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A European Odyssey

August - November 2016
In 2016 a group of 40 Australian cyclists completed a 6 week cycling adventure in Europe. This ride took them from Bruges to Budapest. It was an experience they will never forget. Read more
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  • The World on Two WheelsA European Odyssey

    We Risk a Ramble

    October 18, 2016 in England ⋅ 🌙 9 °C

    Tuesday October 18th
    In Which we Risk a Ramble

    After leaving Portsmouth, our home for the next two days was the quaint sounding village of Chickerell, on the outskirts of Weymouth. When I made the booking I knew nothing about either Weymouth or Chickerell, but it was located in a convenient position on our westerly migration along the Southern English Coast and the Heritage B & B did have excellent reviews on Tripadvisor.

    When we arrived the small hotel we were certainly very impressed with the outward appearance, and the inside of our room was even more impressive. Although the three hundred year old floors did rise and fall underfoot, the place was absolutely magical and the owners had done an amazing job in restoring and decorating the rooms.

    When I asked what we should do while in Chickerell, we were advised to drive back through Weymouth and explore the rugged Portland Island and visit the lighthouse at the southern tip (the "Portland Bill").

    After breakfast we climbed in our Mokka (the rental car) and drove through the narrow maze of streets, past hundreds of drab and monotonous rows of houses and headed south to Portland Island. Outside of the area, the only thing that people would know about the place is that it is home of portland rock. I had also heard of Portland cement and I had to admit that the place was just about as exciting as a rock quarry had a right to be.

    The shops were dirty and dilapidated and looked like they had not received any input of maintenance or enthusiasm for a mighty long time. We passed a sad looking hairdresser with the name "Island Beauty" and could not help thinking that if anything needed a beauty makeover it was that terrible shop.

    We squeezed the car through the jumble of narrow streets, admired the view from the top of the highest point on the island and then continued to the Portland Bill, to see the lighthouse. We needn't have bothered. The place was bleak, cold and deserted and the lighthouse was apparently "closed for urgent repairs". It seemed in keeping with the rest of the place. We climbed back in the car, turned up the heater and drove back to Chickerell.

    The other thing we had been advised to do while in Chickerell was to do the so called "Turks Head Walk".

    It was a classic English ramble, through farm paddocks, over numerous styles, through "kissing gates" and along a succession of back lanes. By the time we started, the sun had broken through and we were keen to get going.
    Maggie grabbed the instructions and took on the role of chief navigator, while I followed along behind, happy to have someone else do the work. I had to admit that it really was a load of fun and the coastal views along the coastal water feature known as "The Fleet" were spectacular. The area has a fascinating and rich history and we were captivated by the small church and ancient graveyard that marked the site of Fleet village. The sign explained that the entire village had almost been wiped out by a huge storm in 1826. The waves breached the natural breakwater and severely damaged all the buildings in the town. Nowadays there is a beautiful little row of attached homes that mark the location. All are made from local stone and feature thatched roofs and are as pretty as a postcard.

    We returned back to our temporary home with a much more positive opinion of the area. In the evening we returned to the Turks Head Pub for dinner. The meal was delicious and the servings were enormous. No wonder the locals love their pubs so much.

    Tomorrow we move on to discover more of the Jurassic Coast before making our way north to Bideford.    Read more

  • The World on Two WheelsA European Odyssey

    All Roads Lead to Chickerell

    October 19, 2016 in England ⋅ 🌧 10 °C

    Wednesday October 19th
    In Which all Roads Lead to Chickerell

    It should have been an easy drive. Our plan certainly sounded simple. We were going to leave our B & B in Chickerell and then follow the famous Jurassic Coast through Lyme Regis and Sidmouth to Exmouth, before turning north and driving up to Horns Cross (near Bideford). The total distance was estimated to be around 140 km. In Australia we would not think twice about driving that far in a couple of hours, so it shouldn't be much different in the UK. Or so we thought.

    The first few km were achieved without incident, although the narrowness of the roads was quite disconcerting at times, especially when you had to face huge semi trailers, farm tractors and suicidal locals all racing towards you without slowing down and with only a few inches of clearance on each side.

    We got to within a few km of Lyme Regis and looked forward to a pleasant break by the seashore.

    "It will be a good stop for morning tea, or maybe we will wait and have it at Sidmouth instead", I told Maggie. It never turned out that way.

    Just when Lyme Regis was almost within reach, our way was blocked by a complete barrier over the road. ROAD CLOSED. What did they mean, Road Closed ? Surely there must be a short detour around the obstruction ? We drove back a few km to the first village we encountered. Maggie went into a shop to ask directions. She came back looking confused. "I couldn't understand a word he said", she explained. We had no choice but to keep going back, and back, and back. There was just no way to get in the direction we wanted. About an hour later we found ourselves driving back past the actual place we had spent the previous night in. Yes, we were right back where we had started, and still going even further backwards ! It was a navigational nightmare of the first order.

