007 CYCLE TOURING BULGARIA

 

By Eddie Carter

BULGARIA

507 Kilometres – 9 Days

17 August – 26 August 2007

MAP

PHOTOS

 

 

17 August – Oltenita, Romania - Silistra, Bulgaria – 85 kilometres

Following a breakfast of fresh tomatoes and paprika from Peter’s garden, we hurried to the Calarasi border, before the veggies kicked in. This time a ferry operated across the Danube river towards Silistra. As can be expected, I was apprehensive about my Romanian Visa dilemma. By then, I was in the country for 20 days instead of the two days indicated on my visa. I didn’t say anything simply handed over my passport to border officials. They disappeared behind a screen. Later, they reappeared and returned my passport, all without a single word, I was relieved, to say the least.

I could tell straight away communication in Bulgaria would be an even bigger problem. Bulgarian is a Southern Slavic language using the Cyrillic alphabet. Bulgarian was further the first Slavic language to be written. A more modern version was standardised following Bulgaria’s independence in 1878. More confusing was a single nod of the head indicated “no” while shaking the head side to side, which indicated agreement. I can assure you that that isn’t an easy thing to become used to. I first discovered this behaviour enquiring about an abode. Again, the head’s side-to-side movement clearly indicated “No” and as I gathered my belongings, the lady produced the room key. I looked at her confused as she had, merely seconds earlier, indicated the hotel had no accommodation available (or so I thought).

 

18 August - Silistra -Balchik - 136 kilometres

Bulgaria measures 110,994 square kilometres roughly the same size as Malawi, a country I consider small. Eddie and I headed towards Balchik a Black Sea coastal town and seaside resort. The town’s location along the shores of the Black Sea made it a simple choice. Our chosen route led 136 kilometres through farmlands, cornfields and past vast fields of sunflowers. We slinked into Balchik late merely to discover the town had no camping. A further fifteen-kilometre cycle north brought us to Kavarna with camping at the lake’s shores. The place was lovely. No time was wasted submerging our sweat-soaked bodies in the lukewarm waters of the Black Sea, pure bliss following a long day on the bicycle.

 

19 August - Kavarna

The following day was spent at the beach. Where we again ran into the Baltic Cycle group, we encountered in Bucharest. It became a fun night of drinking and trying to communicate as almost everyone in the group spoke Polish and no English.

At first, I thought the Black Sea was a lake, but upon closer inspection, the map revealed a connection to the ocean via The Bosphorus Strait. The waters of the Black Sea first flow into the Sea of Marmara, which is in turn connected to the Mediterranean via the Strait of the Dardanelles. The Black Sea is a massive body of water measuring 436400 kilometres2, and I was surprised to learn it reaches a depth of more than 2000 meters in places.

 

20 August - Kavarna - Kancija via Verna - 96 kilometres

The next day we resumed our ride south in the direction of the Turkish border. Finding one’s way turned out a tad tricky as nearly all the signboards were in Hungarian. Nevertheless, a campsite in Verna was located. Albeit basic, the camp was a well-located one at a decent beach. Hence, we ran into Baltic cycles as they were searching out the most inexpensive camping. It again became a great night with these cyclists, who could party as hard as they cycled. The restaurant owner invited us over to sample Rakia, a strong fruit brandy, as well as homemade wine. I surmised the alcohol was offered to help tolerate the mosquito-infested campsite.

 

21 August – Kamcija

A day of leisure was spent shooting the breeze with the other cyclists at the beach. It seemed communication improved in direct relation to the amount of Vodka consumed and they fast became good friends.

 

22 August - Kamcija - Nesebar - 104 kilometres

We were by then well into our familiar routine of camping, packing up and cycling to the next place to do the same. At the campground in Nesebar, was a 70-year-old German gentleman pushing a bike and trailer around the world. He started a year prior to meeting him in Germany and was still going strong. His bicycle had no pedals, meaning he couldn’t cycle even if he wanted.

So good was the campsite, and so much fun was had in Nesebar two days were spent in Nesebar.

 

24-25 August - Nesebar - Yuk Camping - 96 kilometres

Good thing the Baltic Cycle group told us where they intended to camp as Yuk camping turned out to be one of the best in the area. En route, Pomorie and Sozopol made good places to swim as the weather was boiling and an excellent way to cool off.

The others moved on, but I spent the day at the beach trying to rid myself of my terrible cycling tan.

 

26 August - Yuk Camping - Border – 75 kilometres

Bulgaria is a country with a diverse terrain encompassing the Black Sea coastline and a mountainous interior. Once away from the coast, the road became extremely hilly. Being August, and thus mid-summer, most days were sweltering, making challenging riding. Flies were an added problem and buzzed in hordes around our heads, strangely reminding us of biking in Ethiopia.

Shortly before the Turkish border Eddie and I pedalled into a small village to pick up refreshments but decided to stay. Unfortunately, the village had no campsite or accommodation. Still, we were directed to the hospital, which doubled as a guesthouse.

 

27 August – Bulgarian Border – Kirklareli, Turkey – 50 kilometres

I’ve overnighted in unusual places but never in a hospital, and I thought it necessary to check that I still had all my organs before leaving. Once across the border we headed to the nearest town and bike shop. Eddie’s bicycle rim was buckled to such an extent, that cycling became impossible. Turkish people are some of the world’s kindest, and while waiting, we were offered tea, watermelon, as well as coffee. The rim took longer than envisaged to repair. It was raining when all was done, and we opted for accommodation in Kirklareli.

006 CYCLE TOURING ROMANIA

ROMANIA

959 Km – 19 Days

30 June – 17 August 2007

MAP

 PHOTOS

 

30 July – Szeget, Hungary – Arad, Romania – 78 kilometres

Eddie and I departed Szeget powered by a stiff tailwind that became a near gale force crosswind, making it challenging riding. The road was further congested by trucks and heavy traffic and I feared for my life. Upon arrival at the border, I found my Hungarian visa wasn’t what I’d envisaged, but 2 x 10-day visas (where did that come from?). I thus overstayed and following being shunted back and forth from building to building; I was eventually allowed to leave. Phew!

I was immensely excited to see Romania. It finally felt I was on my way and since a child, I was intrigued by gipsies and understood there were still real gipsies in Romania. Add to that the mystery of Dracula’s castle and place names like Transylvania and I couldn’t wait to explore.

As always in a foreign country, the language remained a significant obstacle, everything (as expected) was in Romanian, and truly little English was spoken.

Arad was reached late and searching the campsite indicated on the map revealed only an abandoned field. By then, it wasn’t simply raining but also dark, and we weakened at the sight of a pension.

 

31 July - Arad – Bârzava – 60 kilometres

Arad was a bustling town, sporting many old buildings, which for the most part appeared to need TLC. Fifty years of communism left its mark. There were numerous apartment blocks, all very unattractive and in a state of poor repair. Arad further appeared an industrial town and a transport hub.

Countries vary tremendously, and just as one became used to the how-where-and-when of one, it’s time to cross the border, where everything is vastly different. Suddenly, campsites were few and far between. Instead, budget accommodation was found at truck stops, who typically served inexpensive food and offered basic rooms.

