Back With The Sax - Realigning

The flight home was easy and on time. The plane had plenty of empty seats with the seat next to me being one of them. I watched 4 movies on the 10 hour trip to Dallas where I switched planes for a short hop to Houston. Everything went smoothly.

It’s already been a week. It goes without saying that Jet lag has had me on a roller coaster ride of energy levels and mood swings but it hasn’t been too bad. Naturally, I’ve already begun to fall into the same old patterns as always but it feels different. I shopped an estate sale this morning, just one, in search of a little inventory. My heart wasn’t into it and I was off my game which equaled missed opportunities as a buddy scored big. I would have been better off staying home. The old patterns are not bad patterns, they’re just limiting.

I guess I halfway went to simply run into a few familiar faces on the circuit of buying and selling old stuff. I stood in the shade of a large stunted palm tree with a small group. A light breeze helped as we were all trying to escape the near 90 degree heat with high humidity at nine thirty in the morning waiting for the sale to open at 10. Steve and I talked vintage audio. Brian, a half way retired photographer, talked about shooting an Indy car race. Two unfamiliar faces were there to buy a comic book collection of 4,000 at a bargain basement price. A record guy I only see occasionally asked what I thought the records would be like judging by the photos. Everyone commented how the summer was hot but not as bad as other summers.

After 4 months of being out of the pickin game coupled with a lukewarm interest I didn’t really have much of a chance. I didn’t buy much and really felt like I should have been doing something else.

Whatever one puts their energy into is what one becomes. When I travel I’m Todd the “World Traveler”. When I dive into my usual work I’m Todd “The Picker”, a modern day term for those of us who buy and sell antiques and collectibles. There is only so much time in the day and what we immerse ourselves in can have a profound effect on shaping our life.

So, what if I were to take a gamble of sorts by suspending who I currently am to make way for what I can become. In other words, suppose I were to dust off repressed talents and prioritize things a little differently. How is that I can effortlessly lace up my shoes and go for a run on a daily basis while I put off writing for another day or let a year pass without learning at least a few words of French. Change and re-prioritization can be very difficult when one’s current circumstances are not bad. Habit locks one in. The questions to ask are, “Is this it?”, or, “Can I do better?”. 

In some ways I feel a subtle buzz of sorts. It’s partly due to the fact that I just got finished traveling for almost 4 month and partly due to an exciting realization that I’m actually in the process of turning the page and starting a new chapter in life. The hardest part is letting go of familiarity and all of it’s comforts. It’s very easy for me to do when I travel but at home it’s a challenge. Sometimes it’s necessary to simply hang it out there for a while. However, you have to stick with it over period of time to really give it a chance, to see what happens. You never know who you might meet or what doors may open.

I spent my last two days of travel in London. On the final day I met up with the wife of a friend who passed two years ago.

Erik was someone I knew while attending the Evergreen State College in the late 1980’s. For about a year we hung out a lot. We played in a band together, spent time on his boat, went out for live music, etc. etc.,. He was an incredibly creative person who I shared time with during the most creative period of my life. There were many philosophical conversations on the twice weekly drives to a house on a lake for band practice with two others. We only played original material and the chemistry between the 4 of us was exceptional for music. Two of the guys were totally committed to giving it a go. Erik and I were kind of half in, half out. The band didn’t last but I often wondered what would have happened given the explosion of attention the Olympia/Seattle area got in the early 1990’s. It will forever be a question in my mind as I was too young at the time to realize how rare it is to be in such a creative collective. Anyway, Erik was a big part of it and he played the Saxophone.

It was no surprise that his wife Kylie would be an absolute pleasure to meet. We met in Hyde Park and had a drink by a pond. She knows several mutual friends through Erik that I’ve long lost track of. We caught up on a lot. In bits and pieces she told me of Erik’s 4 year struggle with complications following surgery to remove a brain tumor that turned out to be benign. It was not without symptoms and something had to be done. The dark segments of description were broken by funny stories of Erik and his unique inspiring way of looking at life.

When I asked Kylie about Erik’s Saxophone she said she still had it and no one was interested. I expressed interest. For me it’s one of those items that represent a lot. It’s an item from a time lost that reminds me of what could have been while inspiring me to somehow pick up where I left off to be better creatively than I ever was. Erik lived with eyes wide open. Listen to John Coltrane or Charlie Parker. The music is out there with all sorts of bent tones on a wild ride that always comes back to a perfect rhythm. The music is a little off center but right on time. It travels to outer space exploring new possibilities. A single note falls out of a clever reed and skips over triplets for an experimental ride that oddly but perfectly expands possibility. Inspiring and refreshing. That was Erik. His term for it was, “Shang a Lang”.

On my way to Heathrow to catch my flight I switched trains twice on the tube before meeting Kylie with the Saxophone. She spent the morning digging it out so I could bring it back home as a carry on. With watery eyes she passed it my way. I asked if it was ok. She said it was. I felt her emotion to be part of the process of letting go and moving on. I assured her I would take care of it and keep it in the archives. For me it’s a powerful symbol and an appropriate one at that. After all these years what are the odds that Erik’s Saxophone would arrive in my hands as I stand in a position of realignment. What timing…….

A Few Images From London

Two Nights In London Then Home - A Few Thoughts

I'm writing this post on the train from Truro to London. I’m paying 3 x more to ride the train than the bus because the train is so much nicer. In the UK trains are generally overpriced unless you get lucky or buy your ticket way in advance. I got a barely acceptable price on an advance purchase so it’s more for luxury than anything. Busses are cheap but can take twice the time, if not longer, and are inconsistent in quality. The bus will get you to where you want to go, eventually.

