NG2NZ 7. Molten cheese

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23 December 2024, Porto, Portugal

Having departed Vigo by train rather early arrive to the blue sky and sun of Porto mid morning. Having reverted back to GMT. Check in to the Hotel Vincci Ponte Ferro (https://en.vinccipontedeferro.com/) with an amazing view of Porto’s signature bridge and the Douro river below from room. Ah yes, this will do very nicely for the next few days. Not a bad place to spend Christmas.

A cable car takes you from bridge level high up to the river level below on the Villa Gaia side of the Douro. Skimming the roof tops of the old port houses as you do. Rows and rows of long tiled roofs. Still used as storage cellars for Porto’s most famous product. Port. A drop of which I’m rather partial to. Along with some ripe Stilton. There are few finer things than sipping a port with stilton and biscuits by a roaring log fire at Christmas. Such were my teenage years in parents’ cottage. Dad used to buy a wheel of stilton and feed it port over Christmas. Ah yes. Happy memories. So used to good quality port that when a mate offered some of his Dad’s port one Christmas I knew how rough it was. It was Cockburn’s. Dreadful stuff.

So you can imagine my delight at being in the home of port. A few tastings have been booked, dear reader.

All the restaurants on this side of the river are empty. They’re in the shade this side. And all the sunbathed restaurants on the north side are busy. But that’s OK. I’ll have a quick snack. So pop into Casa Portuguesa do Pastel de Bacalhau. An ornate interior with organ. Which sells the local delicacy. Codfish cake with a cheese filling. Served with a glass of sweet white port. Presented on a board where you put your thumb through a hole to hold the glass of port in a slot and the deep fried codfish cake. Bit like an artist’s palette.

But.

What they omit to tell you is this.

When you bit into the crispy codfish cake at one end.

Hot molten cheese squirts out the other end.

FFS.

Thinking it’s only squirted onto my hand that is entangled in the wooden board. But no. A huge globule has streaked down my right trouser leg at the knee.

Oh FFS.

My hands are a greasy cheese covered mess. My jeans now have a large greasy blob of cheese drooling down the leg. Grab tissues. Trying not to make things worse. But fail miserably.

Spend rest of day walking around with a greasy patch on leg.

Cross the river by tram to Sao Bento and spend a few hours milling around the old town. Lots of architecturally stunning buildings but there’s also a lot of derelict properties. Ripe for renovation. It’s soon apparent that the ground floor of a building might be a nice shop, café or restaurant but when you look up you see that the building above is derelict. There’s a phenomenal amount of derelict buildings. And this is the centre of town too. Where you would think they would be a prime location for housing.

Today’s main event is the Sound and Light show at the Clerigos Church. Wow. What a spectacular show. You’ll have to see the photos and video below dear reader. Utterly brilliant.

And another great end to a day. With dinner in the hotel overlooking an illuminated bridge. Scallops and pork belly, wild boar fillet followed by chocolate fondant. With some nice wine. You would love it mucker!

Ah yes.

This will do nicely, dear reader.

Loving Porto.

NG2NZ 6. Sunderland Flying Boat DV967

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21 to 23-Dec-24 A Coruna, Spain, to Porto, Portugal

Another dismal day. Low cloud. Heavy rain. Flipping cold. Slightly cheered that when wanting to pay for my morning brews in hotel breakfast room waitress says, “It’s OK…it’s only coffee.” More cheer when I realise they’ve already brought car to reception from the overnight offsite parking. Saves getting wet. A Coruna known for the Tower of Hercules. Roman lighthouse built in the 1st century. And the second tallest in Spain.

But as it’s chucking it down. You can’t see much of it.

Nearing Cape Finisterre see plenty of people walking the Camino Way. That well known Pilgrimage Path. Culminating in Santiago del Compostela.

At Cape Finisterre for my own little pilgrimage. Finisterre meaning the end of the world.

On 13 June 1943, my Great Uncle, Flying Officer Leonard Lee, was the Captain of Sunderland flying boat DV967. With a crew of 10. As part of 228 Squadron Coastal Command. Attacking German U-boats.

On this particular mission they were about 300 miles north west of Cape Finisterre. The U-boat they were attacking was U-564. Which had sailed from the Bordeaux submarine base I was at a week or so ago. As they were attacking it they were themselves being attacked by the U-boat. Which succeeded in shooting them down. None survived.

They had managed to damage the U-boat but not sink it. Which was completed by a further RAF attack the following day.

He trained at Carberry, near Brandon, in Manitoba, Canada. Which is why some of the crew were Canadians. One of which was Vincent Goldstone. Who was from the Brandon area. We are still in touch with Vincent Goldstone’s niece. We’ll call her Miss Brandon. As she’s reading this blog too!

