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A festival feast for Mardi Gras

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Originally published 14/02/2021 and updated 13/02/2024

Let me start by promising you that I had every intention of writing an original piece about this coming Tuesday — known around the world as many things, but primarily as Shrove Tuesday, Mardi Gras, Fat Tuesday. I earmarked today as a chance for me to find out more about carnival food traditions in particular, because I know lots of countries celebrate carnival as spiritedly as we flip pancakes here in the UK.

But then I read the exact kind of story I had in mind, a look at how Mardi Gras is celebrated from food writer Miranda York in the February 2021 edition of the Waitrose FOOD Magazine. Dang. However, though it’s a lovely piece, it didn’t feature Mardi Gras recipes to try.

To bridge that gap (and in so doing avoid having to write something trite and disingenuous about Valentines Day instead), I’ve picked some of my favourite facts from the feature and added a few discoveries of my own, all accompanied by links to recipes you might like to try today or in the coming days — whether you’re giving up anything for Lent or not.

2024 update

Me? I’m sticking to a tried and tested formula and giving up chocolate in all its forms. Plus sweets. That includes cakes with either of these ingredients, but not cakes with fruits, vegetables and/ or nuts in them, because you need to have something to live for, surely.

On that note, if you need a quick hit of inspiration and haven’t got time for the round-the-world selection of recipes, you could do worse than have a two course pancake dinner!

Beginning with this excellent one egg recipe for fluffy American style pancakes, the best I’ve made, and I’ve made a lot! If you’re feeling lazy just do what I do sometimes and pour most or all of the whole portion of batter into whichever size pan suits you.

Followed by a page from the gospel itself, the go-to Crowther household recipe of Delia Smith’s crepe-style classic pancakes, adorned with squeezes of sharp lemon and a sprinkling of caster sugar. There’s simply nothing flipping better on a cold February evening. (You’ll see Delia says you can make 14-16, but every year I’ve made them I’ve probably never made more than eight.)

Happy eating!

  1. If in doubt, fry it
A bowl of fritole doughnuts
Fried pieces of dough before Lent goes back as far as the medieval period but the Romans made something similar too © Wikimedia Commons

Fried doughnut-style treats are clearly the Mardi Gras treat du jour: during the Venetian Carnevale cake shops produce fritole; in Hawaii they eat malasadas, brought over by Portuguese labourers. Hawaiians in fact still call the day Malasada Day, so integral are these sugar-dusted fried treats; New Orleans is famous for its pillow-shaped dough beignets but NOLA-born journalist Lolis Eric Elie wants the little-known calas to come back into fashion – fried doughnuts using cooked rice. Here’s his recipe on the NYT website.

  1. Let me hear you sing Carnival Time
Mardi Gras in New Orleans in 1975

If you fancy working up a carnival appetite, I recommend listening to this wonderful New Orleans Mardi Gras playlist. Kermit Ruffins & The Barbeque Swingers literally sing about the food of New Orleans, and I dare you not to feel joyous listening to this version of Carnival Time from Bo Dollis and the Magnolias.

New Orleans had to cancel Mardi Gras celebrations during the pandemic, but the creativity and fun still flowed — and allowed for the renaissance of the ultimate craft activity, making your own shoebox carnival float!

  1. C’est bizarre
Men dressed as Gilles with ostrich feathers
© Jean-Pol Grandmont on Wikimedia Commons

Belgian Fat Tuesday tradition Gilles de Binche wins the oddity prize.

Picture yourself walking down a frosty side street in the town of Binche at dawn. Round the corner, men (only men) are stuffing their costumes with straw to create the silhouette of Gilles, a carnival character that has been around in the French-speaking Wallonian regions of Belgium since the 14th century.

Stuffing themselves with straw is just the beginning. They’ll proceed to go door to door to pick up fellow Gilles. Accompanied by the banging of drums, the men then put on identical (and freaky as hell) wax masks each depicting a pink face wearing green glasses. Armed with twigs or sticks to wave, and sporting clogs, it’s time to parade through the streets, stomping said clogs to ‘wake up the soil from its winter sleep’, as writer Regula Ysewijn puts it.

Those masks are then swapped out for hats festooned with the classic carnival addition of white ostrich feather plumes (real? fake? No idea) and oranges are lobbed into the crowd.

Yup.

There is one part of proceedings I can completely get on board with however: the breakfast tradition of feasting on oysters, smoked salmon and Champagne.

  1. Pack your sardines
Sardines on a grill in Andalucia
© Gildemax on Wikimedia Commons

In true Spanish style, pre-Lenten celebrations cover a span of days, including Ash Wednesday itself, and food traditions vary from region to region, village to village.

In chef José Pizarro’s village of Talaván in south western Spain they hold what’s called ‘the burial of the sardine’. Symbolically it represents the burial of the past and a new start. (Perfect if, like me, you didn’t bother with new year resolutions…)

Practically, it involves a big barbecue in the main square, giant enough to grill sardines for the whole village, with enough sangria to ensure plenty of sore heads the next day.

Recreate this ritual with Pizarro’s Basque recipe for sardines marinated in cider and dust off that white or red wine at the back of the cupboard for these sangria recipes. Drunken Spanish holiday planning is optional.

Navigating away from fish and wine, Spaniards also celebrate Fat Thursday, or Dia de la Tortilla (day of the omelette). It’s held on the Thursday before Ash Wednesday so it has been and gone this year but why not still embrace the savoury as well as the sweet and make a mini version of this Spanish Tortilla with chorizo.

  1. Move those trotters
A gif featuring Rio Carnavale and a diagram showing a pig

In Rio, something substantial is required after hours of Samba dancing and carnival partying, and it involves trotters. Brazil’s famous carnival dish of feijoada can be made using pork and beef, or just pork. Probably best just to source a whole suckling pig for this one.

  1. Still, they’re flipping good
A pancake race in the town of Olney in Buckinghamshire
© Robin Myerscough on Wikimedia Commons

Prepared as I am to admit that much of the above completely tramples over the humble way we celebrate Shrove Tuesday in the UK, let’s not forget that some of us like to race each other in the streets while flipping pancakes. It’s thought that the pancake race began in the Buckinghamshire village of Olney, in 1445, a result of a housewife hearing church bells while making pancakes and running to church, pan in hand. To this day, only housewives are allowed to race in Olney, flipping their pancake three times en route to the church. The first to get a kiss from the elected bellringer wins.

It’s not all pancakes and running with pans towards bellringers, on what Scarborough locals call ‘Skipping Day’ rather than Shrove Tuesday, as writer Emily-Ann Elliott outlines.

Pancake batter in a bowl with a ladle, ready to make pancakes using the pan pictured behind on the hob top
Live from my kitchen, preparing to make the first type of pancake of the day…

What of pancakes themselves? The Greeks were at it in the 5th Century, so too the Romans, whose pre-Christian efforts likely influenced what we see as intrinsically linked to Lent and Easter.

Meanwhile, the earliest pancake recipes in Britain are found in cookery books dating from 1439, six years before the Olney race origin story. Chefs inspiring cooking trends clearly goes back a long way.

The usual ingredients are the same the world over (fat (butter, milk), egg, flour, salt) but in the 18th Century you had ‘poor man’s pancakes’ where ale was often added to the batter, which makes sense when you factor in that it was more common a drink than water. For balance, I found there to also be a recipe for ‘rich man’s’ pancakes featuring cream, sherry, rose or orange water and grated nutmeg. Maybe just lemon and sugar for us, thanks!

On that note, as the rain patters outside it’s time for me to pour maple syrup all over a fluffy pancake and look up last minute flights to New Orleans…

A fluffy American pancake with bananas sliced on top, presented on a green plate and tray, both featuring fig leaf motifs
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Speaking French in Iceland: why and how to hitchhike

A stop off mid hitch hike

Longer read

Warning: this post contains some frustration at bad public transport, mixed in with hitchhiking optimism

It’s got to be one of the most ancient ways of humans getting around. However, up until this past week, I’d really only hitchhiked once, on the outskirts of Banff National Park. I was with my mum and brother and we were stood by the road for 45 mins trying to thumb a lift because the bus driver ‘had’ to take a 2-3 hour break mid afternoon, leaving us with no wheels. The driver who stopped and picked us up was a local who told us she’d decided to stop ‘because it’s been on my bucket list for a while’.

I grew up with parents, uncles and family friends who all drove — in a London borough too. Why learn to drive when I could grab a lift or walk 2 minutes down the road and catch a bus, a train, the tube? As a family we drove all over Europe, preferring for instance not to fly to Poland but drive there over two days via Germany, staying at a hostel in a grand old castle. I’ve got to confess, the kaleidoscopic collection of happy memories from those childhood trips chokes me up sometimes.

Sadly, being a small family, we were inevitably going to run out of drivers — my mum frustrated that she’s unable to drive because of her eyesight; my uncle Ray and dad Roy passed away; dad’s twin David also not able to drive any longer because of his eyesight.

We are left with no drivers. No two days anywhere by car. Action was needed.

Living away from London as I currently do – I had enough of relying on no buses on Sundays and ridiculous routes just to go 45 minutes down the road between two counties – the result is that I’m taking my driving test in July. But that’s July.

Land of ice and ire

The road between Thingeyri and Isafjordur in the Westfjords

It doesn’t take much for me to get on my soapbox about how important public transport is for improving quality of life and for cutting down on the number of cars on the road, so let me move onto Iceland, where I’ve just spent the past week.

Iceland regularly tops happiness polls, school achievement polls, ‘biggest number of authors per capita’, that sort of thing. Its landscape meanwhile is famously wild and sparse, an epic of ice and rock and snow and lava and puffins, all reachable over very drivable distances, even if they’re a bit rocky or impassable here and there.

In 2016 in fact, we (mum, uncle, brother) piled into a tiny Suzuki Jimny and drove around the south and up to Akureyri in the north, smack bang into a sky full of Aurora. (Read my blog about that day here).

But what Iceland doesn’t have is a really great network of public transport. Trains, I fully understand why they don’t have them but buses seem depressingly to me like an afterthought across much of the country. The 4WD car is the almighty accessory, while buses are often relegated to city centres or to connecting them — often only on certain days. That, or when they do cover a longer distance (say Reykjavík to Akureyri or Borgarnes to Hellissandur), very few buses go the whole way, and often you can’t travel anywhere on certain days of the week. People were certainly using them, but why was there such a ‘barely there’ service?

I gather it hasn’t always been this bad, buses have been in decline for a while, a fact hastened by the pandemic. Outside of summer, too, cars tend to be the preferential way to get around. But if the excellent ferry from Stykkishólmur on the Snæfellsness Peninsula over to Brjanslækur at the bottom of the Westfjords can run most days of the year, you’ve got to wonder, why can’t you get a bus to that ferry most days of the week? As an Icelander associated with the ferry service themselves said, ‘it is such a pain’.

Yes, you can fly domestically of course, but the very real impacts of the climate catastrophe ought to make us want to try and find alternatives where we can.

Besides Covid seeming to be the route cause of excuses for ‘things not working’ nowadays, the common excuse is that ‘there isn’t enough demand’ or ‘cars are what everyone uses’, but that doesn’t wash with me. We all know that in an average year, Iceland receives more tourists than it has residents (500k – 2m versus 366k).

It’s up to governments, local and national, to create the choice for locals and residents alike, to not prioritise only one type of transport but to upgrade infrastructure in recognition that fewer cars on the road means more people served overall, and fewer emissions. It is surely a win / win strategy?

But back to my trip. How was it that I made it up to the very north of the Westfjords, despite the country’s best attempts to thwart me?

Hitchhiking, then

The road into the Snæfellsjökull National Park

Soapbox aside, and with the phrase ‘if you can’t beat them, you’ll just have to bloody well join them’ in mind, I discovered pretty early on that I would need the help of others going my way. I’d need to hitch some rides.

As mentioned, I had only hitched once before, but I had also tried and failed to do so with my brother on the island of Orkney, north of the Scottish mainland. It being September 2020 and there being a pandemic and all. Incidentally, Orkney is described as a fantastic place to hitch a ride, locals are always going out of their way to help people who don’t drive. We held masks so that drivers knew we would be happy to wear them, but it was totally understandable that nobody stopped.

But here I was, deep in the Snæfellsness Peninsula at an awesome hostel called The Freezer, on the edge of the national park. On the edge of a brilliant landscape, unable to explore as fully as I’d want.

Heading into the Snæfellsjökull Peninsula

Not to be deterred, myself and a keen walker, a Basque woman called Marga, walked from Rif into the last town on the bus route Hellissandur, along grasslands and pockets of lakes reminiscent of Patagonia, and on a coastline teeming with pods of dolphins, elegant and exuberant in the calm seas. This was all with the glistening backdrop that snowy mountains and the Snæfellsjökull glacier provided. We were hooked and wanted to explore more of the park.

Any time a car came along – and they were scarce at 9.30am in the morning – we would stop, turn, smile with our thumbs out and hope. But nothing doing.

So we got off the road and explored the remains of fishermen’s buildings, furred now with lichen and mountain thyme. No sooner had we scrambled back down than we could see a hulk of a 4WD car approaching. I half managed to waggle my thumb as we sought to reach the road proper. We saw the driver smile and wave, then stop. Having almost given up hope, we had a ride into the park on the cards — and it turned out the couple were going the same way we’d hoped to go, into Öndverðarnesviti, the furthest west you could go on the peninsula.

The Svörtuloft lighthouse

With an ease that only comes from driving a car you’ve dubbed ‘the beast’, our Singaporean driving hosts zipped with us around the park in the gorgeous sunshine to see lighthouses, beaches, jagged rocks of nesting birds spattered with guano, against blue skies and more of that gorgeous sunshine we craved.

Eventually they had to leave to go and climb into a lava tube (very Iceland), but not before dropping us off at the park’s main information point at Malariff, where we could eat lunch and start a hike further around the peninsula.

The end of a hike, the beginning of a hitchhike

After a few hours’ hiking, we were a day’s hike away from our hostel, having completed going nearly all the way through the park. The slightly tense knot of butterflies returned, as the pod of orca casually circling their fishy prey off the headland of Hellnar seemed to say: you are a speck through the viewfinder, just like us.

We knew that many people in the park would need to leave it the same way as us, but it was getting late by national park standards.

But back we got, with only a little waiting around, and the help of two couples — an expat Russian mother and daughter who have been living in Italy and Spain for decades and a French couple, who live in Las Vegas now. All tourists to Iceland themselves, all with stories of why they had wanted to come and where they were going. On a day when the sun shone like summer.

We felt very lucky. These car couples didn’t have to stop but they did. I thought quietly, would this wonderful day be a one off? How would I fare, kitted out with my big backpack and my rucksack, alone?

Oui ou non?

A dilapidated happy hour sign

I was very worried about getting up to the north of the Westfjords and it had played on my mind a bit, despite the brilliant events of the day before. I knew of the Icelandic car pooling website samferda.net and had scoured it, posting my own request, but there was no-one going round much or round on the same day.

As you may guess, buses weren’t running that might have allowed me to work something out, though I could at least get a bus to Stykkishólmur to take the ferry. I knew from emailing the ferry operator and tour / summer bus operators that outside of summer there are no public or private hire transport options from the ferry terminal on the other side. Only some weekday buses around the main towns once you get to the north.

Enter two lovely French couples, joining many of their fellow countrypeople for an Easter holiday break. Along with the Dutch, their holidays seem to have started after Easter, not before.

Having read a handy online guide to hitchhiking, I knew that plucking up the courage to speak directly to ferry passengers was my best chance. Two groups said they didn’t know where they would be driving once they disembarked – oh the luxury! – but an older couple had overheard me, got their paper map out and told me that although they were going west, not north, they could drive me north as far as the crossroads you have to pass from Reykjavík. They only wished they could take me further, which was lovely of them.

My sign for the Westfjords

After we said our goodbyes at the crossroads petrol station and hotel (having reminisced about the golden days of disco when I told them my reason for heading to the Westfjords), I took out my sign for Isafjordur or Thingeyri. I was prepared to have to wait a few hours, as some people would be heading west, or not going much further up, and visitors to the Westfjords are generally fewer in number.

Hardly any cars about.

If I did see a car it was not going north. Doubts crept in, maybe the location wasn’t as good as first appeared. The cafe by the petrol pumps turned out to be closed so I couldn’t have headed in for a hot drink. A few cars started to pass to go north, but my sharpie sign didn’t move them. A young French couple stopped to get petrol and I asked, but they were going west. I waved them off and thought that at least I could walk for an hour back to the ferry port if it came to that.

But within a few minutes of the young couple leaving, a couple in their 40s or 50s stopped. I showed the woman my sign. She didn’t speak much English but pointed to Isafjordur on my sign and did a thumbs up.

My hitchhiking hosts Karinne and Jerome

You know the deal by now. Karinne and her husband Jerome showed me such a brilliant level of kindness, they asked me when I needed to get there by, offered me some food for lunch (while Jerome relaxed over a lager and a mini cigar) and we stopped at points en route to marvel at the vastness and the ridiculous beauty of it all.

What’s more, because my French was better than their English, the adventure was conducted almost entirely in their tongue, which gave me more practise than a week’s worth of Duolingo lessons.

The stunning landscape of the Westfjords

Most of the time you won’t see your hitchhiking hosts again. Other times, they might spot you later in their trip as the ferry couple did, stopping to ask me how I was and to say how pleased they were that I reached my destination — or maybe you mention, as I did, where you’re heading to next, and you will find an offer awaits. Karinne and Jerome live outside of Narbonne in a gorgeous part of the south of France — as soon as I mentioned my plan to travel from Carcassonne over to Antibes (between meeting friends), Karinne wrote down their address and invited me to stay.

While I don’t necessarily believe in good karma, I have always believed that there are good people at every corner — on the road or in life. I think that now more than ever.

Have you tried hitchhiking yourself, as the driver or while backpacking? If the answer is yes, then do leave a comment, I’d love to hear your stories!

If the answer is no, read on…

My top hitchhiking tips

The bags that come with hitchhiking

I hope my quick guide below will be of some use. It’s just one person’s thoughts in general, do read up from hitchhikers who have been where you’re going to.

Before my list, a quick note to address safety worries. You may be thinking ‘Iceland’s safe, but the same can’t be said everywhere’ — and you’re not wrong! But you’ve got to also think, if we applied the worst case scenario to every part of our daily lives, how would we even function? The question I’ve been asked most about my past week is: ‘Aren’t you worried someone will murder you?’ It says a lot about our societal worries — and podcast habits. All signs point to far more mundane things to be careful about, like falling from a cliff. That’s not to say I don’t always think in terms of my safety as a lone female travelling. Just don’t let fear be a reason not to try hitchhiking for yourself some day.

1. My post only skims the surface of what hitchhiking is like. Whether you’re planning ahead or choosing to hitch at short notice, you might want to check your government’s advice about travel within the region you’re in — you will find guides to hitchhiking in most countries. This brief guide to hitching in Iceland made me realise I should ask people on the ferry.

2. Get familiar with maps of where you are. This is easier than it’s ever been in history, most of us have a world’s map at our fingertips, but if you don’t have lots of data to use, consider downloading maps so that you can use them offline. I switch between maps.me and Google maps.

3. Sounds obvious but be absolutely sure you’re standing in the right place before holding up your sign or readying your thumb. The driver has to feel that they will safely be able to stop for you. Just before or just after a town’s boundaries, where there is parking or a petrol station, or at a crossroads are the kinds of places to choose — definitely shouldn’t on a motorway. And triple check you’re on the right side of the road, that does head where you’re going!

4. If you have all your luggage or your main rucksack with you, you can reach for that extra jumper if it gets cold, and you will have water and snacks most likely, but if you’re day tripping somewhere make sure to think about what you might need if you can’t get a lift or if you are out many more hours in the day than you hoped you would be. Don’t be a stranger to a good pair of comfortable shoes or walking boots either.

6. I was hitching lifts with a back-up plan. If someone says they can only take you to a random village that’s closer to where you want to go, but off the main route, you may struggle to find an onward driver. Or have in mind your plan B and plan C destinations, with a strong chance of more transport or more hitchhiking chances, that way if someone can only take you part way, you’ve already done the thinking.

7. A sign isn’t essential, but it doesn’t hurt to have one so that drivers look and think more about whether they can take you. Thumbing is still the classic symbol that all drivers should recognise. But bring a sharpie and some A4 paper or card if you have space m. Remembering that in bad weather, onot so great.

8. If like me, you are hitching to reach destinations where you’ll still use some public transport, a tent isn’t as necessary as it would be if you planned to hitchhike everywhere. Statistically, the more you rely on hitchhiking, the more you are likely to have a day where not everything goes to plan — even more reason to plan to camp as well as hitch.

9. Be incredibly wary of hitchhiking at night. I’m not only talking about the risk increasing of someone with ill intent appearing on the scene (which, remember, is a low one), but about the increased danger of accidents.

10. Always be polite and remember that the driver has their own itinerary and might never have stopped for someone before. I Google-translated the French for ‘please don’t go out of your way if you have to be somewhere’ at one point, as I didn’t want to come across as expecting them to drive for longer than they might want to.

11. Most of all, don’t be disheartened if you’re waiting around a lot. I have been very fortunate this past week with the lifts I’ve received, but on one morning when the weather was especially freezing and windy and I was stood by a fjord with seemingly no-one willing to stop, I nearly gave up. Couldn’t think of one positive thing and dwelt on not being able to drive. Past that point I started singing to myself, swearing about how cold it was and making up random plans for what to do once I got a lift. Mind over matter. Not long after, an Icelandic guest house owner stopped to pick me up. We had a fantastic chat about all sorts of things and I was able to defrost a little bit too…

11. Lastly, a tip I try to apply to daily life in general (I write this to you in Auxerre, France, my skin slightly pink skin from the sun) — check the weather forecast!

Happy hitchhiking everyone.

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Postcard from… Grindelwald

Walking around snowy Grindelwald

I’m writing this from the sofa, watching day two of the Winter Olympics in and around Beijing. While my eyes are on sports taking place far away, my thoughts are somewhere closer to home. 

Since my November-December trip to Italy and Switzerland, I’ve often thought longingly back to a few days spent in the heart of the Swiss Alps, a place transformed into Narnia every winter. 

I dug out my travel diary and turned to one day in particular. Here it is, with just a few embellishments added with hindsight.

Day 11: Grindelwald 

‘One of the loveliest days of the trip. We fully entered the snow globe. 

When we travelled out from our base in Interlaken we didn’t have too much of a plan, but we knew that the Kleine Scheidegg train was running from Grindelwald, taking people up to the Eiger and Jungfraujoch glacier. We’ve already been on it, years before, on that late summer trip in 2010, when the weather turned to shit, but we had one glorious day, and that was it.

We thought maybe it would be worth paying the high price for tickets again, to see it in a totally different season. However the visibility was quite low. We made a decision not to go up. Just no point risking a total white out.

Instead, we followed the advice of a woman in the tourist information office and went for a wintry walk, following a route she set out for us in that inimitable way tourist office staff have: upside down on a tear-off map with a biro. 

So off we padded – tentatively at first – over the icy pavement snow at the end of town, Endweg. Our first concerns were navigating the roads without slipping. It didn’t start well as we made our descent, clinging at times to fences, almost unable to make out where the snow ended and the road began. But the peaks ahead of us, Kleines Shreckhorn, Schreckhorn, Mittelhorn and the hidden-by-mist giants of Eiger and Jungfraujoch et al, loomed closer and closer in our vision. They gave us hope that away from the outskirts, all would be well.

Over a bridge, near the foot of one of the mountains, we headed left into the forests. Then began the walk proper. 

The word is used all too often, but the scene before us really was so magical. A river coursing to on our left… snow-plastered trees guiding our forest path… the snow blanketing underfoot. 

Snow, snow, snow!

It fell on us constantly as we walked. Huge flakes, great big frosty flakes of the stuff. They fell with their own distinct sound against both our jackets. They had a calming, muffled pattering sound like soft topical rain, only a little icier. 

Peacefully ambling, we would only pierce the deafening quiet of the falling snow to occasionally remark on just how special the walk and the views were. I kept craning my neck at the majestic mountains dipping in and out through the trees and beyond. 

As all good things tend to, our forest path eventually petered out and we turned the second corner of our circular route. But the last third of our walk was just as pleasing; a canyon glacier, pin drop quiet without visitors; small out-of-town settlements with tennis courts deep with snow drift; posties going about their rounds on quad bikes.

But the most marvellous thing of all was somehow that the only other people we bumped into were locals taking their dogs out for quick walks.*

Not bad for a town walk on a cold winter’s day. 

(*That, and our fondue feast for lunch!)

Map of Grindelwald
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Begin at the beginning

A map of the world and a calendar

Quick read

A year later than planned, and without so much as a ferry booked, a train seat reserved or a dorm space earmarked, I started planning this week in earnest to go backpacking.

I must have been saving and saving and saving for years? Wrong. Well, right, but the money I did save has sort of gone walkies and found its way onto different trips and other impulses.

I’ve got other more pressing concerns for the time being though… for starters, every time I type ‘Iceland’ into google maps, I get a list of all the Iceland supermarkets in the South West. Someone, somewhere, doesn’t think I’m serious about my vague plan to go backpacking that at present looks a little like two holidays joined together. So here I am, back on my blog after a bit of a sabbatical that saw me set up a village bakery.

I’m back on here to tell you that I am serious. I am going backpacking. I might have tried to go backpacking in Scotland autumn 2020, with my big rucksack, the odd hostel booked and public transport high on the agenda. But the occasional Airbnbs that mum paid for… well, that’s slightly cheating isn’t it?

Perhaps a dictionary definition of backpacking is good to throw in at this point. The Cambridge Dictionary says of the pursuit that it is:

The activity of travelling while carrying your clothes and other things that you need in a backpack [such as a kitchen sink the size of Honshu?], usually not spending very much money [unless someone else offers to pay?] and staying in places that are not expensive [until I inevitably say ‘sod it, I’m 34, I’ve bloody earned a room of my own’ and pay for it with a credit card that I don’t end up paying off for some time?].

Oh lordy.

Am I cut out for this? Right now, can I even afford to travel on a shoestring, let alone any other way? Will I end up like Reese Witherspoon in the film Wild, on the floor under the weight of a heavy backpack, except instead of getting up as she did, I just stay down and never make it out the door? Not to even mention the c-word! But one of the biggest questions I continually ask myself: can I hack being solo? I’ve been on short trips abroad by myself, before going on to meet friends. Growing up in London, I was no stranger to solo trips to galleries or dining alone. But while I have no problem dining by myself, I 100% would choose dining with friends over dining alone.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

On this worry of going solo, I can however replay to myself something my infuriatingly well-travelled brother Stephen said to me as we discussed going to Japan together before he went on alone round China: when you travel solo you are never really travelling alone. Locals gravitate towards you in a way that doesn’t happen nearly as much when you are with your family or friends. When you travel solo, by your very nature of being so aware of your surroundings, you will always tumble into people along the way, whether you want to or not.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

For now, I’m happy just to begin at the very beginning and let the rest fall into place. Or not. What will be, will be.

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Poignant postcards

A postcard showing the outside courts at Wimbledon Lawn Tennis Club

Do you still send postcards when you’re away? Does anyone really send them anymore?

I know I do, but I’m just one person. And isn’t it just so much easier to reach for the smart phone…

A cursory google search for stats on modern postcard habits didn’t bring up a major Post Office survey or anything, but it did introduce me to this project: Postcrossing.

Their goal is to allow anyone to send and receive postcards around the world. ‘For each postcard you send, you will receive one back from a random Postcrosser around the world’, they say.

My initial reaction (which may not be yours, but I’m hopeful) was, ‘Woah, how have I not done this before?!’ So that’s one activity sorted for me this week — which incidentally, folks, marks seven weeks until World Postcard Day on 1st October.

Back to my search for stats, Postcrossing does have lots of interesting information about countries who send the most via their project (1: Germany 2: USA 3: Russia – the UK is in 7th) and how many postcards they’ve recorded being sent by Postcrossers during the pandemic compared to previous years.

Spoiler: the trend is that we’ve all sent fewer, which means we’ve received fewer.

Regardless ostcards mean a lot to me.

And they’ve been on my mind a lot recently for the same reason I haven’t posted on here for some time. My father.

My dad, Roy Crowther, passed away on Sunday 4th July aged 73. Losing a close loved one is tough at any time in history, but losing them during a pandemic is an experience you’ve just got to hope many others won’t have to go through. I say that even though we are incredibly fortunate to have gotten to spend around a day with him in person just before the end, when many others over the past year have had to say their goodbyes through Zoom, over the phone or, tragically, not at all.

While I get the postcard collecting / hoarding passion from my mum, the reason postcards have come to mean so much to me in the past few years is down to my dad.

We’re a family who all enjoy travelling, and when my dad’s mobility decreased and he stopped being able to get away, I felt guilty. Particularly as it coincided with a very busy period of travel in my life, as I sought to discover continents beyond my own.

As we all grappled with the change in dad’s circumstances, first being tested for Alzheimer’s, then being diagnosed with prostate cancer, something snapped in my mind and I said to myself that the one thing I could do at least, beyond calling him up, beyond visiting when I was in Somerset, was send Dad a postcard from each place I visited, or revisited.

I postcard bought during a tour of the Houses of Parliament
One of my abiding memories of my dad was his and his twin brother David’s switched-on wit and humour around politics. They would call each other up regularly over the years to laugh (and make each other laugh) over the latest gaffes. I sent this postcard after a Houses of Parliament tour: ‘We spotted the polished Churchill statue shoe [that everyone touches for good luck] and I caught a couple stealing envelopes from the Speaker’s table. The policeman on duty had disappeared so I had to perform a Citizen’s Arrest!’

I felt a much stronger connection to dad just by committing to this one quite small action. He received a cork board and some pins too so that the postcards wouldn’t just sit in a pile in a Welsh dresser drawer. I hoped they would pique his interest whenever he glanced over them.

A postcard from Porto in Portugal
‘Olá Dad, tidings from Porto! First impressions very good… day two we made it into the church of São Francisco, the interior is covered in 100kg gold leaf!… day three we went for a Port making tour at Taylor’s, drinking white and red Ports to the sounds of live Spanish [Portuguese] guitar in their rose gardens – bliss!’

In the past few years, as my father’s short term memory faded ever faster, as he struggled and stuttered to tell us what was on his mind, what he thought of what he was watching On TV, or what he could still remember of his upbringing, I knew the postcards were still worth it — however brief a flicker of interest or memory they might arouse.

I would seek out special stamps if I could, tried to buy the brightest, most cheeriest, often most touristy artwork that I could find.

The most ‘New York’ New York postcard I could find, featuring ‘iconic scenes and landmarks’
‘Hey Dad! I’m writing this to you from subway train J… it’s been an incredibly hot day. Annabelle and I explored The Met (five Vermeers and a whole Rembrandt room!!)… we’ve eaten very well — bagels [with] a ‘schmear’ [of cream cheese], pies, burgers, doughnuts, noodles, sushi, a real mix. One of the highlights has to be the Katz Deli pastrami sandwich’
A postcard sent at the end of a flying visit to Hong Kong, showing the famous tram
The postcard that nearly caused me to miss a flight…. I spent a day and a night in Hong Kong en route to Japan from London (pretty much awake for two days straight). I bought this postcard and a stamp at my first destination, the famous Victoria Peak, but I couldn’t find a postbox anywhere. I traipsed around HK airport looking everywhere for one, unaware final boarding was being announced. Thankfully I found the box and promptly legged it onboard.

One trip I made in May 2018 that didn’t require a postcard was Amsterdam — because we took Dad in his wheelchair on the new Eurostar service there. He could still walk a little at that time, and would constantly say he didn’t need the chair, but I imagine it wasn’t so bad getting pushed around such a beautiful city. It certainly exercised our upper arms.

Dad in an art gallery in Amsterdam
Dad may not have read every caption as he used to, but he loved being back in museums and galleries again. (Here, pictured in the Rijksmuseum).

When dad moved to his nursing home, thankfully just up the road from his house, the postcard posting stopped for a bit. That’s because I tried to visit as much as possible, or brought him things in person.

Still, when I did send postcards, I continued to hope to kindle and stir in my father’s mind some curiosity and interest. It didn’t matter if dad usually needed someone to read postcards to him by now, so long as he wanted it read to him.

A paint your own postcard
We brought back some ‘paint your own’ postcards from our trip to Canada & Alaska. We painted them in person with Dad, though I can’t claim it’s my best work…

Pandemic be damned.

Like many people with relatives in nursing homes around the world, the fear I felt about the rising number of cases and spiralling seriousness of infections, before and after the first lockdown was announced in the UK, meant a constant dread present in the pit of my stomach.

To begin with, I was convinced that dad’s nursing home would have an outbreak early on, and panicked with every phone call that came in on the house phone, expecting to be told dad had Covid.

A happy birthday card for Dad on his first of two pandemic birthdays
Bright and cheery always the order of the day, for the first of Dad’s two pandemic birthdays, 14th May 2020.

In the end, we had geography on our side, as Somerset had – and has – some of the lowest case numbers in England, if not the UK. The nursing home did have an outbreak earlier this year, by which time almost everyone was double jabbed. The outbreak sadly led to one death, but it’s a testament to how brilliant vaccines are in saving lives that it wasn’t far more serious.

Over the past 15-16 months, dealing with this anxiety but not going anywhere new, I sent fewer postcards but more homemade cards, all with increasing regularity. It became a weekly ritual to make a cheery card if I had time, or root around my shoebox collections for a suitable postcard to send along with a TV paper.

A postcard I sent in April 2020 along with a TV paper, while I was recovering from Covid, which then turned into Long Covid. We worried at the time about virus particles carrying on gifts, but everything was quarantined on arrival out of caution. ‘Coronavirus has been unpleasant but I’m beating it!… we have played some board games that have transported us to France, Turkey, Malta and elsewhere. Hope you’re ok and getting to watch some Dad’s Army!’

I’m pretty sure dad was often more excited about the TV paper that would accompany postcards or cards, but the home’s wonderful activities nurse Roberta would diligently make an event each week out of reading what I’d written, showing dad the artwork or the pictures, making sure he knew it was from me, from us.

It was hard knowing my dad was starting to edge closer to the end, but I was willing him to still take in what was being written and relayed to him. I did my hardest to make him laugh or smile on video calls, and made sure his favourite programmes were being put on. But I knew that what once would have elicited such hearty, infectious laughter, even just before the pandemic began, would have a tougher job doing so now.

Terribly tough as it was, we knew it was so important not to let Dad go too long without contact from outside of some kind, to fight the extra deterioration that came from visits not being allowed, and less face to face contact.

My father, Roy Crowther, by the patio of his nursing home.
One of my favourite photos of my Dad from his final years, taken in August 2020. In person visits were allowed again in the garden and Dad enjoyed seeing us enormously. The following week, he went into hospital with pneumonia and I thought that his time was up, but he bounced back!

We didn’t take our decision to go to Scotland for a few weeks in September last year lightly — particularly as dad had been ill the month before. I turned to postcards again, sending more than one a week while away. Guilt was definitely in there as a motivating factor, but we weren’t allowed to see dad in person anyway at the time, so we figured we might as well change our backdrop for a bit and show dad the world outside Somerset again.

A selection of postcards from Cairngorms, Culloden and surrounds.
A selection of postcards from Shetland, Skye and The Hebrides

In mid to late June this year, with Dad in and out of hospital fighting nasty infections and viruses (but not Covid it seemed), I still clung to the hope that it didn’t have to mean the end.

I told doctors and end of life nurses at his hospital, and carers and nurses at his nursing home that we’d been here before when it looked bleak for dad, and he’d almost miraculously bounced back then.

On 2nd July, at Wimbledon and on my way with my brother to find our Centre Court seats (to see Brits Dan Evans and Andy Murray lose), I popped to the till in one of the shops and purchased two postcards. One for dad (pictured in the header) and one for me.

It was the last postcard I got for my dad, one that he sadly didn’t get to receive.

He did receive one last postcard in the days before he died though. You see, I wasn’t the only poster of postcards….

A postcard from the beach at Eastbourne
Dad’s identical twin brother David also sent many postcards and cards to Dad over the years. This last one arrived just a few days before Dad died.

Whether postcards are the preserve of the past or not, they strengthened the bond I shared with my dad, and no doubt my uncle David feels the same.

I’ll have fewer to post when I’m next on my travels, but that won’t stop me spinning those card carousels, readying my biro and sticking down some stamps.

Who’s going to join me?

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A marvellous midsummer

The gathering of the Universal White Brotherhood in the Rila Mountains in Bulgaria

I have had a most rare vision. I had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was… The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man’s hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was.

— A Midsummer Night’s Dream

Woah, what a scorcher of a week we’re in. I write this from my train back to Somerset after a few jam-packed days in London. It was joyous to be back in museums and theatres again especially, and for the weather to be somewhat drier than May…

More than that, it’s just nice to look out the window late in the evening and see the surrounding houses and gardens awash with pale blue, instead of pitch black. We might only start properly appreciating the longer days just as they’re about to get shorter again but there’s a lot of daylight to enjoy between now and autumn.

As summery as it feels, summer doesn’t officially start until 21st June, the sun rising around 4.32am and setting at about 9.30pm. In those early morning moments, across northern hemisphere time zones, the summer solstice begins and is celebrated. Some people call it the estival solstice (estival derives from the Latin word for summer, aestas) — but the most popular name is midsummer.

A question I asked myself that I’m surprised I never asked myself before: why is it called midsummer at the start of summer? Well, the ‘mid’ in midsummer is actually because this longest of days in the year is sandwiched in the middle of the spring equinox (which I wrote about recently) and the autumn equinox. Then there’s the meaning behind the word ‘solstice’, I hadn’t really thought of that either.

Solstice is a Middle English word, shortened from the Latin solstitium, which takes the word for sun with the verb meaning ‘to stand still’. This is because the sun stops as it is progressing on its daily path and starts to go back on itself which, in the case of the summer solstice, means the days start getting shorter again from midsummer onwards.

Despite my love of writing about such things, I’ve got to admit that I have never myself actually attended a solstice celebration, even if I have been to Glastonbury. Here is one such ritual I would love to experience one day.

Bulgaria’s Enyovden, Rila Mountains 

Girl with garland in her hair

Because I’ve harped on about the specific date and time midsummer begins, I should start by mentioning that this Bulgarian celebration of midsummer doesn’t actually take place on 21st June! It takes place from the evening of 23rd into the day of 24th June.

And before I get into the details of this fascinating festival, I realise that some of what I’m about to relay will sound a little cult-like — the ‘Universal White Brotherhood’ especially! But when I learned about their particular solstice celebrations in Michael Palin’s New Europe series, the setting and the spirit of it captured my imagination completely.

How old is Enyovden?

As is the case with so many festivals, pagan rituals have over the centuries combined with religious festivals. 24th June is the day that many Christians celebrate St John the Baptist’s feast day, but there have been folk rituals on that day for far longer.

Beyond the myths of how Enyovden may have developed (see below), it’s known that the Thracians – a tribe of Balkan people dating from around 1500 BC and first mentioned in Homer’s Illiad – had numerous festivals centred around the sun. It’s natural to assume that this was one of them.

What are some of the traditions?

A forest

The origins of how Enyovden grew into the midsummer celebration it is today seem to owe a lot to searching for herbs and looking for husbands.

Women healers would often walk through forests to pick herbs at the time we now call summer solstice, giving them enough to use in the forthcoming year. Their walks through the forests sparked local folklore and gave rise to the idea of 1) seductive samodiva forest fairies) and 2) witches scouring the forest to perform wicked deeds. Yes, it’s depressing that adult women effectively taking on the role of early doctors were transformed this way in folklore, but I suppose it’s a positive that at least the wicked deeds bit got dropped over time.

Added to this, it varies, but unmarried girls would often throw rings tied with flowers into water. A fortune teller would pull the rings out and tell the fortunes of each girl, not knowing whose ring belonged to whom.

Don’t forget the sun

The sun

The sun being such a powerful force in the imagination, it was thought that as the days reached their longest, the sun developed strong magical powers. Those powers, passing into the air, the water and the ground could be gathered from the sun by watching the sunrise, going for a swim or by picking herbs at midnight just before the sun rose. Taking part in these actions meant you would be healthy in the year ahead, and using herbs gathered at that time of year, likewise.

Nowadays

Herbs growing

Bulgarians continue to take part in midsummer across the country. Unmarried women can still have husbands predicted for them if they like, but the ritual of herb picking together on their midsummer eve seems to take centre stage of proceedings, following by eating and drinking.

When picking herbs, people search for a magic number of 77 and a half herbs to weave into a wreath, to then hang on their front doors. The half-a-herb is meant to be an ‘unknown’ medicinal plant, that everyone searches for and that can cure all ills on earth. We may be a while finding that one, but it’s a nice symbolic gesture.

Catching the sight of sunrise and swimming in sun-bathed waters is also still very much observed — often in national dress, of which I’m highly enviable.

But who on earth are the Universal White Brotherhood? What do they have to do with midsummer?

Ah yes, we’ve gotten all this way without a second mention of the Universal White Brotherhood. So what are they about? I’m sorry to turn to Wikipedia in this instance, but for a moment let’s appreciate what a fantastic resource it can be:

‘Universal’ refers to humans’ ability to understand universal concepts about life. It speaks to the idea that people can expand their consciousness with these concepts that extend to more than just one person or group.

‘White’ refers to ‘the highest spiritual symbol, which is the synthesis of all [colours], being the manifestations of the soul’s virtues.’ ‘Brotherhood’ is meant to indicate that the Universal White Brotherhood’s teachings are for every human no matter what community, religion, or group they belong to. The Universal White Brotherhood believes that their teachings are for everyone so that they can expand their consciousness and embrace a virtuous spirituality.

The Bulgarian midsummer that captured my attention so thoroughly is not the same midsummer everyone partakes in across the country. It’s a little different because, as you can see above, it features hundreds if not thousands of members of the Universal White Brotherhood moving and swaying together, in practice of their beliefs and in celebration of the coming of the summer solstice.

During midsummer especially but at other times of the year too, the brotherhood (which is actually unisex) sways away en masse to a system of exercises that’s known as paneurythmic dancing. (It looks hard to say, but just think of the pop band!)

The practises undertaken by followers of this religious movement that’s called Dunovism (after its founder) will sound very familiar to a lot of you; dancing is at the core and followers pray, meditate, sing, practise yoga and carry out breathing exercises, to name just a few. Unlike the major religions, members are additionally encouraged to be part of another religion too if they wish. Very ahead of its time, considering it was established in the early 1900s.

Ok, so what do they have to do with the Rila Mountains? Where even are these mountains?

I mean, just look at them! The Rila Mountain range is the highest range in Bulgaria, home to more than 200 glacial lakes — perfect for finding the sun’s magic power. And all only 70km south of the country’s capital Sofia. A phenomenal landscape to visit any time of the year, let alone on the longest day.

So there you have it. My midsummer wish list of one. It might be some time before I can get there, but it couldn’t hurt to iron the tennis whites just in case….

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All walks of life

Passing footpaths

‘Only thoughts reached by walking have value’ — Friedrich Nietzsche

Firstly, an apology is required. Required, because I’ve had a temporary case of writer’s block. Writer’s block because I’ve struggled to get beyond a few notes and ideas of what I could write about, none of it quite interesting enough to capture my attention, let alone yours. And perhaps also because at the moment if I’m using a pen or my keyboard, it’s to write recipes, not travel memories.

It’s amazing how quickly you can fall out of a rhythm, isn’t it? How the sudden dominance of one big aspect of your life (baking, let’s say) combined with smaller distractions (say, a two week tennis tournament in Paris) can so easily cloud your attention span. Next thing you know, weeks have cruised by and you’ve got little to show for them.

But there’s more to it than that.

What I’m missing is a good, long walk.

Many of us are aware already just how important walking is for our mental health. I certainly am. But in practice, even with lockdown restrictions easing, we’re not walking at nearly the same pace because we’re inside our homes so much more more still.

Not only have I felt some lower back problems creeping back in past weeks, I’ve noticed a shorter temper, inability to concentrate and general indecisiveness. It can’t be a coincidence that I’ve not been going on as many walks as normal. This, despite the fact that I live in a rural village close to the heart of the Blackmore Vale on the south Somerset-Dorset border. Indeed, my iPhone Health app tells me that I’m walking fewer steps in 2021 than I walked in 2020. 2,700 steps less a day on average. Ouch.

The less we walk, the less we thrive. Don’t take my word for it though.

Shane O’Mara, author of In Praise of Walking has a ‘motor-centric’ view of our brains. As he put it in a Guardian article from 2019, ‘[the brain] evolved to support movement and, therefore, if we stop moving about, it won’t work as well.’

There is a lot of data out there in support of walking being one of the main drivers of creativity. Of it helping reduce depression, sharpening our senses, easing tensions.

Regarding creativity specifically, when the brain is engaged in what O’Mara calls the ‘mental time travel’, it flicks between big picture thoughts (what we have to do tomorrow, plans for next year, challenges to face) and thoughts about a task at hand. This creates a fertile ground into which this rush of thoughts and tasks increases our creativity, as we consciously and subconsciously create paths and make links between everything we’re thinking about. While walking, because your brain is also navigating in your surroundings, adding an extra layer to think about, the opportunity for creative thinking naturally increases.

The physical health benefit of walking is also much greater than high intensity workout advocates would have you believe. But slow walkers, bear this in mind: for walking as exercise, O’Mara recommends that your walking speed should be ‘consistently quite high over a reasonable distance – i.e. over 5km an hour, sustained for at least 30 minutes, at least four or five times a week.’ A speedy walk in the park, then.

Again, though many of us know how beneficial walking is, setting aside the time to get into a rhythm is easily said, less easily done. May was mostly miserable here in the UK and I bet many of us walked shorter distances than the same time last year, when we were only allowed out of the house once a day!

So, if like me, you have struggled recently to get back into a walking routine, here are some motivation suggestions:

  • If I’m going to be sat on the sofa writing a post like this (one eye on the tennis), I’m going to do so wearing my activewear. Rarely do I not head outside, if I’m dressed the part already.
  • Not overthinking is a big one too. I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve thought about going out: when to go out, what to do while I’m out to make it worthwhile, whether to get more admin or chores done before I allow myself to go out. Then, the sun goes in and walking doesn’t have the appeal it had three hours earlier. Instead, when I think about going for a walk, I’m just going to go for a walk. (It sounds so obvious, but the approach of just doing something instead of wasting time thinking about it really can be very liberating.)
  • Those times when it seems like the most effort in the world? Just think about how good it always feels to have gone on any kind of walk, for any length of time. Put yourself mentally on the walk already, visualising the route you could take, and it won’t seem like such an effort.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find my trainers.

Next Sunday preview: I’ll be taking you on a tour around the world looking at solstice celebrations, ahead of the summer solstice taking place on 21st June at 04.31am. —

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Stuck on red

17th May. Feels pretty similar to any recent day here in the UK, except now we’re allowed to holiday in South Georgia and the South Sandwich Islands, Saint Helena, Ascension and Tristan da Cunha, and The Falkland Islands, without having to quarantine on our return.

Yes folks, the UK’s green list of countries are ready and waiting for us.

I am being a little unfair — Portugal, Gibraltar and Iceland are on there too, and you can actually get across their borders as opposed to, say, Brunei Darussalam, Singapore, Australia and New Zealand who made the list but made it clear we’re not invited. (They’re only open to residents.)

But, as I say: Portugal, Gibraltar, Iceland. Which reminds me, if you’re planning to head to Portugal’s second city Porto in the near future, I recommend reading this guide. It’s arguably more gratifying than the slew of coverage this morning of journalists travelling over to the Algarve to show everyone ‘what it’s really like’ en route. Taking one for the team there weren’t you, Jonathan?

Now perhaps you’ll permit me to switch from green to red? I’m referring to Israel and the Palestinian territories.

As Wanderlust put it ten days ago: ‘If Israel didn’t make it onto the green list then nowhere would! Following the huge success of its vaccine rollout, we have had our fingers crossed for this one for a while, and can’t wait to get back to explore the culturally rich country. But note that it is currently only taking group tours.’

Something tells me those group tours will be on hold for a bit…

Wanderlust wrote the above mention in the midst of tensions ratcheting up between Palestinians and Israeli police, who were filmed storming al-Aqsa mosque in East Jerusalem (the third holiest site in Islam) during the celebration of Eid, following weeks of restrictions on worshippers during Ramadan.

Much tension has also surrounded the awaited delivery of a supreme court verdict regarding evictions of Palestinian families from their homes in favour of Jewish settlers with pre-1948 claims to the properties. That court decision is on hold for now but in the past week, Hamas rockets into Israel and the devastating Israeli military response means hostile exchanges have exploded into the biggest clashes seen in the region since 2014.

You’ve probably seen the headlines of recent days: ‘Associated Press chief calls for independent enquiry into Israel bombing of its Gaza office’, ‘Calls for ceasefire after deadliest day’, ‘Netanyahu vows to keep attacks at “full force”‘, ‘White House concerns rising over civilian deaths in Israeli-Palestinian conflict’.

Less prominent are pieces like this one from the Art Newspaper featuring a prominent Israeli rabbi and a former Hamas official calling for unity and peace.

Rabbi Melchior, who works with other religious leaders to promote non-violence and conflict resolution, emphasised just how important a symbol the al-Aqsa mosque is to the 3 billion Muslims around the world who witnessed its storming by Israeli police: “When Israeli police trample into al-Aqsa with boots [and rubber bullets] and stop one of the holiest prayers [of Eid], it is one of the gravest transgressions of Islam…this you don’t do.”

