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This walk brought the history of the Thames to life for the whole family. Led by Fiona, an intertidal archaeologist we strolled along the river with stops for background facts. Then onto the part my sons had been waiting for. Clad in plastic gloves and wellies we were led down the safest path onto the foreshore outside Tate Modern and let loose to beachcomb (strictly no digging). An amazing array of items were found by the group and expertly identified by Fiona. We went home with clay pipes, a Victorian jelly mould and a piece of a 17th century 'Witch pot' tossed into the river full of pee to ward off evil spirits. And my seven-year-old son's highlight, a musket ball.
Dates and times depend on the tides so check www.walks.com and search for mudlarking. Meets at Mansion House tube. No booking needed, £8 for adults and free(!) for kids.
Most people go think that doing the last 200kms to Santiago is what the Camino is about. Don't do this! Start in France (from Paris, Vezelay, Le Puy or Arles) and do part of it this year. You need a guide and a Pilgrim Passport (from the Confraternity of St James), accommodation is cheap and so is travel, but once you’ve started you’ll want to go back and complete the journey and that is when it will begin to change your life!
"Crash, clang, ding-ding, BANG!"
The incessant din, hurtling up from the road below our mountainside homestay, bounced off the eaves into the bedroom, waking me from a deep sleep. Jamie and I dragged our sluggish bodies downstairs for breakfast.
Darjeeling, like most places in the Himalaya, is a Buddhist community. And like the rest of India there is a parade, festival or celebration nearly every week. Today a colourful banner declared, “2600 years of the enlightenment of Lord Buddha".
We gobbled up our toast and drained cups of sweet masala tea before heading out to join the procession.
Orchestral manoeuvres in the alleys
Maroon and orange-clad monks banged drums and cymbals with devoted concentration, or blew as hard as possible on a variety of horns, without varying the note. One instrument was around ten feet long: the business end held by the 'blower' (to call him a musician would be a stretch too far), while at the other end a second man supported two of these gigantic musical pipes under his arms.
As one band receded with its crowd of followers, the next little group arrived. The percussion sections beat out an impressive rhythm, but I tried in vain to identify a melody among the single-layered notes blasting out from the wind sections. To add to the cacophony a few high-spirited young men set off deafening fire crackers down dark, side alleys.
Not all blessings are disguised
Some of the monks carried ornate and colourful statues of Buddha in palanquins. Arranged across two parallel bars they held Him on their shoulders. Devotees, with serious expressions or a surreptitious smile, lowered their heads and threaded their way underneath the icons between the monks.
Towards the end we broke through the throng and joined the worshippers. It was a happy occasion, and away from the bands people walked in silence or chatted quietly as they slowly followed behind the monks. We walked side by side with tiny, ancient crones in tribal dress; young mothers in tight western clothes, holding babies; groups of schoolgirls; bent grandfathers; brightly coloured, swaddled toddlers; and wiry mountain men.
Some devotees carried rectangular prayer boxes brought from the temples. with which they blessed the crowd by touching the boxes to bowed heads. I was blessed, but to the amusement of my neighbours the sharp wooden corners crashing onto my crown made me yelp. Someone was listening because my prayers to not end up bleeding and bruised were answered.
Sweet smelling smoke
The procession lasted until lunchtime and took us on a thorough tour of the eastern 'Queen of Hills'. At small stations along the route we were offered water and orange juice to keep up our strength.
We passed quietly along steep, narrow passages in the town centre where women in open windows, or standing on balconies, gently fanned plumes of incense through clothes lines strung with washing. Snatches of music drifted towards us.
The fragrant smoke filtered downwards in the chilly mountain air, mingling with the damp, earthy smell of this magical autumnal day.
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Darjeeling. Take a jeep from New Jalpaiguri station in West Bengal. Expect to pay around 150 to 200 INR per seat, but the space allocated for a 'seat' is tiny. Buy two seats per person, better still rent the whole bench seat behind the driver (the equivalent of four seats).
You could take Unesco World Heritage 'Toy' Train all the way, but it's a long, slow boot. Better to take an excursion on the train from Darjeeling to Ghoom for a morning.
"Would you like to have lunch in Nepal?" said Pramod, the headmaster of RIBS primary school in Manebhanjang, Darjeeling district.