I’m happy to have taken on and to have done my proposed hike along the South West Coast Path but it wasn’t quite the experience I was hoping for. In part I think it was due to the fact that I had already been traveling for a awhile. It’s as if I kind of stayed a little too long at the party to really appreciate the walk as much as I should have. One real distraction, while hiking, were lots of the villages and towns along the way. It’s not that they aren’t lovely and nice it’s just that they were so packed with tourists. It was nearly impossible not to be an ear shot away from some screaming kid having a meltdown. Some places I couldn’t get out of fast enough. Also, there were lots of day walkers along certain stretches of trail which added to more distraction. Meditative and reflective moments were often interrupted with a step to the side or a barking dog that should really be on a leash. Everyone’s kid and dog is and angel in the parents eyes yet an obstacle to the passerby. By the end of the walk I vowed never again to travel in Europe during July and August unless I have good reason to do so. The best time to travel in the UK and Europe is mid-May/late June, or, September/October. I once spent 2 weeks hiking along the Welsh coast during late April and May with hardly seeing anyone. The villages were a treat and nothing was overbooked if I desired a B&B.

Right now I am really ready to go home. With all of the uncertainty and crazy stuff going on in the world it will be nice to be back in the USA. America really is geographically removed from most all of the world’s problems. American's love Canada even though some Canadians don’t think too favorably of the USA. The problems with Central America revolve around drug cartels. The only real political problems between South America and the USA are with Venezuela. Cuba is the odd one. Kind of an old issue that just can’t be dropped until Fidel Castro passes away.

What’s happening in the Middle East is truly scary and having been to Israel and Jordan it makes me even more aware of the uncertainties within the region. The Arab Spring turned out to be an autumn. The West really needs to be objective about the whole situation and realize that people in Arab world have customs and ways of thinking that are profoundly different. Whereas I believe most of the Arab Muslim people want nothing more than to live a good life and avoid any kind of conflict there is an element within the population that embraces radical ideology with a warrior mentality that the West has a hard time believing really exists. Look at where the West was 100 or 200 years ago. Look at what happened in Germany during WW2 and look at where Germany is now. Different societies are at different stages of cultural evolution in my opinion. Be very skeptical, discerning, and open to all sides of an issue before coming up with any conclusions. The problems of the Middle East are very complicated. Is Peace possible? I’d say maybe but not likely in the near future. It could take a couple of more generations. Until the violence stops and people behave humanely in an honest fashion there will be problems. Right now things are getting worse. And to think, it’s all in the name of God. How much more crazy can things get?

Anyway, the Middle East has been on my mind quite a bit so that’s why I addressed it in this post.

In the meantime it’s 2 nights in London then I’m homeward bound. Back to Texas, the Lone Star State.

Done - 300+ Miles - 20 Days - South West Coast Path

Zennor turned out to be nice stop. The  B&B was kind of quirky but nice and run by a an older hippy woman with a variety of funky vehicles parked around. Breakfast was healthy as she only served vegetarian.

From Zennor I planned to walk a short day to St Ives. I’ve been to St Ives before and recalled a nice campground. I figured I’d pitch camp early and spend the afternoon on the beach. Well, the campground turned out to be way overpriced at 15 pounds (26 USD for a walker with a one man tent). Normal price in England would be 3 pound on the low end with 10 at the top end). We are talking about a plot in an open field with access to a shower and toilet. Nothing fancy. No electricity assigned site or anything like that. The guy at reception was not very nice when I stated that I was on foot with a one man tent and if he was sure that was the right price. He responded in a true “Smart Ass” fashion that I didn’t have to pay it and wouldn’t find anything better in St Ives. Needless to say, I left.

I continued through St Ives and was glad I decided to pass through. There were too many tourists and the place really wasn’t very appealing to me. A little beyond St Ives is Carbis Bay. It’s a nice baech with not too many people. I asked around and found a nearby farm camp with basic facilities for 6 pounds. I pitced camp, went to the beach, and found a pint at a pub.

Carbis to Portreath was a nice walk that included an interesting section through sand dunes follosed by easy cliff top walking. The village of Portreath is not overly appealing with old but not very old plain styled buildings. It’s kind of a worn out fishing village but the harbor and beach aren’t bad. I noticed a small church and got permission to camp on the back lawn for the night.

The hike from Portreath to Perronporth marked my 20^th and last day of hiking. The stretch of trail includes some wonderful ciff top walking but the weather was pretty bad with plenty of rain, mist and clouds. Occasionaly views revealed a wild sea bashing into rocky broken cliffs. Sometimes the water would make odds sounds not too unlike barking. At on small isolated cove large waves broke close to the shore with high tide and red flag flying. Only a person without a brain would be foolish enough to go in for a swim.

I made it into Perranporth by early afternoon and had a celbratory pint for completion of over 300 miles in 20 days. It's a good accomplishment and pretty much par for such a distance walk. The last three days of hiking felt a lot easier. I think it just took me a longer time to get to the point where 15+ miles with a heavy pack would feel relatively normal. The only consistent complaint I had was sore feet. I never got any blisters or anything but there was a consistent soreness on the bottoms of my feet that just wouldn't go away.

As expected the time really flew by. In the end 20 days of hiking really doesn’t seem very long even though on the 2^nd and 3^rd day, with my pack feeling like a real burden, it felt like it was going to be a long walk.

From Perranporth I took a bus to Truro and found accommodation via Tourist Information. At first tourist information didn’t have much to offer and what they had was too expensive. I kept subtlety pushing the issue with the attendant not seeming to want to put out too much effort. With all official options exhausted she reached for an address book from a drawer and made a call. She stated there was a room in a house that was not an official B&B that had a room. It was not registered with tourist information but she gave me directions with an address. The price was exactly what I wanted to pay.

Just to the side of the old town cathedral is a row of houses. I knocked on the green door with a number 3 and was greeted by a very nice older lady. She didn’t offer breakfast but showed me to the room. The place was very clean and quiet. For me it was perfect and very comfortable. The home was definitely set for guests and my room, like most all accommodation in Europe, had a kettle for boiling water and supplies for making coffee or tea. I made a cup of coffee.

I left the path with about 200 miles left to complete the entirety of 630 miles. Too be continued sometime in the future.

Further Along The Coast Path

Aside of sore feet and a good dose of foul weather the last four days of hiking have been really good. The coastline has become more dramatic with the sections between villages having a wilder feel.

I packed up a wet camp in Porthallow after it rained most the night. The rain stopped early but I wasn’t sure for how long. I simply got my things together and got walking. It wasn’t bad at first but it didn’t look like things were getting better. By time I reached the old quarries outside of Rosenithon a blasting gale blew in sideways from the sea. I just kept my head down and tried my best to stay on track to the next village of Coverack.

