Where did you welcome in 2011? Well me? Me? Well in Vermont of course! That was an experience that consisted of two Americans, a Brit, a Canadian and a Bermudian walking into a pub……
No it’s not a joke, but it turned into one! It turned into one sick sea bass and three destroyed Kobe steaks……my story will all become clearer in my post another day.
For today it’s all about Robyn’s second Wanderer, Nicola Arnold. Where did this world ranger spend her New Year’s Eve? On a plane of course! Here is Nicola’s New Year’s post:
Nicola on her camel in India! (a previous trip of course!)
Greetings from Heathrow Airport in England, and a Happy 2011 to one & all!
My New Year’s Eve was spent on a jumbo jet, flying from Johannesburg to London, and to tell the truth – I quite enjoyed it! The last few years, New Year’s Eve parties have been a bit hit-or-miss, and I don’t mind spending NYE with friends and toasting with a glass of bubbly… hold the orange juice!
On the flight, we enjoyed a flute of champagne on our 10 hour flight (we meaning my parents and myself). The stewardess brought some at midnight (South African time), for those brave souls who resisted sleep and pulled all-nighters watching movies. I pride myself on being one of those movie-watchers on flights, even if I pay for it the next day. I indulged in a few children’s movies, such as Despicable Me (but I have to admit I fell asleep halfway through and had to re-watch the ending) … plus one of my old favourites, Monsters. Inc.
[On the subject of movies, I watched my first 3D movie in South Africa on a night at the movies with my cousins… TRON: Legacy. I know, I know, a guy’s movie, and I was with 4 male family members… but hey, I enjoyed the graphics and animation! Plus we watched the original 1982 version beforehand so we saw the leaps & bounds that technology has made in the movie-making world.]
So onward the journeys go! Right now, we’re ready to hop on another flight to Amsterdam to wander the canals, check out Anne Frank’s old digs and perhaps take photos in a mammoth-sized-Dutch-clog (I know one exists in the city, I just do not remember where). Then the last leg of the journey brings us back to England for a few days.
Next time I write, it will be from Bermuda – home sweet home!
I had to stay. I had just completed my Teaching English as a Foreign Language (TEFL) course in Prague, Czech Republic. My apartment was new and so was the job at Berlitz language school.
I was not going to be flying back to Bermuda for Christmas. It was the first time I had spent the holiday away and I was slightly worried about how I would handle it in this landlocked country.
Where would I find a beach? What crazy Canadians would I watch swimming on Christmas Day? And then I saw the kiddie pool on my Prague corner. Huh?
The temperatures had descended below freezing and mittens upon mittens captured my hands, and the Czechs had pulled out bath tubs onto their streets.
What could possess them to do such a thing?
Well I wasn’t sure either when I spent a Christmas in Prague seven years ago. So as I walked home one day, trying to keep my toes from falling off in temperatures more suitable to snowmen, I watched as a crazy Czech dove his arm into a pool of water. Seconds later his arm and a massive fish (carp) came out.
I had to ask my Czech friends. This can’t be right. Is he really doing this? Why would he be doing this? Why wouldn’t they just go to a butcher counter in a warm supermarket? All of that seemed sane to me.
Unfortunately, for the butcher that is, warm and Christmas Eve dinner do not go hand in hand in Prague. Instead carp, which is the Czech’s Christmas Eve dinner, is supposed to be kept alive as long as possible before chow-time. That means tubs on the side of the road until they are butchered. Some Czech’s even forgo the butchering and take their carp home alive to sit in their bathtubs until Christmas Eve! Forget the goldfish pet!
Even crazier? Carp is supposed to be (I was never brave to try it) salty and boney, but it’s tradition. Don’t believe me? Don’t think the Czech’s are up for the cold? Check out this video:
Llama in Peru also on the menu?
Go figure. Christmas traditions around the world can strike the odd chord. Of course we have our own in Bermuda and sometimes they make sense (cassava pie) and sometimes they don’t (Elbow Beach boozing), which is why I’m writing about them this week for my Rock Fever Column in The Royal Gazette.
But last year I was not in Prague or Bermuda. This time last year rather than trying to decide which slippers I’m going to give my mom (ooops there goes the surprise) I was navigating Peru.
Well Peru and then Bolivia! These would be my last stops on my trip around the world. I would not, however, be spending Christmas in either place. Nope.
After 12 months on the road, I was ready to go home.
So I missed the celebration. But this year as I sit comfortably at home I was curious. What are the traditions in South America? What do Peruvians eat/do for the holiday? Well good thing my friend and soon-to-be travel buddy is from Peru.
