Oh well, the flight status is still showing as OK so will just head to the airport and see what is happening.

All seems to be going OK until I go though passport control. The immigration officer looks very confused and asks me when I entered Portugal. I say Monday before realizing that it was on fact Sunday, when we landed in Porto. This of course was followed by an exit and re-entering on the same day. I try to explain but he doesn't seem that interested. I am resigned to getting quizzical looks from immigration officials every time I enter the Schengen area now.

Of course when we get to the gate, things start to get a little tense as everyone tracks the flight path of our incoming plane. Audible groans indicate that it has gone into a holding pattern. There is temporary excitement during the attempted landinga before it heads off to Lajes airstrip on Terceira to refuel. At this point we think it will be coming back for us, and the information from BA suggests that this will in fact be the case.

The weather has begun to clear and other flights have been landing.

But this is not the BA way.

They have strict rules about crew hours and coming back here rather than back to London will exceed that.

We wait resignedly for the next news. We are not allowed to leave the terminal until the flight is officially cancelled. We are starting to feel like hostages

Eventually the flight is cancelled, probably going tomorrow, maybe? BA inform us that they cannot help with accommodation (other than reimbursement) and so a mad scramble of people trying to book on various platforms ensues. I see a cheap option but decide that BA owe me a decent hotel and quickly confirm.

And of course, having de-schengened, we have to re-schengen to get back to town.

My entry and exit record now looks so ridiculously suspicious that nobody would actually suspect anything.

Still the hotel has a better view than my previous digs

So, making the best of our extended stay, a few of us head off for a fine meal before trudging wearily back to hotels. I opt for a quick nightcap and foolishly do not ask how much before I order a double Woodford Reserve. 28 euros! 28 flippin euros! I rarely pay much more than that for a bottle. I'm not sure of the etiquette of refusing to pay once the drink is poured but will just have to swallow it I guess. And indeed I do.

I don't suppose that BA will reimburse that but I will chuffin well try. I think they owe me that much at least for the unexpected adventures. I am absolutely going to savour this…

And hopefully this will be the last word on the matter before the journey home ..?

Spoiler alert, I don’t actually make it to Nordeste … or at least I do but can’t see that there is much mileage spending time in the town.

First stop: Jardim Botânico da Ribeira do Guilherme. Say that after a few drinks! This looks quite spectacular in the pictures - almost jungle-like with waterfalls along the hiking trail. Well, the initial view is encouraging, the lack of entrance fee even more so.

but then I get to the start of the walking trail.

Bah.

It may not be the worst thing. I’m starting to suffer from this cold somewhat and the humidity is up another notch from yesterday. This seems to be very much a thing in the Azures: mild climate (except when the Atlantic storms hit I guess), lots of moisture and rainfall. This is, of course, why it is so green and explains the proliferation of botanical gardens - I guess pretty much anything will grow here. I make the decision to visit another one of these in Furnas. Furnas is one of the volcanically active parts of the island and I had intended to visit later in the week but it occurs to me that, what with my aborted hike and the fact that it is on the way back to PDG, I may as well go today.

But not before a trip to the eastern most point of the Azores at Ponta da Madrugada. AI had told me that there is a slight chance of seeing passing whales form here, so worth a look. All I get of course is a whole lot of Atlantic.

Interestingly, AI had also told me that this is the spot which first sees the sun in the whole of Portugal. I hazarded the opinion that mainland Portugal was much further east and so probably likely to see it first. Well, I got a proper telling off from a very smug AI telling me that I had made a classic error:

Ah, a classic geographical trap, Tony! You’ve caught me (or rather, the map) in a bit of a riddle.

You are absolutely right that mainland Portugal (specifically Cape Roca, Cabo da Roca) is the westernmost point of continental Europe. But here’s the twist: Nordeste is in the Azores, which are an autonomous region of Portugal located in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

Because the Azores stretch so far west (about 1,360 km from Lisbon), the eastern tip of São Miguel (where Nordeste sits) is actually further east than mainland Portugal, but the western tip of the Azores (Flores Island) is the westernmost point of the entire country.

I call BS on this once more before the AI finally comes clean checks relative longitudes and apologises for the error. So for all of those AI doomsayers, bare in mind that before AI can take over the world, it has to find it. Then again, the thought of AI controlling weapons targeting scares the bejesus out of me based on this.

I had a run-in with Google translate too. I know enough Portuguese to be able to say that I am unwell, but asked it how to say that I have a cold. The response that I got was, “Estou constipado”. Doesn’t take much imagination to work out what that actually translates to. I’m so glad I didn’t ask anyone for some cold medicine!

So no, I will not be relying too heavily on AI.

Meanwhile, back at Furnas, I head for another garden: Parque Terra Nostra. This turns out to be absolutely stunning, with plants from all around the world, as well as being remarkably peaceful.

It also has a bubbling pond. Does what is says on the tin.

As well as thermal bathing pools. I contemplate whether this might help clear my cold but think it is more likely to lead to a snottery slick threatening the other bathers and so I give it a miss.

The park has many signs proclaiming welcome, but in such a way as to lead me to think that they don’t mean it

Never seen so many rules in a park.

And, as one might expect. Another entry for the Relaxing Benches of the World series

Leaving the gardens, I take a brief detour into Caldeiros to get some more volcanic action. It occurs to me that this is almost exactly a year since my last sulphury fix at Yellowstone. You just can’t have too much of volcanos … well I guess maybe if you live next to one …

There is a stew, Cozida das Furnas, made only in this region, which is cooked in volcanic vents. I had looked up whether a vegetarian version is ever made and the upshot seemed to be that, if offered, it was “made” by cooking the stew and then taking the meat out. Probably give that a miss.

That evening there seems to be a major naval presence in PDG which it turns out is some NATO exercise. Turns out that PDG is a refuelling hub for some NATO operational group. Of course there is also the US military base on Terceira which I was recently privileged to visit.

The still active WhatsApp group from the flight suggests that this has caused all of the restaurants in town to be booked up for several days. Don’t the navy provide their own food? Ah well, we shall see…

Another day, another need for gallons of water to replace the moisture escaping through my nose. Today I am off whale & dolphin watching. Nothing like a stiff see breeze to help the eyes and nose start streaming! :-)

A group earlier in the week spotted a pod of orcas. This would be cool to see, but of course we don’t. And this graffiti is about the closest that I got to a whale

but we do see lots of dolphins.

First up, some bottle-nosed dolphins (no doubt looking up and marvelling at the snottle-nosed human) and then a large collection of common dolphins, who are very playful and keep buzzing the boat. I hadn’t realised that dolphins surf! Every now and then 4 or 5 of them would line up and catch a wave. Very cool, and quite a sight!

Back on dry land and I am off to Gruta do Carvao, some lava tubes which it turns out are literally around the corner from where I am staying and which I only discovered last night.

On the way I see these trousers hanging out of a window. Because, well, why not?

The lava tubes are pretty impressive. They let you wander down over the rough lava floors (that would never pass H&S muster in the UK!) and we get to explore 2 tubes - one more or less pristine, the other slightly damaged by construction work above before they realised what was there and put a stop to it. Apparently the locals also used it as a tip - seeing a useful hole in the ground they helpfully filled it with rubbish, fridges, washing machines etc. which then had to be cleared out by volunteers.

Apparently there is a longer tour available which involves crawling into some reeeeally tight spaces. The guide shows us where, just in case we are interested in coming back. Not a chance, that is absolutely terrifying.

Final day and I decide to try and take in some more of those spectacular Azores views. Nature has a different idea. I have a viewpoint in mind and set off, but as I get up into the hills it gets foggier and foggier.

I’m honestly not sure which is more scary - navigating narrow city streets and battling crazy drivers or driving cliff hugging, winding roads in the fog. Either way, the brakes which I thought were a bit extreme when I first picked up the car are now my best friend.

[ I have noticed that although the Portuguese - and I may be generalizing from a small sample here - drive like lunatics, and seem to be deeply distressed at the though of stopping at crossings, they are generally very polite to pedestrians. On any number of occasions I was waiting for a car to pass, only for them to stop and wave me across. I think they just object to being told what to do and so have a disdain for official stops. I can relate to that! ]

Anyway, back at the “viewpoint”…

I could wait, but it doesn’t look promising, so back to PDG I think.

I decide instead to wander around the local botanical garden (weather much improved of course!)

before heading on to the Museum of Sacred Art. A little off-piste this one, but I had read a review saying that the receptionist was the rudest man ever. Obviously this made me want to visit. I even had a few Portuguese retorts ready just in case. Disappointingly, the staff were very polite and friendly. The museum is quite small, but the attached church is spectacular and sometimes you just have to throw caution to the wind and splash out those 2 euros!

From a distance, it almost looks more like something from a Hindu temple. I’m not sure it is any less disturbing close up!

Anyway, hopefully I will get home tomorrow without incident (I may be invoking the family jinx here but I am trying to draw its attention away for my parents who are finally travelling home after being stuck in Crete for a month!).

I would certainly visit the Azores again, but I would like to get to some of the other islands - particularly Terceira and Pico. This will involve some careful planning and, as I am discovering, the need to build in some contingency. Just as well I have time…

This is all well and good, but the driving can be quite challenging. Although there are many decent, fast roads between the towns, some of the coastal and mountain roads have many switchbacks and hairpin bends. So concentration is required. Also, the locals drive like maniacs, so there is that too! I had read that the locals like to move fast and that it is considered polite to pull over and let them pass, which is fine if there is anywhere that can accommodate this.

I am heading towards Sete Cidades. This is one of the iconic locations that appears in many shots of the Azores - a series of calderas and mountain lakes. The intention was to go straight there and try to beat the crowds, but I am easily distracted and there was this enroute…

Then on to the main event. Of course it is already busy and parking at these places is quite challenging. The car parks tend to be quite small and fairly hard to turn around in when you realise there are no spaces. I quickly discover that it is best to just bite the bullet and park on the road nearby. I am quickly learning that there are very few parking restrictions in the Azores (or indeed adherence to any motoring rules - Azoreans seem to take pride in overtaking right by the ubiquitous No Overtaking signs).

It is actually possible to do a rim walk around the caldera. I had thought that I might like to do this but quickly discover that (a) the humidity is quite oppressive and (b) I seem to be coming down with a cold (I expect incubated in 20 or 30 hours recently spent on planes). I walk part of it to get some different viewpoints, but then whilst standing still and yet still sweating profusely, I see this and the desire to do the walk drains away

Still the sections that I did walk opened up some more great views

I begin to find the crowds a bit tiresome and in addition, Ethan sent me an article

https://www.gaia-legacy.ch/sete-cidades-azores/

that made up my mind to head down into the Caldera and explore some more at that level. This turns out to be a great idea as most people are fighting for parking at the viewpoints on the rim, but down by the lakes it is not too busy at all. There are two lakes and a village at Sete Cidade. The lakes have distinctly different colours (blue and green) due to differences in depth, algae content and reflection. I opt to wander around Lago Verde.

It is remarkably beautiful and peaceful. There is even a “Bay of Silence” at one point were the acoustics get really strange. My footsteps sound as though they are coming back at me in stereo.

This being Atlantis (yes, yes, I won’t bore you with all the details of why the Azores are the best fit for Plato’s description of Atlantis, let’s just take it as read shall we?), I decided to do some dowsing. Oh my goodness, I have never had such dramatic reactions. Whatever is here has some juice!