Ordinary citizens are the ones suffering most, whatever Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu says about only targeting Hamas and other terrorist groups. The loss of even just one individual life is a tragedy, no matter the side, and so far we are looking at a death toll of at least 188 Palestinians (including 88 women and children, the Guardian reported this morning) and 10 Israelis killed by Hamas rockets, including a five year old boy.

In past months, with the COVID crisis in mind, I’ve written about the disconnect between the high-achieving Israeli vaccination programme and the struggles in Gaza and West Bank to get hold of any vaccine doses, due to the blockading of supplies and some instances deliberate delays.

I’m not going to pretend however that Israel’s entry in the green list didn’t tempt me to consider travelling out there. In fact I have never been to the region, despite my uncle David being an expert on historical religious practices, beliefs and everyday life during biblical times in Israel and Palestine. So I wouldn’t judge you for hoping to get out there as soon as possible for a vacation, if that’s your preference. Right now though, I’m advocating that a better way to flash some tourist cash right now would be to donate to charities helping the ordinary citizens affected by the crisis.

If you’ve read this far, perhaps you might consider a donation to the International Committee of the Red Cross which is providing assistance to those on both sides who need it, working with their partners the Palestine Red Crescent Society and Israel’s Magen David Adom. They’re also ramping up providing medical assistance in Gaza.

Wishing you all a peaceful week ahead, and happy travels if you’re making tentative steps far away from your front doors this week!

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The food that we miss

Parisian dining in 2019

Last bank holiday weekend was the most exhausted I’ve felt in a long time. Why? I launched an online bakery – Kate’s Kitchen – in my village!

As a travel writer I try to focus on relevant food stories and the cultural history surrounding food when I can (you may have read my post on the history of the tagine), so it’s not such a leap to be in the business of baking as well as writing.

Assuming most of you don’t live nearby to me in South Somerset in the south west of England, having a browse of the Kate’s Kitchen menu is unlikely to result in me being able to deliver you a big Mediterranean vegetable-topped focaccia or a loaf of Finnish rye bread — sorry about that! But you can probably spot that a love of travel, other cultures and cuisines is a definite influence, as are local ingredients.

Though I’ve got to be honest and admit that if I could be travelling far and wide at the moment, I would be. 2021 was meant to be a gap year (ok, a second gap year) — so I really, really wouldn’t say no to someone else cooking for me a thousand (or even just 150) miles away, by a beach, up a mountain, in a shack. Much as I’ve enjoyed learning to make my own ‘proper’ Napoli pizza and semi-master a pasta machine.

So I’ll end this brief-ish blog with a related plea.

In the interests of research I’d love to know: what foods and cuisines from past travels (or former neighbourhoods, faraway or not) do you miss and crave the most? Have you tried making your own versions? What worked and what didn’t?

For me I’ve really missed eating out in Italy, anywhere, anywhen, all times of day, preferably with a Hugo cocktail of elderflower, Prosecco and soda close by. Artful artisan creations from French boulangeries (the magnificence of the chestnut-choux Paris Brest pastry, pain au raisin snails meant for kids, macarons — and basically anything else on a counter behind glass). Swedish cinnamon and cardamom buns eaten in achingly Scandi, white-tiled cafés. Bright, fresh, spicy, comforting Thai street food. The really ravishing rotis from tiny Malaysian restaurant Roti King in London. Danish smørrebrød open sandwiches all seeming to end up with a bright smear of beetroot dressing…. Ramen ordered from vending machines in Japan….. giant sunflower seed-fleckled pretzels in Berlin train stations…. sorry, I’m daydreaming again.

I’d genuinely really love to hear what food has been at the front of your mind, on the tip of your tongue, on the top of your list this past year or more.

Feel free to share in the comments below, or you can email me at hello@kateskitchenbakery.com. Who knows, it might be coming to a menu nearer to you than you think…

Have a great week!

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The world’s a stage

A graphic quoting and showing William Shakespeare

For some people, St George’s Day (this past Friday) represents folklore and myth, dragons and slayers. For others, it’s more an excuse to feel extra patriotic — or, in the case of two people in my village, a reason to enquire ask why the old church wasn’t flying an English flag (sigh).

For me though, this time of the year marks a chance to celebrate surely the greatest playwright of them all, William Shakespeare.

He was baptised on 25th April, 457 years ago, supposedly two days after his birth on St George’s Day. The parish records also show that he was buried on 25th April in 1616. Therefore many have come to the natural assumption that he must have been born and died on the same day, two days before each parish record entry. There’s definitely a handy timeliness to this assumption, though it wasn’t a very good final birthday, was it…

Anyway, as a way of celebrating the great bard in some way, and because we’re all still starved of much of the joy of journeys, here is a worldly whistle stop tour of earthly theatrical delights, past and future. There are four(ish) stops, to be precise about it.

It’s worth saying at this point that it’s not thought that Shakespeare ever left England in his lifetime. He just leaned on those two stalwarts, imagination and curiosity. A lesson for us all?

The wooden O

…But pardon, gentles all,
The flat unraised spirits that have dared
On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth
So great an object: can this cockpit hold
The vasty fields of France? Or may we cram
Within this wooden O the very casques
That did affright the air at Agincourt?

Henry V, Prologue

What I wouldn’t give to have been around in 1599 to see Henry V and other plays put on the stage of the new Globe playhouse in Southwark, London. The ‘wooden O’ referred to in the prologue was the Globe theatre itself. Shakespeare wanted to emphasise its power to take his words and transport his audiences away from their cares and their troubles, over to vastnesses elsewhere.

The wooden O was rebuilt 398 years later when I was 10. Old enough that I could have pestered my Dad to take me to see Henry V when again it kicked off opening proceedings.

I’ve made up for it since though. I actually don’t know exactly how many times I’ve stood or sat, enveloped within the Globe’s circular walls (which, psst, are actually not technically round) — absorbed by a history play, tickled by a comedy, distraught in the hands of a tragedy.

But I’ve easily seen over 40 plays there and if I had to pick one place in the world that I probably miss the most, it would be that little corner of south London. Two of my friends passed it on a walk recently and sent me a selfie. They knew.

I am therefore incredibly keen to return this year, perched somewhere under the thatch, cider in hand, Shakespeare on tap.

I recommend… booking now for the summer season. The usual capacity seems to be greatly reduced, so dates are likely to start selling out soon, if they’ve not already. I’m excited to see screen and stage star Alfred Enoch (yes, Dean in Harry Potter) in Romeo & Juliet, opposite Rebekah Murrell.

A vintage year

Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus
.

The Comedy of Errors, Act 1, Scene 1

I know I’m heavily biased because I lived in London at the time and I went to so many events during the 2012 Olympics (sorry), but if you were ranking great years we’ve had in the past decade, 2012 has got to be top of the list. So many sports, so much support — and what a coming together of cultures it was too. In theatre especially.

Shakespeare’s Globe held a season called Globe to Globe, putting on almost all of Shakespeare’s plays (plus one of his narrative poems), each in a different language.

Sport brings nations together, but ultimately it’s to compete against one other. But here the arts were, bringing people from all across the world together in one theatre.

From Love’s Labour’s Lost in sign language and The Comedy of Errors in Dari Persian to Venus and Adonis in IsiZulu, IsiXhosa, SeSotho, Setswana and Afrikaans; Julius Caesar in Italian, Troilus and Cressida in Maori and King Lear in Belarusian. I attended as many as I could squeeze in, but King Lear remains one of the most vivid of nights.

The Belarus Free Theatre who performed it so electrically were in a position of not being allowed to perform openly in the Lukashenko-led regime of their home country — they had to perform in secret, private locations, such a garages belonging to the cast.

I remember that the director delivered an impassioned speech on stage at the end, urging us theatregoers to remember how lucky we were to have the freedom to choose what we wanted to watch. That most performers could get away with simply performing whatever they felt like performing. Buckets were passed round as the audience emptied the Globe and spilled out towards the Thames, inky by night. A humble request for donations to enable them to keep touring and the light flickering.

What’s changed for them? They’re still standing up to the regime, which hangs on by a thread. One which many of us hope will snap soon.

I recommend… renting some Globe to Globe films from Globe Player.

A family forest

O, how full of briars is this working-day world! 

As You Like It, Act 1, Scene 3

The Forest of Arden in As You Like It. The Athenian woods of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Those moving trees in Macbeth. Storybook woods, alluring in their depth and spellbinding mystery.

Shakespeare clearly enjoyed writing folklore into his woodlands – merry outlaws with Robin Hood qualities, potions, fairies and magic – but it doesn’t mean he didn’t draw on places he knew, forests he had walked through.

I always thought that the Forest of Arden had to be a real forest. His mother’s surname was Arden after all. But then I couldn’t see a mention specifically of a wood on a map (if I search it now, I get a Marriott Hotel) and so I thought that maybe Shakespeare had led us all on a merry chase though pure fantasy forest.

But: the National Trust to the rescue, it did exist! Shakespeare must have walked through it regularly if not frequently. And some of it still exists today, albeit in pockets, mostly converted to farmland now. Sadly that is often the story of Britain’s woodlands, but at least we now recognise (again) the important role they play in an ecosystem.

I recommend… the beguiling pull of nature that weaves its way through the utterly compelling novel Hamnet by Maggie O’ Farrell. The title refers to Shakespeare’s son (born a twin with Judith Shakespeare) but actually I found it painted a completely real and true-seeming picture of another important Shakespeare family member too. But I don’t want to spoil it if you haven’t read it! I wish very often that I could wipe my mind of the memory of reading it, and read it for the first time all over again.

Now is also a great time to go in search of bluebells and wild garlic in your local woods.

Italia 1590s

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene…

Romeo and Juliet, Prologue

Fair Verona… not quite how I remember it when I visited, but they sure know how to market the hell out of a fictional tragic love story.

Juliet’s house and balcony? Tick. Juliet’s tomb? Tick. Romeo’s bathroom? Just kidding. ‘Juliet’s balcony’ was built in the 1930s and ‘Juliet’s tomb’ is literally just an empty sarcophagus in the church of San Francesco al Corso, but it is a pretty setting nonetheless. Oh, and don’t forget a sharpie when you visit the balcony for a selfie, if you want to graffiti your message of undying love to whomever you wish to declare it to, on the way in. I won’t fill you in on what some people pinned to it instead…

Poking fun aside though, I had a lovely time when I visited with my friend Kim a few years back. Yes, there was some touristy tackiness going on but under the balcony we met a pianist who was on holiday too, decided to hang out together and have a delicious meal in a local restaurant. A wonderful evening under a starry, late summer sky.

All that glisters is not gold…

A little more haunting but peaceful nonetheless, I wholeheartedly recommend heading to the north west area of Venice at night, walking through the Jewish quarter, once the Jewish ghetto, instituted in 1516 to segregate the Jewish population. In English we in fact have taken the word ghetto from the Venetian use of the term. I dare you to stand in the Campo di Ghetto Nuovo square and not feel the past tap you heavily on the shoulder. Or hear the hushed lines of The Merchant of Venice rushing by, woven into the blustered breeze. Am I over-romanticising it? Maybe. But trust me.

I recommend… If you’ve never had the pleasure of watching it, the 2006 BBC TV series Venice with Francesco da Mosto is a delight. He’s lived in Venice all his life and what he doesn’t know about the city is almost pointless knowing.

For something tasty out of the kitchen instead, give this recipe by Nigella: tagliatelle with chicken from the Venetian Ghetto. It is inspired by recipes from Claudia Roden, a cookbook writer and cultural anthropologist.

And that’s that. A very whistlestop tour. There’s so much I didn’t fit in, so I’ll leave you with my 6am ramblings this morning:

Venice – Merchant, Othello/ Ithaca?? / fictional Illyria – Twelfth Night. Croatia let’s say! / Denmark – Hamlet (visiting the fortress) / Verona – Romeo and Juliet – underwhelming at times but when opera is on in the city, it’s great/ Scotland – the Scottish play! / Ancient Rome / Ancient Greece / Troy during the Iliad – Troilus and Cressida / Greece – Midsummer! Should have guessed but seems more otherworldly / Greece – Comedy of Errors (quote 163) / Vienna – Measure for Measure / Padua & Warwickshire – Taming of the Shrew (Arabian Nights influence) / France and Spain – Love’s Labour’s Lost / Messina, Sicily – Much Ado & Leontes King of Sicily in The Winter’s Tale / Paris and Florence – All’s Well That Ends Well / The Aegean – Pericles / New World of The Tempest.

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Postcard from…Windsor (and Westminster)

Gif showing Windsor Castle and Legoland windsor

Many of us think of Windsor Castle when we think of Windsor. It represents over a thousand years of royal history. But when I think of Windsor, I also think of log flumes. 

Don’t get me wrong, I do think of the Windsor Castle bit of Windsor, it’s a stunner of a building. And the events of Prince Philip being laid to rest yesterday brought the place freshly back to mind (I am unashamed to say I did weep while watching). But when I think of a childhood of day trips to Windsor, it is mainly the log flume and the panning for gold – not forgetting the dragon rollercoaster – that spring to mind. 

I’m talking (as some of you may have guessed) about Legoland Windsor. Greatest theme park in the world, no question. At this point, you might think that there couldn’t possibly be a royal connection to the above photograph of my mum and I surviving the Pirate Falls log flume. You’d be wrong. 

I’ll give you a clue: this photo was taken on the afternoon of Saturday 6th September 1997. That was the day of Princess Diana’s funeral, watched by over 31 million people in the UK, including us. 

It also happened to be my 10th birthday. 

I definitely remember that birthday and all the events of the previous week more vividly than I otherwise would have. I didn’t really have the biggest concept of grief and loss then, but it was the kind of time in history that you never forget. Like right now and this past year, for instance. 

I opened my presents over breakfast and then on the TV went. There was no way we would miss the funeral. Perhaps my parents might even have considered going into central London had it not been for the birthday. 

Of that morning, I mostly remember my brother and I horsing around with my new presents (chief among them a giant stuffed toy reindeer with puppet arms you could put your own hands into. You had to see him to believe him, but I chose the name Smartie on account of giant eyes and a nose and that looked like chocolate Smarties or Galaxy Minstrels).

Anyway… although I was naive to the real tragedy of it all, the funeral being on left a massive impression. I can still see the scene in our living room in my mind’s eye on repeat often as the BBC coverage showed the cortège going from Kensington Palace to St James Palace and into Westminster Abbey. The floral wallpaper on our living room walls, the sofa against the wall facing the window, the pine IKEA TV unit rolled closer in than normal. My dad, mum and uncle sat together on the sofa, still as marble, my dad silently sobbing throughout. 

My brother and I had all the space of the rest of the living room in which to play, but we were drawn like magnets to those three adults. I sensed vulnerability. Here was a small window into what grief looked like. If this is how much it hurt when mourning someone we’d never met, what would it be like when someone in our actual family died? 

I probably hoped that maybe it didn’t happen to every family. Funerals seemed like a distant experience, and indeed it was to be 22 years before my brother and I would organise and attend our first (and so far only) family funeral. Nonetheless, I suppose we grew up just a little bit faster that week. Certainly other young siblings a little more in the public eye than us were forced to grow up too soon.  

It would be years though before I watched the ceremony in full and understood just how painful a time it was. The stoicism of William and Harry walking behind the cortége*, the caustic, raw nature of Earl Spencer’s eulogy, the staggering pain etched into every syllable of Libera Me sung by the BBC Orchestra and soprano Lynne Dawson (it still gives me unbelievable goosebumps listening now). And of course, the simple, sheer tragedy of how young Diana was when she died, and how it happened. 

The whole service happened miles away from Windsor, but I still can’t disentangle the connection in my mind. 

(* Something I read during recent Duke of Edinburgh coverage is that the government wanted the young princes to join the procession, as they were worried that the public would be angry at (or even attack) Prince Charles as he walked behind. Prince Philip persuaded them the boys to take part, by offering to walk with them too).

Morning turning to late morning, and my just-reached-10 self shrugged off all that I could only faintly grasp at that age and wondered instead, would we be allowed to have lunch ACTUALLY INSIDE Legoland?!

The public coverage of the funeral had came to an end and life had to go on. For us as a family that meant celebrating my birthday with a half day at Legoland Windsor. The whole country had shut down during the morning out of respect, but by 2pm, the car park was busy enough with people who had also ventured out. 

I definitely sensed the atmosphere as different from any previous time we’d visited, and we’d been a lot. In every queue, either adults talked about the morning’s events, or there was a frisson of understanding that just pulsed through everyone. The fun was more measured, the crowds definitely fewer — though this had the added benefit of allowing us on more rides in a shorter space of time, so my brother and I were in our element! 

Pirate Falls was my favourite ride at Legoland. I still feel a complete thrill at the idea of jumping into one of the log boats, passing the Lego pirate brothers, the treasure, the laughing parrot just before you plunged over the top and tumbled down the flume, in complete soggy ecstasy. It didn’t change for years, it remained a perfect time capsule of birthdays gone by, whenever we visited in later years. It was the ride we headed over to first in fact that afternoon. We felt like queue jumpers, the wait time was so abnormally short.  

Of course Windsor isn’t just the castle or Legoland and nothing in-between.

It is home to over 30,000 people. Windsor Bridge connects it to Eton, location of the famous public school but more vivid to me as seemingly endless lush, green fields and ponds and rivers of ducks, drifting under draping willows. So many willows, I recall.

The whole area around Windsor is special and we spent many fond family outings exploring the town and its surrounds, not always duck spotting but gawping at the castle architecture, finding new walking routes, gazing through shop windows along polished streets at fancy candles and posh knitwear. It’s more than simply a quaint royal town. It is incredibly pretty as well as historic.

Windsor’s seen a lot in the thousand years it’s been around. Just as the log flume should keep on falling and the parrot ought to keep on laughing, so we’ll keep moving on with our lives. But if we can, we should try keeping the happy memories tucked somewhere a bit easier to find than the unhappy ones.

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Vanuatu veneration and the country that risks the world: travel and global news round-up

A chief from Tanna Island in Vanuatu

A Tanna Island chief, 2015. Photographed by Graham Crumb, via Wikimedia Commons Images

World Health Day last Wednesday symbolised the continuing efforts to vaccinate populations around the world — if they can just get hold of the vaccine in the first place. It was important day for discussion and action. Then Friday rolled around and we learned that Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh had passed away aged 99. ‘That’s not travel news’, you might say. Think again.

And read on for a round-up of some of the travel news and global stories that have caught my eye, piqued my interest and worried me most over the past week.

Only Together campaign imagery
  • In late March the UN launched their Only Together campaign to lend more weight to calls for global equity in vaccine production and distribution. As the campaign name suggests, the UN is urging countries around the world, particularly the 10 richest countries who own 80% of the world’s vaccines, to join together more than they have so far. It wants them to meet the goal set by the UN / WHO co-led organisation COVAX, which aims for at least a third of the people in each participating country to be vaccinated by the end of 2021.

Around the world we are seeing the biggest vaccine rollout in history, but COVAX estimate they still need around $2bn worth of funding and vaccine doses to meet the goal.

  • The first Global Travel Task Force report was released in the UK on Friday, alongside PM Boris Johnson announcing plans for a traffic light system for foreign travel. The idea of introducing red, amber and green statuses to holiday destinations is to avoid the chaotic scenes over summer last year as countries went from ‘yes you can visit’ to ‘leave now or face quarantine’ overnight.
  • Taking tests remains key to current government plans, but with a view to looking at reducing their cost. You can read the report in full here, and this opinion piece from Ben Clatworthy at the Telegraph points out that while the news is welcome for travel operators and holidaymakers alike, there remains much to be cautious about.

As Travel Weekly reports, for travel not to be prohibitively expensive due to test costs, the UK will need to do something about the reality that it currently costs more than twice as much to arrange tests here than it does in many European countries in: £128 versus £62. Karen Dee, Chief Executive of the Airport Operators Association, echoed what many in the industry are saying:

‘Without a cost-effective solution [free testing for those returning from green light countries], a summer holiday will be out of reach for many and damage an already badly hit aviation and travel industry even further’.

Prince Philip with Peter Scott, co-founders of WWF

Courtesy WWF

  • The news of Prince Philip’s death on Friday led to a huge bloom of coverage that has surprised some and left others cold — I for one was saddened at the news (though, I mean, 99, what an innings!) and welcomed the chance to learn more about his life and career beyond the bits and pieces you pick up over the years and episodes of The Crown.

Amid the news reports and recollections (including this from wonderful former Archbishop of York John Sentamu), I realised just what an advocate the Duke of Edinburgh was for conservation and fighting climate change — he was involved in the founding of the WWF organisation, launching their first national appeal in 1961 and becoming president of the organisation from 1981 – 1996. He also toured the world to highlight the dangers such as poaching, pollution, deforestation:

‘We depend on being part of the web of life, we depend on every other living thing on this planet, just as much as they depend on us’.

As this BBC tribute details, Prince Philip showed a commitment to conservation and fighting climate change before it became mainstream. He pushed for the use of unleaded petrol in cars used by royal palaces and put sustainable farming practices in place, drove around in his own electric taxi and wrote books about conservation challenges, even presenting a series of related TV programmes. Over the decades he joined forces with David Attenborough too, a sprightly 94 and ¾ himself now.

It just goes to show that behind every sensationalist headline (Philip was heavily criticised for taking part in hunts over the years) there are usually far more nuanced and balanced stories and opinions to be found, including in this Independent article from yesterday.

Map of Vanuatu
  • After news of the Duke’s passing, one area of the world I was keen to hear from is Tanna Island, one of the islands of the nation of Vanuatu, whose people have famously venerated the Duke of Edinburgh since his visit with the Queen in 1974. The local legends surrounding Prince Philip may stretch back to the 1960s, according to the man in the know, Kirk Huffman, an anthropologist and honorary curator at the National Museum at Vanuatu Cultural Centre — who I would wager, judging by all the articles published on the subject this weekend, has had an incredibly busy 48 hours.

The local legends? It was foretold that a pale-skinned son of a local mountain god ventured across the seas to look for a rich and powerful woman to marry. Whether they knew that as a child he arrived by sea in England as a refugee from Greece I can’t say, but he certainly did marry well.

Since Friday, many news pieces have speculated as to how the news would be received on Tanna Island, and whether they would move their focus onto Prince Charles. For now, islanders have responded to the news with heartfelt condolences to the Queen, with plans to hold a ceremony on Monday.

Needless Covid denial and reckless attitudes to even the most basic ways of curbing the virus such as mask wearing threaten all of us and distract from other worrying global developments.

  • And going almost unmentioned by comparison, the situation in Tigray in northern Ethiopia is threatening to spill into a country-wide civil war. It started in November when the Prime Minister (Abiy Ahmed, of Nobel Peace Prize-winning fame…..) announced military strikes in the region to ‘restore the rule of law’ by ‘eliminating’ the influence of the local political party TPLF, after they had attacked army bases.

Recent accusations against government-led Ethiopian and Eritrean forces include that they have committed a wave of massacres, including of 182 people killed in door-to-door attacks in the town of Abi Addi in Central Tigray on 10th February. Victims ranged from infants to elders in their 90s.

While fighting the pandemic remains such a priority, we mustn’t lose sight of conflicts around the world intensifying in the shadows.

German civilians on their way to becoming refugees

German civilians, fleeing the Soviet advance, pick their way across the River Elbe on a partially destroyed railway bridge at Tangermünde, May 1945 © IWM (KY 12151F)

  • The inescapable result of global conflict is often displacement of huge numbers of people, as Imperial War Museums (IWM) – my former employer – has been exploring in their Refugee season. I am unlikely to be able to see their exhibition Refugees: Forced to Flee in person before it shuts on 23rd May (if anyone from IWM is reading this, could it be extended please?!) but there are some very thought-provoking on the season homepage.
  • But kudos to Martinez for not caving in to Saudi Arabia’s demands surrounding a potential loan to the museum of the world’s most expensive painting, Da Vinci’s Salvator Mundi. The painting was snapped up in the world famous 2017 auction by journalist-murderer Prince Mohammed bin Salman (MBS), it turns out — he forked out $450m for it. Problem is, after lab analysis the Louvre reported that it was only partly produced by Da Vinci. MBS tried to pressure them into pretending it to be ‘100% Da Vinci’, so they refused to exhibit it. Zut Alors!
An aerial shot of Padstow harbour in Cornwall
  • Have you watched Seapiracy on Netflix? The Telegraph published a piece analysing the various claims in the documentary but I have to confess I haven’t gotten around to watching yet, though it’s high up on my list. I learned lots about the harm we’ve caused to ours seas and waterways in David Attenborough’s book A Life on Our Planet, which I wrote about in this long form article from 2nd March.
  • If you’ve already watched Seaspiracy, I can wholeheartedly recommend catching this BBC series on Cornwall’s fishermen (pictured). It’s been incredibly illuminating on the state of fishing in Cornwall (and by association, the UK), particularly during the pandemic. Each episode comes from a different fishing port, highlighting different aspects and challenges — from fish stock sustainability and housing prices by the sea to tourism and vessel licences. Really absorbing.

I’ll be celebrating with a trip to the library on Tuesday. Have a good week!

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Spring is here part II: a calendar year in the countryside

Spring blossom blooming

I mentioned last week in my first post about the beginning of spring that every day this year I’m reading The Shakespeare Almanac by Gregory Doran. I’m also reading a book called Wonderland, day by day.

Every day in the book focuses on a different aspect of flora and fauna in the UK, as the seasons change. It gets you looking around more when you’re walking, even in places you think you know inside out.

Suddenly, you notice how early in the year bumblebee appear; You start looking more closely at the mosses clinging to the trees, now that you recognise there are so many varieties (and that they are a sign of clean air); It means something special to wait a whole year for the bluebells to shoot up out of nowhere again and carpet the trees you’ll walk by, or anticipate the elderflower blooming on the trees again, sugar and water at the ready to make new batches of cordial.

Most of us have been in pretty much the same place day in, day out over the past year – we’ll all have noticed more of nature, even just out of our windows. The dawning of spring, the changing of clocks, the lengthening of days. It means more to us all than it maybe ever has done before.

I wanted to mark this by going back (sorry, clocks) for a brief moment. Back over my calendar year spent living in the countryside, on the Somerset Dorset border. Four beautiful seasons from one doorstep:

(Sound on!)

Wherever you are in the world, near or far – whether you’re at the start of spring or the beginning of autumn – I hope you are also enjoying the changing of the seasons and the festivals that surround these important times in the calendar.

I’m going to be taking a break over Easter myself, returning on Sunday 11th April with a special focus on global vaccination efforts, following World Health Day on 7th April.

Until then!

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Spring is here part I: equinox

Sunrise

Welcome hither, As is the Spring to the earth.

The Winter’s Tale by William Shakespeare (Act 5, Scene 1)

Today is the first day of spring, the spring equinox. In the UK it’s also Census Day, if you needed a reminder to send yours in!

As usual with days like this, it led me to ask myself: what is an equinox and how does half the world celebrate?

What is an equinox?

The Great Sphinx in Egypt

Each day this year I’m be reading a page from The Shakespeare Almanac by Royal Shakespeare Company Director Gregory Doran. Today’s entry is quite useful:

Equinox literally means ‘equal night’ [in latin]. On the spring and autumn equinoxes, day and night are the same length. Since the early Egyptians built the Sphinx to face directly towards the rising sun on the day of the vernal (spring) equinox, this moment has been celebrated ritually by succeeding civilisations.

The Christian church observed Easter on the Sunday after the first full moon on or after the day of the vernal equinox. But because the date varies slightly from year to year (the various phases of the moon only repeat exactly every 19 years), the church decided to plump for March 21st as the official ecclesiastical vernal equinox.

Watch out for the next full moon, the Paschal Moon, and Easter will fall on the following Sunday. Today, therefore is the first day of spring.

So there you have it!

How is half the world celebrating?

It’s only the first day of spring in the northern hemisphere of course, but that’s a pretty big group of people celebrating…

  1. In Britain
Stonehenge at dawn

I had to start on home ground first!

How we celebrate… Paganism was the dominant belief system in Britain from around the 5th century AD until around the 8th century AD, when Christianisation took hold across Europe.

One of the biggest pagan celebrations to have persevered is the equinox celebration that centres on Stonehenge in Wiltshire. It started many hours ago around 6am —though, as you can see, it was a little cloudy.

A bit of cloud or drizzle couldn’t dampen the spirits of Druids who celebrate the spring equinox – which they call Alban Eilir – as they have not one but three different festivals.

From shamrocks and egg painting to hares and rabbits, they also continue traditions and use symbols that have been adopted so widely that we tend not to know they are pagan in origin. Read more about them here.

The Bore tide on the River Severn

Courtesy The Severn Bore

Rising tides… Did you know that tides rise during an equinox? The pull exerted on the Earth by the moon and the Sun is what creates tides. Twice a year during the equinoxes, the Sun’s gravitational pull on the Earth is highest, leading to so-called ‘great tides’, many feet higher than normal. The River Severn in Gloucestershire attracts surfers and kayakers year round, even more so over the spring equinox.

Simnel cake

Courtesy James Pett @ Wikimedia Commons

Mid-Lent… You might think of Simnel Cake as specific to Easter, but its traditions go back to Mothering Sunday.

If like me you’ve given something up for Lent, you’ll know that we’re four weeks into a six week stint. Traditionally around this time last week used to be known as Mid-Lent Sunday. Because servants and apprentices would use the day to see their mothers, it became known as Mothering Sunday.

Of the two food traditions on this day (a porridge called frumenty is the other), Simnel Cake has stuck. Maidservants would give their mothers a cake with a layer of almond paste baked into the middle, so it became known as mothering cake too. Nowadays, there’s a whole lot of marzipan going on too, as above.

Why is it called Simnel cake? Lambert Simnel was a man who got caught up in a 1487 uprising against the newly-crowned Henry VII. When I say caught up, I mean that men who were against Henry claimed Lambert was Edward Plantagenet with a claim to the throne. The rebellion was quashed but Lambert was spared, and for a time ended up in the King’s kitchens, where he is said to have invented Simnel Cake.

Cool story, except for the fact that Simnel Cake predates poor Lambert, with references found at least 200 years before. The word likely derives from the latin word simila meaning ‘fine flour’, which also gives us the word semolina, which is a course flour a bit like polenta.

Either way, if you’re feeling rebellious, you could give this Simnel cake traybake a go.

Or you could follow the example of the Swedes and bake some cardamom and almond-scented, vanilla cream-filled Semla cakes. They used to be made only on Shrove Tuesday but are now so popular that you can get them throughout spring up to Easter.

2. The Hindu festival of Holi

Hindu widows at Holi

I came across this image by Tom Watkins. It might look like normal Holi celebrations but in fact shows Hindu widows, normally forbidden from taken part, enjoying Holi in Vrindavan, northern India, thanks to the NGO Sulabh international.

What is Holi? At its most basic, it is a celebration of the end of winter and the beginning of spring. It’s thought also to relate to the story of the defeat of the evil king Hiranyakashipu by his son Prahlad, who survived his sister’s attempt to do her father’s bidding and kill him in a fire.

What happens at Holi? Taking place in late March each year (this year it would be 28-29 March), Holi is famously known as the ‘festival of colour’ for the crowds of festival goers exuberantly throwing paint powder and water at each other, though they also sing and dance. This actually all happens on day two of the festival — it begins the day before with revellers lighting bonfires, throwing popcorn, chickpeas and coconut into them.

I feel like next year the whole world should hold a Holi festival to celebrate the end of the pandemic…

3. Poland’s pagan Slavic Goddess

Slavic goddess effigy

Courtesy Tomasz Kuran via Wikimedia Commons

Już wiosenne słonko wzbija się po niebie
W tej wezbranej rzece utopimy ciebie!

As the spring sun rises in the sky of blue
in this swollen river we are drowning you!

This medieval tradition is a little macabre… Topienie Marzanny (‘drowning of Marzanna’) involves making an effigy of the goddess out of straw, linen and beads which at dusk on the spring equinox is burned and then ‘drowned’ in a nearby river. Who would want to hurt a Slavic goddess? Well, apparently, Marzanna is the overseer of winter, plague and death, which means she’s not much-loved.

After being thrown in the drink, the effigy is carried from house to house (usually by girls) with dancing and singing and sometimes donations collected for the local church or a charity. Technically all for a good cause then?!

A rare survival… Poland is a very Catholic country which means that there aren’t many traditionally pagan rituals or celebrations knocking about these days, but it’s a testament to the strength of feeling about the approach of spring that this one is still going.

If we’re honest… Teaching kids of make the doll of a woman and set her on fire then drown her shouldn’t perhaps be so prominent on a curriculum, but I suppose we’ve got Guy Fawkes here in the UK… moving on!

4. Gardens of Adonis

Plants being watered

I had to give this a mention, it’s so fascinating.

Given spring’s long association with birth, rebirth and renewal, and flowers resurfacing after a winter hibernation, it’s not surprising that women all over ancient Italy used to plant seeds at this time. The plots they planted them in were called Gardens of Adonis — which is where is gets all Greek.

If you know your Greek mythology, you’ll know that Adonis was the mortal lover of Aphrodite, goddess of love. He favoured her above other goddesses but died at the hands of the goddess of wild animals, Artemis, who set a wild boar on him in revenge for Aphrodite killing a follower, Hippolytus.

In Ancient Greece, women took part in a festival called Adonia, mourning the death of Adonis with singing and dancing. They also – get this – planted fennel, lentil and lettuce seeds, whose fast growth and withering symbolised their mourning and worship.

It makes sense, then, that in Italy these seeds (as well as flowers) would be planted at the spring equinox and transferred to family graves, ready to bloom (and wither away) on Good Friday and over Easter. One of so many ways that ancient and pagan traditions have merged with Christian traditions — Gardens of Adonis are still planted in Sicily apparently.

5. Sakura and Sanzu

early morning blossom

A feature on spring would be incomplete without… mentioning the Japanese obsession with cherry blossom. The spring equinox is called shunbun in Japanese but really this time of year is all about the sakura season, waiting for and picnicking (hanami parties) under the freshly flowering cherry blossom trees. Meanwhile, elegant plum blossom is the first to appear and should get some credit for being the first true sign of spring in Japan.

Buddhism origins… The spring equinox is actually in the middle of a week-long Buddhist holiday known as Higan whose origins can be traced back to reign of Emperor Shōmu in the mid-700s AD. The word higan means ‘other shore’ and refers to the mythological Sanzu River which separates this life from the afterlife. Paying respect to ancestors through services and by heading to one’s hometown is the usual way of things.

a blossom forecast for 2021

Though this year the Japanese public is advised not to hold hanami picnic parties, nothing can stop the blossom forecasts.

6. Happy Nowruz

Kurdish women

Courtesy Salar Arkan @ Wikimedia Commons

A Tehran mall at Nowruz

Courtesy Rye-96 @ Wikimedia Commons

Nowruz means… ‘new day’, as it is the first day of the Persian new year. Nowruz celebrations centre on Iran, but over 300 million people around the world celebrate it in some way (and have done so for 3,000 years), especially around the Balkans, Caucasus, Central and South Asia and other areas of the Middle East.

The two images above represent the contrast of cultures celebrating Nowruz, even within Iran itself. While a shopping mall in the country’s capital Tehran displays the symbols of spring for busy shoppers, a grandmother and her grandchild celebrate wearing traditional Kurdish dress 580km away in the small village of Besaran, close to the border with Iraq.

Celebrations are so widespread across the world that the UN recognises 21st March as International Nowruz Day

What goes on? As you would expect from a giant, 300-million strong celebration, there are many different traditions and ways to celebrate. Here are a few:

  • In normal times, communities come together to share food and celebrate together.
  • In most celebrating households (and shopping malls it would seem) there is a Haft Sin table, displaying items that begin with the letter S in the Farsi alphabet — wheat grass, garlic, vinegar and herbs. Each item has meaning, from garlic (Sir) to protect against illness to plates of growing wheatgrass (Sabzeh) which symbolise regeneration.
  • Goldfish are a popular addition to the household, symbolising good luck.
  • Houses are cleaned, new clothes are bought.
  • Nowruz isn’t just one day, celebrations and rituals go on for 13 days. Despite the unlucky nature of the number, on day 13 every household’s growing wheatgrass is thrown into flowing water. This is deemed to counter any bad luck and absorb all the negative energy from the home…

Another tradition that perhaps we should all consider adopting when this pandemic is over?

Now, I best get on with filling in that census…

Featured

Lake Akan calls


Ni juu ni!

‘Did he say twenty-two? I’ve got all nine numbers then. I think I’ve won the top prize… Does that mean I’ve won the Nintendo Switch?!’ Here we were, my brother Stephen and me, 5,532 miles from home at a Japanese village fete, about to call ‘bingo!’. 

We had found ourselves almost by accident at the Akan annual summer festival, held in the volcanic crater town on Japan’s northernmost island of Hokkaido. I say by accident because, when we started fixing pins to maps and planning our route, we wanted to be hiking our way through a national park, not idling in towns.

But feisty flash floods and train-derailing landslips precipitated a rethink. Probably, we reasoned, we should pick somewhere less likely to drown us. 

So, arriving through pattering rain and on the tail of a storm, we waved a soggy hello to our Akan host Mayumi as she bounded towards us at the coach stop. Beckoning us into her home, she asked only that we consider it ours for the next three days.

Kyuu juu ichi! Ninety-one!

For travellers dotty enough to visit Japan during its hot, humid summer months, Hokkaido is a mecca of mild weather. Its cooler climate like a resplendent bird, stretching out its wings to envelope us. It was such a relief to feel rain in the toes of our sandals, not sweat.

But without the skin-shrivelling heat to busy my thoughts, I could resort to another worry. Bears. 

In some sort of ‘prepare for the worst’ mind-game, I’d daydream various murderous grizzly bear scenarios. Often I’d happen upon the bear, starving and looking for a square meal, then it spotted me, bounding over to do its worst. Occasionally playing dead would work, other times not. I tried to keep the worry out of my voice as I casually asked Mayumi how often she’d seen bears. As we surveyed the woods beyond her home on the western edge of town, she mused that she had never seen bears anywhere near the town. 

‘Perhaps you might be lucky and see a sika deer from your room. Or an owl.’

Roku! Six!

In the native Hokkaido-Ainu culture, legend has it that the Kamuy bird gods once joined forces to defeat a fierce bear who’d been attacking humans. A once-timid wren volunteered to lead the charge, spurring on its fellow birds.

Birds, not bears, seemed to sum up life around the ancient Akan lake. In fact the wren is thought of as highly on Hokkaido as we think of the robin in the UK. More so in fact, for the wren is literally worshipped.

We must have seen some around on our walks, though a rarer birding experience has stayed with me more.

On our first of two full days in Akan we ventured out onto Lake Akan itself. All activities in the town seemed to us to centre around the lake. You’d see it out of the corner of your eye, guarded by the Oakan-dake and Meakan-dake peaks. You’d hear the boats zipping along on it. You’d sense its waters rippling and look for the wildlife in it, above it.

We joined a boat tour with the express view of chancing upon some of the famous Marimo algae balls that grow to big sizes only here in Japan. We did see some, but the discovery of a Blakiston’s fish owl was more impressive. They are native to Japan (known here are shima-fukuro), China and north-eastern Asia. It was later named after the naturalist Thomas Blakiston who ‘found’ them in Hokkaido in 1883.

We gazed at the owl perched regally up on tree branches, and the owl looked back in our general direction, seeming to size us up. I’m sure it would have been equal to the task of nabbing one of us, as we glided by on our boat.

They were clearly known long before to the local population. A rare encounter, but not the only owl we would see that day…

San juu hachi! Thirty-eight! 

Mossy marimo balls spied from the glass-bottom platform (looking like big, earthy shot puts) we set off back for shore.

The weather had improved and the sun was blaring out at us, so we took two of Mayumi’s bikes for a ride round part of the lake, through some of the forest around her house. Her assertion that she’d never seen bears seemed a world away as Stephen and I chatted loudly and clanged our bike bells regularly as we rode — all the better to put off the bears. A casual ten minute pit stop incurred at least 20 cranings of the neck to check for movement in the leaves beyond us.

Just squirrels and song birds.

As evening approached we strolled over to the Ikoro Ainu theatre, at the centre of Akan’s Ainu community, called the Kotan. Here we saw our second owl of the day, perched beautifully on the archway entrance. A beautifully-carved fish owl, which to the Ainu is a kamui bird god.

We wondered if we’d be the only ones in the audience for the Ainu performance of traditional songs. The theatre was a very quiet space until minutes before curtain up, when groups of people spilled in, and the buzz and anticipation spiralled up in volume as the local Ainu performers readied themselves. Perhaps some of these people had already seen other performances earlier in the week and knew the best time to arrive.

Was this show going to be the kind of show that’s ‘only for tourists’ or was it more than that?

The Ainu people have a long history as the first settlers on Hokkaido, and indeed the name ‘Akan’ comes from the Ainu word meaning ‘unchanging’, ‘eternal’, which is quite apt as they have remained in the town, though their lands once stretched further north and south onto the Japanese mainland. Enforced assimilation and marginalisation under Japanese rule meant their culture, language and traditions suffered, as is sadly so often the case around the world.

We were there to see what’s called the Iomante Fire Festival, ‘a flame-lit story of kamuy, humans and prayers’. Those same kamuy bird gods that we felt we had come into contact with already during our stay. We needn’t have worried about how ‘authentic’ an experience the theatre would be. Here were a people wishing only to keep their culture alive, peacefully and serenely sharing their traditions and inviting us to share their world, if only for an hour.

Nana juu go! Seventy-five!

Peace – and relaxation – could also be found in the town’s onsen, aka at the public bathing facilities. Many Japanese people use onsens daily, and on Hokkaido it is no different. They are more than a series of pools or springs; people go there to shower, wash their hair, scrub up, calm down. And being naked is just part of the daily ritual. Completely normal. Every shape and size, not that anyone’s really looking.

Mayumi didn’t tend to go as much as her husband, who would go religiously every day. So we met him in the lobby of the only hotel in Akan, and took the lift up to our rooftop onsen. My brother went in with him while I minded my own time.

It was a lovely place to unwind, though I didn’t know how fast or how slow I should be, in order to meet my brother in the outdoors part of the onsen, the rooftop pool. So I didn’t quite switch off, but just floating for some time in one of the more temperate pools, across from a family doing the same. It was pretty blissful.

Here we were hanging out with the locals, and we’d gotten a taste for it.

Roku juu go! Sixty-five!

Eating out being my absolute favourite activity on holiday, on our second and last full day, I persuaded Stephen to try some local food with me over a late lunch.

Walking into a small restaurant I’d spotted on an earlier walk, I knew we’d struck gold; the menu outside was only in Japanese and the place was clearly popular with locals. As everyone sat cross-legged on mats, animatedly making their way through plates of steaming, delicious looking food, we plonked ourselves down at the only free spot – the counter by the kitchen — one of my favourite places to be in any restaurant.

While Hokkaido is known more for the beer it produces in its capital Sapporo than for particular food specialities, one foodstuff does come close.

Scanning the menu using our nifty – though sometimes glitchy – photo translation app, we found what I was looking for and gestured to the owner for two bowls of roast venison with rice.

Elsewhere in Japan, venison in July might have seemed a little bonkers, but here it hit the spot. I still wish I’d ordered a second bowl for myself.

Juu yon! Fourteen! 

Something all of Japan goes for is yakitori — marinated chicken skewers that entire bars are sometimes devoted to. It was the first smell to waft into my nostrils on our arrival at the summer festival later in the afternoon.

Mayumi had invited us and we were excited to be there for our last evening on Hokkaido.

The festival was, unsurprisingly, in one of the parts of town closest to the lake. Always in the corner of eyes, now taking centre stage. The downcast grey clouds clashed with the festival atmosphere, as mothers carried their excitable toddlers around, families sat relaxedly on tables in the centre and locals strolled between stalls, mostly buying yakitori and beer.

It hadn’t been that long since I’d eaten, but that didn’t stop me grappling with my yen and ordering up whatever the stalls had left to sell, as the student band played Beatles and Oasis covers.

Ni juu kyuu! Twenty-nine! 

Lighters at the ready, folks.

Framed by a crane holding up the festival sign and singing their hearts out, I loved this band! They were a delight — even if most of the crowd appeared quite nonchalant, there were a few of us going for it. Maybe, for many, they had heard it all before.

Or perhaps their minds were on the main event.

It was time for the bingo.

Hyaku! One hundred!

Within half an hour of our arrival, the last of the snacks were on the grills, the band’s set was coming to an end and the tension was palpable, as everyone searched for their bingo cards.

Wait. We had none! They had sold like hot yakitori.

But Mayumi came to our rescue, she’d bought us each a card along with her own.

As the dials decreased on stage, the volume among the Akan locals ratcheted up. Cards were smoothed out, laid out on tables or spread out on the ground, pens and pencils were distributed as the prizes were deliberately laid out on the stage, like jewels carefully being set in a magnificent crown. Crates of Sapporo beer, hampers, toys, gift vouchers.

And a brand new Nintendo Switch, boxed and ready to be claimed. My brother’s eyes lit up, like Mario uncovering a cache of golden coins.

Maybe there were more valuable prizes, but not to him. The first to cry bingo would surely be given first dibs.

All of sudden and unceremoniously the bingo began — and we quickly realised we would need Mayumi to translate every number for us. My knowledge of 1-10 wasn’t going to get me that far with a hundred numbers flying about.

Five numbers in. My card unmarked, gripped solidly in my sweaty palm.

Ten numbers in. No-one had yet come forward. I’d gotten my first number, but had eight more.

Fifteen numbers in. Stephen was a paragon of concentration, his card swathed in blue circles.

‘I’m one away!

Ni juu ni! Twenty-two!

There his last number was. The day of his birthday in June.

Hollering ‘BINGO! WAHOO!’ as he tripped his way to the front of the crowd, Stephen approached the all-seeing, all-knowing Bingo Master to collect his prize.

The only man standing between my brother and a Nintendo Switch.

Stephen was asked his name, where he was from and whether he was enjoying his visit. Basking in the glory of having snagged the top prize, he cracked a few jokes and motioned towards it, almost trying to magic it into his hands.

However.

To my brother’s dismay, the bingo maestro, grinning, pulled out a small sack of democratically-jumbled up prize item tickets from his pocket. The crowd seemed collectively to be saying, ‘no, not that fast mate!’

Joy turned to apprehension as Stephen theatrically, and blindly, rustled around and around the tickets to make his choice. Sweeping through the item tickets undecidedly and with all the reverence of a child in a sweet shop with a crisp £10 to spend. Would he pick that one? Perhaps that one? No, maybe that one? Here goes……

Damn! It wasn’t to be, he had picked out the prize of a buffet lunch for two in the town’s hotel. My idea of complete nirvana, but we were leaving at breakfast the next day and wouldn’t get to use it.

So of course we offered it to our host Mayumi to use with her family. She had been such a wonderful host. We were very glad to have made our way to Lake Akan for those three days.

It took until we arrived in Kyoto, but Stephen rallied his spirits after the bingo disappointment.

After all, he did already have a Nintendo Switch at home.


If you’re interested to find out more about the Ainu people:

Japan’s forgotten indigenous people

The Ainu kotan village

Featured

Empowering women around the world

Header image showing a sewing machine and a rickshaw

Monday 8th March is International Women’s Day, as I’m sure many of you are aware. But did you know that its beginnings date back as early as 1908? I didn’t!

There is a different theme to each year’s International Women’s Day, and this year’s is #ChoosetoChallenge, because with challenge comes change.

That’s definitely the spirit that many of the woman I’m featuring today embody.

For a couple of years now I’ve been following two not for profit initiatives – one in Rajasthan in India and the other in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) in Africa – quite closely. It’s about time I shared them with you.

Read on for what I hope will be two inspiring profiles of two incredibly inspiring projects, followed by a snapshot of some other fascinating women-led projects and news from around the world.

Jaipur and Udaipur, India: The Pink City and Lake City Rickshaw initiatives 

A line of pink rickshaws

The eco-friendly electric pink rickshaws wait in line in Jaipur. Credit: Wild Frontiers

  • What’s it about?

The Pink City Rickshaw Company is a sustainable, travel-focused initiative that champions women living in Jaipur to become tour guide rickshaw drivers with a stake in the business itself. This is alongside a sister initiative, The Lake City Rickshaw Company, in Udaipur. Both cities are hugely popular on the tourist trail in India’s Rajasthan State. 

The Pink City Rickshaw Company empowers over 200 women from low income households to challenge stereotypes in what is a male-dominated environment, giving them a career that provides for them and their families while also introducing more environmentally-friendly transport onto the roads in the form of electric rickshaws.

This initiative is part of the not for profit organisation called ACCESS Development Services, who run projects across at least nine states in India, from partnering with the UNHCR to help refugees from Afghanistan and Myanmar (Burma) and revitalising the loom industry to running various farming initiatives (increasingly important work, if you’ve seen recent news of protests over controversial new agriculture laws proposed.) 

  • What they say
Women from the Pink City Rickshaw Company celebrating International Women's Day 2020

Experience the medieval mystique of the walled city in these unique and custom designed, eco-friendly rickshaws driven by smart, enthusiastic and well trained women. The well planned tours of the important tourist attractions of Jaipur and the novel circuits provide you the best sights, a chance to soak in the local culture and give you an experience like none other.

Help our Pink City Tour Hostesses discover their new found economic independence.

Credit: Pink City Rickshaw Company

  • What I love about this

I first heard about the project at a Royal Geographical Society event in early 2020. It was a star-studded fundraising event run by the travel company Wild Frontiers, whose Foundation raised enough money from the event to fund two new electric rickshaws.

