From Alps to Highlands | FindPenguins

From Alps to Highlands Traveler

Of Dirt and Ambivalence

August 6, 2024 in France ⋅ ☀️ 20 °C

If given the option, I would always choose travelling by train over any other form of travel. It's said to be a 'romantic' means of transport - whatever exactly people mean by that. I suppose that its old-fashioned and comfortable when compared to travelling by plane or car. Though there's nothing old-fashioned about modern electric trains that dash at near 300km/h through the French countryside. Perhaps people refer to this travel as romantic due to the now exorbitant cost for a regional ticket - surely only the wealthy can afford the luxury of romance. Its a wonder then why the rich have fewer children when compared to the poor. Though I suppose children aren't considered synonymous with romance.

One practical reason why I enjoy train travel so much is because it is easy. The train drops you right in the centre of town. You get to take time out of the hustle and bustle of sightseeing to sit and enjoy the scenery of towers that zip by, barely on a map. I enjoy looking out the window so incredibly much. You enter that peaceful, retrospective mood that is so rare to find now. The other time I chased this feeling was on long regional drives, when you brain goes into autopilot and all you have to do is follow the white lines on the highway.

The scenery on the Mont Blanc Express as we travelled the long way around Lake Geneva, though the Swiss & French Alps was shocking. The mountains so tall you had to crane you neck to see their summits. Its odd the times you feel the slap of cultural difference - I felt it acutely while looking out the window of the tourist train. I'm used to sea and desert and bush. Australia is so glorious and weathered and flat-a land of sweeping plains. Having mountains looming over me, and their peaks so bare and sharp. Nothing rounded and softened by millennia. In the grand scheme of the continents and their shift, these montains are reasonably new. Imposing.

Another thought I had while our train meandered through the valleys was how much wood was used in the houses. Cute little Swiss gingerbread houses, complete with heart-shaped window frames. We were surrounded by pine trees and steep slopes - bushfires travel fastest up hills as the heat rises. I suppose the Alps are yet to see a bushfire. We were told that the distinct change in terrain and flora as you look higher up the mountain is due to it taking about a decade for the trees and grasses to grow after the snow and ice receeds for good. The mountains may be new for a content, but the treeline has extended in a lifetime.

Chamonix, the French Alp holiday town on the base of Mont Blanc was wondeful. After an hour or two the montains felt less threatening and a thing of pure awe and beauty. We bought expensive sightseeing tickets and took the cable car up Mt Brévent, opposite Mt Blanc.

At 2.5km up, Mt Blanc towered another two km higher than us, and covered in snow and glaciers. The next day when we reached the summit of another mountain neighbouring Mt Blanc, Aiguille Du Midi, we could feel the thin air and altitude. There was snow and biting
winds around us. And still Mt Blanc was above us, in the clouds.

I wonder if - or when - there will be a time that Mt Blanc will no longer be covered in white snow, even in summer. I wonder if we will change its name to 'the-sometimes-Mt Blanc', or the 'Mt Green'. Or perhaps the name will become a legend. A story we tell our children of a time not-so-long-ago when that grey topped mountain was perpetually white.

The last big tourist pull was a visit to Mer de Glace - the largest glacier in the area. I was very excited to see a glacier, and this one was dug out so you can walk inside it. Imagine walking inside an ancient, slowly moving frozen river!

The restaurant we ate fondue for dinner had pieces of twisted metal adorning the walls. The metal were from an old plane that crashed into a glacier in the 1950s and had only recently become accessible as the glacier melted due to global warming. Melting ice and melting Savoy cheese.

The tourist train to Mer De Glace was busy. Aparently around 400,000 tourists visit the Glacier in a year. We arrived to an old hotel and a tourist center under construction. The glacier was incredibly underwhelming from the viewing deck. Covered in dirt it was difficult to tell what was glacier and what was riverbank. We walked along scaffolded staircases, trooping down to enter the glacier. From what I'd read about the trip to the glacier, you were supposed to pass signposts that are placed annually at the end of the glacier to show how much it has receeded. I didn't see any of these signposts in the new staircase build. Perhaps the walk from the original hotel down to the glacier had got so long it was time for them to just construct a new entry point, for the ease of the tourists. I guess we were there to see the glacier, not the dirt where it used to be.

As we approached, the glacier became more obvious. There were white sheets covering it like a canvas roof - perhaps to keep the heat of the sun from the entrance. And then I saw the entrance. I was expecting this visit to be difficult but profound. Climate change already terrifies me to my core and makes me want to scream at humankind to pull our bloody heads in and change this capitalistic hell-scape of climate catastrophy. The ceiling of the entrance of the glacier was dripping water. Steams of it. Ancient water - older than the mountain tree line - dripping like rain on the heads of the tourists. And the tourists were not terrified at this. They were touching the walls. Taking selfies. One kid kicked the dugout walls of water. Some people had their dog on a lead in the glacier.