I am so taken with the place that I decide I need to have a paddle in the waters. As soon as I get my feet into the lake, a bird (a tern I believe - I’m no expert but Google Lens speaks with authority) screeches, takes to the air and starts dive bombing me. Well that was a little unexpected. But its not going to give up, so I beat a hasty retreat, thankful that I was wearing my sturdy Tilly bird-proof hat. Luckily, it seemed that the exclusion zone was quite small.

I was mildly impressed that it had a go but, as previously been established, I completely fail to instil fear in any animals. Not being frightened is one thing, being a vicious little bugger is something else.

From a safe distance, I see the reason for the attack. There is another bird sat stationary on the bank, I assume nesting. Fair enough then I guess, but stupid place to be sitting on eggs. Get some elevation for goodness sake!

That has very much harshed my mellow. I can hear the Cosmic Joker sniggering at the back of my mind. Still not done, eh?

Weirdly, other birds in the Azores seem remarkably friendly and come right up to you.

Then again, maybe they are not friendly but just fearless. Must be that Atlantean energy!

I wander back towards the village and have a look around, including at the church mentioned in the article above. The article seemed to read something into the fact that the nearby fountain had represented the seven cities (yes, that’s what Sete Cidades means) as pyramids. I am somewhat underwhelmed by the the actual sight of this

Hot (and mildly bothered by my recent assault), I decide to head back to Ponta Delgada via the coast. I assume it will be cooler there (it is not!) and strike out for A Porta do Diabo. The Devil’s Door. One might think that, with the way my luck is going, something with a name like this might best be avoided, but I am keen to see some of that rugged Azorean coastline. It’s no Nazare, I think it was worth it…

There is a a pool for bathing a little further along the coast. This seems to be quite a common thing in the Azores. They are at places were warm water from hot springs mixes with cold sea water. In this case the pool looked brutal. The pool is open to the sea and folk seemed to be getting pretty well buffeted by the waves. It did not look like a comfortable experience. There are a number of these spots around. Perhaps I should give it a go while I am here… then again being pummelled by waves and bashed into sharp volcanic rocks doesn’t sound like that much fun. I guess it is all in the tide and timing.

And for some reason, the Azores just keeps making me think about pyramids…

Off we go. This time we will definitely get to the Azores. For sure. Without a shadow of doubt. The weather forecast suggests that there may be a clearing of the fog mid-afternoon.

Well. You would have thought that airlines have a keen interest in weather and would get top of the forecasts.

Seems not. We get to the Azores for the second time and there is still no visibility for landing.

During the course of this experience, we have become minor experts in matters of aviation and weather related issues. Apparently landing in thick fog is not a problem at modern airports such as Heathrow, but Ponta Delgada does not have the relevant tech and has to rely on good old fashioned eyeballs.

We circle the island for quite a while, hoping for a clearing. There are a number of Azoreans on the flight and they assure us that this is quite normal - circling until the weather suddenly changes, or landing on another island and waiting for a clearing. Solid fog for several days is not the norm.

Annoyingly, it is nice and clear over most of Sao Miguel island…

apart from over Ponta Delgada and the airport

So yeah, we will not be landing again. We wait with baited breath to see whether BA have a new, cunning plan. Indeed they do. We will fly to Porto to refuel and then figure it out from there.

Now I have been wanting to visit Porto, but these were not the circumstances under which I thought that would happen.

We land in Porto, and the view is that we will stay here tonight and then make another attempt the next day.

To be fair, BA have generally been quite good throughout all of this. They have put us up in hotels, arranged transport, paid any reasonable expenses etc. But on dropping us in Porto, they seem to have some sort of institutional brain fart which stops them from being able to communicate clearly.

Most of us get to hotels - largely because coach drivers came and grabbed us while we were milling around the terminal and they needed to get us somewhere before they could go home. No one from BA in sight.

What we do discover is that the transport correspondent from the Telegraph is on holiday and part of our group. He may regret revealing that but I think he felt honour bound to report on the experience, so I shall watch out for that report!

All of this forces the group to trauma-bond and a WhatsApp group appears. “BA Kerfuffle” quickly becomes the main source of information sharing and support and is invaluable for getting us all through this. I am just pleased that whoever set the group up would use a word like Kerfuffle. Some words just don’t get out enough.

Anyway, seems we have an evening in Porto which, under other circumstances would probably be delightful. But its late and we are tired and hungry. A number of us head out in search of food and so get a little taste of Porto

I also have a little taste of several ice cold flagons of beer which puts a different slant on the evening, and also means that I may actually get some sleep. I also seem to make a new best friend in the bar. I’m not sure whether it is just because I spoke to / acknowledged him. Its possible that I may have accidentally bought him a drink through some linguistic confusion. He speaks less English than I speak Portuguese, and that is a low bar!

Whatever, he comes out out to where we are sitting and beams and shakes my hand. I’m always happy to make new friends. He had a fantastic Dali-esque moustache too. I would have bought him a drink just for that.

Meanwhile, back at the journey. We have a rough idea of when our replacement flight will be but there is no clarity on getting back to the airport. We had all decided to share taxis and many had left before I went to reception to order one, only to be told that that our bus driver was in reception and had been for about an hour. If only anyone had thought to tell us whilst we were all sat around having breakfast. Madness.

When we get to the airport. there is much confusion about which gate our flight will go from. Clarity seems to coalesce and we all head to the allotted gate. Only to find that this is not the gate. After a number of our group press the airport staff, they decide to bus us a few yards around the outside of the terminal. I had thought that this would put us at our gate. Pipe dream.

The gate we had all gone through had taken us though passport control and so we had de-schengened. This was a mistake as Portugal to the Azores is an internal flight. Rules is rules though and so we had to re-schengen and go through security again before we could proceed to the gate. This took a considerable time as you can imagine. A major triumph for bureaucracy.

Ah well, we finally get on the plane and it is clear that BA have no idea who or how many people should be on the flight. They “think “ there are still people in the terminal, but no one is sure and nobody in the airport is responding to the haila. We seem to acquire some extra people who thought they were going to Gatwick. I’m not even sure how they got onto the plane, but they had to get off before we could leave. That still left the “missing” folk. To the credit of the flight crew, I think they understood that a riot could ensue and decided to just leave, having given the stragglers every opportunity to join.

And so, off to the Azores we go. Again. Third time’s a charm.

And so it turns out ( at least for those of us who haven’t fallen by the wayside through stress, given up and gone home, lost their luggage etc.). The BA Kerfufflers finally make it to Ponta Delgada and a few of the intrepid travellers pose for a group photo

The relief is short-lived as I am the faced with a queue for the hire car

The several days of closure has clearly caused mayhem here!

I finally get the car and make my way to my apartment. the group chat is full of people who have ventured straight out to the more interesting parts of the island. Bunch of bastards just rubbing it in! They are dead to me now, lol.

I manage a bit of a wander around Ponta Delgada

before retreating to the apartment to chill out after a rough few days

Tomorrow Azores exploration starts in earnest..

And the journey? From Nottingham to Ponta Delgada - about 75 hours and a mere 7480 miles.

It seems that 137 (or strictly speaking the inverse of 137) turns up all the time in physics. The value 1/137(ish) is a dimensionless quantity known as the fine structure constant. It relates to how strongly electrons interact with photons and hence pops up all over atomic physics and quantum field theory. No one knows why - it just seems to be some fundamental property of the universe.

This gets people very excited and sends them off down paths of searching for deeper meaning, such as looking at Gematria ( the ancient Greek and Hebrew concept of assigning numbers to letters and then adding these together to produce values for words,). It turns out that 137 is the value of Keter in the Hebrew system, which is the highest of the ten Sefirot, representing divine will or the bridge between the infinite and the finite world.

So much, so woo.

I am still pondering this as I check into the hotel for the night.

Obviously I am given room 137.

I see.

The universe is in one of those moods where it thinks its funny is it? I expect it will be playing silly buggers for a bit and may make the coming week interesting.

I had no idea.

Next morning everything seems to be going fine, except for the fact that there was barely time between the bag drop, security and boarding to snag a Wetherspoons breakfast. I am no rookie though and slip in under the wire, ordering online just as they start collecting up the breakfast menus.

I was particularly keen to stock up as I wasn’t entirely sure how long it would take to get to Ponta Delgada, sort out hire car and accommodation etc. The next meal may be some distance away.

The flight to the Azores is about 3.5 hours, which isn’t bad. At least it isn’t bad if you are able to land. As we approach, the pilot informs us that there is thick fog and he will circle for a while and hope for a clearing. Some of the passengers are getting a bit twitchy, but he assures us that they carry extra fuel for just such an eventuality.

He must have had reports of a slight gap as he suddenly started to descend like a stuka, only (and you could almost hear the “Errr…nope!”) to pull up quite dramatically and start to circle again. This goes on for some time until he finally decides that it is not happening and informs us that he needs to find somewhere else to land.

This turns out to be a military base on the island of Terceira. I am quite pleased initially as I had sort of given up on the idea of getting to any islands other than Sao Miguel on this trip. Naively, I assumed that they would let us potter about a bit before flying us back to Ponta Delgada when the fog cleared.

Not so much. The cosmic joker is not done.

They quickly decide that the fog has settled in for the night and BA want the plane back at Heathrow. Sigh. They will allow people to get off here if they want, but they can’t unload any luggage as the base is not equipped for it. So the deal is essentially go back to Heathrow or get off, find you own way back to Sao Miguel to pick up your luggage the next day should the flight make it at that point.

A surprising number of people do get off - I assume people who were heading to Terceira anyway and/or only have hand luggage. The rest of us are doomed to a late flight back to London, and overnight (or at least a couple of hours) in a hotel and then (hopefully) a flight back the next day.

I’m pretty sure that the Azores is the furthest I have ever been on a day trip.

What adventure! I’m certainly getting good value out of the zero pounds I spent buying the trip with air miles.

The trip back is quite fun. People who have barely spoken to each other for the initial 4 or 5 hours have now become best friends. The air crew maintain calm against the odds and people realise that there is no point in railing against something that no one can control and relax into resigned good humour.

If only you could bottle that and spread it around the world. We were suddenly all friends and equal.

Although they did still draw the curtain across the cabin to save the club passengers from being too exposed to us proles. Standards is standards after all.

I felt for the people who had forward plans or complex itineraries, but was quietly smug about my inability to plan meaning that this was far less of an issue for me (other than a little hire care juggling).

And so here I am again at my home from home, Heathrow Terminal 5, waiting for attempt number 2.

It seems I am actually quite good at waiting. I go into a sort of anti-meditation mode where I let the monkey mind run riot and just see what thoughts pop into my head. I can’t attest to the quality of said thoughts.

Will see what today brings. I am only mildly disappointed that, having discovered that there is a major religious festival in Ponta Delgada today, I will miss it - or at least any parades etc. I will hopefully be there in time for any evening religious revelry! Of course it may also mean that everywhere is closed and I won’t be able to get anything to eat.

Right, off to snag some emergency grub before setting off…

I am not going there.

I have found a cave nearby that the reviews describe as “absolutely gorgeous”, “almost no tourists” and “free”. That is ticking all my boxes. Ok, so there was no god born there, but hey, it is within walking distance of my accommodation (at least I thought so - any Greek I mentioned it to thought walking there was a crazy idea).

So thanks, but no thanks Zeus, I’m off to Skotino Cave.

