Extraordinary Potsdam, Extraordinary Twentieth Century.

I think that the word extraordinary, like the words strategy or sophisticated are overused and have been diluted by advertising people and other vandals of the English language over the last hundred years or so. But for a westerner like me it is an extraordinary place. Maybe not as extraordinary as Hyderabad in India or a small settlement near the Atlas mountains in Morocco. But nonetheless extraordinary.

Going back to my schoolboy Geography I suppose that Potsdam is a defensive site. If, in a parallel Universe, I were planning the defence of Potsdam as a military commander, I suppose that all things being equal I would wish to have concentrated my troops on some of what appear to be the narrower strips of water towards the North West of Potsdam . This seems to have been universally important in the days of yore. Interestingly(?), Braunschweig (where MAN lorries hark from, amongst other things) , a medium sized German settlement some 200 kilometers west of this is entirely surrounded by the river Oker; which must have made it ideal from a defensive point of view. And I guess that if I were more conversant with the geographical layout of Germany, I'd be able to reel off a number of other exapmles. Sorry Folks.

But, I understand that until well into the eighteenth century Germany was a collection of principalities ruled by the local dukes. Now I am no historian – far from it – but I would think that would make defence of one's patch all the more important.

I suppose many of us would like to think that we were not ignorant; but my ignorance of Germany until recently, I now find quite embarrassing. I actually asked someone a few months ago whether Germany was land-locked. And I really thought – despite having studied German at school, been on a German exchange and travelled around Germany as part of an interrail trip a few days before my teenage years drew to a close – that the border of the former East Germany (Deutsche Demokratische Republik), went through Berlin from top to bottom.

I now realise that this shows a fundamental misunderstanding of postwar history. The last thing that I want to do is to patronise the reader, but I only just realised that until the closing months of 1989, West Berlin was an enclosed enclave within the Soviet controlled East Germany. Potsdam is some 25 kilometers South East of Berlin, but the 'Iron Curtain' as the late great Sir Winston Churchill called it passed through Potsdam.

Famously, there is a metal bridge (see 'photo), where the western and eastern countries used to exchange spies. And I think it's amazing (too many superlatives) as we drove over that bridge to think that only twenty years ago, you might have been shot and you certainly would have been ostracised if you had traversed that border without the appropriate paperwork from the power that were.

The scenery in Potsdam is fantastic. Wherever you look there is water, parklands (i.e. decorative land surrounding a stately home) and beautiful and imposing buildings. But I think there are other tales of Potsdam beyond that; that are actually more interesting. More contemporary. Like the story of an East German family living near the border who wanted to escape by digging a tunnel. Now the East German authorities were generally wise to that, and took the necessary steps (regular monitoring, from what I understand) to ensure that people were not allowd to do that.

But they didn't reckon on the water table being lower in the summer months. So this family were able to dig a tunnel with (I believe) a proper spade and a childs toy.

I've waxed lyrical before about the value of having local people to show you the sights. But I think it's so true. I was talking with the local resident, who had kindly put us up about how extra-ordinary it was that a border could be sustained in that manner; and so recently in history. But he stopped me. And he showed me a tiny section of the map that we were perusing. This was a section of West Germany consisting or perhaps one block. No road, water or rail links out. Only accessed by air. But this was an established part of West Germany prior to 1989, entirely enclosed within soviet controlled East Germany.

Extraordinary Potsdam. Extraordinary twentieth century.

Volunteering in Glenquoich

Well people, at it's inception this was supposed to be a blog about volunteering. I hope that I have jotted down some moderately interesting things since I started blogging at the end of January this year. But I have not managed to write about any volunteering so far. And the reason for that is quite simple, I've not done any. But at the weekend I righted that wrong. I volunteered.

At 1800 on Friday, I met up with 8 other willing volunteers on Waverley bridge in Edinburgh and we were picked up in a minibus by our esteemed leader. We were headed for Glenquoich in the Highlands of Scotland. This trip is regular, it happens every year; I had been before in 2005 and 2006 but not since then. It's a great way to spend a weekend. The aim of the trip is to maintain footpaths and drainage channels around footpaths (to stop water getting onto the paths and damaging them). Our crew would be working together with three other teams to do this along a section of pathway.

I had high hopes for the company on this trip as well. Some of the people on the trip I knew a little, others I knew very well and some I didn't know at all. And I always think that is good as well, in a volunteering team. You're not all complete strangers, but there are some new people to get to know. It's not just all the same faces again.

The route up to Glenquoich is a scenic journey and the weather was looking great. It's a four to five hour trip, and at first we were jostling with all the other traffic vying to get out of Edinburgh on a Friday night. But soon we were onto the M9 motorway and whisking our way North West up the Forth valley. During that part of the drive most of the scenery is of arable land; but then we turned off onto the A84 to Callander we knew that the scenery would soon change. Arguably Callander lies on the 'Highland line', and I knew that we were in for some great scenery (particularly with the good weather and the long summer evenings).

We stopped briefly in Callander to pick up a few bits and pieces. The scenery was great as our minibus whisked us through the Trossachs. Soon we were in Crianlarich. There are signs to Crianlarich from all over Scotland, which is is strange, because it is no more than a small village. It is still a major road junction (between the A82 and the A85) and used to be a major railway junction as well, which - I think - would explain the number of road signs to such an apparently inconsequential place.

We stopped in Tyndrum, just up the road for fish and chips in a newish and very good chip shop. The next hour or so is arguably the best scenery for the whole trip. Glencoe is a mecca for hillwalkers, climbers and mountainbikers. The scenery is dramatic and stark, with some of the most stark landscapes in the land. A couple more hours in the car and we were in Glenquoich as night fell.

Well a quick chat and a beer or two was all that we had time for before bed. The next day and the work starts. We had a morning briefing by the Gillie (a Scottish word for the person that looks after fishing hunting and estate management issues generally on a Scottish Estate). One nice thing about this endeavour is that you get a good mixture of volunteers from elsewhere (like us) and many local people. Also having been there several times before I recognised some of the local volunteers.

We were split into four teams and we had to climb up a section of path with our hand-tools and start work. Most of the work involved making or refurbishing cross-drains (Drains constructed of large stones emebedded into the ground to transport water across the path, and so stop the water flowing down the path and eroding it.) and digging or widening existing drainage channels on either side of the path. The weather was quite warm and sunny which made it quite hard going. During Saturday, I was working with one other volunteer improving a cross drain and re-digging the drainage ditch which fed it.

My simple packed lunch which consisted of ham, cheese, tomato and lettuce tasted great when we stopped for lunch. Half the fun of these volunteering type events is the banter between volunteers. Practical conservation somehow lends itself well to banter between volunteers as they work. I think that this banter is also instrumental in developing camaraderie, which helps to glue a team together. The afternoon passed by quickly as we worked. And after we stopped working it was so warm that many of us took a dip in a nearby burn (Scottish word for a small stream.) before returning to base.

On Saturday night the kind hosts lay on a great feast in one of the barns. The Gillie's wife is German and is a chef on the oil rigs, so we get an array of great German food. The puddings are particularly good. Being in Scotland the drinking goes on into the night, and this year we had a fiddler for additional entertainment in the barn. I'm ashamed to admit that I was so tired by 10.30 pm that I had to retire to bed.

On Sunday, we did some further work of a similar nature further up the path. By 1pm it was time to finish up and start making our way back to Edinburgh. But not before a further chance to sample some wonderful German puddings. Glenquoich is probably one of the remotest places in the UK (possibly in western Europe). You might want to take a look at the aerial view.

http://www.multimap.com/maps/?qs=&countryCode=GB#map=57.08492,-4.972271232&bd=useful_information&loc=GB:57.0644:-5.13278:14Coille%20Mhorgil,%20ScotlandCoille%20Mhorgil,%20Highland,%20Invergarry,%20Inverness-shire,%20Scotland,%20PH35%204

This trip was so enjoyable for me. We improved a short section of footpath in Glenquoich, we worked together towards a common goal, and we enjoyed each other's company. For my part, this is why I love volunteering, and I would encourage you to volunteer as well in whatever sphere you choose. I'm never quite sure what it is that makes volunteering so special, but in my opinion, it is a tremendously rewarding way to spend your time.