    We finally reached the end of the "DIVERSION" and estimated that it had added at least 2 hours to our journey. At least we were heading in the right direction again and we did eventually reach Lyme Regis and we did stop for something to eat, but it wasn't morning tea. It was lunch, and a late lunch at that. The town was a classic English seaside town with narrow and very steep streets

    We managed to find a parking place on the outskirts and then walked (climbed) down the steep cliffside into the township itself. It was a pleasant place, but by now we were well behind schedule, so could not stop for long.

    We resumed our westerly travels to the beautiful Sidmouth. This is a larger town with a delightful atmosphere. We would have liked to have spent more time but the clock was ticking and we did not know what other challenges might be lying in wait for us further on. We decided to skirt Exmouth and start our journey north to Bidewell by well of Chulmleigh and Barnstaple. Although the countryside was pleasant, it was not possible to see a lot of it due to high hedges on the sides of the narrow roads. The succession of towns we passed through were also rather drab and a little disappointing. It was also starting to get dark, so we kept pressing on trying to reach our destination before nightfall.

    We also had a problem that we did not have an actual address for the B&B. The voucher we had printed off from Booking.com just described its location as somewhere called "Horns Cross, near Bideford". While we could find Bideford on the map, we could not find anything called Horns Cross, so we knew we could be in for a spot of bother. I did have the latitude and longitude of the place, so decided to feed that data into the GPS and hope for the best

    Like a dog with a new scent, the GPS started spitting out instructions - TURN LEFT in 250 Metres, turn right in 500 metres, etc and so on. The only problem was that the already narrow road we had been on suddenly became a dog track. It was barely wide enough for us to squeeze through and seemed to be getting narrower. With the high hedges on both sides we could not see a thing. Every time we changed direction (which was often) we felt that we were in imminent danger of being wiped out by an approaching vehicle.

    At one particularly narrow and scary part Maggie asked "What if we meet a truck now?" A second later her question was answered when a monster truck appeared out of the darkness. I slammed on the brakes with my heart palpitating wildly. He was much bigger than me so I tried to find reverse gear. Damn these manual transmissions. I struggled to reverse back and immediately went back into the nearest hedge. The amused truck driver then took pity on the couple of elderly dimwits, flashed his headlights and started to reverse back for us. A few minutes later we had edged our way past and our near death experience had been survived.

    My patience was finally starting to snap.

    "I hate these stupid, idiotic, ridiculous roads", I yelled at Maggie. "Why can't they build proper ones ?" She told me to calm down and keep driving. Easy for her to say, I thought, she wasn't sweating all over the steering wheel.

    Somehow we finally found Horns Cross, found a small notice with the name of the B&B on it and miraculously drove into the driveway. My nerves were shot, I was tired and cranky and just wanted somewhere to rest. The friendly proprietor directed us which steep staircase to drag our suitcases up and finally we collapsed on the bed. It had been an interesting day.    Read more

  • The World on Two WheelsA European Odyssey

    A Chance Encounter

    October 20, 2016 in England ⋅ 3 °C

    Thursday October 20th
    In Which a Chance Encounter Yields a Rich Reward

    One of the magic things about travel is that it is often the unplanned events that bring the most pleasure. An example of this occurred this morning while we were having breakfast at our B&B in Horns Cross. Another couple were also having breakfast at the same time and we started to share our travel experiences. When they heard which direction we were planning to travel they made a strong recommendation.

    "You must visit the village of Clovelly", the gentlemen advised. "You will not see anything else like it in England".

    They went on to describe just why they considered it to be so unique. It certainly sounded worth a small detour from our planned route, since it was only a few kilometres along the road from Horns Cross. We packed our bags, carefully reversed out into the narrow laneway and then turned on to the A39 towards Cornwall

    The roads in the UK are classified into M (motorways), A and B or minor roads. M class roads are usually divided and allow for high speed touring from place to place. The next class of major roads are the so called A class roads. These would be similar to our national highways between country towns. You might therefore expect that A class roads would provide safe driving with wide carriageways and few bends. In that case you would assume wrong. In fact driving on an A class road means that you have limited visibility ahead, are likely to face right angled bends every few hundred metres and barely have enough room to safely manoeuvre past oncoming vehicles. It does mean that driving times are always significantly longer than what you had planned.

    We reached the turnoff to Clovelly (pronounced Clo - Valley) and found ourselves driving along another narrow laneway with a canopy of overhanging trees. We soon reached the point where a sign announced that cars could proceed no further. We had to park and proceed on foot. The entry to the town is via a large "visitors' centre" where you have to hand over 7 pounds each for the privilege of walking the streets. This seemed a little steep, but since we had come this far, I opened the wallet and paid the money (and NO, there was no seniors’ discount)

    We walked through the centre and then quickly discovered just why people would fall in love with this place. Firstly there are no cars, in fact it would be impossible for any vehicle to proceed along the 30% gradient of the main street. The tiny main street is paved with rounded cobbles which must be horrendously slippery when wet. Fortunately we had another glorious sunny day and were able to walk without sliding into oblivion.