It’s a climb up into the hills, and the day is fairly warm but I have plenty of water and no need to hurry. The views along the way are great

and the gradual fade into larger, more distant mountains reminds me of the Great Smoky Mountains in the USA.

Google maps has found a route which turns out not to be the quickest ( as evidenced by the several miles shaved off the return journey) and seemed to go a little off-piste, but non the worse for that.

The reviews were not wrong, the cave is indeed spectacular and though there are a few other people there, most of them seem to have driven, so I don’t feel that they had the full experience.

I am particularly taken with this stalagmite which I have dubbed Shroomamite

There are also a couple of small chapels near the cave, if such is your thing. A fine discovery and well worth the hike.

Second discovery of the day is how Cretans pronounce Cretan. English people (myself included) tend to pronounce it Creetan, with a long ‘e’ as the alternative sounds wrong to the English ear. Of course this is not an issue for the locals, who pronounce it with a short ‘e’. Even knowing that, I still find it hard to pronounce it the correct way without feeling rude.

My last full day in Crete and I am off to Santorini. I am quite excited as I have wanted to see this close up for a while and it hadn’t occurred to me that you can do it as a day trip from Crete.

Santorini is the archipelago of islands of islands around the caldera created by the massive volcanic explosion on the island of Thera (Thera is still the main island, but somewhat reduced!) around 1600BC.

It is often hypothesized that this was the location of Atlantis that Plato described. The basis for this seems to be that (a) it was roughly circular and (b) it was destroyed in a natural disaster. That is a fairly weak hypothesis as Plato also claimed that Atlantis was beyond the Pillars of Hercules (Strait of Gibraltar), placing it in the Atlantic Ocean.

Others have associated the Canary Islands with the Blessed Isles of Greek legend and opted to see those as Atlantis. Of course a more obvious option would be the Azores, much more of which was above water in the past. Also, I notice that if you extend the Michael/Mary Ley line out into the Atlantic, it passes right through the Azores. Just saying.

Another strike against Santorini as Atlantis is that Plato claimed that it was destroyed in 9800BC, not in 1600BC.

Many people also believe that Plato was just using Atlantis as an allegorical device to describe the cyclical nature of civilisations and how they collapse when overtaken by hubris and corruption (a tale for our times maybe?). In this interpretation he added dates and claims of Egyptian origin of the knowledge to add some weight and give it the appearance of fact (everyone knew that the Egyptians kept great records).

Of course the date used also corresponds to the end of the Younger Dryas period when there was cataclysmic, rapid climate change and sea level rise, probably triggered by the impact of a comet on the Columbia ice sheet in Canada.

Hmmm.

Anyway, I seem to be visiting all of these locations this year which is fun, ano das ilhas turns into ano da Atlantida.

Meanwhile, back at the day trip…

The ferry from Heraklion to Santorini takes about 2 hours. These are no nonsense boats which do not hang a about!

The day on Santorini is in 2 parts. First a wander around Oia (generally considered the most beautiful town on Santorini) and then some time in the capital, Fira.

I can’t really argue with the characterisation of Oia

but it is chuffin’ busy

Much like at Knossos, we are reduced to an Ikea shuffle.

Okay, the streets are narrow and it is a popular place. Then again, there are also 3 cruise ships here today (apparently 5 is more normal!). It must be a nightmare for these small communities when cruise ships turn up and disgorge thousands of people at a time. I’m sure they make lots of money, but I felt for the people trying to deliver supplies to restaurants and fighting their way through the crowds.

It’s also a bit self-defeating for the people on cruises. The very nature of the cruise means that wherever you land you will not have the opportunity to experience a peaceful visit to a beautiful location. I gather that some places are now looking to ban cruise ships. Of course this may be more related to them being floating leper colonies!

I take my mind off the crowds by making a poor attempt at my signature Potter hat selfie.

I think that natural features are more amenable to this than churches though.

Onwards to Fira.

The capital is equally busy. [Side note: the bus drivers have mad skills. Each of the locations have fairly small car parks for buses and some of the manoeuvres to get into spaces are unbelievable. Cretan drivers may be crazy, but they know what they are about!]

Here, I walk up towards the cable car but can’t really be bothered queueing (and there is also a howling gale blowing which does not incentivise me). But I find some great views of the Caldera and this is , of course, what I have come for.

I also find another entry for my “Relaxing Benches of the World” series. I’m honestly not sure how relaxing it would be sitting on one of these benches knowing that there is a queue behind you, but can’t fault the view.

And much like Oia, Fira is beautiful

After climbing up for the views, and having no interest in overpriced boutiques and restaurants (although slightly tempted by the restaurant advertising a Beyond Burger - Crete being not particularly big on veggie food, salads notwithstanding), I toy briefly with the idea of a boat trip to the still active volcano in the centre of the Caldera, but it seems this will take too long and the bus has already left someone behind at Oia when they didn’t get back at the allotted time.

Instead I head for the Museum of Prehistoric Thera. This is interesting, if quite small and has many artefacts from Akrotiri (essentially the new Pompeii, being the main town destroyed by the eruption). This is somewhere I would like to visit but it is on the other side of the island. Maybe on a future trip…

Anyway, seems that pizza ovens have not really come on in 4000 years.

Fun fact: apparently Santorini has more churches than private residences. This seem unfeasible at first but then Santorini does have quite a small population but has to handle 3 million visitors every summer, so I guess most of the buildings are tourist accommodation.

Fun fact 2: The guide tells us that volcanic rocks from Santorini were used in the construction of the Suez canal and that it is named Suez because that is Zeus spelled backwards. I assume he is just having some fun, but I did fact check the rock use and that, at least, is correct, so who knows?

The last day and it is the typical package holiday check out at lunch time, flight late at night deal. Luckily, I have some family staying nearby and so can while away the time reading and listening to music on their nice shaded (and elevated!) balcony before heading off for a final meal while waiting for the airport transfer.

The trip home is something of a nightmare.

As I got back latish from Santorini, I went straight to meet my parents to eat. It was the only night that I went out in shorts and a short sleeve shirt and no insect repellent and the mosquitos had clearly just been waiting for their chance to savage me.

So, back to the airport and the plane was ready early and they had us boarded about an hour before our scheduled take off. But then the pilot tells us that they can’t leave early as they will get fined. So we sit sweltering and grumbling on the plane when we could be in a cool(ish) terminal.

In addition to this, he informs us that we will be flying into a head wind and so the flight will take 45 minutes longer than expected. Aaarrrrgh!

I try to sit as still as possibly to avoid sweating too profusely, but the mosquito bites push me into a frenzy of scratching.

When we finally take off, the woman across the aisle decides to twist sideways and cross her legs into the aisle. All well and good - she is a large lady and I understand legroom issues. What I wasn’t ready for was the spasms every few seconds after she fell asleep which made her leg twitch and kick me on several occasions. I could perhaps have forgiven that, but I felt that the farting was unnecessary.

Ah well, its an experience I suppose. Back at East Midlands at around 1am (3am to me) and I shiver my way back to the car through 8C and rain. A full 17 degrees cooler than when I left Crete.

It has been a great trip, if not my usual freestyle approach. If I go back, I think I will need to get to some of the more remote, mountainous regions and also to some of the palaces less touristy than Knossos.

Well worth another trip though I think. There is much to see on Crete and the welcome is warm.

I head to the booking office to arrange my tour but it doesn’t seem to be open at the usual time. There is some running event (as in an event with people running, as opposed to an ongoing event, although that too I suppose) taking place and some of the roads are cordoned off. When it finally opens, I ask the lady in the office what the event was about.

Well.

This triggers a 10 minute good-natured grumble. She had been unable to drive anywhere near the office and the morning tour buses had been unable to reach their pickup points. Apparently her sister lives in Gouves and didn’t know about this event and neither did the police that she spoke to - they had just been called in at the last minute. She said that this was typical of Greece and that in any civilised country these things would all be planned in advance and relevant parties informed. I evinced the opinion that it keeps life interesting. She didn’t entirely disagree but was definitely veering more in the direction of irritation.

It seems that mentioning organisation of anything official in Greece has the same effect as talking politics to a taxi driver in the UK. I’m guessing that this also explains how the Samaria Gorge is still closed with no one having any idea when it will open.

I wander away smiling and clutching my ticket, happy to have been able to help someone de-stress by listening to a cathartic rant. Thank goodness for all those years in management.

As another positive, as the wind picks up later in the day, I discover that I may have been too hasty in the assessment of my “balcony". It turns out that the wind resisting properties of a subterranean balcony are not to be underestimated. An object lesson in not making snap judgements I feel.

Time to ramp up the tourism rather than just pottering about between eating and drinking. Today I am off to Knossos, another one from the long term wish list.

A bit of history… (In italics if non history buffs feel the need to skip!)

Crete has been occupied since about 7000 BC - one of the earliest to be inhabited in the Mediterranean (even Malta with its ancient temples wasn’t inhabited until about 2000 years later). Knossos was occupied from the beginning but the palace for which it is famous was only (only he says!) constructed about 4000 years ago. There were a number of “palatial” phases on Minoan culture with other palaces being built at Phaistos and Malia slightly later.

The standard narrative of history (or at least what most people have been exposed to) is that the Minoan civilisation was wiped out by the huge volcanic eruption at Thera around 1600 BC (which created the caldera and archipelago of islands which is now Santorini) and the subsequent earthquakes and tsunami.

This, it turns out, is false.

Whilst huge damage was done, the Minoan civilisation survived and they built back bigger and better (at least at Knossos). The guide that I had for the Knossos tour claimed that the Minoans were finely attuned to nature and that, when they saw the animals fleeing, they took the hint, abandoned the buildings and headed to high ground. I guess if you live in a geologically active region, you develop a sense for these things. Anyway, apparently there is no archaeological evidence of people being killed by the tsunami.

The Minoan culture persisted for several hundred years after this before being absorbed into the Mycenaean culture and finally biting the big one at the same time as the other bronze age cultures in the Med which all mysteriously collapsed over the course of the 100 years from 1250-1150BC.

I am visiting Knossos on a particularly warm day and, as I quickly discover, there is little shade available at the site. One guy was stretchered out while we were there. I’m not sure whether this was a fall, heat stroke or apoplectic fit at the amount of queueing involved, but you have to admire that dedication to seeing the sights. Yes, Knossos is particularly busy. I dread to think what it is like in the actual summer peak season. We queued for about 20 minutes to get into the throne room.

Still, we got to see a seat.

I sound cynical but Knossos is an impressive site, and huge (although not all open to the public).

I have two beefs with this visit…

Firstly much of Knossos is reconstructed. I am not a fan of restoring ancient sites, I feel they should be left as found, although I think in this case it may have been structural necessity.

Secondly, I was led to believe that we would have some free time to wander around on our own, but we were taken on a fairly strict route and then herded back to the bus.

The guide was very good, going into some detail on the mythology and the various reasons why the bull was such an important symbol in Minoan culture. She covered both the Europa/ “Zeus as bull” liaison which lead to the birth of King Minos and the bull sent by Poseidon which Minos refused to sacrifice and so Poseidon made Minos’ wife fall in love with it as punishment. She then had Daedalus construct a fake cow with a space in which she could be suspended … you can guess the rest. And this lead to the Minotaur. Oh those saucy Greeks! Puts me in mind of stories about Catherine the Great.

This explains why representations of a bull are often present in sacramental spaces in Crete.

Anyway, the upshot of imparting all of this mythological knowledge (delivered with much theatrical verve) was that no spare time was available for exploration before being whisked off into the centre of Heraklion.