Oooh I got some old shoes on....

I think that there is a Paulo Nutini song to the effect that he has some new shoes on and he feels revitalised by the new shoes. I don't know the lyrics of the song by heart at all, but they are to the effect that life has been tough and drudgerous for him in recent times, and a new pair of shoes make him feel better. These new shoes make him feel as if life is looking up for him.

Well I didn't feel like that at all, as I put my old shoes on earlier this evening. I put my favourite shoes on this evening and headed on foot to a destination place in central Edinburgh. These shoes are shabby, unkempt falling apart. But dead comfortable. As I skipped along the pavement, below the tenemant in which I live. The shoes felt great. Life felt good. I have some newer models which are very similar, but I've only had them for a couple of months, so they are not properly run in as yet.

I'd had a funny day. I work from home, so I can sometimes go a full day without talking to anyone, if I am on a task which does not require interaction with others (Maybe that is why I blog). There were some minor bureacratic annoyances this morning (I'm going to a conference and then a quasi marketing trip later in the week, so I had to book a few hotels etc.). That took longer than it should have, but then I was off with some other stuff. Sometimes when I work from home, I feel that progress is slow and painstaking. This afternoon I didn't.

It had been raining on and off all afternoon. I finished what I was doing at about 1900. And it looked gorgeous outside. I couldn't resist a walk through the gorgeous streets and parks of Edinburgh, where I live to this destination, which is a cafe that I know. The cafe is called Negociants, and it's a bit of an institution. The url is http://www.negociants.co.uk/home.htm if you're interested. It's not a great website, but it's a fabulous place.

I only go there occasionally now. But I used to do so more. It used to be quite unique in that there was a cafe upstairs and a nightclub (in the evening) downstairs. And punters could happily flit from upstairs to downstairs, at will. Unfortunately, it's not like that any more. The upstairs and downstairs remain, but there is a monetary charge to go from one to another.

I think that sometimes in life, you just get a lift. People use the cliche "Stopping to smell the roses"; and although it's a cliche, I know what they mean. The rain this afternoon gave the early evening a fresh feel. The buds and leaves on the tree give a bright, green shine. I was walking (almost skipping) down the road to Negociants, talking to a good friend on my mobile 'phone.

When I was a schoolboy, we lived about a mile from where I am normally based now. And quickly my route joined the route that I had been my cycle route to school all those years ago. You can follow my route if you're really bored.

http://www.multimap.com/maps/?qs=Woodburn+Terrace%2C+Edinburgh&countryCode=GB#map=55.92969,-3.195051632&bd=useful_information&loc=GB:55.92708:-3.20398:17Woodburn%20Terrace,%20EdinburghWoodburn%20Terrace,%20City%20of%20Edinburgh,%20Edinburgh,%20Midlothian,%20Scotland,%20EH10%204

I walked down the tree lined street of Woodburn Terrace, onto Canaan Lane with it's high forbidding walls protecting the Astley Ainsley from my glancing gaze. Great views of an electricity substation as you get to the end of Canaan Lane. Then you're onto wide open streets of Whitehouse Lane. Really large houses on the street, although I think that a lot of them are owned now by large organisations, like the church of Scotland.

Then, soon my route departed from the route that I took on my bike as a schoolboy. I walked past the back entrance to my school and on. This part of the world is very familiar to me. I went to school here for six years. Of all the locations in the world it must be more familiar to me than almost any external ladnscape.

A little further down the hill and you see a really fabulous vista (a great word until Microsoft wrecked it). As I turned around the corner onto the meadows path (url below again) which runs along - more-or-less - parallel to Warrender Park Terrace, you can see Arthur's Seat as you look east.

http://www.multimap.com/maps/?qs=Woodburn+Terrace%2C+Edinburgh&countryCode=GB#map=55.93947,-3.197371732&bd=useful_information&loc=GB:55.93947:-3.19737:17Warrender%20Park%20TerraceWarrender%20Park%20Terrace,%20City%20of%20Edinburgh,%20Edinburgh,%20Midlothian,%20Scotland,%20EH9%201

I think Edinburgh is "three dimensional" in a way that many cities are not. I love London, but everything is more level. You get more gradual inclines and much of the parkland could have been built on (if it hadn't been protected like the Royal Parks). Edinburgh is not like that. The original Edinburgh, the Royal mile was built on a Crag-and-Tail formation formed as the glacier was forced apart, by what is now the Castle Rock. You can't easily build yuppy flats up volcanic magma.

That makes Edinburgh an exciting place to travel around, whether you are on foot, bike, bus or even a pogo-stick. They say that Edinburgh is built on seven hills (Castle Rock, Calton Hill, Craiglockart Hill, Blackford Hill, Braid Hill, Corstorphine Hill and Arthurs seat(?)), and that does make it unusual in terms of the views that you get, as you go about your normal business.

Arthur's seat stood resplendant as I ambled through the meadows. Up middle meadow walk and quickly onto Lothian Street, where Negociants is. I sat outside in the mildly chilly evening sipping my beer and admired the view (including the McEwan hall where Edinburgh University students graduate), and watched the world go by.

I don't know what happened this evening. Maybe it's just my hormones. Maybe it's because I sometimes lack mental balance. But something gave me an enormous sense of wellbeing this evening, as the sun cast some of it's final rays over Edinburgh for today.

To paraphrase Paulo Nutini:

"Oooh I got some old shoes on and everything is smiling,

it's so inviting..............."

(Incidently, not sure if you like the photo. I wasn't sure about 'photos when I first came to blogging, but I'm thinking that a few might be cool. This was taken a little while ago in a cafe next to Negociants on Home Street, when I was out with some friends.)

A road trip south

There is something exciting about picking up a hire car. I'm not quite sure what it is. I had been talking with friends about taking a road trip south for some time. And the group had kind of grown. So we booked a six seater vehicle. My reasoning for heading south was that I come from the UK, you're never quite sure how much sunshine that you might get; and I felt like doing at least some hanging out in the sun; just in case we experience a sun free summer in the UK.

It was my job to pick up the hire car the day before we departed. So I felt a frisson of excitement as I headed down into Alexandria, on the DC Metro to pick up the vehicle. My excitement was tinged with nervousness; I was nervous because my navigation is never great at the best of times, and to some extent I've got spoiled by satellite navigation. It was a beautiful sunny day. As I picked up the car, my navigational strategy was simple. Drive back towards DC, keeping the Potomac river on my right. Then cross the river and - to some extent at least - hope for the best.

In many ways, the road layout worked to my advantage. The bridge opened out onto 16th street. I was staying between 16th and 14th. So all I had to do was follow 16th street until things looked familiar. Success, I got home.

After a great day with another local person and a great night out with her, some friends I know from the UK (living near DC) and a fellow traveller, it was time to head south.

The road trip commenced the next day. Weather bright and inviting. I had to pick someone up, who was staying a little way north in DC. Then we were meeting the four others, who were getting a bus down from New York. I was again feeling a bit nervous about driving an unfamiliar vehicle, in a unfamiliar town on the other side of the road (from that which I am used to). But I found her house without too much trouble and together we managed to make our way to the Martin Luther King library in central DC.

The other four arrived on their bus that was on time. So it's time for some introductions. You know Benedict Alexander, already. Then we had a young Dutch lady, let's call her Nanouk Vink. I think that you've met Nora Ponteland already (albeit briefly). Nora was joining us with her good mate Petulia Tait. Finally there was an American fellow that we'd met in New York. In reality, he's generally known by a nickname, so let's call him Jive.

There is something that is just great fun about travelling in a minibus. I tried to think of a better word tham fun. Something that better captures the delight. A word that describes the joy of travelling together with a bunch of fun people. And I thought about it for a while; I've stuck with fun it was fun. With a group of people that you know well there is lots of potential for fun and good humour; with the exciting expectation of warm weather and good fun to come at the end of the road trip.