This initiative is clearly lifting women up to become breadwinners in their family, challenge male prominence on the roads, promote sustainability and seek to show different sides to two well-trodden and popular cities — needless to say I left that lecture hall hugely inspired. I planned to write a feature on the women of the Pink City Rickshaw Company, but Covid had other ideas. 

The women’s main income stream is tourism and so, like many other small-scale tourism businesses and operators, the pandemic has hit them especially hard.

  • Renu & Lalita
Fundraising leaflet

In August last year the Pink City’s Rickshaw Company launched a fundraising campaign to help the 200+ women left without work in Jaipur and Udaipur. One of the Jaipur drivers and tour guides, Renu Sharma, shared her worries:

‘I used to earn a good amount. With the tourist industry being badly impacted, we have no income and our families struggle even for two square meals!’

I hope that that call out, and Just Giving campaigns from Wild Frontiers and others has given them some financial relief, and that visitors can return soon. I’m keener than ever to meet some of these women, when it is safe to travel internationally again. Including Lalita:

Before the world was turned upside down, the Wild Frontiers Foundation interviewed Jaipur rickshaw driver Lalita about life after joining the initiative: 

‘I am now giving my children a good education. I am fulfilling their needs and I am saving some money as well. My husband says that I work with him “shoulder to shoulder”. He likes it [and my] kids are happy too’. Not only is Lalita a driver and tour guide, she is also on the company’s board, something that she says has given her extra confidence.

What wonderful women!

  • How you can get involved and support the project

By going on a tour in Jaipur or Udaipur when tourism opens up again. 

The aim of each tour isn’t to give you a history lesson but a unique experience, going behind the scenes and avoiding tourist traps. Early morning tours in Jaipur are designed to show you the city before everyone is on the roads, or their food tour takes in Jaipur’s old town flower and vegetable market, with its crates of bright citrus fruits, open bags of chillies, tubs of peppers and baskets of herbs.

In Udaipur, the Old City tour is their most popular, but the cooling Lake City tour of Fatehsagar Lake gets my vote.

You can also donate via Just Giving and by getting in touch with the Pink City Rickshaw Company.

The Democratic Republic of Congo: Virunga National Park’s Sewing Workshop for the Widows of Fallen Rangers

A woman at her sewing machine

A Virunga widow using one of the sewing machines. Credit: Virunga National Park

  • Why they are widows

Virunga National Park in The Congo (DRC) is the oldest national park in Africa, established in 1925 primarily to protect mountain gorillas — work that continues to dominate the mission of the rangers who guard the park’s 3,000 sq mile range.

A UNESCO World Heritage site since 1979, Virunga is home to more mammal, bird and reptile species than any other protected area on the planet, and the only site on earth to be home to three species of great apes: the mountain gorilla, eastern lowland gorilla and eastern chimpanzee. Thanks to Virunga National Park and surrounding conservation efforts, the mountain gorilla is the only great ape in the world whose numbers are increasing. 

But it comes with a burden that grieving widows and families bear every day. 

Virunga is often called the most dangerous park in the world; the twin, related effects of the First and Second Congo Wars (1996-2003) and increased poaching became a huge threat to wildlife that continues to this day in the volatile region.

Over 200 rangers have lost their lives protecting the park since the 1920s, including most recently on 10th January 2021 when six Virunga rangers were ambushed and killed by a so-called Mai-Mai militia group.

Since 2004 (with a resurgence in 2015) the Kivu region of eastern DRC there has witnessed increased military conflict. Virunga was even forcibly used in 2008 by rebels as a base for launching attacks.

This extreme volatility provides a backdrop to the award-winning Virunga documentary from 2014, which led me to become aware of efforts to support the rangers’ widows through sewing workshops and The Fallen Rangers Fund.

  • What they’re about
Women looking over fabric

Some of the women working on the beautiful fabrics. Credit: Virunga National Park

Before the Fallen Rangers Fund was set up, widows and families would struggle financially, with many struggling to live normal lives. When the fund was set up, fundraisers and organisers sought to trace widows and their families from 1991 onwards, committing to provide pension and other support for any widow of a Virunga ranger. 

The fund has flowered into a sewing workshop project currently existing in two locations — Rumangabo to the south which opened in 2016 and Mutsora in the north, opened a year later. The sewing workshops give widows the chance to learn sewing, or develop their skills so as to earn a living from their craft. Not only do they hand make items such curtains, cushion covers, handkerchiefs and quilts – even toys – but they also repair the worn uniforms of rangers, which provides an additional income stream. 

This project is much more than just learning to sew however; the workshop buildings are also meeting spaces and women can participate in classes on entrepreneurship, health and personal development. One woman recently graduated with engineering qualifications, others are learning to be chefs and chocolatiers. Childcare and educational facilities are available on site and for women who don’t feel able to attend there is at-home support and smaller initiatives such as bracelet making.

  • What they say

The ultimate goal of the Widows Sewing Workshop is to help support these women to get beyond bare subsistence. Equally important is to foster a sense of community and strengthen their optimism for what the future holds.

Virunga National Park [is] committed to delivering development initiatives that benefit local people and the wider region, and to working in partnership with local communities to bring peace and prosperity to many millions of people whose lives have for too long been blighted by conflict and the activities of armed groups.

After the tragic loss of a Ranger, a private fund is immediately established to garner support from our community and all donations towards that fund are given directly to the Ranger’s widow.

  • What I think is so important about this project
Three women at a fabric cutting table

Three women, widows of Virunga rangers, prepare some fabric in the Rumangabo Workshop. Credit: Virunga National Park

January’s attack sadly shows how necessary this project is. The task is a constantly uphill one and the risk involved for the rangers in protecting hundreds of species, including some of the world’s most endangered wild animals, is tremendous.

But when the worst happens for some of the 689 plus rangers and their families, it is comforting to know that there is a sympathetic, empowering project at the heart of what happens next.

As well as the financial and social opportunities the project affords, one of the most meaningful everyday interactions is with the tributes on the walls themselves.

In each of the workshops there is a mural for fallen rangers and the animals they lost their lives trying to protect. With each ranger’s death, a star goes up along with their name — pictured above. It isn’t showy or flashy, but quietly there in the background as life goes on around it. 

Grief is life-changing and it never quite goes away, but with the Fallen Rangers Fund and Widows’ Sewing Workshops, the women whose lives have been impacted by tragedy at Virunga can also find solace there, and future happiness. 

  • Sakina Salambongo & Therese Sangira
The opening of the Rumangobo Workshop

The 2016 opening of the Rumangabo Workshop. Credit: Virunga National Park

Sakina Salambongo Masika is one of the Virunga widows. Her husband was killed in 2011, leaving her and her six children behind. She spoke to Sruthi Gottipati at The New Humanitarian from the Rumangabo workshop nine months after it opened.

‘I knew there was little chance that in a ranger’s job he’d grow old [but] I can’t be angry because I know my husband’s job was protecting animals’

24 years her senior, Therese Sangira is a seamstress in the workshop. She lost her husband, who was in park administration at Virunga before he was promoted to be a ranger, in 2004. She tells Sruthi that her nine children often ask her to move south out of the park to Goma, the capital of the Kivu Province in DRC. 

‘They tell me, “Come to Goma, we’ll build a house for you in the town”, but I can’t live where there aren’t animals, where there aren’t trees. I want to die here.’

  • How you can get involved and support the project

By visiting Virunga National Park in the future you would be helping their conservation efforts, their rangers and the Fallen Rangers Fund.

I don’t know about you, but a spot of gorilla and volcano trekking and a stay at the Kibumba tented camp on the misty Mikeno Mountain would set me up for life I think…

Virunga’s website also features an awesome online clothing shop. They don’t sell the work from the workshops online (otherwise I’d have bankrupted myself this weekend) but all clothes are made to order, sustainably in renewable energy factories using natural fibres — they’re even sent out in plastic-free packaging. More than can be said here in the UK with every online purchase!

You can also donate directly to The Fallen Rangers Fund here.  

Discover more women-led projects from around the world

The women cleaning up Lake Titicaca's waters

Some of the women helping clean up Lake Titicaca’s waters. Credit: Canada Fund for Local Initiatives

For Indigenous peoples it is clear: the less you know about something, the less value it has to you, and the easier it is to destroy. And by easy, I mean: guiltlessly, remorselessly, foolishly, even righteously.

Nemonte Nenquimo
  • Meet Nemonte Nenquimo, the Waorani woman co-founder of the indigenous-led nonprofit Ceibo Alliance who is on the frontline to protect indigenous rights — and the future of the Amazon Rainforest.
  • The Australian Museum has appointed its first ever First Nations Director, who traces her family history to Wailwan and Kooma Aboriginal tribes. Laura McBride promises to prioritise the repatriation of ancestral remains still in the collection. The museum was one of the first cultural institutions to begin repatriations 35 years ago, but many have no provenance and it is expected to be another 10-15 years work.

We just don’t know where to repatriate them [because their provenance wasn’t noted] so [I am] looking to continue conversations on establishing resting places for ancestors so that we can get them out of museums, off shelves, and at peace where they deserve to be.

Laura McBride

Featured

David Attenborough on saving our planet

Graphic featuring David Attenborough's book and a quote

Long read

Did you tune in to watch new BBC miniseries Attenborough’s Life in Colour on Sunday night? I’m still picturing the lime green-mouthed mating dance of the so-called wonderful bird-of-paradise…

This new project comes as David Attenborough approaches his 95th birthday in May. Ninety-five years on Earth! His life and career have been almost entirely devoted to understanding (and helping us to understand) the world around us — and yesterday I finished perhaps one of his greatest achievements.

That is I finished reading his 2020 book, A Life on Our Planet: My Witness Statement and a Vision for the Future. In it he provides witness testimony to the decline of planet Earth and its biodiversity as a result of the mistakes of humankind. It is incredibly stirring and powerful, as is his vision for how we can put right our many wrongs. And there can be no more delay.

As Attenborough himself said in this UN speech last week, ‘The climate crisis is the biggest security threat that modern humans have ever faced. If we continue on our current path, we will face the collapse of everything that gives us our security: food production, access to fresh water, habitable ambient temperature and ocean food chains. And if the natural world can no longer support the most basic of our needs, then much of the rest of civilisation will quickly break down.’

That speech and this book feature some of his starkest warnings yet about the immediacy of the climate change threat, and his latest book is equally as eye-opening, fascinating, galvanising. He doesn’t focus only on what has gone wrong, but what we could do, what we need to do, what we absolutely must do in order to survive on this planet and save planet Earth.

This book has taught me more than I could have imagined it would before starting it. It was the cause, consequence and also the hope for the future all in one that I’d been missing. A world away from ‘doom-scrolling’ and opinion-based narratives. Over the next four chapters of this post, I want to share some of the most powerful threats, lessons and solutions that struck me most from reading the book. I also want to share a bunch of recommended reads with you too.

Whether you have come across this book, the accompanying documentary on Netflix, know a lot already or none of the above, I hope that what you read will galvanise you further into wanting to take a more active role in these issues — whether that’s simply becoming more informed or taking direct action to make change.

Chapter one — if we do nothing

Pictured: Deforestation in Indonesia / courtesy Josh Estey & AusAID and Barrier Reef bleached coral / courtesy Oregon State University. Both via Wikimedia.

In such a future, we will bring about nothing less than the collapse of the living world, the very thing that our civilisation relies upon.

David Attenborough

Eight pages in the book spell out what could happen to the planet and to us as humans, if we don’t radically change course now. Here are a few of the predicted consequences:

2030s

  • The Amazon Rainforest would be on course to be reduced in size by 75%, which may be the tipping point towards what’s called forest dieback, where a lack of moisture from a diminished canopy eventually turns the land to open savannah. Thirty million people across the Amazon watershed would likely need to move and there would be water shortages, including (ironically) a drought on the new farmland created by deforestation. More and more wildfires would lead to a greater quickening of global warming, with less and less carbon able to be stored away, the more the rainforest disappears.
  • It’s predicted that the Arctic Ocean may have its first entirely ice-free summer. This would lead to an even greater quickening of global warming, because less ice = less surface on the earth to reflect heat back to the sun.

2040s

  • The next tipping point is predicted to occur in the tundra of Alaska, Russia and Northern Canada. The melting of the ice in the permafrost of the tundra would release an estimated 1,400 gigatonnes of carbon (4 x more than humankind has emitted in the last 200 years combined) and would turn the region into a mud bath. Local communities, oil and gas workers and wildlife — all would be displaced.

2050s

  • This combination of wildfires and thaws would send the carbon count in the atmosphere into a great acceleration by this decade. Surface water would take higher and higher amounts of carbon, which would turn into carbonic acid. This acidification would lead to a bigger decline of our oceans, continuing the bleaching of coral reefs. Some scientists predict that 90% of the Earth’s coral reef systems could be destroyed a few years into this decade.

We are only just beginning to understand that there is an association between the rise of emergent viruses and the planet’s demise. An estimated 1.7 million viruses of potential threat to humans hide within populations of mammals and birds. The more we continue fracturing the wild with deforestation, farmland expansion and practice the illegal wildlife trade, the more likely it is that another pandemic will arise.

David Attenborough

2080s

  • Looking further ahead, global food production is expected to be at a crisis point with pesticide use, habitat removal and the spread of diseases potentially affecting 3/4 of all our food crops by this decade. More harvests will keep failing and tonnes of lost topsoil could enter rivers and increase flooding of nearby towns and cities.

2100s

  • Sea levels could rise by 0.9 metres which would be enough to destroy ports and land vulnerable to floods, already under severe strain now.
  • Our planet may be 4°C warmer by this point if the above plays out, which means a quarter of the world’s population would live in places with an average temperature of 29°C or above — currently only the Sahara has those kinds of average temperatures.
  • Farming would be impossible, migration to cooler climes would increase and future generations who live to see the 2100s could witness the largest event of enforced human migration in history and a staggering humanitarian crisis.

Chapter two — 8 powerful lessons I learned

Graphic wordcloud

On what we eat…

In the US, the average person today eats 120kg of meat each year, Europe 60-80kg, Kenya 16kg and India 4kg. We’re all going to need to be closer to India’s intake each year.

An area as large as North and South America, 80% of the world’s farmland is used for meat and dairy production. It won’t surprise anyone who has watched the Cowpiracy documentary to know that beef is the most damaging meat to produce. It’s a quarter of all the meat we consume, only 2% of our calories (turns out the grass they eat doesn’t do much for us), but it uses 60% of the world’s farmland!

That’s 15 x more land needed for beef than for pork or chicken. Factor in population growth and some simple maths will tell you that we can’t go on producing or consuming that much beef.

A lot of that space isn’t devoted to the animals themselves but to their feed. Even meat bought locally may have been raised on feed from countries destroying their forests and grasslands to grow feed crops. In November 2020, Indonesia’s environment ministry ruled that protected forests could be cleared to make way for farmland.

The present habit of throwing everything away, even though, on a finite planet there is of course no such thing as ‘away’, is a relatively new thing.

David Attenborough

On food and material waste…

Waste on Thilafushi Island in the Maldives / courtesy Dying Regime and food waste in New York / courtesy petrr. Both via Wikimedia

Globally, food prices are expensive and many struggle to afford a healthy diet. And yet we waste and we lose about one third of all the food we produce. Think of all those wasted production hours and emissions to produce food we don’t even consume.

It’s larger than supermarkets discarding ‘imperfect looking’ fruit and veg or people throwing away too much food in developed nations; in poorer countries, weaker infrastructures mean higher waste before the food reaches shops or markets, including harvest losses and poor storage.

Beyond just food waste, The World Bank estimates that the total amount of municipal solid waste (aka rubbish) we produce each year amounts to 2.01 billion tonnes a year, an average of 0.74kg per person, per day. Of this waste, at least 33% (likely much higher) is not managed in environmentally safe conditions. One of the most infamous of these environments is Thilafushi (trash) Island in the Maldives.

When humankind as a whole is in a position to give back to nature at least as much as we take, and repay some of our debt, we will all be able to lead more balanced lives.

David Attenborough

On how we get our energy…

Smog in a forest
Courtesy Arif Meletli for the European Environment Agency, via Wikimedia

Over a matter of decades, we have returned millions of years-worth of carbon back into the atmosphere. This carbon overload seems to be replicating the changes that led to the greatest ever mass extinction (of the five we’ve had so far) that took place at the end of the Permian, about 251 million years ago — except we are bringing about these changes at a much faster rate.

So we are at a massive disadvantage: we have no option but to change the ways we’ve learned to gain power and energy from the planet, but we have almost no time in which to find the solutions.

In 2019, fossil fuels provided 85% of our global energy. Hydropower (low carbon but location-limited and capable of environmental damage) provided 7%. Nuclear power (also low carbon, but not without risks, just ask Chernobyl) provided just over 4%. Where does that leave renewable energy – the harnessing of energy from the sun, wind, waves, tides and heat from the earth’s crust – the energy we should be using more of? It’s still only 4% of the energy provided around the world. And how long have we realistically got to switch from fossils to clean energy?

Less than a decade.

This is because we have already heated the planet by 1°C in the past 200 years. We have to limit further increase to 1.5°C meaning we only have so much in our carbon budget, and at the rate we’re going we’ll max out that budget within a decade.

What’s in our way?

We already know how to generate electricity from the Sun, wind, the natural heat of the earth and from water — but there remain the obstacles of storage, efficiency, cost and vested interests to overcome.

Six of the ten largest companies in the world are oil and gas companies. Plus, almost every large company, government and place of heavy industry use fossil fuels for power, production and distribution. Even large banks in control of your pension funds invest heavily in fossil fuels.

On the significance of Earth Overshoot Day…

Earth Overshoot Day graphic

Have you heard of Earth Overshoot Day? If not, you might still have seen the news of us reaching this day earlier and earlier each year.

I was born on 6th September 1987, just before the first Earth Overshoot Day was announced on 23rd October that year. This was the day in the year by which it was estimated that humankind’s consumption had exceeded the Earth’s capacity to regenerate the resources we’d taken from it. The Earth could not replenish what we were taking from it fast enough.

Fast forward 32 years and in 2019 we reached Earth Overshoot Day on 29th July. This means that at present, each year humankind uses up to 1.7 x what the Earth can produce in a year.

Our excessive and unsustainable demand on nature is clear.

To restore stability to our planet… we must restore its biodiversity, the very thing we have removed. We must rewild our world!

David Attenborough

On biodiversity loss…

IUCN Red List categories

‘We are causing a rate of biodiversity loss that is 100 times the average, and only matched in the fossil record during a mass extinction event’.

If you add up the amount of carbon found in the world’s land plants and soil, you’ll find it contains as much carbon as there is in the atmosphere. We have unleashed 2/3 of this historically-stored carbon to date so far, by burning our forests and tearing down its trees, ploughing and removing grasslands, dredging wetlands. A terrible betrayal of our wild landscapes around the world, which endangers all life forms.

There are approximately 41,415 species listed on the IUCN Red List, of which 16,306 are classed as ‘endangered species threatened with extinction’.

Overfishing of cod
Courtesy Asc1733 via Wikimedia

To focus on the sea for a moment.

90% of fish populations are either overfished or fished to capacity, and since the 1990s we’ve been unable globally to fish more than 84 million tonnes of fish from the ocean. That might sound like an awful lot, but Fish farming (aquaculture) has has to plug the gap between demand and availability, and we get 82 million tonnes of fish that way too.

Which means fishing malpractice comes from two sides of the industry — many countries pay their trawlers to fish 24/7 all through the year, giving them subsidies even when they are catching barely anything, such is the level of exhaustion of wild fish stocks. They are literally paying money to exacerbate ocean depletion.

Fish farming meanwhile can lead to water pollution and species loss. In 2007, China’s shrimp fisheries created 43 billion tonnes of effluents, which created huge agal blooms in the sea that drained the waters of much-needed oxygen. And non-native species frequently escape farms around the globe, harming the fragile ecosystems around them. 

On the space we take up…

Farming in a wheat field

As humans have expanded on Earth, the conversion of wild habitat to farmland is the single greatest cause of biodiversity loss. And, as you’d expect by now, it’s largely happened in very recent human history.

In 1700, humans farmed around 1 billion hectares of the land surface (1/12th of the total land surface). Today, it has increased to 5 billion hectares, an area equivalent to North America, South America and Australia combined.

The suggestion is that we need to get our farmland down to about the size of North America, closer to 1 billion again.

On ecosystem failure…

Planetary Boundaries Model

Earth system scientists have studied the resilience of our ecosystems across the globe, looking at the elements that have enabled each ecosystem to function and using computer models to test the point at which each ecosystem would start to fail.

What they produced is the above Planetary Boundaries Model which gives us a tangible measure. If we keep our impact within the thresholds shown, we’ll occupy a sustainable existence. If, however, we push our demands to such an extent that we breach a boundary, we destabilise the ecosystem and permanently debilitate nature.

You don’t have to look too closely to see that we are already past the boundary threshold of four of the boundaries — climate change, fertiliser use, land conversion, biodiversity loss. Further data will tell if two further boundaries (chemical and air pollution) surpass the model’s thresholds too.

‘People, quite rightly, talk a lot about climate change. But it is now clear that manmade global warming is one of a number of crises at play. The work of the Earth scientists has revealed that, today, four warning lights are flashing on the dashboard. We are already living beyond the safe operating space of Earth. Humankind’s Great Acceleration, like any explosion, is about to generate fallout… a Great Decline.’

Yikes.

We all need to align and work hard to give everyone a fair and decent standard of living as soon as possible.

David Attenborough

On reaching ‘Peak Human’…

Image of a Model of Demographic Transition

Stick with me on this one!

Reducing farmland by 4 billion hectares is one thing, but human population growth has to be addressed too.

While the world’s population is growing at the slowest rate since the 1950s, the UN predicts that by 2100 there will be between 9.4 – 12.7 billion people on the planet. That’s 7-10 billion more people than when Attenborough was a boy in the 1930s.

The balance of nature features what’s called carrying capacity, which is to say that species of plants and animal will increase slightly, then decrease slightly, increase, decrease. It is a balance that their habitats are able to sustain.

As humans we seem not to have reached our own human carrying capacity ceiling, instead inventing new ways to use the environment to cater for our growing population — while environmental catastrophe unfolds around us and our use of the Earth’s resources grows towards greater and greater unsustainability.

The above graph shows what’s called demographic transition: the four stages each country’s population growth goes through, during its economic development. It goes from pre-industrialisation high birth and death rates then high birthrate but low death rate once industrialisation occurs, to a dwindling of the population boom as birth rates drop, finally allowing (by stage four) for steady population growth and the achievement of what’s called peak human.

Shibuya Crossing in Tokyo

For planet Earth as a whole, population growth peaked around 1962 and since then has broadly dropped year by year – implying that the transition from stage 2 to stage 3 happened at this point. The average family size has halved in this time. But we haven’t yet reached peak human.

Demographers who study population are looking for the time we reach this fourth stage — the moment our population stops growing and remains stable for the first time since farming began 10,000 years ago. It will be a huge milestone.

Sounds fantastic, but we’re further than you might think from settling into stage four and our peak human status. The reason is down to people like David Attenborough.

Extended life expectancy.

Just look at Japan’s ageing population — forecasters predict 1 in 3 people will be over 65 by 2030. It is predicted that by 2050 there will be more than twice as many people aged over 65 as there are children under five. It creates a population momentum that means that perhaps only future generations will see us reach this population stability in the 2100s.

Or, we might reach this vital peak sooner, as well as address all of the issues raised above.

Read on to find out how.

Chapter three — what can be done?

Girls cycling in rural india
Courtesy Mann Deshi Foundation

The task could hardly be more daunting and we have to support it in every way we can. We have to urge our politicians, locally, nationally and internationally, to come to some agreement and sometimes [forego] our national interest in support of the bigger and wider benefit. The future of humanity depends upon the success of these meetings.

David Attenborough

What follows are just some of the many recommended solutions posed by scientists, conservationists and advocates that feature in Attenborough’s book. I’m sure you’ll be familiar with some of them as I was, but others may be a surprise.

How to eat more kindly…

Unpackaged fresh fruit and vegetables in a supermarket
Courtesy Scwede

I mentioned earlier that average annual meat consumption in India is 4kg, compared to 60-80kg in Europe and 120kg in America. Surveys like this one from 2018 indicate that 33% of Britons have reduced meat consumption or cut it out, while 39% of Americans say they are trying to eat more plant-based food. These percentages will surely have grown since.

Adopting vegetarianism, veganism, flexitarianism is all helping cut down on meat consumption, particularly beef. I for one decided off the back of reading this book to take being flexitarian to a more committed level, and only have beef as a treat.

For those of us keen on meat alternatives, alt-protein products like Beyond Burgers are easily found in supermarkets now, and clean meat – meat grown from cells that requires 99% less land – may be coming to a table near you soon.

And when you do eat meat? Quality over quantity is the answer in my opinion – and in this Cornish butcher’s opinion too. (Fast forward to 47:40).

Dairy alternatives are now incredibly commonplace too, though still pricier than cow’s milk; I spend £1.50 a week on a carton of Oatly instead of 56p on a pint of semi skimmed. I do worry how farmers’ livelihoods will fare as a result of the trend away from meat and dairy — though trying to censor how plant-based non-dairy products can refer to themselves may not be the avenue to go down I would say.

Increasing renewables…

Morocco's Noor Solar Power Plant

I mentioned the obstacles earlier. They are many.

Attenborough points to the need to ‘bridge our shortcomings’ and partner renewable energy with nuclear, hydropower and natural gas until we can solve the problems of storage and efficiency.

Even bioenergy runs into requiring huge amounts of land. Meanwhile, hybrid, fully electric and hydrogen planes are in development but large scale production is a way off (especially given the hit on aviation in this pandemic) and so carbon-offsetting remains the plaster over the cracks for now.

Regarding the relative cost of renewable energy, progress is more positive; The scaling up of solar and wind power means prices already outcompete coal, hydropower and nuclear energy — soon they will outcompete oil and gas on price too.

And those sinister vested interests in fossil fuels?

Reading the book has made me want to know more about what investments and interests my local council and banks have. It’s a bit fiddly but one place to start is this tool on divest.org.uk which exposes how much pension fund money local authorities invest into fossil fuel investments and information on contacting your local councillors to raise concerns.

And you can find out how much your bank invests on fossilbanks.org. (Warning: it’s not pretty.)

We shouldn’t lose sight of what’s already possible though.

What seems like a fantasy at the moment – a new, clean, carbon-free world run on renewable energy – doesn’t have to be. Iceland, Albania and Paraguay already generate all their electricity without using fossil fuels and eight other nations use coal, oil and gas for less than 10% of their electricity needs.

Morocco is a great example, stopping its huge reliance on imported oil and gas and instead becoming home to the world’s largest solar power plant, Noor, pictured above. From a network of renewable power plants, Morocco generates 40% of its energy needs at home. A figure that will surely grow.

Forging ahead with renewables is what we hope will happen sooner rather later, but Attenborough outlines a very useful interim measure: carbon tax. Sweden has put a tax on carbon emitters since the 1990s —it would be great if more countries made the break with fossil fuels and followed suit.

Global companies cannot survive in the future without transitioning towards a circular economy. That is a really exciting future.

H&M

Reducing waste in a circular economy…

This video from the Ellen MacArthur Foundation is a fantastic (and very brief) introduction to how a circular economy could work and why it’s so important for the future.

As with so many things in life, nature is already giving us a demonstration of how we can reduce our waste. In nature the waste from one process becomes food for the next and all materials are reused in cycles, involves lots of different species. Almost everything is biodegradable.

We can bring this logic into a circular economy of our own, but it will require a change in mindset, away from take-make-use-discard mentality. In reality, we’re looking at two cycles — a biological cycle for food, wood and clothes made from natural fibres that biodegrade, and a technical cycle for materials such as plastic, metal and synthetics that don’t.

What’s needed to crack the circular economy system are smart ways to ensure materials in the technical cycle can be reused, like nutrients. And in the biological cycle, addressing the damage of food production and food waste from deforestation, pesticide and fertiliser use and fossil fuels for transportation is key.

It can seem overwhelming to consider just how big a problem waste is to tackle. However, as with so many issues, we can do our bit to help from home.

Rewild, rewild, rewild!

Storks at Knepp
Courtesy Brad Albrecht for Knepp

When Attenborough was a boy, the estimated remaining wilderness around the world stood at 66%. Now, that figure is a lonely 35%. Attenborough devotes a lot of his book to the importance of rewilding as a way of increasing biodiversity.

If you’re familiar with the concept of rewilding or wilding, one place in the UK that might leap to mind first is the Knepp Estate. It is a 1,400-hectare farm in West Sussex that went from commercial, ‘traditional’ agricultural techniques that were running at a loss, to a biodiversity explosion over the past 15 years, since they began rewilding their land. You might have seen back in May last year that the first white stork chicks to be born in the UK in over 600 years hatched at Knepp.

In a Royal Geographical Society talk last January, Knepp co-owner Isabella Tree discussed the work they’re doing to encourage other farmers across the country to consider rewilding techniques, from allowing cows and horses to roam the land together (mimicking how ancient breeds roamed Britain, increasing plant diversity) to installing animal corridors between farms and privately owned land.

Knepp isn’t alone.

Other rewilding success stories include the Ennerdale project in the Lake District, run in a partnership between The National Trust, Forestry England and others; there is the American Prairie Reserve initiative in the U.S., aiming to create the largest nature reserve across the country’s lower 48 states (excluding Alaska); and various projects across Europe that are supported by Rewilding Europe, including 580,000 hectares of wetland wilderness in the Danube Delta.

Regarding wildlife specifically, the return of wolves to Yellowstone National Park in 1995 is a runaway success story that shows how much biodiversity within an ecosystem can flourish when one crucial keystone species is reintroduced.

Here in the UK we’re seeing similar success with the careful reintroduction of beavers in pockets across the UK since 2009. In the second episode of his Cornwall series, Simon Reeve met one beaver-mad farmer, and saw the introduction of the fabulously named Sigourney Beaver to a neighbouring farm.

The high seas would become the world’s greatest wildlife reserve, a place owned by no one would become a place cared for by everyone.

David Attenborough
Fish underwater in the waters around Palau

Rewilding the landscapes we live around, as well as those we’ve exhausted for resources, is crucial, as is rewilding the sea and other water systems.

To encourage sea stocks to rebound, give some balance back to marine ecosystems and help us to fish sustainably, we have to have more Marine Protected Areas and more ‘no fish’ zones.

A gigantically-sized candidate in the ocean for such zones would be the high seas.

As international waters they belong to no nation, which has meant that in the past they’ve been extremely over-fished. New rules are being touted for the UN’s Convention on the Law of the Sea, though sadly updates were delayed from being made last year due to the pandemic.

The waters around the archipelago islands of Palau (pictured above) show what’s possible when you introduce no-fish zones.

The ancient rule of bul (‘prohibition’) exists, whereby reefs can become no-fish zones overnight and won’t be lifted until neighbouring waters are teeming again with fish from those reefs. With a growth in population and tourism, drastic decisions to close more and more reefs were made, to protect the ecosystem and fish stocks. Even more admirably, Palau’s four-time president Tommy Remengesau Jr. announced radical plans to reduce the amount of fish they would export, focusing on fishing in order to feed the population (and its tourists) and take only what they needed.

Palau’s success means that neighbouring nations benefit from greater abundance of fish. We just need the rest of the world to be more like Palau…

But radically encouraging fish stocks to increase wouldn’t be enough to feed the still-growing global population — which is where responsible and sustainable sea farming comes in. We can do our bit to encourage the growth of sustainable wild fishing and fish farming every time we shop; look for farmed seafood with the ASC (Aquaculture Stewardship Council) label or for wild-caught seafood with the MSC label, approved by the Marine Stewardship Council.

Kelp forest off Cape Peninsula, South Africa
Kelp forest off Cape Peninsula, South AfricaCourtesy Peter Southwood via Wikimedia

And a type of farming called ocean foresting may hold the answer too.

Kelp is so fast-growing that its fronds grow a staggering half a metre every day, forming vast forests that feature a remarkable level of biodiversity. As well as being a great home for invertebrates and fish and a foodstuff for animals and humans, kelp captures vast quantities of carbon and, sustainably harvested, it could be used as bioenergy or in biochemicals.

Unlike bioenergy crops on land, kelp doesn’t compete with us or with wilderness for space. It is its own underwater wilderness!

As for other water areas, I was staggered to learn that even in their depleted state, the world’s saltmarshes, mangroves and seagrass meadows alone remove the equivalent of half of all our transport emissions from the air. Protect and expand these areas and the knock on effect will be huge.

The UN’s Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) estimates that [in 2040], with the current rate of improvements in farming efficiency alone… we may stop taking up more space on Earth, for the first time since we invented farming 10,000 years ago.

David Attenborough

How to farm better with less space

Soil on a farm

The Netherlands, one of the world’s most densely populated countries, is leading the way when it comes to the question of how to get more food from less land, and the approaches of some of their farmers could be the key to reducing our farmland from 5 billion down to 1-2 billion hectares.

When a new generation of farmers took over around the millennium, they turned their backs on diesel and chemicals and turned towards renewable energy, climate controlling their greenhouses and using nutrient-rich water instead of soil and natural predators such as pollinating bees, instead of pesticides. Outdoors, they measured every metre of land for its water and nutrient content and made their own fertilisers as well as crop packaging from stems and dead leaves left over after harvests.

The result? High yield and low impact. The downside? It is expensive.

For smaller-scale and subsistence farmers, the answer may instead lie with regenerative farming — the practice of keeping the topsoil in place and using a cycle of crops that each require different nutrients from the soil, so as to avoid exhausting the land.

Approaches such as this will eventually remove the need for fertilisers and lock away an estimated 20 billion tonnes of carbon too. Score.

Wherever women have the vote, wherever girls stay in school for longer, wherever women are in charge of their own lives and not dictated to by men, wherever they have access to good healthcare and contraception, wherever they are free to take any job and their aspirations for life are raised, the birth rate falls.

David Attenborough

Reaching peak human faster while ensuring a just society for all

The Doughnut Model

Chief among the ways we achieve the human peak and stabilise the Earth’s population is (massive drumroll): empowerment of women.

Empowerment brings freedom of choice and the choice is often to have fewer children. The faster women are empowered across the world, the faster all countries move from stage three and onto stage four of transitional development and the quicker we achieve population stability.

One example of empowerment that really stood out to me in the book related to the trend in rural India of only 40% of school girls staying in school past the age of 14. The distance to travel to high school was often much greater than primary and middle school, and household tasks couldn’t be balanced with this extra commute time.

The solution? State governments and charity projects provided hundreds of thousands of free bicycles which radically improved attendance. It’s now common to see groups of school girls cycling through fields to finish their education.

If a multinational effort to raise standards of education across the world were successful, and the poorest country’s systems improved as quickly as the fastest developing nations such as Taiwan did last century, Austria’s Wittgenstein Centre forecasts that we could fast-track our way to a peak human / stage four global population by 2060. That’s 50 years earlier than current models predict, and could happen in our lifetimes! This means the population would stabilise at the lower estimate of around 8.9 billion.

I don’t know if I’ve been writing this post for too long, but that potential for it to happen in my lifetime blows my mind. I want to be a part of it happening.

I’ll give Attenborough the final word on the matter:

‘It’s a wonderful win-win solution, and this is a repeating theme on the path to sustainability. The things we have to do to rewild the world tend to be things that we ought to be doing regardless.’

Chapter four — recommended reads

I cannot recommend David Attenborough’s book A Life on Our Planet highly enough, especially as my post has only skimmed the surface of what is covered.

If, like me, you are always on the look out for more to read, here’s a small list I’ve put together of other book titles, websites and newsletters I’d recommend. Most I’ve read or am reading, others come highly recommended.

Books

**A Life on Our Planet: My Witness Statement and a Vision for the Future by David Attenborough**

Doughnut Economics: Seven Ways to Think Like a 21st Century Economist by Kate Raworth (Attenborough refers to her Doughnut Model and the Planetary Boundaries Model it’s based on quite a lot in his book.)

Wilding by Isabella Tree (of the wonderful Knepp Estate.)

Wonderland by Brett Westwood & Stephen Moss (designed to be read once a day for a year and full of wonderful insights – today’s entry was ‘primroses’ and yesterday’s ‘urban buzzards’.)

Thinking on My Feet: The small joy of putting one foot in front of the other by Kate Humble, (who makes a delightful reading companion.)

The Running Hare: The Secret Life of Farmland by John Lewis-Stempel (a favourite book of my mum’s, who has recommended it with great enthusiasm. He writes beautifully about his project to take a farmed field and rewild it, with stunning results.)

Rewild Yourself by Simon Barnes (top tips for finding nature all around you, wherever you are. Like sitting down in a wood or near some trees for 20 minutes and watching nature appear in abundance.)

Websites and newsletters

The Inkcap Journal from environmental journalist Sophie Yeo (a twice weekly newsletter dedicated to journalism about the British environment.)

The Ellen MacArthur Foundation website has more on the possibilities of, and research into, a circular economy.

Our World in Data is a fascinating fall down a rabbit hole of facts, figures and glorious graphs.

Gapminder.org lets guess your way into challenging your misconceptions about the world with a series of quizzes.

Featured

Travel’s roadmap out of lockdown?

Sunday's issue of The Observer and Friday's issue of i paper

On Monday the UK government’s much-anticipated big lockdown announcement will take place, indicating how restrictions will or might be eased in the coming months, even weeks. If you read the news avidly I’m sure you’ll have fund yourself a bit swamped by the flurry of differing opinions and predictions about what our ‘roadmap out of lockdown’ will look like.

Much as I’ve been tempted to switch off from most of it, some of that news and opinion relates to opening up (or not opening up) the travel industry. Conservative PM Boris has previously intimated that holidays wouldn’t be on the agenda tomorrow, though reports suggest that former Labour PM Tony Blair has been working behind the scenes to get the issue of vaccine passports onto the government’s list of talking points.

In this week’s post I wanted to look at some of the recent travel and world news-related headlines and dissect them a little — from the worry over Covid variants and the possibility of vaccine passports to views on staycations versus summer holidays abroad.

A road trip over some of the key issues facing us, ahead of this long-trailed roadmap announcement.

If you make it to the end (well done, because I nearly didn’t), I’ve rounded off with three extra positive news stories. Because life isn’t all doom and gloom.

Headline news

graphic with the words read all about it

Covid variants keep varying – Since the shit really started hitting the fan in Christmas week, we’ve seen the spread of the ‘Kent’ variant, the two ‘South Africa’ variants, the Brazilian variant, even the ‘Bristol’ variant – and recently researchers at Edinburgh University have found a new variant with ‘worrying’ mutations, found in Britain, the US, Denmark, Australia, Nigeria too – though there are no signs as yet that it causes more severe illness or increased transmissibility. Even so, getting the whole world vaccinated is the only real way to counter the threats posed by variants – more on that late.

Quarantine hotels make their rocky debut in Englandone traveller compared his stay at a Holiday Inn hotel to being in prison and another claimed they were served food by a staff member not wearing a mask. All that and it costs £1,750 to cover the stay plus testing if you arrive in England from a red list country. Can you name any or all of the 33 countries currently on the list? I couldn’t so I looked them up:

Angola, Argentina, Bolivia, Botswana, Brazil, Burundi, Cape Verde, Chile, Colombia, Democratic Republic of the Congo, Ecuador, Eswatini, French Guiana, Guyana, Lesotho, Malawi, Mauritius, Mozambique, Namibia, Panama, Paraguay, Peru, Portugal (including Madeira and the Azores), Rwanda, Seychelles, South Africa, Suriname, Tanzania, United Arab Emirates (UAE), Uruguay, Venezuela, Zambia, Zimbabwe (Spain and the US aren’t currently on the list but they are also being considered.)

Just how sustainable will we really be when we can travel again? I’m in two minds. It’s not just going to happen at the flick of a switch, particularly as Covid safety will likely be higher on many travellers’ agendas. But if we can keep the conversation flowing in the mainstream then there’s hope.

I feel quite strongly that a large part of the responsibility lies with travel operators to not just treat sustainability as a trend but a necessary path to a better future for the travel industry. We as travellers and consumers must also face up to our responsibility. Yes, I want to travel the world ten times over, but I’d rather take my time than hop about without a care. It’s also up to travel publications to keep the topic in the forefront of readers’ minds. And national and local governments and city officials have to lead by example and keep up the momentum of green campaigns such as the C40 initiative which creates a platform for mayors from 40 of the world’s megacities to better implement green policies.

Set within the sustainability debate is an aviation industry desperate to fly again. While The Daily Mail reports on business class flight bargains (‘why not treat yourself?’), The Times takes an in-depth snapshot of an aviation industry gearing up to get more passengers back on flights worldwide.

There are also practical, consumer-based features out there for those considering how to travel more sustainably in the future.

The Independent just published this piece featuring a fantastic array of 11 of the best travel companies for booking a sustainable holiday And within the same news family, the inews website (part of i paper the The Independent) features a great sustainable travel hub which includes this thoughtful piece from 12 industry experts who share their hopes and predictions for post-pandemic travel. Most of it positive that we will travel more mindfully and responsibly in the future.

A nation prepares to staycation – In recent weeks, the inevitable staycation stories have bubbled back to the surface and we’re left wondering (again) whether we ought to book asap ‘in case everything sells out’. Perhaps some of the most feverish headlines can be found in The Sun, detailing the SUMMER SCRAMBLE, with demand ‘ten times higher than 2019’ (to some destinations, not all. And what about compared to 2020?!). Perhaps not unexpectedly, the demand appears to be from those over 55 years old who are more likely to have had their first jab.

The Sun isn’t alone in rounding up summer staycations, everyone’s at it, including:

Top staycation destination? Surely poll-topping Cornwall. Even the summer’s G7 summit is going to be there, and it’s on TV every five minutes too. I’ll give it a miss this year I think!

The Telegraph has teamed up with holiday companies to launch a #SaveOurSummer (SOS) campaign, demanding international travel opens from 1st May. This campaign had actually largely escaped my notice even though I’m currently a digital Telegraph subscriber (got to keep up to date on the travel features front), but this article, Restart travel or proceed with caution? Two experts debate the holiday roadmap, piqued my interest greatly.

If you can’t see beyond the paywall, here’s a summary of the arguments from each side.

Paul Charles, CEO of travel consultancy firm The PC Agency and #SaveOurSummer campaigner:

  • SOS want a better roadmap on the easing of travel restrictions, suggesting international travel restart by 1st May.
  • Travel firms surveyed by SOS say they expect to have to lay off between 20-40% of their staff if there’s no clarity in tomorrow’s announcements about when Brits could expect to be able to travel again.
  • Telegraph Travel asked followers on Twitter ‘if we should be opening up our borders by May’, to which 441 voted ‘yes – about time’ and 281 voted ‘no – it’s too soon’. [I supposed that’s a done deal then?!]
  • ‘The health of the British people is vital, but with declining cases and soaring vaccination numbers, more than 600 firms, employing tens of thousands of people in the sector, believe that Boris Johnson can target a responsible and safe re-opening date for travel.’

Which? Travel Editor Rory Boland

  • On the other side of the argument, Rory points out that pandemics don’t tend to ‘work to deadlines’ – it didn’t work very well for the government last year.
  • Do SOS have the public on their side? Rory questions a lack of data in the SOS campaign. The data he provides from a YouGov public survey says that 78% of respondents believe all inbound passengers should be made to quarantine and 58% of people surveys feel that all flights should be stopped. There’s a debate to be had about practicalities, but the public mood doesn’t seem to be all in for 1st May.
  • ‘Demanding travel opens up on May 1 leaves the industry liable to being seen as irresponsible by their own customers. Public sentiment on restrictions will soften as more of us get the jab and infections and deaths decrease. Arguments to unlock holidays abroad will be better received when hospitals aren’t full and kids are able to return to school.’
  • He suggests that campaigning to reduce the cost of private tests would be a better way to campaign right now, helping to ensure that ordinary holidaymakers aren’t priced out of travel.
  • Rather damningly, he also alludes to the presence of some holiday companies in the SOS campaign who have flouted holiday refund rules and laws since the start of the pandemic.

The pandemic isn’t about taking sides – no-one in the travel industry wins by hedging themselves against each other – but I am inclined to think that Rory’s arguments are the stronger here. They do however agree on one thing – that the furlough schemes for the travel industry haven’t worked for every area of the sector and can’t plaster over the cracks ever-widening in the industry.

On the subject of vaccine passports, early stage talks between Greek & UK officials made the news last week. Greece and Cyprus have already made a deal with Israel to allow travel between their countries once flights resume, with Israel setting records in terms of the percentage of the population so far vaccinated.

As this Guardian article reports, Israel is about to issue its own vaccine passes (in the form of an app) to the 50% of the population who have had the jab, meaning they can access bars, gyms and other facilities – in effect giving privileges to those who have had their vaccine. It is untested and there are bound to be hiccups at best and controversies at worse, in my view. This is set against the news that so few vaccine doses are making their way into Palestinian territory. There were delays in the delivery of 2,000 doses for 1,000 people (bearing in mind there are around 2m Palestinians) — held up because the Israeli national security council ‘had not yet decided whether to allow vaccines into Gaza’.

I have my doubts, as does a recently-released Royal Society report challenging the notion of each country following its own rules, stating that, while vaccine passports are a ‘feasible’ option, they shouldn’t be made available until international standards have been set. The report goes on to make suggestions for 12 key points that would need to be unilaterally addressed.

Germany’s ethics council have also come out and criticised the idea of vaccine privileges because it promote ‘elbow mentality’, in other words, pushing people out of the way in order to do what’s best for you instead of what’s best for everyone.

In the UK, I suspect some form of certification will go ahead, but that it will take time. Vaccines Minister Nadhim Zahawi recently suggested on breakfast TV that those who have been vaccinated can expect a government-backed certificate: ‘if there is a requirement [during a passenger’s journey], any viewer can then ask for their vaccine certificate, in the way that we [the government] do pre-departure test certificates now.’ The thing is, as The Independent points out, the government doesn’t issue ‘pre-departure test certificates’ – they don’t exist.

If vaccine passports do go into use, internationally agreed or not, that doesn’t mean that international travel will suddenly open up as a result. And, in my opinion, nor should it open up until there is a more level-playing field between countries in terms of vaccine dose availability.

Which leads me to the last headline in this section…

I’ve already mentioned that Palestine has struggled to get hold of doses despite Israel’s wide-reaching vaccination rollout. The UN reports that 75% of available vaccines have been used by 10% of countries while 130 countries around the world have no vaccines at allof all the recent global Covid news, this angers me most.

I am proud of how well the NHS has rolled out vaccines in the UK, and the government strategy to buy vaccines from pretty much all sources was clearly a winning strategy – for us.

The squabbles between the UK and the EU were so incredibly frustrating, not just because the EU often seemed so petulant and there were hints of ‘told you so’ from our side, but because the divisions of borders shouldn’t be our concern with regards to vaccine rollout; everyone in the world deserves fair access to vaccinations and no country should be expecting that they may not receive any doses until 2022 or 2023.

COVAX, an organisation that’s part of the WHO, is a global initiative aimed at expanding global access to Covid vaccines. The UK and many other countries no doubt part of the lucky 10% have thus far donated money to COVAX, but not vaccines. It’s not surprising, but it is vastly disappointing.

One thing you can do to add your voice is sign this Vaccine Equity Declaration, calling on countries to ‘work together in solidarity’ to ensure that within the first 100 days of 2021, vaccinations of older people and healthcare workers is underway in every country around the world.

In more optimistic news…

a graphic with the words 'good news I tell you'

Just so as not to finish on such a frustrating note, here are three optimistic stories from around the world for you:

The European cities going green in 2021from the Finnish 2021 European Green Capital of Europe to cities pledging big carbon cuts and installing the world’s largest urban rooftop farm, National Geographic glides over six gloriously green cities.

Saving lives in Timbuktu – Most leaflets that fall out of any newspaper I put in recycling straight away – but not the the monthly update from Médecins Sans Frontières / Doctors Without Borders. The work the charity carries out is absolutely vital to recently war torn regions like Mali and this latest leaflet looks back at the success of a Measles vaccination campaign in the country’s capital Timbuktu that reached around 50,000 children aged between six months and 14 years.

And I couldn’t not mention that those Welsh goats are back

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Next week (International Polar Bear Day no less), don’t miss a reflection on the latest book by David Attenborough I’ve been reading, and a deeper dive into issues around sustainability, rewilding, biodiversity and ways we can all tackle climate change.

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The art of my travels

Wandering their halls and atriums and corridors. Glancing sideways at priceless art as I make my way to new exhibitions. Plonking myself down in front of an epic triptych or scrunching myself into the corner of a small darkened room to watch a new video art installation. Learning a hundred things I didn’t know when I woke up that morning.

I’ve really been missing museums and galleries, so I’ve taken matters (and art) into my own hands this week.

Read on and discover five artworks from my travels that span four continents, various decades and whole worlds of artistic ingenuity.

Japanese woodcut printing

My Heron Maiden woodcut print on an easel

Where I found it

In 2018 I visited the Mokuhankan studio in the Asakusa area of Tokyo, hot and flustered after a very confusing metro journey, to take part in a woodcut ‘printing party’.

This woodblock (or woodcut) printing workshop was set up by American printmaker David Bull who moved to Tokyo about 20 years ago. He is something of a YouTube star, with 125k subscribers and videos that have racked up millions of views over the years.

