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Thursday 20 June 2013

Days 361-365: Closing the Loop

By Nick, in which we embark on a magical mystery tour from Hove to Hammersmith and complete our ‘gap’ year, and this blog.


Day 361 (Hove to Alfriston)

So, last post, we’d reached Hove, having completed our epic 360 degrees in 360 days without a hitch, to discover that our booked and paid for hotel had gone out of business, then booked into a guest house up the road instead.

The next morning, after a comfortable night, we eagerly opened our second envelope. It contained two bus timetables with instruction to make our way from Brighton, via Seaford (about 20 Km further east along the coast) to Alfriston (about another 6 Km north-east of Seaford). So after breakfast, at which we got talking to a young woman who had just completed her second round the world trip, we checked out and started walking along the sea front towards Brighton.
 

Our first bus went from a stop near Brighton Aquarium. We didn’t have to wait long for it, but still long enough to get sucked into conversation with two bus-stop-randoms complaining about the price of fruit or some such.

On route to Seaford, the first bus took us through some classic English seaside place names, such as Rottingdean, Saltdean, Peacehaven and Newhaven. As our second bus from Seaford to Alfriston wasn’t due for a while, we ducked into a small cafe just next to the bus stop. We were the only two customers and soon got talking to the owner. As you may or may not know, Juli has always wanted to run a teashop, and it turned out that the owner had only just opened this one: her first such business. Juli was soon pumping her for information. How much did it cost to set up? Where do you advertise? How can you arrange things so dogs are allowed in? With all the chat, before we realised it, we’d missed the second bus (or it just never turned up) and had to wait for the next one.

The second bus – a much shorter journey – took us up and over a steep bank to Afriston, an ancient and quintessentially English, chocolate-box-perfect village. Here we found another but altogether more traditional ‘tea shoppe’, ordered lunch and opened envelope number three, marked: “Open when you get there.”

Envelope number three contained another lovely surprise. Marion and Pauline had treated us to a night in a classic English country house hotel on the outskirts of the village, 14th century Deans Place Hotel, complete with extensive gardens, swimming pool and a croquet lawn. After checking in (and handing over the contents of envelope number four to the receptionist) we dumped our bags and headed out again to see more of this charming village.

One of the many reasons to visit Alfriston is the Clergy House, a mid 13-hundreds wattle and daub, thatched cottage with a sour milk floor (compacted chalk, hardened by milk) which was the very first property acquired by the National Trust, shortly after the trusts formation in 1895. Another good reason is to pop in to St. Andrew’s (more or less next door) for the unusual arrangement of bell ropes, which hang down – and are played from – right in the middle of the church.
 

The main street through Alfriston is chock-a-block with exclusive boutiques, artsy shops, smart restaurants and ancient pubs. Juli was keen to visit a book shop she’d spotted when we stopped for lunch; I was more keen to book into one the pubs for dinner. In the end, we did both: Juli bought a book on crafty things to do with old books (and was given a small pile of them to practice on) following which we made a reservation at The George, which dates back to 1397.
 


Back at the hotel, under the pretext of getting ready to go out for dinner, we shared a bath and our last complementary bottle of Champagne from the ship. Dinner at The George was just what we’d hoped it would be, and went down very nicely with a pint or two of Olde Trip.


Day 362 (Alfriston to Lewis)

Our fifth and final envelope marked “Make sure you have some breakfast,” contained the instructions “Put on your walking shoes and wait for news.” Putting two and two together, we immediately went in to the dining room and filled up with hot, hopefully sustaining, platefuls of British breakfast goodies, then checked out and waited in the hotel’s lounge bar.

While we waited, a group of people attending a conference at the hotel came into the lounge for their mid morning coffee break. It soon became apparent from their conversations that they were at a local education authority meeting there. It amused Juli to remember, had she been organising it as part of her old job, what she would be doing, thinking and feeling at this point in the day. Seems like such a long time ago.