We had some way to go. DC to Orlando. We were travelling overnight, through the states of Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia and then into Florida, a road distance of about eight hundred and fifty miles. I was kind of in and out of sleep as the night gradually passed. But our driver seemed to be able to keep driving all night.


Finally, night turned into day and we arrived in Orlando. We had our breakfast and found our way to the hotel complex. The hotel had a swimming pool and jacuzzi and was really quite luxurious. It was strange for me after either staying in youth hostels or on people's couches for the weeks preceding it. Also, when I was growing up our family holidays involved caravanning in scotland so this place was different and totally new experience for me.

When we got to Orlando we did things that you might expect holiday-makers to do out there. We went around an art gallery, we went to NASA, we went to universal studios for the day; and we spent a lot of time hanging around the pool enjoying the weather and having a drink. All of which was fabulous. My next stop was Seattle, where there is an entirely different climate.

I love staying in Youth Hostels. But when you stay with the residents of a town (as I did in DC) is easier to unxderstand life from the perspective of a local person. I really hadn't planned to stay with a local resident, it had just happened by chance (see my previous blog 'The Serendipity of Travel'). But I was so glad to be staying in the place I was.

I have quite a lot of experience of sharing houses (Earlier in my career I lived and worked in Bristol and then London in the UK, where property is relatively expensive, so I often lodged or shared houses.). But in my experience, and in the UK these houses are normally composed of people in their twenties and thities. The great thing about the house in which I was staying was that the housemates were so diverse in terms of their ages, interests and backgrounds. It was a very stimulating place to live. Whenever people were in, the conversation was great.

I suppose that an alternative way to experience what I did in DC, would be to use the website http://www.couchsurfing.org/ . I've never used this for travelling so far, but I am intrigued by the notion. Hopefully I can try it sometimes. In principal I think that the website can put you in touch with people in various parts of the world who would be happy to host you for a few days. I want to try it out some day.

When you stay in youth hostels there are often many posters and leaflets advertising attractions in the town in which you are staying. There are often (at least in the USA) even organised trips of one sort or another, starting in the youth hostel . But what is more difficult to do is to get a feeling for what local the local inhabitants of your town are doing. And - again please forgive me for stating the obvious - the best way to do that is to actually be amongst the local inhabitants.

Like many people in DC, many of the people who lived in the same house as me were involved in politics in one way or another. And they were the sort of people who attended political events. One of them is the director of a grass-roots political movement, aimed at redefining the American flag, and renewing democracy in the process. During the week or so that I lived in that house the residents were attending various political meetings of one sort or another.

They asked me if I wanted to come along to a meeting in the National Press Club in DC, which was organised by Citizens in Charge Foundation and entitled "Government Reform at the Hands of the People: A Citizen's Forum". I was intrigued and certainly wanted to join them, if only just to see the National Press Club.

I attended the first session which was a series of presentations by a series of eminent polical commentators and campaigners from across the political spectrum, including the veteran former senator, Mike Gravel. Some of the people in my house clearly new the former senator well and I was duly introduced to him. Mike Gravel has had a wide range of jobs from being a taxi driver in New York City to a United States Senator and during his time as Senator went to court (Gravel vs U.S) which resulted in a landmark Supreme Court decision relative to the Speech and Debate Clause (Article 1, Section 6) of the United States Constitution.

It's fascinating to meet people like that, and I suppose my point is that whilst staying in Youth Hostels is great, sometimes you get a deeper insight into places and the people that live there if you stay with local residents.

Washington DC

Washington DC felt different to any city in the USA that I had experienced hitherto. People say that everyone that you meet in DC is either involved in politics in some way, or wants to be. And to some extent, some of the people that I met there seemed to verify that notion.

It's also a very easy city to find your way around. Perhaps partly because I was staying near Columbia Heights Metro stop, I travelled around by Metro quite a lot. The Metro system is marvellous. If anything, it seemed a little underused.

DC is famous for it's Museums. There are many, and lots of them are free. I'm a great fan of free Museums. It was one policy that new labour brought in 1997 in the UK. I remember going to London Museums before that, and they were expensive. The thing that I like about free Museums - and apologies, if this is really obvious - is that you can just wander in and out of them at will. After an hours browsing you can take yourself off for a coffee. Office workers can spend 45 minutes of their lunch breaks in them.

With hindsight, given that I was in DC for a week, I wish that I had spent more time in Museums. But there we are. Two of the best that I went to were the Natural History Museum and the Museum of Flight. The highlight of the latter was joining Titus Auberon in a flight simulator. He was the pilot and I was the gunner in a military aircraft. Great fun, but as I said to him afterwards, I don't fancy getting into a car he's driving. The simulator seemed to be quite advanced and several times we appeared to be flying upside down. Exciting

Although it was quite cold when I was in DC, it was often sunny. and it's a great town to walk around, what with the large open streets and attractive buildings. Another nice thing about DC, is that in the centre, you hardly need a map to navigate (even if, like me you are hopeless at navigation). So when someone asks you to meet them at 22 and M (i.e. the corner of 22nd street and M Street), it's easy because the streets follow a 'grid iron' pattern with ascending numbers and letters, running perpendicular to one another. It does make life as a tourist easier. And you can concentrate on sightseeing rather than gawping at a map.

Half way through my time in DC. I said goodbye to Titus and Catherine after a morning spent at the Arlington cemetary and went to meet Benedict Alexander, Jean-Jacques and some others who had come down from New York on a bus. It was a strange juxtaposition, although I had plans to meet up with Titus and Catherine in Seattle, I'd been with them now on and off for ten days or so. They were heading north to Montreal and soon I would be heading south for Florida and some warm weather.

The serendipity of travel

This next blog is testament to the non-chronological nature of my postings. The events described below happenened before many of the subsequent entries. Sorry. I never was much good at doing my homework on time.

It was a bit of a wrench to leave Philadeplhia. The hostel there is great, with friendly staff and we'd had great fun. But Washington DC, the nation's capital beckoned. So it was with excitement that I boarded the bus with Titus Auberon and Catherine Lennox. The weather was great as we headed for DC.

Titus and Catherine were staying with old friends, just the other side of the Potomac river. And after many days in the shared dorms of Youth Hostels, I felt like I could do with one night with my own bedroom. I borrowed Catherine's travel guide and selected an inexpensive guest house. And out of sheer laziness I took a cab towards the address for this place.

From the guidebook it seemed that this place was head and shoulders above the other establishments and there was a note to the effect that if you turned up at lunchtime they laid on a buffet. To follow the story from here, you need to know that I am A, a bit gormless and B, hopeless at directions and things of a spacial nature. Furthermore, whilst the taxi driver was very nice, I didn't think he was the best taxi driver that I had ever hired.

And thank goodness he wasn't.

He dropped me off on this street outside the 'guesthouse'. As I closed the boot of the taxi the route seemed obvious to me. There was an external set of stairs with an open front door at the top. What could be easier. But as I got to the top, some doubt crept in. Could this really be the guesthouse? As I walked up the stairs there was a surface with tourist brochures, and I thought that there might be a receptionist behind there.

By the time that I got to the top of the stairs I was committed. People were milling around a buffet lunch and sipping drinks. I walked into the lobby with all my luggage - a large rucksack, a laptop bag and a separate plastic bag - and said to a lady who was stood there, "Have you got a room for the night?". When she replied "Are you serious?", I knew that I had come to the wrong place. But before I had escaped - which was my immediate instinct - the assembled people had encouraged me to put my luggage down and had thrust a drink into my hand.

Best of all, before long I had been lined up with a sofa to stay on for the night. The party was great, I met lots of interesting and friendly people. I even met someone who worked was in a similar line of work, and we arranged to meet up for a coffee later in the week. I left the party with Joe Kingston, who's sofa had been kindly offered to me. It was a short walk through a sunny DC.

