Category Archives: Adventures

Laugavegur Ultra Marathon 2017 – Race Recap

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At 9am on 15th July, there was nothing left to feel anxious about. I was dressed in the appropriate clothing. I had stretched and taken painkillers. Two nights of sleep deprivation were fading into forgetting. The lava field rose above the crowd of brightly-coloured waterproofed runners. Off to the side, the ground steamed where I knew hot springs were descending to mix with the cooler water of a stream. It began to rain just a little. There was nothing left to worry about, nothing to do except line up and wait for the whistle. And run. 

Laugavegur Ultra Marathon was to be my first ultra-distance race. Billed as a total distance of 55km (though more realistically 53km) through semi-challenging Icelandic highland terrain, six or seven river crossings, two endless dusty windy plains, and volcanic ground on either side, it was the perfect combination of a race testing enough to stretch myself beyond a marathon without totally consuming my social life or superseding my anxiety thresholds. And it turned out that I was indeed stronger than I thought, and had a lot more to give, even when it felt hard and painful. 

Race Recap – it’s a long one! 

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The race actually began at 4:30am, boarding the bus from Reykjavik. The firm but kind Icelanders running the race checked our wristbands to make sure we were on the right bus for our predicted finish time of around 8 hours. I had packed a neck pillow, which felt indulgent, but I really needed the extra two hours of bumpy sleep that I managed to snatch. At 7:30am we pulled up at a hostel, where breakfast was available for us. Without knowing how long we would be there, we rather foolishly queued for the toilet before getting food, meaning that I was stuffing porridge into my cheeks and making sandwiches as we were hurried out. 

Properly awake now after some essential coffee, I was pleasantly reminded of the familiar sights of the mountains and volcanoes surrounding the start of the race at Landmannalaugur. As we rolled into the campsite, the traditional array of souped-up jeeps and camping vans lined the perimeter, while tents surrounded the inner huts, held down by rocks instead of pegs as the ground is often too firm to hold them. We made quick use of the bathrooms, deposited our main bags in the bus to be taken to the finish, and after some stretching got swiftly into our corral. Having read a few race reviews online, I knew that there was likely to be a queue to get up the short hill which led onto the lava field, so Laura and I got to the front of the corral pretty quickly. A short amount of hanging around, and we were suddenly going, gently moving over the easy paths and then fast-hiking up the lava hill. 

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Once on top of the lava field, the running could start. Fairly level for the first kilometre, the race route then starts going swiftly uphill in the toughest part of the course – at least, if you don’t like hills. Surprisingly, although I live in a very flat city, I love going uphill, and really enjoy the pressure to push myself to the top. As we ascended, the rhyolite mountains on either side gave us fantastic backdrops of red, orange, blue, green, yellow and white. 

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Steep climb completed, the going got more tricky underfoot with long slushy snowfields that proved awkward and energy-sapping, although to my mindset, they fell into the category of “hills I must defeat”… so mentally it didn’t feel too bad. Having hiked this trail twice before, I wasn’t expecting this much snow, and the obsidian fields that I have learned to expect before approaching Hrafntinnusker were invisible. At this point the wind became much stronger and brought hail, snow and sleet with it.

First checkpoint

We passed the first checkpoint at approximately 1hr 30mins, our goal time, despite all the snow and weather. (This race famously has strict cut off times at 4hrs and 6hrs and many of the field did not make it in time). From this point, the rain kept up reasonably regularly, blowing into our legs and soaking my bottom half. I was running in thick long leggings that had kept me incredibly warm on a recent training session in Norway, but this rain really got into my bones and made my lower legs heavy and stiff. 

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And yet, the snowfields continued to be exciting and interesting to cross, even though they turned the legs to jelly. My favourite regular snowfield is one that remains all year round and is wonderfully patterned by dirt and glacial blue reflections. It was strange to find it on the trail so quickly – even though we had walked most of the uphills, running was clearly much quicker than hiking the trail with a large rucksack…

As the route climbed again, we reached a wide ridge and turned directly into a headwind. The rain had stopped and we started to descend, gradually and then swiftly. The course marshals had warned about the difficulty of this section, indicating it would be slippy underfoot and that we should even police each other about not going to fast (!). In the end, the path down seemed fine, and we dropped out of the weather cloud into gentle sunshine to our first river crossing. At mid-calf height, this was not one to be concerned about. 