Not long after that, Marion appeared with another long-time friend of Juli’s, Ali, who lives not far away in Lewis. The three of them met when they were all au-pairs in Switzerland together. Now that really was a long time ago. In fact, just before we went travelling, the three of them went back to Switzerland to explore their old stamping grounds and celebrate the 30th anniversary of their meeting.

After a coffee and a catch-up, lead by Ali, we headed off to walk the ten miles or so to Lewis. Our route took us up out of Alfriston and onto the South Downs Way. It was a beautiful, bright and warm day, which was just as well, as on top of the downs, the wind was fair blowing a gale. It was quite a steep climb up to the top, but we were rewarded with some stunning views out over the Sussex countryside.
 

Coming down off The Downs after a bracing walk, we arrived at a brand new YHA hostel at a place on the river Ouse about half way between Newhaven and Lewis called Southease. By this point in our walk we were about two thirds of the way and ready for some refreshment and to get out of the wind. We enjoyed some very reasonably priced light lunch dishes followed – continuing the best of British theme – by scones and jam and clotted cream. Finally.

Replete, we moved on along the Ouse towards Lewis and Ali’s lovely cottage. We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening drinking tea at Ali’s home and beer in her local, quite a lively spot, where we also had supper. Ali’s son, Zack, very kindly gave up his bed for Ali and Marion to share so that we could have Ali’s bed, in which we had another good night’s rest.


Days 363 & 364 (Lewis to Bromley)

The next morning, with no more envelopes to open, we were just told to wait and see and that something would happen by 11.00am. In fact, nothing much happened for quite a while until Ali had to go off to work. We said goodbye and thank you and promised to be back soon, now that we’re in the area again.

Eleven o’clock came and went, but still nothing happened except that, for some suspicious reason, Marion had to keep going out to check on her car. Then, at about quarter past eleven, I went upstairs briefly and returned to find my oldest friend, Richard, his wife, Gill, whose been running ‘Basecamp’ for us while we’ve been away, and their daughter Sophie, who also happens to be my Goddaughter.

After some catching up, they explained that their plan was to take us to Sheffield Park, home of the Bluebell Railway, for a ‘Steam and Cream’ teatime special. Another cream tea. Hurrah! However, by now, thoughts were more acutely focused on lunchtime, so, saying goodbye to Marion, who had to go off to work herself, the five of us walked into the centre of Lewis and had lunch at Bills, which wasn’t the amazing veggie restaurant we remembered from last time we ate there.

After lunch, and leaving Lewis behind, Richard drove us the short distance to Sheffield park. The bluebell line was the UK’s first preserved standard gauge passenger railway and opened 1960. Since then it has developed into one of the areas largest tourist attractions. They have just opened a new extension to the line, which now runs all the way up to East Grinstead, where they have their own platform (platform 3) along side the regular mainline station. Our journey today was a 45 minute round trip (well, out and back) through the beautiful Sussex countryside between Sheffield Park and East Grinstead, during which tea was served with scones and jam and proper Rodda’s Cornish clotted cream. (Hurrah again.) Soon the conversation turned to the eternal question: which way do you build your scones: jam first (Cornish) or cream first (Devonish)?
 

After yet another quintessentially English thing to do on a lovely summer’s afternoon, we drove back to Richard and Gill’s, where we were to stay for the next two nights. In the evening, after a delicious home cooked meal, we sat in their recently furnished lounge, and dished out some of the things we’d brought back from our travels, including the Easter Island head that Gill had asked us for just before we set off a year ago. At the time, she was just finalising the design of a custom-built shelving unit she wanted the head for, and no doubt it’ll take pride of place, just as soon as the shelves are finished. Well, you can’t hurry these things, can you?

***

The next day we started to work through a year’s accumulated post we’d had forwarded there and to plan how we were going to get from Greenwich – tomorrow’s starting point – back to Hammersmith and then on to Staines the next day. We looked at various options, including a combination of river buses and cruise boats. We discovered that it would be perfectly possible to take a sequence of three boats from Greenwich all the way back to Staines. The only problems being the timing of the various services and getting to and from Hammersmith in the middle of it all. Anyway, we settled on a plan that combined the river with some walking plus one bus and one train for the next day. All bases covered.