    Outside every residence is a home built sled, which is their sole way of transporting any goods into our out of the village. We witnessed numerous locals pulling all sorts of items (suitcases, tools, groceries, etc) on these sleds. I wondered how they would cope if one of the residents wanted a piano delivered.

    Looking down the main street you can see the wide blue expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. The houses of the village are all painted uniformly white and appear to be clinging to the sheer cliffside for dear life. We scrambled all the way down to the small harbour, trying not to think about how hard it was going to be climbing back up to the top again. As we sat at the water's edge, listening to the sea gulls and the gently lapping water, it truly was an incredible moment that neither of us will ever forget.

    Since we were still in Devon, we decided that we MUST have a Devonshire Tea before we move on to neighbouring Cornwall. About half way back up the main street of Clovelly we found a small tea room and ordered two serves of "Cream Tea" at a cost of around 5 pounds each. We sat in the sunshine eating the scones, drinking the delicious tea and considering ourselves two of the luckiest people in the world.

    We then scrambled back up the path and back to our car. It was time to start moving once again. One thing we were in desperate need of was cash. Automatic teller machines are not as common in the UK as they are in Australia and some places refuse to take payment by card. When the GPS told me that there was a bank in Bude, ,we once again turned off the A39 and drove into this small township. To my relief I found the ATM machine and filled my wallet with pounds.

    By this time we were ready for lunch. Since we had now left Devon and were in Cornwall, I thought it only right that we should sample a genuine Cornish pasty. We found a little cafe, sat down and ordered two Cornish pasties. The young waitress was very polite and soon produced two plates with the pasties we had looked forward to sampling.

    I have to admit that, in spite of our initial excitement, the pasties were quite disappointing. They were mostly filled with doughy pastry and seemed to have very little by way of vegetable or meat. I had enjoyed much better pasties in many places in Australia. Neither us of could finish our pasties as they were sticking to the roofs of our mouths too much. Well not all of life's experiences live up to expectations.

    We climbed back in the car and drove the rest of the way to Tintagel, our home for the next two days. This town has enjoyed a King Arthur led tourist boom, since some historians have claimed that the Tintagel Castle ruins are actually the location of King Arthur, Merlin and the Knights of the Round Table. Whether that is true or not I cannot say, but the location certainly is beautiful and the towering clifftops along the ocean's edge make for exciting walking.

    We walked to the entrance to the castle ruins too late in the day to do any exploring so decided we would leave that to the next day instead. We diverted our walk and followed the clifftops around to the haunting looking St Materiana's Church. This ancient building dates back to the 14th century and inside there is a list of every priest that had served there, right back to the early 1300s. The surrounding fields were covered with hundreds of ancient gravestones.

    Our evening meal was at the "King Arthur's Arms" Pub, one of 5 or 6 pubs in this tiny village. Just about every business in the town has been named after some aspect of King Arthur, Avalon, Camelot, etc, I am not sure whether or not there was another pub called "King Arthur's Legs", but I would not have been surprised if there was. The dinner itself was not really up to a high standard. If we were food critics we would have given it about a 4/10.    Read more

  • The World on Two WheelsA European Odyssey

    In Search of Camelot

    October 21, 2016 in England ⋅ ☀️ 7 °C

    Friday October 21st
    In Which we Search for Camelot

    I think you can learn a lot about a population from the state of their shops. In our travels around the counties of Dorset, Devon and now Cornwall we had seen a huge number of shops that look like they have not changed their window displays since the 1950s. It is common to see a shop window filled with a mixture of assorted goods, all in faded boxes, covered in dust and with a few dead flies scattered around for effect.

    While we were in Tintagel we were thrilled to find that the town had a laundromat as these are often very difficult to find in some countries. We bundled up our dirty washing, grabbed a pocketful of coins and went to the shop to catch up with our laundry. On entering the place, the first impression was one of perpetual neglect. The fronts of the two washing machines were covered in a greasy residue of numerous past washes and looked like it was a long, long time since they had been wiped clean.

    The same was true of the soap drawer - layers of gunk that had Maggie shaking her head in disgust. I have visited laundromats in many different countries but never seen one so neglected as this dump.

    To compound matters even further there were absolutely no instructions whatsoever as to how to operate the machines. We had no choice other than to keep feeding in coins until something happened. About 4 pounds later the water started to fill, so we assumed it had started. Since the display was broken it was impossible to tell how long the process was going to take.