Reaching Alftavatn, second checkpoint, not feeling great

Here, on the flattest part of the course, I started to struggle. At not even halfway, and nursing a hamstring tear on my left side, I was finding the flat running really tough. My taper had been an enforced three-week ban on running, except for a 0.8 mile limp around my local park. At this point, the stress of not having made the halfway mark, feeling tired and lacklustre, and with rising pain, made me stressed and unhappy.

Laura, thankfully, responded to my request to “just talk at me” by regaling me with stories about near vertical races near where she lives, and how she occasionally runs into Norwegian ultra runner Stian Andermund-Vik in the mountains (Stian recently came second to Killian Jornet in the Mont Blanc Marathon). Buoyed by the distraction, I managed my pain, and after some flat coca cola, pretzels, stretching and some painkillers at the second checkpoint, I was ready to go on.

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The sun came out and we wound our way through some of the prettiest parts of the course. Alftavatn sits on the edge of a large lake and the mountains here are deep black, footed with vibrant green. The wind was light, and the running felt easy, and even our times were on track.

Crossing rivers

About halfway into the race, we tackled the largest river crossing of the trail. Having done this twice before whilst walking, I knew what to expect, and wasn’t too phased by it. The support crew were also amazing – one of them stood directly in the water to hold a guide rope for us sugar-depleted runners, and there were plenty of others on hand in case of accidents. It seemed as if the best way was not to overthink it and just plunge in – the same could be said of the whole race, really. The swift shock of the cold water felt phenomenally good, and buoyed us up for the next part. 

Later in the race, some concerned hikers expressed shock at me running straight through a shallow river – “But your legs, won’t they remain wet?” they asked, as they dodged the water by balancing themselves and their large packs on rocks. I did feel a tad smug as I shrugged off their concerns – but honestly, it just felt better to get wet, and then drain and dry off naturally. 

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At this point in the race, you can opt to stop and change into gear that you have in your drop bag. Some people even change shoes! However, Laura and I were not feeling uncomfortable, so we agreed that, since we both had clean dry socks in our race packs, we would continue on to Emstrur before changing. I also knew that the next part of the course would be mentally and physically challenging, and I was keen not to waste any time. With two long, exposed stretches of plain, and a 20mph headwind coming at us strong, we would need to work hard to ensure we didn’t miss the cut off times.

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The endless, dusty, windy plain

At this point, Laura and I pursued different tactics to get us through. She opted for music, whilst I put my head down and counted steps, occasionally chatting to people, but mostly focusing on passing. There was a bit of a race dance taking place, as I overtook and then got overtaken by the same group of runners again and again.

The pass started to rise and get narrower, and looking at my watch, I was distressed to find that we were behind our planned times. We had wanted to arrive at Emstrur with a comfortable 50 mins to spare, but this was looking more like 20-30 mins to spare. At this point, I was desperate not to DNF so I spoke to Laura and we agreed that we would both keep pushing for the next 5 miles at our own pace, and that we would meet up again at Emstrur. Mentally I just needed not to stop, to continue at a pace that I knew worked for me.

Making the final cut off – Emstrur in 5hrs 30 mins!

The second plain arrived, and with it, two or three mini hills, each one not revealing the expected sight of hut roofs beneath… at least until I saw one of the race buses gloomily parked on a promontory and knew that the cut off point could not be far. With 30 minutes to spare, I sang happily to myself as I descended that hill right into the waiting checkpoint. “I’m so happy to be here!” I cried, to which the charming marshal replied, “It’s very good to see you too.”

