Bayeaux

11/05/2010

Bayeaux is a charming little town. Lots of little French villages seem to invite that description. Driving Skippy along the narrow cobbled streets is not so charming. We ended up in the centre of Bayeaux and did a few loops of the same streets looking for a park before finally finding a spot a long way up a steep street about 10mins walk from the tourist office. We were there of course to visit the famous tapestry, so that was first port of call. It (the tapestry) looks like it was done by primary school children, although if that had been the case, the abundance of genitalia and decapitation depicted probably would have quickly resulted in a parent/teacher interview. Just for those of you who don't know and can't be bothered to google, the Bayeaux tapestry depicts the Norman invasion of England by William the Conquerer, culminating in the battle of Hastings in 1066.

Nowadays the tapestry it's stored in special temperature, humidity and light controlled conditions but it's had a bit of a rough ride over the years and is in surprisingly good nick considering it's approaching 1000 years old.

St Aubin sur Mer

10/05/2010

Today we did a tour of D-Day beaches. The remains of the Mulberry harbour at Arromanches make the landings seem very real. The Debarquement museum was very interesting, showing lots of detail about how the harbour was constructed and other information about the landings. We saw a couple of films, showing footage from the landings, which were very powerful.

Further up the road at Longues-sur-Mer we visited some German artillary batteries. There are about 4 close together and are the only ones to have kept their guns. The guns are huge and it's easy to see what kind of devastation they caused. I wouldn't have liked to be the Germans stationed there, however. It was bloody cold and must have 10 times worse in the winter.

Afterwards we went to Omaha Beach and visited the American Military Cemetary. Seeing all of the graves lined up (nearly 10,000) makes you realise that war is a very, very stupid thing. Not a very original observation, I know, but it really hits home when you read some individual stories of people who died.

Today has been very blowy, overcast and noticabley colder than yesterday. I'm still waiting for my French summer moment.

Tomorrow we are off to Bayeaux. Really looking forward to it.

St Aubin sur Mer

09/05/2010

Today has been a much, much better day. For one thing, I slept in. Even though I had to get down the ladder to let Catherine go to the shower, I valiently climbed back up again and slept some more.

The good news is that the door is fixed! Hooray! The handyman attached to the campsite gave us a hand with his drill and the door is now once again attached.

We had decided that today would be a day of not going anywhere. Resting, repairing and recuperating, mentally and campervanly. So we got a few jobs done, had some more camembert and cider and generally didn't do much. Then garlic bread and pizza for dinner.

A much better day. (Now if only we can work out what's causing that nasty knocking noise in Skippy's engine)

St Aubin sur Mer

08/05/2010

Another day, another incident. It's really difficult to get into the swing of holidays and really enjoy it when things keep going wrong. Both of us are down in the dumps and in no small way, would like to just turn around, go back to England, sell Skippy and go home.

Today, passing through one of the innumerable toll booths, I drove a just a little bit too close to the left hand side barrier. There was a hideous metallic screeching and tearing sound, a brief silence and then one of those 'Oh crap!' moments. With another awful crunch we continued through the toll and pulled off to the side of the road. I jumped out to inspect the damage. It didn't seem too bad at first until the side door fell off in my hands. This was the last straw. On top of all the things that had gone wrong up to this point with the van, all of the extra money that we'd had to fork out, all of the problems and set backs that we'd encountered over the entire trip, from the months and months delay with my visa to the freezing house, to the repairs on our house back home, the debacle that was bringing Max over and having to send him home again, the dodgy Subaru, the crap jobs, this was it.

Our collective mood was almost unbearable. Appalling.

After managing to jerry rig the door with some spare wire and praying that it would hold while driving on the motorway, we limped into St Aubin sur Mer.

It had started out such a good day too.

It was late-ish on a Saturday, and given that Sunday was a holiday, finding the tools and/or equipment to fix the door didn't seem very likely to happen until at least Monday. We checked into a campsite, bought some cider and had a very depressed night. Why are we on this trip? Why aren't we back in Brisbane, in our own house, where it's warm and things are good?

France!!

07/05/2010

We are sitting in Skippy (campervan), having had dinner and washed up. It's still very light outside, although overcast as it has been all day.

A few minutes ago, we watched a couple of goats sitting on a lump of concrete across the little stream running right in front of our campsite. And they watched us. Malevolently. If if hadn't been for the stream acting as a barrier, we wouldn't have stood so close. After a while they got bored and started headbutting each other until a farmer appeared on the other side of their paddock at which point they bounded off towards him in hope of a feed.

