The Family Adventure Project

Jubilee Street Party World Record Attempt

noreply@blogger.com (Kirstie (Family Adventure Project)) — Sun, 03 Jun 2012 16:22:00 +0000

Never mind the weather, this is Britain and we will street party.

It is possibly the longest and possibly the shortest street party in Britain. On the promenade of the Lancashire seaside town of Morecambe, locals and visitors brave the wind and rain to break a world record. And once they perceive their job is done, they go home to watch the Queen on TV.

It's brollies, jackets and fleece for this summer party.

As visitors take posh afternoon tea in the art deco Midland Hotel, they watch as the real party takes place on the prom outside. More than 1.5 miles of rain spattered wooden tables stretching from Aldi, past the pier and the statue of Eric Morecambe to the old lifeboat station.

Tables covered in every form of union jack memorabilia known to Morecambe; flags, paper plates, cake stands, china tea pots; this is a very British tea party.

Some 550 tables stretch for a mile and a half along the prom

It's also cheerful carnage as people attempt to hold on to their drinks as their balloons fly away, their pompom wigs swell with rain and their umbrellas threaten to turn inside out.

The people of Morecambe will not be deterred by the weather

“What shall we sing next?” says a lady in a pink crown who stands proudly at the head of her table while the rest of her party huddle under umbrellas. The Cowboy Line Dancing club shuffles into the wind, as the local WI members try to give cakes away to passing people, who peer from hoods with party hats strung over the top.

Flags, bunting and tablecloths flap in the wind

“Please take some of these, they're getting soggy,” say Louise and Sarah, pressing home made sweets into our hands. As long term Morecambe residents they are proud to be part of this Jubilee celebration. “Lived here all our lives,” they grin. “And this is brilliant, everyone coming together like this. If you try some of our chocolate battenberg sweets you'll make us very happy.”

Lots of tea, cake and waving from the Royals

A woman blowing a hooter stops the police car that's crawling along the prom behind Scooby Doo. “We won, we won the record,” she screams into their half open window. But Abigail Fawcett, who works for the Town Council is more cautious in her assessment. “It's borderline. We don't know yet. We're still waiting for the result. There's another town in Britain also going for the record.”

Is that William and Kate?

The council were expecting up to three thousand people to turn up to the world record street party attempt but this isn't really the story of a record. It's a story of British character and stoicism. For a moment in time, no one single person here is willing to let the rain and the wind defeat their tribute to The Queen's Diamond Jubilee. Sixty minutes of wind swept street party celebrating sixty years of service.

After an hour or so, gaps open in the lines of tables as less hardy souls beat the retreat

With painted faces, they drink champagne, eat barbecued burgers and munch on cupcakes as the rain beats onto the arms of their picnic chairs. The Queen of Hearts carries on with her very own Mad Hatter's tea party.

The Queen of Hearts stays the duration though

A patriotic pirate has another sausage roll, and even Eric Morecambe himself joins in; despite being half strangled by the string of flags around his neck.

Eric Morecambe is dressed for the occassion

And then, almost as soon as it's got going, it's all over. By 2pm, the tables are emptying, and by ten past, volunteers are starting to disassemble the line.

The longest street party may also turn out to be one of the shortest

All that remains are some very happy gulls, swooping down to devour the remains of a cheese sandwich. Oh and a few cupcakes to polish off.

Some things are just too good for the gulls

If you turned up an hour after the party had begun, you'd wonder if anyone had bothered to show up at all, let alone if they broke the record.

Do you have that stoic spirit? We'd love to hear about your experiences of partying against the elements. Click comments below and tell us what you think.

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Dandelion clock - the clock you never see turn

noreply@blogger.com (Kirstie (Family Adventure Project)) — Thu, 31 May 2012 20:20:00 +0000

It's been a week of arts and culture, what with our visit to the Kendal Comedy festival, creative days for the kids at school, some serious thinking about our commitment to the Nemean Games and then for me, a last minute invitation to a poetry and screen-printing workshop.

When does a dandelion become a dandelion clock?

I'm told to go away for an hour and come back with a freshly written poem about nature. So, along with eight other people on the course, I spill out of the classroom and onto the sunshine pathways of Ulverston's Ford Park. While they head up the hill to the Hoad monument, I dip away into a wild area of garden, and plonk myself onto a tree stump. My mind is blank. I deliver kids poetry workshops now and again so I'm used to writing poems about school dinners and scary headmasters. But I'm not used to writing about nature. I really don't know nature that well. Well not like my arty predecessors, the Lake District Romantic Poets. I could wander lonely as a cloud for the rest of my life and still not be able to tell a cirrus from a cumulus.

A dandelion clock catches my eye. Actually to be precise a big clump of them. They're as good a subject as any for a poem. I pick a big fat clock bulb and blow softly on it. Nothing happens. I've got a stubborn one. I blow again, and again. And eventually the seeds disperse. It's nineteen o'clock. Time to get on with that poem.

Ever seen the transformation from dandelion to clock?

But I can't tackle the poem until I've unravelled the mystery that is the dandelion and got its life-cycle straight in my head. As a child I used to stamp them out in case they made me wet the bed. Do they? And I've seen plenty of dandelion clocks in Cumbria. But how does that bright yellow flower become a delicate timepiece? Have you ever witnessed the transformation from yellow flower to fluffy white lollipop? How does that work? I've never seen it. Does it happen at night? Does someone switch them? I stop and watch one for a while and so my poem begins.

...."Watching the dandelion clock"

Who first called it a clock? And who spread the rumour you can tell the time by blowing seeds into the sky? One o'clock. Two o'clock. Three o'clock.....

....."Marking time, your spidery hands taking minutes into hours."

I sit and blow and write. Four o'clock. Five o'clock. Six o'clock. I find a flow like seeds carried on the breeze. Seven o'clock. Eight o'clock. Nine o'clock. And then there's only ten minutes left on the class clock.

Where does the time go?

I wander back into class where we share our verses with the group and workshop leader, Norfolk poet Caroline Gilfillan. When I read mine out loud, my class mates make appreciative noises, then read out much better poems. It's clear they know one cloud from another.

My poem... hope you like it!

The afternoon is given over to printing with Annette Rolston and I spend several hours trying to immortalise a dandelion clock on a piece of paper using water-based paint and a mangle. I try to capture delicate seed wisps by crushing real ones instead of using the dandelion stamper provided. That's when I realise dandelion clocks not only tell the time, they take it too. First I have to get one from the garden into the classroom without it flying away. Then I have to cover an acrylic screen in paint with while holding the dandelion in my mouth. Then I have to lay the clock on the painted sheet without the seeds making a final bid for freedom. All that and then the mangle.

Soon everyone's screen print is covered in tiny bits of dandelion frond and the garden is almost weeded. But I am pleased. I have successfully captured time on the page and have an stylish screen-print for my wall.

And through my encounter with the dandelion I feel more intimate with its wispy nature. Perhaps through poetry I could come to know nature better. Now, I wonder if it's possible to screen-print a cloud?

What helps you become more in touch with nature? We'd love to hear your thoughts. Click comments below and let us know what you think.

This post is part of our Family Adventure Capital Season. We're exploring different ways families can adventure together in and around Cumbria, sharing ideas and inspiration to encourage families to get out, get active and adventure together. Got some ideas for things we should try? Let us know.

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Running in the footsteps of Herakles.. the alternative Olympics

noreply@blogger.com (Kirstie (Family Adventure Project)) — Wed, 30 May 2012 21:09:00 +0000

While Olympic excitement builds in London and the UK with the procession of the torch, our family have signed up for the 'Original Olympics.' The revived Nemean Games is one of the four games of Ancient Greece. And once every four years athletes (or non athletes like us) from over a hundred countries gather to compete in front of 10,000 people, in an event that's all about participation....

Running in the footsteps of Herakles

I am woman number FST104. I am booked in to sprint 100m in Race 49, before running in the 'Footsteps of Herakles' - a 7.5 km run through Greek hillside and villages.

Image: Nemean Games

But there's loads to be done before the race starts. This is a revival of the original Nemean Games in Greece and certain traditions must be upheld. By e mail, I am instructed to assemble at the ancient apodyterion (locker room) at 12.32 on Saturday 23rd June, where I will be greeted by its doulos; a slave in a yellow chiton (tunic) and expected to take off my shoes and socks. I will be supplied with my own chiton (The ancient Greeks ran in the nude – but this practice isn't insisted upon in the modern games. They also rubbed their bodies with olive oil which will be available in copies of ancient aryballoi (oil jars) if I want to be totally authentic.)

My slave will then be on hand to take me to a krypte esodos (hidden entrance tunnel) where a Hellanodikes (judge), dressed in a black himation (long robe) will be holding a switch from the chaste tree with which he will flog anyone who commits a foul or does not obey his orders. He will administer the oath of the Nemean Games based on that used at Olympia in the form of a question and an answer.

His question will go like this:

Image: Nemean Games

"Do you swear to abide by the rules of the Nemean Games and to do nothing that would bring shame to you, your family, or the spirit of the ancient Games?"

I'd like to be able to say yes. I hate bringing shame to my family and I shudder at the thought of letting down the ancient games. Crikes even Zeus himself perhaps!

Stuart won't bring shame on the family as he's spent hours preparing for his race. He has braved the sun and the rain to run up the footpath at the side of our house and around the block past the village shop. He has even tried doing it in bare feet to toughen up his skin. (If you ask me his skin is thick enough.)

I will start the same way as did ancient athletes

When it's time for us to enter the stadium, my slave will guide me through the ancient tunnel (constructed about 2,330 years ago). I am to avoid touching the walls for fear of wiping out graffiti scratched by the ancient athletes. At the far end of the tunnel, I will wait for the signal from the salpinktes (trumpeter, dressed in a dark red chlamys) and for the keryx (herald, in a blue himation) to call my name. When all of my group is there, another hellanodikes will ask me to draw a kleros (marble lot) from a bronze helmet to establish my lane. I will then line up with the others at the balbis (stone starting line), and put the toes of one foot in the front groove and of the other foot in the other groove just as my ancient predecessors did. I will lean forward with arms outstretched like a diver. They will be over the top of two cords stretched in front of all the runners. These cords are attached to a post at either end of the balbis that is a part of the hysplex (starting machine, based on the technology of the catapult)

And then, on the starting machine, I will run. For England.

The Stadium at Nemea. Image credit: nemeangames.org

Except I won't. This year there will be a gap where woman number FST104 should be. Like any family we only have a certain amount of budget for travel. We've been away a lot this year, and still have to cover expenses for our two month expedition to Iceland and the Faroe Islands. We just can't justify a family trip to Athens.

At least three sessions of hardship and dedication from Stuart will now go to waste. He'll never have the chance to wear a celery crown or drink a cup of joy in the winner's banquet. He is gutted.

And here I have a confession to make. I haven't trained at all. I thought about it a lot, but the weather was always too hot or too cold, and the ground too hard or too soft for my delicate soles. So although I was very excited about going to Greece and taking part in the revival of the Nemean Games, I am also a little bit relieved that I can't do it this year. And I think the kids might be too. While I get puffed out running to post a letter, and they always feature in the egg and spoon race at sports day as a consolation prize for being rubbish at sport. There's also the added humiliation of how big my bum would have looked in a chiton. (Although probably smaller than without one).

If not this time then next time

The boys race for glory in the Nemean Games. Image credit: nemeangames.org

But Stuart and I have made a pact. We will enter the Nemean games 2016. We will train for it, in bare feet if we can. We will save for it. And perhaps, just perhaps we might win. Yes, Woman number FST104 could wear that celery crown. Celery, after all, is the best thing for beating cellulite. Perhaps I will eat a celery diet in the run up to the games. Maybe it will be the next Atkins plan! I once knew a woman who lost half a stone by eating only satsumas and asparagus in the run up to her engagement party. (However she did put it all back after the ring went on on her finger by gorging all night on quiche and sausage rolls.)

Anyway, there's a space for Woman number FST104 on the starting block in the 2012 Nemean Games, if any other mum with a reasonably sized bottom has an hour or two to spare, is thinking of having a family holiday in Athens and would like to take my place. You can run naked and cover yourself in olive oil if you like, but bringing shame on the games will get you hit with a switch. You have been warned!

Could you be a Nemean Olympic winner? Image credit: nemeangames.org

Woud you like to participate in an event like this? We'd love to hear your thoughts. Click comments below and join the conversation.

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Comedy goes free range in Cumbria

noreply@blogger.com (Kirstie (Family Adventure Project)) — Tue, 29 May 2012 07:19:00 +0000

Blackwell was the setting for Nutshell's Allotment, part of the Freerange Comedy Festival in Cumbria

Comedians roamed freely in the UK's Lake District at the weekend. A bike tour in a forest, a stand up show on a mountain, and a dark comedy on top of a garden shed mixed sunshine with smiles all round. As part of our Cumbrian Family Capital of Adventure season we had a cultural adventure down at Nutshell Theatre's 'Allotment', created for one day only in the grounds of Blackwell, Cumbria's famous Arts and Crafts house.

A tale of two sisters

There is very little shade in the garden of Blackwell; a historic lakeside country house where a dark comic drama is unfolding.

Nutshells Allotment. Image: courtesy The Brewery Arts Centre

“There were two sisters. They were very different. Completely different. Like chalk and chips.”

Two sisters clomp about in wellies and sun dresses, tending an allotment at the bottom of the garden; their escape from a cluttered and chaotic home. Dora and Maddie climb onto a garden shed, where they stand hands on hips, peering down. The buttercups on the lawn look like glowing fairy lights in the afternoon sunlight, but the sisters' attention is focussed on the vegetable patch where a Cindy doll has crash landed. There's no hope for the unfortunate Cindy; the failed parachute is removed and she's buried under a a pile of earth.

“The allotment was here. Next to a tall wire fence. To keep boys out and plants in.”

The sisters tend their vegetable patch with a complicated mixture of love and resentment in front of a live audience. Over the course of an hour the allotment becomes a battleground when they fight, a safety net when one of them falls, a grave when one of them dies. In front of Lake Windermere their comedy drama of sibling dynamics plays out to a bitter end.

“The worms found the new obstruction and worked around it.”

This is the first outing of the drama Nutshell's 'Allotment' since the Edinburgh Festival where it won a Fringe First award and was spotted by Mike Jones, Head of Performing Arts at the Brewery in Kendal. The play is particularly suited to terrace garden of Blackwell, a house synonymous with the Cumbrian Arts and Crafts movement. The small scale domestic drama is an obvious contrast to the grandeur of the country house.

The Freerange Comedy Festival likes to get out and about

The art has left the Arts Centre

Nutshell's Allotment is one strand of the five day Brewery Arts Freerange Comedy Festival which combines big stand-up names like Jeremy Hardy and Jack Dee with emerging acts and sketch shows. Now in its second year, Richard Foster, the Brewery's Chief Executive, says the Kendal festival was conceived to be freerange in every sense of the word. “The aim was to roam freely across the landscape and across comedy too. There are a lot of festivals now and we had to distinguish ours from the others.”

And this being a 'free range' festival, the gigs come about in an organic way. When scouting for last years inaugural festival Richard heard comic Laura Mugridge mention during her act that she dreamt of doing a gig on top of a mountain. He immediately offered to provide the hill and an annual comedy pilgrimage up Gummers Howe was born. (This year Bob Slayer led the chaotic hike.) And when Richard and his team heard that Scottish comedian Phil Kay was “a bit of a biking addict,” they offered him a triathlon of a children's show, a bike tour of Grizedale with a show on route, and a stand up show at Wheelbase; the UK's biggest cycling store.

Richard Foster, Chief Executive Brewery Arts Centre, enjoying the sunshine at Blackwell

This festival is exactly what a rural theatre in Cumbria should be doing. After all, if the RSC's Globe Theatre had the natural resources of the Lake District on its doorstep you can be sure Caliban would be reeling off his lines from The Tempest in Millican Dalton's cave and the witches of Macbeth would be stirring their cauldron at Long Meg.

Blackwell's Director of Marketing and Communications Jeanette Edgar hopes Nutshell's Allotment will plant the seed for a long term partnership with the Freerange Comedy Festival, “It's an amazing backdrop for a production and we hope it will introduce the house to a new generation.” But in Cumbria an outdoor venue is always a gamble, “Last week I feared we might have to hand out umbrellas to shelter people from the rain.”

No rain so it's sun hats for this performance

Not all relationships have a happy ending

“We're symbiotic, like pines and fungus. I'm part of you. You carry me around.”