 

1 August - Barzava – Deva – 100 kilometres

In the morning, I fixed the slow puncture that had been giving trouble for some time and then made our way in the direction of Barzava. The countryside was intriguing and dotted by small communities, real-life gipsies complete with horse carts and elderly ladies dressed in black. It reminded me of something from a forgotten era. However, the gipsies were a tad disappointing as they weren’t dressed like the gipsies I’d in mind. Think long, bright flowery skirts, blouses adorned by gold coins and headscarves.

Cycling was challenging and sometimes downright dangerous as the traffic was hectic and the main road jam-packed by trucks of all shapes and sizes. Nevertheless, the rural villages were quiet, and residents found us as different as we found them. Generally, communities only had basic facilities. Water was collected from a communal well and farmers worked the field by hand. Filling our water bottles resulted in stopping, lowering the bucket into the well and then bringing the full bucket up using a pulley system.

Overnighting was in Deva, situated on the left bank of the Mures River and dominated by the ruins of a citadel perched atop a hill.

 

2 August- Deva - Geoagiu Băi – 27 kilometres

Departing Deva was by following the tremendously busy and poorly maintained main road, making a nerve-wracking ride. At the soonest opportunity, we turned off onto a smaller path. A sign pointed towards a Roman thermal bath, and as it was a mere 12 kilometres down the drag, I thought it worth exploring. Geoagiu Bai was a small but lively town where camping was in someone’s backyard amongst chickens and dogs. The only facility was a rudimentary long-drop as a toilet.

 

3 August - Geoagiu Băi – Blaj – 91 kilometres

The following morning, we proceeded along a dirt track, past numerous small villages, farmlands, cornfields and even vineyards. The countryside was scenic, as the route twisted and turned over wooded mountains and across scenic rivers.

 

4-5 August - Blaj - Făgăraș – 135 kilometres

It wasn’t long before finding ourselves firmly in the heart of Transylvania. The name conjured up images of scary-looking villagers, wooden crosses and howling wolves. This mental image wasn’t entirely incorrect. We often encountered askew graves and wooden crosses where bunches of garlic hung from gates and doors. I was excited as a child to be in Romania and couldn’t wait to go exploring. The country offered fantastic riding through densely wooded mountains, medieval towns and fortresses associated with legends.

Fagaras didn’t disappoint, located at the foothills of the Făgăraș Mountains, it was home to the Făgăraș Fortress.

 

6 August - Făgăraş – Bran - 63 kilometres

Before getting underway, we attempted to find breakfast but at 9.30 am, it seemed too early to eat but not too early for beer. Individuals were drinking beer at pavement restaurants but at enquiring about food, the reply was, “Don’t know at this hour”. The ride was beautiful through heavily wooded mountains and along raging rivers. Upon arrival in Bran we anticipated finding clues to Dracula’s Castle but merely found the ominous-sounding “Vampire Camping”.

 

7 August - Bran

The following day was spent in Bran where a visit to Bran Castle revealed its real history. I learned the castle was constructed in 1388 and built atop a cliff offering panoramic views of the nearby hills. The castle served as a customs office and a fortress and was used to stop the Ottoman Empires expansion. Although the castle had many owners, it did indeed belong to Vlad Dracul or Vlad the Impaler, the inspiration for Bram Stoker’s vampire named Dracula.

 

8 August - Bran – Campulung – 59 kilometres

Eddie and I biked over the scenic Carpathian Mountains via Bran Pass. A stunning ride and the dividing line between Transylvania and Valencia. The language remained a problem. Not solely did I buy yeast instead of butter but a fountain pen without ink instead of a ballpoint pen and cream instead of yoghurt. The learning curve was indeed a steep one. Towards the end of the day, accommodation was at a pension in historic Campulung. Virtually all the places encountered had a long and fascinating history. Campulung was no different and had a multitude of beautiful buildings dating to the 13^th century.

 

9 August - Campulung – Targovista – 65 kilometres

The route towards Taragovista, home to the Chindia Tower built by Vlad Dracula in the 15^th century came with a brilliant descent. Reaching Targovista was early, but we considered it better to overnight instead of continuing to Bucharest still about 80 kilometres away.

“Pension King” became home that night but it turned out not much of a palace as the name indicated, as it was situated in the back streets next to a scrapyard.

 

10 August - Targovista – Bucharest - 98 kilometres

Biking into Bucharest was hair-raising, as is the case with nearly all cities, and came with horrendous traffic, especially on a Friday afternoon. However, a helpful taxi driver gave us directions to a campsite, located on the city's opposite side. Unable to find it, we popped into an internet cafe and found the campground. This meant retracing our steps to where we came from. The campsite was lovely but mozzie infested - at least it had plenty of trees.

Another look at my passport revealed my Romanian visa was granted for two days (valid for three months) and not three months as envisaged. There wasn’t a great deal I could do and intended to deal with it once at the border. Lesson learned, always check your visa. Who gives a visa for two days, anyhow?

 

11 August – Bucharest

Casa Alba Campsite had a convenient location and we did the usual, shopping, laundry and a tad of sightseeing. Included in our wonderings was a visit to the city’s iconic landmark, the massive communist-era Parliament building with its 1100 rooms, said the world’s second-largest building. Far scarier was we learned more than 10000 people were bitten by stray dogs in Bucharest each year.

Bucharest is a fun city with a long and fascinating history and a crazy mix of communist-era, neo-classical and art deco buildings predominantly adorned by oyster shell-shaped canopies. The hundreds of grey high-rise blocks of flats from the communist era were of particular interest.

 

12-15 August – Bucharest

I used the time to apply for both my Bulgarian and Turkish visas. Upon returning from the city, I found the campsite invaded, by what looked like hundreds of little tents. It turned out the well-known Baltic Cycle group, on tour from the Baltics to Cypress. They mostly spoke Polish, except for one Brit and one lady from New Zealand.

At the Turkish Embassy, I was informed a visa application had to be made in my home country. After phoning my sister Amanda in SA, she returned with the news that the Turkish Embassy in SA promised to contact the Embassy and I should try again in the morning. The next day I returned to the Turkish Embassy, and by 5 pm, I’d my visa. Hallelujah! I further phoned the Bulgarian Embassy and, yes, the visa was granted, and I could pick it up the following day.

 

16 August - Bucharest – Oltenita – 98 kilometres

The next morning, I was at the Hungarian Embassy at ten o’clock sharp, where I found a crowd of people milling about. There seemed no rhyme or reason in the procedures. After a while, an official pointed at me and took me to the front of the queue, where I was handed my visa. A 15-day visa was granted fair enough and by noon Eddie and I were on our way to the border. Instead of taking the highway to Giurgiu, we opted to cycle to Oltenita via a much smaller path. Still, we found no immigration office as indicated on our map. It seemed we couldn’t get out of Romania.

In the process, we met Peter, a Romanian chap, who invited us to stay at his house, a tiny 2-room wooden shack without a bathroom or kitchen. One could, however, take a wee in the garden amongst the chickens. But, unfortunately, I couldn’t quite figure out what to do about the bowel movements.

 

17 August – Oltenita, Romania - Silistra, Bulgaria – 85 kilometres

After a breakfast of fresh tomatoes and paprika from Peter's garden, we hurried to the Calarasi border, before the veggies kicked in. Luckily a ferry operated across the Danube river to Silistra, Bulgaria. As can be expected, I was apprehensive about my Romanian Visa dilemma. By then, I was in the country for 20 days instead of the two days indicated on my visa. I didn’t say anything simply handed over my passport to border officials. They disappeared behind a screen and later reappeared and returned my passport. All without a single word. I was relieved, to say the least.

