ben DOVER

As we drove from Weymouth to Dover to visit Sam and Jem for the weekend I began to notice that there is something very typical of the British countryside. The green rolling hills, sheep grazing in the distance, cute little cottages and …a 10 lane parking lot called freeways that bludgeon their way through it all. (note to self: Why do they call them freeways when they are never free of traffic and in Australia you even have to pay for them??).

Anyway, this weekend it was the first time we have had a chance to explore the eastern side of Britain. While those in the south say this is the equivalent of peering at you backside in a mirror, for us it was a good chance to drink lots of red wine with friends.

Despite autumn rains on the horizon, the weather decided to give us one last taste of summer with 2 glorious sunny days. What better thing to do than head out for a walk along the famous ‘white cliffs of Dover’.

And so with a humming of ….
. “There'll be bluebirds over
. The white cliffs of Dover,
. Tomorrow
. Just
. you wait and see.”

…. we trekked along the cliff edge with the calm blue English Channel to the east and imposing white cliffs below. While the girls were in heaven with enough chalk to make a school teacher happy (I am even sure Ms Marsh would be happy ….“look - It does get in”), Kathy and I spent most of the time preventing either of the children making a speedy descent 200m to the beach below.

It is no wonder that a glimpse of these chalk cliffs from the other shore continues to be a symbol of home to Britons. It certainly is the first sight the people on the 5243 ferries that seem to cris-cross the English Channel every hour get. Watching the ferry terminal from high up on the cliffs it was busier than a French brothel as they ‘came’ and went (sorry – that was bad wasn’t it!).

Looking out across the channel, the day was clear enough you could even see the nudist beaches on France – well at least the beach. I heard about an intrepid ozi traveller who commented after seeing the English Channel:
“The awe that I once held for the likes of Suzie Maroney for swimming such a body of water evaporated in a second. Bloody hell, I reckon I could swim it doing sidestroke”.

While Kathy was willing to dip her toe in the water, I made the more appropriate decision to sit in the local pub overlooking the beach, drink a few pints and consume a litre of oil with my fish and chips.

With the kids having finished rolling around in the seaweed, and the only sign of a bluebird being that of an Easyjet flight to France overhead, we ventured to Dover Castle. The castle sits proudly up on the hill and it is easy to see why it was such a great vantage point for the English to peer across the channel looking through their binoculars at all those French nudist beaches.

The castle has an interesting history with Romans, Saxons, early Normans and Nigels – although I cant be confident on the Nigel’s bit? While not as observant as Jem who has memorised the entire history dating back to when the Romans invaded in 43AD I did remember that Henry II was instrumental in the fortification of the current castle in the 1180’s. The castle even has one of Europe’s best-preserved Roman lighthouses (although I did overhear Kathy ask how the Romans got their electricity to power it).

A highlight was a tour through the labyrinth of tunnels under the castle used during the war for everything from masterminding the “miracle of Dunkirk evacuation” (I think others call this a retreat), through to hospital surgeries.

That night we consumed vast quantities of red wine and scotch and debated the philosophy of Christianity and its role in world destruction. What a perfect topic for the next days trip to Canterbury Cathedral – know to some as the Mother Church of the Anglican Communion and seat of the Archbishop of Canterbury – or if you are a atheist…lets not go there. It was not hard to notice the tower rising above the city skyline. Like so many churches in this part of the world they certainly know how to make a statement in the centre of town.

The weekend was finished with a fantastic lunch, more red wine and a long trip home past green rolling hills, sheep grazing in the distance, cute little cottages and …stuck in a 10 lane parking lot called a freeway.

Thanks Sam and Jem for a great weekend.

The Misty Moores

Another week at work comes to an end so we packed our bags and headed of for our next adventure. This time we were lucky enough to be invited to stay in a small 2 room chalet perched on the hill side overlooking the blue waters of the Cornish coast.

Many of the chalets are previous fishing or holiday huts that were built before planning controls were ever put in place. Some are no more than glorified sheds, while others have had their rustic charm obliterated into miniature houses with all their mod cons.

Luckily, where we stayed retained its character with no electricity (and no TV) but instead a room full of board games that have obviously kept many generations amused for hours. We were also lucky, that despite summer not really arriving, we had one of the best sunny days of the year.

On Saturday evening I sneaked out and went to the local pub to have a Fosters and watch the Wallabies beat Wales. It is strange, but being away from home seems to make you more patriotic and proud to be Australian …. especially when we win.

On Sunday we made our way home via Dartmoor and in true English weather, the sunshine left us and was replaced with a thick misty soup. There is an old saying in the moores that the weather generally goes like this:

Fust it rain'd then it blaw'd
The it 'ail'd then it snaw'd
Then it com'd a shower o' rain
Then it vreez'd an blaw'd agean.

Many moor folk will tell you that the piskies (a local pixie) summon thick mists in order to confuse any unwary travellers. It certainly didn’t please the kids when we decided to go for a walk!