The two women in the play don't forge such a good partnership. Dora comes back to haunt Maddie, and when she criticises her sister's appearance Maddie retaliates by building a scarecrow with her dead sister's coat, hat and dress, leaving her shivering in the grave.

“And Maddie placed a medlar in memory of Dora, the sourest fruit on earth.”

As the worms consume the final remains of the sisters' relationship, the sun beats down on the pop-up allotment. The audience do snap open some umbrellas, but only to stop themselves from from burning. As the plot darkens, the shed is framed by the lake and backlit by the sun. And freerange comedy blooms.

Sibling rivalry plays out for real alongside the performance

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Trip planning with Travergence

noreply@blogger.com (Kirstie (Family Adventure Project)) — Mon, 28 May 2012 19:50:00 +0000

Planning takes many forms... from initial sketches to detailed internet research

Planning is an integral part of most trips. But unlike the old days of poring over a map and working out complicated bus timetables in another language, there are plenty of gadgets, gismos and websites out there to help you with the task. We were recently asked to review a new site that helps travellers and holidaymakers find fun things to do, and this is our verdict...

Trip planning - inspiration or irritation?

Do you like trip planning? Surely you do?

After all, the planning stage of a journey is the time when an idea becomes a route and a dream becomes a reality. It's the appetiser in the restaurant. The team talk before the match.

Ok, I have a confession. This particular delight is not for me. It always goes like this.

We decide on a country to visit.
We buy a map and spread it out on the table.
I panic. Countries are too big, too confusing and they all look the same to me when laid out topographically.
We download a Rough Guide or a Lonely Planet. I rifle through a few chapters. I panic. There are too many attractions and villages crying out 'pick me.' It's like walking into an orphanage.

I'm always grateful for anyone or anything that can help with this. Over the years, Stuart has developed his own strategies to circumvent my phobia. He does the planning. He gives me micro jobs like sorting out campsites and hotels. He drip feeds me information and important decisions. Or we try seeing cities another way. We follow the latest ‘app’ tour, or series of geocaches.

I'm not a fan of planning and welcome any help I can get

At this time of year planning always becomes a priority for us. Right now our annual two month cycling expedition is hurtling towards us. We haven't actually decided which parts of Iceland we are going to focus on, let alone which particular gravel roads to nowhere will appeal. So it's interesting that I'm asked to review a website that can help inject the fun into a trip. I'm hoping it will do the work while I have a coffee.

What is travergence.com?

Travergence.com is a clear and easily navigable site that helps you make the best of your destination by offering up hundreds of activities and adventures in dozens of places around the world. Unfortunately, Iceland isn't on it. Neither is much of Europe; just Italy at the moment. The site is growing so this will probably change but it’s a bit of a stumbling block for my Iceland needs. However there is good coverage of North America so, for the purpose of this review I decide to plan an imaginary trip revisiting a couple of my favourite US cities. Who knows, if the wind changes, it might even come true.

Checking out Travergence.com

Trip planning is all about the detail

On the site some cities are better fleshed out than others. But a quick browse shows good coverage of some of the major destinations. The copy is well written and engaging but it’s in the detail that site excels. It doesn't hard-sell an activity and leave you to sort out the nitty gritty yourself. You are briefed about what to expect, where to meet, what to bring, what you'll be provided with, and who will enjoy it. You can search by price, and if you change your mind and decide you have over-budgeted, you can adjust the price range slider and focus in on those activities within your budget. You can also search by destination, and by activity and the site remembers where you have been and reminds you (in case like me you forget as you go switching back and forward unable to make up your mind.)

Trip planning is all about the details

Can travergence.com offer something new?

I decide to find out if there are new and exciting things for me to do on my imaginary tour. I begin by looking for things to do in San Francisco; a city I know quite well. When I was last there, I was young and single and happily explored both cable car and bar. Now I have a family, my priorities are slightly different; I need to cater for the interests of the under 11's.

Travergence.com delivers the ideas. For a fistful of dollars we can charter our own yacht, and sail to a secluded beach, with 'Captain Bob' on hand in case of difficulties. Or for much less, we can take a guided walking tour of Chinatown. As a family that enjoys the outdoors, we can go on an excursion that lets us follow a nature trail amongst the redwoods in Muir Woods and check out the houseboats of Sausalito. New York's menu catches my eye too. Stuart, the pianist of the family, can ditch the kids for a music tour around the jazz clubs of Harlem, while I take the children on a Gospel Music tour. I'm starting to get excited about this trip.

It seems rude to go all that way and not stop by and see Canada. I start in Victoria BC where I decide to take a seaplane tour of Saanich Inlet and Esquimalt Harbour, before watching the evening illuminations at The Butchart Gardens and spooking myself out on a city ghost tour. Then I head over to Whistler where (depending on the imaginary weather) we will have a sleigh ride, paddle the River of Golden Dreams, and take an aboriginal tour. And probably sneak in an ATV tour where the kids get to drive!

Looking and booking

Travergence does what it says on the tin; it delivers fun ideas. The home page is simple and uncluttered and the site is easy to navigate. Destination pages are straightforward to find and strong images throughout make it easy on the eye and give a taste of the place and activities.

It's hard to assess ease of booking as this is an imaginary trip, but a little investigation shows it's not possible to make a booking with a single click. Instead you have to fill in an e-mail. This either makes the process more personal or less efficient, depending on how you feel about it. But you do end up dealing directly with the activity provider which is often a good thing.

My daughter enjoys planning much more than I do...

So does travergence.com help with trip planning? It certainly gives me some ideas, and fires me up for going away, which all the best travel websites do. As a family travel writer and a mum, I appreciate the amount of suggestions that include young children. It's easy to find out which age groups are welcome on each trip. And there are some cheap and simple activities that I know the kids would love.

If it's to appeal to readers outside The States, the site needs to roll out its destinations; there's currently little in Europe, Australia or Africa and some of its destinations are still thin in content. But it does make trip planning an easier business, and maybe, just maybe it might stop people like me from hitting themselves over the head with a guide book.

Do you enjoy trip planning? Which sites help make it easier for you? We'd love to hear your comments. Click comments below and tell us more.

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Disclosure Note: Travergence.com invited us to review their site and compensated us for the time spent reviewing and writing this post. All opinions expressed, as always, are entirely our own and based upon our personal experience of the site.

Adventure! on the timetable at Adventure Schools

noreply@blogger.com (Kirstie (Family Adventure Project)) — Fri, 25 May 2012 16:26:00 +0000

Looking over the cliff edge is core curriculum in Adventure Schools

If you live in the UK's Capital of Adventure, why would you want to spend your school years looking out of the window onto a world-class winter wonderland? That's the thinking of more than a dozen Cumbrian schools who have signed up to a pilot programme all about learning in the outdoors then bringing it back into the classroom. For these schools, 'Adventure' is embedded into the timetable as deeply as English and Maths..

An Adventure in Learning

“I've found a fossil. I've found one,” a child rushes up, clutching a piece of limestone. She thrusts the chunk of rock into the hands of outdoor leader Sarah Brierley who confirms the fragile looking imprint embedded on the surface has been around for a while. “Four hundred million years ago this lay down and died here,” she explains. One by one the children find tiny fossils in the piles of rocks that litter the windswept grassland of Scout Scar. And then they pelt down the hill back to the bus for lunch. Fossil hunting is hungry work.

Adventure! is on the timetable

For many children, a morning on a Lakeland fell might be a highlight of the school year, but at Windermere Preparatory School it's routine. The minibus regularly chugs down the drive, delivering pupils into an outdoor playground that attracts more than 10 million visitors a year. Their school timetable has 'Adventure!' scheduled in alongside Maths and Science and Sport. But while the exclamation mark sets the subject apart from others on paper, it's Sarah's job as Adventure Coordinator to make sure outdoor education links into and supports the rest of the curriculum, feeding into mainstream lessons, “It's easy to take learning out of the classroom, but harder to fit it back in, which is what we are trying to do.”

For these kids, the fell is a regular classroom

Headteacher Ben Freeman says not every child or teacher is expected to spend their life in walking boots, but he does look for experience in outdoor education in a teaching job applicant, and each child has a set of waterproofs permanently on hand, “We're just making the best use of what's on our doorstep. It's important that children in the Lake District understand the Lake District.”

Adventure can change group dynamics

In truth, by Year 6 they probably understand it better than many adults. Over the last three years the school has developed a Log Book Award Scheme with bronze, silver and gold badges that the children earn as they progress up the school. In the winter months they immerse themselves in the land based activities of walking, climbing, navigation, survival, first aid and camping skills, while in the summer they work towards qualifications in the BCU Paddle Power scheme, and master the school's fleet of laser boats whilst working through the RYA Youth Sailing Scheme. “Sailing solo is one of the greatest thrills and even the little ones can learn to do it. It's an enormous confidence builder,” says Ben. He adds that the adventure element changes group dynamics; the child with their hand up in class all the time isn't always the one who can scale the rocks or scramble the scree, “It's a reversal of respect.”

Kids learn adventure skills as a core part of curriculum

Each year the children build on the knowledge of previous years; for example, to bag a bronze they learn how to use a map. To pocket a silver they must use these skills to take themselves up to over 700 ft. And to get a gold they spend a whole week camping, including a hike up Scafell Pike. Year 6 pupil Oliver Brierley is particularly looking forward to this, “Remote camping is so much better than normal camping. They'll literally dump us at a spot in the middle of nowhere.”

No punishments here for climbing trees

While the Head of Windermere Preparatory has been the main driver of the scheme, he's surrounded by enthusiasts, “At other schools children are punished for climbing trees. At this school children are punished if they don't,” grins one of the teachers as he pushes off down the drive followed by ten mini cyclists. Meanwhile Sarah Brierley has filled in a fresh hazard assessment form and is re-loading the minibus for a stint at Kendal Climbing Wall. As the pupils join her, they wave to a class of infants clad in waterproofs, setting out for their Forest School site. This afternoon they are making fire without matches. With the help of a 'fairy puff,' a Magnesium Firestarter tool and a bucket of water in case it doesn't go to plan, sparks are soon flying. But it's all done in such a low key way that you can almost believe its normal for under-eights to play with fire on a Friday afternoon.

A network of Adventure Schools

Windermere Prep has just been awarded accreditation in the Adventure Learning Schools scheme, a scheme started by Educationalist Professor David Hopkins with the explicit aim of bringing the kind of learning children can do in the outdoors back into the classroom. But while it might be unusual for an independent primary to officially timetable the outdoors, Windermere isn't the only school in Cumbria pursuing a course of Adventure Learning.

Dallam School, an International State Boarding School in Milnthorpe, was one of the first to climb on board the all-Cumbrian pilot scheme that now has 13 accredited members. Head Steve Holdup intends life at his school to be a learning expedition, “It's not about just sitting down and receiving knowledge; it's about going out and getting it for yourself, and developing the skills you would use in a challenging situation.”

A selection of Dallam's teaching aids

An enquiry based approach to learning

Through partnership with the Adventure Learning movement, this state secondary school has developed an enquiry based approach to studying, “Instead of saying this is what the answer is, we start out with a question,” explains the Head. Like Windermere, the school makes the most of what it has on the doorstep and a favourite outdoor experience is camping in the surrounding grounds. “Our philosophy is everyone should be able to take part and it should be affordable for all parents.” Students go on residential courses to places like Ennerdale and Borrowdale, use the water based equipment from Dallam Outdoors (the Adventure Centre that the school owns) and explore the area on a fleet of 50 mountain bikes. “The staff have also taken to this in an extraordinary way,” confirms Steve.

How's this for a classroom? Looking over to Ennerdale Water

Adventure is a lesson for school and for life

Both Head Teachers cite teamwork, resourcefulness, resilience, leadership and the ability to judge and take risks skills as benefits of Adventure Learning. In their first week at Dallam, pupils are sent down a pothole, which sets the tone for the rest of their expedition in learning, “We made a video of it, and one student who was interviewed said “If I can go down that pothole, I can do anything,” says Steve Holdup.

We're interrupted by the bell that signals home time. It's the end of the week and the children are free to spend the weekend putting into practice the skills they have learnt at school. Because for hundreds of children in Cumbria, Adventure! isn't a lesson; it's a lifestyle.

What do you think of the idea of Adventure Schools? Do you think more schools should have adventure at the heart of their curriculum and approach to learning? We'd love to hear your comments. Click comments below and tell us what you think.

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Is adventure just about conquering unconquerables?

noreply@blogger.com (Kirstie (Family Adventure Project)) — Tue, 22 May 2012 10:40:00 +0000

Derwent Water. There's adventure ideas and all the gear... but can you have a 'proper' adventure here?

What is adventure? That's the question I was asking myself at the Keswick Mountain Festival this weekend. After listening to Helen Skelton talk to school kids about her big adventures I headed off to the Berghaus tipi to listen to four young explorers compete for a £1000 prize in the Berghaus Live for Adventure competition. And it left me wondering do you have to conquer the unconquerable or go where no-one has been before to have a 'proper' adventure?

I am in a tent with Chris Bonnington

I am in a tent with the legendary climber Sir Chris Bonnington. It's probably the only time in my life this is going to happen. But I make the most of the situation by fantasizing about being part of a pioneering Everest 60th anniversary expedition with a dream team comprised of myself, Bonnington, Haddow, Fiennes and Beckham. (If I'm going to have a fantasy expedition, there's no way I'm leaving David Beckham out of it!)

However the tent we are sharing isn't going up Everest. It's staying put, along with an assembled crowd gathered to see which of four adventurers will take home a thousand pound cheque towards their summer expedition in a competition sponsored by Berghaus. The four finalists are required to do a pitch (that's spoken pitch not tent pitch in case you are wondering) in front of the live audience to try and take the prize.

I am giving a talk later on in this same tent about family adventure. But I won't be giving a pitch right now. Because although my family entered the competition, we didn't get selected. And as the young people stand and give their presentation, I realise why. We'd have stood out like a sore thumb.

These four people are reaching for the moon, whereas in comparison we are biking in our back yard.

Do family adventures not count?

Our plan (and our failed competition entry) is to take our kids biking across Iceland this summer. While it may sound tame, it's no picnic for a family with three children under the age of 11. It's a challenging destination for touring, a wild country with a reputation for wind, rain and gravelly surfaces that purport to be roads. We will be asking our children to pedal more than 1000 kilometres, whatever the weather, as we explore mountains, glaciers and volcanoes in a landscape far removed from the familiar green Cumbrian fells. They will camp in wild places, cope with whatever is thrown at them, with only the elves to call on when the going gets tough.

Of course families can adventure, but does it really 'count'?

In some ways this will be nothing new for three children who have biked across Spain, crossed Europe from Amsterdam to Venice, explored the Baltics and pushed over the Alps, the Pyrenees, and the Tatras. To them, Iceland is just a lava-covered lump in the sea and their main worry is that there isn't a MacDonalds any more. But I know it will be a challenge; for me as well as them. I struggle to ride a tandem and trailer on gravel. I tire in a headwind. And unless I have a giant picnic to hand at all times, I'm a little grumpy to be with.

But, as far as 'real explorers' are concerned, we won't be doing anything that hasn't been done before. So it doesn't count.

So if it's not new it doesn't count?

Iceland has been biked many times. It may not have been biked by many six, nine and eleven year olds, but to 'proper' explorers that isn't the point. 'Proper' adventure is about headline grabbing challenges, about doing what has never been done, about pushing bodies and minds to the absolute limit.

And today I can see their point. These young people standing in front of us are doing extraordinary things that we can't begin to compete with.

Judges discuss the merits of the 'Live for Adventure' finalists... how do they weigh them up?

Ben Hudson from Oxford University Caving Club is the youngest ever leader of an Oxford Uni expedition. Over the summer he plans to do the 'deepest caving traverse involving diving in the world.' His team will lower themselves down into 1135 metres of darkness of a cave in the Picos de Europa in Northern Spain,. They will go “deeper than the vast majority of cavers ever get in a lifetime,” also exploring a brand new passage that no one has ever gone into before. They have already named this passage Pendulamous. (after a Harry Potter spell?) He brands his team as “The next generation of explorers' and his mission is clear; to go where no one has gone before, “Caves are the last unexplored places on earth apart from the very deep ocean. We don't know what we will find. But we hope to find something.”

The next competitor, Jason King is aiming higher in geographical terms . He will celebrate the variety of climbing in Europe with a 3 peaks challenge, trying out three different styles of climbing (aid, traditional alpine rock, and alpine) on Monte Brento, Piz Badile, and Monte Cervino. For him adventure is unpredictability, “The way I like to do mountaineering is to go on the journey, let it unfold and not really know the way back.”

