Morocco, Part 5

Tannery in Fes.

Friday morning then - and just for a change, I'm woken up at dawn by the amplified call to prayer from the various Mosques.  Again, I stifle the urge to yell back at them, 'no, god is not great, he probably doesn't even exist'.  Might go down badly, especially on the holy day.  Well, back to sleep for a bit, then breakfast and out for a wander about.  The medina feels different to Marrakech, it is rather smaller, and built on a hill, mainly though an awful lot of the little booths are shut up so that the owner can spend all day either in, or hanging around one of the Mosques.  In theory this should make it quieter, but I suspect that with the adults off praying (or in the case of the women, shut up at home), the result is that the teenage boys run free.  We are dogged at every step by offers to take us to one thing or another, but the worst is that whenever we try to head out of the medina we find some youth following us, repeatedly telling us 'not that way', 'just houses', and 'closed'.  No mate, it is not closed, a moped just came out of it for crying out loud.  We emerge briefly to look at the ramparts, plus a large crowd of young men apparently selling caged birds to each other, as you do.  Diving back in, we do the tourist thing and accept an offer to be taken up to a gallery to view the tannery, where traditional methods are used to turn goat, sheep, cow and camel hides into leather.  Apparently pigeon droppings are involved, from the smell I can well believe it... on the way down I'm persuaded to buy a camel leather belt, and even manage to haggle.  A bit.

Remains of the baths at Chellah.

Can't say I am that impressed by Fes though, although the modern city a mile or so away is pleasant enough, and furnishes us with some lunch that is not a three course meal, which is good - specifically, shwarma and chips.  From here it's a couple of hours' (motorway!) drive to Rabat, the capital of the country and not really rated as a tourist destination.  Well, I would certainly rate the place... we park up by the Hassan Tower and take a look at the nearby Mosque (of course).  Then a short drive takes us to the Chellah, a walled in area of gardens and amazing ruins, some dating back to Roman times, others from the middle ages including a mausoleum complex and various baths.  What is more there are storks nesting throughout the site, giving Chris a chance to get some use out his DSLR.  It's a pity we didn't get here until late in the afternoon, I could spend a day in this place but as it is the sun is going down and the gardiens are starting to urge people towards the exit.  Back onto the motorway and on to Casablanca then.  Motorway driving certainly is easier than the twisty mountain roads, or the craziness of the desert towns, but we still have some surprises - people herd sheep along the central reservation and sometimes wander into the carriageway, and as we approach Casablanca the traffic is heavier, and there is a fair bit of tailgating and undertaking going on.  Actually it isn't that different to the M25...

Of all the gin joints in all the world...

Casablanca then - a different atmosphere here, this is the business center of Morocco and we find ourselves at an anonymous commercial hotel.  There are actual bars here, we have a choice of them!  First one we walk into is full, the next nearly so but we huddle by the wall with some beer, and goggle somewhat as the barman brings us bowl after bowl of olives, salad, cucumber and so on.  Shame we already have dinner booked and need to head off... on the plus side, it is at Rick's Café.  Now I know, it isn't the real thing - the film wasn't even shot in this country - but, whatever, there certainly is a real atmosphere about the place with the piano playing and the fez-clad waiters.  We consume cocktails and some thoroughly excellent food before heading back across town, where we experience new heights of touting and aggressive begging.  Not sure if it is the readier availability of alchohol here, but these guys just won't leave us alone, actually grabbing my sleeve on a few occasions.  We hide in a bar, which is an odd place in itself.  The TV shows a group of women in a cheap studio, wearing slightly immodest clothing - leggings, a small amount of cleavage - either sat on sofas or dancing, while a lot of Arabic text scrolls along.  Is this the Morrocan version of babestation?  Can't say it holds my interest anyway, time for bed.

The next morning we hit the other 'worth a visit' spot in Casablanca - yes, there are two.  This is the Hassan II Mosque, the third biggest in the world and the only one we're allowed into.  It isn't a historic piece of architecture, this was built between 1987 and 1993, however it is certainly impressive, both in terms of size but also the ornate detail of carving, tiling, plasterwork and so forth.  I can't help but feel a little depressed though to see this country which as we have seen is not short of poverty, and which lets its history wash away like sandcastles in the tide, spend so much on monumental religious architecture.  Neither am I terribly impressed when the guide points out the 'womens gallery' - far fewer women than men are allowed in, and they're stuck up on the first floor where nobody can see them.  Ah well, their country and I am just a tourist I suppose, still I am starting to look forward to getting back to London tomorrow, cold though it will doubtless be.  Mind you, we seem to be bringing British weather to us today, barrelling along the motorway towards Marrakech the rain descends in biblical proportions, I even lose traction a few times, there is so much water on the road.  Thankfully it stops long enough for us to grab some food in Settat - enough tagine already, we find a pizzeria.  There is even one last kasbah to wander about - seems to have been turned into garages.  Returning to Marrakech, we get lost in the souks one last time and grab some souvenir tat, then back to the modern city for food - a place called Cheese Me where as you might expect, we get a considerable variety of cheese, plus numerous wines to accompany.  Pretty good for a last meal, and we have time for some final beers at the British Pub.  Then, a night's sleep, an early start and back to actual Britain.  It is, indeed, cold here...

