A short train ride carried me south to Oxfordshire, an area where I worked over eight years ago now. The planned two or three days turned to into seven as I bumped into many more people than expected. With the Cheltenham Race Festival very close by, the atmosphere in the pubs was good, in a hard-to-leave sort of way. Old friend and host for the week, Dave had taken time from work to assist me in revisiting these old watering holes. I’d forgotten just how nice it is down here in this part of the world. Beautiful Cotswold stone buildings, classy towns such as Stow-on-the-Wold, Burford or Woodstock, not to mention the ladies! It’s an expensive area though – property prices are sky high with so many people now living here and commuting to London. Even the local Big Issue sellers (current affairs magazine sold by homeless people) speak quietly with a plum in their mouth; in Shrewsbury they yell at you from across the street!
The temporarily high population of Irish in the area, over for the races, ensured a good turn out for the Saint Patrick’s Day celebrations, likewise for the Six Nations rugby matches. I even managed to drag my tired body to a huge party to celebrate the end of the Cheltenham Festival, where I was amazed to note just how many people you can fit into a marquee.
I ought to mention Becs, a Kiwi friend who has been in the country around two years now saving up her sterling, before heading back to New Zealand to retire early on her fortune. She and a friend very kindly treated me to a gorgeous dinner at their local pub. I then stayed at the manor where she works, upon the largest bed I have ever seen. Thanks guys – great to catch up and Becs I hope you enjoy your forthcoming jaunt around Europe! The question is – which one of us will make it to NZ first?
My final day was spent at a team chase (timed teams riding a cross country course), organized by the local hunt. It’s comforting to note the positive atmosphere among supporters, given the current governments’ mission to end our way of life. Very much business as usual, with a new campaign launched to declare our widespread defiance. Bet you never had me down as a revolutionist huh?
Failing miserably on my plan to grab an early night away from The Blue Boar pub, it wasn’t long at all before Dave kindly deposited me at the roadside to catch my 5AM bus to Bournemouth. This hardened overland traveller has managed to organise a cheap flight from here down to Guernsey. What excuse, you ask, do I offer for flying so early on my overland trip? Well, firstly I have two ungainly backpacks as I am carrying extra stuff for work in the islands – and, well, the overland thing doesn’t start until I enter Europe. Okay?
The good thing about flying cheap airlines out of small regional airports (airfields?) is that you get real friendly with the staff and chat with the pilot as you walk out to the flying machine with him. The bad thing about cheap airlines is when you first realize that the shiny modern looking aircraft you are walking towards is not yours. In fact, the battered, dirty, chicken carrying excuse for an airplane with three propellers is my means of crossing the busiest shipping channel in the world. My seat is in endless recline meaning when I try to sit back I end up almost horizontal, much to the distain of the passenger behind me. The windows are sealed in with the kind of stuff you use to proof the edges of a kitchen sink. The cowling on the engine next to me has screws missing and has had a dent recently repaired with car body filler. The roof trim hangs tiredly from above and as if that wasn’t enough – the pilot offered us all earplugs before he fired her up.
An ear-popping seventy minutes later, via a pit-stop in Jersey, we land more-or-less sideways on the island of Guernsey. This is an airport I have flown into and out of more times than I care to remember in my childhood. But before we even roll to a stop I am greeted with the first major change here; they moved the airport terminal and built a flashy new one. Gone are the old rollers they used to throw the luggage down, in their place fancy revolving carousels. No more walking from the plane to the building, now you have to ride a bus for the fifty metre trip.
As you know, I’ll be spending a little while here. To ease the strain on my travel funds I will be working. In between that I aim to explore each of the three main islands and their little outcrops too. This journal has (I hope) been the hardest I will have to write! Priority for me has been catching up with friends & family, inevitably leading to much eating and drinking, neither of which provides particularly good material for a travel journal. So bare with me guys!
Already, just in the process of getting from middle England to here I have called on the services of many friends. I’d like to thank you all so far – Kath, Kenty, Chris, Mozza, Jo, Richard/Janice & Co, Martin, Mr & Mrs Foster, nice guy at Furrows who gave me a lift, Picky, Reg. |