We’ve often been asked questions like ‘what was the best thing you did’ or ‘where was your favourite place’. The fact is, choosing one place or activity from a year of travel is really difficult, and I think to do justice to the question, we’re going to have to take some time to reflect on the past twelve months. My memory has never been very good, and I’m sure there are things we’ve seen and done this year that I’ve forgotten already. Its part of the problem with trying to pack so much into our time away.

Anyway what I’m leading up to is, tonight, Gill came up with a question we’ve never been asked before and for which we were completely unprepared: “What have you learned this year?” It’s an excellent question. I could have given a glib answer like, I really miss Marmite, or three pairs of pants is quite enough for any man, but the fact is, I couldn’t answer her. And that makes me a bit sad, because what was the point of giving up everything like we have if I can’t now think of a single meaningful lesson to take away from our adventure. I think I’m going to have to think about that quite a bit.

Changing the mood entirely, and just to round off the day, after dinner, we indulged in one of our favourite activities and settled down in front of Richard’s enormous TV and watched a good clean family film: Wreck-It Ralph. Tagline: “This holiday season comes a story for everyone who ever needed a restart on life.”


Day 365 (Greenwich to Hammersmith)

The next morning after breakfast, us two, Gill and Sophie (Richard had gone away on a business trip the day before) Gill drove us to the Old Royal Observatory in Greenwich Park, which is about ten miles from their home. This is something that Juli really wanted to do because the prime meridian that was defined at Greenwich – or rather being so many degrees (and time zones) east or west of it – is something that has been ever-present during our journey.

I can’t actually remember ever going to Greenwich Park, though I’m sure we would have been taken there or near there on some school trip or other. It has some excellent views out across central London, including the O2 Arena and the new cable car there, Canary Wharf and all its skyscrapers and the new, recently bettered (by a building in Moscow) but briefly tallest building in Europe, The Shard. (Still the tallest in the EU, though only until 2017, when the French are scheduled to complete a taller one. Pah!) Incidentally, The Shard, tall though it is at 310m, is only 67th on a list of the World’s tallest buildings on Wikipedia, number one being the stratospheric Burj Khalifa in Dubai, which stands at 828 m or 2,171 ft. Just for old time’s sake, the Empire State Building – one of the oldest on the list – is at number 23 at 381 m or 1,250 ft.

At the observatory, you can stand astride the meridian with one foot in the west and the other in the east. (Yes, of course we did.) I just couldn’t resist checking the line that runs through the courtyard there against the GPS app on my phone. Well, I’m going to assume the line is right and apologise now for giving out coordinates from all round the world that turn out to be over a thousandth of a degree out. I just hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me.

Incidentally – Oh here he goes again – the Prime Meridian of the World has only been such since 1851. For a hundred years before that it was 19 feet to the west and was only moved to its present position when a new telescope was installed in the building next door to the original one. I’d like to be able to say that this accounts for the error on my phone, but in fact it only makes it worse.

Inside the observatory buildings there was an exhibition about time, including the Harrison Chronometers. Harrison was a cabinet maker who taught himself to design and make high precision clocks that were able to keep as near perfect as possible time on ships to enable them to calculate their longitude. No easy feat considering the difficulties of changes in temperature and rough seas, and in 1714 the British government offered a prize of £20,000 (nearly 3 million pounds in today’s money) to the person who solved the problem. It took him 45 years to perfect his marine chronometer (known now as H4) which, on it’s first test voyage between London and Jamaica, lost just 5 seconds. Unfortunately for Harrison, the Longitude Board, responsible for awarding the prize, put the clocks remarkable accuracy down to luck and denied Harrison his just reward. He got his money (albeit in dribs and drabs) eventually, but only by the final decade of his life. The reason seems to have been a combination of snobbery – Harrison was the son of a carpenter not a gentleman – and his own inability to communicate effectively. Anyway, it’s a fascinating story, and one that has been turned into a best selling novel and several film and television dramas, including as the starting point for the Only Fools and Horses Christmas special, ‘Time On Our Hands’.