    I sat down and looked around the place. Hanging on a peg was a bulging bag labelled "lost socks". It appeared that the locals were inept at counting their socks to check to see if they still had an even number at the end of each wash.
    Nearby was an even larger bag of crumpled clothing - presumably many people had trouble even remembering that they had put their clothes in the washing machine at all. On top of the dryer was a pair of old underpants, waiting to be claimed. This was getting ridiculous. It looked like the whole town was full of people who simply pooled all their clothes into some huge communal pile. Only in England I guess.

    This leads me to make some generalisations about the English population we had observed and met in our travels.

    Firstly, they generally are an overweight and very unfit lot. I have never seen such a concentration of people with mobility scooters, walking sticks and zimmer frames. We began to feel as if the whole population had trouble standing upright or moving from place to place. It also looks like they seldom visit the dentist, wear second hand clothing and probably have odd socks. From our experience at the laundromat, it may also be true that half of them are wearing someone else's underpants. They also seem to shuffle along the street, looking as if they are not quite sure where they are going. After what we had seen of the disciplined and conscientious work ethic of the Germans, we wondered just how the British ever managed to win the war.

    In spite of that, they are no doubt generally a friendly bunch, although they share a universal dislike and distrust of the French. Maybe that is because the French just have so much more savoir faire than they do. The typical English person does not seem to have much interest in maintenance or modernisation. The principle seems to be "if it ain't broke, don't fix it", in fact, on second thought, I would say that it is more like "if it IS broke, don't fix it either".

    After our experience at the laundromat we set out to explore the so called Tintagel Castle.

    This is a stark collection of ruins and relics that is precariously scattered over the sheer cliffs near the township. The interest in these ruins has been increased to near fever pitch because of the claims that they may be the ruins of King Arthur's Castle. Then again they may not. In any case, they certainly are spectacular and are great fun to explore.

    In order to wander the ruins you first need to hand over 7 pounds for the privilege (and NO there is no concession rate) and then navigate the vertiginous steps above the raging sea. It is not for the faint hearted and Maggie certainly had to confront her inner demons to make the crossing. I was so proud that she did manage to complete the walk and she was very pleased with herself and I am sure that it is not something she could have done even a couple of years ago.
    In this part of the world there is a lot of Welsh spoken and it was intriguing to see many signs in both English and Welsh. I love the Welsh accent but I had to admit that their language sounded like someone gargling in gravel and sea water.
    In the evening we went to dinner at a little Italian restaurant called the Olive Grove. It was a superb meal and the service was also great. It helped make up for the disappointment we had experienced the previous night at the King Arthur's Arms Pub.    Read more

  • The World on Two WheelsA European Odyssey

    A Visit to the Doctor

    October 22, 2016 in England ⋅ ⛅ 9 °C

    Saturday October 22nd
    In Which we Visit a Famous Doctor

    In the extremely popular TV show Doc Martin, the eccentric and always grumpy Doctor Martin Ellingham operates his dysfunctional surgery from the seaside town of Portwenn in Cornwall. In reality there is no such place as Portwenn, the TV show is actually filmed in the town of Port Isaac, about 10 km from Tintagel.
    Since we were already heading west from Tintagel to St Ives, we thought it might be interesting to make a small diversion and have a look at this famous location.
    As you get closer to the village it is easy to see that the TV show has obviously resulted in changes to the life of the place. There are numerous posters advertising "Doc Martin Walking Tours - only 10 pounds a head". While that might be a money spinner for some local entrepreneurs, I suspect that the newfound fame has proven to be something of a poison chalice for the rest of the small town.

    I wonder how the 700 permanent residents really feel about the busloads of tourists who daily descend on the village, trying to take selfies of themselves in every well known location used in the TV show. At least, while we were there, the production crews were nowhere to be seen, although there were still around 200 or more people who were wandering around the narrow streets. I could only wonder how busy it would be in the peak summer season.

    There is no doubt that it is a magic location, with its cluster of stone and white washed cottages clinging tenaciously to the steep cliffsides. There is a small working harbour, protected from the worst of the seas by two large concrete breakwaters.

    We spent around an hour wandering around the streets and lanes before resuming our journey to St Ives. It was a relief when we finally left the tiny, narrow (and somewhat claustrophobic) hedge lined back roads and turned into a wider motorway. This allowed me to drive without having my nose pressed against the windscreen and my fingernails embedded in the steering wheel.

    We arrived at the outskirts of St Ives early in the afternoon and soon discovered that, even at this time of the year, it was a very popular holiday destination.

    The narrow roads were blocked by a succession of cars, none of whom seemed to know where they were heading. This confusion was not helped by the large sign which advised all drivers to "Ignore the Directions of their GPS units".

    Well that's easier said than done. How else were we going to be able to find our B&B, if we did not rely on the Tom Tom ? We did not have the local St Iveways Street Directory, so just proceeded blindly into the spaghetti tangle of clogged alleyways that constituted the St Ives CBD. While squeezing along one miniscule road, the voice from the Tom Tom clearly told me to "TURN RIGHT". I did. It was a mistake.

