British roads

Having now driven a 6 metre long vehicle for well over 1000 miles on British roads, I have some observations.

- I'm pretty sure there are more speed cameras than speed signs.
- despite petrol being measured in litres, distance, width and height are measured in miles, feet, inches and yards. This causes problems when you're approaching a speed camera or low bridge and having to do conversions in your head. I.E. "40 miles is 65 k's, right? Right?!"; "are we under 14 feet high? We're about 9 aren't we? Duck just to be sure."
- single carriageway highways are 60 mph (95 kph), but there's no prior warning when you're approaching a sharp turn on a windy road apart from "SLOW" (or in Wales "ARAF/SLOW"). Consequently we slow the motorhome down to about 40kph at every turn. There's no difference in signage between a 5 degree bend and a 150 degree hairpin turn.
- all vaguely major roads are numbered. Consequently we're regularly saying "turn right at the B1782, not the B1783".
- North Wales isn't built for motorhomes. We were shouted and fist waved once and we clipped the mirror of a car towing a caravan going the other way. Also, it's easier to drive a few kilometres in the wrong direction to a roundabout rather than attempt a U-Turn in the motorhome.
- Scottish people are very polite on the roads, particularly in the Highlands. They'll blink their hazard lights in thanks if you pull over and let them overtake you. It's very rewarding.
- Welsh people do not blink their lights in thanks.
- the speed limit on most dual carriageways (including motorways) is 70mph (110kph), but some dual carriageways have regular roundabouts, meaning you're constantly speeding up to 110 then going back to 0.
- there are no utes (pickups for any American readers) in Britain. I've been keeping my eye out the whole time for them and haven't seen a single one.
- it's not uncommon to find a pair of elderly cyclists in the middle of the Welsh Highlands, miles from any town, in pouring rain. These people will not turn to look at the motorhome hurtling up behind them, but fearlessly continue to cycle on, uphill, in the middle of the single lane, until you find a spot to overtake them.
- parking facilities are not built for motorhomes. Most parking lots (including park & rides) have gates that limit the height of vehicles entering to 2 meters. We asked a caravan park owner why, and she replied "it's to keep out gypsies". This surprised us.
- people have no qualms about parking in the middle of a lane, turning a two way road into a one way road, only allowing one vehicle to pass at a time. It's completely legal too. People bend in their wing mirrors, so that buys you another 2 inches.
- distances on signs are unusually exact. I.E: "Salisbury - 4 1/4 miles" or "Parking - 270 yards"

I'm not sure what roads will be like on the continent, but I'm not sure they'll be much better. Looking forward to being back on the wide, long, straight, well signed roads back home.

Wales

We spent approximately 69 hours 39 minutes in Wales and, although brief, it provided many new adventures and experiences.

We entered Wales at 9:30 pm on Friday after the disaster that was England and started searching for a safe place to pull over and stay for the night. This is more difficult that it sounds as there is NO off street parking but eventually we found a place and pulled over. This turned out to be right outside a church and, if we were questioned as to why we were there, we had prepared a story about seeking sanctuary.

The next morning we woke to the lovely sound of rain falling on our roof. This is a pleasant occurrence while we are warm and cosy in our motorhome but was not quite so much fun when the rain persisted in Conwy, our first destination for the day. Needless to say our visit to Conwy Castle, which is in complete ruins and therefore has no protection from the rain, left us looking like a pair of drowned rats. It was still quite interesting to wander through the ruins and take in the views from the towers. I imagined Carol from Our Day Out standing on one of the ledges but felt the lyrics needed rewriting -

Why does it have to be this way.
Why does it rain, for days and days and days.
The clouds in the sky.
The rain not passing by.
Oh I just don't want to stay.
Cos it's been raining most of the day.

From Conwy we headed inland to Snowdonia with the intention of seeing Mount Snowdon. Unfortunately the rain kept falling at an increasing rate as we got closer. By the time we were passing cottages and BnBs with names such as 'Snowdon View' we were surrounded by clouds and mist and knew that the chance of sighting any evidence of the mountain was dim. The next train to the top was in over 3 hours (silly us didn't book) but a sign at the ticket booth admitted that there was virtually no visibility on the way up or from the top. And it was still raining.

We researched wether there was anything else to do in the area but the majority of things we were keen to do involved some level of being outdoors which was not at all appealing. The weather forecast for the following day was just as grim so we instead decided to continue on our way and find a place to stay lower down. Despite still being the long weekend we found a lovely place in the middle of nowhere and recovered from the day of windy and rainy driving, which had left both of us quite exhausted.

The next day we hit the road again and found ourselves nearing Aberaeron, a seaside town where Matt stayed with Ann (in some complex way related to the Bevans) in 2004. Completely without warning we knocked on her door and provided Ann and her daughter Enid, who happened to be visiting her mum from Cardiff, with a happy surprise. We had a lovely catch up over a cuppa and left them still in shock at seeing a grown up Matt at the door. We enjoyed lunch in the bustling colourful town at the New Celtic Restaurant, which boasted it had "Probably the best fish and chips you've ever tasted" and it probably was.

From Aberaeron we continued on to Cardiff which was such a great experience that it deserves a post all of it's very own.

It's worth noting that navigating in Wales is made difficult both by the fact that the signs are in two languages, and that the names of the towns are unpronounceable to us and don't stick in your memory. To combat this we created alternate pronunciations using almost the same letters:
Aberystwyth = Abba wrist watch
Dolgellau = Doggy lau
Blaenau Ffestiniog = Blue new festival
Tan-y-Bwych = Tan, you bitch!
Machynlleth = Macking... Let's! (said with lisp)

It's also worth noting that the iPhone autocorrect knew the correct spelling of all those town names.

To our Welsh-speaking readers, we hope we haven't offended your beautiful language too much.

24 hours in England

After spending 6 days in Scotland it was time to head back to England and finish off our time in the UK. Unfortunately we weren't quite shown the hospitality we were before and our 24 hours in England were plagued with disappointment and misfortune.

After crossing the border and
just before settling down for the evening we made a side trip down hazardous narrow roads to take a look at Hadrian's Wall, built by the Romans along the then English/Scottish border. To call it a wall is an overstatement. Where we saw it at the town of Bank it is more like Hadrian's Crappy Pile of Rocks, and a slight let down. We drove back to the nearby town of Brampton and found a cute caravan park to stay at.

Unfortunately, a problem we had noticed while driving around the area earlier reared it's ugly head in Brampton. Everything smelt like cow poo and within no time of setting up camp the smell had permeated our motorhome. To combat the stench I quickly set about cooking pasta for dinner and warmly welcomed the tears from the overpowering onion juice.

The next day we set off for the Lakes District. Mum and dad have just spent 6 weeks in the UK and, in a note left for us in our place in Horley, mum had STRONGLY RECOMMENDED (yes she used capitals) to do the Derwent Waters Catbells walk. Now, having completed the walk, we think mum suggested it for three possible reasons. 1. She thinks we're unfit. 2. She hates us. 3. She wants us to die. Or possibly all three.

The experience started by having to pay £3 just to park in a paddock in the middle of nowhere. We then set off with our map and packed bag to complete the 10km walk. The start of the walk is, in simple terms, up. After one particularly steep section I asked Matt how he was feeling and I had a good giggle at his reply- "I feel like I'm having a heart attack." We would join the groups of people stopping every 50 metres to catch their breathe and bond over jokes about the steepness. Being on a ridge however awarded us amazing views of the whole area.

