Adventure She magazine December 2021

Adventure She magazine, Issue 15, December 2021

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Adventure She Empower Educate Entertain

Featuring Interview with Hilary Bradt Romania after Ceaușescu Travels in Mali

Plus Coast to Coast v The Pennine Way SMARTER goal setting Scrambling on Skye and lots more

Issue 15, December 2021 www.adventureshe.com

1 Price £5.00 for 1 issue or £15 for all of 2021’s issues

Adventure She magazine, Issue 15, December 2021

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Welcome From Our Editor Welcome to the December 2021, the 15th issue of Adventure She magazine.

measurable? Yes. Achievable? Yes, after all, it wasn’t like there were massive distances involved.

Realistic? Yes. Timely? Absolutely, what better way for three teenage friends to do a little bit more growing up, than to undertake an inexpensive adventure like this one only a few miles away from home. Ethical, nothing to stop us there. Relevant, we loved hanging out with each other, we loved cycling, we’d all travelled a little with our family, and it would be good for us.

“Houston, we have a problem.” We all have problems from time to time. Well, this time around in my role as editor, I’ve had quite a few problems. You see, for a myriad of reasons, some planned for articles never landed on my desk. When one or two articles don’t materialise as promised, it can be a tad awkward. When multiple articles don’t land, then I have a problem.

Did we achieve our goal? Strictly speaking no, as the third member of our group took a nasty tumble. With a massive chunk of flesh now missing from her arm, which left the funny bone exposed to the world, she had no choice but to return home. There was no way we could have foretold that accident. But accidents do happen in life. All we can do is minimise the risk of their happening.

So I put out the call for more articles and lots of amazing people came to the rescue. Thank you so much to every single one of you who came to the rescue. One of these was Dr Kate Lewis, who happens to be one of my oldest, best, and most loyal friends. The photos she showed me of her hiking, climbing and abseiling on the Isle of Skye were so amazing, I simply had to ask her to write an article about that adventure, which she’s very kindly done, despite her hours working as a doctor. Putting her on the front cover, is Adventure She showing support in one small way to all the people out there on the front line, who are working so hard to help us as the pandemic continues to create havoc all around us.

In the late 1980’s Jacki Hill-Murphy travelled through Africa, including Mali. She shares some of her story in this issue, with part 2 of her story, the journey from Mali’s capital to the legendary Timbuktu, planned to appear in our next issue. At the time, driving that route might have been hard, but it was a SMARTER goal. Now, it would be highly inadvisable to attempt it due to terrorist activity, fighting and the threat of kidnapping. It’s probably no longer realistic or timely.

What I also love about her story is that Kate epitomises the Adventure She spirit. She works hard (what doctor doesn’t), but she also plays hard. She also has an additional skill set, she doesn’t set goals, she sets SMARTER goals.

The opposite of going to Mali and Timbuktu, is staying local. There’s nothing wrong though with staying local. Local can in fact be both brilliant and epic, as demonstrated by Kate Anstey who each year likes to set herself an adventure related goal, and who this year mountain biked across Wales.

You guessed it, the theme for this issue is setting SMARTER goals, in other words, goals that are specific, measurable, achievable, realistic, timely, ethical, and relevant. Just in case you haven’t come across SMARTER goals, feel like a refresher, or are interested in seeing how they apply to the outdoors and adventures, go straight to page 86.

Some may argue differently, but surely adventure is subjective, that adventure can be so much more than some hard physical feat or travelling where very few similar people have gone before. I haven’t had the nerve to cross the whole of Asia by train, but Justine Hall has. After years working in the Far East she set herself a goal of travelling back to Europe by train.

She’s previously written about her train ride across China, and here she shares her experiences in Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan. The sights of Uzbekistan are so stunning, they also represent the UNESCO feature this time around.

As for Kate, she and I first adventured together as 15 year olds. At her mother’s suggestion off we went youth hostelling on our bikes, Kate and I riding three speeder bikes whilst a third friend rode a five speeder. Our specific goal was to cycle country lanes near the coast, visiting certain youth hostels along a lifthe way and to return safely. Was it 2

Adventure She magazine, Issue 15, December 2021

I’ve noticed that when I spend time researching a trip and reading up about the history, culture, and inhabitants of a place, I get so much more from the adventure. Part of my reading includes guidebooks.

Who is it who writes the guidebooks so many of us rely upon? This issue’s big interview is with Hilary Bradt, co-founder of Bradt Travel Guides, an independent book publisher. Hilary and her then husband George published their first guidebook in 1974. Now in her 80’s she’s one fascinating woman.

Perhaps it’s because of Covid 19 and fewer people doing big overseas adventures at the moment, but another of our articles this time around also goes back in time. Alycin Hayes is an author who writes about her goal of getting to a particular beach from Belem, in the north east of Brazil. Let’s just say things didn’t go to plan.

Wild swimming has increased in popularity and if that’s a goal of yours, or if going hiking or bikepacking is a goal of yours, then the articles by Penny Harris and Harriet MacMillan respectively are full of essential tips which will hopefully enable you to pursue your goals in a SMARTER fashion.

You might be thinking ‘I would love to do something, but I can’t afford it.’ If that’s you, then Kirsten Hamilton-Sturdy’s story on teaching English in Romania is the one for you. It’s not just interesting, it also goes to show how we can change our life when we seize an opportunity to pursue a long held goal.