According to my STB travel buddy, Christmas in Peru? It’s Turkey. Yeah, not very exciting or different from home (Bermuda).
I mean this is a country that eats guinea pig on a regular basis. No, I am not kidding. They eat what we call pets. Maybe they’re good? I wouldn’t know. Unfortunately all the menus I saw in Peru made the guinea pig look completely revolting.
However, according to my STB travel buddy: “People in different regions will vary their Christmas menu so some people may actually eat the little gerbil creatures, but for the majority, it’s turkey with various side dishes (often including tamales) and champagne. Panetón and hot chocolate are very popular too.”
Mmmmm….tamales. They were with a massive hit with me when I was in Peru! How can they not be? Wrapped in banana leaves, completed with corn flour and filled with meat there is literally nothing I can think of that would stop me from not loving them!
Want to learn how to make them? Yeah me too so I found this somewhat long-ish film on youtube for our enjoyment:
All this food is eaten at a get-together, party or dinner on Christmas eve which culminates at midnight and everyone wishes everyone else Merry Christmas!
Of course this is the hottest time of the year (we are talking the Southern Hemisphere here) so in Bolivia Christmas food generally focuses on picana.
Pic…what? Picana. It’s a soup made of a soup made of chicken, beef, corn and spices and is eaten usually on Christmas. Well it could be the Eve or the Day, but that just depends on the Bolivian family.
Accompanying the soup? Salads, roast pork or roast beef, and an abundance of tropical fruit and for a sweet it will be eat taffy-filled wafer cookies called “turrón“.
Unfortunately I never indulged in this amazing feast because I was whisked away by American Airlines.
As I touched my toes to Bermuda soil I was, in what can only be described as ironic, directed to arrive in London, England. My family was spending Christmas abroad.
With four days in Bermuda I packed a new bag and was set for London. Of course in England they have their own traditions for Christmas: It’s Crackers! Which of course we have in Bermuda.
Cross your arms for Crackers!
But not ones you can eat. Well I suppose you could and then you’d probably be quite sick. In any case, the Cracker tradition is not one I have ever seen in the United States.
It requires using one of these (pictured to the right) of bundles between two people and pulling them apart. Out pops a toy, a joke and a hat!
The history of it?
Of course this tradition started with who else? A Brit. Thomas Smith in 1846 to be precise. Why? Well because he had been in Paris and seen bon-bons wrapped in tissue paper. He took the idea back to England, wrapped poems in them and eventually transformed the entire idea with a banger (chemically impregnated paper that explodes when pulled).
His sons took over the business and in the 1900’s and in the 1930’s love poems turned to jokes. Ahhh the Christmas traditions explained.
Cassava Pie!
Unlike Americans, however, the British are not happy with one day-off and instead have two! Boxing Day (like us of course!), which is December 26th or Boxing Day. Want to know where our day-off comes from? Well that was a day when boys used to go round collecting money in clay boxes. When the boxes were full, they broke them open.
This year, however, I will take a break from traveling. Yes, I will be in Bermuda and will only have to travel as far as one parish to another to indulge in Turkey, ham, beans, carrots and the traditional Cassava pie!
You don’t know what cassava pie is?! Sacrilege! It is of course based on cassava, which is a starch-filled root that grows in poor soil. Hence why the early settlers, dating back to 1612, made it into everything they could.
But just because it grew-up in poor soil doesn’t mean it tastes poorly. Never! And the best part is that it is totally safe for celiacs! Well, that is, once it is cleaned properly. Cleaned improperly and you have some serious cyanide poisoning.
Bermudians, me, traditionally, now, buy it frozen, drain it, fill it with eggs and plenty of butter, chicken and even sometimes pork.
It’s a weird tradition because though everyone eats it on Christmas Day, not everyone makes it the same way. Some make it sweet, some make it savory. It’s all about your taste buds.
Which has made me hungry! It’s time to enjoy and indulge wherever you are so have a Happy Holiday, visit the Bermuda National Museum for more traditions, and of course visit here tomorrow for all your vacation needs!
My friend rushed, certain that the total for four eating and drinking would exorbitant.
“How is it 60 pounds? Aren’t we in London?”
“Are you sure they got everything?”
There on the waiter’s income paper was: six beers, a bottle of wine, four appetizers, four entrees, two coffees and the total.
Yes, yes the waiter had recorded everything and still our dinner only cost 60 British Pounds and yes, me and my friends are in London. But we were not eating from a street stall or even on the outskirts of England’s capital.
Instead we, well I, had planned ahead. I was determined to go out for a nice dinner, but not spend more than $100.
