Oh I do like...

...to be on holiday. Particularly when it's beside the seaside.

Hi, dear reader. It's me again, back - if only briefly - to tell you about my latest holiday. I realise I've been somewhat lax in my blogging of late. Life has kind of got in the way, if I'm honest. And it will do again pretty soon, but more of that in another post. For now, however, it's holiday blog time...

I'm just back from a fun-filled (yes, really!) week in Yorkshire, which also doubled up as multiple trips down memory lane. Day trips to Whitby and Scarborough. Country drives around the North York Moors and Vale of York. A visit to York itself. Almost every day brought a wave of remembered moments. Even staying in the cottage was (a bit) like those family holidays we had as I was growing up.

But the biggest jolt was when we deliberately went out to find some specific places, and I found that I had very vivid recollections of the places themselves that were hidden in the dim dusty parts of my unconscious mind. Places like Great Ayton, where I spent a week every summer in my teenage years discovering that I wasn't quite as far from normal as I thought I was. Or like the suburbs of York, where my grandparents lived and where I spent time most school holidays. Or Hemingbrough, where my Mum's grandparents lived. Finding that I recognised street names and bits of road almost instantly was very strange, and just proves how powerful our brains really are.

We also found time to do new stuff on our week away - a James concert at the Stockton Weekender Festival, a performance of the York Mystery Plays, and a visit to Castle Howard being just some of them.

Best of all, however, was the taster we got of what 'playing house' is going to be like. Soon, very soon. But that's a post for another day too. For now, I'll leave you with some of the photos from our break. There's more to be posted so check back a couple of times if you want to see the full set.

Thanks for reading, hope to see you again soon :)

Random thoughts 4: Words, words, words

My Random Thoughts challenge for this week is all about words. Which I'm really excited about because I love words. As an aside, I'm also really excited to have a couple of friends who seem to also love words about as much as I do. The awesome Just Frances, for whom I include within this blog her favourite word - antidisestablishmentarianism, and Graham, who has been very keen to point out my own particular turns of phrase over the past few months and I suspect would find the same humour as me from the lead photo for today's blog post!

But returning to the challenge, this week my instruction was to take 10 words at random out of the dictionary and decide for myself what they should mean. See what I mean? Great fun!

So here goes:-

Drawl - either, a laid back artistic technique in the abstract genre, used to create baffling and occasionally childlike paintings. Not cubist, but more similar to the surreal style favoured by Dali and his like; or, a small compartment or hidey-hole for putting bizarre and seemingly pointless objects that may one day become useful - as in, "I'll just put this thingmie in the drawl in case we need it in future"

Freight - a scary event experienced by a good Morningside lady and how she felt afterwards. "He jumped out in front of me, waved it around and shouted obscenities. I got quite a freight you know, Elsie!"

Marcella - sounds like it should be a fruit, perhaps a type of sweet cherry, but is in fact a type of cotton material. I think I prefer my definition...

Pantaloon - the actor who plays the fool in the annual village pantomime. Often people think he's really talented but then quickly realise he's just typecast. Alternatively, it has been extended to refer to the co-worker you desperately try (and fail) to avoid in the corridor before he pins you down to ask the most idiotic questions about that project you're working on, showing all the while an unhealthy interest in the subject.

Scrouge - I was surprised to find that this was a real word as well as the name for the famous miser from Dickens' Christmas Carol. I was even more surprised to find that its meaning fitted perfectly with the word - a form of definitional onomatopoeia!

Telophase - a great invention that allows you to instantly disintegrate that annoying cold caller who has just interrupted your favourite TV programme with their telephone call offering the very latest insurance/financial service/double glazing/solar panel. "Press 1 to hear your messages. Press 2 to delete messages. Press 3 to delete caller"

Univocal - like a unicycle but louder

Legacy - the obscure language for legal documents used by lawyers to confuse and mystify their clients, and in the process, successfully pad their bills.

Comfort - a stronghold and defensive building designed to protect sheep. (It's my meaning, you don't like it, make up your own!!)

Irreprehensible - politicians, journalists and economists normally. Not because they're paeans of virtue, but because they really do try to convince us that they are beyond blame...

And before I go, just to share with you another few things this challenge put me in mind of ...


a) great dialect words - crabbit, glaikit, hattered, biddy
b) words that can be said in any number of ways - leg-end, pig-eon to name but two
c) words that are just funny in themselves, or at least to me - potato (but don't ask me why!), and
d) made up languages - tnew ot serutcip, as Molesworth would say...

So, that's my 10 words - and more. It's been great fun and I really would encourage my reader(s) to try it for themselves - either with their own set of 10 words or with any of mine above. I'd love to know if I've got the meanings wrong...!

North by North West

I'm currently heading back to Scotland after a(nother) great weekend in and around Manchester. As the TransPennine Express whisks me North, I thought I'd use the time productively to share my weekend.