At least I had a chance to take a snap of the oldest road in Europe…

… and the fine drainage system. Knossos had impressive plumbing, with running water in some of the more important rooms and full waste disposal.

So they had nice wide drains 4000 years ago and yet today the plumbing is insufficient to handle flushing of toilet paper. Go figure.

Onwards to Heraklion and, after a brief walking tour to orient us, I head straight for the archaeological museum. This is fantastic and has some great exhibits. It again strikes me that some of the oldest artefacts are as impressive, if not more so, than some of the more recent ones. This feeds into the narrative of there perhaps having been more advanced knowledge and culture further back in history than is generally accepted, but I won’t bore you with that now!

I found this one strangely disturbing for some reason

but I need one of these for my garden to fend off the pigeons

And of course there is the Phaistos disc. This is a mysterious object (found at the palace of Phaistos unsurprisingly) containing mysterious symbols and seen as evidence of the existence of movable type thousands of years before the printing press. The writing on the disc has never been translated. This is something of a theme with Cretan writing as the Linear A script has also never been translated. I love a good mystery!

Leaving the museum, the temperature has gotten out of hand. It was supposed to top out at 28C today but seems to have slid up to a cheeky 38C. That is some poor-ass weather forecasting. I need to find some shade whilst waiting for the bus, but it is in short supply.

Heading back to my apartment, I exchange a few words with the waiter in the attached taverna, which triggers the thought of cold beer, which somehow makes the heat more acceptable.

Lesson of the day: although it is always useful to get information from guides, I don’t think organised tours are really for me. Without a hire car (and in Crete I would fear to go down this route I think) an organised tour is often the easiest way just in terms of transport, but it is not well suited to my random bimbling style of tourism!

It had all started well enough, with a fairly smooth trip out - the only hiccup being my inability to get anything to eat in the Castle Rock pub at East Midlands airport. The bar was absolutely heaving and, although my scouting prowess surfaced the last remaining free table, I was unable to take advantage of it due to a malfunctioning mobile order system. Bah!

Now this is one of the downsides of solo travel: not being able to order at the bar without losing your table. Obviously leaving a bag as a placeholder is pretty much a non-starter in an airport unless you want to return to find that the bag has been removed and detonated.

I feel that there should be a back up system for lone travellers - perhaps some sort of semaphore (akin to the alert phrases used to ask bar staff for help). I would be the first to admit that, “I am unable to come to the bar and I require you to come and take my order”, doesn’t have quite the same urgency as, “I am with an abusive partner and in need of assistance”. Then again, I could argue that depriving an ageing solo-traveller of the consolation of some warm repast and a pint of IPA constitutes elder abuse.

Sort it out catering industry.

Ah well, Burger King it is then.

The flight is pleasant enough. Jet2 are one of the more generous airlines in terms of default legroom, and always very helpful. I have booked the entire package with Jet2 this time rather separate flights and accommodation. This has some advantages but does mean that you tend to be in amongst a different cohort. Screaming kids, drunken hen parties, banal conversation and the casual racism of Brits abroad all need to be navigated. Luckily I am a master of projecting the IOKWS (I’m OK with silence) field to discourage people from engaging. If they are particularly persistent, then it needs to be turned it up to FOALMA (Go away and leave me alone). But honestly, I am really quite sociable when travelling :-)

Still, a couple of wines makes the flight wizz by and there are some great views of the Alps to be had.

Sadly, it was dark as we approached Crete so no airborne shots of the spectacular and rugged Cretan landscape.

My apartment is fine but I have to question the description of it having a balcony. Outside space, yes , but to me balcony implies some elevation. I can't help but feel that being below the car park doesn't qualify. Call me a stickler.

Anyway, back to the reason for feeling slightly vague this morning.

Having arrived late, I decided not to meet up with my parents (who are staying at their usual haunt about 1/2 mile away) for a nightcap, but instead meet for breakfast.

All well and good but then we set off for a tour of Gouves. My parents have been coming to Gouves for many years and they seem to know absolutely everyone. The Greeks and especially Cretans are marvellously hospitable anyhow, but this seems next level. After a brief lunchtime stop for a quick beer, we settle up and attempt to leave, only to be blocked by the waitress arriving with another 3 beers and a small carafe of ouzo on the house.

This was not how I had expected the day to go, but bravely leaned into it.

To be fair, the alcohol eased the pain of my Mum insisting on introducing me to everyone as her baby. I may be reasonably spry for my age but I think “baby” may be stretching it.

And so the day progressed. After brief breaks to visit supermarkets for provisions etc., it was time to head back around to my folks accommodation (at least I am getting in many redeeming steps to counteract the overeating and drinking!) for a quick beer before heading off to eat (and as seems likely) drink some more.

Another set of old friends of my parents, another round of “baby” introductions and (after a fine meal and wine) another failure to leave without being plied with more drink. This time to the tune of a small bottle of raki and several large brandies. And then back to the bar for a nightcap, before swaying my way back through the dark streets to my temporary domicile. I would like to report that I sensibly avoided having a swift bourbon when I got back. But I can’t.

And this explains my morning zombie issue.

I decide to walk it off, after first trying to book a few excursions. Trip to Knossos arranged. Tick. No problem there. But I really want to go to the Samaria Gorge and this seems to be problematic as it is currently closed for maintenance and no one seems to know when it is likely to open.

Now this is not unusual for me. I regularly visit places out of season without checking opening times or fail to realise when things need booking months in advance. My Dad gamely stepped forward to take responsibility, claiming that it was down to the Nicholls curse, which regularly seems to jinx things.

Apparently he has something of a reputation for this in these parts. Th jinx takes many forms. My Dad won’t listen to football live and is asked to leave his local bar if Everton games are on. I fear I may have inherited an element of this.

Hopefully it won’t kick in today as I am planning to try and watch Nottingham Forest in the Europa League semi-final later. I did pass this bar at one point and wondered whether this might be a good spot to watch it. Being an Everton and part-time Forest fan it seems that it might be fun to surreptitiously infiltrate enemy territory for this. When it comes down to it though, I suspect it will just feel unacceptable.

I take a long walk along the seafront, past a beautiful small church and some new candidates for my series on relaxing benches of the world.

The way then being blocked, I turn inland. It’s quite beautiful away from the coast with groves of olive and lemon trees. I also seem to have discovered the snail equivalent of the eel spawning grounds in the Sargasso Sea. It seems that snails all spawn on a couple of metal rods in Gouves.

Looping back to the apartment, I bump into my parents who are out for a stroll, and there seems nothing for it but to nip for a quick beer (in fairness, it is quite warm by this stage) before continuing my journey.

Somewhat annoyingly, at the apartments where I am staying, the housekeeping doesn’t seem to come around until about 4pm. This is sub optimal, but gives me a chance to head out along the coast in the opposite direction.

I suppose I could joined the red, sweaty masses sizzling away on the sunbeds, but that’s not really my thing. One guy puts me in mind of Ray Winston in Sexy Beast (and yes, if there had been a hill nearby I would have been looking - hoping? - for the boulder).

It amazes me that people still happily lie in full sun for hours on end, but each to their own I guess.

As it turns out, there is an aquarium on the route I take, so I pop in here for a look. Man fish are ugly!

I discovered that the Lion Fish, with its arsenal of deadly poisonous spines, has made its way through the Suez Canal and can now be found in the Med. That could really take the shine of a quick paddle.

I’m quite taken with the sharks in a large tank

and spend some time communing with an octopus. These are weird creatures but absolutely beautiful and graceful. This one seemed quite agitated to have my gruesome mug shoved in front of it and I’m fairly sure it tried to threaten me.

I beamed calming thoughts at it. Better here than on a skewer in a local taverna I would have thought...

As we are about to set off for the epic trip up to Orkney, my car decides to pester me with unwelcome warnings. The “door open” light is on and remains so despite my checking and double checking. Turns out to be the bonnet which, whilst partially closed, does not seem inclined to fully lock. This is sub-optimal for a 600 mile round trip. Then again, I am hardly likely to back out of the trip now am I? I mean the bonnet is sort of closed. I decide that I will just have to risk it and keep an eye on things.

The plan is to drive to Edinburgh - possibly via stops at Durham and/or Holy Island - for the flight up to Orkney. As the journey progresses, the usual flight timing paranoia kicks in along with the fear of getting delayed in traffic (which it turned out was a good call) and so we just drive straight for Edinburgh with just a couple of quick stops - one for a reconstructed wood henge and the other for yet another aborted attempt to acquire a quality pasty. Despite web indications to the contrary, the service station does not have a West Cornwall Pasty Company concession and (after my previous attempt on the M5) I am beginning to think that perhaps the company has folded, or at least withdrawn from service stations.

So much for stodgy travelling fare. The sad end of an era.

Still, at least we make it to Edinburgh without the bonnet flying off and causing a major incident. Bonus.

The flight to Orkney is fairly smooth and uneventful (this will not be the case on the return journey). As we fly in, the islands start to appear out of the mist and, even from the plane, Orkney has a liminal feel as though the veil between the worlds is thinner here. Frootery is an Orcadian word for witchcraft or something that can’t be explained, and it certainly seems to fit. And also is my new favourite word!

We find ourselves in a curiously light Kirkwall and it then dawns on us that we are the beneficiaries of a northern post-equinoctial daylight dividend and that it will not be getting dark imminently.

This realisation instantly changes our plan from heading straight to the hotel (having picked up the somewhat overpriced hire car) to maximising our limited time on the island and we head to the Ring of Brodgar, for a first look as the sun sets, and are richly rewarded…

This is a superb stone circle and one of the largest in the country. It was built around the same time as Stonehenge and Avebury, but each of these had construction phases stretching over hundreds of years and these will all have overlapped and there is evidence that the building of these was a communal effort by people from across the country, including groups from Orkney being involved at Stonehenge.

Orkney was a major concentration of neolithic sites and this is of course one of the main reasons that we are visiting. Some of the oldest structures in Britain are in islands and it was pretty much the centre of culture in neolithic times. Of course it is also rich in Viking history, having been ruled by Viking jarls for hundreds of years.

The Viking or at least Norwegian rule only came to an end in 1472 when the islands were confiscated by the Scottish parliament to cover the debt of an unpaid dowry by the King of Norway. Oops.

Back at the hotel, we are too late for dinner, so a sandwich from Tesco and a few pints in the hotel bar are in order. When I finally track down a member of staff to serve me in the lounge, he politely points out that there is another bar at the front of the hotel, whilst simultaneously communicating to me that it might not be for me. Having established that the front bar has a better selection of beer, I foolishly head there. This is clearly used by the locals and there are a group of heavy drinkers sat at the bar being reasonably loud. The atmosphere is a tad lairy. As I lean in to take a look at the hand pumps, one of the youths accuses me of trying to sniff his neck. I have no idea what to do with that, so grab my 2 pints and retreat back to the lounge chuckling to myself.

The next day we are up bright and early, determined to make the most of our only full day in Orkney. Due to one of my trademark scheduling snafus (and much to the disappointment of Ethan who is a consummate trip planner), we are booked to visit Maes Howe (the obvious first stop for the day) at midday. No matter, we can head out and double back. The distances really aren’t that great.

On the way, we stop at the Stones of Stenness. These are huge monoliths (only 4 remain of the original ring). The Ness of Brodgar is a thin strip of land, part of an ancient sacred landscape, bookended by the Stones of Stenness at one end and the Ring of Brodgar at the other. This whole area is designated as a UNESCO World Heritage site.