The way down is a lot easier and, inspired by poet William Wordsworth (author of the poem Matt calls 'Wanks composed a few wanks above Wankton Abbey', who was born in the nearby town of Cockermouth and often scaled these hills), we would take turns making up verses for poems. Ours were not quite up to his standard with us rhyming Matty with fatty on more than one occasion. Once we reached the base the walk winds its way beside Derwent Water before returning to the car. Whatever mums intention, I'm glad she recommended it as it was a great experience.

After being back in England for only a short time we noticed that fuel had increased by a whopping 11 pence. We were also met with two major delays on the motorway near Carlisle after a Coca Cola truck hit the middle barrier and the entire contents of the truck were strewn all over the road. One poor motorist got 4 punctured tyres from the bottles when it happened.

Determined to push on and allow England to redeem itself we travelled to Blackpool, which claims to be England's most visited city outside London and is where all the Brits go to holiday. It is essentially Brighton on crack, with tacky rides, amusement arcades, souvenir shops and gaudy establishments everywhere you look. It was like a train crash - no matter how hard I tried I just couldn't look away. As time was ticking away we resolved to stay there the night and explore the city the following day.

After trying to find a place to stay and being turned away by 4 full caravan parks we were finally told the reason - it was Bank Holiday, a long weekend - proving that Blackpool really is where the Brits holiday. We instead drove to Liverpool where it was pouring with rain.

We had spent less than 24 hours in England and had been plagued with expensive fuel, crappy walls, steep mountains, poo, no room at the inn and rain. We had finally had enough and, still feeling quite awake, we cut our losses and drove to Wales to stay there the night instead.

The Highlands

Appreciating the Highlands is all about driving slowly and stopping often.  Most of it is not voluntary. 

After our pleasant stay by Loch Tummel we slowly made our way to Inverness and to Elaine's (my Aunty Ishbel's sister) for two nights. Although Elaine was at work during the day (she works for the Highland Council so told us a lot of stuff about the area) she kindly took us out both nights to see certain sights.

The first night we went on a drive round the Black Isle at twilight, a time of day that lasts quite a considerable time when you're as far north as we were. The sky and ocean is also the most amazing deep blue at this time, lit up by the setting sun and twinkling lights.

Night two we took to the streets of Inverness, once again at twilight. We walked around the castle (quite young at around only 200 years old), through the city and over the bridges. Although technically "summer", it was quite cold and Matt and I were rugged up in as much gear as we would be for winter back home. 

We topped the night off with a trip to Blackfriars, a traditional Scottish pub where we were treated to a two piece band featuring the accordion, penny whistle and of course the bagpipes, one instrument designed more for the expansive Highlands than a confined space. It was toe tappingly good and a quick ask around by the musicians revealed most of the pubs patrons to be foreigners all keen to savour some of the local talent. 

In between our nights out we dedicated a whole day to driving around Loch Ness. We travelled down the western side of the loch stopping at several places along the way, including Urquart Castle, to take in the views. Despite being the major route south the road is one lane each way and extremely windy and narrow. The speed limit is 95km/hr but we never got over 80. Luckily there are plenty of places to quickly pull over and allow those queued behind us to pass. Some impatient daredevils however do overtake on curves and with no ability to see on coming traffic. Scary stuff!

When we neared the bottom of the loch I spotted a sign for waterfalls and, after a view of only still water for quite some time we pulled over. A short walk through a damp moss covered forest led us to a fast flowing river and a series of cascading falls. We sat next to them for quite some time, soaking in the natural beauty and experimenting with the camera to get those fancy misty waterfall shots. We had conveniently stopped at lunch time and enjoyed a beautiful mountain view as we ate. 

It was now my time in the drivers seat for the trip up the east side of the loch and, expecting the same road as the way down, I was much mistaken. The road was now only one lane and the maximum speed limit I dared go was 60. If I met an oncoming car I had to either pull into a 'passing place' or hope they did. Luckily these parking spots were quite frequent and you could usually see if a car was coming and move to the side in time. Unlike the busy way down, everyone on this side of the loch were happy to take their time, tourists most likely, and we all politely waved to each other in thanks as we passed. 

The views from this side were spectacular and at one stage as we came over the crest of a hill we were met with a view of the Highlands like no other. Our photos in no way do it justice. 

The next day was a massive driving day in order to leave Scotland and make up for extra days we happily spent in Edinburgh and Inverness. We travelled from Inverness to the Scottish border at Gretna, all the while driving through some amazing country. We made a few side trips on the way and enjoyed lunch at Glen Nevis at the base of Ben Nevis,  the UK's highest mountain. A wonderful way to cap off our time spent in God's country: the Highlands.

Motorhome School with Matt

Taking 4 months off can have a drastic impact on your intelligence. You stop having to use your brain in the same way you do back home and, before you know it, you've forgotten how to read and write. This is particularly hard for me when I've been studying at uni for the last five years.

 In order to continue my education I am attending Motorhome School, taught by Professor Matthew Bevan. Due to Matt's extensive knowlege on a little bit about everything, we have covered a wide range of subjects so far.  

In Germany and Belgium he taught me about WWI: why it started, how the war progressed and details on certain battles. I was taken on a class excursion to the site of the Battle of Paschendale (Belgium) and we attended the Paschendale Museum. My WW1 studies will continue when we travel through France with visits to various battlefields including the Battle of the Somme. 

English and Scottish history has largely dominated the curriculum in the last few weeks. We have studied the rise and fall of England, the great fire of London, the plague, the English Royal family (largely focusing on Henry 8th and the Tudors), and William Wallace. Not only am I taught these things verbally, but I am shown documentary films (I use that term loosely) including Elizabeth and Braveheart. 

I was also taught about Chekov and Stanislavsky at the National Theatre, John Harrison and the longitude problem at Greenwich, the history of steam at the National Science Museum, Isaac Newton and Edmund Halley at Westminster Abbey, the Viking Raid at Lindisfarne, and the Schiehallion experiment while at Lake Tummel. I have even been given recommended readings which I am told to read off the iPhone, courtesy of wiki of course. 

Our drives provide the time to study music and I have listened to Rolling Stone Magazines top 50 songs of all time. I was quizzed on the name of the song and artist when each song started and was given clues to help me if I didn't know. So far we've also listened to classics like The Beatles' Abbey Road, Dire Straits' Brothers in Arms and Elton John's Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. 

All jokes aside, it has been fantastic and I've learnt so much. Soon Matt won't be the only one who knows a little bit about everything. 

Love thy neighbour

On Sunday we saw five speakers - four comedians and a Church of Scotland minister. All five touched on various issues of the world, and one of them offered what I think is a solution.

The four comedians were at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Hannah Gadsby, Dave Callan, Shappi Khoursandi and Rich Hall. They were all excellent, and all covered different issues.

Hannah Gadsby spoke about the difficulties of being gay in a small town. She's from Circular Head, Tasmania, and among other things, her comedy pokes fun at the strange mannerisms and at times small-mindedness of folks from the country. Like many people in rural Australia, she found it tough being different, and the tendency of people in rural areas to fear what they don't understand has had an impact on her life.

Shappi Khoursani is an Iranian-Brit. She immigrated from Iran to London when she was a toddler and her comedy discusses the difficulties she faced in England. She told stories (in an extremely funny way) about racism she was subject to. She also talked about how her father, a famous writer who was critical of the Islamic Republic of Iran, was sent numerous death threats and eventually his assassination was ordered by the Ayatollah of Iran (it was unsuccessful). These terrifying experiences have certainly had an impact on her, but she has turned it around and built a successful comedy career out of her sense of humour and life experience.