Until I visited just after New Year, I really wasn't sure what I'd think of Manchester. It's a big city after all, one of England's 10 'core cities', and that means big. Being a bit of a hick, I don't always feel comfortable in big cities. London, for example, usually intimidates me – the buildings are so tall and close together, the crowds so thick and purposeful, the expressions on faces so focused.

I was prepared to feel that way in Manchester too – but it didn't happen. Instead I actually felt quite at home. Now that might in part be because I was being shown round by someone who knows the city well, but I'm not sure that's the whole reason. The city has (to me at least) a good vibe – an undercurrent of humour and humanity, a city where people live not just work or visit. It also was far less busy and crowded than I expected – although to be fair, we did avoid the main shopping drag. 

It has some big buildings and some very modern ones, that's true. But it also has some more human scale ones, and a great combination of old mixed in with the new. The red brick definitely helps too. Less severe than London, or Edinburgh even. And stylish, very stylish!

In the city we visited many of the sites – the Town Hall with its Ford Madox Brown murals and opulent marble staircase, Old (or to be more accurate, not so old quite spanking new) Trafford, Rylands Library, Museum of Science andIndustry, Salford Quays, the Lowry Theatre, the People's HistoryMuseum. We even made a trip out to the mecca of Mammon that is the Trafford Centre. Sadly, Coronation Street is no more so the Granada Studio Tour wasn't on the itinerary.

But it wasn't all city life – and I confess I was amazed at what beautiful countryside there is within very easy reach of the city centre. Beautiful market towns and former mill towns with vibrant high streets and pretty cottages. Rolling moors and enticing country walks. Saturday morning'stea stop, for example, was a garden centre near Warrington boasting a tea room complete with outside booths, blankets and heaters, all with a great view of the fantastical ice sculptures created by the small fountain.

Admittedly the North West has its fair share of down at heel locations – mill towns that haven't survived the post industrial age that is modern Britain, areas of deprivation and poverty. A quick scan of the local council websites tell the story with regeneration schemes, anti poverty projects and youth employment initiatives commonplace.

But for all that, you know what? I liked it – even the train journey through Dumfries & Galloway, the Lake District and Lancashire is a pleasure. Apart from the damn Virgin Pendolino trains that is, their travel sick inducing properties never cease to amaze me. This morning's alternative of the TransPennine Express is a joy by comparison, even if it is just a glorified Sprinter train!

PS Best of all was the company, but that's a whole different story for another day...
 

TWTYTW

Well, it's that time of year again when I look back at the year that's been, and try to make sense of it all. And it really depends where you look what the year appears to have been.

Looking at my Facebook status updates randomly captured by the Facebook bot and collaged above, I appear to have the most banal of existences. I'm not sure what that tells me - I don't think I'm as shallow as this little selection implies, but who knows! There are a few highlights in there - my continuing search for a permanent residence, my awesome friends, the usual niggles from work, my weakness for the guilty pleasures of idoitic TV, and hints of my new found partner-in-crime. But the real highs (and lows) of the year aren't captured, other than obliquely.

There's nothing, for example, about my running challenge - which is strange because I'm pretty sure I bored my online friends senseless with it this year. Who knows, perhaps even the bot was bored! There's also precious little about my life goals for the year - which is interesting, since they don't really appear to have been central to my day to day musings. And there's also not much about my great adventure to Sicily, surely one of the highlights of my year - not so much for the travelling, which was great, but for the sense of freedom, independence and confidence that it brought me, finally!

So, when I look back (personally*) on 2011 that's probably what stands out the most for me. 2011 as the year when I finally came to terms with who and what I am, and learned to love it. Work-in-progress me has come a long way over the last 12 months, and you know what? I'm pretty proud of myself for it.

And what about 2012**? What's it going to be like? Well, I have a feeling it's going to be a good year, perhaps one of the best. I'm in a great place personally, good things are happening, and I feel ready to make the most of them. I have awesome family and friends, I'm healthy, happy, safe, secure. Life is good. What else is there?

*As I say above, this is a personal reflection on the year. Self indulgent, I know, but that's what this blog is about! If you want a political or news review, try here for just one perspective on 2011 on a less insular scale.

** And if you want to know the real stock take on my 2011 goals, tune in tomorrow (or so!) for a round up and preview of my resolutions and goals for 2012.

Wonderland

Yesterday turned out to be a wonderland in so many ways - a trip to Edinburgh, pampering, shopping, fun, culture, coffee, wine, great company. What's not to like?

I was due in town for a haircut and as luck would have it I was able to persuade my partner in crime to accompany me. We did some shopping - yes, I even managed to get my Christmas gift buying started - and then explored the Christmas markets before heading on to the newly re-opened National Portrait Gallery for a quick look.  After that it was the hairdresser's for me and more shopping for Frances, followed by more coffee, a quick file and polish and some wine before heading back home to Stirling.

