Travelling again – 2. South of the Border

Tags

Common Spotted Orchid, Hadrian's Wall, International Dark Sky Park, Lanercost Priory, Northern Marsh Orchid, Northumberland National Park, Renault Zoe, Walltown Crags

The Langholm walk had just been the start of an interesting day with Tom and Ally. They knew I was wanting to know more about the implications of having an electric car, and they had had a Renault Zoe for a couple of years now. So morning coffee at their place was dominated by discussion generally about electric cars, and then we went out for the rest of the day in their vehicle. Until now, she had only been used for very local journeys, so this was going to be a test of range – and nerves. (Apparently range-anxiety is a common phenomenon among electric car owners. Certainly I have two incompatible desires for any car I buy – a good range and a very small size.)

I was very happy to go along with the suggestion that we visit part of Hadrian’s Wall, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, which I had never seen before. Amusing ourselves with observing whether the car was using (uphill) or making (downhill) electricity, we made our way to Walltown Crags, in the Northumberland National Park, and just north of Haltwhistle on the map on this web page, and ‘arguably the most spectacular part of Hadrian’s Wall’. While the England/Scotland border runs diagonally from south-west to north-east, the Wall runs almost exactly west-east, so land on both sides is in England.

This rotating board indicated that we had arrived in an International Dark Sky Park. (The Zoe is the middle car – I would normally have cropped the vehicles from the photo.)

Great excitement when Tom found that there was a very newly installed car charging point available.

Or not. Sadly, it could not be made to work, neither was there anyone on the end of a helpline to advise.

Having eaten filled baps for lunch, we sat off on the recommended route, though I didn’t see this map (red dotted line) until we got back and were buying an ice-cream.

Tom leads the way

Northern Marsh Orchid

Common Spotted Orchid

Tom risks joining the wrong group.

Remains of a tower

On the way down, I spotted a tree I liked.

I looked back and saw that Tom and Ally had spotted something that interested them.

And another tree I liked.

Lots of Northern Marsh Orchids

And a few more, with some Not-dandelions.

I do like a clump of flowering grasses.

We moved in the car on to another part of the Wall, under skies beginning to glower, but with beautiful views ahead of us, and saw a less incomplete version of a tower, with explanation.

The plan had been to go on to Kielder Water, but there were concerns about remaining charge in the Zoe, especially given that, despite her maturity, no long journey had yet been experienced. So instead we planned to go round, pretty well on our direct route back, Lanercost Priory, dissolved and much mutilated by Henry VIII, but still in use as a parish church.

The vicarage. Not too shabby, eh?

Covid obliged, booking to see round it was necessary, and we established that we could book for the next timed entry. However, the technology of this proved so time-consuming and frustrating that we opted for a nice cup of tea in the sunshine instead.

To the holiday lets… and the café.

Where my tiny mind was much amused by this:

A leisurely drive back to Langholm, via a garden centre for Ally, and I was invited to join in a Zoom meeting of the five Tom siblings, all of whom I had met at least once over the last half century. It was very exciting for me actually to see Mary, with whom I have had many phone calls since the beginning of the pandemic, but of whom I had not actually had sight all that time.

This was followed by a quiet evening in the hotel, where over a light dinner I met, quite coincidentally, a researcher/filmmaker who was due to meet up with Ally two days later to interview her about a community project she is involved in.

Many thanks, Tom and Ally, for a lovely day. (Tom’s blog on the day is here.)

A long drive tomorrow – good job my car is not electric.

Follow-up. I have since learned that Tom and Ally have now done the full round trip as originally planned on one ‘charge’ and also, though it was not necessary, succeeded in ‘filling up’ at a similar chargepoint some miles further on from the one which was not working. Satisfaction all round.

Benter NGS

Tags

Benter, National Gardens Scheme, NGS, Radstock, Somerset coalfield, William Smith

Last weekend I visited two National Garden Scheme gardens. On Saturday it was to two adjacent gardens in the village of Benter, near Radstock, Somerset. Radstock celebrates Somerset Coalfield Life in its museum. Coal-mining flourished in Somerset in the first two decades of the twentieth century, the last mine closing in 1974. It is believed that mining went on in the area as long ago as when the Romans were here. The ‘Father of English geology’, William Smith, was working as a surveyor in these coalmines when he made his observations leading to the understanding of geological strata.

