Dear reader,
As you are all probably in lockdown somewhere in the world, I thought you might like a little diversion from this coronavirus nonsense.
The YouTube video below is a 40 minute presentation on my Antarctica trip. Make sure you start at the beginning as it may start halfway through.
Best viewed on a large screen or broadcast to your TV.
I’m sure you’ll all agree that I’m no David Attenborough and apologies for the voiceover.
Enjoy.
Stay healthy.
Touring Taurean
Tuesday, 16 July 2019
Nottinghamshire, UK
Dear reader,
Miss Stockholm rang last week to give me a kick in publishing this, the final blog post.
What was that I hear you say? Boo. Was it?
I know.
No more blog.
For now.
Might update over the next few months with tales of woe from my Around the World in 60 Days trip I did in 2010, and possibly North Korea 2017.
Sincerely hope that you have enjoyed joining me on this trip. It’s been quite an adventure hasn’t it.
Writing diary and publishing blog and sorting photos for each day has been a pain at times but then I’ve received some really nice comments from people I never knew were reading it and it’s made it all worthwhile persevering with it.
The past six months have been, quite simply, awesome. The best thing I’ve ever done. When I first planned this, I anticipated a three to four month trip. Such was the enjoyment, it didn’t take much mental gymnastics to work out how to extend it.
I have been, and am, incredibly lucky. Everything has gone according to plan, with the exception of the Alaska ferry cancellation. But every cloud has a silver lining and I discovered cruising.
Have travelled 33,000 miles from Antarctica to Alaska, through 18 countries in 188 days.
You have read, dear reader, 135,000 words of blog, and the website has, unbelievably, had over 16,000 page views for 188 blog posts (excluding this one), so thank you for reading.
Having posted only a fraction of the 17,500 photos and videos taken over the past six months, I sincerely hope it gave you an insight into the people, places and things I saw enroute.
For me, the best experience, without question, was Antarctica, and should you ever have the opportunity, I highly recommend it for its remoteness, silence and natural beauty. Along the way I also enjoyed very much: Argentina, Bolivian Salt Flats, Columbia, El Salvador, Hornby Island and Alaska. Sailing in Antarctica and driving through remote landscapes such as southern Patagonia and northern Alaska makes you realise how small we are on this planet.
Having enjoyed the total silence of Antarctica, the thing I have noticed is how noisy this planet is. Everywhere you go is noise in some form. Traffic, people, sodding background music everywhere, telephones and the like.
Enjoy silence whenever you can.
The one thing that has struck me is how unfailingly friendly everyone has been that I’ve met enroute. The world is generally a kind place. The kindness of strangers I’ve experienced is enough to restore your faith in humanity. I recall the small towns I stayed at in El Salvador. Walking back late at night from dinner through the streets and everyone acknowledging you and saying ‘Good evening’ (in Spanish obviously). I don’t recall any occasion on my travels when I’ve felt threatened. Although at 6’5” in height, with substantial mass, it’s rare.
In my final week of the trip, whilst in Seattle, a client emailed with the fateful words…’Can you start next week and then fly to Qatar for two weeks?’ So. Back to work 3 days after being back in the UK. Fortunately, the Qatar trip has been postponed so currently enjoying some time at home. I thought it would be a real struggle to step back into reality but, rather surprisingly, it’s been a breeze. Sadly, now, it doesn’t feel like I’ve been away for six months and it’s as though I saw friends only last week. The true sign of friendship, I guess.
I sincerely hope that this blog has inspired at least 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.
So, dear reader, get out there, see the world and enjoy life.
Whilst you can.
What’s next, I hear you ask.
Well.
Planning overland to Australia and New Zealand through Europe, the Stans, Himalayas and Asia before returning via Pacific Islands, USA and Canada. Probably in a couple of years, depending on this thing called ‘work’. Which obviously pays for all these jollies.
And finally…I’ll leave you with a few quotes that I thought rather summed up travelling:
‘The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page’ – Saint Augustine
‘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
So that’s that, dear reader. Though please do remember these three words.
Explore.
Dream.
Discover.
THE END.
Friday, 28 June 2019
Nottinghamshire, UK
I’d like to say I had a good night’s sleep.
But no.
What with a twitching left leg. My neighbour repeatedly breaking wind. What you would call in the school playground an ‘SBD’. Silent. But. Deadly. And being quite a hot cabin. Sleep is not forthcoming.
