Girl Beyond Borders

How to F’up Your Travel Plans and Cure a Heartbreak with Iceland.

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley the Explorer) — Sun, 11 May 2014 08:48:00 +0000

I WASN'T INTENDING TO BE IN ICELAND for longer than six nights, in fact this stop was more of a "why the hell not?" than a "must go now!" on the lists of lists each traveler has floating around in their minds.

After realizing a stop-over was possible via Icelandair, a few clicks and hefty credit card payment later, I was booked. Toronto > Keflavik - 6 nights, Keflavik > Glasgow - Infinitely. That is where I f’ed up. The infinite, oh how us long-term travelers like to think we can stay in places forever. Or at the very least until we get bored. It wasn't my intention to stay forever but it was my intention to be flexible. I did not know how long I'd need in Scotland or where I'd want to fly home from afterwards. Europe has many options you see. I'm bad at personal deadlines and even worse at decision making. Throw in a bunch of countries you absolutely should go see and then I just procrastinate. Yes, I was aware UK border control is tight, sure I had looked up the entry requirements beforehand and noted that customs, "May ask you to provide a return or onward ticket and proof of sufficient funds during your stay." Am I an idiot for thinking this is was passive warning and wouldn't be asked of me? Yes. Karl Pilkington and I are now best friends. Perhaps that two year work visa I once had clouded my perception of how things really work crossing the UK border. Of course that's one way to justify the fact that I had shot myself in the foot.

Then, there is honesty. Good ol’ honesty. In Kindergarten they teach you the consequences of telling a lie and yet they skip over the fact honesty has an appropriate time and place. You'd think I would have learned my lesson from that time at the U.S border between Buffalo and Niagara. I let it slip that I was visiting a friend from Canada who had moved to New Orleans. It was 3am and the border guard proceeded to grill me about my friend's current visa situation (well, she had none). That was the night honesty at the border should have died. I could blame it on the Icelandic hangover or the fact that I did not sleep at all in the last 24 hours leading up to my travels. One judgmental stare from the female border guard and I had managed to say all the wrong answers in ten seconds flat. Advice from Karl Pilkington and I - never mention you’re working on a personal writing project or that you are planning to volunteer in a hostel. Especially avoid all of the above if you don’t have a work visa. This was followed by the burning question on whether I had an exit ticket. Right, so about that…

Suddenly, I was ordered to sit my ass down (in a more polite Scottish manner) and handed a slip of paper explaining that I was being detained.

Tired as hell and detained. Forced to unload the entire contents of my backpack and make awkward jokes with the border guard about the random belongings. How does one explain what a dry bag is used for without appearing more criminal? Then, grilled about my friends, finances and status of employment in Canada (Note: in the UK freelancer equals unsteady and will steal our jobs). It was a long wait in a brightly lit, dull white room where the only form of sanity was a poster of a forested landscape somewhere in Scotland and a window looking out into the hallway. The border guards would walk by and occasionally glance at the girl who wanted in. Before table flipping could commence, the female border guard delivered the verdict, I was denied entrance into the UK and given the black mark. A stamp on my passport from Immigrations in Glasgow with two lines crossed straight through it. This mark will come back to haunt me every time I try to enter the UK, the incident showing up in their digital records as well.

Here’s the cherry on top: they were sending me back to Iceland. At least it's Iceland, I thought. Denying the realization that I had f’ed up massively. In an attempt to provide some closure the border guard revealed that I was the second girl denied entrance that day for similar reasons. You can't volunteer in the UK without a work visa.

After collecting my finger prints, filling out the paperwork and treating their detainee like a proper house guest, "Can I get you a cup of tea, coffee, water?" "Are you hungry? We have crisps or biscuits. Or something from the cafeteria? Sweet Chilli Chicken, Pasta Bolognese, Lasagna…" Brilliant hospitality in the back office of border control, I must say. Being lovely doesn't ease over the rejection Scotland, no help at all.

Since the next available flight was scheduled at 2pm the following day, I was released to wreak havoc for one night in Glasgow. Passport-less and heartbroken I did what any Scot would do. I summoned my mates to the pub and drowned the night away with drams of whisky and pints of Caledonia 80. After an offer to get hitched to a tall, blonde Glaswegian lass followed by ridiculous dancing at a Brazilian pub, I awoke the next morning to realize the nightmare wasn't merely a bad dream. During my taxi ride to the airport, I found myself wiping away a steady flow of tears. Even as my driver revealed he was an alcoholic and complained about his daughter marrying into a homeless family. "Good on you mate! At least you aren't being kicked out of the bloody country," I thought.

No time to focus. Down your pints and get out!

I was met by a border guard at the airport. My own personal escort to navigate through customs, just in case I attempted to make a run for it. As we shifted through security he revealed he was an avid collector of old stamps dating back to the 1800's. Nothing about these encounters eased the heartbreak. But when I sat down in my aisle seat, my gaze fell upon the round burly face and genuine smile of the Icelandic steward who kindly handed me a blanket. Reminding me, at least it's Iceland. I was trading one brilliant place for the next.

If things had gone according to plan I'd be on the Isle of Skye in Scotland, cleaning toilets in exchange for a free stay and the chance to focus on rewrites of my novel. As much as I was looking forward to this (rewrites not toilets), I've been there, done that few times before. "There's just no life glued to old takes, deleted scenes of your favourite show," – sang by Admiral Fallow (a great Scottish band, do check them out).

I could keep revisiting the places in the world I enjoy the most, but what if I'm missing out on discovering a place I like more. When I landed in Keflavik there was no doubt I would survive the rejection, the massive mistake on my part. Like any notable heartbreaks the recovery would take time.

I was restless for a few days, uncertain, full of doubt and had no idea whether to fight for the right to re-enter the UK, let alone if I wanted to anymore. Option B: simply enjoy the place I was sent back to. There was always a reason to keep moving, to avoid dwelling on the mistake. One night my host, who has since labelled me the Senior Couchsurfer, invited a bunch of travellers he'd never met before to his apartment for a home cooked fish dinner. Sitting around the table, listening to the variation of accents from Switzerland, Italy, Morocco, San Francisco and Canada, each of us had arrived in Iceland separately on our own adventures, yet in a snapshot we could have been mistaken for good friends. Meeting warmhearted people in Iceland and exploring the beauty of the land is the cure for any heartbreak. It’s hard to feel out place or unwelcome. The changes in the landscape are so sporadic that it easily becomes a distraction. When in doubt take a deep breath of the clean, fresh air or stand next to the sea to feel the wind whip 22 miles per hour across the bay upon the cheeks of your frozen smile.

How to Cure a Heartbreak in Iceland

Eat a delicious home cooked meal with your Couchsurfing host and a group of strangers.

Climb Mount Esja on a cold, sunny day in Reykjavik.

Freeze your hands off while capturing the Northern Lights at 2 AM in the quiet town of Hjalteyri.

During the middle of snow storm hitchhike to Aldrei fór ég suður, a free rock festival in the West Fjords. Make new friends on the side of the road.

Stumble upon an epic sunset in Húsavík while looking for a place to spend the night in your rental car.

Observe a family of seals in Vatnajökull National Park and unofficially adopt the tubbiest fellow.

Spend your last Saturday night in Reykjavik dancing like a Viking until 7 AM with a lively group of French dudes.

Live dangerously. Feel the power. Get soaked while exploring behind the waterfall, Seljalandsfoss.

This Time Last Year in Guatemala

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley the Explorer) — Tue, 31 Dec 2013 19:05:00 +0000

The most adventurous year (so far) is coming to an end and I'm nostalgic for the very place I found myself this time last year. It was an epic way to end 2012, a three day hike from Xela to Lago Atitlán with the non-for-profit group Quetzaltrekkers. If you're seeking a memorable adventure in Guatemala or Nicaragua I highly recommend checking them out.

Photo taken of Group B departing Xela by fellow traveller, Elise Leijstra.

After a long first day of trading the high density of Xela for the freedom of rural Guatemalan landscapes, I was captivated by the night sky above me. Our resting point was a town-hall made of concrete walls and a roof with a wood frame shielded by corrugated metal. Since we arrived at nightfall the village of Santa Catarina Ixtahuacan appeared to be surrounded by only a few small structures, the homes of locals and the closed tienda (a small grocery shop). It was dawn the next day that revealed a town much vaster. As if I was lost in time and space, I stared up at the calm night sky to admire every star visible to the naked eye. It was an odd realization that the moon was in hiding. At 11:00pm in the Northern Hemisphere, the sky seemed incomplete without its bright, white luminescence. After cramping the muscles in my neck, I retired to my sleeping bag laid out on a tiled floor accompanied by forty-one other travellers and the dread of 6:00am wake-up call.