American comedian Rich Hall, who I know best from his appearances on QI with Stephen Fry, spoke about many, many problems that he sees in the world. He spoke about the UK riots, the American banking bust, the Global Financial Crisis, gay marriage, the Norway massacre and the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, among many other things. As painfully hilarious as he was, he also gave a dour outlook on the state of the world, and despaired with his audience about how nothing was being done to help it. He didn't, however, offer a solution… which brings us to Reverend Anne Job.

Anne Job is a minister of the Church of Scotland in Fife and she was speaking at Dysart Kirk, where we went with Helen and Bill Barrie, who we were staying. No matter whether you're Christian, atheist, Muslim, Buddhist, or anything else, her message was powerful, and possibly the best I've heard. If you're thinking of stopping reading now that I'm about to quote the Bible, I urge you to keep going… it will all make sense soon.

She spoke primarily about Matthew 22:36-39 which questions:
"Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?"
Jesus replied: '"Love the Lord your God with all our heart and with all your soul and with all your mind" This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbour as yourself'".

Reverand Job spoke a lot about "love your neighbour", and the more she spoke the more I realised… that's the answer.

I don't know whether it happened recently, or whether it's always been the case, but most people seem to be primarily focussed on what makes THEM happy, and what keeps THEM comfortable.

I don't think this is very sustainable. If we were living in a society where you had to fight to stay alive and hunt your own food and defend your land, then this sort of mentality would be completely understandable. If we were living in tribes in caves, and battling over limited resources and concerned that at any moment a bear might run into our den and eat us then it would be understandable. But we're not.

I'm going to assume now that you're reading this in a 21st century first world country. If you're not, then go about your business, and a hearty congratulations on making the internet work.

For those in a western country… you live in a society where everybody needs everybody else. We all need people to make our food (or at least grow it), we all need our government to function properly, and we all need people to drive properly on the road so that the cars don't all bump into each other.

What we need to realise is that if everyone was a bit nicer and more considerate of each other, then everyone would be happier. Love your neighbour.

If everyone (including the government) was a bit nicer to the underclass in Britain, they might not be looting. If bankers and businessmen on Wall Street were a bit nicer to their customers, and weren't too keen to line their own pockets, the American economy may not be ruined. If the world's political parties were a bit nicer to each other, and thought a bit more about the people they're supposed to represent, there might be some direction on things. If truck companies and drivers thought a bit more about the other people on the road, there might not be so many road accidents. If the people concerned about their company's bottom line thought a bit more about future generations, Australia might not be having a ridiculous argument about carbon pricing.
If people were a bit nicer and more considerate to Hannah Gadsby and Shappi Khoursani, they may have had easier childhoods, and if the Ayatollah of Iran was more considerate of his people, then Shappi's father wouldn't have written anything worth threatening death over.

It really solves most problems. It's not complicated and it's not new. Love your neighbour… just be a bit nicer to people.

Then again if that happened, what would the news report, and what would comedians talk about?

Edinburgh

Matt and I have spent the last three lovely days in the Edinburgh area. We were lucky enough to be staying with my Aunty Ishbel's parents Helen and Bill in Glenrothes, just north of the city, for 3 nights. This provided great access to Edinburgh and it was wonderful to catch up with them.

On Saturday Elaine and Scott, Aunty Ishbel's brother and sister, took us into the city for the day. It was a jam packed day full of walking, history and a lot of local knowledge. Scott served two terms in the Scottish Parliament (starting in 1999 as an inaugural member), so Matt and he hit it right off talking about politics. All I can remember is that he has met the Queen ... three times, once having dinner with her at her table with the Dali Lama. Elaine was also a wonderful host, pointing out places of interest and telling us interesting stories. It was nice to not have to think about where we were going or constantly have our noses in a map.

We started off by walking along Princes Street, which offered spectacular views to the castle sitting precariously on the edge of a craggy mountain. We then headed up the Mound and along the Royal Mile to the entrance of the castle. Assembled outside the castle was the stand for the Edinburgh Tattoo, which looked more like a Quidditch stadium than anything else. We then headed off through the cute streets of Edinburgh, stopping for an Indian lunch, ending up at the base of Arthurs Seat. Feeling particularly active and enjoying the rare sunshine, we hiked up the Salisbury Craggs to soak in the fantastic views.

The next day, after going to church with Helen and Bill (which Matt wants to write about later), Matt and I headed back into the city on our own to catch some of the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. The whole atmosphere is quite awesome, with people everywhere and entertainment on all of the streets. There are over 300 venues for the fringe dotted all over the city, which is an amazing feat.

We saw 4 different comedians at 4 different venues in 6 hours: Australian Hannah Gadsby, Irishman Dave Callan, Londoner Shappi Khoursani and American Rich Hall. They were all fantastic and we laughed till we cried. Matt was, of course, entertaining the audience with his Mozart laugh. We were in the front row for Hannah and Dave and got to chat to them in the show. Between each show we enjoyed drinks at the various venues and chillaxing in the bars. Such a wonderful day!

Staying with Helen and Bill was quite the experience. Matt and I were treated to Scotch malt whisky and liqueurs and haggis and pork sausages (which we loved!), not to mention a constant need to concentrate on understanding that thick accent :)

Unfortunately we had to get back on the road and are now making our way up to Inverness. We are currently parked at the top of a hill that slopes gently into Loch Tummel and provides the most wonderful views of the mountains. This is without a doubt the most spectacular campsite yet. We've just had happy hour outside. It's a tough life.

North West England: Moors, Whitby and Newcastle

After exploring York we set off for Newcastle on Thursday. Newcastle upon Tyne that is. Not the best kind of Newcastle, but Newcastle none the less. Keen to stay off the motorway we selected what we thought would be a scenic route through the North Yorkshire Moors and aimed for the seaside town of Whitby (mainly because Matt thought the town rang a bell).

Well our route proved a winner because not long into our trip the scenery began to change. First a hill ortwo, a significant contrast to some of the flatter areas around London. Then rolling fields surrounded by drystone walls and full of grazing sheep and cows. Finally, as we came to the crest of a hill we both gasped in awe. Before us lay a magnificent sight. It's hard to describe but essentially we were surrounded by treeless rolling hills, craggy outcrops and deep gullies all covered in the most spectacular purple flowers. Everywhere we looked the land was bursting forth in the most magnificent lavender hue. The most amazing thing is it was not a brief occurrence. We drove though this landscape for over half an hour and emerged on the other side of the Moors at Whitby.

When we entered the town of Whitby Matt realised why the name was familiar - it is where James Cook grew up. Who knows, if things had gone slightly different in this town we might all be speaking another language. The town has taken advantage of this claim to fame in endeavours such as the First Fleet Pub and is home to the James Cook Museum.

Another drawcard is the ruins of Whitby Abbey, which dominates the skyline and menacingly stands overlooking the town on a hill right by the sea. It truly is a powerful sight. So powerful in fact that Bram Stoker set Whitby Abbey and surrounding areas as the backdrop for several scenes in his famous novel Dracula. We were unable to find a park in Whitby itself (apparently all the tourists had followed us from London), but we parked up by the Abbey and enjoyed a lovely walk. Matt and I stopped in our tracks when, across our path, crossed THE CAT we had seen the previous day in York. It wasn't just a little similar. It was EXACTLY the same. And we have the photos to prove it. We joked that he must have hitched a ride, clinging to the underside of our motorhome for dear life.