Cheese Me!

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Morocco, Part 4

Turns out to be easy enough to get up with the dawn when the alternative is hanging around in a freezing tent... so, back on the camels and out through the desert, certainly is pretty cool watching the sky brighten and then the sun come up over the dunes.  Back at Erg Chebbi we find the place rather deserted, there is a woman wandering about who doesn't deign to talk to us, plus what looks like somebody under a blanket on a sofa in reception.  Ho hum.  We search around and find the key to the room with our bags in, and manage to get a (cold) shower and return to find that that the blanket guy is now moving about.  Some breakfast maybe?  While we're waiting I go to check the car... it's unlocked - they asked for the key the day before in case it 'got windy', so OK - turns out it is also contains some empty cigarette packets, a bag of food waste, and a whole load of beer cans.  The car in fact stinks of beer, and it even looks as though somebody has urinated on the side of it (actually there seems to be not much taboo about this in Morocco, people seemed happy to use the historic ramparts of Marrakech as a toilet, and in the desert we are told, 'use a dune' - I guess, it does dry out quite quickly here).

Sunrise in the desert.

So, I put our bags in the car, finally we get some breakfast, and after they return our car key we have a few choice words.  Maybe if they apologised and offered to take some money off the bill we'd accept that, but instead we're just given a bunch of excuses.  Well screw this, Chris and I walk out and drive off, rather expecting a horder of camel-riding Berbers to start chasing us.  At least it's an early start, so we have time to head into Merzouga, which unsurprisingly is not much of a place.  There should be a lake nearby, maybe with some interesting wildlife... well driving there over the desert is certainly interesting.  But it turns out the lake is only there in spring, maybe... we do however find a mummified camel corpse, I extract a tooth for each of us to take home as a souvenir.

And now we have a long, long way to drive - all the way to Fes, back in the North of the country.  At least this will put some distance between us and the Erg Chebbi, although I remember we did say we were off to Fes and so worry that at any time a rusty van will pull onto the road and start chasing us.  It never happens... sure is a distance though.  We break for coffee in Errachidia, then for a decent lunch in Midelt - this time the 'typical meal' is soup, beef Tagine and yes, fruit.  Really starting to fancy something different to eat now.  Our journey seems to be through mountains most of the way, not as high as the route we took heading South, but stretching over a longer distance it seems.  Certainly makes for a difference in climate compared to the arid desert we've been in for the last few days, up here it is almost alpine - indeed, we pass through a small town named Ifrane which it turns out the French built back in colonial days in the style of a Swiss resort.

Heading back to the Erg Chebbi.

The mountain roads make for slow progress though, with lorries, tractors, and vehicles belching so much smoke as to seem to be on fire crawling along.  Straining to overtake one such on a short straight bit of road, I am a bit annoyed to turn the next corner and find a police road block.  Ah well - I had a feeling this would happen at some point.  The 300 dirham fine is only £22 or so, think I can handle it.  And we roll into Fes, not too long after dark - once again we are in a riad in the medina, but Chris does a sterling job to navigate and we park up, and once again dive down an alley to find the rather impressive Riad dar Guennoun.  Hot water!  A choice of food!  I finally get some cous-cous, having several times seen it on menus with a warning it'll take hours to prepare.  And not only do we get a decent bottle of red with it, but also a second one to drink up on the roof.  Who needs to leave the hotel!

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Morocco, Part 3

Todra Gorge.

Day three, and it's time to focus a bit less on the cultural and architectural side of things, and a bit more on the glories of nature.  We drive a short way up the Todra river to park in the famous gorge, where I drag Chris on a six mile hike up the side, around, down, and along the river.  It is certainly very impressive, reminiscent of the Grand Canyon but if anything even bleaker, at times the terrain resembles photos I've seen from Mars rovers... pretty hot even in mid-November also, nonetheless we make it around and down, returning to the river in time for some lunch.  This time we're back to salad, then the main is a Berber Omelette, chopped vegetables with an egg or two poured over, once again cooked in a tagine.

The route along the river is interesting too, with a network of irrigation channels through the fields allowing crops of various kinds to be planted, while olive groves and date palms seemingly grow wild.  Again managing to avoid being sold carpets and so forth, we get back in the car for a long drive East and South to Merzouga and the edge of the Sahara.  At this point our lack of a working satnav - it still hasn't charged, looks like there is no current through the cigarette lighter - becomes a bit of a problem.  I have a map on my phone, but navigating around on the small screen is not easy, and we end up getting the route a bit wrong.  Ironically, the police close a road and direct us on what is actually the correct way, but we stubbornly go wrong again... it is 8.30 or so before we reach the Kasbah Erg Chebbi, where at least we can get some food, and even a warmish bottle of rosé.  I am starting to get a bit tired of the 'typical meal', here it is salad, again, chicken tagine, again, and fruit, again.

In the desert, you can remember your name...