By the time 5:55am had rolled around I had given up on falling asleep hours ago. Instead, the consequences of sleep deprivation kicked in and I wrote this weary passage:

The howling wind rumbles through the fragile tin-like ceiling. There's a smell of mildew rising from the vibrating floor. The metal door barely holds, its strong resistance from the wind eager to knock it down. A creak. Metal sways back and forth. No sleepers in this holding. Perhaps just one. His heavy breathing gives him away. Shadows and light illuminate the ground but darkness still hides in the corners. A gust of wind blows through a heavy cloud of dust, intoxicating us all. A warm chill. We are safe beneath these blankets, pressed hard against the earth. Dare we walk today in the sun after this restlessness. The dogs that howl warn us of something. An impending doom or the dawn of another day? Perhaps it's animal instincts we'll never understand. Are we that out of tune? Too busy building concrete walls, playing with machines, carrying heavy wood stacks on our backs, climbing mountains, breaking into a sweat, starving, gorging, sipping, smoking to speed up our heart rates when we could be slowing down. Somewhere in the village there's a constant alarm from the horn of an unknown vehicle. Noise always consumes us. Even in the middle of nowhere, even when it's time to rest...

I was interrupted by one of the guides announcing it was time to get moving. With about 15km of walking ahead of us and the challenge of tackling what our guides called, Record Hill (a steep incline that takes an average of 15-25 minutes to climb and one that left me feeling like an asthmatic kid who decided to run up the playground slide without an inhaler), rolling over onto the hard floor and playing dead seemed rather appealing. Yet looking back, I'm glad I was forced to rise early and carry on. On the road it seems we rarely ever fail to seize a great opportunity despite our discomforts. Moving forward is always a constant, an unwritten necessity in our pledge to see the world. Here within the comforts of home it's too easy to fall asleep, stay ravelled in our bed sheets, miss out on a great opportunity because we'd rather stay still or avoid the risk all-together. This leads me to reminiscence about these defining moments in travel. The moments I very reluctantly but somehow willingly made the choice to rise and take the steps forward that propelled me into the great unknown.

Whether you're at home or out on the road Happy New Year! Keep on taking one step forward and don't forget to stop every once awhile to look to the sky above or the land below.

Elise admiring Lago Atitlán from the mirador. Photo taken by me.

Assignment One: Braving the Bar Alone

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley the Explorer) — Fri, 11 Oct 2013 20:30:00 +0000

As a mission to explore the highly sought-after profession as a travel writer, I began taking Matador U’s 12-week course online. My first assignment was to use my hometown as a setting in a narrative. The idea is that your familiarity with a place allows you to present local knowledge using specific details as supposed to an outsider who is unable to convey these details simply drawing from observations. Ricky Gervais did an interview for Co.Create which supported a similar lesson in storytelling to write what you know. Describing the familiar, even the details that may seem mundane can breathe life to your story or in the case of travel writing - to the place.

THE ASSIGNMENT: BRAVING THE BAR ALONE

I STAND ALONE outside of the Horseshoe Tavern on a warm Tuesday night. I’m a wallflower checking for texts as I covertly eavesdrop into the conversations set among the bar's street side patio. Laid-back, music snobs chat intimately together, chain smoking and unfazed by the busy Queen St. West backdrop.

With no texts received, I delay my entrance. There’s something about braving a Toronto bar alone that rattles my nerves.

I’ve grown up in this big city and my best nights were spent with friends stepping out into the cool night air after hours of dancing elbow to elbow in some sweat-infused night club on Richmond St. There were our drunken quests for a hot dog, aka Street Meat, before awaiting the Vomit Comet, the night bus that operates along Bloor St., Its rocking and rolling challenging the intoxicated not to vomit. Regular nights at the Madison Avenue Pub better known as the Maddy, a Victorian house gone college bar with six floors, the patio overlooking a parking lot, or the first floor, where we’d arrive early to claim the front row booth and sing-along to the Piano Man hammering out our repeated Beatles requests.

St. Patty's Day at the Maddy

These days we often end up in Koreatown, butchering karaoke in a not-so soundproof private room under the influence of soju, or in the Ossington strip also known as hipster hell to listen to live folk at Dakota Tavern.

Rockin' it out at Korean Karaoke.

I hear the muffled sound of pop rock coming from inside the bar as Groenland, an indie band from Montreal begins their set. At the door is a heavily bearded dude in his early twenties slouched forward on a stool, chatting with the cute girl standing next to him. Before I enter I pause, allowing him the opportunity to ask for my I.D or at least say hello. Instead he glances over for a mere second and mumbles “Go ahead”.

The crowd hangs away from the stage in the dimly lit backroom, groups of friends huddled around tables, casually bobbing their heads. I stand alone on the sidelines. I’m approached by a female server and I order a pint of Tankhouse, a dark local brew by Mill St., made blocks away in the Distillery District. It costs $6.75 and like a jackass I forget to tip. Soon I’m absorbed by the five musicians jammed together on the cozy stage, the rest of my surroundings are quickly forgotten. I feel my phone vibrate, “I’m the Asian hanging in the back,” Wayne texts me. He’s a fellow Toronto native who responded when I posted the event on Couchsurfers. I spot him and we exchange a hug, a rare gesture for two Torontonian strangers. Our attempt to make conversation is overpowered by the music and I suggest we head closer to the stage where some livelier newcomers have filled the void. As we join them, I’m relieved to have company. No one in this classic Toronto scene is out braving the bar alone.

____

Hey Readers, I'd love to see your feedback to help me master this course! What's your sense of Toronto after reading this piece? Would you brave a bar here alone?

The Keeper of the Reef

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley the Explorer) — Tue, 22 Jan 2013 14:30:00 +0000

The Keeper of the Reef first presents a grin. An undesirable greeting that lets his visitors know the task of winning him over won’t be easy. He sits on the blue porch soaking in the fading sun after a long hard day of sailing the sea. He could be people watching or trying to sell his business to the many tourists who pass by. Instead he sits there silently. It’s possible the Keeper is still lost in the underwater world he emerged from. His reputation on this strip of land is unwanted by locals. Famous to the few tourists who find him, as the 73 year old guide who can show them the sea. Take it or leave he says, be here at 9:45am to collect your fins and snorkel. Don’t be late. He doesn't ask for your foot size or sometimes even your name. He tells you to bring a lunch. If you ask what you’ll see below he refuses to say, it’s a surprise. There are those who would be put off by this, he doesn’t give a damn. There are those who decide to go willingly with him, these people are the lucky ones.

He dives in. The bubbles clear and the fish surround him. They swim close to him, like passengers along for the ride. A string ray sweeps its way forward as if understanding how humans admire its powerful array. Its wings spread out like a blanket, breathing in with an opening and closing valve. The Keeper takes his wondering friend and places the string ray on his head. The creature warmly invites him in, smiling beneath pounds of white flab. The Keeper's bronze Belizean skin is richly lit among the Caribbean sea. His body moves through the water, the weight of his pot belly and sagging nipples do not direr from this seamless motion. He is a man who can break through any wave and has passed the many tests of a sometimes unforgiving sea.

The current drives him on. Through passages of coral, beyond forests of mangroves and over sea turtles gazing the flourishing world. Deeper he dives luring eccentric green eels with a shell. They swim in a swirl together, battling the fish for the taste of what drives their senses mad. In the distance, he spots the dark shadow of a shark escaping from the foreigner's view. He has known these creatures for many years and it took time for these creatures to know him just as well. When he was nine he swam so far away from the shore. The cruel words of his father fading as he made his trail. He found himself in the reach of the reef and since then he has continued to return. It was the fishermen who told him to pay attention and the students’ scientific observations who brought these creatures' names to life. Once upon time he could find himself alone in these waters until tourism came flooding in. Fat cruise ships dropping off herds of North Americans, Europeans and East-Asians led by monsters who smoke cigarettes and dump 'em in the sea, “The fish will put it out.” He tried to warn the capitalists to take care of the Ocean but the dollar sign outweighed the value of the Earth. The islanders think he’s a strange creature himself, the crazy man who has a theory, “Don’t go into the ocean thinking about which fish will taste good to eat,” he warns, "It's bad karma." The Keeper’s best known friend is a Turtle named Irene. She’s missing a leg and swims rather odd, a fighter he’s known for twenty years.

