Travelling in the west country

Cornwall Blog The journey to Cornwall was slower than expected. Google maps and my Tom Tom both said just over four hours. I thought this to be optimistic – and slow patches on the M25 and M3 and a one hour tailback on the A303 around Stonehenge - meant it took closer to six. But the second half of the journey was lovely and much more scenic than blowing down the M4 and M5. The high ridges of Wiltshire gave wonderful views of the plains below, golden with wheat, some already harvested and stacked with straw bales (farmers here opt for tradition rather than the modern silage bags). Hopefully the heat and dryness of the past few weeks should give farmers a better (and more suitable) wheat harvest than they had last year. Further west, the roads got truly hilly as one passes through Somerset and Devon and finally to the imposing Tamar Bridge (built alongside, and almost exactly 100 years after Isabard Brunel built, the Royal Albert Bridge train bridge, linking Cornwall to the rest of the country).

Once in Cornwall the landscape changes dramatically. The hills get steeper (necessitating one or two gear changes), the corners sharper. Then once off of the main roads the lanes become unimaginably narrow – mostly wide enough for just one vehicle, punctuated with passing places, sometimes touching one in five gradients and hemmed in with dry stone walls often with trees growing on top of them.

I found the festival site relatively easy (I used to live in this area many years ago). It’s outstandingly beautiful- perched on a cliff top overlooking Looe and its island to the west and Rame Head (protecting the entrance to Plymouth harbour) to the east. I didn’t locate my friends but everybody there was so friendly willing to get to know strangers. It’s a small gig - maybe 500 people in all – and half of them seem to be helpers. That may have helped with the friendliness – but the contrast between the country and cities where I spend most of my time was very striking.

Sometime in the evening a small flock of (rare breed) goats and sheep came with feet of my (and others’) car and tent. There is a trampled space of earth where gorse bushes provide some respite against the predominant sou’westerly winds – probably one of their favourite sleeping places. The two lead goats came to the brow of the hill and paused for several minutes sniffing the air until the second goat (the vice-captain?) turned around and away from the human intruders followed by the sheep and finally the leader of the pack. It would have been a wonderful moment to capture on film but my camera was out of reach and any movement on my part would have been sure to break that magic moment. Sadly I didn’t seem these beautiful beasts again during my stay – they must have found a secluded corner of the site to retire to.

As night feel the lights of Looe started to twinkle reflecting brightly in the cam sea and rising up the hill. Lights on the horizon marked the passage of tankers many miles south. Nothing else south of here before the Bay of Bisac. My neighbour on the campsite worked on the local ferry and was formerly a coastguard and regaled me with tales of wrecks, smugglers and salvagers.

Later in the evening I head back down to the marquee, which is full of dreads and acoustically well-sheltered from any neighbours. The headline blues band is just winding down. The audience thins out before the acoustic set and then a pair of Ds who play some of the best reggae I have heard in years I kept on going up to them ask ‘who is this?’). At one point one of the woman who played an acoustic set earlier in the day took up the mic and started toasting over the song ‘Babylon bring you down’. A another the DJ started played didge over the tracks he was playing. Yes they kept us dancing till dawn (long time since I did that).

The next day started rather late. I moved all over five miles down the coats from the festival site to a farm down the road (which I wrote about last year- link here). I spent a couple of night camping in the lovely apple orchard. This yer it was dry and warm and the vegetation much more fully developed (I was there early may last year) – giving an air of seclusion to each of the small individual terraced campsites that run along the side of the orchard. Without wishing to plug my friend’s business I think it is one f the best thought through and cared for camp sites that I have ever stayed on. Not only is each pitch surrounded by willow stands – giving it privacy but comes complete with a picnic table, fire pit (the hub of an old tractor wheel) and small supply of wood. All of this for only a fiver a night.

I spent a couple of days doing a bit of WWOOFing (some jobs - like pulling out Japanese Knotweed are perennial – I was set to them last year too) and catching up on how people on the farm are faring. I stayed there for six months or so 30+ years ago and it has retained its identity as a community (although a looser association than in the ‘hippy days’) and an organic farm. It’s an association I value and hope to retain. The last day I chill a bit, make my way down the hill to the beach (in the hope of it being warm enough to tempt me into the sea- which unfortunately it wasn’t), meet up (by chance) with someone I had met at the festival two nights before, treat myself to a (hugely overpriced) bacon sarnie before hitting the road back to London. The roads are smooth on the way – I do the trip straight through from east Cornwall to East Surrey in just over 4 hours – with just a piss stop on the way. For the first time ever I’ve managed to get 800km out of a tank of diesel (almost exactly 50L). My car must have an affinity with the roads of the South West. I’m discovering that I certainly do.

Footnotes: This piece is somewhat inspired by reading Patrick Leigh Fermor’s accounts of his walking trip across Europe (from Rotterdam to Constantinople) in the 1930s (at the tender age of 19). Written on the road - but posted from home: proofreading, links and photos to follow.

Vilnius City Tour

In Vilnius -a short city tour as a prelude to our organic conference.