The next morning, we have arranged with the hotel for a 10am start out in the desert for a full day and night of camel riding and who knows what.  Shame there is no hot water as I reckon I need a shower before heading out - well, a cold shower it is then.  A quick breakfast - the usual bread, jam and so forth - then we head out to meet our mounts.  I've never ridden a camel... the way they kneel to let you mount is cool, the way they stand up back legs first, tipping you forward alarmingly, isn't so great.  We have no reins, rather a home-made looking metal handlebar at the front, with the camel pulled along on a rope by our Berber guide.  Initially I find the downhill sections quite tricky, especially when my camel decides to kneel down unexpectedly... eventually though I figure out that leaning back is the way, and I can pretty much dispense with the bar.

The desert is an amazing place to be sure... a landscape sculpted by the wind, dunes rising to sharp crests then dipping like waves, into another dune, and yet another, stretching to the horizon which is itself formed from mountainous piles of sand.  Our camels make their way up, down and along the dunes for an hour or so, then groups of tents start to appear, initially these form square blocks around a courtyard, clearly related to the riads and kasbahs we've seen.  Then over a ridge, there is a cluster of single tents, and we are led towards one.  And asked 'when do we want lunch?'  It is only 11:30 or so but there is not obviously anything to do here, so I suggest midday, at which our guide looks a little disconcerted.  12:30 then?  You are supposed to be the guide old boy, how about just tell us when it will be ready?  We do at least get some tea and some nuts, and so while away an hour or so, investigating the area which seems to be a Berber camp, complete with a few donkeys and what I assume are at least semi-domesticated pigeons.

Dunes at sunset.

Lunch arrives, and, yay, another 'typical meal'.  More salad, another Berber omelette which is basically the salad, warmed up with an egg... and of course fruit.  One of the younger locals sets up a display of various little camels, allegedly locally made... we buy one each, no way to avoid it really.  And then our guide tells us he'll be back to take us to the oasis - which is fully two hundred metres away - at 4pm.  It becomes clear we should really have opted for the trip starting at 4, but never mind.  I have a go at 'dune boarding' - somebody has left a snowboard near our tent - but dragging it up a big dune in the desert heat is too much.  Instead I leave Chris, and my shirt, to take off on a hike through the dunes, up and around the oasis on the biggest one I can see.  It uses up an hour or so and does give a feel for being out in the desert with no water - I don't see any mirages though.  We then take a tour of the dunes on camel back, which is kind of fun I must say - one day I have to ride one with actual reins.  Then we're abandoned again, with the suggestion that we climb the big dune to watch the sun go down.

Well - it is very pretty I must say.  Can't help but feel that this day is turning out to be not quite as packed with excitement as it might have been though... sun having gone down we head back to the oasis, and again the guide seems to want us to pick a particular time for dinner.  Screw it though, I am not eating before 7pm.  We drink some more tea and generally chew the fat, in a little tented area that we have all to ourselves, with blankets spread on the sand there is clearly room for many more.  Looking around, the entire oasis seems to consist of such places, all better equipped than ours though.  Dinner arrives, and isn't too bad - yes, it's the same again, but at least the chicken tagine is less chicken and more an interesting assortment of veg.  We get joined for dinner, not for the first time, by a cat... otherwise it is just us though, and indeed after dinner our guide puts a couple of candles in one of the tents and says, 'you sleep in there'.  OK... not quite sure what idea he has got here.  Can't say I want to go to bed at 8pm, and certainly not in the same tent as Chris who, I hope he doesn't mind me saying, snores a little.  I move some of the blankets to a tent on the other side, and then we wander around the oasis looking for something to do.  There isn't much... we peer in each of the other tented areas, many of them have fires going and in several cases there is drumming and 'singing' going on - often tourists drumming away while their guide sings or indeed takes photos.  It does seem odd that there are each of these little places, with only two or three tourists in each, why not combine their resources?  Moreover, why have we been left to our own devices?  Well, dammit, these people have a fire, we shall too - I've been using a long stick I found to feel ahead in the darkened oasis, don't want to walk into a camel by mistake.  So, we return to our tents, and I break up the stick and burn the thing - the heat is quite welcome as the desert in November gets a bit chilly at night.  You get a good view of the stars mind, and we spend a while trying to take photos of them before reaching the point where sleep may be possible.  Not that sleeping under a pile of hairy blankets is going to be that easy - though, on the plus side, sort of, we do have to be up at 5.30am the next day!

Luxury accommodation at the oasis.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Morocco, Part 2

Kasbah Telouet.

Second day in Morocco, and we have a bit of a journey ahead.  After a continental breakfast and another rather scary drive out of the medina, we're off up a winding road into the mountains.  Up and up we go, above the snowline until there is even snow on the road, at least we have a decent car for it... I had planned on stopping to try to summit one of the many mountains, just a little one near the road.  Turns out my planned turn off may have been a river, we do manage to park but scrambling to the mountain top from here would take all afternoon.  Of course we could totally do it I'm sure... the driving has taken a little longer than hoped too, so, off to our next scheduled stop, not far away to Telouet.  Here we find our first proper Moroccan food - parking outside a run down looking building we're brought into a large, cool, and comfortable room, where we are fed salad, an excellent fig and chicken tagine, fruit, and some kind of date and almond smoothie.
What we came here for though is the Kasbah, once home to the Glaoui clan, who under the French ruled the lands south of the Atlas, to their great profit.  After independence however the place was left to crumble, and now presents an amazing expanse of crumbling mud brick built towers.  The size of the place is comparable to the Tower of London, though much doesn't seem to be accessible.  We look into the most intact section, reaching the roof to see still intact tiling and glazed skylights - looks like some kind of restoration is happening here.  Back inside and, incredibly, we find rooms full of ornate tiling, plaster and carved wood, a match for anything we saw back in Marrakech.