He has witnessed the changes in the ocean, watching it slowly die before his very eyes. He does not know the cause or the outside factors but he believes humans have not done a thing. He thinks we cannot stop it and that we can only start taking better care. But first people need to listen. "We are all connected to the Ocean," he claims, "The 13 spots on a turtles shell is the same number of full moons a year." For those who are willing, he can help them discover the way. Those who are willing must first suppress all negative thoughts, detach from their bodies, and then let the sea take control.

The Keeper of the Reef, he would never call himself that. The Keeper of the Reef, a title no other man in the Caye deserves.

Escape for a Day, Stay for Three Nights.

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley the Explorer) — Wed, 19 Dec 2012 00:31:00 +0000

It’s happened on my travels before. I’ll head to a destination with the intention of staying for only a day or one night and find myself extending the stay. There are certain places that have that appeal, an energy that is impossible to turn away from. Some places are worth the cancellation fee, the discomfort of wearing the same wardrobe for days, or missing an absolute must-see that was once etched into the itinerary.

On day two in Guatemala, I had only spent 20 hours in Antigua. That’s barely enough time to experience the small town in daylight and already I was heading for the hills. The Earth Lodge is infamous among backpackers as a place to lay in a hammock, devour the avocados they grow on the farm or star gaze with the distant view of Antigua sprawled below Volcán de Fuego. For most of the visitors, the exerting part of their stay is in the five minute hike up the steep hill in order to catch the shuttle back to Antigua. For others it can be a safe haven 6,000 feet above sea level to hike the dusty trails that pass through forests and the square tin houses that belong to residents of El Hotal.

Perhaps it was her British charm but when I was presented with the opportunity to spend a night in the dorm lodge by Emma, one of the lovely receptionists, I jumped at the chance. This was despite the fact that I only brought my daypack and had already booked two more nights at El Hostal in Antigua. Luckily, Emma coordinated with El Hostal to have my backpack picked up by the shuttle driver and they were nice enough to cancel my reservation. When does that ever happen? (the answer: almost never).

After Emma explained the map of the trails around the mountain, I set off to immediately take a few wrong turns. As usual, heading in the wrong direction proved to be the best mistake I could have made.

In just a few steps I met the first of many beautiful children that live in El Hotal.

The few basic words I knew in Spanish made no difference when interacting with these children. The best form of communication was the camera in my hand, a smile and a high-five (who in this world doesn’t love to receive a high-five?). As I passed by houses, children would run up and I’d be greeted with a warm, “Hola!” Some would simply ask for a photo or wait for me to do the asking. Other children would ask for a dero first and when I said no, they still wanted a photo taken of them.

I continued on with my hike, passing by men with heavy stacks of wood loaded on their backs while they swung a machete by their side, and women carrying a baby in their arms while perfectly balancing a load of laundry on their heads. Although the men and women in El Hotal are generally very friendly, it was clear the children provide the energy that make this community a unique place in Guatemala.

During a second hike in the afternoon, I headed towards the center of the community where the church and school were located. This is also the crossroad where the road dips downhill towards Antigua. Many children and their families seemed to be leaving the area. At the time I assumed this meant school was finished for the day, forgetting that it was summer in Guatemala. There were two boys at the side of the road who were giggling as I passed by, one of them shouted, “photo” and I nodded before taking a quick shot. When I showed them the photo they giggled some more. Later on, thanks my impeccable sense of direction, I found myself passing these boys in the same place once again. This time they were hanging off a fence like a couple of monkeys. I snapped another photo of the scene and they ran towards me to view the results. Before I would let them see the photo I asked them for a high-five, then a low-five, to the side and then up high. Being 5’8” this meant my hand was way up high forcing them to run and jump only to miss the target. This game lasted awhile, eventually one of the boys got the idea to have his friend hoist him onto his back and finally reach my hand. If it wasn't getting dark I could have played with these boys for ages, instead I asked if I could take a photo with them before finding my way back to the Earth Lodge.

At the lodge, I shared my experience with Emma and another receptionist, Rebecca, both who volunteered to teach ESL at the school. It turns out the two boys I had played with weren’t enrolled at the school. In order for a child to be enrolled they must provide their birth certificate which involves a trip to Guatemala City, a costly and timely task some families can't commit to. A few years ago the Guatemalan government bought the school which was actually built by the community. The government has marked its stamp by providing some of the resources, such as building cement walls to separate the classrooms, however leaving a two foot gap between the ceilings. There’s still a need for improvement and as a result children in the community are missing out. Some children are enrolled in school as late as thirteen years old. By this time the experience of starting late and being taught among children younger than them can become far too frustrating for them to gain the necessary motivation. Rebecca and the organization she volunteered for have worked to launch a pre-school program so the children can begin their education earlier on.

The next morning, two other girls and I went with Rebecca to help out with the summer camp program she ran. We watched these kids be kids, playing board games while begging to use the computers instead, splattering paint on themselves as they painted rocks outside, cheering on the girls while they defeated the boys in a game of basketball. Sure the view at the Earth Lodge blew my mind, but as it turned out getting to know who lives at the heart of this community was a much better excuse to extend my stay.

To find out more about El Hotal please visit: http://elhatoschool.blogspot.com/

Guess Who's Back?

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley the Explorer) — Tue, 04 Dec 2012 05:31:00 +0000

Reviving my travel blog is an idea that has been stuck in my head for ages. I've dropped it the same way a child would drop a super cool arcade game for the next great distraction.

Blogs are hard work. There's a fine art behind it and when you are on the road dealing with the 'elements' - the constant battle for a solid internet connection, a fellow travelers' invite to grab a beer, or the will to be fully immersed in your current destination, absorbing each experience like a sponge because who knows when you'll return next. Quite frankly there's a lot to learn on these adventures - lessons of hilarity, lessons of inspiration and lessons that have resulted in a repeated number of face palms. Each mile clocked earns more than the bragging rights in my books. It's the personal growth, the simple connections found in the unexpected pockets of the earth. I cannot excuse my neglect on the road but I do know there are certain stories that are worth the effort to share.

Before I know it, I'll be boarding the plane for my next backpacking adventure to Latin America. All my nerves of fear and excitement are building up like a tropical superstorm, eager to unleash itself on whatever path may pull it forward. As I told my friends and family that my one-way plane ticket to Guatemala was officially booked, I was unsure whether to dread or embrace their reactions.

There are those who are completely envious in a good way, they are excited about the adventure and wish they could go themselves. Four months of backpacking in a tropical paradise without a set itinerary is a dream come true. Then, there are those who think I'm crazy. Simply put, Latin America has a horrible reputation. Just take a look at the travel advisories for Guatemala posted by the Government of Canada and you'll probably agree with these people.

The website states, "There is no nationwide advisory in affect for Guatemala. However, you should exercise a high degree of caution due to the violence, roadblocks, strikes and demolitions that occur periodically throughout the country."

Exercising caution and a having a solid sense of the places I plan to visit is of course extremely important. But isn't this the attitude every traveler should have no matter where in the world they find themselves? Incidents are bound to happen anywhere at any time. Prepare for the worst case scenario, but don't be afraid to leave your hobbit-hole.

Taken at the promotional booth for The Hobbit at Word on the Street in Toronto.

I've picked the brains of a number of backpackers who have visited this part of the world, from solo female travelers just like me to 6'1" males who have traveled with a few mates. In the majority of their experiences the good has outweighed the bad. When bad situations did occur they usually blamed it on their own lack of common sense at the time. At home or on the road, when you’re busy living in the moment it’s easy to forget the basic ‘rules’ of survival. In one instance their best advice was not to beware of harmful locals but to beware of fellow travelers who feel they can escape the consequences of their actions in a foreign country.

The most valued opinion I've received is from Latin Americans currently living in Canada. The first bit of information I’m usually told, “We’re super friendly.” Second bit of advice, “Don’t depend on a good internet connection.” Great, the battle to travel blog begins again.

Guess who's back?

... Ashley's back. Tell your friends :)

I Almost Chickened Out of Hiking Ben Nevis

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley the Explorer) — Tue, 02 Feb 2010 03:05:00 +0000

I almost chickened out of hiking Ben Nevis... twice. Reaching the top of the highest peak in the UK was a must-do on my backpacking adventure around Scotland. As a first time mountain trekker the thought of heading up Ben Nevis alone was rather intimidating. The plan was to stick to the tourist trail, which I’m sure is mocked by more advanced hikers. Someone assured me that the trail is like walking in a single file line of tourists, all the way to the top. Not exactly my idea of the perfect climb, in fact I vividly remember that time in grade two when I was given detention for forgetting to walk in a single file line. But this was good news if I were to accidentally twist my ankle or fall off the side of the mountain.