I could tell straight away communication in Bulgaria would be an even bigger problem as Bulgarian uses the Cyrillic script. Add to that Bulgarians nod their heads for no and shake it sideways for yes—I anticipated a few misunderstandings. 

005 CYCLE TOURING HUNGARY

 

By Eddie Carter

5 HUNGARY

810 Kilometres – 19 Days

11 July – 30 July 2007

MAP

PHOTOS 

11-12 July – London, UK – Budapest, Hungary

Our flight touched down in Budapest early on 11 July. From the start, I was smitten with this beautiful city with its plethora of gracious old buildings, cobbled streets and views of the mighty Danu River. I instantly understood why it’s referred to as “the Capital of Architecture”. To this day, it remains one of my favourite cities as it is beautiful, culturally rich and the people immensely friendly.

Hungary is the land of paprika, cabbage and sausage, and the food was delicious and the beer good. In fact, nearly all the food in Hungary includes paprika in some form, from the homey goulash to the Porkolt (meat stew) and Halaszle (fisherman’s soup).

An additional day was spent exploring the city’s famous attractions and buildings. First thing in the morning Eddie and I sauntered across the chain bridge, the first permanent connection to span the Danube between Buda and Pest. Once on the opposite bank, a funicular took people to the castle district and Buda Castle. Finally, we strolled towards the Fisherman’s Bastion with its panoramic view of the city, from where we feasted our eyes upon Budapest’s magnificent architecture.

If today, I would’ve lingered longer, but as was my nature, I’d bees in my bonnet and wanted to move along. As is the case with nearly all “new” cycle tourers, I was destination minded. It took me years until I rid myself of the habit and could enjoy the touring part of cycle touring, which, in my mind, is what cycle touring is all about.

 

13 July – Budapest – Esztergom – 80 kilometres

Following a day of exploring, we cycled out of Budapest. At first, our path followed the famed Danu River past vast fields of sunflowers and timeless villages. Then, our chosen path spat us out in Esztergom’s ancient town, where the day’s ride ended. However, there was no missing the city as a massive basilica (the 3rd largest church in Europe) dominated the city. It sits atop a hill above this bustling town and overlooks the Danube River.

Esztergom’s history goes back many years. The town was established around 972 AD and was the first Hungarian King’s birth and coronation place. Esztergom was further the capital of Hungary till the 13th century. As a result, there is an abundance of old buildings of both Royal and religious nature.

 

14 July - Esztergom – Győr – 95 kilometres

The route between Esztergom and Gyor was picturesque as it ran along the Danube through countless settlements. In these communities, we filled water bottles from wells using hand pumps. The ride led past vast fields of sunflowers, making a pretty picture against a cloudless sky.

 

15 July - Győr and surrounds – 80 kilometres

As the campsite in Gyor was comfortable, we stayed two days, allowing exploring the countryside. It became a fun day cycling past tiny hamlets, farmlands and more fields of sunflowers.

 

16 July - Győr – Papa – 58 kilometres

The next day our route left the river and headed toward Lake Balaton. Being mid-summer, the weather was sweltering. Again, the friendliness of the people impressed us. An older man who spoke no English must’ve noticed us suffering in the intense heat. He promptly invited us in, offered us ice cream, and gave us two slices of smoked meat; how kind of him.

Papa is a historical town with an ensemble of old buildings. The entire town centre is today a protected area. Papa is also famed for its thermal baths, but the heat was too intense and instead, we opted for a cold beer on a shady veranda in the historic part of town.

 

17-18 July - Papa – Balatonfüred – 64 kilometres

Eddie and I left lovely Papa in the morning to cycle the final stretch towards the lake. The day was another blistering one and relatively hilly. I’d no idea the mercury could rise to such levels in Hungary. Balatonfured is the oldest of the towns situated on Lake Belton’s shores. It is another city renowned for its spas, but this was no time to visit spas.

 

19 July - Balatonfüred – Badacsony – 48 kilometres

The oppressing heat made riding exhausting, and we could only manage a half-day of biking. Upon reaching Lake Balaton, drenched in sweat, we called it quits and set up camp at Badacsony, a small village with a population of barely 2000. The lake was immensely touristy, and the beaches were littered with campsites that made easy overnighting. I wasted no time diving into the lukewarm water of the lake. Sunset was a perfect time to sample the region’s good wine.

 

20 July - Badacsony – Fonyód – 56 kilometres

Packing up was at leisure as there was no rush to go anywhere. However, the heat remained debilitating. It took practically the entire day to cycle the short distance to the resort town of Fonyod. The road made its way along the lake’s shores and the heat made cycling in bathing suits and stopping numerous times to swim and drink beer. Finally, the day’s ride finished in Fonyod, where camp was on the lake shores. Once the tents were pitched, we could enjoy the town’s well-known mineral water (bottled nearby) before moving on to their renowned wine.

 

21 July - Fonyód – Balatonszemes – 32 kilometres

The next morning, we emerged to a tad of a breeze, making the unrelenting heat almost bearable. Then, unfortunately, the wind picked up, which made grinding into the wind to the next campsite. But once in Balatonszemes, the wind subsided, and we were back in paradise.

The campsites, 20 all around the lake, were well equipped with access to the lake, shops, bars, restaurants, and loads of entertainment, especially for children, including waterslides, games, cable skiing, and paddle boats.

 

22 July - Balatonszemes – Siófok – 32 kilometres

I thought Lake Belatan was the closest place to heaven. Blue skies, lukewarm water and no wind, made the place swarming with tourists. The lakeshore was extremely shallow and excellent for floating in its lukewarm waters. Shops, restaurants and bars were scattered about, adding to a great holiday atmosphere.

 

23-24 July – Siófok

Siofok meant we’d cycled around the entire lake and thus spent the day lounging around and enjoying the sun. Siofok is the largest town along the lake, with a beach stretching nearly 20 kilometres, making it an extremely popular holiday destination.

 

25-26 July - Siofok – Budapest – 110 kilometres

Once around the lake, we returned to Budapest to collect my Romanian Visa. Again, it turned out a day of easy riding. We thus slinked into Budapest in good time, where it took weaving through the traffic to find accommodation. The following day I collected my visa and we once again strolled Budapest’s cobbled streets.

 

27 July - Budapest – Kesckemet – 90 kilometres

With passport in hand, we cycled out of Budapest in the direction of Romania. The ride was a pleasant and relaxed one, in perfect cycling weather. Kecskemet sported an immense and beautiful City hall and an extremely convenient campsite in the centre of town, signalling the end of the day’s ride.

 

28-29 July - Kesckemet – Szeged – 65 kilometres

The way to Szeged was another enjoyable day of riding along a flat road. Szeged, home of the paprika, had a smattering of old buildings of which the Saint Nicolas Serbian Church, built in 1781, is the oldest. Szeged further had a great location along the Tisza river with an excellent campsite and a thermal bath. Hungary is well known for its thermal baths. At the town of Szeged, we set up camp and stayed two days, floating in the warm water of their well-known thermal springs before crossing into Romania.

 

30 July – Szeget, Hungary – Arad, Romania – 78 kilometres

Departing Szeget was with a stiff tailwind which became a near gale force crosswind, making it challenging riding, especially with the many trucks and heavy traffic. Upon arrival at the border, I found my Hungarian visa wasn’t what I’d envisaged, but 2 x 10-day visas, (where did that come from?). Therefore, I overstayed and after attempting sign language and being shunted back and forth from building to building; I was eventually allowed to leave. Phew!