We had just spent the morning talking to his bouncing pupils, aged three to ten, and were ready for a break. So we strolled up the road, nodding to the disinterested border patrol guards, and jumped over a storm drain into Nepal. It hardly felt like moving into another country, but the frisson that goes with flouting the rules turned lunch into a small adventure.
Over a few ill-gotten Nepali beers and nefarious noodles with our new friends, we asked where we should go for the best view of Kanchenjunga, India's highest peak. They told us to avoid Tiger Hill where droves of "those noisy Indian tourists go by Jeep every morning". Instead, they insisted we should try 10,170ft Tonglu, because it offers a closer (just) and clearer view.
"It’s also a very pleasant morning's walk," said our friend Jiwan over the top of his beer glass.
It didn't take them long to persuade us that despite our creaky knees and general lack of fitness we'd easily manage a two day trek in the Singalila National Park. By the time we arrived back in India they had arranged for Pemba, a recently qualified guide, to accompany us.
So the following day off we set, just after sunrise.
Easy trekking
Our guide turned out to be a 21 year old local student eager to practice his new job and excellent English on us, we were delighted to be his guinea pigs. We soon learned, however, that the Nepali idea of an easy walk is quite different from our own (either that or Jiwan had a mischievous sense of humour). The first day included the steepest part of the journey and took eight hours. It drizzled. It thundered. The lightning crashed around us. Not for nothing was Darjeeling named by Tibetans the ‘Land of Thunderbolts’. In fact it rained during the entire trek.
We met some of Pemba’s friends and family along the way, and drank an odd (to our western palettes) salty, buttery tea. In fact we gulped down anything they threw at us, including rakshi, a kind of Himalayan poitín – this one flavoured with rhododendrons – and several bamboo mugs of tongba, millet beer.
At Tumling, after a toasty night under thick blankets in an unheated mountain hut, Jamie dutifully got up before dawn for a hike up to Tonglu, hoping to catch the sun hitting Kanchenjunga through his lens. Unfortunately this vision lasted only a few seconds before the clouds came lumbering across the horizon, gobbling up the mountain and valley.
Mountain folk
On our way back Chitray (‘Bamboo House’) was a welcoming pit stop comprising a collection of timber and bamboo buildings which make up a farm, complete with goats, dogs and chickens mooching around the yard. The largest building doubles as a family home and workers' kitchen. We fell into the warm, dimly-lit dining room, steam pouring off us, and knocked back masala chai while chomping on biscuits. After a while a young Lama and his entourage of monks arrived and were ushered – with great respect and much bowing – into the back room. We noticed an old man sitting in the shadows between the kitchen and dining room. He smiled and raised his glass to us, so we nodded and waved hello back.
Eager to learn his story, we chatted to Chitray Pala (‘Bamboo House Papa’) and through Pemba learned he was 80 years old. Fifty-eight years previously he was imprisoned in Tibet by the Chinese. He knew he would never get out alive, so after twelve days escaped taking his mother and father with him. He didn’t know how many miles they walked over the mountains, but he reckoned it took two months to get to here, where they built their first farm out of the local bamboo. He finished his coffee and went off to be blessed by the Lama.
As we finished our second cup of tea Chitray Pala shouted goodbye to us and set off up the hill in the rain. We watched him disappear into the mist, carrying a heavy piece of corrugated iron on his back.
“He’s going to mend one of the shacks on his farm,” Pemba told us.
We didn’t see much of Kanchenjunga Massif during the trek, the clouds never parted at the right time. But we found other delights: we saw garlands of orchids hanging from forest trees; we filled our tummies with wild strawberries; we spotted eagles flying beside us; and watched maroon-clad Tibetan monks and a young Lama playing football with a can.
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Trips can be arranged by hotels in Darjeeling or local tour companies
"I promise this walk is not long and nor is it steep," said Jiwan.
If our recent experience of what a Gorkha regards as an 'easy walk' was anything to go by – a one in three incline through forest and driving rain for eight hours – we were not entirely convinced by Jiwan Rai's assurances. Still, today he was wearing a suit and shirt, black shiny leather shoes and an umbrella hooked over his arm: it couldn't be that difficult, could it?
