Best Laid Plans of ...

Camping, Fowlmere

Well, our vacation plans were foiled by trains, illness and weather. After postponing our vacation because Squeak was sick, Alastair brought home a cold from Belgium... ooh, how exotic!... gave it to me ...I would have preferred chocolates!... and it showed itself on what would have been the first day of our trip. The colds shouldn't have posed a problem except that our vacation was meant to be a 100-mile cycling journey along the Norfolk coast which commenced and ended with train rides from and to Cambridge (100 miles each way) but neither train was running that week and bicycles were not allowed on the alternate bus option, on top of that Autumn/Winter reared its head offering a week-long weather forecast of wind from the North (brrrrr) and rain. Not keen to tour 300 miles in five days under those circumstances and call it a 'holiday', we scrubbed our original plans, saving the mid-week reservation we had at Morston Hall, more on that in a later post.

Above are photos (if you click on the photo, it will open up a small photo album) from our mini-camping/cycling adventure. Since everything was packed and loaded AND Alastair and I have never camped together ever. On principal, we mounted our bicycles for an overnight in a village not far from home. We cycled a mild and pleasant 10 miles to Fowlmere where I experienced my British camping site. Camping in England is a bit like staying at a KOA. Our tent was nestled between two caravans (trailers) on an old apple orchard. There was hot water to wash dishes and showers for a 50 pence piece. Alastair called it our Shakedown Tour. We almagamated our camping equipment, discovered that we're still cold even in our three-season equipment. But the important things worked: tea and coffee. Dinner and breakfast were enjoyable although arrangements will be necessary in order to eat off the wet grass and outside the tent... there wasn't a rock to spare.

River Etive, Scotland

A few more photos...

Water water everywhere and not a 'yak to sink

We're not in Cambridge anymore (well we weren't a month ago when we took this photo). We're up in Scotland, walking along the banks of a class 5 river looking at the waterfalls and I'm thinking that my kayak is something like 5,000 miles away in a basement in Salt Lake City, Utah.

Back in Cambridge, the river Cam is a little flatter, a little more sedate, and you don't need hiking boots to hike along the bank.

(I used to do a lot of hillwalking on the west coast of Scotland. The River Etive is near Glencoe a little south of Fort William.)

Holy Trinity, Dunoon

After a couple of days in Glasgow visiting Anne and wandering old favorites, we set off for an afternoon ferry to Dunoon, on the north side of the River Clyde, to visit a friend with new digs: church, cemetery and rectory all on a promontory looking out onto the river with a reservoir and forest behind her. Pretty special spot.

Our visit was short, an overnight with dinner at Loch Fyne Oyster Bar in Cairndow about a 35 minutes drive from Dunoon. Loch Fyne is where my mail order fish comes from. So, that coupled with the fantastic location should make for a glorious evening, but after a meal there, I felt let down. The food just doesn't hold its own and I suspect it's because the chef isn't cooking his or her choices but a prescribed menu. Ho hum, at least the company was good.

After a good night sleep in the rectory, we awoke to sunshine and good coffee. (It helps to have an American making it!) The sunshine and views drove me to wander to each window. Each holding its own special gift, but one stood out from the rest where a deer with the start of its fuzzy antlers was having breakfast. It looked at me and unimpressed went back to eating. Of course, that reduced me to five-year-old antics, running to get Alastair and camera. Citified, for certain. Didn't manage the camera, but it was a good preface to heading further north.

The flower shop across the street from Kember & Jones.
(That's the postman on the right.)

Breakfast in the West End

Not a stone's throw from where Alastair and I lived on Highburgh Road, there's a new cafe/restaurant/deli called Kember & Jones. I'd read about it as a brunch spot in a weekend newspaper and put it on the list of things to check out. The review said to expect queues, which is a promising sign for breakfast... I mean, the fact that a group of Scots would actually get out of bed for breakfast is breaking news.

Alastair and I walked over from our B&B next to the River Kelvin. It was cool, crisp and clear and there was much to note on our walk, but I'll share that later. By the time we reached K&J, I was starving... and guess what?! Not a queue in sight. We grabbed a table near to the window, sitting next to a German couple. The first sign that we might be a little early, don't you think?

The menu had all the expected items from muesli to traditional breakfast, and --- waffles with fresh strawberries and blueberries. Do you need to ask what we had??? They were wonderful, albeit small and more like dessert than breakfast, but enjoyable nonetheless. The coffee was good as was the fresh squeezed orange juice. Geez, one might think I was back home.

About twenty minutes after we arrived, we witnessed the queue of people, it was around 11am and within ten minutes there were more than twenty people waiting for about 10 tables. The paper called that one, alright.

We slipped out, noting the deli foods we'd be back for the next day to picnic with in our travels.

Primeval

Foothills of Ben Nevis, Scotland

Sunny day, warm enough not to be cold, not a soul around. We hiked through a series of mountain biking trails and managed forest before we wandered off the beaten path.

... courtesy of the RHS

At the end of a lovely visit by my mom, I endured a stressful two-hour journey to Heathrow airport for her departure. The drive should be a straight forward, but any travel in that neck of the woods is uncertain and with deadlines looming and commuters free to roam the motorways (freeways), it guaranteed to be an adventure. So, after 2-1/2 hours and an emotional farewell, I sought solace a little further south at the Royal Horticulture Society's Wisley Gardens.

RHS Wisley is by far my most outstanding discovery this side of the Scottish border. It's acres of green of all varieties, and few people. I can wander there often without seeing a soul, take in the fantastic gardens and learn a bit about my garden.

A couple of hours there, alone, was just what I needed before heading back to Cambridge.