    I soon discovered that I had turned too soon and was heading straight into a private car park, perched in a dead end on the side of a cliff. The car behind me probably had the same directions and had dutifully followed me into the abyss (as had the large Mercedes in front). We all ground to a halt, pondering what to do next.

    With some expert white knuckle maneuvering, I somehow managed to get far enough to one side to allow the Merc to turn around and creep past on his way out. The car from behind then pulled alongside, wound down his window and asked "What do you suggest we do now ?"

    How the hell would I know ? I am just an old man from the other side of the world. We don't have stupid roads like this Australia.

    I made some sort of suggestion that sent us both into a coordinated series of synchronised driving moves that would probably have scored at least an 8 if it was an Olympic sport. After about 5 minutes, somehow I had escaped the tangle and was inching along the correct road. There was still no sign of the B&B and the road signs made so sense whatsoever. A local walker saw our predicament and kindly came to our aid. He walked around the block looking for the Blue Sky B&B and finally returned with the directions we needed. About 5 minutes later we were sandwiched into the carpark (I hoped that the other cars never wanted to get out) and knocking on the front door. It was a relief to be able to finally relax.
    Later in the day we walked down to the township for dinner at the very popular Blas Burgers. The meal was superb, although things got a little complicated when we tried to find our way back home in the dark. Everything seemed quite different and all our familiar landmarks went missing. We wandered up and down a succession of alleyways, blindly looking for the church we had passed on the way down. It had obviously been moved. It took us around 30 minutes to eventually get back on the familiar track and stagger through the front door.

    We will be staying in St Ives for 3 nights and will use this time to explore some of the surrounding region between here and Lands End.    Read more

  • The World on Two WheelsA European Odyssey

    We Go to the Theatre

    October 23, 2016 in England ⋅ 🌬 11 °C

    Sunday October 23rd
    In Which we go to the Theatre

    Our plan for today was simple - to explore the region near the westmost part of Cornwall. We wanted to drive along the coast as far as possible, taking our time to visit some of the tiny ocean front villages along the way.

    Our first brief stop was at Zennor, before quickly getting back in the car as it was freezing outside. The wind had picked up to near gale force and the wind chill factor must have been around 2C or less. Even with our high quality $15 Aldi rain jackets on, the wind seemed to chill to the bone. We had originally planned to walk along the final section of coastline between Sennen Cove and Lands End, but the miserable weather was making that look very unlikely.

    When we drove past a lovely looking coffee shop called "Heather's Cafe" in Pendeen, Maggie insisted that it was time for morning tea.

    She was also excited because she has a sister called Heather and that seemed to provide some extra reason for not driving past. We pulled up, battled to open the car doors against the wind, and staggered into the lovely coffee shop.
    I had to admit that it really was a perfect place for a cup of hot chocolate and their Rocky Road Cheesecake was a real treat. With our core temperatures temporarily elevated, we staggered back to the car and continued on our westerly way to Cape Cornwall. The proprietor of our B&B had advised us that this was a much nicer location than the famous Lands End and it was almost the most westerly part of England anyway.

    We pulled into the little carpark, handed over a handful of pounds for the privilege of parking and gazed at the wild ocean scenery in front of us. I had to admit that this part of the world does have a unique character. With the combination of treeless, windswept mountains, wild oceans, rugged cliffs and dark, stone cottages it certainly looked like it would be an unforgiving place to live. Maggie and I looked for adjectives to describe this type of location and the most appropriate word we could come up with was "bleak". I wondered what the local children and teenagers do for fun around here, or maybe they just leave as soon as they are old enough to do so..

    Although Maggie was too frozen to leave the car, I forced the driver's door open and tumbled out into the gale. Donning my woollen hat, pulling the thermal hoodie over the top of that and finally zipping up the Aldi rain jacket, I thought I was almost ready for the arctic blast that awaited me.

    I then climbed down from the car park and followed the walking path to the prominent outcrop of land that constitutes Cape Cornwall.

    With the narrow path and the precipitous drops to the raging ocean, combined with the pull of the the howling wind doing its best to throw me bodily into the crashing waves, it was something of a mental challenge to climb to the little stone chimney at the top of the highest point. I then took a few minutes to survey the scene before me. The sign explained how this used to be the site of a struggling tin mine before being donated to the nation in 1987 by the HJ Heinz company. It was good to see how the sales of millions of tins of beans had actually been put to a good use.

    After being almost frozen, I struggled back down to the car and resumed our drive to Lands End. As we approached this famous location it did not take us long to see that we were going to be very disappointed. It had been made into a money making amusement park of the worst possible order. With its tacky collection of dodgy food sellers, arcade rides and so on, we felt cheated that we had to pay so much for the brief time we parked in the car park. After a quick look around, we could not wait to get away from the place. What a disgrace to do this to such a famous location.