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Home stretch

Now it was certain that we would finish the race. I changed my socks, refuelled, and then headed off for the final 10+ miles. We took it easy to begin with, walking through the green and black landscape, but a nice steep descent beneath a glacier got the legs moving again. A calm, windless valley followed, and then another short sharp climb. The final sections of the race were gently undulating, across a steppe-like landscape, with grasses and distant volcanoes. Our final climb at the 44km mark was a long slog but at this point I felt balanced and meditative, as if I could keep going and going. With our final long descent we could see the last river crossing and the sight of Thorsmörk (Thor’s Forest) on the other side. 

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The final few miles through the forest were charming to experience but longer than I remembered, and I was very thankful to hear the loudspeaker calling out names through the trees. We turned the corner in the evening sunshine and ran across the finish line hand in hand, crying and laughing. They even called out our names individually. 8 hours, 22 minutes of movement, and the race was complete. 

Post race

To begin with, I couldn’t stop crying. The emotional weight I had been carrying throughout training had been lifted. I had done what I had never thought I could manage – run an ultra marathon, run close to 35 miles. I – who was never sporty at school and who struggled for years with running – could do this. Laura had to keep convincing the marshals that they were happy tears! Finally I pulled myself together and went off to get changed and fed. The buffet put on by the race organisers was delicious, even though I found real food a touch challenging at this point. Without any energy to look around at Húsadalur (a shame, as it is a stunning place), we boarded the race bus back to Reykjavik, exhausted and happy. 

I wore:

  • Inov8 leggings
  • Inov8 merino socks (untested before race but fantastic!)
  • Salomon S-Lab Speed trail shoes
  • Inov8 gaiters
  • Icebreaker long sleeve top
  • OMM Kamleika waterproof jacket
  • Kari Traa head buff
  • Buff
  • Combination of fingerless gloves and wool mittens (purchased in the Icelandic Hand Knitting Association shop)
  • Sweaty Betty peaked cap
  • Ultimate Direction Scott Jurek vest (men’s)
  • Cheap vest top (unbranded)
  • Sports bra (unbranded – elastic crop top style)

I ate:

  • Dried meats (biltong, Norwegian sausage)
  • Nakd energy bars
  • Kendal mint cake
  • SIS gels
  • Mule bar salted caramel gels
  • Bounty bar
  • Pretzels
  • Salt pills
  • Painkillers

I drank:

  • Water
  • Rehydration tablets
  • Flat coca cola
  • Half pint of beer (right at the end!)

Would I do it again? 

For now, I think I’m done with the Laugavegur trail for the time being. It’s been amazing to walk it twice and then run it, but I need a new challenge. 🙂

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Ditchling and the Downs

In April, I visited the recently-opened Ditchling Museum of Art and Craft. The tiny Sussex village of Ditchling was home to Eric Gill and his apprentice Joseph Gibb, where they founded the Guild of St Joseph and St Dominic. Gill gathered around him a number of talented men and women artists, who were inspired by the ethos of the late-Victorian arts and crafts movement whilst evolving a new kind of English modernism that bridged the medieval and the present day. (Gill, of course, is well known for his iconic typeface Gill sans as well as for his unorthodox sexual practices).

The exhibition is smart and high quality – less is more for this architect-led redesign that unifies a collection of farm buildings through strategic use of honest metal and wood materiality. The interpretation is, as expected, beautifully designed by graphic design heavyweight Phil Baines, with elegant wayfinding symbols (also found on the cafe’s cups and plates). Sadly, I found the writing on those panels failed to catch my attention, and often left panels half-read, even in this very small exhibition. Given that I had an existing interest in the subject matter, I suspect I just wasn’t in the mood, or that the text was dense or dull in a way that made it hard to digest whilst standing up and walking around. I’ll be interested to revisit and see how my outlook changes.

From Ditchling, you can follow a very lovely walk across the Downs to Lewes, only 5 or 6 miles away, and from there, take the train back to London. A perfect little day.