The day ended brilliantly. Instead of spending that evening in lonely guesthouse. I watched the superbowl with Joe and his housemates who had welcomed me with open arms. As I watched the American Office with one of Joe's housemates towards the end of the evening; it felt like I had lived there for ages.

Re-united with Jean-Jacques

Independent travelling can be an interesting thing. I had some rough timescales (if only in my head) as to where my travels might take me, and when I might move on; when I departed for Boston, MA in mid January 2009, but things didn't pan out quite as I had planned. One of the things that happened, and I am very glad that it did was that I met and got to know good people. I enjoyed their company and companionship.

I took the view that travelling is more fun when you are with friends and I compromised. Not necessarily in terms of where to go, but the speed at which I planned to go there; so I could stay with these new and wonderful friends. But nevertheless, I've observed that groups of people form and stay together for a few days. But then, and despite any bond that may exist, the group fragments and moves on. People have different priorities for their own travels. So as an independent traveller travelling on your own, you join and leave different groups as time goes on.

Jean-Jacques was a core member of the crew that I travelled with in Boston and then New York. And then we went our seperate ways. What is weird, is when you meet up with the same person in a totally different context it feels strange. I was delighted to see Jean-Jacques. But something in me screamed out that I know J-J from the East coast of the USA, not from Brussels.

I had a ferry to catch from Calais to Dover. Our time in Germany had passed so quickly that I suddenly realised after ten days, that it would soon be time to go home. So two days prior to the ferry leaving Calais, we left Saarbrücken and headed to see J-J in Brussels.

I had only been to Brussels once before, and I had completely forgotten what a lovely town it is. My companion had this mystical ability to dream her way to youth hostels and we managed this, once again, without any problem. The weather was fabulous the architecture is great and we were just catching the last of the daffodils in the park. My stay in Brussels included two trips to local public houses with J-J. It was lovely to see him again.

The morning Ferry meant leaving Brussels at around 0530. An easy two hours or so on the Auto-route brings one to Calais and the Ferry. Although I guess it's quicker, I can't really understand why people take the tunnel. Taking the Ferry is so much more of an experience. I love boats, an on these particular boats there is the thrill of leaving the port, seeing the white cliffs of Dover and then coming into Dover. I'm not quite sure how to express the thrill, other than what I've already said. But boarding a Ferry fills me with a frisson of excitement.

As we disembarked the Ferry in Dover. The weather was sunny and warm. Good old blighty.

A day trip to France

Saarbrücken is close to the French border, so we agreed that it would be silly not to have a trip there. My companion has lived in Saarbrücken in the past and is familiar with the area, so she suggested that we could go to the French town of Metz.

Metz is about 40 miles from Saarbrücken, so it doesn't take long to get there by Autobahn and then the French Autoroute. By this time I was regretting having not upgraded my satellite navigation system for continental Europe, as we had by now taken one or two rather circuitous routes to some of our destinations (although we had always managed to get there in the end). We had also had one or two slightly fractious moments.

And so it was with Metz. We managed to overshoot the town at first. I was driving and managed to mishear my companion's navigational instructions. Fortunately, it was quite funny on this occasion. Even reminiscent of the John Cleese film, Clockwise. Fun and games.

We found a parking space just outside this beautiful town, which was free of charge. As I come from the UK, parking for free so close to a large town always seems to good to be true. And we all know about things that seem to good to be true (They usually are.), but on this occasion we parked for free. But enough of parking tales. Who writes Blogs about parking?

Metz is gorgeous, and once again the weather was warm and sunny. The most striking thing about Metz is the Cathedral. It stands out from some distance, due to it's elevation. It also has large buttresses which stick out some way, as if to protect it from toppling over. And the darkish yellowy sandstone caught the sun's bright rays brilliantly.

It can't possibly be true, because France is - arguably - an economically successful country, but when walking around French towns during the day; it often seems to me as if no-one is doing very much. Everyone is having a nice time. They might be hanging around in the streets talking to their friends, having a coffee in one of the delightful coffee shops; even protesting. During our time in Metz, we encountered several protests one of which seemed to be protesting at cuts to a local hospital. But I sometimes can't help wondering if anyone is actually doing any work. Who am I to ask? Good luck to them.

We climbed up a small hill near the town centre and looked down at the beautiful view below. Life seemed good. The weather was fantastic, the view good and I was with a friend. We spent the rest of the glorious afternoon wondering around the town, it's churches and the main cathedral. On the way back to Saarbrücken, we decided not to take the main Autoroute, but to meander home through rural France.

This meander reminded me of other trips I'd had to France with my late grandfather, some years ago. The long straight roads with mature trees lining each side of the road seem to me characteristic of France. Indeed, on those occasions with my grandfather, we had been near Compiegne, some way North of Paris. That is a long way from this part of France; but it may go back to what I was saying in my previous blog "The strangeness of national borders".

On the way home, we stopped in Saint-Avold to have our evening meal. We ate outside the restaurant overlooking the main square. A great way to end a wonderful day.

The Strangeness of National Borders

I have often thought that borders drawn by humans between nation states are somewhat artificial. Of course there are exceptions. For someone like me from the United Kingdom, some of the borders between the UK and other nation states are natural. There is a coastline. But staying in Saarbrücken, located in the west of Germany near the French border I was reminded of how arbitrary borders between nation states can be. We had spent the previous day in Luxemburg, so we had crossed quite a few borders in the last few days; although - of course - since 1992, within the European Union you can just drive straight through (albeit at a reduced speed).


Furthermore, the borders between nation states in Europe have been dynamic over the years. Under the treaty of Versailles (1919) and as compensation for the destruction of French coal mines during the first world war, the Saar coal mines (Saarbrücken is the capital of the region of Saarland in Germany) were given to France as exclusive property. As part of this treaty, a plebiscite was required in 1935. In this ballot, more than 90% of the electorate voted for re-unification with Germany, 0.8% of that population voted to stay within France, with the remainder voting for maintenance of the league of nations administration. The Saar subsequently rejoined Germany.

Saarbrücken was heavily bombed during the war and then made part of the French zone of occupation in 1945. In 1947, France created the nominally politically independent Saar protectorate, and merged it economically with France to exploit it's vast coal reserves. Political pressure on France from West Germany together with the rejection by Saarlanders of the Europeanisation of the area, led to the reunion with West Germany on 1 January 1957. It is said that economic re-integration would take many more years.

Although the border between France and Germany has been dynamic in many areas over the years, I understand that it is unique that this area has become it's own country (They even had their own national football team, which has played Germany.). This makes the Saarland and Saarbrücken unique. My travelling companion went to University in this area, and she notes that the Saarland is famous for it's good food and beer. Also, the people around there are noted for being - perhaps - a little bit more relaxed and easy going, than Germans as a whole

From the four or five days that we spent there, I can attest to that. The food was excellent - particularly two meals that we had in a particular pub attached to a brewery. The company we had in this area, mostly consisting of my old friends of my companion was excellent. The local people seem very welcoming to strangers.

I should also mention that the weather we experienced in mid April was excellent: warm and sunny. So on a sunny day my travelling companion and I decided to do a walk that she had enjoyed many times in previous years. I found it unusual that the walk started from a car park half way up a hill above a hospital. The first time - I think - that I had set of for a walk from near a hospital car park.

We set off on our short walk over the hill. Somewhere on that walk we entered France. It is not clear as you walk along the wide path, when you walk into France. So an interesting thing about this walk was that we weren't quite sure whether to greet people in French or German.

After a couple of miles you get to a small settlement, with a pub a car park and - strangely - a tank, called Spicherer Höhe. The tank commemorates efforts by, I believe, American troops to liberate this area during the war. We went for a drink in the pub and suddenly the atmosphere was definitely French. I still think it remarkable that by taking a short walk you can go from somewhere that is definitely German (albeit with it's own unique twist) to somewhere that feels French.

For a long time it has seemed really obvious to me that borders in Africa are entirely arbitrary. I understand that they were drawn up by Europeans sitting in offices, that were remote to the borders themselves. And they took no account of tribal domains or local culture. I suppose that it is less true of Europe, surely national borders between sovereign countries is a Western European notion. But, despite that, I still feel that they are somewhat arbitrary even in Europe.

