501 Places

The only photo with my pack (yes I know I look like a skeleton)

Nowadays I am obsessed with travelling light, and feel like a complete failure if the scales at the check-in desk exceed the 10kg mark (we managed 19.8kg between two of us for our month in Asia, which I thought was just about passable). But it wasn’t always so, and when I first started travelling in earnest the weight of my pack was the last thing on my mind.

I started to think back as to the contents of that first backpack, and thought back to what I decided to carry around Europe for 8 weeks back in 1987. In the days before Ryanair I was no more likely to take a flight than walk to the moon, so I never had the chance of an airport weigh-in. But thinking about it now it must have been a very heavy bag, given the clunky stuff I decided I had to carry.

Heaviest of all, my camera. A Zenit EM Russian SLR, aka ‘The Tank’. This Soviet masterpiece must have come in at over 2kg, and the case alone would have added another kilo or so. It was designed to withstand nuclear armageddon, and had I dropped it from the Eiffel Tower I have no doubt it would have worked fine afterwards, although there would have been more than one strange look at the crater it would have left behind. Accompanying this of course were many rolls of film in the bottom of the pack.

Next was my music equipment, and while it didn’t weigh as much as the camera it certainly took up more space. One Sony Walkman (or cheap imitation), a bulky set of headphones, ten cassettes in their cases and around 20 Duracell batteries. It’s hard to equate all this with an iPod!

Copenhagen: My street art at its inglorious best

Next in size would have been my journal, my pens and pencils and a set of coloured crayons. These would prove precious as I pedalled my very limited street art skills on the streets of northern Europe.

My clothes were squeezed in wherever they would fit, and I typically lasted a week between washes, although that became two once I realised that clothes are nearly always reversible. And of course the bottom of the rucksack was taken up with my sleeping bag (so much bulkier than it would be now) and a ground sheet that became tattier and tattier as the trip wore on.

The final touch to the packing? My father kindly made me no less than 20 cheese rolls on the day I left home. Far too many I protested, but they proved to be so valuable as I worked my way through them in the next few days. In fact I don’t believe I had to buy any other food until I reached Oslo!

Aurora over Kattfjord, Norway. September 2002

Seeing the aurora borealis for the first time is one of my most vivid memories. We were staying in the Shetland Islands, around 100 miles north of the Scottish mainland, and had returned to our cottage after dinner. It was just before midnight, and being early April it was still bitterly cold when the wind came howling in from the open ocean that lapped against the rocks beneath our windows.

I stepped out, more in hope than expectation, and stared at the clear sky. The stars shine brilliantly here, with none of the light pollution that blights much of the UK. I wasn’t on the look-out for stars however. Right on cue, from the western horizon I saw a diffuse red glow and excitedly called Sam down to take a look. By the time she joined me outside the glow had intensified and climbed high into the sky. It soon transformed into green and white ribbons of light, its constant movement leaving us mesmorised. Over the next two hours we stood in awe as before us we observed nature’s greatest display. At one point the lights shone down from directly overhead, with a dark central corona emiting rays of multi-coloured light towards the horizon in every direction.

Aurora over Shetland. April 2000

We had struck lucky. Our week in Shetland in April 2000 had coincided with one of the strongest bursts of solar activity for years, and in fact that night the aurora borealis was seen over southern England and even in France. Strong displays of the aurora are impossible to predict however, so it’s a matter of being in the right place at the right time. So how can we give ourseleves the best chance of witnessing the northern lights?

Firstly, solar activity has an 11 year cycle, and the chances of seeing the aurora are increased greatly at the peak of the cycle. The next peak period will be in 2013-14, so it’s a good idea to plan a northern lights trip for that time.

Secondly the further north you are, the better the chance of seeing the aurora. Northern Scotland does offer the best chance to see the lights in the UK, but for better odds you need to go to northern Norway and Sweden in Europe, and Canada or Alaska in North America. Greenland and Iceland are also in an excellent place to witness the northern lights, and the difficulty of reaching Greenland make it a bigger (if very expensive) adventure. There is an equivalent in the southern hemisphere, the aurora australis. However, because the good places to see these lights are all on the Antarctic ice, you have to rely on good luck to witness the rare sightings in Tasmania or southern New Zealand.