When we accepted an invitation to stay in Jiwan's family home in the mountains we hadn't realised it would be quite so far off the beaten track. Remote Barranumber village, like many settlements in this region, clings to the side of a mountain miles from the road. The only way to get there is to trek beside the quinine plantations and jungle surrounding Kalimpong. It was too precious an opportunity to miss, so we equipped ourselves with walking boots, sensible trousers and waterproofs. I carried bottled water, cans of beer, a few bananas, biscuits, hats, a good book, torch, loo paper, matches, incense sticks, mosquito coils, spare sheets and the kitchen sink. Jamie carried his camera bag.
A WALK IN THE PARK
We were prepared for vertical climbs, knee wrenching drops, and driving rain, but the weather was sunny and dry, and the walk turned out to be a gentle afternoon amble. We walked in single file: Jiwan at the front, me in the middle on his heels (eyes peeled for snakes), and Jamie lagging behind with his camera. The only noises came from the insects, birds and other small creatures hidden in the trees and undergrowth beside the trail. Stopping on a narrow path with views down into the Rangpo Valley, we could just make out the river sparkling below in the afternoon sun. On the opposite side of the valley Sikkim stretched into the distance.
"Next time you come we will make a camp, catch fish and have a picnic on the riverbank together."
Surrounded by all this pastoral glory I half expected a unicorn or a satyr to come strolling round the corner. Instead a stream of clear, mountain-cooled water running across our path reminded Jiwan that we had beer with us.
"Let's stop and rest," he said, placing our cans mid stream.
BEERS AND BALLOONS
While we waited for the beer to chill Jiwan pulled out some leaves by the roots, explaining that as a boy he used to eat them when he had no water (he used a local word to describe the plant which I can't remember, I don't suppose it would help identify them, but they were fern-like).
“You bite the balloon on the root, here.” He pulled the 'balloon' off and popped it in his mouth.
I bit into the first one and a refreshing liquid burst onto my tongue. It tasted of the mountain. Jamie, not one to shirk a new gourmet experience, spat his out declaring it disgustingly bitter. Jiwan laughed, explaining a little late that, "yes, sometimes they are a bit sour".
When the other two had downed their mountain-cooled tinnies, and I'd had my fill of balloon roots, we continued our idyll. As we entered the village we passed a gardenia bush with a scent so heady it obliterated all its competitors. The top noses at Dior couldn't come up with a more intoxicating fragrance. Jiwan picked us each a bloom and we arrived at his family home smelling of perfumed Parisian courtesans.
DID THE TUDORS LIVE HERE?
Houses of the Lepcha, Nepali and Bhutia tribes are constructed from wooden frames, using local trees. Latticed bamboo is then fixed between the frames and filled with cow dung. At first glance they are indistinguishable from our wattle and daub Medieval buildings at home, and it can be disorientating to see what appear to be Elizabethan houses lining the roads in the Himalaya. The roses, geraniums and other English herbaceous border flowers arranged outside in pots only adds to the familiarity. Sometimes the exteriors are painted in pastel shades, but inside there's no wallpaper or chintz. Instead a kind of slip is painstakingly smoothed over the walls to create an even finish. The corrugated iron roofs, often painted a terracotta colour, are the most obvious difference between our Tudor houses and these Himalayan counterparts.
At the Rai mountain home we drank tea and talked about the village of Barranumber. Containing 90 households, most of its inhabitants work in the quinine plantations for about 2500INR per month (around £35), supplementing their incomes by growing crops on the terraced hillside. But, like everywhere else, changes in the world's climate have reached this small mountain enclave.
"One year recently we had hail stones for two hours," said Premika, Jiwan's sister, "and the villagers lost all their crops."
They have had some good luck, though, with a donation from the Mondo Challenge Foundation. This meant they were able to build their own school a few years ago. All the children from the surrounding villages now have an education, at least up until the age of 11.
In the evening we watched Jiwan's sister-in-law, Kabita, stoke the hearth in preparation for dinner, while her fifteen month old daughter, Sumnima, played in the ashes.