If you’re wondering why I’m so into encouraging people to set SMARTER goals, all is revealed in this issue when I share a very personal journey of mine.

That journey took 15 years and at several points seemed impossible to achieve. Had I applied SMARTER goal setting principles from the outset, it might only have taken me a couple of years. 15 years is a long time. Please, don’t be like me, instead why not use the SMARTER principles to help

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yourself attain your goals sooner rather than later.

That’s a big reason why I set up Adventure She magazine. I want people to learn from each other, to be inspired and motivated by each other, rather than for each one of us to accidentally repeat mistakes others have made in the past. When we share stories, we aren’t just entertaining each other, we are educating each other too and thereby empowering each other.

Another woman who’s on a mission to empower others is Steph Cooke. Here rather than share the story of doing one hike, she compares and contrasts two long distance hikes she’s done. Personally, I think her article’s great, for it’s really helped me think, why do I want to do hike A over hike B? Which one is the SMARTER hike for me to do? After all, like the word ‘adventure’ isn’t the anacronym ‘SMARTER’ subjective? What’s right for one person isn’t right for another.

As the sun sets on another year, I really hope you’ve enjoyed this year’s issues including the special UTMB issue. It’s personally been a very strange and challenging year, but then again, that’s life, no one said life should always be easy. I know for sure that my life is certainly a lot easier than the life of so many people who grace the pages of this issue of Adventure She. Besides, now I’m a convert to setting SMARTER goals, I have a plan in place to make Adventure She better than ever. I can’t wait to share the 2022 issues with you. Meanwhile, here’s to empowering, educating, and entertaining each other.

Jane Front cover Dr Kate Lewis Photo courtesy of John Briggs

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Adventure She is published by TNA Consulting Services Ltd, the address of the registered of which can be obtained from Companies House. The entire contents are protected by copyright and all rights are reserved. Reproduction without prior permission is forbidden. Every care andis taken in compiling the contents of the magazine, but the publishers assume no responsibility in the effect arising therefrom, Readers are advised to seek professional advice before acting on any information which is contained in the magazine. Neither TNA Consulting Services Ltd nor Adventure She magazine accept any liability for views expressed, pictures3used, or claims made. Copyright © 2021 TNA Consulting Services Ltd. All Rights Reserved.

From The

Adventure She magazine, Issue 15, December 2021

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Topics In This Issue Of Adventure She Magazine Page 6 – Mali Before The Troubles

Page 18 – Mountain Biking Wales

Page 26 – Central Asia By Train

Page 36– UNESCO Feature – Bukhara and Samarkand

Page 38 – Interview with Hilary Bradt

Page 56 – Book Reviews 4

Adventure She magazine, Issue 15, December 2021

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Page 58 – Hitchhiking Brazil

Page 64 – Scrambling on Skye

Page 78 – Safe Swimming

Page 86 – Setting SMARTER Goals

Page 90 – Goal Setting – A Personal Journey

Page 94 – Top Ten Navigation Tips

Page 112 – Coast to Coast v the Pennine Way – Long Distance Hiking in the UK

Page 100 – Romania After Ceaușescu 5

Adventure She magazine, Issue 15, December 2021

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MALI BEFORE THE TROUBLES PART 1

By Jacki Hill-Murphy 6

Adventure She magazine, Issue 15, December 2021

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Imagine a world at peace, the cold war threat diminishing by the day, whilst jihadist terrorism, Desert Storm 1 and the 1990’s Balkan conflicts, to name but a few, were yet to enter our vocabulary.

Imagine a time when the possibility to explore seemed limitless.

Imagine a time when intrepid travellers crossed the Sahara by car.

Explorer and author Jacki Hill-Murphy doesn’t need to imagine it, for she has lived it. Here Jacki Hill-Murphy shares part 1 of her story on travels in Mali. Part 2 will be in our next issue.

W

e sensed a storm was building, for whilst Mali’s afternoon sun was still burning hot, like a flotilla of war ships grouping before mounting an attack, dark clouds gathered on the hazy horizon. High up in the sky white egrets cried hoarsely as they attempted to outfly the approaching storm. At ground level mopeds and old yellow taxis, dashed past us, anxious to get home. There was no escape though for the thick grass by the side of the road, the wind battered it, whipping it until it lay flat across the ground.

My then husband and I had driven all the way from the UK, and we were now 50 miles into our latest country, Mali.

As dust whirled in curves around our battered Land Rover’s wheel arches, we pulled off the dusty orange road and stopped in a small copse of trees that danced to the increasingly furious wind.

The blackness came quickly. Whilst the wind beat the Land Rover, rocking it, rain lashed against the thin metal walls until it slowly worked its way in through the seams and rivets. Yet I was loving every minute of it,

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despite my vulnerability.

It felt like one minute I was on a stormy sea in crashing waves, the next, being hoisted up to the tree tops before spinning like a top back to earth, all accompanied by flashes of lightening lighting up the African sky.

On such a night a courageousness enters one’s soul, and it did mine.

Dawn came and with it a calm, bright, day. I peeked at a flock of red and brown Malian Firefinches that flew into our little thicket, squawking and flitting noisily around us as we

Adventure She magazine, Issue 15, December 2021

crawled out of our Land Rover. We dried out the best we could, examined the most enormous sludge-coloured millipede emerging from a puddle and left as bothersome flies began to eat us.