I even managed to get closer to confirming arrangements to meet up with a friend at Christmas, so happy day all round really. The only fly in the ointment was that our other friend wasn't able to join us in our crimes. Maybe next time?

Infamy

Now, be honest - have you ever googled yourself? And if so, what did you find?

According to Google, I am variously:

• an American psychiatrist
• an Australian poet
• a British kickboxer
• a photographer, and
• a singer

I would also appear to be at least 164 years old. I reckon I'm wearing pretty well!!

Ok, so they're not all me - but it's fun finding your alter egos. But what happens when you do search for yourself, your real self, what do you find?

Me? I find that I talk a lot about post offices, about schools, occasionally about hospitals, about carbon reduction, green networks and superfast broadband. Topically for this week, I've also spoken about forced marrianges. And I attend lots and lots and lots of meetings!

You'll also find this blog, my Facebook page and even my former beaded jewellery craft business.

But just this week I reached a new level of fame - or perhaps, infamy. I am now a character in a crime book. Sadly I'm not the villain of the piece, nor am I the heroine. I am instead a bit part player, a WPC CCTV operator who appears for a chapter in the latest novel by local author, Craig Robertson. Am I sure it's me? Yes, absolutely - I bought my appearance by way of a donation at a charity event.

And I confess it's a giggle, well worth the donation if you ask me!! Still, I think I'd rather have been the one-legged lesbian coal miner from Lochgelly that Craig promised I'd be...

Live (and decidedly kicking) music

Tonight was spent in Glasgow at the O2 Academy, watching the fabulous Death Cab for Cutie. At the start of the concert, as I suffered the usual fate of short people in crowds and was unable to see the stage, I confess I did ask myself why I bother going to live gigs. It's usually a hassle to get there (or get back if you rely on public transport), the venue is rarely enticing and more often than not, I can't see a thing. Why don't I just save myself the bother (and expense) and listen to the CD at home.

And then the band erupted on the stage and I remembered... The sound of the live music, the feeling of the bass deep in your bones, the beat travelling up from your feet, through your legs to your body and the immersion into the experience.

There's nothing to beat good live music, and tonight's concert was just that. From the opening track, which also just happens to be my favourite of theirs, right through to the end, it was mesmerising, exhilirating, fantastic. I had worried a bit how they would be live - the 2 albums I have of theirs are fairly mellow. But the performance tonight rocked - lyrical and melodic, occasionally soulful, but lacklustre, restrained, down-beat? Never.

I am hooked. I want more. I need to start checking out the listings and getting back into live music. I may not be a spring chicken any more, but I still know how to enjoy good music and rock it with the best of them - or at least I like to think so and that's all that counts, right?

A cunning plan

I've been back from my great Italian train and boat sized adventure for just about a month now, and I confess I'm getting itchy feet again. It doesn't help that an online friend is away in exotic climes at the moment and posting tantalising photographs of unfamiliar sights. If that's not enough to raise the wunderlust, I don't know what is.

I've always enjoyed travelling. For my early years, travelling was restricted to the UK only. Restricted makes it sound like it was something 'less than', which certainly wasn't the case. There are some truly beautiful places in this dear Kingdom of ours and I would strongly recommend some in UK exploring if you haven't already done it. My childhood was spent in various parts of the Highlands, Argyll, Yorkshire, Devon & the Lake District, and I loved it.

I had my first overseas adventure on a school trip to Northern Germany, in the days before the country was reunified and you could still stare across the border line at the East German soldiers. After that my best friend's family took me with them for a 3 week holiday in France (the Loire Valley and Brittany), and I think that's when my love of European travel started.

And then I started venturing further afield. First, a holiday in California and then for my 30th birthday present to myself, I booked a holiday to Goa. Since then I've also visited Tunisia and, possibly most exotically (so far) Madagascar. Since my big sister moved to Canada, Vancouver has been a fairly regular destination for me.

I've travelled solo, as a couple, with friends, as part of a group and even as part of someone else's family. I've flown, sailed, travelled by train, driven - on planned itineraries and in freeform modes. I love travelling. I love discovering new places. I love pushing my boundaries - adventuring, exploring new cultures, learning new languages, trying new foods, testing the local experiences.

So, what next? Well, that's where the cunning plan comes in. For a while now, I've had a silly challenge for myself - to visit every continent of the world, and to fill up as much of a country A-Z as I can. I'm not doing too badly so far with Europe, North America, Asia and Africa all ticked off, and a fair smattering of countries across the alphabet under my belt. But I'm hungry for more.

My solo adventures have definitely reawakened the challenge for me and now, as the darker winter evenings draw in, I find myself dreaming about where to visit next. Will it be Argentina (to tango in Buenos Aires)? Or Japan (to see the cherry blossom)? Or New Zealand (to visit friends)? Or will it be another European adventure - to a country I haven't visited yet? Or one I know well but want to see differently? Or will it be a new type of holiday - walking perhaps, or learning a new skill, or maybe trying a cruise?

