaten lunch, and arriving at 2:30pm had low expectations on finding any food. All the cafes in town, even the one kebab shop, were closed, so we rode out to the supermarket and picked up a few bits and pieces for a picnic.
At 5pm we were able to check into our accommodation for the evening, set in one of Josselin’s largest houses, with a covered deck out the back where we could charge up the bike batteries and keep them dry.
Thursday 16 May – Day off riding in Josselin
Back in January when we were planning this trip, we had done a bit of reading about our destinations, and felt Josselin might be a good place to stop for two nights. Carrying limited clothes means we had to do some washing, so this was the spot to do it.
Our hostess loaned us drying rack which we left undercover while we explored the small town and found ourselves some lunch. Brittany is well known for its buckwheat crêpes, both sweet and savoury, so we found ourselves a local cafe with lunch specials, and settled down. The crêpes are usually made with butter, but I asked politely and the chef used oil for mine instead. It was very delicious and light, served with cooked tomatoes, anchovies and salad.
Excuse the untidy hair – here was lunch!
After lunch I approached another restaurant in town to see whether we could book a table for that evening. There were two 5-star restaurants in Josselin, and we had eaten at the other one the previous evening. I gave notice of my dairy-intolerance and was shocked when the chef exclaimed “Non!”. They would rather not have either of us to dinner than be flexible with the menu. So no booking there. Instead, we made a reservation at the same spot as last night, La Table d’O – previous winners of the Best Restaurant in Brittany, and well deserved too.
There was more exploring to be done. First of all, I climbed the church tower to get a magnificent view of the town and surroundings.
The church is right in the centre of the village, and the last place to see the sun at sunset – as seen from our bedroom windowAnd looking back at our accommodation from the top of the church towerAnd an aerial view of our next destination for the day, Josselin CastleTop: Proof of life – after the exhausting climb up the narrow spiral staircase – Left: looking up into the spire Right: Looking down at the town hall
I met Mr A back down on the cobbled streets and we made our way towards the picturesque Josselin Castle. I tried to purchase a tour in English, but apparently the translator was not working that day, so instead we did a short self tour, using the information boards in English.
Parts of Josselin Castle date back to 1008, but most of the current castle is from the late 1300s As soon as you walk in there is a rather spooky museum of dolls and puppets, which we whizzed through and out into the magnificent gardens.
The English Garden – full of roses and Foxgloves of every colourThe door to nowhere – this tower was once a part of defensive walls, now long goneSitting alongside the River Oust, the provides is a commanding view, its fairytale towers majestically dominating the local scenery
The castle is still being lived in by one of the original family members – a thousand years of occupancy. Those floors are of course inaccessible to tourists. We tried to learn what the occupant does for a living, but other than being a senator, we learned little.
Our visit to Josselin concluded with a superb dinner at La Table d’O, with delicious food and a magnificent view of the castle as the sun set.
I even got a dairy-free dessert! Mr A had a cheese platter, and they kindly took a photo of us both with the castle view
Tomorrow we were off again. I know we were both excited to get away again, some freshly clean clothes, rested legs and recharged bikes. What adventures, sights, sounds and smells would lay ahead of us? We would soon discover…
Location: Woolacombe, Mortehoe, Ilfracombe and Lee, North Devon, UK
After a couple of years mostly settling into our new life in Somerset, it was time to get out on the road again, so we decided to dip our toes in the water with a little three night trip to North Devon. We packed up our little Hymer 444 and Mr A hit the road, with me tagging along in our little 4WD Suzuki Jimny, giving us flexibility to explore beyond our campsite.
The Doctor (Jimny) and Truffy (Motorhome) and SUNSHINE!
Mr A had spent most of his childhood holidays with his parents in Woolacombe, and was keen to see whether the town of his 1960s memories was anything like it is today….though beyond ‘the beach had sand on it’, there wasn’t too much to work with.
We arrived to a spectacular blue sky and generally stunning afternoon. It’s only a 90 minute drive from home, so theoretically could be a day trip, but it was great to know we had some solid time to explore this piece of the coast. So after getting Truffy set up, we jumped in the Jimny and drove to nearby village, Mortehoe for a walk.
It was so good to see the sun! And when we were sheltered it was even nice enough to take off the jackets and soak up the rays. Some of the really keen folk (who hadn’t spent the last 2.5 decades living in Australia) were in shorts, but not us. We did a walk around the coast, before stopping at one of the two village pubs for a refreshing beverage.
Out of the wind it was rather pleasant!
We drove down into Woolacombe, Mr A recognising the Woolacombe Bay Hotel (link worth clicking on even if only for the impressive website, showing off Woolacombe!), a very posh (and very expensive) hotel with a commanding view out to sea.
One thing we have noticed in Somerset and Devon is that there are many towns with the term ‘combe’ (pronounced coom) in their name. We have learned since moving here that a combe is a valley. Woolacombe was first recorded in the Domesday book in 1086 as Wolnecoma, literally meaning ‘Wolves Valley’. At the time the valley was thickly wooded and presumably wolves could be found.
The following morning was slightly less blue, but dry nevertheless, and Ilfracombe was our destination.