DUNG AND DINNER
Without a whiff of the farmyard, and just like their neighbours' houses, Jiwan's family kitchen is coated in a yellow-ochre smooth cow dung, the low double range appearing to grow out of the floor. Its two open fires gave off plenty of smoke as Kabita's husband, Santa, cooked the food directly on the flames. In the semi darkness we sat on ankle-high stools to eat fresh momos, noodles and pork. Santa plied us with 'Tiger's Milk', a gently fermented maize left to work its magic in a bucket. The baby greedily sucked the opaque liquid from her cup as we moved on to 'Tongba' (millet beer) then 'Rakshi (pronounced 'roxy') a hot version of schnapps.
Later that night we floated back to our room and slid under soft blankets and freshly laundered sheets. As I inhaled the scent from our gardenia blossoms placed on a saucer by the bed, I just had time to notice that the facing window looked directly up the mountain. Then I slipped off into Arcadian dreams.
Apart from managing the Mondo Challenge Foundation in West Bengal, Jiwan's family also runs 'Village Discovery Tours'. This not-for-profit business offers visitors to India the chance to experience how local people live in the eastern Himalaya: stay in a village home, eat home-cooked food, walk in the fields and forests and fish in the river. Any profits are ploughed directly back into the participating villages. The business has been on hold for a year and they are in the process of re-launching the website. If you would like more details please 'contact me here' and I will forward your enquiry. As soon as the website is up and running I will add the details to this page.
For more tales have a look at www.lizcleere.com
Contact me, inerantwritersclub@gmail.com, until the Village Discovery Tours website is up and running properly. I will add further details when they are confirmed.
On a banner stretched across the main road we read "2600 years of the enlightenment of Lord Buddha". By chance we had arrived just in time to join in the celebratory procession planned for the next day. At a mere 2100m Darjeeling is unlikely to strike you down with altitude sickness, but be prepared for an ear-popping drive from the Indian plains as you ascend two kilometres in four hours.
We arrived at NJP in the morning, after an Arctic overnight experience on the Padatik Express from Kolkata. Why do they insist on having the a/c turned up to 'eleven' on Indian trains? Like our neighbours, we had come prepared: we all went to bed wearing an assortment of woolly socks, bobble hats and fleeces.
New Jalpaiguri shake down
Within minutes of disembarking from our igloos, we were back in the shrieking, dusty heat of an Indian railway station. Outside the station rows of 4WDs lined the car park, six deep and all touting for business. Blinking in the morning light, we tried to decide which ride to choose. A quick poll of the first few vehicles revealed that the going rate for Darjeeling was 200Rs each (about £3). Great. There was a catch. 200Rs would get us a seat, but each 'Jeep' took 10 people: two next to the driver, four in the back seat and a further four in the boot, on fold-down chairs.
Jamie and I are not small, so we agreed to pay 800Rs for the four middle seats. We got in and waited for the vehicle to fill up. And we waited. Other cars, laden down with passengers, headed off. A little crumpled, and slightly irritable from our journey, we sat and simmered. Nothing happened. A family of four approached.
“Shall we share this Jeep?”
Delighted with the suggestion we agreed, and a happy deal was struck. Just as we were about to leave the driver asked us for an extra 400Rs.
“We will pay 800Rs and you will pay 1200,” explained the father of the family.
Er, no? Twenty minutes of lively negotiation between the family, us and the driver took us nowhere. You probably think haggling over 400Rs is churlish. There have been plenty of times around the world when we haven't minded paying over the odds because we are seen as 'rich' foreign tourists in a poor area; in this case it was the (clearly loaded) father of the family who was chiseling us, not the driver. By now, most of the other cars had left, so in a moment of theatricality – while Jamie continued his discussions – I got out and removed my case from the roof. I found a driver who agreed to take us door to door for 1500Rs, the going rate for a private taxi. This was enough of a spur for the original driver to instantly find a couple more passengers. The problem was solved. As we drove out of the station the taxi driver glowered at me; I felt a pang of guilt for using him to score points in our negotiation.
One mile higher
We left the plains and wound our way upwards into the Himalaya, the driver gunning our Jeep round every blind hairpin bend. Although it was crowded, we were glad to be travelling along the pot-holed roads in a nicely sprung 4WD, rather than a knackered old taxi. Jewel and pastel coloured houses grew out of the mountains on either side of us, colourful bells, blooms and racemes shattering the ubiquitous green of the forest. Roses of every colour and shape, hydrangeas, geraniums and other herbaceous border flowers crowded the pots in the windows and frontages. This area of the mountains is famous for its rhododendrons, with the flowers at their most dazzling in April. As we climbed higher the temperature dropped, reminiscent of an English spring.
