Driving around Wales

This Sunday we ended up in Breacon Beacons. It was windy, the air smelled of sea and highlands, and we spotted a… vineyard on the way! I would have never guessed that wine can be made this far north, but then Luke reminded me that there are vineyards in Poland and some famous wines in Germany.

We had a tasting board, and I can say that one of their whites is a little like Tokaji. We bought it immediately. The other wines still need some work before they stop tasting like the wine all of Poland makes in our balconies – but I appreciate the effort.

The proprietress was a little surprised at having Polish guests, so I think we have to travel even more to make the local people accustomed to us.

And the Sugar Loaf was lots of fun – it was so windy at the top that I felt as though I was flying

Overall Wales always seems to me like Poland. Theoretically, everything is there: there is industry, cities, proximity of a large business partner. Practically, everyone is poor, unemployed and sulking.

And the best part of the trip, the roads, reminded me of driving in rural Spain – not only narrow and sandy, but on the edge of a cliff. Exciting!

Germany weekend

We skipped Easter and went for a ride to Germany. Did I tell you I really like Germany? I do. I like France even more. I like Madeira the most. I’m telling you this because people sometimes have some presuppositions about Poles and Germans – which are sometimes true but mostly not. Germans are nice, too.

This Easter we went by car to Gent, Aachen, Brugge and Calais. It’s easier to meet the Parents half way than go for a visit and not do any sightseeing at all, stuck at home.

From what I’ve noticed there’s a big difference in everyday manner between the French and the Germanics (Germans, English, Belgians together). The French are relaxed while Germanics try to be relaxed. Overall I’m more comfortable with the French attitude,even though the bastards refused to sell me a GB sign on the ferry claiming the shop was closed. Rudies, but nice rudies.

It would never have happened in England. You are far too good business people to refuse a sale just because you’re not in the mood (at least it’s never happened to me). On the other hand, people tense up here a lot more often than in France. It’s the daily bread – being stressed out.

Anyway, I’m back. I miss the continental food and wine, but I’m still enjoying the English spring. And this Sunday it’s Malvern hills – unless we end up in the Roaches again.

And I’ll tell you a secret – English roads are better than German (there, you have something superior, and that’s a statement from a very stressed out Polka, so it carries weight)

English countryside

Rutland-Oakham-Brixworth

I love the train the most, Luke loved the iron bridge.

Extra fun in England

What I definitely like about here, and wasn’t able to do in Poland, is drinking wine in the theatre – actually sitting in the stalls with my glass. At home its absolute blasphemous desecration of hight art – in England it’s fine.

So what we usually do is drive to the theatre, have one glass in the foyer, sober up during the play and drive back – and it’s all LEGAL!

Brilliant!

Hill toilet talk

I got two days off from my gorgeous man. I’ve used them well – I went to Hope in Peak District. Two days under a tent with nothing but the English rain for background music is heaven after 130 days without so much as a weekend off.

I went up to the Stanage Edge, practiced orienteering without a map, got lost 4 times, and finally emerged by a road, 4 minutes before the last bus back to Hope. Had some mulled wine and slept like a baby.

Conclusions: England is a perfect place for a holidaymaker. Tourists are nice, hills are picturesque, food inexpensive, and paths mysterious. I’d recommend it to anyone to walk in the hills.

I would also recommend to take a map, because without it it’s very hard to know where you are. Most paths are optimized for people who are avid hillwalkers and have been in the area thirteen times already. For hopeless females without the most basic sense of direction, I recommend a GPS. I didn’t have either – it was fun.

I camped at my favourite campsite, Laneside, because they have hot showers with unlimited hot water there. I also recommend the Outside Cafe because they welcome muddy boots.

As always in the rain country there has to be at least one thing that chuffs me. This time it was the toilet talk. I went out of a booth once to hear this particular compliment:  ‘I don’t know what you’ve done but this sure sounds healthy!’. Ok, that way I know I have impressive intestinal movement. That’s good for my lean flanks and innocent yet welcoming by-standers. Thank you… I think. Next one was in the Cafe in Hathersage, where they have a co-ed toilet. I was changing my socks bent over in the tiny hand wash area, when I heard this male voice talking to my bum: ‘Sorting your socks out, eh?’. i paid it no attention. The voice came again, from the behind, louder. ‘SORTING YOUR SOCKS OUT?’ Then I was forced to answer something. ‘Yes, yes, it’s all wet, wet’ I rushed to say, regrettably. ‘Bad idea, those co-ed toilets’, he commented. I got my socks in order, I got a charity sale book from the shop, and I carried on.

Now I’m back in the Midlands, and started paying closer attention to this lavatory talk. For example, people like having me turn the light on for them in the loos – if for example some well-trained student has previously turned all lights behind them off. Why is that? Don’t they have light switches at homes? Do they like making friends in confined areas? Or is it the proximity of water?

Never mind, let’s sail along. Tomorrow is Sunday, an 8 mile walk, a Mass and a Stallone movie + a Margarita all await. I might even eat something.

So long since I’ve been to Peak District!

We have a heat wave here, it’s been 28 degrees yesterday. Almost too hot to stand it indoors. Time to pull the summer dresses out of the closet

The great fun is eating ice-cream for breakfast. The not so great thing is that maple syrup is a good indicator of general life quality – and since we have a crisis, the price has doubled. (cry, cry, cry)

People went to the lakes on Sunday and the town was completely deserted. I so wish I could have gone! It was probably too hot to walk in the Peak District anyway, but I would at least go to the Roaches, and that little tea room there which is on a hill side with a wide terrace. We could spend a day in the sun there.

Or, actually, Cornwall would be better. We could go camping.