Actually land at 0430hrs body clock time. 1230hrs UK time. Probably an hour’s light sleep at most. Wake (and I use the term loosely) about 40 minutes from landing. Over Manchester. The UK looks hot.
Fly over Windsor Castle on final approach. Looks magnificent.
Ah yes.
This is England.
Land on time. Given my grumpy ogre state, you can imagine how much I’m looking forward to Heathrow Hell.
Last time I flew into Heathrow, took one hour to get into my own country. Such were the long queues at passport control. Don’t even get me started about border control officers.
When I’m dictator.
Disembark aircraft. Psyching myself up for another sodding hour of queuing.
Well, dear reader, you can imagine my absolute delight when it takes, literally, one minute to go through passport control.
The reason.
E-gates.
Lots of them.
Welcome to the future.
Scan passport.
Look at camera.
Open sesame.
Welcome to the UK.
15 whole minutes from stepping off aircraft and stepping onto the Heathrow Express to London.
A record.
Previous record was twenty minutes from stepping off aircraft and in a taxi at Newark Airport in New York. I know. Surprising isn’t it.
Bliss.
This isn’t Heathrow Hell.
No.
This is Heathrow Heaven.
Further fifteen minutes into Paddington. Short walk to taxi. Jump in waiting taxi.
Glorious blue sky day. London looks fantastic.
Taxi makes it to Kings Cross in time for a 1406hrs train to Newark.
Train is the brand new Azuma. 21st century carriages rather than the usual 1970s rolling stock I’ve suffered in the past.
English countryside looks awesome.
A very green and pleasant land.
Taxi waiting at Newark.
Straight home.
Everything has gone super smoothly. Swimmingly. In fact. Most unusual.
When I normally land in the UK after a great trip, it’s usually cold, wet and generally dreadful. And I get exceedingly grumpy.
But not this time.
England is looking good. Travel and transportation are on the up. Weather is stunning.
Who needs Europe.
Meet my house sitter. Early 50s but as she’s very young looking keep telling her she looks like an 18 year old.
From behind.
It’s a running joke we have. One that’s been going nearly twenty years.
Only four things I have to do now.
Much needed shower, Chinese take away, beer and an evening watching Glastonbury.
Great end to a long day.
Not the final blog post though…
Thursday, 27 June 2019
Seattle, Washington, USA
Well, dear reader, this is it. The final day in the United States of America. After three months in North America.
Whilst requesting a late check out, which is not forthcoming, nonchalantly mention that they didn’t clean room until late afternoon yesterday, using it as a basis of argument for having a late checkout. Without even thinking, reception discount the room rate by $50. What?! What is it with this country giving freebies and discounts. Shall miss it. Can you imagine that happening in the UK?
Final bit of tourism by visiting the interesting Klondike Museum, in the nearby Pioneer Square.
Native Americans settled in the area thousands of years ago and it was only in the 1850s that the Europeans came along and built up the settlement, naming it ‘Seattle’ after local Native American tribal Chief Se’ahlt.
You see, dear reader, you’re still learning on this blog right to the very end.
No need to thank me.
Following a period of logging as the main industry, Seattle was built on the Klondike Gold Rush in the mid 1890s. In 1897, the steamship ‘Portland’ arrived from Alaska laden with miners and two tons of gold. Spotting an opportunity, the Seattle Chamber of Commerce aggressively marketed Seattle as the only place to outfit for the Klondike gold fields and as a departure port to Alaska. Helped by the Canadian authorities stating that all miners should take a year’s supply of provisions with them, Seattle rapidly became the main transport and supply point for the Klondike.
Sad to pack up and leave for the airport. Half hour journey on the light rail for only $3.
One word.
Bargain.
Very fortunately, travelling BA First Class, so security is a quick whizz through rather than the long queues. Surprisingly, there’s no rummaging through rucksack. Small stone Colombian statue has caused consternation at every other airport. Through in a breeze and settle down in the BA First Class lounge. A basic room with comfy seating. Not like the Concorde Lounge at all.
Board on time.
Turn left.
As usual.
Directed by a very effeminate air steward.
There’s more camp than a Scout Jamboree.
There’s a lot of mincing.
Settle into my First Class seat.
Ah yes.
Glass of champagne, Sir?
Oh yes.
It’s a knackered old Boeing 747 Jumbo Jet with ageing First Class suites.
Worn is a suitable word.
This is not Lufthansa First Class on the Airbus A380.
No.
This is just a little bit cramped.
And slightly disappointing.
Flight routing is over northern Canada and Greenland. 24hr daylight.
G&T sir?