The Ness of Brodgar is an amazing ceremonial site but sadly we will not see it on this visit as it is only open for viewing in summer whilst the ongoing excavations are taking place.

Anyway, the Stones of Stenness are mightily impressive (as is the wind chill as we approach them!). Probably the tallest that I have seen other than the Rudstone Monolith in Yorkshire, which is about 2 metres (let’s call it 6 or 7 feet as these sites were laid out according to older measures) taller than these.

A welcome return to a warm car, and we are off to Skara Brae. Skara Brae is a collection of neolithic houses only found after being uncovered by a storm and are probably the oldest standing houses in Europe (except for the slight older settlement at the Knap of Howar, also in Orkney). I guess building in stone (not a tree in sight on Orkney!) allows them to last longer and of course being covered for thousands of years also helps.

The early start means that we have this amazing site largely to ourselves to start with, and also the wind is starting to drop and we realise that we have been blessed with that rarest of things in Orkney : a warm sunny day.

I have to avoid buying a miniature Skara Brae in a tin in the gift shop which just makes me laugh, but otherwise get out relatively unscathed other than stumping up for a mini guide to Neolithic Orkney.

Our wander around Skara Brae takes us to the point were we can take a leisurely drive back to Maes Howe for our 12 o’clock.

Maes Howe is a chambered cairn. You are not allowed to take photographs inside which is a pity because there is some interesting Viking graffiti. Well I say that, but when the guide translates the jokes for us, my sides fail to split. I guess you had to be there. Maes Howe is about 4600 years old but in the twelfth century some Vikings broke in to shelter from a a storm and spent several days carving runic graffiti and some quite intricate images of animals, possibly representing myths about Loki and his children, Fenrir the giant wolf and Jörmungandr, the Midgard Serpent. Of course no photos, so I’m afraid that you are denied the opportunity to see these. I’m sure they can be found online - I leave this as an exercise for the enthusiast.

The other interesting thing about Maes Howe is that they never found any bones in there, so it is open to question as to whether it was a tomb. I suspect that many of these sites were ceremonial and the urge to ascribe funereal function to them is a little misguided. Of course there are plenty of other cairns on Orkney (you can’t throw a stone without hitting some ancient monument) which probably were burial mounds, but Maes Howe also has a massive henge around it which perhaps hints at other uses.

Back on the road north again, with a brief stop at Barnhouse near Stenness. This is another settlement built about the same time as Skara Brae

Orkney is so full of this stuff that people try to cram too much in (not me obviously!). This is referred to as tomb fever, often followed a little later by the feeling of being tombed out. That is for weaker, lesser travellers.

On our way north, we intend to stop at the village of Twatt, for the obligatory amusing photo op. I don’t see any sign for said photo. I’m not sure whether this is because they have been removed to stop tourists stealing them or whether I missed it because I was distracted by the guy aggressively tailgating me all the way there. I don’t know whether he was a local, but I think he embodied the essence of the place.

The lack of sign is almost made up for by the pottery shop in the village of Harray which has a sign reading Harray Potter. It’s these little things that make travelling joyful.

Regardless, we continue on and find ourselves in Birsay. A quick wander around the Earls Palace and then we head down to the beach. The weather has improved dramatically and this is a beautiful spot. There is a causeway across to the nearby island which, had the fates and tides aligned, we would have crossed. Although the causeway is only just submerged, the tide here comes in from both sides and quite dramatically, so no wading will be attempted!

This is one of the nicest beaches that I have been on in many years, but I never expected to be paddling in the North Atlantic in early April!

Also, these may be the most relaxing benches in the world.

Onwards and a final-ish stop of the day at the Broch of Gurness. We have deliberately delayed our arrival here until after closing time as I had read online that they leave it unlocked and that you can wander around freely and for free out of hours. Cheapskates.

This is somewhat more modern than the stuff that we have previously been visiting, dating back only as far as the Iron Age. Impressive non the less, so I won’t hold it’s modernity against it!

Heading back to the hotel we are again distracted by a sign for another chambered cairn and hop out to explore. On reaching the entrance neither of us are feeling the need to go inside. Getting into Maes Howe was an exercise in uncomfortable crouching, this was a more serious bit of business and would have required crawling. Meh. Maybe I am tombed out after all?

Overnight, the wind picked up to gale force and we start to wonder whether our flight will be cancelled. Not an infrequent occurrence in Orkney I believe. We decide to kill a few hours before heading back to the airport by wandering around Kirkwall and visiting the St. Magnus Cathedral, dating from the twelfth century.

There are lots of people buried within the walls and the markers are very heavily decorated with skulls and bones, although one of them looks more like an alien grey than a human skull. Who knows, maybe Orkney had a visitation?

St. Magnus himself was relocated from his initial burial site and placed inside one of the pillars, as was his nephew Rognvald who built the cathedral to honour his uncle. Rognvald was also later canonised.

Across the road from the cathedral is the Orkney Museum with displays relating to all the periods in Orkney’s history. I’m quite taken by a jet button, which looks far too modern but demonstrates the level of skill that early peoples had. I am particularly excited (I know, I know) to see a carved stone ball. These are mysterious items found all over Scotland but no one really knows the purpose. This is not the finest example but interesting to see one nevertheless. Some are much more intricate - either in terms of the patterns and designs on them or because their symmetry is reminiscent of platonic solids, which raises some interesting questions…

By early afternoon, the wind has died down a bit but not disappeared so we are confident that the flight will be OK. Well, it was OK in the sense that it went, but clearly the weather was much wilder in other parts of Scotland and the flight was fairly lively. It went into full rollercoaster mode as we were coming in to land at Edinburgh, triggering some copious vomiting from the child in the seat behind and coming close to triggering a chain reaction. There was a constant flow of bags from other passengers to the parents of the child. I think he probably used all of the bags from the back end of the aircraft, so that’s a fairly impressive output.

After that, we are ready for a drink. As luck would have it, we have booked to go to the Johnny Walker Experience. This turns out to be pretty entertaining and provides much more sampling opportunities than the whiskey experience on the Royal Mile. They seem to be on a bit of a mission to wipe out single malt snobbery and explain why the complex blending that they undertake is better. I am convinced, but still prefer bourbon. They are clearly geared up to the digital age, suggesting hash tags and providing strategic lighting for the perfect snap of your drink.

They clearly reckon without the social media challenged like myself. Actually I could probably have left the media bit out there.

Of course they save the the couple of quick cocktails until just before turning you out into the shop. They know what they are about, but at least they do it with humour and don’t try to hide the fact. Works too as it turns out!

We had been planning to visit a Norse Mythology themed bar but after a less than glowing review from our guide, and having acquired a nice bottle in the shop, we decide that a return to the hotel and further sampling is in order. A pleasant (and suitably Scottish) way to round off a great trip.

I’m heading back to Nottingham today - although not by a straight route (oddly after all of my references to alignments and the Old Straight Track) as there is still more to see whilst I am down here.

First up, some unfinished business from yesterday. In retrospect, I am glad that I didn’t go in search of Gog and Magog yesterday as I suspect that

(a) it would have been quite a hike from the town centre and

(b) it would have been a damp and muddy old trek

Much better to approach it today by driving most of the way and then walking the remainder in the crisp morning sunshine.

A review that I read on Google Maps said, “It’s a strenuous walk [it isn’t] and at the end of it its basically just a couple of trees”. Philistine.

The oak is indisputably the king of trees. I know that this doesn’t require saying, but I’m just ensuring that we are on theme.

Now I am very keen on ancient oaks, being a regular visitor to admire the many fine specimens in Sherwood Forest. Why then go out of your way to visit just two I hear you say. I am glad you asked.

Gog and Magog are the last two remaining Avalon Oaks. The story is that Joseph followed a line of trees up to the Tor. So the trees were already around at that point. It is thought that this was a ceremonial avenue. Must have looked magnificent.

And was cut down in 1906 to make way for a farm.

Sigh

Someone from the timber firm remembers that the trees were more than 11 feet in diameter and had more than 2000 growth rings. Let’s hope that the sheep appreciate the sacrifice.

And now there are two left. Hence the visit. These trees are a link with the deep past, and probably won’t be there much longer. Actually, technically there is one left as Gog has now expired (and Magog is teetering I gather).

Apparently a tee light was left in the Gog in 2016 (the tree was already dead at this point), presumably as some sort of pagan devotional act and, shockingly, the tree caught fire. The fire was put out, but a bit of a pagan own goal there I can’t help but feel.

Respects paid to Gog and Magog, I get back on the King Arthur trail and head to Camelot.

Now there are many places which lay claim to being Camelot but Cadbury Castle probably has one of the more credible ones. It is an immense hill fort which has been in use since the bronze age. There are signs of it having been taken by the Romans but then later reused by the Britons after the Romans left (which is exactly the period that people think Arthur legends stem from).

Excavations have show signs of great fortifications (the site is easily big enough to hold a small army), great halls, metal working and pottery from Europe, showing signs of international trade during the 6th century. So clearly not somewhere that descended into dark age chaos. It is also by far the largest such settlement of the period in southern Britain.

Also, when John Leland first wrote about it in 1542, apparently the locals had many legends about ghostly knights and also referred to the site as Camelot. Then again, as we know, many folk have tried to make this link with various places, including reasonably credible claims for sites on the Welsh borders.

Having stood on the ramparts and admired the view (and strategic location), I could well believe that if you were a major warlord in the 6th century, you would base yourself here. Looking at the landscape, I imagine that it would have been quite an experience to approach a large fortification here from rural England at the time. And it has a certain appeal given the proximity to Avalon. I’ll take it.

And I can’t leave the area without another nod to King Alfred.

Tucked away in … well … the arse end of nowhere really, is King Alfred’s Tower. This is nothing to do with Alfred in a sense, it having been built in the 1700s. As to its purpose, I will let a quote from Wikipedia do the heavy lifting here…

Henry Hoare II planned the tower in the 1760s to commemorate the end of the Seven Years’ War against France and the accession of King George III, and it was erected near the site of Egbert’s Stone, where it is believed that Alfred the Great, King of Wessex, rallied the Anglo-Saxons in 878 before the Battle of Edington. The tower was damaged by an aeroplane in 1944 and restored in the 1980s.

The 49-metre-high (161 ft) triangular tower has a hollow centre and is climbed by means of a spiral staircase in one of the corner projections. It has a statue of King Alfred and a dedication inscription.

Yes and no. It has a statue, sure. Can be climbed? Not so much. At least not in March. As with so much of Britain, it doesn’t open until April. As if people only visit places in the summer. Time to think about those poor retirees who need off-season access I say!

Still, middle of nowhere it may be, but it is a magnificent structure

Oh. and for those Last Kingdom fans (or just history buffs generally I guess), this is near the location of Egbert’s Stone where Alfred, coming out of hiding in the marshes of Athelney, raised his standard to rally the troops before heading off to the battle of Efandon, where he defeated the Danes. Although possibly not as well known as other battles, this would have been a pivotal point in English history (accepted that there wasn’t an England at the time … and probably wouldn’t have been if Alfred had lost this battle).

Anyway, it seems like this trip has had a certain amount of closure, linking a number of the themes from the last few days, so I can head home satisfied.