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Race recap (long overdue): Reykjavik Marathon 2016

So a little while (in August. Wow.) ago I ran my second marathon in Reykjavik, Iceland. This was to date the most enjoyable race I’ve done though I did not smash my PB of 3 hrs 49 mins achieved in Edinburgh in 2015. In the end, that didn’t matter one bit, and has helped my mindset to improve around times and races and the pressure I put on myself to finish in good time is slightly lessened as a result. This is quite a long race recap so settle in!

Pre-race organisation

I flew into Reykjavik the day before the marathon, arriving mid afternoon. I deliberately avoided the early morning cheap Easyjet flight as I knew I wanted to be well rested. Two friends and I rented an Air Bnb which meant that we could buy and cook our own food – very welcome in advance of a marathon abroad.

However I was slightly too relaxed about getting to the race Expo, located in the large sports complex a couple of miles east of the city centre. If you’re staying in the campsite or big youth hostel it’s super convenient, but for me, at the opposite end of the city, getting there required a taxi ride.

I’m not going to whine about the cost of this trip – but suffice to say, it was expensive. Iceland is normally quite a pricey place to visit and Brexit has pushed the pound right down. Things that cost £5 in 2012 now cost £7. So taking taxis was far from idea!

Race morning

2016-08-20-08-22-08We could not have had better weather! 17 degrees celsius, beautiful sunshine and absolutely no wind. This never happens in Iceland! It was almost too warm for some people. There were a stream of runners walking down to the start line which was easy to find and not very crowded. This is a small race, and so they allow the marathoners, half marathoners and 10K runners to start together, meaning the atmosphere for the first 10K is really energising.

Having my support crew of two in tow was a new experience for me and one that I loved. To have someone to laugh with at the start line was a really positive experience for me. 

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The only critique of the start was that the timing pens were not clearly marked. Pacers carried balloons with times written on them, but it was confusing for a first timer here what they referred to and I worried I was in the wrong pen / place. I should have just relaxed, as things made much more sense later.

During the race

The first 10K were incredible. So many Icelanders came out of their houses to cheer, and it was clear that many runners were personally recognised by family and friends. This made for a very happy and relaxed atmosphere – there were few clock watchers here. A series of live bands played a good range of music – traditional stuff and covers – and many people handed out cupcakes, sweets and drinks. The aid stations were well set up using cups of water rather than bottles (and the cups did make it slippy underfoot). Most stations had a mix of energy drink and water. The food offer was limited though – mostly just bananas which I don’t like – so I carried my own gels for the whole race.

Note to runners going abroad for marathons: I recommend carrying your gels for the race in your carry on plastic bag – just in case your hold luggage gets lost and you need your race fuel to be just right!

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To begin with the streets were quite crowded with runners, though nothing too difficult to navigate, but this quickly thinned out once the 10K runners peeled away. At half time, the field really thinned out as the majority went on to complete the half marathon. The rest of us turned left to finish the full 42km by heading south of the city. This was probably the prettiest part of the race. As we headed south and then west again, we were running through suburban Reykjavik, filled with interesting architecture, and lit up in splendid sunshine. We then ran south of the domestic airport, which serves flights to other parts of the country, and ran alongside the sea for ages. An arctic tern flew beside me, and the sunshine was warm on my legs and shoulders.

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I was glad to have my own hydration pack with me (I wasn’t sure if I would need it, having not used one in Edinburgh) but the combination of only cups to drink from, and a lack of water stations for the second half of the race meant that I was really relieved to have my own water supply. In fact I even had to top it up at the penultimate aid station as I’d run out. This obviously lost me some time, but hey, did I mention the arctic tern?!

Also, though the field was much slimmer and supporters were fewer, there were still fantastic people cheering us on, smiling and clapping. Favourite Iceland expressions of encouragement include:

“You are good!” (succinct and to the point)

“Keep up!” (I think this would be better as “keep it up” as it sounded a bit like they were chiding my speed!).

The other runners were also super friendly and I chatted to a number of different people around the course. Towards the end, we were right out on the grassy headlands to the west of Reykjavik – I would never have visited these without this race – and stopping briefly because of some pain in my leg, I was encouraged by a Dutch girl who told me to start again and that she would help me back. I was grateful to Aukje as she saw that I really needed a kick up the backside to get running again!