Finalists Polly Harmer and Matt Burdekin after making their pitch

“Has anyone ever wondered what it would be like to climb a mountain never climbed before?” says the third finalist Polly Harmer. “Well, we wondered, dreamed and had a chat,” chips in her climbing partner Matt Burdekin, “and then we thought it's what we'd like to do this summer.” The two young climbers are heading out to South West Kurdistan, to the north face of Muz-Tok, which they describe as an unclimbed 'Toblerone bar.' These guys are masters of understatement and you get the sense they'd be a fun pair to adventure with, “It's quite big and it's quite scary so you might find us kipping out here or hanging out there over the four days it'll take to climb it,” says Polly. For Matt, any expedition is a worthy expedition, “I love adventure, whether it's nicking my housemate's canoe, or climbing anywhere I can get to in the world.”

The final competitor is the appropriately named George Cave, who takes the prize. Together with three others, he will put the £1000 towards an expedition to the Altai Mountains in Southern Siberia. His adventure is extreme, “We have got the chance to climb one of the last inaccessible mountains on the planet, so it's not to be missed.” But his entry into the Berghaus competition is about more than this particular journey, “It's not about the route, it's about the continued development of an exciting (and excitable!) set of youths. We believe people are only limited by their sense of adventure.”

The winners get their prize

We may never be 'proper' adventurers but surely spirit matters more?

After the prizes have been given out, I ask George how old he is.

“That's the wierdest chat up line I ever heard.” says a man sitting next to me.

But it's relevant to my musings. George is 23. He is twelve years older than my eldest child. And Ben Hudson is 20. As he pointed out, they are the next generation of explorers. My children's generation have a little more time before they need to make their mark on the world. It's fine for my children to be biking in Iceland with their parents; at this stage they don't need to be climbing a mountain that's never been climbed. Family adventure may not be highly valued in the industry, but it doesn't mean it isn't worthwhile. The building blocks of a house start in the foundations after all. I bet a large proportion of these twenty something people got out into the outdoors with their parents.

I congratulate George on winning the prize. Was he surprised? “When I heard the others speak, I thought we'd lost,” he laughs. “I would have given them money.” I would too.

The competition is over and the crowd disperses. Now there is just me and Sir Chris Bonnington on the doorstep of the tent. I ask if I can snatch a picture in the sunshine and he obliges.

Sir Chris Bonnington at the Keswick Mountain Festival

Now I am one step closer to my Everest dream team fantasy. I may not have £1000. But I have crampons. I have an adventurous spirit. I just need a phone number for David Beckham.

Do you think family adventures 'count'? Do you need to be 'the first' to be a 'proper' adventurer? Does personal survival have to be at risk to have a real adventure? We'd love to hear your thoughts and comments. Click comments below and join the conversation.

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Even if you think you can't, you probably can - Helen Skelton at Keswick Mountain Festival

noreply@blogger.com (Kirstie (Family Adventure Project)) — Sat, 19 May 2012 10:59:00 +0000

The Keswick Mountain Festival: 5 days of adventure themed fun in the North Lakes

The Keswick Mountain Festival is a meeting of like minded people on the shores of one of the UK's most famous lakes. With talks by mountaineers including Sir Chris Bonnington, hang out areas with a live band and beer, and have a go sessions with adventure providers, it is a magnet for a family like us. And Friday afternoon brought an audience with BBC Blue Peter presenter Helen Skelton, as she gave local schools and families a talk about her adventures...

An audience with Helen Skelton

The first thing I notice about Helen Skelton is the lack of muscle. As this small ball of energy climbs onto the stage and bubbles away about her extreme adventures, I wonder where her strength is stored. The second thing I notice is her Mum; Helen introduces her, sitting calmly at the back.

Bus loads of kids arrived in town to hear Blue Peter's Helen Skelton talk about her adventures

In the last five years Helen has undertaken a raft of extreme challenges. She ran the 24 hour, 78 mile Namibia ultra marathon. She kite surfed, walked and biked to the South Pole. She canoed the Amazon (the river not the online shop) She walked the high wire suspended 75 metres in the air above Battersea Power Station. In her day job as Blue Peter presenter, she is also the action girl. She lists one of the quirkier moments as beating the world power boat champ at his own sport (he gave her a head start and lived to regret it) and she talks about the sheer terror of the downhill skateboarding she recently tried.

You get out of life what you put in

Helen has met The Queen. And countless other celebrities. Yet, when she's asked by one of the gathered schoolchildren about her role models, she credits her mum and dad, sharing with us their motto for a healthy life. “I've always been told you get out of life what you put in,” she grins. Other family members are obviously a big influence too, supporting her through the endless hours of training, “My brother kept saying 'Think of training like a bank account, the more money you put in the more you can take out on payday.'” And it's clear that when she goes on her extreme challenges her crew become her family, forging emotional bonds that last beyond the end of the journey.

The atmosphere in the Rawnsley Room was bubbling, even before Helen came on stage

This Blue Peter Presenter and Comic Relief sportswoman is a Cumbrian local girl made good, and a role model herself for the hundred or so children that have gathered here today to hear her speak. The excitement is thick when she appears. While they listen happily to her talk, the kids are really here to ask questions, which go on as long as the speech.

“How do you get all your determination,” one little girl asks. It's a pertinent question as Helen is a believer in the power of mind over body. Her Antarctica expedition finished with a bicycle ride on snow because she was determined to pedal, even though the bikes hadn't been tested before on snow. She describes one moment in her desert marathon where she hid behind a teeny tree, crying and hallucinating, with the crew convinced she was about to break. It was sheer force of will that spurred her on to run faster than she ever has before, despite gashes in her skin and blisters in her feet to finish ten minutes before the race closed. The messages from Blue Peter viewers helped her keep running too; reminding her of all the people willing her on. But what brought a tear to my eye wasn't her crossing the finish line. It wasn't her hugging her supporters or receiving her medal. It was the surprise appearance of her mum.

Helen has a simple message.. you're capable of far more than you think.

I want to ask a question about how much adventure featured in their family life as a child but all the other interviewers are kids and I don't want to look like I'm muscling in.

“Ask her what she's doing next,” I nudge Matthew.

He shakes his head, petrified at being in the spotlight.

“Ask her what she's doing next,” I say to Cam

He shakes his head. “I want to ask her if she was called Helter Skelter at school.”

Even if you think you can't, you probably can

Helen's opening video is emblazoned with the words, 'One girl, one mission; failure is not an option.' And you do get the sense that this is the case. It's strength of will that gets her through these huge missions. And throughout her talk she constantly tells us 'I can, so you can.' “If anyone says you can't do anything just get your head down and get on with it, because you probably can,” she smiles.

And the questions and signings went on way longer than the talk

She is full of confessions. Her most embarrassing moment was a singing audition. She hates running. Training for nine hours every Sunday and four hours three times a week was a lonely business. Her worst experience was being trapped in a coffin, with rats, on Halloween. (Her response to this is typical, “I was hyperventilating in the coffin and someone said calm down and I thought, it's only rats, it's only a coffin, it's all going to be fine.”) Walking the high wire over Battersea scared her so much she couldn't speak, particularly as the wire pointed downhill and she'd only ever tight-roped on the flat. “But just because I'd never walked downhill didn't mean I couldn't.”

The Mountain Festival Park, on the banks of Derwent Water. Fantastic setting.

And that's what I take away from her talk. At Keswick Mountain Festival, as the massively toned male climbers huddle at the bar, this slight slip of a girl with a massive personality and spirit of adventure reminds me that I can do anything if I tell myself I can, whether or not I've done it before. It's a good message for both me and my kids to hear.

By the end of the talk, my unvoiced question about where Helen Skelton stores her strength is answered. It's in her head. But Cameron never gets round to asking if she was called Helter Skelter at school. I guess we'll never know.

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Trees don't grow from the top down - we need acorns pushing up

noreply@blogger.com (Stuart (Family Adventure Project)) — Thu, 17 May 2012 20:08:00 +0000

There's something wrong with our relationship with nature!

After the excitement of the Titanic festival in Belfast and the Children's Culture Festival in Reykjavik it's been nice to get back to some routine with school and work, but some of us are still developing extra-curricular projects....

“Dad, we’ve started a nature club at school,” Hannah informs me as we skiddle down the side of Whitbarrow on our Sunday afternoon walk.

“Oh, with which teacher?”

“There’s no teachers. It’s at playtime.”

“Who’s we then?”

“Me and some friends. One of my friends started it, she asked me if I wanted to be in it and I said yes.”

There’s been a lot in the press recently about the ‘problem’ of nature deficit disorder, of how disconnected we’ve become from the rhythms and wisdom of the natural world, and how important it is for kids development to experience a connection with nature. So I'm all for Hannah's new club.

“So what do you do?” I ask.

“Oh we make birds’ nests and things like that. On the school field.”

“What do you use?”

“Grass and sticks. And stones. Just like birds. But the wind blows away the grass. And the boys try to steal the stones.”

A birds nest of kinds...

I guess boys will be boys, that’s hard wired isn’t it? And we live in Cumbria so the elements are always going to be part of the equation. But they are just part of a wider pattern of challenges for my daughter and her friends. What with society’s current obsession with risk assessment and trying to minimise exposure to real or perceived danger. Everyone seems really busy trying to control kids and the environments they play in. Although there are a few voices of dissent, trying to warn us all about the dangers of not just the Last Child in the Woods, but the Last Child in the Street . Check out Tim Gill’s latest post.

“What else do you do in nature club?”

“We’re going to make a birds’ garden. For the birds to play in. But we’ve only just started it. ”

I’ve noticed encouraging signs of wider engagement and action lately around the ‘nature deficit’ issue, in particular from The National Trust. It’s great to see a national organisation weighing in on the issue, sponsoring research, making the case for change, committing resources and actively encouraging kids and parents to get outdoors, get active and do something more grounding and edifying than watching TV. I love their 50 things to do before you’re 11¾ and their call for ideas and action.

Trees don't grow from the top down

I picture the National Trust as a huge tree, providing accessible branches for kids to climb; a stable, sturdy influence over their outdoor games, nurturing them for life. But at the same time I fear consultations, top down policies, and strategies won’t solve this problem. Trees don’t grow from the top down. We need acorns pushing up. Lots of them.

“We’re going to make a hole for some water so the birds can drink, and plant a tree to grow more twigs” says Hannah.

I like the sound of nature club. It’s an acorn. It’s practical, local and comes from the kids. They don’t need a huge organisation to instill a love of nature in them; they just need the opportunity to explore and develop what's already innate.

Tiny seeds scattered on the wind, in time yield great beauty

“And we’re growing dandelions and sunflowers”

“I’ve got some ideas for your nature club. Would you like to hear them?” I say.

“Not really Dad.”

“What about those books we’ve got at home on things to do in nature?”

We pause to blow on a dandelion clock. Hannah and her friends are like the seeds scattering in the wind. Given the right conditions they’ll sow, grow and flower on their own.

“Maybe. But I’ll have to ask my friends. We've already got a plan you see.”

Do you think kids have a natural capacity to connect with nature? Do we need top down strategies or lots of little acorns? Click comments below and share your views.

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This post is part of Travel Photo Thursday at Budget Travelers Sandbox and Friday Daydreamin at R We There Yet Mom?and Delicious Baby. Check them out for photos, stories and links to other travellers.

Top 10 Ideas for Family Craic (fun!) in Belfast

noreply@blogger.com (Kirstie (Family Adventure Project)) — Mon, 14 May 2012 18:40:00 +0000

Looking down towards City Hall, Belfast

Belfast may not be the most obvious place to head for a city break but the city's recent history, vibrant past, and plans for the future means there's a lot on offer, especially in this Titanic anniversary year. After four days in the city, we pull together our findings with this summary of top 10 things family friendly things to do in the city.

Top 10 family things to do in Belfast

Wherever you go in Belfast at the moment you see '2012- Our Time, Our Place' and it does seem like this city's time is now. As the birthplace of Titanic, it has a year long festival of celebrations and commemorations going on including world class concerts and plays. It has a brand new multi million pound visitor attraction that forms the centre piece of a regeneration project that other European cities can only dream of. It has the peace that once seemed an impossibility. It has Guinness. And it has the Irish. From the moment we cycled in to this city we were charmed by the people and engaged by the place.

The Botanic Gardens, Belfast

5 Titanic Related Attractions

Titanic Belfast Visitor Attraction
If you do one thing in Belfast with the kids, we recommend it is this. Titanic Belfast is a brand new £90m building filled with movies, interactive exhibits, memorabilia and fascinating fact. You also get to go on a ride through an atmospheric shipyard, although when we went the queues were more substantial than the thrills. Whether or not you are interested in Titanic, you'll find this an imaginative exploration of Belfast in the early 19th century, and watching the footage of the wreck today is a sobering experience.

The Titanic Belfast Visitor Experience from the water

Titanic's Dock and Pumphouse
If you are 'Titanorak,' this is a must see. The dry dock where Titanic was fitted out claims to be the 'only authentic Titanic landmark.' But even without this title, the Dock and Pumphouse is a weighty attraction. You can descend 44 ft into the dock itself and imagine the dizzying size of the luxury ship and the buzz of 3000 men creating her luxury finish. www.titanicsdock.com

The world's only Titanic Boat Tour
We climbed on board 'Mona' with Lagan Boat Company Tours for 75 minutes of entertaining commentary and local insight into a century of dockland development. Mona is a pretty little boat and if the sun is shining it's a treat to pootle around the outskirts of the newly regenerated Titanic Quarter on one of her Titanic Boat Tours.

The Mona readying for another Lagan Boat Company Titanic Tour

SS Nomadic
Sitting happily in the Hamilton Dock where she began her life, the SS Nomadic is the tender vessel which carried passengers to the Titanic. She wasn't ready during our visit, but the current restoration work will be followed by a chance to climb on board. She's a testament to the determination of the maritime enthusiasts of Nomadic Belfast who raised the money to restore her back to her former glory.

Quirky Titanic Tours
There are many varied and quirky ways to see the Titanic sites. You can be guided round by a relative of a survivor, you can tour the City Cemetery, you can have a pub tour, or a Titanic food Tour with the exciting Kaboosh theatre company. Or you can do what we did and let your smartphone guide you around the Titanic sites. But whether or not you do the pub tour, don't forget to make time for a pint of Guinness.

You can't come to Ireland without having a Guinness

5 Non Titanic related

A Mural Tour -street art with bite

One local said to me that he despairs of people cashing in on Belfast's troubled times, “It's like going for a job interview and telling them all the bad things about yourself,” he explained. But I disagree. To know this city is to know about its recent and not-so recent past. You can do this in a number of ways including 'trouble tours.' We chose to guide ourselves around the murals with the help of a mural map available from Tourist information We awarded the children points for every mural they spotted, while for Stuart and I it was an immersion into the passion and politics of this city.

Street murals in West Belfast

Art in the city
from The balls on the Falls to the Nuala with the Hula
While the Belfast authorities invest time and energy into commissioning huge art projects, the locals invest almost as much energy into renaming giving them names that stick; -they've already christened the 200 ft Titanic Belfast 'The Berg.' But despite the comedy tag, the art is worthy of any modern city. Nuala with the Hula throws her ring of light over the bay, our kids loved the giant airfix model of Titanic in the Titanic Quarter and Rise; otherwise known as The Balls on the Falls really brightens up a dreary junction.

The Big Fish, public art at Donegall Quay, Belfast

Belfast City Hall Tours
Unsurprisingly City Hall is one of the landmarks of the city, and its also one of the most elegant interiors. You can take a tour led by an experienced guide through the marbled staircases and wood panelled rooms or you can attend a special event in the building. We saw the radio play The Wireless Room being performed live by Wireless Mystery Theatre in the atmospheric great hall. Whatever the reason for your visit, check out all the portraits of the mayors on the walls. They are allowed to choose the artist and style of the painting and its great to differentiate the wackier personalities from the traditional types. No booking is needed and tours run three times a day on weekdays and twice on weekends.

Also worth a quick look if you're passing City Hall is the brand new memorial garden on the east side; the only place in the world where all who died on the Titanic are individually named.