Why? Because I am on a mission to try and find ten trips from, and in, London for under $100 for my Rock Fever Column in The Royal Gazette newspaper. So far I have been to Stockholm and Sigtuna in Sweden; Sachsenhausen and Berlin in Germany; Hampstead, Dover, Brighton and Bath in England and now I am in London.
London's Parks
My first trip to London for under $100? That was the flight I bought with my frequent flier miles on American Airlines, transferred them to British Airways and flew to London for $65 one-way.
But now it was time to try and discover this capital city for less than $100. My first attempt was to eat-out in a nice restaurant for less than $100. Not to be done, you say, in London. Especially if there is alcohol involved?
Well you would be wrong. The four of us managed it in a restaurant near Convent Gardens (i.e. central, central London). How did we do it?
Well that is the trick of a handy website: toptable.com
Earlier that day I visited the website, chose a type of food I wanted (Mexican), picked a location convenient for everyone and the website then found an offer for 50 percent-off the food at Navajo Joe’s! Perfect.
Even better? The website made the reservation for me. I was hooked! I used their service over and over again in London to find better and better deals. Their customer service is incredible too! When a place I had reserved cancelled at the last minute they emailed me multiple times and even called me to offer to book another restaurant for me.
And toptable.com does not just book in London. Going to Glasgow? Edinburgh? Birmingham, Manchester, New York or Paris? This cheap-eats at gourmet restaurants website is there for you!
But London is not all about eating (though that’s a very large part!). I also wanted to go and see places, people and things, right? Well I could have taken a taxi. One ride, however, would probably destroy my $100 budget.
Instead, what I needed was an Oyster.
“But Robyn, you said it wasn’t about eating.”
It’s not. Oyster, for some reason, is the name of a card that I use for the London Underground. It’s refillable providing convenience, but it gives me discounts on my journey. Using the Oyster ensures that I never pay more than the Day Travel card price for any trips I took in London! The card was £3 pounds to purchase, but I could get that money back when I left London. I held on to it. The card and any of my money on it does not expire. Where do you hear that anymore?
I always, however, prefer to walk around London if I can. After escaping Bermuda where sidewalks are almost non-existent, walking through a chaotic city can inspire. Plus it’s also great exercise! Besides sidewalks there are plenty of parks to enjoy the fall/winter/spring in. So I like to check-out another website: www.walkit.com for advice. The site can give me the most direct route, distances and even walking tips.
There are, however, very few places that I enjoy walking-into more than a coffee shop. One of my favourite (sadly, perhaps) things to do is sit in Starbucks reading or writing while I am abroad. Ok, perhaps they do not have the best coffee in the world, but they do have an endless time-limit on their tables!
For £2.50 pounds I could sit all afternoon with a book! And that’s exactly what I did. Well until I had to write a column for The Royal Gazette. Then I needed the internet. Good thing Starbucks has that too for….FREE! Yes, free. All I had to do was sign-up for a Starbucks card (which is FREE) at the store and register it. Once registered I could use the internet at any Starbucks in the UK (that has it of course).
Without an internet connection of my own this was a godsend for keeping in touch, writing my blog (www.robynswanderings.com) and sending my column all for the cost of a cup (or vat) of coffee – £2.50!
With all the caffeine and some spare time, I also needed to do some shopping. Good thing London was filled
Visiting Camden Market
with markets to keep me busy and entertained on the cheap. Of course there is the Borough Market on the South side of the Thames near Tower Bridge. Every Thursday, Friday and Saturday it fills with cheeses and freshly pressed apple cider. Then there is also Camden Market (up north in Camden of course) with its cheap coats, scarves and all sorts of accessories I most definitely needed.
But perhaps the most mammoth and new of shopping experiences in London is, of course, the Westfield Mall in Shepherd’s Bush. Of course, I wouldn’t normally subscribe to this beast, but I couldn’t resist having a snoop. For £1.80 on my Oyster Card I was in this mall/small town.
Good thing free internet also fits-in this town! Yes, no Starbucks card is needed. Only online registration and I had free internet anywhere in the Westfield Mall. There is also an enormous Sainsbury Grocery Store attached where fresh sushi and all the gluten-free products I might have needed could be found for a small price and a picnic.
I’m back on food. Fully stuffed, caffeinated and with a book filled with experiences for my ten columns on cheap trips from and in London it was time to depart England. For my last trip for less than $100 it was back to the flat (but check-out www.lastminute.com for good hotel deals) to pack and say adieu to friends before the trek to London Bridge train station.
Sure I could have taken the Gatwick Express train to, uh, Gatwick Airport of course, but that would be expensive. Instead From London Bridge my ticket was about £7.60. The express? £16!