Go on then.
Enjoyable fillet steak.
And a very nice glass of red wine.
Watch the inflight film, ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’. The Queen/Freddie Mercury biopic. Finishes with the Live Aid concert. 13 July 1985. Remember it well. And I bet you, dear reader, do too. Remember what you were doing?
Remember the Queen set very well. Freddie Mercury electrified Wembley Stadium. Those were the days.
Single malt whisky, Sir?
Go on then.
Cripes.
It’s a very large one.
That will make me go to sleep.
But it doesn’t.
My left leg is hurting. Have a problem with my knee and ankle. Could quite happily chop it off right now, such is the throbbing pain.
Right leg no problem. Can hardly tell I’m wearing it. So to speak.
Left leg is in pain.
Like the hokey—cokey, it’s a case of put left leg up. Right leg down. Left leg down. Right leg up.
In. Out. Shake it all about.
Trying to get comfortable.
But it’s impossible.
Then, for the first time, left leg starts involuntarily twitching. The sort of twitching that makes you kick the person’s suite in front. God knows what he thinks.
Now starting to panic that this is deep vein thrombosis. Having read all the horror stories, imagining a small blood clot working its way up my leg to my heart.
Oh. My. God.
This is it.
Am going to die at 37,000ft.
Oh well.
At least I’ve had a brilliant six months.
Might as well go out on a high.
Wednesday, 26 June 2019
Seattle, Washington, USA
Unbelievably my watch has stopped. Regular readers will remember the rigmarole of buying a new battery only a few months ago in Panama City. Cannot believe that it needs a new battery already. Suspect I’ve been sold a dud.
Harumph.
Anticipating a similar escapade, go off in search of a new battery. Am relieved of $20 by a geeky young man in a kiosk in Macy’s department store. He’s rigged up a mirror so he can see customers from behind his screen. I move said mirror so I can see him behind the screen. To make sure he puts a brand new battery in. Upon paying, he sees that the mirror has moved. He’s very precise with moving it back. It’s probably what he does all day. Look at a mirror.
Monorail to the Space Needle but as I’ve already been up on this trip, forego the expense and instead make use of my Student Union card again and visit the Museum of Pop Culture. Temporary exhibition on horror, sci-fi and fantasy films. Interesting to see the original lion costume from the Wizard of Oz film. Bet you didn’t know that the costume is made with real lion skins?
Museum of Pop isn’t as good as anticipated and only really concentrates on a few key bands originating from Seattle. Pearl Jam. Jimi Hendrix. Nirvana. Plus one on Prince (albeit he’s not from Seattle). The Nirvana exhibition is the most interesting though and charts the band’s formation, introduction of Dave Grohl and subsequent first album, Nevermind. With the iconic single: Smells Like Teen Spirit.
The best exhibit is the ‘air guitar’. An empty guitar stand with the words ‘Do not touch’. A curator with a sense of humour.
And then there’s the abundance of cassette tapes on display.
Ah yes, the good old days.
Readers of a certain age will well remember sitting at their tape recorder getting ready to press ‘REC’ whilst listening to the Top 40.
Well, dear reader, as you will see from the final photo below. Tonight’s sunset was rather spectacular over Puget Sound.
Sad to say. But this is the final sunset of the Antarctica to Alaska trip.
Tuesday, 25 June 2019
Seattle, Washington, USA
Two means of transport to the Museum of Flight, a few miles away.
Taxi or bus.
$40 or $2.75.
Bus it is.
Oh. Dear. God.
What.
A.
Mistake.
It’s as though there’s been explosions at the psycho unit, the homicidal maniac prison, the local drug den and Lidl. They’re all on this bus.
Can assure you, dear reader, this passenger stood out like a sore thumb. Never, ever, have I been on a bus with such deranged people.
Not even travelling into Mansfield.
They are all weird. No other word for it.
After ten minutes, a bizarre thing happens. They all get off the bus at a particular bus stop. Intrigued, do a search on Google Maps as to why they all might be alighting.
Ah. I see.
There’s a treatment centre across the road. That explains it.
Bonkers woman boards the bus and plonks her hefty frame next to me. She’s stroking the canvas bag around her shoulder. Then the bag goes ‘miaow’. She explains to another zombie across the aisle, because I’m clearly too normal to talk to, that she has a seven week old kitten in her bag, which is fully zipped up. She says she’s training the kitten to like being in the bag. Was that a raised eyebrow, dear reader? Was it?!
Told you. Bonkers. There are lots of bonkers and weird people in Seattle.