Telouet - inside.

We're not done with Kasbahs though, by a long chalk.  Continuing south we reach Ait Ben Haddou, a much more ancient fortress, dating back to the 13th century at least as a hub for caravans plying the trade routes across the mountains.  The atmosphere here is rather different to Telouet, not least this place is inhabited, at least during the day, by a variety of people who of course want to sell us various things, from tea to art to the ubiquitous Moroccan tourist items, tagines, lamps and so on.  We wander through the maze of alleys and stairs, once again rarely pausing for breath to avoid hassle.  Thankfully on the other side of the river there is a cluster of restaurants and cafes, so we have a break for a coffee before driving on again, still a long way to go to the evening stop at Tinghir.

Ait Ben Haddou.

This gives me my first taste of driving through Southern Morocco at night, and it is an experience to say the least.  The speed limit is 100kph, but any vehicle travelling below 20kph is allowed not to show lights, this means we regularly come up behind cycles and put-put mopeds, not to mention pack animals of various kinds, donkey carts, and just people wandering about, with little warning.  They seem to have no concept of getting out of the way for their own safety, the cyclists and the pedestrians will often be two or three abreast.  Meanwhile the roads are narrow, and traffic coming the other way seems to have little idea of moving aside as well.  It is all fun, and I'm a little weary by the time we reach Tinghir, and check into the Hotel Tomboctou - yet another Kasbah in fact it seems.  Thank goodness, they have beer, and the food is decent - soup to start this time, and then the tagine is of vegetables and what I suspect are beef meatballs.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Morocco, Part 1

A week in Morocco then.  My first time in Africa, fortunately I have my old mate Chris along, and he has at least been to Egypt a couple of times so should be able to show me the ropes to some extent.  Being me, rather than going on any kind of package I've planned out an itinerary involving lots of driving where we get to see a fair bit of the country - what can possibly go wrong?

Riad dar Saba.

Well, we have a little bit of fun with the flight, we circle the airport a few times and have a false start at landing - happens in Europe too of course.  Then when we get the car it seems OK but the GPS 'needs charging'.  Still, it is only a few miles to our hotel, Chris can manage to navigate using my phone surely.  Well, just about... we pass a fair few entrances into the old town, or medina of Marrakech, before realising we do in fact need to drive into what look like alleys suitable for pedestrians only, once in we crawl along at walking pace as bicycles, mopeds, donkey carts and people on foot weave around us with no regard for safety.  Eventually we reach a car park of sorts, with various vehicles jammed together.  A local indicates a place we should park, telling us to leave the handbrake off and the car out of gear so it can be rolled about if necessary.  OK... he then guides us to our hotel, down narrow alleys and eventually ducking under an arch to find the door.

Jemaa el Fna, in the heart of the medina.

Inside is a welcome bit of peace, an eighteenth century Riad, built on three floors around a central courtyard, open to the sky except for a tent like affair over the top.  We relax in the courtyard with some mint tea and a biscuit or two,  before heading out to find an ATM and some food.  This means leaving the medina, walking along the impressive ramparts and then into the newer part of the city.  We get a decent tapas style meal with a variety of hummus, kebabs and so forth, plus some Moroccan red which is drinkable enough.  Speaking of drink, this is clearly a pretty dry country - we spot precisely one bar, the 'British Pub' not far from the restaurant.  Feeling like the worst kind of tourists we tramp inside, but in fact it doesn't feel very British, with the table service and shisha pipes this could be any Moroccan cafe, except the drinks are beer rather than coffee.

Bahia Palace.

The next morning we head out into the souks - neither of us especially want to buy anything but it has to be done.  And in fact, I'm not sure if I'd ever buy anything here on the spur of the moment, since it is impossible to stand still for a few seconds without being hassled, either by the traders, or people offering to guide us, or simply begging.  It is best to keep moving, though at least we can stop for a coffee at intervals.  It is certainly an experience though, with all manner of things on sale, in many cases with the craftsmen working away in their stalls.  The crowds and the ever present smell of manure get a bit wearing though, so we head out to visit the city's cemetery, and particularly the Jewish section which is testament to the large number of Jews who lived here back in the days when they weren't quite so welcome elsewhere.  We take in the Bahia Palace, realise we forgot to have any lunch, and head back to the riad to make plans for dinner.

Our plans go a little awry however... we're after some traditional Moroccan food at a well reviewed restaurant, so head for one in the medina.  But of course we get lost... eventually hitting the main square, there are restaurants here but are they any good?  And moreover, will there be wine?  We end up walking around for a fair while, giving up on the medina and returning to the modern city, finally we find a rather classy French restaurant where Chris consumes snails.  Still haven't found any bars other than the nearby 'British Pub', so we head back there after dinner.  Have to say that while I'm glad we came to Marrakech, I'm also kind of glad we're getting away tomorrow morning, leaving the crowded souks behind to head into the Atlas mountains.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Ridgeway, Day 5

When I was rather younger I went to a Ridgeway School, don't think it was named for this Ridgeway though, there are several of them after all.  It was north of Birmingham for one thing.  I do recall we took a school trip down this way once though, and visited the Avebury Ring.  Various people have said I will be impressed by it when I arrive, however given the Ridgeway doesn't in fact go to it I suspect I won't - the 4 miles or so it would add to the day being enough to put me off, given I have 20 to do anyway.