So many options, it's hard to choose. But, it's going to be fun deciding...!

Old dog, new tricks

One of the things I found hardest when I started my new single life was breaking old habits and starting new ones. Before my singledom, I used to look forward to every Friday evening. It was when we would celebrate the end of the week and head out to our local pub for a lovely meal and a drink. We had our own table, we were regulars and we had a great time. I loved the feeling of belonging I got from our regular weekly visit, and - unusually for me, someone who hates routine - I found a sense of stability in that regular weekly fixture.

So when I struck out on my own, it was one of the things I really missed. At the end of the week, I no longer had something to look forward to. Nothing to mark the end of the weekly grind and slide gently into the rest and relaxation of the weekend. Instead I used to dread the weekend. The time when I would leave my friends and the company of my workplace for 2 days and 3 nights of my own company.

 I used to dread it in those first few months. I used to be terrified of the feeling when I shut the door when I got home and know that unless I made the effort, chances were I wouldn't speak to anyone until Monday morning. Gradually I got used to it, and found ways to cope, and even sometimes enjoy the peace and solitude. But on the whole it was a trial.

But now, while we don't necessarily stick rigidly to a Friday evening, with my partner in crime, we've created a new habit of weekend cocktaiils. Ideally, but not exclusively on a Friday night. Always at the Junk Rooms. We're starting to become regulars. The staff recognise us. The owner chats to us. Tonight we got soup and chocolates as well as our chocolates.

It's a great, if a little extravagant, way to celebrate the end of the week - but heck, we don't have many other vices, so I think we're ok with this one.

Thanks to Frances, now I look forward to my weekends. It's great to be back at that place again!

Gorillas and cheese

Making Cocoa for Kingsley Amis

It was a dream I had last week

And some kind of record seemed vital

I knew it wouldn't be much of a poem

But I love the title.

                                                  Wendy Cope

Now that I start this post, I find I'm really not quite sure what to write about. You see I had a bit of a Wendy Cope moment the other day while I was talking to a friend. The post title came to me and it seemed like too good an opportunity to miss. But now I'm not really sure what to use it for.

I guess I could write about mis-heard lyrics - although what Gorillias and Cheese could have been mis-heard from I don't know. But then again, I don't think I could ever got 'a ship called Christmas Day' from Deacon Blue's Dignity either!

Or maybe the post could be about made up band names - a game I used to play with an old friend. But now I come to think about that, most of the ones I can remember were only really appropriate for death metal/punk bands and therefore not suitable for family viewing on this little blog.

Incidentally, hats off to the nephew of my partner in crime, the awesome Just Frances. He's had a band called the Blast-ended Skrewts for a number of years now, and he's not even left his teens yet. Way to go, boy - seems like awesomeness runs in the family!

But none of them really work, if I'm honest. So instead I think I'll just follow Wendy Cope's advice and revel in the gloriousness of the title.

Of course, what I really need to know now, however, is which blasted gorillia ate my damned cheese?

Get on your dancing shoes

What an amazingly fantastic evening I've had tonight! A great end to what has admittedly been an incredibly hectic day. 

And what, I hear you ask, is the cause of this fantastic-ness? Only getting back out tango dancing, that's what!

One of the girls from my tango class had decided to arrange a milonga for tonight in my favourite Stirling watering hole, the Junk Rooms and so we all duly turned up and danced the night away. A much better way to end a Manic Monday than I usually manage. 

There was a good crowd there, and to my utter relief, it seems I haven't completely forgotten how to dance. Not completely. Mostly, but not completely! Fortunately most of the guys in our group are very tolerant and were willing to put up with my mis-steps, and guide me round the dance floor. It wasn't as bad as my first ever milonga, but I did feel like I should have a pair of L plates and a big badge saying, "I used to know how to dance". I also suspect I should try harder to cultivate my moody Tango persona - bursting out laughing on the dance floor doesn't really fit with the image. But it is much more fun...

So, suffice to say, I don't think I made anyone feel like Fred Astaire tonight (and by the way, what a wonderful thing that would be to do!) but can I just say, I may have been doing the dance equivalent of fluffing my lines, but as Ginger said, I was doing it all backward and in heels.

That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. Meantime, until I remember how to dance again, I guess I'll just have to go ahead and enjoy myself having fun instead. 

Firsts

It's been a weekend of firsts. Not entirely firsts throughout but certainly firsts for a while.

For a start, I got back out running with Frances yesterday morning - the first time since the great marathon adventure, and while our time might have been shockingly slow, it was good and I felt like I could have run further.

And then, I headed into the Burgh Coffee house for the first time since my holiday and reinstated my Saturday morning coffee and papers routine. Ok, it was after lunch by the time I got there, but you get my drift.