As the race came to a close, I was a little perturbed to see that roads had been reopened, even with tons of runners coming in on the 5 hour mark. This meant you had to dodge traffic a bit – hardly ideal when you’re knackered.

The final few kilometres were tough, especially as you’re running along the sea front on the north side this time, and you can see runners streaming ahead of you for a mile or two, but no finish line. However, as we approached the looming darkness of the opera house, I heard someone say it was just around the corner. My favourite song came on in my headphones and I pummelled my way to a sprint finish with a huge smile on my face.

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For the supporters

The experience for those watching the race was immeasurably better because of the good weather. The course is also set up in such a way that spectator spots are a short walk from each other but well distributed across the race. My friends were able to see me off, cheer me at 10 miles and 15 miles, and watch me cross the finish without too much hassle.

Post race

The medal and the T-shirts we were given were pretty standard – nothing too special. Post race food was below average though – a kind of hotdog was the only food on offer, which was not what I wanted at all! However, we did get a free ticket to the thermal baths in the city which was definitely put to good use at Vesterbaerlaug. I even got to spend a few minutes in the same hot tub as Björk!

The night after the marathon is Reykjavik’s culture night – a music-filled street party where everyone turns up in their traditional sweaters and drinks and watches fireworks. We found a great little bar called Vinyl who had a fantastic live DJ outside, and started dancing. We began as three, but ended as a street party of 40+ people dancing away. I seemed to have tons of energy despite the marathon and got very tipsy on one delicious Icelandic beer.

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I ran in…

  • Cheap Sportsdirect vest top (unbranded)
  • Sports bra (unbranded – elastic crop top style)
  • Sweaty Betty marathon shorts
  • Sweaty Betty technical socks (highly recommended)
  • Asics Gel Lyte 33.3 trainers (no longer made)
  • Ultimate Direction Scott Jurek vest with platypus hydration system

I ate…

  • 4x SIS gels (lemon and mint are a new favourite)
  • Cliff Bloks

I drank…

  • water

Would I do it again?

I’m heading back to Iceland for a different run next year – but I’d never say no to more street dancing in Reykjavik (look at those jazz hands)!

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Terra Nova Solar Photon 2

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What better way to enjoy the late afternoon sun than playing around with a new tent? With a backdrop of loud dubstep and birdsong, and a superb sunny sky, I spent a happy hour testing my new (and first) lightweight tent purchase.

The questions:

a) Would the tent be upstanding?
b) Could I make it so myself?
c) What do I need to improve for next time?

The answers:

a) Well, sort of. There’s no difficulty in pitching the thing. It has a single pole structure, shaped like a ‘Y’ that gives the overall impression of a whale’s hump. But even in a slight wind the sides were perplexingly bowed and wrinkled (something I will aim to overcome with better guying out).

b) Yes. This tent is super super easy to pitch. The ‘Y’ shape goes up in no time, and Terra Nova’s brainwave of creating eyelets for the pole-tips and using clips to attach the tent fabric means no awkward ‘can I get this pole through the narrow nylon channel without it popping apart and before my inner (and my self) gets completely soaked’. The outer took me a while to work out which was the best way to fix it down, but I’ll perfect this over time.

c) For sure, I need better pegs. And I need to practice!

It’s always worth trying out your tent before you go out for that 6-day overnight walk. You know, just in case the guy ropes are missing. As with many ultralight tents, the tent pegs are little more than titanium toothpicks. I am replacing them with stronger titanium v-pegs (Alpkit order already on the way).

My tent is a Terra Nova Solar Photon 2 – the lightest two-person self-supporting tent in the world! In reality I think it would be more comfortable as a ‘luxury’ 1-person tent, as I think it would be pretty cramped for two people plus gear. It weighs a mere 0.975Kg (2lb 2oz). Apparently it also takes five minutes to pitch. (Er, more like 45 minutes for this first attempt…). I purchased mine at a slight discount from eBay and when I was looking there were several secondhand and new options there that were cheaper than buying direct.