So this blog post is in memory of these brave men:

Flying Officer Bertrand Leonard Lee

Flying Officer Desmond Fairfax Hill

Pilot Officer George Lough

Flying Officer Alfred Keith McDougall RCAF

Flying Officer Robert Jasper Agur RCAF

Sergeant Vincent Murray Goldstone RCAF

Sergeant Robert Alexander Shaw RCAF

Sergeant Richard Evelyn Joseph Smith

Sergeant James Watt Fraser

Sergeant Andrew Carmichael

Sergeant Dewi Davies

Having being directed to a car park space I had already spotted at Cape Finisterre by what I think to be a car parking attendant he later approaches. Thinking he wants me to pay for a ticket. He’s not a parking attendant. It’s a ‘pilgrim’ begging for money. Who is quickly told to clear off. I’m all heart.

As you will see from the photos below…not the clearest day. And I struggle to make out the lighthouse in the mist and rain.

But clamber down the rocks beneath and look out to sea. Well look out to a bank of mist and cloud and rain. And pay my respects to those brave men. Quite a poignant moment. I’d only ever known my Great Uncle through a small black and white photograph on Great Aunt’s sideboard. Taken in Nottingham’s Market Square. Just before being deployed.

My Great Uncle died the day before his second wedding anniversary and my Great Aunt never remarried.

Lest we forget.

Continuing the pilgrimage theme overnight at Santiago de Compostela. Rain, rain, rain all the way. I’d assumed Santiago de Compostela was a small church town. Like Walsingham perhaps. But it’s actually quite large and the new town is pretty grubby. Fortunately staying at the Hotel Altair at the entrance to the old town (https://www.altairhotel.net/en). Unfortunately, it lacks any heating. It is freezing. Electric radiator has to be wheeled in to heat the room. Unfortunately, it’s a weekend and laundry service is not available. Fortunately, there’s a public laundry nearby. Unfortunately, that too is freezing cold. So spend an hour shivering with my manflu waiting for jumper and clothes to be washed and dried. The joys of being on the road. Fortunately, beat the mid afternoon rush. As my drying cycle nears the end a load of young woman enter the launderette with bags of washing. There’s now a lack of machines and dryers for the many who are now waiting. Glad I got in before that lot.

Having now got room to the status of ‘not freezing cold’ decide to switch off heater during the night. There’s no need for heat now. Manflu has taken a turn. Somewhat feverish during the night. Whole body is on fire. It feels as though I’ve been possessed. Jeez. Not a pleasant night. But hope it’s a sign the manflu is being purged.

Cold and wet Sunday in Santiago seeing the Santa run. Hundreds of runners pounding the cobbles. Impressive Cathedral. Silently does it as I pootle around the pews full of people praying. Well. Apart from my walking boots going. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. At every footstep.

Final day of driving and arrive at Vigo airport to drop hire car off. No Hertz in attendance. Only a key drop. Later receive an email with a bill for EUR800 for ‘damaged wheels’. But some months later have still not been charged. Fingers crossed.

The only reason for coming to Vigo is to catch the train to Porto and resume rail travel. It’s an early departure to Portugal. And a poxy three carriage commuter train. Economy class only. Thankfully it’s only half full so can stretch across the seats. And only just over 2hrs.

And finally.

After the rain in Spain.

Some blue sky.

And sun.

And not freezing cold.

NG2NZ 5. The rain in Spain

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16 to 20 Dec-25 San Sebastian to A Coruna, Bay of Biscay…northern coast of Spain

Manflu. Starts with a sniffle. Then a tickly throat. Followed by a chesty cough. And sniffles. It’s the cold you see. Given that I was a Scout and did D of E. I am woefully unprepared for the cold. 2C this morning in San Sebastian. It’s to be a theme for the rest of the trip.  So much so that have to go shopping for winter fleeces. But. Spain doesn’t cater for 6’5” blokes. The Germans on the other hand do. Which is why I like them so much. Have to stick to my summer clothing for the next month.

It. Is. Freezing.

And I feel dreadful. Full of manflu. No, no, it’s worse than that. It’s the virulent form of manflu. Severe.

Pick up hire car. To drive from San Sebastian to Vigo. All along the north coast of Spain. Via Bilbao. Santander. Gijon. A Coruna. Santiago de Compestela. Vigo.

Why Vigo? For the train to Porto. This section of the trip is just getting from A to B. With few points of interest enroute.