The 1,014km South-west Coast Path runs through this part of the coast, and we decided to check it out. Spectacular coastal views and steep paths were visible, but with my dodgy breathing and Mr A’s recently rolled ankle, we were not game to do more than admire the views and return to town.
Bluebell lined footpaths lead us through the woodland to the coastLooking south towards WoolacombeLooking north towards Ilfracombe
Friends in our village had recommended we book lunch at S&P Fish Shop on the edge of the harbour, famous for their fresh seafood platters. We had an explore around the picturesque harbour before tucking in to a feast. Lobster, king prawns, school prawns, mussels, pipis, salmon and more….we haven’t had a platter like this since our wedding anniversary last year!
Ifracombe has a working fishing industry – everything we ate was fresh and localWhat a feast!
We continued our exploration, with the cloud burning off as the day progressed, treating us to another sunny afternoon.
At the entrance to Ilfracombe’s harbour is this rather confronting sculpture – a pregnant woman, stood on a pile of books, half her skin stripped back to reveal her muscles and sinews, the foetus in her womb, thrusting forth a sword into the sky, and holding the scales of justice behind her back. This statue, Verity, was created by Damian Hirst, and is on loan to the town for 20 years. It’s currently the second tallest statue in the UK. More details here.
Our final day dawned and we decided to take a walk from the campsite. I plotted a route on Komoot, and we packed up a lunch to take with us. A steep downhill footpath took us to part of the Southwest Coast Path, and a chill wind right off the sea.
Our cliff top path weaving ahead of usA calf bravely eyes us off from a safe distance, before skittering away to hide behind the brightly flowering gorseBeanies donned against the fresh breeze
We turned right and wove our way along the cliff top to the next little village, Lee, which sat nestled in a sheltered valley. Lee Bay is a rock-pooler’s paradise, calm and quiet, with plenty of exploring to be done. It was inaccessible on our visit, with a large section of land just behind it being developed for apartments and houses.
The rocky Lee BayOur lunch companion – one of a pair of somewhat disappointed Robins, miffed to learn we had made ourselves prawn salads rather than sandwiches, but making do with a few spare seeds we had as dressing.
We followed our path up the valley, spotting that the pub was open. It would be rude to pass through and not offer them our patronage, so we called in for a cup of tea and a vegan cookie. So civilised. Despite being a mid-week, somewhat gloomy Thursday afternoon, it was quite busy with people stopping for coffee and tea, and as we set off, a large group of 10 arriving for lunch. Mr A asked the bar-lady how the wet weather had impacted business.
“Ah”, she replied, “It has been up and down, and is definitely seasonal. You’ve just got to learn to dance with it.”
What a fabulous attitude, and one we are definitely learning to adopt in our new life.
The Grampus Inn – a very cosy pub, with parts of the building dating back to the 14th Century when it was part of a working farmRhododendron and sweet chestnut flowers brightening up our climb back out of the valley
We finished our visit with a superb dinner at the Beach House Restaurant in Woolacombe (after a couple of extremely expensive cocktails at the Woolacombe Bay Hotel!), seafood prepared by an ex-London chef with very high standards. Superb.
Location: Exmoor National Park, Somerset and north Devon, UK
As Catherine was away, I headed for the hills in the company of Brutus. No jumping to conclusions please, he’s my (admittedly very handsome) electric bike. Loaded up with camping gear he was looking especially beefy.
Brutus in his element ..wandering the road less travelled
We live a short (30km) ride from Exmoor National Park, and this trip to explore it a little of it on the bike had been postponed numerous times, thanks to the wettest 18 months here in the UK since records began! But, with the glass half full, as I set off everywhere was a bright shimmering green, and the forecast was no rain for the weekend. It started raining shortly after I set off, just to poke the finger, but after that there was only the strong, bitingly cold headwind to contend with.
I nearly turned around when the rain started, but couldn’t face all that wasted time sorting and packing gear for nothing. So pressed on, with a free and easy approach to using the batteries (yes..plural, he’s packing double), knowing there were cafes ahead for recharging the bike, and me.
We live very close to one of the National Cycle (NC) routes that, in more prosperous times, were designated and mapped across the country. “Active transport” as our government call it. The government is so supportive of us hitting our climate goals…they just halved the budget for cycling, walking tracks. Excellent (sarcasm, for our US readers).
The network we do have largely follows the real rural back roads, of which we have plenty. One of the long distance cycle routes, NC3, runs very close to our house, and winds its way on almost exclusively single track roads up to the gateway town for Exmoor; Dulverton.
There’s only one cafe in town and I made my usual offer to “pay for power” along with my food. No one has ever taken me up on it, until now. I found £4 had been added to the bill, with no discussion of amount. Quite cheeky I thought. Anyway, off I pottered after a breakfast fit for “used to be a champion, now just an old man on a bike”, and stuck Brutus into turbo for the infamous steep climb up onto the moors. I have no shame about using the “I’m no hero” lowest gear as well. I didn’t weigh my camping gear, but there would have to be 15-20 kg with clothes, food and water. Brutus’s fighting weight with the dual batteries…32 kg. He’s no flyweight.