By time I reached Coverack the weather started to pull back a bit but I needed a break. I asked a local for a café and he directed me to the Fat Mackerel. When I arrived at the empty cafe I was greeted by a warm fire and a nice young waitress. I ordered a full English breakfast and coffee. I have come to find that a full breakfast of sausage, bacon, egg, mushrooms, tomatoes, toast and baked beans adds up to an easier day of hiking and you won’t need lunch.

The weather improved quite a bit but remained unsettled as I walking into the village of Lizard and found a nice B&B run by a friendly couple with the husband being quite the character. I bought the beer and he bought the fried chicken and chips (French fries). He, a mid 60’s metals sculptor with items made out of goods acquired from a recycling center decorate the front yard with things that look good blowing in the wind. His pirate themed wood box contained roll your own cigarettes with a little something extra but I told him I only drank beer. In the morning he fixed me a huge full English breakfast.

Wind and mixed weather greeted me along the pleasantly lonely cliff top walk from Lizard to Porthleven. By time I arrived in the village the sun was full on. A nice swell was blessing surfers on the water front. I made my way to the village campground and pitched camp before finding a pint at a pub.

Porthleven was a brief taste of trail community as I met up with a young German couple who needed a campsite but had no idea the village had one. In town I noticed a single woman, who looked like a distance walker, sitting outside of the grocery store. I asked if she were walking the coast path. He said she was. I then asked where she was from and she said Nashville. I rarely, if ever, meet Americans hiking in England. A little while later her friend and a German guy showed up. The German thru hiked the Appalachian Trail last year. I told him I had hiked it in 1985. One of the girls said it was before he was born. They were all in their early 20’s. We swapped stories awhile before parting ways.

In the evening I met up with the young German couple again at the campground pub. The woman had recently lived in Amman, Jordan for 6 months studying and had also traveled in Israel. It was very interesting hearing about her time there and what her thoughts are on the current situation. Anyway, the twoseparate meetings reminded me of what it’s like to be on a long distance hike and meeting like minded folks doing the same thing. For one, I have met very few distance walkers during this hike. And two, nobody hikes the Southwest Coast Path the direction I am headed. In England, “On My Todd”, is an expression for being on your own. How appropriate.

The German couple suggested I go the Mousehole the next day. They also recommended I stay at a very inexpensive B&B run by a woman who has been catering to walkers for years and years so I barrowed their iphone and booked a night.

I’m happy I took their advice as the weather turned absolutely filthy. Blowing rain and wind blasted me the last 5 miles. When I arrived it was like showing up at grandmas. “Get your wet stuff off and I’ll wash your clothes, dry your boots, etc.” Edwina has been putting up walkers for over 50 years but this year is her last as she is working on a half open basis with the B&B on the market. Until the property sells she will not turn away walkers. Her personality is sharp as a tack and we enjoyed  good conversation. The room was very homey and I slept better than I have in a awhile. She sent me off the next day with a huge breakfast.

From Moushole the walking just kept getting better. More rugged yet dreadfully interrupted by the gaudy tourism of Land’s End, England’s most southerly point. Just beyond Sennon cove I climbed some steep steps to a campground catering to surfers and beach goer’s. The café serves up decent food at a very reasonable price.

Today, Friday, the hiking, although spectacular was shadowed by fatigue. For seventeen days I’ve been pushing along up and down muddy single track trail interspersed with the village and occasional road walk. It’s definitely been more physically demanding than I would have expected but that’s been kind of the appeal. It’s been a different kind of walk. In some ways I feel distracted by the physicality but oddly cleansed by it as well. It’s been a walk with mixed feelings that will ultimately equal a great experience in the end.

When I arrived in Zennon today I was feeling pretty wired with fatigue. The hostel no longer operates as a hostel. There is no camping aside of wild camping and it’s windy unsettled weather. I barrowed a phone to book a cheap B&B a mile away as I sat in a pub to write this post. Three more days and I will reach my goal of 300+ miles in 20 days of walking.

 

Porthollow - The Halfway Point

Sunday, August, 24, 2014

 

For the last 12 days I've turned myself into a hiking machine and I'm feeling it. At times I'm handling the full pack along with ascents and descents quite easily. Other times it just feels like a lot of work. Right now it's equalling up to me feeling pretty darned tired. The specatacular views, although acknowledged, are not being appreciated as they should. For this walk the odd appeal seems to be more the physical challenge with a little too much focus on the destination. Somehow it's turning out to be an odd meditation of sorts. If that makes sense?

Sometimes taxing physical activity can take ones mind off of everything as the focus becomes each step carefully taken along a rocky path. Breathing becomes the metronomic rhythm of an uphill ascent. Wind and ocean sounds become the background music. Distractions come in the form of tourist ridden towns or passing walkers. The goal relevant becomes irreleveant as one is lost in the moment of adjusting the pack with shoulders aching and feet sore. Just a few more miles. Nonetheless, I feel compelled to go on. Somehow it's all very rewarding, one way or another.

As each day is so full things are really running together. Polperro was an unplanned stop after two pints at the Blue Peter pub with a couple of retired teachers. The old fishing village had a lot of charm and a cheap B&B gave me reason to stay.

At a road crossing, where I briefly took a wrong turn off a designated pedestrian crossing, I met one of the meanist nastiest truck drivers you could imagine. I had just crossed Par Beach and was following my map pretty well but lost the trail. I found the trail again and noted I needed to take a left on a paved road, cross a bridge, and get back on trail as I had to pass through a small port town.

It became apparent fairly quickly I had made a mistake. I didn't have a good feeling. The road I was walking on seemed public at first. There were no other signs to suggest otherwise. I turned around to go back to the pedestrain crossing which I now knew I should have taken in the first place. As I retraced my steps a truck approached and the driver asked what I was doing. I explained I had taken a wrong turn. He instructed me that I needed to go back to the beach and went on to try and give me some advice about getting back on the Coast Path. I told him I was headed the other direction from what he was suggesting. He replied the Coast Path didn't go where I was going and went from being seemingly helpful to sternfully telling me I needed to get off the road which I was trying to do anyway.