The end!

Less than yesterday at least... I eat an excellent breakfast (old spot sausage!) and am on the road by 9am, again the way is mainly along bridle paths and wide, rutted green lanes.  Hill Forts abound, I soon reach the impressive Barbury Castle, and not long after there is another fort on Hackpen Hill.  Allegedly there is another White Horse here too, again I can't see it.  And then, with little ceremony, I find myself at the end of the Way.  The finishing point, Overton Hill, is hardly worth the name, though it does have an array of burial mounds.  In any case, I'm not done, I have another eight miles or so to do to reach Pewsey, where I can catch a train back to London.

The rather excellent Crown Inn.

My route planning turns out to be good though, much of the remaining miles being on bridle paths, and I pass through scenic nature reserves and charming villages full of thatched cottages.  There's only a brief section of nettle-choked footpath, then some exciting battling through a field of head high maize.  And I don't get lost at all... Keeping up the impressive speed too, I reach Pewsey at just gone 5pm, just a little early for the 9:22 train I've bought a ticket for.  Or indeed, the next train which is at 7:29 - fortunately I find the Crown Inn, which even has its own brewery, a better end to the walk is hard to imagine.  It's tempting to hang around for four hours and consume considerable amounts of beer, I resist though... back to work tomorrow after all.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Ridgeway, Day 4

Didcot power station.

Well, as it turns out I bounce out of bed at 7am, clearly this lifestyle is doing me good.  The Swan Inn provides a hearty breakfast and a packed lunch, then I'm off on a long day, twenty-four miles in fact.  The legs seem to be working at least, and the Way continues flat, with a view off to the north that suggests I may actually be on a ridge.  Shame the view is of a power station.

Uffington hill fort.

The miles roll on, I reach Uffington Castle, a rather impressive hill fort, and wander a bit.  There is a White Horse here, but a long walk downhill and off the way to see it... So, onwards.  Later on I pass Weyland's Smithy, somewhat overrun with children.  And then more and more miles, much of it the wide 'green lane' that I'd expected from the Ridgeway.

The body keeps working though, in fact I'm a bit shocked by the pace I'm maintaining, full pack and all.  Don't seem hungry either, I now have a selection of uneaten chocolate bars in my pack... riding for a fall I'm sure.  As it is I reach the Inn with the Well in Ogbourne St. George at 6pm, and yes, there is a well.  In the floor of the restaurant area, covered with bullet-proof glass, and it has a scare-crow in it for some reason.  Anyway... food here is good, not just pub grub.  Nice to have a bath too.  And this sofa is very comfortable.

The Inn with the Well.  Also with dog.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Ridgeway, Day 3

Weir and lock at Goring.

A short day today, well sort of at sixteen miles.  It's my only sub twenty miler anyway... I celebrate by staying in bed 'til 9:30am.  Then it is on with my wet clothes - washed them last night but forgot to hang them up - and off.

Still not much ridge action.  The morning walk is along the Thames, so pretty flat and pretty near sea level, scenic enough though, especially the weir at Goring.  Or at Streatley, from the other side of the river.  Which turns out to be a good place to be as I get a good ploughman's lunch at the CAMRA approved Bull Inn.

From here the route leads uphill and into more open country, chalk and flint underfoot and broad fields to either side, I could be in Wiltshire already.  Still not a ridge mind you.  And before long I'm turning off the Way towards East Isley, where I'm booked into the Swan Inn.  Once off the well travelled route I find myself beset by brambles and nettles, but I'm at the pub before long, and there is beer, food, even a shower.  Shame about the 7am wakeup call tomorrow...

Over half way!

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Ridgeway, Day 2

The Carrier Arms.

After a night camped in a field - couldn't find the campsite - I make an early start so as to avoid wrathful farmers.  I'm walking at 7am, not too quickly though, I'm feeling it from the previous day a bit, have a couple of blisters as well.

Still no ridge in evidence... more farmland, more woods, there seems no end to it.  I am very relieved to reach a pub for lunch, the Carriers Arms in Watlington, so much that I spend an hour and a half there.  This in turn leads to a little lie down in a field later, still why not.

I do pass a landmark of sorts, Grim's Ditch is a prehistoric earthwork, some three miles long.  Presumably for defensive purposes, or maybe it was a giant half-pipe for bronze age skateboarders.  Not far past this is Wallingford, where I find an actual campsite, and even better a pub with yummy Thai food.

Grim's Ditch.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Ridgeway, Day 1

First Trig Point on Ivinghoe Beacon.

So, back on the trail - seems to have been a while, my summer has been busy with festivals, holidays, and of course the Olympics.  None of it seemed 'travelly' enough for blogging though.