We set aside the thoughts of our stalker and continued on our way, soon finding ourselves on the outskirts of Newcastle, with places like Gateshead, Jesmond, Morpeth, Wallsend and Dudley popping up on our map. Saving Newcastle for the following day, we picked a caravan park on the map and found ourselves in Derwent Park, right on the River Derwent in the cosy suburb of Rowland's Gill. It was refreshing to enjoy the peace and quiet and we sat by the river skipping stones, listening to the bubble of the water and the whoosh of the weeping willows in the wind.

Our peace was somewhat disturbed when, on the way back from the river we saw THE CAT, for the third time! I kid you not, now it's just getting creepy. We stopped in shock as he turned his little head towards us and stared. We'll have to start charging him soon. No one hitches a ride in our motorhome for free.

On Friday morning we set off for the city of Newcastle. It's quite interesting, both the caravan park owner and corner shop owner asked us the same thing almost immediately when they realised we were foreigners - "so you have family here in Newcastle?" They looked slightly confused when we answered no. Apparently Newcastle is in a no way a tourist town, with nothing to see, and nothing to do. We felt right at home :)

We drove through the city centre, past the impressively large football stadium and parked by the river to enjoy a leisurely stroll on the foreshore and take in the view of the seven bridges. While quite unremarkable to a passerby, I have no doubt that Newcastle upon Tyne, just like our wonderful city back home, has many secret gems and is a great place to live, they just keep them quiet from all those pesky tourists.

From Newcastle we crossed the border into Scotland, taking a detour to the amazing town/island of Lindisfarne along the way, and are now staying with my Aunty Ishbel's mum and dad in Glenrothes. But that is another story for another day.

York: Trains, a grange and a little archaeology

Rachel: A three hour drive from Cambridge is the pleasant city of York, which the Lonely Planet enthusiastically describes as being a wonderful and quaint place. I fear however that starting our journey in Brugge has destroyed all our expectations. York is lovely, don't get me wrong, but as Matt exclaimed "York's only a fairytale city. Doesn't quite get there does it." I sighed in agreement.

It was already 6pm on Tuesday when we arrived in York so, after a quick google search, we selected our camping spot for the night. When we arrived the site was full (apparently other people read Lonely Planet too) so we set off on plan B.

Google maps led us to a one way dirt lane on the outer edge of the city. I looked at the map in confusion. Apparently down this narrow lane was a camping spot but there were no signs to suggest it. Just lots of trees and lots of paddocks. We each inhaled deeply and set off. At the end of the winding lane we found a grassy square with 4 motorhomes, a few tents and a collection of old stone buildings at the end of a pebbled driveway.

Thankfully a sign explained all - we were at Acomb Grange, built in 1120 (woah!!). It was a collection of private houses, a BnB and an accountants office. We knocked on the front door and were warmly welcomed by the owner who said we could have a powered site, explained some history on the estate (quite fascinating really - if you're interested look here: www.acomb grange.com.uk/history) and left us to set up.

We enjoyed it so much and, as could not explore York in one day, we stayed here for two nights (Tuesday and Wednesday).

The first destination in York was the National Railway Museum. The museum was mostly full of excited little boys so I will leave Matt to tell you all about it.

Matt: Trains are awesome. This museum has lots of trains. This museum is awesome.

Rachel: Is that really all you're going to write?

Matt: Fine. The National Railway Museum is awesome because it caters for all different types of train geeks.

Thomas the Tank Engine loving kids can see the awesomely coloured authentic, still operational steam trains that fill the main hall and watch the turntable inside effortlessly pivot a 20 tonne forest green locomotive around 360 degrees in 90 seconds.Anorak wearing trainspotters can sit on the balcony and view the main North-Eastern English railway line and the screens showing the real-live switching tables and location of locomotives around York Station.

People interested in the history of trains can see the various incarnations of The Flying Scotsman, marvel at early traction engines and walk across a hall filled with locomotives from the last 15 decades, including a real Shinkansen (bullet train) loco from Japan.

People who love the Royal Family can see several of the carriages specifically built to transport Kings and Queens around Britain, people who love model railways can fog up the glass, people who love women acting as male train conductors from the early 20th Century deliver long, overwritten monologues, and people who love the smell of steam, coal, grease and oil can step inside a functioning rail work shed and sniff.

Personally I love the complexity of the system. I love that hundreds of MASSIVE, long vehicles travel through towns and cities, criss-cross the countryside, dive into tunnels and traverse bridges and deliver millions of passengers, mail bags and tonnes of goods every day and pretty much, none of them ever bump into each other. The amazingly network of schedules, switches and signals, and the people who operate them fascinates me. This museum catered to me as well.

It was awesome.

Rachel: Want to finish the post? I'm writing the next one already...

Matt: I have visited York before, with my family in 2004, but I didn't visit the town's huge cathedral: York Minster. I think we were all a bit tired and grumpy and wanted to sit down and have lunch, so Dad ducked off to have a peek himself. It was a good choice. By Dad, of course.

The minster is, first of all - massive. "It's the largest Cathedral north of the Alps," the chap who owns Acomb Grange told us, "You can fit Canterbury [Cathedral] inside it". It's also very spacious, uncluttered by the horror-movie level of corpses and tombs built into Westminster Abbey, there's a lot of room to walk around and enjoy it. Also, the £9 entry price keeps the masses out, so you can easily swing a cat that's swinging another cat without hitting anything or being hassled. The windows that are still there are stunning, and huge.

The undercroft held an excellent (and surprisingly secular) exhibit about the Romans, Normans and Saxons who had built various incarnations of cathedral on the site before the current Medieval one. Archaeologists uncovered lots about it while engineers removed the floor of the building and reinforcing the piers underneath, because of fears in the late 1960s that the building was going to fall over.

After the Minster we crossed the town to Clifford's Tower, which is a squat medieval stone tower perched on a small mound of grass, but as everything else in York apart from the Minster and a few other churches is quite short, it provided a fantastic view of the town. The floor was, however, uneven and the walls were a little crumbly, and it got me thinking "Was this thing built for 700 years of use?" We hastily left. As far as we know, the tower is still there.

Speaking of things that are very old and weren't necessarily built for centuries of use, we next skirted the outside of the town on top of the city wall. The wall, built in the 12th to 14th centuries, still encircles most of the city and provides a great, if not slightly unsettling way (there's only a railing on one side) to see York. In fact, as the walls cross over streets and between buildings, we saw a few people using it as a thoroughfare on their way home from the shops. There's something you don't get at home - shortcuts over 12th century battlements.

It was on this wall that we first encountered THE CAT. A black cat with a white belly and legs, making it's way home from doing some mischief no doubt. For whatever reason, we took a photo of the cat. It was a good idea, as you'll find out in future posts.

We walked from the South to the North-West of the city centre on the wall and got the park and ride home. We returned the following morning to go to the Jorvik Centre, a museum telling the story of the Viking history of York.

It could so easily have been tacky, but it wasn't. From the first moment you walk onto a glass floor suspended 6 inches above a real archaeological site, including artifacts, water and sticks in the exact position they were in when found by archaeologists many years before - you're hooked.

I won't ruin it for you, but after an hour of EXCELLENT animatronics, holograms, real Viking skeletons (featuring cuts, fractures, stab wounds and degenerative joint disease) you really feel like you can imagine what it would be like to live in ancient Jorvik (the Viking name for York).

We emerged from the 11th century into the 21st, both glad and a little disappointed to be back.

Goodbye London, hello Cambridge

Matt and I were itching to get back on the road so on Monday we said goodbye to our house at Horley and hello to life in our motorhome.

Our first destination was the university city of Cambridge. We spent an afternoon wandering through the streets and taking in the stone colleges, pretty courtyards and towering churches that make up this city.