I was immensely excited to see Romania. It finally felt like I was getting into my stride. Since childhood, I’ve been intrigued by gipsies and understood there were still genuine gipsies in Romania. Add the mystery of Dracula’s castle and place names like Transylvania and I was virtually bursting out of my skin.

As always in a foreign country, the language remained a considerable obstacle, everything (as expected) was in Romanian, and truly little English was spoken.

Our arrival in Arat was late, searching for the camping spot indicated on the map. Still, all that remained of the campsite was an abandoned field. By then, it was raining and dark, and we weakened at the sight of a pension.

004 CYCLE TOURING THE UK - IRELAND

 

4 IRELAND

793 Kilometres – 14 Days

8 June – 11 July 2007

 

MAP

PHOTOS

 

8 June – Glasgow, Scotland – Belfast, Ireland – 6 kilometres

Getting to Ireland, involved cycling from Esther’s house to Glasgow Central station to catch a Stranraer train. The day started promising, but upon looking around, I was horrified to see Esther on the ground bicycle on top of her, resembling a beetle, legs kicking in the air. All this happened in peak hour traffic, but Esther was undeterred by the staring eyes. She stood up, dusted herself off, looked them in the eye and laughingly declared, “Take three”.

At Stranraer, the ferry to Belfast took us across the North Channel. Our arrival was around 16h30 (peak time) and Esther proceeded to fall over once more. The reason for all this falling over was Esther’s bike being too big and her legs too short to swing over the middle bar. By the time her foot was on solid ground, the bicycle was past the point of no return. It was hence not so much falling off the bike but falling over. We laughed so much, tears were streaming down our faces and thus, surprising, we managed to cycle the 6 kilometres north to set up camp. By evening Esther referred to her bike as Silver. He bucked and kicked and appeared somewhat unwilling to see Ireland.

 

9 June - Belfast - Cushendall – 69 kilometres

The next day, it dawned bright and sunny. The weather was beautiful, and there wasn’t a breath of wind. With Ol’ Silver loaded and packed, our route followed the coast, an incredibly scenic ride, especially in such glorious weather. The road continued past numerous coastal communities and steep white, limestone cliffs. The coast was littered with ancient ruins from the Red Bay Castle to the ruins of the Ardclinis Church

Esther must’ve fallen over at least five times before arriving at the coastal village of Cushendall. At camp, she didn’t bring the bike to a halt as most would but instead flopped over, to the surprise of the other campers. Good thing, she wore a helmet. Still, 43 miles (70 kilometres) were managed that day.

 

10 June - Cushendall – Ballycastle – 32 kilometres

Packing up took forever, and late by the time the two of us cycled out of camp. Shortly beyond the village of Cushendall, a sign indicated a scenic route via Torr head, which sounded rather lovely. However, the warning, “Not suitable for caravans and coaches” should’ve forewarned us. This part of the Irish coastline is separated from Scotland by the North Channel and the views were spectacular. Still, our chosen path came with incredibly steep hills. Esther claimed she didn’t fall over that day as she walked her bike the entire way, resulting in blistered feet.

The descent into Ballycastle, a small seaside town at the north-easternmost coastal tip of Ireland, was pure pleasure. After waiting at the bottom longer than usual, I rode back up to see if I could find my friend. I came upon her walking down the hill due to a flat tyre. The surprises were never-ending as we soon discovered Esther’s bicycle wheels had no quick release and thus required a spanner. Not much one can do but walk the bikes into town and onto the campsite. Every man in camp had a suitable spanner, and soon the wheel was off, and Esther was given a lift into town to buy a new tyre and inner tube.

 

11 June - Ballycastle – Castlerock – 64 kilometres

The following morning started in its usual way, with Esther providing all the fun and drama. Loading up Ol’ Silver, a bungee cord slipped and hit her upon the lip. She was covered not only with bruises and scratches from falling over and lumps and bumps from the “Wee Buggers” (mosquitos) but also a fat lip. Leaving Ballycastle, the first stop was at the bike shop to purchase a spanner and new front tyre for Esther’s bicycle, which looked equally worn.

The coastline of Northern Ireland is magnificent, and we stopped at Giants Causeway to explore this fascinating area. The causeway consists of about 40000 black basalt columns resulting from an ancient volcanic eruption. Weathered by 60 million years of wind, rain and storms, these unique rock formations form perfectly shaped horizontal sections. However, I found the legends of the area even more intriguing. The story goes, a giant Finn McCool had trouble with his Scottish rival Benandonner. Furious, Finn grabbed chunks of the Antrim coast and threw them into the sea to form a pathway for reaching Benandonner. Benandoonneer was, however, larger than expected, and Finn fled with Benandoonneer in tow. Finn was saved by his quick-thinking wife, who disguised him as a baby. On seeing the baby’s size, Benandoonneer thought better of it and returned to Scotland.

After a particularly long hill, Esther declared the trip was killing her and it would’ve been easier and quicker to have taken an overdose at home. Still, she continued a further 40 miles, and spotting a campsite at Castlerock, we packed it in. The lady managing the campground looked at Esther’s face and allowed us to camp free.

 

12 June - Castlerock – Quigley’s Point – 32 kilometres

The following day, feeling refreshed, the first stopped was at the Mussenden Temple, built in 1785 as a library; this tiny building was modelled after Rome’s Temple of Vesta. A short ride led to Magilligan Point, from where ferries departed to Greencastle. Unfortunately, our map indicated a track beside the ocean, which was non-existing and left us slightly lost. Reaching Quigley’s Point, the tents were pitched at the first opportunity to give Esther’s backside a rest. Once camp was set up, there wasn’t a great deal more to do but frequent the pub for a pint.

 

13 June - Quigley’s Point - Portsalon via Letterkenny – 91 kilometres

It rained all night, and on emerging, it took packing up in the rain, reaching Buncrana sopping wet. We intended to take a ferry to Rathmullan. Still, to our dismay, the ferry only started operating in three days, and I thought June was mid-summer.

I loved the foreign-sounding names of towns as we biked from Quigley’s Point to Portsalon via Letterkenny, a remarkable distance of 91 kilometres. Esther was getting stronger by the day and wasn’t falling over as much. Ol’ Silver was nevertheless still creaking and squealing, and extremely unwilling on the uphills. Still, Esther showed no mercy, and pushed on. From Rathmullan to Portsalon, the distance was only about 19 kilometres. Still, we took the scenic route and encountered a few nasty hills before a serious descent into Portsalon. By then, Esther’s one hand was numb and entirely useless.

 

14 June – Portsalon

The weather turned even fouler overnight, and the conditions weren’t only cold and raining in the morning, but an icy wind blew in from the North. Nevertheless, the weather made it easy to stay put, and we both crawled back into our sleeping bags, zipped up the tents and read books for the remainder of the day.

By 5 o’clock, we had enough of lying in the tents and headed to the pub. The place consisted of a shop and pub (all in one), where a few people were sitting at the bar. Soon the singing began and the evening became a jovial affair. It was three in the morning before arriving back at our tents. I guess it will suffice to say we had a good time.