Bilbao better known for its ferry terminal now has the Guggenheim Museum. The outside architecture is much more interesting than the ‘art’ inside. Fairly dismal museum. Old town quite small but nothing of note.

Santander also better known for its ferry terminal has the Magdalena Palace, built in early 1900s. Former Royal Palace of King Alfonso XIII and Queen Victoria Eugenie, granddaughter of Queen Victoria. Parts of the estate modelled on Osborne House on the Isle of Wight.

Santander also famous for its cold loving mosquitoes. Some prat decided it would be an excellent idea to let off fireworks outside the hotel at 3am. Which wakes me up. Which means can’t then get back to sleep. Which is further exacerbated by the high pitched whine of a mosquito in my ear. At 3.30am. So have to get up to kill it. But it’s hide and seek time. And fail to find it. A few minutes later. Whining in my ear. Sod it. Lights on. Searching for a bit of black against the white walls. Ah. There you are you little sod. Splat. Blood squishes out on to the white wall.

Yay. Finally got it. Can rest easy now.

Ho ho ho.

It has a mate.

Which is still after blood. My blood. Now 4am. Lights on. Searching for the little blighter. This goes on another hour. Lights off. Whine. Lights on. Search. Fail to find. Lights off. Repeat.

Eventually fall asleep. At 6am.

Wake with a number of mosquito bites on my body. The itching of which will add to the general grumpiness caused by manflu. And a lack of sleep. You all know by now that Touring Taurean does not do mornings. Let alone after a few hours sleep. Grumpy little ogre this morning.

Whilst getting dressed. See a little dark speck on ceiling. Found you! Splat. Well. All I can say is there was a lot of blood in that little speck. Jeez. It’s quite remarkable how much there was. Quite startling that it’s my blood. Clean up operation required to make the ceiling white again.

In addition to the cold. The blue sky has given way to rain. This is chucking it down rain. Not mizzle. Or a slight spitting. This is full on get drenched.

It’s to be the theme for the next few days.

Between Santander and Gijon is Altimara. Home of a cave discovered in the 1910s which has 15,000 year old paleolithic artwork on the walls. The actual cave is off limits so they’ve built a fibreglass replica in the museum to show the extent of the art. Lunch is in the nearby historic town of Santillana del Mar. A nice spot full of old buildings and cobbled buildings.  Tapas for lunch. Again. There’s only so many croquettes I can eat on the trot though.

Comillas has been recommended by a friend to visit El Capricho. Ornate house designed by Gaudi in the 1880s for a wealthy merchant. The outside of which is more interesting than the relatively bare interior. At least it provides shelter from the rain for a while and a brief leg stretch.

In need of fuel at my overnight stay of Gijon am surprised to find a petrol pump attendant who does everything. Not had a petrol pump attendant since being in the Middle East.

Uneventful drive to A Coruna. Hadn’t realised how mountainous this region is and it’s a constant mix of tunnels and viaducts. Mountains to my left. Bay of Biscay to my right as I skim the coastline.

Drive over one particular mountain pass to discover snow ploughs in the thick mist which gives way to brighter weather as I drive above the cloud. Before dropping down again and end in A Coruna on the north west tip of Spain. The outskirts are grubby port areas but it redeems itself with a nice old town which is full of locals on a Friday night.

There’s a nice buzz here.

NG2NZ 4. Come on you Reds!

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15-Dec-24 San Sebastian, Basque Country / Spain

Take the train to Spain. 2.5hrs on the TGV to Hendaye. French border town on the Atlantic. Snow capped Pyrenees to my left. Flashes of the Atlantic on my right. Whizz by at 180mph.

Thinking to myself that it’ll be warmer in Spain. Because I have only packed summer gear. It’s always warm in Spain. Isn’t it?!

Turning right out of Hendaye TGV station to walk the 50m to the Euskotren. A couple of Basque commuter carriages that transfer you across the border at Irun and on to San Sebastian. The sort that only run every half hour and timed to coincide with the TGV timetable.

Plenty of space on boarding. So spread out. My 6’5” heavyweight frame is not designed for these poxy little commuter carriage seats. Tight fit. But it’s OK. Have plenty of legroom to stretch out. Have sat at a 4 seat bay. Two seats facing each other. For extra leg room. Bag is on floor by window seat. I. On the adjacent aisle seat. Train is only about quarter full.

Well.

It was quarter full. Until. We cross into Spain. And stop at Irun.

Load of football fans get on. And fill all the other seats with a few standing. Father and 10 year old son sit on seats facing me. Both have earrings. In that oikish way. Now a bit of squash.

