I saw many beautiful things during my week in Cornwall. I saw windswept moors, twisted trees, pounding seas and vertiginous cliffs, but of all the things which I revisit the most in my mind it is the 'hidden' church of St Merthiana which C showed me. I write hidden as it is ensconced just above a little river valley with wooded sides which guard it.
I don't know if it was the silence, the translucent green light from the trees, the romantic setting or the unexpected evening sunshine but it left an indelible impression on me.
The church is 13th century, with some 19th century restoration. The grounds are a controlled wildlife area and the unkemptness adds to the atmosphere.
If you ever happen to be in the west of England, St Merthiana's Church is worth seeking out. It's about a mile inland from the habour village of Boscastle and apparently it makes for a beautiful, if exhilerating walk.
I said to C that if I ever got married I'd like to get married here and we joked about where all the guests would park, if they even found the church. I wasn't joking about the marriage part though.
My tyres are pumped, oil checked. "Is it between the minimum and the maximum mark?", "yes, Dad". Numerous copies of the RAC's number have been planted in various places. My suitcase is packed. Umbrella, sunglasses, jumpers, suncream, thick boots, light trainers. This is the first time I've holidayed in Britain for many years and you can never be too prepared for all climatic eventualities. Do I miss a straightforward pack as for sunnier, reliable climes? Perhaps. But...here we have the crashing Atlantic, and castle ruins that sit on cliff topss, and wild beaches, and moorlands that transport you to a scene from The Lord of the Rings. We have Dartmoor ponies and tors, exquisitely gentrified country houses with English gardens in full summer bloom. And tricky, fluid Celtic words and pasties.
So yes, this summer I am eschewing the lure of the exotic and staying on my own island to go on a summer holiday in the West Country. I do not know if the lady who has kindly let me stay with her has wi-fi, but if it is possible I will be writing about my adventures in Cornwall here. Adieu!
When I visited Thailand a few years ago, I discovered Pad Thai for the first time. We've enjoyed a passionate affair since then.
I've tried to recreate the Pad Thais I ate in Thailand but sadly I've never been able to replicate the ones I remember from Thailand 100%. I think I will have to go back to Thailand for genuine Pad Thais-which is something I hope to do at some point in my life.
My quest to perfect Pad Thai has not been a complete failure-the version I've settled for has become one of my very favourite dinners and is as follows:
Ingredients:
Noodles (medium-ribbon is traditional)
Garlic
Bean sprouts
Spring onions
(Egg)
Birds eye chillies
Juice of 1 lime
Fish sauce
Peanuts (partly crushed)
Coriander
Tamarind paste
Shredded carrot
(any other vegetable could probably be used. Versions I had in Thailand included tomatoes and greens).
I'm not exact in my quantities, just add what suits your taste. The dish isn't supposed to be extremely hot so perhaps remove the seeds from the chilli. The only other thing to note is that you should have equal amounts of lime juice and fish sauce as they should balance each other out. I average out at 2 tablespoons of each.
Method:
Heat some oil in a wok, fry the garlic and chillies a little and then add the vegetables. I add the spring onions last as I like them a little raw. Add the tamarind paste and fish sauce, then noodles. (Add the egg if using). Take the wok off the heat and add the peanuts, lime juice and coriander.
Again, I am a lackadaisical chef and don't have any hard and fast rules. The only part of the recipe I'm strict about is adding the lime juice and coriander after the wok is taken off the heat. Nobody wants cooked lime juice and wilted coriander after all!
When we were staying on Koh Lanta I spent an evening at a local cookery school and learn to cook some real Thai food. It was a lot of fun and the food was delicious.
The evening started with a talk given by one of the teachers on the history and theory of Thai cuisine which was fascinating.
The practical class was held by a Thai lady called Sugar ("I not speak good English but I sure know to cook". And she did too). It was a lovely way to spend an evening in Thailand and dinner was eaten together around a large table on the beach with the beautiful sunset and lots of conversations with people from all over Europe and USA.
More information (including some recipes, Thailand is fairly far to travel to for a cookery class):
www.timeforlime.net
As frequently occurs at this time of year, various lists do the rounds on blogs. I'm enthusiastically climbing onto this bandwagon (stolen from Alv).
No big, impressive entries here, just a few realistic dreams
1)Have a photograph featured in the annual Landscape Photographer of the Year award book.
2)Visit La Digue, Seychelles - many years ago I was given a calander featuring tropical island paradises for Christmas. My favourite photograph was the one of La Digue in the Seychelles. I reused that photograph for years, sticking the next year's calender over the top of the previous year's. I still think it's the most beautiful place I've ever seen and really hope I can visit it one day, to climb over the unique rocks and swim in the sea.