When I was about 30 feet from being back to the pedestrain crossing another truck approached. It stopped abruptly as it flashed it's lights. The driver rolled down his window and very voilently started yelling at me that I had no authority etc. etc,,. I simply told him I was walking the Coast Path and took a wrong turn. I then ran to the pedestrain crossing where I flew through a gate and made my way to some houses. The driver did not follow. I literally thought he was going to hop out of his truck and beat me up, however, I'm pretty quick. Even with a pack. With adrenalin flowing I made it through the depressed port town of Par in a flash and was quickly back to walking quiet coastline.

If that was one extreme Charlestown was another. I had planned to camp at a small campground in the village but they were full with a quota of 12. I then asked an old woman in her late 70's, working in her yard, if she knew of a place to camp. She offered her back garden as well as a cup of tea. As it turned out she is the mother in law of the woman who owns the campground that was full. I think she was happy to have a foreign visitor and seemed to be very familiar with the Coast Path. She has been living in Charlestown for 55 years and we had a very nice coversation over tea in the evening. In the back of the house there was an out building with toilet, sink, and locked gate to the garden. I spent the evening in the village pub.

Portloe was another sleepy little fishing village. The attendant at the pub wasn't very helpful when I asked about camping but the B&B just up the road said I could camp in their garden for free. I ordered a full English Breakfast for the next morning and went to the pub for the evening. The Ship Inn serves up sub par overpriced food although the atmosphere is pretty good and the beer is fine.

From Portole to the campground west of Falmouth was a long day. It seemed like it was taking me forever and two ferry crossing took time. It was kind of ashame to blow through Falmouth but I wanted to make the campground before dark to get a shower and do laundry. Falmouth looks like a really nice place with sailing being a big appeal.

Essentially the three previous days were pretty long so today I cut it short in another sleepy fishing village, Porthallow. I decided to camp at a farm with a cafe called the Fat Apple. If I was looking for quiet I've found it. I had a good healthy late lunch/dinner of mixed salads followed by a large piece of Walnut Coffee cake. I then went down to the local pub for a couple of pints. Porthallow is the official halfway point for the Southwest Coast Path at 315 miles. So far on this trip I've covered 190 miles. I'd like to get another 110 for 300. We'll see. From here on out, aside of maybe one or two tough days the hiking looks to be very reasonable.

However, right now I'm feeling like I need a couple of easy days and a B&B. Especially

since the next couple of days look pretty lousey for weather.

Devon Into Cornwall

I really had no idea what the guy was talking about. I had just hitched a ride across the River Yelm with a local in a flimsy mildly overloaded boat. I met two other hikers on the opposite dock waiting for the official variably reliable ferry. All I did was ask one of them where they were from. Instead of a two word answer the guy, with a super thick Eastern European accent started to tell me his life story.

I could understand about a third of what he was saying. I thought he said he was from Vegas but his mom was from Germany but he didn’t know who his mother and father were because it was communist times and his father may have done something bad. He then started dropping names like KGB, Putin, and Paul Newman. That’s when he began to explain some Hollywood connection and asked if I had seen a particular Steven Segal movie and started to explain a boy character.

His last name was Segal. To complicate matters he was talking fast. I then asked again,  ”But where are you from”. He replied, “Vegas, the California side”. What the heck does that mean? All of Las Vegas is in Nevada. I simplified the question and asked him where he lived now and he said, “Outside of London”.

This went on for about 15 minutes before I stepped around him to start walking away and told him I needed to get moving. He was very nice in his animated explanations but way too hard to follow. As I walked around him I noticed he had a small American flag sticking out of his pack. I don’t think the guy was a nut. I simply believe for whatever reason he really wanted to share his story with me, maybe because I’m American?

I meet lots of characters when I travel alone and should really write more about them. I camped one night near a police officer the same age as me who is only 4 years away from 30 year retirement. Another night I camped near a Swiss couple who thought England was expensive. Gavin, the father of the family who helped me after I got my pack wet, is a salt of the earth laborer from Northamptonshire, who on vacation with wife and two kids couldn’t have been more helpful and hospitable. Lucy, the kindred spirit, with a coffee stand makes me wonder if I should go back to for another cup before I go home. Oh, and the absolutely lovely woman at the old coastguard cottages who directed me to a place to camp that I would have never found otherwise. These are just a few of the people I have met thus far. I like my time alone but I also really enjoy meeting people. Especially when I travel.
Anyway, the hiking has been going well. After the third day I began to find my rhythm. On the 5^th day I found my hiking legs again. At times, my backpack, carrying a full kit as they call it here in England, is quite burdensome. At other times it feels like a natural extension of my body. Some miles pass slowly as a windy rain shower passes while other miles seem fairly effortless under clear sunny skies. The wind is always blowing to some degree, usually in my face, but it makes me feel alive.
I’ve been averaging a little over 15 miles a day. On the 5^th day I got a good industrial tour of Plymouth, the only real city that the coast path passes through. Actually, it’s not too bad. I passed a nice Marina and such right to tourist information at Plymouth steps where the Mayflower, full of pilgrims, departed for America.

I decided Plymouth would be a B&B stop so I had Tourist Information do the calling around instead of walking around. They were very helpful and made numerous inquiries until they finally found a single for a reasonable price, 35 pound ($60 USD), with shared bathroom and full English breakfast. Well, reasonable is all relative these days in the UK as the dollar is weak and the country has obviously seen some inflation. Three years ago I would have paid $45 USD for the same accommodation and probably did. Ironically, out of all of the many B&B’s in Plymouth, I got booked into the same one I stayed at before a few years ago when catching a ferry to France. Nonetheless, B&B’s still tend to be the best value for accommodation in the UK.

This morning I am in the overlooked village of Downderry, Cornwall. After all of the busy villages along the Devon region Downderry feels like off season with hardly any tourists. There are two places to camp in the village. The first campground turned out to be a naturist camp for nudist tucked back up a cove. I thought it would make for a funny story to stay there but I was afraid that I would only see old naked fat people and those images would be stuck in my head. I remembered hiking through a nudist beach three years ago, on the coast path, and would have preferred not to. It’s just not my scene.