After our tour round the observatory, it was time for Gill and Sophie to head back to Bromley, leaving us to make our journey west to Hammersmith. Stage one of our plan was to catch the river bus to Embankment from Greenwich pier, which is near the newly rehoused Cutty Sark.
 

Neither of us had been on the Thames river bus before, and if you haven’t either, we can heartily recommend it. Basically, it’s a bus on the river. There’s no commentary, but you get some great views of the city as you zoom along the Thames. (And if that’s not quite James Bond enough for you, there’s always the Thames Rib Experience, which has nothing to do with pork wings.)
 

From Embankment, we walked in an almost unbroken series of parks and gardens – Victoria Embankment Gardens; Horseguards; St. James’s; Green Park; Hyde Park; Kensington Gardens – all the way to the bottom of Kensington High Street. From there we walked to Olympia, and from there to the West London Novotel, Hammersmith, and checked in a year to the day (almost to the hour) since doing so the night before our big adventure set off from there.

 


One last bookend to our year. The night before we set off last year, we had dinner with Marion and John in a Vietnamese restaurant down the road a bit from the hotel. To celebrate the completion of our 365 days, Marion had booked the same restaurant, on the same evening, and blow me if we didn’t get sat at the same table as last time when the four of us walked in a year on. Marion had also ordered champagne and a selection of Vietnamese Hors d'oeuvres. We had a lovely meal – Juli and I shared a fish and a beef hotpot – and we wondered if we’d ever return to that part of the world again. There’s still so much to see.
 

Back at the hotel, after saying goodbye to Marion and John, we used the free Wi-fi in the lobby (£8 extra in the room) to upload the last of our photos.


The next morning, we totally missed the exact moment our trip began by sleeping in late. We didn’t, however, miss our included full English breakfast. There you go, Gill, that’s something I’ve learned: never skip breakfast, especially when you’ve already paid for it.

N

[Click here for more photos from the UK.]

Tuesday 11 June 2013

Days 357-360: The British Isles

By Nick, in which we drink Murphy’s and Guinness in Ireland, but miss out on a Cornish pasty or cream teas, say farewell to our floating friends and complete out 360 degrees.


Days 357 & 358 (Ireland)

In the last post, we’d just about finished our transatlantic crossing, which, thanks to the same weather that generated all the fog, turned out to be not half so bumpy as we’d been led to expect. In fact, hardly bumpy at all, and, according to one of the officers, that plus our almost four days of fog is very unusual. Lucky old us.

So, on this morning – a gloriously bright, hot and sunny one – we arrived (as usual, just as we were waking up) at the Port of Cork in Cobh (not Cohb as I wrote last time – sorry about that) which, as I also wrote (correctly) is pronounced Cove. However, it used to be called Queenstown (pronounced Queen’s-town) and thus named was the last port of call for the ill-fated SS Titanic. We could have caught the train to Cork just a few miles to the north of Cobh – the station is right by the cruise terminal – but we wanted to spend our time here, exploring the town (lovely, by the way) including it’s connections to the famously doomed liner.
 

We found the tourist information office quite quickly, and, once we’d got some Euros, bought a booklet for a self-guided Titanic walking tour, taking in several of the towns notable landmarks along the way. One of the first stops was the Old Cemetery (the oldest grave is from 1698) which is some way out of town. (Actually, it should have been one of the last stops, but for some reason we decided to do the tour in reverse.)
Oldest grave from 1698 by the old chapel

Although this was a Titanic tour, actually the site relates more to another, equally terrible maritime disaster of just three and a bit years later, during the first World war: the sinking of another great passenger liner, the Lusitania. Although an act of war (she was hit by a German torpedo) rather than an accident, the civilian loss of life was similar in scale to that of the Titanic, as was the number rescued, as was the number of bodies recovered. It was to Cobh (as I’ve said, then Queenstown) that those in this last category were brought and where they were laid to rest.
 