My own woodcut print

Here’s the print I made at the workshop (sorry, party). The man himself popped by briefly and declared that I’d make a decent printer, but perhaps he says that to all the new recruits.

I was pleased with my efforts, but the woodcuts he creates and the designs Mokuhankan print blow mine a million miles out the water.

The Heron Maiden print up close

A snowy scene

This scene of a kimono-clad woman in the snow is one of the most iconic images in the entire ukiyo-e genre of woodblock printing that flourished in Japan during the Edo period of 1603-1868. It was designed by Suzuki Harunobu, the first printmaker to print in full colour – as opposed to a limit of two or three colours – in the 1700s.

The Heron Maiden

It was likely part of a series entitled Fashionable Flowers of the Four Seasons, representing winter of course. If you follow iconography of the time, she also represents Sagi Musume, the Heron Maiden of Japanese legend.

The Heron Maiden story was popularised in folk tales and the Japanese theatrical tradition of Kabuki. As the story goes:

A young woodcutter discovers a wounded heron, who he sets free. Later, a beautiful woman arrives in the village and he marries her. She is shown to be an expert weaver, producing beautiful clothes that he sells for lots of money at market. She pleads with him not to look in on her while she is weaving but he cannot resist. He walks in to find a heron at the loom. She can no longer live as a human, and she flies away.

Seeing it properly

Hopefully in the image above (you might need to zoom in) you can see some of the delicate embossing on the washi paper the design is printed — especially in the kimono pattern, the snow and her hood.

I’ve sat deep in thought with this print a few times recently, looking closely at all the delicate pigments and the patterns in the snow. It’s a stunner.

Aboriginal bark art

Bark art made by an Aboriginal artist in Queensland

Far from home

I wish I could say I bought this work in Queensland where it was made, but I actually got it in a charity shop in nearby Sherborne, Dorset —10,382 miles away from where it was sold.

Originally the work was commissioned and sold by a company called Queensland Aboriginal Creations who describe it as an ‘authentic Queensland Aboriginal Artefact’. Is that true? I’ll get onto that.

The legend of the morning star

As QAC puts it:

The ‘Morning Star’ is an unusual bark painting which has several interpretations. In one of these it illustrates the legend of the Morning Star which tells how two women imprisoned the star all day and evening in a bag. The bag is represented by the swelling at the base of the main stem between the two women.

In another interpretation the picture represents a yam, and the swelling at the base is its tuberous edible root. The swelling on the stem above it represents the fruit. Blossoms decorate the end of each branch. Swellings on the branches on the left side show the places where the plant has twisted round a tree.

This remarkable picture is also a simple map of north eastern Arnhem Land and each blossom indicates a definite locality.

Queensland Aboriginal Creations postcard

Digging a bit deeper

I spotted this article about an exhibition of QAC artworks called Agency and Legacy that was held at the University of Queensland’s Anthropology Museum in Brisbane last year. It mentions that Aboriginal people from Queensland were often asked to copy bark paintings from Arnhem Land in the Northern Territory next door.

This does obviously ring alarm bells. Why not let the Queensland Aboriginal people share their own creative heritage instead of copy from neighbours? Can copies really ever be called authentic?

On the other side of the coin, as the curatorial team puts it:

‘Despite these mandates (to copy certain artworks), Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander artists and craftspeople were radically creative, producing works that contain traditional storytelling and finding innovative ways of expressing themselves and making a living for themselves and their families.’

Respect

Whether it is one of many copies of the same work, or a rarer reproduction of a neighbouring artistic style, I remain drawn to it as an example of the unique artistic talent of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander artists. I hope they were respected for their skills, and not taken advantage of, even though that has been a familiar story over decades.

Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander art is more popular than it has ever been. Soon perhaps I can see the contemporary art scene for myself and maybe even meet some of the brilliant artists keeping their ancestral history and mythological beliefs alive today.

Indonesian batik printing

An Indonesian batik print made on the island of Java

Background to batik

Evidence of batik printing can be traced 2,000 years back, with examples or references found in the Far East, Middle East and India.

According to the Batik Guild, ‘it is likely that the craft spread from Asia to the islands of the Malay Archipelago and west to the Middle East along the caravan trading route.’

The influence of the craft even stretches over to the tribes of southern Nigeria and Senegal, but the Indonesian island of Java is where batik mania reached its peak.

Close up of my batik print

My batik print

And Java is where my print was bought, in the capital Yogyakarta. It was a birthday present from my brother Stephen who travelled around the islands of Indonesia and much of Asia in 2019.

If you browse batik designs, most are very pattern-orientated, often richly swathed in flowers. Mine is quite different; though there are dots and lines characteristic of the style, the print is a more painterly portrait of rural and coastal life.

Your eyes catch on the activity at the centre, is this person hauling up a fish or simply laying out a line? The clever use of dots under the boat conveys movement in the water, but the outcome of this fishing trip, under the flaring heat of a red sun, is left to our imagination.

The most frequently used colours in Batik printing are red, blue, yellow and brown. In this work, there are fewer colours and a painterly technique that sets it apart as a hand-drawn work created by one artist.

The technique

‘Batik’ derives from the Javanese word ‘tik’ which means ‘to dot’ and batik means both ‘to batik’ something and ‘a batik’ finished work or object.

Batik printing is seen as a craft as well as an art because it usually involves fabric and sometimes paper, wood, leather or ceramic. On the face of it, the technique of creating designs using wax and dye sounds simple enough but there’s more to it, particularly to hand-drawn tulis batik prints like mine:

  • The cloth is hung over a frame and the design is drawn on with a canting (or tjanting), a small copper pen-like cupped spout with a bamboo or wooden handle.
  • The canting is dipped into a pot of hot wax and then allowed to flow through the spout on to the fabric.
  • To make a strong resist (i.e. a wax surface that will repel dye), both sides of the cloth are waxed.
  • Once the design has been fully waxed, the fabric is usually dipped into a vat of dye and then left out in the sun to dry.
  • The fabric is then immersed in boiling water to clean off the wax.
  • The waxing, dyeing, drying, immersion process is repeated numerous times depending on the number of colours that feature in the print.
  • Making Batik tulis is significantly more time consuming and therefore more expensive than hand-stamped designs which use copper stamps dipped in oil, and are useful for repeat pattern designs.
  • You can watch a video of the process here, published by UNESCO when they placed Indonesian Batik on their Intangible Cultural Heritage list 11 years ago.

Indonesia is perfect for the art of batik because the materials needed – beeswax or pine resin, cotton, plants to make natural dye – are easily available. The batik industry is highly skilled and employs millions across Indonesia.

Though my print may not have the prettiness of a floral pattern design using lots of colours, I love the boldness of it and the fact that new details show themselves the more you look (eg at the bird). I have a new appreciation for just how skilled batik artists are.

First Nation art

Walrus art on our fridge

The best kind of souvenir

I know this one is just a postcard, but I love postcards! I must own thousands and thousands, all squirrelled away in shoe boxes, except for a lucky group that are dotted about the house, on rotation.

The postcard is a reproduction of the 1969 woodcut print Walruses by First Nation Inupiaq artist Bernard Tuglamena Katexac, one of numerous colourful works that are in The Anchorage Museum’s collection.

What I love most about this artwork is the contrast of golden hues against the blues and creams of the sky and the ice floes, the lazy gentle gestures between the creatures, as one leans peacefully on the next.

An Inupiaq artist

Katexac was born on King Island in 1922 to the very west of Alaska, the eldest of seven children. He grew up learning the Inupiaq skills of hunting walrus and seals, fishing and carving ivory, which he showed an especial aptitude for after leaving school.

Moving to nearby Nome in 1966 (where summers were always spent, but which was gradually welcoming more and more King Islanders permanently) Katexac started taking block printing classes.

He created this piece quite early on in his career, which is all the more impressive.

Close up of walruses

Never taking nature for granted

The Anchorage Museum, where I bought this postcard, was honestly one of the best museums I’ve ever been to. We only had a few hours to explore before leaving for northern Alaska, but of what we could fit in, the personal testimonies from First Nation groups struck me the most.

Presented in the Smithsonian Arctic Studies Centre that sits within the museum are hundreds of artefacts, written testimony and films — all connecting together the experiences of the first peoples of Alaska, their ways of life and their deep cultural heritage.

What came up time and time again was an expression of utmost respect for nature and for the animals that gave them sustenance. The sum of what many of them said has stayed with me: ‘when I look into the eyes of the creature I am hunting, there is an understanding that flows between us. There is a look in the animal’s eye that says it trusts me to respect it. Trusts me that I will make use of every part of it and not waste its death. That I will respect it and never forget it.’

Andes art

Painting featuring Cotopaxi volcano and Quito

Where it was bought

In the last few days of my trip to Ecuador, we explored one of the capital Quito’s biggest markets, the Mercado Artesanal La Mariscal towards the south of the city.

I was in a heaven of haggling and browsing and buying, I really was. (Top tip: ask the price then don’t say anything else but keep looking at it in silence, which leads many vendors to fill the quiet with suggestions of price reductions).

At one stall I was struck by a table sagging with gorgeous paintings of the buildings and landscape of Quito and its surrounds, sold on behalf of one artist. I probably picked up his card but it’s lost now. The only clue I have to the artist is the signature which seems to read ‘Luchin’.

A ruby in the Andes

The painting has a beautiful simplicity of geometry going on. Your eyes lead swiftly up from two walkers on Quito’s streets, up past settlements and the church of San Francisco, to the Andes mountains that surround the city, up to the snow-capped majestic peak that seems to have levitated into the sky, as if craning its neck to reach the moon. Or is it the sun?

Quito is itself 9,252 feet up in the mountains, a UNESCO World Heritage Site dramatically placed in the heart of the Ecuadorean Andes. Perhaps the most famous of its mountains is Cotopaxi, a volcano I spent a few days in the shadow of, only a few hours’ drive from Quito. On a clear day, you are supposed to be able to see this very active volcano without leaving the city.

When we stayed for a few days in the Cotopaxi National Park in September 2016, we weren’t able to climb higher than the refuge because of the fallout from the previous eruption which has lasted from August 2015 – January 2016. It has erupted 49 other times since 1738.

What’s in a name

Earlier I didn’t sound sure as to whether the sun or the moon is depicted in the painting – though I see it as the moon. The origin of the word Cotopaxi isn’t clear cut either, but relates.

I read somewhere that in the Quechua language coto means ‘neck’ and paxi means ‘moon’. However, the Quechua language is mostly spoken in Peru and when cross-referencing the words in a Quechua dictionary, the word for moon is instead given as Quilla.

Ecuadorean mountaineer Marco Cruz believes the name comes from the Cayapa language of northern Ecuador (spoken by the Chachi people). Coto still means ‘neck’ but pagta / pa means ‘sun’ and shi / xi could be translated as ‘sweet’. Sweet neck of the sun?

Or else, in the poorly understood pre-Columbian Panzaleos language that was spoken by people indigenous to Quito, Cotopaxi apparently translates as ‘fiery abyss’.

Whatever it means (and it’s probably everything all at once), and whatever the artist’s original depiction, I’ve loved it ever since I stumbled one day into that market stall, on a gauzy, sunny day high up in the mountains years ago.

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Viking Shetland

Up Helly Aa – the festival celebrating Shetland’s Viking past – would, in a normal year, have taken place last Tuesday in the island’s capital Lerwick. But it is not a normal year, and so it has been delayed until 2022.

I was lucky to discover some of Shetland’s Viking history back in September, so I thought I would do my bit to fill the Viking void with my post this week.

Who the Vikings were

The Jarls Squad during Up Helly Aa in 2019 © Mulvara, Wikimedia Commons
© Mulvara, Wikimedia Commons

What do you think of when you think of Vikings? Marauding sackers of villages or enlightened engineers? Seafarers, farmers or traders? Bloodthirsty or thirsty for knowledge?

Across the four centuries in which they were most active, 700 – 1100 AD, the Vikings were all of these things. They were not a single group from a single place in Scandinavia.

Granted, the word Viking in Old Norse means ‘a pirate raid’ and Britons’ first contact with them was at the sharp end of seeing their churches stolen from and their villages pillaged — but Norse settlers came in peace too.

Vikings (called Danes by the Anglo Saxons but mostly from Norway) began plundering the Northern Isles of Shetland and Orkney in the 800s before thoughts turned to invasion, when available land was becoming scarce back in Scandinavia. New laws, new language, new ways: a familiar tale for many colonised islands throughout history.

Some historians think that the Vikings who ended up raiding / invading / settling on Shetland might have first tried to live in Ireland, or left Norway as opponents of Harald Hårfagre (Harald Finehair), thought to be the first King of Norway.

Exactly when settlement in the 800s began remains unclear, but Harald himself sailed over, took control of both Shetland and Orkney and gave them as an earldom to his friend and relative Ragnvald Mørejarl, who in turn gave them to his brother Sigurd the Powerful, for reasons I’ll let you assume.

Whenever Vikings did start settling, and even if some came in peace, their presence must have left the legacy of the indigenous population in tatters, as we don’t know much about them going forward, though in many sites across Shetland and Orkney you can see plenty of evidence of over 5,000 years of human history; we know there were more farmers than hunter gatherers, that there is spectacular Iron Age history and evidence of tribal Picts.

You can read more about Shetland’s history on Shetland’s very own online encyclopedia.

So what about the legacy of where and how the Vikings settled in Shetland? What did I find there?

Tracing Viking Shetland

There were two main Viking areas I wanted to explore while we were on Shetland, offering old and new ties to Scandinavia and Norse history.

Jarlshof

Sunset over Jarlshof
© Ronnie Robertson, Wikimedia Commons

Jarlshof, near the southern tip of Shetland and across the road from the island’s tiny Sumburgh Airport, is a wonderful, archaeologically significant 4,000+ year old jumble of habitations that is cared for by Historic Environment Scotland, completely free to access.

By ‘jumble’, I mean to say that the site is remarkable for featuring an explosion of dwellings across six levels that literally takes you through the ages.

The site features remnants of a Stone Age / Late Neolithic hut that dates to around 2,700 BC, multiple Bronze Age houses, Iron Age brochs and sophisticated wheelhouses (both types of roundhouses) making up a sizeable village, Norse longhouses and outbuildings which evolved into a Medieval farmhouse and finally a Scottish laird’s (lord’s) house.

What’s now called the Laird’s House was originally the Old House of Sumburgh, built by the tyrannical Earl Patrick Stewart (not that one) in the 1500s, after Shetland passed from Norway to Scotland in 1469.

The area was dubbed Jarlshof in the 1800s, after a fictional earl’s house that the writer Sir Walter Scott used in his novel The Pirate. But it was all hidden under sand dunes until the early 1900s when a violent storm exposed stonework next to West Voe Beach.

Seeing the remains of a Viking longhouse, the evidence of the Viking invasion in the 800s, set amidst the earlier and the later structures at Jarlshof provided a lot of context for me. The Vikings hadn’t razed the area to the ground, you could see in front of your eyes evidence of their assimilation in the area.

The longhouse at the heart of the Norse farmstead on the site would have been lived in by 12 to 16 successive generations of families, growing and shrinking with the times, before evolving into a Medieval farmhouse. Vikings may have started out as invaders from an outside realm but, by the time Viking influence waned, they had become inseparable with Shetlanders.

Today, around 29.2 per cent of Shetlanders carry Norse DNA.

While we were there… the walk to Sumburgh Lighthouse

A grey seal off the Sumburgh coastline

Seals and puffins and bracing winds. The walk from Jarlshof along the coastal path towards Sumburgh Lighthouse was a highlight of our forays into the southern half of Shetland. We saw a few hardy grey seals like this one, but in summer you can also see puffins as you walk through RSPB Sumburgh Head.

Viking Unst

Unst is, to quote the Shetland Amenity Trust, ‘the special island at the end of Britain’. It is the most popular island to the north of the Shetland mainland because there is just so much for wildlife watchers, walkers and history-lovers to see.

Popular, but also remote enough that encountering a petrol station shop in Haroldswick felt like walking into Harrods…

We were staying next door on Yell but, without our own wheels, it was tricky for us to get around Unst without the help of local, sporadically-running buses (that turned out to be cars) and taxis (that were coaches). But our one day there left a big impression.

The bay (wick) that gives Haroldswick its name

Unst is where legend says Norse raiders first landed on Shetland and its Viking credentials are impressive: at least 60 longhouses have been discovered over the years by archaeologists, the highest concentration found anywhere, including Scandinavia.

The most excavated and researched longhouses are at Belmont and Underhoull in the south and Hamar in eastern Unst, each with their own trails to follow. One key development in the understanding of these Viking longhouses is that settling groups didn’t follow one standard design when constructing them, perhaps highlighting a variety of purposes, roles and origins to each group.

Without our own car we only saw those sites tantalisingly in the distance, but in Haroldswick towards the north — pictured above, where the Vikings might have first landed — we could walk inside and jump on board a Viking longhouse and longship. Replicas, of course!

A view of the replica longhouse at Haroldswick

The longhouse replica is based on the floorplan of the building excavated at Hamar. It’s made up of stone and turf from Unst, Scottish wood and birchbark from Norway (used to keep the roof waterproof).

The local craftspeople who worked on it had to learn Viking ways of working such as wooden joint cutting, which joins wood together very precisely, without nails. Working with the Shetland Amenity Trust, it took them three summers to build. You can find out more here.

A view of the Skidbladner replica longboat

The Skidbladner longboat is a full size replica of a 9th century ship called the Gokstad that was discovered and excavated at a Norse burial mound in Sandefjord, Norway in 1880. The Gokstad was possibly built during the reign of Harald Finehair.

According to the Shetland Amenity Trust website, ‘this type of Viking ship was suitable for a variety of purposes including trade, warfare and general travel.’ I think a few of us wouldn’t mind one for general travel, at the moment…

A few facts:

  • The replica has been at Haroldswick since 2006 and is made mostly of oak in what’s called the clinker fashion: overlapping planks for flexibility and to increase speed.
  • It’s one of the largest Viking ship replicas ever built: 24.3m long and 5.25m wide.
  • The Vikings invented the keel, rudder and sun compass, so it’s no surprise they penetrated as far away as North America, founded Dublin and led boat raids into the Caspian Sea.

You can view the Haroldswick trail here.

While we were there… the walk to Muckle Flugga and Out Stack

The magnet on Unst for wildlife lovers really is Hermaness National Nature Reserve, which encompasses the northernmost points of the United Kingdom and the British Isles.

The walk to Muckle Flugga and Out Stack rocks can be very boggy (I ended up knee deep in a boggy stream at one point) but it’s worth it for the sublime sights and sounds.

Thousands and thousands of gannets hang out on every available rocky surface, leaving them white with guano (seabird poo) when they fly off, dive bombing gracefully for food as they go. You’ll find puffins here too, in summer.

A lost language found

A still from a BBC News piece about the Orkney Norn
© BBC News

Not everything about past Viking and Norse settlers is visible in ruins or replicas. Place names and everyday words speak to the lingering of a lost language once spoken across the Shetland Islands.

That language is called Norn. It’s particular to Shetland and Orkney, with origins to the south of Norway, developing during settlement in the 800s.

As the Viking settlers influenced, integrated and assimilated into Shetland life, for most Shetlanders Norn developed into their first language, until 1469 when Norway gave the islands to Scotland in a marriage dowry between James III of Scotland and the Norwegian Princess Margaret.

Though in rapid decline by the 19th century, Norn was still spoken then in some form, but sadly became officially extinct with the passing of the last speaker, Walter Sutherland, in 1850. There is however a record of the language in The Orkney Norn, a book first published in the 1920s that was rediscovered in 2016. Hear Norn being spoken in this BBC News feature.

Today, certain Norn words are still used by Shetlanders, especially for seabirds (and there are a lot of them about):

Maa: seagull

Skarf: cormorant

Longie: guillemot

Shalder: oyster catcher

De haaf: deep sea (meanwhile, Da Haaf is a great seafood cafe in Scalloway)

A Viking-lover’s to do list

Beyond exploring Jarlshof and Unst, here are some more ideas if you’re thinking of making like a Viking and heading to Shetland when you next travel.

Northlink Ferries logo
  1. There’s only one way to travel to Shetland, if you’re committed to the Viking cause: with Northlink Ferries. Everything from their logo, ship names and even WiFi passwords are based on Viking history and Norse words. We sailed on the MV Hamnavoe, the old Norse name for Stromness in Orkney.
A torch procession during Up Helly Aa
© Roy Mullay, Wikimedia Commons
Burning the galley during Up Helly Aa
© Roy Mullay, Wikimedia Commons

2. Attend the next Up Helly Aa festival in Shetland’s capital Lerwick, on Tuesday 25th January 2022. Not dissimilar to the annual Bonfire Night processions in Lewes and across Sussex. A day of marches, saga telling, torchlit processions and interactions between the different squads who take part, dressed in their finest Viking attire — culminating in the burning of a replica Norse galley ship. Preparations for the festival take up most of the year, it would be a real treat to see the culmination of all those efforts up close.

3. While you’re there, look out for Lerwick Town Hall’s stained glass windows. In place since the building opened in 1883, the windows chart Shetland’s Norse history from the 9th to 13th century.

Road sign for Tingwall
© Thingsites.com

4. If you’ve visited the oldest parliament in the world, þingvellir (Thingvellir) in Iceland, you’ll know that a Thing is a parliament. Shetland’s parliament met by the loch at Tingwall, on a promontory called Tingaholm, up until the 16th century.

Although the features around the loch have changed over time (the stone causeway isn’t needed as the water levels have been lowered), it makes for a lovely walk.

A screenshot from the Viking Cultural Route map

5. Go big or go home and follow the Viking Cultural Route around the world, from Newfoundland to Novgorod.

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Feel the Burns

Last week, as I was mulling the approach of Burns Night, wondering whether to add a haggis to the food shop, up popped an email from National Trust for Scotland, entitled, ‘who was Robert Burns?’. It was then that I realised I really didn’t know that much about Burns, or the night dedicated to him.

So I had a read.

And, 262 years after Burns was born, here is the result! This week’s post is in two parts; some thoughts for the mind and then some recipes for the stomach.

Some thoughts for the mind

  1. What is Burns Night?
Graphic with the words Burns, haggis, January

The main things people outside Scotland usually know about Burns Night are that it takes place in January, relates to Scottish poet Robert Burns, and that a poem is read out over a haggis. I’m ashamed to say that’s about as much as I knew too.

Burns Night is an annual toast and celebration to Scotland’s National Bard, cherished and famous around the world for his poetry and music, which of course includes the New Year classic Auld Lang Syne (Good Old Times).

Burns is about as close to the heart of Scottish culture as it’s possible to be – as is the supper that celebrates him. Burns suppers have been taking place at Scottish dinner tables on and around 25th January for over 200 years.

2. A Burns Supper

A Burns Supper held at Downing Street when Theresa May was PM

Although I’m sure different Scots have their different ways of celebrating (there are over 130 Scottish whisky distilleries to choose from, for a start), there is a certain order to Burns Supper proceedings.

For a few pointers, I turned to the excellent book How to Celebrate Burns Night.

Full disclaimer, the book was written by my ex-boss, proud Scotsman Daniel Bee. Daniel has hosted many legendary Burns Suppers in Edinburgh, London and L.A. over the years, raising lots of money for charity in the process, so he knows his neeps from his tatties.

Order of events:

  • Piping in the guests
  • Formal welcome
  • Piping in the haggis (bagpipes optional)
  • Dinner, which could include Cock-a-leekie (chicken and leek) soup followed by the essential dish of haggis, neeps and tatties* and a Scottish dessert which could be raspberry cranachan or Tipsy Laird whisky trifle. All washed down with drams of whisky.
  • The Immortal memory address – a keynote speech written by the speaker, tailored to the audience. It could be entirely about Burns, mull over the issues of the day (we’ve a fair few at the moment) or focus on jokes and anecdotes. What is essential is that Robert Burns and some of his works must get a mention, and afterwards the speaker must conclude with a toast ‘To the Immortal Memory of Robert Burns!’
  • A toast to the lassies – traditionally this was a humorous address to the women present who would likely have been in the kitchen cooking the haggis, and over the years has become a chance to praise the role of women in the world today. Concluding with the raising of glasses ‘To the Lassies!’
  • Reply to the toast to the lassies – from the lassies in question (whether in thanks, jest or revenge)
  • Closing words from the master of ceremonies

* neeps means turnips, but what is known in Scotland as a turnip is known in England as a swede. It’s the one that’s orange inside. Tatties = potatoes.

3. Who was Robert Burns?

A graphic showing the Burns family tartan and Burns Cottage

To understand why Burns has achieved such a legendary status in Scotland, I recommend reading or listening to any of his poems and songs. (I would say my favourites so far are A Red, Red Rose, Ay Waukin, O and To Daunton Me).

He didn’t just write beautifully and with passion, he wrote in Scots rather than English, keeping alive a minority language for generations to come.

And his story is one of humble beginnings, an overnight rise to fame and an untimely death, all of which adds to the impact of his work and legacy.

Burns was born in 1759 into a farming family, his father having built the cottage they lived in, in Alloway next to Ayr and near Glasgow. Though his parents weren’t well off, they insisted he be educated well.

In 1784, after Burns’s father died, he and his brother Gilbert tried to keep the farm going, but they were never keen on farming as a way of life (Burns was more interested in poetry, nature, women and drink, not necessarily in that order), and the farm suffered financial losses.

Tangled love affairs, ripped up marriage contracts, attempts to move to the Caribbean and an illegitimate child. All this before the publication in 1786 of Burns’s first collection, Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect, which turned him into a superstar at 27. It included the poem To a Mouse which is often read on Burns Night.

Subsequently settling down and marrying Jean Armour (good surname), Burns moved with her to Dumfries, where he worked on many more famous works, as well as on building up a big brood of children.

In 1796, in the prime of his career, he died of a rheumatic heart condition at the age of just 37. His last child, Maxwell, was born on the day of his funeral.

Robert Burns left behind hundreds of poems,songs and tunes that have inspired a nation as well as countless famous poets, and his most famous song Auld Lang Syne is sung the world over at New Year, and on Burns Night.

4. So how did Burns Night actually come about?

A quote from one of Burns’s letters

Five years after Burns’s death and still grieving, nine of his friends met in July 1801 at the family cottage in Alloway. They toasted his life, read some of his work and sang his songs over a moreish menu of haggis and sheep’s head.

The Greenock Ayrshire Society took the idea and formally started Burns Suppers, and in subsequent years the celebration caught on more widely, especially after novelist Sir Walter Scott hosted a big literary Burns Supper in Edinburgh in 1815.

5. Get yer facts straucht

A graphic featuring Burns wearing sunglasses
  • I’m calling him Robert Burns, but lots of Scots call him Rabbie Burns.
  • You can visit the family cottage, now called Burns Cottage, which is part of the birthplace museum run by National Trust for Scotland.
  • The year after Burns’s nine friends met, they decided to meet on his birthday instead, except they got the date wrong (his own friends!) and met on 29th January. In 1803 they sorted themselves out and met on the date of his actual birthday, 25th January.
  • Burns had to have enjoyed haggis to write Address to a Haggis in 1786, but he likely wanted to read it over dinner at a friend’s house in Edinburgh, where he’d recently moved. There is a more romantic idea that he wrote the poem on the fly, after enjoying a particularly tasty haggis one night. Read both the Scottish and English version of it here.
  • Many of those celebrating their own at-home Burns Nights this year will already have held them, as it’s popular to use the weekend when Burns Night falls on an early weekday. Then again, each day is like the next at the moment so why not celebrate on a Monday?!

Some recipes for the stomach

Haggis in a shop

For those of you who eat meat but haven’t tried haggis – I highly recommend it! Veggie and vegan-friendly haggis is everywhere too, I had some in a pub in the Hebrides that had a great taste and texture.

The picture above is how we tend to think of haggis, and it’s actually quite misleading; these are in their casing, which you don’t eat. I won’t deny I felt a little trepidation opening up mine today, not sure how it would appear, but it was a bit like crumbly mince.

Below are some recipe ideas that I hope will convince you to give haggis or veggie haggis a go!

Haggis croquettes with an apple and mustard sauce

Haggis croquettes and apple and mustard sauce served up

I bought a haggis expressly to give these a go, spotting the recipe in a December issue of the Waitrose newspaper. I made my breadcrumbs using a mix of white bread and some sourdough made a few days ago – adds a bit more bite to the coating I think. I also replaced the English mustard with Dijon mustard. The croquettes are quite filling, but the tangy sauce balances beautifully with them.

Here is the recipe.

Haggis pakora

Haggis pakora in the Hebrides

My first taste of haggis was in September when I tried these delicious haggis pakoras, in the Isles Inn pub in Portree on the Hebridean island of Skye.

With any leftover haggis I’m hoping to recreate them, with this recipe. (Though I’ll cheat and use shop bought sauces).

All the haggis

Macsween website featuring recipes

The haggis I bought came from the award-winning Scottish butcher Simon Howie’s brand, you can find out more about their products here.

Better known, and with lots of awards too, haggis-makers Macsween prove haggis’s versatility as an ingredient, with a great recipe section on their website, using both haggis and veggie haggis.

I’ll give Burns the last word:

Ye Pow’rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies:
But, if ye wish her gratefu prayer,
Gie her a Haggis

You powers, who make mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill of fare,
Old Scotland wants no watery stuff,
That splashes in small wooden dishes;
But if you wish her grateful prayer,
Give her [Scotland] a Haggis!

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Museum openings worth planning holidays for

Ordinarily, this is the season for spending lots of time indoors in museums and galleries, exploring new exhibitions and shows. As that obviously can’t happen at the moment I thought I would share some 2021 museum openings from around the world that I’m most excited about, as well as some culture fixes you can have from home.

We are living in very uncertain times for the arts, with a whole tonne of cultural venues permanently shutting their doors in the past year. What’s clear though is that museums and galleries (and theatres) have provided culture lovers with solace in dark times.

We should support them in whatever way we can.

(Re) Openings to plan future holidays around

These are just some of the museums and galleries opening or re-opening in 2021. In most cases, they have understandably been quite coy about exactly when they will open, so I suggest signing up to their newsletters or social channels if you want to receive announcements on opening dates directly.

March: Berlin’s Humboldt Forum

The exterior of the newly-built cultural landmark, Humboldt Forum Berlin

What they say

The Humboldt Forum is taking shape in the historical heart of Berlin as a unique place of inquiry and encounters. A place with a significant past. A place for the arts and sciences, for exchange, diversity and a multiplicity of voices. A place where differences come together.

Why I’m keen

Describing itself as a place for culture and science, exchange and debate, the Humboldt Forum, Berlin’s newest landmark, took down its hoarding in December so that Berliners could enjoy the architecture ahead of opening in March, and you can take a look inside now. Behind the curatorial-marketing jargon there seems to be a real attempt to foster new ideas across disciplines.

Not to miss

Its architecture – which would be hard to miss I think? The Humboldt Forum as an entity was made by reconstructing Baroque features from the Berlin Palace that stood on its site – bombed in 1945 and demolished in 1950 – pieced together with cavernous, contemporary spaces. A statement larger than words.

If they do launch in March they’ll have a big programme of exhibitions, including the launch of the Humboldt Lab and BERLIN GLOBAL, connecting the city to the world.

Exploring outside the building you’ll find gardens planted with 13,000 flowers and trees.

Spring: France’s Luma Arles

The Frank Gehry-designed Arts Resource Centre
© Hervé Hôte

What they say

Luma Arles is a cultural centre dedicated to providing artists with opportunities to experiment in the production and presentation of new work in close collaboration with other artists, curators, scientists, innovators and audiences. The centrepiece of Luma Arles is the Arts Resource Centre designed by American architect Frank Gehry.

Why I’d like to visit

It brightened up my day just discovering the Luma Foundation website, let alone discovering their Luma Arles art project, which has been going since 2013, somewhat under the radar.

That all changes with their spring openings. It would be wonderful to explore the art, architecture and architectural landscape gardens in this UNESCO town.

Don’t miss

Catching sight of the stunning Frank Gehry-designed arts centre (pictured above), a shimmering, magnetic presence within the complex, overlooking the new public park and gardens designed by Belgian landscape architect Bas Smets.

Also worth looking into, Luma Arles will be hosting photography festival Rencontres d’Arles, and the Les Suds world music festival every summer.

While you’re there, you’d also be next door to ancient Arles and its well-preserved Roman amphitheatre. And you might recognise more than a few of the surrounding landscapes from Van Gogh’s paintings…

Late spring: London’s Museum of the Home

How the entrance to the new Museum of the Home will look
© Museum of the Home

What they say

Our purpose is to reveal and rethink the ways we live and think about home. The reimagined Museum will be a place for visitors to consider the ways we have lived in the past [and] explore creative ideas about new ways of living in, and looking at, the world today.

Why we should all want to go

Our idea of what home is and where it is has never been as important or integral to our everyday thinking and well-being as it has been in the past year.

The Museum of the Home (formerly called the Geffrye Museum) had been shut for renovations some time before the pandemic struck, but I imagine an analysis of 2020 and all that it has meant for our homes will feature prominently.

In fact, they are asking members of the public to share experiences for their Stay at Home project. It may sound like homework, especially if being at home has been a trial, but don’t psychologists say the best way to deal with bad memories is confront them head on?

Don’t miss

New Home galleries with new stories, including that of Shirin who moved to London from the African island of Zanzibar and a man named Harry who lived in the same house in east London for most of his life, as did four other generations of his family – and Rusty the tortoise! I have a sneaking suspicion it’s the same Harry I met years ago when promoting a recreation of his house at Imperial War Museums London. He was in his nineties and still went bowling every week.

Gardens Through Time, an outdoor survey of city gardens from Elizabethan knots and Georgian rooms to modern roof gardens.

Summer: Cairo’s Grand Egyptian Museum (GEM)

The exterior of the Grand Egyptian Museum, overlooking the Giza Pyramids
© GEM

What they say

The Grand Egyptian Museum (GEM) holds in trust for Egypt and the World a chronological statement for the ancient history of Egypt over the past 7000 years. Neighboring a timeless wonder, the Giza Pyramids, the new museum is to pay homage to eternal Ancient Egyptian monuments, treasures and history, hosting over 100,000 artifacts, about 3500 of which belong to the famous King Tutankhamun.

Why I want to go

GEM‘s plans to open have suffered years of delays (the Arab Spring, ensuing political turmoil, lack of funding and a global pandemic to name a few reasons), and 2021 seems quite an unlikely year to get to Cairo if they do at last launch, but this makes the prospect of the eventual opening all the more tantalising to me.

Don’t miss

Probably the entire building and its contents?!

Of the 100,000 artefacts in its collection, GEM have picked out a few highlights beyond the statues, monuments and sarcophagi we all think about; an alabaster cosmetics jar from the New Kingdom (1570 – c1069 BC) adorned with a lion poking its tongue out (I bet it was a must-have item), a decorated gold dagger found on Tutankhamun; a Libyan tribute tablet carved with entrancing hieroglyphic patterns, dating to 3000 BC; a stela gravestone from the west banks of the Nile in Upper Egypt, still bright with colour 2,221 years on from the reign of King Ptolemy V, to whom it is dedicated.

The museum master plan shows there’ll be lots of terraces and gardens in the grounds (I like the sound of the Nile Valley Garden), and the panoramic views out to the Giza Pyramids are surely going to be phenomenal.

If you’re as keen as I am to get to this museum when it does eventually open, I recommend signing up to receive updates from this independent website, run by Egypt travel expert John Nicholson.

30th September: L.A.’s Academy Museum of Motion Pictures

The exterior of LA's Academy Museum of Motion Pictures
© Academy Museum of Motion Pictures

What they say

When it opens, the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures will be the world’s premier institution dedicated to the art and science of movies. Global in outlook and grounded in the unparalleled collections and expertise of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, the Academy Museum will offer exceptional exhibitions and programs that illuminate the world of cinema. The Academy Museum will tell complete stories of movie-making—celebratory, educational, and sometimes critical or uncomfortable.

What’s interesting

Before even opening, the Academy Museum is a very slick operation, right down to the Rolex-sponsored countdown clock on the homepage announcing the days are left until the 30th September opening.

The building has architectural clout as well as the might of the Academy of Motion Pictures behind it; the designer is famous Italian architect Renzo Piano who has lots of form building fantastic museums and city landmarks.

2020 was the year no-one went to the cinema, so this opening is something film fans can be seriously excited about. The museum will have six floors of exhibition, education & cinematic spaces and they plan to hold regular screenings and live events throughout the year, making it a changing space, and no two visits quite the same.

Who doesn’t love a Hollywood ending, after all?

Autumn: Stockholm’s Vrak – Museum of Wrecks

A shipwreck in the Baltic Sea
© Vrak – Museum of Wrecks

What they say

On the bottom of the Baltic Sea lies much of the world’s greatest cultural heritage. It is time to bring these wrecks and finds to the surface in a new museum. With Vrak – Museum of Wrecks, we want to let visitors dive deep into the secrets of the Baltic Sea.

Why I want to go

I’ve visited Stockholm many times and their museums are always great – this one has the potential to be one of the most fascinating in the whole city.

Vrak – Museum of Wrecks will be situated on Djurgården Island, next door to the slightly bonkers Vasa Museum – the home of the preserved 17th Century warship that was so enormous it sank in Stockholm’s harbour before it saw any service. A crazy, royal shipbuilding fantasy that led to the death of 30 crew.

Unlike the Vasamuseet‘s more narrow focus, the Museum of Wrecks will bring together the work of all the naval museums in the city and show off the work of marine archaeologists who have been scouring Stockholm’s Archipelago and the Baltic Sea for decades looking for new shipwrecks.

And that’s how I found out about this project, when I saw the news in November 2019 of the Vasa’s two sister ships found in the water off of Vaxholm Island in Stockholm’s Archipelago.

Don’t miss

The opportunity to learn about a vast underwater world – and crazy giant wrecked ships – through archaeology and technology. For now, here are some of the shipwrecks archaeologists have discovered in recent years.

From 2022 you may also be able to go diving with shipwrecks in one of several dive parks that are planned off the coast of Sweden’s Karlskrona region, south of Stockholm.

Get your culture fix from home

Still from a video by the WA Museum Boola Bardip

For culture vultures and procrastinators alike, scroll on for more art news and my picks of some great ways to re-acquaint yourself with museums anywhere in the world, from home.

  • If you can access BBC iPlayer, I recommend watching the first episode of Secrets of the Museum which goes behind the scenes at the V&A in South Kensington. Available until the end of January, meet curators, staff and some of the 2m objects in the museum’s collections.
  • Further afield, a museum I’d like to visit one day in Western Australia: the WA Museum Boola Bardip.

The museum is built on Aboriginal Whadjuk Nyoongar land, and the words Boola Bardip mean ‘many stories’ in the local language. Exploration of the importance of the land to its ancestors and present day custodians is a key part of the museum’s mandate. Learn a bit more about their permanent collections, or take a drone ride round the museum building (pictured above).

'Umiaq and north wind during spring whaling' by Kiliii Yuyan
‘Umiaq and north wind during spring whaling’, © Kiliii Yuyan
  • As soon as it was announced I wanted to see the British Museum’s Arctic: Culture and Climate exhibition, but I haven’t been able to. It will be closed for the remainder of the run till 21st February, and I’m hopeful rather than optimistic that they might extend it.

Whether that happens or not, there is a lot of excellent online content to consume, from a curator tour of the exhibition to in-depth articles and recent online events you can stream for free. There are some upcoming climate change-themed in conversation events too.

My copy of the book 'Treasure Palaces'

  • The premise of the book Treasure Palaces is simple; a group of great writers visit some great museums and write about them. Among the 24 chosen, author Roddy Doyle sweeps through the front door of the Tenement Museum in New York, columnist Ann Wroe recounts a soggy, marvellous day at poet William Wordsworth’s Dove Cottage in Cumbria and writer and MP Rory Stewart encounters perhaps one of the world’s most scarred museums, The National Museum of Afghanistan in Kabul.

My brother bought me a copy a few years ago and I’ve only just started reading it – I’ve been missing out. It sadly seems to be out of print now, but you can get hold of copies (sorry to say it) on Amazon.

Inside the Japanese-designed Bourse de Commerce gallery
© Bourse de Commerce
  • The Bourse de Commerce is a Parisian contemporary art venue that’s been 20 years in the creating, so the postponement of its 23rd January ‘inauguration’ will be taken in its stride I’m sure.

It’s got insane amounts of money to thank for its inception (built to display French billionaire businessman François Pinault’s art collection), but I’m not going to be turning my nose up at it for that – better to have money in the arts than out! Scroll down on the gallery’s homepage and you can watch a time-lapse of the transformation and re-construction of the site of the centuries-old commodities / stock exchange into a €140m art gallery.

Screenshot from the Google arts & culture hub
  • Google being Google, their arts & culture hub (best viewed using the app) has umpteen virtual tours round some of the world’s most impressive museums (large and small) and famous heritage sites, plus stories behind the creation of iconic landmarks such as the Statue of Liberty, and artworks from around the world in high definition. Easy to lose a whole day on there, if that’s what you need / want right now.

Pick of the day: It’s Martin Luther Day today, marking the anniversary of his birthday on 15th January 1929, an extra reason to explore MLK’s life in 10 locations. It’s a partnership between LIFE, the Smithsonian National Portrait Gallery and Google Street View.

Night of Ideas campaign graphic
  • Somewhere in London that I’ve really missed getting a chance to know better is the Institute Français, home of Ciné Lumière. From 22nd – 29th January they’re hosting Night of Ideas online, with film screenings, in conversation events and debates. All answering this year’s theme, ‘together’.

On a side note, one of the most hilarious films I’ve ever seen was one I saw at Ciné Lumière, a French film called C’est La Vie (yes, really) about a wedding going wrong in just the most glorious and gorgeous way.

Have fun!

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A photographic journey into The Cairngorms

The area of the Cairngorms in northeast Scotland is not an unknown wilderness. Five of the UK’s six highest mountains are all in the park so to say it’s very well-trodden by walkers, tourists, walking tourists is a vast understatement.

Not that you’d want to go walking if you could be there right now.

Right now it’s incredibly snowy, and the locals have it to themselves! Including the staff of the Pine Marten Bar near Aviemore.

On Friday they shared this video of one of the owners snowboarding on Cairn Gorm mountain nearby, showing how much snow has fallen. And I’m so jealous.

But after watching it for the fifth time I realised that in completely different weather back in September I walked where this woman is snowboarding!

It inspired me to go through my photos and pick out some favourites from a few days spent managing to find some remote (or just quiet) spots in one of the most popular parts of Scotland.

Read on for a photo story from a few memorable days spent in the Cairngorms.

A boat on Loch Morlich's sands
  1. Loch Morlich

A couple of hundred metres from where we were staying at the YHA Cairngorm Lodge lies Loch Morlich, the highest sandy beach in the UK.

In any normal year the campsite next door would have been open and full, and the beach café wouldn’t have had its shutters down with nothing to buy or hire.

But it did mean we had the beach pretty much to ourselves most of the time.

Picnic tables at Loch Morlich

Picnic tables with no-one to perch… We had just arrived and wanted somewhere other than our YHA room to eat lunch. We would have sat down at one of these picnic tables but, as you might be able to tell, the weather was slightly inclement and so we watched the lake and ate our picnic from the dry of the boarded-up beach café behind. Out of shot there were some very inquisitive mallards.

Looking out onto a chilly Loch Morlich at sunset on the first day

Tempted as I was, I didn’t go for a bracing dip…

Trees near the edge of Loch Morlich

The weather was much nicer when we returned two days later, as the evening danced towards sunset. You can walk all round Loch Morlich, though at times you aren’t near enough to see the water.

The end of the River Luineag as it spills into Loch Morlich

The sun started to vanish but the blue sky stuck around, dappling itself against the water. This is the point where the River Luineag pours into Loch Morlich. Behind us it snaked away towards Aviemore.

  1. The Abernathy National Nature Reserve and Ryvoan Pass
The view as we walked towards An Lochan Uaine

This day I remember being so full of trees! We wanted to walk in some of the ancient Caledonian pine forest that makes this part of the Cairngorms famous.

Spoiler alert: the sky didn’t stay this blue.

Starting the walk among tall trees

The start of our walk was gentle enough…

A very tall and very lonely pair or pine trees, against blue skies and sunshine

I dared to say that it was almost too warm, and that I wouldn’t mind a little more cloud cover.

Trees and heather

And we discovered just how well pine trees and heather go together. A fairytale might have played out here once, it had that kind of magic air…

Rocks on the path ahead

From here on it got very rocky, particularly downhill. My brother and I were fine, though our mum had badly sprained her ankle the day before, and we quickly realised that this was perhaps not the best trail to aid her recovery…

Ryvoan Pass bothy exterior

My wish for cloud cover was granted as we arrived at a bothy, marking the start of a new section of the trail, along the Ryvoan Pass and into the Abernathy National Nature Reserve.

Pots and pans and fireplace inside the Ryvoan Pass bothy

Basic inside, but I’m sure in the past there’d be daily competition to stay overnight as it’s free, you can light a fire and make a hot meal, plus it’s located right in the heart of the reserve. With no-one in it, it was of course freezing.

Some lochans - small lakes - overlooking Bynack More on the Ryvoan Pass.

Just beyond the bothy, some lochans (aka small lakes). Storm clouds were fermenting above the landscape beyond Bynack More.

A big gnarly old tree in the Caledonian pine forest

A particularly big, gnarly tree with tributaries of lichen running all over it, lining the path through ancient Caledonian pine forest.

This was our view for some miles. We could have continued and eventually would have reached Loch Garten, but it was getting dusky so we turned back.

A close-up of a rare wood ant spotted on the path

Small and rare, a few wood ants crossed paths with us through the deepest sections of the forest, bringing the total number of creatures and humans we saw on the Ryvoan Pass to four..

The Ryvoan Pass, looking down towards Aviemore

The clouds were still very moody as we retraced our steps back down the Ryvoan Pass.

Close-up of heather bushes

And, while there might not have been much wildlife beyond our wild ants, there were cheery clumps of heather to encourage our weary legs to complete the last mile of ten.

  1. The Cairngorm Plateau
Panorama up on the Cairngorm Plateau

Neither myself nor my brother had walked any great distances for some time, cooped up as we’d been, and we feared that the previous day’s ten mile walk would leave us exhausted before we even reached a Munro.

Munro?

When you walk up a mountain in Scotland (anything over 3,000ft), you’re actually walking up a Munro, as that’s the Scottish name. And there are 55 of them in the Cairngorms National Park, so we had a few to choose from.

The Cairngorm Plateau is one of only two subarctic areas in Scotland (and therefore the UK), characterised by relatively dry weather year-round and with only 1-3 months displaying temperatures above 10°C.

I said relatively dry, but not entirely dry…

Ski lift on Cairn Gorm Mountain

Our bus dropped us off on the mountain of Cairn Gorm itself, at the ski centre. We passed reminders of the mountain’s winter occupation at the very start.

Heads bowed against crosswinds as we started our Cairngorm Plateau walk

9.45am in the morning and we’d already nearly had our heads blown off on the aptly named ‘Windy Ridge’ path. Here, it was clear that the only way was up. (And note the excellent paths. No matter how challenging the conditions, the paths were always excellent. Rocky boulder fields another matter perhaps..)

Walking on relatively level ground in the Cairn Gorm Plateau

The first Munro we were aiming for was Ben Macdui, the second highest mountain in Scotland no less. We kept expecting steep sections, but our route upwards was gradual enough that we weren’t too out of breath.

It took a while for it to come into view, but after half an hour, we could look down into Coire an Lochain, formed through erosion by glacial ice.

Walking above the coire, or corrie

Low-lying mists and clouds were the cause of our right sides getting completely soaked as we walked above the coire, feeling closer to the summit of Ben Macdui.

Part of the huge boulder field towards the top of Ben Macdui

There was a sting in the tail of course. The mountain’s sides seemed to be one huge boulder field, featuring lots and lots and lots of boulders.

Views from the top of Ben Macdui over to the Allt Clach nan Taillear river

Our reward at the top of Ben Macdui.

We strayed away from those getting pictures next to the cairn at the peak, and instead found these stupefying views overlooking the winding curves of the Allt Clach nan Taillear river. I wrote in my diary that it made me think of the Amazon river, and it does still.

Mists on the way across the Cairngorm Plateau

Higher up and into the early afternoon, the weather it was a-changing.

Near the mountain's edge, amidst a Mars-like rocky surface

This look like a premium picnic spot to you? After completing another Munro (already at such an elevation, it wasn’t much effort), we stopped for lunch near this Mars-like mountain edge, in icy, pouring rain… though we found a few rocks to shelter by, it remained appallingly cold nonetheless.

Weather clearing a little in the valley below to highest points of the Cairngorm Plateau

A brief respite as we resumed our walking. Before ferocious winds bit again, further on..

Descending Cairn Gorm mountain

The weather really starting to close in, we decided not to climb the last Munro, Cairn Gorm Mountain itself, where we’d started. We knew we’d made the right decision, as it was tough going down even on the paths, which were some of the best made we’d encountered on the whole hike.

We walked as fast as we could (given the conditions), hoping to catch the last bus of the day…

A path that would normally be ski runs in the snow

And it was about here, on paths designed to be skied on in winter months, that we saw the bus pull up in the distance. Oh well.

Reindeer on the Cairn Gorm mountain

Reindeer!

A silver lining to our bad luck on the bus front. Cairngorm’s reindeer are Britain’s only free-ranging herd and they’ve been roaming 10,000 mountainside acres since 1952 – introduced by a Swedish couple to show that they could thrive again in Scotland, 800 years on.