    While we had been having breakfast this morning another couple who were also staying at the same B&B overheard us discussing our plans for the day. "You must visit Minack's Theatre",they suggested. I had not even heard of the place, but once they started explaining what it was, it did ring a bell somewhere in the back of my mind.

    After the unexpected gem we had experienced a few days earlier at Clovelly, we added it to our list of objectives for the day. We were so very glad we did as it turned out to be the outstanding highlight of the day.

    The existence of this theatre itself is due to the untiring efforts of a rather eccentric lady called Rowena Cade. From a wealthy background she moved to this part of Cornwall in the 1920s and built an impressive mansion at the top of the cliffs. She then became involved in amateur theatre and decided to use part of the cliffside as the location for the staging of a production of "The Tempest" in 1932. The show was such a huge success that she made the design and construction of the Minack Theatre her life's work.

    The rest of her life was spent in developing this incredible ocean front location into one of the world's most incredible outdoor theatres. In spite of the exposed situation, it is actually used for six months of the year with a new production starting every week. Apparently around 70,000 people watch these productions every year and another 100,000 come to just see the theatre itself.

    I had to admit that it really was one of the most incredible places I had ever visited and I had to admire the tenacity of those who brave the elements to either participate in or watch a production here.

    On the day that we visited, the wind was so strong that it was difficult to stand upright. Down below the waves were crashing ceaselessly on the rocks, sending up huge clouds of foam and spray with each massive impact.

    After sitting and watching the spectacle for a short while we retreated to the sanctuary of the kiosk for lunch. Our table was right inside the front glass window and we sat mesmerised by the ferocity of the elements while we enjoyed a delightful Cornish "Cream Tea". it was another example of how the very best travel experiences are the ones that are not planned. It was certainly an experience we will never forget.    Read more

  • The World on Two WheelsA European Odyssey

    Rain in St Ives

    October 24, 2016 in England ⋅ 🌧 12 °C

    Monday October 24th
    In Which it Rained (and Rained) in St Ives

    Ever wince we arrived in Amsterdam about 10 weeks ago we have been blessed with an incredible sequence of fine weather. But today it rained in St Ives. Each day of our ride we expected that the fine weather would have to finish, but day after day we enjoyed unbroken sunshine and warm weather. But today it rained in St Ives. We heard that the weather back home in Melbourne had been wet and cold every day since we left, however we almost forget what rain was. However it rained today in St Ives. In fact, it poured all day.

    We awoke to the sound of heavy rain on the window, we ate breakfast to the same sound and it kept us company almost till dinner time. In a strange way, we didn't really mind the rain. It gave us a great excuse to have a passive day, mostly spent in our B&B. It also seemed to fit the mood of the season. After all, it was now well into autumn and winter was not far away.

    The steady downpour finally relented late in the afternoon, allowing us to walk back to the harbour front for dinner. The crowds of the weekend had now gone and we were able to get front window seats overlooking the water. And my scallops were really delicious.

    This time we were able to find our way back to our B&B without getting lost. It is amazing what a difference a couple of days can make.    Read more

  • The World on Two WheelsA European Odyssey

    Catastrophic Discovery in Plymouth

    October 25, 2016 in England ⋅ 15 °C

    Tuesday October 25th
    In Which I make a Catastrophic Discovery

    Our three nights in St Ives had been most enjoyable. We quickly learned our way around the maze of narrow streets and we had shared some delightful meals at some of the local restaurants. However all good things must come to an end, and it was now time to pack our bags into the rental car for the final time. Our plan was to drive the 120km or so to Plymouth, stay there for one night before catching the train back to London the following morning. It should have been a relatively easy day. It didn't turn out that way.

    Things went a little pear shaped right from the beginning. For some reason the GPS decided to torment us a little more by taking us a brand new way out of the city. We wondered why we were heading in an unfamiliar direction, after we had almost learned our way around, however we thought that maybe it was a good shortcut to Plymouth. It wasn't. It was a quick access to a navigational nightmare.

    Almost immediately we found ourselves jamming down a narrow walkway with a huge stone fence on either side. I just hoped that no car would appear around the next corner. But one did. We both sat looking at each other wondering who was going to crack first. The other driver was a young girl who seemed just as uncertain as me as to what we should do next.

    Since I was older, I indicated that I would reverse back, but she refused to move. I reversed back a little and stopped. She stayed still. I beckoned her forward. She stayed still. Curiouser and curiouser. Inexplicably she then started to hesitantly reverse back, veering wildly from side to side. I followed at a respectful distance, until finally we broke through to a wider section of road, where I allowed her to get past. I continued for a short distance before finding a driveway and U turning. I had decided to leave St Ives by the way we were already familiar with. This way seemed to a cruel practical joke.

    Soon we were cruising along a good A road and it looked like the rest of the day would be smooth sailing. The kilometres ticked by quickly. By mid day we started to get a little peckish and looked for a town to get some lunch.