So here’s to summer and roaming the country!  Anyone got a new tent they want to try? 

 

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Walking the Făgăraș Ridge, Romania

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Snow fields that give way, damp scrambling conditions, rusty chain work, unexpected rockfalls, vast and terrifying sheepdogs, standing in the eye of a thunderstorm, and very, very long days on your feet… this is what you take on when hiking the Făgăraș Mountains, the central ridge of mountains that cut east-west across the centre of Romania, and  the highest peaks of the Southern Carpathians. Walking and climbing this ridge is the most challenging hiking I’ve ever done to date. There are so many pictures, I’ll leave the planning and events details of this trip for another post…

Some highlights from the trip:

– Virtually uninterrupted views from the top of Romania’s highest peak: Moldevanu

– The coldest night indoors I’ve ever spent, shivering inside Podragu cabana 

– Singing and talking Marxist politics to ward off impending bear attacks

– Taking on (and completing!) the chained descent of the Strunga Dracului – the Devil’s Stair (or “crack” as it’s sometimes known), despite a recent rockfall that had taken out big sections of the chain

– Scoffing pig fat and onions at the top of the Transfagarasan Highway, accompanied by a cluster of orthodox monks purchasing bells

– Stumbling on a film festival at the end of 13 hours of walking which had completely transformed the tiny village of Victoria into an outpost of Bucharest’s most creative industries. Consequently we were swept away by friendly young Romanian film makers who led us to free beds, vast plates of cheap food and a stunning outdoor pool to rest our sore limbs

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North Circular: walking the Arran Coastal Way

2014-05-23 15.07.20-1 2014-05-23 16.15.08 2014-05-23 18.07.04 2014-05-24 13.41.45 2014-05-25 18.40.02 2014-05-25 18.40.16 2014-05-25 19.06.43 2014-05-27 09.28.16 2014-05-27 09.56.49 2014-05-27 10.07.20 2014-05-27 10.07.34 2014-05-27 11.19.48-1 2014-05-27 19.25.46-1 2014-05-28 21.28.22 2014-05-30 08.11.49 2014-05-30 08.22.22-2Early one Friday, the Virgin express pulls out of Euston and takes me whizzing up to Glasgow. A swift train to Ardrossan and an easy hop-skip-jump onto the ferry to Arran makes this one of the easiest Scottish commutes I’ve ever done. The ferry is packed with young climbers, kids on their way to adventure weeks, and ageing men slung about with golf clubs. (Arran boasts 11 golf courses, of varying sizes). A mere 55 minutes later and we are pulling into Brodick in the early evening. Brodick, from Broad Vik, meaning ‘broad bay’ in Old Norse, has very little to connect it to its Viking past, but the Coop does a good line in cheap beer and we load up for the first part of our walk. Our first wild camp is on an iron age fort, uninterrupted by anything other than bird calls. Not a ripple on the sea. Dinner is rehydrated wolfish casserole and a Cobra. The view is of Holy Isle, once a place for monks, now a buddhist retreat.

The south of the island is characterised by what would generously be described as a path and in reality is more like a field of boulders. Without a 15kg pack, these would have been a joyful doddle. At least the sun kept beating down as we picked our way across, core muscles clenched and legs extended with semi-balletic grace. An Arran blonde beer greeted us at the end of nearly every day. At Blackwaterfoot, we took a breather in the Kinloch Hotel, washed some socks and enjoyed fat chaffinches and gin and tonics on the terrace. The final three days were much longer and harder, taking us clockwise to Lochranza past a glassy sea, royal caves, an ancient burial ground and pretty little almshouses. As we breasted the northern coast, a very boggy part took us past the cock of Arran (somewhat unimpressive), deserted Scottish cottages and the most perfect wild camp spot I’d ever seen. But we pushed on past it, with an idea that we might make a 20 miler back to Brodick – something we didn’t achieve. With the pub closed, my foot in pain, and no bus for an hour and a half, the penultimate day was a bit of a drag. However, the Glen Rosa campsite, about 2 miles outside Brodick, was a beautiful place to bed down one last time before heading up to Goat Fell the following morning. For this part, we left our packs back in the camp and as a result practically ran up the “mountain”. I later discovered that I had made this journey before, aged four.