Our journey was taking us through the southernmost region of Mali where in 1988, when I was there, the major ethnic groups included the Senoufo, known for their incredible masks and reverence for animals, the Samago, known for being Mali's best farmers, and the main ethnic group in Mali, the

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Bambara people. The local economy is still based on farming and the Sikasso region, which receives more rain than anywhere else in Mali, is known for its fruits and vegetables.

I wish I could talk to my younger self and now exhusband and tell us to slow down at that point.

We drove straight to the capital Bamako via Bougouni in one day, we drove through one of the most beautiful and culturally rich and colourful regions in just a day when we should have taken a week to take it all in. Perhaps we felt an element of menace in the

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air, we were attracting too much interest, I can’t remember, but we felt we needed to keep moving. We couldn’t have imagined that this road trip would be impossible in just a few years’ time.

We arrived at Sikasso, it was 11 o clock in the morning, everyone was walking down the main street resplendent in red, turquoise, or orange printed fabric, was it a wedding or a funeral? We had no way of knowing as we snailed along behind the noisy mob, who craned their necks to stare at the whites in the dirty Land Rover.

Adventure She magazine, Issue 15, December 2021

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The water tower at Sikasso

I looked down the narrow dusty streets as we drove through, searching for evidence of exotic African Kings because this had been a small village until 1876 when Tieba Traoré, became King of the Kénédougou Empire and moved his capital here.

The remains of his palace lay on a sacred hill called Mamelon and I snatched a glimpse of the water tower that now took its place. My guidebook offered me details of the King’s short rule, the French kept attacking them for ten years from 1887 until 1898, by then

Tieba’s brother had succeeded him as king but believing that death was preferable to shame he committed suicide as the inevitable defeat by the French took place.

The roads were getting narrower, full of seemingly bottomless water- filled potholes and early attempts to patch them, I can’t imagine how we drove 240 miles that day. We overtook an ox cart pulled by two boys carrying an oil barrel of water who waved vigorously at us and we beamed back. When we passed a truck or a

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mammy wagon we were so close that we could smell the passengers and the fruit and vegetables on its roof. Then we came across the aftermath of an accident that must have happened in the storm the night before, a minibus had smashed into the back of a broken-down truck, now written-off, which sat in the detritus of its impact, with broken glass and bits from the dismembered lorry lying all around it; four men sat dejectedly nearby, head in hands alongside the minivan that was still

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piled high with luggage and resting on flat tyres.

Within a mile we passed mangoes being picked using 20’ poles with bags lashed to the end and with a wave we shot past.

Soon we were stopped by a small family who waved us down and the father put his head in through the window and asked us if we were missionaries, we responded with “Non, touristes Anglais,” at this the man thought for a minute before replying slowly, “How - are - you?”

We sped towards Bougouni, which was just a place on the map to us then. Women unbent themselves from hoeing in cotton fields to wave, beyond the dusty road village compounds nestled, their orangemud conical huts were topped by straw roofs with crazy tips like witches’ fingers pointing at the sky. Horned cattle milled about on empty wasteland cleared of stones for village football, while sad, ball-less children sat about in the streaming sun, which dried the washing spread on low walls, while the older men languished under the leafy spread of large branches and palm

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trees that grew out of ponds of emerald water.

We crossed the muddy Baoule River over a bridge the width of a car with high iron sides and I marvelled at this vast, dramatic country, rich in history and ancient culture as we struck a course to Bamako, the capital, as swifts twittered and dived in the clear blue sky above us.

What would I find if I drove through the Bougouni region now, over thirty years later?

Apart from the terrorist activity it would not be hard to avoid seeing the destruction caused by Kodal Mineral who partnered with a Chinese company to build the Bougouni lithium mine, it is hundreds of miles of churned-up dusty expanse now, zig-zagged by massive earth moving machinery and men in hivis jackets move around like ants entering via a sealed road. It has been reported that this Bougouni site has the potential to host multiple open pit lithium mining operations in the future; the disruption to the landscape and to the environment must be

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horrendous, it’s like the land is being raped.

Wending slowly through the busy traffic of Bamako in palpable clouds of dust and pollution, it could have been just another African city, full of hard-working people, uniformed traffic police waving their arms about on boxes set up in intersections, flocks of mobylettes, or mopeds, dashing like darts in all directions and streets of shops and stalls that spilled wares out onto the pavement. When explorer Mungo Park came there in 1806 it was a small fishing and trading town, but things changed when the French captured it in 1883 and in 1908 made it their main seat of power, staying as the capital when Mali became independent in 1960.

The pale evening sky was pricked by a few early stars when we arrived at Le Lido outside Bamako on the road to Kati, we would tackle the city the next day. Right then all we wanted to do was to drink up the atmosphere of this 1930s terracotta hotel and see if it matched its sexy

Adventure She magazine, Issue 15, December 2021

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Mali in December 2006 / January 2007. This road may be laid with tarmac, unlike the cross-country tracks Jacki Hill-Murphy used, but the luggage piled high, and people squeezed into and hanging onto the minivans, appears to be the same. The photographer is a good friend of our editor and travelled to Mali from the Seychelles, where he was working, to attend a music festival, the Festival au Desert at Essakane, a locale in the desert north of Timbuktu. According to the festival’s website, it is currently ‘in exile’ due to the troubles in Mali.

Photo credit Hugh Watts

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description in our guidebook. In the failing light we drove across a narrow metal bridge over the artificial lake, now as dry as match paper. We parked in the car park and slept inside the Land Rover, where a cool breeze slipped down from the brush-covered hill that bordered the compound and blew in through the open windows.