 

15 June - Portsalon - Melmore Head – 59 kilometres

For obvious reasons, there was no rushing in packing up and 12h00 before eventually getting underway. The weather was horrendous; it drizzled, a strong wind blew, and the weather became bitterly cold. Still, we proceeded to tiny Carrickart, where we received information about a hostel not far from there. In arctic conditions, we headed in the direction pointed. I was frozen stiff; even Esther was in long sleeves. The Hostel was considerably further than led to believe. Still, we soldiered forward up a steep hill to an extremely basic and remote hostel. At least inside, the place was warm as toast.

 

16 June - Melmore Head - Letterkenny - Belfast and Larne – 72 kilometres

Esther needed to get back to work, and we made our way back to Letterkenny to see what public transport was available. Once in Letterkenny, a bus departed in 20 minutes to Derry and another bus straight to Belfast. A shock, however, awaited in Belfast. Belfast was packed full; each little nook and cranny was fully booked due to a major international boxing event. Every B&B and hotel was fully booked, from the cheapest to the Hilton (we even considered that one). By then, the time was ten o’clock and the weather freezing. I suggested cycling the 6 kilometres north to our first camp, but Esther refused point-blank to get on the bike. The staff at the train station was extremely friendly and directed us to a B&B in Larne to get a ferry to Glasgow. They even phoned to book the B&B and the ferry and helped us on the train. Wonderful people.

 

17 June - Larne - Oxford Island – 91 kilometres

We emerged to a lovely breakfast at the B&B; what luxury. Our guesthouse had a great location across from the harbour, making easy access to the ferry. Esther hopped on the 10.30 ferry. After waving her goodbye, I pointed my mobile home toward Belfast and onto the road leading south.

The weather was good and being Sunday plenty of cyclists were out, all stopping to have a wee chat (as they say in Ireland). I took the recommended path south, which followed the River Lagan, to Lisburn. From there a minor route ran via Moira to Oxford Island and onward to Lough Neagh. I even came upon the Orange Order marching, band and all, in one of the smaller villages. I couldn’t believe they existed in real life. I would’ve thought their supremacist values illegal in our modern-day. They most likely were practising for the annual march held around 12 July.

 

18 June – Oxford Island – Ballyronan – 72 kilometres

Fortunately, most Irish are friendly, even offering dope. What lovely people.

Lough Neagh is a freshwater lough and one of the largest in Western Europe. I thus decided to follow its shore to Ballyronan, situated along the northwestern shore of Lough Neagh. The path continued along tiny country lanes and minor roads, past small settlements, and farms. The lake has an interesting legend. It claimed the lake formed when the Irish giant Finn McCool scooped out an earthen clod to toss at a Scottish rival fleeing Ulster via the Giant’s Causeway. Finn’s shot fell into the Irish Channel and formed the Isle of Man.

 

19 June - Ballyronan - Kesh (Lough Erne) – 101 kilometres

As usual, I packed up in the rain, but the weather soon cleared, and it became a glorious day of riding. The route headed west, sticking to the foothills of the Sperrin Mountains, via Omagh to Kesh. In tiny Kesh it took biking, up a serious hill to the campsite, only to find the place wasn’t a campsite but a mobile home park with no camping facilities. Bummer. The owner was accommodating enough and allowed me to camp on a small patch of grass. He even unlocked a mobile home to use the shower and toilet.

 

20 June - Kesh and surrounds – 32 kilometres

Kesh is tiny, with a population of less than 1000, but with its location on Lough Erne, the village had a lively tourist trade. I decided to stay in the area to explore and cycled down the hill to another campsite where one could take walks around the lake and through the forest. I uncovered dried fruit, yummy, and proceeded to eat the entire bag. Talking about food, I considered myself the Queen of carbs. Still, I had nothing on the Irish, as I found them serving macaroni cheese accompanied by a portion of French fries. I kid you not! Another dish I thought surprising was a baked potato topped with beans, something I considered a carbo overload.

 

21 June - Kesh - Donegal (Dun na nGall) – 72 kilometres

The way to Ballyshannon followed Lough Erne, and aided by a tailwind, the route appeared downhill. At Ballyshannon, I turned northwards along the coast to Donegal, still with a tailwind. My arrival was reasonably early and I set up camp at a hostel.

Soon afterwards, Eddie arrived by car. As he wanted to travel Ireland but didn’t bring his bike, we loaded the bike onto the roof and explored the rest of Ireland by car. Afterwards, I was sorry as the chances of ever getting back to that part of the world to cycle is practically non-existing.

In London, I tried my best to obtain a European visa, but all to no avail. I soon discovered the Schengen visa (for me at least) one of the world’s most elusive visas. Not only was it necessary to apply in one’s home country but the application needed a full itinerary and paid accommodation.

I felt frustrated as nothing was going to plan. As my idea of cycling Europe fell through, it was time for plan B. After much deliberation, the next best option was to fly to Hungary (which didn’t require a Schengen visa) and cycle Eastern Europe and see where the road led. So Eddie took time off work, and the two of us packed our bicycles and flew to Budapest, Hungary.

 

11-12 July – London, UK – Budapest, Hungary

Right from the start, I was smitten with beautiful Budapest and its ensemble of old buildings, cobbled streets and views of the mighty Danu River. I instantly understood why it’s referred to as “the Capital of Architecture”. To this day, Budapest remains one of my favourite cities.

If today, I would’ve lingered longer, but I had bees in my bonnet and wanted to get going, as was my nature. Unfortunately, as with most “new” cycle tourers, I was destination orientated. It took me years before I rid myself of that habit and enjoyed the touring part of cycle touring, which, in my mind, is what cycle touring is all about.

003 CYCLE TOURING THE UK - ENGLAND & SCOTLAND

 

3 UNITED KINGDOM
ENGLAND & SCOTLAND
1 279 Kilometres – 29 Days
5 May - 7 June 2007

MAP

PHOTOS - England

PHOTOS - Scotland

 

5 May – Cape Town, South Africa – London, United Kingdom

I called several SAA offices to inquire about transporting a bike by plane. The consensus was that I had to bring the bicycle as part of my luggage and, based on the price quoted, I feared the cost of the flight would be a pricy affair. My essential items weighed 25kg, and so did the bike. Eventually, I arrived at the check-in counter with my bank card in hand and was relieved to find the payment was a much smaller once-off fee. What a huge relief.

 

6 May - Chelmsford

The wheels of the plane touched down in London at 6h30, and I was stiff and puffy-eyed from a 12-hour flight.

I was picked up from the airport by my friend, Eddie, whom I had met during the 2005 Tour d’Afrique ride. Since we were early, we had plenty of time to explore the Chelmsford area where Eddie lived. A much-needed walk led through a pleasant, wooded area. I found this quite surprising, considering how densely populated the island is. In the following days, I would discover that, despite being overpopulated, this island offers more hiking paths than anywhere I have ever visited.

Later, we went to the village to look for a cycling map, but to no avail. I had assumed it would be easy, but unfortunately, that was not the case.

 

7 May – Chelmsford - East Bergholt – 66 Km

As always in a new country, I was eager to get going. Still, it wasn’t until after midday that we cycled out of Chelmsford. Eddie kindly accompanied me and led the way along a rural path, passing through Maldon, famous for producing Maldon Sea Salt. However, I was fascinated by learning that Maldon was the starting point for canalising two rivers flowing from Maldon to Chelmsford in 1797. This discovery also marked the beginning of a multitude of surprises I would encounter during my cycle north.