The reindeer herd numbers about 150 and in normal times you can take officially-run guided hill trips to see them.

Sadly we saw no sign of a sleigh, which might have been a help as we had some walking to do yet to get back to our hostel…

Pages from my diary featuring the day hike on the Cairngorm Plateau

My travel diary from the day of our hike.

  1. If you ever need some provisions (scran)…

No better way to spend the evening after a big walk (or ski) in the Cairngorms than at the Pine Marten Bar – also a shop, restaurant, snow sports hire and eco lodge spot! It was so popular inside the Pine Marten Bar to begin with that we thought we might have to be outside all evening, but we thankfully got a (socially-distanced) table just in time for dinner. All locally sourced grub, and the staff are the best.

A sign to watch out for skiers

Despite all the snow, the Pine Marten Bar sadly have no customers to serve, or rent skis and cabins to, because of the latest lockdown. But they’re doing their best to keep themselves busy – they’ve got their very own ‘snowbadger’ snow park which featured on yesterday’s Ski Sunday!

They’re a great follow on Instagram too.

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It’s Christmas, again

No, I’m not in denial, and you haven’t overslept.

If you read my piece last month about Christmas traditions around the world, you will have spotted an entry on the Orthodox Christian Christmas taking place in January. For most, that day is tomorrow, January 7th, in fact.

And that’s because

Those of us who celebrate Christmas on 25th December do so because we adhere to the Gregorian calendar, while Orthodox Christians celebrate 13 days later because they follow the Julian calendar.

Ever wondered why we have more than one calendar?

A portrait of Pope Gregory XIII and a bust of Julius Caesar
These guys have a lot to do with it

The short answer: Nowadays, the Gregorian calendar is used widely for civil purposes while the Julian calendar is retained for Orthodox religious purposes, i.e. feast days. In Islam, too, a different calendar is often used for religious purposes.

In a bit more detail: The Julian calendar was introduced by Julius Caesar in 45 BCE, replacing the Roman calendar which had gotten three months ahead of the solar calendar. He was advised by the Egyptian astronomer Sosigenes of Alexandria, who advised that 46 BCE should be 445 days long to rebalance things a bit. It took 54 years for the Julian calendar to be widely implemented however.

We have Sosigenes to thank for the need for a Gregorian calendar, because he got his maths slightly wrong on the length of a year – by 11 minutes 14 seconds. (It happens).

This seemingly tiny error in his calculations accrued over the centuries, meaning that by the mid-1500s the seasons were out by 10 days.

So in 1582 Pope Gregory XIII introduced the Gregorian calendar, reducing the calendar year from 365.25 to 365.2425 days, with the leap day becoming 29th February. It still doesn’t completely align with the solar year, but it’s pretty close.

While Italian and German Catholic states, Portugal, Spain and other Catholic countries adopted the Gregorian calendar almost immediately, other countries took longer to switch. England and its colonies didn’t make the change until 1752 for example.

Nowadays, the Gregorian calendar is the accepted calendar almost everywhere in the world, especially for civil purposes, but for Eastern Orthodox religious purposes especially, the Julian calendar has remained in use.

As far as I can tell, this is because a 1923 special council meeting of Orthodox Christian leaders from various countries couldn’t all agree on whether to join the Gregorian calendar or not.

And because it would have caused more problems to have two sets of dates for movable feasts each year, Orthodox churches stuck to all following the Julian calendar – even within countries that follow the Gregorian calendar.

Who celebrates Christmas on 7th January?

Christmas Day is a public holiday in Belarus, Egypt, Ethiopia, Georgia, Kazakhstan, Macedonia, Moldova, Montenegro, Serbia, Russia, and Ukraine. In Armenia, 6th January is Christmas Day.

How will they celebrate?

In all sorts of varied and colourful ways, too many to mention here!

But scroll on for some facts about events and celebrations around the world that I’ve uncovered. Undoubtedly this year will be very subdued, but I’m sure with some hope mixed in too.

Russia

Moscow in the snow
Moscow in the snow

In Russia, where 71% of the country identifies as Orthodox Christian, Christmas holidays begin on 1st January, culminating for many in a six course meal on Christmas Day (which I could totally get on board with…). Popular dishes include goulash soup or, to break Advent’s meatless fast, baked goose with apples, or meat pies.

Next door, in Ukraine

Kiev Christmas celebrations outside St Sophia's Cathedral
Christmas crowds in Kyiv in a past year

Carolling is a big part of a Ukrainian Christmas, often involving dressing up and going door to door. For anyone planning some distanced song-singing, the forecast for the country’s capital Kiev (Kyiv) tomorrow is a balmy 4°C, incidentally.

In Kiev itself, the beautiful and grand 11th Century St Sophia’s Cathedral, with its golden blur of mosaic and fresco interiors, is a focal point of celebrations (pictured above).

More intrinsic to the nation’s expression of itself at Christmas is a tradition centring around grain.

As an agricultural product and a foodstuff, it’s a big deal in Ukraine. I had never considered this till now, but the yellow and blue of the Ukrainian flag symbolise wheat fields against blue skies – that’s how important grain is.

During most Ukrainian Christmas celebrations, it is therefore common to bring a sheaf of wheat, called a didukh, indoors. It strikes me as a nod to what we might think of as pagan traditions, crossing over with Christian. If you’ve got some wheat handy, you can have a go at making your own.

Over in Ethiopia

A church built into the rock in Lalibela, Ethiopia
A church built into the rock in Lalibela, Ethiopia. Photo by Mulugeta Wolde

Christmas in Ethiopia is known as Ganna or Genna, very much focused on tradition and ceremony.

White is the traditional colour to wear, including the Netela scarf.

Celebrations normally take place all over Ethiopia, but they are especially significant in Lalibela, home of the famous ancient churches built into the steep sheer rocky landscape, a UNESCO World Heritage site. I would love to witness processions there one day.

Northwards, in Egypt

A member of the Egyptian Coptic church
A member of the Egyptian Coptic church

The Coptic Church started in Egypt and is one of the oldest churches in Christianity. Egypt is a Muslim-majority country of course, with Christians making up about 10%. However, I’ve read that pretty much everyone in the country, whether Muslim, Christian or secular, buys a Christmas tree and decorations are a big thing too.

According to dw.com, most of the trees come from Alexandria or, slightly further afield, Amsterdam.

The country’s Coptic Christians, having fasted for up to 43 days (as is customary in many Orthodox countries), usually attend mass in the evening on 6th January.

I’ve read also that it’s tradition to distribute Zalabya honey doughnuts and Bouri fish to the poor on Christmas Day. I hope that’s able to happen in some form tomorrow.

Here’s a good-looking recipe for doughnuts you could try.

Big is best in Bethlehem

Manger Square in the centre of Bethlehem, and the 15 metre Christmas tree

Ordinarily, tens of thousands of tourists flock to Bethlehem in December and January each year. Instead, this year’s Orthodox Christmas in the holy city will be spent under a strict curfew, with no international tourists and many empty hotels.

I asked my aunt and uncle (a minister) what Bethlehem is like in winter and whether it ever snows there. They told me that when they visited in 1992, there was record snowfall for 16 days! And it’s not uncommon for there to be snow every few years there apparently, so perhaps Jesus really was born in winter after all…

Whether ceremonies and processions are taking place or not, the Church of the Nativity (on Manger Square) will always be central to Bethlehem’s importance at Christmas, it being the site where Jesus is said to have been born.

It is owned by three church authorities, the Greek Orthodox, the Armenian Apostolic and the Roman Catholic Church. The Coptic Orthodox and Syriac (aka Syrian) Orthodox Churches also have rights of worship.

Perhaps counter-intuitively to their overarching aims, scuffles are often said to break out between the churches, such is the importance of the site to so many people, and the Palestinian police are often called to restore the peace.

But back to Orthodox Christmas…

Inside the Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem
Inside the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem

In the lead up to midnight mass on 6th January, a procession from Jerusalem to Bethlehem usually travels via Beit Sahour, known as Shepherd’s Fields. It is said that Jesus’s birth was announced by the angel to The Three Shepherds there. (Meanwhile, in ‘the West’, 6th January marks Epiphany, when the Three Magi learn about Jesus in the bible.)

On 7th January itself, sights and sounds on Star Street, leading onto Manger Square would involve the 15 metre-high Christmas tree with marching bands of Palestinian scout groups parading by, heads of churches and dignitaries arriving to the Church of the Nativity and Christmas carols playing through loudspeakers in Arabic.

See events in Bethlehem for yourself in this video from 2013.

Hope for the future

Manger Square in Bethlehem against a blue sky
A busy Manger Square

In 2019, according to the Palestinian Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities, tourism in Bethlehem increased by 15%. So there’s hope that the hotels (and I hope inns) that currently stand empty around Manger Square will be full up once more, when travel is safe again.

Whether you believe in the Christmas story or not, the colour, vibrancy and beliefs of millions of people around the world is something to look forward to experiencing in person again soon.

—–

Sources:

https://www.britannica.com/science/Roman-republican-calendar

https://www.britannica.com/science/Julian-calendar

https://www.britannica.com/topic/Gregorian-calendar

https://www.travelallrussia.com/blog/russian-christmas-traditions

https://www.tripsavvy.com/ukraine-christmas-traditions-1501864

https://www.ethiopianonlinevisa.com/ganna-celebrating-christmas

https://www.fena.news/international/orthodox/-christmas-in-bethlehem

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New Year, new things to do

We made it out of 2020, hooray! Wishing a heartfelt Happy New Year to you all.

We will probably (/ hopefully) never have a Christmas and New Year like this again in our lifetimes. In the UK, no one can avoid the fresh restrictions, the moving to higher tiers and establishing of new lockdowns. Even post has been slow to get through and many of us are indoors for the foreseeable future.

I count myself in that; the NHS app told me last week (for the second time) to self-isolate. So here I am, sofa-bound, looking out at freshly-laid frost, wrapped up warm.

It’s rare for me to feel truly bored at this time of year – I have a ‘things to watch’ list that’d rival Santa’s presents list – but being stuck inside the house, unable to walk further than our garden, I’ve had some extra time to think.

Take them or leave them, but I thought I would share some activity ideas and recommendations, for those of you still in holiday mode, furloughed / locked-down or just plain needing a distraction. And this being Kate on her travels, most are on a travel theme.

Wherever you are and however you’re spending these fledging days of a new year, here’s hoping things can only get better from here…

1. Board Games, games, games within games

Harry Potter Cluedo

Christmas holidays in the Crowther household without board games would be like a pen without its ink, sandwiches without a filling, a novel without words. Doesn’t work.

I write this sitting alongside a coffee table stuffed underneath with board game adventures to Florence, Brugge, Mexico, Paris, The Roman Empire and Middle Earth. But our vintage games are probably my favourites because of all the memories of playing growing up.

There are however more ways to game than with a board, and given the current/ recent postal system problems in the UK, I know the chance of buying games isn’t open to everyone, so I’ve included some easy to organise alternatives too.

GO!

1960s GO! Board game

One of my all time favourite board games. In fact we played it the other night and I won! Thus ending a very long Christmas losing streak…

The premise of GO! is simple. You travel on a route of your choosing with the aim of collecting a souvenir in each country you visit, with the person who races back to London with the right number of souvenirs first the winner. My winning route was quite the enviable itinerary: London – Casablanca – Cairo – Cape Town – Buenos Aires – Rio de Janeiro – New York – London.

Count yourself lucky if you don’t end up diverted to Christmas Island, in quarantine (seriously) or losing a precious souvenir on your travels. The game came out in the 1960s so European mainland currencies like the Italian Lire and French Francs no longer exist, which adds to the vintage glamour of the game. If you’re interested, there are pre-owned versions available on eBay.

I’ll take the Silk Road

Marco Polo base game

Anyone who knows me may have heard me mention playing an epic board game called Marco Polo.

A few years back we decided we needed to try some new games, not always rely on the vintage games or our love of any Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter tie-ins. And Marco Polo was the game that spawned a whole new age of board gaming for us.

We even took it with us to Canada and Alaska, playing in the dim light of our tent in Banff National Park and on multi-day train and ferry journeys to British Columbia and Alaska. (Guess who ended up having it in their rucksack…)

The conceit is simple: you play as different historical figures related to the Silk Route, bartering goods like silk, gold, jade and spice and building up a camel train to travel the world in search of humble riches, which translate into victory points needed to win the game.

It’s probably not for the casual game player as it takes quite a bit of time to set up and get going, but its complexity and strapping sense of adventure and history is what makes it so fascinating. Every time you play you tend to be a new character with different benefits which keeps it varied, and there are very good expansions once you’ve mastered the original.

Permit one plug

The tile game Carcassonne Amazonas

We love board games so much we ended up selling them too, on eBay and on greenzinkgames.com. My brother and my mum are involved, and it all stemmed from us getting into the popular Carcassonne series, a game originating in Germany but easily playable anywhere as there are no words in the playing of it, just imagery.

In 2017, when my mum took to eBay to feed her habit for it and realised there were lots of other like-minded people looking for expansions, a lightbulb lit in all our minds.

Carcassonne is a tile-based game where you earn points for building castles, abbeys, roads. It began as European/ Medieval themed but now covers more themes than you can shake a cudgel at, including an animal Safari edition and Amazonas (pictured), where you build and travel down the Amazon river, scoring points for creating settlements and floating along tributaries as you go. It’s been out a

Everything is going quizzingly

The Lonely Planet Travel Quiz book

The pandemic revealed to everyone in the UK especially how much we love a good quiz. So you don’t need me to give you advice on setting up your own.

However, my brother and I enjoyed testing each other’s travel and geography boffiness each week with the Lonely Planet website’s Friday Quiz, usually compiled by the writer Annemarie McCarthy. It was a test actually finding the quiz sometimes, so below I’ve included all those we found.

Being a publisher at heart (at one point in time, at least), Lonely Planet have a quiz book too, with over 2,000 brain teasers, from easy to hard. Most of the questions are general knowledge but there are also sections covering food and drink, sports, museums, space, islands. All the good stuff.

But for now, here are all their free quizzes, best viewed on desktop I’ve found:

Capital cities

Sports of the World

Foodie trivia

Flags of the World

Where in the World…? (A picture quiz)

Drinks of the World

Sizing up countries

Words of the World

Ultimate travel quiz

And for a bonus non-Lonely Planet quiz, try these 12 questions about polar bears.

Don’t be clueless

Some clues for my recently masterminded treasure hunt around the house

The past week I’ve taken the NHS app’s orders not to venture further than the garden to heart. I masterminded a treasure hunt for my brother to do around the house and our very frosty garden, as an extension of his Christmas presents.

Clues were hidden in or written on a miniature hot air balloon, giant map of the world, favourite stuffed animal (shout out to Beaver the Beaver), envelopes, board game boxes, the shed, an empty jam jar.

The main aim of the clues was to find the next clue, but I also included letters that had to be unscrambled at the end to provide a keyword, and each object was itself a clue to the experiences my brother could choose as a present; a tiny bottle of (fake) whisky in a jar representing a visit to the Dartmoor Whisky Distillery, or an air balloon in the clouds suggesting a visit to our nearest night sky observatory.

There are loads of ways to have a treasure hunt, and it is a guaranteed good way to look at where you live differently, despite all the time you’ll have spent inside this past year. And no-one is too old to take part, before you play that card.

Call on the search

James May, Jeremy Clarkson and Richard Hamilton

Not got the energy for the above? Get a free Amazon Prime trial instead and watch this year’s Grand Tour Christmas special, A Massive Hunt, which sees a gung-ho Richard Hammond, an overtaxed James May and a reluctant Jeremy Clarkson search (in cars, need you ask) for the much-searched-for buried treasure of the real life French pirate La Buse (‘The Buzzard’), on Madagascar.

We watched it recently and I laughed all the way through with complete abandon.

Animals are crossing

Tom Nook and his co-workers Timmy and Tommy, of Animal Crossing

If you own a Nintendo Switch but you haven’t played Animal Crossing yet, it is completely worth the dosh! We were lucky and ordered it before the pandemic – then everyone went mad for it and it sold out everywhere.

The craze has subsided a bit, but it remains a brilliant form of escapism. An island that you create, inhabit and adventure on and from (with a bit of help from businessman and Japanese raccoon dog Tom Nook – pictured above with co-workers Timmy and Tommy), that changes with the seasons.

The seasonality is one of its biggest strengths. Right now, for example, snow is on the ground, you can catch snowflakes in your nets, there are rooms to make cosy with furniture you’ve made and there are new species of sea creatures, plants and insects to learn about or donate to the local owl-run natural history museum.

There’s so much to discover and do, plus you can visit other islands if you want. You’re very welcome on our island, Pentecost Island, any time.

Have a rummage through your house

Spices and spice jars on a work surface

A further idea of something to do about the house is one specifically designed to be played with family and friends living elsewhere: a selfie scavenger hunt.

Elect someone in your group to be the judge who will set the different scenarios and objects each competitor has to find and photograph themselves using around the house and garden. All within a set time limit (the shorter, the more hilariously frantic), either using Zoom or by texting or emailing photos and videos to the judge as you go along.

My friend Poly arranged a scavenger hunt back in April and set 20 photo tasks, including asking us to photograph ourselves ‘ringing a bell’, ‘washing hands’, ‘with something stolen from work’. You get a point for every task you complete, and bonus points for the best photos of the bunch. I came last despite some very proficient beach photos and video hand-washing.

A lot of fun!

2. Music that will fly you to the moon

A while back, when I had no money to travel and needed to save up (nothing much has changed, really) I created my own mixtape playlists on Spotify to transport me somewhere, anywhere, far away.

They’ve kept me going at times in the past year too, so here they are:

  • If you’re craving relaxation, but you also want to feel the sun on your face, the sand in your toes, smell the perfume in the bazaar, sense the waves crashing below you. You will enjoy Travel Mixtape Vol. 1.
  • If you need to feel the headiness of being on the chaotic streets of a new city, of just making that once-a-week bus into the mountains, of dancing all night in harmony with perfect strangers (God I miss that), Travel Mixtape Vol. 2 will be your vibe.
  • And if you’re a time traveller wishing yourself away on a vintage vacation, I prescribe Travel Mixtape Vol 3.

3. Nine films and online streams that are a bit festive but a lot fantastic

Big Read’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

Rome of the Ancient Mariner creative

This is much more than just a poetry recital. The Rime of the Ancient Mariner Big Read is a digital work of art, three years in the making; Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s epic 1798 poetic voyage around themes of isolation, loneliness and redemption.

The project features actors, artists, performers, poets, and writers collaborating across the 40-part series. When I first heard about it I assumed it was a really long piece but it’s a perfect length really – just over 40 minutes long!

Beginning with the timeless, Guinness, oak sound of Jeremy Irons’ voice and the fascinating face of artist Glenn Brown’s portrait The Shallow End, I’m hooked already…

Catch Me If You Can

Leonardo DiCaprio in Catch Me If You Can

Teenage con man with family issues who scrubs up nicely as a Pan Am pilot. Towards the end when Nat King Cole starts singing The Christmas Song and Tom Hanks finds Leonardo DiCaprio holed up in a paper factory in a small French village on Christmas Eve… it’s a shivery moment in the best sense of the word.

Royal Ballet’s The Nutcracker

Marcelino Sambe and Anna Rose Sullivan in the Royal Ballet production of the The Nutcracker

The Royal Opera House have done their best this year to keep their dancers and singers training and rehearsing, but the pandemic has hit them hard. They managed three performances of their Covid-safe version of The Nutcracker before London went into Tier 4, and then everything had to be cancelled.

But you can watch a 2018 Royal Ballet performance of The Nutcracker on Netflix featuring a wonderful group of dancers, from rising stars Marcelino Sambé and Anna Rose O’Sullivan to company celebrities Marianela Núñez and Vadim Muntagirov.

You can also download and rent lots of wonderful opera and ballet concerts on the ROH website.

Carol

Cate Blanchett and Rooney Mara in Carol

A bittersweet and beguiling storyline set in snowy Manhattan. Mesmerising, hypnotic, graceful acting. With sound, music, lighting and cinematography that will leave you melting.

Shakespeare’s Globes Christmas at the Snow Globe

Sandi Toksvig at Shakespeare’s Globe

Staged in an unfamiliarly-empty Globe Theatre, watch Sandi Toksvig and a merry company turn it into a winter wonderland. Filmed earlier in the year and streaming until midnight on Twelfth Night (5th Jan), it comes complete with a song sheet for joining in (because it’s never too late for carols IMHO).

They’re asking for a £15 donation and once purchased you can watch it multiple times until midnight Tuesday. Otherwise, you can rent, stream, buy full length past productions on the Shakespeare’s Globe website.

Not much to help keep a phenomenal theatre operating.

Finding Neverland

A scene from Finding Neverland

If escapism and classic fantasy are what you’re after, then it is what you shall have in this delicate and wonderful film from 2004. Yes, there are sad bits but the real life story behind the creation of Peter Pan is told so eloquently and with such a memorable film score too.

Royal Geographical Society film collection on BFI Player

A scene from The Conquest of Everest

A great array of films, many digitised for the first time. And it’s all free! Visit the BFI Player website to start watching films including The Conquest of Everest, pictured.

Eastern Promises

Viggo Mortensen in Eastern Promises

Recently I’ve really been yearning to rewatch Eastern Promises, the 2007 film starring Viggo Mortensen and directed by David Cronenberg.

A violent film about the Russian mafia may not sound like spot-on ingredients for a festive film but it was shot in winter and it definitely counts as a redemptive fable, which is what this time of year calls for.

Plus, Viggo’s method acting talents really know no boundaries… in a break during filming he unwittingly scared some diners when he went for a meal in a Russian restaurant using his adopted Russian accent, still wearing his incredibly realistic mafia tattoos. The entire restaurant was silent for fear of him…

Gosford Park

The cast of characters in Gosford Park

The kind of dinner party / weekend away you fantasise about hosting, but with an Agatha Christie-style murder mystery thrown in. And what could be more festive than that?

4. Walk these ways

Some ways to get out and exercise somewhere new, even if you think you’ve walked EVERYWHERE near your house.

Worth prefacing this by saying that new lockdown rules state (in England anyway) that exercise is allowed but only once a day, close to home and with one person from another household max… nothing to stop you planning some bigger post-lockdown walks though!

Rights of Way map for Dorset
  • Find your local council’s Rights of Way map. It’s as easy as typing ‘rights of way map [name of council or area]’ into Google.
Slow Ways map of Britain
  • Be part of Slow Ways, the project to connect up walking routes between cities, towns and villages. They’re after volunteers to test routes but also for feedback on their soon-to-be-fully-launched website. I wrote about them in a recent blog.
Countryfile website
  • If you’re looking for bigger walks away from your local area (and it’s allowed), good website hubs with UK trail ideas include the National Trust walking website which has a great list of walks which cross their land, the Countryfile website too, and if you live in Scotland in particular, look up Walk Highlands if you’ve not heard of it. Their grading system for each walk is top notch.
  • Or if you’re near the sea (that’s everywhere in the UK, with the possible exception of Birmingham) look up your local coastal path website for a proper blowing away of the cobwebs.
Pansies in my garden
  • Equally, if you’re lucky and have a bit of garden or a nearby park, go out with an aim to spot something you might normally overlook. I went out into our frosty garden the other day and spotted some lovely yellow and white pansies, their petals looking beleaguered but ready to battle on through winter all the same.

5. Bake-up

Here are a few sweet and savoury recipes from around the world you could try if you feel like shutting yourself away in the kitchen with a glass of wine…

Korean walnut and cinnamon-stuffed ‘Hotteok’ pancakes

Korean walnut pancakes

Found this recipe in a November issue of the Waitrose newspaper, available online too. Hatteok are a popular type of Korean street food during the winter months. The name pancake is a bit deceptive, as they’re more like cinnamon buns crossed with English muffins in terms of taste and texture I’d say.

Very sweet and very delish!

Mezzeluna stuffed pasta

Mezzeluna pasta

Adapted from a recipe in Gennaro Contaldo’s Pasta Perfecto! book.

Serves 2-3

These are satisfying to make and look nice and dainty once you get the hang of working with the dough and folding your half moon shapes. (You can tell the ones I made first in the photo above!)

Make yourself a batch of fresh pasta (150g pasta flour, 50g semolina, mix then break two eggs in and form a dough using a fork, then knead until all the flour is well combined). After 30 mins in the fridge, roll the dough out very thinly (thinner than you think you need, because each shape will double onto itself) or use a thin setting on your pasta machine.

Filling idea: sauté 30g finely chopped pancetta for a few mins, then add chopped needles from a medium sprig of rosemary. Sweat half a finely chopped banana shallot for a few mins and then add 125g of cubed butternut squash (or a mix of winter veg like sprouts, turnip, swede, celeriac) and a few tbsps of water. Cook with a lid on for 12-15 mins then mash the mix so it’s quite smooth. Stir in 25g of cubed Taleggio (or a similar semi-soft cheese), 1/2 tbsp of breadcrumbs and 1/2 tbsp of flaked or chopped almonds. Season.

When you have your filling made, cut circles out in the dough using a stamp or a pastry cutter (around 6cm), brush them with beaten egg or water and fill with small blobs of your filling, before folding over into half moon shapes and pressing to seal the filling in. Remember fresh pasta can dry easily, so you might prefer to work in batches, keeping dough wrapped up until you need it.

They’ll take a minute or two max to cook in a pan of salted water. Meanwhile you could make a quick sage butter by melting 50g unsalted butter, adding 3 tbsp stock/ bouillon then 20g parmesan, stirring fast when it goes in to help the mixture gel. Add more butter or stock if needed. Pour over your pasta before devouring it in seconds.

Persian Lavash bread

Lavash bread

Makes 4 big breads. Adapted from a My Little Persian Kitchen recipe.

In a bowl mix 250ml of Greek yoghurt with 250g of self raising flour, 1/2 tsp of baking powder and 1 tsp of Nigella seeds (or else cumin seeds would work).
Mix and then knead for around 10 mins, until the dough is elastic. Divide into four balls and put back in the bowl, covering the top with cling film – or you could use a tea towel (held down with a board or a book.)

Leave for 15 mins then when you’re ready to cook, heat a little olive oil in a non stick pan on a medium heat. I use an old pastry brush to spread out the oil.

Flatten each ball of dough into a rough circle / oval shape on a lightly floured surface, using your fingertips and palms. Keep some parts of each bread a bit thicker if you want a chewier texture.

The bread will take a couple of minutes on each side to cook.

Vanilla lemon crescents

Crescent moon biscuits

Adapted from Vegan Cakes and Other Bakes, published by DK.

Continuing the lunar theme… These have various origins, but are particularly popular in Germany (where they are known as vanillekipferl) and Czechia (Vanilkové Rohlíčky).

If you don’t have any vanilla pods (as I didn’t), just add some vanilla essence and more lemon zest, and they’ll still taste great.

Combine 150g plain flour, 50g white caster sugar, 45g ground almonds and add the scraped seeds of 1 vanilla pod, or 1 1/2 tsps vanilla essence. Add a 1tsp of lemon juice and up to 1 1/2 tsp lemon zest, depending on how lemony you want them to be.

Then add 100g softened vegan margarine (i.e. Stork) and use your hands to combine the dough. It should start to breadcrumb a bit and then form a dough quite quickly. Combine well by kneading a little.

Wrap in cling film or beeswax wrap and put in the fridge for an hour. Oven goes on to 190°C / 170°C fan.

Grease a baking tray and then make your crescents, shaping little sausages of dough by bending them, tapering at both ends, and pressing down slightly in the middle.

Bake in the middle of the oven for 15-20 minutes, depending on how fierce your oven is. Dust with icing sugar.

My favourite Irish soda bread

Irish soda bread

I love this recipe, the bread tastes so fantastic.

It’s borrowed from Val Warner’s book What to Eat Now. He in turn borrowed it from the Anglo-Irish artist Tom Halifax. It’s a knock out, just make sure you score your cross quite deeply in the bread, to give it the best rise and look.

Also, it calls for a 50/50 mix of white and brown flour but you can play around with that ratio and it will still come out great. You just might need a little more buttermilk if it’s all wholemeal flour.

For some more recipe inspiration, read my recent blog about the tagine, or a post from earlier in the year featuring a menu of dishes from around the world.

6. Rather interesting things to listen to and read

  • New travel podcast The First Mile de-mystifies travel journalism, featuring in-depth fascinating interviews with writers, explorers, photographers among others and immersing you in adventures from Nepal to New Zealand. I love it!
  • BBC World Service’s The Forum is the kind of radio series that leaves you feeling infinitely smarter after each episode. A satisfyingly wide range of topics from Kashmiri poets and the fall of the Roman Empire to Norse mythology, famous artists and the fight to defeat smallpox.

And if all else fails: try a virtual whisky tasting or go for broke and book a Hedonism private wine tasting.

Bottoms up, folks.

Featured

Christmas traditions from other countries

Fireworks

I don’t know about you, but I love learning about Christmas traditions in other countries. Read on for some of my favourites.

13th December: St Lucia, Scandinavia

The Saint Lucia ceremony on 13th December

Today is the feast day of St Lucia, or Saint Lucy. Unless you are from a Catholic country, are Scandinavian or have a particular interest in saints, you may not have heard of her. I hadn’t, until my brother moved to Stockholm. Lucy of Syracuse was executed by dagger during the Roman Empire persecution of Christians in 304 AD. When she became a saint, 13th December was named as her feast day.

St Lucia Day in Scandinavia is also a festival of light. That’s because the day used to coincide with the Winter Solstice, the pagan celebration of the shortest day of the year. The solstice falls a week later nowadays – 21st December this year – due to calendar changes.

Sweden and Norway celebrate St Lucia most of all, getting up early to celebrate the light and ‘break the spell’ of winter darkness. Totally understandable, given that at this time of year there are about 18 hours of darkness and six hours of light each day.

Today, though I’m sure most of the usual celebrations have been cut back, processions of people normally walk and sing together wearing white robes, holding candles and heralding the light of the day. Traditionally, a girl would lead the procession wearing a red sash (a nod to Saint Lucia’s martyrdom) and a crown set with real candles – steadily you’d hope. Nowadays, boys also take the lead role. After the processions are complete, candles collect together like carpets along pavements, staying lit in their glass holders until the wax is worked through and the wicks wane.

It sounds wonderful, and I hope to get to see all the blazing candles one day. But there is another element of the tradition that excites me more… freshly baked bread!

Buns called Lussebullar (‘Lucia buns’) are traditionally made for the celebrations. They are also known as saffransbullar because of all the saffron that goes into them. And some call them Lussekatter because they look a bit like curled up cats.

Naturally, I had to have a go at baking some myself today.

Ten freshly baked Lussebullar buns

And here’s how my Lussebullar have turned out. I’m quite pleased!

The taste? Like saffron brioche. Buttery and light, soft and delightfully full of savoury-sweet saffron flavour. Completely worth the effort.

If you fancy making a batch yourself, the recipe I followed is by the owner of Scandi Kitchen Brontë Aurell who wrote her recipe up for a recent issue of the Waitrose newspaper. (Two tips – use a teaspoon of saffron if you can’t measure 0.4g. And whisk then stir the mixture if you don’t have a dough hook).

More traditions

An advent calendar

As you might guess, it’s not just Nordic festivals of light that interest me at this time of year. Below are some other Christmas celebrations, events and traditions that take place around the world.

Want to share your own traditions? Comment underneath!

6th December: Sankt Nikolaus, Germany

My slipper filled with Sankt Nikolaus day treats
My slipper on 6th December

Going back in time to last Sunday, this is the point in the year when children (or big kids) leave out their shoes at night in the hope of waking up on 6th December to find them full of sweets, instead of coal.

We’ve carried out the shoes & sweets tradition of Sankt Nikolaus as a family for many years, and I can confirm that this year I received only sweets – phew. It’s also tradition (any time in December really) to eat Christmas biscuits, especially lebkuchen gingerbread.

Sankt Nikolaus / Saint Nicholas, from whom the Santa Claus narrative derives, was an actual early Christian bishop of Greek descent who hailed from the island of Patara, near Turkey. He was known by the fantastic nickname of Nicholas the Wonderworker, on account of the many miracles attributed to him. He is patron saint of all sorts of people, from sailors and merchants to prostitutes, the unmarried (hi), students and children. Though very little is known about him, he had a penchant for secret gift giving, so it’s him we should thank for getting roped into Secret Santa every year.

Germany doesn’t have a monopoly on St Nick; his feast day on 6th December is celebrated by Christians around the world and characters like the devilish Krampus in Austria add some extra drama. Plus we have The Netherlands to thank for the establishment of Santa Claus; when Dutch colonists built the settlement of New Amsterdam (now Lower Manhattan), they introduced their Sinterklaas traditions.

December up to Christmas Eve: Jólabókaflód, Iceland

A book with candy cane and drink

I love the romance of this Icelandic book-giving tradition, especially how lots of Icelanders spend their Christmas Eves.

Iceland is an island of serious book lovers – on average 1,300 books are published each year for a population of only about 300,000. Many of the books are published before Christmas. Hence the name of the tradition, Jólabókaflód, meaning ‘Christmas Book Flood’.

Each year every household receives a book ‘bulletin’ featuring all the soon-to-be-published book titles, and there is usually a book fair in Reykjavik as well as author interviews on TV.

Gifting books dates back to the Second World War when paper wasn’t rationed, making books commonly available.

It’s an over-romanticised view to expect every Icelander to do this, but on the most important day for most Scandinavians, Christmas Eve, after gifts are exchanged and big family meals take place, many Icelanders like to start reading the books they’ve received, often into the night, abs sometimes with a Christmassy glass of jolabland, made of beer and fizzy orange.

I love this idea so much that I’ve bought myself a book to open on Christmas Eve and a bottle of Guinness and Orangina for some DIY jolabland.

19th December: Giant Lantern Festival, Philippines

A tree lantern of lights in Manila

Small traditional lanterns called parols are made all around the Philippines around Christmas time, destined to decorate Filipino homes during the holidays.

But where this light festival gets seriously impressive is in the scale of the lanterns that decorate city streets and village roads. Competitions are popular, with Filipino craftspeople working on lanterns as big as 20 feet high, made of wire patterns and bulbs inside steel cylinders. The various styles of lanterns are usually designed to switch on and off to the sound of music, which must be an awesome sight and sound to behold.

24th December: le Réveillon de Noël, France

A bûche Noël

Another Christmas Eve tradition I can wholeheartedly get behind. Many French spend their Christmas Eves staying awake past midnight to enjoy an extravagant meal of luxury dishes, accompanied by various French wines.

Aware that once is never enough, there is also le Réveillon de la Saint Sylvestre, a night of extravagance on New Year’s Eve.

Lots of family and friends merrily together around the dining table is key to celebration, so it will all undoubtedly have be much more muted this Christmas, but I’m sure the food will be just as opulent – snails, oysters, lobster, chestnuts, truffles and the centrepiece, a Bûche de Noël chocolate log.

Kids aren’t left out of proceedings, as le Père Noël sneaks by if he can and places presents under the tree.

24th December: hiding your broom, Norway

A broom

Yep, as random as it sounds. A centuries-old tradition to avoid brooms being ridden by witches and evil spirits the night before Christmas. Crisis easily averted by simply hiding one’s broom somewhere safe about the house.

Slightly more fun-sounding, on the day before, 23rd December, Norwegians celebrate what’s called Little Christmas, carrying out family traditions like putting the tree up or making gingerbread.

24-25th December: fireworks, El Salvador

People letting off fireworks

On Christmas Eve into Christmas Day, Central American countries like El Salvador celebrate the season with fireworks galore. There aren’t restrictions on people using them so, from volcancitos fire crackers to Roman candles and classic fireworks, they’re everywhere.

Advent and New Year’s Day: la ribote, Martinique

A family eating dinner in their family home in Martinique
Courtesy Martinique Tourist Board

Families visit neighbours with favourite dishes of yams, pork stew, boudin creole (blood sausage) and pork pies style pastries called pâtés salés. After eating they’ll sing Creole versions of traditional carols into the early hours, in their houses or with the rest of their community.

5th January: Cider wassailing on Twelfth Night, UK

Wassailing in West Sussex

Wassailing on Twelfth Night is a very old tradition in Britain, said to date back to Saxon times. There are numerous local variations to the customs but essentially it’s based on a pagan tradition of blessing apple and pear orchards before the following year’s harvest.

This involves processions, singing in the orchards, blessing the trees, drinking from a cup of mulled cider (traditionally a ‘wassailing cup’) and making a ‘hullabaloo’ by banging pots and pans – all in the hope of encouraging a great future harvest.

What does the word ‘wassail’ actually mean? National Trust curator explains in an interesting article on the origins of wassailing that the word ‘is believed to be derived from the Old English “was hál’, meaning “be hale” or “good health”’

I would dearly love to take part in a nearby wassail in January, now that I live in Somerset, home of all good cider. Though something tells me we won’t all be drinking from a shared wassail cup this time around…

7th January: Eastern Orthodox Christmas

Ded Moroz, or Grandfather Frost, and his granddaughter Snegurochka
Ded Moroz, or Grandfather Frost, and his granddaughter Snegurochka

Most Orthodox Christians (with the exception of Greeks, Cypriots and Romanians) celebrate Christmas on 7th January rather than 25th December. This is simply because they use the Julian calendar which pre-dates the Gregorian calendar we use today, and doesn’t include its modifications.

In Eastern European countries and elsewhere, such as Ukraine, Russia, Ethiopia, Kazakhstan, Israel and Egypt, Orthodox Christians have many traditions that are very distinctly their own.

In East Slavic countries (Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, Bulgaria, Macedonia and others), their version of Saint Nicholas or Santa Claus is Ded Moroz, or ‘Grandfather Frost’. Together with his granddaughter and helper Snegurochka (‘snow maiden’), they deliver presents on New Year’s Eve, which is often the start of the Christmas holidays for Orthodox Christians.

Elsewhere in the world, Ethiopian Orthodox Christians celebrate a mass on Christmas Eve (6th Jan) known as the gahad. The church service begins at 6pm and continues into the early hours of Christmas Day. And in Egypt, with a Coptic Orthodox Church that has upwards of 10 million members, 43 days of fasting take place from 25th November. Making Christmas Day lunch all the more enticing!

As for me

When it comes to it, in my mind, the heart of most Christmas traditions is family and community, lights amid the winter darkness and sharing food with friends and family.

That’s why, although I always like to borrow some Christmas traditions from further afield, I’ll still treasure the little things I’ve grown up doing; fishing through the myriad boxes of baubles with my mum and making the Christmas pudding on Stir-up Sunday; trying and failing to open my Christmas stocking at the same slow speed as my brother; getting my dad ever larger boxes of Turkish Delight, something he still loves despite his ailing health; Muppets and kids home alone and an unholy amount of board games. But not forgetting perhaps the best thing of all. Great company, from friends and family – online or otherwise.

Featured

Postcard from… snowy Iceland

‘A few feathery flakes are scattered widely through the air, and hover downward with uncertain flight, now almost alighting on the earth, now whirled again aloft into remote regions of the atmosphere.’

― Nathaniel Hawthorne

Has it snowed near you over the past few days? A dusting here, or a slick of frost there? In Somerset, sleet was forecast to fall on Friday – but if there was any, it certainly sneaked past me. Snow-spotting is such a national obsession, because you never know if you’ll get so much as a snowflake from one year to the next.

Iceland, though, is a country almost entirely blanketed by snow and enveloped in ice throughout winter’s months. They don’t need betting shops to place odds on whether there will be a White Christmas.

And if you’ve been to Iceland in midwinter you will know that it is a world of vanishing white horizons, of soft and newly-settled dazzling meringue peaks daubed over the landscape. Banks of thick slush, crystals glinting and grey on pathways. Threatful black ice lying in wait around car parks and geysers. For which sometimes there is no such thing as bad conditions, just bad shoes.

This postcard from snowy Iceland could have narrowed in on so many memories of our week-long escape to the land of Thor, ice, fire and aurora. They remain so vivid.

Early on in our trip, our hours of padding along the sloped edges of the famous Eyjafjallajökull glacier, finding volcanic ash souvenirs, picking up lost sunglasses, discovering remote hot spring swimming pools.

An impressive (and exhausting) day driving over tundra-vast landscapes, enveloped by mists as the mountains poked up in the distance, draped in snowfall; as we drove to our remote farmhouse in the north rather than flew. The pale orb of the sun growing stronger as the day wore on, carrying us along the seclusion of the Tröllaskagi Peninsula. The way the sun set into a world of rosy pinks, watery greens, melting mauve and faraway smudges of orange as we stopped the car to get out and look over at the beginnings of the Arctic Circle.

The half-frozen thundering of waterfalls and the deep blue and turquoise of ice floes as they escaped from underneath. The views from clifftop roofs out onto Iceland’s vast valleys and along basalt-studded beaches.

Or a jewel in our memories, one I recounted in a post written in 2017: the swishing mystery and awesome dance of the northern lights. Opening up around us as we walked up almost blindly (at last) to our isolated farmhouse, the roadway rammed with so much snow that our car couldn’t pass. A night spent as angels in the snow and the staring out from the front door in the morning at the jagged peaks of mountains that had absorbed the display from hours earlier.

Instead – pictured above is a place called Thingvellir.

It’s a historic national park so close to Reykjavik that you can drive there in 45 minutes. It is 1/3 of the attractions that are collectively called ‘The Golden Circle’,significant because it was the outdoor site of the world’s first democratic parliament, set up by the Vikings in 930AD.

It looms in my mind when I think about Iceland’s snowscapes, not because no-one ever visited but because we could feel so left alone in our explorations, despite everyone else who visited.

We encountered people as we rounded our way around a lake to Thingvallabaer, the historic remains of a farmhouse. As we entered Thingvallakirkja, one of Iceland’s oldest churches, we entered with strangers. We passed other people as we trundled down the epic passage of tectonic plates that forms the giant Almannagja fault line. Fewer people, but they were still other people.

Then at some point we took a turning, following a concealed trail that nobody else seemed to have used for some time.

We found ourselves in an entirely quiet, poetic wonderland. Whose sorbet snow was untrodden and whose columns of rocks and trees muffled our voices even from ourselves. We kept walking and chatting until we could each sense ourselves drifting away into thought. Eventually, even our thoughts meandered away like flurries of snowflakes. We were walking so deeply away from where we had been, and we felt so hidden in this ethereal panorama. Our tracks melted away behind us, until even birds might not have followed.

I will never forget how it felt to be so peacefully apart from everybody and everything else. So concentrated on the present that all we could hear was the snow and all we could see was the silence.

Featured

Gifts for travel lovers

Well, that’s Black Friday and Cyber Monday done and dusted for another year. Did you purchase anything or avoid it like the plague? I bought two gifts, showing a level of restraint that’s very unlike me. But I’m excited that today marks the beginning of Advent…

I find it’s around this time that I start reflecting on the weeks and months ahead, rather than just the months and weeks gone. For one thing, I realised that at the end of December I will be writing my 50th blog post. That’s not bad going, considering 25 of them will have been written this year alone. I hope you’ve enjoyed the stories, wanderings and wonderings.

And if you read last week’s post in particular, you’ll have discovered that I’m a big fan of Stanfords, the map and travel book shop that’s been in and around London’s Covent Garden since 1853. They recently launched a crowdfunding campaign to save themselves from closure.

They’re welcoming donations until 23rd December, but I thought I would do my bit to help them in other ways too. This week I’ve curated a Christmassy gift guide for travel lovers – and I’ve also launched a competition for a chance to win a stocking load of great travel prizes!

Festivities this year are going to be very different for a lot of us, even with the Christmas baubles bubbles we’re allowed to form from 23-27th December in the UK. We’re not going to be able to see all of our friends and family as normal, whether drunkenly in fairy light-laden bars or round a dinner table, board game or TV.

So I hope you’ll forgive the departure from my normal style of travel post. Whether you celebrate Christmas or just can’t wait to get travelling again in 2021, scroll on for a travel trove of top gift ideas, from stocking fillers and family fun to brilliant books and luxury presents.

And if you’d like to get straight to the business of entering to win some super Stanfords travel gifts (funded by me), head over to my Instagram page @kateonhertravels.

N.B. All the product links and images below will take you through to the Stanfords website. At the time of writing, all items were available online. Stanfords deliver internationally and across mainland UK. If you’re in the UK, there’s free delivery on orders over £30.

All product images courtesy Stanfords.co.uk
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Red globe bauble from Stanfords

Red globe bauble / Perfect for any discerning, wordly tree. £7.99

World luggage tag from Stanfords

World luggage tag / Show your luggage you mean business when you are next allowed out of the country. £8.99

Bag light from Stanfords

A handy tie on bag light / For those moments when you can’t for the life of you find anything in your damn bag. £3.99

map clothes bags from Stanfords

Around the world cloth travel bags set / Keep an eye on the world and your stuff tidy all in one go. £18.99

Everest notebook from Stanfords

Mount Everest A5 notebook / 192 pages in which to start planning your next trip. Based on the National Geographic Society’s map of Everest. £9.99

Stanfords book bag in teal

World map book bag / I consider myself enough of an expert in these matters to declare that this bag passes the tote test. A simple but delightful design printed on durable, 10oz cotton. Comes in teal, black or red. £12

Magnificent Maps Puzzle Book by the British Library

Magnificent Maps Puzzle Books / Featuring maps from the British Library’s collections. Scrutinise each map and answer a series of puzzling questions. £14.99

Rivers and mountains mug, from Stanfords

Mountains and rivers mug / Boff up on the world’s tallest mountains and longest rivers over a Darjeeling. £12.99

Globe in a box, from Stanfords

Globe in a box / Beats a jack. Based on a 1745 French globe design by Vaugondy (the globe-makers to King Louis XV) with as much detail as a bigger globe. £14.99

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The strongest memories from that first trip, and from every trip since, are from my encounters with us, with our inspiring, intriguing, long-suffering, comic, clever and caring fellow humans… Meaningful encounters with other people in a strange part of the world are the real experiences to treasure.

Simon Reeve, Step by step
Around the World in 80 Trains by Monisha Rajesh

Around The World in 80 Trains by Monisha Rajesh / This is the follow up to her 2016 book Around India in 80 Trains in which she visited 80 Indian cities by train over 4 months – the whole trip costing only £1,500! This time, the entire train adventure involved plotted a route covering 45,000 miles, twice the circumference of the Earth. I highly recommend listening to a fantastic interview with Monisha on new travel podcast The First Mile. £9.99

Step by Step by Simon Reeve

Step by Step by Simon Reeve / An honest, engrossing book from one of the most charismatic presenters on the BBC. Simon Reeve recounts the depression and misguidedness he felt as a teenager and the luck and hard graft that led him to the successful career he has today. It’s been out for a little while now, but it remains a very charismatic read. Well-worth your time. £9.99

A Life on Our Planet by David Attenborough

A Life on Our Planet by David Attenborough / Whether you’ve seen the accompanying Netflix film yet or not, this book is a must-read. David Attenborough draws on key moments from a life charting the natural world, pulling from his own experiences and from scientific data a vision for the future and the survival of our planet. £20

Red Sands by Caroline Eden

Red Sands by Caroline Eden / An exploration of Central Asia, with food as the starting point. Featuring human stories, forgotten histories and tales of adventure. And recipes! I’m very excited to read this and hope to find it under the tree (hint hint). £26

Dark Star Safari by Paul Theroux

Dark Star Safari: Overland from Cairo to Cape Town by Paul Theroux / This is one of the travel books I’ll be starting over Christmas, It’s been on my list for some time! Paul Theroux charts an ambitious adventure by train, boat and cattle truck from Egypt to South Africa, along the way he revisits old friends and recounts memories from his time as a teacher in Malawi 40 years before. £10.99

Lost Pianos of Siberia by Sophy Roberts

The Lost Pianos of Siberia by Sophy Roberts / This is the other travel book I’ll be starting at Christmas. At a Royal Geographical Society event Sophy Roberts confessed that she would have loved to have been a full-on war reporter, and she often reports from remote parts of the world. In this award-winning book she uses musical culture as a way to tell the story of Siberia and the Russian Far East. £18.99

When the Last Lion Roars by Sara Evans

When the Last Lion Roars by Sara Evans / A truly fascinating book considering the terrible plight of Africa’s lions. Sara Evans first saw wild lions in the Madikwe Game Reserve in North West South Africa, an experience that led her on a path to investigating the historic rise and fall of the king of the beasts. £16.99

Full Tilt: Ireland to India With a Bicycle by Dervla Murphy

Full Tilt: Ireland to India With a Bicycle by Dervla Murphy / In 1940s Ireland as a child, Dervla Murphy dreamed of taking her bicycle around the world. 21 years later she did just that, cycling from Ireland to India in 1963. A startlingly bold adventure, even by today’s standards. £12.99

Encounters by Levison Wood

Encounters by Levison Wood / Explorer, presenter and photographer Levison Wood left the army a decade ago with no formal training as a writer or a photographer, but with the ambition to publish three books in five years and win awards for his photography. This is book number eight, featuring 15 years of photography from across his expeditions. £30 (signed copies while stocks last).

Great Diaries book

The world’s most remarkable diaries / Bringing together more than 80 historical and literary diaries, artists’ sketchbooks, explorers’ journals, and scientists’ notebooks. A fascinating collection, whether you keep your own diary religiously, or have never kept one. £20

The lions we have left are remnants… a ragged tapestry, once rich and golden, now fading before our eyes. The bright flame of an iconic species is burning out.