Le Lido piscine became an essential part of our short stay, this spring-fed gem felt fresh and fabulous although in its faded glory the vegetation was hanging over its edges like the slow encroachment of a triffid. After our first cool swim we drove back to Bamako to see the Honorary British consul Harvey Smith, as we needed help in obtaining a Senegalese visa, visitors are expected to obtain one in London but as we had been away so long it would have expired.

Harvey was lovely and sorted us out effortlessly and talked about ex-pat life in Mali and asked us why we had taken a year out of our lives to make this extreme journey; I think my answer

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probably talked about my wanderlust spirit and how easy it had been to persuade my husband at the time to sell up and put our careers on hold; the time had been right.

Harvey warned us about the dangers we could face in the next part of our overland journey, and we asked him why the Michelin map had a little text box over the road between Bamako and Dakar expressly indicating that all cars should be transported on the train. Harvey smiled, “Put your car on the train, yes, but I think you have two choices here. If you drive the road is impassable, but if you put your car on the train, you could lose the wheels and your luggage along the way.” We were grateful for his wisdom and support. Before we departed from his little office he added, “But if you do drive, you’ll find it very interesting, it’s Malainke territory.”

It sounded like an impossible choice. We had been told that the piste to Kayes in the northwest and on to Senegal is so bad that it’s impassable, particularly in the wet season, it is

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usual to put a vehicle on the train which runs twice a week, the alternative is to travel north into Mauritania and then by asphalt road to Nouakchott and on to Dakar. The train would take three days and unless we were willing to be jam packed into a carriage for all that time we could travel on the platform wagon with our Land Rover, which we would have to lash to the train wagon at each corner with wire rope and we could rig up a tarpaulin to protect us from the sun. That way at least we could protect our tyres from being nicked, but it was a long way while being tied on with string, lying so close to a rail track! As it was, we were a few days off having to make the decision, as a chance encounter in the swimming pool changed the course of our journey and added a whole new fascinating dimension to it.

Why hadn’t we factored in visiting Timbuktu? That jewel in Mali’s crown, a major Medieval trade centre, where large caravans of men and camels used to meet to

Adventure She magazine, Issue 15, December 2021

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exchange salt from the Sahara Desert for gold, ivory, and slaves from the Sahel; they reached it via the nearby Niger River and a University established in the 13th century, had attracted scholars from throughout the Muslim world.

It was a thousand kilometres to the north and a glance at the map showed some tracks in the sand but little else, it had been too daunting to consider, and we had made the decision to leave it out. The explorer in me now would have done things very differently, but I was young and didn’t know what I know now.

There was an Englishman of about thirty in the pool with us and it wasn’t long before we found out that he was a journalist who had travelled to Mali to get a story for The Observer. We swam lengths and exchanged snatches of travellers-inextraordinary-places chat, then he made a very interesting proposition to us - he needed to get a story and had no way of getting to Timbuktu as there were no planes, or buses or hire cars and he had just

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about given up trying, so would we be willing take him there in the Land Rover?

I stopped swimming, so did Co-pilot, and gasped, drive to Timbuktu? Go back into the desert now we had left it? The piercing rays of midday sunlight sparkled on the water of the pool, we had mentioned to each many times during the previous few days that we were actually missing the desert, that hot sand and miles of emptiness, the pure adventure of it all.

“All right, we will, in fact we’d love to.” It was an easy decision.

Done, John was delighted, we had solved a big problem for him and although he may not reach the Taoudenni Salt Mines at least he could research his story from closer proximity. That’s how a young reporter cuts his teeth I guess, by getting a gripping story from some far-flung and inaccessible place and we were glad to help, plus he was going to help fund this dash into the north.

We had to leave first thing in the morning, and we headed back into Bamako to stock up at

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the market and fill up with fuel. In the market I discovered sheets labelled ‘Donated by the Howard Long Memorial Hospital Pennsylvania’ and ‘The Boston Beth Israel Hospital’ for sale, nothing surprised me anymore, I stocked up on baskets of fruit and vegetables and tins of beans and then our new friend treated us to lunch at the not-so-grand, Grand Hotel.

A window from The Lido Hotel overlooked the railway track to Dakar and the dried-up lake that in the good old days of the hotel, people would water ski on. The very tasty Crush brand soft drinks that we had been drinking had been produced on the site since the 1950s, using water from the spring which was slightly saline, that was why we always needed another one, as our ferocious thirst was never quite slated.

We estimated that our detour to Timbuktu, with its trip back into the Sahara Desert, would take a week. We knew that for much of the way, roads would be nonexistent, and my

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adventure adrenalin was running high.

Our first stop that hot Sunday was in Segou, founded originally by Bozo fishermen on the Niger and then the commercial and administrative centre for major irrigation schemes on the Niger River floodplain.

The town was charming with mud brick flatroofed buildings and wide sandy roads, terracotta mosques, castellated and sculpted into ornate doors and archways, beautiful, peaceful, and fascinating as it stretched along the southern bank of the Niger River. Smiling children wearing shorts ran beside the Land Rover, women moved gracefully in brightly printed head dresses that matched their wrap-over skirts and tops carrying baskets and babies. I had never been anyway so lovely, and we found a small hotel called the L’Auberge for lunch that nestled in a well-watered garden of palm trees surrounding a large spreading mango tree that took pride of place on a small lawn. Our new companion was

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loquacious and filled us with tales of gathering stories for the newspaper, we compared notes about drinking establishments around Fleet Street and The Temple and as his wires were tuned into being an investigative journalist the next week was full of questions and questioning.