Eventually, we pedalled through the historic market town of Colchester, which claimed to be the oldest recorded town in Britain and the first Roman capital after the Roman conquest of Britain in AD43.

Despite being May, the weather remained wintry, and it rained throughout the day. All this rain made for a very picturesque and green countryside. The many villages we encountered were steeped in history and jam-packed with charming double-storey, semi-detached, red-brick houses reminiscent of children's book illustrations. As a cyclist, it felt like a dream come true, and it was a completely different experience from the open spaces of Africa.

We kept our eyes peeled for the elusive Sustrans cycling maps I encountered online and imagined would be readily available in the UK. That night, we camped near East Berg between Colchester and Ipswich, and I realised there wouldn’t be any rushing through the beautiful and historical UK.

 

8 May - East Bergholt - Aldeburgh – 70 Km

Eddie and I got underway shortly after 9.30 a.m. and headed to Woodbridge via Ipswich. Our route passed through an exceptionally scenic area of woodlands, estuaries, rivers, farmlands, mudflats, and heathlands.

At Woodbridge, a cycling map of the area was discovered. However, the map made the ride even more confusing, as it indicated all the small farm roads, and we were never quite sure if we were on the right track. Half the day was spent studying the map, but we still went around in circles and didn’t make much progress.

Towards the end of the day, we headed towards Leiston where the map indicated a campsite. However, upon arrival, we found that the park only allowed caravans, not tents. It must be mentioned that the property was rather large, without a soul in sight. I guess rules are rules, but I still thought this was slightly over the top.

Moving on from Leiston, the scenery remained breath-taking, and it was understandable why the area was included in what is known as the “Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty”. Biking through the multitude of villages encountered without exploring was practically impossible.

Although the weather was marginally better than the previous day, it was still freezing. Even though it rained all night, we encountered no rain on this day. It, nevertheless, remained freezing. By evening, a private campsite was discovered on a farm at a pittance, a far better deal than the one we visited earlier, which was without a shower.

 

9 May – Aldeburgh - Corton – 62 Km

Once again, a rural road led to Walberswick and Southwold, located on the banks of the River Blyth. The buildings in these ancient villages are made of stone carried from the beach. We decided to explore and enjoy the local brew before continuing to Lowestoft. Fortunately, this was done without encountering Walberswick’s phantom coach, drawn by headless horses and driven by the murdered Tobias Gill, who was hanged in the area in the 18th century.

Lunch was French fries smothered in curry sauce, which appeared immensely popular and surprisingly delicious. Afterwards, the road took us to Corton, where we arrived shortly before it started drizzling. There seemed no end to the dreadful weather. In the icy conditions, I wore every piece of clothing I possessed. We found solace in the cosy pubs, which were much more comfortable than sitting huddled in a tent.

The campsites varied greatly. Some were well equipped with manicured lawns, toilets, and showers, while others only had a bathroom and no other facilities; the prices indicated the facilities available.

 

10 May – Corton - Cromer – 67 Km

Being May, the days were long, and the daylight lasted until 9:30 p.m., which was fantastic as we didn't have to worry about setting up camp in the dark.

From Corton, we slowly made our way along the North Sea coast past Great Yarmouth, where I found an internet cafe. The French fries in the town square fuelled our ride to Cromer, situated on a fast-eroding coast. That said, Cromer remained a pretty coastal village with a lovely seafront, pier, and lighthouse.

The big difference between cycling in the UK and riding in Africa is that, in Africa, any cycle tourer is an enigma. Children come running across the fields to look, wave or beg, and people are curious and want to know where you’re from and where you’re going. They can’t comprehend why anyone would do such a thing without payment. In the UK, you’re just one more cycle tourist on a loaded bike.

The night was spent at an expensive campsite with showers quite far away. It started drizzling but, thankfully, not before we had a cup of soup and a bread roll. Unfortunately, it heavily rained all night.

 

11 May – Cromer - Sandringham – 118 Km

We set out in a drizzle, which continued throughout the day. It was a rain-soaked ride to the station, where Eddie was to catch a train home. However, he decided to ride to Norwich instead, as it offered more options. After saying goodbye to Eddie, I pointed my bike towards King's Lynn.

Later that day, I found a Sustrans map (Route 1 Harwich to Hull), which was quite helpful. I spent the rest of the day biking past magnificent estates, ancient castles, and striking churches. They were all equally impressive and boasted a history dating back thousands of years. The route was well-marked, and I had an excellent day of riding despite having trouble with the bike as the gears kept slipping.

 

12 May – Sandringham - St John’s Fed End – 32 Km

The campsite I stayed at was expensive but well-equipped. It had laundry facilities and a shop. Thus, I ended up leaving later than usual because I used the washing machines and dryers, which took a while.

It was late by the time I left, and I only cycled a short distance to King’s Lynn, a substantial town with all the necessary shops, including a bike shop where I could adjust my gears. I also bought an odometer and a mobile phone. At first, I thought of staying at the hostel, but it was closed. By then, it was already quite late, but it wasn’t dark until 9:30 p.m., so I could reach St. Johns Fed End, which had a beautiful campsite, bar, and restaurant.

 

13 May – St. Johns Fed End - Boston – 56 Km

I encountered a surprising number of people who had piercings and tattoos. It seemed like everyone had six nose rings, which made me feel downright old-fashioned with just one. The UK is a remarkable place with a diverse mix of people.

While en route to Boston, Eddie surprised me by driving from Chelmsford to visit. We had lunch together, after which he returned to Chelmsford.

It was interesting to note that most people in England never made eye contact or acknowledged one another. However, in Eddie's search for me, they knew the exact time of my arrival and departure. There was much pretence going on. LOL!

Soon after Eddie left, the heavens opened, and rain came gushing down. I succumbed to temptation in the market and harbour town of Boston and booked into a hotel at a substantial fee. It's surprising what a person will do when it's wet and cold.

One of Boston's most intriguing features is not only its rich history, spanning centuries, but also its unique position along the Prime Meridian.

14 May – Boston - Woodhall Spa – 48 Km

The following day, I reluctantly vacated my cosy room. Unfortunately, due to the high room rate, I couldn’t stay another day, so I made my way towards Woodhall Spa, which is only 32 kilometres away. Mid-morning, the bike’s rear rack broke loose, causing the tent, sleeping bag, and panniers to land on the road. Mercifully, this happened right in front of a boat shop, and the helpful owner tightened the screws. Such a fantastic job he did, the rack was still in place at the time of writing this journal 15 years later.

The remainder of the day brought pleasant riding, meandering across the Fens and along rivers featuring large boathouses. I soon learned that predicting the weather was quite tricky. It changed almost every half hour, with one moment being sunny and the next requiring taking cover from the rain.

Once in Woodall, I found no spa and only a few dilapidated buildings. The cold north wind brought a constant drizzle, which called for a day of hiding. I thus stayed put, and sadly the weather thwarted my plans to explore The Viking Way, a 237-kilometre long-distance footpath that passes through Woodhall Spa.

 

15 May - Woodhall Spa - Barton-upon-Humber – 75 Km

A missing road sign made me take a wrong turn, but a helpful man came to my aid and let me know I was heading in the wrong direction. So, this is proof that people did, indeed, notice one. The day also marked the first time I encountered hills in the UK.