Apart from the occasional relic, you would never know of the county’s coal-mining past, though stone-quarrying still flourishes in some parts. The whole area is now almost entirely idyllically rural once more. And that is certainly true of the small village of Benter. These two lovely gardens were those of two generations of the same family, (and there was evidence of a younger third generation!) There was no clear boundary between them.

This flower bed is one of the first to greet you, and the picture also shows the two very different houses.

Another bed …

… tried to draw me into a formal area, but I was soon enticed away to the woodlands. The background in this first image is outside the properties.

The tree house was out of bounds to visitors, sadly!

This was quite a lengthy walk, and I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to walk all the way back, hoping not as some of the path had been a little tricky by the stream. But no, after a while I found myself approaching open space again, and on my way to the planted gardens.

I was very excited to know the name of this: hydrangea arborescens ‘Annabelle’. It had featured on Gardeners’ World the evening before! It had only stuck in my mind – I who know nothing of botany – because of the ‘arborescens’ bit, which meant something to me from my schoolgirl Latin days. Moreover, the younger generation host was standing by – this her in-laws’ garden apparently – and she said she just knew it was called ‘Annabelle’.

The cock was crowing loudly as I stopped to observe this strutting group.

None of them volunteered to demonstrate how to use their swing.

I was now definitely in the younger generation’s garden.

The kitchen garden was a great mixture of edibles and decoratives.

I admired how the spiky plants were grouped together, united by the flat-headed ones.

The wingspan of this colourful day moth was just 15 millimetres (1/2 inch).

A pleasant hour spent in two lovely ‘domestic’ gardens. A pity the sky had been overcast all the time, but it had been warm. The next day’s visit was to a very different kind of garden – and the sun was out.

Kilve and East Quantoxhead

Tags

Acanthus, ammonite, Court House East Quantoxhead, East Quantoxhead, elm, flax, Hinkley Point C, Kilve, madder, National Gardens Scheme, Nigel Phillips, Quantocks, wave cut paltform

The last time Zoe and I had been out for our monthly walk and pub lunch had been early March. We met up again last Friday, for a socially distanced walk. This included some of Somerset’s dramatic coast, and ended not at a pub, but with us sitting on a church wall eating a packed lunch. Zoe’s husband Bruce joins us sometimes, and he did so this time. That was fortunate, because, although the walk was a straightforward one, and I had its broad outline in my head, I was not familiar with the area, and I had managed to leave the plan at home. Bruce using the OS map on his phone was able to sort out the occasional detail.

The weather forecast was for sunny intervals and a moderate breeze. In the event, the sun was not around, and the breeze certainly was, along with a sea mist. But it was great to see my friends again, and the sea. The last time I saw the latter was the Atlantic Ocean, off the Moroccan coast, early in March. How long ago that all seems now, yet how grateful I am to have had that holiday which set me up so well just before lockdown.

It was only a short walk, along the coastline from Kilve through Quantock’s Head and on for a further kilometre, inland for a kilometre, and then back, parallel to the coast through East Quantoxhead, back to the Church of St Mary the Virgin at Kilve, and thence coastwards back to our cars. No prizes for guessing that the range of hills around there are the Quantocks.

Zoe mentioned that there was a wave-cut platform here, sadly covered by the high tide. Nigel Phillips has written a wonderful book called Somerset’s Coast, a Living Landscape, in which he says that this particular area is well-known for the ammonite fossils which can be found here. He also mentions the birds and flowers to look out for. Indeed the whole book is a guide to the geology, fauna and flora of the coastline, lavishly (as they say, and it’s true here) illustrated with his own photos.

We stayed up on the clifftop, buffeted by the strong breeze, which fortunately was not too cold.

From here on, we were sheltered from the breeze by a blackthorn hedge

An inlet,

… which turned out to have some interesting sedimentary geology.

I had to look this up when I got home. It is wild madder, relative to the plant the roots of which used to be used to make red dye.

Court House, East Quantoxhead. It (or rather the land on which it stands) has been in the same family since around 1070. They used also to own Dunster Castle, further west along the coast. The present building is mainly 17th century.

Looking back from near our highest point, one can make out…

… the construction of Hinkley Point C, nuclear power station.

How to open a kissing gate when you don’t want to touch it with your hand

As we turn inland we come across a family picnic, next to the stile.