The campsite is called Le Source and is set between a woody hill and the stream. It's a very tranquil setting, much needed after a day of travelling and drama. This morning we left our campsite in Folkstone and beetled down to Dover. We left earlier than we needed to, just to be sure we were in time for our ferry and, as it turned out, we were so early that we managed to catch the 9:15 ferry instead on the 10am that we had booked. The ferry was huge, and sitting on board in the coffee lounge, it was hard to believe that we were on a ship.

Arriving in Calais, we were surprised by two things: one, no one wanted to see our passports, and two, how much easier than expected it was to drive on the right hand side of the road. We're still not sure why it is that we got from England to France without any border control, but it turned out that highway driving is not a substitute for 'real' driving on the opposite side of the road of what you are used to.

We had a bit of trouble, you see.

Things may have turned out ok, if not for a massive let down from the satnav, or Denise, as we've come to know her (it's a woman's voice, she just sounds like a Denise, ok?). We only bought her two days ago and she'd been super reliable up to this point.

We'd programmed in our intended campsite for the evening, several kilometres west of Dieppe, after getting off the ferry. However, getting into Dieppe and blindly following Denise's instructions, we wound our way into the middle of Dieppe until, halfway along a very busy road, Denise announced, 'You have reached our destination'. Well, no, we hadn't. Much hilarity ensued (not). After much swearing, u-turns, despair, winding around back streets, consultation of maps, tension headaches, reprogramming of Denise, more swearing and near misses we kind of ended up going the way we thought maybe we should have been going...ish. We never made it to where we wanted to go, but passed this campsite were we are now, way after we'd had enough of driving. By this time it was 5:20 and, after getting up and 6:30 and having been on the go all day, it was time to stop.

There's no better way to end a stressful day than a short refreshing walk to the local store for some local goodies: in this case a bottle of very drinkable vino at a very juicy price of 1.80 euros, along with a baguette and some local camembert. Bliss, absolute bliss.

Addendum:

We've sorted out our directions issues from today. A combination of not knowing how to program Denise correctly, and an epic fail on the part of Caravan Club by placing the campsite we were headed for 200km further east than it actually is. I'm going to write a letter!!!

Highland trip - with the Pares!

August is probably the best month to visit Scotland, because you have the best chance of getting temperatures that are consistently about 12 degrees. Sure, that doesn't mean it won't rain - it is Scotland, after all. There's a superstition in the UK that, if it rains on St Swithun's day, 15 July, it will rain for 40 days - not Noah's Ark-style, but at some time on each of the next 40 days. Sure enough, it rained on 15 July and the saying came true.

Nevertheless, G's parents braved the weather and stayed with us for four weeks in August. Pretty much from the moment we decided to move over here for a few years, D&I indicated their intention to visit us. Having never been overseas before, this was a pretty major decision for them. But, in what felt like no time, we were greeting them at the airport in Edinburgh after their three day journey from Bundaberg to Scotland. They wisely chose to stay overnight in Singapore to combat the jetlag, and again in London before flying up to Edinburgh. It seemed to be a smart move, as they weren't as affected by jetlag as we were when we first arrived in Edinburgh.

D&I arrived on Thursday, and on Saturday we picked up a rental car and headed off on a journey north to the Highlands. We had booked accommodation for the first three nights of the trip, which was smart given the crowds of tourists in Scotland during August. During our first day, we drove northwest to Glencoe. G and I had been through there in April with my parents, and it was still as beautiful as we remembered, and a bit busier. At one point, we stopped at a carpark to admire the view, and a piper, obviously to capitalise on the tourists, started playing. D, excited by a genuine bagpiper, threw a few coins into his busking box and crept sidewards towards him for a photograph.

That night we stayed in Fort William at a quaint B&B, and had dinner at a local pub. [G takes over writing] That was Dad's first experience of haggis (he quite liked it) and even Mum tried a mouthful. Only one though. On a side note, I went for a jog before dinner, tackling in advance it's size, ingredients and liquid accompaniment. Going for a run at the foot of Ben Nevis was awesome. I felt like I was in one of those motivational posters (mind you, they normally have someone a lot fitter than me who doesn't look like they are having trouble breathing).

The next day was mostly wet. Good coffee drinking weather. It wasn't cold by Scottish standards, but not particularly warm. We drove up the Great Glen, stopping in at Fort Augustus to show Mum and Dad the locks in action. We didn't linger over Loch Ness and decided it was a bit too miserable to visit castle Urquhart. Dad and I did get out at the carpark and attempted to peer over the hedge to have a look at it (you have to pay to get in, and they do a pretty good job of making it difficult to see it unless you do so). Mum declined the excursion. It was pretty wet and she's not silly.

We headed further north and turned off to the west before Inverness. Lunch was at a little place called Beauly, in the car, in the carpark of the local firestation, overlooking a field with a cow in it. Yep.