I spoke to many people about heading up the Ben. One Scottish local who had made the climb several times, advised me to arrive in Fort William the day before, get a good night sleep and then wake up early to make the hike. He recommended staying at the Youth Hostel located at the very bottom of the Ben. When I called to book the hostel, they were completely full for the weekend. In fact all the hostels in Fort William were full.

I’m a firm believer in the theory that everything happens for a reason. After spending a beautiful week in the Outer Hebrides, I decided to head back to mainland Scotland. My destination was Oban, a lovely town on the west coast. I would spend a night in Oban and decide where to go from there. Little did I know that Ben Nevis was not completely out of the picture.

It was at the hostel in Oban where I met Monika, an Aussie who was living in the UK. We started talking about our plans for the next day, and I mentioned Ben Nevis. Monika was immediately interested when I explained that it is the highest peak in the UK. We decided to get up early and drive to Fort William, eager to face the challenge of conquering the Ben.

After a light breakfast in Oban, we arrived in Fort William around 11:00 am to find the parking lot packed. There was an event taking place, eleven teams would be heading up the Ben to raise money for a charity. Monika and I were tempted to skip Ben Nevis and hang around for the BBQ. Instead, we headed to the information centre for a map and some much needed guidance. The guy behind the counter warned, “It’s Saturday so the Ben is busy. I recommend another trail that’s more relaxing.” He suggested we hike along Glen Nevis, a four hour trail with beautiful scenery of the woods and a waterfall.

We walked out the information centre and debated. Trail that leads to a sanctuary or trail that leads to possible death. I voted possible death.

An average of 1 in 10 days is clear on the summit of Ben Nevis. It just so happens that the sun was shining brightly with few dark clouds in the sky. I knew I would regret chickening out on the challenge... again. So we stocked up on Snickers, candy, some water and a protein bar. The guide recommended we come prepared with a sweater and a waterproof jacket. Hiking boots are of course the other necessity, unless you are Monika. I predicted the pair of runners on her feet would be totalled by the end of the climb. It turns out these runners magically survived the rough terrain.

In my mind, reaching the top of Ben Nevis would be the toughest physical challenge I have ever endured. It definitely was, but what I did not expect was that it would be a challenge almost anyone can accomplish. Nuns dressed in sandals, children under ten, and elders in their eighties. Even dogs were spotted heading up the Ben. An estimated 100,000 people ascend to the summit each year.

As the Ben got steeper, the trail became rockier and the view became more and more breathe taking – not just due to the thin air. Each time I looked back over the stretch of forest, majestic highlands, and the mist rising over the lochs, the sense of beauty wowed me. We even got a great view of a waterfall tumbling down the side of the Ben.

Monika and I stopped for many photo opportunities. We picked a nice spot, midway up to relax and munch on rice pudding and chocolate. Of course, in Scotland you can’t stop for a picnic without being offered a swig of whisky by some locals. The rest was much needed, we had surpassed the section of the trail titled, "The Red-Burn" and encountered, "Five Finger Gully" the rockiest bit of path that zigzags to the top.

,

The average amount of time it’s supposed to take to ascend Ben Nevis is five hours. It takes three hours to descend. Monika and I reached the top in four and half hours. We spent half an hour on the plateau, taking photos of the proud moment. We found the most picturesque place facing the north, away from the tourists, to quietly take it all in. Great photo opportunities included standing on the official highest point - a large stone, cairn. Posing in front of an emergency shelter that was built on top of the abandoned ruins of a meteorological observatory. Or boldly standing at the edge of a cliff – after all it’s only a 1,344 metre drop.

Despite the epic view on a clear day, it was hard to stand still for long. The wind nearly knocked us over while posing for pictures. The sub-Arctic climate meant that the weather could turn unexpectedly and snow on us. We began our hike wearing t-shirts and gradually found ourselves adding our sweaters by the time we reached the top.

As we stood on the summit feeling a sense of accomplishment, I couldn't help but ponder this – how on earth is the record for reaching the top 1 hour, 25 minutes and 34 seconds? Secondly, how did a man single handily manage to push a piano to the top? My legs of steel were beginning to feel a lot like jello, a good sign that it was time to descend.

I was in no rush to get to the bottom; in fact I always find it easier to ascend rather than descend. The rocky trail makes slipping easy. Take it from the woman we passed who had fell and twisted her ankle, not too far from the top. Then there was the elderly man behind us. The man slipped and proceeded to roll off the trail, down the Ben. Luckily, he caught himself in the grass and was okay.

When we reached the bottom, night had fallen and my feet were in massive pain. I wobbled back to the parking lot and crawled into the car. Back in Oban, we treated ourselves to some fish and chips, which I devoured in mere seconds. After rightfully bragging about our experience to the other backpackers, we passed out in our bunks. The next day, my legs were killing me, a pain that would be summoned anytime I tackled the hills of Edinburgh for days that followed. Soon I’ll be conquering Mount Everest.

Swimming in Loch Ness.. Well Sort Of..

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley the Explorer) — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 20:22:00 +0000

I had a remarkable experience exploring the Loch Ness nearby Drumnadrochit 14.3 miles southwest of Inverness. Approximately seven weeks ago, I first dipped my feet in the frigid waters of Loch Ness while on a three day Macbackpackers tour to Isle of Skye. We pulled over to see the Loch and Collin the Scottish tour guide challenged his passengers to go for a swim. “Who here is thinking about swimming in Loch Ness?” he asked. I boldly raised my hand and shouted out “Me,” from the back of the bus. I was the only one out of twenty seven passengers. Collin then tried to convince the others, “Think ahead in time to when you’re a grandparent. Your grandchildren are over for a visit and you pull out an old photo album to show them what life was like when you were young. As you flip through the album you stop at a photo of yourself swimming in a lake. ‘What’s that?’ they will ask. ‘This is me swimming in Loch Ness,’ you will reply. Their jaws will drop. ‘You mean where the Loch Ness Monster lives?’ Now imagine how impressed they will be. In fact they will be so impressed it will inspire them to achieve great things with their lives. They will study very hard in school, become doctors, astronauts or firefighters. So will their children and their children’s children. Generations of greatness and it will all be because of you. Now who wants to go for a swim in the Loch Ness?” Silence, snickers, one hand goes up from the back of the bus... mine.

The most fun I’ve had in Scotland has been from the moments when I would burst out of my shell, throw caution to the wind and do something daring or perhaps absolutely insane according to my spectators. It was very cold that day, grey skies hovered over the loch and even though I was bundled in a sweater, warm jacket, jeans and a scarf the wind had no problem keeping the exposed parts of my body chilly. I couldn’t imagine braving the cold in a bikini. Not to mention the only place to change was on the bus. Then there was the thought of sitting on a bus soaking wet afterwards. So instead I rolled my jeans up to my knees, took off my runners and strolled along merrily through Loch Ness. Well almost merrily, the rough rocks at the bottom made wading through the water a wee bit tricky. As my spectators gawked at me, I posed for the camera and the chill began to burn. I decided a few minutes was plenty enough for my frozen toes.

What attracts most to Loch Ness is not just the fact that it’s the first largest Loch in Scotland by volume (700 feet at its deepest). It’s those mysterious sightings of Nessie that gather a large crowd of tourists in hopes that will perhaps catch a glimpse themselves.

There have been many claims that Nessie has been spotted lurking in the Loch over the years. The earliest sighting of a creature happened in 565 AD by Saint Columbia, an important figure among Gaelic Irish missionary monks. One day Saint Columbia was addressing a group of Picts (a tribe that lived in the northern and eastern parts of Scotland) about Christianity. He came across a few Picts who were burying a man that had been murdered by a creature. Saint Columbia ordered one of his followers to retrieve the victim’s boat that had been abandoned on the other side of the river. As the servant bravely journeyed across the water, a creature surged out and attacked. Apparently Saint Columbia was able to scare the creature away by commanding, “You will go no further.” It has been recorded that this event occurred in River Ness, a gateway to the Loch.

A view of River Ness in the heart of Inverness

Then there are the photos, the old fashioned black and white photographs where a distorted shadow among the waters proves that Nessie must exist. This one is my favourite among them all...

