Walking, Charity and Trips Home

It’s the 24th May, I have only posted twice so far this month. Ruining my averages, because we are all stat monkeys really, there are reasons of course, travelling, walking, working. I’m back now though and have a window of opportunity to catch up with what’s been going on. We went back to the UK for a week, visits and birthday walking weekends, more of that soon. We finally gave up on our car and got a newer one. Cheaper than we thought more like a car than a van, and everything works. Our old one had a secret mind of its own. Windows opened randomly, doors locked and unlocked at will, ignition lock not working at all. So it has gone to the carshop in the sky. We’ll miss her, we’ve done some miles with her, seen some sights. Ah well, life goes on.

On to Charity, my next big walking weekend will be in July, the Welsh Three Thousand Feet Peaks. Over two/three days, wild camping. For the Grandson of some very good friends. Ollie and his family are raising money for a new wheelchair, information can be found here: Ollie Crawshaw – JustGiving site. Any help will be appreciated, thanks. The walk is 24 miles long and takes in the 14 peaks over three thousand feet high in Northern Wales. Pete, the birthday boy, will be attempting the challenge in one big hit with another fit friend. I’ll put more details up as the day approaches. I will be going over the weekend of 20-21-22 July.

While back in England I took the opportunity to go walking in the Lake District, Pete’s 50th Birthday weekend. He won’t mind me mentioning his age, nothing else was mentioned all weekend. Leaving Friday night we arrived near Kendal and our little rented cottage about 11pm. The following morning we headed west to Wastwater. Not to climb Scafell Pike as we have done on many other occasions, this time we turned west again at the lakes head and went with the Mosedale round. Black Sail Pass, Pile of Stones, Pillar, Red Pike, as hoped the weather cleared as we walked and we had splendid views all around the route.

I have to say my favourite was Pile of Stones, how can you not like a name like that?

Wastwater with Scafell in the background.

Clouds on the hill

Looking up the Mosedale Valley

Team Photo, almost normal?

Looking back, Yewbarrow to the right.

Yep, a Pile of Stones.

Looking across to Scafell Pike.

Somebody always stands on the edge! Pile of Stones.

Then someone else has to try.

Pillar summit.

Party Hats, False moustaches, Champagne and Butcombe beer. Happy Birthday

A Friend who carries Butcombe beer is a friend indeed!

The view down from Pillar.

Looking back across the Wind Gap from Black Crags.

Towards Red Pike, the others walking lower down.

Get the kettle on.

Red Pike Cairn.

Yewbarrow

We slid round the side of Yewbarrow, as time was getting on and we couldn’t see a route from the bottom. Maybe when we have a bit more time we can explore and find the route up. A good walk with lots to offer, and the views we had were magnificent. Anyone who has been to the Lakes will know how often (or not) you get weather like this for the day. 10 miles and 1300m of ascent roughly speaking. Next post will cover the walk we did around Sleddale. Now just to see if Pete reads all of this post, here you are Pete. How Old?

Pete, in his party T-shirt, hogging all the food. 50! How old?

Departures and Arrivals

Well, we are here in France. And have unpacked. No mean feat in itself, the house is still standing. The garden is very green, although it has to be said it’s a building site anyway. We have got the fire going now and everywhere is slowly getting warm. After five empty months it takes time to permeate the stone. After running about saying Hi to all our friends and neighbours we start work on Monday. I’m redoing the bathroom of our friend Pascal and his wife Martine, everything is in place.

The ferry trip is always an opportunity to sit and people watch, as they pace like caged animals with no escape. Shops that no longer have duty-free bargains since the EU was formed, and little in the way of adult amusement. Only the bar and onboard restaurant. The crossing was choppy, the weather rainy and windy. So strolling about the deck was out. Although leaving Portsmouth was fine, later as we crossed the Channel itself it got much worse.

Leaving England

Sunset

Chased by the clouds

Rain on Deck

We always enjoy the time on the boat, six hours of doing nothing, just reading and relaxing. We no longer rush from place to place, we stay in Ouistraham overnight. Drive down to the Auvergne the next day, much more civilised.

Ghost ship

Ouistraham, harbourside

You can see the Night crossing boat from here. They arrive at about six in the morning, while we were tucked up in bed, a much better option.

Le Phare

The lighthouse, at night it is lit up, sweeping through the room like clockwork, very atmospheric. The drive was uneventful and safe, arriving back is good. The next shot is from our balcony. Even though there is work still to be done, there is a lot that is good, and we can enjoy all we have.

The View from here

Soon it will be time for the first barbecue of the season. See you all there.

Enjoy your travels and take your time to enjoy the view on the way.

Cars and Boats and Roads and Things

Well, after a hectic family weekend, we head south to The Auvergne, France tomorrow. Catching the afternoon ferry to Caen. The weather looks to be an Easterly breeze so the crossing may be rough.

We shall spend a night in Ouistreham then follow our tried and trusted route home. It’s been five months, I’m expecting big things from the garden! Three weeks then a trip back here – a week – home to France again. then who knows.

Travelling, out and about. What else could we do?

The Road Forward

Moving between places always causes a disjointed few days, as we settle from one country to the next. Moments of confusion while we re-adjust to the new space we have.