After that, Frances persuaded (oh, it took great persuasion) to go shoe shopping and, for the first time in a long time, I bought new, entirely frivolous, shoes. Well, boots. And quite sensible, but they're entirely frivolous in that I didn't need them, I just wanted them. Who said my shoe addiction was dead?

On Saturday evening, it was time to go to my first ever (or ever that I can remember at any rate) organised firework display. Very good it was too. Leading me to my 'first for a while' purchase of bright pink candy floss, which I later donated - much to Frances' amazement - to the owner of our last stop for the evening, the fabulous Junk Rooms, where we had cocktails. I'd like to say that those were our first for a while. I'd like to, but I'd be fibbing. But they were our first this week, so maybe that counts.

Now today, I'm having my first lazy Sunday morning since my holiday in my flat, and later on I'm planning to get back to my tango class for the first in a very long time - I wonder if I can actually remember any of the steps?

So, it's been a weekend of firsts. And, do you know what? I feel amazing for it. Full of happiness and light. Hopefully that will keep my batteries charged for the next few weeks. I like this life I have.

When I was a child...

I spoke as a child, but now that I'm adult - well, I'm pretty much still a kid at times. And what better time to be a kid than Halloween?

Never one to let work get in the way of good fun, this was me in the office today. Yes, I wore my witch's hat to work today. I confess I didn't wear it in the morning when I had external meetings, but for the afternoon it was on my head - and turning heads as people walked past, caught sight of me and laughed. Sometimes they even came back to make sure they did see what they thought they had.

To be honest, I'm not really sure why they were so surprised. I'm fairly daft at the best of times, and usually quick to give people a laugh at my expense. I don't believe in standing on my dignity - at least not when it's not really required. There are times, sure, when things need to be serious. But not all the time. And for those times, well, why not make people smile!

Anyway, it's Halloween. I've had justification to wear my witch's hat at work, without people asking why. I made people smile. What more could a girl ask for??

Friday nights are...

...cocktails night! Or at least they have been since the awesome Just Frances has been in town.

And tonight was no exception. We spent the evening, after a homecooked meal back at Frances new flat, down at the Junk Rooms - drinking delicious decadent cocktails, browsing the owner's new, old book purchases and generally just having fun.

A great way to spend the evening, and one which I'd seriously recommend any time you're in Stirling. Doesn't have to be a Friday night either. But if you're going to drop by, don't forget to give Frances and me a shout and we'll join you there!

And if that doesn't entice you, maybe the wallpaper in the ladies' toilets will...

Secret Smiles

There are many reasons for a girl to have a secret smile to herself - private jokes, funny memories, silly thoughts. I've had a few myself recently, and this is the one I thought I'd share with you. (The rest I'm keeping secret!)

I've blogged before (many times!) about my awesome friend, Frances. As regular readers will know, she's been staying with me for a month or so while she found her feet here in Scotland, where she's moved to complete a Masters programme. She's a really amazing woman, and if you read her blog you'll understand why.

She's also been a fantastic flatmate - great company, easy to live with, a kindred spirit and partner in crime, and - more importantly - really, really neat! One might say obsessively so. Not me, obviously. I would never say anything as insensitive as that - at least not the first time I met a person. So, no matter what she says, my first words to her were not - 'My, you're a bit OCD, aren't you?'. [But if I had, her reply would probably have been something like - 'You can't be OCD. You can have it, but you can't be it'.]

Anyway...while I was away on holiday recently (did you know, I went to Italy the other week?), Miss Awesome looked after the flat and Cat for me. Now, I knew, because we'd agreed, that while I was away she would change my bed for me so that I had lovely fresh clean sheets to come home to. And while I was travelling I knew, because she posted on Facebook, that she had even gone so far as to iron aforesaid clean bedlinen. What I didn't know, and am finding out on a day by day basis, is that she did some other 'neatening' for me while I was gone.

Frances has moved out into her own place now but I find myself going round the flat with a secret smile on my face as I discover yet another thing she's tidied up for me.

Wonder what it will be next?

Independent travel for dummies

Not that any of you are dummies, but you know what I mean...

A number of my friends and online buddies have commented on how envious they are of my adventure holidays, how much fun I seem to have had and how much they'd like to do it themselves. My response – what's stopping you? Don't be envious, try it for yourself. It's really not that hard.

In these days of internet, it's easy enough to sort out your travel and accommodation independently. Admittedly it can be time-consuming and going to a travel agent or booking an off the shelf package would probably be quicker but there wouldn't be as much sense of achievement, if you ask me.