Sara Evans, When the Last Lion Roars
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Terrestrial globe from Stanfords

Navigator’s Terrestial Globe / An exact replica of the 16th Century Mercator globe, a projection made in 1569 by Flemish geographer and cartographer Gerardus Marcator that became the standard for navigation. £160

Cartographic map featuring the Western and Eastern Hemispheres

Eastern and Western Hemispheres map / A beautiful reproduction of an 1877 map from the Edward Stanford Cartographic Collection Archive.

Looks neat too. £49.99-£69.99

Reproduction compass from Lewis & Clark expeditions, from Stanfords

Lewis & Clark compass / A reproduction of a compass used by American explorer William Clark on expeditions with Meriweather Lewis. The real compass is on display at the National Museum of American History, part of the Smithsonian Institute in Washington. £29.99

Route map of the Earth luxury tote from Stanfords

Route map of the Earth luxury tote bag / Features Stanfords’ beautiful route map of the world, printed in full onto premium weight cotton before the bag is sewn. £45

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Rainbow coloured 13cm model of an air balloon from Stanfords

Your very own air balloon / I love the design and attention to detail of this 13cm-tall air balloon. It’s the desk buddy you didn’t know you needed. £17.99

Giant World Map from Stanfords

Create your own giant map of the world / have a lot of fun creating a big wall map of the world, with activities along the way. £10.99

Kids doodling on a Doodle World Map

Doodle World map tablecloth / probably the only time it’s acceptable to draw on a dining table cloth. £22.99

The card game Mapominoes: Europe from Stanfords

Mapominoes: Europe / the Mapominoes series is a firm favourite in our house. As the name suggests, it’s a bit like dominoes except you’ve got to match up countries. Top tip: play on the biggest table you have, or on the floor! £12.99

Kids' map of Great Britain from Stanfords

Great British Map of Wonders / A ginormous map filled with 1,000 of the funnest things to do across Great Britain. Features games, a colouring map on the back and space to make notes. £14.99

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Haiku poetry and woodcut art 2021 wall calendar from Stanfords

Haiku art and poetry wall calendar / Each month displays an elegant seasonal woodcut painting and an accompanying 17 syllable haiku presented in Japanese calligraphy with English translation. £10.99

British Library antique maps wall calendar from Stanfords

2021 British Library antique maps wall calendar / Features a dozen gorgeous antique world map and country map reproductions – all from the British Library’s cartographic collection. £10.99

Ski the World 2021 wall calendar from Stanfords

Ski The World wall calendar / Because, let’s face it, this might be the closest we get to the slopes this winter season. 12 boldly-coloured vintage ski posters, best viewed through ski goggles. £10.99

Orange Moleskine 2021 pocket diary from Stanfords

Moleskine 2021 daily pocket diary / I love using Moleskine notebooks and diaries, for noting appointments and writing my own diary each day. Yes, most of 2020 has been spent on the sofa, but perhaps it’s time to make bold plans! £17.99

World map designed 2021 diary by Cavellini, available at Stanfords

Vintage Maps 2021 Weekly Planner / Printed on Italian paper and featuring a weeks-at-a-glance layout. Includes transport maps for London, Paris, New York and sections for addresses and notes. £10.99

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Saving Stanfords

In what has been a calamitous year on our high streets, I thought I would shine a spotlight on one of my favourite shops in the whole world: Stanfords.

This temple to travel has sold maps and books to record-beating explorers and award-winning authors, curious travellers, the world’s governments and geographers alike since 1853. And a few weeks ago, staff forecast that they could not last until spring.

In October Stanfords announced the grave threat of closure they faced after 167 years trading – if they didn’t act fast. You might have seen that they began a crowdfunding campaign, aiming to raise £120,000, the amount they estimated they would need in order to avoid shutting up shop.

I, like thousands of other travel lovers, could not sit idly by and watch them fail because of causes outside of their control. So I clicked through and donated. They had raised £63,000 at that point. It was looking good, I thought, but they’ve got a way to go yet.

Stanfords’ story

Inside Stanfords HQ, 12-14 Long Acre
Courtesy of Stanfords.co.uk

Stanfords has always been situated in and around Covent Garden, ever since a young Edward Stanford took over the Charing Cross Road premises of Trelawney Saunders, a seller of maps, charts and stationary. He had risen fast in that company’s ranks and seized the opportunity in 1853 to become sole proprietor after the partnership he’d been promised had dissolved.

Edward Stanford’s company became the only map maker in London, partnering with a man named John Bolton who ended up as Chief Cartographer for 67 years. His 1862 Library Map of London was described by the Royal Geographical Society at the time as ‘the most perfect map of London that has ever been issued.‘ I’m glad to be able to say that as a teenager smart phones weren’t around and I’m pretty sure I used maps similar to this one to navigate my way round London!

Such was Stanfords’ success, in 1873 they needed new premises, moving the shop to 55 Charing Cross and the printing press to 12-14 Long Acre. By 1885, Edward Stanford was able to retire and pass the business on to his son (give you one guess as to his name).

Under Edward Stanford II, the company achieved a royal warrant as official cartographer to Queen Victoria. The Long Acre address became a flagship shop with all enterprises under one roof from 1900. Some of their customers? Florence Nightingale, Ernest Shackleton and Captain Scott. That’s what I call a good fanbase. I could go on and on about their illustrious history, but you can read the full story on the Stanfords website.

In 1997, the only shop outside of London was opened, in Bristol. You’ll also find a Stanfords concession store inside the Royal Geographical Society building in Kensington Gore. In Covent Garden, the Stanfords flagship remained on Long Acre until January 2019 when they moved 100m across the road to a purpose-built two-floor shop on nearby Mercer Street.

David versus Goliath?

A graphic showing a small shop and a big shop building

I have to be honest here and admit that I preferred Stanfords’ old Long Acre site more than the current address. It was across more floors and suited wandering about at will, which I’m a big fan of in shops.

The new site is indeed a third smaller in size, a deliberate choice so it turns out. As CEO Vivienne Godfrey said in this BBC Business interview last year, ‘some of our regular customers were disappointed. But when I, or members of staff, explained to them that it was a question of either remaining and going out of business, or leaving and thriving, everyone understood’. With everything in the business no longer under one roof on Long Acre, the building had become too big for its purpose.

I had prepared to sound the drum for supporting independent businesses due to their losing fight against chains. However, it’s not all gloom as business forecasts for independent shops during the pandemic compared to chains has been surprisingly promising in the UK, according to a new study. They have shown themselves to be more resilient in adapting than big high street names, perhaps because changes haven’t need to be rolled out so widely or signed off by big boards.

That’s not to say that many indy shops aren’t shutting down or hanging by a single thread – they are. The high street is by no means a level playing field. After the lockdown began and all non-essential businesses were asked to close again, many independents and their associations pointed out in dismay that some big chains like Rymans and Carpetright are keeping open despite being non-essential and supermarkets such as Tesco and M&S are breaking rules by allowing sales of non-essential items such as books and clothes. It has seemed to be one rule for the chains and another for independent shops in this second lockdown.

Stanfords’ crowdfunding campaign was launched before the second lockdown was announced. When I checked on their progress this time last week I wondered if the £120,000 target would even be enough to save them. Donations had reached £94,000. Inching closer to their target, but needing more love.

I heart Stanfords

The globes on display in Stanfords, the world's biggest travel bookshop

Don’t worry, I won’t get soppy on you. I’ve actually racked my brain to recall the first time I stepped into Stanfords on Long Acre, but I can’t remember. Though I’m sure my brother and I visited with our dad on our numerous self-guided walking tours round London, in-between trips to Hamleys.

For me, it’s more that I just started popping in whenever I was passing. Then, I’d be killing time after work and make a beeline for its downstairs travel guides and travel classics table for a browse of curated picks. The huge fan was usually always whirring in one corner, lest your body as well as your mind be spirited across to the searing heat of the masai mara or the steaming humidity of an equatorial rainforest. Then, somewhere along the line, Stanfords graduated to being my number one destination not just for trip planning but whenever I was shopping for birthday and Christmas gifts, or wanted some inspiration for my own wish list.

This June, when ‘non-essential’ shops were allowed to open again, Stanfords was the first shop I revisited. I was excited to be back, though a bit glum to be the only shopper in there.

Some might say, ‘if they’re struggling to adapt, maybe let others fill in the gaps. That’s the beauty of capitalism.’

But ask yourself, where else in London would you find mini Tibetan flags, books on Captain Cook’s voyages, survival equipment and maps and globes of every size and for every need?

We would lose a lot more than just a shop if Stanfords was lost. We as travellers would be lost.

Early last week I checked the donations page again. Success! They had reached a tipping point and surpassed £120,000. At the time of writing, over 3,600 supporters have donated over £132,000.

It’s gratifying that so many people have supported a unique business like Stanfords. So much so, they decided to set a new target, £160,000, to enable them to future proof their website, digitise their archive and host bigger and better live events in the future. Perhaps you might consider a donation? Their optional rewards, from cartographic maps to signed books and tours are pretty awesome.

And look out next week for a special edition of my blog, featuring the chance to win some travel goodies, all from you-know-where.

So is that job done then?

Help an indy out

Shop front of bookshop.org, a website supporting independent bookshops

Nope!

However much better than expected indy shops have fared during the pandemic, businesses like Amazon and major supermarkets will still be in our faces and within easiest reach over Christmas.

What about other independent shops? The UK’s bookshops, fashion boutiques and all great little shops selling everything in-between. They face a rocky Christmas, particularly if they can’t reopen from 2nd December, though they do have a lot of supporters to their cause. And there are ways we can all do our bit to support our favourite independent businesses.

The recent expedited launch of bookshop.org – selling books in the UK on behalf of 130+ independent book shops – is a cause for celebration. It doesn’t cost bookshops anything to feature, they can create their own store fronts on the website and the Bookshop team commits to fulfilling deliveries. It was proving so popular in the US that Bookshop launched in the UK well ahead of schedule. Instead of getting blasted on Amazon by algorithm-fuelled choices that undercuts small business, on bookshop.com you’ll only find curated recommendations from booksellers and authors, and each participating bookshop receives full profits from each book sold. How great is that!

Retail consultant Mary Portas’s Adopt a Shop concept encourages the public to each pick three shops in our local area, commit to buying from them instead of usual big online retailers and encourage our friends to do the same. It is an easy and practical way to individually do our bit to keep the small shops we love open.

And, showing for some time that independent shopping can co-exist with big business, American Express’s Shop Small campaign will be returning for another Christmas. Amex relaunched the scheme during the spring lockdown too, showing that the small shops we love deserve to be here to stay, not just for Christmas.

Featured

Food travels: the tagine

Longer read

‘Marvelling at all that had befallen him, the fisherman returned towards the city and, coming to his house with the fish, filled an earthen pot with water and placed them in it. When they began to swim about in the water, he put the pot upon his head and walked with it to the palace…’

‘“Give us proof of your excellence with the cook pots and the luxury of your dishes…”’

‘Without further delay, he got together all of his household goods; his rugs, cushions, his cooking-pots, his cauldrons and mortars, his tables and mattresses, and sold them for fifty dirhams. With part of this money he hired an ass for the journey…’

‘”I have five pots for you” I answered, “all containing admirable foods”. “Ah master master!”, cried the barber, “delight me with the sight of all these wonderful things”’.

– Excerpts from various stories, One Thousand and One Nights

Chapter One: From Atlas Mountains to country kitchen

View from Kasba restaurant over the Atlas mountains

Journalist Hamish Bowles once described Morocco in May as ‘unseasonably tagine-hot’. Well, Hamish, spare a thought for 50°C in July…

It was 2016 and I was in Marrakech for a friend’s 30th. Specifically, and unusually for me, in a luxury villa, with our every whim and culinary desire catered for by a legion of really lovely live-in locals. As I say, it was unusual for me. They prepared for us feast after feast of traditional tagines and cous cous dishes. Even as a total glutton I couldn’t keep up.

On the third day, our host/driver/fixer Sharif took a band of us quite high into the Atlas Mountains. I had been over the mountain range before, firing through almost without pausing, but this time we stopped to meet camels, admire houses and workshops full of handmade goods and sample some excellent Moroccan food.

Rugs outside a rug merchant's shop in the Atlas Mountains
A young camel in the Atlas Mountains
Kasba restaurant sign

We ate tagine, of course, at a restaurant called Kasba. I remember sitting on the panoramic terrace tucking in, as if it was this afternoon. The deep tang of citrus and the warmth of spice as I knocked mine back – chicken with preserved lemon and olives. It was one of the most glorious gastronomic experiences of my life. Two hours cooking on a fire, gone in minutes.

When it was time to wend our way back down to Marrakech, I spotted a potter’s shop off the road. Of course, Sharif knew the owners and sellers, as he knew everyone we’d met on our excursions.

I took my time shuffling past shelves and shelves of tagine pots. Glazed and painted, plain and not glazed, subtly daubed or garish. Soon enough, a wily old seller cornered me and we prepared to duel. Well, haggle. I love negotiating in souks, markets and shops. I’m an adrenaline junkie for it. It’s also considered rude not to barter on price.

In my broken French I had great fun batting away the man’s suggested prices and in his broken English he enjoyed the challenge of trying to sell me multiple pots.

‘Why one when you can buy four?’… ‘But I’ve only got one cabin bag!’

The final score? I came in with eyes on one, and left with bags for two. I paid around £10 in total so it was a bargain, but I’d have haggled more if time wasn’t so precious.

landscape image of two tagin pots in the Atlas Mountains

When I returned home, although I thought I might keep the more classic, glazed tagine, I decided it would travel better to South America and so kept the unglazed, pure clay pot. I researched how to ‘season’ your tagine pot ready for cooking (more on that later) and wrote up some instructions to take, but I did nothing to my own one.

Four years on, reader, I am slightly ashamed to tell you that for most of its former life, my unglazed, unseasoned tagine pot lay under my bed in Brixton, rarely-touched, wrapped in old newspaper and housed in a guardian newspaper-sponsored pink Glastonbury rucksack.

When I moved down to Somerset earlier this year, it remained wrapped thus, until a few weeks ago, when I organised some of my kitchen stuff. Our country kitchen was to gain yet more gadgets and souvenirs. I tore off the paper and plonked the tagine pot down on the table. It was not a eureka moment though, it merely sat there for a few days gathering a virgin layer of dust. Progress, but I made no attempt to research tagine ingredients or unearth instructions. Was the tagine headed for another four years of unloved obscurity?

Ding dong.

An unusual delivery, a small box labelled My Little Persian Kitchen… it wasn’t something I recalled ordering.

Contents of a My Little Persian Kitchen spice kit

Two of my former housemates had gifted me a belated birthday present – a three month ‘Arabian Nights’ spice subscription. The first recipe included? A blooming tagine. And not just any old tagine recipe, but one for chicken with lemon and olives!

Finally. I had a tagine pot to prepare, tiny pots of perfectly measured spices and a reason to persevere. It was time at last to recreate one of my tastiest travel memories.

Chapter Two: a potted history of the tagine

Graphic spelling the word tagine

Before I share how I got on… facts!

ETYMOLOGY.

The word tagine comes from the Moroccan Arabic طجين ṭažin, from the Berber word tajin which refers to a shallow earthenware cooking vessel. Though in Ancient Greek the word tágēnon means a frying pan or saucepan, the Berber people are the undoubted reason for the worldwide spread of tagine cooking. Who are they?

THE BERBER PEOPLE.

Two Berber in the dunes

Two thirds of Morocco’s population call themselves, or can trace their roots back to, Berber people. Berber are indigenous to North Africa with their own language that changes only slightly across neighbouring countries. Berber see themselves as Imazighen, which loosely means ‘free people’, a nod to the nomadic way of living that characterises them. They are unified by their shared language and free spiritedness, but also by a shared history of caring for livestock, their families and cultural traditions that stretch back at least 5,000 years.

Their cooking of tagines over open fires in the past few centuries are what has led the cuisine to be so widely revered across North Africa and the world. The origin of the tagine can be traced further back, however.

ROMANS?

Triumphal arch in Volubilis, Morocco
Triumphal Arch in Volubilis near Meknes in Morocco. It grew hugely under Roman occupation. Wikimedia Commons

The Roman occupation of North Africa began in the ruins of the city of Carthage in 146 BC and ended in the 7th Century (the Byzantine era) when the Umayyad Caliphate (Islamic Government) wrestled it from them. Roman ceramics were traded widely across the empire and pieces of ‘portable ovens’ similar to tagines have been found in digs around Hadrian’s Wall in England. It’s therefore plausible that the innovation caught on in North Africa from the Romans.

THE ISLAMIC GOLDEN AGE.

Map of the Abbasid empire
A map showing the Abbasid empire. Wikimedia Commons.

Whether inherited from the Romans or not, most food historians commonly date the use of tagines back to the time of Harun al-Rashid, who ruled as the fifth leader of the Abbasid Caliphate.

His name means ‘rightly guided’, and indeed he was caliph at a time in the 8th and 9th centuries known as the peak of the first Islamic Golden Age. Multiculturalism and relative religious freedoms were the perfect conditions for scholars to be translating Ancient Greek manuscripts from philosophers like Aristotle, and on medicine and other disciplines. Could this be why the word ‘tagine’ is similar to an Ancient Greek word?

In any case, the Abbasids overthrew the Umayyads in 750 AD and their empire extended (intake of breath) over modern day Iraq, Syria, Israel Palastine, Southern Turkey, Saudi Arabia, Yemen, Oman, UAE, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Turkmenistan, Egypt, Libya, Algeria, Tunisia. You can find out more about this fascinating empire in a really interesting BBC4 Radio episode of In Our Time.

It doesn’t take a huge leap of the imagination to see how the Abbasid empire might have collided with the Berber nomadic way of life to foster the growth of tagine cooking across North Africa.

ONE THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS.

Rows of lamps in a souk
Courtesy Naomi Koelemans on Unsplash

What about the earliest recorded mention of tagines? You’ll recall that I began this post with quotes from One Thousand and One Nights, aka Arabian Nights. Neat fact, many of the stories are thought to originate in Persia, possibly India too, from the time of al-Rashid. One clue? He features in a lot of them.

I browsed an entire copy of the book online and couldn’t find one specific use of the word ‘tagine’, and indeed only one original fragment from the time of al-Rashid survives, but nevertheless a mouthwatering collection of food does feature, as do many feasts, kitchens, cooking methods and utensils.

Chapter Three: types of tagine

Stacks of clay tagine pots on display in Morocco
Wikimedia Commons.

Tagines are and were evidently popular far beyond Morocco’s borders.

Sephardic Jewish food culture, and that of Maghrebi Jews (who can trace their North African history back over 2,000 years) involves lots of tagine making, including for Shabbat dinners and Jewish holidays. The styles prepared depend on country-specific traditions eg in Morocco using dried fruits is more common, while Tunisian stews often feature potatoes, carrots and courgettes, all diced.

I say ‘stew’ because if you ask for a ‘tajine’ in Tunisia the end result will apparently be something closer to an Italian frittata!

A traditional Berber style of tagine
A traditional Berber tagine. Wikimedia Commons.

The most popular tagines in North Africa, certainly that I’ve encountered or read about, include chicken, lemon and olive (scroll down for a recipe), lamb or beef with prune, chicken and apricot, fish with chermoula marinade, beef or lamb meatball and a classic Berber tagine, with a cone-shaped layer of different vegetables, usually over meat (above).

It all sounds big on meat, but of course vegetables are a huge part of North African cuisine and easily interchange with meat or fish. One of Morocco’s most traditional but popular dishes is cous cous with seven vegetables. Meat or no meat, the dish includes a mound of cous cous with a combination of carrot, cabbage, turnip, squash or pumpkin, courgette, sweet potato, onion.

In Persian cuisine, a khoresh is a generic word for stews from Iran and Afghanistan, often served with rice. They include aubergine and beef (Bademjan), herb stew (sabzi) and chicken with pomegranate and walnut (fesenjan).

Elsewhere, the Palestinian dish of Qidra – or Kidra – involves cooking a puree of onions in clarified butter, followed by lamb or chicken with chickpeas, rice and spices in a pot over a wood fire.

And in India and Pakistan, bursting with a kaleidoscope of regional cuisines as it is, Mughlai cuisine blends traditions of the old Mughal courts with Persian flavours.

The tagine has traditions that clearly date back many centuries and span empires. But, whether the Moroccan Berbers, Abbasid rulers or exalted characters from literature are the reason for its meteoric rise as the emperor of the one pot meal, the proof is always in the eating…

Chapter Four: a recipe for chicken, lemon and olive tagine

Excited to use the My Little Persian Kitchen spice subscription, and remembering the meal in the mountains, the first tagine I made with my prepared tagine pot was a classic using chicken, lemon and olive. It’s also known as Joojeh Khoresh in Persian cooking.

Serves 2. Prep time 30 mins & cooking time 2 hours.
(See the next chapter for how to season your tagine pot, if you’ve just bought one).

Equipment needed: a tagine pot (the size of mine or bigger), or else a cast iron cooking pot such as a Dutch oven. Or you can use a big roasting dish with a lid, or foil lid. Scales & frying pan.

Ingredient list

4-6 chicken thighs, depending on size
50g pancetta cubes or bacon, cut into pieces
1 medium brown onion, sliced
2 large garlic cloves, crushed and sliced
1 tbsp olive oil
75g green queen olives, or similar
1 large lemon, sliced width ways (unwaxed preferably)
1/2 tsp coriander seeds
1 tsp sea salt
1/2 tsp ground ginger
1/4 tsp cumin seeds
1/4 tsp saffron strands crushed slightly into 1/2 tsp sugar with a spoon
1 preserved lemon, quartered with flesh removed (look for the Belazu brand)
Seeds from 1/2 a pomegranate & parsley or mint (optional)
(For a vegetarian alternative you could replace the chicken with thickly cut portions of any of the following: carrots, white cabbage, celeriac, onion, sweet potato, courgette, squash. Instead of bacon, add a tiny bit extra salt and brown the onion more)

Preheat the oven to 160°C (140°C fan, gas mark 2, 234°F)

  1. Make a dry rub for the chicken by mixing together all the spices and seasonings, except the saffron and sugar.
  2. Coat the chicken in the dry rub.
  3. Heat the olive oil in a frying pan or heavy-bottomed large pan and add the pancetta or bacon. Sauté for a few mins until the fat starts to turn brown.
  4. Add your marinated chicken to the pan and cook until golden, keeping turning.
  5. Meanwhile, add the sliced onions and garlic and stir, coating them as they cook for a few mins.
  6. Add your fresh lemon slices and 2 cups of water (you may not need as much if your tagine pot is slightly smaller).
  7. Add the olives and the preserved lemon. Stir and then transfer everything to your prepared tagine pot, or other vessel. Be careful that the lid fits back on properly.
  8. Pop into your preheated oven and cook for 2 hours.
  9. Meanwhile, crush the saffron together with the sugar, either in a pestle and mortar or with the back of a spoon in a ramekin. And a few teaspoons of hot water and set aside.
  10. You might like to make up some cous cous or bulgar wheat to go with the tagine. Follow packet instructions for amounts, and use chicken or vegetable stock instead of plain water, to give it extra flavour.
  11. It’s optional, but if you’ve got a pomegranate to hand, cut it in half (across, not down), hold half over a bowl and bash the skin with a heavy wooden spoon. That should loosen most of the seeds easily, but expect juice to spit! Put half the seeds and a snip of mint or parsley in your cous cous or bulgar wheat, if making.
  12. Take the tagine out of the oven, place carefully on a heat resistant surface, take the lid off and pour the saffron sugar water over. Sprinkle the remaining pomegranate seeds over the tagine, along with some snipped up parsley or mint, if you have it.

Hungry for more recipes?

I highly recommend checking Christine Benlafquih out over at The Spruce Eats. She is from Casablanca and features lots of tagine info and recipes. It is from her that I learned how best to prepare a tagine dish for cooking – read on for a step by step picture guide.

Chapter Five: Step-by-step picture guide for ‘seasoning’ a tagine pot

Tagine pot before it gets seasoned
My unseasoned tagine pot

To make a tagine style meal you don’t technically have to use a tagine pot, but for me personally it’s been a proper thrill to finally get to use mine, and I can’t wait to try another recipe soon.

All tagine pots have to go through what’s called seasoning before they can be used in cooking. This is to make the clay or ceramic more durable and it also removes any raw clay taste. It’s not complicated at all, but I recommend starting at least the day before you want to cook with it, to allow you enough time for each step.

The below guidelines are adapted from Christine Benlafquih over at The Spruce Eats, with some additional notes from me.

Preparing your new tagine pot

Tagine in water
  • Soak the lid and the base in a bucket or box of water for at least 2 hours, or overnight (which I opted for).
  • Drain the water and leave the tagine to dry for a short while.
Rubbing olive oil into the tagine pot
  • If your cookware is unglazed (like mine), rub the interior and exterior of the lid and base with olive oil – a clean sponge would work. If it’s glazed, it shouldn’t need the olive oil here. (You’ll see some kitchen paper in the picture above. Suffice it to say, a sponge won’t leave little bits of tissue behind…
The olive oil permeates into the clay
  • Leave until all the olive oil has permeated the clay.
The empty tagine in the oven
  • It’s time to get it into the oven – allow up to 4-5 hours for the following 3 steps.
  • Place your tagine pot, lid on, in a cold oven.
  • Turn the oven on to 150°C (130°C fan), and set the timer for 2 hours. Be careful not to have the oven any higher, as clay will crack if subjected to high heat.
  • After 2 hours, turn off the oven, and leave the tagine to cool completely in the oven.
  • Once cooled, wash the tagine by hand in warm water with a tiny bit of soap, using a non-scratch cloth or sponge.
  • Allow it to dry fully.
Brushing the tagine's interior
  • Whether next cooking with it or storing it, use a pastry brush to coat the interior of your tagine lid and base with more olive oil.
Tagine pot brushed with olive oil
  • Leave the olive oil to soak into the clay for around an hour.
Letting the olive oil soak in to the tagine pot

Your tagine is now seasoned and ready for some tagine!

Tips to remember when cooking with your tagine pot

Tagine in the oven
  • Unless otherwise directed, use an oven temperature of no more than 160°C (140°C fan), and wait patiently for the tagine to reach a simmer. Heat diffusers are recommended when cooking on a burner.
  • Tagines and other clay cookware may crack if subjected to rapid changes in temperature. Avoid this by not adding cold food or liquids to a hot tagine, and by taking care not to place a hot tagine on a cold surface.
  • If a recipe calls to heat ingredients before transferring to the tagine pot, the clay should be fine.

Tips to remember when cleaning and storing your tagine pot

Storing your tagine pot
  • Hand wash your tagine with very mild soap and rinse well.
  • Leave the tagine to dry thoroughly, and then lightly coat the interior of the lid and base with olive oil before storing.
  • It’s a good idea to store your tagine with the lid slightly ajar so that air can circulate. I found that even doing that, the base gathered a couple of little mould patches, and this is apparently more common in the glazed kind. Just simply wash the tagine again and lightly coat it with olive oil before using.

تمتع بوجبتك – tamatae biwujbatik – Bon appétit!

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On finding joy

This weekend I had planned to share with you a journey from mountain and desert to modern stove and cooker. A tradition that dates back to One Thousand and One Nights and to the peak of the Islamic Golden Age. A joyous experience of cooking (and eating) using ancient methods passed down generations.

If you don’t mind, I’m going to go slightly off topic this week.

The US election results of the past week affect us all around the world, they don’t just concern the American people. Its outcome will shape foreign policy across the globe, not just in America. Where the US leads, many countries will follow, whether you agree that’s how it should be or not.

For that reason, I wanted to share some feelings of hope, trepidation, idealism and ultimately joy. Not just in the US, but in the UK too. You might wonder why I would feel joy when there remains such open and raw division in politics and so much work to do. Read on.

Good news.

A man who has faced great personal and political losses. Who in his 8th decade has led a moderate-progressive coalition charge to bring political leadership back from the brink. Twice the failed presidential candidate and now the President-Elect.

A woman who grew up the daughter of immigrants, who had to prove herself ten times over to gain the same kind of respect often afforded easily to others in her field. Rightly lauded as the first woman, the first black woman, the first South Asian woman to be voted in as Vice President. She is clear that she doesn’t intend to be the last.

Yesterday’s projection that Joe Biden and Kamala Harris will lead America for the next four years was for me and so many around the world a huge moment.

A weight has been lifted, so the cliché goes. Whatever we have to deal with from now on, it’s just nice that maybe it doesn’t have to centre around one self-centred human being so much.

Challenge.

I say this recognising that one historic election doesn’t change the dark times we’ll all face in the weeks, months and years ahead, as Coronavirus cases continue to spiral way out of control, as do the destructive effects of climate change. Amazon.com is making its highest profits in history, while the Amazon Rainforest suffers its harshest challenges.

With a second lockdown here in the UK, travelling the world feels as distant a prospect as at the height of lockdown back in April. From our self-employed neighbours next door to the independent shop owners on our high streets, and from the bartenders and waitresses who won’t be taking our orders on holiday to the tour guides who might have shown us their beautiful corner of the world time zones away. They are fighting to keep afloat.

Division.

Right now, those of us who want the Democrats in America to succeed long term have to face the fact that the second-most-voted-for presidential candidate in history is Mr Donald J Trump.

Just under half of America wanted him back for a second term and the all-important Senate is likely to remain Republican for at least the next two years (though all eyes will be on Georgia’s senate race rematches from now until January).

So, while Biden and Harris have promised that their leadership will be for all Americans, it remains to be seen if they can bring the country closer together. It’s not just up to them though. Both halves of this divided country have got to agree that there is more value in finding common ground than there is in relishing being polar opposite of one another.

Tribes.

Late in 2019 I went to an LSE event with Labour MP for Tottenham David Lammy, promoting his new book Tribes: How Our Need to Belong Can Make or Break Society.

His remarks made such an impression on me, particularly his belief that if we can bring about more cohesion within communities. His suggestion is for a compulsory ‘national civic service’ and a citizens’ assembly as a way to reduce the ‘them and us’ mentality, and improve society together. As he writes of Brexit Britain:

‘Diversity, immigration and technological progress can be hugely positive, but when they break down shared ways of life and social cohesion, it is understandable that people get defensive.’

He speaks firmly too about the extent to which social media has globalised and entrenched tribal identities, with detrimental effect.

My thoughts? There are no easy answers to the question of how to cool the cancel culture that holds court online, or the extremism of the alt-right. The lid is off. But enforcing the dismantling of Facebook’s dangerous adverts algorithm and implementing tougher guidelines on dealing with hate speech (doing so with full transparency) is a place to start.

But what about how we act as individuals?

Respect.

If you would normally resolve to yourself that ‘they behave worse than us’, perhaps it’s time to question why you have that perception. Who are ‘they’ really? And how often do any of us really take the trouble, or have the opportunity, to speak to people in real life outside of our friendship and family groups? Our perceived social groups?

I include myself in the equation when I say that we would find more that brings us together than separates us, and have more respect for each other if we shouted less on Twitter and spoke more in person. Leaning less on those whose views we already share and instead seeking out the opinions and anxieties of people we shy from or discredit.

Respect has to work both ways of course.

And we’ve got to be prepared to compromise and respect differences of opinion, or at least do more to understand rather than simply dismiss.

And practically, how to meet more people in our communities? Volunteering in the community is a brilliant place to start, even during a pandemic. I for one am looking at volunteering opportunities in my local area on the website doit.life/ours.

Why the joy?

‘When you do things from your soul, you feel a river moving in you, a joy’ – Rumi

There was so much at stake in the US election and I followed it about as avidly as any non-American, non-politics student feasibly could. I resolved when I woke up the day after the last election not to allow myself to simply be a bystander but to educate myself more about the US election system and be as involved in spreading the word and batting down misinformation as I could be. I’ve lived and breathed the entire election cycle.

And it has been tiring.

Not just the past four million years / four years as a whole. The fear last Tuesday night, the drawn out results, the close calls, the increasingly batshit ravings of a defeated one term president who can’t countenance defeat and is probably at his most dangerous now and into January. (I’m afraid he is an exception to my rule of respect).

And yet I feel joy.

*Joy that so many wonderful campaigners and advocates and volunteers’ hard work has paid off. They were truly the difference between win and lose. *Joy and relief that election day itself went ahead relatively calmly, despite threats of vigilantism. *Joy that a state like Georgia, long a victim of voter suppression, might flip Democrat, something many dared to hope would happen. *Joy for Clayton County. Formerly represented in Congress by the late, great civil rights campaigner and politician John Lewis (a staunch critic of Trump), its votes are what pushed Biden slightly ahead of Trump in Georgia on Friday morning. *Joy in knowing that America will return to the Paris Climate Agreement, that science and reason will regain a foothold with the announcement of Biden’s Coronavirus task force (and by the way have you seen today’s excellent vaccine news?) *Joy for the end of the Muslim travel ban and a return to a welcoming immigration policy. *Joy that the next president wants to solve racial inequality, not fuel it.

Face it.

We knew these were Biden’s positions, but now he has the mandate to act on them, especially if his final electoral college tally reaches upwards of 300. We know the Biden Harris administration faces enormous challenges and pushback from Republicans, and the Supreme Court could at any point peel back the strides made towards universal healthcare and the right to choose an abortion. No illusions.

As for the outgoing president? He wants us to feel fear and discord at how close he came to re-election. It’s how he’s thrived these past years. We have to face it down with optimism and by rolling up our sleeves for the toughest challenges which are yet to come.

‘You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, “I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.” – Eleanor Roosevelt

_____
P.s. if you’re wondering at my choice of picture above, it was partly the catalyst for writing this piece. I deliberately waited until the election had been called to unwrap a painting I bought in September by up and coming artist Laura Gee. Its title? The Joy of Life.

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Times like these: East Germany

It’s time for part two of my time travel series. I haven’t discovered how to travel back in time, but I did chat to my mum about a trip to East Germany we made as a family in June 1991 – during a very important time in German history.

It was eight months after the German reunification of October 1990 and 19 months after the fall of the Berlin Wall. One of the reporters who covered the seismic events in Germany was the BBC’s John Simpson:

The fall of the Berlin Wall changed the world. It brought an end to Communist regimes right across Europe, and finished Russia as a superpower.

We wanted to see the region before it changed rapidly, as it deserved to do.

None of us had ever set foot in East Germany or East Berlin. Later, as a teenager I felt a bit embarrassed that we spent so much time in Europe when other families were flying round the world. With hindsight though it was quite exciting to seek out countries that were only just opening up after the breakdown of the Soviet Union and communist control. The beach could wait.

Read on for a Q&A with my mum (aka my ‘Mutti’) about what she remembers.

Me: You’ve always loved Germany as a destination. When did you last go before 1991?

My mum in Germany in 1981

Mutti: I think it must have been 1981, when I went with my friend Marion. It was a ten day trip to Burg Eltz (south of Koblenz on the Moselle River), Vogelsburg and Rothenburg, both about as close as you could get to East Germany at the time.

Why did you want to go to East Germany?

My God, Help Me to Survive This Deadly Love, graffiti painting on the eastern side of the Berlin Wall by Dmitri Vrubel. Photograph by Mar Cerdeira on Unsplash

The events on television inspired us to go for a holiday beyond the old iron curtain before it all changed. To experience it for ourselves, with your uncle Ray and you kids with us. Roof rack on, and off we went!

It seemed like the time to visit. I felt a bit like a pioneer somehow. We were going into a part of Europe that had been so closed off. Everyone had read a lot about what life was like there, and here was our chance to actually be there. We would have gone in 1990 if we could have, but your brother Stephen was soon to be born and so we waited.

Where did we stay and how did we get there?

Waiting for the Stena Line ferry to take us to mainland Europe.

Our destination was a village called Waldidylle, south of Dresden. It’s very close to the border with what was then Czechoslovakia (now Czechia).

We took a Stena Sealink ferry from the port of Harwich in Essex, over to Hook van Holland – literally the ‘hook of Holland’ – that juts out west of The Hague and Rotterdam.

We drove through the Netherlands and into Germany, stopping overnight somewhere en route – I can’t remember where. With small children in tow, we didn’t want to do a whole day’s drive to Waldidylle in one go.

So we travelled over two days, but we missed the owners?

Yes, we got to Waldidylle quite late. We hadn’t realised how remote it was. You navigate by car all the way from the UK to your destination, but it’s usually the last bit of the journey where you get stuck. We stopped at a pub to ask for directions and a kind stranger showed us into the village, we followed his car.

We got to the chalet and there was a note on the door from the owners saying that they had gone back to their house in Dresden because it had been getting quite late.

Did they not leave a key for us to get in?!

No! I suppose if it was their holiday home, they didn’t necessarily know the neighbours that well.

You’d think that in a sleepy rural village they’d trust the neighbours to have the keys. Maybe I’m reading into it too much, but maybe it took a while to trust neighbours again. The infamous Stasi secret police were known for extreme surveillance techniques and for turning neighbours into spies against each other. Keeping themselves to themselves was probably quite ingrained.

Anyway, we didn’t have to sleep in the car at least?

It was quite dark, so it must have been rather late seeing as we were there in June. And there were so many trees making everything darker still. We looked around for the nearest neighbours. There was a gap between our chalet and a house nearby. Like most of the properties around, it had a sloping roof for the snow in winter, and it was bigger than the chalet.

We headed over and knocked on the door to ask the family living there if they knew of a bed and breakfast. They instead offered us their house for the night.

They were maybe in their late 40s or early 50s and they had a daughter in her teens who was at a disco that evening. Perhaps they had an older daughter who had moved out already. And maybe a grandfather too, but I can’t remember much more about them.

In order to squeeze us all in, they arranged for their daughter to stay with a friend. It’s funny the things you remember – I remember that detail, but I can’t picture the couple’s faces. We were so tired and I had you two to look after.

A quick sorting of the rooms and we had beds for the night! We all slept very soundly.

Did you speak to them much?

German text which translates as hello, how are you?

Most of the conversation was in German, it certainly helped that I can speak a bit.

I remember chatting to our hosts in German over the breakfast table in the morning. They told us that we were the first British people they had met since the Berlin Wall had fallen. That left a real impression. They mentioned the war. I remember Dresden came up in conversation, as did Coventry (both cities were badly bombed in the Second World War).

The hosts were just so nice. We offered them money for the stay, though they wouldn’t accept more than a few pounds.

They and everyone else were so helpful to us and that has really stayed with me.

After breakfast we had to get the keys presumably?

We drove 40km over to Dresden to pick them up and spent the day discovering the city. The note on the chalet door had the address of the owners we’d missed, with instructions for how to find them. No mobile phones back then!

And we spent the rest of the trip in that chalet. I can’t really remember what it looked like (update: now I know, because we found a photo!)

Update: early 2021 we found a box of photos under my mum’s bed with, bingo, a picture of the chalet we stayed a few days in. Idyllic!
A picture featuring two photos from 1991, one of the forest of Waldidylle and the other of me standing on the Germany Czechoslovakia border
Misty trees around our chalet in Waldidylle – and me standing near the border with then Czechoslovakia
Our trusty SEAT car in the woods of Waldidylle
Our trusty SEAT and roof rack, parked by our chalet, just in view

It was a classic chalet in the woods, I knew I must have taken a photo! Nice to also see our trusty old SEAT car complete with buggy and travel cot on the roof. Do you remember the stuffed animal heads on the walls inside the chalet?

Yes, now you mention it! I have a vivid impression of a lot of wooden furniture and some large taxidermy on the walls.

They scared you a bit I think. We covered them with sheets and blankets.

Hopefully we remembered to remove the sheets

Thinking back to the trip overall, and others in the 1990s, what struck you about East Germany compared to West Germany?

German autobahn at night
Autobahn at night by Paul Frenzel on Unsplash

Despite our preconceptions, Waldidylle itself and other rural parts of East Germany didn’t strike us as much different from West Germany.

The motorway was in quite a bad state however, even around the bigger centres of Chemnitz and Leipzig. Infrastructure was noticeably in a poorer state than the West half of the country. On later trips we could tell the disconnect between East and West German roads, especially in the Harz Mountains. You couldn’t just go east to west or vice versa, you had to take detours to get from one set of roads to another.

What the regions were known for producing was different too. East Germany and East Germans had long had to rely on more traditional crafts to earn a living, making more wooden toys for example, in contrast to the grander industry of West Germany.

We visited Seiffen, only 15km from the Czech border and across from Waldidylle. They turned to wooden toy manufacturing hundreds of years earlier when the iron mining industry collapsed. We went on a day trip and of course bought you some wooden toys.

I remember that day – it was Stephen’s first birthday. He had a jelly birthday ‘cake’ and chose a wooden toy truck, while I opted for a snazzy wooden tea set. We still have them in the house.

When the waitress realised we were celebrating a birthday, she brought out a sparkler, that was nice of her.

And here’s the famous truck. Stephen keeps it pride of place among a very select number of souvenirs he’s collected over the years. By contrast you need a warehouse for all mine.

My brother's wooden toy truck
‘Spielzeugland’ = toy land
Underside of the wooden toy truck
Note the change of stamp

Before reunification, East Germany was known as the DDR (Deutsche Demokratische Republik) or GDR in English. You can actually see on the bottom of the wooden truck that it was first stamped with GDR, before later being stamped over with MADE IN GERMANY. Interesting!

Another difference was that things did cost a lot less in the east of course; we felt the money on our holiday lasting longer. That remained the way for many years.

I remember vividly our trip in 1998 to the Harz Mountains and the Czech Republic (the peaceful dissolution from Slovakia happened in 1993). As children we couldn’t believe our ears and eyes that ice lollies were about the equivalent of 7p or, if we wanted a fancy lolly, 13p. Heaven.

We did feel a bit of a novelty sometimes on our travels in the 1990s, a British family with young children expressly choosing to enter these formerly occupied countries when it wasn’t particularly fashionable.

Buildings in Dresden
The Zwinger Palace in Dresden
The Baroque Zwinger Palace, rebuilt after the Second War War

We darted around quite a bit on our trip didn’t we – we went to nearby Meissen (famous for its porcelain) as well as Berlin and Colditz. We also crossed the East German border with then Czechoslovakia, venturing to Prague. And we spent some time in Dresden (pictured). It was infamously bombed in the very late stages of the Second World War, gutting most buildings. The photos show some of the famous buildings rebuilt after the war.

Me in Dresden
The centre of Dresden

Yes, the city left an impression on all of us.

Even Stephen, who was 11 months old at the time, thinks he remembers seeing some remaining bomb damage.

It’s possible.

Colditz

One of my strongest memories is us walking round Colditz (between Leipzig and Dresden). It was used during the Second World War to house Allied Prisoners of War (POWs), many of whom were involved in increasingly daring escape attempts as the war wore on.

I could swear I was older than 3-4 years old, I remember it as if I was about 10. I remember peering through windows as looked around, imagining some of the POWs still being inside, in their uniforms and sporting big moustaches.

Dresden, Seiffen and Colditz aside, what else do you remember from the trip?

Brandenburg Gate, still undergoing refurbishments when we visited in 1991
Brandenburg Gate, still undergoing refurbishments when we visited in 1991
Us in front of the Brandenburg Gate

I remember when we visited Berlin that the Brandenburg Gate was still undergoing refurbishment. The East German authorities removed the quadriga that sits on top as part of the renovations, after the wall had fallen. When we were there, it hadn’t yet gone back on.

Children dancing in Prague

The beautiful clothes of the children dancing in Hradčany, the castle district surrounding Prague Castle.

The Old Town Square in Prague

And the equally beautiful Old Town Square in Prague. Czechoslovakia when we visited had itself only just returned to democracy during the Velvet Revolution of 1989. Less than 1 1/2 years after our trip the country was officially dissolved and became the Czech Republic (now Czechia) and Slovakia.

Of course, we couldn’t resist visiting both new countries soon after!

Prague is an example of a city I know I’ve seen lots of, but at a very young age. Must go back one day

A watchtower at the East German border

And here I am with dad, surveying a scene of calm over East Germany.

What a time to travel!

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Times like these: Hong Kong in a hurry

Until last night, I couldn’t remember when the clocks go back and when they go forward. Well, now I know: spring forward, fall back.

If you’re in the UK, I hope you got a lie in on Sunday morning with the clocks going back, or that you did something nice with your extra hour. I wrote this post with mine!

The clocks got me thinking about past trips where time played a big role in some way.

I’ve already written about the time I got lost in the Amazon Rainforest a few years back. Hours spent walking off the right path, and then a nervous few hours spent getting back on the right path. Have a read here.

And then my brother reminded me of a trip to Rome when we were teenagers. We were too late to get into the Sistine Chapel, according to all our watches. Dispirited, we thought we would at least go and ask about opening hours the next day. As we turned a corner, we could see queues still formed outside, and then it dawned on us that we had completely forgotten about the clocks going back. We had spent the whole day one hour ahead. So we joined the queue and just made it inside.

Read on for part one of my two-part time travel series.

A (short) time well spent

When it comes to how to spend time off, one thing my friends will tell you about me is that I love to be busy. I feel guilty spending a sunny day indoors and if I’m honest with myself, although I do love to relax and I have been known to sit down on holiday, nothing excites me more about holiday planning than chalking up my itinerary.

On my way to Japan on holiday in 2018 I had planned, in one of my mad schemes, to stop off in Hong Kong en route. Not stay over, just stop off. And so it was, after 13 hours of flying and not much sleep, I embarked on a 15 hour day trip around Hong Kong before catching a 2am flight to Tokyo.

Given everything that has happened recently in this remarkable city, I count myself lucky to have spent even a short time there.

Here is a timeline of my itinerary from that day. Too much? Not enough?

08.00 / ARRIVAL

Touchdown in Hong Kong on my SAS flight from Stockholm

Landed in Hong Kong Airport on a SAS flight from Stockholm. A bit of timewasting at left luggage and freshening up. Picked up an Octopus transport card and caught the Airport Express into the city. Even this early, the humidity was toppling.

10.18 / CHURCHGOING

St John's Cathedral from the outside
The interior of St John's Cathedral

I had a quick peek inside St John’s Cathedral before travelling up to Victoria Peak. The cathedral dates to 1847 which makes it one of the oldest buildings in the city. A service had just ended and I was invited to join them for tea and biscuits, though I sadly had to press on.

10.49 / WHERE THE VIEWS ARE

Awaiting the next tram to Victoria Peak
A view from Victoria Peak

It was time to queue up and visit Victoria Peak via the hillside tram (though really it’s like a funicular). It was as busy and commercialised on top as you would expect of one of the city’s biggest tourist attractions, but I enjoyed it still.

12.35 / CELEB SPOTTING

Stephen the Lion at HSBC Headquarters

As it was a Sunday, the famous HSBC headquarters weren’t open but that didn’t matter – I had really come to meet an inhabitant who lives there 24/7, Stephen the Lion. Stephen and Stitt the lions have guarded the headquarters since 1935. Interestingly, they have only been off public display three times since then, one of those times being this year, when they were damaged during anti-government protests. They have only just gone back on display.

13.12 / BREAKFAST AT LUNCH

Dim sum for lunch at the traditional Luk Yu Teahouse

Believe it or not, dim sum is more traditionally eaten at breakfast than dinner. I originally planned to have breakfast at the traditional Luk Yu Teahouse, but due to delays leaving the airport (and general heat-related slowness) I arrived for lunch instead.

It’s one of the oldest tea houses in Hong Kong, open since 1933. I accepted the huge pot of Jasmine tea on arrival, but immediately pleaded for a big glass of water too. I still don’t quite understand the concept of tea cooling you down on a hot day… but it didn’t stop me happily ordering a trio of dim sum classics – siu mai (top), char siu buns (middle) and har gow (right).

14.00 / ESCALATION

The 800m long Central Mid Escalator

I walked A LOT over 15 hours, but I couldn’t miss a ride on the Central Mid escalator. It may not look like much but it is (drumroll) the longest outdoor covered escalator system in the world, covering a distance of 800m and an elevation of 135m.

14.22 / WHAT A TART

Inside the Tai Cheung Bakery
Ready to eat my egg custard tart

In the name of food, I got off the escalator early to visit the famous Tai Cheong bakery for an egg custard tart. They’re loved by many Hong Kongers and the last Governor of Hong Kong, Chris Patten, is a big fan. (Ssh, I do prefer Portuguese pastel de nata tarts, but Hong Kong’s egg tarts come a proud second).

14.37 / YOU HAVE TO WANDER

Next door to the Sheung Wan Market
Sheung Wan district
Street art
Street art
Brooklyn Bar and Grill
Brooklyn Bar and Grill
A second hand shop
A second hand shop
A mosaic showing one of Hong Kong's famous 'junk' sailing ships
A mosaic showing one of Hong Kong’s famous ‘junk’ sailing ships
Approaching Man Mo Temple
Approaching Man Mo Temple
Fabric shopping in the Sheung Wan Market

I loved the streets around the Mid-Levels and Sheung Wan areas of Hong Kong. Bars and street art collide with temples and indoor markets.

15.31 / TIME FOR A TEMPLE

Incense inside the Man Mo Temple
Lanterns inside the Man Mo Temple
Incense and lanterns at the Man Mo Temple

Man Mo Temple. My first temple in Asia. Heady in the humidity. Transfixing.

16.19 / THE PAST IS A CEREMONY

A 1st July dance event

I was in Hong Kong on 1st July, which was the day Britain gave Hong Kong up to China in 1997. I had expected that there would be some events, but I also knew that many Hong Kongers wouldn’t necessarily see this day as a cause for celebration… quite a few people were watching this dance ceremony, but I would describe the reception as fairly muted.