W5
W5 is a child's paradise. And when the children are the parents are too. The surrounding complex is packed with bowling alley, pizza places and sports bars, but the main draw is a massive discovery centre/science museum. It's so big that it never feels crowded and to say there's something for everyone is an understatement. Stuart loved the live experiments led by a man in a white coat. On our visit he exploded film canisters using the vitamin pills that occasionally cure my hangovers. I loved standing next to a digital screen floating with butterflies, and waiting for one of them to land on my fingers. Hannah created her own animated movie starring a beetle, a ladybird and an ostrich. Matthew loved turning his face upside down and seeing where his eyebrows landed, and Cameron got blown away by a hurricane. Not often that you get to combine all those activities on a family holiday!

Ulster Folk and Transport Museum
If you fancy getting out of town just a little, then drive past the Harland and Wolff shipyard and down to the coast. Stop for a little walk on the beach before pressing on to the Ulster Folk and Transport Museum where you can walk around the houses of people going about their business in the early 1900's. The museum is set in vast grounds and you can spend all day walking to and from the various rural buildings if you've the time and inclination. Our kids liked the secret door between the bank managers house and the bank, as well as the school room, where one local lad cast himself in the role of the teacher to Educate us all about potatoes. But it's the Transport Museum that really shines, with its brightly painted trains, new Titanica exhibition and transport cafe with a difference.

At the Ulster Folk Museum

A great way to travel
Getting there: We travelled by Stena Line, and it was lovely to wave goodbye to Liverpool (on a sailing from Birkenhead) in the early evening, tuck the kids up for the night in their little beds, and wake up in Belfast.

Getting around: We took our bikes with us a which takes away the inconvenience of parking charges, or traffic queues and you can get around the dock area much faster than pedestrians. You are even allowed to bike around the Botanic Gardens. Tiptoeing through the tulips on a tandem is a rare experience.

This post is part of our Tales of Titanic Cities Tour.

We visited Liverpool and Belfast to find out more about how the two cities are connected to Titanic, joined in the Titanic Festival and tried to figure out what the story of the Titanic had to teach us one hundred years on.

Read more from our Titanic Season here:

Do you have a view on this story? We'd love to hear your comments. Click comments below and tell us what you think.

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What is dangerous is arguing it’s not dangerous....

noreply@blogger.com (Kirstie (Family Adventure Project)) — Fri, 11 May 2012 07:30:00 +0000

Ever tried king size bunks?

I am in bed with a fisherman. Well, not literally, the fisherman is on top of me. Well, not literally, he’s hovering over my head. Let me just clarify. I am in a set of kids bunk beds, double kids bunk beds. Yes, literally. Two king size beds, one on top of the other, scaffolded together with what I hope are strong steel pillars. Because my husband is in the bed above, without a fisherman but with three kids.

I am staring at a picture of an Icelandic fisherman who is staring out at a fishing boat on a cold grey sea. The picture is underneath the top bunk, or is that on the roof of the bottom bunk. I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m warm and about to dream of cod wars, as soon as the giggling and wriggling on top stops. And I don’t mean the fisherman.

“Why can’t we have beds like this at home?” asks Hannah, peering down at me over the upstairs rails, to a chorus of approval from her bed mates. Well, mostly Stuart. He’s such a kid.

“Be careful Hannah, get back from the edge,” I scold. “Bunk beds are dangerous.”

There’s more laughter upstairs. But I’m serious.

“Don’t you remember the time Cameron fell out of the top bunk and smashed his head on the floor?” I remind them all.

The "sugar coated roof! cabin - scene of a serious bunk bed incident

“He was only trying to lick the roof to see if it was made out of sugar,” says Matthew.

“It wasn’t. He fell out, hit his head and was sick,” I retort.

“The sugar goblin pushed me out,“ cries Cameron who is now hanging over the edge too.

“You were asleep and rolled over. Get back from the sides all of you.”

Our family does this, creates sugar coated legends out of what to me are very real and dangerous incidents. Why is it only me that sees the danger?

“We should have beds like this at home,” says Stuart. Now they’re all peering over the side and I’m sure it’s going to topple. “Why do we all have separate beds and separate rooms?”

“That’s a great idea Dad. We could have a five singles tower bed,” says Matthew.

“We’d be one happy tiered family.”

“Yay,” they all cheer.

Crossing a river on a log... dangerous??

It’s not a great idea. But there’s no point arguing. Twenty years of arguing and you’d think I’d know that riding a bike on ice is not dangerous, trying to cross a border illegally is not dangerous, crossing a fast flowing river on a fallen tree is not dangerous, kids bunk beds with or without rails are not dangerous. What is dangerous is arguing it’s not dangerous. I’m fed up being cast as Cassandra, always having to remind people of the very real dangers of living.

I try a different tack. “Anyone want to come down for a cuddle with mum? It’s so nice and warm down here. And I’ve got my own fisherman.”

They respond with a pillow fight. One of the pillows flies over the edge and lands with a thump on the floor. Stuart just laughs it off. The fisherman is the only man getting anywhere near my bed tonight.

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One family, many different characters...

noreply@blogger.com (Kirstie (Family Adventure Project)) — Tue, 08 May 2012 16:58:00 +0000

In Reykjavik, city and nature are never far apart..

In a decade of travelling the world with our kids, we have stayed in some interesting hotels. We'll never forget the Latvian establishment made entirely out of chipboard, or the working hospital on top of a former nuclear bunker. They were quite basic and quite mad. But in Iceland we came across a chain of hotels where individualism, luxury and imaginative design and marketing combine in a typically creative Icelandic way....

World’s tallest man welcome.. and smallest too

This chair was specially made for the world's tallest man

Hannah is sitting in a chair made for the world’s tallest man. It was constructed shortly before he visited Reykjavik from his home in Turkey.

“Was it a surprise?” I ask Guðlaugur Kristmundsson, known as Gulli, who is giving us a tour of some of the quirkier rooms at Icelandair Hotel Reykjavik Natura.

“No, we knew he was coming. That’s why we made the chair.”

But I meant for him, the big guy. Was he surprised to get this giant chair?

“Yes.” Gulli replies. “He cried. It was so emotional for him. He said it was a feeling he hadn’t had since childhood; sitting in a chair the right size for him. Interestingly, the world’s smallest man stayed with us four months later,” he says, pumping up the story even further. The world's tallest man followed by the world's smallest? I am starting to wonder if he is telling me a tall tale. But then this is the country of elves, so small people are seen quite often around here.

Photos of the big man's visit

“Can I sit in the teeny chair?” whispers Hannah as we make our way down the corridor to the bedrooms Reagan and Gorbachev stayed in (not together I assume) during the famous Reykjavik Summit.

While they may have been the most powerful men on earth, it seems they weren't big enough to warrant their own chair.

Bringing the outdoors indoors

The Reyjkavik Natura sits on the edge of town, quietly overlooking the city airport. Once upon a time this airport was the hub of all Icelandic international flights and the hotel (then known as Hótel Loftleiðir) was at the centre of things. But these days only private and military aircraft land here and the hotel has had a total makeover. Some might think a quiet out of town spot a disadvantage but Icelandair have turned it to a positive.

Looking across to Reykjavik from the hill at Perlan, near the Reykjavik Natura.

As the name suggests, this place is nature themed, drawing inspiration from nearby Nauthólsvík, a unique beach with geothermal hot pools, and the unusual wooded hill opposite (there are very few trees, woods or forests in Iceland). Inside all is nature inspired too. There are flower rooms. There are rooms dedicated to poets and artists. There is a relaxing naturally heated spa. In fact indoors the whole hotel is a shrine to the outdoors. There are display cases of birds and animals, nature paintings on the walls and books on the tables. In reception and the restaurant there are all manner of locals hanging around, all made from wood, each one a work of art. One is a shepherd, happily herding his flock. There are three sheep at his heels, although by rights it should be four.

“There’s a black sheep in every family isn’t there? Our black sheep is outside, doing his own thing,” says Gulli. Sure enough, the black sheep is spotted out on the patio. It’s not unusual for these sheep to move around; in fact it’s the job of the receptionists to make sure they keep popping up in different places.

Wooden figures bring nature inside

And there’s entertainment on site too with a hotel cinema that shows films about Icelandic nature and also hosts weekly storytelling evenings. Storytelling in Iceland is a tradition born in the days of the Sagas. It’s kept alive in a more modern format here each Thursday night when guests and visitors alike are invited to snuggle up with blankets, pillows, hot chocolate and biscuits to listen to stories from Icelandic authors, told (in English) by the hotel’s official storyteller.

One family, many different characters

I think Icelandair Hotels have something good going on here. They’ve mastered how to do a theme hotel, and rolled the concept out. A good handful of their nine hotels distinguish themselves in the tourist market by their unique branding and themes. There’s the golfer’s hotel, the food lover’s hotel, the wilderness hotel, the ski hotel. There's the partnership with the Hilton, Reykjavik’s flagship hotel, which provides me and the family with a room with a view to die for. “We think of Icelandair Hotels as a big family,” says Gulli. “Even though there are many characters, each is a very different person.” I think he’s met my family.

On the third night of our stay in Reykjavik we move into town to meet the newborn in the family. Icelandair Hotel Reykjavik Marina is so young that it was only christened the night before at its official opening party. The view from our room is a ship out of water. Literally. The red, white and blue vessel towers above the people out for a walk in the dwindling daylight.

The Reykjavik Marina couldn't be closer to the marina!

The Reykjavik Marina is an old paint factory set on the edge of the harbour. It makes its past the focal point of its identity. The walls are decorated in knot wallpaper, there's knotted rope in the glass cabinets and the TV remote hangs in a net bag. The library looks like it's constructed from driftwood, on the walls are shipping receipts from a time when things were cheap here, on the ceiling above my bed is a giant picture of a fishing boat coming in. In this hotel the inside reaches outside too in great stripes of colour that run from the bar of this old paint factory through walls and windows and into the Marina beyond.

Spin but not as we know it...

The Icelandic people seem to have a certain genius for taking something that could be seen as negative about the country and turning it into a positive. But this is not spin, it’s a kind of quirky truth telling. Perhaps advertising agencies from around the world should send their interns to Iceland on field trips. No paved roads? Then come and have the ride of your life in a jeep. Active volcanos? Have you ever explored one? It's light all night? Just right for a spot of midnight golfing. It’s clever but there’s no disguising or mis-selling, more like bringing the obvious to your attention then putting a humorous or positive twist on it.

Take the Blue Lagoon for instance, apparently Iceland’s most popular attraction and a magnet for anyone coming to or from the airport. Now we all know it’s a luxury geothermal spa. But did you know it’s also connected to the nearby industrial water heating complex; you pay to bathe in hot water which is a by-product of the plant next door. It’s all very clever, safe, efficient, perhaps even health giving, but you wouldn’t think the location or source of the water would make great marketing material. But they do here.

The Blue Lagoon is part industrial complex, part tourist attraction, part natural spa

From the waters of the Blue Lagoon the steel pipes and towers of the plant are in full view and no attempt is made to hide them. In fact the whole industrial business is pointed out in the various information plaques telling you the history and geography of the attraction; and this curious juxtaposition makes the place what it is.

Chilling in the Blue Lagoon...

Back in the Reykjavik Marina a sign on the wall of our bathroom flags up the lack of space, advising us it makes the acoustics perfect. It recommends we take advantage of this by singing in the shower, as a prelude to singing to the staff on reception who, we are assured, will respond by singing a traditional Icelandic folk song in return. It's honest, engaging, and very, very Icelandic. And I have no doubt the staff are primed to sing. Only thing is I’m not Icelandic or brave enough to test it.

What's the most creative and inspiring place you've stayed? We'd love to hear about your experience. Click Comments below and tell us more.

This post is part of our 2012 Adventures in Iceland Season.

We visited Reykjavik in April for the Children's Culture Festival and plan to spend the summer exploring the wilder parts of the country expedition style by bike. We're grateful to Visit Reykjavik, Icelandair and Icelandair Hotels for their support in helping bring you this season of posts.

Read more posts from our Iceland 2012 season

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Whale watching or whale eating in Iceland?

noreply@blogger.com (Kirstie (Family Adventure Project)) — Sun, 06 May 2012 20:06:00 +0000

Whale watching is big business in Iceland

While in Reykjavik we had the privilege of joining a Special Tours Whale Watching trip. Whale watching is said to be a 'must do' tourist activity in Iceland, but then so too is sampling whale cuisine, which of course requires whale hunting, a long standing if controversial part of Icelandic culture. As a tourist there's no question of hunting but you are likely to be confronted with choices about whether to watch, eat, or both, as we found out.

We call them stinky minkes

“You'll know a minke whale from it's exceedingly bad breath,” says Magnus Axelsson, the crew member in charge of keeping us all informed about the wildlife. His hands are so cold he is holding his microphone in a knitted sock.

Leaving Reykjavik in search of whales.. these days it's for watching not hunting

Almost everyone on the tour stands at the front of the boat, sniffing for mammal halitosis. I'm hedging my bets and hanging about in the middle of the cruiser, squinting into the distance. Meanwhile Stuart has his camera trained on the sea at the rear of the boat. As far as I'm concerned he's backing the wrong horse. If a whale does appear on demand, it's going to be on that choppy royal blue horizon, with the glaciers as a cinematic backdrop, and fifty eager whale spotters waiting to 'ooh' and 'ahh.'

I thought this was what we'd see.. if we were lucky

Nature sighting guaranteed

But what do I know about the habits of humpbacks? A few seconds later saltwater is trumpeted into the air, not more than ten metres away from the back of the boat. I gasp and Stuart nearly drops his camera. At the front of the boat Magnus is still urging people to watch out; he hasn't noticed the burst of activity behind him. But when that curved body rises out of the water, no one is in any doubt that a humpback whale has chosen to swim in our wake. The crowd rushes towards Stuart and the back of the boat as the whale slices back into the depths. We wait in anticipation for its dark tail to burst out of the ocean.

So you can imagine my surprise when this humpback whale turns up 10 metres away

In the past seeing a humpback was a rare treat for tourists, although whale sightings in general are so common in this part of Iceland that many operators claim an average 95% sighting success rate, verifiable by records kept by the boat captains in special whale sighting logbooks. Magnus tells me that one humpback in the bay was pretty much the norm for many years; with a huge number of tourist boats trying to get a glimpse. But he thinks that there are now up to nine humpbacks in Faxafloi Bay, although he's not sure why they have come.

Whatever the reason, the tourists are happy. Despite the area being populated by a range of puffins, dolphins, minke whales and shy harbour porpoise, the humpback is always the star. “The minke whales are faster and show themselves more. You can chase them around for an hour,” says Magnus. “But the humpback is much more spectacular. It moves so slowly it almost stops.”

Some whale watching tours in Iceland claim a 90% sighting success rate

I didn't think it would be addictive

Whale watching is even more rewarding than I anticipated. The scene for a relaxing Saturday morning is set by the chillingly crisp air, and the wind and sunshine in my face as the boat powers out into the bay away from Reykjavik harbour. As we race towards open sea, there is a palpable sense of excitement. Even the toddlers on the boat seem to embrace the thrill of the chase as they bounce around the wooden seats that still have a thin layer of ice from the cold night. But when we reach a place where the whales are commonly seen, a silence falls amongst the spectators. We are all trying to be the one who spots the prize. Our eyes sting in the sunshine as we focus on ever moving water. Then comes the yell, and the microphone confirms success. Suddenly we are all racing down the boat, pulling up short as we catch out first glimpse. I am overwhelmed by grace and power, following its arc with my eyes. And then almost immediately I am overwhelmed with disappointment that it's gone. But then the engine starts and we are off trying to track it. Sightings are addictive. Once is never enough.

In town whale is also on the menu

When our feet are firmly back in Reykjavik, we are buzzing and the city is too. It's the weekend and locals as well as tourists are out in full force; shopping, eating lunch in the sunshine and sightseeing. I came off the boat hungry, the sea air whipping up an appetite. But as we wander around the town, I notice the signs outside the restaurants as though for the first time and feel sick to the stomach. Suddenly the menu's I have been wandering past all week have an impact. Whale in delicate celeriac jus. Huge whale steaks, accompanied by fries and salad. Tapas dishes of whale and puffin.

Back on the high street the tourist menus seem shocking now

Having just spent the morning with a humpback, this is so wrong. And it's the very tourists who are watching the whales in the daytime that are eating them at night. According to the local paper The Reykjavik Grapevine, whale watching is the most popular tourist activity in Reykjavik. Yet 19% of tourists say that by the time they step on a boat they have already tasted whale flesh. They watch a minke glide through the bay and then they devour one with chips.