3) Own a dog - I hope I will one day have enough space for a dog. I'm fond of all dogs but have a soft spot for Border Collies, Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, Irish Setters and English Springer Spaniels
Border Collie
Cavalier King Charles Spaniel
Irish Setter
English Springer Spaniel
4)Design and plant my own garden, from scratch
5) Learn to draw. It's the one skill I've always envied in other people.When asked once what one skill I wish I had, I said to be able to draw. This led to many discussions with a number of people on whether drawing is a lucky talent or a learnable skill. This year I'm hoping to find out as I made it one of this year's resolutions:
6) Go diving - if I went diving in La Digue, I'd be able to cross two things off this list...
7) Hold a snake. Like many people, I'm fascinated by snakes but also very wary of them. It'd take a certain amount of courage for me to be able to hold one but I think I'd be able to do it
8) Make something I'm proud of - an embroidered cushion, knitted shawl, a painting. An heirloom that will be treasured and passed down through generations. Something that will stay long and be admired long after I've gone. I want to leave a little part of myself behind, a part of myself that is worth keeping. I think of all the beautiful things made by the people of Skogar:
9) Climb a (small!) mountain - I've no grand ambitions to climb Everest or K2, a small British mountain that could be climbed in a day would be perfect
10) Go on one of the world's great railway journeys-here are a few that have made my shortlist
Norway's Flamsbana through fjord country
Shinkansen: Tokyo-Kyoto (Japan)
The Ghan: Adelaide-Darwin (Australia)
The Rocky Mountaineer: Vancouver-Calgary,via Banff (Canada)
West Highland Railway: Glasgow-Fort William (Scotland)
Many, many moons ago I lived in a town called Augsburg in Bavaria, Germany for a whole nine months. Uprooting yourself to live by yourself in a strange country is challenging but ultimately character building and I can definitely say that the me who returned from Germany was a little different, a little stronger than the me who left for Germany nine months previously.
I liked many things about Germany...but this blog is dedicated to just one of the those-the mighty Pretzel! I fell in love with Pretzels in Germany. Sweet, savoury, plain-they come in many guises in their homeland. My favourite was a savoury Pretzel cut open and filled with butter and chives and I have fond memories of eating them on the German trains when heading into the Alps. They certainly shame much of the fast food I've seen at many of the train stations in England.
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So today we made sweet Pretzels, based around this recipe HERE.
In the south of Iceland, there is a little village called Skógar-barely more than a cluster of houses-with the star being a beautiful waterfall, Skógafoss . The grand population of Skógafoss is currently just 25 people.
Despite the lilliputian population, there is a museum dedicated to the way of life, traditions and, arts and crafts of many generations of Skogarians (I may have just invented this word).
Anyway, what struck me as I walked around the museum was the quality and variety of exhibits-boats, clothes, all sorts of wooden objects (eg horse stirrups, farming tools to name just two), metal objects (cutlery), stuffed animals, furniture to name just of the few of the objects which grace this eclectic and fascinating museum. Each of the members of the community had their own skills and talents, and contributed handmade objects to the village and its life-some vital, some useful and some just purely decorative. Yet all handmade and displaying a level of craftmanship which has nearly all but vanished and it made me feel a little sad.
A cross stitch chair cover
My favourite objects were on the needlework floor. The rooms are packed to the rafters with all sorts of objects-there is a barely a flash of wooden wall to be seen. Chairs, cushions, tapestries-all beautifully decorated, it is hard to believe that so many items were produced from such a small, isolated settlement, whose current population stands at 25.
I believe this is a stool cover
Unfortunately, we had only 30 or so minutes in the museum before the bus took us back to Reykjavik. However I could happily have spent a number of hours in that museum and given the collection the time and attention I wanted. In the basement was a room of skilfully stuffed animals. Whatever your feelings on stuffed animals, there is no denying their fascination and the expertise required. Another member of our tour party was so enchanted by the stuffed birds, he raced back downstairs when he realised he had another few minutes before the bus left. His wife was stone-faced as they walked back to the coach.
If you're in Iceland and have a chance to visit Skógar and its wonderful little museum, I would say "go, go, go, you must!". There is such a variety of things in the museum, you are bound to find something you love.
The famous waterfall. The rainbow lasted about 3 minutes!
Following a night of howling wind and relentless rain, I was repaid in the morning with a beautiful dramatic sky. The morning's weather oscillaited between heavy showers and unexpected but welcome cameos from the sun. A rainbow arched over the city on the walk into town to hunt for the elusive 'Best Hotdog in Iceland' stand.
For me the day began when we arrived at the lava fields for our ride on one of the beautiful Icelandic horses. It was one of the highlights of the trip, even if I did wake the next morning with a very sore behind. One of the American tourists, a lady from Seattle, who we shared a ride to the stables with said "you can't let the rain stop you doing things; you just have to get on with it". You certainly have to have that attitude in Iceland where it can rain non-stop for days. Strangely though, you get used to it after a while and it's even possible to not really notice it unless it's combined with a wind which blows it into your face.