What was particularly interesting were the shops. Every second clothes store sold suits for the men, including new tweed jackets (which should just be a crime) and every other pencil skirts and blazers for the women. Not to mention the classy cafes, hiking and sports shops, expensive
jewellery stores, and shops selling boutique homewares. With 18 past UK prime ministers attending Cambridge University, it would not be hard to accuse them of being out of touch with reality.

We then made our way to our resting place for the night - the Cambridge Caravan and Camping Club Site (the equivalent of the CMCA in the UK) - on the outskirts of the city. As we approached the entrance to the site both Matt and my mouths simultaneously went "oooooooooo".

It was the cutest little place we had ever seen - a stretch of green land surrounded by raspberry bushes. We pulled out the awning, set up our chairs and table outside and enjoyed a nice cup of tea and a good book. It truly is a fantastic lifestyle.

The next day we headed back into Cambridge for a leisurely punt on the river Cam. Did we choose a guided tour? Of course not! We set about hiring one for an hour and having a go ourselves. "Surely it can't be that hard" we optimistically said. In short, it was.

The first part of our trip was event free and we enjoyed cruising down stream, navigating ourselves under bridges, through weeping willows and away from other boats. We passed the well known Kings College and it's Chapel, Trinity College and The Backs.

The trip back was another story when, as soon we turned around, we were met by a current just strong enough to cause a problem.

Event 1: our pole got stuck in the muddy ground and, as advised, Matt let go of the pole to avoid falling in. A kindly Cambridge student rescued it for us after our attempts to retrieve it using our small paddle failed. I amused our knight in shining armour with a "thanks, *giggle* thats what happens when they let crazy Australians have a go".

Event 2: In true Matt fashion he took off his jumper (careful not to lose the pole again) and threw it towards the centre of the boat. The wind picked it up and once again we had to go and rescue something. So for the remainder of the trip we had a very soggy and algae covered passenger.

Event 3: it was quite a workout heading upstream and I paddled as Matt punted to give us more oomph. Despite the extra momentum it still took us so long to get back and we more or less zig zagged all the way back.

When we look back on our time in Cambridge it will be these things we remember. The things you don't expect. The things that go wrong. The things that surprise you. The things that make you laugh and look like an idiot. I hope we have many more of them to come!

Our Last Day in London

Our last day in London started at Westminster Abbey which, to put simply, is a very elaborate graveyard. We took advantage of the audio tour and it lead us from chapel to chapel, through corridors and past nooks and crannies, all the while detailing the lives of the people we passed. We saw several of the great rulers - Elizabeth I, Mary I, Mary Queen of Scots and Edward the Confessor, well known contributors to the arts in Poets Corner - Shakespeare, Coleridge, Chaucer, The Bronte sisters, Jane Austen, Keats, Dickens and Handel, and other high achievers such as Sir Isaac Newton, Charles Darwin and John 'Longitude' Harrison (who has a line of meridian drawn through his tombstone).

The Abbey itself has some wonderful features such as the marbel floor in the High Alter, the Coronation Chair (which now resembles more of a rotting log than a chair) and the intricate ceiling in Henry VII's Chapel. In the Nave and High Alter you could hear people whispering to each other - this is where she walked in, this is where the Queen sat, this is where they said their vows. It seems like Royal Wedding fever hasn't left quite yet. Indeed the Abbey's Chapter House had been taken over by a large display of the official Royal Wedding photos, which all stood in front of the painted walls and sculptors which dated back to the 1250's. A strange sight indeed.

We then wandered along Parliament Street, past Downing Street, to Trafalgur Square and, needing to kill some time before seeing a show later that night, we decided to check out the bike hire system that operates within the city. The system is entirely automatic with bus stations located throughout the city. For 1 pound each you have access to the system for 24 hours. Every time you use a bike for under thirty minutes it is free, so it is a great way to get around town. Use for 1 hour straight is 1 pound and the costs increase at varying rates. After crossing a few streets (a scary concept because of the lack of helmets, double decker buses and zooming taxis), we had a leisurely ride through Green Park, past Buckingham Palace, down The Mall, and back to where we started.

That night we enjoyed Tom Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead at the Theatre Royal in Haymarket. The two leads were fantastic with amazing comic timing, expression and an ability to capture the audience. The play is however very Waiting for Godot-esk (yes Godot-esk is now a word) and tended to drag in the second act. I did however enjoy reading and discussing the play's meaning on the train ride home. Matt also enjoyed the show but seemed more excited at seeing Bill Murray in the foyer at interval. He walked past him 4 times in the same manner just for fun....

Jealousy, Fear and Depression

Our second last day in London was just as enjoyable as the previous ones but, thankfully, not as jammed packed full of people and places. It did however present us with a whirlwind of negative emotions.

On Friday we headed into the city and started our day with an early lunch under Waterloo Bridge. We then joined a group for a backstage tour of the National Theatre, much to Matt's squealing delight. Over lunch he had begged me to let him tell me about the history of the NT and the inner workings of its famous drum revolve in the Olivier Theatre but I protested - "What are we paying to go on a tour for then if you're just going to tell me all the interesting things now!?" He was just excited he learnt and remembered something from Carl Cauldfied's drama class at uni.

Luckily he didn't tell me, as we had the most wonderful and knowledgable tour guide who showed us all three theatres, the many specialty rooms for making props, swords and explosives, metal welding, set construction and painting (yes they have a GIANT room dedicated to painting) and told us about the awesome repertory system that operates at NT. The guide laughed at my reaction when she told us of the Olivier Theatre Rehearsal Room which itself has a revolving stage - "I can see we have some very jealous people involved in the theatre here".

And that's pretty much how the tour went - Matt and I wandering around, mouths open and salivating slightly. The NT is such an amazing government funded resource that puts on a staggering 26 shows a year, with 6 running at a time on three stages.  Each show runs for 5 days and then swaps with the other. They put on well known plays that draw the crowds in the Olivier Theatre and take daring risks with new and young writers in their smaller ones. The word jealous doesn't describe it.

After our tour we retreated to the NT courtyard to absorb what we had just witnessed. Our minds started racing and soon we were in a heated discussion planning our own ideas - what sort of shows would we do, how should we get funding, what should the target audience be, what resources do you need to do a show in rep, how do you split the time between popular money makers and experimental theatre, would something like this work back at home, where would Australia have something like a National Theatre. Glancing at a clock I realised we had been sitting there talking for almost two hours - no need to get all soppy on you but this is the reason I married this creative and thoughtful man. And I have no doubts that, with a bit of hard work, we could make our dreams a reality, although not perhaps on the same scale as the NT.

We then experienced a terrifying ordeal of watching Super 8 at the IMAX. Don't get me wrong, it was a great movie despite the fact I screamed out loud several times and Matt was squeezing my hand in fear. We did however need a quiet sit down and a cold beer to recover, and enjoyed a delightful dinner at some outdoor markets on the Thames (yay for 5 pound paella).

Then it was time to head back to the NT to see Chekhov's final play -The Cherry Orchard - starring Zoe Wanamaker (or as I call her - Madame Hooch from Harry Potter). It was a wonderful production of this somewhat depressing play with superb sets and costumes. Matt and I didn't miss a single word as the sound carried through the theatre wonderfully. The adaption was done by Andrew Upton and the whole story, despite being written so long along, had many elements so reflective of today's society. 

London Map

Here's a map of the places we went in London. Click on the link at the bottom to look at them in a larger map. Click on each dot to see what it is.
This map won't work on iPhones, iPads and possibly other mobile devices.