The whaling issue has rumbled on here for many years. In 1989 the practice was halted in Iceland for almost a quarter of a century and since it resumed the debate has been a roller coaster ride affected by politics, economics, and social pressures. Although those in favour of whaling may justify the practice in terms of its cultural or historic importance to the country, others point out that killing big whales on a commercial basis only started in Iceland around the middle of the last century. In addition to this, according to a Gallup poll, less than 5% of Icelanders eat whale meat regularly, and far more money enters the economy from people watching the whale wildlife than people eating it.

Yet over the last two years, restaurant after restaurant in the city has started to offer whale on the menu. And it's the tourists that are consuming it along with the local beer. As I stand in front of a fish restaurant offering minke and puffin, I think about that spout of water shooting into the cloudless sky, the long curved back slicing through the waves, and the flash of tail before it silently retreats into the icy depths. And then I think about a whale being cruelly harpooned, taking more than an hour to die before being shoved onto a boat, its blood draining away into that cold, unforgiving water.

And I'm not hungry any more.

What do you think about whaling? Watch them or eat them? We'd love to hear your thoughts. Click comments below and tell us more.

The whale tail disappears under.. to live another day?

This post is part of our 2012 Adventures in Iceland Season.

We visited Reykjavik in April for the Children's Culture Festival and plan to spend the summer exploring the wilder parts of the country expedition style by bike. We're grateful to Visit Reykjavik, Icelandair and Icelandair Hotels for their support in helping bring you this season of posts. And to Special Tours for enabling us to bring you this story.

Read more posts from our Iceland 2012 season

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Does a happy revolution sound like this?

noreply@blogger.com (Stuart (Family Adventure Project)) — Tue, 01 May 2012 21:04:00 +0000

Does happiness come in little boxes?

After making music with carrots, I figure I should be able to cope with an Icelandic Happiness Workshop for families. Not that I feel I need it, I don’t feel unhappy, but I am curious; why is happiness is on the festival agenda and what exactly will they do to me to make me feel happier?

No pots and pans but drums in City Hall

I am sitting in a circle, sweating and banging a drum as loud as I can. Outside the sun bounces off Lake Tjornin and streams into Reykjavik’s City Hall, pushing up the temperature and forcing me to squint. Around me thirty kids and parents are drumming away, including my lot. Matthew’s on his feet next to me beating the taut skin of a djembe like it was his brother, while Cameron’s beating him back on a bongo. Hannah’s tinging a triangle and Kirstie’s giving a hand drum what for. It sounds surprisingly good; rhythmic, energetic, pulsating; happy. And I feel good.

I feel happier when he hits the drum rather than his brother

I wonder if the Icelandic pots and pans revolution sounded like this? That protest, following the collapse of the Icelandic economy in 2008, took place very near City Hall. I don’t think people were smiling then. But they are now. At least in this circle.

What happens when a beat becomes a crash?

The crash of 2008 was disastrous not just for the Icelandic economy but for the Icelandic people. It touched everyone and wiped out any sense of financial well being or security. Organiser of the Reykjavik Children's Cultural Festival Karen Maria Jonsdottir told us they had to rethink many things after the crash. “In one split second everything was gone and it was really clear that it was not coming back. It was interesting to see what happened when everything was taken away. We had to look within and ask what can we do here? We had the space to think differently.”

She thinks it made people re-assess what matters in life, reminded them of the importance of family, nature, simplicity, and sustainability. Perhaps the resurgence of wool here symbolises something of this, the desire to use something real and natural to create something warm, useful, practical, comforting. Perhaps that’s why guerrilla knitting is so in fashion too.

Guerrilla knitting seems to be quite in vogue around Reykjavik

Can happiness be passed in tiny squeezes?

I am sitting in a circle holding hands with strangers. The drums are all gone now and I’m looking out upon a new set of faces. There’s maybe fifteen of us, adults and kids, filling the circular space between us with smiles. I’m not quite sure how I ended up here, passing happiness around the ring in tiny squeezes of each other’s hands. But it feels good. It’s simple and connecting. And, surprisingly, it does seem to generate happiness.

When the crash happened many Icelanders weren’t sure how they got there and weren’t happy about it either, hence the pots and pans. During the boom years many people gave up traditional Icelandic trades to get a slice of the money sloshing around Icelandic banks. It was easy then to swap fishing for flash cars, funky apartments and fat bank accounts. Some came to believe they had it all; the dream life, all the gadgets money could buy, happiness in abundance and not just on the Friday night runtur. And then the boom went bust.

Where do you look for happiness when it seems like you've lost everything?

The Icelandic experience of the crash seems to hold important reminders about money, materialism and happiness. And sitting in this little circle, watching mums, dads and kids squeeze giggles of happiness around the ring, I can see, hear and feel how family is an important part of the ongoing recovery here.

Iceland's not your normal 'family friendly'

Family is important in most island communities and so too in Iceland. Judging from what we’ve seen at this festival in Reykjavik, parents here love to do things with their children, whether it’s playing board games, making elf-houses or making music with carrots.

And this family oriented culture rubs off on the tourist industry too. But it’s not your normal ‘family friendly’ - you won't find things like theme parks or fun factories in Iceland; they don’t really do ‘attractions for kids.’ But Dora Magnusdottir, Marketing Manager for Visit Reykjavik says that’s because attractions are everywhere, “You have to embrace what you see. The core idea for family tourism is simplicity.”

Hundreds of people turned up to play family board games in City Hall

Simplicity doesn't mean no fun. You can take the kids walking behind a waterfall at Seljalandsfoss in the south. You can swim in hot pools just about everywhere. You can play on big black sandy beaches without having to compete with the sunbed brigade. You can rent bikes and explore deserted gravel tracks that seem to lead to the moon. The ingredients for happiness are everywhere.

Happiness is not a fast car, flash apartment or five figure salary (although I still think all of those sound great); happiness is in nature, simplicity, family and friends. And in a smile and a tiny squeeze passed from one person to another.

Happiness is free. Do you want some?

What makes you happy? We'd love to hear your thoughts.
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8 things that make Iceland the most creative and kooky place I've ever been

noreply@blogger.com (Kirstie (Family Adventure Project)) — Sun, 29 Apr 2012 21:01:00 +0000

Yes that's a cat in a basket going helium ballooning.. only in Iceland?

It's perhaps an understatement to say that Icelanders are a quirky nation. But what makes them so eccentric? Is it the weird daylight hours they keep, or the amount of space they have to play in? Do they take creative energy from the volcanos that spout above their heads or the boiling water that bubbles under their feet? In a week spent visiting Reykjavik and the Children's Cultural Festival as a family, one of our favourite games was playing 'spot the difference...'

Going for a walk with my cat...

A young Icelandic man dressed in a suit is going for a walk along Hverfisgata, the high street in Reykjavik. But this being Iceland, he's not doing it in a conventional way. In his hand is a bunch of balloons. We're talking hundreds of balloons; filled with enough helium to take a small cat into the clouds. Funny that, because in a basket below the balloons is a small cat. What's strange about it all is the cat doesn't seem to think this is unusual; it sits happily purring in the basket. The onlookers don't think this is unusual; they give the cat an amused glance and then carry on queuing for the bowling alley. The owner of the balloons clearly doesn't think this is unusual; he's just off for a pint with his cat.

I think this is unusual.

Taking my cat for a walk... in its basket. With helium balloons. Of course,

Dismembering dollies for my shop...

As the children chase balloon man down the street hoping for a stroke of the cat, Stuart and I do a double take at a clothing shop. There's nothing strange about this shop apart from the window. Someone has pulled apart a selection of dollies and placed the limbs all over the display to the point you aren't sure if it’s advertising sparkly dresses or accident insurance.

I think this is unusual.

What are they selling? Clothes or dolly parts

Going dancing in daylight at midnight...

Apart from the cat, and the dollies, the high street is quiet. Most Icelandic revellers don't bother going out until midnight. Then they emerge on mass for their traditional weekend pub crawl, past the offices of adventure companies offering whale watching tours, and restaurants offering whale steak tapas. It's getting dark now, but in a few months, they'll be dancing in daylight at 5am.

I think this is unusual.

Does Iceland breed eccentrics?

I don't know why I'm surprised by the quirkiness. After all, I grew up watching Bjork on Top of the Pops. (In case you've been on the moon for the last thirty years, the talented and charmingly bonkers Reykjavik singer is Iceland's most famous native.) But during our week at the Children's Cultural Festival I notice that this country seems to breed eccentricity. It's a way of life.

Puppets relaxing outside the Children's Culture Festival

As a family we are often seen as different from others. At home we are known as the weird biking family and as we ride past the smart French, German or Italian people on a tandem and triplet on our summer trips, we often feel vaguely embarrassed at our difference. But here, we feel at home. We sense that if we turned up with the kids riding in a wheelbarrow the Icelandic people would respect our fondness for gardening tools and point us towards a shed with a hot pool.

Playing spot the difference

But what makes the Icelandic people so different from other, more conservative nations? What's at the root of their quirky character and the sparkle in their eyes? After a week in the capital, I may not know the island, but I have formed my own opinion of the place and here are my top 8 things that make Iceland the country it is today.

8 things that make Iceland the most creative and kooky place on earth

1. The magical folklore

It's no secret that Icelandic people believe in elves. Artist Sigrun Einarsdóttir laughs about the Icelandic practise of bending roads around alleged elf settlements for fear of provoking the wrath of the little people, but agrees it's something of a religion here. She's familiar with the folklore of elves; her latest designs for kids include an elf tree-house filled with fairy creatures. For her their magic is an inspiration

Making an elf house... a typically Icelandic craft activity from Icelandic artistSigrun Einarsdóttir

The interest in elf culture permeates many parts of society. Magnus Skarphedinsson runs an Elf school in Reykjavik (for humans not elves) and several locals run elf tours around the magical enclave of Hafnarfjordur.

It's said that half the population are convinced elves are real, but even those that aren't might be inclined to hedge their bets. There are numerous reports of bad things happening to anyone that disrupts the lives of the supernatural little guys, and when you stand on this eerie lava, or on mud flats that bubble and boil under your feet, you can't help but wonder. In Thingvellir National Park as I looked down on the first parliament in the world, I wasn't thinking about human politics. I was imagining the council of elves, trolls and ogres, taking place in a parallel universe. I bet they would have sorted out the banks.

2. The yawning space

If there's one thing Iceland has in buckets, it is space. Just over 300,000 people live in Iceland and most of them are packed into or around the capital. Much of the rest is uninhabited or uninhabitable. There are many hundreds of kilometres of gravel roads and the first asphalt road outside the capital was only built in 1973. Apart from this scattering of people, the island is made up of deserts, mountains, glaciers, lava fields, wasteland, ice fields, and lakes. People living here throughout the centuries were hardy creatures, surviving (or not surviving) hunger, disease, economic problems and all manner of natural drama.

It's a landscape that makes you feel small

While the proximity to the sea gives Reykjavik its seaside atmosphere and maritime history, when you look to the horizon, it's lonely. From parts of the island there's nothing between you and the arctic. Miles and miles of blue, blue, space. Miles of thinking time and space to be inventive. If you want to check out some of their more creative exports; read the work of the Nobel Literature Prize winning writer Halldór Laxness, or listen to Bjork's new Biophilia album.

3. The pressure cooker landscape

It feels like every metre of this place has an underground phenomenon just waiting to burst out of the surface. It turns an everyday picnic into a bit of an adventure. The whole island is one big lava extrusion; a giant pitted crag with more crags jutting out of it and geological plates that rift and separate its surface. The earth is literally being pulled apart underneath you at a rate of up to 2cm a year.

Meanwhile Mother Nature explodes here regularly like a teenager with PMT. Magma chambers bubble beneath, regularly spewing liquid rock through volcanic spouts to reshape the landscape; there’s volcanic eruptions of some kind here on average every four years. And then there’s the geothermal water cannons; geysers jetting out boiling water and mud pools spitting gloop.

Geysers, fumaroles, boiling mud holes... are normal here

The Icelanders have got used to all this over the years, and are very creative with how they use their natural resources. They heat their homes with the geothermal energy. They utilise the run-off of hot water from their enormous geothermal power plant in the south of the country by creating one of the world's bluest and most relaxing open air pools 'The Blue Lagoon.' And even the small villages have open air pools with volcanic views. How can this moody, foot stamping natural world not inspire a fiery temperament in its people?

4. The historic stories

Iceland is big on 'Sagas' - historic stories that go back to before 1000 A.D., when the Vikings went a-wandering and stumbled across this strange land of ice and fire. The Sagas have shaped the identity of natives over the centuries as oral family histories were passed down from one generation to the next. The Saga Museum in Reykjavik tells today’s visitors some of the key stories about how Iceland came to be populated and it’s one of the more bizarre attractions we've ever visited. The waxwork statues are less Madame Tussauds and more house of horrors; one of them even seems to breathe. Our kids are enthralled and they're particularly drawn to the figure of a woman being burnt at the stake whose eyes hold as much drama as the famous Eyjafjallajokull volcano.

Even the waxworks in the Saga museum have a kooky kind of look

5. The topsy turvy light

In the summer it's light all night and in the winter it's dark for much of the day. Personally this would drive me nuts, and while the Icelandic people just get on with it, I can't imagine that it doesn't have some impact on their psyche. And in this topsy turvy world, heavy curtains must take on a monumental importance. I wonder if there's a black economy in black out blinds?

6. The culture

The locals are masters at channelling their exposure to nature into art. There are galleries dotted all over the main city. Home interior shops are filled with volcanic and earthy colours; high street fashion is dominated by highly patterned jumpers using local wool, and on street corners there's a mix of edgy sculptures and guerrilla knitting.

Guerrilla knitting on a Reykjavik tree

Karen Maria Jonsdottir who organises the Winter Light Festival and the Advent Festival as well as the Children's Cultural Festival says that when you strip away everything else, culture is all that's left. “We are culture.”

Icelandic people really seem to value culture and are constantly experimenting. Although there are less people in the country than in our home county of Cumbria they have a Concert Hall that can give the Sydney Opera house a run for its money in terms of size and architectural daring.

Reykjavik is packed with bizarre museums including the phallological museum (look it up!) with an exhibit from every mammal that lives on the island.

7. The sea

In Iceland, fish are friends not food. But then again they are food as well. There's barely a restaurant in the city that doesn't have great fish on the menu. And the sea is lush with Minke and Humpback whales as well as dolphin and porpoise. Wherever we walk in Reykjavik, we seem to end up back at the sea. Or a fish restaurant. Or on the sea, in a boat, watching a Humpback spout water only a few metres away. The sea provides life, and a contact with nature that the rest of us don't have. What better teacher of character is there than nature?

Fishermen heading out to sea from Reykjavik

8. The cold

It's called Iceland. Of course it's going to be cold. That's all part of the experience, and part of the character of the place and its people. And there are some great things to do with the cold here like dog sledging or driving on a glacier. Pack an extra jumper and get out here before global warming melts it.

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Making music with a carrot....

noreply@blogger.com (Stuart (Family Adventure Project)) — Fri, 27 Apr 2012 09:12:00 +0000

This colourful graphic is not art per-se; it is the score for an unusual musical performance

What is music anyway? It's not a question I expected to be asking myself at a children's music concert. But Iceland is a land full of the unexpected and, as we were warned on the plane here, things here can be a little different to what you are used to. And so it was when we went to a performance of contemporary music for curious children as part of the Reykjavik Children's Culture Festival.

Yellow suns burning in a dark sky

Two yellow suns burn in a fizzing sky. Beneath, white bombs of energy skate along cobalt tracks spitting sparks into the night sky. I watch the giant screen intently, like everyone else, waiting for my cue. This dancing imagery is not randomly generated computer graphics but an experimental musical score.

I am holding a carrot. I think I’ve been told it’s not a carrot but a musical instrument but it was in Icelandic so I’m not sure. I know I’m supposed to crunch it at some point but I’m not sure when. The people on stage at the front seem to have cracked the code. They’ve juggled oranges, squeezed juice onto the floor, lit a candle and are busy rubbing sandpaper in time to the colourful shapes moving around the screen. But then they’re consummate professionals, musicians from the Reykjavik Chamber Orchestra. It’s a bizarre set-up, they’re all wearing plastic cups as beards held on with elastic bands stretched around their ears but they’re taking it all in their stride; after all this is a public concert.

The stage is set, but what's with the oranges, plastic cups and computers? And where's the music?