So, I sought out the village pub for other suggestions. My book mentioned an organic farm up a steep hill as a place to camp. Andy, a worker at the pub, was just about to get off and offered me a ride.

The road is super narrow and steep. It would be a hard slog at the end of the day as it went on for about a mile. Also, with blind turns and all I think it would be quite dangerous to walk. It’s only wide enough for one car and lined with tall thick hedges.

There were only 3 other camps at the farm and they had all had arrived by vehicle via a back way. The campsite is merely a farmer’s field with a couple of toilets and shower attached to an old stone house. The shower was great with loads of hot water. The charge for camping in a one man trekking tent was 4 pound ($7 USD). As luck would have it I was able to hitch a ride down the hill this morning directly to a coffee shop where I left the trail.

Today is day 8 and I have yet to walk a mile. It was sunny when I awoke but now it's cold and rainy. I more or less have a plan for my remaining travel time and am hoping to make it as far as Newquay on the Coast Path, however, I will need to maintain my current pace regardless of weather and such so we’ll see. Anyway, I’ve given myself a set amount of days before returning to London to fly home.

On a side note I was able to catch up on some news while at the B&B in Plymouth. What the heck is going on in the world today!?!? I was especially taken by some of the wild comments and reports on Israel having recently been there. That’s all I will say politically for now…… It’s time to get back to walking!

 

On The Southwest Coast Path, Devon, England

The crux of the Southwest Coast Path, through the section I am currently hiking, are water crossings at various harbors, bays, and estuaries. Some are served by a regular ferry while others are served by limited seasonal ferries at specific times of day. One place in particular has no ferry service and must be crossed at low tide. If you don’t hit the tides and times right it can be pretty inconvenient.

Yesterday I just missed the ferry to get across the Avon Estuary. Since the tide was very low I was told I could walk up a ways and wade across. I didn’t have a good feeling about it and the guide book strongly recommended against trying to wade across. I really didn’t want to take a chance of getting my pack wet. There were other boats in the area so I started seeking options. One very nice gentleman offered to help me across with his wide sit atop kayak. It’s seemed like a doable option at the time but I didn’t give it too much thought. I’m comfortable on a Kayak and the distance across was short.

Well, it was a bad idea with a backpack. I got on right at the shore and thought I was fine. The gentleman was even holding it as he was going to help keep it steady across as he waded and swam in the water. He was wearing a wet suit. I guess the pack threw off my balance because all I did was raise my arm and I was over the side and in the water with my pack. Luckily I fell on the shore side and was up and out of the water about as quick as I went in. My pack was wet. My camera case was wet. And of course I was wet.

I walked up shore and sat not knowing what the full damage would be. Salt water can be really bad on gear. A short while later a guy with a small sturdy dingy showed up. I asked if he might be able to take me across and told him what happened. It was really a short distance and the water was low. At first I could tell he didn’t really want to help but he took pity on me and said to give him about 15 minutes. A short while later he very nicely ferried me across to some exposed tidal flats where I could continue across and up the trail.

Above the Estuary there is a farm with a large field and toilet block for summer camping. The wind was blowing hard so I found a protected spot behind a hedge near a caravan. Since I was very close to the caravan I asked the family occupying if it was ok to camp there. They said it was fine. I then dumped my pack to assess damage.

I think my rapid departure from the water really saved me. The bottom of the pack was pretty wet but it was clothes and some items I already had stored in dry bags to protect from rain. Luckily my camera and small laptop were slightly damp but ok. I separated anything wet but most items were dry. The main damage was to clothes and outside of pack. I emptied my pack completely and found a hose at the campground to wash it out with fresh water. The family of the caravan gave me some washing detergent to clean my clothes in the toilet sink. I threw some paper stuff away. My passport and all was just fine as I keep it tied up in a plastic bag while hiking anyway.

With everything sorted the family asked me if I’d like to join them for dinner. They had cooked too much. I spent the evening enjoying conversation in the comfort of their tent awning as they insisted I have another beer. I certainly picked the right place to camp for the night.

I’m not sure how many miles I’ve hiked the last four days but I’ve been moving along pretty well up until now. Just a few miles ahead I have a water crossing that won’t be passable until low tide late in the afternoon so I won’t cover much ground today.

The first two days I didn’t much enjoy as I was feeling tired and not into it. The coast is peppered with villages overrun by tourist madness which detracts from the appeal. The scenery, although nice, wasn’t really grabbing me. On the third day as I strolled along Slapton Sands into the village of Torcross I still wasn’t enjoying myself and debated getting off the path and packing it in. However, I still kept walking. In the next village, Beesands, I passed a B&B and stopped out of curiosity to ask the price.

The portly older woman running the B&B  was very nice. We had a good chat that turned into a pep talk. “Oh, it’s early. Keep going. The coast ahead is lovely. You can camp in East Prawle. There’s a nice Pub there”. I asked if she could fill my water bottle and continued on.

 I made good time up to the lighthouse at Start Point and things seemed to click as the coast took on a little wilder appearance. A few miles further a steep side trail took me up to East Prawle. The village hosts two farmer’s fields for camping. One is overrun with camper and very exposed with a grand ocean view. The other is tucked back a little behind a hedge and gets little use. I camped there.

The village has a grand wacky pub with fabulous atmosphere. I was able to get a shower there and drank ale poured directly from a wood barrel cask. Just like the old days

So, today is day five, Sunday. The weather has been fickle and varied as English weather can be which adds a little more to the obstacles ahead. Currently the weather is blustery and kind of cold. I am now in the village of Challborough which is a more or less a caravan hamlet catering to families. There's a restaurant bar with slow wifi and a very reasonably priced Sunday Roast that starts at noon. If it weren't for screaming kids it would be a nice place. August is the absolute worst time for traveling along the Devon and Cornwall Coastal enclaves because of the tourist crowds. Between villages the wild sections of coast are fine.

 

One The Move - Holland To England

After three nights in Scheveningen I hopped a couple of local busses to the International Ferry Port in Hook of Holland. I chose to take the overnight ferry to England and had booked my ticket online. Departure time was 9:30 pm but boarding started at 7 pm. I was one of the first in line.