Then there’s the weather. Bill Bryson famously went to the north of Norway to witness the aurora and ended up staying a month until the clouds parted and allowed him a glimpse of the magical spectacle. Iceland too suffers from almost constant cloud cover. Alaska and Canada may offer a higher probability of clear skies, along with northern Siberia (if you can bear the extreme temperatures).

It also needs to be very dark, and in these northern extremes there is little or no night during the summer months. September- October and March-April offer the best times to view the aurora; it’s dark enough without having to bear the worst of the winter temperatures.

If it seems too much trouble to travel somewhere cold and dark on the off-chance of seeing the northern lights, there is an easier way. Next time you travel eastwards across the Atlantic, try to get seated by the left-hand window (any A seat). If you look out as you pass over Greenland and Iceland in the middle of the night, there is a pretty good chance you’ll see a dancing green curtain in the northern sky. You might not feel as though you’ve seen it properly, but it will almost certainly tempt you to go north to see the lights from the ground in all their glory. We’ve been lucky enough to see the aurora in four different countries, and will certainly be heading north again in three years time to take our chances again.

George Orwell (taken from Wikipedia)

Did you know that the complete works of George Orwell are now online and freely available?  I only discovered this yesterday, and I was instantly drawn to a page from Homage to Catalonia, the story of his time fighting in the Spanish Civil War. Born as Eric Arthur Blair but known around the world by his pseudonym, he went off to Spain in 1936 along with many other idealist young men from around the world to fight the rise of fascism. The book tells of his adventures and traumas during his two years in Spain.

Why my interest in this book, and one page in particular? I was fortunate to meet one of the characters from this book in 1985 in Spain, and he was happy to share his recollections of that time with me. He was by then an old man, but even in my short encounters with him I could easily fit him into the picture painted of him by Orwell 50 years earlier.

“The company we were relieving were getting their kits together. They had been
three months in the line; their uniforms were caked with mud, their boots
falling to pieces, their faces mostly bearded. The captain commanding the
position, Levinski by name, but known to everyone as Benjamin, and by birth a
Polish Jew, but speaking French as his native language, crawled out of his
dug-out and greeted us. He was a short youth of about twenty-five, with stiff
black hair and a pale eager face which at this period of the war was always very
dirty. A few stray bullets were cracking high overhead….. I peered cautiously through a loophole, trying to find the Fascist trench. ‘Where are the enemy?’ Benjamin waved his hand expansively. ‘Over zere.’ (Benjamin spoke English– terrible English.) “

You can read the rest of the chapter here.

So how did I get to meet him? As a teenager I had travelled down to Sitges, a holiday resort just south of Barcelona, to visit my uncle and aunt who had retired there. My uncle was a dominant and influential man, and even in retirement had quickly become a central figure in the local ex-pat community. He introduced me to many foreigners in Sitges, mostly British and some from elsewhere; one of these friends was Benjamin.

When he mentioned that he was fluent in 18 languages I was intrigued to meet him, and spent some time sitting in the plaza during the siesta periods listening to his stories. He was happy for an audience, and although he didn’t dwell solely on his distant military past he was very eager to dish out advice on life to a naive young 16 year old. He was very opinionated and as a head-strong man he often clashed with my uncle. I think they were two old men who needed to argue with one another to keep themselves mentally active.

One thing that Benjamin said to me stuck in my mind, and although it’s far from original it was the first time I had heard it. He said “Are you a communist? You should be a communist. If you’re under 25 and you’re not a communist, you’ve got no heart. If you’re still a communist when you’re over 25 you’ve got no head.” I never appreciated the link between his advice and his own bitter experiences, but still wonder now how much his views were shaped by his time in the Civil War, and how much by the changes that took place in the world in subsequent years.

A chance encounter, but since my meeting with Benjamin in that Spanish summer I always remember him when I hear the name of George Orwell.

New location for UK?

Living overseas can be a great experience. We tried it for a year and enjoyed so many things about living in New York. But there is something about the country where we grow up that forms an emotional attachment for us. Symbols of the UK make us smile and reminisce about home, while hearing a British accent in a remote part of the world can be a comfort.

I like it here, and having lived in many parts of the UK have come to take comfort in the British way of life. Our modest culinary skills, our understated manner, dry sense of humour and crap national sporting teams sit well with me. So maybe if I did want to move to another part of the world, I would just take the whole island with me. But where would I put it? Where would you stick the UK if you could literally lift it and put it elsewhere on the globe?