A track with a view – spot the Exmoor Ponies ahead
The scenery got spectacular very quickly once I was up out on the tops, still on NC3. It’s called the Ridge Road, and guess what, that’s right, plenty of fine views across Somerset and north Devon. Undulating but manageable, I later found out that I had climbed over a 1,000 metres before reaching camp a couple of hours later. “But you have an electric bike”, I hear you scoff. But it isn’t a moped, I retort somewhat defensively. You do have to actually provide some of the energy. I looked at the stats later and it would seem to lug a 33 kilo bike with around 15-20 kg of gear, food and water a kilometer up, the bike was providing two thirds of the effort, and me the other third. That third felt hard.
The gorse was in full flower, a sunny accompaniment to an overcast sky
But a pub beckoned, funny how do they that right, it’s like a homing beacon, one I have thankfully been able to activate successfully on multiple occasions since making the move back here from Australia. Home for the night was to be the pub garden in my little Norman No Mates tent. Fine by me. Now the pub is worth a bit of attention in case you are passing that way. It’s called the Politmore Arms, not to be confused with the Politmore Inn, which I nearly ended up at by mistake, after several confusing phone calls trying to discuss their camping field.
Home for the night – not the picnic table – the ground, yes had packed up my tent.
The Arms was an absolute score on the quirky and friendly front. It had no phone, no mains power, no card machine, so all cash. Pretty much off grid. But by early evening it was packed. I’m guessing around a 100 customers, a pizza oven brought by one of the regulars, and a band. I got free use of the garden and the toilets. Cracking deal. If you find yourself riding, driving, walking over that way, please call in. You will find yourself, as I vaguely remember doing, gazing up at one of the darkest skies in England. Dartmoor is actually a “Dark Sky reserve”, with almost no light pollution, just stunning.
Stark moorland gives way to rolling green hills as I head towards the coast
The next day dawned very cold (note: after 25 years living in Australia I call any temperature measured in centigrade that doesn’t have two numbers in it …flippin’ brass monkeys!). It was an early off to get some blood pumping and warm up. Destination for the night a campsite (with showers!) just outside the little village of Porlock near the stunning coast. The ride there was, I would say, about the best day ride I have ever had. A glorious blue sky, the gorse in full bloom, and hardly a car in sight. I stopped for breakfast in a little village, Withypool, with a picture postcard bridge and sparkling river. Oh, and of course a decent tea room. I have a homing beacon for those as well.
You can lead a horse to water…
The next and only other village that day, was Exford, I was on a mission so rode straight through muttering to myself “Look away from the tea shop”. By mid afternoon I was glad to be hitting the campsite (…mmm, hot showers).
Tent all set up, I headed out on the, bike for a short downhill run to Porlock Weir, an old fishing port, hence the downhill bit. A beer, and back to my bed for another cold (single figures, yes) night.
Watery perfection – quite like the Mediterranean, don’t you think?
Brutus was up for an early start, so all packed up I pushed the ‘on’ button…and waited…not like him to be tardy…nothing. Absolutely dead. After some fiddling around I worked out the larger of his two batteries had what the manual called in German “Zee bad message” – the flashing lights of doom. Poor lad. Now it’s Sunday morning, early, but just in case I sent a text to the bike shop mechanic I bought it from (EDEMO) and got a message stright back! Amazing people there. They talked me through a couple of checks and it was no go. So unloaded my gear, stored by the kind campsite folks, and rode the slightly more spritely fellah towards home on the little battery. I needed a recharge though, lunch beckoned in another little fishing village called Watchet.
Now, I thought it was unusually busy, after noticing several signs informing that there was “No walk ins”. What was going on in usually sleepy Watchet? You could guess all day long and without using a search engine never be right.
Watchet Duck Race..photo from Photographer George Ody.…I managed to miss this thrilling start
A duck race. Yellow plastic ducks…down the river that runs through the town. Bless Somerset. We’ve seen a few weird and wonderful races in the Outback, usually involving unsuspecting live animals, but plastic ducks, priceless.
So that was the trip, hope you enjoyed the armchair ride with Brutus and I. Only read on if gear is your thing. Er, not that sort of gear….camping/touring equipment. Otherwise, thank you for joining me in spirit on my wander round Exmoor.
Trip stats: 2,090 meters climbed, 157 km cycled, 55 hours and 32 minutes cycling time. If you a Komoot user find tour on this link
The gear locker…
Firstly, the bags. I do love a good bag. And Ortleib is my weapon of choice. Last year I decided to upsize to the “plus” back rollers, to accomodate the camping gear. Thanks to Steve Tucker (fellow Riese & Müller owner) at SJS Cycles in Bridgewater. They have an incredible range of accessories.
Sleep system was my still unused in anger Terra Nova AS (all seasons) shelter. Weighs in at a touch over 1.7kg, so not exactly minimalist, but I had seen what Exmoor could suddenly produce weather wise (washed out in my old MSR Hubba Hubba) and felt this was a tent that could deal with almost anything, other than snow loading.
So you’d think I would have been smarter with the sleeping bag…but no. I took my new Enlightened Equipment quilt, rated down to zero degrees C. Well whoever gave it that rating was built very differently to me. Nowhere near warm enough, and that item will be consigned to summer (we will get one right?). The Thermarest down head pillow was on its first outing and loved it. Mattress was the Big Agnes Rapide Insulated (R value 4). It just wasn’t radiating enough heat for me, but very comfy. With a different bag it would have been fine.