There are great websites these days for those who want to do the independent travel option. For trains in Europe I swear by TheMan in Seat 61. I don't know if he really is a man or not, but the site is a veritable gold mine of information and ideas. It was on there that I learned about the great train on boat Sicily option. Need I say more? Since I don't tend to fly on these holiday adventures of mine, I don't often source flights, but a good one if you are is Skyscanner. Less restrictive than the 'all-in-one' sites and generally good value. Oh, and the best site for add-on UK rail journeys is, in my opinion, RailEasy - beats Trainline hands-down!

For accommodation, I tend to use Trip Advisor as a really good starting place, particularly now that it takes you straight to a range of bookings sites for your chosen hotel, and also has information on things to do, places to eat etc all in one handy place.

A good guidebook is the next essential, combined with a decent amount of research. Particularly, if you're a solo female traveller, it's essential that you know where you're going – what's good, what's not, what's safe and where to avoid. A good guidebook (I generally swear by LonelyPlanet) will pay dividends and often saves you cash at your destination through not needing to buy separate booklets about each place you visit. I made the mistake this time of economising on my Paris and Rome guides – never again. It's worth the initial outlay, believe me.

And if you don't want to buy them, why not check out your local library to see if they've got what you're looking for. The only downside of that is you can't write on them – and I do, lots. I mark up where I want to visit, write notes about what I've seen, and occasionally compose bits of blog posts, all in the margins of my book. It also means that when you lend it on to someone, they've got your tailor made version too. But remember, they're a guide book, not a rule book!

Perhaps not as easy as arranging the holiday, is finding the confidence to do it in the first place. I realise that if you're not used to making your own way to strange places it can be a bit intimidating. My advice would be to start small – try it out for a short break, or in a place you already know a little but want to explore more. Choosing somewhere you can speak the language is also a help – along with that other essential, a good phrase book – great for making friends and getting your haircut, as well as a few less useful things like booking a hotel room, ordering a meal and asking for directions.

Your other option is to try out a group holiday that involves travel, preferably not by coach as that doesn't really get you the real adventuring spirit, or if you don't like the idea of groups of strangers (and I'm with you on that one), why not see if you can find a like-minded friend who wants to try it out too. Having company can be great, particularly if you both pledge to push the boundaries and not allow the other to fall too far back into their comfort zone.

My other essential on this type of break is a way of staying in touch with friends and family. For me it's Wifi and my trusty netbook. It allows me to email, Facebook and – in case you haven't noticed – blog incessantly. I always carry a pen and (old fashioned paper) notebook with me when I'm out and about during the day, as well as my camera to capture the sights, and you'll frequently find me composing blog posts – either in my head or straight into my notebook. There something about thinking about how you'll describe a place to others that makes you look at it with a closer eye and sometimes from a slightly different perspective. For the same reason, it can be good to put your camera down every now and again, and just see what's in front of you instead of photographing it. Often the most amazing sights make the worst pictures – they're frequently too big to take in one go, or the light isn't good enough, or it can just be that it's the whole package of sights, sounds, smells and even tastes that makes the memory, not just the picture.

Another defence mechanism that's worked for me in the past has been my iPod. It can be great for creating a bubble around you of 'safe space' that means you don't have interact with anyone, yet can be entertained at the same time. A word of warning, however, don't use this option in an area where you need to be alert to your surroundings - busy roads, dark streets, etc. 

Equally, I tend to book my travel and accommodation in advance at the moment. I'm not quite confident enough when travelling solo to go completely with the flow. Perhaps that's my next travel challenge? But whatever your safety net, don't feel bad about having one. Holidays may be adventures, but they're also meant to be enjoyed – so whatever it takes...

And if you do decide to take on the independent travel challenge, be sure and let me know about it and how you get on!

A plus to D minus

I like blogging about my holiday as I'm experiencing it – in part because it keeps it fresh in my mind and in (large!) part because it stops my Mum from worrying about me travelling on my own. But it's also good, at the end of it to spend some time thinking about the holiday as a whole and reflecting on the good, the bad, and yes, the ugly.

So here goes:

The good – it's hard to pick out the good bits on their own. In reality, the whole holiday has been fantastic and I've enjoyed it very much. I think even more than I thought I would. My solo travel confidence has grown ten-fold from last year, and in itself that's been a highlight of the holiday.

But as for things I've done and places I've seen, in no particular order, the highlights have been:

• the food
• the Sicilian matriarchs who shared my train journey from Rome to Sicily
• Palermo – all of it
• Monreale
• standing on the roof of St Peter's in Rome
• Limoncello
• Etna
• Trying to speak Italian, and finding that I can get by
• Scoring free food and drinks from sentimental waiters
• my cabin on board the Palermo-Genoa ferry
• the almost personal tour of the Teatro Massimo, and my nameless Irish companion
• Cafe Spinnato in Palermo
• Paris – the whole experience, including getting completely lost and ending up at Place de la Bastille instead of Rue Monge

Sadly, it's not all been great. There have been a few scary moments, and some ugly times. But fortunately, they've been few and far between. And even better – quickly resolved and easily got over.