Surprisingly, I encounter another English tradition on the way home : the Highwayman. Driving through a small village (which Google has determined as the best route between Alfred’s Tower and the M4) the traffic grinds to a halt and a dodgy looking character shoves a a card payment machine through my window. He doesn’t look terribly official and I ask him how much the “toll” is. He very grumpily points to some signs that I hadn’t seen by of explanation. I point out that is attitude is less than helpful and that the signage could be better, which brings an angry retort. Having paid my £1.20, I feel I have the moral high ground and move on musing over the fact that we still have bandits in the country.

This gets me thinking again of passing through Bristol and the Clean Air Zone charge. I had to check this after the fact. You get no notification, you are just expected to know and pay up. Or preferably not and then they can fine you.

As I say, bandits are alive and well in Britain today. Wouldn’t have gotten away with it in Alfred’s day! :-)

Some of these, as previously mentioned, relate to Joseph of Arimathea, uncle of Jesus. There seems to be reasonable evidence that Joseph visited the region a number of times, primarily to trade for tin in Cornwall. Some legends suggest that on one of these trips, he brought his young nephew with him, as immortalised in Blake’s poem Jerusalem.

Joseph is said to have returned some years after the crucifixion with a group of missionaries. The story suggests that he landed first at Pilton (familiar to visitors to the Glastonbury Festival) before travelling on and landing at Wearyall Hill at Glastonbury.

It just so happens that the hotel I am staying in is right next to Wearyall Hill. Could this be the holiest Premier Inn in Britain?

Anyway, the story goes that on Wearyall Hill, Joseph planted his staff, which miraculously sprouted and became the famous Glastonbury thorn bush. Offshoots of this bush are growing in a number of places, including Glastonbury Abbey and the church yard of St. John’s.

Other aspects of the story are that Joseph (soon to be St. Joseph) brought the holy grail with him, which is now buried (along with Joseph) under Chalice Hill.

What is probably less controversial is that Joseph was granted 12 hides (1440 acres) of land by the local king and he and his fellow missionaries built a church there which was the start of Glastonbury Abbey - which became a key player in the spiritual life of Celtic and Christian Britain. Most of the Celtic saints - Patrick, Andrew, Brigit visited the abbey and St. Patrick was the abbot for a period. Even in Saxon times, Glastonbury was considered too sacred to be bothered with trifles like having to obey the king or pay taxes and the abbots of the Glastonbury Abbey enjoyed great autonomy and power, with their saintly associations (and associated relics) pulling in the pilgrims.

Of course Glastonbury has been a sacred site for thousands of years, the labyrinth carved into the Tor dating from prehistory.

And lets not forget the Arthurian links (more of which later)…

All this to say that everything in Glastonbury pretty much has to be viewed through the lens of its history and so a little context, I feel, is warranted.

Today I am abandoning the car and intend to follow in those ancient footsteps and walk the landscape. I set out relatively early, skirting around Wearyall Hill and heading towards the Tor. Part of me thinks that I should clime up Wearyall Hill. But most of me is fine giving it a miss.

Fun fact: Judging by the place names nearby, it seems that Wirral is a contraction of Wearyall, which I find interesting having grown up on the Wirral. Oh actually that is probably only a fun fact for me!

Everyone that I meet on my walk is friendly, smiles and bids me good morning. Must be something in the Glastonbury air!

I have wheezed my way to the top of the Tor by about 9am. There are only a few other people up there. I ask the two women who are circulating around St Michael’s tower on the summit if this is a tradition. They are unsure but had seen another woman do this 3 times just minutes earlier. They suggest that if you can’t have a bit of woo in your life on Friday 13th, when can you? Can’t argue with that. A little extra luck is always welcome. We all decide that it can’t do any harm, and I join the circumnavigation.

Now I’m not particularly superstitious, but shortly after this a violent squall enveloped the Tor which actually made it quite hard to stand up. That said, I don’t really fancy heading down in this. On the plus side, I manage to commandeer the only corner of the tower that the howling gale isn’t getting to, so swings and roundabouts!

The weather is like this all day, flipping between glorious sunshine and howling gales an torrential rain. I did manage to spend time at the Chalice Well and the Abbey without getting rained on (much), so I am taking that as a win for the fortune inducing effect of circular Tor perambulation.

I descend the Tor via the White Spring at the perfect time as the Chalice Well gardens have just opened and I have it almost entirely to myself. Following the instructions to put my phone into airplane mode (the plants don’t like Wifi!) I spend a few very peaceful minutes meditating at the well before heading off to load up on supplies of well water.

On the way I see a chap wandering up the hill with incense and dowsing rods in hand. Obviously I have to chat to him. He looks a bit sheepish, saying that he usually does this before visitors arrive. Turns out he is the gardener for the Chalice gardens. He tells me that at the beginning of each day he wanders around, checking for any imbalances and this informs what he needs to do during the day. He is abundantly clear that the garden is in charge and he just does what is needed.

This pleases me immensely and we get to chatting. It turns out that he knew Hamish Miller (one of the authors of the book that set me off on this journey) and he tells me that Hamish was also a metalworker and created the famous vesica piscis cover for the well! I am amazed and delighted at this unexpected connection to my current journey. I could have talked to this guy all day but have to release him to his duties … the garden awaits.

Next, a brief stop to load up on water. This wasn’t the smartest move as I then had to carry it around all day. Still, it will be a good workout.

I am pretty cold by this point, so wander into the town centre to source a late breakfast and am rewarded with a warming feast at the Pyramid Vegan Cafe. Delicious!

Thoroughly restored, I launch back into my touristy activity with renewed vigour. I slide into Glastonbury Abbey for free, courtesy of the National Lottery Days Out week. Once a year many National Trust and English Heritage sites which have had lottery funding let people in free or for a reduced fee, if they can show that they have played the lottery. You only need to have played it once as the same ticket works every time. I managed to get in Hardwick Hall at the beginning of the week too, so am getting full benefit this year. Last year I wasn’t aware that it was on until I arrived at the Eden project with my pre-paid ticket and was presumably the only person who paid that day.

The Abbey is pretty much a ruin now but was once the centre of religious life in the country. There is a small exhibition, explaining the history, the St. Joseph connection etc. and I am quite taken with this picture of St. Dunstan leading the devil around with tongs through his nose. They had proper hardcore saints in those days.

And of course there is the King Arthur connection. In the twelfth century the monks found a couple of heavy oak coffins containing a large man and a woman apparently with a cross with an inscription confirming that this was Arthur and Guinevere. Now tradition has it that Arthur was buried on the Isle of Avalon, so far be it from me to question the monks. Although this was just after a fire destroyed the abbey and they were very strapped for cash for a rebuild. Nothing brings in the punters like the resting place of a legendary king. Just saying.

Back into the secular world (if such a thing exists in Glastonbury) and the heavens open again. I have to divert into one of the fine book shops. As you can imagine, Glastonbury has a number of book shops covering topics that interest me! I could browse there for hours, but eventually drag myself away, only to get drawn into another further along. In this one I chatted to the proprietor about a book which I have been trying to source second hand, which is always vastly overpriced. He convinced me that it really wasn’t a great book and so saved me the trouble of further search and outlay. I suspect that I was more pleased with this result than he was as I didn’t buy anything, having already vastly exceeded my book budget over the last few weeks.

Time is moving on. There is a brief break in the weather, but it doesn’t look as though it will last. I had intended to go in search of Gog and Magog - two ancient oaks - but I suspect I will just end up dripping wet and miserable in a field. Maybe tomorrow.

I think after all the walking, I have earned a pint and so retreat to the George and Pilgrims pub for refreshment in a fine 600+ year old establishment. I feel positively young! Might be the aged pub around me or the effect of that well water that I swigged earlier…

Of course my impression of Wells was formed in my youth, watching Black Adder which featured the “baby-eating Bishop of Bath and Wells”.

I would be the first to admit that this is not a well formed profile of the town. Oddly prescient though.

So.

The Cathedral.

It was actually the first Gothic cathedral built in Britain, the consequences of which were that

1. they really wanted to impress people and

2. they were making it up as they went along

The cathedral is indeed magnificent and they certainly used to indulge in some grand theatre there, to mesmerise the peasants who made pilgrimages. The West face has (or had) hundreds of statues, all brightly painted at the time. It must have been quite a sight. Apparently Oliver Cromwell (justly famed for his sense of fun and theatre) had many of them removed.

There are rows of holes are for trumpets and for singers to stand behind. Apparently when they had processions there, the trumpets (hidden from the crowds outside) would sound from the cathedral. Once the procession started, the singers outside would be answered by those hidden inside, so that it would appear as though the cathedral itself was responding. Must have been quite awe-inspiring for the uneducated masses at the time. I gather that this is still done on Palm Sunday (the singing part least), so probably worth a look if you are in the vicinity.

As the choir were in constant demand, they even have their own street of houses next to the cathedral, which is still in use for the same purpose today and is one of the oldest unchanged medieval streets around.

Inside, the cathedral is stunning. The strange double (scissor) arches are unique to Wells are are in fact a repair to add strength. When the cathedral was built it had no tower, but as others were built that did, a situation of tower envy developed and they decided to add one. Unfortunately, due to the soggy nature of ground filled with springs, the tower immediately started to sink on one side. The arches were part of the shoring up.

The clock inside is getting on for 650 years old. It is the second oldest functioning clock in the world (don’t mention it though, I think there is a bit of rivalry between Wells and Salisbury who have an older one and it is a sore point). As I discovered on my tour of the high places in the cathedral, the original mechanism for the clock is now in the science museum. I was assured that it still functions fine for telling time, but that an upgrade was needed to run the figures and additional clock on the side of the cathedral and a bell in the tower. Early automation at work!

They are just about to to replace one of the knights on the clock (can you guess which?). Apparently someone worked out that that figure has been hit several hundred million times. Now that is putting in a stint!

Oh yes, and the moon phase matches reality … which I would attempt to verify if it wasn’t cloudy and wet.

The tour of the high places was excellent. Apart form all of the fascinating information, I got to see some interesting spaces and some spectacular views.

Also, I got to see the design room where the master Masons would scrawl their work. It is essentially a plaster of paris floor, which they would scrape designs into. When it got full, they would just pour another layer on.

Back at ground level, I admire the scroll work at the top of some of the pillars. Apparently the masons were given some artistic licence with these. I can’t help wondering if Dr Seuss ever visited here…

From Wells, I am heading to some other high places. First stop, Burrow Mump. This is, in theory, a natural hill but I have my doubts. It looks terraced, clearly resembles Glastonbury Tor and apparently the soil on it is not for the area. That would seem a bit of a giveaway to me. The wind is brutal at the top, but the view is great. The flooded fields probably give an idea of what it used to look like when Glastonbury was an island.

There are stories related to King Alfred associated with the Mump and it may be that it was used as a lookout point when Alfred was hiding in the nearby marshes of Athelney, trying to avoid the Danes who had rampaged through Wessex.

A monument to Alfred stands in a farmer’s field at Athelney. Usually you are allowed to walk to it but I found it surrounded by a low electric fence. I probably could have stepped over but I tend to think you should encourage farmers to grant access by not abusing the privilege. The fence was clearly there because it was lambing season.

This also gave me pause of course as I had an episode of herbivorous horror about the same time last year, and it looked as though it might have been lining up for a rerun!

Can’t help but thing that if this was in the USA, there would be a whole Alfred & the Swamp Theme Park and Holiday Village here. Still, understatement is what we Brits do best.