Not only that, but my trip to the airport was fast. Only 20 minutes or so. The express? About the same. My final cheap train and it was time to board the plane. Back to Bermuda on my $65 flight and to green Bermuda. Well greener than London! But that’s all the hype! Stay tuned next week for Traveling Green and for all of your travel tips, tales and random stories daily visit here.
“Can you make some room,” yelled a man from the platform.
“Can we get through? We have seats!” screamed a frazzled traveler trying to bypass the compartment.
Another passenger surrendered and sat in the bathroom. I found a foot of empty space next to the train’s door. With my bag resting on my two feet I prayed we would be moving soon.
Rush hour on London’s commuter trains. I had, clearly, not thought-through my travel plans to Bath, England. It was only supposed to take only an hour and a half. It – trip number nine out of ten from London for less than $100 – felt like five hours as a I grappled for an inch of space.
Where else have I been for less than $100 for my Rock Fever Column for The Royal Gazette? Good question. It started with a ticket for $65 (one-way) from Bermuda to London with my frequent flier miles. Make sure you get them! Next I hit Stockholm and Sigtuna in Sweden; Sachsenhausen and Berlin in Germany; Hampstead, Dover and Brighton in England.
Now, with number nine, it was time to come clean. I was heading to Bath. Silly me decided to try and go at 7 p.m. on a Friday night.
After extricating myself from the mass of bodies I found myself stranded on the streets of Bath. Luckily it is not a large town and I managed to find my Y.M.C.A. hostel after negotiating very drunk college students in about 20 minutes. The Y.M.C.A. might be easy to find, but it’s not exactly inviting so I plunked down my bag and hit the town.
Roman Baths
Some 2,000 years ago the Romans also arrived here. Rather than the Y.M.C.A.’s pathetic shower they decided to channel Bath’s hot sulfurous waters into elaborate pools. These really took-off in the 18th Century when England’s ladies and gents began coming here for the waters and enjoying the season in terraced houses! These iconic homes that line Bath’s streets were featured in the musings of Jane Austen who lived here briefly in the 1800’s. And of course what else do you do with really old, beautiful buildings? UNESCO makes them a World Heritage Site!
I believe the city more than earned the right; even at night. As I walked through the varied lanes and roads of Bath, the yellow street lights illuminated a city haunted by visions of 18 and 19th Century England from Austen’s books. This includes the 18th Century, Pulteney Bridge which crosses the River Avon and is filled with shops. If you have ever been to Florence and witnessed the Ponte Vecchio, then you’ve seen the inspiration for this gorgeous bridge. Walking along the river’s edge and listening to the falling water was soothing, to say the least, after my horrendous train ride.
Ahhh Bath, I think I could get used to you.
With my train stress washed down the river, it was time to relegate myself to my bed for a full-on assault the next morning. First I would have to try my hand at the breakfast. Ugh. the crumbs of bread and poor attempt at an English Breakfast ensured that next time I go to Bath I will save my pennies for one of the quaint Bed and Breakfasts I continually walked-by.
Fully famished, I decided I would have to visit, well where else? The Roman Baths! This complex built by….the Romans (see you’re getting this) are essentially as they left them. In 75 A.D. they channeled the waters into this complex that rivals the baths in rome (and I should know I have been there). Visitors, unfortunately, are no longer allowed to bath in the waters that are 116 degrees Fahrenheit. At least the modern complex has built a terrace for visitors to watch more than 240,000 gallons pump through each day before descending into the underground chambers that offer a historical guide to the baths. With a ticket that cost about £11 I was able to walk around wishing I could jump in, but it also offered me an entrance to the Fashion Museum. Well I mean after you bath you need to dress, right?
Exiting the baths (not Bath, you get it, right?) I was bombarded by the Bath Abbey. This cannot be missed. I
More Abbey
don’t mean go inside, though you should. I mean it is the centre of the town. Established in the 8th Century, the first English King, Edgar in 973 was crowned here. Through the years it has been built and then fallen until Elizabeth I ordered it restored. The Abbey has been the same ever since her meddling.
Around the Abbey and the Roman Baths is a mix of modern shops in old buildings. I thoroughly enjoyed getting lost with in the Upper Borough Walls, Union Streets and Barton Street among others filled with shops and little cafes opening onto the side walks. Bath is, among other things, a town built for luxury! Eat your fill in the famous restaurants that include English Chef Jamie Oliver’s Italian restaurant and then, if you’ve got it, bath in the actual complex for it – the Thermae Bath Spa. It will cost you though! £24 for two hours!