However, given this short walk that we took, I have to concede that you do seem to experience something entirely different when you cross the border into France. The people speak a different language, they behave in a different way, their attitudes come with a different hallmark. The place feels culturally different. In this part of the world, as soon as you cross the border the whole place seems to scream France! Perhaps in Europe, borders are not so arbitrary after all.

Towns near Rivers.

I think rivers hold a fascination for many people. And certainly for me. One of the topics that I enjoyed doing most at school was 'River Basin Management' in Geography. Perhaps humans retain a primeval fascination with large bodies of water, be they rivers or the sea. Somehow I always prefer a walk or bike ride by a river or the sea to one which does not encompass water.
Germany is a good place if you like towns and cities located on rivers.

Whilst on rivers like the Trent or the Thames in the UK these days, the traffic is predominantly leisure crafts, the larger rivers in France and Germany seem to still be used for large barges carrying freight. I applaud that, I gather that moving goods by ship is a good way to transport freight and it must keep lorries off the roads and Autobahns.

Easter Monday probably isn't an ideal day for travel on the Autobahns. So our transition from Gottingen to Frankfurt-am-Maine was somewhat hampered. But the weather was beautiful and we took the opportunity to stop at a conveniently located picnic area. The youth hostel in Frankfurt is splendid. More like a hotel than a hostel to me. I was even in a room with a view. The hostel is located next to the river, so there are views over the river and Frankfurt's central business district.

It was early evening by the time that we had checked in and - I think with a degrees of fluke - parked the car nearby. But there was still time for a quick look around the central area and a short length of river bank. As the sun set we enjoyed a few drinks in one of the squares.

This blog really isn't intended as any sort of travel guide and of course this list is totally non-exhaustive, but in my humble opinion a trip to Frankfurt would be incomplete without a trip to the (Church which was the original German Parliament and also the thin park). In the evening we went to a charming Frankfurt restaurant which served meat and particularly sausages which were myriad and varied in nature.

When I was a student I did the whole interrail pass cliché thing. And although it's very mild by the standards of what many people get involved in for gap year etc. activites. I look back on the whole trip fondly. During that trip (in 1997) I stayed in a wonderful Youth hostel which looks over the confluence of the rivers Rhine and Mosel in Koblenz. I was anxious to return and persuaded my companion that we should go there.

The hostel in Koblenz lies within a maize of buildings which go back for 1000 years. This area is all currently being refurbished for what the German people call a "Festung". Furthermore, I understand that there are plans afoot to install a cable car from the apex of the corner of the Rhine and Mosel (where there stands Koblenz's landmark statue). So all of it looks like a construction site. And what we failed to anticipate was that the youth hostel was in fact closed for refurbishment. We found an alternative youth hostel nearby.

The next day we drove up the Mosel towards Trier. The road follows the river which wiggles with pinache. It really is a lovely river valley. During the journey, we had several stops, which gave us a chance to walk along the river. It really did strike me that if I ever get the opportunity to come here again, then the best mode of travel would be on foot on a puch-bike or ideally in a canoe.

The motor car has proved to be a popular means of transport, but if you want to sample beautiful country, the pace is far too fast. In my opinion, the aforementioned modes of tansport are better. I have not been in a canoe in ages.

A fast blast nach Deutschland

So the economic downturn continues to bite my company. There was talk of some school and museum work in for my company in the UK; but that's on hold so the remaining ongoing work that I have can be done from anywhere with an internet connection and a 'phone.

Have motor car, have laptop (it is an ungrateful, rude and annoying beast........I've only ever been kind to it; but it is only ever ungrateful and despondent with me) and I have mobile 'phone. So on good Friday, I packed my car, nursed my hangover and pointed the yellow bubble towards Dover, Kent, England. Much of my route follows that of the east coast mainline railway. So you may be interested to read my blog derived from a similar trip from Edinburgh to London on the train.

But there is an important difference. The first leg of the trip is from Edinburgh to Newcastle-Upon-Tyne. This is an oft discussed navigational topic. Many people that I know prefer to drive from Edinburgh to N-U-T along the coast road. But if you look at the map it is a long way around. It is quicker to go cross country (A68 and then A697 (check)) if you're heading that way and you are an enthusiastic driver.

There was a mass exit from Edinburgh (and who could blame them) as I left , so I queued for ten minutes at the end of my street and the Edinburgh city bypass was busy. Then out through Dalkeith and we're off. Soon you're out into the Scottish Borders. This is nice scenery. Whilst it does not quite have the drama of the Highlands, it is a pleasure to travel through. I have many happy memories of cycling around the borders in years past.

The road gets more twisty as you approach the English border and then immediately beforehand there are some hairpin bends. And into England, from where you can reach N-U-T quite quickly after passing through the affluent town of Ponteland (where all the footballers live). My brother is fortunate enough to live in N-U-T, so I had lunch with him.

I was planning to stay with a relative who lives in a Nottinghamshire village, and the vast majority of the rest of the way is very familiar to me. I worked in nearby Newark-on-Trent for a few years not long ago, so I travelled a very similar route quite regularly. I am very fond of the North East of England, and then Yorkshire and beyond, but you are on dual (or more) carriageways for the rest of the journey, so you do not see too much from the road.

The evening was good fun (rural Nottinghamshire pubs usually are, but then, I am biased). After a nice chat with some family members in the morning, it was time to continue to Dover. Again, the route is quite familiar due to a former family connection in the county (region) of Kent (The South East corner of England, just south of London), so the route passed quickly. I always feel that I am not too far away when I cross the river Thames at Dartford.

Dover is an interesting place. My grandparents who lived in Kent used to holiday in France and so Dover was a familiar place to them. They used to enjoy going to a nature reserve above the legendary white cliffs, and watching the ferries comings, goings and manouvreings. So I have fond memories of that as I killed an hour or so at Dover port.

Dover has the oft discussed 'air of fading grandeur', shared by many former seaside (resort) towns in the UK. Some of the newer buildings look horrible and some of the lovely older buildings are boarded up. I suppose with the advent of cheap international flights and the Eurotunnel, people often pass through Dover and it's ilk without stopping. I guess that I only stopped because I was early.

How do we make these places appealing again. A triennial arts festival, has been tried in other places. Perhaps it will be possible to take a view in twenty years. I always enjoy ferry trips and this was no different. But soon it was time to alight in Calais. I had not been able to find any hostels in Calais, so I checked into the cheapest hotel that an internet trawl yielded. Thanks to a kind french lady for some navigational assistance.

I was up early, because I was headed some way into Germany to meet with my travelling companion near Hanover. The weather was cloudy as I left Calais and into Belgium there was heavy rain. All of which got me down a little bit. The weather was just as rubbish as the UK, and also the rain and spray made driving conditions difficult. But around the time that I crossed the Dutch border, things looked up.

I like Holland. Holland is not a very wide country at the point where I crossed it so it wasn't long before I entered the Bundesrepublik. By then the weather was good. The sun was shining and it was warm. So I followed the Autobahn to Essen and within a few hours I had joined my companion near Hanover.

We spent some time in the charming little town of Goslar and then drove to Gottingen. German youth hostels are often something to write home about, and this one fared well. After quite a lot of travelling over a three day period (at least by European standards), it was nice to be where we meant to be.

The Northern Californian Coast Part 2

So we spent the next morning in the coastal tow of Fort Bragg (FB). FB originally existed as a military fort. According to Wikipedia (good old Wikipedia), the original fort was part of the Humbolt military district, headquartered in Fort Humbolt.

By around lunchtime, we were feeling hungry and we decided to get a bite to eat. We went to this small but very inviting diner/restaurant in FB. The place was very friendly, there was a painted 'yellow brick road' which I followed out to use the restrooms before the food arrived.