For the record, they were:

• Catania bus station – Dante would have added a 10^th circle if he'd been there, I'm sure
• Genoa ferry terminal, and not being able to find a taxi – at night. On my own.
• Genoa railway station – the 4 armed police arresting the drunk with the knife was not a pleasant experience
• the creepy old Sicilian guy who kept rubbing himself up against me on the bus to Monreale – seriously, I wasn't imagining it. Every time I moved, he followed me. Euch!
• The tourists in Rome – did I say yet that I didn't like them?!
• Falling over in Taormina and seriously brusing my bum – and my pride. Out of interest, the bruise is now the exactly the same shape as Corsica, but fortunately not the same size – it only feels that way
• Not being able to visit everywhere and see everything I wanted to – mainly through lack of time, occasionally through lack of confidence.
• Not eating at that restaurant in Rome that was recommended to me – it looked really good but I wasn't confident enough to stay out late enough for them to start serving. But, I scored a free Limoncello at the alternative restaurant I went in its place, so not all bad!

And there you have it, a quick resume of the past 2 weeks. Well, not really. If you really want to know all the gory details, and have got a spare few hours, take me out for a drink and I'll tell you ALL about it. If you're really lucky I'll bring the holiday photos too...

And for the last time (this year at any rate) – Ciao!

Paris? Parfait!

Mais tres tres froid!

So, it's been the last day of my holiday proper – there's still an overnight in London and the train journey back to Scotland to do, but today was the last day free for adventuring. And, once again, I've had great fun. Are you surprised? Thought not.

The hotel was the same one I stayed in on my way out at the start of my holiday. When I arrived last night, it was like coming home. I was back on the 6^th floor, with a (marginally) bigger room this time, but more to the point, with a rooftop view of the Latin Quarter where I was staying. It felt great.

My plans for today were to head for the Musee d'Orsay, fill my socks with art and culture and then see what was left of the day for sight-seeing. But the best laid plans and all that – the museum staff were on strike! I timed my arrival for just after what should have been opening time, only stopping briefly for a cafe espresso en route but when I arrived instead of the open doors, I was met with a disgruntled line of visitors all milling around trying to work out what to do. Me? Well, I got my camera out, took a few photographs of the fascinating surroundings and the building, and got my trusty guidebook out to look for alternative entertainment. Part of my entertainment, I confess, was watching the other visitors steadfastly queuing to get in, despite all the signs advising of the strike, certain that if they waited long enough and in sufficient numbers, the workers would see the error of their ways and open the doors. I don't think it happened, and I certainly didn't hang about to find out.

The only problem was – it was really really cold in Paris this morning. There was a misty cloud settled over the city and with it a crisp fresh wind. Before long, my little fingers were like blocks of ice and my nose had turned its usual winter Rudolph colour. The frozen fingers were a real handicap. I had started enjoying myself with the camera – taking lots of detail shots, quirky features and overlooked perspectives. What a previous partner would have called my BBP shots – Becca's Boring Pictures! But as the cold got to me, my fingers refused to obey and the shutter button got harder and harder to find. There was nothing for it but to find somewhere indoors and warm up. And don't you know it, the closest indoor place was a shopping mall – damn, what a tragedy! 

 

I spent about an hour wandering round, bought a few more layers, a scarf and a pair of gloves, and then headed off for the next round of girl v. city. Before long I found the Batobus stop and hopped on board. For those who don't know, the Batobus is the cheap version of the Bateaux mouche that ply their way up and down the Seine, fleecing the tourists – sorry, providing quality touristic experiences of Paris.

The Batobus is the water borne equivalent of the Open Top bus tours – hop on, hop off all day – and a great way of seeing the city from a different angle. I hopped on long enough to get me to Ile St Louis, where I promptly hopped off again, found a bistro and settled down to tuck myself round a 3 course, 2 glass of wine lunch – my first ever bistro meal in Paris. The only time I’ve been before – when it was also Baltic as I remember – my then travelling companion insisted in eating in, of all places, Macdonalds the entire time. So it was with great relish that I whiled away a good couple of hours in a pretty side street near Notre Dame.

Back on the Batobus for the afternoon, a trip to the Eiffel Tower – where I hopped off long enough to take a few (?!) photos, marvel at the length of the queue and hop back on for the return trip to Jardin des Plantes and a short walk back to my hotel. From there it was the Metro, Gare du Nord and the Eurostar back to London.

As I waited at Gare du Nord, I couldn't quite believe it had only been 2 weeks previous that I'd got off the train from London at the start of my adventure, little knowing exactly what was in store for me. Have I enjoyed it? Immensely. Was it easy? Much of it was, but not all. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat!

Tune in tomorrow for my highs and lows, gold stars and D- moments. You know you want to... I only hope you've enjoyed reading about my travels as much as I've enjoyed writing about them. If not, I guess there's not really anyone left to apologise to!!