Assume there has been a football match in Irun which has just finished. And they’re all going home. So won’t be too bad as they’ll all get off at subsequent stops.

Er no.

Soon becomes apparent football match is at my destination. San Sebastian. Sod it.

Next stop. More fans get on. But no more seats. So jostling in the aisle. Seat blocked by my bag is now sat in my another oik who is having to sit skew-whiff as bag is now jammed up by the window. Which means that father also has to sit skew-whiff as there’s not enough room for four legs and a bag to sit properly…there being no overhead rack to put bag on. Fortunately, young son is opposite me so there’s a few more inches of leg room in my favour.

Next stop. More fans get on. But no more space. But that doesn’t matter. We’ll just push a bit more to squeeze in the train.

A woman stands cramped near our seats.

Being the perfect gentleman. Stand up and offer her my seat. Not able to speak Basque. Or Spanish. Motion in silence that she should sit in my seat. Which she gratefully accepts.

Retrieve my bag to create more space in the seating area so I can then stand in aisle with bag.

But then. Father picks up son and places him on his lap. To vacate seat for me.

So. There we are. Five of us all crammed in to a four seat bay. Not enough leg room. All being jostled by those standing in aisle. Now I have to sit skew-whiff. To avoid touching woman. Arm rest means I have to sit with knees facing into the seating. Along with other knees and legs. Father is a big bloke. I’m a big bloke. We’re up close and personal. Skin to skin. Arm rest biting into my thigh.

We are all contorted, dear reader. Not speaking to each other. We’re all strangers.

It’s dire. Never ever been that cramped on a train before. Miss Nottingham and younger sister, we’ll call her Bloss, will no doubt be scoffing that I haven’t been on a German train to the Baltic in peak holiday season!

Twenty minutes of this. It’s so full that no one can get on at subsequent stops. Noisy football banter pervades the carriage.

Penultimate stop is clearly for the football stadium. Everyone disgorges from the carriage. Father says goodbye in Basque and shakes my hand. To which I reply, “I’m British.” To which woman retorts with, “I’m British as well!” And then buzzes off.

No taxis at San Sebastian main station. So a 10 minute walk to Hotel de Londres y de Inglaterra (https://hlondres.com/en/). The grand old dame of San Sebastian. Right on the promenade. With magnificent views of the bay from room.

Any thoughts of Spain being warmer are quickly dispelled. It’s cold. Very cold.

Tapas time. At Sirimiri tapas bar. It’s cold, dear reader. So you would think they would close the flipping doors. Wouldn’t you. But. No.

One of the nicest pints of beer from the local brewery washes down an excellent selection of pinxtos (pinchos/tapas in Spanish…we’re in Basque country now). Filet steak. Fresh anchovies. Tuna. Croquettes. Ceviche. All delicious.

There’s a nice vibe here, dear reader. San Sebastian knows how to do beer and pinxtos.

NG2NZ 3. U-564

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14 & 15-Dec-24 Bordeaux, France

Unbelievably cold. Bit of a windchill, dear reader. You will be hearing a lot about the cold for the next few weeks, dear reader.

Morning brew is taken with a canelé. Bordeaux’s petite patisserie speciality. A small pastry with rum and vanilla and a caramelised outer. Bit moreish, dear reader.

There’s a nice feel to Bordeaux. Would be even better if it was warmer. Architecture is good but there’s a limit to walking about in freezing temperatures so a visit to the Cite du Vin. The museum of wine. For which Bordeaux is famous. All you need to know about wine is here.

Bordeaux as a wine region dates back to Roman times. But it was those pesky British who really put Bordeaux on the map when they developed a thirst after Henry Plantagenet’s (later King Henry II) marriage to Eleanor of Aquitaine in 1152 and trade routes from the Gironde to England opened up. Aquitaine at that time was ruled by the British for over 300 years. Wines are classified into six main families of different colours and styles: red, white, rose, sparkling, sweet and fortified. You’ll be hearing more about fortified wines, dear reader, when we hit Porto!

Cracking views from the top floor Belvedere offering 360 degree views across the city and countryside. Ideal for that all important glass of wine at the end of the tour. Not a bad life eh?

Nearby is the former Nazi submarine base. One of five built along the Atlantic coast in 1941. And from where U-564 sailed from in June 1943. You’re probably wondering why I know so much about a German U-boat.

Well.

It shot down my Great Uncle and his crew.

But more of that to come, dear reader. When we visit Cape Finisterre.