Maybe I am too self obsessed. But here´s an anecdote. The proprietor had heard me use the word "Blimey" on my way out there, so she came over and used that as a conversation starter. It's always nice to be addressed personally by the staff in an establishment, and this lady was very friendly. I ordered my usual favourite Californian food – Eggs Benedict. I think it was the best that I had sampled so far.

Once again, it was a lovely day as we drove up the coast road. At this point the road winds around a lot and also it drops up and down as it follows the cliffs and the coastline. We had planned to stay the night in Eureka. Eureka didn't, upon first sight, seem to be a great place. As you drive in from the South on the main road it seems to be just generic suburbia. Almost like it could be anywhere (Reading in the UK, the outskirts of Edinburgh my home town;even perhaps Slough.). But as you get to the town centre heading north, your curiosity is rewarded if you take a left turn and head a few blocks to the old town.

I'm no expert but the Eureka old town seemed to sport Dutch architecture. Pretty painted buildings, and lots of small antique shops and second hand book stores. We went into some of the second hand stores and one of them was – I think – the largest second hand bookshop that I have ever been in. Furthermore, it was mostly naturally lit (by daylight) and it had an upper tier. It was a very pleasant building to be in. More like a traditional library somehow than a second hand bookshop.

The variety of books was also impressive. A few steps down to the river, and you're rewarded with good views of a Marina on the other side of the river. The old town of Eureka is quite pretty, well worth a look if you're passing by.

We decided to pop out for a drink that evening. We decided that it would be good to go back to the nice 'Irish' pub where we had food. Strangely, the place had closed although it was only about ten o'clock in the evening when we got there. After that we decided to go somewhere else, but after a reasonably thorough (although definitely not exhaustive) search, and asking a couple of locals, it did seem that the bar that we went to was the only place that was open in the town.

It seemed strange to me that a place that is of such a reasonable size would only have one bar open on a weekday evening. Maybe it's because I'm British, where many small villages have several pubs. We ordered a drink and Morag beat me at pool.

Well time was pressing on, and the hire car had to be taken back to San Francisco. We had seen quite a few Redwood trees up close, but we thought that we should walk through a Redwood forest. We stopped for a late lunch in a small town, called Orick. There is no way – really – for me to know what constitutes an authentic small town californian experience. But from the small amount that I know, I would think that the cafe where we had lunch is. As we arrived, there was a country and western band warming up. The band turned out to be good. The cafe was relatively full, with what seemed to be local people. Everyone seemed to know everyone else, and there was banter, between the waitress and the patrons and also between diferent patrons.

Furthermore the lady who brought us our food in the diner worked for the national park during the summer months. So we got expert advice on where to go. To a European, Redwoood trees seem enormous. Although we probably walked passed throusands of them, I just couldn't get over the size. By the end of our walk, the sun was hanging low in the sky and it was time to point the motor car south.

Quite a bit of the next day was spent in the car. But we often stopped off. For the final drive into San Francisco we took the coast road. We stopped, again in Medocino. Go there. It's great. A small town along a pretty bit of coastline.

Our day finished with a drive over the Golden Gate bridge and into San Francisco. Morag wanted to take a trip up the twin peaks to see the view, which we did. She was so right to suggest this. A fantastic view over the bay area at night.

I have a friend from Ohio. His pseudonym is Hawthorn Poorhouse. Although he wasn't with us in person, I'm going to quote him nonetheless: "Good times".

The Northern Californian Coast Part 1

Well, as you know I love in San Francisco. Morag McTavish and I both had some work to do, but we'd also done quite a lot of hanging out together, and doing touristy stuff. I persuaded her to join me on a trip up the Northern Californian Coast. I think that we were both pleased that I did.

So I picked up our hire car and we drove out of San Francisco. I find the satellite navigation systems that we hired together with the car to be a complete god-send It really comes into it's own in an unfamiliar town. So we left the city and headed over the beautiful Golden Gate bridge taking the main freeway north.

I had a lunch meeting with a business associate in Santa Rosa. She suggested that we should check out Healdsburg and then a picturesque road, which would take us back to the coast. We stopped for a coffee in Headelsburg. It was a lovely town. I gather that this town has some of the oldest buildings in this part of california, going back some 150 years.

Time to get back on the road, so we put 'Manchester' into the satellite navigation system, and off we went. The road that my associate had suggested was indeed beautiful. The sun was shining, we were driving through beautiful native Californian woodlands, and for much of the route, the road followed a stream. We stopped several times to take in the wonderful scenery, perhaps take some 'photos and also to dip our toes in the streams. After the hustle and bustle of San Francisco, it seemed strange that we more-or-less had the place to ourselves. We were near to a well maintained road, but cars passed by only occasionally. I felt that life was currently being kind to us.

When we got back into the car, the driving was fun as well. My own hypocrisy had struck again (See previous blog entry 'When is it acceptable to hire a muscle car') , and we'd hired a Chrysler 300, a large touring saloon. Very understandably, Morag had completely failed to understand the need for a large car; she thought we should have gone for the cheapest option. She was right, on many levels; in terms of money saving and in terms of conserving the environment, to name but two.

But boys love toys, so we did a deal where she paid for half of the cost of the cheapest available hire car, and I paid the extra. By now Morag seemed to have developed a certain amount of confidence in my driving and so I could push the load pedal a bit harder. The road was fun with long straights and then winding bends. Then we negotiated loads of hairpin bends, and we descended to the coast. Gorgeous.

I always enjoy being near to the coast. And coastal views are fabulous. But beyond that there is something about this part of the Californian coast that is gorgeous. The sun was shining brightly, the sea was blue and the coastline jagged in and out. Periodically, you see a beautiful, sandy beach. We were heading for the town of Mendocino, north up the coast. We had a final stop to walk along the beach before the sun went down. So the light was failing as we headed north to Mendocino.

We hadn't pre-booked any of our accommodation, we decided to risk spontaneity. So we parked up in Mendocino, and started to look for something to eat and somewhere to stay. We had a really good feed in a pub, but from both internet searches and the advice of our waitress, we decided to travel another few miles up the coast to Fort Bragg. We easily found accommodation in a nice and inexpensive motel on the outskirts of Fort Bragg.

An ode to Youth Hostelling

Youth hostelling what a fabulous concept. Who invented the youth hostel?



Well once again I have consulted the trusty Wikipedia. And according to Wikipedia the first youth hostel (or Jugendherberger) was created by Richard Schirrmann. Part of the idea of this was to allow financially poor German youngsters from inner city areas to experience the countryside and breath the clean air.



This idea spread rapidly overseas (Perhaps many good ideas do.). And Youth Hostel is now a trademark of the Youth Hostelling Association (Hostelling International).



The International Youth Hostelling movement now spreads throughout the world. Furthermore there are many and varied independent hostels (Check out http://www.hostelworld.com/ , if you're interested). And I think it is a mistake - lovely people - to regard hostels as simply a less expensive alternative to a hotel. While hostels are generally less expensive than hotels. They are a very different alternative Granted, they may not have some of creature comforts that a hotel affords. But they often have other things that are in my opinion more important. Many hostels have things in place, such that if you are travelling on your own and want some company......if you want to make some new friends, you can do that. In North America, hostels often have organised trips throughout the week. My general experience of Youth Hostels is that they are friendly places. Staffed by kind friendly and helpful people who enjoy working there.

But I'm not saying that these places are perfect. I sometimes hesitate to stay in Hostels if I have some urgent work which I need to do (It's sometimes hard to get any peace). And, if - as often happens - you're sharing a room with other people that you do not know, sometimes it's hard to get a good nights sleep. There are things that go bump in the night.

The worst experience I have so far is a young french lad - I think he was sufficiently young, that he knew everything - actually trying to throw me out of my bed in a communal dorm in a hostel in Santa Monica, California.

But it's important to put what I have said into context. These are one or two negative experiences that I've had; but I have also had countless wonderful experiences that have been inextricably linked to the fact that I've been staying in Hostels. And overwhelmingly, the people that I meet on my travels (often splendid people) are people that I have met in Youth Hostels.