View European Holiday in a larger map

The London riots

On Monday night, we were catching the train home from seeing Les Miserables on the West End to where we're staying in Horley, south of London.

We arrived at Victoria Station at 11:30 and looked at the departures board to find out what train to catch. A number of services were cancelled. After checking Twitter, I discovered that the riots which previously were only in the North of London had spread to the southern suburbs of Clapham and Croydon.

We looked at the list of stopping points for our train. First stop: Clapham Junction, then East Croydon.

There was a tense atmosphere at the station. People whose trains travelled through Ealing, central Clapham, Tottenham and Enfield had been cancelled searched the board for alternative services, and we nervously boarded our train.

As we approached Clapham Junction, the loudspeaker announced that some streets in Clapham and some exits of East Croydon station had been closed by police.

As we approached East Croydon station the train stopped. It was a frightening moment. I assured myself everything was ok, but the images I'd seen on TV made my heart feel like my car had lost power in the middle of Jurassic Park (we'd been to the Natural History Museum the day before). We were stuck on a train in a foreign city with rioting in front and behind us.

Nothing happened. After stopping for a few minutes the train proceeded to the station. People got off the train at East Croydon and strode confidently off into the night. They would wake the following morning to find shops and homes looted and the iconic local furniture store burned to the ground.

The experience made me wonder what would happen if this happened at home. If riots broke out in Sydney, would they spread to Newcastle, Melbourne and Brisbane like these ones spread to Manchester, Birmingham and Liverpool?

Would Australians smash the windows on their local high street, rob JB Hi Fi and Rebel Sport and burn Bunnings to the ground?

British politicians and media commentators hypothesise that it's an underprivileged lower class, angry at the establishment, with a lack of respect and discipline that caused these riots.

Magistrates are under pressure to give tough punishments to the rioters while politicians are revoking benefits for their families. Whether punishment solves the problem remains to be seen, but it's unlikely to work in the long term. If something isn't done to fix the problem then more than likely the children of these rioters will riot again in 15 or 20 years.

Personally I don't think Aussie thugs have it in them. I think that our society leaves less people behind than are required to do some real damage. I wouldn't bet my home or my business on it though.

I hope I don't have a train trip like that again. I especially hope I never have one like that in Australia.

I hope we have the sense to show our young people the respect they need, so they can reciprocate it, and I hope the hand that feeds continues feeding everyone enough.

If you want to read a really interesting opinion on the London riots, read Russell Brands piece in The Guardian: http://m.guardian.co.uk/uk/2011/aug/11/london-riots-davidcameron?cat=uk&type=articlep

Hampton Court Palace

I am now officially on holidays as I have completely lost track of what day and date it is. If it weren't for these posts I would have no way of remembering where we were a week ago, let alone what we were doing. Imagine how bad it will be after 16 weeks of this! While this blog may serve as an update for family and friends back home, I'm happy to go to the extra effort of recording our adventures so one day we can look back and reminisce.

Yesterday saw us spend a whole day exploring Hampton Court Palace. And we could easily have spent more time there. It is located south west of London, and only a short drive from Horley, which meant refreshingly less tourists. It was so much more enjoyable with less people as you could easily wander around at your own leisure, didn't have to line up for anything, and weren't continuously pushed and prodded by the masses.

We parked in a free carpark in Bushy Park (the second largest Royal Park in the UK) amongst the native deer, weeping willows and duck ponds and were quickly strolling through the gardens to the entrance. I was expecting to be greeted by the famous vista one sees of the palace but that is in fact the back. The front is much less impressive and resulted in a "it doesn't look that nice" from Matthew.

Out of very bizarre coincidence, on the plane over I watched the first 10 episodes of The Tudors, my addiction being the sole reason for a lack of sleep. Hampton Court and all its players such as King Henry VIII, Queen Katherine, Anne Boleyn and Cardinal Wolsey featured heavily so I felt like I knew the place, the people and the stories which was wonderfully helpful.

The Hampton Court experience is highly interactive and first class. We picked up our audio guides and began our tour around the palace including visits to the Great Hall, King Henry's quarters, the kitchens and the Chapel. We sat on stools and played games, learnt the facts from historians, watched cartoons which brought the 16th century paintings we were viewing to life, were given an audio tour by a Page on King Henry's wedding day, and even had to dip our head when the King passed through a corridor. Everyone's faces, from kids to adults, lit up as he made his surprise entrance.
The outside is just as captivating as the inside although we were occasionally caught in intermittent rain - it was blue skies one minute, storm clouds and rain the next, then back to a fine sunny day. We wandered around the formal gardens, successfully found our way out of the hedge maze, saw the worlds biggest vine - a grape vine planted in the 1700s bursting with grapes (and the Guinness World Record certificate to prove it), and finally viewed that world famous, breath taking vista of the palace in all it's glory.

The palace, along with others such as the Tower of London and Kensington Palace, are run by a charity called Historic Royal Palaces, and they receive no funding from the government or the crown. That said, they provide a wonderful experience and it is so worth the expense. All in all it was a wonderful day!

I had my first go at driving in the UK on the trip home. There are several things that make this a nail biting and hair twisting experience - there are VERY narrow streets, there are lots of bikes, we're now driving on the left hand side of the road (yay!) but the driver is on the wrong side (boo!) so it is difficult to judge how close you are to oncoming traffic (although Matt was a great help), and our speedometer is in kms but all the signs are in miles, meaning we have to quickly make the conversion so we don't speed. It didn't help that I was driving in peak hour traffic either.

We're back into London today and are keen to see what the day shall bring...

Our day out at the seaside

Yesterday Matt and I jumped into our automobile and headed south for a nice summers day out at the seaside. This may conjure images of sun, sand and swimming in Australia, but in England it means clouds, an icy wind and lots and lots of pebbles.

Our first stop was the coastal town of Worthing, a must see for me as it is where my Grandad grew up. We had a delightful lunch in a seaside cafe and watched the seagulls and a few brave tour
ists battle the wind outside from behind the glass.

A short drive on was the summer resort city of Brighton. After battling to find a car park big enough for our motorhome, we headed to the famous Brighton Pier for some holiday fun.

We exchanged some pounds for ride tokens and were quickly enjoying the ghost train, rollercoaster, dodgem cars, mighty mouse and log ride, many of which were a first for me (yes Matt, it is possible to have never been on dodgem cars before).

We also munched on the mandatory fairy floss, doughnuts and crepes seeing as we didn't have any parents telling us we couldn't and, as to be expected, it was deeply regretted.

After all the fun and excitement of the pier we walked to the striking Royal Pavillion, which is unlike any royal palace we had seen in London, and joined the masses lazing in the sun. That is one thing I have noticed here in England - the parks are full of sun bathing bodies. I guess it's because attempting to lie on their windy "beaches" is so unpleasant and in London impossible that they make use of the wind protected grassy parks. Needless to say they are a great place for a nap.

Another thing we noticed about Brighton and Worthing was that it seemed like we had stepped back in time. Although the buildings were so gaudy, the rides and arcades so wonderfully tacky and the music along the pier so from the 1980's, it creates a charming allure - a picture of when days were simpler, longer and slower.

'Our Day Out' had taken its toll so we dragged our tired and grumpy bodies back to the car. Apparently it's not that easy being a kid! We wound our way back to Horley through some breathtaking country side and down some remarkably narrow streets.

We finished the day with a much deserved beer and dinner at Ye Olde Six Bells - a pub in Horley built in 1450. Matt even had to stoop when ordering at the bar because the ceiling was so low. It's credited with being the second oldest in England having had a presence on the site since the 9th century.