I am lost and unexpectedly challenged

To be honest I’m a bit out of my depth. I’m something of a secret musician myself, I can read music and find my way around a musical score but I feel totally lost here. I was warned on the plane over that conditions in Iceland may be a little different to what I’m used to, but I didn’t think it applied to everything. And I certainly didn’t expect to be challenged like this in what was billed as an hour of contemporary music for curious kids, part of the Reykjavik Children’s Culture Festival. But it’s me that’s ended up feeling curious. I came expecting to listen, relax and be entertained but instead am questioning my understanding of what counts as an instrument and indeed, what music is. Does a group of musicians scratching sandpaper and blowing bubbles into plastic cups while the audience crunches carrots count as a musical performance?

The thing is my kids seem fine with it all. It doesn’t seem to matter to them that the introduction and explanation was in Icelandic. It doesn’t seem to matter to them that in the first piece (LAUR by Guðmundur Steinn Gunnarsson) the brass players tapped air into their instruments instead of blowing into them, the percussionist played the scissors and tin can while the string section skidded fingers up and down their strings according to instructions flowing across a computer screen in front of them.

Conventional instruments, played unconventionally in LAUR by Guðmundur Steinn Gunnarsson

It doesn’t seem to matter to them that the orchestra have now put down their ‘normal’ instruments and are playing oranges, matches and sandpaper as they perform Karaoke by Ingi Gardar Erlendsson. And they seem thrilled to have been given carrots to play, are entirely focused on the symbols on the big screen that are orchestrating this whole performance, keenly anticipating a signal that means ‘crunch.’

I guess that’s the beauty of childhood, the openness to what is and willingness to experiment, without the judgments of what things ‘should be.’

As I sit staring into space wondering what this is all about, there’s a sudden stereophonic crunching around me as everyone bites into their instruments. Up on the screen two giant carrots fly off the colourful ‘score’. One moments lapse of concentration and I’ve missed my cue.

OK, so are these musical instruments??

Things are not what we think they are

“What is music anyway?” asks Guðmundur, the composer of LAUR, as we chat to him afterwards, thankfully in English. Both he and Ingi are part of a collective of experimental contemporary composers in Iceland, which goes some way to explaining the strangeness of the experience. He’s particularly pleased to have had his unconventional piece performed by an established ensemble of musicians, “I think it broke down some barriers and sounded very nice, but then I wasn’t eating carrot.”

As we talk the audience leaves the auditorium, the children eating their instruments while the musicians mop up the juice and finish off the fruit they played earlier.

“What if this is music?” says Guðmundur sucking on his orange. And suddenly I get it; the whole thing is a creative provocation. Music can be anything and anything can be music, if I can just get past the socially constructed definitions and interpretations that limit my experience. “I like it when the audience plays their carrots,” says Guðmundur excitedly, “you can’t all do it at exactly the same time, so there’s a randomness to the sound, it’s never the same, it moves around. That’s music.”

Old but perhaps not as wise as the young

What’s interesting is how easy this is for the kids to accept. I guess they don’t carry the years of conditioning that comes with age and what I foolishly think of as wisdom. Perhaps they are actually wiser, still open, playful, creative and imaginative enough to accept what is, enjoy the performance and play along on their carrots. As I crunch my carrot I know there’s an important lesson for me in this kooky, Icelandic and nutritious musical afternoon.

Do you think kids are wiser than adults? Have you ever questioned your long held views about something you take for granted? We'd love to hear about it. Click comments below and tell us more.

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Letting go of the reins takes a lot of practice...Icelandic horse riding

noreply@blogger.com (Kirstie (Family Adventure Project)) — Wed, 25 Apr 2012 14:37:00 +0000

These two seem quite at home with each other

If you want to split up a family, then take them Icelandic horse riding! Keen to get a taste of Iceland beyond Reykjavik and the Children's Festival we headed out for the morning to Laxnes Horse Farm to try a little Icelandic horse riding. Now I knew we'd all be on horses but hadn't quite figured out the implications of that until we were all saddled up and on our way...

Letting go of the reins takes a lot of practice

“Now I know what ‘hold your horses’ really means!” cries Matthew as he gives up trying to hold onto his and shoots off into the distance, bumping up and down, and sliding on and off the saddle. Stuart follows them into the horizon while I am taking the road less travelled. My horse Sciona doesn’t even bother trying to give me the impression I am in charge.

If you want to split up a family, then take them Icelandic horse riding. In a group of twenty riders, many of them beginners, it's the horses that are making all the decisions and there's little chance of me doing any active parenting. It didn’t occur to me until after we’d set off that I wouldn’t see my three children for the rest of the morning. I think two are behind me and I can’t turn my horse, for me and Sciona have not yet developed an understanding about doing a 180 and don't seem likely to anytime soon.

I may look comfortable up here, but really I'm out of control

It's not easy not to worry..

As a parent I find I need nerves of steel for this activity. But it isn’t anything to do with my own riding ability. Having been thrown off a horse in New Zealand (it wasn’t going anywhere, it just didn’t fancy me on its back) and having clung onto the back of one over two days crossing steep mountains and fast flowing rivers in Chile, I’m not scared of them, although I do respect their power and determination. It’s more the fact that my kids have never had riding lessons, in fact have never actually sat on a horse, yet they are now riding solo across a land littered with geysers, shifting tectonic plates and volcanos.

What mother wouldn’t worry a little? It’s that old cotton wool parenting chestnut again. I want them to have freedom, but I want to be in control of that freedom. And at this riding centre in Laxness, I can’t even control my own horse let alone theirs. I have no choice but to trust them and their horses.

In the end I tell myself all I can do is relax, enjoy the ride and try to ignore Cameron's cries of 'Yee Ha'.

'Yee Haw' - I do wish he wouldn't do that

I feel the grass looking forward to summer

What a ride it is as we trot across a flat sunny plain in the Mosfellsdalur valley, tracing and splish-sploshing the river that meanders between the hills and mountains all around. The faded brown grass seems to be gasping for light and air after three months under snow-cover. It's officially the second day of summer and despite the sun and a clear blue sky the vegetation says it's still only early Spring. Nearby is a little museum, the former home of author Halldór Laxness, Iceland’s only Nobel prizewinner. Looking around it’s easy to see why the poetic language flowed.

Our lead guide seems to be in a hurry to get home. She speeds up, taking the better riders with her. And suddenly I am alone. I don't know where Cameron or Hannah are and I don’t know the way, but I think the horse does. These placid horses walk this trail and others further up the mountain twice a day all year round. I tell her she’s a good horse. She takes that as a challenge.

It's beautiful riding alongside the rivers and great fun crossing them

It feels like all my bones are rattling around in my body. Apparently Icelandic horses over the years have developed a kind of trot known as the tolt gait, which can help the horse escalate its speed with grace and efficiency. But this fells less tolt gait and more gallop. I just hope the kids aren’t doing it. But I bet they are.

The Icelandic horse is something special

Laxnes Horse Farm and Riding Centre is owned by Heida Bergsdottir and her husband Thorarinn Jonasson who have been running it together for 44 years. “And the funny part is I’ve been married to her all the time,” he giggles. When their son Haukur was ten, he joined them full time, “I’ve been custom bred for heavy labour,” he tells me with a smile. They are keeping it in the family; Haukur’s sister is a vet.

They have over 100 horses at any one time and I meet twenty or so when Haukur gives me a tour of the paddock, pointing out the distinct build of the animals. Iceland has had a ban on importing livestock since the eleventh century, and once a horse leaves the island it never returns, so they’re pure bred and quite unique looking. Haukur reckons he can pick out Icelandic horses at a glance anywhere in Europe; they are short, stocky and strong with wide front legs. He strokes one of the horses in front of us; his hand gently resting on the golden back, “Look at his colour. It’s a testament to how old this breed is; and this stripe is ancient horse stuff. In the summer, when he sheds hair here and here, he starts to look like a zebra.”

At Laxnes Horse Farm, I am introduced to some of the 100+ horses

Icelandic horses worked alongside the first settlers to arrive here, and they lived a harsh and austere life, crunching on ice when there was no other food. At Laxnes Riding Centre the life is easier; they’re mostly trotting about with tourists on their back, (although some might argue that hard labour and crunching ice are a more favourable pastime). And they rest every other season when more horses are brought in from the fields. They’re lucky to be here; the sturdy gait and placid temperament make Icelandic horses a popular export to countries that are a little less blessed by nature, “The Danes are crazy about them. In 2008 they imported 7500 Icelandic horses,” says Haukur.

She didn't need me, she loved the freedom

The zebra horse wanders off. Haukur answers his ringing phone and I am left stroking a horse called Suvali who is apparently a ‘huggy bear.’ I’m not sure I want to test that out. But I don’t need to as my daughter finally comes trotting in. She is the last one home; half an hour later than the rest of us, but thoroughly enjoying herself.

Hannah trots home. She didn't miss me! She didn't need me.

She didn’t need me. She didn’t even miss me. In fact she's buzzing from the experience, the freedom, the sense of achievement.

"Can I have a horse Mum?" she asks as she dismounts.

I say nothing. I feel glad I gave her away this time, however unwillingly, but I know in my heart that if I’d managed to make my horse turn around, I’d be trotting in with her right now. Letting go of the reins takes a lot of practice.

Watch this for a taste of our Icelandic Horse experience

This post is part of our 2012 Adventures in Iceland Season. We visited Reykjavik in April for the Children's Culture Festival and plan to spend the summer exploring the wilder parts of the country expedition style by bike. We're grateful to Visit Reykjavik, Icelandair and Icelandair Hotels for their support in helping bring you this season of posts and to Laxnes Horse Farm and Iceland Excursions for helping us bring you this story.

Read more posts from our Iceland 2012 season

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Culture and happiness - for children, by children and with children

noreply@blogger.com (Kirstie (Family Adventure Project)) — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 14:33:00 +0000

Right across Reykjavik, parents and kids were out together as part of the Children's Culture Festival

When we set out to visit the Reykjavik Children's Cultural Festival we knew relatively little about Iceland, Icelandic culture or language. We couldn't make much sense of the early Icelandic versions of the programme and didn't know if we'd understand anything that was going on. But it turns out you don't need to; for vistors the festival is a family friendly education in all things Icelandic and the local culture means you will be welcome, included and likely as not creatively inspired by the people and the incredible location.

Culture and happiness
For children, by children and with children

A rumble of drums swamps Reykjavik's City Hall as 50 instruments are bashed and banged with glee. At Iðnó, next door, the oldest theatre in town has been turned into an 'Adventure Palace'. In the auditorium a string quartet from one of Reykjavik's most respected orchestras plays Beethoven while excitable toddlers weave in and out of their legs and climb up onto the stage.

A string quartet plays and talks classical music with families

A magician rushes up the stairs, dressed in coat tails for an hour of illusion, brushing lightly past the paper snake curled around the door. In the art room a historian helps kids put the finishing touches to rod puppets with googly eyes and smart hats. And I'm focussing on receiving a shot of 'happiness' through a squeeze of my hand in a sunlit circle.

Turning the mirrored concert hall into a glitter ball of creativity

The Reykjavik Children's Cultural Festival, now in its second year, started with an explosion of colour earlier in the week when 10 year olds from every primary school in the city (1200 in total) performed a single dance in the Harpa concert venue along with a 300 strong choir. “It was a case of calculating how many students we could fit into a square metre and still give them room to move,” says Festival Organiser Karen Maria Jónsdóttir. The impressive mirrored building became a moving glitterball; a swirling, whirling reflection of children's culture in the city.

Taking part in the drumming circle, City Hall, Reykjavik, part of the Happiness Workshop

Even the sun joins the fun

The festival coincides with the official start of summer in a country where snow and darkness prevail for many months. Even the sun is joining in this week; like a festival judge it presides over every activity, surrounded by sharp white glacial peaks, and deep, dark volcanic shadows.

The Reykjavik Children's Cultural festival is about art and culture for kids, with kids and by kids. It's clear that culture is important to this city; you can see it in the myriad museums, galleries and performance spaces that pack out with locals and visitors all year round. But the arts weren't always as important to the city as they are now, according to Karen.

Making puppets, one of many craft activities on every day

“The economic crisis in 2008 meant we had to rethink all our values,” she explains. “Everything fell. It was all stripped away overnight. But one of the things that did not fall apart was art and culture. Audience numbers around that time went sky high. People went to concerts to find peace, a place to reflect or a place to cry.”

In a city where the financial crisis touched the lives of almost everyone, the lessons people learnt were not what they expected, “We found out that art meant a lot to our society. It was really interesting to see that when everything was taken away, all you had left is yourself. You are culture.”

When culture is a giant book and a bearded man on a spring..

In the City Library, a bunch of small children are busy 'being' culture as they climb into a huge book made out of recycled materials. My own children put the finishing touches to tiny coloured boxes that will join those lining the walls of the library. The Icelandic children have covered theirs with butterflies and flowers, while Hannah attaches the head of a bearded man to a spring, and Matthew makes an electric bear you can plug into the mains. It's apparent that our kids need to get out more.

Inside the walk in book at the City Library

Reykjavik's 'plugged in' children are enjoying the family session going on down the road at the University where children and parents are using iPads to explore music composition and science in a taster workshop devised by Bjork. A new educational project, linked to the singer's new Biophilia album was piloted in Iceland last autumn and the plan is to roll it out to schools across her home country while Bjork exports it in person to countries like New York and Argentina. Nature is at the root of this initiative; but then nature is at the root of everything in Iceland; even in the city.

A great way to explore the culture and geography of a city

As a parent who travels a lot with children, I find this festival the perfect way for a family to see a city. Instead of dragging the kids around art galleries and monuments, we wander around the temporary cultural venues, dipping in and out of things designed specifically with the children in mind. It's all free and it's all accessible. Even the language barrier doesn't exclude us; many Icelandic people speak perfect English, and they spontaneously give us a little introduction to each event when they discover we are visitors.

After the break-dancing demonstration, it's time for kids to have a go

A microcosm of the country

As an outsider, it seems to me that this festival is a microcosm of Iceland. It is widespread and inclusive. It celebrates simplicity and rejoices in nature. It values the opinions and input of children. It is about people, not about things. It is quirky and kooky, doesn't take itself too seriously and everyone is catered for, whatever age you are. At it's heart its about uncluttered family time, about being together and being creative.

As we leave Hannah squeezes my hand. “I'm just giving you some more happiness, in case yours has run out,” she says. But you know what? It hasn't.

This post is part of our 2012 Adventures in Iceland Season.

We visited Reykjavik in April for the Children's Culture Festival and plan to spend the summer exploring the wilder parts of the country expedition style by bike. We're grateful to Visit Reykjavik, Icelandair and Icelandair Hotels for their support in helping bring you this season of posts from the Reykjavik Children's Culture Festival.

Read more posts from our Iceland 2012 season

Do you have a view on this story? We'd love to hear your comments. Click comments below and tell us what you think.

Like what's here? Like us on Facebook for exclusive updates you won't find on this blog, Twitter or anywhere else!

Not your usual Golden Circle Tour

noreply@blogger.com (Kirstie (Family Adventure Project)) — Sat, 21 Apr 2012 07:00:00 +0000

How can nature like this not shape culture?

As part of our week in Reykjavik at the Children and Culture festival, we felt we should explore a little of the natural wonders beyond the city to understand a little more of this place. After all, they say culture is shaped by environment as well as people. So we booked ourselves onto the classic Golden Circle tour, to visit three of the top ‘must see’ wonders close to Reykjavik. We expected nature to dominate the day but didn’t take into account the mix of nationalities and age groups on the bus...

Not your usual Golden Circle Tour

Cameron has turned into the white rabbit, popping his head out of a large hole in the ground in Thingvellir National Park, a UNESCO World Heritage site and the first stop on our Iceland Excursions coach tour around the Golden Circle.

“I’m late, I’m late, from falling in between two tectonic plates.” he sings.

Matthew joins him in the zig-zagged crack in the earth and the two of them feel their way between the rocky teeth, chanting the song of the white rabbit.

“We’re late, we’re late, we’re stuck in a tectonic plate.”

"We're stuck between tectonic plates"

The other tourists watch with interest. Then, as the boys climb out, three Japanese people climb in.

“This whole coach party is soon going to be trapped between two tectonic plates,” says Cameron joyfully.

Sure enough, as we make our way back to the bus, all we can see is a neat line of heads poking out of geological rift. “The tectonic plates have been pulling Iceland apart by up to two and a half centimetres per year,” says Cameron, repeating what our guide told us in the coach earlier. “But I think if all those people pushed, it could be even more.”

Everyone gets back on the bus. Eventually.

And so we head on to Gullfoss...