We were provided with waterproof outwear, then matchmade with one of the horses in the stable, instructed how to get on....and off we went.
At first we were led onto the lava fields through some open land and I was buffeted by very strong winds and a cold spiteful rain, making it hard for me to stay upright on the horse. I wondered if I'd made a mistake in booking the tour. However my horse fared better and reassuring and sturdy he walked steadily into the lava fields while I could barely stay upright in my saddle. Brave little horse, built to withstand the Icelandic weather.
Unfortunately I didn't get a chance to take a photo of my horse but I've searched online and I found a photo of a horse which looks similar. One of the staff told me his name but it was Icelandic and I didn't catch it.
The Icelandic horse is a purebred horse which has never been mixed with any other breed and its lineage goes right back to the first Viking settlers in Iceland. They are much loved for their calm and friendly dispositions. The Icelandic horse also has two special gaits which no other breed has. One is called the tölt.
An Icelandic horse at tölt
The other is called flying pace
The other is called flying pace
I don't know which gaits my horse showcased for me but he was a speedy little thing, who took off when I least expected it, and forced me to cling to the saddle, his mane...anything in fact so I didn't bounce out of the saddle. I grew quite attached to him, even if he seemed to ignore me when I pulled on the reins, convinced I was going to tumble off, and would have kidnapped him but for the fact that if an Icelandic horse ever leaves Iceland, it is not allowed to return. Instead I will imagine him happy, running through the lava fields, around the mountains of Iceland and munching grass and other treats.
Back in the fields I fell in love with on my first day, I was taken with the beauty of them all over again and started to really enjoy myself. It is not every day that I get a chance to ride a horse through lava fields.
The wind whipped across the fields for the whole 90 minutes but the rain abated often enough for me to look around and enjoy the sight the moss-covered lava and trailing azalea stretching around me (to paraphrase my friend "it looks like someone has thrown a green carpet over the lava rocks").
At the end of the ride I got trapped between my horse and another and they both nuzzled me. I felt sad to leave these beautiful gentle little horses I'd grown so fond of in just one ride.
We had Mexican for dinner. The Icelanders are very fond of spicy food-Thai, Indian, Mexican. One can only wonder why. You can of course eat traditional fare if you want to-puffin, whale and shark are advertised loudly on menus around Reykjavik. Traditional Icelandic prices also apply unfortunately. Being a vegetarian I didn't miss anything and happily stick to my Skyr.
My last day is almost here and an achey sadness is taking root in my stomach.
I write this in a heated hotel room with the rain striking violently against the window.
Water in various forms is what I will remember most from my third day in Iceland-mighty waterfalls, rain (yes, still), bubbling springs, icy blue water in fissures, crystal clear rivers with trout and some more rain.
In fact it is so wet here I think I will have to start viewing rain, drizzle and downpours as three distinct types of weather just to diversify the forecast.
Gulfoss is perhaps my most vivid memory of the day. A raging, powerful waterfall that tumbles, layer after layer, and roars as it crashes into a ravine down below. I loved how the power of the fall made me feel so small and mortal. Gulfoss is the full force of nature unleasehed and no photo can really capture its startling energy.
Some of my favourite moments of the day were simply watching the scenery from the coach. We drove through clouds over the mountains, across rivers and through flat lava fields. There are little pockets of forests here now, thanks to a reforestation efforts ("we Icelanders can be very obstinate"). Strange forests of dwarf coniferous trees which are yellow, rather than green. They reminded me of toys.
A river and some of the beautiful autumnal colours
Everything in Iceland is a little otherwordly. Despite the cold, the ground gurgles and steams. Strange blue water bubbles out of underground holes like some giant underground cauldron. Plumes of sulphuric steam blow about and if you can tolerate the smell you can stand in them and warm yourself. It's all very weird and wonderful.
Steam drifting around
The day was punctuated with lovely surprises too. Whilst everyone was gathered around dozing Geysir, we hiked up the mountainside, beyond the other more adventurous tourists, to just below the precipice and were rewarded with an amazing view of the valley below.
At the end of the day we entered a geologist's dream at Þingvellir National Park. Here two tectonic plates meet and we travelled from one plate to another, marked by a series of yawning cracks and crevices. Or as our guide succinctly put it "welcome to America, geologically speaking".
A fissure filled with clear blue water
Another beautiful river
A church and the vivid Icelandic autumn hues
The rain continues, violent and heavy. Reykjavik's streets are empty of everything except the Atlantic ocean streaming down the hills and out of the drains. From my room it's beautiful. I've never seen rain this heavy in England, it must be North Atlantic weather. My waterproof jacket is hanging up, ready for tomorrow's adventures in this strangely wonderful place.