The narrow gauge track of the Unesco World Heritage Darjeeling Railway criss-crossed the road, snaking its way towards the same destination as us. We stopped to watch the clanking steam train huff and puff its way past us.
Town in the clouds
Darjeeling is a jumble of British Raj architecture, modern concrete boxes, shacks and tiny lanes. It was teeming with people when we were unceremoniously dumped in the centre. We made some space on the heaving road for our bags and weary bodies and asked around for directions to our hotel. We didn't fancy traipsing through the dank lanes trying to find the entrance, so went for broke and took a taxi to the front door.
The Dekeling Homestay Hotel is situated in the midst of the hubbub. We climbed the steep steps, past a landing, through the wooden reception, up again to the sitting room and finally up another flight of narrow stairs to the top floor. The din by now had receded. The view from our corner room gave us our first high view of the Himalaya: one window faced two kilometres down into the valley, and the other faced north west, across town to the Kanchenjunga massif. India's highest mountain (the third highest peak in the world) wasn't playing ball, and hid itself behind the clouds.
Is this still India?
That afternoon we took a walk in what felt like a new country: the language had changed from Hindi to Nepali, with interesting tribal dialects and languages too; the influence of Tibet and China manifested itself in the almond eyes and straight black hair of the people. Some women wore an apron-like national dress, but many were in western clothes. We saw no sarees, and the only salwar kameezes in evidence were worn by Indian tourists. The local people were quiet and contained; it seemed the incessant chatter we had become used to in the rest of India was coming from the domestic tourists.
Cold and travel weary by 5pm, we stumbled across Joey's pub. It turned out to be a bit of a tourist landmark, but with its cosy bar, ramshackle tables and faded posters it felt immediately like home. Pretty soon our table was filled with beer, cheap whiskey and playing cards. Lovely. The barman ordered a take away for us, and tasty noodles (which we came to learn are the staple of mountain cuisine) soon turned up. Beating Jamie at cards in the bar, and again back at the hotel, was a sure sign that he was 'tired'. So we went to bed early, and slept for twelve and a half hours under the eaves of the world.
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Dekeling Hotel
51 Gandhi Road
Darjeeling - 734101
West Bengal
INDIA
Phone : 91-354-2254159/2253298
Mobile : 91-09434462408 / 09679734048
Fax : 91-354-2253298
Email : dekeling@sify.com
norbu@dekeling.com
Toronto’s downtown core has an underground tunnel system that links over 50 buildings and office towers, five subway stations, six hotels, parking garages and major attractions in the city, all with underground passageways full of places to shop.
According to the Guinness World Records, PATH is the largest underground shopping complex linking 28 km (17 miles) with over 1,000 shops and services. Once a year, the PATH hosts the world’s largest underground sidewalk sale. The underground system also provides a great haven from the elements, with heating in winter and air conditioning in summer.
I love taking the PATH in the cold, winter months, where I can walk without a coat for miles
at a time. I must admit, it can be a bit confusing getting around, but that’s all part of the fun.
Wandering around, not really knowing where I’m going on a lazy day, browsing shops, sitting in a café, it’s all great fun when the weather outside is dreadful.
To help you get around easier, each letter in the PATH is a different colour and represents a
direction: P is red and represents south, orange, A, directs pedestrians to the west, blue, T,
directs them to the north, and the H is yellow and points to the east.
www.toronto.ca/path/pdf/path_brochure.pdf
* Giulia is our Been there local for Toronto. You can see her profile here: www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/places/canada/toronto/index.jsp and follow her tips here: www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/travellers/GiuliaFalsetti
I thoroughly recommend the area as a walking (or nature) holiday. The area is in SE Bulgaria, on the border with Turkey. It has exceptionally contrasting landscapes from the undeveloped coast of the Black Sea to low mountains and hilly landscapes with steep river valleys. It can be visited into September/ October. It allows a glimpse into the unspoilt rural Bulgaria of quiet villages with ramshackle houses surrounded by fruit trees and well-tended vegetables. Oak woodland cloaks the hills with some stunning open, flower-rich fields with goats (and I saw water buffalo) herded by shepherds.