And so, on to my last stop of the day, the Wellington Monument. This is a hilltop monument to the Duke of Wellington. Should such things interest you, it is the world’s largest three sided obelisk. Why 3? No idea. Probably some arcane reason as both this and the Mump are points where the Michael and Mary currents cross. I can’t help but wonder if the builders knew this or if it just felt like an auspicious spot.

Luckily the monument was closed, so I was spared the ordeal of an epic climb up to the top.

Finally arriving in Glastonbury and my digs for the night, the road that the hotel is on is full of traveller’s caravans. Yep, this is Glasto!

Reading combined with lots of time, many sources of material and a willingness to go down rabbit holes can be a double-edged sword.

Recently, following my interest in in ancient sites, I read “The Sun and the Serpent” by Paul Broadhurst and Hamish Miller, which sent me off down routes of internet research, reading through my vast collection of kindle books, heading to the local libraries, and trying to source obscure books through second hand book shops. Retirement is exhausting!

As you will of course be aware, Alfred Watkins came up with the idea of ley lines in 1921, having had a flash of inspiration, whilst looking out over his native Herefordshire, that many ancient sites, landscape features and churches seemed to fall along straight lines. He laid out his ideas in “The Old Straight Track”, published in 1925. For Watkins, the idea was more that people had deliberately arranged these features to mark track-ways, ancient routes etc. rather than anything that might be considered a bit woowoo. Despite criticism that the human mind is wired to see patterns, and the recent attempts to debunk by finding leys based on McDonalds or Greggs branches, Watkins just flagged the patterns (and probably the nature of the aligned sites is more telling than the number) and never made any connections with Earth energies. This came later, in the 1960s (what were the odds?).

And so, back to “The Sun and the Serpent”. This is the tale of the attempt to dowse along the St. Michael alignment. This line runs from the furthest west in mainland Britain (just near Lands End) to the furthest east (Hopton-on-Sea in Suffolk), passing through St. Michael’s Mount, many of the Cornish Stone Circles, large numbers of churches dedicated to St. Michael, Glastonbury, Avebury, Royston, Bury St. Edmunds etc. en route.

Anyway, what the protagonists found, was that the straight alignment was not matched by the actual dowsing. The energy line snaked its way across the country, bending its way through and around various features. This aspect explains why these lines are referred to as serpent lines or dragon lines around the world (and the details of how various countries view them are fascinating - another rabbit hole!).

Interestingly, when the dowsers reached Avebury, they realised that they were dealing not with one current but two (and so had to go back to the beginning!). One is the masculine/solar energy (which the Christians replaced with St. Michael) and the other was the feminine earth energy (which the Christians replaced with St. Mary). The Christians inadvertently perpetuated these pagan alignments my placing churches dedicated to these saints all along the lines (either because they thought they could use the energy or to try and suppress it). The Michael churches are generally on the high and rocky places and the Mary ones in valleys, along rivers, through sacred wells etc.

Someone kindly created a Google map showing the lines…

Michael & Mary Lines

Whether you subscribe to any of this or not, once you have read about it, it is hard to see the British landscape, or the sheer volume of churches dedicate to Michael or Mary, in the same light again. And regardless of whether the ley is real or not, there are many fascinating and sacred places flagged along this route, and it occurred to me that visiting some of these places and especially the “special” places where the two lines cross, would not be the worst theme for exploring parts of Britain.

And so this, by a somewhat circuitous route, explains why I find myself packing up the car and heading to the southwest.

Not that I ever need much of an excuse to head to the southwest, it being a glorious part of the country. The mission on this occasion is to visit some of these key sites in and around Glastonbury, but with some side missions of visiting places that have been on my list for a while, but unrelated to the “dragon line tour”.

The journey does not get off to an overly auspicious start. Traffic is fine and the weather is beautiful but the desire that I conceived for a lunchtime pasty was quickly thwarted. I could have sworn that Michaelwood services on the M5 had a West Cornwall Pasty Company stand. Whether I have misremembered or the concession has gone since I last visited, that service station is dead to me now.

Unfilled but undaunted, I head off once more towards Chew Magna and Stanton Drew Stone Circle. I have been meaning to visit here for a while, but it is never quite ”on the way”. Today it is, but I fear I may have come too close to the gravitational pull of Bristol and Google maps took me through the city. I have a suspicion that a low emission zone charge may be wending its way towards me as I type…

Stanton Drew is an impressive site. It’s not clear whether it was originally one stone circle or multiple and it is hard to tell from ground level, but I think it was originally part of a much larger ceremonial site. Most of these places were. Avebury for example was a 3 mile long serpent temple (by far the most impressive megalithic site in Europe) now containing 76 remaining stones from an original 600 or so. Farmers/greedy landowners have a lot to answer for!

Anyway, I illicitly enter Stanton Drew. I am all for the honesty box and would not avoid paying my £1, if such a thing as a pound coin was in my possession. I know these are ancient sites but if they want funding, they probably need to move with the times! That said, it is English Heritage, so I am probably entitled to free entry anyway. It is good to be able assuage this guilt to counteract my later blasphemous behaviour.

At the nearby Druid Inn, there are an number of other standing stones called the Cove. Luckily, although the sun was out, it was not particularly warm, so I was able to resist the temptation to have a pint in the beer garden whilst contemplating the stones.

Next stop Priddy. I am actually looking for the Priddy Circles - ancient earthworks near the village -but figure I will stop for a look at the village. Local tradition has it that Joseph of Aramethea (metal trader and regular visitor to the region) and his young nephew, Jesus, stayed in Priddy with the lead workers on their way to the Isle of Avalon.

An old Mendip saying reflects how matter‑of‑fact this became in local lore: “As sure as Our Lord was at Priddy”, implying that his visit was taken as proverbial certainty in village tradition.

So I couldn’t not stop there could I? A pleasantly rural spot but, as is so often the case in rural locations, I find my mind turning to the film Deliverance and can’t help a slightly altered line from the film going through my head: “Sho got a priddy mouth”. I am going to hell.

Thinking that I will pay for this during my tour of Wells Cathedral tomorrow, I soon discover that divine retribution is much more immediate and completely fail to find a decent viewpoint for the Priddy Circles. That said, I suspect a drone is probably the only decent viewpoint.

I do however spot some barrows across a field as I am sneaking through some woods looking for a suitable spot to relieve and old bladder, so all is not lost.

I figure that this is probably all the sightseeing that I will manage today and decide to head for my hotel for the night at Wookey Hole. I haven’t stumped up to stay in the witches hat suite

but I do avail myself of the Witches Tipple IPA in the bar, so feel that I have immersed myself in the theme.

Much to my delight, the hotel is surrounded by hundreds of corvids, making quite a din. I am a big fan of corvids, but still have some trouble distinguishing between them. I think that these were rooks by the look of them, and also by the many, many nests in the surrounding tress, which I believe is a bit of a rooky thing!

Wells Cathedral tour tomorrow (one from my long time list), and then potentially some other sites on the Mary/Michael line and or some Saxon/King Alfred stuff. Will see what the weather has in store…

No matter, I am off for a weekend of live music and quaffing with an old friend, so all is good. Destination: Bognor Regis (where I have never been before but, as my friend pointed out, has always been something of a joke name for us and hence the mere thought of visiting raises a smile) and specifically Butlins for the Rockaway Festival. The holiday camp festival is an interesting phenomenon but ideally suited to a more mature (?) audience who appreciate a bed to sleep in and exchanging of the mosh pit for comfortable seating at a stage-side table where a nice bottle of wine can be enjoyed.

The line up is a mixture of old and new bands but, although there are plenty of younger folk in attendance, the demographic is definitely skewed towards the more “seasoned” gig goers.

With just two main venues, there is no rushing from stage to stage, so the whole affair is very relaxed. Probably as a consequence of the demographic, it is also the politest festival I have ever been to. Add in good music, a lack of excessive standing and some nice restaurants in Bognor (which seems like a very pleasant town from what I saw) and it all makes for a fine weekend. Of course you can also make use of the fairground during the day but sub-zero go-karting holds little appeal.

Sadly I did have a minor OCD outbreak, whilst watching Softplay…

They will always be Goftplay to me. Wouldn’t dream of mentioning it of course as they seem like quite angry young men.

Now because I had travelled so far (and also in part because Amex were giving 10% cash back on stays in Wetherspoons hotels), I felt that it would be a shame to rush back and so decided to explore some history whilst I was in the centre of King Alfred’s Wessex. Also, I had never been to Winchester, so time to tick that off methinks.

A stop in Winchester McDonalds for a late breakfast and I couldn’t help but feel that this must have been what it was like in an earthy Saxon tavern in Alfred’s day, so I am instantly transported into the zone.

Main business of the day (besides seeing the Alfred statue of course) is to get to the Great Hall to see the actual round table of King Arthur. Well I say actual round table, but analysis has dated it to about 1250 or so. Darn pesky, meddling science! The theory seems to be that it was created by Edward I. Medieval kings were very keen to try and associate themselves with King Arthur and tap into the national love affair with Arthurian myths. I guess it was the medieval equivalent of populism.

It may be a faux table (well clearly it was actually a table, just not THE table), but is still an impressive beast, weighing in at about a ton or so. The Hall itself is also pretty grand and was used a law court for much of its history - including being the site of the trial of Sir Walter Raleigh for treason in 1603.

Then a few more museums to maximize my combined ticket…

Less said about the Westgate Museum the better - although mainly because access to the tower was blocked due to the weather.

The main City museum is pretty good. It shows the history of Winchester from neolithic times, though to the Roman settlement of Venta Belgarum and its decline once the Romans moved on and then into Saxon times and the eventual rise of Winchester as the capital of Wessex. I quite like the fact that they have avoided spicing things up with reference to the wildly popular Netflix series, “The Last Kingdom”. When I visited Bamburgh Castle a while back, they had no shame with regards to leveraging the connection.

After a little more wandering around the town and the cathedral (but not actually in the cathedral as £14 seemed a bit steep to see a shrine to Jane Austen and a box with possibly the bones of Cnut). I decide to head up to the St. Catherine’s Hill, the ancient hill fort which predated the Roman settlement.

From the car park, it didn’t look as though it was too much of a climb, so I eschewed putting on my walking boots or taking walking poles with me. This turned out not to be the smartest move as I headed up the clearly very popular path, now nicely trampled into compacted snow. Getting up was largely OK, but I must have cut an interesting figure on my way down with my micro-step shuffle and constant criss-crossing to the edges of the path where there was some limited grip.

Great view from the top though, although not much left of the hill fort other than a few mounds… and an odd little maze that had been constructed.

And so on to Salisbury and my hotel for the night. After New Year and a weekend festival, I was very much not in the market for any drinking and so my first ever stay at a Wetherspoons Hotel was marked by a pint of lemonade with my evening meal. Oh the shame.

Salisbury is a very attractive city and I spent some time wandering around it in the morning amidst the snow flurries. I had checked out of the hotel a little earlier than I needed to and so, had time to kill before the Salisbury Museum opened. I was quite keen to visit this as, from what I had read, it has some interesting Saxon collections and artifacts from Stonehenge.

Sadly it did not turn out that way. When I turned up at the museum, it was still closed. A chap opened the door, but just to tell me to go away and come back at 10. This was at 9:57 and I was stood in the snow. I felt that was a poor effort and I did not like the cut of his jib! Hence in a fit of stubbornness I decided that they did not deserve my patronage and instead headed off towards Woodhenge.