Like many before me, I saw Reykjavik through a sheet of persistent drizzle. The Icelanders do not even bother with umbrellas, going about their daily business oblivious to the wet. Miraculously, they still look immaculate, hair tidier than I can ever get mine. I can only assume that the Icelanders have evolved to possess hair which repels water.
Reykjavik would barely pass for a large town in England. Damp and tinged with an ethereal white-blue light, is still has a strange charm. The houses are mostly of metal and brightly coloured, a successful attempt to bring a cheery contrast to all the vast white sky. The dripping of water on leaves and clattering of rain on their metal roofs are two sounds which will bring me back to this city. The gardens have hopeful picnic benches, flowers and moss-covered lava stones. All very beautiful.
Leftover marigolds are everywhere, lingering in temperatures which barely reach double figures. The peripheries of the city are alight with the beautiful autumn colours.
This photo sums up my day in Reykjavik perfectly
And the highlight of the day? Possibly chancing across a lovely old cemetary full of twisted trees, metal fences and flowers.
We ended the day at Perlan, climbing a wooded hillside to the water reserves at the top. My inner child awoke again at the spacious undergrowth, asking to be crawled into. I only half resisted and crouched in a little glade with springy earth and trees instead.
View from Perlan. The smoke in the bottom left is from is from a hot spring
On the walk back to the hotel, I noticed that despite the rain I hadn't put my hood up or registered whether it was raining or not. Perhaps after just a day here I have already started metamorphosising into an Icelander.
Iceland has been painted using a different palette of colours to England. Glowing oranges, mellow umbers and wet greys stand out in the ethereal landscape. The plane descended through twenty minutes of clouds to delight even the most avid cloud spotter. Swirling, teasing clouds are definitely in charge here. These are the two things that have made the biggest impression on my first day in Iceland-the vast sky of eddying clouds and the unexpected richness of colour of the lava fields.
Clouds from the plane, shortly before landing
The journey from Keflavik Airport to Reykjavik takes one hour but I could have spent forever on that coach, just looking out of the window at the lava fields. My inner child jumped from one slippery mossy rock to another, eluding one deadly fissure after another. The fields glowed with age and autumn-deep green moss covers the lava, orange grass grows between the rocks and everywhere are red plants and little pink flowers, all vibrantly defying the greyness of the sky and the land. The sky was heavy and the scene should have been dull but it was not. There is a strange, otherwordly light here that I have never seen before. A luminosity is in the trees, the grass, the sky which is utterly bewitching.
At dusk the tenacious clouds parted fully and everything turned a beautiful cold blue colour. We walked down to the dark water and took some photos of the clouds which still lingered over the mountains and had reflected some of the sunset. Sadly, my camera simply couldn't capture the colours and textures of the scene. I have a feeling that Iceland's magic evades many cameras.
An attempt at the scene that couldn't be photographed
Now I'm sitting here in my hotel room, eating Skyr for the first time, and have the heating on (yes, it really is that cold here). The strange sea and mountains will be waiting for me in the distance come light again. I feel every single one of the 1200 miles between hotel room 307 and Kent.
Tomorrow, hatted, gloved and skyred, I will take Reykjavik.
I have spent about 6 hours listing, washing and packing for my holiday.
I have spent about 12 hours listening to music, trying to find songs I like for my holiday playlist.
My holiday playlists are very important. They'll become the soundtrack to my trip and evoke a montage of memories of my adventures many, many years later. The Playlist has become something of a holiday ritual for me now. I start hunting for songs weeks in advance, find out if there are any local bands I like, ask for recommendations (thanks to James, Alv, Kevin and Tom who contributed this year) and so forth. The list is at least as important as the clothes and chargers I pack in my suitcase.
There is one rule for the playlist: all songs must be new to me. No old favourites or current iPod playlist players. I think of the playlist as a tabula rasa for all my travelling memories to be imprinted upon-I'm a firm believer that music is one of the best preservers of memories.
The Last Waltz makes me think of dancing around Venice, 505 by the Arctic Monkeys reminds me of landing in LA one night with the whole city lit up and spread out further than I could see. Flamenco reminds me of the orange trees and mosaics of Seville. All of my adventures can be conjured up by a handful of special songs.
There are no rules for what songs can apply. Generally the playlists are comprised of:
New songs I have fallen in love with
Songs which I wouldn't usually give a chance, but think I could bond with outside of my normal routine
Songs which match the country, mood or landscape of the trip
My Iceland playlist is as follows. Most of the tracks are on my iPod (I know a couple Alv recommended are not as the band she suggested is Swedish and I couldn't download the songs easily)