We got home to realise it was only 7:30pm but quickly fell asleep before 8. That means it is now 3am and, after 7 hours of sleep, I am WIDE awake. It does however create the perfect opportunity to write this post :)

The Tower, Les Mis and an imaginary line

Several times yesterday I contemplated the question "what makes us want to sight see?" I can understand why we want to visit other countries and experience other cultures, but why do we go to the effort to do or see certain things?

Yesterday Matt and I caught three trains, climbed up a giant hill and paid £12 all in order to stand in a courtyard and marvel at an imaginary line. We were at the Royal Observatory in Greenwich where we wandered around a museum on everything about time and took the all important picture of us standing on either side of the Greenwich Mean Time line.

But what makes us do such things? When I asked Matt this question he had a shocked look on his face that clearly said "we're standing at 0 degrees, 0 minutes Rachel! Der!"

We also joined the crowds of people to see one of London's most famous sites - the Tower of London. Our visit started with an entertaining tour by a Yeoman, the guards charged with the task of protecting the Crown Jewels and the Queen on special occasions. Our guide, who is the Tower's Raven Master and looks after the all important six ravens who, legend says, must stay within the Walls otherwise the Monarchy will fall, entertained us with stories of the Tower's 1000 year long gory history.

We also marvelled at the splendid Crown Jewels, saw the place where Anne Boleyn was beheaded and buried and saw the armour of several kings. This only raised more questions. Why do we want to see these objects and places? What drives us to see this with our own eyes, take a picture and share the experience with others?

Unlike sight seeing, one experience that I do not question and fully understand is paying money to be entertained by some of the world's best performers. Yesterday our day finished on the West End with the world's longest running musical - Les Miserables.

I have grown up singing the songs with my whole family and as kids we would often watch a video of the show (yes a VHS!) and listen to the original soundtrack. It is the one show I have desperately longed to see and I have turned down the opportunity to see amateur productions in Australia in the hope of one day seeing it professionally. This meant that the expectations were very, very high.

Luckily it did not disappoint. I had goosebumps the entire time, was singing along in my head to all the songs and was in awe of the powerful performances. It was musical theatre at it's magical best and I could easily have gone back again tonight and done it all over again.

A Spiritual Experience

After a morning of wandering through Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park, stumbling across the world triathlon championships (a trial run of the Olympic circuit) and an Ethiopian and Mexican lunch from the multicultural food hall in Brick Lane with Niav Owens (where you have to sit outside in the gutter to eat), we thought it was time for a visit to St Paul's Cathedral.

As it was a Sunday the church was closed to sight seeing but you could attend a service and I was particularly keen to do so. We attendedthe 3:15 Choral Evensong with the Lady Margaret Singers replacing the Cathedral Choir while they are on holidays. The whole experience was quite overwhelming and sure different from our usual Sunday service at St Johns in Newcastle.

First of all we were greeted with what is, for me, the most amazing church I have ever seen (although this could perhaps change as we continue on our travels throughout the UK and Europe). The amazing details, rich colours and golden glow as the light filtered through the windows was spectacular.

Secondly, the sound of the organ and the angelic voices of the choir echoed and resonated around the vast interior, surrounding you from all sides. I was brought to tears several times, particularly as the choir sang the Lord's Prayer.

Even in that elaborate location it was a very humbling experience. I thought it would be easy to get distracted by all the glitz and glamour, but it was an amazing place for reflective worship and personal prayer. It is extraordinary that the site of St Paul's has been a place of worship since 604AD.

As jeans and a jumper aren't enough to keep you warm from the icy wind and persistent rain on an average English "summer" day, we topped the afternoon off with a walk through the old "City of London" and across London Bridge which afforded a great view of the Tower Bridge, and then headed home for an early night to warm up.

London

We have spent the last two days exploring glorious London town. We are lucky enough to be staying in my dad's uncle and aunt's holiday house in Horley which is south of London and a pleasant train trip from the city.

The public transport system, like any great city, is wonderful. It does seem however that a billion people have decended on London for the summer which makes travelling on the underground a stifling hot and squishy experience.

In order to gain respite we have resorted to just jumping on a much less crowded double decker bus and seeing where it takes us. It's a great way to see the city and it has been fun not really knowing where we are going. So far such trips have taken us down the bustling Oxford Street, through Angel Islington and down Park Lane. I feel like I'm living in a game of monopoly.

We have gone to see some of the major sights over the last two days - Buckingham Palace, the Houses of Parliament, a trip on the London Eye, visits to the Natural History Museum (woo dinosaurs!) and the Science Museum and a lazily stroll through St James Park. The problem is we are not the only ones with this idea and we have been joined by large crowds of people. I doubt it's going to let up any time soon and I'd be keen to see what the city is like come the Olympics.

Quieter times have been found having a relaxing meal in a quaint English pub in Horley and lying down in the shade of one of the beautiful parks watching the squirrels, ducks and pigeons.

Rachel
Day 5 & 6

London shoes

Bought from eager but unhelpful shop assistants on Oxford St who thought we were American, to replace Dunlop Volleys and Converse shoes and alleviate severe lower back and heel pain.

7 down

Some things we have learned in the last 7 days since leaving Sydney:

Korean road rules in no way resemble ours.

Korean hotel restaurants serve meat at room temperature.

Koreans build MASSIVE bridges.

You can't just walk into a German hotel and eat breakfast.

Motorhome toilets smell only of the chemicals you pour in to treat the waste.

Germans obey ALL road rules exactly. Even the truck drivers.

Autobahns are amazing things.

On a Korean Air flight from Korea to Germany, 80% of the movie titles will be in English.

English motorways DO have speed limits, even though they don't tell you what it is. Even when you're getting out of the Channel Tunnel. No signs.

Bruges is beautiful, though there are a lot more tourists than are shown in the movie.

Bruges has not capitalised on the movie at all.

Bruges really is just like a f**king fairytale. (if you don't get that, see "In Bruges")

The Passchendaele museum is not in Passchendaele.

People regularly have shouting arguments on British trains.

Old ladies on British trains read Russell Brand's autobiography, but they hide it inside a gardening magazine.

The queue for the London Eye is soul destroyingly long.

You can still get classic rock stations on the AM band in the UK.

BBC TV Newsreaders have a much more relaxed manner than their Australian counterparts, and are much easier to watch.

Cons and Dunlop Volleys are not sufficient for serious walking.

In cafes in Bruges, a 'large coke' comes in a full sized stein.

Germans love their Biergartens.

I can't speak French.

Crossing the Channel in a motorhome costs €275.

Bruges has city-wide free wifi.

The staircase of the Bruges carillion gets VERY narrow up the top of the 366 steps.

There are CCTV cameras EVERYWHERE in London.

The Science museum would be a hell of a lot more rad if there weren't so many damn kids around. Seriously kid, it's my turn on that thing.

Gluten free food is quite nice, though impossible to find in cafes.

Vodafone actually works in the UK.

The London Underground struggles to cope with rugby games. Good luck with the Olympics, guys.

It's possible to accidentally drive into the Netherlands from Germany when you were aiming for Belgium.

That's 7 days. What have you learned?

Matt.

In Bruges

I am writing this post from our motorhome. The doors and windows are all open, the sun has just sunk below the trees (although it is 10pm), there is a gentle breeze and we are parked next to one of the main canals surrounding the old city of Brugge. We’re in a motorhome park on an island and Brugge is just over a bridge. The park is at full capacity with 38 vehicles staying for the night. There is a huge day carpark for buses and motorhomes too which has a few overnight visitors who won’t have access to power. It is a wonderful concept and the city should be praised to have such foresight to set this land aside for our use. Particularly when we are wonderfully close to the city. With cobbled narrow streets it is not too easy to park within Brugge itself so a place like this is essential.