I am totally not in the business of promoting or advertising products or organisations in this blog. So this is just my opinion - take no notice of it. But for my part, my favourite Youth Hostels (of those that I have been to so far) in North America, are:

1. The International Hostel in Boston, MA. It's just a little bit tatty. But it has a great and friendly vibe.
2. The independant "Apple Hostel" in Philadelphia. Beautifully decorated, fabulous staff and a "quirky" feel.
3. The International Hostel on Mason St., San Francisco. Great place. Lovely living room, good kitchen. Friendly, helpful and witty staff. Lots of friendly people.

I went to my first Hostel in 1993, when I was 15 and biking with some friends in the Scottish Borders. Since then, Youth Hostels have made my life better, more varied and more interesting. I have more friends than I would otherwise have due to Youth Hostels.

Hostelling International has the following mission statement: "To help all, especially the young, gain a greater understanding of the world and it's people through hostelling."

Here's to that....

San Francisco, I think I love you........

I always like arriving in San Francisco. I flew in from New York. The flight was enjoyable, partly because I was sat next to a very nice bloke. Although his life is very different to mine.....it also had bizarre similarities (Although we are ethnically dissimilar, we were born on the same continent [Africa]; we had almost been educated in the same college from age sixteen to eighteen [In a small town near Cardiff, Wales, UK and, almost because I didn't pass the assessment to be eligible for the grant.]). He had some work to do, and I didn't want to distract him from that, but he sometimes seemed happy to chat. Good guy. Lucky guy, he lived in the bay area...

I have only been to San Francisco twice previously to this trip. The first time was only a few years ago, when I was on a road trip from LA to San Fran. (Yes, I know: it was imaginitive). And then a few weeks ago (See my previous blog "The profound importance of kindness and courtesy). After the wonder (and stress) of New York, and a mildy annoying social scenario (the aftermath of which was resolved in San Fran. over facebook chat). It was a pleasure to be in a town that I find less stressful.

So a good flight, easy pick up of my luggage, then an easy ride to a pleasant youth hostel on the Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART) underground train. I was glad to be in a youth hostel where I had stayed before and felt comfortable.

First the inevitable (cursed?) checking of email etc., then off for a pint in my favourite San Fran. music bar, located nearby. Before I went I had to retrieve my "trademark" blazer which I had foolishly left in the lounge of the youth hostel. In doing this, as seems to have happened a few times my own gormlessness worked to my advantage: I got chatting to my dear and new friend Morag McTavish. Even better...off to the pub with a friend.

Why do I love San. Fran.? Well the people always seem friendly and helpful. I love the fact that it is hilly. San Fran has at least three dimensions (I currently do not have time for any philosophical discussion about any fourth dimension, that might exist?). It has a wide variety of districts, all with their own cheeky and charming characteristics. It is near the sea (so you can go to the beach and swim) which means there is a fresh breeze here. It is culturally rich, there are art galleries, bars with live music, and even good live music on the streets everywhere. I love travelling around - and hanging off the side - on the traditional trams (the locals call them cable cars, because they are pulled along on cables, within the tracks). You can cross the beautiful Golden Gate Bridge and you're into the fabulous Marin mountains. I love walking around the Marina near Fisherman's wharf, and then going for a Clam Chowder. San Fran. is wonderful.

I have heard it said that it is better to travel hopefully that to arrive...........Not so with San Fran. It is better to arrive in San Francisco, than to travel hopefully.

If you have never been here in San. Fran. before; you must. Save those pennies and come.....!

Moshing in Philadelphia?

Well, we might get back to some sort of chronology now.

Leaving New York to head (kind of) south to Philadelphia, on the bus, is a bit like the opening credits from HBO's 'The Sopranos'. You go through the Lincoln Tunnel and then migrate out into New Jersey. Much of that initial scene is really quite industrial. Lot's of train tracks, warehouses and factories. And from the bus, it just seemed to go on and on.

I was now just travelling with Titus Auberon and Catherine Lennox. I think they were quite tired, partly from a surfeit of all the things that New York has to offer. After the filming of Late Night with Conon O'Brien, they had gone to a concert. All seemed very quiet on the bus, which made me feel just a little nervous. With others if would have been fine, but these two are usually so lively.

Of course I was worrying for nothing. The hostel in Philadelphia is fantastic. Really nicely decorated and the staff were fabulous. During part of my stay here I had to do quite a bit of work, and they were got the balance of friendliness and not interrupting me just right.

Titus and Catherine were on quite a tight schedule, so we were only in Philadelphia for a few days. They had arranged to see a few bands, at this concert venue. I definitely fancied it. Sounds like the sort of thing that I enjoyed when I was a teenager. And we all have to be in touch with our inner teenager.

We went up into the first tier pretty quickly. But down on the dance floor on the ground floor there was moshing (running around, crowd surfing, and boisterous bumping into others, to the tune). I was quite surprised, this sort of thing was quite popular in the UK in the early to mid nineties, but it has now died out in the uk (with the inception of New Labour in government?), all but for a few isolated cases.

The first few bands were really not great. But the final two were really fantastic. One in particular stood out, because they had two drummers. I wondered whether this was the ultimate example of teamwork....

So now onto Washington, and an unusual co-incidence...

A Cathedral to what..........

I suppose that I felt a bit embarrased that I have now spent a few days in New York City (with a rest), but had not properly seen Brooklyn Bridge. There are quite a few things that I probably should have seen, but haven't.

I like walking in the rain, and it was drizzling gently as I ambled through central park. Felt quite wet by the time that I got to the Guggenheim. So went into the cafe.

As I walked on, I got to Grand Central Station. It seemed more like a cathedral to me than a railway station. I design the re-wiring of buildings, when they are refurbished for a living, and to my silly mind it felt like a building that had been designed for the worship of an omnipotent god; but had later been converted into a building to marshall people leaving an (omnipotent?), railway line.

That left me wandering what I was worshipping. It's a fabulous building. Go to see it, if you can. Is it a cathedral to capital?

Great Railway Journeys...(?)

There is a school of thought in the UK, that the then conservative government killed off the railways in the UK through a botched and ill-considered privatisation scheme in 1995. I'm not sure, but it has to be said that rail passenger numbers have risen steadily since then. Perhaps that was due to the economy that grew steadily from the mid-nineties, until recently.

One of the things that has happened since rail privatisations is that the various companies are forever re-branding and then re-painting the trains. Until recently, the line that links with London with Peterborough, Doncaster, York, Darlington Newcastle-Upon-Tyne, Edinburgh, and then Glasgow, Inverness or Aberdeen - was called the "Great North Eastern Railway". A misnomer of course, when compared to high speed rail links in mainland Europe or Japan. I understand that the franchise has now been taken over by a bus company and it seems to be called "National Express". Perhaps I should invest in the specialist contractors that paint trains.

But I love it. My first recollection of using it was aged eight in 1985. My Dad had just started a new job in Edinburgh, so we travelled from Nottingham to Grantham (A minor stop: birthplace of both Isaac Newton and Mrs Margaret Thatcher as it happens.). From there we whizzed up to Edinburgh.

And really it's been a recurrent feature of my life ever since...visiting grandparents in Kent in my childhood and teenage years, travelling home when I use to work in London. I've also worked in Newark-Upon-Trent in Nottinghamshire (don't you know), which is another minor stop on that line (just north of Grantham).

So I went up to London last week. The sun shone as we clattered out of Waverley Station in Edinburgh......Great view of some of the Edinburgh Hills, and then your out into the Arable landscapes of East Lothian. A Nuclear Power station (nice), Berwick-Upon-Tweed (then England). Great views of the Northumbrian coast. The Holy Island at Lindisfarne. Morpeth. Newcastle-Upon-Tyne. Durham Cathedral (In the good old days there used to be a senior conductor from Durham who used to quip "On your left (or right, depending) the finest view on the East Coast Mainline, but the I'm biased."

Soon you're into the strange flatness of the vale of York. Then more arable landscapes, fenlands; stockbroker belt. And then the conurbation that they call London. Look out for Alexandra Palace ten minutes before London, King X station. I understand that where the BBC started broadcasting television.