The submarine base now houses an art installation with fantastic projections (see videos below) on the inside of the base. Apparently the world’s largest digital arts centre. And a very immersive experience. One projection is of a submarine entering the base. It’s so real that I have to think if it really is an actual life size model of a sub. The art of Van Gogh, Vermeer and Mondrian is brought to life and the water in the submarine docks provides brilliant reflections.

Well worth a visit.

NG2NZ 2. Your passport isn’t working

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13-Dec-24 Bordeaux, France

Taxi from ROSL club to St Pancras takes 15mins. Rather than the 50mins yesterday. Marvellous. Eurostar to Paris. Alarmed by the hour/two hour long queues for Eurostar on previous trips have gone all in for Business Premier. Dedicated check in, security, passport control. Oh. And a nice calm lounge to lounge in whilst waiting. With free food and drink.

Bags X-rayed. Passport checked by UK. Easy peasy. Present self to French passport control. African French woman with attitude. You know the sort. Huffing and puffing. Clearly not enjoying her tedious life. Takes passport. Scans it. On her little scanner thingy. Huff. Not scanning. Cleans the glass. Cleans passport ID page. More huff. Passport does not scan. After eight times on her scanner she tries her colleague’s scanner. Nope.

Problem? I ask.

Your passport isn’t working.

Gulp.

Oh ‘eck.

That’s all I need.

It’s over before it starts.

Ten minutes of standing there like a lemon. It’s tried again. And again.

Followed, eventually, by some tapping on her keyboard.

Data entry. Manually.

And then.

Her hand moves to the stamp.

And then.

Clunk.

Passport has that all important entry stamp to the EU Schengen Area.

Phew.

That all important first, second and third brew in lounge with a fresh croissant soon sets the mood for a bit of joie de vivre.

France here we come.

Eurostar whizzes through the Kent countryside and soon travelling through the tunnel for 30mins to emerge into the French countryside.

More champagne sir?

Oh go on then.

And relax.

All rather pleasant travelling at high speed with champagne, an excellent lunch washed down with a glass (or two) of red.

Arrive Gare du Nord. Taxi to Gare Montparnasse. Assuming that there could be delays had booked the 1604hrs TGV to Bordeaux. But. As on time. I can change my booking to the 1504hrs train. Using the SNCF train app.

But.

I need the booking ref of the original ticket. Sod’s Law but I can’t get this from the app as the ticket has disappeared for some inexplicable reason.

But.

Not a problem.

Being the sort of well seasoned traveller who is experienced enough to know that it’s always worth carrying a paper copy of tickets. Just in case phone/wifi signal goes down. As it always does when you need it most.

I have a paper copy in my bag.

But.

Gare Montparnasse is rammed full of people.

With nowhere really to open a bag. In private.

Finally find a semi clean spot to set down bag on seat. Away from the oiks. And the unwashed. Away from potential threats. You know what I mean.

Ticket retrieved. App updated. Booking changed to 1504hrs. Easy peasy.

Having spent many years living in Germany it is a delight to board a train there. All platforms are open access. There’s no mucking about queuing at barriers. Just turn up and wait on platform.

France isn’t like that.

No. There’s a ticket barrier. For about a thousand people to get through in a short space of time. And an X-ray scanner. To cram on to a narrow dark platform. Jostling for position.

Horrendous. Most uncivilised.

Finally settle into the top deck of the TGV and soon whizzing through France at 180mph.

To Bordeaux. About 360 miles away. In 2hrs 10mins.

Arriving Bordeaux greeted by armed soldiers on the platform. On patrol. Welcome to France. This won’t be the last time I see I see armed patrols on the streets. But you’ll have to wait for that blog.

Check in to Hotel Burdigala (https://www.burdigala.com/en/) for a few nights. They recommend Restaurant Influences up the road for dinner. The sort of place where they say ‘Trust us…we’ll feed you…but we’ll surprise you.’ No menu. Get what you given. Oh yes. My sort of place. Five courses later…butternut squash risotto and green bean amuse bouche, onion and comte cheese with honey and onion sauce, Brittany scallops with caviar and white chocolate sauce, squid stuffed with haddock and pak choi leaf with a lettuce sauce, wild boar and beetroot with a coffee wafer. Followed by a selection of cheeses: blue cheese, beer soaked cheese, herb crusted cheese; and a chocolate mousse and sorbet. With obligatory wines.

So you can perhaps imagine how relaxed I am after a long day of travel.  You can perhaps imagine how much I am looking forward to getting into bed for a good night’s sleep. After a nice hot shower.

Yeah.

Having just literally got out of shower. I’m in that fleeting moment of stark whatsit. The nanosecond before putting towel around me. You can perhaps imagine the ‘Oh FFS’ moment when the sodding fire alarm goes off just before midnight.