Cooking system was the trusty MSR Windburner, essentially just for boiling water, then an X plate and mug etc. Nothing complicated in my culinary repertoire.
Not much else of interest, other than lots of warm clothes and waterproofs. And a trowel…just in case…never leave home without your trowel.
Mark and I are very sad to say we had to say goodbye to Princess Tassie last Friday, 29th December. She had been off her food over Christmas, and the vet found she had an inflamed gallbladder, and her liver was declining, making her jaundiced. Our vet attempted to treat her, but her blood test results deteriorated rather than improved, and he felt she wouldn’t recover. She was with us both, being stroked, loved (and bless her heart, still purring) as she went to sleep. Although we are heartbroken by her passing, we know we did the right thing for her.
As many of you know, Tassie has been our companion for almost 20 years, born in the Northern Beaches of Sydney in early 2004. She has lived a life unlike many felines, having adapted to camping and then caravanning and joining us on our travels.
Western Australian bush camp
She was flown across Australia to Perth in Western Australia and after exploring the south-west corner, accompanied us on a crossing of the Nullabor Desert as we made our way slowly back to Sydney. She has sunbathed on sand dunes on the South Australian coast, rolled in red-sands of the outback, and looked with confusion at the big red rock we call Uluru.
She once took herself off and sunbathed beside crocodile infested lagoon in the Northern Territory, nearly giving us kittens in the process, and protected us from a rather small dog in the rainforests of the Daintree in Far North Queensland by briskly slapping its cheeks several times. Noosa was a favourite Queensland location, and the loved watching boats from her daybed overlooking the Noosa River.
Daring those Northern Territory crocodiles to have a furry snack Rainforest wanderings in Far North Queensland
In Victoria, she chased lizards near Lakes Entrance, and reclined on a balcony in Melbourne, before taking over our friend’s house on the Mornington Peninsular.
South Australian dune sunbathing
At the grand old age of 18, she took her second flight, around to the UK with a stopover in Dubai, taking it all in her stride and exiting her crate at London Heathrow with a head rub and her ever present purr before heading to Somerset. In the UK, her travels were a little more limited, with a few motorhome trips in Somerset and Devon her sum travel total, with life more about sleeping than dog slapping.
Precious package arrived safe and sound, taking it all in her stride
Tassie has been the best companion we could have ever asked for. She has made us laugh almost every day, and our hearts are bursting with grief for her loss. She is so much more than just a pet. She has been a friend, a confidant, a hot-water-cat, a travel buddy, and has enabled us to see the world through different eyes.
In true Tassie style, as we left the vets, eyes wet with tears, a magnificent rainbow appeared, as though she was wielding her feline magic once again, sending us a message to let us know all was well, she has crossed the bridge and a new era is beginning. Rest in peace Princess T, you touched many, many lives, and will never be forgotten.
From now on all rainbows will make us think of Tassie
Not the end of year summary we had hoped to share, but hopefully when things are less raw, we will be able to. We trust you had a lovely Christmas and wish you all the best for 2024. We will be back soon.
A conference husband’s life is not bad one. You help your wife with wardrobe choices, wish her well with the presentation she’s making to senior medical practitioners from around the globe, and then take a brief from her to buy a new handbag to match her outfit! So off I go to to the wonderful boutiques of Milan, style capital of the world.
I quickly manage to tick off the handbag purchase thanks to some diligent research and a very cooperative store owner allowing me send lots and lots of photos to madam! My knowledge of handbags has now grown exponentially..from zero..to the ‘little-bit-is-dangerous’ level. Now I could move to the more solid ground of the serious act of procuring some new smarter threads for myself, appropriate to a stay on the Italian Riviera coming up next. I made a quick reflection as I walked the malls of how our life has changed since moving back to Europe!
The central shopping area of Milan is dominated by the Duomo, a huge cathedral Catherine and I visited when we last came to Milan back in 2012
Mrs A is once again on a mission to help the 7,000 odd members of the support group she runs by attending a conference with the world’s thought leaders on ENT laryngology diseases. She listens to the latest research being debated by the experts, and works through what will be the likely implications for her fellow suffers of idiopathic subglottic stenosis (a narrowing of the trachea just below the vocal cords, with no known cause). She networks like crazy, building new relationships with these practitioners and deepening existing ones. She wants to ensure her support group members have access to the latest data on what’s working and what isn’t in treatment options. Mrs A also has to sometimes call in favours for people in urgent need of medical are, which isn’t always recognised by the gatekeepers making the appointments.
The first ever patient to present at an European Laryngological Society Conference – breaking new ground!Catherine has been in touch with these doctors for up to 20 years and counts them as friends as well as esteemed colleagues!
Catherine had to crowdfund for this conference her travel and attendance costs from friends (thank you to donors who read this blog, you know who you are!) and her support group, who have given generously recognising the value the community gives them. I am enormously proud of her and the energy and enthusiasm she brings to this new vocation.