How to open a stile gate when it has a latch and you don’t want to touch it with your hand..

A row of elms, a rarity these days.

The wild flowers of the outward walk were replaced inland on the walk back with farm crops. Here broad beans

The back of Court House. I see its gardens were due to open under the National Gardens Scheme on 19th July. I wonder whether that will go ahead.

Nigel Phillips mentions that swallows are to be seen around here.

Approaching East Quantoxhead village

All proper villages should have a duck pond.

And the parish church nearby. 14th century Grade II listed building.

The stables of Eric and Nell.

Acanthus, aka Bear’s breeches, alongside the stream. A garden escape?

From the coast we had been able to see this vast flat area, that looked sort-of like a lake but clearly wasn’t as it didn’t shine. It turned out to be this field of flax, impressive but dead to wildlife.

That’s more like it.

And we arrived at another 14th century church dedicated to St Mary the Virgin, the parish church of Kilve, where we ate our lunch – very socially distanced. The wall was warm to sit on, having held on to, and releasing to our benefit, the heat of previous days.

Hopefully it won’t be another four months before we meet up again.

Morocco 7 (finale)

Tags

Atlas Kasbah, Barbary Ground Squirrel, Barbary nut, Black Wheatear, Blue rock thrush, Blue-eyed Pincertailail, Cascades of Imouzzer, Common Bulbul, Coronavirus, Covid-19, High Atlas, Moorish Terrapin, Moroccan Day Gecko, Morocco, Paradise Valley, Polygala balensae, Red-veined darter, White Hoop Petticoat Daffodil

Having visited the ancient Anti-Atlas on Thursday, on Friday 13th March, our last complete day, we were off to the High Atlas mountains. These were much younger – formed by uplift over only the last 60 to 10 million years! We only went into the ‘foothills’, but they seemed pretty high to me, and they were certainly beautiful.

But first we stood in the garden of our temporary home, as some had heard the Black-crowned Tchagra. Sadly, we didn’t manage to see it at this time, but I took a picture of a Common Bulbul, (they’re everywhere), possibly the one which sang outside our windows every morning.

Some of the food serves at the Atlas Kasbah is grown in its garden.

Our first stop revealed some extraordinary folding, caused, as for the Anti-Atlas, by the crashing of the African plate into the Eurasian one. (That is still going on – the Alps are still getting higher. My 2007 OU geology course taught me that the Mediterranean will in due course disappear!)

Another dried-up river bed to the left

The next stop involved a short upward stroll.

The next, a longer stroll along a nearly dried-up river bed, in Paradise Valley. First a few steps downstream.

Moorish Terrapins

Red-veined Darter

Blue-eyed Pincertail

And then upstream, the flow having transferred to the other side of the road by going under it, and then apparently either diverting under the geological feature or just drying up, the rest of our walk being alongside a dry river bed.

Anticline

Blue Rock Thrush (Collins Bird Guide: ‘blue colour difficult to make out at long range, mostly looks all dark.’ Indeed!)

A Barbary Ground Squirrel, a long way from the ground, on the wall opposite

Black Wheatear

A geological fault

Black Wheatear

Mohamed waiting for us

There followed a long, climbing, drive to our lunch place.

We ate our packed lunch in the Café Restaurant Le Miel. (Again they were happy for us just to buy drinks.) We were meant to wonder at the Cascades of Imouzzer. But they have not had the slight trickle of water for at least two years. (Here is a 3-minute video I found on YouTube about the Imouzzer region, made in 2015 when there were still trickles of water over the Cascades.)

Having eaten, we were driven up to much nearer them, for botanical reasons, but it gave a chance to look at the rocks more closely. From this angle, to me they look like a bearded old man, sitting with his wide sleeves dangling, his hands resting on his knees.

Looking down at the village where we had eaten

Two flowers were particularly sought.

Narcissus cantabricus, the White Hoop Petticoat Daffodil. It’s tiny. I loved the way the sun was shining through its petals.

Polygala balensae, a milkwort – very pretty flowers and very fierce thorns

We moved on to this rather unprepossessing spot, at 1300 metres altitude, (whose whereabouts we were told never to reveal, even were we able, because hordes of twitchers would drive away the bird we had come to see).