I did not have the cash for this luxury so I enjoyed a free walk up to the Circus. No, not Barnum and Bailey’s. Bath’s Circus is comprised of three semicircular terraces of Regency houses surround a circular park. It was designed by architect John Wood the Elder, who built much of 18th century Bath. I tried to get my landscape photo and decided to use the rest of my Roman Baths’ ticket and head for some fashion.
Not much to note here. A very small museum, Bath’s Fashion Museum main focus is, of course, a whole spread on Princess Diana’s fashion through the years. At least I did not waste the rest of my £11 ticket!
Before I could wish Bath good-bye, there was one more museum I needed to visit. Jane Austen’s of course.
The Royal Crescent in Bath
This illustrative author was a resident in Bath between 1801 and 1806 and the city features heavily in Persuasion and Northanger Abbey. She ended-up hating Bath when her, her mom and sister fell on hard times here. Perhaps that is why the city devoted the sad little home on Gay Street as a museum to the artist. My guidebook had warned me, but I couldn’t miss one of my favourite writer’s museum! It was dull.
Oh well, I was almost done with my trip to Bath. I wandered through some of the green and stunning parks including the Royal Victoria Park in front of the Royal Crescent and meandered back on the train. Luckily Friday’s rush hour was over and I could comfortably ride back to England’s capital fully refreshed.
Refreshed and ready for next week’s column: finding things to do in London for under $100. It can be done! I promise.
Perhaps it was the salty air of Dover’s Cliffs. Maybe it was the email from a friend encouraging me to experience it. Was it the notorious name?
Brighton. I had heard the name so many times and even though it is only about 50 miles or 80 km from London, I had never been to this seaside town. As a Bermudian I never quite understood the point. I’m afraid a beach will never impress. Ok, maybe not never. I was impressed by Sri Lanka’s….but that’s another story.
Back in Britain, my emailing friend assured me Brighton was more than beach. I decided it was time. It was time to add its infamous name to my list of trips under $100 from London. Yes, if you have been following the Rock Fever Column I write for The Royal Gazette for the last few weeks I have been to Stockholm and Sigtuna in Sweden; Sachsenhausen and Berlin in Germany; Hampstead and Dover in England. For photos of these trips and Bright visit my photos page.
I was further encouraged to jump to Brighton because the train-trip was less than an hour from London Bridge Tube Station and it cost less than £10! Just a tad cheaper than the £50,000 the iconic Brighton Royal Pavilion sold for in 1850. The creation of George IV, the Royal Pavilion was originally a farmhouse before he decided to reinvent it. Now the Pavilion is a draw for crowds visiting this seaside town. Well, at least, it was for me!
However, I’ve never been a map reader. Yes, I admit. I am one of those people that has to literally stand in a map before orienting myself. Luckily for directionally challenged people like myself, Brighton has Visitor Information Centres dotted around the city. I found the closest one to the train station hiding in a Toy and Model museum. I gave the models a miss and followed the man’s directions.
They sent me meandering through streets lined with multi-coloured stores, organic cafes and leather markets, that might have looked more comfortable on Middle Road, Bermuda rather than North Laine, Brighton.
Eventually, I found it! Well, the Pavilion Gardens first and then the Royal Pavilion.
It was a witches’ castle. What am I talking about? You know you’ve made them. Every kid in Bermuda has. You’ve held the wet sand in your hands and made drip castles.
Brighton's Royal Pavilion
What you were making has in fact been sitting on Brighton’s seaside since the1800’s: The Royal Pavilion. And for £9.50 you can experience one of the most ridiculously over-the-top, formerly private, homes in Britain. Originally a farmhouse when George IV the Prince of Wales, rented it in the 1780‘s, it grew along with his lifestyle of drinking, womanising and gambling and Brighton’s! A former fishing town, Brighton also started to transform into a seaside retreat for the rich and famous.
When George was sworn-in as Prince Regent in 1811 because his father George III was incapable of acting as the monarch, the villa grew. John Nash stepped-in. He introduced minarets and domes to the exterior while lathering the interior with enormous dragons and seashell-encrusted ceilings in the red-walled Music Room. No expense was spared, which is all I could think of as I walked through with my complimentary audio guide.
Queen Victoria ended-up inheriting the Palace, but even with all of its grandeur it could barely fit her growing family. Plus she was all about austerity. The opulent palace didn’t quite fit with her vibe so she decided to sell it.
The City of Brighton was quite happy to purchase the former Palace to ensure somewhere for tourists to visit. Hey, I bought a ticket.
Thoroughly impressed by George IV’s ability to spend money, I decided it was time to learn a little more about Brighton in the last couple of years. Sitting right next to the former Palace is the Brighton Museum. Convenient.