My eyes burned then started streaming like this poor ancient being around me. I wanted to scream and sob but was suddenly so aware of my hot breath and body heat. I hid my face in my scarf out of embrassment and to dispurse my exhale. This should not be a place for tourists. This should not be a place humans should go. My steps squelched on the flooring as I walked further in, the part of me thinking this visit to a diminishing glacier as a privilege quickly replaced by intense feeling of shame, guilt, and anger.

The glacier of ambivalence. What have we done to this poor, poor planet. And when will we wake up and do something about it?
As we left the now fast moving water of the glacier behind and entered the French
summer-the hottest 12 months on record. James reminded me that France - and a lot of Europe - have made tremendous steps toward a carbon neutral future. Australia is the country considering dropping out of the Paris agreement. There used to be a coal-fuelled steam train that would take you to Mer de Glace, and now its electric. The new tourist centre will show the history of the Glacier and its uncertain future. The sun and heat is probably making the glacier melt faster than the hot human bodies inside.

The drops of glacier water stained my jumper as we waited for the train back to Chamonix. 500 year old water - or maybe older. Older than human memory but not as old as the continents. Flowing too fast. 'Mer de Glacé' means 'sea of ice' in French - but the ancient water is flowing far too fast toward sea-level. I suppose the cycle of water is to evaporate into the sky to fall back to Earth.

I hope in my time on this Earth, nearing the end of humankind, I can say I tried. I did what I could for these ancient bodies, despite our ambivelance. I prodded the water droplets with my finger as they evaporated in the alpine heat and stepped on the train.Read more

From Alps to Highlands Traveler

Heya Granny

August 21, 2024 in Scotland ⋅ 🌬 17 °C

Hey Granny, we are having lunch in a small town called Tarbert on our way to the ferry to Isle of Arran. You know how you and Granda used to order a BELT sandwich to share at that cafe on Bay Street? Well this little cafe overlooking the harbour had a BELTCH sandwich!
Bacon, egg, lettuce, tomato and cheese. It was very yum and reminded me of you.

You would've loved to see Scotland Granny. It has such wild hills covered in beautiful red moss and purple flowers. The roads are quite terrifying to drive though, but I think you can still get pretty far by train. The scenery is truly breathtaking.

I haven't written as many blogs this time while I'm away. Mainly because I enjoy spending time with James so much that there's no time to write. Also because I feel a bit older now and less surprised by the world. But I mainly wrote blogs to keep you updated on my travels. You always had to be kept up to date with where I was and how I was doing. You would threaten to nail my foot to the floor so in future I could only travel in circles. But you never did follow through on your threat...And I'm pretty sure you loved following my adventures. 'Don't worry about sleep,' you told me, 'you can sleep when you're dead-Just have fun.'

We stayed in a guesthouse in Brodick, and the woman who ran it was from Northern Ireland. I asked her where she was from became she sounded like you - like home. I told her my
granny was from Belfast, from Ligoniel. She was from a town just out of Belfast. She remembered my name the next day and said next time we should catch up in Belfast when she's there in the winter. She reminded me of Great Aunt Marina - she was a bit more polite than you! But talking to her made me miss you more.

Remember when I was little and asked you if we have any castle ruins in our name in Ireland or maybe Scotland? You laughed and said when you were young in Belfast you slept 4 kids in one bed, top to toe, so of course we didn't have any family castle. If we did it would just be a pile of bricks anyway. I remember the kids in primary school at lunch would say their family had heirlooms and a castle and a clan history. After visiting some castles in Scotland, I'm glad we don't have any of that blue-blood connection in our family. The castles are very big and grand and mainly furnished off money made from slavery. I've never felt such pride in being from poorer stock than visiting here. Me and James visited the Thane of Cawdor's castle, owned (and still lived in!) by the Campbell clan family. The current head of the Cambells is such a rich boy - his favourite sport is Elephant Polo of all things. They had photos of themselves in the castle opened to the public, amongst all the ancient oil portraits from the 16th century, and all the huge tapestries and ugly modern painting collection. Can you imagine.

I did buy a tartan lambswool scarf, but chose the Clan McDuff tartan, in keeping with the Shakespeare theme after visiting the castle made famous by Macbeth. It's very warm and cosy wosy.