His interest lay in the Taoudenni Salt Mine prison which lay over 400 miles further north from Timbuktu, a remote salt mine where the salt is dug by hand from the bed of an ancient salt

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lake, cut into slabs, and transported either by truck or by camel to Timbuktu. John wanted to learn more about a prison built at the site where the inmates were forced to work in the mines and life was so tough, including having to work in one of the hottest places and driest places in the world and the only water to drink was saline, many prisoners died. There are allegedly many graves there including Yoro Diakité, head of the first provisional government following the coup of 19

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November 1968, Tiécoro Bagayoko, head of security services from 1968 to 1978, Kissima Doukara, Minister of Defence 1968-1978, Youssouf Balla Sylla, police chief of the 3rd Arrondissement of Bamako and Jean Bolon Samaké, head of the Goundam Cercle in 1969.

Who knows what happened the year we were there, but only months after John’s article was published in the Observer it suddenly closed down.

But how frail, perilous, and ugly is Segou if I went

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back there now. Are the trees now lying barren and quiet and are there hungry children where once they ran screaming in joy and freedom?

What kind of a world have we now moved into that has now shut me off from my ever returning to this lovely, lovely place with its proud history and unique architecture? I am sad that I am now shut out. A newspaper headline announced seven years ago that “Mali civilians describe their plight as city of Ségou becomes war's frontline” and “Refugees speak of escaping fierce fighting and sharia rules in towns such as Timbuktu as Islamist rebels advance south.”

It is heart warming that its arts festival has defied jihadist violence for 16 years. The Segou Art Festival, is Mali’s largest cultural event, staging theatre, story-telling, dance, and music amidst the horror of war, but at the heart of it are a group of people determined that the jihadists will not stop it by threats of attacks. It used to extremely popular with foreign tourists, but of course they don’t come

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now as the threat to their lives is so great.

Sadly, ten days before the 2019 festival began, 20 soldiers were gunned down by about 100 motorbike-riding jihadists,60 miles north of Segou, three policemen were also killed during an overnight ambush, just as rappers were entertaining thousands of young Malians at Segou Art. Security was tight and the festival carried on, as did the festival in 2020 too, which was dedicated to peace efforts. The Malians are, thank fully, never going to give in to terrorists that easily.

Within the leafy shade of the terrace at L’Auberge we enquired about the piste to Timbuktu and many willing waiters and fellow diners pointed this way and that with smiles, good luck and genuine interest in travellers making the demanding journey. I was sad to leave - it was a bit like going into the unknown, but the clock was ticking on a real adventure.

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About Jacki Hill-Murphy Jacki Hill-Murphy MA, FRGS, is an explorer, writer and speaker who has travelled to some of the most inhospitable places on earth to re-create the journeys of daring women adventurers from the past. In tracking valiant women who left inhibition at home and journeyed into the unknown, HillMurphy pays tribute to their invincible spirits and achievements. She has followed in the footsteps of Victorian explorers Isabella Bird who travelled by yak across the Digar-La in Ladakh, India; Mary Kingsley, who pioneered the route to the 13,255 summit of Mount Cameroon; and Kate Marsden who trudged from Moscow to Siberia in search of a cure for leprosy. Hill-Murphy also braved piranha-infested waters in a dugout canoe to replicate the 1769 expedition of Isabel Godin, the only survivor of a 42-person, 3000-mile expedition along the Amazon River. Jacki says: “We are all adventuresses who need to travel to be who we are and we are better people for it.”

You can follow Jacki Hill-Murphy on the following social media channels: www.adventuresses.com Twitter @jackihillmurphy

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Mountain Biking Wales

By Kate Anstey

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All round us adverts try to entice us to adventure in far flung places. But what about adventures in our own back yard?

With international travel in a rather uncertain state this last summer, Kate Anstey decided to check out an adventure close to her home in Wales, the 430km Sarn Helen mountain bike route, which stretches from Conwy on the north Wales coast to Worms Head on Wales’s south coast.

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I

try and aim for one big cycle challenge a year, a challenge that will push me out of my comfort zone, a challenge that will make me train hard, a challenge that will probably make me nervous and excited, this challenge ticked all those boxes and more.

every lunch stop seemed to start on a climb, but it is Wales.

This was hard not just because of the hills that we cycled up and deep puddles, but we walked up many steep forestry tracks, slate mines and bogs.

These puddles, if you’re a mountain biker you will know, are quite often at the top of mountains even if it hasn’t rained for a few weeks. But the water was warm, and we got used to having wet feet all day, every day. My feet have never been so clean!!! Mind you, when you do get to the top of the climbs the views are so rewarding, I love it when you can see for miles and miles, no roads, traffic, or houses.

Thanks to Covid 19 I guessed I wouldn’t be going abroad in 2021. I’d heard of a local company that led trips on the Welsh Coast to Coast (C2C) mountain bike route2C and decided I would “treat” myself. Alas they only take 8 cyclists and when I approached them, all the spaces had already gone. I was sort of relieved, as I knew it would be really tough, but at least I had tried. Still I put my name on the cancellation list, thinking I would never get in. Then with two months to go the company contacted me. They’d had a cancellation. I had a place. Fortunately, I’d kept riding, despite the initial disappointment, so I was fit enough to say yes. In case you’re thinking of doing it, or a similar trip, here’s my thoughts and recollections.