With the overnight ferry a cabin is mandatory. I booked the cheapest single which cost a little over $50 USD. It turned out to be a very good value. For me it was quite luxurious with modern en-suite bathroom and a nice TV with numerous channels. The bed was very comfortable.

The common area was all on one level and a little like a cruise ship with a couple of bars, restaurant, cinema, and quiet area set up in a very homey fashion. Food and drink prices were not overly inflated.

Sleep was pretty good but the seas were just rough enough to cause me to wake up a few times.  A gentle rock from side to side was interrupted by choppy bumps, however, I never felt seasick. The night ferry, if it’s on time, actually arrives around 4:30 am. A wakeup call doesn’t happen until 5:30 am with disembarking starting at 6:30 am.

UK immigration goes quick and exits into a train station with regular service to London. To be on the safe side I bought an advance purchase ticket for 8:30 am. I booked with a buffer in case of any delay. The cheapest tickets are time specific and cannot be used for any other train. In the UK you really have to be careful about buying a ticket the same day at the station. Ticket prices can vary wildly. For example, Harwich to London advance purchase can cost between $20 to $55 USD for the same day depending on time of trip. The pricing scheme seems somewhat random and really doesn’t make much sense. If you show up the day of to buy a ticket at the counter it’s kind of like rolling the dice. The only exception is on local short routes or the London tube where the price is fixed.

I decided to spend a night in London on my way to the Southwest coast and found good reasonably priced accommodation at a student housing complex near Canary Warf. In some places student dorms and the like are turned into hostel/budget accommodation for the tourist season. For around $38 USD I had my own single room with shared bathroom down the hall.  The place was quite nice and a total bargain for London. The only hitch was a key deposit which amounted to over $50 USD! It was that or leave my passport at the desk which I wasn’t going to do, especially since it’s my only form of identification right now.

I spent the day in London visiting the best travel book store in the world, Standford’s, where I bought some guidebooks for the Southwest Coast Path. Since the bookstore is located near the National Portrait Gallery, which is free, I stopped in for a visit. There you can see famous original paintings of Royals dating back the 1400’s. There is also an original Portrait of Shakespeare that is believed to be the only one done in real life.  I ended my day in London by walking by the famous tall ship, Cutty Sark, and having a pint at a pub of the same name.

Today I finally made it to the Southwest Coast of England after a long travel day from London. The train to my destination, Teignmouth, was around $78 USD, a bus with local train was around $28. I chose the bus option. Whereas the train would have been easy and taken a little over 3 hours the bus turned out to take around 7.5 hours due to a late start, traffic, and some mechanical issue. The delay of start was supposed to be due to the bus being cleaned but when it arrived it was filthy with oil smudge marks on the windows from previous passengers, dirty chair trays, etc. I was not impressed with the bus but I guess you get what you pay for.

With three full days of travel and feeling fatigued I opted to take the money I saved by riding the bus and got a room at a B&B I stayed in 3 years ago, almost exactly to the date. Tomorrow I will start hiking along the Southwest Coast Path picking up where I left off.

The Southwest Coast Path is England’s longest national trail. It hugs the coasts of Dorset, Devon, and Cornwall for over 600 miles. Three years ago I covered the first 130 miles starting in Poole. This time I’ll see how far I get until it’s time to fly home.

Scheveningen - The Dutch Coast

Well Amsterdam wasn’t really my cup of Tea. Don’t get me wrong. It’s a nice and interesting city but I wasn’t feelin it. It seemed to be overrun by 20 something’s seeking what I’d rather avoid. For me it was a disconnect as I wasn’t meeting anyone and felt a little out of place. I never made it to the Van Gogh gallery nor did I take a boat ride through the canals. It was cloudy and threatening rain as I headed back to the campground for my last night in the area.

When I awoke the next day, after a noisy night, I figured I’d go to the Dutch coast. I spent about 5 minutes online finding and booking a cheap hotel that said it was near a beach. All I had was a confirmation number, address, and town name, Scheveningen. Located near The Hague. I hadn’t stayed in a hotel since June.

At the Amsterdam Central train station I reasoned it made the most sense to simply buy a ticket to The Hague and figure it out from there. Upon arrival I exited the station to a trolley stand and gave them the name and address of where I was trying to get. A young woman looked it up on her I-phone and told me which tram and where to get off. I guessed on what direction the hotel might be and stopped at a pet store to ask for directions. The owner of the shop, in a heavy Dutch accent said, “Your warm, very close!”, and pointed me the right direction. I then found it easily.

Check in was in one building and my accommodation was in another. I was directed to the other building. The Hotel is made up of two adjoining Victorian era row houses that have been converted. The stairs are very steep and the doors slam loudly. I share a toilet in the hall with one other room. A large window for my small accommodation faces a courtyard. Having traveled enough in Europe it’s exactly what I expected. Given the price I’d consider it fair but not a bargain. However, the included breakfast is pretty good which adds value.

For me the hotel is comfortable and the location is fantastic. When I asked the desk clerk what was the fastest way to the beach he gave me a funny look. It’s literally 5 minutes out the door to the left. If you didn’t have to cross streets it would be a 3 minute walk.

After a swim in the water, a walk in the sand, and a couple of beers of at one of the many beachside bar/restaurants I decided Schenveningen is a 3 night stop and paid for an extra night.

Since arriving I’ve naturally spent time on the beach, gone for a run, and went for a nice bike ride amidst the extensive seaside dunes. I’ve also spent a lot of time simply hanging out in the hotel room surfing the net and pondering my next step.

This morning, Saturday, I booked a ferry back to the UK. Just after doing so I walked to the beach to see a wild Sea. A gale blew in overnight and the ocean that looked nice and calm yesterday turned wild and mean by this morning. The wind was whipping beach sand up in the air to form a light haze. Not many people were lounging on the beach but many were out to view the disoriented waters as kite surfer’s zipped around flying off the tops of waves with their small canopies. An angry sea is captivating to watch from shore.