Unfortunately, dreadful weather again marred the day, and I never spotted any camping facilities. Consequently, I proceeded to Barton-upon-Humber, situated on the Humber River. The town is dominated by the Humber Bridge, an impressive 2.22-kilometre single-span road suspension bridge. It was also the first day I met other cyclists at camp. Despite the challenges, it was a memorable day in the saddle.

 

16 May - Humber Bridge - Hornsea - 48 Km

The bridge was rather impressive and peering over the edge gave me vertigo. Once across the bridge, a coffee shop provided coffee and muffins.

Unfortunately, reaching Hull also indicated the end of my cycling map. It turned out a frustrating day navigating as finding cycling maps was far more complex than ever imagined.

Finally, in desperation, I rode towards the seaside town of Hornsea, which didn’t have much apart from the seafront promenade and the ancient church of St Nicholas. Still, a campsite outside Hornsea allowed pitching a tent and gave shelter from the miserable weather.

 

17 May – Hornsea - Beverley - Malton - 74 Km

Despite the frustration of the previous day, this turned out a good day. A shop in Hornsea had an excellent cycling map, and the day’s first stop was the charming market town of Beverley. I snatched a few pics of the impressive Anglican Church, built around the tomb of the Bishop of York, who founded the monastery.

Cycling into Malton was in arctic conditions, and I weakened at the sight of a B&B. The establishment consisted of a ground-floor pub with rooms above. In the pub were friendly people who invited me to join them for beer. However, their accent was so strong I couldn’t understand a word they said. I thus finished my drink and instead went to a restaurant in the town square where it wasn’t necessary to converse.

I thought it quite bizarre being in the home of the English language and the regional accent so heavy that it was impossible to comprehend.

 

18 May - Malton – Boroughbridge - 50 Km

Departing pretty Malton, with its market square and abundance of old buildings, was after midday as I finally located an internet café. Unfortunately, the ATM retained my bank card, which took the best part of the morning to retrieve.

Eventually, my chosen path took me through timeless villages and high moorland areas dotted by rivers and valleys. By then, I was in no mood for exploring and called it a day in Boroughbridge, a small settlement with an old well and a main road lined by the familiar scene of typical terraced houses under red-tiled roofs.

 

19 May - Boroughbridge – Leyburn - 48 Km

After getting going, my first stop was at the renowned three standing stones, known as Devil’s Arrows – the stones are recognised for their historical and cultural significance. It’s believed they originally formed part of a stone row of five. The fourth stone was reputedly broken up in 1582 to build the bridge over the River Tutt, and the fifth lost in history. They date from the early Bronze Age, over 4,000 years ago. The stones were most likely used as a kind of astronomical alignment or by sun-worshippers from the Bronze Age.

The day started promising, but the stretch between Borough Bridge and Leyburn turned out to be the most challenging day of the trip. The route led straight into a ferocious wind which blew me all over the road. It even took pedalling on the descent in my small gear. I called it quits at the first sign of a campsite, as the next camp was considerably further than I wanted to go that day—a good thing, too, as my early arrival gave me time to do my dreaded laundry. Gosh, I never imagined cycling in the UK would be this challenging.

 

20 May - Leyburn - Middleton-in-Teesdale - 56 Km

After leaving Leyburn, I found myself in a beautiful part of the country. The pleasant weather added to the charm of the countryside, with no wind or rain to spoil the day.

As the weather was lovely, I stopped in Richmond, home to a magnificent castle. The building of the castle began in the 1070s, and today it is England's best-preserved Norman castle. After exploring the castle, I continued towards Bernard's Castle, a ruined medieval castle constructed between 1095 and 1125.

My next destination was Teesdale, a typical British market town. It had a market area and the familiar sight of terraced houses lining the main street. Surprisingly, the village also had a campsite with friendly caretakers who offered me coffee while I pitched the tent. Their kindness added to the already pleasant day.

 

21 May - Middleton-in-Teesdale – Chollerford - 61 Km

Although it was a beautiful sunny day, the first since my arrival in the UK, biking was challenging. The way towards Chollerford led over the North Pennines with hills of 20% gradients. However, the landscape was picturesque and dotted by heather moors, deep valleys, rivers, hay meadows, and timeless stone-built villages.

The going was immensely slow, with a few hills requiring walking the bike. The road climbed out of the valleys only to descend into another. I churned my way up the steep hills, eventually reaching the famous Hadrian’s Wall, which I had imagined to be the Scottish border, but that was not the case.

A cyclist met along the path pointed me towards a campsite where various hikers, hiking the Hadrian’s Wall Route, were camping. The many long-distance hiking routes I encountered made me want to follow suit. I discovered I was firmly on the Pennine Hiking Trail, Britain’s best-known and most demanding route.

 

22 May - Chollerford – Bellingham - 25 Km

In great weather, I left Chollerford, soon getting to the point where a decision had to be made to either veer west or east. The plan was to head towards Glasgow to visit my friend Esther, and heading west would be the obvious route. Still, I thought cycling the East Coast would be a pleasant way to spend a day or two.

Eddie tracked me down and it became a short day of riding. We pitched our tents at Bellingham, which is famous as a stopping point along the Pennine Way trail and a favourite amongst cyclists.

 

23 May - Bellingham – North Berwick – By Car

While Eddie was travelling in a car, it made little sense for me to ride my bike, so we loaded it on the car's roof.

The United Kingdom is a fascinating region with a rich history. We passed by many castles and visited a few, all of them equally magnificent. Eventually, our journey took us to Scotland, and I was amazed by its natural beauty and stunning coastline.

By the end of the day, we arrived at North Berwick, which offered a comfortable B&B. The town was charming, with old stone buildings, narrow lanes, and a fascinating history.

 

24-25 May - North Berwick – Glasgow – By Car

In the late morning, we left the lovely North Berwick and drove towards Glasgow, where my friend Esther lives. Eddie dropped me off at Esther's apartment and then returned to Chelmsford. It was great to see Esther again, who was still her usual lovely and talkative self. We spent the next day chatting away and, by evening, I got a taste of the Glasgow nightlife by visiting a pub for beer and food.

 

26 May – Glasgow

While enjoying a few beers, we made plans to hike the West Highland Way. Esther's habit of always having three of everything made it super easy for me to borrow a backpack and hiking gear. We packed our bags, including tents, sleeping bags, food, stove, pots, and other essentials, and were all set for our long hike.

The West Highland Way, spanning 95 miles (153.8 km), is Scotland's first long-distance footpath. It passes through some of the country's most stunning and dramatic landscapes. I was bursting with excitement and felt privileged to have the opportunity to walk this famous route.

 

27 May - Milngavie - Drymen - 12 Miles (19 Km)

Early morning, we caught a train to Milngavie, a short distance from Esther’s house (barely four stops). Half the train’s passengers disembarked at Milngavie, seemingly doing the West Highland Way. I didn’t expect to encounter so many people. I also didn’t expect to see them only carrying small day packs.

Our first walk was a 19-kilometre meander from Milngavie to Drymen, a well-marked, easy, flat route. The path was wide and, therefore, no chance of getting lost. The first section of the way was through beautiful deciduous woodlands across many streams. Our trail passed numerous villages and halfway we popped in for lunch and beer.

Our first night’s camp was at a farm about 1 mile (1.6 kilometres) before Drymen. Luckily, the farm offered a cooking shelter, which came in handy as it started pouring upon arrival.