The Ridgeway then.  Ninety miles from near Tring southwest towards Wiltshire, White Horses, burial mounds and beer.  Plan is to do it in five days... the first being a bit tricky as I start from London.  A ride into the city, tube, train and it's 11am before I reach Tring, with twenty-three miles to go.

I need to head northwest to the start of the Way at Ivinghoe Beacon, then circle back and at 1pm I'm in Tring again.  Ho hum.  That first section seemed to be most of the ridge for today also, from here it is farmland and a lot of wood.

Easy going though, and I power on towards Princes Risborough, journey's end for today.  Turns out to be remarkably dead, I find one open but empty pub... the contrast with Wendover, seven miles away, is marked - that place seemed to be entirely composed of pubs.  Well, there's food at least.  A local asks if I am having a mid-life crisis... no comment.  Right then, off to pitch my tent in the dark once more.

Tring Tring!

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Dunwich Dynamo 2012

More cycle madness then.  Not even my idea this time... my friend Clare's boyfriend Dylan was going to do the Dynamo, as was his boss, so Clare said 'you like cycling for miles and miles don't you.'  This is around 30 miles more than I have ever done in one go though, and the plan is actually to ride the 120 miles to Dunwich, a tiny village located where there was once a prosperous medieval port before it was washed into the sea, overnight.  So, no sleep then.  Really not sure I can do this...

London Fields, 8pm

I prepare by giving the bike a good service and a new chain, staying up late on Friday and eating lots.  On the Saturday afternoon I visit the new London Pleasure Gardens - somebody needs to show them some pictures of actual gardens - and eat more, then head to London Fields in Hackney, which is full of hundreds of bicycles and riders, thankfully diluting the crowd of ghastly hipsters who are the regulars around here.  Time for a quick beer with Dylan and the rest of the group, and then we are off, Northeast through London towards Epping Forest.  The bike is running well - seems having a new chain makes a lot of difference, also I have stripped as much weight as I could and fitted skinny tyres.  Soon I lose the group, I think some behind and some ahead which I later learn is correct, but I don't want to risk stopping to wait in case they are all in front.  Besides, with so far to go I think I need to make my best time.

And the miles roll by, darkness falls, barring the full moon and the moving river of flashing red lights in front of me.  I find a group I can stay with and follow them, on and on, pushing the pedals around becoming a natural rhythm as much as breathing.  There seems no need to halt, we pass pubs still open well after midnight but I'm not sure beer is wise, anyway there is a food stop around half way.  A check on my phone where I have managed to download the map reveals I'm not far from it, progress is good.  Sadly I now discover the flaw in following others, as they ride straight past the food stop then off in the wrong direction, it is a few miles before we realise.  They opt to cut around towards Dunwich, but I head back, I want to see the food stop and maybe my group will be there.  Turns out I should not have bothered, after wasting half an hour on my detour I spend as much time again queuing for bread and packet soup, even more annoying when not long after I start seeing little stalls by the road side selling sausages, bacon and so forth.

Bacon roll and coffee stop, 5.30am

For the rest of the route, I don't trust to others' navigation and become adept at fishing my phone out to check the map with one hand, often I yell to others that they're going the wrong way, generally to be ignored.  I think lack of sleep is affecting us all, I am still pedalling OK but have a slight headache and my thoughts are kind of blurry.  The supposedly flat route turns out to have more than a few hills, none very large but the effect is cumulative, I am still OK on the flat but struggle more and more with the climbs.  I start to see others pushing... indeed, as dawn breaks over the suffolk countryside I find myself overtaking people, which makes a change.  I also feel better as my body reacts to the new day, suppressing the urge to sleep for a while - I will pay for this later I know.

Dunwich beach, 8am

And still the miles roll by.  I'm somewhat surprised to realise that barring massive bike failure I am going to make it, indeed I'm still pedalling strongly to the end - just shows, riding a bike with a massively stretched chain is good training.  I make it to the beach just before 8am, for a time of around 11 hours.  My sense of time is totally out of whack now, after a little swim (brrr) I find a pub, breakfast of beer ensues.  Dylan turns up around 9.30, and we find most of the rest of the group - one does not arrive until 12.30 after nearly 16 hours travel, the horror.  We're all there in time for the last bus though, laid on along with removal vans for the bikes by the helpful folks at Southwark Cyclists.  It would be unfair to blame them for the accident on the A12 that leads to an unbearably long and hot journey to London... should have taken the bike back.  Oh well I am here now, but I think my plan of heading back to the Pleasure Gardens will have to be cancelled, I feel strangely tired.  Best head home then... oh, crap, I have to cycle there.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Beacons Way, Day 9

One last trig point.

Definitely overdid the booze last night - I have 20 miles to do today, and my train leaves Newport at 8pm, so I was rather hoping to set off before 9, particularly as for the first time in a week there is a chance of a pub lunch.  Instead I set off after 10, muscles protesting at being asked to work after being extensively poisoned...

Archaic signage by the canal.

My route down towards Newport turns out to be a pretty good addition to the Beacons Way, the National Park extends a fair distance towards the coast and I start by climbing up along another pleasant wooded gorge, and then tramp across Blorenge, then along a last outlying ridge of the beacons, with views back to Skirrid Fawr and Table Mountain behind, and Newport in front.  As the ridge peters out I descend down towards Pontypool, my planned lunch stop... still feeling rather rough I decide against the pub, also it is half past three and I still have some way to go.  In any case most of the pubs seem to shut, as indeed are most of the shops, Pontypool has seen better days it seems.  I manage to find some lunch in a rather odd supermarket whose stock consists almost entirely of frozen food and multipacks of soft drinks.