My high point of this day was seeing the smallest house in Great Britain in Conwy and the never ending views from the top of many climbs.

Day 2 – Bronaber to Machynlleth via Coed Y Brenin, Mawddach trail and views of Cadair Idris – 42 miles, 4265 ft Less climbing and we had great fun cycling a few trails at the bike park at Coed Y Brenin, lots of different trails from blues to reds. If you haven’t been there, it’s a must, with the best coffee shop / restaurant looking out over Coed Y Brenin woods.

The Night Before All 8 of us cyclists arrived in Conwy nervous, excited, thinking what have we done, have we got everything?!!

Day 1 – Conwy to Bronaber, via Llyn Cowlyd reservoir, Capel Curig, and views of Snowdon - 40 miles, 6142 ft.

There were lots of grassy tracks and fire roads with of course the biggest puddle imaginable. Unfortunately, Diane cycled through thinking it wasn’t that deep, but it was about 2 ft deep with mud and she became stuck. Eventually one of the riders, tall Rob, hauled her out like a rag doll. She landed onto soft marshy grass.

Then Rob nearly fell on top of her. Both were ok and so was the bike. I know we

We set off from Conwy Castle with our trusted guide Phill and Polly in the support van (seen every lunch time with the best homemade sandwiches, cake, and coffee ever). This was to be the hardest day with so much climbing, every morning seemed to start on a hill,

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shouldn’t laugh at another’s misfortune, but we couldn’t help it, we laughed all day.

Almost halfway there, my confidence was starting to grow with rocky descents and

We then cycled along the Mawddach trail, a Sustrains trail, this was flat for about 1 mile, luxury.

therefore starting to enjoy it more. We also had a lot of deep fords to negotiate, I didn’t quite get across all of them, but didn’t fall in luckily.

Highlight of the day – Diane’s event with Rob in the puddle/lake. 1 mile flat Mawddach trail. At the top of a slate mine where a small house had been built but it had started to sink into the ground, with the first floor window just above ground level, all intact, just needed foundations, beautiful and untouched for many years.

After more big climbs up grassy and gravel slopes, we arrived at Nant Yr Arian bike park. Whilst admiring the view from the high point, hundreds of red kites flew out from the down towards the lake, where they are fed twice a day. It was breath taking. Whether or not you’re a bird lover, if you love berms and a pump track, you’ll love Nant Yr Arian.

Day 3 – Machynlleth to Devils Bridge via Nant Y Arian bike park and Nant-Y-Moch reservoir aqueduct. The shortest day with the biggest fords - 32 miles, 4517 ft.

More climbs were followed as we headed to Devils Bridge, halfway!! We stayed at Hafod Lodge, overlooking woods where there are fantastic walks. I will return, for

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this was my favourite stay of the whole week. No one wanted to leave.

our bikes to a car jet wash before heading to our hotel for a wonderful Thai dinner.

Highlight of the day – seeing the red kites and relaxing at Hafod Lodge. My first fall – not really a highlight but a soft landing on grass without anyone witnessing it, therefore no photographic evidence.

Highlights – ½ day of sun, Claerwen reservoir and a Thai dinner.

Day 5 – Builth Wells to Ystradfellte via Breichiniog forest and the Brecon Beacons with views of the Skirrid, Penyfan and Black Mountains - 37 miles, 4820 ft

Day 4 – Devils Bridge to Builth wells via the Trans Cambrian, Claerwen Reservoir and part of Lon Las Cymru route - 47 miles, 5498 ft

The sun shone all day, we didn’t wear our coats today. Some wonderful long climbs where we could see the Skirrid, Penyfan and the Black Mountains where we continued into Brecon and on into the Beacons towards the Brecon Beacon visitor Centre. We then continued along a long easy gravelly track which I was really enjoying, down into a valley where unfortunately it then turned into a rock garden for about a mile up hill.

I loved this day, the sun appeared, and it seemed very flowy. I recognised some of the route from previous rides albeit in reverse. Again amazing views, passing bothies and a well-deserved lunch at the top of Claerwen aqueduct. We then headed onto Builth Wells via the Lon Las Cymru Sustrans route, where we treated

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We were all getting tired at this point and aching, but it wasn’t long before we reached Ystradfellt bunkhouse which has a pub opposite, where we could order drinks from and take them back to the Bunkhouse, perfect!!! Followed by homemade lasagne by Polly.

by mile 15, I really couldn’t take anymore puddles and bumping over the roman road, until we turned downhill onto tarmac. I have never been so pleased to see tarmac in all my life, followed by a lovely lunch stop where we dipped our bikes into the pond as they were caked in red sandstone mud and so were we.

Highlights – sun, mountain views and Polly’s lasagne.

Onwards we went to Swansea via cycle paths, towpaths, and sun, looking like we had all stepped out of a mud bath. An ice cream stop at Caswell Bay followed by more climbs to Bishopton Valley common where Polly was waiting with more cake and coke, 15 miles to go.

Day 6 - Ystradfellte to Worms Head, Rhossilli via Crynant forestry, Swansea and the Mumbles 53 miles, 4190 ft The final day, the final leg to the end of Wales, our Coast to Coast adventure.

This was another hard day, not a lot left in our legs, a lovely climb within the first mile, followed by 15 miles of true roman roads – cobbles, rocks, deep puddles and heavy rain. We were cursing the romans

The miles seemed to fly by as we knew we were coming to the end of our adventure.