This turned out not to be the worst decision as it gave me more time to wander around the ancient landscape and the sun even appeared as I got there. My original intention had been to go to Woodhenge and Durrington Walls [This is the biggest henge in Europe and the site of the city where the people who built Stonehenge lived for the duration. Recent discoveries show more stone circles and ceremonial sites buried here, but it has not been excavated] and then walk across the landscape to Stonehenge.

After wandering around Durrington Walls for a while, I decided that it was chuffing cold and I would drive to Stonehenge. Now I do have English Heritage membership and so can get in via the visitor centre free, but today I wanted to just approach it from the landscape and so found myself driving through a military housing estate and along a fairly rough access road to see how close I could get. You can actually walk up pretty near to Stonehenge without having to pay to go in (basically paying just gets you one fence further in, but not to the stones obviously), although I had to park a ways back as there were quite a few trucks and caravans parked up along the road - I am assuming people who came for the winter solstice and hung around. I’m not sure I would have been up for camping in that weather. I did see that some hardy soul had pitched a tent in the woods near Woodhenge. Brrrr.

Anyway, always good to visit Stonehenge, even though I tend to prefer Avebury, it being more accessible and all. It was a pleasant stroll, only slightly marred by one of the traveler’s attack dogs taking a dislike to me.

Good to start the year with a mini trip. Since getting back I have been sucked into airline sales and trying to make use of air miles before they expire and so seem to have booked trips to Orkney, Tenerife and Atlantis the Azores so far.

I seem to be gearing up for “um ano de ilhas” (yes, I’ve been learning some Portuguese, get over it), randomly targeting small archipelagos. Not intentional of course, just following my usual guiding stars of spectacular scenery and ancient or weird stuff…

Let’s see what the year brings…

So, December in the Lake District - clearly a risk of inclement weather, but still plenty to see and do. And of course spectacular scenery is spectacular in any weather - well at least if you can see it through low clouds!

Sadly, in the week leading up to my trip, I am laid low by a punishing man flu. This leads me to consider whether I should cancel the trip. Of course I have booked the cheap option and so it turns out that I cannot get a refund if I cancel, so clearly I will go, figuring that I will just take it easy and not attempt any strenuous walks. I shall plan my itinerary around avoiding triggering hacking, phlegmy coughing fits. Despite my generally fairly random approach, its always good to have a vague theme to structure things! I shall dub this the “Phlegmatic Acceptance Tour".

And so I find myself on a rainy Monday morning heading north and into the worsening weather.

Chris Rhea may have written “Road to Hell” about the M25, but I think that the M6 on a rainy day can give it a run for its money. The M6 is always heavy with trucks but in wet weather this transforms into a wall of spray. I’m a dreamer, and so like to reserve some space on a road trip for my mind to wander. Hence I resent any road which forces me to focus my entire attention on driving. The M6 in the rain is just such a road.

To be fair, its not the worst that I have seen it, but bad enough to be quite a tense journey. The weather is so bad that I don’t even consider stopping anywhere for a wander on the way. As I will arrive before I can check into the hotel, I decide that I will stick with the vehicular spray theme and go to the Campbell Bluebird Exhibition (part of the Lakeland Motor Museum). Malcolm and Donald Campbell were both famous for numerous attempts at land and water speed records - many of the water speed record attempts being on Lakes in the area. It’s a fascinating exhibition with a number of the vehicles present

but I leave without being any the wiser as to why someone would risk their life for such a thing. Although both father and son had a number of accidents, Malcom ( the father) eventually died peacefully whereas Donald died during the course of a water speed record attempt on Coniston Water in 1967.

The main part of the motor museum has some interesting exhibits too. I could have done with this Amphicar whilst aquaplaning on the M6 earlier!

I am also quite taken by some of the toys, some of which I had owned and this triggers a bout of childhood nostalgia.

And there was even an early version of Grand Theft Auto:

Tuesday, and glimmers of sunlight are sneaking through the clouds. The weather forecast suggests that there will be a mixture of sun and showers for most of the day. I will attempt to visit some outdoor sites and just take my chances.

It seems to work out pretty well and I manage to visit a couple of stone circles and a large henge, only being rained on as I head back to the car. Result. Fortune favours the precipitationally indifferent!

There are some magnificent stone circle in Cumbria. The ones today are about 4-5 thousand years old. First stop: Long Meg and Her Daughters, a massive circle of over 60 stones. Folklore suggests that the stones were originally witches and that if anyone is able to count the stones and get the same number counting both clockwise and anticlockwise, the stones will either turn back to witches, or the counter will become another stone. The inability to accurately count stones seems to be a theme at many of these places. I blame overuse of ceremonial substances!

Not far from Long Meg is the Mayburgh Henge. There are a couple of impressive henges in the vicinity and the signage suggests that they were meeting places for local communities.

The next stop is Castlerigg Stone Circle. This looks superb with the mountainous backdrop and is hugely atmospheric with the looming cloud. It is clearly more popular too and the only site where I encountered other visitors.

For the rest of the day, I largely just drive around , soaking up the scenery. The alternating sun and rain give it a dramatic feel. The drive back along the A6 from Keswick to Kendal is stunning. I’m not sure whether it is more impressive driving south, or whether the visibility is just better than it was when I drove north this morning. Regardless, it is a constant trail of astonishing vistas which have a restorative effect on my flu addled mind.

Visiting Long Meg reminded me of the classic British dark comedy “Sightseers" from 2012. There is a scene involving a dog, an angry passer by and said passer by’s head becoming intimately acquainted with stones. This is the point in the film at which things take a distinct turn to the dark side… despite which, it is very funny and well worth a watch.

Anyway, the film also has a scene at the Derwent Pencil Museum and it is to this nexus of adrenaline that I shall travel next.

Interesting in its way, which is in fact quite a dull, understated way, what with the world's biggest pencil and the displays dedicated to the real Q (as depicted in the James Bond films), Charles Fraser-Smith, who invented lots of devices in WWII, included a super secret compass/map pencil, made at Keswick.

Sadly, it is no Idaho Potato Museum, but few centres of learning can maintain that level of excitement!

I take a different route today, skirting around Windermere and Grasmere, so the scenery level is maintained, although I can't quite drum up any enthusiasm for visiting Wordsworth’s cottage.

It's another reminder that, whatever the weather, just driving through spectacular scenery has a positive effect on the psyche. Sometimes you just have to force yourself to get out there!

And having just provided details of my listening habits for the last year, Spotify has kindly provided a soundtrack for my journey home

Top Songs of 2025

Although I guess this must be largely what I have been listening to on my travels this year.

Apparently I have a listening age of 28. Whatever that means. I guess it counterbalances my tolerance age of 93. 🤣

• If you want to stay in a city centre, it is probably better to splash some cash. Although the budget motels on the outskirts of towns are usually OK (and sometimes very good), those in the centres are often (although certainly not always) a little seedier.

• Many motels do not have lifts so, if possible, have an overnight bag and leave the suitcase in the car rather than drag it up the staircase.

• Use reward apps to maximize your return on stays. Booking apps like Expedia, Booking.com etc. give rewards and will generally lead to offers, free nights if used frequently. Ideally, it is probably best to stick to a single app although, as I was experimenting, I used the Choice Privileges app as well as the Wyndham app (these cover most of the budget brand hotels in the US), and Expedia. I recently went to a gig in Birmingham and discovered that they have a Comfort Inn by New Street. I had accrued a free night from my US travels, so cashed that in. It was fairly basic, but a good location and all I needed was a place to sleep - with a Wetherspoons 2 minutes away for breakfast :-)

• Pack less and be prepared to do some washing, especially if you are in one location for a few days

• In the US in particular, budget hotels tend to have self-service laundries (worth checking when you book if you need to get some laundry done), where you can get a load washed and tumble dried for a few dollars. More upmarket hotels tend to have laundry services, which are extortionate.

• Carry some detergent with you, which you can use in a laundry, or just in the bath / sink at a pinch. I carry laundry detergent sheets as these take up very little space and are flat (Dr. Beckmann Magic Leaves seem to do the job)

• I have been known to carry a portable washing line and pegs but have never used them as there are usually other options for drying (even if it is balcony, warm back seat of the car etc.)

The USA is very much a tip based culture with pretty much a minimum of 15% expected for basic service. You will generally find that, even when paying by card, you will be presented with a screen for tipping and it is a brave soul who will cancel that in front of their server!

In Egypt (and I believe in other Middle Eastern countries, some of Eastern Europe, parts of Asia), the tipping culture is a bit more extreme, with a tip expected for every service interaction. A service interaction is essentially any time someone gives you advice, directions etc. This is referred to as “baksheesh” and is a deeply embedded part of the culture, so be prepared to tip often!

Some other things to consider:

• It is always worth making sure that you have some cash, as well as physical cards and your phone. This may be unusual, but on my last day in Egypt, there was a major internet outage and none of the card machines were working. It was impossible to buy anything other than with cash.

• Some countries prefer foreign currencies rather than their own, especially if there is an inflation issue. Dollars are generally preferred, followed by Euros, with Sterling being accepted at a pinch. It is worth carrying a stash of small denomination notes for tipping wherever you travel, and ideally some dollars if travelling outside of Europe and the USA.

• If you are staying in a hotel for several nights, make sure that you tip housekeeping. Apart from being good form, it usually ensure that you get clean towels etc.

Some suggestions:

• Have something to boost your immune system, start taking it before you depart and keep it up for at least the start of your trip. I use Turkey Tail mushroom supplements to boost my immune system, but you can take any of the many other supplements like echinacea.

• If you can afford it, get something like AG1 travel packs. AG1 is a daily greens supplement. It isn’t cheap, but it is great for making sure that you have all of your nutritional bases covered when you may not be following the healthiest diet on the road. For a recent trip, I found some “Supergreens and Superfoods” supplement tablets on Amazon, which were much more reasonable.

• Always carry lots of water

• I generally stock up on trail mix so that I have something nutritious to snack on, even if I am not near any restaurants.

• Whenever you are in a fast food restaurant, stock up on napkins - they always come in handy

• If you are travelling to high altitude (which covers a great deal of the western side of the USA), always have sun cream. The UV at high altitude can be quite extreme even if it doesn’t seem hot.

• Obviously ensure that you have travel insurance for emergencies

• Get yourself a UK Global Health Insurance Card - this replaces the EHIC card since the UK left the EU - meaning that you can access healthcare in the EU and some other countries. It is free and you can apply online.

Now most hotels and some public transport will have Wifi access and of course there are always fast food restaurants. If you don’t want to spend you time in McDonalds just to get on the internet, it is worth investing in a data plan.

Depending on your phone contract, you may have some roaming data included but if not, and your phone supports it, an eSIM is the way to go. An eSim is essentially a virtual SIM card that you install on the phone and load up witha data plan. Some bank accounts such as Revolut support these, and there are apps like Saily and Airolo through which you can purchase region specific data plans. They are usually pretty reasonable. I have used Saily a number of times, but it is worth shopping around.

[Side Note: If you are planning to use public Wifi, I would very much recommend a VPN for security. I use Proton VPN, but other VPNs are available!]

For navigation, it is possible to get offline maps such as OpenStreetMaps, but Google maps is still the best. Bare in mind that if you are planning to head to remote locations (especially driving) you are likely to hit places where there is no signal so it is always worth

1. Downloading the route before you set off - Google Maps has an option for this,

2. Having a reasonable idea of which roads you are likely to want to travel down

3. Having a paper copy of the map just in case