Here are just a few contenders for a new British location:

1. Off the coast of southern California. We could enjoy an almost perfect climate: warm and plentiful sunshine, no major weather related disasters to worry about, and an easy hop to visit the US national parks, Hawaii, Alaska and central America. (We would need earthquake proofing though). We would also gain a lot of US and Japanese tourists, enticed by the shorter flights and the better weather.

2. Next to Greenland. One simple reason for me: the chance to see the aurora borealis on a regular basis. Ok, it would get cold. Very cold. But we’re used to that already this year, aren’t we? We can always dress for the cold, and unlike the folk in other Arctic regions, the Brits know how to make a lovely cup of tea to make everything lovely. We might even learn how to continue with our normal lives despite a flurry of snow. And think of the top class ski resorts on our doorstep!

3. In the dead centre of Europe. A nightmare scenario for much of the people of Britain who would be forced to learn other languages, adopt the Euro and have to live with direct neighbours for the first time (there’s 20 miles of sea separating us from the French and they still make many Brits nervous). I suspect this move would be blocked by the rest of Europe, frightened about the prospect of British stag parties pouring into even more European cities and the threat of fish and chips invading their national cuisine.

4. South Pacific. Great weather, proximity to many of our kindred spirits in Australia and New Zealand, warm crystal blue oceans. These would be a bonus, but the main reason for such a distant move? England could rest easy knowing they would have a great chance of qualifying for the World Cup every year in the Oceania group, with key qualifiers against the likes of New Caledonia, Vanuatu and Tuvalu.

Where would you stick the UK if you had the choice?

Grassington, Yorkshire: from Flickr by Andrew JW

For most of us our mental image of a break from the routine involves a sandy beach, hot sunshine, exotic locations and somewhere far away. But these virtues can be found much closer to home than you think. Well, apart from the sandy beach in my case; and the exotic location; actually there’s not much sun either. Ok, but there’s still a lot to be said for an improvised long distance walk that shows you the beauty of your immediate surroundings, and so much more besides.

A few years ago, when we were living in Durham in the north-east of England, I had a job that was based in Leeds. The journey is around 80 miles by motorway; a stretch of road I got to know very well. I had a week off planned for mid-summer and we had nothing arranged. So we decided quite naturally that we would spend the week walking home. And I have to say that of all the far flung trips we’ve taken over the years, this one brought more satisfaction than most.

Our journey led us through the heart of the Yorkshire Dales and Pennines, and passed through some of England’s finest scenery. For those who know this part of the world, our route was as follows:

Day 1 Leeds to Ilkley

Day 2 Ilkley to Grassington

Day 3 Grassington to Hubberholme

Day 4 Hubberholme to Hawes

Day 5  Hawes to Keld

Day 6  Keld to Bowes

Day 7 Bowes to Crook

Day 8 Crook to Durham

We covered a total of around 125 miles (200km), give or take a couple. Carrying our own stuff along the way was absolute torture on day 1, more bearable on days 2 and 3, and after that the pack seemed to gradually become a comfortable shell on my back. I suspect my back had got contorted by then to the shape of the backpack.

It was the ultimate green eco-holiday. No transport, no logistical support, just us and our packs, rambling through England’s finest landscapes.

What was so great about this long distance walking jaunt? Well, we got to see so much of the beautiful countryside that we had previously driven through. And it is a stunning part of the world. I also feel we see so much more on foot. You notice sounds, smells, flora and viewpoints that you just can’t expect to experience in a car. We learned how little we needed to survive for a week. In fact we packed far too much, and on a similar hike this year we carried significantly less with us as a result. As someone who constantly tries to get rid of ’stuff’, that was a liberating feeling. Another subtle difference I notice when walking for several days is that I stop measuring places in miles or kms and start measuring in hours. There’s a certainty about how long it will take to walk 10 km that isn’t there when we have to negotiate traffic. We did of course meet some colourful characters on our route (it is Yorkshire after all); each added another anecdote to our journey.

The most salutary lesson from our trip? That everyone has a limit for the number of consecutive full English breakfasts they can manage. Sam gave up after three. I managed six, but on day seven my stomach turned just looking at the menu.

Almost everywhere can provide an opportunity to take a similar walk: just decide how many days you want to go for, how far you want to walk in a day, work out your start point and hop on a bus or a train to reach it. Happy hiking!