Dartmoor has been described as the 'last wilderness' but like the rest of England has had over 12000 years of modification by humans. Despite this, with the eerie mist enveloping the rolling barren hills and the wild ponies and sheep making strange noises in the distance, it was a great way to see this remarkable landscape.

1st Day at School

It is hard to believe but our little babies are finally leaving the nest and off to their first day at school. It is strange that the new school year begins in September, but then again there is a lot about the school system in the UK that I find strange.

Isabelle and Bethany were really excited and wanted to be just like their big sister. There was not even a tear shed as they trotted of to their class – apart from mum of course. I am not sure if Adelaide was so thrilled about having her younger sisters at school.

Here are some photos in our school uniform.

Peter Rabbit

I know it may appear hard for some to believe (Susan) but our holiday was almost finished and I needed to go back to work – something we manage to squeeze in between our weekends away.
Having said goodbye to Scotland we made our way to a small village in the north of the Lakes District for our last nights in a cute house overlooking green fields and grazing sheep. The Lakes District is actually a National Park, but again unlike parks in Oz, over 42,000 people live within the park boundary.

Beatrix Potter wrote most of her stories in the Lake District so we dropped in to the National Trust property to see her many original drawings. It is amazing to think that 6 publishers refused to publish her works so she published it herself. “A furry talking bunny and a cranky farmer – now that will never sell kids books!”. We also took a steam boat ride on one of the many lakes that cross this striking part of the country.

But the best part was an evening at a stone circle watching the sun go down and the full moon rise over these mysterious rocks. Castlerigg was one of the first stone circles built in Britain, dating from about 3000 BC. While not as big as stone henge, Castlerigg has been called the most beautifully located stone circle in Britain, and for good reason. The circle, about one-third of an acre in area, is sited on a high moor in an open bowl of hills above Keswick, a spectacular setting. A great way to end the trip.

But unfortunately they were starting to get tired and grumpy from all the travel (and the kids were getting ratty as well) so it was finally time to pack the bags one last time for the journey home.

So this is the last post for our trip to Scotland and beyond. The three weeks can best be summarised by the following: summer showers, misty mountains, stunning sunsets, colourful kilts, stunning streams, cute castles, lovely lochs, and our home for part of our trip naughty ‘Nessi’.

But it is now back to work ........ until next time......

Highland Journey - Highland Fling (no I didn't get lucky!)

Having dropped ‘Nessi’ back to her owners we headed back north to Brechin for a few days at Gordon and Irene’s caravan. Fortunately for us, the Lonach Highland Games was on and a trip to Scotland would not be complete without a bit of caber tossing. Nowhere else is it possible for a bloke to wear a dress and long socks in public and not get laughed at. And the kilt is not complete without a Sporran (Gaelic for nut pouch). I reccon most Scotsmen keep money in their sporran because if robbed at least they enjoy the experience.

And then there is the appealing (or is it appalling) sounds of the bagpipe. It's often said that bagpipes are the missing link between music and noise. You either like them or you don't, there's no in-between.

Q. How can you tell if a bagpipe is out of tune?
A. Someone is blowing into it.

The history of pipes is steeped in mystery and legend which roughly translated means you can make it up as you go along. Alfred Hitchcock once said “I understand the inventor of the bagpipes was inspired when he saw a man carrying an indignant, asthmatic pig under his arm. Unfortunately, the man-made object never equalled the purity of sound achieved by the pig”.

The games themselves were a mix of highland flinging, Clansmen marching, ball throwing and the Gille Calum. Now I really feel we have been to Scotland. Well almost, as we did not get a chance to eat some haggis. They say it’s difficult to tell whether you should kick it or eat it. After you've eaten it, you wish you'd kicked it.

But our three weeks were coming to an end so it was time to pack the bag pipe in the boot at head to the Lakes District for our last stop before heading home.

Highlands Journey – In search of big Nessie

It seems you can’t travel more than a few miles without coming across a castle. Eilean Donan Castle is one such castle that graces many Scotland postcards with some saying it is Scotland's Most Romantic Castle. But I think the best was Castle Urquhart perched on the rocky cliffs of Loch Ness. A castle that saw more attacks than an oil rich country, only the ruins remain. We saw Scotland’s weather at its best as the mist slowly wound its way around the castle while the sun shone brightly creating an iridescent blue sky and water.

But the real reason we came here was to join the bus load of American and Japanese tourists peering out into the murky cold waters of Loch Ness in search for the smallest bubble from a monsters fart. A whole industry has been concocted around this famous Jurassic beast in the form of visitor centres, boat trips, fan clubs and countless low quality souvenirs. Luckily for us we decided to bypass it all and go to the real thing – the Loch.



I read that in 1999, an Australian woman, Tammy Van Wisse, swam the 24-mile length of Loch Ness in nine hours and six minutes. I heard she beat the previous record (held by Nessie) by twenty minutes.