Yeah.

Great.

What is it with me and hotel fire alarms. I’m not kidding. It’s nearly every flipping trip.

So.

Decisions have to be made.

Do I.

A. Rush to get out. To avoid being burnt alive.

B. Consider it a false alarm. Finish drying myself. Get into PJs. Go to bed.

Well.

I started with B.

But.

False alarms tend to switch off after a minute. Two at most.

Five minutes later. Decide A might be the better option as it’s clearly not a false alarm.

So. Put jeans and jumper on over PJs. Gather belongings. And walk down three flights of stairs with bag in tow.

To emerge from the fire escape in the hotel bar.

To discover people sitting there nonchalantly. Still drinking. All relaxed. And chilled.

Hmmm.

Walk over to reception.

To be told it’s a false alarm…

NG2NZ 1. Oh yes they do

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NG2NZ 1. Oh yes it is

12-Dec-24 London, UK

Well hello again. How are you, dear reader? It’s been a few months at home but now on the road again. For 27 days this sector. Quite apt that my overland trip from Nottingham starts with the Robin Hood panto at the London Palladium. Panto at 1430hrs. Lunch is booked for 1215hrs. To meet Miss Lymington. Train scheduled to arrive Kings Cross 1138hrs. A leisurely 15-20mins taxi from station to club to dump bags followed by leisurely stroll down St James’s Street to Chutney Mary. Or. So. I. Thought.

Train does indeed arrive near Kings Cross at about 1140hrs…but not AT Kings Cross. No. We’re in one of the tunnels. Stuck in the scary darkness of Victorian England. Waiting for a platform to become free. Train actually arrives 10-15mins late. No problem. Will make that up in the taxi. Ho ho ho. Unbelievable queue at the taxi rank. So not actually in taxi until about 1205hrs. Hmmm. Ring Chutneys to bump table to 1230hrs. It’s usually a 15min taxi ride. But not today. Utter gridlock in the capital. Miss Lymington has now announced herself at the restaurant to ensure table is not released.

At Old Bond Street. Sat in traffic. Taxi driver suggests it would be quicker for me to get out and walk the final 400m to Chutneys. Agree. Out I get. As you should know by now. TT travels light. A simple flight case. Striding down St James’s Street. Quite a sight. Taken 50mins to do three miles.

As per last year Julian Clary is hilarious. Though quite a sight to see Nigel Havers in a Superman costume hanging in mid air from the roof of the Palladium.

A good start to the trip…

Oh yes it is!

Nottingham to New Zealand (NG2NZ) overland – an introduction

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Well hello dear reader…how are you? It’s been seven months since I last posted from the wilds of the Canadian Arctic and the North West Passage.

I wasn’t going to blog again but circumstances have changed my mind.

So…this blog will be an ad-hoc blog wrapping up a few days at a time rather than the usual daily blog…which takes up so much time.

Unlike other long trips on this website, I will be travelling overland a few weeks at a time then returning home for a while then going back to start the next sector and so on until I eventually arrive in New Zealand in a couple of years.

Over Christmas I travelled around the Iberian Peninsula (Sector 1) and in February travelled the next part to Vienna and Montenegro (Sector 2). I am now about to start the Eastern Europe sector from Vienna to Istanbul by train (Sector 3).

From there, I’ll travel from Istanbul to Baku in a few months time (Sector 4). Then it will be through the Stans, down to India, Himalayan kingdoms, before travelling through Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, Thailand and down through Malaysia to Singapore.

Crossing the Straits of Malacca to travel through Indonesia and then on to Darwin for the Ghan train through Australia to Adelaide, and the India Pacific train between Perth and Sydney. A brief foray to Tasmania before reaching the final destination…New Zealand.

Might do Pacific Islands back to USA and make it an around the world trip…again.

If you do not want these random mutterings simply unsubscribe from the blog post emails, not a problem.

And remember, life is too short…so go out there and…

Explore…

Dream…

Discover

I hope you enjoy travelling with me.

NWP 43. And finally…

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21-Oct-24 Nottinghamshire, UK

It’s been nearly four weeks since returning home from an epic and amazing trip. Not had time to fully unpack yet due to various commitments since landing. Such is life back in reality.

So.

You will be very pleased to hear, dear reader, that this is the final blog post of the North West Passage expedition.

Sincerely hope that you have enjoyed the vicarious travel and learnt something new. As I have.

It is a right pain writing blog and sorting photos for each blog post as it can take a few hours each day. But I then receive a nice comment from people I never knew would be interested in reading it so that’s made it all worthwhile. I hope it has given you an insight into the people, places and things I saw enroute.