Which we did, at a great distance:

Tristram’s Warbler, normally only found at higher altitudes

Finally we moved to perhaps the most beautiful spot of the whole week (though that’s a difficult pick), high, high, high, at 1550 metres, in the (still only) foothills of the High Atlas. First our attention was drawn to several examples of the Moroccan Day Gecko.

And in due course to this dwarf iris, the Barbary nut (the tubers used to be eaten).

How’s this for a rockery garden? All natural of course.

And for the rest of the time, at this our last stop, we just enjoyed the views, and a slight, cooling breeze.

On the next day, Saturday, 14th March, we did not need to leave the Atlas Kasbah for Agadir Airport until late afternoon. Half the group had a cooking lesson in the kitchens, and the others went out with Philip and James, to review the first morning’s sightings, and to see some more. (They saw a Black-crowned Tchagra at last.) I did neither. I had not yet managed even to read the hotel’s own information folder, and really wished to do so, nor had I had a chance to wet the new swimsuit I had bought a few days before coming away. So, having achieved the former, I was then obliged to spend time here.

With its views outwards

and inwards.

For a long while I had the whole pool to myself. (In the event the water was too cold for me actually to wet the swimsuit.)

We ate the tagine our colleagues had prepared in the morning at lunchtime, and the afternoon whiled itself away. In due course we said a reluctant goodbye to those who had been looking after us so well, the more so for knowing what we were going back to.

I had a window seat again on the plane.

I feel so blessed that I was able to take that holiday, for which I had been longing for months, before the clampdown enforced on us by this horrible virus, Covid-19. As I said in the first post in this series, Morocco had already banned flights to and from 25 countries the day before we left. (We ten travellers knew about France, but not about how many countries the ban extended to. Our leaders did. Philip was looking at his screen constantly for news.) Two days after our return they added the UK and others to the list.

Now the Atlas Kasbah is shut down, like pretty well the whole world. Here on my own, thankfully with the company of my felines, I’m grateful for the telephone, and all the media, which allow me to be in touch with friends and family and the wider world. I have this extraordinary sensation of fellow-suffering, not just with those I know, in the UK, family on both coasts of the US, friends in France, the company both employed and holidaying which I so enjoyed in Morocco, but also with every single one of the world’s 7,800,000,000 people. Every single one of us is having to contend with the same fears and concerns and ignorance about the future, most of our fellows without even the resources that we have in the first world. I’m going to avoid a cliché, but this is something we do all, every single one of us, face together.

Morocco 4

Tags

Argana Tiout, Berber Toad, Moorish Terrapin, Morocco, North African Water Frog, Oasis of Tioute, Ocellated Skink, Palais Salam, souk, Spur-thighed Tortoise, Taroudant, Tiout, White stork

Today was to be half urban, with a morning visit to ‘mini Marrakech’, a town full of character called Taroudant. We were briefed that its souk was a serious market for local people, where tourists just got in the way, and we should not try to haggle. The stated price was the price to be paid.

But I wasn’t sure I should be joining the party. I, who never have tummy upsets, spent half the night…. well, let’s just say I didn’t get much sleep. (I think I had just eaten far more than my system was used to processing the day before.) Five minutes before we were due to leave, having dared have, and feeling like having, no breakfast, I decided to take the risk, with fingers very crossed. I just about got away with it…

On our way to Taroudant, we passed many polytunnels, growing oranges, bananas and salad. Once there, it was our driver and sometime guide, Mohamed, who showed us round the first attraction, the ‘Hotel of Peace’, once the palace of the local rulers, but now a hotel, which has clearly seen better days.

Don was by far the fittest among us, but clearly felt the need of a rest!

The salon, which we now knew was where guests were received. Ours seemed more comfortable and welcoming!

Spot the terrapin.

A Moorish Terrapin

A view of the palace/hotel from the outside

Philip encouraging us to follow him along the boulevard to go through the arch and up on to the walls.

Which we did, and I took this photo of White Storks some way away. But I felt distinctly uneasy. The walls were about 2 metres wide, with no protective railing on the interior edge! I was pleased that we did not walk along them, but came down quite shortly.

Mohammed then drove and led us to and through the souk, where we had strict instructions to be able to see one of our three leaders at all times. A wonderful array of foodstuffs. Some bought, I didn’t.

At one point I felt faint, I hadn’t slept much, I hadn’t eaten anything, and it was very, very, hot. I slid down to sit on a very low step, cushioned by some items that looked like boiler covers, but turned out to be donkey saddles for sale!