Well, it wasn’t long before the ocean had it’s way with a small craft and 4 passengers. At first I couldn’t tell what was going on but I spotted an overturned boat not far from shore with people clinging to the hull. Search and rescue quickly arrived. I could see in the distance another hard wave hit and all of the passengers were thrown away from the boat. One was able to swim ashore but the rest appeared to be caught in a tough current. All had bright yellow life preservers. Soon a helicopter flew overhead as two boats and light watercraft searched for the others. In the end all passengers were rescued and eventually the boat washed ashore. The whole deal was interesting to watch. All the while I was thinking, “What the hell were those people on the boat thinking?” So, that was two hours of my day as a curious beach spectator.

In the afternoon I couldn’t resist cautiously getting my feet wet. Just a short distance from the shore the waves look a lot bigger. I never got deeper than my waist but at one point I felt a hard rip current about mid-thigh which motivated me to get out. Still, it felt nice to get a little salt water on the skin.

The seaside area known as Scheveningen is a full on summertime resort lined with trendy beachside restaurants and an impressive grand old hotel. The crowd is a nice mix. Although it’s fairly busy it’s not overcrowded. The vibe is chill compared to Amsterdam. The beach is broad and sandy. The Hague is a very short distance to the east and the area north and south is full of dune mixed with scrub and patches of forest. The dunes have a nice network of hiking trails and bike paths. It’s all very beautiful for what it is.

Tomorrow I’ll set sail back to the UK. Having been to the UK a number of times and always getting on well with the Brits, England feels like I’m halfway home. I plan to do some walking before I go back to the States.

In a way I should probably go home now. I pretty much feel like I’ve done enough this time around. Although I’m flying on a ticket with an open return August flights are heavily booked so it takes some persistent effort and a little luck to make any change without extra charges. I do have a reservation for the very beginning of September. Needless to say it’s still hot in Houston and September will be here in a flash. There’s really no reason to rush back. Maybe I’ve had my fill for other reasons.

For the last 10 years I’ve been pretty consistent with the “World Traveler Thinker” thing. It’s been a magnificent period of keeping life interesting. There have been several points over the past years where I’ve expressed intentions and need for certain changes. While some intentions have been fulfilled and a little bit of change has happened I’ve clung to the path of least resistance and have put off and postponed long enough. All that I’ve seen and done has got to amount to something other than just fulfilling my own desires. I'd like to think that I’ve at least entertained and inspired a few so I’ll assume I have. At the very least I’ve been providind a public diary of story’s and photo’s for my mother to know where I am and what I’m doing.

When I get back to the States I will definitely be changing my home base by moving to a different living space. I will do that first but I am not sure if I will stay in Houston or not. I will continue to do what I do to make money but I will shift my priorities to make room for other pursuits. The hardest part will be how to not fall into the same old patterns. After all, my old patterns are not bad. They are just prohibiting me form living up to my true potential. Not to sound egocentric but I feel like I’ve been cutting myself way to short for way to long.

So, with a good 3 weeks to walk with a backpack I believe this is where I need to shift my thinking. It’s time to top it off, play it out, and move it on.

Amsterdam

Monday - August 4

Section 2 was packed with tents. Kind of like a music festival. Young college aged kids sat around talking with reggae music playing and a hint of some kind of odd smell in the air. I was told to camp in section 2 but made an executive decision to move to section 1, which was less packed and seemingly mellower. The best spot was tucked in a corner but it was all dirt and destined to be a mud pit if it should rain. I settled for a grassy slice real estate next to a hedge. Urban camping, Amsterdam.

Joyce and Gert accompanied me as I chose my spot in the campground. As Joyce voiced earlier, Amsterdam would be very different. We said our goodbyes and I set up my tent, checked out the dirty bathrooms, and surmised I was one of the very few under the age of 25. I then went walkabout looking for the ferry across a broad canal to central station.

Stepping out of central station was not appealing. Crowds of people pushed along the sidewalks narrowed by road construction as I shuffled along. I soon arrived at a square where a large group was gathered around a busker with a filthy mouth. I failed to see the humor. My first impression of Amsterdam was not very good.

Amsterdam is so cliché in a lot of ways. It’s European backpacking 101 for college students seeking a cheap flight, legal weed in coffee shops and the possibility of a relatively safe fling in the red light district. These are very reasons why I’ve avoided Amsterdam for so long minus a cheap flight through the airport.

As I fought through the crowds I formed a plan. Move further beyond central, find a supermarket for a cheap lunch, and look for a relatively quiet side street with a local bar.

Well, I found a supermarket and a quiet spot on a side street and sat next to a canal to eat lunch. I then stopped at a bar for a quick beer. From there I stumbled into a vintage vinyl record shop. Feeling better I found a nice local neighborhood with good people watching and planted myself on a barstool overlooking the sidewalk. Jazz, soul, and obscure pop played as very easy going waiters served the mixed yet young clientele. I started to chill out and as I drew the comparison of Amsterdam being like San Francisco without the hills. Instead it has canals. The outlying neighborhoods are quite lovely.

The Ann Frank house was at the top of my list so after beers I stood in line for close to 2 hours. Tourist information said it would only be a 30 minute wait at 7 pm but it wasn’t. While in line I talked with a young Vietnamese couple that now lives and works in Zurich, Switzerland. They said after moving to Switzerland everything outside of Switzerland seems cheap. Especially in Vietnam! I also met an Israeli family on vacation.

It was very interesting visiting the home of Anne Frank, void of furniture, but the push and shove of crowds detracted from a more reflective experience. Amsterdam is very busy right now. After all, it’s August, the busiest time of the summer tourist season.

Tuesday - August 5

I retired to my tent around 11 pm but noise kept me up most of the night. Being camped amongst a crowd on college aged kids made me feel my age. However, the noise wasn’t really too loud. It was just loud enough and went all night.

In the morning I scooted out of my tent and laced up my running shoes before deciding what to do with myself. The campground borders a nature preserve with trails so I started there. I then found my way along some canals, through a village next to a marina, and atop a dike. I ran back and forth over a bridge for grins and retraced my steps to the campsite. The area is really quite nice and after a really enjoyable run I re-assessed the camping situation.