17.01 / A WEE TRAM

Inside one of Hong Kong's trams

Although I can’t say with much certainty that it was necessarily worth waiting 30 minutes for, I took a little trip on one of Hong Kong’s trams. The wait time was perhaps indicative of the decline of this form of public transport. Or maybe trams don’t operate much on a Sunday!

17.27 / STAR TURN

Approaching my Star Ferry in Victoria Harbour

The Star Ferry Company was founded in 1888, originally named the Kowloon Ferry Company. And it was to Kowloon I was headed, from Victoria Harbour.

18.33 / PARKING

Whitfield Barracks at Kowloon Park

For a lot of people, Kowloon is most closely associated with its Walled City, a densely populated city within a city that by 1990 housed over 50,000 people in crowded, unsafe conditions. Though it was demolished in 1993-94, the site of the walled city dates back to the Song Dynasty (960-1279) when an outpost was created to oversee the salt trade. In its place, sprawling Kowloon Walled City Park.

Time starved as I was, however, I was content to visit the much closer in Kowloon Park. Pictured, one of the buildings that was formerly part of the Whitfield Barracks that were built for the British Indian garrisons in the late 19th Century.

19.08 / IN TIME FOR SUNSET

A Star Ferry in Victoria Harbour
The water around Kowloon and Victoria Harbour
Sunset over Hong Kong

Back onboard a Star Ferry, the skies looked moody as we retraced the route to Victoria Harbour. I didn’t think the sun would emerge, but it did!

19.19 / BIRDSONG

Walking along Victoria Harbour

The view back over to Kowloon, on my way to dinner. I remember being serenaded by trees full of birds, as I walked along the harbour. I didn’t’t spot them, but I could hear their competing songs.

19.47 / GIVE ME ALL THE DIM SUM

Dim sum at Michelin-starred Tim Ho Wnan

It was time again for dim sum. Specifically, Tim Ho Wan in the IFC Mall for Michelin-starred banquet. The place was heaving but I didn’t have to wait long as I was on my own.

I’m confident with chopsticks but it was still daunting, sat round a shared table next to eight strangers, with plates of slippery dim sum arriving out of the kitchen, from meat-stuffed aubergine to beef balls with bean curd. But as soon as I noticed that everyone was eating just as messily as me, I eased up and enjoyed myself.

20.40 / BACK ON THE WATER

Victoria Harbour at night
Victoria Harbour at night

Some might deem two journeys on the Star Ferry time enough time already on the water. Not me. And I knew just the place for an aperitif.

21.08 / ALL THAT GLITTERS

The exterior of the Peninsula Hotel in Kowloon
The outside of the Peninsula Hotel earlier in the day
Cocktail and snacks in one of the Peninsula's bars

I blame Michael Palin for my expensive tastes.

In his first ever travel programme, Around The World in 80 Days, he stayed at the Peninsula Hotel in Kowloon in 1988. Offered Champagne during a complimentary car ride over to the hotel (at 9am in the morning), he was shown to his room, complete with a well-stocked bar. It all looked so grand and unobtainable. As Palin reflected:

Inside, one enters a palace. A rich, glittering reminder that whatever excess the rest of the world can offer, Hong Kong will cap it.

And thus I couldn’t resist a glimmering visit to one of the hotel’s cocktail bars open to non-residents. Rather quiet (it was a Sunday after all), but I had plenty of time before my flight to relax. Time enough as I sipped my cocktail to contemplate whether I had any space for snacks. (And yes, reader, I can report that I took the little Peninsula olive stick home with me).

23.33 / TIME TO SAY FAREWELL

Stephen the Lion at night

Before I left for the airport, I went in search of cash. On a route that conveniently took me back past Stephen the Lion, for a final goodbye.

I would be returning to Hong Kong for an even shorter time on my way back from Japan, but that’s another story for another day.

———

NEXT WEEK: a family holiday to a country at a momentous time in its history.

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Slow ways over highways

I arrived back in England last week following more than five weeks adventuring in Scotland, and I’m slowly getting back to the indoors groove again. And on the theme of going slow…

In the past week you may have read in the news about a project called Slow Ways. It was started by self-described guerilla geographer and creative explorer Daniel Raven-Ellison, who wants to (re)connect walking footpaths and trails between villages, towns and cities across the entirety of the United Kingdom.

I signed up recently to help test a few slow ways around Somerset and Dorset, and you can sign up too if you’re interested.

I get that there are lots of benefits to using a car. I’ve spent the past six weeks finding ways to get around without one, sometimes wishing I could drive already!

But I also know how enriching the experience of walking is. Even as cars sail right on past you…

Walking is great

Footprints in the sand
  1. You see and appreciate so much more when you are on foot

If it takes you 3 hours to walk on a footpath to a destination that takes 15 minutes by car on a road, you’re going to see 2 hours 45 minutes more of the world around you, and that’s the beauty of anything slow. You’re going slow enough to really see where you are.

  1. There’s a walk (and a walking speed) for every mood

Coasts, fields, woods, beaches, town perimeters, parks, hills and mountains. Footpaths just off roads and paths that are roads; trails that are long and straight, twisty and labyrinthine, short and steep. Taken at brisk, measured, glacial, speedy, heart-pounding, lazy, hurtling speeds.

Even just writing those words I’m conjuring up some of the walks of the past year in my mind, all so different from one another. What every good walk has in common though is that it is just what you wanted at that moment; you find a new corner of your neighbourhood, you managed to work through a problem on your mind or you whiled away a blue sky afternoon somewhere unexpected. Or maybe you discover that you only want to walk there once in your life!

  1. You can stop whenever you want (and usually not cause a pile up)

Of course you can pull over in your car to marvel at a landscape, a view, outside the car windows. Road trips aren’t just about the road. But you’re unlikely to stop as many times as you are free to stop and observe while walking or hiking.

  1. You are more likely to have a walking trail to yourself than a road

And when you do, it’s marvellous! No slowing down to let a hill runner squelch by, no speeding up to overtake a band of walkers to retake the horizon for yourself. Just wandering and wondering, with all of the panorama to yourself.

  1. Walking is healthier than most of us think

I get why running is so popular, but it’s not for me. If I want to exercise and I can’t get to a tennis court or a gym, I’ll go for a fast walk.

Walking doesn’t get lots of kudos for its health benefits but numerous studies show that walking (quickly or otherwise) for 30 minutes a day has all sorts of positive effects, including reducing the risk of heart disease, diabetes and high cholesterol as well as boosting your immune system. This recent article from Women’s Health lists more benefits besides.

  1. Rarely is a walk just a walk

Spring is blending into summer as you cross the unmistakable aroma of wild garlic in woodland. Scan upwards in June, on the look out for fronds of elderflower, pale and lemony in colour. August appears and the blackberries are ripening, the apples on trees calling to be scrumped.

A feather just off the path from a collared dove long flown. A deer through a doorway in the trees, certain she’s alone. Dew-baubled leaves and spiderwebs greasy with last night’s mists.

Leave the car behind

  1. The Culloden Battlefield Trail

By the main road to Culloden Battlefield, there is a 4.5km trail that takes in the woodland around the Culloden battlefield site that’s owned by National Trust for Scotland.

Most visitors to the battlefield will drive there, but you can get a bus part way and then follow the main road uphill until you get to an edge of the woodland trail, part of which meanders over to the battlefield entrance.

The woodland around Culloden Battlefield

It’s a classic Scottish woodland of pines, spruce and fir, draped throughout in heather. Properly peaceful.

Trail marker

On the markers and boards, poetry and information is written in Gaelic and English. Words carry beauty too, after all.

  1. Hardy’s Wessex

I’m pretty lucky to be smack bang in the middle of Hardy’s Wessex. Thomas Hardy wrote Return of the Native five miles away in Sturminster Newton. The popular seaside town of Weymouth, much visited during school holidays, was Budmouth in many of Hardy’s novels, from Far From the Madding Crowd to Under the Greenwood Tree. And he located the Mayor of Casterbridge in Dorchester, where he lived for most of his life.

Max Gate, built by Hardy and lived in for 42 years is where he wrote one of my favourite books, Tess of the D’urbervilles. It’s around 3 miles from his birthplace, Hardy’s Cottage. Lots of people drive to both National Trust properties in one day, but you can’t really get a bus between the two. So naturally I’ve done what any Hardy heroine would, and walked down roads, over bridges, by fields and through woods to get from one to the other.

Swans in Hardy's Wessex

On a sunny day especially, the rivers and the fields have an awakening gleam to them. Hardy was a big walker, and would have seen these scenes as he conjured up the fates of his milkmaids, furze (gorse) cutters, curates and wronged lovers.

River and bridge in Hardy's Wessex

A view from and to a bridge en route to Hardy’s Cottage. Best viewed on foot or bike.

A redwood tree

The closer you get to Hardy’s Cottage, the more the landscape veils itself over you. Giant redwood trees tower, furze surrounds and hollows scoop. Until at last…

View over to Hardy's Cottage outside Dorchester

Hardy’s Cottage. Still a sweet sight 25 years after my first visit.

  1. Luskentyre Beach, Isle of Harris in the Outer Hebrides

To get onto the beach, you walk on the same road as the cars. One by one, they all pass you by. And they’ll all get to the beach faster than you, but they won’t stop to spot the little things.

Blue shell

Tiny blue shells like this (and their inhabitants) were strewn in the grass on the way to Luskentyre Beach.

An opening in the dunes at Luskentyre Beach in Harris

The dunes are extensive – and they get quite high towards the end, so be prepared to jump down!

Sand, sea and sky at Luskentyre Beach in Harris

Luskentyre Beach is vast and it takes a long time for the tide to go out. The sand is the gorgeous colour it is because it’s made from shells, not rocks. With the beach as your footpath, you can create some new sand, crunching shells underfoot.

Walking back along Luskentyre Beach on Harris
  1. Dunvegan
view over to the MacLeod Tables hills

Most people who stay on Skye will visit Dunvegan Castle, it’s one of the premier attractions. Though the castle interiors are closed this year, the historic gardens are still open.

Without a car to tie you down, you can extend your visit by heading for the Druim na creige hill for a walk that has great views of the MacLeod Tables, two flat top hills named after the clan who have called Dunvegan home for over 800 years.

And if you end the walk in Dunvegan village then you should enjoy a drink at The Dunvegan (if it’s allowed) before the next bus arrives. Slowly.

Sign up to Slow Ways here

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Shetland’s love affair with wool

This weekend should have been the start of the 11th annual Shetland Wool Week here in the island’s capital Lerwick. It has instead gone digital due to Covid. I had no idea such a week existed – until yesterday when I stepped into a peti knitting shop called Jamieson’s.

My mum has always been the knitter in the family, making clothes for me and my brother growing up and knitting herself a dazzling wardrobe of jumpers, cardigans, scarves, hats and mittens over the years.

By total contrast, I’ve never thought I really suit jumpers, and I don’t know how to knit. I just about managed two rows of a blue woollen scarf once, before mum had to step in.

Even so, as we entered Jamieson’s, closing the door on 40mph winds, I could tell we’d walked into knitwear Mecca. A colour kaleidoscope of a sweet shop consisting entirely of wool.

Scroll on for a photo story of my initiation into Shetland’s wonderful world of wool.

Spools of Jamieson’s colourful wools

Shetland, and Fair Isle especially, is famed for its wool production, its knitters and its knitwear. There are Shetland sheep all over the islands, an ancient breed that produces very fine wool. It was only a few years ago that knitting was taken off school curriculums.

Jamieson’s bag

Jamieson’s has been the leading player in the Shetland wool industry for a long time, launching as a business in 1893. Every item of clothing or spool of wool they make has been produced from yarns they’ve spun themselves from the fleeces of their flocks of these ancient sheep.

A Fair Isle patterned hooded jumper
A Fair Isle patterned vest jumper

Using a mixture of natural-coloured wools and dyed wools with names like Yell Sound Blue, Aubretia and Peat, they produce intricately patterned classic jumper styles, and also headbands, gloves and beanie hats.

My new chunky knit jumper
Me wearing my chunky knit jumper

Remember Sarah Lund in Danish drama The Killing? As I scanned rows and rows of knitwear at Jamieson’s, it seems I was destined to channel her Scandi jumper-toting style with this chunky knit number. It was a perfect fit.

Knitting in a Fair Isle jumper

Not to be left out, my mum treated herself to a hooded cardigan jumper, knitted in the Fair Isle style.

What actually is Fair Isle? The use of colour isn’t necessarily different to other styles of knitting, but the styles of patterns that are most associated with Fair Isle originated there, 67 miles from the Shetland mainland. While they share similarities with Scandinavian tradition, Fair Isle jumpers are entirely in a league of their own I think.

Royal fun fact: this painting of Prince Edward, Duke of Windsor from 1925 made Fair Isle famous.

Jamieson’s gloves
Jamieson’s Fair Isle accessories

Accessories. Hard to resist accessories when they look like this! I felt they were necessary to brighten the harsh winter ahead.

The Shetland Textile Museum

Riding high from our successful shopping spree, we made for the other main Lerwick knitwear landmark, the Shetland Textile Museum.

Looking just a bit unassuming, this building on the northern edge of Lerwick was originally an 18th Century fishing böd (or booth).

It houses some fascinating and beautiful objects, and the museum has over 600 objects in its collection.

Plaque at the Shetland Textile Museum

The böd was the birthplace in 1792 of the co-founder of P&O, Arthur Anderson.

Another royal fun fact: on her coronation in 1838, Anderson gave Queen Victoria a pair of Shetland wool lace stockings. She liked them so much that she ordered 12 more pairs, sparking a significant trend among the wealthy for such wool items and greatly increasing Shetland wool sales.

Loom from the front
Loom and rug
Loom and outfits

This loom on display was given to the museum five years ago. It was owned and used by the company TM Adie and Sons, and by members of the Jamieson family.

At its most basic, a loom holds the threads that go into making an item of clothing or soft furnishing, weaving them quicker than human hands can.

Iris rug
Gloves
Knitted berets

Here are a few of the items on display I liked the most. An iris rug, some natty gloves and lots of woolly berets.

My mum knitting

After seeing all the great knitting on show, my mum was inspired to pick up her knitting project for the first time in our trip.

My chunky knit jumper laid out
Close up of neck pattern

So I’m a knitwear convert now.

I love my chunky knit jumper and my gloves. They will serve me warmly over many future winters, and the expert, loving way they’ve been made tells me that Shetland’s wool industry is only going to keep growing.

But I won’t just be taking woolly souvenirs home with me from Shetland. I’m also inspired to take up knitting when I get back.

Jamieson’s needn’t lose any sleep though!

———

Inspired to pick up some knitting needles too? Browse Shetland Wool Week’s programme of digital events here.

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Ten things I’ve learned about Orkney

On 10th September we set sail for one of the UK’s more remote spots, the Orkney Islands.

Though situated only about ten miles from the Scottish mainland, Orkney has a Scandinavian past that makes most native Orcadians a quarter Norwegian.

Since arriving we’ve had a crash course in life on the Orkney Islands, as we’ve walked its coasts, wandered its towns and dodged its many cows.

A day on from sailing away, here are ten things I learned about life on Orkney:

1. Orkney’s flag is similar to Norway’s flag

The Orkney flag
Orkney flag windows in central Kirkwall
Orkney flag-coloured windows in
central Kirkwall

Norse people settled on the islands from around the 8th Century and Orkney was ruled by the Norwegian kingdom for 600 years.

The islands were a sort of Viking HQ, a base for raids elsewhere in Scotland.

Though rulers and raiders had such enigmatic names as Thorfinn Skull-splitter, and King Eric Bloodaxe, archaeology tells that us that the most common occupation for Vikings was farming – and one look at Orkney’s farmland tells you what a prize it must have been.

Norwegian rule wound down after 1468 when the islands were given to the Scottish Crown as part of a marriage dowry.

Orkney’s Viking age is told in the Orkneyinga Saga, a 12th Century narrative that was written in Iceland. There’s a saga centre in Orphir on the mainland, though sadly it will remain closed until 2021.

2. Hitchhiking is a no-go, for now

The road to Burwick on South Ronaldsay in Orkney
The road to Burwick on South Ronaldsay in Orkney

Before arriving we’d read that Orcadians often stop for walkers and offer them lifts.

We knew right now this wouldn’t be so common, there being a pandemic and all, but after a 6.5 mile walk down the main road on South Ronaldsay, found no drivers willing to stop – and that was completely understandable, even before the latest round of government restrictions. With a second wave imminent, it will be that way for some time to come.

Tired as we were (our coastal walk after the road hike was 10 miles!) I reckon we saw more of Orkney in those few extra hours than drivers zipping about from A to B get to see.

3. Don’t trust the grass

Grass on the Orkney coast

Perhaps it’s mysterious Orkney voles, unfinished drainage works, or escaping cows causing damage but I’ve learned the hard way that even innocently flat-looking patches of grass must be viewed with utmost suspicion in Orkney.

Within hours of walking South Ronaldsay’s roadsides, I tripped twice and my brother fell over hidden animal burrows; a few hours later l fell into a massive, shoulder high hole that had been completely imperceptible (until I fell in). Luckily I escaped with just a few grazes!

What’s more, sometimes the grass doesn’t even look real – like the fields of epic long grass we’ve spotted near the sea, smoothed by the wind as it grows (see entry number seven).

4. Cows are a-plenty

Everybody needs good neighbours

Where to start with the cows? They are quite literally everywhere. You cannot pop to Co-op for a loaf of bread or glance out of the window without noticing a field of cows somewhere nearby, lolling and munching.

As it turns out, Orkney has the highest density of cattle in Europe – up to 30,000 of them.

And with great density comes sometimes uncomfortable proximity.

Caught in the act (see my GIF, above), our neighbouring field of cows one morning escaped opposite our cottage near Stromness and proceeded on a jolly. They were eventually herded back that morning by a very subdued farmer, only for his sheep to escape the next day.

And of another memorable moment of bovine behaviour, let me just describe the moments before I fell down that hole I told you about:

A small coastal country lane, barely wide enough to fit a Ford Ka. On either side, two fields of cows, both alike in mafia-style indignity, their clans’ respective bulls braying, snorting and maddeningly mooing at each other. Leaning as far over their barbed wire fences as they possibly can, leaving very little space on the lane. We stand before this scene, frozen.

I beg my brother to change our course, try another route. The cows start to jump around, turning themselves into two story cows. They don’t seem to see us but I figure that’s because we haven’t walked directly into their crosshairs – yet.

I plead again, ‘let’s go back to the coast path, it’s a longer route, but who cares!’

My brother, getting his shit together, looks again at a nearby path with DO NOT ENTER signs across it – it swerves away from the cows and, he realises, is accessible to walkers.

Hallelujah!

In my relief, I jostle onto the flat grassy verge at the start of our new path…. and fall down a ruddy great hole.

5. There’s no shortage of seals either

Seals off the coast of South Ronaldsay
Four seal blobs

Both harbour and grey seals can be in the waters around Orkney.

Best observed in harbours or bays, they look like grey-coloured buoys, placid in the water as they survey its contents, before bobbing under to hunt.

On one walk, we saw over 20 seals on a 10 mile stretch of coastline, and I’m sure there were many more gliding around undetected.

6. Magnus means a lot

St Magnus Cathedral, Kirkwall

Magnus Erlendsson was an Earl of Orkney, born in 1080. He actually jobshared with his cousin Håkon Paulsson, who was envious of his greater popularity.

So envious in fact that he had his cook murder Magnus c1117 on the island of Egilsay.

This led to what I would describe as Medieval Magnus Mania in Orkney, something his cousin likely didn’t appreciate.

A church was built on Egilsay to commemorate the slain earl, he was made a saint a few years later and his nephew Earl Rognvald arranged for the building of St Magnus Cathedral in Kirkwall (pictured), still completely stunning today and unique in its style and origins from other Scottish churches.

Today, visitors can walk the St Magnus Way, a 55 mile pilgrimage route around other sites of interest in the St Magnus story.

7. It gets windy

Nature’s tumble dryer

So windy, Orcadians use hardcore pegs to hang washing outside and have it not blow away. Sadly they can have cloth-ripping consequences for certain undergarments as the pegs are difficult (and painful) to take off. So long, faithful M&S pants…

8. Neolithic history is everywhere to be found

Some of the Neolithic houses at Skara Brae
Skara Brae

And it is stunning!

Many of the Neolithic sites so far uncovered on Orkney are thought to have been built or erected before the Egyptian Pyramids, or even Stonehenge. Despite a Norse influence on most place names and 600 years of Norwegian rule, the extent and complexity of Neolithic life on Orkney has been steadily revealed thanks to continued archaeological efforts.

Here are my top picks, based on what’s open right now:

Skara Brae

Skara Brae Neolithic village

Europe’s best-preserved Neolithic settlement. You need to book in advance at the moment to be able to visit (adult £7) and Historic Scotland could really use the support. It’s run really well, the houses are fascinating to walk around and pore over, and the beach just behind is wonderful for a stroll. The southern half of the bay is popular with surfers, too.

Fun fact: in its heyday, the beach would not have been so close, but erosion has created the bay. Inhabitants would instead have had supplies of fresh water from now-disappeared lochs and lochans (small lochs).

The Brodgar Stone Circle

The Brodgar Stone Circle

Part of an RSPB Reserve, the stone circle as it is now features 35 of the original 60 standing stones. Pre-dating Stonehenge by a few hundred years, Brodgar is at the heart of Neolithic Orkney.

The Standing Stones of Stenness

One of the Standing Stones of Stenness

There aren’t too many of them standing anymore, but you’ll find a small circle inland and a few opposite by Stenness.

One of the loveliest views on the island is just up-road, looking back down towards Stenness, with Brodgar in the distance. The proximity of these two ceremonial sites really shows how important the area was in Neolithic times. History right before your eyes.

Barnhouse Settlement

Barnhouse Settlement in Orkney
Part of the Barnhouse Settlement, with Harray Loch behind it

Just behind the Stenness stones is Barnhouse Settlement. It doesn’t get much press compared to Skara Brae, and we were the only visitors I could see, but its a pretty spot overlooking Loch Harray, with a chance to spot resident swans and otters (if you’re lucky).

Tomb of the Eagles

The entrance to the Tomb of the Eagles

Go mostly for the great coastal walking, as although you can see the outside of the tomb, you can’t get into it at the moment.

Fun fact: although originally named Isbister Chambered Cairn, it changed name after a book called Tomb of the Eagles was published, on account of sea eagle skeletons found inside, along with 16,000 human bones.

There are also many other brilliant sites dotted about on the Orkney Islands that you just pass here and there on walks. And many that sadly aren’t open at the moment, like the Maeshowe tomb near Stenness, with its epic stature and ancient graffiti.

9. Kirkwall hosts a barmy annual sport called a ‘ba’

A display on the game of ba in the Orkney Museum
A display on The ba game at the Orkney Museum in Kirkwall

It not being Christmas or New Year’s Day, I don’t have a first hand account of this frenzied sport, but the lovely Orkney Museum in Kirkwall (currently open Tuesdays, Thursdays & Fridays) has a display all about it, alongside numerous ba balls earned by various Uppie or Doonie victors.

Uppies and Doonies? They are two teams of Kirkwall men from either the Uppie or Doonie halfs of the town. They meet twice each year on Christmas and New Year to pass (well, fight) a ba ball from Kirkwall’s Merket Cross in the centre towards their respective sides of town. Victoria Street for the Uppies and Albert Street for the Doonies.

Five facts about The ba:

⁃ Some say there’s been a ba played in Kirkwall since Viking times.

⁃ A women’s ba match took place on Christmas Day in 1945, won by the festively named Barbara Yule. They also played a New Year’s Day match, which was the second and last game to be played by women. Too much of a good thing?

– A boys ba takes place at 10am, for under fifteens. The shortest ba took only four minutes, while the longest six hours.

⁃ In the men’s ba, consumption of alcohol is a key element of proceedings.

⁃ It has been known to regularly go on for many hours, potentially related to the previous point.

10. It is impossible to take a bad photo on Hoy

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48 hours in Inverness

** As of Monday 14th September, the ‘rule of six’ has come into effect across Scotland, meaning that no more than six people across two households can meet up (with some exceptions such as sports activities and church services). So it almost goes without saying that some of my below recommendations may now be subject to the change in rules. However, so long as you’re sticking to the rules and you’re not, for example, travelling in a group of 30 from 10 different households, you ought to be ok. **

Hello from the Scottish Highlands!

I’m writing this on my iPhone from my top bunk in the Cairngorm Lodge Scottish Youth Hostel – My brother having won the coin toss for the lower bunk…

It’s great to be back in a Youth Hostel, we spent many family holidays in them around the UK and Europe, and in 2018 I spent a memorable night in the Hi Hostel on Lantau Island, Hong Kong, on the edge of jungle. Bugs, so many bugs!

The first week of our Scottish adventure has changed around somewhat, as adventures can do.

We had planned to spend a week traversing the North Coast 500 (‘Scotland’s Route 66’) from Ullapool, gateway to the Outer Hebrides, round to Thurso, then to take a ferry from wonderfully named Scrabster to Stromness on Orkney.

But, partly due to some spanners in the public bus network (one short transfer was going to cost £94 for private hire), we decided perhaps it’s best done another year.

Instead, we were lucky enough to spend the weekend in lovely Inverness, the largest city in the Highlands.

And I thought I would share a few recommendations of things to do and see, whether you plan to visit in the future, or just pass through on the way to your own adventure.

A stay at the Crown Guest Hotel

The Crown Guest Hotel
Courtesy of Crown Guest Hotel

Rooms feature tartan touches, nice furniture and art on the walls. A night in a family room is a bargain £65 on booking.com. Note they’re not serving breakfast at the moment, but I’m told that Rendezvous Cafe does a whacking great Scottish breakfast, Comfort Foods has a vegan breakfast and Girvans do lovely brunches.

The hotel is near the Inverness Castle and you can pass it on your way down to the Ness River.

Ness Islands walk

Ness islands

Inverness, from the Gaelic Inbhir Nis, means mouth of the Ness. It’s quite a short river, 6 miles in length, flowing from Loch Ness through to Loch Dochfour.

I learned that because the Ness River has a glacial origin, meaning that there was a big catchment of water when the river was formed, it discharges a huge amount of water, one of the highest rates of any river in the UK, explaining why it’s quite fast flowing.

And the glacial origin is part of the reason for the Nessie monster myth – Loch Ness is a staggering 400m deep! Perfect for hiding monsters, real or imagined.

St Andrew’s Cathedral

A good place to start is St Andrew’s Cathedral closer to town, worth a peek inside if you have time, and there’s a labyrinth cut into the grass outside too. If you continue past the Cathedral along that side, after about 20 minutes you’ll come to a small white bridge that takes you over to the Ness Islands.

A Dolphin Spirit tour

Out with our Dolphin Spirit tour guide
Not a dolphin

Whether you see dolphins or not (and we didn’t, sob), a Dolphin Spirit tour is a beautiful way to spend 75 minutes, gliding along the Moray Firth.

If you’re lucky with calm waters or even a bit of sunshine, and you choose a time closer to high tide coming in, you’ll stand the best chance. So I’d recommend the 1pm slot.

Coming back from the Moray Firth
There are seals in this photo but you might need a telescope

We saw harbour and grey seals lolling on rocks, swimming like otters (who are also around, though we didn’t see them), cormorants stretching their wings Batman-like, lovely gannets gliding by in the light breeze, oyster catchers and sandwich terns among other birds.

A detour to Cromarty

Signs on the hundred steps walk

Cromarty is a lovely little town right on the top of the Black Isle peninsula.

About a 40 min drive from Inverness (or a scenic hour on the 26a bus), it’s got pretty cafes, art galleries and shops, a lighthouse (used by Aberdeen university to chart marine life and birds in the area).

A beautiful donations box at East Church
Nicest donation box I think I’ve ever seen.

I especially loved Cromarty’s East Church, a historic parish church under the care of the Scottish Redundant Churches Trust.

A church has been on the site for over 700 years and in its heyday in the 1700s services were so popular that a new wing had to be added, the north aisle.

Out from Cromarty headland
A World War One bunker
A damselfly on heather

With really lovely views of Cromarty Firth and out to the North Sea, the Hundred Steps Walk is a must-do if you have a couple of hours to spend in Cromarty.

It takes you along the headland – called the Sutors of Cromarty – through beautiful woodland, up lots of steps (more than 100 I felt!) and along quaint little bridges.

Detour to Chanonry Point

Chanonry Point

Anyone wanting to increase the chance of seeing the famous Moray Firth dolphins should head to Chanonry Point.

It’s on the way back from Cromarty, or else around 20-30 mins from Inverness.

There are no guarantees (as I say, we didn’t see any, sadly) as dolphins are wild creatures, but you’ve got a wonderful vantage point, and a chance of seeing seals and sea birds like terns, if not dolphins.

Fixed price menus at The Mustard Seed and Contrast Brasserie

A meal at the Mustard Seed Restaurant
Courtesy of The Mustard Seed Restaurant

Inverness loves a fixed price menu, and two of the best can be found at The Contrast Brasserie at the Glenmoriston Townhouse and The Mustard Seed

I can vouch for the Contrast Brasserie’s salmon supreme, cooked to absolute perfection and served with basmati rice, cream and plenty of steamed green veggies and crispy kale.

We went to Contrast Brasserie on a Sunday when only the a la carte is available but on weekdays the fixed price menu is £17.95 for two courses, featuring local meat, fish and other produce.

Over at The Mustard Seed Restaurant, a bright yellow converted church, their early evening menu runs 7 days a week and two courses are a bargainous £14.95.

A picnic and a wander round Culloden

Entrance to Culloden

Culloden. Know what happened? It was a decisive loss in 1746 by the (mostly Scottish) Jacobite army against British government forces that ended the Jacobite rebellion – one that hoped to have the Stuart heir Charles Edward Stuart on the throne instead of the Hanoverian George II. Charles Stuart, better known as Bonnie Prince Charlie, was the Catholic grandson of the Catholic King James II who had reigned Britain for only two years after his brother King Charles II died. He had escaped on a boat to live the rest of his life in exile in France – and it was pretty much the same fate for the Bonnie Prince, after Culloden.

A memorial cairn to clans lost at the battle of Culloden

Culloden Battlefield is owned by National Trust for Scotland and it costs £11/£9.50 to go round the exhibition or else it’s free to explore the heather-filled moorland yourself. If the weather is even vaguely good, there are picnic tables outside the centre, before you walk round. There are a few signs dotted about, or audio guides for exhibition ticket holders, but Wikipedia actually has a really good rundown of the battle, if you’re self-guiding as we were.

Moorlnd of the Culloden battlefield

It is hard at times to imagine that such a peaceful place could be the same place where 1,500-2,000 Jacobites died or were wounded, in the space of an hour. But, lack of bogs aside, NTS have maintained the moor much as it would have existed back in the 1700s, as farm land for highland cattle. The cows are still there, as too are some wild goats.

A memorial stone to clans lost at the battle of Culloden

If you’re not already a member, I highly recommend getting National Trust for Scotland membership. They have struggled through the pandemic, and need all the help they can get. I’ve been a member for a few years and it’s cheaper than National Trust, but you get the same access to all National Trust properties in the UK, and it costs £61.20 for a year compared to £72. NTS also handily let you pay monthly instead of a bigger sum annually.

So, why should you go to Inverness, in a nutshell? Much of Inverness’s charms may lie on the outskirts or on day trips, but the Ness River is surely one of Europe’s prettiest city rivers, and a stay nearby is a brilliant way to kick off a Scottish holiday – or adventure.

Any highlights you think should be in the guide? Let me know below!

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Food Travels: From Home

Buen Provecho. Buon Appetito. God appetit.

I’ve missed hearing those words said over delicious meals at faraway tables. I live for many things when I travel, but exploring new cuisines and trying bold, unusual flavours is the most satisfying thing about any trip – and most days revolve around what to eat, where to go and when.

Although lockdown living stopped travel in its tracks, it didn’t stop my food travels.

It has been really satisfying cooking new cuisines and making staples completely from scratch like pasta and bread, as well as revelling in making slower food, over days or even weeks.

In the first of what I hope will become a series, I’d like to share a starter, main and pudding from three different countries, considering their origin and cultural importance, alongside my takes on tried and tested recipes from favourite chefs and bakers.

Hungry? Here we go!

For starters

Empanadas

Origins

Recipes have been found for empanadas as early as around 1520, including in a Catalan cookbook, using a seafood filling. Though the Moorish influence in Spain may have brought about their creation, most people associate the street food with Argentina, where they are practically a national dish.

The word is derived from the Spanish word empanar meaning ‘enbreaded’, or encased.

Street food faves

Argentina would be the obvious country to visit for some authentic empanadas, but closer to home you’ll find Argentinian expats sharing their love for this portable snack, at Porteña in Borough Market (my fave is cheese and ham and you can get 3 for £6.60); or, at La Fabrica in Barcelona’s medieval quarter, they serve a dizzying number of fillings, from classic (including beef or spinach) to contemporary (think tahini tofu or spicy tuna).

Sticking with the theme though…

Bake your own batch of empanadas

Makes 14-16

Pastry:
I use this Jamie Oliver recipe for my pastry and then make up 500g of my own fillings. To make an egg-free pastry, try this recipe, scaled up as needed.

Filling ideas:

Chorizo and potato – boil some new potatoes whole (until they are just cooked), cool them in cold water and then dice them. Dice your chosen chorizo and fry with a little tomato puree on a medium heat. After the oil starts to ooze, add the potatoes and a few pinches of paprika and seasoning and stir frequently until everything is well coated in chorizo oil and piping hot. If you want to add some spice, use spicy paprika, or add some chopped fresh red chilli near the end.

Mushroom and two cheese – mix together some cubed feta or Wensleydale with grated cheddar, or mozzarella (or any cheese / vegan alternative you fancy). Set aside while you fry sliced chestnut, field or halved button mushrooms in a healthy glug of olive oil, a crushed and chopped clove of garlic (or some finely chopped red onion) and a pinch of saffron or pinches of paprika. Add the cheese and melt into the mushrooms. Season.

Minced pork and onions – season your pork mince with salt and pepper, paprika, cumin and saffron if you have it. Mix. Thinly slice red and brown onions, frying on a low heat with a pinch of sugar and drop of water to caramelise a bit. Add the pork mince and stir on a medium heat until the mince is thoroughly cooked. Drain any excess fat.

Then just add 1-2 tablespoons of filling mixture to each cut round of pastry (use biscuit cutters), brush the remaining surface of each disc with egg or water and fold over. Crimp by pressing down on the half moon edges with a fork. Brush with the remaining egg, or some milk or water.

Bake in a 190°C (170°C fan) oven for 25-30 minutes.

The Main

Stracci pasta in a sausage and butternut squash sauce

Stracci, what?

Pronounced stratchy, this pasta is quite different from the refined ribbons of tagliatelle or fettuccine, and the careful construction of ravioli. The word stracci literally means ‘rags’ or ‘tattered’, the idea being that the pasta shapes are roughly cut, almost torn, from a sheet of pasta, in random sizes.

It’s the kind of pasta that works brilliantly with ragù-style chunky sauces.

Origins

Of the 350+ different pasta shapes in the world (I’m discounting the Heinz ones shaped like Peppa the Pig), Stracci pasta isn’t very well known and so it’s not easy to pinpoint where it originates from.

It’s fair to assume, however, that it has a grounding in peasant cooking – as does so much of Italian cuisine.

And the origins of pasta itself? You have to begin with noodles. The earliest known, a type of noodle made from millet in China, dates from 2000 BCE, graduating by 700 CE to the kind of soft noodle we’d recognise today.

By 850 CE, the Arab world was experimenting with ground durum wheat which spread along the Iberian Peninsula. Durum wheat pasta as we might know it showed up in much-invaded Sicily by the 1100s.

The rest is history, I think we can safely say.

Fail-safe pasta dough
Using a Gennaro Contaldo recipe

The first recipe I experimented with is now the only one I use! I was put off by other recipes calling for lots of egg yolks, which do add a richer flavour and colour, but seemed overkill to me. This recipe from Gennaro Contaldo is a great all rounder, super quick to make, using two eggs. It makes enough dough for 4 people to have a healthy portion of pasta for dinner, more if the dough is rolled thinner.

Follow Gennaro making the dough here.

Ingredients: 150g 00 pasta flour (or plain flour would suffice), 50g semolina (widely available, raises the gluten content in the dough), 2 medium eggs

Method:

Weigh and mix the flours, then crack the eggs and mix with a fork. Once the egg is binding to the flour and dough is forming, tip the dough and any flour not yet mixed in onto a clean surface and with clean hands knead the dough a little; stretch the dough using your fingertips and palms to work the gluten until all the flour is fully mixed in. Wrap the ball of dough in cling film or beeswax wrap and put in the fridge for 30 mins.

Notes: No oil or seasoning is added, though you can experiment with adding a little olive oil, or a touch of pepper if you like. I prefer to use the dough as soon as it’s made, but you can keep it in a dark coloured wrap for up to a week if you need to.

Then get rolling and sauce making!

Sausage and butternut squash sauce
From Jamie Cooks Italy

This sauce from Jamie Oliver is absolutely knock out. It is perfect for the stracci pasta and majorly moreish. For a plant-based alternative, you could cut pieces of veggie sausage and use a bit more oil as an alternative – the bay leaves and butternut squash are the quiet stars of the show.

Serves 4

Ingredients: olive oil, 8 fresh or dried bay leaves, 4 quality meat (or veggie) sausages, 1 onion, stick celery, 300g butternut squash, 1 tbsp red wine vinegar, 50g hard cheese, extra virgin olive oil.

Method:

Add the bay leaves and 2 tbsps of olive oil to and heavy bottomed frying pan, then squeeze out the meat from the sausage casings into the pan, using a wooden spoon to break the meat into lumps. Slow fry on a medium-low heat until lightly golden. (Beware of spitting fat as you stir). If using veggie sausages, get them to room temperature and slice, adding to plenty of olive oil in a pan to cook.

Roughly chop the onion, celery and peeled butternut squash into quite small chunks and add it all to the frying pan along with some black pepper. Turn the heat up to medium and stir every so often to keep it mixing and cook the butternut squash. Add the vinegar and some salt and keep it cooking away.

Meanwhile, roll out your pasta dough as thinly as you can – ideally 2mm but thicker will still taste great (keeping any unused pasta wrapped up to stop it drying out).

Use a pasta wheel or small knife to cut random shapes all along the pasta sheet – think rags or stained glass window shapes.

Cook in boiling water for a couple of minutes until the pasta rises, then use a slotted spoon to transfer your pasta over to the frying pan, allowing a good amount of starchy pasta water into the pan as well.

Grate over most of the cheese, add some extra virgin olive oil and mix well so the cheese melts before serving topped with the last of the cheese.

YUM.

Pud

Danish honey cake

About

Honey has been used in cooking far longer than sugar. The style of honey cake that Trine Hahnemann features in her wonderful book, Scandinavian Baking, is based on a kind of cake that’s been part of Scandi tradition for over 230 years.

The small Danish town of Christiansfeld (towards the south of the country, near the east coast) is the home of honey cake – including little hearts covered in chocolate.

The jury’s out on which bakery produces the best honey goodness, but there are four main bakeries offering their own takes, and Xocolatl is based on the site of the first bakery to produce them.

Recipe

I enjoyed making Trine’s delightfully sweet and earthy honey cake and if I made it again I would try her alternative suggestion of just baking the cake without adding buttercream or icing – it makes great toast apparently!

Ingredients:

For the cake: 100g butter plus more for the tin, 125g honey, 3 eggs, lightly beaten, 60g soft brown sugar, 275g plain flour1, ½ tsp bicarbonate of soda, 3 tsp ground cinnamon, 2 tsp ground ginger, 1 tsp ground cloves, 2 tbsp finely grated orange zest, 200g crème fraîche

For the buttercream: 250g butter, softened, 150g icing sugar, finely grated zest of 2 oranges

For the frosting (optional): 2 to 3 tbsp orange juice, 160g icing sugar, 1 tbsp finely grated orange zest (and some extra to sprinkle on top)

Method:

Preheat the oven to 180°C (160°C fan).

Butter a 30 x 11cm loaf tin (or similar) and line the bottom of the tin with buttered greaseproof paper, or baking parchment.

Melt the butter and honey in a saucepan and let cool a little. Meanwhile, in a separate bowl beat the eggs and brown sugar together with an electric mixer or hand whisk, until light and paler in colour.

Sift in the flour, bicarbonate of soda, and all the spices and fold in gently, then do the same with the honey mixture. Finally, fold in the zest and crème fraîche and pour into the prepared tin.

Bake for one hour. Insert a skewer into the middle of the cake to check if it emerges clean and when it does, take the cake out to cool on a wire rack.

While the cake bakes, make the buttercream in a small bowl – just beat all the ingredients until smooth. Cover and keep cold until you need it.

When the cake is cold, cut it horizontally into three with a serrated knife. Spread the buttercream on the bottom and middle layers, then reassemble the cake.

Mix all the ingredients for the frosting (if using) and spread it over the top.
Leave the frosting to set before serving.

I hope you enjoy these recipes as much as I have. And if you want to comment below with your favourite recipe from around the world, I will try and give it a go.

Sources:

https://www.greatbritishchefs.com/features/orgins-of-pasta

https://www.christiansfeldcentret.dk/en/the-history/honey-cakes-tiled-stoves

Featured

Travel in an age of travel shame

longer read (9-10 mins)

Anything to declare? Some travel shame perhaps?

I read a New York Times article recently, Shh! We’re heading on vacation, that probed the notion of travellers who normally post about their trips on social media staying silent for fear of being travel shamed by friends, family or strangers (thanks Twitter).

If you read the piece, you’ll note there’s perhaps a touch of irony in parts:

‘Aside from her husband and their two travel companions – and now, readers of the New York Times – Ms. Gaudino has no plans to tell anyone about her trip’.

Hopefully her friends aren’t that into the New York Times…

On a serious note though, how did so-called travel shaming come about and what place does it have in a pandemic? How do we travel (or view travelling) with a clear conscience right now?

Read on for my eight point ponder:

REMOTENESS

A remote corner of the world

During a call with friends in Washington D.C. the other day I mentioned my forthcoming Scottish adventure. I was very quick to emphasise that we would be travelling as remotely as public transport would allow us.

Pre-pandemic, this would be taken for what it is, a desire to get away from tourist hotspots. But there I was, not wanting to come across as naive to the risks of travelling during a pandemic.

I will freely admit that I felt slightly guilty to be admitting to travelling away from home (even within the UK) for a such a length of time, at this time.

Travel shame isn’t new, of course. It’s just morphed.

FLYGSKAM

A plane's turbine

In 2018 the ‘flygskam’ or ‘flight shame’ movement took off, championed by Swedes including Greta Thunberg’s mother, opera singer Malena Ernman. Broadly, it is a commitment to travel slower, by train or by boat for example, or to not travel at all, thereby exerting a lower carbon footprint.

On the more controversial side, it promotes the idea of flying as a shameful act, literally flying in the face of climate change. And what started in Scandinavia has had a large effect around the world.

At World Travel Market in London last November I recall the term mentioned at almost every event I attended. Many industry insiders considered flight shame a top consideration for travellers and a big worry for the aviation industry, months before the cataclysm of COVID-19 hit us.

For myself, I don’t really agree that criticising or shaming ordinary, sensible people is the best way to go about encouraging more responsible, collective action. And shaming the people who really don’t give a damn? Good luck to you!

In the sense that the two types of travel shame can be compared, it is understandable that for many of us our concern about travelling is not just whether it is actually safe enough (or carbon neutral), but what people will think of our choices.

QUARANTINING

Quarantine country checklist

Globally, according to John Hopkins University, the total number of COVID-19 cases stands at over 24.2 million (as of 26th August).

In the UK, a slowing of cases is challenged by increasingly familiar announcements of local lockdowns, as in Aberdeen and Manchester, and changes to the government’s list of air corridor countries that now require a spell of quarantine on return.

Particularly in the past few weeks we have seen hundreds of thousands of UK travellers return early from countries where cases have climbed: Spain, France, The Netherlands, Croatia, Trinidad and Tobago.

One holidaymaker who narrowly missed returning from France in time to avoid quarantining had this to say to The Guardian:

‘How does it make sense? Either you allow people proper time to stagger getting back or you say quarantine is effective immediately. A 12- or 24-hour deadline just means that 100,000 people rushed back one day earlier than us, they’re more high risk because of that, and we are in quarantine and they’re out in open spaces.’

Government mishandling of deadlines aside, there was always a certain inevitability that the creation of air corridors from the UK, a country with the 13th highest number of cases in the world, would lead to rocketing case rates in popular holiday destinations.

Despite the risks, UK tourists are highly sought after, as Portugal’s recent successful fight for an air corridor has shown. (Thinking of going? FYI Lisbon remains under tighter controls than the rest of the country, but Porto is a beautiful alternative for a weekend away, as this travel guide proves).

Given the obvious risks, what do people on both sides of the argument think?

OWN IT

Polaroid Camera

Speaking to the New York Times, Catharine Jones described spending a weekend away with her family, 3 1/2 hours north of her home in Minnesota. She hesitated about posting a picture of her family at their remote cabin, admitting, ‘I feel like vacation pictures signal to the world, “hey! This isn’t so bad!” and it has been really that bad for many, many, many people’.

So there is certainly a guilt factor in all of this. That somehow it is unfair to those who are suffering, to be seen to be having a good time.

Lauren Pearlman also spoke to the New York Times, about learning a friend had hidden her travel plans: ‘if you’re going to go on vacation, then own it and say that you are. If you don’t feel like you can advertise it, then obviously you aren’t positive it’s the ethical thing to do’.

It’s hard to argue with that sentiment. What do we hide things for, if not because we know, even subconsciously, that something is wrong? But what about the other side of the coin? The grey area of just not wanting to be shouted at, even though you feel you’re in the right?

JUDGING

Ketchum survey results

Staying in America for a moment, according to a survey carried out by PR company Ketchum, 67% of 4,000 Americans surveyed said they expected to judge others for travelling before they themselves think it’s safe, while 56% said they expected to self-censor on social media so as to avoid being travel shamed.

If we admit it, we have probably all been quicker to judge others since the pandemic began, whether it be toilet roll purchasing habits, mask etiquette or a willingness to leave the house.

Alongside these natural concerns about how people are behaving, for anyone who has been shielding or keeping indoors for longer periods, it’s understandable to feel that some have been moving too fast, too early. Sometimes, all we can be sure of is our own judgement, and that’s ok.

But the frequently signposted ‘new normal’ had to start sooner or later. Our isolation couldn’t go on forever.

MENTAL HEALTH

Rainbows

According to the Office of National Statistics, from a survey in June, one in five of us have likely experienced depression this year – that’s up from one in ten last year. There’s a lot on our minds, so it’s no wonder.

And, with a ‘mental health pandemic’ literally looming over us, on top of everything else, isn’t there something to be said for doing what we need to do for our own mental health, even if it involves hopping on a plane somewhere?

We all know that being outdoors can help combat stress. Further from the front door, the mind also has a chance to stumble on new stimuli. Take a break from technology.

But what’s good for our mental health doesn’t need to be exclusive of what’s good for our physical health, they are one and the same. And there isn’t a one size fits all way to see this crisis through, or recover from the effects.

CAREFUL NOW

Face mask GIF

As someone who experienced a particularly nasty case of COVID-19 back in March-April, I still worry about who I could have passed it on to before I experienced symptoms. I fear catching it again and unwittingly spreading it while I’m away.

However, before I set foot in Scotland, I will have a better idea of my own health, having taken a Coronavirus test as part of a King’s College study.

Obviously I hope it’s negative, but with immunity now thought to last only a few months at best, and with talk of an imminent second wave, it’s incredibly important, especially if travelling further afield, not to let once hyper-cautious behaviours slip just because we have more freedom of movement.

This article from BBC’s Medical Editor Fergus Walsh gives a really balanced overview of life now compared to the height of a pandemic, and has this to say about being careful now more than ever:

‘We all still have a role to play in curbing the outbreak. Social distancing and hand hygiene still matter. If you can’t remember how many people you are allowed in your back garden, or whether it’s OK to give two people from different households a lift to the shops, at least remember to wash your hands and not get too close to those you don’t live with.’

CONCLUSION

Speech bubble
  • Travel and migration is in our DNA – whether we’re moving countries, seeking refuge or exploring a new destination on holiday.
  • We shouldn’t feel guilty about leaving the house, if we feel safe to do so and guidelines allow it. If we don’t feel safe? That’s ok, tomorrow is a new day.
  • Our tourism and hospitality industries need as much of our support as we can give them.
  • The best responses to this terrible pandemic have been the ones that involve us coming together, looking out for one another.
  • That means doing our best not to risk the health of other people.
  • It also means a commitment not to judge others who might be doing the best they can in trying times, and whose circumstances we may not fully understand.
  • No-one is an expert on what the ‘new normal’ means exactly, and how we should live it.

So I’m going to own my adventure round Scotland and I won’t be keeping silent about it. In fact, for a few hours each week I’m planning on producing a podcast, sharing my experiences as I go. But the other 165 hours each week?

Keeping off social media and enjoying a trip for what it is, unbridled by technology… surely that’s the holy grail many of us yearn for anyway?!

Safe travels.

Featured

In My Travel Opinion: Staycationing in Scotland

Scotland postcard

There are always two sides to every story.

Take the ‘news’ today that a few restaurants in the South West have left the Eat Out to Help Out scheme, complaining of overcrowding Monday – Wednesday and empty tables the rest of the week. That’s fair enough. But from my perspective, it’s a fantastic offer and I’ve enjoyed dining out in Sherborne in Dorset a few times. What’s more, I’ve noticed both cafes to be quite busy on other days.