Thank you for reading.

The two months travelling and sailing through the North West Passage have been amazing. I have seen and done things only a few thousand people will ever experience. I know I am lucky in life. And will keep living life.

Seeing polar bears for the first time. Sailing through the sea ice at midnight with searchlights. Visiting the Franklin Expedition camp and graves on Beechey Island. And. Of course. Seeing the aurora borealis for the very first time in the middle of the Labrador Sea. Are amongst my most memorable experiences.

You can watch the video of the trip below which was produced by the professional photographer and videograpaher onboard. It’s 20 mins and well worth a watch. See how many times you can see Touring Taurean in it! I count four!

The Arctic is completely different to Antarctica. And not what I expected. I would definitely go back to Antarctica. But feel like I’ve done the Arctic. Not as much scenery and less icy. More dry and brown tundra. And you forget how wide the channels are in the Arctic. Not like Antarctica where you find yourself sailing through magnificent snow capped scenery.

I sincerely hope that this blog has inspired someone to travel. I was inspired by the older girl across the road. As a teen, I was mesmerised by photos of her travels. Very sadly, she died a few years ago in her mid-50s.

Just before I left, my mentor whilst training as a QS and former boss sadly died. He was 65. And during this trip someone I know was given two weeks to live. He very sadly died at 60.

So live life whilst you can, dear reader.

Get out there and see the world.

Enjoy life whilst you can.

And finally…I’ll leave you with a couple of quotes which I’m rather taken by…

‘What you do not see, do not hear, do not experience, you will never really know.’ – Anders Apassingok – Lore of St Lawrence Island: Echoes of our Eskimo Elders

‘The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.’ – Jack London

So that’s that, dear reader. Though please do remember these three words.

Explore.

Dream.

Discover.

THE END.

NWP 42. We might have some breakfast

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26-Sept-24 Nottinghamshire, UK

As you all know by now, dear reader, there’s only one 5 o’clock in my day. So you will feel my pain when the first of about a dozen alarms goes off at this ungodly hour.

No idea why people get up at 5am to start their day. Nothing happens at 5am does it. No. All the interesting stuff happens at night.

Drag myself out of bed. Takes some doing.

Having done a recce of the walking route on Tuesday afternoon between hotel and along the skywalk to terminal I know it’s a 10 minute walk.

But.

Having checked out see the hotel shuttle bus arrive at the front door.

Hmmm.

Might as well do that than up and down escalators, lifts and walk long gangways.

Big mistake.

Huge.

Lots of people with lots of big bags.

Being the gentleman that I am…allow all the woman with big bags to board first. And take a seat. Then let the old blokes get on. I being the last to arrive at the unofficial queue for bus feel obliged.

It’s a tight squeeze, dear reader. And have to stand by driver so we can all fit in.

Not the smoothest of drivers I have to say. So cling on.

Need Terminal E. Just behind hotel. And the nearest to hotel.

But. Terminals A, B, C and D come first.

Each time having to get off bus with my bag to allow all those with big bags to get off.

What a faff. Why on earth do people travel with so much sodding luggage?

Finally. Arrive Terminal E. Would have been quicker to walk, dear reader.

Fortunately have Fast Track security access. What they actually mean is Fast Track to the front of the queue for the queue for security. Rather than a dedicated x-ray machine. Takes a bit of time having to practically strip naked to go through. Everything off.

Check in to the BA lounge. Combined affair for Business and First passengers. Given a ticket to sit in a cordoned off area of the ‘restaurant’ area reserved for First.

Greeted by woman 1 who takes ticket. Sits me down and goes to get the brew I order. Nip to the loo to wash hands.

And return to my seat.

To be greeted by woman 2. Who asks for my ticket to the First area. Can’t as given it woman 1. Woman 1 brings brew. Woman 2 then returns to take breakfast order. Knowing there’ll be a delicious Full English onboard in about an hour or so opt for a croissant and jam. Just a little something to soak up the impending glass of champagne in about twenty minutes once boarded.

Need sugar for brew. Woman 2 trots off to get.

Then realise no spoon in the napkin roll of cutlery.

Woman 2 brings sugar. Then trots off to get spoon.

Dear God.

I meant a small teaspoon. Obviously.

Am given a desert spoon which barely fits in small cup.

Enjoy first brew. Way too early. Still the middle of the night in my book.

Ask for another brew. Woman 2 takes cup and saucer away.

Brings fresh brew.

But no spoon.

Off she trots to get spoon.

Spoon arrives.

Then realise the sugar has run out.

Call her over. Again.

