Lyme Regis

I spent a lovely time with my sister last week in Lyme Regis, in spite of the troubled train journey there (explained in previous blog post). Living in Leicester, we could not be further away from the sea if we tried and so it is a delight to stand and watch the sun rising across the water. I know that the photograph on the left could be anywhere but I wanted to include it because it reminds me of early morning sea watching in Lyme.

Lyme Regis is famous for its Cobb, its fossils and, more recently, for the filming of Broadchurch in its vicinity. I saw it all while I was there and I have photographs to prove it:

The Cobb was originally built around 1313 providing a small harbour which is still used today, mainly by fishing boats. It is famous for a scene in The French Lieutenant's Woman featuring Meryl Streep and Jeremy Irons in a passionate clinch. Sorry! I'm afraid you'll have to make do with me instead!

Lyme Regis is on what is known as the Jurassic Coast. This is because many valuable fossils have been found in the area - and continue to be found with every landslip.

A few miles away from Lyme, in Charmouth, the cliffs are continually crumbling and fossils, especially ammonites, can be found even by the most amateur of hunters. When I last visited the area this section of cliff was sheer and there was quite a wide beach. Now the cliff has crumbled to a definite slope and is much closer to the shore line. You can see the cliffs in the background of this photograph. As for the Broadchurch link, the beach huts on the left were featured in the programme.

The fossils found at Charmouth date back about 190 million years. My mind can't conceive of that length of time. The Blue Lias Formation is responsible for preserving and for revealing these fossils. You can read more about it here but I photographed an example of a collection of ammonites in a piece of rock that was found in the area. I have to admit that I did not find it myself but I wish I had. 190 million years! Mind blowing!

Sur Le Pont: Half a Bridge and Half a Taste of Provence

This time last week we were in Avignon...

on a touring holiday of Provence...

which is a beautiful area of France...

The tour was called A Taste of Provence and that was what we were given.The itinerary covered more kilometres than I cared to count. Unfortunately this meant daily doses of sitting on a coach together with a group of over forty people.

Since Mr A's stem cell transplant this is not the best of environments for him. We opted out of the last two days and, while he sat around the hotel coughing and sneezing and generally feeling grot, I got to see a little more of Avignon than the tour itinerary had allocated.

He managed a slow stroll for Sunday lunch in Avignon's beautiful Place de l'Horloge. We sat in the leafy shade of a street café and watched as the locals closed off the entire length of the main street, turning it into a fabulous bicycle race track.

After lunch children swarmed from all directions with an array of bikes and fancy helmets, followed by proud mothers, fathers, grandparents and babies in pushchairs. Each bike race was accompanied by a brass band ensemble and enthusiastic cheers from the crowd.

But this was no 'stroll in the park'. There was a pacemaker, the route was long and hard, with the number of laps increasing as the older children took to the track. No child was allowed to drop out, even those who fell off at the start of races [and there were many who did, especially among the younger groups]. Each child was lifted back onto their bikes and pushed off to rejoin the race. We all cheered really loudly for those peddling like crazy at the back.

You could tell from the atmosphere that everyone was having a thoroughly enjoyable Sunday afternoon but I couldn't help feeling that there was a serious side to it too. These children were being taught to 'stick at it' to 'not drop out' to 'push themselves to their limit' to 'work as a team'. It was a fascinating insight into the French cycle racing psyche and, although we were both disappointed at having to miss the last two days of our Provence tasters, we were pleased to have experienced an afternoon with the locals.

Mr A. is now well on the mend... but my throat feels just a tad... [coughs pathetically]

Cruising the Inner Hebrides + a Tweet Meet

Perhaps cruising is a tad pretentious. We were aboard a small converted fishing boat, ten passengers and four crew members. This is our boat called the Glen Massen.

Friends and family kept texting me with news of a heat wave in the UK but this did not materialise in the Inner Hebrides. Here is the view from our boat for much of the week.

We had rain and rough seas too. On one day the sea was so choppy the crew had to tie everything down. It was certainly an adventure! The holiday was made extra special by the amazing crew. I'll never know how Chef managed to conjure up three immaculately cooked meals each day in such a tiny galley kitchen [yes three! I have put on weight!] and he took great care to cater for my many food requests/fads.

The only way to get ashore was on a tender. This was great fun and when there were just a few of us on board the Engineer drove it as if it was a motor boat. You can just see the top of my head on the far side of the tender.

The sun emerged for the last day and, what a difference it made. In the words of our Captain, "These are the kind of views we should have been seeing all week."

And then on the way home we made a small detour and visited Anne Mackle [@cassam101] and her warm Scottish welcome made up for all those chilly days on the boat. This is us in her lovely garden.

The tour was organised by The Majestic Line and I can thoroughly recommend it. We were taken such good care of and the week was good fun in spite of the weather.