Random. Free. Both are reasons to visit this museum that offers some insight to the more-recent history of Brighton. The museum documents the growth of this capital of clubbing in Britain as well as its trend-setters. Of course there is the Fashion and Style section with random outfits provided by everyone from the gothic icons to the grunge mixed with Egyptian antiques. I did say random. Feeling thoroughly acquainted with the history of Brighton I figured it was time to head to the seaside.
Of course the seaside is what Brighton is about! I mean that’s why the rich and powerful people started coming here. The seaside was more than just a beach. It was a health clinic. Yes, a health resort of sorts. In the early 1800‘s Dr. Richard Russell created these ‘dippings’ which included a total immersion into the sea water to cure-all. I can imagine he was paid a pretty penny for these! Heck I can do that. Ok no I can’t. I’m Bermudian. I wasn’t going anywhere near the water.
Brighton's Pier
So luckily for me, the Brighton Pier is still standing and could keep me well above the frigid waters below.
The Pier is the epitome of traditional British seaside. Painted white, filled with an amusement park, rows of junk food and, of course, a candy store, the Pier is somewhere to sit and enjoy the views if you’re lucky and find a nice day. Other than that? It’s not much and the day was too cold for me! I hit the end and headed back to the interior to find a coffee and somewhere warm.
Luckily I could take my pick in the narrow streets in the area called The Lanes i.e.old, bricked buildings creating human-size mazes. Cute stores filled with antiques and clothes called my name. I ignored them and found a tiny coffee place to enjoy watching the fellow lost souls.
The light was fading. It was time. Time to finish my enjoyment of the beachside retreat and head back to London. Which is why Brighton is a great trip from Britain’s capital. It’s an afternoon, it’s a weekend, it can be both. I know, I know, there are supposed to be great clubs in Brighton. I didn’t have the energy. I will have to see them next time.
That’s because I still have to find a few more trips from London that cost under $100! And I did it. Perhaps it was time to come clean. To Bath it is next week and, of course, check back here tomorrow for more suggestions for your own trips!
“Welcome to France. You’re phone calls with now cost…..”
What? But I’m not in France. I’m still in England and yet my phone calls and texts have doubled in price?
Cell phones. The bane of my existence while I travel for a month to find ten trips for my Rock Fever column in The Royal Gazette, for under $100 from London. So far I’ve been to Stockholm and Sigtuna in Sweden; Sachsenhausen and Berlin in Germany; and Hampstead in London.
Now this little piece of technology had interrupted my sunny view of my sixth trip or the white cliffs of…. Dover! Perhaps I should not have been surprised that the French had invaded my phone. The neighbour is about 20 miles or so across the Dover Straight from this strategic southern tip of England. Check out my photos here.
Overlooking the Channel
A town, castle and cliff, Dover was little more than an hour train ride from the St. Pancreas train station in London. Do not, however, make the mistake of shelling-out for the fast trains. With a ticket salesperson’s slight of hand, what should have cost me only £15 pounds ended-up costing me close to £30! Even worse? On the fast trains I also had to switch vehicles outside of London. The slow trains, on the other hand, would have been more direct and less costly. In any case, I arrived around 1 p.m. A little late, but luckily the walk to the Castle from town is only about 15 minutes.
This British Border town has been critical for Britain’s safety for more than 2,000 years, which is why Henry II built the Castle in 1180. After he built the Keep, the Castle became known as “the key” because, of course, any enemy that took it would have full access to Britain.
I seized the Castle via the signs that led up the hill. Luck gave me a sunny day and a man in a ticket booth allowed me to enter for £11.80. For those who do not want to or cannot walk there are buses from town into the castle and inside there is a free land train. I crossed the moat with barely a stone thrown at me and was met with a view of the bustling docks below. Large ferries and cargo ships fill with cars and then expel cars in England’s main port to Europe.
I turned from the sights and set mine on the Secret War Tunnels. Henry II might have built the Castle on the hill in 1180 for strategy, but the Napoleonic Wars in the 18th Century demanded more. Tunneling began to hide troops fighting against the French. Then in the 1940’s the tunnels were resurrected as the command centre for Operation Dynamo i.e. Britain’s retreat from France when they could not immediately defeat the German army. In less than a week, Vice Admiral Bertram Ramsay, from his Dover cliff operation centre, had organized the removal of 340,000 men from Dunkirk, France. By 1942 the British War Cabinet realized these tunnels were bomb proof and started expanding to create an underground city of sorts.