Brugge is exactly as the film In Bruges described it - a f***ing fairytale. Every house is cuter than the next, every lane reveals more beauty and every canal crossing is a delight. We didn’t really use a map, we just wandered around the city marvelling at its beauty. Unfortunately it’s a serious tourist trap and, with a local population of 20,000 I would be keen to know how many tourists were here today because there were people everywhere. And even more bicycles.


This many people does make for one particularly smelly problem and Matt and I have decided to rechristen the town Pugge due to the particularly nasty odour in some parts of the town.

We climbed the 366 steps of the Belfry (bell tower) situated in the centre of town which is, for lovers of the film, where Mad Eye Moody commits suicide. The views are simply breathtaking. We managed to be in the bell tower for the ringing at 1:30 which, although we knew it was coming, still scared the bajeebas out of us. We also saw the Holy Blood of Jesus Christ at the Basilica of the Holy Blood - which the church claims is the actual blood of Jesus. It’s a glass vile with smeared congealed blood on a rag. Quite creepy really.

We ate lunch in the market square out the front of the Belfry and after ordering a large coke each (sorry Paul and Julie, a coke seemed like the perfect option in the heat), we were greeted with a GIANT stein each full of coke. It really gave a new meaning to the word large.

The native language here is Belgian Dutch but all the waiters, shop staff and ticket sellers speak English to you straight away assuming you’re a tourist.

All in all, it has been a wonderful introduction to Europe. We're now off to see Brugge at night and try some of their wonderful chocolate. It's a tough life. Tomorrow's adventure will be driving to Calais, via the battlefields at Ypres, to cross the channel on the Eurochannel train.

Stealing breakfast in Germany

Ordering food in other languages is complicated. While in many tourist towns there are menus in English as well as the native language, that's not a given.

While waiting for our motorhome to be ready, we took to the streets of Freidberg, Germany in order to buy some lunch. It's very hot in Germany and we had just had a terrifying experience on the Autobahn, so we were keen for some comfort food.

Entering the only open shop we could find (we had no map of Friedberg and had no idea where the main street was… or where we were) we scanned the menu looking for familiar words. Apart from steak (which we weren't game to buy from this particular establishment) there were no recognisable foods… so Rachel took a stab at buying "zwei pommes fritte, bitte", which happily was two serves of chips.

We bought coke to drink, along with something called "Schwip Schwap", which was too exciting not to try…

The following morning we woke very early and decided to drive to the Rhine for breakfast. After getting lost in Koblenz for a little while, we came across a small hotel on the bank of the river.

Seeing people inside eating, we decided it was as good a place as any for breakfast.

We entered, asked the lady inside if we could have two places for breakfast, and were ushered to a table. A buffet breakfast was on offer (no awkward ordering required), so we ate, drank and were merry.

When we went to the bar to pay, we couldn't find the lady. Rachel called "Hallo?" and she came out from behind the bar. In a scene straight out of a German version of Fawlty Towers, we discovered that breakfast was in fact only for hotel guests… which we were not… and there was no set price for the buffet.

There was a moment when we could have said "Oh! Of course! You'll add it to our bill" and been on our way, but out of guilt and shock we proffered her 20 euros for our cereal and bread rolls.

On Wednesday we bought breakfast supplies from Aldi, so as to avoid more confusion. It was much, much, much cheaper too.

Motorhoming, autobahning and navigating

Our first experience of the German Autobahn was our taxi ride from the Mercure Frankfurt Airport Hotel to Friedberg to pick up our motorhome. Our taxi driver went over 170kms per hour, answered his mobile and made phone calls no less than ten times and during such calls would write taxi pickups in his diary, not even slowing down to do so. It was pure madness.

Thankfully we made it unscathed to Friedberg and, after an hour demonstration on how to use the motorhome, Matt was in the drivers seat and we were off. With no map, we picked what we thought was a quiet road and would take us safely out of Friedberg so Matt could get used to driving a left hand manual car on the wrong side of the road.

To our surprise, this seemingly quiet road turned into the main street of Friedberg with people everywhere, traffic lights, narrow streets and several fire trucks. We finally made it safely out of the town and in no time Matt was confidently zooming down the Autobahn. I have been so impressed with his driving skills and his ability to stay calm as BMWs and Mercedes zip past us.

My first go of driving the motorhome was less intense and we chose a carpark of a sports centre for me to get used to driving.

After driving around aimlessly in the towns of Wetzlar and Asslar for somewhere to stay Monday night we decided our best bet was to drive out of a town and find somewhere in the country side. Unfortunately the countryside is rather hard to find, as there is a town every 3-5 minutes along the road. We picked the little town of Biskirchen, pulled over next to a pub, had a few beers and went to bed.

On Tuesday I had my first go at driving on an Autobahn. The downside of me driving however meant Matt was now tasked with navigating us to Belgium. I was happily making my way along the autobahn when we were greeted with the sign “Niederlands”. This was slightly alarming as we had never intended to go to the Netherlands and, by our calculations, would not need to. So yes, we had accidentally driven into the wrong country. We pulled over at a rest stop and discovered the Netherlands has an unusual border, and there’s a tiny sliver of land between Germany and Belgium where we were crossing. We stayed on the same road and in no time were in Belgium. In just under two hours we had crossed the entire country and were in the lovely town of Bruges choosing a motorhome park just outside of the old city to stay the night.

First Impressions

Yesterday, after two days of travel, we successfully arrived at Frankfurt airport. There were three immigration booths open for EU residents and one for non-EU residents. Needless to say there were over 300 people in one queue and only 30 or so in the other three. When the lines for the EU residents emptied, the non-EU line, which curled around the room, were wondering whether or not the booths would open for non-EU residents. The people in the non-EU line (including Rachel and I) behaved exactly like the buffalo in this video. We were two of the first people to swoop on the newly opened booths and luckily got through pretty quickly.

We spent out first night at the Mercure Frankfurt Airport Hotel in order to recover from the gruelling flight before either of us gets behind the wheel. Matt has already demonstrated his inability to speak German on several occasions. The first was waiting in the long immigration line where Matt, intending to impress me, proclaimed "we'll get you to bed before the nicht gets to schweiz." He used only 2 German words and got both wrong saying "we'll get you to bed before not gets to Switzerland" instead of "we'll get you to bed before night gets to black". We both found this hilariously funny, for the simple reason that it was 4:30 am Sydney time, we had just got off a 12 hour flight and had had no sleep on the plane. Oh the joys of flying. Matt has also attempted to thank people three times but on every occasion has said bitte (please) instead of danke (thank you). Seeing as he could not grasp this simple task we have now agreed I will do all the talking in German to save further embarrassment.

After only one meal in Germany I know I am going to struggle with my inability to eat gluten. The buffet breakfast at the Mercure was a spread of breads, pastries, sausages, hams, salamis, cheeses, fruits, yoghurts and every kind of egg. The Germans sure know how to do breakfast. I think I will have to have a day in each country where I eat what ever I want. My day in Germany will be full of beer, pretzels, breads and wurst. I'm salivating at the thought. Hopefully the impact won't be as bad as when I was in Germany on exchange and put on 7kgs in 1 month. Goodness knows what 4 months will do to me!

Now we only have a few hours to wait before we pick up our motorhome. So excited!!