Italy by Train

Buenos Dias. That's about all the Italian I know so it's a good job we had a Tour Guide with us.

Train travel is not the quickest method of getting across the Continent but it suits me better than defying the laws of gravity for hours on end and you can see the countryside as you go. This is the foothills of the French Alps taken through the window of a very fast-moving TGV.

Our main base was in Chiavari, Italy, where I drank lots of coffee sitting outside lots of cafes in the myriad of arcaded streets. 

We were part of an organised tour group, 24 of us in total, and everyone was lovely. We ate, drank, chatted, laughed and still managed to squeeze in lots of sightseeing. We visited The Cinque Terre, five small fishing villages nestling in crevices where the mountains met the Mediterranean...

We sipped Italian coffee in Portofino Harbour and pretended that we were rich and owned an enormous yacht...

On the way home the Alps were transformed by thick snow and it was even more beautiful than when we came (only not so photogenic!)

And now we're home and it's cold and dreary but I've got some lovely memories to keep me going through the winter. We've decided that we really like Italy and we're going to go back there for sure, so I'd better learn a bit more of the language. Ciao for now ;-)

A Wow View

We've been to visit Sister and as the visit coincided with Mr A's birthday we decided to treat ourselves. This was the view from our hotel bedroom.

Lyme Regis Bay from our bedroom in bright sunshine

It's the kind of view you don't tire of.

Lyme Regis Bay from our bedroom as the sun sets

We sat in the hotel garden in glorious Dorset sunshine and pretended to be Lord and Lady Whatsit.
We entertained Sister. 
We entertained Niece and Nephew-in-law. 
Morning coffee? No problem. 
Afternoon tea? Certainly, madam, would that include scones and jam? 
Game of croquet anyone? Errm... How do you play croquet?



And when we fancied some exercise, the hotel gardens led onto a steep but very pretty cliff path which took us down to the seafront and Lyme's famous cob. My only problem was climbing back up that path again. [Note to self: Must get more exercise!]


But now we're home again and if we want a cup of tea we have to go and put the kettle on ourselves and as for cooking dinner *sigh*. I could get used to being waited upon!

[In case you fancy a similar treat, we were staying at the Alexandra Hotel in Lyme Regis.]

An Unlikely Travel Writer

Traveller? Me? I don't think so!

I can’t ride a bike. I tip over sideways. I think it’s got something to do with my centre of gravity.

Flying scares me so much that I’d really rather stay at home.

And I don’t do walking. I’m the one who’s always trailing at the back of a group of walkers thereby allowing them time to sit and rest while they wait for me to catch up... and then when I’ve caught up they start walking again... until I trail behind and they sit and rest and so it goes on until I end up in tears, have to be escorted home and vow never ever to go walking again.

I don’t much like car travel either. It’s not that I get car-sick. It’s more of a ‘car-ache’. Two hours is about the limit of my endurance which means that most of our holidays, until recently, have been spent in North Norfolk in a small village called Blakeney.

The first time we ever saw Blakeney it was getting dark, the tide was out, we had nowhere to stay and The Blakeney Hotel overlooking mudflats was as good a place as any. In the morning I drew back the bedroom curtains and was overwhelmed by the glittering scene. Yachts and dinghies dotted the sea. Gulls swooped across waving salt marsh grasses. Children sat on the quayside, legs dangling, nets scooping unsuspecting gilly crabs from the creek. A row of boards advertised boat trips to Blakeney Point to see the seals. People were sitting at an open-fronted caravan drinking mugs of tea and eating freshly prepared breakfast baps. I couldn’t wait to get out there.

Pedlars Way stretches along most of the North Norfolk coastline. It crosses the quay at Blakeney where it becomes a raised pathway leading out to Blakeney Point. I know I said I don’t do walking but Blakeney is exceptional. In Blakeney I walk. The path passes between the car park and the duck pond and I don’t just mean any old duck pond. This duck pond is home to wigeons, shovelers, teals, pintails, mallards and what’s more they sound exactly like laughing Donald Ducks. The car park soon becomes a boat park. Duck laughter is replaced with clinking masts and the screeches and calls from the gulls, terns and avocets. One winter we even saw a flock of Brent geese from Siberia swooping over our heads. Those big birds are impressive but personally I prefer the tiny reed buntings that hop and twitter around the marshes, hiding in the masses of samphire, known locally as ‘poor man’s asparagus’.

As for accommodation, The Kings Arms is the most dog-friendly pub I know. It’s a Grade II listed inn and Josh-the-dog has spent many happy holidays with us there. They cook a mean fish and chip supper, larger than any plate can ever contain. They serve locally smoked fish and there’s even a dog biscuit box behind the bar. The pub sits just off the quay within minutes of salt marshes and shingle walks, nature reserves and bird hides. What more could a travel-phobe like myself ask for?

...until we discovered Eurostar but that’s another blog-story.