Newport!

After a little struggle finding the cycle route that is my way out of town - it turns out to run up on stilts above a main road - I find myself still some nine miles away from Newport at 4.30.  Time to get moving - fortunately from here the whole remaining distance is along the Brecon and Monmouth Canal, so nothing but flat or gentle downhill terrain.  It makes a nice change after the preceding days of mountains and gorges... also the rain is holding off, and in the event I make an excellent pace, reaching Newport by 7.15.  Time for a quick beer before getting the train back to London, where I then have to get the tube across town and bike home - riding at 30mph through the darkened streets seems terrifyingly fast.  And, appropriately enough, it is chucking it down with rain.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Beacons Way, Day 8

Time for a wander about the priory before heading out.

If yesterday's weather was appalling, today's should be nice apparently.  Looks pretty similar to me, high clouds with a few tiny patches of blue sky.  At least it was a dry night, and with my tent no longer carrying a mass of water my pack feels much lighter as I climb away from the priory.  I'm into the last few miles of the Way now, though not of my route of course.  There is time for a couple of hills, the climb up Skirrid Fawr being the last.  It makes a good lunch stop, the sun has come out, my boots are dry for the first time in days, and in the distance I can see the sea.

Skirrid Fawr summit.

The Beacons Way itself seems to end - or start, given I've done it back to front - on the edge of a golf course on the outskirts of Abergavenny.  Odd.  But anyway, I proceed into the town, and then out the other side, then as has become customary on the last few miles of the day, I have a bit of fun clambering over barbed wire.  This time the problem is with my route which turns out to include the drive of a very secure looking mansion, requiring me to divert around it through the fields.


Still, I make it to the Lion Hotel before 7, time for a few beers and a meal before heading off to the campsite.  It's a mile away, but along the route so that  is OK.  On arrival I meet some friendly Welsh ladies who insist I help them to finish a jug of cocktail they've made with, I believe, peach schnapps and vodka among other things.  Well, it would be churlish to refuse...

End of the Beacons Way, more or less.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Beacons Way, Day 7

A slight breeze on Crug Mawr summit.

I greet the day filled with trepidation, the horrors of yesterday compounded by the memory of the pub landlord last night describing the weather forecast as 'appalling'.  It certainly rained all night, and is still drizzling as I drag myself from my tent, and proceed to fanny around, even having a shower... it is past 11 before I head onwards.

Trail magic!

At least, only 18 miles today.  And, as the day wears on, the weather starts to improve, the cloud ceiling lifts up, and the rain reaches the point that a Brummie, or I suppose a Welshman, would not call it rain at all.  Tramping over the peaks and ridges I recall why I wanted to do this, to seek out the high places, with the sky within touching distance and the land spread out around me.  It is good.

As I head down from the hills I again get lost, I swear the sign was pointing the wrong way... well, only a little fence jumping, and a few hundred yards of extreme climb up a bracken covered slope gets me back on track.  The evening finds me at Llanthony Priory, the still impressive ruins including a pub built into the remaining lower floor.  Felinfoel Double Dragon, all good.

Beer in the crypt.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Beacons Way, Day 6

It's a struggle to leave the tent as I hear the depressing sound of rain pattering on the flysheet, and only the knowledge that I have at least 20 miles to go drives me forth.  Before long I regret the decision to climb down to the pub last night, the ascent is brutal, and the conditions horrible.  The weather is like a living thing, a malign entity determined to drive me off the mountain, presumably so it can continue to consume it with infinite patience...

I consider turning back, but I reckon it is almost as easy to head up and over, and besides, can't let the thing beat me.  At some point I reach the summit of Pen Y Fan, highest point of the walk, and indeed Southern Britain, but I scarcely notice, locked in my personal battle with the elements.  Oddly, there is a tent at the summit - belonging, I think, to the army cadets who are the only others mad enough to be up here.

Cwmdu Campsite - first place I dared to take the camera out of its waterproof bag.

Descending from the mountain I get some relief as the Way follows an old railway line gently downhill for a few miles, but then it climbs steeply again, and I realise I've been walking for some 5 hours and need food.  It is still hammering down however, if I stop in this hypothermia beckons... I decide to pitch the tent, and indeed cook up some of the hiker staple, macaroni.  After an hour and a half I emerge, not exactly dry but ready to continue.

As it happens the rest of the day is easy enough, though I do briefly get lost, nonetheless I find my way to Cwmdu - pronounced Kmmdi - campsite.  It has that most wonderful of things, a tumbledrier... so after a brief sojourn at the Farmers' Arms I return to wash my socks, pants and shirt, the water turning a deep, rich chocolate as I plunge them in.  And then, dry clothes and a dry sleeping bag!  I think about sticking my boots in too, probably a bad idea...

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Beacons Way, Day 5

I can see where I'm going!