With one mile to go, tired and not concentrating I managed to clip my handlebars on a gate post, ending up

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sprawled across the gravel floor. But all ok except for a few more scratches to add to my collection and on we climbed towards Rhossili Bay with a mountain on our left and the beautiful sea on our right with a sunset finish. A very quick dumping of our muddy bikes, which didn’t get cleaned that night, shower for ourselves followed by a celebratory meal and a few drinks and an early night!

Top tips – be prepared for all weathers even if the forecast is meant to be a heat wave. Don’t worry about buying new tops, ready for all the photos the guides will take (they will take a lot), you will probably be wearing your rain coat the whole time. Take minimal sun cream and a lot of lube. Have a full suspension mountain bike and have a few lessons on rocky descents if you aren’t confident before you go, there are a lot of rocky descents. I finished with lots of cuts and bruises and a few old injuries resurfaced, but it’s all part of the fun of being a mountain biker. Did I enjoy and have a good laugh? Yes, it can be the hardest toughest journey but often the people your with make it and get you through it.

Would I do it again on a bike – yes, but on a quad bike and a wetsuit!!

Highlights – finishing intact and my bike intact and a celebratory glass or two of wine knowing I would wear dry shoes the next day, for a whole day. But the lows, missing our C2C bubble, missing Diane and her endless toilet and food breaks, Jane with her never ending wardrobe (4 bags), Rob and Rick the comedians, Malcom with his endless energy and enthusiasm and Philip the perfect wind break (all muscle) and of course Phill and Polly who had the endless patience to guide us for 6 days and 7 nights, providing the entertainment, support, carrying our luggage and for the best lunches, cake and accommodation.

Always treat yourself after a big adventure, big or small. For this event I booked in a sports massage and bought an Avocado plant from America – I know random, but I love avocados and I will now have to wait 6-10 years before it produces any avocados!!

About Kate Anstey Kate Anstey describes herself as an outdoor lover, endurance road cyclist and mountain biker.

She works as a medical secretary and has 3 grown up boys, a cat, and a dog (who also loves mountain biking).

Her previous adventures sound pretty epic to us and include cycling John O’ Groats to Lands End twice, and mountain biking (unsupported) the length of New Zealand’s North Island on the Aotearoa trail. She hopes to one day cycle across Canada via the Trans Canada trail.

Thank you A big thank you to Phil from Mountain Bike Wales www.mtb.wales for letting us use your photos.

No payment or discount was received from Mountain Bike Wales for publishing this article. Do get in touch with us if you’d like to do a mountain bike journey in Wales. Perhaps between us, we could get a private group together and have a private Adventure She trip.

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CENTRAL ASIA BY TRAIN

BY JUSTINE HALL

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Trip planning tips

After several years overseas teaching English to adults in Japan and China, Justine decided it was time to move back to the UK. But rather than fly or take the legendary Trans-Siberian Express, Justine chose to take local trains across China, and from there, to travel through Central Asia and Europe.

Justine says, “Even though this wasn't a physically demanding trip, I still think it was quite an adventure!”

We agree with Justine. To us, adventure is about opening up our mind to the world at large, exploring the world at large and getting to know the culture, traditions and languages of the world at large.

Mind you, we do love our physical adventures too, for they can be a fabulous way of getting close to the world at large. But physical adventures aren’t the only way.

Justine shared her experiences through China, from Shanghai to Urumqi, Xinjiang, Western China, in our December 2020 issue, and now takes us through her Central Asia adventures.

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As far as the trains were concerned, just like for my travels in China, the excellent Man in Seat 61 website covered pretty much all the potential train routes.

I also checked the Foreign Office's guidance, as Central Asia was considered potentially unstable when I visited in late 2016. The President of Uzbekistan - Islam Karimov - had in fact recently died and elections were imminent.

He’d been Uzbekistan’s leader since 1989, so even before it split away from the Soviet Union.

The Foreign Office listed these elections as having potential for causing travel disruption, so I made sure to get travel insurance which covered this!

Like in China, another concern I had was accommodation; as a solo female traveller, I wanted to stay somewhere safe in a well-lit area. I spent hours reading booking. com reviews to make sure the places were ok before booking! I booked most places before I left Shanghai, but with "free

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cancellation" in case my plans changed. There weren't really many options of trains, as just one or two trains a week travelled along some of the routes, so I had to plan my trips around them!

Visas and tickets Kazakhstan operates "visa on arrival" for 14 days, for no charge: by far the easiest! However, I needed a visa for Russia and Uzbekistan, and needed to give (and keep to) entry and exit dates. I planned these in advance and visited the embassies in Shanghai to get the visas. Shanghai was so handy like that, probably a relic from Communist times, when Russia, Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan were all part of the Soviet Union and aligned with China. I made sure to dress smartly for the visa appointments and didn’t have any problems, but I saw others who were dressed more casually being subjected to lengthy questioning at the Russian embassy.

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You could only buy it in Urumqi and only by queuing for hours for possibly very limited seats. I couldn't find a story online of someone successfully buying their ticket, so I opted to pay a travel agency. I arranged this over email while in Shanghai, using a known travel agency. It all worked perfectly, with delivery to my Urumqi hostel, but when I compared the price on the ticket to what I paid ouch! But sometimes it’s

The most difficult train ticket to buy was the China to Kazakhstan ticket, Urumqi to Almaty.

worth paying this premium for ease and certainty.