Another of the stops on our tour was St. Colman’s cathedral. Begun in 1868 and consecrated in 1919, it ranks, in my mind at least, as one of the most amazing churches I’ve ever seen. The detail in the masonry alone is almost overwhelming. It’s not the largest cathedral we’ve visited – though definitely big enough to qualify – compared to the size of the town, though, it’s huge. Well worth a visit.
 

After all our walking, which took us the length and breadth of Cobh, we reckoned we’d earned a sit down, a drink and a bite to eat. Unfortunately, although the first cafe we chose had some excellent rhubarb pie, it didn’t have Wi-fi. However, they were able to point us in the direction of one that did, so after we’d watched the world – including, Kitty (as in ‘Hello, Kitty’) Mario (as in Super Mario) and Jerry (as in Tom and Jerry) – go by, we moved on. (Who knew Rhubarb was an hallucinogen.) At the second cafe, we got all our e-mailing, photo uploading and blog-post publishing done plus bumped into Georg and Barbara, who had taken the train into Cork, and compared notes.

With a couple of hours in hand between being kicked out of the cafe and our scheduled departure, there was plenty of time to enjoy some local produce – both Murphy’s and Beamish are brewed in nearby Cork – before returning to the ship. I have to confess, not only were we the last back on board, but that I was having to concentrate quite hard in order to keep a straight face (and line) as we passed through security.

We then spent a very silly and giggly half an hour our so on Georg and Barbara’s balcony watching and listening to a brass band on the quayside play as we sailed away. Half-way through the manoeuvre, the ship had to turn around in the harbour, which meant we had to (we just had to) run from their cabin to ours on the other side of the ship in order to keep waving and clapping until the band packed up and went home. Must have been the rhubarb.
 

Just time to change for dinner in the Grand Dining Room (during which there may have been more liquid refreshment – I honestly can’t remember) from which we were the last to leave. Strong stuff, that rhubarb.

***

The next morning, we arrived into Dublin for our second and last port of call in Ireland. Dublin is another large container and ferry port, and from our room, we could see dozens of trailer units neatly lined up and ready to board one of two P&O ferries, including half a dozen Guinness tankers.

After breakfast, we walked ashore and took a shuttle bus into the centre or the city and headed straight for Trinity College and the Book of Kells. There was quite a long queue for the exhibition running out the door and half way round the quadrangle. The exhibition was quite small, but included some of their other treasures, some of which are even older than the Book of Kells, which, if you don’t know, is an 9th century copy of the four gospels.

The bound manuscript, which was created in the mid to late 800s by three (possibly as many as six) monks (probably on Iona in Scotland) contains, in addition to the writing, the most wonderful and detailed illuminations. The exhibition explains how the text and illustrations were made using all sorts of vegetable, animal and mineral compounds to create the often vividly coloured pages on sheets of vellum produced from the skins of 185 calves.

The Book of Kells itself is in the last small room of the exhibition in a glass topped, presumably climate controlled display unit, with very dim light from the top only. If you lean over the case to get a better look, you immediately put the book in shade. That’s assuming you can get anywhere near the cabinet to try, of course. There was quite a press, despite the flow and numbers of visitors being controlled by room attendants.

From there, you pass immediately into what they call the Long Room, which is the Old Library. (We didn’t see the new one.) Don’t know if it’s coming from a small dark room or what, but the impression you get on entering the long room is that you’ve just come into a great cathedral to the glory of books. In addition to being (very) long, it’s also enormously tall with a high vaulted ceiling several stories (pun intended) above you.
 

Yet again, on leaving the library and stopping for a drink, we bumped into Georg and Barbara who’d just had a tour of the university by one of the students. They were off to catch a hop-on-hope-off bus tour of the city, but we wanted to walk to have more time to take photos. In hindsight, it might have been better to have gone with them, because we ended up wandering here and there to no great effect. However, we managed to see quite a bit, including St. Patrick’s cathedral, just one of many great churches in the city.
 

Back on-board marina, exhausted after our long walk and frustrated after just missing a shuttle back to the ship and having to wait another half hour, we had tea and some sandwiches before trouping back down stairs to wait with a small group of other passengers. We’d all received invitations to a bridge tour, which, like the galley tour, we’d been asked to keep secret. I’d mentioned in a mid-cruise comment card some weeks ago that we’d very much like to have a look round the bridge and we finally got the invite just a day or two before.