One particularly impressive area was the broad meanders of the untamed Veleka River or the old forest, called the ‘Living Museum’ for its ancient trees, at Kondolovo.
Local culture is still strong, though threatened by abandonment. I attended a chapel blessing, involving much dancing and eating kurban, a local speciality – a stew made from a sacrificial lamb.
Strandja is easy to reach by flights to Burgas and hiring a car. I was superbly guided by Anja and Dave from VisitStrandja and they could speak Bulgarian, English, Dutch and German!
Norway is a great country for walking, whether it’s for an hour, a day or a week. And you don’t have to go far from the big towns to find a delightful route of any length. Above Oslo for instance, you have Nordmarka – a vast, forested terrain with a huge number of walking trails in the summer and cross country ski trails in the winter.
Buy a good map, pack your rucksack and take the T-bane up past Holmenkollen Ski Jump to Frognerseteren (perhaps stopping on the way to admire the jumpers’ daring). Then set off in your chosen direction. We decided to make a three day trip of it, staying at Kikutstua (www.kikutstua.no) for two nights' half board with lunch pack. DNT (www.turistforeningen.no) has accommodation up there too.
In summer enjoy the fruits of the forest – wild strawberries in late June or bilberries in July. In autumn enjoy the wild fungus - if you dare. And if the weather is hot, as it is surprisingly often in the Scandinavian summer, take frequent dips in the many lakes you pass en route. We must have swum seven or eight times on our short trip, and we scarcely saw a soul. That’s why we love the Nordic countries.
Starting in the Pentland Hills, The Water of Leith Walkway takes you through leafy Juniper Green along the old Colinton railway and Dell then through Edinburgh to the Firth of Forth. The full walk is 13 miles but for a half-day easy stroll you can start halfway at the Water of Leith Visitor Centre and get a view of the importance of this river to Edinburgh. Once boasting 70 mills producing paper, flour, snuff and textiles, it flows from the rural Pentland Hills through Edinburgh to Leith’s busy port.
Follow the meandering river downstream to the preserved Dean Village deep in a gorge spanned by Thomas Telford’s dramatic Dean Bridge. Here you can stop off at the Gallery of Modern Art. At Canonmills leave the trail for a visit to the Edinburgh Botanic Gardens.
The walkway passes through considerable woodland and the river flourishes with wildlife; brown trout, grayling, eels and otters have been seen. There are kingfishers, herons, wagtails and dippers. You may also see roe deer and otters.
End up with a visit to the Royal Yacht Britannia docked at Leith’s Ocean Terminal and immerse yourself in the bustling splendour of this great whaling and shipping port.
www.waterofleith.org.uk/
24 Lanark Road, Edinburgh EH14 1TQ
+44(0)131 455 7367
Google map: bit.ly/qb4oGh
It's a walk about the perimeters of Exeter, through lovely parks, university grounds, past rivers and canals with lots of variety for young and old. You will pass plenty of play areas for your children and to have a rest. Pubs and restaurants are never far away. It is a long walk (12 miles) but easily achievable in a full day and if you have enough there are plenty of buses to take you back because although you are mostly walking through nature you are never far away from civilization. I did this walk when my kids were nine and 10 and they still talk about it.
You can start at any edge of the city to pick up the trail and is well sign posted with green circles.
www.exeter.gov.uk/index.aspx?articleid=1502
+44(0)1392 265890
Google map: bit.ly/n3sZ01
If you usually avoid motorway service stations, you would probably drive past this one. Don't! It does not look much when you arrive but appearances are deceptive. Pop in, grab a cuppa and head out the back to the terrace. Suddenly, you are in the borders! Soft, rolling hills and a beautiful lake bathe your road-sore eyes. You can sit on the deck and just take it all in, or go for a walk around the lake and have a picnic. The kids can play, the dog can run around - everyone's happy!
On the M74 between Carlisle and Glasgow (on junction 16): DG11 1HD
+44(0)1576 470870
Google map: bit.ly/q8xiCi
The Water of Leith is Edinburgh's secret river, winding a 12 mile path from the outer suburb of Balerno right through the heart of the City until it emerges near the docked Royal Yacht Britannia. If you pick up the trail behind the National Gallery of Modern Art then the last few miles are enlivened by spotting five life-sized Anthony Gormley figures who stand in the river bed.