    I turned off towards a likely looking town with the name of Liskeard, found a car park and walked the steep streets looking for the best cafe.

    We soon found a place and were working our way through heaped piles of food. At least we had solved our hunger problem. We walked back to the car and looked for the best way to get back to the main road to Plymouth. Like all English towns, the roads were completely confusing but we did find an alleyway that seemed to be heading in the right direction. It was only one car wide and only too late did we see what sort of mess we had driven into. The road did a series of tight switchbacks, steep and far too narrow for the large Vauxhall Mokka we were driving.

    I tried to approach the first bend and got stuck half way round. Two local lads came out to watch the fun. I could have murdered both of them. Maggie got out to lend her advice. I drove backwards and forwards. The wheels were skidding on the steep slope and we were about 2 inches from the stone walls on either side. Spinning the wheel furiously and praying for divine guidance, I somehow managed to get my camel through the eye of the (first) needle and then tackled the second switchback. It was real nerve tingling stuff, but somehow we escaped the jaws of death and regained the main road. No more detours I decided.

    One of the conditions of the car rental was that it must be returned with a full tank of petrol. I found a petrol station on the outskirts of Plymouth and decided that it would be a perfect place for the final tankful of fuel. I filled up and then walked to the cashier to pay. Out comes the wallet. I started looking for my debit card. Where was it ? I looked in every compartment of the wallet. No sign. It was gone without trace. My heart started pounding. Where had I last used it ?

    I returned to the car and both of us looked everywhere. No card. I figured that the last time we had used it had been when we paid for the B&B at ST Ives. I rang the owner and was actually quite relieved when he told me that I had left it in the machine. At least I knew where it was. My problem was how to get reunited with the card. The B&B owner arranged to post it to our hotel in London. He assured me that British mail is really good. I certainly hoped so. It had been a stressful time.

    Fortunately we made The Imperial Hotel in Plymouth without further difficulties or accidents. Our first impressions of both the hotel and of the city itself were both very, very positive.

    The hotel was a large distinguished looking building, very close to the famous Plymouth Hoe region of waterfront. Apparently it was originally built as the mansion of a naval admiral and had been converted at some stage to a hotel.
    With its high ornate ceilings, wide staircases, large windows and spacious rooms, it really was a lovely place to spend an evening. We soon regretted that we had not planned for more time in this lovely city.

    Although we were not due to return our hire car until the next day, we decided that we did not need it any more and that we could take it back a day early. The depot was only about 1 km from the hotel and we were soon back at the hotel minus the car. It was a bit of a relief to be free of the car and the related stress. From now on our exploration would all be on foot.

    Since the hotel was so close to the waterfront, we spent the rest of the afternoon walking the beautiful Plymouth Hoe region. The most famous ex resident of Plymouth is Sir Francis Drake. According to the legend, Drake was playing bowls at Plymouth Hoe when he was told about the invading Spanish Armada. He is reported to have replied that he had time to finish his game before defeating the Spanish.

    When he returned with stolen Spanish treasure on his famous ship The Golden Hind in 1580, Queen Elizabeth was entitled to one half as her share. The plunder was so immense that this accounted for more than the Queen's income from all other sources in that year. No wonder she rewarded him with a knighthood. Drake used some of his fortune to buy a huge mansion for himself in Plymouth.

    Drake eventually died of dysentery at the relatively young age of 55 and was buried at sea in a lead coffin. Treasure hunters still search for the elusive location of this coffin.

    There is no doubt that Plymouth is a handsome city. Unlike many English towns, the streets are wide, the traffic flows smoothly, there are many beautiful parks and the waterfront views are amazing. In fact, of all the places we had seen so far in our travels in the UK, this is the first place that I could actually consider living in.

    Tomorrow we will be catching the train to London and our 2016 European Odyssey will be drawing to a close.    Read more

  • The World on Two WheelsA European Odyssey

    I Meet an Old Friend

    October 26, 2016 in England ⋅ ⛅ 14 °C

    Wednesday October 26th
    In Which I Meet an Old Friend

    Apart from the famous exploits of Francis Drake, Plymouth is also indelibly etched into history by an event that took place in 1620. The Mayflower set sail from Plymouth Hoe with 102 pilgrims in search of a new life in the New World. In fact Plymouth's story has always been based around the splendid natural harbour and wharf facilities. Modern Plymouth is home to the HMNB Devonport, one of three operating bases for the Royal Navy.

    Our train to London was not due to leave until 12.56 so we had a couple of hours of free time in the morning to further explore the area near our hotel.Since we had loved the waterfront region, that is where we headed. We were somewhat surprised to find the large open spaces almost deserted, apart from a small number of people walking their dogs. As we gazed out over the inlet, Maggie called me over with excitement in her voice.

    "Have a look at this, quick", she called.