We left Taroudant, and arrived for a late packed lunch at a restaurant (where they were happy that we just bought drinks) at the Oasis of Tioute. They certainly know how to do cool in the midday sun.

Pinioned White Stork

Berber Toad

We went for a short walk, (well, they tell me it was short) meeting Mohamed and the minibus at the other end.

Ocellated Skink, its limbs, especially the front ones, evolved to near uselessness.

North African Water Frog

Spur-thighed Tortoise

The stunning but disused kasbah of Touite

Dramatic geology

More goats in trees. And in the distance to the right, a donkey ‘wearing’ one of those donkey saddles.

We made a short stop to have a guided tour round the Argana Tiout (I can find no website) women’s co-operative, where they made and sold argan oil products. I stayed in the minibus, and just popped into the shop to buy some of their oil – cooking, not cosmetic version, which I was told would substitute nicely for the olive oil I put into my (breadmaker) bread. We shall see!

I skipped dinner.

Morocco 1

Tags

Agadir, Amata Mogadorensis, Argan oil, Atlas Kasbah, BBC Wildlife, Berber, James Lowen, Morocco, Philip Precey, Thekla Lark, Volutaria Lippi, Western Sahara, Wildlife Travel, Woodchat Shrike

Until a few weeks ago, ‘Agadir’ meant to me ‘just’ that awful 1960 earthquake which killed some 12,000 to 15,000 people. Other than that it was on the coast somewhere in North Africa, I couldn’t have told you its location. Now I know it is to the southern end of the UN-recognised part of Morocco, which itself is on the left-hand – as you’re looking at it – ‘shoulder’ of the continent. (I mention the UN because Morocco itself lays claim to the next country south, known to the rest of the world as Western Sahara.)

The improvement in my geography has come about because three days ago I returned from a very enjoyable week’s holiday in that Maghreb country, organised by Wildlife Travel for BBC Wildlife readers, and we stayed in a beautiful ecolodge half an hour’s drive from Agadir airport. We got back just in time. Last night, Monday 16th March, at midnight, the Moroccan government banned travel to and from the UK, having done the same to 25 other countries the day before we left.

It was a nearly four-hour afternoon flight from Gatwick to Agadir. With a window seat I had splendid views of:

the Spanish Pyrenees (I presume),

the High Atlas (I presume) in Morocco,

polytunnels (growing our tomatoes?) as we were descending,

and general landscape as we came in to land. Almost certainly these are argan trees, (more of those later)

It was late by the time we arrived at our ecolodge, but a welcoming meal awaited us.

Breakfast was always at 8.00, and we were out at 9.00. Here we are on the Sunday morning, 8th March, at our introductory briefing from Philip Precey, from Wildlife Travel, as big James Lowen, BBC Wildlife contributor, looks on reflectfully. Apart from these two leaders, there were ten of us, plus Mohamed, our excellent driver and sometimes guide.

(To help my future memory, the others here are Jill, Nick, Prue, David and Helen. Alison, Don, Pat and Keith not visible.)

Outside, Philip introduced us to the Argan tree, a staple of Moroccan life, and providing employment for women in co-operatives, as they make argan oil, and products for cooking and beauty from it.

We get our first proper view of the ecolodge where we are staying, the Atlas Kasbah.

Here are the inner gates, with the name of the ecolodge written in Arabic:

and Berber, the language and tribe most widespread in Morocco.

We started walking down to the main gates.

Part of the water purification system

James was our moth expert/fanatic. This is an Amata Mogadorensis

Argan tree

We set off for a local walk, looking back at our kasbah.

Woodchat Shrike

Another (or the same)

Thekla Lark, blending beautifully with its surroundings

Drought meant that there were not the proliferations of spring flowers that I had hoped for, but botany expert (and fanatic) Philip knew the name of everything we saw, and there was much to please those who were happy to identify the many varieties of plants there were, many not in flower. I failed to get the name of this one, but later was to find out that it is Linaria bipartita.

Catananche arenaria.

A stock of traditional beehives.

Volutaria lippi (sunflower family)

We approached the sound of many sheep and goats, anticipating a delightful rural scene. We were very disappointed.

They were on and eating rubbish!

The fact that many of them were eating rotting oranges changed little.

A promise of some very dramatic geology to be seen later in the week.