For now I have to content myself with driving a bike to work. Uphill to work, for a nice toned bum, and downhill from work, for some wind in the hair. Marvellous. Did you ever noticed that if you drive a car, then there is now way to smell the meadow and the trees, or even the row is freshly cut roadside grass? On the bike I’ve got better access to some wonderful sights.

England scores a point, by the way, they always take a very big detour around bikers, so I’m feeling very safe. It’s also hilarious that the more tanned I am, the more they whistle at me in the street.

And some excellent news to top it all – a dear friend of mine has fallen in love I can’t wait for more news from her!

Cornish Palms

After getting off a ferry in Portsmouth, we rented a car and went for a ride in Cornwall. What I wanted to see there were palms. I could not believe that there are palms in Britain, you see.

And there are – palms on the town squares, in the front yards, in the parks. It’s quite astonishing a view for someone like myself, who is used to seeing only green fields of the Midlands. Palms and Cornish ices, what a rare pleasure to be had.

We went to Penzance straight away, because I wanted to see a museum of the Pirates of Penzance. There isn’t any. The nice lady in tourist information office was disappointed as well, and it seems that I’ve committed rudeness in English, when I said ‘oh, you should’. Is this form insensitive? Nothing else in Penzance has caught my interest, so we headed for the beach in Marazion, which was sadly a big mess by the big pool of port water. I wish it were kept up better, because the day was lovely, and the water warm.

The Cornish seaside houses are lovely, and the fact that I write it indicates to myself, that I am now able to comprehend the British sense of aesthetics a little. Three years ago all I would have seen would be narrow houses that look worn. This time I saw that every house has been slowly nobilitated by salty air, re-painted by a neighbour, unevenly, and adorned with baskets of rock flowers by a caring pensioner lady. I saw that the narrow, unplanned town roads are not simply a little tarmac covering a country lane, but a road as it has always been, and no one in their right mind has any desire to change.

What was the most stunning thing to notice, were the little stone slabs on the walls next to any old thing, commemorating a person that is now deceased, and who in their time had found particular pleasure in sitting by a well, going to the pub, keeping a garden. I admire this joy that is to be found in the simplest of things. I admire this truce with life.

Hope, Kinder Scout, and walking down stream

this time we went to a nice camp site, with free showers and washing-up facilities. It’s a good place, £7 pp, quiet and clean. Our pitch was on the river bank. The river was really a larger stream with cold mountain water, ideal for cooling beer cans. On the bank there lived a duck mom and her five ducklings, so tame that they ate bread from the hand.

The night was lovely, and the only downside was the company. When I was choosing the pitch, I deliberately hadn’t gone for the opposite pitch, next to a pack of teenagers. I’ve chosen a large tent with a kid’s tent next to it – in a vain hope that the kids would go night-night before ten. Boy, was I wrong.

The teenagers were sweet kids who had a camp-fire in a bucket and went to sleep at ten, while the kid tent was occupied by two drunk ladies, and the big tend by a drunk guy with a dog, who woke us up at 5 a.m. Mind you, they were not aggressive, staggering or anything. It’s just that they wouldn’t stop GIGGLING until midnight, and then at 5 a.m., and then when they got up. I hated them.

The walk to Kinder scout proved very picturesque, but after a chilly night we were a bit slow, so decided to take the by-turn in the middle of the route, and go down by the stream bed. The exact same route that the school trip has just taken upwards – while we were watching.

Let me just tell you that walking DOWN a 4 yard tall waterfall is harder than scrambling up. I have to wash everything.

Anyway, the walk has been lovely, the sun was hard, we got a sun tan and lost a few pounds. But the highlight of this trip were… chocolate croissants.

The Good Loaf bakery from Grindleford brings their breads to the camp-sites in the morning, and we were lucky to grab a loaf and croissants. remember this name, and try to HUNT for them. It’s well worth the effort.

Praise of Warwick

I posted it on polandian.pl on Dec 7 as a comment, but I’d like to keep it here:

And here in Warwickshire we have -4C, frost on the streets, and a bit of snow every two weeks, just to make some cars crash on the M6. It may mean that they will put the real fire on in Thomas Oken Tea Room in Warwick. Perfect place to spend the Sundays in, if you like English Midlands. My idea of Sunday – go to the capital town, plant myself in the middle of the town square, marvel a bit, make comments on the great metropolis of Warwick and how I enjoy the capital town life, giggle a bit feeling mischievous to ever call Warwick a metropolis, maybe do a small purchase in the cast iron kitchen utensils ’shoppe’, and hide in the Tea Room away from the biting frost. Mind you, the fact that they serve Warwick Market Ale has nothing to do with it. It’s just I’m loosing any resistance to frost.

Hand washing in Peak District

We went on Friday – to Edale, camping. We liked it very much, the area is beautiful, the towns cute, and the camping pitch costs a fiver per person.

In general the British camp-site is your normal camp-site – a pasture with a public facility nearby. It’s nothing like those camping villages in Croatia, but remoteness and quiet made up for the luxury.

The funny thing is that there are meters in the showers that give out lukewarm water, while in the sinks the water is quite warm. I forgot my flip-flops and had to stand barefoot in the shower, and it was cleaned every day I suppose – but in such a ruined state I am not sure if anything can be clean.

The worst thing to endure was the old type taps, which meant I had to fill the sink with water to wash my hands, and I felt the soap residue in there, and a hair… gruelling. I will buy a plastic bowl next time.

People on the camping were nice and quiet, most of them families. They came with amazing quantities of stuff, carloads of stuff – even tables! We felt really silly with our tiny tent and seating mats, but all the more outdoor thanks to it.