    It did not take long to see why she was so excited. Making its way out of the harbour was a large, partly submerged submarine, escorted by three tug boats. It did not take long to see that the function of the surrounding boats was to keep curious boat owners from getting too close.

    Only a couple of days earlier I had read in the local newspapers that the UK was in the process of building a new, state of the art, submarine for the cost of 31 billion pounds. It seemed too high a cost to possibly be correct, but apparently it was. I could not help but think of what an incredible waste of money it was.

    We watched the submarine for some time as it was not a sight that we see in Australia. It slowly moved out of the harbour before diving below the waves. After completing a circuit of the waterfront we returned to the hotel, collected our bags and caught a taxi to the station.

    Soon we were seated on a train owned by the Great Western Railroad and on our way to London.

    It was hard to believe that after so many weeks of travel and so many dozens of hotels, this would be our final stop before flying back to Melbourne. The other thought on my mind was my missing VISA card. I was relying on the efficiency of the Royal Mail to get the card to London before we leave next Sunday afternoon.

    The journey itself took around three and a half hours. Most of it was completed at speeds between 100 and 160 kph, but I was surprised to find that the driver had saved his highest speed for the final 25 km of the trip into Paddington Station. It was a little unnerving to be racing through London's suburbs at 210 kph ! Fortunately he found the brakes in time and we safely pulled into Paddington Station a little after 4.30 pm.

    You cannot pass through Paddington Station without looking for some evidence of the famous Paddington Bear and we were excited to find a statue of that loveable bear right in the station foyer.A short taxi ride then took us to our hotel near Hyde Park. I had stayed in thiis area several times in the past and knew that Maggie would love it here.

    When we walked into the lobby of the hotel, the first question I asked was "Do you have any mail for me?" The receptionist put her hand under the counter and retrieved an envelope with my name on it.

    To say that I was relieved would be a huge understatement. My faith in the Royal Mail was greatly strengthened. If the same thing had happened in Australia, I suspect that I could still have been waiting a couple of weeks later.

    With that stress no longer hanging over my head I felt that we really were on the final furlong of what had been an epic adventure. It did not matter that our hotel room was about the same size as the postage stamp on the envelope, it was clean and relatively comfortable and, more importantly it was our FINAL hotel.

    The next bed we would be in would be our own.    Read more

  • The World on Two WheelsA European Odyssey

    The Queen's Bumbling Apprentices

    October 27, 2016 in England ⋅ ⛅ 12 °C

    Thursday October 27th
    In Which we Watch the Queen's Bumbling Apprentices

    On our first full day in London we had planned to have a low key time wandering the extensive gardens that were right on our doorstep. For anyone who had not been to London it is hard to convey just how huge Hyde Park actually is. Hyde Park itself covers a massive 350 glorious acres and forms part of a chain of parks that make a continuous green belt from Bayswater right through to Buckingham Palace.

    One of my favourite aspects of Hyde Park is the large number of squirrels that are continually scurrying around, looking for articles of food. For Londoners, Hyde Park is also a favourite spot for walking and playing with their dog. On any given day you are likely to find hundreds of dogs (mostly well behaved) running about and having fun.

    I was very pleased that the weather had improved drastically and we mostly had a blue sky overhead.

    Many of the trees had taken on the majestic colours of late autumn and the lawns were liberally covered with a carpet of fallen foliage. It really made for a lovely introduction to this huge city.

    We did not have to walk far before Maggie spied the first squirrel. It was a really curious little fellow that ran straight up to me and looked like it was about to climb up on my shoulder. I persuaded it to return to its tree and we continued our walk.

    A little further on we noticed a small group of very young, uniformed horsemen doing exercises. The eldest looked about 16, but they were all fully adorned with polished silver breastplates, fancy uniforms and spiked helmets. The serjeant looked about 20 and was barking instructions at the nervous novices, trying to teach them how to look like they knew what they were doing. There was a lot of horses jumping and rearing and sometimes a little cohesion.

    I wondered just effective such a group of horsemen would be as a fighting force. I guess they could wave their swords in the air and shout "Boo", if nothing else. After about 30 minutes the serjeant had tired of the process and ordered them to return to barracks.

    It had been a wonderful free entertainment in the Royal Park for us.

    We continued our walk along the Serpentine, the long waterway that cuts down the centre of the park. Alongside the water there is a lovely coffee shop called the Lido. It was a perfect place to enjoy a coffee while watching the actions of the people passing by.

    At the end of Hyde Park we turned left and walked for about 2 km to the famous Victoria and Albert Museum. I was pleased to find that the admission was free and we spent the next couple of hours wandering its huge halls and admiring the exhibits.

    In the evening we walked about 1 km along Bayswater Rd to Notting Hill and enjoyed a nice meal in a French Restaurant. By this time Maggie was beginning to flag and wanted to get back to the hotel for a good night's sleep.    Read more

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