Donkeys were the main agricultural support animal, difficult viewing at times.

A view from the outer gates.

Up the path

And a North African Water Frog

Namibia/Botswana/Zambia 20

Tags

Cattle egret, Egyptian goose, Glossy ibis, Little egret, Livingstone, millipede, Nile crocodile, purple gallinule, red-backed shrike, Safariwise, swamp hen, three-striped skink, Victoria Falls, whiskered tern, Zambezi River, Zambia

Our leaders had pity on us, the morning of this our last complete day. Breakfast was up to as late as 8.00, and there was no pre-breakfast walk.

On the way to breakfast:

From my terrace

Looking back at my accommodation

(Taken mid-afternoon)

A millipede I nearly trod on

I was the last to arrive at breakfast, at 7.30, and was greeted by Neil with ‘Good afternoon!’, to which I reacted with appropriate indignation.

We set off for the day’s activities at 9.00.

A pool at the roadside. Glossy ibis and, I think, Egyptian geese

We drove through the town of Livingstone. Difficult to capture images describing the place.

Surprise, surprise, we arrived at a sewage works. I didn’t take many photos, except of terns in flight – most unsuccessfully.

A row of egrets and whiskered terns

Nile crocodile

The best I could do

I never did sort out sewage works in southern Africa. They seem to grow things there. I suppose the soil may be, in due course, particularly fertile. With lakes much enjoyed by wildfowl and waders, they’re clearly not on the same model as our sewage works.

Glossy ibis

African purple gallinule, aka swamp hen

We then undertook a long and bumpy journey.

Red-backed shrike

Three-striped skink, on a rock, not a buffalo or hippo

The bumpy road led straight through a village. It would have been so nice to stop for a while.

We were aiming for a lunch place (a lodge of course) some miles down the Zambezi River from Victoria Falls, overlooking the gorge. Leader Neil was disappointed that we were not giving it more attention, but the fact is that it was much cooler in the shade, and, perhaps more significantly, most of us were deep into our phones and tablets, having access to wi-fi for the first time in 48 hours. Our super luxury lodge had been without the service since our arrival. Not their fault, but the local tower, or whatever-you-call-it, was out of action. As we were due to depart the following day, people hasd urgent and less urgent need of communication with the rest of the world.

That said, everyone did look at the gorge for a while at least.

I remarked to Neil that I was surprised how slow the water flow was, given the amount and speed of it over the Falls. ‘Or perhaps it’s a matter of scale?’, I asked. ‘It’s a matter of scale,’ he said. ‘Look at those kayaking.’ I hadn’t noticed the tiny little dots. They were moving, very fast, and were much further down than my brain had registered.

Having lunched and, er, used the facilities, (which were totally respectable)

we set off back to the Lodge for a siesta.

Namibia/Botswana/Zambia 19

Tags

baboon, Camp Nkwazi Lodge, Chacma baboon, David Livingstone, Livingstone, Mosi-oa-tunya, three-striped skink, Victoria Falls, village weaver, Zambezi, Zambezi River, Zambia, Zimbabwe

Thursday 7th March, afternoon. We only went a very little way into Zambia, near to the town of Livingstone, formerly capital of Northern Rhodesia. The big tourist attraction around there is the Victoria Falls. We went direct to them after lunch.

Here is a model of the Falls before the Zambian entrance. Note the footbridge, within the park, and the road bridge linking Zambia and Zimbabwe. As I learnt later, the model considerably minimises the sheer breadth of the Falls.

A more accurate representation would show, that there is much, much more of them to be seen from the Zimbabwean side. But they were impressive enough from Zambia.

A statue of the great explorer, sometime missionary, scientist and abolitionist, fascinating, stubborn and somewhat disorganised, David Livingstone greets you shortly after the gate. ‘He travelled the African interior to the north between 1852 and 1856, mapping almost the entire course of the Zambezi, and was the first European to see the Mosi-o-Tunya (“the smoke that thunders”) waterfall, which he called Victoria Falls after his monarch.’ 

First glimpse

Yours Truly looking a little self-conscious

They were noisy!

The footbridge looked slippery, but it wasn’t.

View from the bridge looking along the beginning of the gorge, the Falls behind me. The road bridge can just be seen.

Looking down is not for those with vertigo.

The water just flows and flows, and the curtain just goes on and on.