Finally, alight unscathed. Not been stabbed. Or shot. Or injected.
Museum of Flight has quite a collection of aircraft. But. The main point of interest is the Apollo 11 exhibition.
It being 50 years since man landed on the moon for the first time.
It’s a captivating exhibition and details the history of the Mercury, Gemini and then the Apollo missions.
All started with JFK’s famous speech, “We choose to go to the moon…’
The highlight though is Columbia. The Apollo 11 Command Module that remained in lunar orbit with Michael Collins on board, whilst Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin landed on the moon in the Lunar Module, Eagle.
Once completing their time on the moon, the lunar ascent module detached from the lunar lander and docked with Columbia. From which, the three astronauts returned to earth in a splash down in the Pacific Ocean.
Staggering to think that the object before me has been to lunar orbit and back and was the home for three men for a number of days.
Simply stunning to see it.
Very impressive piece of engineering when you think about it.
Much, much larger than the Soyuz capsule which is used now to return astronauts to earth. And if you haven’t seen Tim Peake’s Soyuz capsule that he came back down to earth in, go and see it. You will be surprised how tiny it is.
Museum of Flight is based on land where Boeing first started building aircraft, in the Red Barn, also available to visit. It’s only when you walk through the old wooden workshop that you realise that it was only 70 years between man first flying and putting a man on the moon.
Quite impressive rate of development when you think about it.
Monday, 24 June 2019
Seattle, Washington, USA
Wake up alarm at 0500hrs.
Way, way too early.
There’s only one 5 o’ clock in my day.
And this isn’t it.
Train from Vancouver and across the border to Seattle. Back in the USA.
US Immigration at Vancouver railway station takes 2hrs 29mins less than the 2hrs 30mins it took to board the cruise ship all those weeks ago. This is more like it.
Fingerprints are taken.
Photograph is taken.
Passport stamped.
And board the train.
Advertising for said train says that it’s like a European train. They forgot to add, ‘…from the 1970s’. If you thought British trains were bad you should travel in America. It’s one thing they don’t do. Trains.
Due to my height, elected to travel Business class for the necessary legroom. However. Only just fit in. German ICE train it isn’t.
Seats are knackered brown leather. Very 1970s. It’s a dreadful train. And slow. Takes nearly five hours to travel from Vancouver to Seattle, a distance of only 150 miles.
America is not good with trains.
An hour after leaving Vancouver, cross the border into the USA. Customs agents board the train to check passports already checked when boarding in Vancouver and to take the Customs Declarations form. Always wonder what they do with these forms as no one seems to take any notice of them.
Customs agent boards with a hand held machine, about the size of a shoe box. It’s radiation detection equipment.
Crikey.
Didn’t know the train is a hot bed of terrorism.
Not clicking like a Geiger counter though. He just walks through the carriages with it.
After the border, the tracks loosely follow the coastline and it’s a scenic trip until entering the Seattle suburbs and arriving at King Street station. Regular readers of the blog will recall that this is the station I arrived at after my 46 hours of sleepless nights aboard the Empire Builder overnight train from Chicago. But this time, arrive feeling a little bit more awake.
Short walk across the plaza to the Embassy Suites by Hilton (https://embassysuites3.hilton.com/en/hotels/washington/embassy-suites-by-hilton-seattle-downtown-pioneer-square-SEAPSES/index.html). Final hotel of this trip. And another room with a view.
Quick lunch at Beechers Cheese in Pike Place market. Interesting to watch them make the cheese on the premises as you consume, in Mac & Cheese form, what they make. Another stroll through the market and once again the highlight is the flying fish. You may recall the last time I came here. The fishmongers throw fish from the display stall to the filleting and wrapping section. See video below.
Seeing the Seattle Art Museum, make use of my Student Union card (yes, dear reader, still have a Student Union card from Masters degree a few years ago, and very handy it is too!) and get discounted entry. Wish I’d saved my money. Dreadful museum.
Although there is one artwork which I find quite arresting. Certainly catches the eye as it looks like a photograph. Such is the colouring and detail. See the photograph of the ‘photograph’ below. Artist is Jules Bastien-Lepage.
Told that the hotel has complimentary drinks and nibbles from 1730-1930hrs. Which obviously requires attention. Unbelievably, each night, they have a free bar for two whole hours! Can you imagine.
Stiff gin o’clock.