Many of the little Scottish cottages and two-up-two-down houses in the towns back right up to the road. They don't have any nature strip or even footpath, you have to drive your car carefully past their thick stone fences. As we passed one town I saw a man standing at his front gate, waiting for someone to come by and chat. I gave him a wave but I probably confused the poor man. That's the sort of culture you missed after moving to Australia hey. People love to chat here, and they are so very friendly.

Guess what granny. James proposed to me at the foot of the Fortingall Yew tree - a tree in a church yard that's said to be 5000 years old. There's an old fence around it because so many people were taking cuttings from the tree, and back in history they used to even hold funerals in the middle of the tree, burning a fire in its trunk that used to be 17m wide! His proposal was so romantic - James said he wanted to choose a place that wasn't marred by colonialism and had seen the ages of humans come and go.
Remember when I broke up with Dave you said that I deserve better than him? I remember that conversation so well, because you loved Dave (a little too much!), and even though I rarely ever saw you angry, you had such anger in your words that day. Thank you for being there when I was heartbroken, and for all the relationship advice. My favourite advice was 'the best way to get over an old love is to get under a new one'. Making me laugh when I was young and heartbroken was always the best way to help me lighten up. You loved me very very much. And you loved James very much too - he's the best I could've ever asked for. I wish you could see our wedding.

One thing that hurts the most, and that makes me the most scared, is the thought of having babies without you around. Remember when I took you to Cabrini for your specialist because your leg hurt? I think that day the doctor told you you have a cancer in your leg, but when you came out of the specialist and I drove you home you said nothing to me about it at all. Just that everything is fine. Remember that day I asked lots of questions about babies - what's the best way to put them to sleep, and how do you introduce solids and all the rest. I find the internet gets really overwhelming, but your advice was so clear and easy. Then remember as we were going back to the carpark there was a new mum with her tiny baby. You couldn't help yourself! You got right up to the baby and said 'ach what are they doing to you!'. I remember how tired and overwhelmed the new mum looked. She didn't seem bothered by you coming up to them and their tiny baby. It was a sweet little thing. I remember thinking how lucky I'll be to have you around, so hopefully I'll never be that tired and overwhelmed when I have a baby. But to be fair, if you were around there's a good chance I'd never see the baby - much like when I was born you never put me down! Me and the cousins had Irish accents before we had Aussie. I feel so sorry to not have you around for whatever might come in my future with James. Please look down and help when you can though.

Although we both believe in ghosts, ghosts scare you but don't (often) scare me. I doubt you'll ever visit me. I would love it if you did. The thing I love about Scotland is how old it is - our people have lived on these lands for centuries and centuries. Maybe not as long as the Fortingall Yew tree, but nearly. We drove past farm fields and saw standing stones from the Picts and from the Pagans. On our first day driving we visited this spot called 'Dunino Den' which is where the Druids used to do human sacrifice and carved faces and Celtic symbols into the rock for their ancient ceremonies. The place felt so spiritual. Me and James climbed up some slippery ancient steps and when we got to the top of this rock the wind picked up like the forest fairies were giving us some warning. Then when we went back down it started really raining but the canopy kept us perfectly dry. I was certain the fairies or ghosts had cursed us, but everything on this trip has been perfect. Although I think I have lost some pairs of knickers and socks - maybe the fairies have been stealing them.

One thing I didn't realise until after you died was how much I'd feel like I'd lost a part of my culture. Scottish culture is actually quite different from Northern Irish. And even then, our family doesn't speak any Gaelic or anything, so I suppose there's a lot of Irish culture we miss out on too. But being in Scotland has made me feel a bit like I'm skirting around the edge of a culture that is slipping through my fingers. Me and James went to a pub in Oban that was hosting a Scottish Ceilidh dance. We sat outside and listened to the bagpipe music and watched the adults and young kids dance and jig. Scottish music is quite different from Irish. But you know they played 'I'll Tell Me Ma', and that song of course reminded me of you, and has been stuck in my head ever since. I wonder if they also change the lyrics from 'Bell from Belfast City' to 'Bell from Oban City', depending on what town they are in.

After you died, me and Allie went through some of the old photo you had been sorting out. We found the most beautiful photos of younger you in a lovely dress, sitting on a hill in Ireland. I thought how free and happy you looked - I wonder if you were ever that happy and at home in Australia - Ireland really was your home. I hope you are back there now.

Maybe that's why I miss you so much at the moment. Maybe you're a bit closer to me while I'm here, just across the sea.

We go home in a couple of days and I'm going to give Granda the biggest hug. He misses you so. We all do.

Love you granny. Miss you.Read more