Now these tunnels house a slightly Disney-ish tour of the barracks, hospital and officers’ quarters, complete with sound effects. No, I’m not kidding. As the tour wanders along the halls, voices of the war time effort echo above your head. Not as interesting or as informative as, I thought, the museum that is attached to the tunnels.
While the tunnels protected the military, the civilians were left within reach of the German guns based in Calais. The museum takes pains to explains the extent of bombing on Dover during WWII. Between July 1940 and September 1944, these poor souls were subjected to 2,226 shells landing in the town and 686 in nearby areas. More than 3,000 air raid alerts were sounded and more than 10,000 buildings were damaged. Two hundred and sixteen civilians were killed and 344 were severely injured. This British town was on the front lines. It only became safe in September 1944, after which the guns at Calais were captured by the advancing Allies and finally fell silent. It’s too bad this suffering was not better portrayed in the tour, but luckily it was free.
I left the sound effects and continued my assault on the hill and eventually landed in the Keep of Dover Castle.The entire Castle complex is 70 acres with the highest point containing a pharos, or lighthouse, that was originally built by the Romans to guide their ships across the Channel. Those Romans, always ahead. It’s little more than a circular stone tower standing next to a small stone church (St. Mary-in-Castro), but it is striking set within a beautiful green expanse. More interesting to me, however, was walking the former path of its light rays to see the Channel extending in front of me and the infamous white cliffs stretching to the left. No wonder the Romans built here.
Retreating to the Keep, which includes the Great Hall and two stone chapels, I was bombarded with another history lesson. “The 1216 Siege Experience” is a sound and light show that depicts the French attempt to seize the castle. By 1216 the French had, in fact, invaded southeast England, controlled London and the Tower. Dover held strong, rallied the troops and in 1617 ran the French out of town. Dover was “the key” after all.
The Keep now also contains a 12the Century, replica kitchen, a modern restaurant and a shop. I navigated the knighted plates and spoons trying to come home with me, saved my pounds and took the final batteries that looked across lush, green fields and white cliffs. It was time to head for the open air.
Dover Cliffs
If I could find the way. Other tourists jumped into their cars. I had no choice. I backtracked to the guard who let me in, who told me to head left. I have said this more than once, but thank goodness for the Brits and their signs.
A half hour of following these signs brought me to the National Trust-run cafe overlooking the famous cliffs that were painted white by fossilized marine life. These are transcribed with 4 km of paths that lead to the South Foreland Lighthouse.
At this point, however, I had been walking around the 70 acre castle, up the cliffs and I preferred to sit and watch the ferries meander through the channel. The sun was setting. It was getting cooler. The lighthouse would have to be reached another day.
“Your calls will cost…”
Ok. Ok. I get it. I’m going! It was time for the journey back to London and to my next trip for under $100. Forget the war time history. It’s time for some “cultural” inheritance of Britain at where else? Brighton of course.
“No. I mean I always found people to travel with.”
And I did last year as I was traveling around the world. I almost always had someone around me as I traveled around the world solo.
In Thailand I went through a two girls who were returning home two days later, a Dutch couple, a British Boy, a Belgium Boy, and finally a California girl. I don’t remember every being alone.
So it was great for safety, sharing the bills, but also for photos.
Never thought of that did you? Well I did. It’s so awkward initially to ask people you just met to take your photo. I felt shy, indulgent, overzealous, silly, but I would still ask.
I wanted photos of myself in these new places.
Now I recently finished a month traveling through Europe. I didn’t have a hostel to camp-out in to try and meet people. So I was basically on my own.
It was lonely, tiring and I had to take photos like this one above. Photos were are arm’s length.
And the worst part is I like to keep photos as my memories. They are cheaper and lighter than those souvenirs bought in a store.
But my question I pose in this random Sunday post is: does it matter if I am in them?
I don’t know, quite honestly. If you are traveling solo does it matter if you are in the photos? Aren’t photos supposed to remind you of events? Do you want to remember a time when you were on your own?
It’s something I have been thinking about. Does being in your travel photos matter?
I spoke with an artist today, actually, who said he tried to keep people out of his photos. He finds they date the photo with their clothes, hairstyles, etc…
It got me to thinking. Is this why we put ourselves in the photos? And by that I mean why take a photo of just me in Thailand? Is it to prove I was actually there? Does it add to composition?
Or is it a totally narcissistic venture that we indulge in?
I wish I could say I have the answer to these questions. Or maybe I don’t. Perhaps this is a post to think on. Or maybe it’s not that deep. Maybe I am simply wondering: Why put ourselves in our travel photos?
What am I posting about today? Well hopefully you got your beauty sleep this weekend? No? Oh right it was Bermuda’s annual Rugby Classic.