Trains, boats and automobiles

I am so in love. Arrived in Sicily this evening - 21 degrees at 8.30pm and walking distance to a fabulous open air terrace serving yummy food and ice cold Limoncello. What more could a girl ask for?

But I'm getting ahead of myself - and probably being a touch dramatic!

Ok, back to the start of the day. I left Rome this morning with mixed feelings. In many ways, I wasn't sorry to be leaving behind the noise, hustle and bustle, and the crowds. But I still had the sneaking suspicion that I had barely scraped the surface of the city, and maybe there was more to it than I'd discovered in my admittedly short visit. After all, I only really frequented the main tourist haunts, a bit like visiting Edinburgh and never straying off the Royal Mile. No wonder it felt busy and touristy. Maybe I just didn't let rome show it's best side.

To be fair, there were glimpses of it last night when I headed back towards the Pantheon area to find the restaurant recommended to me by my good friend, Deborah. As I blogged yesterday, unfortunately my eating habits and Italian fine restaurant opening times weren't aligned yesterday and it wasn't to be. But the walk there through early evening Rome was certainly a less frenetic experience than I had in Rome up to that point. There were still plenty of tourists around, even those infernal group tours, but they were definitely fewer and further (literally) between, and pleasantly intersperesed with 'real' people - on their way home from work, nipping out for an early evening aperitivo, browsing the shops. The sun was down, and so was the tourist clamour. The softer lights were easier on the eye, and on the buildings. The hot day had given way to a beautifully mild evening that allowed me to relax - or was it the Limoncello!

So leaving Rome Termini this morning wasn't quite as big a relief as I feared it might be when I first arrived in the infernal city. I didn't throw a coin in the fountain, but that doesn't mean I won't think about going back.

And then my train to Sicily arrived - hmmm! Not quite what I was expecting. When it said 'Intercity' on the ticket, I thought it would be another of the ultra modern high speed trains I've been using so far. Nope, it was a train that, let's say, would have made most of Network SouthWest's rolling stock look modern... But looks, it seems, can be deceiving. The train may have looked rickety but it ran completely to time for the entire 9 (count them!) hour trip. The facilities left quite a bit to be desired - very basic toilet, no buffet service - unless you count the man and his shopping trolley selling bottles of water. But it went, and it went to time. And that's often more than you can say for UK trains these days sadly.

Before long - ok, after about 3 hours - the noise and rush of Rome had been replaced by the sparkle of the sea and the warm glow of the golden sand as we whipped our way along the Italian Riviera, past Napoli and plenty of other stations I didn't quite catch the names of.

It really was a beautiful journey - and it was also very real. I thought I'd experienced the 'real' Italy on my train journeys so far. But no, this was something else. None of the hermetically sealed journeys you get on the Eurostar trains, this was full on Italy. For a start, it was a compartment train. All thrown in together there wasn't the anonymity you get from airline style seating. I shared my capsule with 3 Sicilian matriarchs - and while we couldn't speak each other's languages particularly well, we didn't let that get in the way, and they kept me entertained, protected and looked after the whole journey. While our language skills weren't good enough to hold down a conversation, they were good enough for the Sicilian Mamas to tell me I was staying in the wrong place (Taormina instead of Catania) and that my crochet style left a lot to be desired!

And finally, there was the experience I've been waiting for ever since i started researching this holiday - the whole train on a boat thing. We arrived at the end of Italy, they split the train, shunted it on to the ferry, the ferry set sail and there we were - on a train on a boat on the Mediterranean. How much better could it get...?

And then we arrived in Sicily - and food, warmth and Limoncello.

Sweet dreams. I'm certain to have them!

The holiday starts here!

Well, more accurately - the holiday started last night when I finished work, packed and then headed out for dinner and cocktails with my awesome partner-in-crime at the wonderful Junk Rooms in Stirling.

It was a fantastic evening, and they'd even bought olives at last so Frances could have her dirty Martini (shaken not stirred, of course) while I stucky loyally to my new favourite cocktail, a French Martini. OK, or two! The photo above is my starter, oak smoked duck. Mmm!

And now, my travelling has started in earnest. I'm currently sat on the Highland Chieftan train as it whizzes its way down the East Coast mainline to London. From there it's a short hop under the Channel to Paris, overnight there and then tomorrow what I hope will be a beautiful train journey through France & Switzerland passing through the Alps and on into Italy, arriving in Rome in the early evening.

As you can probably imagine, I'm very excited about my latest adventure. I hope it lives up to last year's journey to southern Spain. Regular readers will be able to find out all about it right here on Crafty Manoeuvres as we move into Travel mode.

But for now, there's nothing more to be done except sit back, enjoy my WiFi connection, watch the countryside roll by, maybe set up a new folder for my holiday photos, and dream of sunshine and strange new places.