I am at the front of the coach, sitting next to Herbert from Hamburg, an eccentric pensioner dressed in blue dungarees, wearing John Lennon glasses topped off with a yellow sunhat. He is excited to hear he is in the company of an English woman.

“That is very good because it is The Queen’s birthday tomorrow. She is 86.”

I tell him I didn’t know that.

“It is also my birthday.” he says. “I have shared each of the Queen’s birthdays.”

I tell him he looks young for 86.

“I am not 86! Whatever makes you think that?” he shouts, clearly offended.

But after an hour sitting next to him on the bus I am used to him shouting. Every time the very knowledgeable tour guide says the word ’tectonic plate’ Herbert shouts “Danger!” When it first began, in Reykjavik, I thought perhaps the coach was about to crash. After the third cry, I realised it was probably just Herbert’s personal fear of geological rifts; when almost everyone else on the coach climbed into the rift for photographs, I noticed Herbert kept his distance.

The tour guide gives us fifty minutes at the next location; the Gulfoss Waterfall; another of Iceland’s iconic landmarks. Herbert takes out an alarm clock, shakes it, sets the time, and puts it back into his bag. What is it with white rabbits today?

The top section of the Gullfoss Waterfall

The clear blue sky, the glacial water and the uncustomary sunshine combine to produce an uncustomary rainbow over the waterfall. The water pummels down into the canyon spraying the procession of tourists heading up to the rocky promontory and viewpoint. The kids run ahead. “Keep an eye on them, they can get quite close to the edge up there,” one coach passenger advises us.

For a brief moment I rest my mantle of paranoid parent when I spot a ledge the kids can stand on to make it look like they are hanging over into the waterfall. In fact it just leads to a patch of rock that leads to another patch of rock that eventually leads to a precipice. There’s enough rock between them and the fall to stop me worrying. I direct the photo shoot and one by one the children have a go at pushing their fingers over the rock as though they are climbing out of the waterfall. But they soon tire of it, and wander off to find some real danger. This leaves a slot for the Japanese, who have been watching intently. A few seconds later, they launch themselves over the cliff and cling on for dear life. Luckily at the same spot.

Clinging on for dear life at the psuedo cliff

“They’re going to wear out that rock and make the cliff steeper. That’s so awesome,” says Cameron.

Everyone gets back on the bus. Eventually.

And so we head on to Geysir...

As the driver starts the coach and the guide restarts her commentary, Herbert asks me how tall I am. When I reply he looks at me sympathetically. “You do understand that your daughter will be even shorter than you?” he states emphatically. “But never mind, some of the most formidable leaders in history have been lacking in height. Take Deng Xiaoping, or indeed Nelson.” At five foot six in my socks I am a bit puzzled by his obsession with my height. No one has ever made me feel like an elf before now.

“Where do you live in Hamburg,” I ask.

“Right in the city,” he replies. “I couldn’t live in Iceland. Too much space. I like to be crushed when I go into the outdoors.” I look back, hoping to catch one more glimpse of the rainbow reaching down to touch the icy wall of water. There could never be enough space for me; not when the space is this extraordinary.

At Geysir, the Strokkur geyser struts its stuff

We move on to the Geysir area; a famous geothermal field, where the kids pretend to be spouting geysers for the camera, and the Japanese follow. And then the tour guide announces that to reward good behaviour she is going to give everyone a treat. We will have a surprise 15 minutes at a crater. But only 15 minutes. We still have an hours drive before we have to drop everyone off at their hotels.

Getting tired, the kids are sluggish climbing out of the bus. But then they decide it would be great fun to walk around the whole of the Kerid crater. They stomp over grassy bank and volcanic lump, with Herbert from Hamburg following on their heels. 71 other people decide that the three children and pensioner with the same birthday as The Queen of England must know the way, and start circling the ring of the giant crater.

The Kerid crater... the Pied Pipers take a breather

The guide can only watch on as the children play the Pied Piper leading the rats right around the geological relic and then down a steep volcanic slope to the ring of blue water that fills the crater.

Herbert’s alarm clock goes off in his pocket. No one notices. They are all following like lambs to a volcanic slaughter.

“I am having lamb for dinner tonight,” says Herbert. “I have it every night in the same restaurant.”

“Why the same one?” I ask.

“Why would I try another?” he asks in astonishment. We stop and look around, at the brilliant blue sky, the dark mystery of the crater lake and the shrouded silhouettes of the tourists moving in a ring around our heads. Perhaps he is reconsidering his comment about space in this glorious, natural, energy charged volcanic place.

“I once went around the world on a freight ship,” he says.

Everyone gets back on the bus. Eventually.

This post is part of our 2012 Iceland Season. We visited Reykjavik in April for the Children's Culture Festival, and plan to spend a summer exploring the wilder parts of the country expedition style by bike. We're grateful to Visit Reykjavik, Icelandair and Icelandair Hotels and Iceland Excursions for their support in helping bring you this season of posts from the Reykjavik Children's Culture Festival.

Read more posts from our Iceland 2012 season

Have you ever been surprised by a coach tour? We'd love to hear about your experience. Click comments below and tell us what you think.

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Arriving in Iceland - a very different kind of place

noreply@blogger.com (Kirstie (Family Adventure Project)) — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 09:39:00 +0000

What is this place they call Iceland?

Our Children’s Culture week in Reykjavik begins like most people’s holidays begin; on a plane. It’s a bit of shock to our system as we’re more used to rolling the bikes onto ferries and retiring to our cabins before sea sickness kicks in. But as we step onto the Icelandair flight, we realise this is just the start of a very different experience...

A very different kind of place...

Before we even put a foot on Icelandic soil, I know without a doubt that this country is different. What’s not clear to me is how deep the difference goes. Is it one of the quirkiest places on earth, or does it have the world’s best marketing team? At the end of my first day here, I realise the answer lies somewhere in the middle.

Icelandair's inflight entermainment system tells me the most important things I should know about Iceland. I learn that it’s not the lush whale population or the midnight sun, it’s the fact that the President is listed in the phone book.

Even our kids get with the campaign. “The President is in the phone book Mum. Can we call him when we get there? Can we? Does anyone know his name?”

The President doesn’t just do phone chat though; as part of the Inspired by Iceland campaign last year he invited tourists for pancakes in his home. He was inundated by willing guests; one woman flew from Seattle to join him for breakfast. Our kids love pancakes and would be happy to take him up on that offer.

Next I'm informed it’s not the geothermal pools or the volcanic landscape that define this place, it’s the fact that half of the population believe in elves.

“I believe in elves!” says Hannah, instantly bonding with a nation who shares her passion for the pointy eared. Hannah has a long term fondness for mythical creatures; she left a trail of chocolate to her bed at Easter in an attempt to entrap the Easter Bunny.

Designer Ooruvisi Gjafavorur, who is running an art workshop in the festival we have come to check out, says it goes deeper than superstition, “This is our religion,” she laughs. “We bend roads around the rocks to avoid upsetting the elves.”

Apparently it’s not the lava fields or the geysers, it’s the fact that the most popular restaurant is a hot dog stand.

Cameron’s passion for bratwurst is a legend in our family lunchtime. You can hear his squeal right down the plane when he takes in that message. And I find myself admiring a country that puts highly processed sausages in the same league as geothermal wonders of the world.

Inspired by Iceland?

This other worldliness is more than just a marketing campaign

I first became aware of the power of Icelandic branding at World Travel Market last November. While all the stands were impressive, none of them stood out like the Iceland stand who were offering people a simple proposition; to spend time with real people, doing real things like walking the dogs or having dinner without any money changing hands. I was instantly inspired and decided I had to visit.

"Look at this," says Stuart pointing at the latest message on his screen. "'Did you know the conditions may not be what you are used to?' Brilliant. What they’re saying is ‘Yes, we’re different, but we’re not different in the way you think we’re going to be different. We’re more different than that!'”

Later I meet Hera Brá Gunnarsdóttir, Project Manager for Marketing and Visit Iceland, who says Stuart is spot on; their mission is to bring in visitors who are looking for something unique. “We are looking for people who want to experience something different; not those who like to follow the herd, or do the same thing as the person before them.”

The Inspired by Iceland campaign came about after tourism was wiped out overnight by the 2010 eruption of Eyjafjallajökulla, a volcano on the south of the island. This followed the 2008 economic crash that had an impact on just about everyone living here.

“We thought no one would come to Iceland again,” says Hera. “People got the impression that the whole country was covered in ash. But it was only like that in the south.”

Hera tells me that visitors to the island need to take what’s thrown at them and bring a warm coat. “Within five minutes we can have sun, rain, wind and snow,” she smiles.

What is this sculpture at Keflavik airport.. and what does it mean?

It is sunny when we step off the plane. The revolving doors at the airport swing us out into a green space where a giant egg stands glinting in the daylight. Something is pushing out of it, and we argue about what it is.

For me it’s a dinosaur tail. For Stuart the egg is the earth, pushing out a lava stream that represents the birth of the youngest country on earth. Cameron is hungry and the egg reminds him of dinner.

Reykjavik Excursions pick us up from the airport in a luxury bus to take us on an outing to The Blue Lagoon. The boys are delighted at the seat belts and free wi-fi and we lose them for the journey. Hannah looks out of the window and asks questions about the extreme landscape as we travel down empty roads laid between kilometres of gnarled blackened rock. The pitted, pockmarked mineral looks like it has been recently and violently spewed from the mouth of hell, while in contrast the marshmallow peaks, in various shades of white, draw the eye directly to heaven.

It’s a bit of an out of body experience. One minute we are dragging through the grey drizzle on the way to Heathrow, and seemingly the next we are floating in a blue lagoon, legs gently kicking above two tectonic plates.

And who are these beings at The Blue Lagoon

We have plastered our skin in quick dry silica that resembles wallpaper paste, and we can hardly see each other for steam. People around us are drinking cocktails as they swim, so we order a frozen slush. (You have to admire a country brave enough to brand its junk food with the title Krap.)

The sun is shining, we are sipping crushed cherry ice through a straw, bathing in hot water that’s burning our toes, and suddenly it starts to snow. I get the feeling we are in for quite a ride.

This post is part of our 2012 Iceland Season.

We're visiting Reykjavik in April for the Children's Culture Festival, then spending a summer exploring the wilder parts of the country expedition style by bike. We're grateful to Visit Reykjavik, Icelandair and Icelandair Hotels, Reykjavik Excursions and The Blue Lagoon for their support in helping bring you this season of posts from the Reykjavik Children's Culture Festival.

Read more posts from our Iceland 2012 season

Do you have a view on this story? We'd love to hear your comments. Click comments below and tell us what you think.

Like what's here? Like us on Facebook for exclusive updates you won't find on this blog, Twitter or anywhere else!

Looking for The Source in Reykjavik - at Children's Culture Festival

noreply@blogger.com (Kirstie (Family Adventure Project)) — Tue, 17 Apr 2012 14:00:00 +0000

Iceland's capital Reykjavik, looking out over Tjörnin

To many people a break in Iceland involves either extreme sport, extreme landscape or extreme partying. But its capital Reykjavik is keen to attract families too, to enjoy the thermal beach and pools, the buzzing city life, and the variety of culture and heritage on offer. This includes the Children's Culture Festival; a week long extravanganza of children’s culture, culture for children and culture with children. We’re off to join in some of the activities, to celebrate the arrival of the Icelandic summer, and to be inspired by Iceland's youth...

Culture for, by and with children

“Iceland is on fire! Are we still going?” shouts Cameron , dumping his school bag at the front door. With only hours until we fly, it’s not what we need. Thinking about the volcano that halted British flights for days a couple of years ago, I check my phone for news. There’s nothing about Iceland in the headlines.

“But it is. A boy in my class told me. His mum went there.”

“Do you think he meant ‘land of ice and fire?’” I suggest. “It’s what people call it.”

He thinks about this for a moment. “Well that wouldn’t work. How could you have ice and fire together? The ice would just put out the fire.”

“Well I’m not sure,” I say. “We’ll have to find out.”

It’s not often as a family we venture into the complete unknown. We travel a lot, sure, but Western Europe isn’t the challenge it used to be; partly it’s because we’re familiar with it, and partly it’s because it’s all becoming so samey. McDonalds is McDonalds in any country, and on most trips I’m surprised afresh by the prevalence of Tesco and Spar, even in the countryside. But I suspect Iceland is going to be very different.

We’ve been invited out to attend the Children’s Culture Festival in Reykjavik. It’s a festival that coincides with the start of Icelandic summer, and it’s remit is simple; culture by the children for the children, with the children. Its programme is more complicated. We only had the Icelandic version to start with and Google Translator wasn’t very enlightening.

Our first challenge - to learn a little Icelandic

“In the morning we can meet some students for ‘cookies and wierd beards’ and then spend an afternoon making karaoke with a carrot.” Says Cameron with glee. “It sounds brilliant!”

The theme for this year's festival is ‘the source.’ “What does that mean?” asks my son.

“Well I’m not sure..”

“I love sauce,” says Hannah. “Ketchup is my favourite.”

“I don’t think it’s that kind of sauce.” I reply.

“What kind of sauce is it then?”

“Well I’m not sure... “ I say

“We’ll have to find out.” Cameron finishes my sentence with a grin.

Looking out across Reykjavik to Hallgrímskirkja

We now have the translated version of the festival programme, which is weird-beard free. And we’ve set up all kinds of strange and wonderful events including art, happiness and musicology workshops. Thankfully karoake with a carrot is still firmly in our schedule. We intend to see for ourselves what our children and others can learn from Icelandic culture. With a population of just over three hundred thousand and a wild, uninhabited landscape, we’re pretty sure that the experience will be very different and very inspiring.

We’re flying with Icelandair and it’s the first time Hannah has been in a plane, so that should be interesting. We’re checking out some of Reykjaviks finest hotels including Hilton Reykjavik Nordica and Icelandair Hotel Reykjavik Marina.

And we’re going to track down ‘the source,’ whatever it may be.

In between children’s festival performances and workshops, we plan to do some thermal bathing at The Blue Lagoon and a city beach; check out the Vikings in the city’s Saga museum and in the outdoors with some Viking horseriding. We hope to visit the geysers of the Golden Circle, and go whale watching.

A colleague at Late Rooms has told us about a bar that serves minke whale and puffin. Our children have very conventional tastes when it comes to food. But maybe we’ll get them to try such delicacies without them realising. How? Well that’s where ‘the sauce’ might come in handy.

“ I wonder if Iceland does Ketchup?” I say out loud.

“Well I’m not sure,” says Cameron. “We’ll have to find out.”

This post is part of our 2012 Iceland Season.

We're visiting Reykjavik in April for the Children's Culture Festival, then spending a summer exploring the wilder parts of the country expedition style by bike. We're grateful to Visit Reykjavik, Icelandair and Iceland Air Hotels for their support in helping bring you this season of posts from the Icelandic Children & Culture Festival.

Read more posts from our Iceland 2012 season

Have you been to Iceland? We'd love to hear about your experience. Click comments below and tell us more.

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That's the problem with the wireless generation

noreply@blogger.com (Stuart (Family Adventure Project)) — Tue, 17 Apr 2012 00:08:00 +0000

Photo: The Wireless Room, Wireless Mystery Theatre

What is it with technology? At the same time as it connects us it disconnects us. On our recent Titanic themed tour of Belfast we took in a production of The Wireless Room by the Wireless Mystery Theatre which got me thinking about two different wireless generations.

The problem with the wireless generation

All I want to do is talk but no-one else seems interested. That's one of the problems of this wireless generation. And at times I'm as guilty as the rest of them of tapping away on my iPhone when there are people around I could be talking to.

Having breakfast in Belfast's Maggie May's I want to talk about The Wireless Room, find out what everyone thought of the Wireless Mystery Theatre's Titanic themed radio play we saw the night before, but everyone's disconnected in a connected kind of way.

Is anybody listening?

"What did you think of the show last night then?" I blurt into the ether. But all I get is radio silence. 'Is there anybody out there?' I wonder, much as they must have done that cold April night.

Hannah's playing Ice Age on her DS. Cameron's collecting Mega Jump coins on his iPod touch. Kirstie's checking her email while Matthew's trying to figure out whether there's Wi-fi in the cafe. For a change my phone is in my pocket and I know how everyone feels when they can't reach me. Strange how the technology that connects us isolates us.

But it's not always so. On the night the Titanic sank the Marconi wireless operators and their simple transmitter were a lifeline, the only means by which the stricken vessel could reach out for help. Using only dots and dashes.

Only dots and dashes

"Why did they use that morse code thing?" asks Cameron suddenly, without looking up "Why didn't they just ring for help?"