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Discord

The unsettled music of a moment.
Movement in the air, in the mind.

Unwanted changes to the silence
that surrounds a thought, the missed

word, balanced in the chaotic wind.
Asymmetry of waves in the air,

the stone making and spreading ripples,
reflecting from a rock, changing

the surface. Reflections scattered,
distorted by movement.

No subtle harmony will ever lift
this symphony from the noise.

Devon travel

We are spending a week down in Devon. Driving in the west country is like nowhere else in England. Narrow deep lanes, mostly single track. And every trip takes longer than expected. The scenery in summer is wonderful. In this wild weather its is dramatic, with arching skies low clouds and wind coursing across the landscape. The trees are windswept and bare, the fields are lying in wait for the spring.

We drove across country last night, headlights bouncing of the steep sides of the lane and the bushes above. If we had met anyone coming in the opposite direction it would have been interesting. Tomorrow I am heading out for a walk around the cliffs of the North Devon coast, past Hartland point. There is a storm forecast for this afternoon so I hope tomorrow will be wild and woolly.

Sorry I haven’t replied to anyone this week, internet is intermittent at the moment so next week I will be catching up. We are heading around the country to see family and friends before work starts in January on some renovations and repairs on the house. So it will be Birmingham, Nottingham, Doncaster, Manchester. Then home in Weston-super-Mare for Christmas. In between all of this I hope to be able to do some shopping for presents. Who knows how it will go.

I love Christmas and believe that you should go out and choose gifts for people not just get what they ask for. This does lead to some confused looks but hey, that’s the way it goes. It’s the thinking about someone and choosing a gift that counts.

Should be on track next week anyway, I’ll try to get some pictures of Devon up this weekend.

1st December

Today we packed the car. Tomorrow we say bye to our friends, Saturday we head north to the ferry and Christmas with the family. Fair warning, we are on our way. I always believed that packing was an art. Now, each time we prepare to leave, we say to ourselves “only the essentials” when the open boot lid hits the bridge of my nose, I know the car is full. But the temptation to fill the space is almost too much. Our car works hard for its money, it is a working beast, not pretty, useful and does what we need it to do. We will cross half of France, get the ferry Sunday morning, then be home Sunday night to watch the football. (The kids will, I’m sure, object to this plan)

I have posted off two competition entries this month, so we shall see what becomes of them in the New Year. One requiring more than one poem, occupied some time as I ferreted about in my writing folder making choices, we shall see.

For now, a brief trip across France, soon we should have the time to take the back roads. It is Autoroutes with the comfort of steady speed and light traffic. We arrive relatively fresh and in good spirits, mostly.

The car is as full as it has ever been, more things to be returned to England. This time, we are taking paint back to the UK, a first in seven years of renovating houses in France. It is just before six in the morning, not my best time of day, when the dark and the damp make the final checks worse than normal. Water off, lights off, doors locked, a list we are now fairly good at organising between ourselves. Leaving Rilhac should be simple, catching up with the family, seeing friends and Christmas shopping.

Soon we bump along the back roads through fields clear and ready for winter. Misty water coats the windscreen, enough to be a pain, not enough to need the wipers. When we hit the main road there is a mental line crossed. The point of no return. If we have forgotten anything now it is too late and we won’t be going back for it. Passports and tickets being the last check we make before driving off. The headlights make grey out of the darkness, not much of an improvement but better.

We have four hundred miles to cover before we make Ouistraham and the ferry to Portsmouth. For this early start there is nothing of the mountains to see except black shapes beside the motorway, so we listen to an audio CD, a background sound that passes the miles, comfortable above the rumble of travel. Dawn slides down the hill as we start the long descent into the Allier region.

We passed Clermont Ferrand, its black cathedral and the jelly shaped lump of the Puy de Dome a while back still under cover of low cloud. Now as the sun clears the mist a little, leaving just rain we can see a bit more of the passing French countryside. We are leaving the high ground of the Massif Central, foothills compared to the Alps but still a beautiful place to explore, and we drop about 300m to the Allier. This is the point when we think that’s it, we’ve left. And the point on the return journey when the end is in sight. The Aire du Volcans has one of the best views along the famous Chain des Puys along to The Puy de Dome after which the region is named.

The hills are lower now, rolling through the Centre, past Bourge, Vierzon and then a left turn towards the Loire valley and Tours. It always amazes me how much the scenery changes, and as we cross some of the biggest rivers in time passes quickly. We do two-hour stints at the wheel. A throwback to travelling with Rosie dog, who we lost last year. But taking the time, coffee breaks and snacks make for more enjoyable and less tiring travel.

After Tour, we again head north and pass by Le Man with its 24hr circuit. The services here has one of the sports cars in the lobby. We are getting closer now and as we start seeing signs for Caen, we also start to see the directions to Commonwealth and American war cemeteries. A reminder of the 6th of June, when so much was given by soldiers from around the world. Normandy and we start to smell the sea. Ouistraham, the ferry port, fishing boats. We can almost smell the fish and chips now. In the local bar though, I opt for moule frite. Fresh and done well it is one of my favourite foods. After it’s time for the hotel and bed, ready for the boat in the morning.

Next time I write, we will be in England and building up to Christmas.

I like this time of year, don’t you?