Seriously? ( Source:http://www.loch-ness.org/ )

The latest “sighting” of Nessie was made on Google Earth a few months ago. Check out an article on the event here:
www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-1209118/Is-Nessie-Google-Earth.html

Visiting the Loch is great not just for the thrill of possibly that one might have a run in with the infamous Loch Ness Monster, but for the gorgeous view of the sparkling water and the miles of trees and green fields that surround it. There is much to do in Drumnadrochit – a town that thrives on the Loch Ness. There is the ‘Loch Ness Monster Centre and Exhibition Experience’ located beside the Drumnadrochit Hotel. The exhibition takes a look at the Loch’s natural history and explores the mysterious notion that a Loch Ness Monster could exist.

If you want to get a closer look at the Loch there are many boats that will take you around for a few hours. The admission price of these boat rides ranges from £18 to £35 a person. If you are staying in Inverness “Jacobites Boat Cruises” will take you from the Inverness bus station to their boat on the Caledonian Canal. It stops at the Urquhart Castle and includes a viewing station on the boat to keep an eye out for Nessie. There is also a company that runs a horseback riding tour “Highland Riding Centre” on Borlum Farm, which has a program for disabled riders as well.

If you have little time to spare, on a tight budget, love to walk and hate being surrounded by tourists, I recommend hiking along the Loch instead.

It was 11:00 am when I departed from the Inverness Bus Station and took the scenic bus route to Loch Ness. The plan was to explore Urquhart Castle and then find a trail to the Loch. Stepping out of the bus and overlooking the Castle from the roadside gave me major de ja vu. I remember arriving at the Castle on the Macbackpackers tour and wanting to photograph the Castle from a different angle then everyone else. So I hopped a wee fence and jumped onto the grass covered roof of the Castle's admission centre. It was not long before others followed and the attendants of the Castle caught on. Imagine an old Scotsman yelling at me, “Hey, get down from there! Your not allowed up there.”

As you may or may not have figured out by now, I’m a firm believer in refusing to pay for overpriced tourist attractions. However, there are many attractions in Scotland that are worth the cost for their historical significance and absolute beauty. Luckily, a very awesome Canadian I met in Castle Rock was kind enough to lend me her Historic Scotland Pass. This pass allowed me to get into many historical attractions around Scotland for free. There is also a 10% discount on cafeteria food and 20% off souvenirs. Valarie said she paid about £40.00 for an annual membership – a sweet deal if you know you’ll be visiting many attractions. They also offer an explorer pass if you are only traveling for a short amount of time ( check out www.historicscotland.gov.uk/ ) If it were not for this pass I have to admit I probably would have missed out.

Urquhart Castle is magnificent and it overlooks the beautiful waters of Loch Ness. The top floor of the Grant Tower is a great spot to keep a look-out for Nessie. Just be careful climbing the narrow stairway. I was stuck on the stairs heading down for five minutes because I couldn’t pass the traffic of people heading up.

After the Castle I decided to grab some food from the cafeteria, taking advantage of my 10% discount. Pre-made sandwiches that come in a triangle plastic packaging have become my first choice for lunches. They cost anywhere from £1.50 to £2.50 – sometimes you can get a real bargain at the grocery store that’ll include a bag of chips and Fanta (or whatever your beverage of choice might be). Hot rolls are also a nice cheap option in Britain – they come with sausage, bacon, cheese, ham, tuna mayo or egg on a bun. Either way I’ve found the sandwiches / wraps are a bit tiny in filling. So finding a decent take-away place that wasn’t skimpy on the “meat n’ lettuce” was always gold.

When I sat outside to enjoy my sandwich in the sun I realized I no longer had my water bottle on the side of my backpack. Panic set in. Had my water bottle fallen out my pack into the depths of Loch Ness? Of course it’s only a water bottle... it could’ve been worse... I could have been missing my camera. But this is an authentic Canadian Film Centre water bottle, it represents the many hours I spent on-set making coffee, organizing paperwork, standing around in serve winter conditions and lugging heavy film equipment. No way was I going to let Nessie eat it for lunch! So I frantically ran around Urquhart Castle retracing my steps. Every once in awhile I peaked over the massive castle walls into the Loch to see if I could spot my water bottle floating above the surface. It was a long drop into the Loch from the Castle, a plunge no water bottle could survive.

After searching every corner of the Castle, asking the souvenir shop, admissions, and the cafeteria lady several times... there was only one small hope left. I decided to wait for the bus I had arrived on to see if I had dropped the bottle while getting off.

Sure enough the bus pulled up, the door swung open and there was the bus driver holding my water bottle! After this incident I became severely paranoid about objects stored on the outside of my pack. It’s always a good idea to double check that you have everything before leaving the bus, airplane, taxi, hostel, restaurant or in my jacket’s case... one of the many pubs in Edinburgh.

Travel Tip: In the chaos of travelling from one place to the next you are bound to leave something behind eventually. If a valuable is irreplaceable leave it at home.

After a stressful run around the castle it was time for a peaceful walk to Loch Ness. The trail I found was on the internet and the directions were described word by word ( Check out: www.walkhighlands.co.uk/lochness/Urquhartwoods.shtml ) At the time I thought jotting down the directions in my notebook would be enough – however in hindsight a map and some visuals would’ve been useful. I spoke to a few people who worked at the Castle for directions; one man drew me a tiny map on a napkin and told me to find the bridge outside of the castle. Another man said I had to walk along the roadside for a few minutes until I reached the bridge. Both men gave me an estimate of ten minutes to find the trail.

In the UK locals tend to give directions in distance, “It’s about 2 miles down the road.” Therefore when calculating the average time it takes to get to place, the estimate is never accurate. Ten minutes = Twenty minutes and one hour = two. This is a theory that was proved correct time and time again. I walked down the road for an hour, admiring the long stretching fields full of sheep, stables containing beautiful horses, and passing by a few other hikers. I finally arrived in the edge of Drumnadrochit where I stopped by a gas station for further directions... after that I had to stop once more for further directions... and once more again for even more directions.

When I finally found the trail I referred to the internet’s directions. I found them a bit confusing given when I jotted them down I was in a rush to catch the bus on-time. I had no choice but to rely on my instincts and guess the right directions. As someone who is directionally challenged my instincts are 99.9% of the time wrong... which means 99.9% of the time I end up lost.

So my friends and fellow hikers here is my version of the directions to find the trail that runs between Enrich River and Coiltie River to a secluded shore overlooking Loch Ness.

Adventure Trail Leading to a Tourist Free Shore of Loch Ness:
Starting Point: Urquhart Castle on the roadside.

1) Face the road with your back to the castle.

2) Turn right – follow the roadside until you reach a gate. Walk down the path through a field until you reach a house. Path ends. Head back onto the road (unless you want to hike downhill through acres of farmland). Don’t forget to: Stop and admire the view overlooking Loch Ness. Gawk at many sheep eating grass.

3) Keep walking along the road – it will seem like ages but believe me you will get there eventually. You will pass by a camp site on your right hand side and a ranch on your left.

4) You will reach a gas station on the left hand side of the road. This is a marker for the first turn. From the gas station follow the right hand side of the road. At the first street on your right - turn right. You will see a Church on your left hand side. Continue down the road and you will pass a graveyard on your right.

New Kilmore Cementary

5) Continue until you reach the end of the road. Make a right – passing by a construction site on the left and a small forest on the other side.

6) On the left hand side you will reach a hotel called “Ben Leva.”

7) Double check these directions by popping your head into the “Ben Leva” pub where you will be greeted by Scotsmen and woman watching football. Really, it’s just a good excuse to stop for a pre-trail pint.

Ben Leva Hotel

8) Keep walking you will reach a coy residential area; white picket fences, child riding on their bicycles, fathers mowing the lawn and all.

9) On the left hand side you will encounter another ole cemetery surrounded by a stone fence, and morbidly obese cows.

10) Pass the cemetery and you will see a gate that states something along the lines of “This is not a direct trail to the Loch Ness.” Ignore the sign and carry on. You have officially reached the start of the trail.

11) Make sure you study the sign / map at the beginning of the path. I recommend taking a photo if you have a digital camera that way you can always refer back to it if you get lost.

12) Head down the path until you reach the first junction. Take the path on the right hand side that leads you directly into the forest. As I ventured into the forest I spotted a baby deer frolicking away.

13) The trail is a very peaceful walk as you follow the path through the forest along the river. You will encounter little gaps where you can venture off path to take a closer look at the water. Keep an eye out for birds as they fly overhead and colourful mushrooms on the ground. Beware of piles of poop along the path. Stick to the path to your left at all times.

14) Enjoy the leisurely part of the trail while you can as adventure lurks just around the corner...