No wonder the kids found the play confusing. A radio play, but on a stage, about a wireless room on a sinking ship, inhabited by 2 wireless operators, the only people on the ship who had the very latest 'wireless technology', but could only call for help using an obscure code, and could only reach people with special receiving equipment, if they were within a few hundred or maybe a thousand miles, depending on the weather and time of day. It's probably not a world kids today can easily understand.

Dots and dashes into the ether... CQD.. Come Quick Danger

"So there's no Wi-fi then?" says Matthew joining in.

I'm not sure if he's talking Maggie May's or the Titanic but I'm grateful for his contribution.

"No, there was no Wi-fi, no mobile phones, no satellite comms, GPS or two way radio. The only way to send a message off that ship was with dots and dashes."

"What like pictochat?"

Heroes from another wireless generation

Perhaps they'll never get it. But I did. The men of the wireless room, Harold Bride and Jack Phillips, were quiet unsung heroes, not mariners but technicians, the single point of contact with the world beyond the berg struck ship, calling for help in a way no-one else on board could, in conditions of extreme stress, until the water almost reached their feet. Heroes, saviours and pioneers of a very different wireless generation.

Photo: Wireless Operator Harold Bride in The Wireless Room, Wireless Mystery Theatre

Back at the Malone Lodge Hotel later that night we find ourselves glued to another kind of screen, watching a documentary on the Costa Concordia. But at least we're watching together and it's a kind of shared if unsettling experience. This time you can see and hear it all, caught on camera: videos, photos, phone-calls and radio transmissions, all recorded as it happened by passengers, crew and rescue teams. It leaves nothing to the imagination. And I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not.

This post is part of our Tales of Titanic Cities Tour.

We're visiting Liverpool and Belfast finding out more about how the two cities are connected to Titanic, joining in the Titanic Festival and trying to figure out what the story of the Titanic has to teach us one hundred years on.

Do you have a view on this story? We'd love to hear your comments. Click comments below and tell us what you think.

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Inside 'The Berg' - Titanic Belfast Visitor Attraction

noreply@blogger.com (Kirstie (Family Adventure Project)) — Mon, 16 Apr 2012 07:00:00 +0000

There's a new kid on the Titanic Quarter...

There’s a new kid on the block in Belfast. You can’t miss it if you wander into the docklands area known as the Titanic Quarter; it dominates the land and seascape with its stark height and design, and its surface pushes the sunlight back into the sky. But what is it? And is it worth a visit? As part of our Titanic Season we called in at what some locals call 'The Berg' to find out...

Titanic Belfast Visitor Attraction – more than a museum?

Titanic Belfast is an edgy new building at the edge of a city that has lived through some troubled times. It stands, new but sure of itself, in a setting that’s rich with new regeneration money and historic and modern attractions. Here, in the Titanic Quarter you can find the dry dock where Titanic was fitted out. You can stumble across a film studio that recently hosted the filming of Game of Thrones. You can marvel at the size of the yellow Harland and Wolff gantry cranes; historic monuments that make the city instantly recognisable.

Titanic meets Samson; two icons of Belfast

Although the Titanic Belfast Visitor Attraction has been open for a couple of weeks, it is already holding its own in the quarter that takes the name of the infamous ship. As well as enhancing the skyline, it ticks all sorts of boxes for the city. It celebrates the glory of Titanic, a classic sailing vessel and modern icon that was built and kitted out here. It reminds us of the city's great maritime, shipbuilding and craft heritage. It commemorates the lives and deaths of those who built, sailed or went down with her a century ago. It regenerates and re-brands a city. It brings visitors in. (Visitor numbers are said to be up 20% already.) It has an ethereal, almost other wordly look about it; you can’t fail to shiver as you catch a glimpse of structure that combines iconic ship and giant iceberg. But as a museum, is Titanic Belfast any good?

Titanic Belfast up close

An attraction, an experience and a family day out...

Sorry, did I just call it a museum? My mistake. Those connected with it prefer you to use the terms ‘visitor experience,’ or ‘visitor attraction.’ It’s certainly an experience. Standing at the top of the Arrol gantry in the ‘shipbuilding yard,’ I feel quite dizzy as I looking down on the joiners tools and planks 200 ft below and assess how dangerous it would have been to be working on the ship in the early 1900’s. (17 people died in the construction of Titanic and her sister ship Olympic.)

Approaching the shipyard ride, looking down from the gantry

And it’s certainly an ‘attraction’; the building is packed out and the queues for the shipbuilding ride are taking forever, despite the fact that the ride ultimately goes nowhere and isn’t all that thrilling. But despite that, the world’s biggest Titanic experience is still a museum at heart; a vast and imaginative one, filled with more knowledge that you can possibly cram into an afternoon.

It’s a Titanorak's paradise. And if you’ve a head for numbers as well as for heights, you will revel in the detail. I’m no stat queen but even I walk away with loads of numbers reeling around in my brain. As a mother I’m horrified by the idea of having to lay out 10,000 cloths, 18,000 sheets and 45,000 napkins, and am even more put off when I discover there’s no on board washing machine to launder them. I think about the 404 light bulbs in the dining saloon burning brightly until a few moments before the ship went down, and consider how distressing it must have been to be in a life boat and watch the lights go out. I imagine the complexity of organising 3,000 men to fit out a boat that had to be segregated for first, second and third class passengers yet allow crew to wander freely. I think about the 2,600 estimated shipwrecks in maritime history, the lives that were lost and the amount of soup tureens that must be sitting on the ocean bed.

Looking down on the wreck of the Titanic, viewing recent film footage of the wreck

And as the smart ship grew in stature, grace, and hue,
In shadowy silent distance grew the iceberg too.”
-Thomas Hardy

The Titanic story is ultimately about good and evil. About man meets iceberg. About life and death. And that’s why we like it. But the thing is we all know the story. So this museum, (sorry visitor attraction) has to deliver more than a well worn tale and an ancient history. It has to make it relevant to us now. The verdict of our family is that it has a good go at making us connect with the disaster.

We can walk over glass panels while underneath high definition footage from the wreck plays on a loop. We can ride around the shipyard, with all the sights, sounds and smells of the welders’ tools. We can stand at the head of the slipway where she was launched, and see films that take us up through the ceiling of each elegant room, enjoying the view from first class. It’s a really impressive, intelligent, highly visual experience set across nine different galleries.

The launch, from the one of the bows of the building

On a boat trip later, I learn from a guide that the designer wanted the building to resemble the bows of the Titanic, but he also studied icicles under a microscope to make the panelled effect mirror the surface of the iceberg. And throughout the visitor attraction, planners and designers have successfully combined the huge scale of the Titanic with an eye for detail. They help us imagine we are in the shipyard, observing the back-breaking work of the rivet squads of men and young boys. They raise questions about who we are and how we behave in times of high stress. And they show us how nature can wipe us out with one small blow from a bigger version of the ice cubes that we put in our drinks. But during our visit, we never quite feel like we’re there, on the ship, that night, at that moment in maritime history.

Perhaps it’s too comfortable. I never felt the extreme cold of the wind, the icy fingers of death at my heels or the splash of water under foot or on my face; maybe the designers could think about creating a more sensory experience. Perhaps it’s too crowded; with the museum working at capacity (it's currently sold out) I never got the sense of being adrift, all alone in the blackness of the sea. Or perhaps it’s too familiar and I’ve watched too many Hollywood films on the subject for it to really be fresh or mind-blowing. No matter how big their budget, the designers here never had access to the level of graphics and funding James Cameron had.

Statue outside Titanic Belfast

Having said all that, I really enjoyed it, and it even managed to hold the attention of our six year who can tear through a museum in a matter of minutes. Titanic Belfast is a good Titanic education and a good value family attraction. It may seem a bit of a gamble, to invest that much money into celebrating a ship that’s only famous because it crashed and drowned, and a disaster that we only remember because it’s so shocking. But in my opinion, this gamble will pay off and I think this Titanic is sure to float.

Jumping ship, outside Titanic Belfast

Practical Information

Titanic Belfast is situated in Belfast Titanic Quarter, a short walk from the city centre. The attraction is open all year round. For opening hours check the website at www.titanicbelfast.com. Tickets can be purchased online at discounted rates or at the attraction, subject to availability. Tickets are based on time ticketed slots and an average visit takes 2-3 hours. Standard admission is £13.50 for adult, £6.75 per child with a family ticket (2 adults + 2 children) at £34.00.

This post is part of our Tales of Titanic Cities Tour.

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Disclosure Note: Our thanks to Titanic Belfast, GoToBelfast, Stena Line UK, Malone Lodge Hotel and Apartments and the Lagan Boat Company for their support which has enabled us to bring you this story.

10 lessons from a sinking ship - Marking Titanic's Anniversary

noreply@blogger.com (Stuart (Family Adventure Project)) — Sun, 15 Apr 2012 05:20:00 +0000

This Titanic Tour has us in contemplative mood.. at times!

Today marks the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic; the luxury ship that hit an iceberg shortly before midnight on 14th April 1912. By 2.20am (ship's time) on 15th April she was gone. As our Titanic season continues, on the anniversary of that evening of disaster, published to mark the time that she sank, we reflect on some of the lessons we’ve learnt during our four days in Belfast, and ask what are the lessons Titanic could teach us today...

10 lessons from a sinking ship

The Titanic was a famous ship that became infamous through bad decisions, lack of safety and a random iceberg that just happened to be in the way. Back in 1912 she was, for a time, the largest man made moving object on earth. Unsinkable, or so people said. Over the years news footage has mixed with myth, and Titanic has come to symbolise ‘great disasters.’ Titanic may be an 'old story' but she still has lessons to teach about life, the universe and everything, as we discovered during our twin city Titanic tour...

Titanics final moments, captured at Ulster Folk and Transport Museum

1. Your greatest achievement may turn out to be a disaster
Back in 1912 when Titanic left Belfast for her sea trials, she was said to be bigger, better and bolder than anything on the planet, the ultimate in luxury cruising, and almost unsinkable. Yet within weeks this great achievement became a great disaster. Once she hit that iceberg it really didn’t matter how fast she could go, how elegant she was, how much she cost, she was never going to escape her fate. Although if she’d had a few more or a few bigger lifeboats the human cost may have been less.

2. Tragedy & disaster may in time fuel great achievement
100 years after the tragedy of the Titanic, Belfast has turned what may at one time have been an embarrassing association with the berg struck ship into a dynamic regeneration project, the centre-piece of a strategy for attracting more tourists to the city and an exciting commemorative festival. Visitor numbers are said to be up by 20%. A £90m museum is the jewel in the crown of the huge Titanic Quarter redevelopment scheme. And even the local cafes and bars are cashing in on the Titanic wave of affection, painting ship murals on the walls and naming themselves after the disaster. Anyone want a night out at the Thai Tanic? Or fancy a cup of Tea Tanic? Go to Belfast!

Legacies of shipbuilding live on in Belfast in different ways.

3. There may be icebergs ahead
There’s something in that song ‘There may be trouble ahead’ although when it comes to Titanic while it seems there was music on deck, there was apparently no moonlight, which of course contributed to the difficulties in seeing the trouble. But this is not a call to pessimism, rather to realism, or as the song puts it ‘to face the music and dance’. Whether you think of yourself as an individual passenger, as a member of a particular class or community or as part of society in general, you can be sure there are bergs ahead. You may already sense them, perhaps you’ve already been warned about them (Titanic had 6 ice warnings), but unless you watch out for them, take notice and take appropriate action in good time, you could be doomed. Have you got a good lookout or are you fast asleep in steerage?

4. Control is an illusion
Perhaps some situations demand graceful acceptance of fate rather than futile attempts at controlling what is beyond our influence. If you ended up on the deck of the Titanic was there much you could do to control your fate? Or was it already determined by the number of lifeboats, the prevailing weather, the capabilities of captain and crew, the vagaries of wireless telegraphy, the proximity of other ships, the class of your ticket, the temperature of the sea. Some of the most moving stories are of those who accepted their fate and acted in those critical hours with grace and dignity controlling the only thing they could, their personal behaviour.

5. Live life to the full
No one who boarded the Titanic could even begin to contemplate what lay ahead, although some books had been published years before that foretold of just such a disaster. But to most, she was the ‘unsinkable ship,’ offering new life to all who sailed on her. But our life is not for us to give or take away. 100 years on, we are no closer to being able to predict how and when it will all end than they were back then. So make every minute count.

The White Star Line Lighting Masts, Donegall Square, Belfast

6. Make every LAST minute count
It’s hard to tell how you will behave under conditions of extreme stress, but your last minutes could be your defining moments. Don’t waste them on thoughtless, thankless, selfish acts. Those who cheated and lied their way onto the life boats came to regret it later. And history still judges them. They paid for their cowardice with their name and reputation.

7. It pays to be upwardly mobile
Here’s a striking lesson the kids pointed out to me, that while money can’t buy you your life, your class and position may help you save it. On the Titanic that fateful night, those in first class were first in the queue for life boats. In terms of percentages many more first class passengers survived than those in third class. Isn’t that just the way of the world? Although when the lifeboats are gone and the ship goes under I’m sure all those coins in your pocket must weigh you down. Perhaps I should be encouraging my kids to be more upwardly mobile, or maybe even pursue it myself, but I think we’ll go for cards and notes, not coins.

Is this the real story of the Titanic?

8. Shout loudly and maybe the world will listen
Belfast’s recent play The Wireless Room showed how critical the Titanic’s wireless operators were in saving lives by calling for help. Without their relentless tapping, sending CQD (Come Quickly Disaster) and SOS messages to alert nearby shipping to their predicament and position, perhaps no-one would have survived that icy night. They had a job to do, to call for help, and they did it clearly, concisely, persistently, professionally, until they could do it no more, when the water entered the wireless room. There’s a lesson for us all there about asking for help when we need it, of the right people, in the right way, on the right channel.

CQD - the distress call: Come Quickly Disaster

9. If in doubt, blame someone else
It's hard when things go wrong. Hard to figure out what happened and why, how best to avoid it happening again, what or who's to blame. Apparently after the disaster, and once the inquiries and mourning was over little was spoken of Titanic in Belfast. These days, 'She was alright when she left here!' is the motto amongst Belfast locals who say it with a wink and a grin. They’re so charming, you can’t really argue.

10. Nothing lasts for ever except a good old Irish story
Even as I sit writing this the bacteria Halomonas titanicae is eating away at the wreck of the Titanic on the seabed of the North Atlantic. This recently discovered bacteria eats rust and apparently scientists predict that within 20 years or so it will consume the wreck of the Titanic until the physical remains of the ship exist no more. With all that’s going on in Belfast, there can’t be many people left on earth now who don’t know that the Titanic launched and sank 100 years ago. Or that it was built in Belfast. And no matter what happens to the wreck, as we leave Belfast I get the distinct impression the people here will make sure the story lives on.

This story will run and run

Check out our previous post commemorating the moment Titanic hit the iceberg:

Titanic Hits an Iceberg - Marking the moment

This post is part of our Tales of Titanic Cities Tour.

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Titanic Hits Iceberg - Marking the Moment

noreply@blogger.com (Kirstie (Family Adventure Project)) — Sun, 15 Apr 2012 02:40:00 +0000

The moment of disaster approaches... in the new Titanic Belfast Visitor Experience

Titanic. Even the name is big. Ship of the Titans. A mighty vessel crammed with fine china, polished silver and crystal clear dreams.

At the time she set sail from Southampton she was the largest moving object on the globe; one of the wonders of the early 20th century. But her time was short.

For the last few days we’ve been in Liverpool and Belfast, absorbing ourselves in the story. And what a story it is. Heroes and villains. Man and nature. Life and death. Panic and Hope. Warmth and the kind of cold that no human heart can withstand.

Our kids love this story. We all do. 100 years on and it still shows no sign of getting old. While we age and wrinkle, Titanic is preserved in myth and legend and Hollywood movie magic. She is stroked by silt and kissed by salt. She is silenced by darkness and frozen by time.

Icicle becomes rusticle. She is gone. And yet she still sails on. And at 23.40 Titanic time on the 14th April, a hundred years after she hit the iceberg, the children dream Titanic dreams, while Stuart and I pause in memory of this long lost ship of souls.

Titanic the Movie meets Titanic the Visitor Experience?

Check out our follow-up post commemorating the moment Titanic sank:

Titanic Sinks - Marking the moment: 10 lessons from a sinking ship

This post is part of our Tales of Titanic Cities Tour.

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