This was the furthest point which could be reached from the Zambian side. Impossible to see how much more there was.

I started wandering back.

I waited to take the picture until the lorry was half in Zambia and half in Zimbabwe

My apprehension as I made to return over the footbridge was for a different reason now. Baboons have very nasty teeth. But he just said, ‘Keep left.’ Instead I stood aside to let him pass.

I got absolutely soaked in spray at this point, but it was warm and I soon dried off.

Back at the entrance, Neil pointed out that it was possible to take a path to see the top of the Falls. On the way I saw this Western three-striped skink.

This is not some distant zoomed view. I could have stepped into this – and gone over the edge! Health and safety there was not. No barrier, no nothing.

Just like that. Many islands in the river mean its full breadth cannot be seen.

It was time to move on to nearby Camp Nkwazi Lodge, again on the banks of the Zambezi River, where we were to stay for our last two nights.

The river has not suddenly narrowed. This is an island…

… sheltering among other things dozens of village weavers’ nests.

All our lodges over the fortnight had been very different from each other.

Bedroom. There is no glass in the windows, only gauze.

Part of the bathroom.

Kitchen/dining room on the terrace. Not that I used it except as a passage to my room.

Marseille 1

Tags

Calanques, Chateau d'If, Eurostar, Gare de Lyon, Gare du Nord, karst, Le Figaro, limestone, Marseille, Mas, Notre Dame de la Garde, Notre Dame du Mont, Paris, People's Vote, Port-Miou, quarries, St Pancras, Un Mas en Ville

After the excitement of the London March for a People’s Vote the day before, on Sunday 21st October I met up with my cousin Teresa, and her teenage son Harvey, at St Pancras station to take Eurostar to Paris, and from there to travel onwards by train to Marseille, for just three nights. With the exception of problems at the Gare du Nord, (trying to buy metro tickets for the Gare de Lyon from a machine that was only taking coins, and then forcing those tickets through the unco-operative ticket barriers), the journey went entirely to plan, and we emerged on the classic (I’d say ‘iconic’ but the word is so over-used) very long flight of steps at Marseille St-Charles station late afternoon. We decided to walk the kilometre plus to our lodgings, which, in addition to the steps, proved to include lots of ups and downs. With more luggage than the other two, I resolved there and then that I would return by the metro on Wednesday morning!

We knew in advance that our chambre d’hôtes, Un Mas en Ville,  was not in the chic-est part of the city, but it was very near the heart of it.  It was an amazing old building, entirely renovated about ten years ago in the style of a Provencal mas, or farm.  Having settled in our rooms, single ones aligned with each other on the first to third floors, each with its own teensy private bathroom on the landing, we went out to find a meal, and chose the first open restaurant we could find having headed towards the centre of the city. This turned out to be a popular Chinese one, where we enjoyed a good meal. Or rather Teresa and I did, as Harvey was feeling under the weather, and not up to eating much, a state in which he sadly remained, though improving, for the rest of our short stay.

Breakfast the next day was taken in a room semi-open to the small but perfectly formed swimming pool, an addition to the original building.  What fun the designers must have had in creating this, and converting the original building! All the transformational work had been done by local stone masons, though the stone they used came from Normandy, as we learnt in due course. (As the water in the pool was unheated, there was absolutely no question of my trying it, neither did the others.)

We set off on foot for the Vieux Port, via the tourist information office, and over a coffee made plans for the day.

The church of Notre Dame du Mont, which gives its name to the quartier where we lodged

The Prefecture

It being Monday, we could not, as we had hoped, go by boat to the Château d’If, so we booked instead to do the three-hour trip with the same company along the coastline of the Calanques national park. Before this we had time to follow one of the tourist office’s suggested walks.

Hotel de Ville/City Hall

Taken from the Fort Saint-Jean

This lace-clad building was so new that it appeared on neither of the maps we were using.

From it, the Cathedral, and two very modern buildings, each of which was completed within the last few months.  (They featured in this article in the French national newspaper, Le Figaro, two days after our return!)  The right-hand one changes colour depending on whether it is in sunlight or not.

Having crossed the footbridge to the top of the building, we found a café on the next floor down, but didn’t stop.

We continued on down via slopes and steps.  The building appeared to house and be about to house offices and meeting rooms.