Well signposted nearby, easiest found behind the National Gallery of Modern Art
24 Lanark Road, Edinburgh, Midlothian EH14 1TQ
+44(0)131 455 7367
Google map: bit.ly/p2NMgS
A walk along a relatively unknown and unloved part of Hackney, inner London mainly known for flyovers and geezers. You go past a lot of derelict, delapidated industrial plants. This is coupled with an artistic quarter where urban artists are living cheek by jowl with new build nouveau rich apartment blocks. With the Olympic Site and Westfield development to one side. There is an awful lot to see.
The artistic area, all around the factories and estates, offer galleries and bars and cafes. And the natives are friendly having been priced out of Shoreditch/Hoxton.
Hackney Wicked is an open weekend of the residents' work on display.
Also see Folly for a Flyover - an arts centre built inbetween two flyovers of wooden bricks - offering cinema, children's art sessions and a cafe.
hackneywickedfestival.co.uk/
www.follyforaflyover.co.uk/
Under the A12 Flyover, Hackney Wick, London, E9 5HW
Google map: bit.ly/nGZEp6
In Bayeux, as we started our walking holiday we were taken quite by surprise by this memorial to journalists of all nations killed in combat zones since 1946. Along each side of a pathway through a wooded park are engraved memorials, one for each year since it was opened. To date there are an astonishing 2000 names recorded. Opposite the huge British Cemetery it was a quiet reminder to us of the true cost of knowing about conflicts and that there have been and are ongoing wars.
We did the Mulberry March with Belle France and stayed at the Hotel Lion d'Or.
www.bellefrance.co.uk/holidays/68/mulberry-march/
www.liondor-bayeux.fr/
One of the best walks in Northamptonshire is on the eastern side of the county by the Harringworth Viaduct, which runs across the landscape for three quarters of a mile. As a countryside lover, I was apprehensive at first but was left marvelling at the startling construction of each of the 82 arches and the ease at which the viaduct seems to fit in with its surroundings. A great photo opp here!
Google maps: bit.ly/9oHud5
If you ever go Budapest you should take the Free Budapest Tours!
It's just amazing. There are English speaking local guides show you around, talk about the place, its history and architecture and legends of course.
It's the best way to get to know the city.
They have several walking tours a day, and if you like them just leave a tip, because these tours don't have fixed price.
Do not hesitate!
www.freebudapesttours.hu/
Google map: tinyurl.com/33zwqaz
Nature trails, interpretive centre and wildlife viewing 30 minutes from Anchorage. Salmon runs, black and brown bears, bald eagles, beavers and moose all live in and around the nature centre complex which is in a valley of the Chugach mountains east of Anchorage. It is easy to access by road year round and is an easy drive from Anchorage and US$5 to park.
www.ernc.org/
32750 Eagle River Road, Eagle River
Google map: tinyurl.com/2vftl7h
Earlier this year I had a superb holiday on the Isle of Islay.
Although the island is famous for its whisky distilleries, I enjoyed some of its other attractions - wonderful walking country with dramatic coastal scenery (Mull of Oa and Kintra in the south west of the island) and sightings of seal, golden eagle and hen harrier.
I had a day trip to neighbouring Jura which is quite different - wilder terrain and more sparsely populated.
I did B&B and can recommend The Anchorage at Bruiladdich.
Being on a budget I wondered where I could eat in the evenings. There just seemed to be expensive (to me) hotels and indian restaurants. Then I found the community cafe on the Port Mor campsite at Port Charlotte. They even have wi-fi.
Islay is accessed by ferry from Kennacraig on the Mull of Kintyre.
Bruladdich & Port Charlotte are on the A road which serves the north west corner of the island.
islandofislay.co.uk/
The Anchorage: + 44 (0) 1496 850540
Google map: tinyurl.com/37cy5ug
I love walking along the cliff paths in Guernsey with my family with a picnic, especially from Le Gouffre to Petit Pot Bay. Lihou Island is also a good day out, you can only cross the causeway at certain tides and the children love it! The Autumn walking festival in September is coming up from 4 - 12 Sept.
Google map: tinyurl.com/34d3z7q
Is this your business?