Off she trots to get sugar.

What a faff. To-ing and fro-ing.

Board on time.

Would Sir like a glass of champagne?

It’s not even 0700hrs yet.

But go on then. Twist my arm if you must.

Rather nice way to start the day though, dear reader.

Menu handed out. Ah yes, will have the smoked salmon to start with. Followed by the Full English.

Laugh to myself at the thought of Miss Nottingham’s little sis, Bloss, flying BA First when they had forgotten to load the breakfast trolley. A complaint was emailed there and then on the aircraft!

Oh yes. How I laughed.

Until.

Ask for the smoked salmon.

Air steward, more camp than a Scout Jamboree, informs me that they’re lacking in the breakfast department. Not enough food has been loaded. “We might have some breakfast.” Says he.

“I’ll do my best to have a fish around for salmon. Might be some in Business.” He says.

Have you got Full English then?

“I’ll check!”

What a palaver.

Well, dear reader. Smoked salmon is found. Delicious with yet another glass of champagne.

And then. The Full English.

Well, dear reader. It’s dreadful.

Toast is like trying to eat a slab of Ryvita.

Something purporting to be hash brown is of a dubious grey substance. Stodgy and gloopy.

Bacon is streaky bacon. But more streaky than bacon.

Sausage is luke warm.

Egg is that reconstituted powder stuff.

Yuk.

No aircraft can do breakfast well for some reason.

Not the best meal I’ve ever had British Airways!

Having drunk two large glasses of champagne in an hour or so. Need the loo.

Return to seat to discover yet another large glass of champagne has been poured. Oh ‘eck.

Oh well.

Live life whilst you can.

Watch a film sipping champagne.

Then lunch.

Marinated scallop with black garlic. Delicious!

Seared prawns with grits and smoked ragout. Delicious!

Followed by what was advertised (and requested) as passion fruit mousse. But turned out to be blackcurrant cheesecake.

Washed down with a very nice glass of Diatom Chardonnay.

BA has redeemed itself. This is the life.

It’s only after lunch that I remember to look at the flight map. Expecting to be somewhere mid Atlantic and a couple of hours to go for an afternoon nap.

So.

You will imagine my surprise to discover we’re flying over the Irish Sea. And about to land shortly.

Flipping ‘eck.

That went quickly!

Heathrow here we come.

In years gone by it used to be Heathrow Hell.

Now it’s Heathrow Heaven.

Passport e-gates take seconds.

And soon on Heathrow Express.

Followed by taxi from Paddington to Kings Cross.

There’s a train at 2033hrs. With a fair wind, good traffic flow and a bit of luck…can just about make it. If cabby cracks on.

He does.

And arrive Kings Cross 2027hrs.

Not one for running. It’s a brisk stride. Don’t have a ticket yet so can’t go through the main concourse barriers which require said ticket to open. But know a little trick, dear reader. The barriers up by the First Class lounge on the first floor leading to the access bridge over the platforms are always open. 99% of the time.

And tonight is no exception.

Now 2031hrs.

Two minutes to go. It’s so close to departure time that the train has been removed from departure board. So don’t know platform number.

Sod it.

Striding along the access bridge over the platforms peering down trying to see a train with: a) people on it, and b) a sign saying this is the one you want.

Ah. There it is! Platform 4.

Game on.

I can do this.

Escalator down to platform.

And then.

Half way down.

Train eases out of the station.

Sod it.

Back to First Class Lounge. Buy ticket on app to gain access to lounge.

And wait half an hour for the next one.

So it’s near 2230hrs by the time jump off the other end. To be greeted by taxi driver. Who is from Afghanistan.

In need of some provisions now as will be too late to shop once home. Stop at a local garage near station as it has a Londis shop. Afghan waits whilst I nip in.

Except I can’t.

Doors are locked. On account it’s late.

Cashier will only serve me through his little window. English is not his first language either.

Oh for God’s sake.

Just let me in so I can quickly get exactly what I want.

Nope. Security and all that.

So.

There I am.

Like some dystopian version of Supermarket Sweep.

Shouting through security window to someone who doesn’t fully understand English what I want.

Who then goes off and gets something completely different.

FFS.

Muppet.

But we get there. Milk. Bread. Cheese. Butter. Beer (of which I am very much in need of now). Red wine (of which I am also very much in need of now after this palaver). Chocolate. Snacks.

Something to keep me going through the night.

And then.

Arrive home.

It’s a dark, stormy, wet night.

The heating hasn’t been on whilst I’ve been away.

It’s a cold, dark house. Arctic was warmer!

Welcome home.

It’s good to be back.

Not.