This is big trip for me- the first time I have flown for four years - the first new country for me to visit in six (same for being outside the Euro Zone - UK Excepted) and the first time I visiting a country that was previously part of the USSR. Stories to follow later (maybe).

Sailing into 2013 - part 2 -words

I spent ten days - from my birthday till last Sunday without going on-line (except once to check the traffic news and weather before travelling over to West Wales).  I wanted to sit up and rest in what Laurie Anderson termed the information super lay-by.  I also just wanted to enjoy the company of friends and the expereince of being a tourist (and in part a tour guide) in my own culture. On the way home I scribbled the following lines on the ferry:

New Year seen in with talking, drinking, eating and visiting friends in England and Wales.

Touching base
And travelling for nine days with my best buddy (without once arguing)
Showing him the sights of London, the suburbs and West Wales beyond.
Seeing the clouds and mist there rise and fall; opening up and closing down vistas of these ancient hills
Goginan, Clarach, Aber, Borth, Cwm Einion
Ancient landscapes, also part of my history (this is where I….)
But most, importantly friends, the closest I have to family.

But first a paternal visit. My father, usually withdrawn staring into his lap

Sometimes trying to communicate, incoherently, but at least with a smile.
Passing his last days in a nursing home.
I feel I should do more, but what more is there to do?

New Year; tasting potcheen for the first time

Gathering pebbles from the beach
And snapshots of the places en route
And swapping texts with an occasional (but unavailable on this trip) lover

And pouring over OS maps, remembering past adventures

Driving roads on ancient tracks that crawl along the sides of forgotten valleys
Where water flows fast and furious from mountain to the sea
Or climb high above the tree line to the moors above, covered in cloud.

Talking about movies, books, songs, gigs seen in 2012

Rediscovering my copy of Kerouac’s Dharma Bums on a friend’s bookshelf
(Loaned to I forgot whom more than ten years ago - but always missed)
And my friends’ kids, bright and sparky, some already in Uni, some with jobs, one pregnant  

And kites in the sky
English (Welsh?) breakfasts
And waves crashing on the shore

And finally travelling home on the ‘comfy ferry’

With all these images in my head
Back to my adopted home city
Catching my breath for whatever 2013 has in store

Only sublimely inspired by Van Morrison's 'Hyndford Street'

Behind the scenes

I’ve been quite quiet recently. It’s because I’ve been plotting and planning something that has stretched me in all sorts of directions. Yesterday it came to fruition. I signed a contract on a luxury 70 sq. m. flat in Brussels: for the same price I pay for a piece of, lets just say, sub-prime accommodation and an office in Holland that together offer me a glorious 45 sq. m.

It’s been almost two months of plotting and planning but last night I had the keys and slept there. Still two weeks before I move, three weeks before I close the flat in Wageningen but it feels like ‘job done’. Touch wood the whole thing has gone smoothly so far- two issues remain- putting the final details to what I hope will be a memorable leaving party and working out whether I should / have to change my car insurance / number plates to the Belgian system. It’s too late to worry about that tonight.

Instead I went out with a friend to celebrate. In typical Belgian style we ate at nine-thirty and in keeping with the international ambience we ate a la Roumanie. A hearty meal – we didn’t even make it to dessert. There are so many good and affordable restaurants in Brussels and eating out is a very strong part of the culture. In Holland I eat out about once a month – here it averages twice a week. It’s what people do – part of the ‘South European mentality” – even though geographically Brussels is only 100k from Holland it has an entirely different vibe. People ask me if Brussels is expensive. That aspect of life certainly pushes up the monthly spend.

The future’s bright. The future’s not just Orange.

Spouting forth

After weeks of graft I have temporarily relocated (guess where?). I could have named this entry 'on the piss' or 'taking the piss' but I guess this blog community has certain levels of decorum that should be respected.

I don't much like writing in the 'first person' anymore. I don't want to bore people (or expose myself) with the difficulties or joys of living, running and managing my own life. I'll keep that for my personal 'growth (or not) journal' and share it with my gohonzon . Nor do I want to get distracted by trivia, like trying to assess why a less-than-half-a-metre-high statue has become the definitive icon of Brussels, or the challenges of negotiating Brussels' public transit ticketing system.

But it is nice to hear, speak and eat French again. Je me sens a l'aise (I feel at ease). Sadly - French kissing has not yet been part of my Brussels' experience.

I realise that I have relocated here at the worst possible time of year; when everyone and their dog is going on holiday. All the civil society things I would like to join in with are closed for around for 4-6 weeks. The local newsagent/'tabac' is shut for a (catch this) a SIX WEEK holiday. Man, I wish I had the chutzpah to close my business down for that long. (I also wish I had a house in the country to 'retire to' for that period too - but let's not go there). I do have a certain (and not very well disguised) admiration for that gallic gall. It's a valuable antidote to the 'do do do' nature of Dutch culture. I hope it rubs off a bit on me during my stay here.

week 13 - part 1

Summertime finally hits in. I have an appointment with a ferry and a little stress about getting there - with an hour’s less sleep than normal. And then my car won’t start. Whirr, whirr, whirr- it’s not the battery- and I don’t know much about diesel engines (so it can’t be the timing, or the plugs) – and I don’t have a home start policy, because home starts are usually about flat batteries - and friends or neighbours can sort those out. Small stress. Go upstairs and chant for inspiration –go back down and the car starts – inspiration, belief in overcoming obstacles, or what? Baby’s on the road again on his quarterly (or so) visit to check on his father and his affairs.