Meanwhile in Scotland, there are tales that a new type of tourist has been invading Scotland since July: the ‘dirty’ or ‘clatty’ camper.

The Clatty Campers

A field filled with tents
Crowded tents by Edward Paterson

I first heard about the problem a few weeks back on the BBC radio programme Scotland Outdoors. Presenters Mark Stephen and Euan McIlwraith chatted to campaigner Anne Widdop who was very quite impassioned, shall we say, about what’s going on in Morar, Western Scotland:

It started on 11th July, before the 5 mile travel ban had been lifted. We had 42 tents appear on Morar beach, basically a shanty town of tents, cheek by jowl. The road was blocked with cars and camper vans, the bins were overflowing, people dumping rubbish in every nook and cranny. After the weekend, [there were] abandoned tents, camping gear, fire pits, destroying the marram grass. And the human excrement everywhere…it’s truly awful. It really is the wholesale desecration of an internationally important habitat. The responsible, sensible visitors are already saying they don’t want to visit and they don’t want to come back, entirely due to this.

Yet, when one of the presenters journeyed over to the popular Hebridean island of Mull, he found… nothing out of the ordinary. You have to pay to travel over on the CalMac ferry, but that doesn’t stop it being a hugely popular island. Clearly, dirty camping hasn’t reached every corner of Scotland.

When I dug a bit deeper to see how related to the pandemic it was, I noticed that ‘car campers ‘, as Anne calls them, aren’t a new phenomenon in Scotland, as this report from last summer shows.

But human poop in bins is not something any local should have to deal with. Couldn’t the council be doing more to assist?

Under increasing pressure, some councils are responding. Lochbroom Community Council, responsible for the area around Ullapool on the North West Coast, announced a few days ago that they’d be increasing signage towards open facilities and putting out trowels in lay-bys, as an ‘emergency last resort’ for drivers.

The Vast Majority

Three sheep in a field
Sheep on the island of Mull

The truth is, though, that the majority of Scotland’s visitors seem to be behaving themselves. Summer is always going to be a bit of a stress on locals, but perhaps it can be slightly blown out of proportion. That’s the impression I get anyway. When I asked a friend from Dundee if she’d heard of any incidents, she hadn’t. In her view, for the most part ‘locals have a charmed life up there.’

And, despite recent calls on the people behind the popular North Coast 500 driving route to stop advertising, Scotland’s tourism business can’t do without visitors. And there are plenty on their way to drive along those roads, given how much accommodation appears to be fully booked through September.

If facilities are closed, you surely can’t entirely blame tourists when nature calls. Councils should adopt more ideas from mainland Europe and New Zealand, such as creating Aires, which are car park or farm pitstops designated for caravans or cars, often free of charge. Creating permit systems for cars in beauty spots is another idea.

But with options like this not yet a reality, VisitScotland has its work cut out for the rest of the year to encourage tourism, curb dirty camping and keep locals happy. Last Monday, its Chief Executive Malcolm Roughhead promised to step up efforts, targeting novice campers and encouraging them to use official campsites.

‘I think it’s been about people who are maybe [new] to the countryside not understanding the access code, and not understanding that we have to protect those assets’.

So, how to avoid the ire of locals, and be a considerate visitor?

1. Be responsible

In the forest on a campsite at Banff National Park
A campsite in Banff National Park. We could learn a thing or two from how things are organised in North America.

The access code that the chief of VisitScotland mentions is the Scottish Outdoor Access Code. All 135 pages of it.

I’m going to bet a haggis that few members of the public have read the entire code, word for word.

So here’s a summary:

  • Take responsibility for your own actions – eg. care for your own safety, keep alert for hazards, take special care with children.
  • Respect people’s privacy and peace of mind – eg. do not act in ways that might annoy or alarm people, especially at night.
  • Help land managers and others to work safely and effectively  – eg. keep clear of land management operations like harvesting or tree-felling, avoid damaging crops, leave gates as you find them.
  • Care for your environment – treat it with care. Don’t disturb wildlife and take your litter away with you. [And don’t shit in bins].
  • Keep your dog under proper control – dogs are popular companions, but take special care if near livestock, or during the bird breeding season, and always pick up after your dog.
  • For a slightly expanded version, check out this leaflet.

It’s just common sense really – something you all have, friends of the blog!

2. Wild camp like a wild camper

Two tents on a remote mountainside
Wild camping by Dino Reichmuth

Because of the 2003 Scottish Land Reform Act, the country has some of the best access rights in the world. This means that wild camping is easier. But common sense, and the code, state that even when wild camping, you should look to seek permission from landowners.

From what I’ve read, many locals and landowners are only too happy to assist in explaining where is best to wild camp, because it means that it’s being done responsibly, and you’ll be more comfortable too. Result.

Camping right next to a ‘do not camp here’ sign on the other hand? Not cool.

3. Support hostels

Gearrannan Hostel on Lewis in the Outer Hebrides
Gearrannan Hostel on Lewis in the Outer Hebrides

If you prefer a bed to a sleeping bag, booking before you go is pretty essential, unless you’re told otherwise. Some accommodation owners are understandably stipulating that walk-ins and on the day bookings won’t be possible.

A large part of this is down to the distance between guests that’s required under Covid regulations. As you’d expect, hostels have taken a huge hit because you can’t have strangers staying together in dorms.

But a healthy number are open for business. For groups of family or friends it can be good value to take over a dorm or even a whole hostel. Always worth seeing if there’ll be a hostel near you to support; You can search hostels across the UK via the Independent Hostels website or browse Scottish Youth Hostels, who have seven hostels open at the moment (if you include Cairngorm Lodge, recently renovated and re-opening on 20th August).

4. Go remote

Outlines of a loch and mountains in a remote corner of Mull
A remote corner of Mull

It can be hard to judge how popular or overcrowded certain spots will be, particularly given that Scots are rightly staycationing in their own country, reaching further afield than outsiders might. Google maps is quite handy for zooming in to remote locations to find off the beaten track accommodation. And even small villages can have their own websites with great local information.

So far though, I’ve found islands such as Orkney, Shetland and those in the Outer Hebrides (famous last words) to have the most availability at the moment. And I love how well-covered the islands are by public transport, helping those who can’t drive (like me).

And if you just can’t seem to find anything in a specific location, ask a host who is fully booked where else they’d recommend you try. Or go wild…

Me? From early September I’ll be up on the North Coast before sailing out to live the island life for a bit. Question is, what side of the story will we fall on?

You’ll have to wait and see – but whatever we do, I hope it’s not clatty.

Featured

Photo Story: London Revisited

My friend Poly sent me a photo last week from Brockwell Lido before a swim. Quiet, peaceful, serene. I remember queuing with my housemate Giada for five hours to get in on a hot day once. It was brutal, but as soon as we laid our towels down and jumped in the water…glorious. With a hefty pang of jealousy, I realised I miss London…

It’s been my home for 28 years but for the foreseeable future I’ll be down in Somerset. This loveliest of lidos got me thinking about the other spots around town that I can’t wait to revisit. Read on for some of my favourite places in London.

What do you enjoy most about London? I’d love to hear from you in the comments!

Shakespeare’s Globe

Globe Theatre inside
Shakespeare’s Globe, from the yard
Outside the globe after a play has finished
After a performance

I have honestly lost count of the number of plays I’ve seen at the Globe. Often with a cold cider in hand, standing amid a sea of Yardlings (it costs £5 to stand), admiring another brilliant staging of a play. When it’s safe to visit again, I’ll be first in line.

Current status: The Globe has got all sorts of great content on its YouTube channel, including actors reading Shakespeare’s sonnets.

London restaurants

Picasso Afternoon Tea at Rosewood London
The Picasso Afternoon Tea at Rosewood London

Far too many epic eats to ever commit to choosing my best or favourite restaurants in London, but here are three venues I really miss right now…

Lina Stores pasta and cocktails
Hazelnut and pumpkin ravioli in the foreground, and a pomelo martini

Lina Stores, Greek Street

When I next visit I’ll be asking for fresh crab linguine and a beautifully scented pomelo & basil leaf martini. I’m also excited that the Lina Stores Italian deli is back open on Brewer Street.

Roti and curries at Roti King
Roti Canai served with dhal and kari, and a side of fried veggies

Roti King, Euston

The sight of roti being made in the kitchen at Roti King is a heavenly one. They’ve just reopened for dining in, serving their roti alongside varying curries, or their classic lentil dhal.

Chicken BAO burger
Chicken bao burger and sweet potato fries

BAO London

All the baos at BAO, please! For anyone who in the past has queued on the pavement for ages getting rained on, it feels like a bit of a silver lining that it’s reservations only at the moment!

Olympic Park, Stratford

Olympic Stadium in Stratford
The Olympic Stadium

The Olympic summer of 2012 in London still feels like a dream. My brother and I were incredibly fortunate to see lots of sports including a few athletics sessions in the Olympic Stadium in Stratford. I’m sure I got laryngitis from all the cheering. The beautiful Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park outside is a testament to how well the games were thought out.

Alfred Dock

Mosaic at the King Alfred Dock
The Mosaic on the walls by the dock

In the tiny area of Queenhithe in the City of London, walk along the Thames and you’ll find a slice of Anglo Saxon history. The Alfred Dock dates from at least 886 AD, when King Alfred the Great restored English rule to London, following decades of Viking raids and disputed control.

Current status: accessible to the public, or if you can’t get there you could always watch Last Kingdom on Netflix…

Kew Gardens

Inside the Hive installation at Kew Gardens
Inside the hive at Kew Gardens
Water on leaves at Kew Gardens

A literal breath of fresh air, stunning in every season and an antidote to all of life’s stresses.

Current status: Kew has been open for a while now, though some of their indoor offerings such as their art galleries have been off limits. Can book here for Kew and its sister venue, Wakehurst.

Royal Opera House

Inside the Royal Opera House auditorium
Curtain about to rise on a performance of Mozart’s The Magic Flute

Beautiful ballets and epic operas. Following a huge refurb, the Royal Opera House’s airy meeting spaces, cafes and bars also make it a lovely place to hang out.

Current status: ROH has had a lot going on digitally, including this live staging back in July of new and favourite ballets and opera works, set against the backdrop of their lamplit auditorium.

BFI London Film Festival

A screening at the 2019 BFi London Film Festival

Ok, so it’s not technically one place because it pops up all over London, but it’s a bloody good festival. Red carpets, dark room Q&As and a chance to see unexpected, surprising films from around the world. London is lucky to have such a celebration of film each year. And this October it will be UK-wide as everything is going digital.

Current status: The BFI LFF 2020 programme will be announced in early September.

Wimbledon

Andy Murray serves during the Semi Final of the 2013 Wimbledon Championships
Andy Murray about to smash Jerzy Janowicz in the semi final, the year he won Wimbledon

From the moment I first walked into the Wimbledon grounds with my uncle and brother, that was it. Smitten. I’ve camped, queued, gone after work and been up before dawn. Ballot tickets are how a lot of people visit, but you can actually get tickets daily on Ticketmaster, for all the show courts. That’s how I got a semi final ticket to see Andy Murray on his way to winning his first Wimbledon.

Current status: Wimbledon cancelled the tournament for the first time since World War II so the 134th championship will take place next year instead. Double portions of strawberries and cream all round I think? Till then, there’s always highlights.

Chinatown

London's Chinatown

It doesn’t matter that it will probably take me years to earn enough points on my Loon Fung supermarket loyalty card to get money off my shopping. It always cheers me up to pace those tiny aisles and afterwards to listen to buskers along the busy street outside.

Current status: restaurants have taken a big hit but the streets of Chinatown are now dotted with tables, which is brilliant. Loon Fung supermarket has been open a while, but it’s quieter than it’s ever been; expect a temperature check and mandatory mask wearing.

Imperial War Museums

Flowers on the guns outside Imperial War Museum London
Flowers on the guns outside IWM London to mark an exhibition opening

I LOVE the museums and art galleries of London with a passion that would make Casanova look tame. As I spent 6 years working in Press and Marketing at Imperial War Museums, I had to give them a mention. IWM is in fact five museums – IWM London, Churchill War Rooms, HMS Belfast (all in London) as well as IWM Duxford and IWM North.

IWM London, where I was mostly based, reopened in 2014 after a huge refurb of its First World War Galleries. In my view, IWM exemplify what all museums should be about – fascinating collections, moving stories and diverse voices.

Current status: sadly HMS Belfast can’t reopen yet but all other sites are now back in business. I’m excited to visit IWM London soon and see Ai Weiwei’s 5 star-reviewed art installation, History of Bombs.

Liberty of London

Flowers at Liberty
Flowers from the Wild at Heart florist based at Liberty

As a teenager, I would haul myself from Harrow (Zone 5) into Central London often with the same end goal: to peek at the flowers outside Liberty and gaze at the gorgeous stationary. Nowadays my biggest indulgence is getting my hair cut in their Taylor & Taylor salon. Though it’s been a while…!

Mr Toppers Barber Shop

Mr Topper the Frog, outside one of his barber shops

Last, but never least, it’s true London gent, Mr Topper the Frog! I’ve never been inside Mr Toppers Barber Shop so I can’t vouch for their haircuts, but my brother and I play a game of sending each other a picture of Mr Topper whenever we’re passing one of their branches. Look for him on Moor Street near Shaftesbury Avenue, on Tottenham Court Road or Great Russell Street.

The great thing about London is there’s always something going on around the corner, down an alleyway or through a set of polished doors. London will always be open, and I’ll always call it home.

Rainbow over London's Southbank
Featured

Alaska: a tale of two bears

Grizzly bear in the distance at Denali National Park

This bear is a grizzly bear that was supposed to be a polar bear.

Perhaps I should explain.

Outline of the country of Alaska

We made an adventurous plan last year for our September trip to Alaska. We would go way up north to the Inupiaq village of Kaktovik on Barter Island. Each autumn, polar bears gather there, awaiting the ice freeze that accommodates their passage higher into the Arctic Circle over winter.

We booked a tour with Akook Arctic Adventures – owned by local Inupiat Jack ‘Akook’ Kayotuk – that would take us into Prudhoe Bay and the Beaufort Sea to observe as many big furry, four-pawed visitors as we could find in four hours.

This was going to be a wildlife experience of a lifetime. I had even arranged to interview the Akook team for American Airlines’ inflight magazine American Way.

Flying towards the Alaska Arctic Circle

The journey had three stages: fly from Fairbanks in Alaska’s interior to the intriguingly-named town of Deadhorse westward along the coast from Kaktovik; stay overnight with resident oil workers and scientists, then fly across Prudhoe Bay to Kaktovik.

Arctic Fox Airbnb
Signs in Deadhorse
The coastline of Deadhorse

We managed parts one and two very well, settling in to our Deadhorse Airbnb, The Arctic Fox, hosted by a researcher named Tippy. It’s the only place tourists can stay aside from the pricey Prudhoe Bay Hotel (that does at least host a gargantuan buffet every evening. We couldn’t move after).

Part three?

Fog

Fog. We woke up to a sea of thick, opaque fogginess across the town. Our flight to Kaktovik would be delayed, at the very least. The only thing we could do was wait.

Sitting in dinky Deadhorse airport for 6 plus hours, we prayed to the weather gods it would lift. We even watched almost all of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise on the lounge TV, as a sacrificial offering.

Our mutterings seemed to work. The fog lifted bit by bit as the day wore on, and by late afternoon we were allowed into the sky in our Ravn Airlines turbo prop plane.

Heading onto our flight from Deadhorse
Sun setting from our turbo prop plane

The Arctic was on our wing tips.

High up, we even caught sight of the mighty Denali mountain, spiny with snow that glinted in the slowly setting sun.

Approaching our end destination we startling circling. It was clear that cloud was thick above Kaktovik.

We circled some more.

The pilot advised us that we might not be able to land if he couldn’t get a mile of visibility. He lingered. We begged with those same weather gods. However, the sun setting faster now, and fuel running down, we couldn’t push it any further and had to fly to Fairbanks. Back into the Alaskan interior and far away from where we’d wanted to be.

The weather, and some bad scheduling luck, put paid to our polar bear hopes. Optimism blasted out of us like a frozen breeze through trees, but we couldn’t give up. We had the last days of our trip to plan all over again.

We discussed all kinds of alternative (and outlandish) plans and activities, from trying to hire our own plane to get back up north, to white water rafting, but really there was no contest: we should get to Denali National Park and see North American’s highest mountain peak closer up. Maybe spot some wildlife…

Denali mountain by Joris Beugels
© Joris Beugels
Mount Denali from the Denali train

Denali means ‘the high one’ in Athabascan Indian culture, and it’s a cool 20,310 ft tall. The mountain actually rises higher from its base than Mount Everest, meaning it’s not hard to spot on a good day! You might have heard it called Mount McKinley in the past – not that Alaskans wanted it named after the former U.S. President – but the name was officially changed in 2015, after decades of campaigning.

About those grizzlies.

First thing to say about grizzly bears, aka the North American brown bear: just because there are around 30,000 of them in Alaska, it does not mean they are down every path or lurking behind every tree. But it’s true there’s always a frisson and thrill when you’re hiking in bear country. You expect to surprise one every time you walk a trail, perhaps ending up as a fleshier alternative to the Alaskan bears’ usually berry-rich diet. In reality, bears are far too smart to hang around humans all that much, despite the headlines.

Travelling on foot as we were, and with only one full day to explore Denali National Park itself, we relied on a ranger-driven shuttle bus to take us as far into the park as we were allowed to go.

The bus was crowded when it got to our stop, so we didn’t even know that we’d get on, but get on we did. The ranger/driver hadn’t seen any bears that day, and we told ourselves not to get the hopes up.

Denali National Park

But, as the bus advanced towards the end of its route, the ranger let out a soft cry,

‘There’s a bear, it’s right down there, look!’

Far below us on the left of the road, beautifully blending in with surrounding tufts of orange-brown brush grass, a snoozing male grizzly bear.

Necks craned, cameras jostling, we all squinted for a glimpse of the bear in the distance.

‘Was he there by the curvy bit of river?’

‘No, further forward I thought?’

‘No, that’s a bush.’

‘THERE!’

Without the ranger on hand, he really would have been very tough to spot from that vantage point.

Happy that we’d seen a grizzly, however distantly, we got off the bus expecting that to be all we’d see of him.

Closer up view of a grizzly bear in Denali National Park

But here he was again.

He had sauntered away from the river towards where we now stood, still, utterly under his spell. As he mooched about between grassy clumps and thorny trees, our binoculared gazes avidly followed.

After about half an hour, he sloped off in search of food (towards two walkers who initially looked a lot closer to him than they actually were, phew) and we went our separate ways for a quick hike, turning to look now and again as the bear’s profile shrunk from view.

We were on such a high for the remainder of the trip.

While it had been a crashing disappointment to miss our date out in the snow with Arctic polar bears, we knew how lucky we’d been in Denali. To take the glass half full approach, if we had seen the polar bears, we would never have seen the grizzly!*

Now, if you go down to the woods…

Watch out for grizzly bears

*I’m still pretty p***ed we didn’t see polar bears though.

Featured

Postcard from…a Japanese heatwave

Longer read

31° degrees Celsius. 88° degrees Fahrenheit. 70% humidity. Welcome to Kyoto in July.

Or, to be specific, Kyoto in July 2018. In Japan’s ravishing old capital, and across most of Japan, a heatwave was sweeping through, the worst since records began. And there I was, on holiday with my brother.

I’d had big reservations about visiting at the hottest time of year but he was backpacking round Asia and it couldn’t really work outside summer.

We knew it would be uncomfortably hot, scorching even, but it was the humidity that floored us. From dawn until dusk, walking anywhere outside was like battling through a sauna, with a fever. Even armed with an umbrella, cold water, cotton clothes, sunglasses, hats and copious slatherings of sun lotion, the heat was so pervasive, so brutal.

Nijo-jo Castle

Midway through our stay in Kyoto we decided to visit 400 year old Nijo-jo Castle. It was built in 1603 on the orders of the powerful first Shogun of the Tokugawa Shogunate, a symbol of the beginning of one of the longest periods of peace and stability in Japanese history.

Fast forward to 1867 and within the walls of the castle’s Ninomaru-goten Palace (pictured), the 15th Tokugawa Shogun announced the end of the Shogunate, returning political control to the Emperor and fatefully restoring imperial rule to Japan.

In other words, the sort of place you’d be silly to miss on a first trip to Kyoto.

The 33 rooms of the palace are treasures in their own right, garnished with thousands of golden wall paintings, including the famous tiger and bamboo paintings in the Third Room. Then there are the so-called Nightingale Corridors that sound like birds chirping as you walk through them. It’s caused by the nails in the floorboards, rather than a way to ward off intruders, despite the myth.

Unfortunately all of this was somewhat lost on me that day. You see, I was having a bit of a meltdown.

A packed day

It wasn’t our first attraction of the day, not even our third. That’s how we Crowthers roll.

We got up early to visit the Arashiyama Bamboo Grove (underwhelming and overcrowded if I’m honest. The bamboo groves above Fushimi Inar-taisha Temple are much quieter) and then, as the sun continued its violent ascendency towards midday, we climbed the steep hill of the popular Iwatayama Monkey Park (discovering new meanings for the word ‘sweat’) to watch Japanese Macaques contentedly dive in and out of their pond, cooling down as we could not. Then, the striking Kinkaku-ji Golden Pavilion northwest of the city. I vividly remember the purple irises dotting the shoreline of the lake, whitened by the sun’s rays.

We ran out of water at this point.

Near the exit, we thought we’d found a fountain, like a mirage in the distance. As we got closer we realised it was a hose for watering the foliage. And it was being closely guarded.

By the time we made it to the grounds of Nijo-jo, it was mid-afternoon, the sun in its zenith and our 7-Eleven lunch bags untouched. (Incidentally, the humble 7-Eleven convenience store was a revelation to me. It’s like a Pret, Itsu and corner shop rolled into one. My brother, on a shoestring backpacker budget, practically lived there.)

Hangry

For someone whose life mostly revolves around mealtimes, ‘hungry in a heatwave’ was not a good situation to be in.

We walked through the entrance at Higashi Ote-mon Gate and carried on straight, in zombie fashion, not consulting a map. I’m not even sure I picked one up at this stage. A massive mistake, as we walked straight by a turning for the main (air conditioned) rest area in the whole site.

I won’t fill you in on the colourful language I aimed at my brother for insisting we go straight in without having lunch first, but suffice it to say, we had an argument. Stomping through the castle grounds and garden, I couldn’t see facilities anywhere. Resigned to just eating our lunch on a quiet bench somewhere, the penny dropped that we wouldn’t find any.

If you’ve ever toured any gardens in Japan, you’ll know that they’re so meticulously kept, and often considered so sacred, that eating in them is considered taboo. In fact, eating outside in general is not really the done thing.

But we were getting desperate.

I’m not proud to admit that in a fit of heatwave rage that did my body temperature no favours, I resentfully consented to sit on some shaded (but still volcanically hot) steps to eat. I did cheer up a bit when we found a cold drinks vending machine. They’re everywhere across Japan and often have bins and seating around them, as it’s also considered rude to walk with drinks. I must have bought at least three cans of Fanta in that moment.

The sun must set

So by the time we entered the Ninomaru-goten Palace, with its painted walls, its bird song and all that historical significance, we were knackered.

There was understandably no air conditioning inside the delicately decorated rooms, but few fans either. We had to keep moving along with the steady trickle of visitors and I’d be lying if I said I was taking much in. I kept thinking, ‘this would be so wonderful if I could concentrate’.

Sooner or later, however, day must make way for night. In July, the sun sets between 7-8pm so we had just enough energy to stick around and enjoy the grounds as the golden hues of the setting sun blended into shadows. We discovered outdoor sprinklers you could walk through (why aren’t they everywhere?!), before I rewarded myself with a giant matcha ice cream in the café.

And from that day onwards, we paid more attention to visitor maps…

Impossible without global warming

I couldn’t write about my experience without expanding on the implications and impact of the heatwave.

It was only when I got back to London that I realised how unprecedented it was. It got worse as July. Tens of thousands of people across Japan were hospitalised, while 1,000 died. Coupled with damaging heavy rains and mudslides in late June and early July, 2018 was a year of suffering for the people of Japan.

In 2019 a team of scientists at the Japan Meteorological Agency used a burgeoning technique called attribution science to assess the likelihood of a heatwave in 2018 in a climate-changed world versus a world without global warming and compared the difference:

‘The deadly event of the previous summer could not have happened without human-induced global warming… in a sense, these people are the first provable deaths of climate change’

Like everyone else, I hope the 2021 Olympics go ahead in Tokyo next July, despite this year’s pandemic. But I also hope that we don’t lose sight of what has to be our number one global priority – tackling the climate change emergency.

————–

With the heat here to stay for now, I put together ten tips for staying cool in extreme heat. Some are very common sense, but as I didn’t follow half of them myself when I arrived in Asia, they seemed worth including.

Featured

Postcard from…Tokyo

Tokyo 2020. As I write this, the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games ought to have been in full sway, knocking our socks off with pageantry, pride and prowess.

But, as the Japanese proverb goes, we learn little from victory, much from defeat.

And so we can all look forward to a re-staging in 2021, which will probably feel like multiple years rolled into one. Probably.

Until then, it’s not such a poor substitute to look on trips past. I’ve been thinking back to my Japan adventure, which was two years ago this month. An experience best summed up in one word: HEATWAVE.

Though I enjoyed my time in Tokyo, I must confess that, through a combination of the humidity and bleary tiredness, I didn’t always ‘make the most of things’. But I did still come across some remarkable places.

I touched down on 2nd July, two days’ sleep down. I’d left London on 30th June and en route had spent a crazy joyride of a day in Hong Kong. Instead of a layover, I opted for a night flight to Tokyo.

Like any dutiful first time visitor might, I’d planned to head to famous fish market Tsukiji straight off my flight, knowing it would soon be moving to new premises in Toyosu. But when I reached my room at the Kimi Ryokan I could no longer fight the urge to sleep. I broke my ‘no day naps allowed’ travel rule.

When I did leave the ryokan to explore, it seemed too late for Tsukiji so I settled for a wander in that general direction, without much of a plan. I later after that you could go around Tsukiji later than generally advertised. My inquisitiveness had just been lacking in the heat and humidity. I longed to be out of the sun’s grasp, nothing more.

But, as often happens in my life, food came to the rescue.

I had made a note of a small sushi restaurant on the outskirts of Tsukiji’s market. Pushing my luck as it was getting late for lunch, but with a rumbling stomach to rival a marching infantry of soldiers, sought out Sushi Katsura. Gloriously, it was – just – still open.

I was their last lunch guest. Menus are in Japanese only, but I knew that ichi means one so I swiftly pointed at the Ichininmae menu. I was sat at the counter, able to witness the itamae sushi chef’s delicate and precise handling of each piece of raw fish that I was about to receive. He exuded the calm demeanour of a man wedded to his craft.

Onto one end of a bamboo leaf went the maki roll, cut into six (the familiar kind with specks of cucumber and pepper inside), the line-up gradually expanding with each new nigiri sushi, until I had 15 pieces. Now, it’s relevant for me to say at this point that I’m not the world’s best eater of raw fish, but whatever the chef laid down I would have eaten out of politeness.

I needn’t have worried. Every morsel of nigiri sushi was phenomenal!

The palest, most delicate of ebi prawns, flush-pink and generously sliced maguro tuna, shimmering hamachi yellowtail fish. Those were the ones I knew I’d like, but even the saba mackerel (with a regal dollop of wasabi) and tako octopus nigiri were unceremoniously devoured faster than you can say arigatou gozaimasu. All thrown together with neat scrapings of gari ginger and lashings of soy sauce, accompanied with alternate gulps of miso soup and green tea.

While I might have missed out on visiting a world-class tourist attraction, here I’d encountered some of the highest quality fish from that day’s catch at Tsukiji.

A golden experience, worthy of any summer Olympics.

Featured

Photo Story: Alaska

Lately, when daydreaming about memorable journeys, my mind’s eye has flown me out to the waters between British Columbia in Canada and the southern islands of Alaska. Replaying two harmonious days sailing on the Alaska Marine Highway. Back to the sublime sunsets, vast openness and full on freedom of the open water.

The Alaska Marine Highway is a state ferry service which covers 3,500 miles of spectacular coastline, from Bellingham in Washington state via BC’s Prince Rupert and Alaska’s southern Alexander Archipelago, along the south coast to Dutch Harbor in the Aleutian Island chain.

And it is a hell of a ride.

In the following photo story, I’ve captured a little of what it was like sailing on our vessel the Malaspina, some of what we saw and experienced.

Sailing over the Hecate

Hecate Strait

Our journey began on the evening of my birthday in early September last year. Leaving the Canadian coastal town of Prince Rupert behind, we sailed on the Hecate Strait. The beautiful archipelago of Haida Gwaii behind us and the Alexander Archipelago in our sights.

Cherry pie with cream

Birthday pie

I was very full after a stonking great seafood lunch at wonderful Dolly’s Fish Market in Prince Rupert (chowder followed by a halibut, shrimp and crab burger if you’re interested). But I made space for some cherry pie, generously plied with whipped cream when the restaurant staff found out it was my birthday!

Sun setting on our first evening

Entering the Alexander Archipelago

Our vessel the Malaspina had entered the Alexander Archipelago, a group of over 1,000 islands along the panhandle of Alaska’s south east coast. We would reach our first island stop of Ketchikan at 1am. Fast asleep!

On board on the morning of the second day

A Glorious Day

The start of a full day of sailing and it was shaping up to be a glorious day… I even took to the deck for a morning run, unheard of for me!

The Spatsizi Plateau Wilderness Provincial Park

Mountain views

Although we were in Alaskan waters, views of northern British Columbia to the east trailed us along our passage. Here we glimpsed one of many mountain ranges in the Spatsizi Plateau Wilderness Provincial Park that stretch up towards the remote and sparsely-populated state of the Yukon.

A raven totem pole in the town of Wrangell

Wrangell totem pole

During ferry stops we were allowed to disembark, though we had to be very quick. Here, a raven totem pole made in the 1960s displayed outside the post office in the town of Wrangell (population 2,400).

For thousands of years the indigenous Tlingit people (meaning ‘people of the tides’) have called the Alexander Archipelago home. As their name suggests, the Tlingit have always been seafarers, skilled at fishing the Pacific Ocean and its surrounds.

Tlingit lands stretch beyond the Alexander Archipelago out to British Columbia, the south coast mainland of Alaska and into the Yukon.

First Nation Wrangell residents call themselves Shtaxʼhéen Ḵwáan after the nearby Stikine River.

A humpback whale dives
A humpback whale gliding through the water

Whale watching

Winds buffetting me so much at times that I couldn’t keep my camera steady, we at last met Alaska’s humpback whales. Why at last? Up to this point, I had only seen the brief sight of the fin of a humpback whale and her calf in the South Pacific Ocean. Over the second half of the journey, we saw humpbacks breaching and diving and gliding along. Every single spot was a thrill for me.

Sailing between Kake and Sitka in the Alexander Archipelago

Between Kake and Sitka

As the sun set so luxuriently on the second evening, we sailed deeper into the archipelago. After stopping at Kake (population 600) we began weaving our way to the larger settlement of Sitka (population 9,000).

This involved navigating eastwards round Kuiu Island and into the open waters of the North Pacific Ocean, later turning round westwards round Baranof Island.

Though Kake is quite small, it’s home to the third largest totem pole in the world. Fact! All 132 feet of it was carved in 1967 to commemorate 100 years since Alaska had been bought from the Russians.

Sunset over the Alexander Archipelago
Pastel skies above Alaska

The second evening

This is where my mind’s eye takes me most whenever my mind drifts: our second evening on the water. The softest and most serene sunset and moonlit skies I think I’ve ever witnessed.

Trees and clouds in the Alexander Archipelago
Still waters in the Alexander Archipelago

Tree reflections and mists

We’d reached our second morning. Despite inching closer to our end destination, the waters and surrounding landscapes still felt incredibly peaceful.

The Mendenhall Glacier in Juneau

Approaching Juneau

After a dreamy two days of sailing, our destination of Juneau was in sight, with its famous Mendenhall Glacier. Visiting later that day we didn’t spot the bears we hoped we might see, but instead hung out with sea eagles, migrating salmon and even a porcupine up a tree.

Two days of slow travel very well spent.

Featured

Should I stay or should I go?

Longer read

The world is opening up again. Well, bits of the world. And it’s got me thinking about where I want to go over the next few months. Read on for my opinion piece and scroll down to the bottom for some recommended destinations…

A conundrum

Photo by Ashley Batz on Unsplash

On Friday, UK quarantine rules were relaxed for holidaymakers and returning citizens travelling via so-called ‘air corridors’ or ‘air bridges’ from 59 countries.

Countries on the list include many European neighbours (though Portugal’s a glaring exception) as well as some long haul destinations including New Zealand, South Korea, Japan and Hong Kong.

Following this news, and as the travel industry asks us to travel further and wider, I’ve been asking myself something: should I stay or should I go? Do I give in to travel FOMO or join the UK staycation conga line? And if I stay in the UK, where do I really want to go?

I decided to look at both sides and weigh up my options…

Part I: travelling abroad

Inside Man Mo Temple in Hong Kong
Inside Man Mo Temple in Hong Kong

The UK government’s air bridges are one thing, but each country has its own rules. In Iceland for example visitors must take a test or quarantine for 2 weeks, and for others the relaxation of rules applies only to its citizens or those with visas. New Zealand immigration states that its border is ‘currently closed to almost all travellers wanting to travel by either air or sea’.

Meanwhile, news of what travelling abroad is actually like at the moment has been mixed.

Alongside reports of reduced numbers on flights, breezy check-ins and empty iconic landmarks, there have been less than welcome stories and headlines in the past few days: ‘Brits left sleeping on beaches after hotels found closed’, Italian beaches labelled a ‘paradise from hell’ as social distancing struggles to be upheld, huge traffic jams heading for Croatia, just as it announced a record number of infections.

And yet. There’s just nothing quite like the pull of a faraway, remote or just ‘different’ destination. If rules permit, it seems inevitable that more of us will consider heading abroad for whatever escapism we can find, whether we’re tempted by booking offers and refund promises or a bad case of cabin fever and itchy feet.

On Friday i paper reported on an Office for National Statistics survey detailing that less than 10% of UK adults are likely to travel abroad in the coming months. However, those who have so far made it abroad report tourist numbers more like April than July.

It’s a tantalising prospect, a beautiful beach or world famous landmark like the Alhambra fortress in Granada almost to yourself..

Part II: staying in the UK

Salisbury Cathedral

In the same survey, around a quarter of adults said they would be going on holiday in the UK. That still leaves a significant chunk of the UK population who are either undecided or resolute that they will stay put. Which is very worrying for the UK hospitality and travel industry, already on its knees.

However, some areas of the industry are doing well. Cottages and campsites have reported big upsurges in bookings since late June, with numerous companies reporting selling out until September. Many travel operators have needed extra time to prepare following the recent changes in government policy, which means we’ll see more availability and opportunities to travel. And as for England’s beaches…

My first post-lockdown foray to the coast was a cliff top walk between Weymouth and Lulworth in June. We struck lucky with gorgeous weather and the walk was fairly quiet most of the way. A glorious picnic on White Nothe cliff and a speedy zigzag down the steep Smuggler’s Trail, completely alone. Alone, that is, until we reached the bustling beach around Durdle Door. This was days before thousands descended on the beach, an event that launched a thousand articles on the resulting abusive behaviour and bad toilet habits.

But there’s more to the South West than a couple of insanely popular tourist hotspots. The same goes for the UK as a whole. It’s just about doing your research and getting there. The journey, not just the destination. And for me, it’s a journey that may solely rely on public transport, as I don’t drive.

But, hey, I like a challenge.

Decision made

Stockholm

I started today torn between two travel mindsets. Fearing that I’m missing out on an opportunity to discover countries in a way I probably won’t be able to again – and the same feat that I’ll miss a golden opportunity right here in the UK.

Traditional holiday destinations outside the UK need our support, but I think we have all come through lockdown more appreciative of what’s just beyond our doorsteps. There is a true excitement to exploring our own home turf, whether we find ourselves living in familiar lands, or distant.

There is a massive opportunity, too, to assess our personal impact on the planet and climate. Slower travel, like slower living, is more desirable than ever before, and I do think there is already a tidal shift in our attitudes towards reducing our carbon footprint.

Right now, the allure of what’s closest to home is strongest for me. Which is handy because I’ll be in East Sussex visiting family next week! Coastal walks, wildlife, outdoor swimming, fish and chips. Heaven.

I’ll tell you my plans for 2021 another time…

On the wish list

Galway

© Rory Hennessey on Unsplash

Galway is 2020 European Capital of Culture and it’s such a blow that a lot of their quality programming can’t go ahead, although they have permission and funding granted to extend into 2021. I had to cancel my May visit, but I hope to rebook and still make it there.

Shetland

Nesbister Böd on Shetland, © Visit Shetland

Lundy

View of Lundy © Leah Tardivel on Unsplash

Outer Hebrides

The Uists, Outer Hebrides © Andrew Buchanan on Unsplash

Can you sense a running theme?!

And some of my favourite wild places

Inner Hebrides

Fingal's Cave at the island of Staffa

They’re close enough to the mainland that you can spend a week or less exploring, which will never feel like enough time! On Mull you can live among soaring golden eagles, join a marine life boat tour and visit the basalt rock splendour of Staffa, or wander around peaceful Iona with its 1,500 year old Abbey.

I wrote a bit more about Mull in a piece on Awesome Island Getaways a few years back.

Best time: September

Hadrian’s Wall

Milecastle 37 of Hadrian’s Wall

Running 80 Roman miles long and dating back to AD 122, Hadrian’s Wall makes for spectacular walking, perhaps especially when the landscape and weather is moody, stormy. If you’re not sure where to start, Milecastle 37 is one of the best preserved guarding gateways and this walk takes you to the famous Sycamore Gap tree that features in Robin Hood Prince of Thieves. And you’ll find walks along wilder sections of the wall here.

Best time: Autumn-Winter (for extra breathtaking)

The Jurassic Coast

Walking over White Nothe Cliff

The best walking in the South West, and England’s only World Heritage Site. Skirt the more crowded spots of Durdle Door, Bournemouth beach and and Lyme Regis (great as they are). Aim instead for the walk between Osmington Mills and White Nothe (which starts at the brilliant Smugglers Inn pub), which includes the steep descent and ascent of the smugglers’ path, if you’re feeling brave. Or the Isle of Portland is wonderfully windswept, and for a beach I recommend Chesil Beach on the other side of Weymouth to Durdle Door. It’s way less touristy and far bigger.

Best time: all year

Cornwall

Along the Penwith Heritage Coast

Everyone will have their own favourite corners of Cornwall and for me, the stretch of cliffs and crags known as the Penwith Heritage Coast has some magnificently memorable areas. From Portcurno beach and the famous open air Minack Theatre to the beautiful countryside around St Just and the quiet heritage of the Geevor Tin Mine. One day I’m keen to get to Lizard Point, Britain’s most southerly tip.

Best time: all year

Featured

Postcard from…the Amazon Rainforest

Longer read

When I took this photo I remember thinking that it was like we were gazing out of a window, from one powerful life source onto another. We were in remote Yasuní National Park, a protected corner of Amazonian Ecuador and we were looking out onto one of the mighty Amazon River’s tributaries, the Río Napo.

It was 9.17 in the morning and we’d soon be lost in the Amazon Rainforest.

But before I get onto that…

Adventure

The most adventurous day of our Amazon Rainforest trip began at 5am, stirred awake in our cabins by a marching band of howler monkeys. Their sound is often likened to the roar of an oncoming train. I would go further and say they sound like an entire Clapham Junction station of oncoming trains.

We had arrived less than 24 hours before at our temporary home of Sacha Lodge, one of a number of smart rainforest lodges that are popular with those who can properly afford them (i.e. retired groups) and a few youthful chancers, like us. ‘Sacha’ in the Quecha Indian language means ‘forest’ and this ‘Forest Lodge’ was launched in 1992 by a Swiss man named Benny, who had visited Amazonian Ecuador in the 1970s.

In its launch year, Sacha Lodge comprised 1,200 acres of land and six guest rooms. Benny kept the land purchases going, and today the lodge sits within 5,000 acres of land. Nearby Napo River runs at over 1,000km in length, crossing the entire length of Amazonian Ecuador and beyond, finally feeding in to the Amazon River in neighbouring Peru.

Waterways

Travel between Sacha Lodge and the Napo River is by traditional dugout canoe, carved from tree trunks in the traditional way. Still very early, we crossed inky Pilchicocha Lake – mosquito free because of the tannins in the water – with our keen naturalist guide and Quito native, Gus.

Retracing our steps along the forest-edge boardwalk, we encountered more red howler monkeys (this time launching between trees above our heads) and some almond-scented armoured millipedes. A beautiful arthropod, just going about its day.

Transferred now into an electric canoe, we coasted down the vastness of the Napo, stopping on the Yasuní boundary at a riverbank ‘clay lick’. Many birds, as well as mammals, rely so much on the abundance of nutrients and minerals in cliffs of clay like this. We saw Mealy Amazon and Blue-headed parrots, Dusky-headed parakeet and Chestnut-fronted macaws. A skittish sea of green above a silty ribbon of river.

We had made it as far along the Napo as we would be going, now within the protection of Yasuní National Park. The park became a biosphere in 1979 and later a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve. Pristine, in part, but also staring into a dangerous future.

Under threat

Traces of the oil industry and illegal logging weren’t too hard to spot on our travels. The gateway city of Coca along the Napo River grew out of the oil business, and we saw shady signs of industry dotted about on the riverbanks on our way to Sacha Lodge.

Fast forwarding to spring 2020, huge levels of erosion and oil spills have been reported along the Napo and Coca rivers. Bound to this sad story of erosion, Ecuador’s largest waterfall, San Rafael, disappeared in February.

Among the people most affected by a trio of threats – climate change, oil and illegal logging – are Amazonian tribes, including the Waorani. In 1990 they won the right to a reserve of land that overlaps with Yasuní, but have had to fight hard in recent years in particular to halt the government’s oil drilling agenda.

There is hope though.

Last year Waorani from Pastaza, south of Yasuní, won a landmark legal victory which means that half a million acres of land are protected from oil exploitation.

Around the same time we visited, cameraman and naturalist Gordon Buchanan lived with a group of Yasuní Waorani who venerate anaconda snakes. Despite the dangers, they search for green (aka common) anacondas, catching and releasing them (humanely) in a show of strength but also affection. With them, Buchanan uncovered one of the biggest anacondas on record, a whopping 5.3m long!

A silent race

What struck me most as we left our boat and set off walking was how varied all the plants and trees were. Sounds obvious but it immediately felt different to the ground-eye view at the more accessible Sacha Lodge. You could feel a remoteness attached to every step.

Pointy fronds, pencil thin many-trunked trees and spotty leaves, stencilled by leaf cutter ants. Trees with spindly, twisty vine-like branches or giant jagged leaves. The occasional fiery stem of a bromeliad flower, poking out among 1,000 shades of green. Casual flypasts of large butterflies like the lustrous Menalaus blue morpho butterfly, impressive and bird-like in size. Or the Brown owl moth, so called for the huge eyespots on their wings.

The further we walked, the closer together and taller everything got, embraced in a silent race to reach the canopy first. Some of the loftiest were the gigantic Kapok, or Ceiba, trees. Even the younger ones had roots the size of marquees. Immense and Jurassic, their bases looked to me like a series of dinosaur claws.

And always the hum of insects.

Creatures small and great

All four of us were covered in all manner of insect repellent, almost as if taking part in a laboratory trial. I wore Avon’s Skin So Soft spray, which features natural repellent citronello, completely coincidentally. The Royal Marines are rumoured to use it.

Mosquitoes can seem to either like or dislike your natural scent – even your blood type. I don’t think they liked either of mine much, I was barely bitten. Two of my friends, however, seemed to be top prize. Manu in particular was under constant attack from dive-bombing females (the ones who actually bite), his bloodied and ripped shirt a testament to their tenacity. Not all the wildlife was trying to eat us though.

We saw and heard four species of monkey – Poepigg’s woolly, Red howler, Golden and Black-mantled tamarin – and we caught the whisper of a highly venomous Fer-de-lance pit snake as it slinked off to even quieter depths. Spiders sometimes spotted clambering over leaves.

We crossed ways with a Yellow-spotted river turtle and False coral snake, non-venomous despite their alarming, neony colours. Meanwhile, we learned a big story about tiny ‘Lemon’ ants.

An hour into our walk we came upon a strange clearing known as a Devil’s Garden, so-called because in the mythology of the Amazon Rainforest it’s thought that evil forest spirits called Chullachaki or Chuyathaqi inhabit them, killing the plant life around them.

A clearing without trees might not seem odd, but in such dense rainforest, it is. The scientific answer? Those Lemon ants. They use their own herbicidal poison on plants and trees they don’t eat, only leaving the species they savour. Some Devils’ Gardens have been known to grow to the size of hundreds of trees with millions of ants and thousands of queens.

Although these local superstitions mean that tribes would be wary of coming into such clearings, we huddled round a colony and took turns to try a couple of the ants. Mine tasted just like sherbet.

There and back again

Enjoying such awesome encounters with wildlife, and happily ambling along as we had been for hours, we jumped down onto a shallow, rocky riverbed. One that looked a bit familiar.

With a dread realisation that trickled over us in turn, we knew we had crossed this river already, I’d even taken a group photo hours before. A hut along the trail was meant to mark a turning point but we’d missed it somehow. Our guides had suspected as much before the river, they just hadn’t let on. The four of us assumed we’d been advancing in the right direction, but here we were off-trail, having gone in the wrong kind of circle for who knew how long.

I wasn’t too worried at first. We were with experienced guides, one of whom lived in the rainforest. They had marked our route using their machetes, and we could surely retrace our steps and look again for the turning. It wasn’t too late in the afternoon.

But rainforests are fickle friends, unwilling to let you go in a hurry. And as the name suggests, they don’t really stay dry for long.

The weather was changing and sounds of thunder in the distance poked at our ears – a very unwelcome storm was approaching. We couldn’t tell how big, but we knew enough about the risk to visualise our tracks washing away in heavy rain, perhaps a night spent sheltering beside a giant tree.

When you realise you’ve ‘gone wrong’ somewhere remote, certain thoughts can seem to run around your mind carousel-like, over and over. Our water bottles no longer looked sufficient. Our last meal had been a few lemon ants. No-one outside of our group knew our exact location. Our guides weren’t smiling any more.

And rain, heavy and warm, had arrived.

But it sprang our tired limbs into action. No, it was too risky to aim to find the missed turning. Yes, it was much safer to follow our steps back and hope the storm was brief. We forgot our hunger and our encroaching thirst. We hastened to follow our guides, feeling apprehensive and increasingly soggy, but determined to walk fast and find our way back.

Found

The next few hours were a bit of a blur, as return journeys sometimes are. Nerves were jangling, hoping the weather would clear, looking for signs we had rejoined the trail, wondering if we’d retraced earlier movements yet.

Looking at all my photos from the day, there is a gap of over two hours where I took nothing, camera stowed away from the rain. It rained on us for a while, we heard thunder, perhaps even saw some lightening, but the storm worked out to be the kind that passes over quite swiftly, leaving you clothed in mist and humidity. Praise be.

By a certain point I was quite sure we’d landed back on the trail. Spotting the eerie ’Devil’s Garden’ clearing gave me a kick of adrenaline. My friend Preeti took some convincing, but, finally, at 2pm, after 5.5 hours exploring and getting lost in Yasuní National Park, we came upon a view that everyone could agree on.

We were back at the rainforest window among the trees.

Which meant we were 45 minutes from our canoe. Looking out from that window a little more wisely, and a little more thankful.

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Postcard from…the Venetian Lagoon

‘Kim, do you think we’ve got time to see Igor Stravinsky before we go?’

No, my friend and I hadn’t travelled back in time to meet the 20th century Russian composer of The Rite of Spring. We were on Isola di San Michele, Venice’s cemetery island out in the lagoon. And time was running out to explore it before the last water bus of the day departed.

You could describe the island – which is actually two islands linked by canal – as a symbol of Napoleon’s military might. He invaded and dissolved the Republic of Venice in 1797, sanctioning a few years later for burials to take place away from the oft-flooded centre of Venice. Even despots can possess a regard for hygiene, then.

In any case, the history of the island predates Napoleonic upheaval. It is named after the church of St Michael that was built there, the first Renaissance church in Venice. A monastery was home to a branch of Benedictine monks and there was even a prison on the island for a time. Different kind of home I expect.

If you look at a picture of the island from the sky everything looks so ordered, like scaled up vegetable patches. But on the ground, once through the entrance it doesn’t feel that way, and you really forget you’re surrounded by water. A very thoughtful place.

We had time to visit Stravinsky’s grave in the end, and those of his neighbours: expat American poet Ezra Pound, Ballet Russes founder Sergei Diaghilev, writer Joseph Brodsky – and Venetians from all walks of life. It’s less starry than Père Lachaise Cemetery and the map isn’t entirely accurate, but it adds to the casual glamour of the place.

As you’d expect from a working cemetary, you can’t take photos within the walls, though if you’re lucky as we were to catch a sunset on the way back, you’ll find it compensation enough.

And what if we had missed the last water bus? Well, we would have been in good company.