We are, I recognise, enormously privileged to have the opportunity to travel like this, combining business (for Mrs A) with pleasure. So after a few days in Milan we headed down on the train to the Ligurian coast, just to the west of Genoa. I have to say after reading supposed `’horror stories” about catching trains in Italy, it was all very civilised. Clearly the authors of these posts had never experienced rail travel recently in the UK!
In 2019, while motorhoming our way across Europe, we had stayed in a car park overlooking this gorgeous Ligurian coastline and randomly caught a ferry that took us to this little village of Camogli. We were besotted.
Catherine and Mark of four years ago, May 2019, when we first stumbled across Camogli
It still has a working fishing fleet, their catch cooked in the local restaurants. We barely heard any language other than Italian being spoken. The houses have been built up six stories, allegedly so fishermen could spot them from way out to sea, and their wives watch for their safe return (I did check and there is no record of women working on the boats).
“We’ll come back here one day” we promised ourselves, and we grabbed the opportunity when we realised we would only be a two hour (and 26 Euro!) train ride away in Milan. Our train journey into London from our home in Somerset takes about the same journey time, but costs four times as much.
So we had decided to treat ourselves to a nice hotel in Camogli. We are still getting used to not being campers, caravaners, and motor-homers, so the idea of paying lots of money for a night’s shelter still rankles! But pay we did, and had a place right on the front with sea views. Privileged indeed. Sitting over a leisurely breakfast with this view will be an enduring memory for both of us. As will for Mrs A having her first (second, third and fourth!) vegan croissant!
This was our magnificent breakfast view each morning, from the terrace above our bedroom
Our days were spent exploring by train and ferry along the coast.
A boat trip to San Fruttuoso, home to a magnificent AbbeyWe didn’t feel too sorry for the monks enjoying views like this
One trip included a trip to the more famous port town of Portofino, home apparently to the rich and famous.
Two of the smallest boats in Portofino Harbour!We climbed up to Castello Brown – once the home of the British Consulate Brown Family in the 1800s. The structure itself dates from pre 1400s, but has been renovated over the centuriesGreat view from Castello Brown – now you can see the super luxurious cruisers and villas lining the hillsides
And you can see why. What a visually stunning place, but not an iota of authenticity left we felt, and were a little relieved to get back to our more laid back Camogli. There are a lot of family owned holiday apartments there, and we met people from Milan who had been coming here for generations. It gave a lovely feel to the place as the restauranteurs knew they had to cater for returning customers.
Fine food and wine wherever we went
We had wonderful dining experiences all week, provided by people who were clearly passionate about their food and wine, and seemed genuinely to take pleasure still from seeing their customers enjoying themselves. It does help I think that I tend to be quite vocal about my tasting pleasure! We sampled some local wines of course, mostly whites, with Vermentino (or blends including this grape) being one of the main varietals. A perfect match for the variety of fresh seafood we found ourselves served. Anchovies straight from the boat, the same for a variety of fish we’d never heard of, but that didn’t deter!
Yes, the new handbag had a bit of a workoutLooking down the coast at duskOn our final day we hired a kayak for a couple of hours’ explore along the coastAnd a unique view of Camogli and our amazing room at the Sublimis Boutique HotelCamogli’s old town surrounds its port, home to many active fishing vesselsLooking along the seafront at night towards Camogli’s castle
This spring and summer has certainly had an Italian theme, with two trips within a few weeks of each other. But we both share an excitement for coming back to what we feel is our little slice of Somerset paradise. to walk amongst our trees, check on the veggies, listen to the birdsong. We’re home.
A double rainbow welcomed us home And the very well looked after Princess Tassie was there to greet us – thanks to house sitters Steve and Sam who looked after her and our home brilliantly!
Location: Rome and Loro Piceno, Italy, the Cotswolds, UK
Author: Mrs A
Just a 50 minute drive from home is Bristol Airport, and it was here we found ourselves in mid May, dropping our car off at the ‘Park and Fly’ section to board a flight to Italy. Oh so civilised, and very easy access. Within five hours, we had unpacked at our hotel, showered and changed and were sipping a refreshing Aperol at a street-side bar, people watching on the streets of Rome, Italy.
Cool temperatures and rain were there to welcome us in Rome
Here we spent a wonderful history-filled, chilled out 3 days (stepping out the 36 km/23 miles required to burn off all the pasta and pizza!), exploring the many sights within easy walking distance from our hotel.
We ambled out of our hotel on our first morning and literally stumbled across the Spanish Steps (designed by a Frenchman, but named for the Spanish Embassy which was in the square when they were built). Built in the 1720’s, they lead from the Square of Spain to the Egyptian obelisk and monastery at the top. Fine views across Rome from the top
Our first day, I had booked us a tour of the Roman Forum and Palatine Hill and the incredibly grand Colosseum. Our tour guide was fabulous – Rome born and bred and fluent in English, she knew the history inside out, and presented it in an exciting and vibrant way, as though it was her first visit too. She had our small group enthralled with her stories and extensive knowledge of the venue.