That’s when it happened. Out of nowhere a Frenchman with a long, black umbrella, top hat and moustache appeared out the bushes whistling Frere Jacques. Alright so maybe the top hat, moustache and whistling was all in my imagination. What's key is his umbrella in this story. It turns out the Frenchman's name is Gael and he was just as lost as I was among the trail. Gael said that he had made it just a bit further up the path. He decided to turn around when he discovered that he would have to cross a river. I was little help to him. My directions told me that I would encounter a dry river with a bridge to cross (in hindsight I had misread this information). We decided to scope out the situation together.

This river was no joke. It was about ten feet wide with a few tree branches laid across but nothing sturdy enough to step on without falling in. The pebbles at the bottom made for an unsteady crossing and the water reached up to our calves. Already convinced that we should kick off our shoes and attempt to cross, Gael was not very enthusiastic. He wanted to turn around to find the other trail. That is when we heard the voices of a male and female walking through the path on the other side. “How’d you get over there?” we asked. “Crossed the river, it’s easy,” they responded. Gael was concerned about his camera and mobile getting wet. I offered to stuff his belongings safely in my backpack, wrapped in my waterproof jacket.

I took my time crossing, as the hundreds of pebbles beneath my feet did not make balancing easy. Success! We crossed the river and introduced ourselves to the young English couple who had waited for us on the other side. They mentioned that there was smaller stream to cross ahead. We decided to refer to the map Gael had taken with his digital camera. After studying it for a few minutes we concluded that we had all taken the wrong path. It turns out we were on the right path, it just involved more adventure then we had bargained for.

Once again, I was up for the challenge!

We had made it to the mouth of the river that meets the glimmering Loch. When I set off for the Loch, I knew that I wanted to go for a dip so I packed my swim trunks and towel. Last time I had let a little cold weather and the intimation of jumping in on my own scare me off. This time I wasn’t going to let anything stop me. We ended up crossing two more streams to reach the shore of the Loch Ness.

According to the directions from ‘Walking in the Highlands,’ there was once a bridge over the Coiltie River that was destroyed by a flood in August 2007. The website cautions, “Only after a long dry spell will it be possible to cross the river and complete the walk. If a crossing is possible, which should only be attempted if it is safe to do so, turn left on a fainter path.”

Boys can be so chicken. In fact sometimes I think women have much more sense in these situations than men. When crossing the water the English girl and I had no problem taking off our shoes and getting our feet wet. The boys on the other hand decided to take whatever route possible; no matter how more risky and dangerous it seemed to avoid getting a little wet. This included crawling along branches, and jumping across rocks with the aid of Gael’s long, black umbrella.

Gael retrieving his umbrella that had fallen in while
he was crossing the branch.

We made it to the Loch alive and we were greeted by a very unusual creature. Out the Loch emerged a rather friendly duck covered in black and white feathers, masked with a red face. The duck miraculously waddled right up to us with a sly look on its face. We tried to reach out and touch our new friend, but it would never let us get close enough.

The view from the shore was amazing and I couldn’t wait to change into my swim trunks and take a dip. Once again, I was the only one bold (or crazy) enough to go in.

After saying good-bye to Nessie’s laddie we decided to head back to Drumnadrochit for well-deserved pint and burger at the pub. It was 7:00 pm when I arrived back at the hostel in Inverness. I was exhausted from the eventful day, but had an entire day of hiking in Glen Affric to plan. Sleep is for the weak...

Stay tuned for more adventures hiking and backpacking around Scotland.

Could it be? Nessie?!!!

Two Months Living in Edinburgh. Reasons I've Been Slacking.

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley the Explorer) — Mon, 31 Aug 2009 03:47:00 +0000

Dear fellow explorers, friends and family,

I've been slacking. I get it. But I have a valid excuse and it's simply this - I've been living the last two months in Edinburgh, Scotland. If you don't think that's a invalid reason to forget about a blog, I present you with the following case:

I left London after a four day introduction to the UK and headed North to Scotland. The four hour train ride passed quickly by the views of green countryside and Ocean shore. Sitting across from me was a British woman in her sixties and her fourteen year old granddaughter. The grandmother had grown up in Edinburgh, since she moved away was returning for the first time in 30 years. An American sat a few rows away, holding a loud conversation on his cell phone revealing to his hotel that he had left his government passport in his room. He was frantically requesting that they check the mattress beneath his bed. When they found it he asked them to mail it to him by express post, he then carelessly announced his credit card details to the passengers around him.

Common sense travel tip # 1: If you hide your passport beneath your mattress at a hotel -remember where you hid it and double check that you have it before you get on a train to another country.

Common sense travel tip # 2: When on a train full of other travelers do not announce your credit card information loudly so that everyone can hear. Find a quiet place (i.e., the toilet or luggage compartment) and gently whisper the information into your cell phone.

When I arrived in Edinburgh I was greeted by a friendly cab driver named Kenny. At first I thought Kenny was very rude. After climbing the uphill ramp of Waverley train station with my heavy luggage I was offered no help to hull it into his cab. He then revealed that he had a very bad knee that needed surgery. Kenny greeted me with a warm welcome, he even busted out some dance moves proving that the Scottish have an awesome sense of humour.

We arrived at Castle Rock Hostel and I remember being wowed by the Edinburgh Castle across the street. I checked in, lugged my stuff up the stairwell and passed out in my bunk bed labelled “Mr. Chatterbox” in the “Mr. Men” room. Castle Rock advertises its self as the number one hostel in Scotland and boy is this statement true. Three floors, 288 beds, a large self-catering kitchen, a patio with a BBQ, an internet room, three lounges... one for hanging out, “The Posh Lounge” for a bit of peace and quiet, and the newly added “Groove Lounge” for record playing and sing-a-longs. The staff are super friendly, every inch of the place is clean daily and the environment is very social. It’s no wonder I ended up staying for two months.

In a nut shell finding a job was hectic, making new friends was fantastic, I was homesick everyday for the first month and the only privacy I had was in the shower or toilet. There were many nights I spent drunk but learning the history of Scotland made up for all the brain cells that I must’ve killed. Some nights were spent walking through haunted graveyards; others were spent chatting with my Castle Rock amigos. I climbed Arthurs’ Seat once, Carlton Hill twice, went through two jobs in just two months – serving at a bistro and handing out flyers for comedians at the Fringe Festival. I danced like mad in the pubs and clubs, drank whisky mixed with beer mixed with cinder mixed with tequila mixed with sangria. I went to the movie theatre to see Harry Potter on opening night, waved at Prince Charles as he passed by at the Highland Games. I spent all my earnings on Fringe Festival shows seeing Sam Simmons, Sound of Fury, The Teak Show, Lilly Through the Dark, Porn the Musical, Jane Austin’s Pornography, Woody Sez, Dead Cat Bounce.. Wired and my favourite Die Ruten Punk’d! I dressed up as Syphilis during the “favourite disease” party; skate boarded down hallways and lost my warm jacket from Canada pub hopping throughout Edinburgh. I tripped on the cobble stone streets, went for runs along the Meadows in an attempt to work off all the booze... which reminds I once cycled to a Kung Fu class on the other side of town causing massive total body pain the next day. I discovered the peace and quiet of Edinburgh at Cramond Beach and The Royal Botanical Gardens. I overheard the festivities of the Military Tattoo every single night in August, went to the Writer’s Museum, the Underground... a three day Macbackpackers tour to Isle of Skye. Folk music and castles, dipping my feet in Loch Ness, rain, wind, rain and more rain... and luckily a wee bit of sun.

Edinburgh is a great city with something for everyone at all times. The cobble stone streets are crowded with pubs and much the city’s history and old architecture has been persevered. It’s a town booming with University students and tourists. My only complaint would be the uphill walking. On the flip side, my legs are in the best shape of their lives thanks to those endless steps to each destination.

Fast forward to: Saturday August 29th, 2009 – It was the end of Fringe in Edinburgh. The streets were booming with tourists, promoters for shows, buskers, and a big buzz. I was handing out flyers during the day and going to shows at night. I wanted to see more of Scotland and decided to embark on a two week adventure. In July I went on a 3-day Macbackpacker tour to Isle of Skye (highly recommended) where I was able to explore a bit of the country. We spent our days travelling on a coach bus, checking out Scotland’s beautiful scenery and historical sites. Our guide Collin grew-up in Scotland and had many stories to tell. Normally I’m not a fan of tours but this is definitely one worth experiencing.