So, after the trials of yesterday I'm feeling rather less than optimistic about the planned 20 mile walk.  In fact, I'm seriously intending to forgo my plan to walk an extra four miles to get to a pub, and instead camp up on the hill.  I set myself a target of 6pm to reach the point where I need to divert to the pub... if I don't make it I'm wild camping again.

As the morning wears on though, the weather is actually not so bad - it isn't raining and the clouds are high enough that once I've slogged up the hill I do get a view.  And a pretty impressive view too, on all sides the hills crowd around me, while in between little villages nestle in the valleys - it is nice to be able to see some sign of humanity, after yesterday when I seemed to be marooned in a bleak wasteland with little evidence of human impact.

It's almost... nice.

The day wears on and I walk into the heart of the national park, paths becoming more heavily trodden, although still the Beacons Way seems to be more a line on a map rather than a well used route. For a wonder, the weather improves and I get actual sunshine, and even when I climb above the cloud line it is an ethereal, glowing place rather than a damp, windy hell.  Spurred on, I reach my point of decision by 5.30, and as it is up a mountain, in a cloud, the pub seems a good plan.

I do worry that I lose a lot of height getting to the Tai'r Bull Inn, it is worth it however as the pasta is tasty and they have a nice pint of Dorothy Goodbody's.  In a moment of weakness I ask if there is room at the inn, but it's full, so, off back up the hill I go.

Some blue sky, and a view!

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Beacons Way, Day 4

Camping au naturel.

An interesting wake up, on a hill in the middle of nowhere.  The less said about the sanitary arrangements the better... Anyway, off into the hills.  I head straight up, and before long I am unsurprisingly, in a cloud.  The Way goes up and down, I guess I am now in the Beacons, there certainly seem to be a lot of them.  The route seems to be designed to visit as many as possible, often I'll climb to one pile of stones and then turn off at 90 degrees towards another.

It's just a shame the weather is so grim, the rain is constant, with a relentless driving wind that seems to always be against me.  And of course while the views should be amazing - I spend most of the day along ridges or cliff edges - I see none of them.  At least my pace is good, there being little reason to stop, and this evening goes to plan with an open campsite, and a pub, the Gwyn Arms where I eat until my stomach hurts.

What on earth am I doing up here?

The Gwyn Arms.

At the campsite I have a small problem though - not only are all my clothes wet, but the rain has also got to my sleeping bag.  Even with the whole sodden mass wrapped around me it is very cold, and I'm reduced to lighting my stove to warm the tent up.  I manage not to set fire to it at least...








Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Beacons Way, Day 3

Oh little town... in South Wales?

Didn't sleep too well, think I should have brought the zero degree bag, even if the forecast was for a minimum temperature of 12.  That does include the night yeah?  Never mind, I still seem able to walk, back through Llangadog and along the valley, until at midday I find myself in Bethlehem.  It's in South Wales, who knew?  It's also the start of the Beacons Way, time to get up on the hills.

Finally on the Way!

Getting onto a marked path is a big improvement, while I don't meet any hikers the path at least looks used, and the signposts help, though after walking nearly a mile the wrong way I learn not to rely on them.  I eat my lunch among the impressive ruins of an iron age hill fort, entirely alone except for a number of presumably wild horses... Later on the route spirals around the magnificent 13th century Carreg Cennen castle, before heading back up yet more hill.

Come 7pm or so I have a choice, the Way continues West, but 3 miles South is a pub... OK it's a no brainer... actually the trip is well worth it, I tramp along the hill top and then down into a wooded gorge, there is a proper paved footpath and the surroundings are, well, gorgeous.  Beer and steak at the Tregib Arms is good too.  Of course I do now have to walk back up the gorge in the dark to find a place to camp on the hill.  Good thing I have my head torch...

Carreg Cennen.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Beacons Way, Day 2

There's a footpath here somewhere, allegedly.

Up bright and early, and at least I get a cooked breakfast at the Stag and Pheasant, before heading out into the morning drizzle.  My route is through cultivated land this morning, fine when it's logging roads, not so good through farmland.  Still little evidence these paths are used, except by cows who have churned the ground into a treacherous morass with the occasional solid hummock standing out among the hoofprints.  I find a new use for my poles, testing the firmness of the ground ahead.

Still I'm making good time, and before midday I'm in Llandeilo, a pleasant little town perched above the river Towy.  Also my last chance to shop for six days, so I stock up on cheese, biscuits and chocolate.  Better yet there are pubs, time for a pint of Cwrw - yes, a beer called 'beer' - in the White Horse.  Pity I wasn't here on Friday for the beer festival...

Approaching Llandeilo.

The afternoon doesn't go quite so well, the rain is still coming down, and for some time my route is through fields of long grass sodden with water.  The poles are useless, before long the waterproofing on my boots gives up, and I'm quite wet by the time I reach the campsite.

The Red Lion, Llangadog.

At least it is open... in fact this evening goes to plan, I get some beer and a proper three course dinner at the Red Lion.  Just a shame it is a mile and a half from the campsite, there is a nearer pub but it is shut and indeed for sale.  A fine opportunity I'm sure, given the prime location in Llangadog's surprisingly large industrial zone, opposite the silage depot, next to the scrapyard, and just across the tracks from the dog food factory...

Photos to go with this post can be found here.