I don't think it's a great train line. Too slow. But a great train journey. I normally jump onto this train with some relish

"You're not hard up at all....."

Well Thursday was a funny day for me....

My friend who is travelling but currently lives in New York City, Ms Nora Ann Ponteland, had asked me to bring her some chocolates from the UK. I'd suggested a shopping list and had duly got one. So off I trotted to a local supermarket (other supermarket brands are available, as well). It didn't seem to cater well for chocolate maufactured in the UK, so I went to another supermarket (and I'm not necessarily advocating that one either).

Then I had to get some new trainers and buy a biology textbook. In the end I decided that the textbook, would be better procured in London town (on Friday). When I buy trainers I generally go for a particular brand (not that I'm recommending them for you - they happen to suit me nicely), so I had to do a certain amount of searching. Found a shop that sells them. Bought them.

As I was leaving the shop (and this may not be the right place for you to buy trainers, I just found the unmentionable brand of trainers there); someone who begs for money on the streets asked me for money. Although, it's probably, basic common-sense, in a way; I'm a great subscriber to the theories of Abraham Maslow.

Like my earlier blog Re: These are the Shadowlands: Rehearsal for Reality, (the works of C S Lewis) I am just not qualified to paraphrase this great man, Maslow. But my understanding is that there is a hierachy of human needs - a pyramid. At the foot of this pyramid are really basic things like food, water, shelter. When these things are satisfied, you move onto the 'safety needs' and so on. I think that the theory states that you need to satisfy one set of needs before you move on to the next. Eventually, at the top of the hierachy you get to what Maslow calls "Self-Actualisation". I sometimes think that is a nebulous concept; but, having said that I think it is really apparent, when one meets someone in a state of "Self-Actualisation".

So I tend to feel sympathy for people who beg on the streets. They may only have one life, and I would assume that "Self-Actualisation" might be a long way off for them. So my sympathy leads me to empathy.

Going back to the man begging on an Edinburgh Street on Thursday, I said in response to his request for money "Sorry mate - I'm a bit hard up myself at the moment." His response to this seemed very reasonable to me "You're not hard up at all, you just bought a new pair of shoes". And then he moved onto a rather discourteous diatribe, including rude words beginning with F, that aren't "fiddlesticks".

And whilst I didn't really want to get into a debate with my new friend there and then, I had to agree to him. I had just bought myself lunch in the pub. Then I bought some new shoes. And by now I was late for an evening do in Glasgow (an attempt to market my business, but I think that's irrelevant), so I had to get a taxi home to change into my Tuxedo.

This made me angry. Angry with myself for spending money willy nilly, and then making flippant remarks to my (possibly) vagrant friend, about being hard-up. My remark was nonsense. And also angry that the UK is the fourth (or is it fifth, now) largest economy in the world, and yet we have people on the streets reduced to begging for money.

But I know that anger with my government is a cop-out. If I feel strongly about homelessness in the UK, I am free to help them and/or petition and vote-out a government, which may be indifferent to their needs. I'm not sure how I'm going to park that anger, but I have some further comments to make.

I was in San Francisco, CA a little while ago (I'm just not hard-up - although at this rate I might soon be). People on the street who are begging, seemed to be much more polite there. I walked several blocks and spoke to a number of people who were begging for money. At that time I had not been reprimanded by the vagrant community for my flippancy, and I was carrying a loaf of bread. So I said to them "I'm a bit hard up myself, but I have this loaf of bread, would you like it?"

I can't remember how many people that I had this discussion with, but my bread was resoundingly rejected by the good vagrant community of San Fran.. I would have gladly eaten the bread, it seemed fine to me. Which made me wonder, are the vagrant community in San Fran. posh (er than me)?

Others might say there are different issues involved. But it seemed strange to me......

Travelling is fabulous, but I love to be home as well

Firstly I have to apologise to any blog follower, who would like my entries to chronological in line with my travels. I'm afraid that I've broken that rule once already, and I intend to break it again. As with a number of things in my life, I'm a bit behind with this travelogue, and I'm doing an entry about a short period at home, whilst it's fresh in my mind. I have been home for a short period of time and now I'm going away again.

I wasn't mad keen to come home, and I was spending time in NYC with people that I am very fond of. But there were a number of things for me to do in the UK. I needed to help my brother with something and also there were a couple of work things to attend to as well. Whilst many aspects of my job (see our website at http://www.fec-ltd.com/) lend themselves well to remote working. There is - I think - no substitute for a bit of face-to-face contact with colleagues from time to time.

The first few days back in the UK were a bit manic. But after a couple of days the primary reason for coming back was dealt with. I do like being back in Edinburgh. The following Sunday, my mother an I went for a very familiar walk. We live in a Southern suburb of Edinburgh in flats (locally know as tenements) built just over a century ago. There are many advantages to living there, but one of them is that for keen strollers like us there are lots of nice, green places to walk to easily.

So my mother and I trotted for about ten minutes to the foot of the blackford hill. Then it's a short climb to the top. It was a clear, cold, crisp early March day. And from our elevated position the views were - despite their familiarity - wonderful. Laid out ahead of you (and for your pleasure) there is the beautful city: the castle on the crag, with it's tail forming the Royal Mile; Calton Hill with it's folly; many a church spire; Arthur's Seat (another hill) looms large, almost as if it is peacefully keeping an eyey on what us Edinburgers are getting up to.

Then further you see the Firth of Forth (the estuary), the two bridges and the Kingdom of Fife. On a Clear day like that day, you can see the Ochils and sometimes even Ben Lomond. I think that walk and that view is one of the many reasons that my mother chooses to live in Edinburgh, and I know what she means. You might be interested in the aerial photo:

http://www.multimap.com/maps/#map=55.92266,-3.210391632&bd=useful_information&loc=GB:55.92218:-3.21039:16EH10%206AHEH10%206AH

A few days later I decided that the weather was far too nice to be indoors (I work from home, so it's nice to get out and about at lunch time). So I decided to travel a bit further to the Pentland Hills. I should have cycled there, but we're a bit of a haphazard family so there were some logistical problems to do with this and I ended up driving. That took about twenty minutes.

It was another lovely day. Bit colder and with a thin layer of snow on the ground to re-inforce that notion in my head. I suppose that the view are in some way similar to my previous vantage point. Once again, you're looking due North towards the Kingdom of Fife. It's a fairly steep climb for five hundred yards or so on a good path and then you emerge out of the woods to this fabulous view. You might be interested in the aerial view, once again:

http://www.multimap.com/maps/#map=55.89141,-3.257951532&bd=useful_information&loc=GB:55.89984:-3.25795:16EH13%200QDEH13%200QD

The Pentland Hills are to the South of Edinburgh, and there is a road the A702 which follows them (more-or-less) due South toward Biggar ("England's big, but we've got Biggar") and eventually Carlisle. Although these hills are not high, they are very popular with Edinburgh folk, due to the good views and sheer close proximity to the town. I spent quite a lot of time mountainbiking on these hills with mates, when I was a teenager. All of this made me want to walk over the hill to Flotterstone and get a bus home. But I had work to do, so I lingered for a while on a seat, and then sauntered back down the hill.

There are some aspects of Edinburgh that I really do not like. I sometimes feel that the part of the town I live in is full of retired people with nothing to fill their time with, but an objectionable attitude (to everything). I sometimes feel that long outdated and negative aspects of British culture (that have all but disappeared in other parts of the UK) live on here. I strongly suspect that one of our neighbours genuinely feels that she is better than us purely because she lives in a main door flat (Her front door opens straight on to the street, rather than onto a stairwell). That attitude seems bizarre to me.

But I love Edinburgh despite all that because it is a culturally rich place. The art, music and literary scene is strong here. The scenery is fantastic (just walk around the town), and it holds many memories for me. I've even been known to enjoy the lively pubbing and clubbing scene.

A splendid town. If you don't live in Edinburgh, I would strongly encourage you to travel to here.