This time I wanted to do my own thing at my own pace. So I packed my backpack, bought a pair of waterproof hiking boots and took off to Inverness on the East coast of Scotland.

So the journey begins... again.

Part One: Nessie and I - a look into my day trip to the infamous Loch Ness.

Day Two: Exploring London with a friend

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley the Explorer) — Sun, 12 Jul 2009 16:12:00 +0000

Bet you'll never guess what this is...
Alarm set for: 8:00 am
Wake-up time: 8:30 am

They have a breakfast of champions at St. Christopher’s Village: toast with orange marmalade, cereal such as square wheat things, corn flakes, watered down juice, tea and instant coffee... but hey it’s free. So if you’re on a budget like me you’ll wake up before 10:30 am and stock up on corn flakes.

It wasn’t until 11 am that my tour guide Jeremey, a fellow Canadian living just outside of London, showed up in front of my hostel with a curled moustache and a City of London guidebook, marked with sights to see. I was planning on exploring London entirely on my own, so when my dad emailed me Jeremey’s contact details I hesitated... did I really want to spend the day with someone I’ve never met? But Jeremey was nice enough to come along for the adventure, we got along smashingly, and I would not have had such great time alone (even if he had to refer to the guidebook every ten seconds... kidding Jeremey!)

Tip for solo travellers: Do some exploring on your own, but don’t forget to make an effort to meet new people. They make great travel buddies and may show you something you wouldn't have thought to explore on your own.

We decided to go on our own walking tour with recommendations from the guidebook and Jeremey’s superiour knowledge of the city. Our starting point was Southwark Cathedral located on the southern bank of River Thames. We entered Shakespeare’s Globe curious to see how much we could see without paying for a tour... not much. ‘Romeo and Juliet’ and ‘As You Like It’ were the performances playing at the time. I really wanted to see ‘Romeo and Juliet’ but it was sold out for the week. Jeremey and I were surprised because there are 700 standing seats (£ 5 each) per performance. That’s a lot of sold out tickets!

First pint of the day: Noon at the Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese (re-built in 1667) we stumbled upon it by accident. I was drawn to the dark alleyway, round medieval sign and the word Cheese in the name. Its a dingy yet cozy bar with just a few drunks getting an early start to the day. Samuel Smith's Old Brewery Bitter (English Ale 4.0% abv) is the BEST pint I’ve ever had. It was smooth, delicious, and went down like a vanilla sundae.

We started to hit up the major attractions heading across the Millennium Bridge to St. Paul’s Cathedral which was re-built in 1080, after the London fire and fact number two: it sits on the highest point in London (which is not very high at all). We stepped in for a gander but again, refused to pay admission. We only got a few feet into the main entrance, although we were tempted to just hop over the guard rail while no one was looking.

Bridge crossing is a popular sport in London, there are about seven that cross over the River Thames. So we crossed another one back to the South side. I recommend crossing bridges often, the views are amazing and zig-zagging about will give you lots of exercise.

Be bold and hop on the London Eye for £13.00 to see spectacular views of the city including Windsor Castle from the top on a crystal clear day. However, if you’re on a budget like me you will settle for the views of London on the ground. The London Eye kept popping up at different points in the city, from every angle the view of the structure is incredible. At times I could see more than one historical structure towering over the urban jungle of trees and buildings.

Tip: Don’t forget to take in the view in front of you but every once in awhile look back. The view could be even better.

There were a number of entertaining buskers near the London Eye. My favourite was Captain Jack Sparrow who thought I was taking a photo and posed for me for a good ten seconds. Then there was the cat man whose head was stuck in a cage dancing to some techno. Check out the videos below.

Across Westminster Bridge, we stopped to admire the towering Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. Jeremey then went on a rant about the politicians robbing tax payers to build absolute musts such as a private moat within the parliament and fulfulling their sweet tooth by writing off Kit Kat bars. To learn more about such rip offs check out Jeremey’s rant below.

Behind the Houses of Parliament is Westminster Abby, a gem that is worth gawking over inside and out (of course for £15.00 I chose out). The Abby has been the coronation church since 1066, and 38 coronations have taken place within. Many famous people have been buried in the Abby such as Robert Burns, Charles Darwin, William Shakespeare, some of the Royal family including Mary Eleanor Bowes... that’s right a Bowes! (http://www.westminster-abbey.org/our-history/people/mary-eleanor-bowes) For me the Abby is best known as the place of Princess Diana’s wedding and funeral. I remember sadly watching the funeral service on the tele when I was 10 years old. As I walked down the streets surrounding the Abby, I tried to imagine the thousands of people that lined up to commemorate Princess Diana’s life.

Next stop Buckingham Palace, where you can witness the changing of the guards if you’re willing to line up well before 11:30 am to get a decent view. If I had more time in London (and didn’t spend my mornings trying to cure my hangovers) I probably would’ve tried to attend the spectacle. Instead I had my photo taken with a policeman, equally amusing to all tourists who visit London.

We skipped along merrily through St. James Green Park.

Jeremey rant # 2: took place in St. James’s Green Park gawking at ducks in the pond (see video below).

After duck gawking we marched along Picadilly Circus, home of window shopping for the rags and designer central for riches (I’m surprised I didn’t run into my good ole friend Barb while I was there).

Leister Square is officially my favourite place in London. The square is surrounded by little shops for tourists, restaurants / pubs such as Wetherspoons, which we stopped at for a wee pint (or two) and dinner. cinemas, galleries (The Portrait Gallery is another favourite), half price theatre tickets at the TKTS booth and more. Not to mention the piano in the middle of the square that proclaims ‘Play me’ (a project I will tell you all about next blog entry).

J D Wetherspoons is a popular and affordable restaurant / pub in the UK with 732 locations to choose from (http://www.jdwetherspoon.co.uk/pubs) and in some locations a pint will only cost you one pound! The food is fantastic for a pub meal. I decided to order good ole fish and chips, while Jeremey decided to be bold and chow down the Chicken Vindaloo, which according to the menu is their hottest curry ever – can you handle it? Watch the video below to witness Jeremey and his tongue of steel tackle the fiery dish.

After approximately 5 hours of walking, 2 hours of pub sitting and 3 pints later we reached our final destination, Nelson’s Column in Trafalgar Square. The statue stands on a column that is 151 feet tall, I struggled to climb just the base meanwhile Jeremey climbed it no problem (flashback to: grade six gym class – a weak little Ashley struggles to make it more than two feet up the rope). It turns out a few gents have actually climbed to the top of the column successfully. Johnny Dawes is a famous British climber who joined forces with Noel Craine, Jerry Moffat and Simon Nadin in 1995 to free climb Nelson’s column. It was a protest on behalf of Survival International to recognize the struggle of Canadian Inuit people.

We took an elaborate short cut back to St. Christopher’s Village, completing the loop around the River Thames. My feet ached and my thirst for more ale was growing, making it an amazing day! Walking around London can be tiring but I highly recommend it if you’re the same as me. You love to be spontaneous, go at your own pace and take many photos without ten other people standing beside you, taking the exact same photo (but its London so that happens anyway). I said my good-byes to the best tour guide in town and after a crazy day, I was ready for a crazy night. Which my friends I will tell you all about next blog entry (gotta keep you in suspense somehow...)

Outline of the route we took around the River Thames

Thanks for reading, stay tuned for my last two days in London and don’t forget to check out the photos and videos below.

Much love from London,

Ashley

Journey to the UK (Introduction: Depature and Day One)

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley the Explorer) — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 14:45:00 +0000

The plane escalates into a darken Toronto sky, and my heart pulses feeling myself being swept further and further away from my home. It was a teary departure, not wanting to turn away from Davide and my mom (the friends and family I hugged good-bye to pre-airport). They waved good-bye, smiling each time I looked back as security checked my luggage. I made a new friend instantly and that’s how I knew I would be ok. When I told people I was travelling to Scotland on my own without a soul in the city that I knew they all had the same reaction, “Wow you’re brave. I could never do it.” I had my doubts, seconded guessed why I was going time and time again. But my heart knew it was now or never. Every time I heard someone talk about travelling to a place I have never been, experiencing different cultures, seeing the photos and hearing their stories I felt so sheltered. Besides a trip to Australia with my family two years ago, I had never travelled far (and never on my own). I love Toronto and always will but I needed to try something different, something bold! I love adventures, I love exploring new places and I love to be independent. (Sings: She’s independent that’s why I love her)

So after a year of saving, saving, saving - holding down multiple jobs, staying home on the odd weekend here and there instead of going out with friends, having a garage sale with the help of my family and boyfriend. A year of dreaming, a year of planning and with the help of SWAP (an organization that acts as a support for youth who wish to live and work overseas) I was finally ready to conquer four months away from home.