As the hotel is a block or two from Chinatown am directed to a restaurant. But it’s full so find another which has good recommendations. The Tai Tung Chinese Restaurant is something of a Seattle institution. First opened in 1935 and Bruce Lee’s favourite restaurant. Apparently.
Order the crispy duck and pancakes.
Particularly partial to Peking Duck.
Tuck in. It’s stone cold. Both duck and pancakes.
Assume it’s meant to be like that. As am in such a well known and famous restaurant. So carry on eating.
Merely mention it to the waiter when he’s clearing away plates away, in a ‘is it meant to be cold?’ sort of way.
There’s then that Chinese pause…aaaaawwww…as he thinks.
Clearly not meant to be cold as given a 50% discount on the meal and profuse apologies.
Sunday, 23 June 2019
Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada
Just before midnight the texts started coming in.
From Miss Vancouver. In France. Her Dad has been admitted to hospital with chest pains.
Needs to have his heart reset.
Agree that I’ll go in the morning to the hospital to check up on progress.
Decide it will certainly be easier and probably just as much to hire a car for the day rather than dicking around with taxis to the hospital and nursing home. Am envisaging a bit of to-ing and fro-ing. After a quick bit of negotiation with the hotel car hire company, have the only car available for the day. A 7 seat Dodge minivan.
Arrive at the hospital, pay the exorbitant car park charge and go and check up on Mr Vancouver. To be told that he was discharged last night. He’s now back in the nursing home.
Off I go.
Had his heart reset last night around midnight and they sent him back soon after.
As he dryly remarks, “Tell her [Miss Vancouver] that I’m still above ground.”
At least I know how to get out of the nursing home now.
Saturday, 22 June 2019
Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada
Overcast.
Not such sunshine on the Sunshine Coast today.
Just as well. Returning to Vancouver.
The greyness isn’t enhanced when I accidentally smash one of the villa’s mugs. All over the floor. They say such things come in threes. Today is no exception. Twenty minutes later as I’m clearing up accidentally knock a bottle of beer on the floor. With the rubbish bag that contains the broken mug. It’s going to be one of those days. Beer and green glass everywhere.
Sod it.
That’s two out of the three in twenty minutes. Just waiting for the third. It comes soon enough. Don’t worry. Accidentally knock the wing mirror on the garage post.
Sod it.
Three things.
Thirty minutes.
At least I don’t have to spend the day wondering what will be next.
Back the way I came to the ferry terminal but as have half an hour in hand, drive through Gibsons Landing. A jazz festival is under way. Roads are cordoned off. Speak with a marshal directing traffic.
Notice a strange accent. He’s from Hartlepool.
A monkey hanger then.
Bit of time spare this afternoon, so would like to go and see Mr & Mrs Vancouver, Miss Vancouver’s parents. Family friends that used to live in our village up until they left Blighty for Vancouver in the 1970s. Mr & Mrs Vancouver are of advancing years and now reside in an old folk’s home. Went to see them a few weeks ago upon our return from Hornby Island. However. I’ve forgotten where the nursing home is. Have sent Miss Vancouver a text but due to time difference, not had a reply. Drive to her apartment to see if I can retrace the route.
Nope. Memory is blank.
Search Google Maps for half an hour looking at all the nursing home locations that come up in the locality.
Nope. For the life of me can’t find it.
Sod it.
Would like to see them one last time before I leave. Sadly, it may be the last time I will ever see them.
Having given up the search, drive back to the airport to drop hire car off. As I approach the airport environs, Miss Vancouver texts the address.
Quick turnaround and back the way I came.
Surprised and delighted as I turn up in the home, as they thought they’d never see me again too. To enter the home from the street, you need to input a door access code. Which is printed on the outside so anyone can get in. Spend an hour with them but am unnerved by the resident psycho who thinks I’m her son and is clearly getting a bit anxious that I’m spending time with ‘other people’.
Not done nursing homes for twenty odd years now that my grandparents have died. Forgotten how bad they were. Remember when I used to visit my own grandmother in the local nursing home and another old lady, unrelated to me, used to keep coming up and hugging me, telling everyone that I was her grandson.
Time to leave as I need to return the hire car.
Yep. Time to leave.
Just open the door and walk out.
Ho. Ho. Ho.
Now that the residents have had their dinner, they’ve all been put back into their rooms and the whole ground floor of the nursing home is now in lockdown with all doors to various sections electronically locked.
Not a problem. Just open the front door and I’ll be on my way.
Nope.
There’s an access code to exit the building.
To stop residents escaping. I know this is possible as my grandmother made her own bid for freedom. Which resulted in being admitted to hospital.