The young man conducting the tour – they all look like young men to me now – was (one of?) the third officer(s). He looked fresh out of college, but was apparently licenced to drive this multi-million dollar vessel. Speaking of driving it, though mostly it’s steered automatically by a satellite navigation system (hope it’s not just something from Halfords) there are three sets of helm controls: one in the middle, and two others in the bits of the bridge that stick out either side of the ship for manoeuvring in port, etc.. Slightly disappointingly, ‘the wheel’ is more like a dial to adjust the angle of the rudders, which can also be set independently by two small levers, as can the speed of the propellers, so no great brass telegraph system to communicate with engineering either. At least the one in the middle actually has a wheel, but it’s smaller than even the smallest car steering wheel. How could you lash someone to that?
  

One little factoid we learned from looking around the bridge while we were there: at 22 knots (the speed we doing across the oceans) it takes Marina over one and a half kilometres to stop or five minutes. If someone were to fall or jump overboard – happens more often than you might think, apparently – there would be very little chance of recovering them, let alone rescuing them, and at night there would be none.

Back in our room, we had more tea (Juli) and the last of our Canadian beer (me) before changing for dinner (our last visit to Red Ginger) plus reading and sewing while our final bit laundry span round.

After dinner, we cut along to the Marina lounge to catch the end of that night’s show featuring a farewell salute from the staff and crew, very nearly all 800 of them. (Presumably this is when they leave our new young third-officer friend in charge.) Coming out afterwards, we bumped into, who do you think, Georg and Barbara, who talked us into going for a drink. (Very little persuasion required.) Georg and Barbara did their bit for the exports of their neighbours in The Netherlands and enjoyed a Grolsch each, but Juli and I performed our own small salute to the Republic of Ireland as she disappeared into the darkness by downing a Jameson’s and a Guinness respectively. Slainte.

[Pub quiz factoid: both parent companies of Grolsch (SABMiller) and Guinness (Diageo) are headquartered in London, UK. Jameson’s is, ultimately, French.]


Days 359 & 360 (United Kingdom – country #47)

Today, we should have been ashore in Falmouth, Cornwall. But while we were having an early brunch in the Grand Dinning Room (arrival to our anchorage was scheduled for late morning) the Captain made an announcement to the effect that sea conditions made tendering operations impossible. Seems there was a large swell, which we could barely feel, that would make getting into the small boats too dangerous. Falmouth is Europe’s deepest harbour (third deepest in the World) so why couldn’t we dock? Hmmm.
 

Anyway, instead, we did a bit more packing, then, when our room attendant arrived to clean and so forth, went for a coffee in Baristas, where several other passengers were grumbling about another missed port. (Mostly their second; our fourth.) While we there, in his most cheery and excited voice, the Cruise Director announced the alternative schedule of activities he and his his team had been working hard to put together: a film we’d never heard of, needlepoint and scarf tying. Whoop-de-do.

On the plus side, I’m now up-to-date with the blog and Juli has all but finished her sixth needlepoint kit. We also got the chance for a last teatime in Horizons. However, whatever their clotted cream is, it’s not Rhoda’s.

Blogging and stitching continued until it was time to change for dinner with Georg and Barbara in the Grand Dining Room: our last, but not theirs. Georg and Barbara had been allowed to stay on one extra night and to disembark in Amsterdam. This was to avoid a tedious flight home via Manchester and somewhere else, due to a last minutes change imposed on them. (It would also avoid all manner of disruptions due to a French air traffic controllers strike, of which at this stage they were blissfully unaware.) Anyway, it meant they could take a fast train almost all the way home with just one change and no baggage restrictions.

We had a brilliant ‘farewell’ dinner, made all the jollier by a special bottle of Champagne plus another of red wine courtesy again of the General Manager, Dominique Nicole, but, we think, prompted by Branco, the Serbian headwaiter who was so concerned when we went into Lima on our own and who has been one of our pals throughout the voyage.