 

28 May - Drymen - Rowardennan - 14 Miles (22.5 Km)

Departing Drymen was via a pleasant stroll through the woods. Our path soon brought us to Conic Hill and our first taste of the Scottish Highlands.

En route to Balmaha, we once again stopped for lunch and beer. From Balmaha, the path proceeded along the shores of the famous Loch Lomond, and I couldn’t be more excited. The views across the loch and towards the mountains were unsurpassed. We rambled past Ben Lomand and through ancient oak woodlands. Again, the views were spectacular and impressive.

Towards the end of the day, our path spat us out at Rowardennan, exactly where we wanted to be and a place that sported a hotel, hostel and wild camping. Esther opted for the hostel, which was wonderfully comfortable and warm.

 

29 May - Rowardennan - Inverarnan - 14 Miles (22.5 Km)

On leaving the hostel, we heaved our heavy packs and heavy they sure were. My dear friend had a knack for packing the whole caboodle, plus the proverbial kitchen sink. The young man at reception looked at her in utter amazement and inquired if she knew about the transport service. We only then learned that hikers use a transport service to send their packs to their next destination.

It didn’t take much convincing to send our packs by van to our overnight stop. The other hikers looked at us in disbelief as we came sauntering past, casually swinging small plastic bags containing the day’s provisions. By then, we were well known for carrying the large backpacks.

Again, the path followed Loch Lomond’s shores and passed through more natural oak woodlands, where I even spotted wild goats. The area was very much associated with Rob Roy MacGregor, and there are countless stories about him, but I wasn’t sure if they were all true.

The trail was considerably hillier than the previous days, and it was a good thing we weren’t carrying those heavy packs. Camping was at Bengals Farm, a place with a great bar/restaurant and cooking shelter, a blessing in the dreadful weather.

Afterwards, a walk across the river took us to a bar believed to be more than 300 years old. The place had a fantastic atmosphere, made even more so by a cosy fire and a massive wooden table. It became an excellent night of singing and drinking copious glasses of red wine in the company of other hikers. So much fun was had I left my wallet in the pub!

 

30 May - Inverarnan - Tyndrum - 13 Miles (20.9 Km)

The next morning, in a panic, I returned to the pub to search for the wallet and discovered the wallet was still there. What a relief! By then, everyone knew the South African had lost her purse (how embarrassing). With my wallet in hand, Esther and I set out toward our next destination.

The route followed the River Falloch and passed spectacular gorges, waterfalls and rapids. We soon got to the old military road built towards the end of the 18th century. Our walk followed this road (mostly a narrow track by then). The views were made even more magnificent by the hills, which took on a blue/purple shade and were covered in bluebells.

The trail further led past an area known as “the king’s field”, where legend has it that in 1306, Robert the Bruce (from Brave Heart) suffered defeat by the MacDougalls.

Though the landscape was unsurpassed, the dreaded midges appeared (smaller than a mosquito but more ferocious, “wee buggers”, Esther called them). These biting insects were all over the place, and as Esther hiked in short sleeves, she was covered in lumps and bumps. They had the knack of getting in everywhere, in your hair, ears and nose.

The day’s amble continued to Tyndrum, where camping was at “By the Way”. We trundled into the village, well known for its Green Wellies Shop. Here, one can find the whole shebang, from hiking gear to food. Esther and I picked up two small backpacks, as hiking carrying a plastic bag wasn’t comfortable.

 

31 May - Tyndrum – Kingshouse - 20 Miles (32.1 km)

There were two routes to Kingshouse. Regional knowledge told us to opt for the longer one. The alternative option was hilly, and you never argue with locals. Albeit the walk was a long one, it remained relatively flat.

Our track led us through forestry plantations, which were a tad muddy in places. I understood why wearing hiking boots was better than running shoes. In the process, we crossed Rannoch Moor, which provided spectacular views of various Munros (mountains over 3000ft) and distant lochs.

Descending into Kingshouse, Glen Coe and Glen Etive’s magnificent mountains came into view. I’m sure there must be excellent skiing here in winter and some fantastic rock climbing.

That night’s camp was at Kingshouse, which only offered wild camping and no facilities, and it was better to remain in the pub until bedtime.

 

1 June - Kingshouse – Kinlochleven - 8 Miles (12.6 km)

A short stroll brought us to Kinlochleven via an area peppered with some of Scotland’s most impressive peaks. It made me wish I was a rock climber. Still, following the old military road, the path reached the highest part of the trail via the Devil’s Staircase. This was also the first day the sun was out and the views were genuinely magnificent.

Once at Kinlochleven, the tents were pitched at McDonald’s. The village was picture-perfect and home to a large ice climbing centre.

 

2 June - Kinlochleven – Fort William - 13 Miles (20.9 km)

The way climbed steeply out of Kinlochleven through woodlands and joined the old military road. Esther brought a beer as refreshment, which we drank at an ancient ruin. The other hikers must’ve thought us slightly weird by then, as we were constantly canning ourselves laughing. They most likely suspected us of being pissed all the time. Nevertheless, there was no dull moment hiking with Esther.

Upon arrival at Ford William, we didn’t, like nearly all others, go straight to the campsite, but first wandered about town searching for pizza and beer.

 

3 June - Ben Nevis - 12 Miles (19.3 km)

The following morning, we put off getting up until about 09h30 as the weather was dreadful. However, one can’t remain cooped up in a tent for too long and, in the end, no other choice remained but to don our wet weather gear and head up the legendary Ben Nevis. The starting point was at The Visitors Centre and it was suspiciously quiet. No other hikers were encountered along the route, which didn’t surprise us. The fog was low, and the constant drizzle made hiking unpleasant.

The path up the mountain was less steep than we envisaged. I was surprised at how quickly the landscape changed from green rolling hills to rocky terrain. Reaching the top, I was equally surprised to see a large snowfield in mid-summer. Needless to say, we snatched a few pics and then hurried back to lower ground—all in all, a seven-hour stroll led directly into a cosy pub providing beer and food. Mission accomplished.

 

4 June – 7 June – Glasgow

Following our little adventure, we returned to Glasgow, where plans were made for Esther to join me on a two-week cycle ride in Ireland. Although Esther had a bicycle, it hadn’t been used for quite some time and needed more than a spray of WD-40 to bring it back to life.

With the bicycle serviced and panniers purchased, we loaded the bikes and were ready for our next adventure.

 

8 June – Glasgow, Scotland – Belfast, Ireland – 16 km

Getting to Ireland involved cycling from Esther’s house towards Glasgow Central Station to catch a Stranraer train. This was where the fun began and Esther, not used to the bicycle and panniers, fell over, not once but three times between the house and the station. Looking around, Esther was lying on the ground, her bicycle on top of her, resembling a beetle, legs kicking in the air. All this happened in peak hour traffic, but Esther was undeterred by the staring eyes. She got up, dusted herself off, looked them in the eye and laughingly declared, “Take three!”.

At Stranraer, the Belfast ferry took us across the North Channel, where our arrival was at around 16h30 (peak time) and where Esther proceeded to fall over once more. The reason for all this falling over was Esther’s bike being too big and her legs too short to swing over the middle bar. It was, therefore not so much falling off the bicycle but more falling over.

Nevertheless, we laughed so much, tears were streaming down our faces and, surprisingly, managed to cycle the six kilometres north to set up camp. By evening, Esther referred to her bike as Silver as it bucked and kicked and appeared somewhat unwilling to see Ireland.