Now, obviously, the staff wouldn’t be stupid enough to give the residents the access code. But Mr & Mrs Vancouver tell me it’s 1-2-3-4. Hmm. Tap it in. Followed by star. Nope. Try again. Nope. They try 1-2-3-4-5-6-*. Nope. Keep trying. 1-2-3-4 is not unreasonable as that was the access code the staff gave me to enter the back garden earlier. Keep trying. Until the system decides to go into its own mini lockdown because of so many failed attempts.
Sod it.
Locked it good and proper now. There’s obviously a fail safe break glass unit to exit in an emergency. But this is not quite an emergency.
Yet.
Need to find a staff member. But they are all administering post dinner drugs in various sections to which all access doors are now locked.
Sod it.
Try 1-2-3-4-* on one of the section doors. Click. Unlocks. Yay.
Find a nurse.
Tells me the front door code is 9-5-8-0-*. Yay.
Back to the main entrance lobby. But need to exit this section. 1-2-3-4-* doesn’t sodding work. Try again. Nope. Now locked in deeper and deeper into the depths of the nursing home. Mr & Mrs Vancouver now alone in the front lobby section.
Call the nurse.
She taps in 1-2-3-4-*. Click. Unlocks.
What?!
Hang on. It didn’t work for me. Flipping thing.
Back in the front lobby section with Mr & Mrs Vancouver.
Tap in 9-5-8-0-*.
Nope.
Not working.
Sod it.
Try again.
Slowwlllyy.
And.
Geeennnttllyy.
Ta da.
Click.
Unlocks.
Phew.
Mr & Mrs Vancouver now know the exit code.
Can see them plotting their escape as we say a final goodbye. They’ve got that glint in their eyes.
After finally dropping off the hire car, it’s a taxi back to the Pan Pacific Hotel (https://www.panpacific.com/en/hotels-and-resorts/pp-vancouver.html). Taxi driver, of Middle Eastern origin, is told ‘Pan Pacific’. Off we go. He knows where it is. So do I.
Taxi driver eventually pulls up outside a hotel. Not my hotel. He’s taken me to the Pacific Rim hotel. Another hotel. Muppet. He’s taken me to the wrong hotel. I’m not that bothered. It’s a flat rate anywhere in Downtown. His loss.
Another excellent Indian curry at Salam Bombay. Been here a few times now over the past month. It’s now at the stage where I walk in and don’t need to order. They just know what I want.
Walking back after dinner, see that there’s a jazz festival on in town. For some inexplicable reason, there’s a group of rappers performing on stage, as part of the jazz festival. The pair of old black socks I’m wearing are more jazzy than this rabble, as you will hear from the video below.
Bloody racket.
Friday, 21 June 2019
Madeira Park, British Columbia, Canada
Brilliant view from the villa whilst enjoying a breakfast brew.
This is the life.
So very lucky.
Bit of a lazy morning. All this relaxing and chilled out vibe is taking its toll. Significant lack of oomph.
At the northern end of the Sunshine Coast is Egmont and the Skookumchook Narrows. Each day as the tide ebbs and flows, 200 billion gallons of water is forced through a very narrow point of the inlet causing whirlpools and rapids. It’s unfortunate that time is not on my side as it’s a 1hr hike to the rapids through a dense forest. And have a boat to catch later.
Instead, a very nice lunch in Egmont looking out over the wider part of the inlet. I know I keep banging on about how nice the scenery is. But. It. Is. Stunning.
Right. The boat in question is a 90 minute cruise around Pender Harbour. Only three of us on it for the tour so plenty of space to stretch out and admire the view. Pender Harbour is a series of inlets and coves feeding into a larger inlet which itself feeds into the Straits of Georgia. For those that know and have been to the Kingsbridge/Salcombe or Dart estuaries in Devon, it’s very much like that. All along the waterfront are large houses. Most of which have their own private boat mooring and boat house. This is where the money is. Local gossip has it that Oprah Winfrey has a place here. Yep. That sort of money. It really does remind me of Salcombe. But not as busy.
Local laws dictate that you can’t build on the intertidal stretch of coast line. But if you are fortunate enough to own an old netting shed, which are built in the intertidal part, then you can only refurbish it as the structure must remain as is. It’s also very ‘des res’.
A very pleasant way to spend an afternoon.
Sky is bright blue.
I’m walking on sunshine.
And don’t it feel good.
Note to self.
Buy a waterfront property.
Buy a boat.
Don’t retire just yet.