The sense of magnificent history was almost overwhelming
The Forum, which was, in Roman times, the commercial centre of the city, where markets were held, banking, trials, celebrations and political announcements made was a breathtaking area, with tall pillars and evidence of cobbled streets and squares. For nearly a thousand years, many of the structures remained buried under layers of silt from the frequently flooding River Tiber, and excavation commenced very slowly in 1803. In 1932, Mussolini decided to celebrate 10 years of the Fascist Party’s power by building a road through the area, which encouraged excavation to speed up substantially, though it seems the cataloging of findings was equally rushed. Nevertheless, this piece of propaganda means the fabulous ruins are available for us to see today.
Palatine Hill was where the royal palace was situated, and over the centuries many dignitaries have made their home on the location, with views nowadays stretching over the ruins.
Up on Palatine Hill overlooking the Forum
The Colosseum was our final stop, made famous by films such as Russel Crowe’s Gladiator (can you believe that is 23 years old now?!). From the poses for photos around the venue, it seems many of the visitors had recently watched this movie as homework! Our guide corrected the many inaccuracies in the film, including the Roman Emperor’s ‘thumbs up’ to indicate the gladiator can live vs the thumbs down meaning death. Apparently gladiators were all seen as prize sportspeople and death was not really an option.
Incredible being inside this incredible structure. It is the largest amphitheatre ever built, and is still the largest standing amphitheatre in the world, despite its age – finished in 80AD
The tour was so interesting, helping us bring parallels from Rome to so much in the UK, recognising much of the language we speak originates from the Latin spoken by our ancestors, as well as many of the roads we travel on following routes originally forged by Roman troops.
Our second day we did a tour on foot, crossing the River Tiber (now seriously protected from flooding with huge walls either side of it) and exploring around St Peter’s Square and the area around The Vatican. I debated going in as the queue was quite short, but Mr A was adamant he did not want to give Catholic priests any money and has little interest in the art and architecture within there. So we continued on our exploration without it.
St Peter’s Square looking towards the Vatican and the River Tiber on our tour across the riverCastel Sant’Angelo sits alongside the river – it was originally built as a mausoleum for the Roman Emperor, Hadrian, of Hadrian’s Wall, a Roman fortification in the north of EnglandThe Trevi Fountain – built of travertine (volcanic stone found around hot springs) and one of Rome’s oldest water sources. People toss coins over their shoulder into the water for luck – this yields about 3,000 Euro a day, which is collected by a charity and goes to help feed Rome’s poor
It was a fun city to visit, the food delicious and the people friendly, but soon it was time to leave Rome and head back to the airport to hire a car to drive across Italy to the eastern side, and our friends in La Marche. Sydney friends, Clive and Aisha, had been joined by UK friends, Mel and Barny, at a Bruce Springsteen concert in Ferrara, northern Italy, braving ankle deep mud to hear him sing. They report it was well worth it, though the two hour journey back to their car took the shine off somewhat.
The weather was cold and wet on our arrival at Mel and Barny’s Italian house in the village of Loro Piceno, and we all wrapped up warm in fleece jackets and rain coats, the views across the valley shrouded in low cloud, quite different from what we experienced when we visited last time, in June 2019.
Low cloud drifts through the valleyThrough rain and shine we had a great time!Looking across the valley just after sunset from the pool
We made the most of it though, with Mel and Barny doing us proud with incredible restaurants booked for lunch and dinners, with a combination of hillside villages and a visit to the coast too. The weather improved as the week progressed.
Mel and Barny’s house and holiday cottage (front right) with the Sibilini Mountains making a dramatic backdropA little bit of macro photography around Mel and Barny’s propertyA day out to the coast and another fine lunchA table with a view and a lot of delicious food
Mr A and I took a day trip to Assisi with Clive and Aisha, before dropping them to the airport for their flight to the next destination on their extensive holiday.
Another delicious lunch in AssisiExploring the castle and magnificent views (and cats) from the top of the town
On our last day in Loro Piceno, Mel and Barny took us to Sarnano, a stunning hilltop town. Mel and I left the boys sipping coffee and people watching, while we went off on a hike in the foothills of the Simbolini mountains, exploring a number of waterfalls. The heavy rainfall had made the usually peaceful babbling creek into a roaring torrent, and the waterfalls simply breathtaking. You would not have wanted to slip in!
Sarnano, where we commenced our hikeLoving being out amongst nature
Mel and Barny had once again given us an incredible time, showcasing the best of their region’s restaurants, views and walks, and giving us another taster of life in this stunning part of Italy. We are so grateful for their kindness and generosity.
We flew back home to a happy Tassie, having been well cared for by our Australian housesitters, Sam and Steve. We had just enough time to quickly wash our clothes, do a little gardening and repack bags to head off again to the Cotswolds to spend a few days in an AirBnB with friends in a village there!
On our way to meet them, we called in to visit a National Trust Roman Villa in Chedworth near Cirencester. Archaeologists were on site, literally peeling back the soil and grass to reveal near perfect mosaic tile floors, and we listened in on an interview for an upcoming TV programme which revealed the extent of what they were discovering.
We met up with Mark’s old school friends, Stuart and John, and Karen and Catriona, their other halves, in an AirBnB in the village of Bledington. For one day only, Andrew, the other member of the schoolboy foursome, drove up to join in the fun and frivolity.
We had left hot sunshine in Somerset, so were somewhat unprepared for the chilly north wind and heavy cloud that greeted us. The summer dresses didn’t get much of an airing, and we even lit the log fire in the evenings! We did some great walks, and the village pub was welcomed for the odd drink or two.