When the meal was over, there were so many goodbyes and photographs and hugs and swapping of e-mail addresses, that we were again the last to leave the restaurant. By the time we’d finished our packing, put our bags out (late) and got into bed for our last night aboard, it was already well past midnight, with our alarm set for barely five hours later so as not to miss our arrival into Southampton via the Solent, at the start of our final day.
 

  


***

We woke, just ahead of the alarm, as the ship was coming round the eastern tip of the Isle of White, on another misty morning. Our course took us right along the north-east edge of the Island, past Osborne House to Cowes before turning north to make our way up Southampton Water to our disembarkation point, the Southampton City Cruise Terminal.

While we were having breakfast in the Grand Dining Room, we got a message from Juli’s best friend Marion to say that she and Juli’s Mum, Pauline, had arrived at the terminal, ‘Welcome home Juli & Nick’ banner in hand. (If you have sharp eyes, you may just be able to see in the centre of the left-hand photo. If not, see the right-hand photo for details.) They had also had an early start in order to drive all the way down from West London to meet us, come on board for a private tour of the ship, take the bulk of our luggage back home with them and to give us our final instructions for the next five days.
 

Once ashore – incidentally, no one asked to see our passports, which were returned to us the previous afternoon – we loaded up Marion’s car and received in return a large envelope containing several smaller ones with instruction on when to open them. The first envelope contained train tickets to Hove. Having arranged to meet Marion and Juli’s mum at our pre-booked hotel, we then jumped in a taxi with just our small backpacks and drove the short distance to Southampton Central Station.

We got to the station just in time to catch the 10:33 to Brighton, Hove being the stop before. On the train, we watched the longitude figure of the GPS app on my phone count down towards the start/finish line, due south of the West London Novotel in Hammersmith, where we started our trip 360 days go and to where we shall return to close the loop in five days time, a full year after leaving it.

We had an anxious few minutes as we got closer and closer to Hove when I wondered if I’d made a mistake. But, with barely a minute to spare, we crossed the line jut before the train pulled into Hove station. From there, we got another taxi to the Lansdowne Spa Hotel, which we’d booked and paid for just over a year ago, and discovered to our stunned surprise that the hotel had closed down. The hotel signage was still there, but all the ground floor windows and doors were covered over with sheets of metal. We tried phoning, of course, but the number we had was disconnected.

Marion and Juli’s mum were waiting out side in Marion’s car and the four of us repaired to a Starbucks just along from the hotel to discuss what to do next. Juli ordered drinks and asked one of the servers if they knew what had happened to the hotel. Apparently it closed just before Christmas, without notice and leaving the staff unpaid. Merry Christmas, not.

Fortunately, on the way to the Starbucks, I’d spotted a small guest house just 100 yards along from the hotel that had a ‘Vacancies’ sign in the window. So, after we finished our drinks, we toddled along there, where the owner was very please to accommodate us. (Apparently business has been a bit slow all round.) From there, the four of us found a small restaurant for lunch (on Juli’s mum – thanks, Pauline) after which Marion and Juli’s mum went home and we returned to our guest house, the Regency Lansdowne. (***)

You have to laugh when these things happen, but it’s just typical that the one hotel I booked – Juli made all the Australian arrangements while I was still working – my one contribution to the plan, and it goes tits up. Irritatingly, although I paid for it with a credit card, the total was just one pound shy of £100, the amount above which you can claim from your card provider.
Pauline and Marion having to laugh

Anyway, having had a bare five hours sleep the night before, I decided to have a nap while Juli uploaded her photos and checked e-mails, taking advantage of the free Wi-fi. (Take note, Australia.) By 7.00pm, we were ready to eat again, so walked along the seafront into next-door Brighton and had, what else: fish and chips. It’s good to be back in England.


So there you are: 360 degrees in 360 days.

Tomorrow we begin the final leg of our journey, back to where it all began, via, we know not where. (Second envelope over breakfast.)

TTFN - N

[Click here for more photos from the Celtic Sea.]
[Click here for more photos from the UK.]