I’m sure most people are feeling a little less than light on their feet today. Maybe there are a few bags under the eyes that were not there before?
Need something to pick you up? Perhaps you’re having a better day than Oleg Mavromati (read my previous post for understanding) who appears to be alive!
Have no fear the Bermudians are on it and have been “on it” since our creation. As you can see in the pic I have chosen for you today, the Brits thought they were ahead.
What am I talking about?
Today’s Robyn’s Wanderings draws from my next column for The Royal Gazette (in on Wednesday now!) I was meandering around the house of John Keats in Hampstead Heath, London and noticed this sign.
“Rain Water in Beauty Treatments”
Now who would have thought? Well the Bermudians certainly have! We catch the rain off our roofs, store it in our tanks and use it for everything from washing our faces (hello beauty!) to washing our vegetables (beautiful tummies?).
Apparently this was new trend in the time of George IV i.e. late 1700’s and early 1800’s. Kinda an odd concept, really. Not washing?
But then again who would have thought about catching water on our roofs to use it for every day affairs? A small island nation in the middle of the Atlantic is who!
It’s always a fun fact to share with people, even people who work for eco-lodges in Berlin. He couldn’t quite get his head around it!
“You mean you catch water on your roofs? To flush toilets, right?”
“No. Well yes. But we also drink it and shower, etc.. It’s why we have roofs shaped like stairs and painted white!”
White, water-catching Bermuda roof
“That’s crazy! Why don’t you write about that for your blog.”
Ha. Well here I am writing about it. Trendsetters that we try to be, Bermuda was way-ahead in the beauty treatments that the British then “came-upon.”
So remember your beauty treatment today. In Bermuda it’s no further than your tap and stay tuned for my next Rock Fever Column on Wednesday!
Four hundred and five years ago a man walked into Parliament and tried to bring it down! To hell with the King….I suppose.
Who was this attempted terrorist? Why Guy Fawkes. Though this York-born man did not operate alone. Nope. This was a plot by Catholics who wanted to take-down King James I and restore a Catholic monarch to the throne.
Who is Guy Fawkes? Good questions. Born on April 15, 1970 he lost his father when he was just eight-years-old. His mom went on to marry a staunch Catholic. No shocker then, when Fawkes later converted and moved to Spain to help fight in the 80 years’ war for Catholic Spain against the Protestant Dutch.
He also tried to rally support for a Catholic rebellion in England. He found a Thomas Wintour who did the introductions to Robert Catesby and they planned assassinate King James I.
With a spot rented beneath the House of Lords, they began to stockpile gunpowder and Fawkes was left in charge.
Someone ratted them out via anonymous letter and when the authorities searched Westminster Palace early on November 5 (i.e. today 405 years ago) they found Fawkes. The gunpowder. And save James’ life.
Questioned. Tortured. He broke his silence. On January 31 he jumped off the scaffolding he was going to be hanged with and broke his neck.
For some reason, now, England celebrates this. Yep. Fawkes represents the Gun Powder Plot and every year his effigy is burned on a bonfire.
Oh and there are fireworks! Well of course there are. No sense in just letting him burn in silence!
In true Bermudian fashion we will be joining the Brits in their burning! Well at least the fireworks that is. Aptly placed our fireworks will be around an old Fort here.
Fort St. Catherine! Where we used to watch-out for the Spanish almost 400 years ago. It’s a small world.
Where do we recruit patients? I mean don’t most health services only want you if you are sick? Am I wrong? I know there’s a lot of money in sick people (anyone read the papers lately). But recruiting?
I did a double-take. I was wandering through Dover (you know the town with white cliffs and a castle?) as I continue to find cheap trips from London. But this sign didn’t quite register at first.
NHS. National Health Service for those who live in England (and for those who don’t know what NHS is). We recruit for jobs. We recruit for businesses. Now NHS is recruiting for patients?
Or is it NHS’ patients are recruiting? Then we would have a problem with the apostrophe rather than the health services.
I can’t believe that is the case.
So NHS is looking for patients? Everywhere else in the world we’re trying to cut-down on patients. Everywhere else in the world the health systems are struggling to keep-up with the demand.
Apparently Dover wants you to come to them. They will take your sick. They will take your patients! So how do you sign-up? Unfortunately the office was closed (it was a Sunday) so I couldn’t ask.
But I could take a pic. I could share it with you. And I could find one place in the world that apparently being sick is something to be recruited for!
Welcome to Robyn Skinner's website. I'm from Bermuda, am a freelance journalist and have spent the last year traveling around the world solo. Visit My Postcards for the travel columns over the last year and every other page here for more information on...travels...and me!
Robyn's Wanderings 