With time running out before the boat was due to leave, we didn’t hang around as we returned, past the Cathedral front and the Hotel de Ville to the port, but I did notice this on the side of one of the old buildings near it.  Subject to correction, I think it means that all citizens of a given commune are collectively liable for damage done to people and property of that commune.

The serendipitous discovery of an organic sandwich bar near the port provided our lunch, which we started eating as the boat set off. It was a very enjoyable trip in very pleasant weather.

Ours was the green circuit (no stops).

The lacy building and the Fort Saint-Jean

Close-up of the Château d’If

The basilica of Notre-Dame de la Garde, which we had first seen from the steps of the station, dominates the city.

The limestone is very fossiliferous, as we had seen on paving stones and other buildings in the old town.

This is a close-up, but…

… this is not, and the size of the people gives an idea of the scale of these cliffs.

There were a few little villages along the coastline.  In WWII, according to the commentary, these hills provided hiding places for the resistance.

I snuck this photo of Teresa

and she got her revenge

For geologists – evidence of karst formation, I believe

Just turn left…

…for turn round point – Port-Miou

The old quarries, which provided stone for most of the monumental buildings in Marseille

In the evening, Harvey, again not feeling like a proper meal, stayed behind at our lodgings, snacking on provisions we had bought at a health food store near the tourist office. Teresa and I this time turned in the opposite direction from that we had chosen the night before to find something to eat.  We ended up in a Japanese restaurant in the Place Notre Dame du Mont, which had particularly advertised its vegan dishes.  Having ordered the soup and a main dish, when the soup arrived we saw that it was a meal in itself, and were able to cancel the rest of the order.  The huge bowl of soup was delicious and filling!

 

 

Madeira Revisited 4

Tags

Baia d'Abra, Bonita da Madeira, cochineal, Funchal, Madeira, Ponta da Garajau, Sâo Lourenço

Madeira Revisited 4. A very different landscape on Friday. We were at the far eastern tail of the island, on the Sâo Lourenço peninsula, dry and arid and very windy. The usual pattern: a there and back walk, botanists behind, better walkers in front, me taking pictures of flowers and views, and many walkers of many nationalities. Lots of up and down, but not as much as the day before.

Looking south. The smudges in the sea are a fish farm.

More layers of volcanic ejecta

The sea to the north

Unfortunately I was beaten after an hour or so. By the wind.  Not having had full sensation in my feet for a couple of years now, passing over a high and very exposed spot, unbalanced by camera and binoculars round my neck, and wearing a wide brimmed sunhat, I was actually terrified that I would be blown over by a gusts of the (pleasantly warm) wind onto the hard stony ground.  Very reluctantly I had to turn back and reach a more sheltered spot, where I sat for a while. 

Maximum zoom on the fish farm and a small boat tending it

After a bit, I moved further towards the car park, and found an almost suitable boulder on which to sit. For a long while.  I confess that I did get a little bored, but amused myself taking more photos. And a video.

 

I was on a mini peninsula at the side of a bay, the Baia d’Abra.  The other side of the bay was a long way off, and it was impossible to make individual people out.  But I suspected that some people sitting down way across above the multi-coloured cliff were a few of my companions, so I took a photo on maximum zoom, and enlarged it as much as I could in my camera. (I really was quite bored by now! There was nowhere to lie down and have a snooze, nor was it warm enough.) I could indeed identify people from our party.  I assumed they were sitting to have their lunch (which I took to as a cue to have my own) but I learned later they had been birdwatching and had seen, among other things, canary and rock sparrow. Oh well, I had watched grasshoppers … and a rather elegant wooden tourist boat, the Bonita da Madeira, following the coastline of the bay. Together once more, we went back along the south coast towards Funchal, and stopped at Ponta da Garajau, for liquid refreshment and what was intended to be a further walk down a cliff path to find a particular plant. However, the authorities had roped it off as too dangerous.  This did not stop our leader venturing just a few metres into it to collect this insect from a cactus. He then passed it to  a volunteer who agreed to crush it in her palm. This was the cochineal insect, much prized as a very expensive trading item centuries ago, and which set me off singing to myself an extract from a madrigal by Thomas Weelkes (1575-1623), Thule, the period of cosmography. This includes the line, ‘The Andalusian merchant, that returns laden with cochineal and China dishes,…’.

Another delicious meal in a downtown Funchal restaurant, and the obligatory exercise afterwards (taxis were available for those who wished) ended the day.