With lots of ‘potential’ sightings (see photos above) from the kids we made camp by the lake just in case she is nocturnal. The next morning we woke to a thick mist overhanging the Loch dashing any further hopes for that illusive photo. So it was time for ‘Nessi’ to leave her friend and head to the mountains and another memorable camp at the base of the UK’s biggest mountain Ben Nevis.

Highlands Journey - An Ode to Ben

More people die on Ben Nevis every year than Mt Everest but today it was a glorious cloudless sky. However, the locals do say that "if you can't see Ben Nevis it's raining and if you can see Ben Nevis, it's about to rain". While BC (before kids) we may have climbed it, instead we settled for a splash in the sparkling waters of Glen Nevis at the foot of the mountain. But based on the following poem reputed to have been written in the visitors book of the Ben Nevis Hotel in the late 19th Century, we did not miss much:


Ben Nevis Roll by, thou dense and damp pea-soupy shroud!

Do we thus reach the highest point in vain?

Roll by! we say, and leave behind no cloud

Our view to mar; but, should'st thou still remain,

Mark well the threat - "Never shall we come again."

If at first you don't succeed, try again:

Mist and rain you should not heed, try again;

When the clouds have rolled away,

And the sun holds glorious sway,

Climb the path without delay, come again,

All your labours he'll repay - grand old Ben.

We climbed thy stony sides, oh Ben!

We groped around thy cloudy head,

We peered and jeered and swore - and then,

In sheer disgust, we went to bed.

We toiled along with saddened hearts - and grief,

And found - ah, well, just mist and tinned Australian beef.

With the road trip coming to a close we had one more night overlooking Loch Tummel before having to return ‘Nessi’ to her owners. The scenery of the highlands is beautiful from dramatic mountains to calm Lochs and what better way to explore these hidden (and not so hidden) gems than in the campervan. The Kids (and I think even Kathy) had a memorable time.

Highlands Journey – Skye

While we could have stayed at Arisaig for the rest of the week, there was still more to see so we bundled back into ‘Nessi’ and caught another ferry across to the Isle of Skye heading for a little place on the map called Elgol (because it looked remote and had a funny name). A magical drive through a carpet of heath in a blaze of purple and a backdrop of towering mountains topped with a cascade of cloud enveloping its peaks. If summer occurred only once per year in Scotland this surely would be the day.

Elgol is a dispersed settlement sprinkled over the hillside above a lovely bay that leads the eye across Loch Scavaig to the Cuillin mountains. What was most amazing about the place was the small one roomed school perched at the very end of the bay directly overlooking this inspiring view. What a great place to gaze out the window instead of doing school work!

From here we journeyed back to the mainland following windy mountain passes. Apart from ‘Butch the Tractor’, it appears the other thing that you have to give way to on these little lanes is the locals. And when I say locals I mean the local cows, sheep and even red squirrels. At one point we rounded a bend to be confronted by a cow and its calf calmly lumbering along the centre of the road probably on its way to church. No amount of horn blowing or light flashing would halt their journey so it was left up to us to make room and allow the family to pass.

While we so much wanted to stay longer in Skye, ‘Nessi’ wanted to visit her friend in Loch Ness so it was time to move on and continue our Highland journey.

Highlands Journey – coastal wonderland

As the popular saying goes “if you don’t like the weather in Scotland then just wait 20 minutes”. While it seems the main topic of conversation from January to December is the rain it did begin to lift and so did our spirits.

The beauty of having a campervan is that you are not fixed on where and when you go, which was ideal when we stumbled upon the most magnificent beach at Arisaig. We set up next to a little bay with lovely white sand (not pebbles like the England) and sat and watched the sky turn from blue to pink as the sun slowly slipped behind the isles of Eigg and Rum on the horizon. ………“Ah the serenity”.

With the sun making a welcome return in the morning what better place to spend and extra night and do nothing but enjoy this scenic wonderland. The kids played on the beach and fed the small pony which decided to graze next to us, Kathy read her book and I spent the time wondering along the coast.

Having now travelled through some of this lovely open landscape I can now see why many Scots feel at home in Australia. The heather clad mountains, wooded glens, beautiful lochs and stunning rugged coast are a natural wonder to behold.

Having made the pilgrimage to a dead guys mausoleum I thought I would see what other connections there are between Oz and Scotland apart from us beating them in the World Cup. It takes no more than a glance at the ozi banknotes to understand the role that Scots immigrants played in the development of our great country. It turns out one was born in Scotland ($5 Catherine Helen Spence), three are from Scots Australian families ($10 Andrew Barton Paterson and Dame Mary Gilmore, and $100 - Dame Nellie Melba) and one was a Presbyterian minister with close links to the Church of Scotland ($20, Reverend John Flynn). I also didn’t realise that Peter Dodds McCormick, a Scot, composed ‘Advance Australia Fair' in the 1800’s.
But enough of that – it was time to pack camp - well at least turn the gas off - and continue on our highlands journey.