This route is getting familiar- one hour to the Belgian border- circumvent Antwerp and Brussels – take a coffee and pain chocolat in a Belgian service station – relish the opportunity to speak French for 2 minutes – and to be in a service station that presents its food better than most Dutch restaurants (and, of course, ask myself if I am living in the wrong country). Get to Calais with an hour and a half to spare. Rather than sit in a dingy harbour I go to the beach for short while. Yellow sands, blue sea, footprints of seabirds on the shore – it’s been a long time since I was in a place where nature is so much stronger than human influence. A ham sandwich and a mini-tetrapak of apple juice. Shall I dip my toes in the sea? No, it’s still March – certainly really cold…..Then I’d have to towel all the sand off.

On the boat –at the front of the queue. I watch the seagulls flying in the wake of the boat’s stream. How fast do they fly? They are wheeling and circling and still keeping up with a boat doing – what- 20 knots? I try to watch one and see how many loops (s)he does to keep track with the boat. Many. All the gulls make a point of staying behind the boat as if it would devour them if they got too close.

Customs call at Dover – young guy comes over and asks innocent questions about where I’m going, how long I’m staying – all the while surreptiously tapping the panels next to the drivers door to see if they sound hollow or not – it's a Dutch wagon – prime suspect I guess – but I pass. There’s time to spare - and not too much stress –so I call my occasionally-in–debt friend on the North Downs – and arrange to stop by for a ‘cup of tea’ – which of course, being Britain, turns into a walk and a pint (ah yes an adequate amount of liquid within one glass). ‘Home’ before ten- reheat a dish of lentils, bacon and spuds – which keeps me farting much of the night.

Whispers home at last, whispers home at last...

I been away

And had a bad few weeks----
A surfeit of work in September and October- which delayed an overdue trip to the UK - where I experienced: connectivity problems (which deserves a whole blog) - too many time changes (at a time of year when it really counts)- 'homesickness' (after visiting friends in west Wales and seeing real darkness and wilderness for the first time in too many years) and guilt (my instincts tell me father is dying and I should be in London more - but how?).

Of course there were good bits in all of that. New books, music, ideas, contacts - seeing an autumn that showed the best colours I can remember(photos to follow) and seeing friends with whom I have a long history. (And went to one of the best firework displays I can remember seeing).

But when I came back two weeks ago I just hid under the duvet for two weeks. Went into my office when I had to - but otherwise blew out social engagements, skipped Dutch classes, drumming circle, Buddhist meetings and other non-essential obligations.

Today the sun came out and I went up to the garden and filled carrier bags with root vegetables (parsnips and celeriac) and leeks. There's something fresh and invigorating about the smell of freshly newly picked vegetables - that hopefully should refresh even the most jaded palette...

Tom Tom turn around

The last few weeks I have been going out quite a lot with my tom tom. I found her (the voice is programmed as female) a great passenger: she never criticizes my driving ability and never complains if I question or overrule her navigational advice. Eventually I decided to take her on holiday with me: always a testing time for a new relationship, especially when it involves being cooped up together in a car for an eighteen hour drive. I learned a lot more about her temperament. Turns out she's a bit bipolar (yeah - I have a bit of history in that respect). Either she wants to go the fastest route or else she takes down the smallest roads imaginable. I had a hint at this side of her when we went to London together and when I turned off the motorway to avoid a long tailback she responded by taking us up some narrow twisty lanes that I never knew existed (although we were some 20KM from where I had grown up).
After twelve hours on the motorway to the south of France I decided I wanted a break on some A-roads (Routes Nationales) and she tried to take me along the most direct route which, on more than one occasion involved going up or down steep, dusty, lanes into what looked like people's backyards. Still we made it all the way to Aix-en-Provence without an argument- but once there my temper got frayed. I had some paintings to deliver to a gallery in the heart of the old city. Unbeknown to me there is just one access road for cars to that quarter. That Saturday it was closed for filming. All day. Every time I was diverted by the police and road blocks the tom tom, politely but insistently, tried to send me back the same way. I went to the same road block three times. Eventually the police explained that the road was the only access road and advised me to return after after 12. I tried again at 3 and the road was again closed. Eventually I returned at 6.30 and got to my destination- only to find out that the people at the gallery hadn't been told by their office (whom I had spoken to the previous week) to expect a delivery. So I was parked in a street wide enough for two horses, trying to resolve this problem in French while my parked car bought the entire centre of Aix to a a halt. The French - being French - were not slow to express their displeasure at having their streets blocked by a Dutch van. It was as if France had won the World cup (fat chance...). Eventually I resolved the problem and got my ass out of there but didn't want to speak to my tom tom for three days afterwards. Next week (this week now) I have a human passenger sharing my car for a week - I wonder whether the navigation will go as smoothly.