I will miss my friends and family with all my heart and at times I will probably want more than anything to come home. But when London’s calling (well, actually Edinburgh’s calling) a girl must pack up her things and go! I plan to see and do as much as I can (England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, Greece, Spain, Germany) make many new friends, find a job in a bar or restaurant and of course be inspired to write. So on Tuesday June 23rd, I waved good-bye to my friends, family, home and departed to the UK. Let the journey begin!

Testing out how to carry the luggage before I head to the airport.
What I brought:
- A backpack stuffed with clothes
- A suitcase on wheels also stuffed with clothes
- A carry-on (faux leather to fit in at London and for carrying massive 16” laptops such as mine)
- A purse to hold my passport
- Of course make-up.
- Can’t forget: my digital camera with two memory cards
- Books
- Snacks – dried fruit, granola bars, nuts, breath strips to conquer bad traveller’s breath
- My petite I-Pod shuffle that helped me actually sleep on the plane
- About £200, my credit card, Canadian Film Centre water bottle
- Recyclable bags
- Change of clothes , packed in my carry-on
- Two swimsuits
- Knickers and socks
- A few pieces of jewellery
- And last but not least a pen and paper to write my travelling woes

Suitcase and backpack stuffed with clothes galore (top), carry-on minus laptop, passport holder, and money bag (bottom)

What I wish I brought:Just the backpack full of clothes, a battery charger that works in the UK for my camera, blow dryer instead of hair straighter (also doesn’t work in the UK), travel sized beauty products, a nice dress for clubbing, more sweat pants, black t-shirt and pants for bar / restaurant work.

Seemed easy on my neighbourhood's smooth sidewalk.

Arrived at Pearson (Toronto): 7:40 pm
Checked-in: 8:00 pm

First friend made: 8:15 pm – Her name is Barb (like my mom.. hi mom!) I met her the minute I walked into the security check-in. She’s a woman in her sixties dressed in designer from head to toe, which of course raised eyes from security first in Toronto and again in Iceland. She insisted we take the shuttle to our terminal... good thing she did it seemed like a loooonng walk. When we entered the duty-free zone she went nuts trying on expensive perfume – Dior, Chanel. I made fun of her saying she’s going to stink up the entire plane. She joked that she would lure Giorgio Armani. It was nice meeting a friendly face right off the bat (even if I didn’t leave the country yet). But I was paranoid; you see among my dad’s many fatherly concerns was a warning. “Ashley do NOT under any circumstances hold anyone’s luggage! They could be smuggling drugs.” The poor woman kept complaining how heavy her carry-on was and I couldn’t even offer a hand. At one point she handed me her purse so she could squirt on some more perfume and all I could think is “My dad would kill me if he could see me right now.”

Flight departed: 9:10 PM – I sadly waved good-bye to my beautiful hometown and the people within it. I’m not going to lie it was one of the most emotional experiences in my life. I thought I wouldn’t miss Toronto until months down the line, but I missed Toronto the minute the plane wheels rolled off the ground.

I can’t believe I actually pulled this off. Here I am sitting in my hostel of St. Christopher’s Inn – The Village in the “chill” room. Groups of many different cultures partying in the bar, snacking on beer and chips, watching movies, and my New Zealand roommate who has been asleep all day long. I always imagined that I would see great things and have a great time no matter who surrounded me.
I’m all about emerging myself in the sights and sounds, taking in the culture. The way the double Decker buses zip down the left side of the road, how pedestrians seem to have the right of way... even if the vehicle was there first, free opera with a view of the Tower of London, how the London Bridge peers over the channel majestically, the architecture that dates back to before the 11th Century, the thought of the famous people that once wondered these streets the Beatles, Shakespeare, Kings, Queens, my ancestors. Then of course there are the famous people who still wonder the streets Guy Ritchie, Posh Spice, Chris Martin (who I sadly did not run into).

London Bridge (After seeing the bridge it had dawned on me... I made it to London!)

I only wondered a few blocks from my hostel, everything amazed me. What I wasn’t so amused with (and I thought I would be) was the British accents. Maybe it was the part of the city I was in but I thought I would be fascinated by every British accent I heard, half the time I barely noticed.

Getting from Heathrow to London Bridge was a major challenge. The moment I landed in London I didn’t let the excitement overcome me just yet. I knew I had a 1 hour tube ride ahead of me, combined with dragging heavy luggage along the streets of London. My family had warned me about pickpockets and their clever schemes to steal your wallet. Ryan suggested I keep my luggage wrapped around me at all times. So I was rather good at being aware of my surroundings. I encountered my first pickpocket when I was trying to find my luggage. I was walking with my carry-on over my shoulder, paying attention to signs when a sudden wave of urgency rushed over me. I looked to my left to see a middle-aged man, well dressed, walking extremely close to my purse (There was plenty of space for him to walk elsewhere). I felt his eyes on me, I turned quickly and he immediately looked away. After a few moments of staring at him coldly he began to distance himself.

I reached the information desk and asked about a shuttle from Heathrow to St. Christopher’s Inn. They informed me that it would cost £19 and I would have to wait an hour. I asked how long the tube would take and the man laughed at me. He said, “With that luggage the tube will be no good for you.” Well, being from Toronto I took this as a challenge! I would prove this Brit wrong using my ‘Toronto-ian’ survival skills and conquer the infamous London tube.

The tube in London uses different 6 zones, 12 lines, serves 270 stations to transport you virtually anywhere in London – quick and convenient. There are signs everywhere explaining each route, stating when the next train will arrive and announcements made every few minutes. It is impossible to get lost.

When I reached the ticket machine to buy a pass I had no idea where to begin. Luckily, the lost expression on my face captured the attention of a Brit boy. He gave me his day pass for free!
I met a nice British lady on the train, who kindly welcomed me by telling me about events such as Wimbledon happening in the city. After a few minutes of sitting in a fabric cushioned seat (yes that’s right) a middle-aged woman dressed in a flowing white skirt began to preach God to all who would listen. Felt like I was back in Toronto.

Located in Central London, London Bridge is the first place I got lost. Pulling along my suitcase, up and down escalators (massively high escalators – think Cineplex Odeon on Richmond St.) For the London Underground the greatest depth is 221 feet. I asked a few times for directions and still managed to get lost until I found the exit to the street (located closest to my hostel, I was trying to avoid the hot sun and manoeuvring my suitcase along the cobble stone street.) Stepping out onto the busy Borough High St. was the first time it had dawned on me, I was a long way from home. The moment quickly passed when my arm started to feel like it was going to fall off. I had to weave through a sea of people (I can’t imagine how ridiculous I probably looked). After taking a few short breaks, passing it once or twice, I had made it to the hostel...Success!. I was then greeted by a rude French-Canadian who simply took my money, said where my room was and failed to help me carry my big suitcase up the stairwell to my room. (Side note: I enjoy French-Canadians, I actually talked to him a day later and he was much nicer) Starving, hot, tired I plunged my face into my bunk bed and sulked for a total of two minutes. Then, I took a deep breath, slapped myself across the face and told myself to suck it up or go home!
After getting myself organized, speaking to a friendlier face (a very nice Australian guy) at front desk I attempted to call home. Attempt failed. I brought a calling card (I couldn’t find the one my mom gave me) but no matter how many times I tried it told me I had the wrong pin. This launched a battle between me and pay phones eating my money and pooping it out in the UK (battle: to be continued...). I arrived in London at 11:40 am... it was now 3pm. I was sure Davide (the boyfriend) and my parents were freaking out. So I managed (after also having some more bad luck) to connect to the internet and send an email ensuring them that I was alive and well.
I ordered some food from the pub at St. Christopher’s and it took forever to arrive. But, they gave me extra chips (in the UK chips = thick fries, fries = thin fries and crisps (ssss) = chips) that took up ¾ of the plate.

When I got back to my room Lisa, the coolest New Zealand girl I have ever met was awake. We chit chatted and I started to feel myself again. So I ventured out for a walk to the river to check out the London Bridge and boy was the view amazing! After taking in the scene, watching a free Opera and snapping away with my camera, I walked back to my hostel as the sunset.

Bed time: 12:30 am
Sleep: Very nice! Besides the loud karaoke blasting in the bar downstairs.
Check-out the videos and photographs on my journey from Toronto to London / Day One (Jet legged in London).
Much love from London,
Ashley