In total (and we took our time) the journey lasted 6 days. Our longest day (Blackwaterfoot to Lochranza) was nearly 18 miles. Our shortest, on a particularly sultry afternoon, was 3 miles… Though we had intended to wild camp all the way round, we did slightly break our resolve with a night or two in a hotel. At this point, I’m going to mention how epic the Lochranza hotel really is. First, it was simply there, after 18 miles of slog, with a hot bath, one remaining room and a decent bed. Second, its whisky list is about four times the length of the food menu. The bar is simply covered in whisky bottles. It was impossible to photograph them all, but, well, you get an idea from the picture below.

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Scotland in June always seems to be spectacular. Few crowds, long days, bright light and sparkling sea. As we walked round the island, the only rain we had was during the night when we were tucked up in our tent – as soon as we wanted to wake up, the rain stopped! There’s little for the real wild seekers here, Arran being fairly populous and popular with day tourists and gold enthusiasts alike. However the Arran Coastal Way seemed to be unheard of among most of the locals we talked to, and the idea of walking it also struck them as odd. Which makes it a very achievable, reasonably affordable microadventure that balances comfort (in the form of readily available beer and hotels if you need ’em) with challenge (in the form of Goat Fell, boulder fields and long days on your feet).

 

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Weekend in Berlin

2014-04-26 13.56.32Berlin and I have an interesting history. Five years ago, one April, I travelled there on my own to end a relationship – a ‘schluss’, as the Germans say. At the same time, I was falling in love more deeply than ever before. Wandering the streets and feeling sad for the loss of one thing, yet hopeful for another, has cast Berlin in a bittersweet memory: the friction of anguish pushing up close to ecstasy. Now, again in April, I made the trip again hoping for a much more normal type of visit, where I could simply enjoy the city.

And it was perfect. Berlin in spring is finer by far than Paris, and on this particular weekend the sun got to 24 degrees! Also: everywhere I looked, I found something orange. (In fact I’ve been going through a bit of an orange phase – a phone cover, a Bauhaus pencil, one of those gorgeous melamine Margrethe bowls… It’s such a happy colour, don’t you think?)

We went to some markets… these pepper and salt grinders were stunning. I wanted all of them.

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Stayed in Kreuzberg, in a stunning wood-floored flat that was easily THREE times the size of my London pad.

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Went to Tempelhof, the abandoned airport built by the Nazis. The architecture is formidable, but they did have quite a nice line in gold mosaic light fittings! 2014-04-26 17.41.15The Tempelhof airfield itself is this wonderful huge park – such big skies and drifting smell of barbecues.2014-04-26 17.34.31 2014-04-26 18.05.26 2014-04-26 18.10.40 2014-04-26 18.10.54 2014-04-26 18.01.13

Saw some green things…2014-04-27 17.38.57

 

…and some orange ones!2014-04-27 16.06.29-1 2014-04-27 16.04.23-1

 

Oh. And there was cheese for brunch. YES.2014-04-27 11.05.00

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Bonfires and Billhooks: a weekend in Norfolk

“Ours was the marsh country”, writes Dickens in Great Expectations. I always think of that when I head north out of London. A few weekends back I visited friends on their beautiful farm in south Norfolk, which has a woodland attached. It was a working weekend, which meant that we had to earn our keep by chopping trees, hauling debris, digging the garden and feeding the chickens. But I did manage to sneak away on the frosted Sunday morning to take a few photographs up in the wood. As usual, we finished up with a beer in front of the bonfire.

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How to survive a long distance relationship

For two years, the Chap and I stuck out a transatlantic relationship. I was on a fellowship in America, he was heading up the growth of a charity in London. Combatting five hours time difference and hundreds of watery, whale-filled miles apart, we got pretty good at coaxing love out of little. And though it wasn’t all tiddly pom, I think in some ways the two years struggling helped answer some of those questions that always come as a new relationship begins to get serious. (And here’s to five years, and counting.)