Yes, even another surprise celebration of my 50th! Buttercups were the order of the day in the meadows we walked across.Sunshine finally, on our last afternoon
It was a fun three nights away, and we all hugged our farewells with promises to catch up again soon. Mark and I drove back to Somerset, and by 1pm were welcoming our next guests into our home.
Phil and Libby are friends from Australia who we originally met while travelling in our caravan. We were very excited to host them at home and give them a brief taster of our area, and took them up onto the Quantock Hills for a morning walk, with lunch at picturesque café, The Rocking Horse, and dinner at our local pub. We squeezed a lot into their two nights, before dropping them off at the station to continue their travels in London.
We had two nights just us, before the next visitors from down under arrived, my dad, Richard and his wife, Sue, over in the UK for a few weeks from New Zealand, celebrating dad’s 80th. We started off by experimenting with the rotisserie feature on our new BBQ – it all went well and nobody got food poisoning – hurrah!
My brother, Alex, had also come down to Somerset to spend some time with dad, and had booked a cottage on a nearby farm to stay with his two dogs. Alex loves walking, so we left dad and Sue having a lie in and took Alex, Scout and Raffles on one of our favourite circuit walks in the Blackdown Hills.
The fields look quite special at this time of yearA beautiful summer’s day – the sunshine has well and truly arrived!
Dad and Sue joined us for lunch and a drink at our local pub, before a short walk along the River Tone.
We were very fortunate to be invited to climb the tower of St Giles’ Church, at the invitation of one of Bradford on Tone’s octogenarian residents, Dave Richards. The church dates from the 13th century, with a narrow spiral staircase taking us up the bell tower. We stopped briefly a the bellringer’s room, where the ancient church clock’s cogs and wheels click and turn before chiming each quarter hour and hour between 7am and 10pm.
At the top of the tower we were rewarded with incredible views across the village and surrounding countryside, as well as a unique view of our home.
As always, it was great fun to have them around, and time went too quickly – before we knew it they were heading off to their next visit in north London.
We had a few days to regroup, before our next trip where I am writing from today – in Milan, Italy. I have been invited here to the European Laryngology Society Conference to present the airway stenosis patient experience. My presentation is today, and the next update will come from Mr A. I bet you can’t wait!
Locations: Bradford on Tone to Marlow and back (225km cycled/140 miles)
Canals…they fascinate me. Is it something about their faded glory? A mode of transport that spread across the UK, and then as the railways provided faster and more cost efficient options, the canals were mostly left to decay. Thankfully some have remained open thanks to local communities refusing to give in to the British Water Board, who seemed happy to let them be consigned to the history books. Now many provide a thriving green corridor for wildlife, and recreational opportunities for boating, walking and in our case… cycling.
I had promised to go and meet a mate in Marlow, a small town perched on the banks of the River Thames. Taking a good look at my favourite website showing the cycling routes around the UK, I noticed that the Kennet and Avon canal ran from Bristol to Reading, a stone’s throw from Marlow. So I thought… ‘Why not ride to our local station at Taunton, take the train to Bristol (thereby saving a day’s riding, most of which I’d done before) and then cycle to Marlow, spend the weekend there, and then take a train back to Taunton from Reading (close to Marlow) and ride home?’ Well as soon as I had started researching the feasibility, Mrs A got interested as well, and an invite was formally issued. Our first UK bike tour together was mapped out, cat sitter booked, accomodation sorted and route planned. What could possibly go wrong?
Leaving home all wrapped up warm against the icy wind, and wondering what happened to the heatwave that had been forecast….!
Well… mostly it didn’t. We set off for Taunton on a breezy Wednesday afternoon, comfortable in the knowledge that we were entrusting our little Tassie to a wonderful lady (Kate) thanks to the service we use (Trusted Housesitters). Panniers were bulging with warm clothes. Spring hadn’t exactly sprung. We soon warmed up though and Taunton station was reached, bikes loaded and secured easily onto their own special carriage. All very civilised.
Two bikes and four nights’ luggage for 2 people
We didn’t leave Bristol until mid afternoon, but the rail trail that links it with Bath made for a quick trip, despite a headwind that was going to be our companion all the next day as well.
The Bristol-Bath Rail Trail – heading through a tunnelThe rail trail unsurprisingly mostly follows the railwaySome stunning scenery en-route to Bath
This trip was to be a watery themed one, from our home on a “broad ford” (the origin of our village’s name, Bradford) on the river Tone, past remnants of the Great Western Canal that once ran alongside it from Tiverton to Taunton, then along a short section of the Taunton to Wellington Canal (restored and navigable), then onto the Avon River, that joins the Kennet and Avon Canal. Then we would ride along parts of the canalised Kennet river, before finally riding along the banks of the Thames!
As we left Bath we joined the Kennet and Avon Canal, with the sun finally making an appearance. It was just magnificent cycling. Traffic free, a new view round every bend in the canal, and bird song everywhere. Cycle touring at its very best. We loved it, and reminded ourselves this was one of the reasons we decided to come back and live in England, for moments like this. Somewhere deep down in our DNA it was triggering those memories that are making us feel like we “belong” in this country.