I roamed all over the campground and realized it is much bigger than I thought. Field 1 and 2 appeared to be all young backpackers. Area 3 was for campervans and such while area 4 looked to be for families and older folks. I inquired at the office and they indeed agreed that area 4 was much quieter so I packed camp and moved. The area is much nicer and feels better so I think it will be ok. Feeling good about my new site I left and walked the 20 minutes to the ferry for a another day in the city.

First I visited a Church then I went to the famed Red Light district which is really Bizarre. Of course 12 noon isn’t prime time for working gals but there were some workaholics nonetheless. Down one alley they taunt men while standing at a door. Along the canal they sit in windows and either act interested or browse their smart phones only to glance up occasionally. Just a couple of the women looked remotely appealing in a novelty sort of way. The rest looked like a bad dream. Well, at least for me they did. In a way I think Amsterdam tries to make prostitution a respectable business. Museums honor the profession.

Strolling out of the Red Light district I entered a coffee shop for a simple cup of coffee and got punched in the face by a cloud of pot smoke. Amsterdam caters wonderfully to the Marijuana enthusiast. The city is well set up for debauchery with its target market being young folks. Amsterdam right now seems very young. Perhaps it’s because it’s summer.

I eventually found my way to the old Heineken brewery where they have turned it into the Heineken experience, a brilliant marketing scheme. First off, they don’t call it a brewery tour but you do get to see some old copper kettles. The tour consists of not only museum like displays but many interactive medias such as a video, photo shots with Heineken logos, a lesson in properly pouring beer etc.,. The most creative part was a movie combined with a vibrating floor and special effects to mimic how beer is made from the grain to bottle to distribution. It was very clever and kind of hard to describe. The entire experience cost me 16 euros which was discounted 2 euros with a coupon and included 2 beers. At the end of the deal I won a quiz question before a large group and was awarded an extra beer. When you leave they give you a small glass. Due to the extensive creative factor I’d say you get a fair value. Again, it appeared as though 98% of the crowd was college aged. I found conversation with no one.

Wednesday - August 6

My second night at the campground was much better. A father and son camped next to me was kind of annoyingly loud but went to sleep at a reasonable time. Other than that it’s fine. I started the day with a run and am now in a legitimate coffee shop bar with atmosphere and good music.

Today is my third day in the city and I will move on tomorrow. Three days is enough for me. Due to summer crowds I think August is the worst time to visit. The canals, architecture, and mixed café culture give the place a lot of character with characters. The downside to me are the drug tourists which is a little too apparent in my eyes. Not only do people smoke pot in cafés they also do it openly in public. I really prefer not to be around it and find the smell to be nauseating. It also attracts an element that I prefer not to be around. The upside is that most people are pretty mellow if not a little spacey.

Today I’ll roam around for a while, probably take a ride on a canal boat, and debate dealing with crowds at the Van Gogh museum.

 

Mixed Time With A Bit Of Rhein - Holland & Germany

Tomorrow led to yesterday which took me to the next day and before I knew it a week had passed. Joyce and her husband invited me to stick around as we all seemed to be on the same page. With no plans and nothing on the calendar we spent our days together cycling, walking, visiting World War 2 museums, conversing on all sorts of topics and even made a short overnight trip to Germany for Schnitzel and beer on the Rhein.

For a couple of days we combined cycling with hiking by pedaling to one point and walking to another then picked up the bikes with a vehicle later. We retraced the general route of a warlord named Marteen who some 500 years ago terrorized villages. There is now a 400 km walking route in honor of him. It passes his castle. We ate sandwiches there.

For one day we just biked up and down the Rhein stopping for coffee at a castle as we biked shady wooded roads, past an odd mechanical dam, and along the top of an open dike raised above the flood plane. We stopped briefly in a village that looked awfully new having been totally destroyed and rebuilt after WW2.

Much of our time was spent in the area near Arnhem which hosts a World War 2 Airborne Museum for Allied Forces. The Arnhem region of Holland saw heavy fighting and is famous for a major operation known as Market Garden where thousands of Allied Troops invaded via parachute and glider at various locations. The fighting at the specific location of Arnhem was not successful but other nearby villages were liberated. The movie, “A Bridge Too Far”, was based on fighting that took place in the area. It would take a year for the Germans to be defeated entirely. Today museums, monuments, and an odd tank here and there commemorate the sacrifice and efforts. WW2 history interests me therefore I found the Airborne museum to be very good. I was impressed by the extent and variety of original WW2 items. Much of it was displayed in life sized diorama settings.

Joyce had the idea of going over to Germany for a night and camping on the Rhein. I’ve only been to Germany once and that was on an overnight drive straight through on the motorway three yeas ago. My rule for counting a country as being visited is that you have to spend at least two days and one night while visiting someplace and doing something. I figured a camp next to the Rhein and a visit to a couple of villages with schnitzel and beer for dinner would do. I don’t know why but for whatever reason Germany has not drawn or interested me much in the past.
 
Our quick trip to Deutschland proved to be a good one.  The campground was a little odd by American standards with our site set on a small piece of grassy land in the middle of permanently affixed camper trailers and small kit built wood lodges. It wasn’t exactly on the Rhien but set next to a very nice tributary. Our campsite was close to the water with a view slightly blocked by playground equipment and toy trucks sticking out of the sand. Off to the side of the equipment was a nice picnic table. Two short docks extended from the shore for access to the water. One was a nice steel grated variety. The other was wood and covered with bird poop.

For dinner in Germany we drove a very short distance from the campground to Rees. It’s an old village built right next to the Rhein and is protected from flooding by an ancient dike that surrounds it. We chose a restaurant on the water front to watch heavy barges pass while raising glasses of beer to the good life. Before dinner I had my photo taken with a lonely wood sculpture entitled, “Woman With Rucksack”. It seemed oddly appropriate.

Today I will wrap up my visit with Joyce and Gert. It’s been a really good time and I feel like I’ve been on a nicely guided trip. It’s been good for all of us and once again I sense that the timing was right. Joyce’s father recently passed and I think my visit along with all of our activity has been a positive diversion from regular routine which can be good for the grieving process. Later this morning they will give me ride up to Amsterdam where I’ll continue on my own once again. Needless to say their hospitality is Greatly appreciated!