So I present for you my tips, to keep the “lurve” alive:

Plan out when you want to see each other and stick to it. Share the cost of travel if you can. You don’t want to be arguing about money when you’re only seeing each other four times a year do you?? Talk openly about the costs, practicalities and timings involved with seeing each other.

Skype, call, text, write – communicate! Set up a time to talk that suits you both – particularly important when time zones are involved – and don’t muck this up. If you’re running late, spend that extra money on sending a text to the other side of the world because sitting around waiting for the Skype bell to chime completely sours the eventual appearance of your beloved’s head.

Do the things you would normally do together, together. Like watching a film simultaneously while you stay on the phone (One-two-three-press play. I actually know people who have made this work). Have a glass of wine and pretend you’re on a date. Eat dinner. Exercise (ok maybe not). Talk about the intimate things, even if you don’t actually want to do it on Skype.

Call out of the blue sometimes. Or send an email when you know they’ll be waking up. Surprise them.

Think of each other. Constantly. Don’t worry about ‘building up expectations’. Just throw yourself into the waiting. They may not be the perfect person, but after four months apart, you probably don’t give a damn about their flaws.

Have a blog each. This may sound weird, but seeing your loved one’s activities on a blog like tumblr can somehow stand in for them showing you things. So if images are your thing, take photographs and post them, or share pictures you like. Put up links, comment on their posts. No one need know that you’re creating something for an exclusive readership of one.

Get a decent internet connection. No excuses. Skype can be a saviour of the long distance relationship, but it has gremlins at the best of times. It’s best if the person on the screen actually resembles your girlfriend, and not a green dalek.

Send care packages. Everything can be cheap and light. They don’t have to mean anything special, but getting an unexpected parcel is better than Christmas. Especially when it smells of the right person. And contains Guardian magazines from the last two months. And pork scratchings.

Once you meet up, travel somewhere new. It can be nice to see where your other half is living day-to-day, but it might be that much more memorable if you get out of town. This way you don’t have to sound like a boring tour guide or risk bombarding your visiting partner with all your new friends and acquaintances so that he has to go hoarse explaining who he is and what he’s doing there. Because in a long distance relationship, there’s two extra elements involved – the places you both are – and it’s easy when you then turn up to feel like a third wheel in someone else’s world.

Enjoy the separation! “Longing, they say, because the heart is full of endless distances”, wrote the poet Robert Hass. Longing makes you feel more intensely about someone. It can even prolong that honeymoon feeling for much longer than you would if you’d just shacked up immediately. Use the feeling to write angsty things in your diary, pour out your emotions in a letter or a song, and then laugh (and forget) about it when you’re reunited.

So – and this is really the clincher – make sure you will be reunited. It’s a rare relationship that can survive unending separation, or separation without hope of eventual union. Maybe there’s a time limit on your travels or your study abroad, or the work placement will allow both of you to move together, eventually. But without that crucial bit of hope, the whole thing looks a lot more dire. And, although this isn’t a total condemnation of those couples who live apart for years on end, I can’t help feeling that if neither of you is prepared to change the situation in the near future, perhaps you’d be better off looking closer to home.

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A Time of Gifts… the beginning of an adventure

HOLLAND

This time next week I’ll be catching a boat to the Hook of Holland to follow the Rhine from sea to source. I will only be carrying a tent, sleeping bag, mat and a few clothes. I have booked one night’s accommodation in the city of Rotterdam (essential, unfortunately, when inner city campsites are a rarity) but that is all! I don’t know how far I will get, how much ground I will cover, or where I’ll be sleeping.

What I do know is that I’ll be stepping the footsteps of Patrick Leigh Fermor, writer, traveller and hero of the Greek resistance movement during WWII. PLF made this journey in the late 1930s, traversing across Germany during the early rise of Nazism, then down through Austria, Slovakia, Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria and Turkey to end in Constantinople (Istanbul). I can’t wait!

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