Ullapool was pretty, with most buildings painted white, but quite busy. After settling in to our B&B and resting up, we tramped around for quite a while looking for a place to eat that wasn't a) massively busy, b) ridiculously expensive or c) both. Ullapool, for heaven's sake!

The drive the next day around the northwest coast was amazing. Around every bend a new vista would open up. Craggy peaks, green valleys and countless lochs with islands rising out of them. The photos can't do it justice. It was hard to concentrate on the driving, particularly with being single lane nearly all of the way. Whenever another vehicle was coming towards us, one of us would have to pull over in a designated passing place to let the other go by. This sometimes involve reversing for a distance, and once reversing up hill while a tourist bus bore down upon us, right on the edge of a cliff.

We did a detour along the way to a place called Achiltibuie, as we (that is, me... I mean, I) wanted to visit the Achiltibuie Smokehouse. Before finding the place, we erroneously detoured up a couple of very narrow lanes in a nearby village, slowly chasing bunch of raggedy, panic stricken sheep to great comic effect. We stayed that night in Thurso. The lady who owned the B&B was inspiringly unwelcoming, but it was a nice place.

The next day we stopped in at Dunnet Head, the actual northern most point on the UK mainland, not John O'Groats as widely thought. We also stopped at John O'Groats: a truly cheesy, soul-less little spot, where you can pay 20 pounds for the privilege of having your photo taken next to a signpost indicating your location (i.e. the (supposed) northern most point in the UK). The signpost is roped off and, according to numerous warning signs, taking a photo of the signpost from outwith the roped of area and not paying 20 pounds is liable to engage the wrath of the official signpost photographer.

We pootled down to Inverness, the west coast not particularly exciting us. It was only after visiting the tourist office that we fully realised the folly of not pre-booking accommodation in Scotland during summer. As it turned out, the nearest accommodation was Aberdeen. So at 3pm, after having been looking forward to a 5-10min drive to a B&B, we were off for another 3 hour trip. Not happy. On the plus side, our accommodation in Aberdeen was a very well priced hotel with a great little bar downstairs, which was a kind of mini-nirvana for this tired and grumpy driver. For some reason, the Guinness they had on tap was exceptionally good, although I had to have second one to be sure it wasn't a fluke. We didn't bother venturing any further afield for dinner.

We headed west the next day and, at the advice of a jovial tourist info employee at Banchory, we investigated the falls of Feugh, where Dad got some great video of salmon jumping up the falls. It was an amazing sight, and we were all impressed at these mighty fish trying to jump up the very fast-flowing water. It was rare that we saw one of them actually make it any distance up the falls, and not get knocked down again. They were all so valiant, and it was hard not to admire their bravery to just keep hurling themselves up the river again and again.

A short drive later we went to Balmoral Castle, the Queen's official residence in Scotland. It was not open to the public at that time of year so we contented ourselves with a slow drive by, snapping off a couple of furtive photos of the front gates and a flock of suspicious, stony faced police officers. We also saw there our only red squirrel of the trip. Of course, no trip to Balmoral Castle would be complete without a trip to Queen Victoria's local, the Royal Lochnagar distillery. Just popped in to buy a bottle.

From there, we drove home.

Nothing much more to say about that. It was good to get home, but I think we all had taken back with us images of the north-west highlands, and would love to get back up there again.

Blogger is being extremely slow to upload photos, so here are a few to keep you going.

G with some wonderful flat rocks, perfect for skipping across the water at Ullapool.

In front of the misty mountains north of Ullapool.

A stormy island in the middle of a loch.

In the freezing cold river at the foot of Ben Nevis. Gosh, it was cold.

So, where were we..?

So.

It's been five months since we've updated the blog. This has largely been because it's been a busy five months, and once we lost the momentum of regular updates it was hard to get back on the wagon. Plus, uploading photos takes forever, and as we have so many to share it wasn't an appealing idea to start the process.

A quick run down of the past five months would look like this:

• A trip to London for G's birthday, including seeing Wicked on the West End.
• A trip around the Scottish highlands.
• Enjoying the Edinburgh Fringe Festival (including a fabulous celebrity sighting).
• A weekend in Ayr, possibly during the worst weather all summer.
• A week in Wales and south England.
• A long weekend in Paris.
• Having M&B stay for the weekend.
• Having G's parents stay for four weeks.
• Having C's sister H stay for seven nights.
• Having friend P stay for the weekend.
• Going to an awesome Coldplay concert in Glasgow.
• G changing jobs.
• C quitting her job (really).
• Going through an arduous house hunting process, then deciding not to move after receiving a drop in the rent.

Anyway, that's the short story. Now for the long version.....