Idyllic sceneryA sparkling spring afternoonA canal on a bridgeBlossom lined pathways and sunshine
The Kennet and Avon Canal is a magnificent piece of engineering. Built to join the two great ports of England, Bristol and London, with the 110 locks that it takes to cross the downs that stretch across the middle. It was quickly outmoded though by the railway, and now is maintained by the hard work of the Canal and River Trust and plenty of volunteer blood sweat and tears. I couldn’t believe the number of narrow boats moored like one long “barge park” all along its banks from Bath almost all the way to our destination for for the night, Bradford on Avon. Many looked like they were “live aboards”, the pandemic has certainly triggered a change in lifestyle for many. Why not live on a barge?
Bradford on Avon was in our sights by early evening, with some lovely accomodation right next to a pub on a marina. Dinner was nothing to wax lyrical about, as opposed to the breakfast. Smoked haddock… and lots of extras… what a way to start the riding day! And we were going to need plenty of fuel for our legs, even with the “pedal assist” tech we had on the e-bikes.
One of many nesting Mute Swans alongside the canal towpathWhat happens when the canal goes uphill? A lot of locks!The River Kennett below us as we cross another bridge
The headwind was wicked. We bowed our heads and put in the miles. There was more stunning riding along the canal tow path, before we were forced to leave it due to how deteriorated and slippery it had become. After Catherine had nearly made a very close acquaintance with the canal bottom, it was time to find some other options.
We were out on the very exposed Marlborough Downs. Just when we thought the head wind couldn’t get any stronger it blasted us even harder. Our brilliant e-bikes lapped it up though, still a very good work out, but the help from the battery turned what would have been (for us) an unrideable day on a manual bike into a hard but fun ride.
The Crofton Pumping Station with its magnificent chimney dating back to the early 1800sStrava missed out 15km of winding on this map of day 2’s ride
Unfortunately our accommodation for that evening was less than pleasant, but we had looked carefully at our options, and that’s all there was. A pub on a busy road. But it wasn’t the traffic noise that kept us awake, but instead the screaming from the kitchen below us, which included the phrase “lets get some more drugs”. We left early the next morning.
Before the wet, a still and serene morning’s ride
Our final leg into Marlow was easier than expected. The head wind was no more, replaced by drizzle, early spring in England keeps you guessing. Then our rural idyll unwound…Catherine had a small mishap…finding herself in the wrong gear on a hill she stopped and the bike toppled over. A badly bruised leg, sore knee and damaged pride. She dusted herself down, gritted her teeth, and set off determined to ride on in usual Catherine fashion!
Rain, rain and more rain!
We reached our fourth river of the trip, the Thames, earlier than expected and set off along the Thames Path, only to find it gated.
The River Thames – some of it has a cycleway alongside, but in the main it seems designed for pedestrians
So our final leg was along some busy A roads, not so nice, but reminding us of just how quiet our ride had been all the way from Bristol so far. Two and a half days of almost no traffic. So after a few hair raising kilometres we finally arrived at our destination, the National Sports Centre just outside Marlow, and our accomodation for two nights. It was our only option that would store our bikes.
Anyway, we caught up with friends (Martin and Ruth) had a great night out with them.
Super evening with Thai food and fine wine and companyOur second night in Marlow – pre dinner drinks at Grape Expectations
On Sunday we made the journey home, with a bit of a change of plan given Catherine’s bruises. A short ride to Maidenhead , then we had to face the dreaded intercity bike storage on the Reading to Taunton line, the subject I had read of much cyclist angst. When Great Western Railways bought their new rolling stock in 2011, right at the height of the “lets get on our bikes” movement, they decided in their wisdom to spec it with tiny spaces for bikes that have to be hung by their front wheels! Gee… good thinking guys. It wasn’t much fun, in fact it was bit of nightmare. It involved me juggling 30 kilograms of bike around a narrow corridor, standing upright then attempting to lift it onto its back wheel! The other passengers trying to get seated were mostly understanding while I manoeuvred. Well noone actually started screaming at me, plenty of tut tut and deep sighs with averted rolling eyes, in that special way only the British manage without changing their facial expression. Finally they were in, well as in as they were going to go.
It seemed only me moments later (it was actually 90 minutes!) and I was trying to persuade all the passengers with no seats (of course there was one less carriage than there should have been!) who had clustered round our bikes to move away so I could reverse engineer the whole process. The eye rolls returned and intensified. I had to ask one young gentleman three times, who was actually using my bike as a prop, to shift. The third request wasn’t terribly polite and did the trick. Or was the bike spanner I had in my hand at that point? We de-trained, more of a cascade of bikes and bags, then rode home. arriving with some relief.
An Elizabeth Line train to Reading from Maidenhead was nice and easyA stressful feat of manipulation getting our bikes onto the intercity bike storage section! Train from Reading to TauntonA very short ride to conclude our trip
England has some incredible bike paths, thanks in large part to organisations like Sustrans who are based in Bristol and are responsible for the National Cycle Network, bless them. Their little blue signs are a joy to behold, and we live just two kilometres from one of their paths from which we can cycle all over the UK, and beyond. Many miles await us, without the whole intercity train bit!