Central Asia trains The first surprise was how small the trains were compared to the huge Chinese trains. Central Asia and Russia (and Europe) have a smaller gauge than China, so the trains are much smaller and more similar to British trains - and with Western style toilets and sinks!! This was

Ascension Cathedral, Almaty, Kazakhstan

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for photos, so I had to show my laptop and phone. I had read about this, so I had moved photos onto a nowhidden external hard drive and showed my photo free laptop and Chinese phone with no camera! After 2 hours having the wheels changed, we moved to the Kazakh side of the border. They merely stamped my passport with an entry date and moved on.

War memorial in Almaty’s Panfilov Park

wonderful, after the hole-in-the-floor toilets of Chinese trains. Much cleaner too. The lowest class sleepers were only 2 bunks tall, so 4 in an open compartment, while Chinese ones are 3 bunks tall.

I unexpectedly was in 2nd class rather than 3rd for the Urumqi to Almaty trip, with one other tourist, a man from Korea. This compartment had a sliding door to close the compartment,

so I was initially a little worried, but the man was fine! He spoke little English, so after some initial chitchat we slept or read. Our train carriage seemed almost empty, and train staff moved boxes along the carriage and into our compartment from time to time, either side of the border. Perhaps smuggling things across the border??

At the border, the Chinese staff searched

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The trains I took from Almaty to Samarkand in Uzbekistan and Tashkent to Moscow were similar, but much busier Unlike the Chinese trains, the passengers were quiet and tidy, and very friendly! I shared food with some, was taught how to knit by another and was given a souvenir coin by another wonderful experiences!

The border controls were amazingly easy too, just time consuming.

Uzbekistan has been investing in infrastructure, which means there is now a fast train between the capital Tashkent and the large city of Samarkand and the tourist city of Bukhara. I took this from

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Samarkand to Bukhara (2hrs), then back to Tashkent (4hrs). The train is very sleek and modern and wouldn't feel out of place in Japan.

The ticket included some snacks, a sandwich and drink. I relaxed and watched the scenery whizz by! The ex-Soviet sleeper trains trundle along pretty slowly in comparison!

Unlike China, there was barely any security and no ticket checks at any of the stations in Kazakhstan or Uzbekistan. Your ticket was checked when you boarded the train, and you were directed to the right carriage. This was quite surprising after the strict crowd control of China; people seemed much calmer here, and more willing to just wait.

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street signs (Cyrillic not Chinese) or just all in my head, but it was amazing to feel that little step closer to home.

Sightseeing Kazakhstan Kazakhstan is a majority Muslim country, though Almaty, where I visited, felt more Christian. There is a lot of street art and sculptures, and lots of fountains. Sadly, as I visited in early November, the fountains were switched off for winter.

It gets very cold in Almaty! In fact, there was already lots of snow at the nearby ski resort. It also has one of the highest altitude ice rinks in the world!

Almaty was once the capital of Kazakhstan and remains its largest city. It

is quiet and relaxed though, and quite walkable. Apparently the traffic can be very bad at times, but it seemed to flow well when I visited!

Perhaps, after the madness of the traffic in China, I barely noticed it!

I took the cable car to a nearby ridge and looked down on the city, surrounded by mountains. I was surprised by a Beatles statue! It's funny how popular they remain, all over the world.

Kazakhstan boasts they were the first to domesticate horses and the apple, so there are many statues to both around the city. The museums are pretty interesting, a lot of folk costumes and history. It's great this wasn't

Culture change As soon as I stepped off the train in Almaty in Kazakhstan, I felt a world away from China, and so much closer to Europe.

I'm not sure if this was the change in the look of the people, Turkic or Russian, not Chinese, the building style, the food, the relaxed nature of the people, the difference in

Beatles Statute, Almaty

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Amir Temur who built and ran an empire for 30 years. He’s credited as helping rebuild the area after it had been undermined by the Mongols. Tashkent, Uzbekistan

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completely lost during Soviet times, and more people can find out about it through the displays.

Sightseeing Uzbekistan Uzbekistan is vastly different to Kazakhstan, at least to Almaty. While Almaty felt quite Christian, Russian, almost European, Uzbekistan felt very Middle Eastern.

They use Latin script rather than Cyrillic, the people are more Turkic, and the clothing is more traditionally Muslim.

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I visited Samarkand and Bukhara, both ancient cities on the Silk Road which are trying to attract tourists by capitalising on their history and are attempting to repair the damage which years of neglect and cultural vandalism has done.

Samarkand has lots and lots of mosques and burial sites in varying states of restoration.

They are all beautiful though, with mosaic designs, tall towers,

vaulted ceilings, and intricate brickwork.

There are numerous indoor and outdoor markets, selling a wide range of things. I bought some winter hats as Christmas gifts for my family at one tourist market, and many kinds of dried fruits and nuts (for the train journeys!) at a regular market. I also bought thermal socks and underwear, as the temperature was steadily dropping!

Samarkand, Uzbekistan

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After the traditional cities of Samarkand and Bukhara, I headed back to Tashkent, the capital.

This was a strange mix of Soviet and Muslim; big blocky concrete buildings side by side with delicate mosaic covered mosques.

It had already started to snow here, and people hurried along the streets in fur hats and strong boots. I visited large cultural museums here, telling stories of the peoples of the area and their customs. There is

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also a large museum dedicated to the conqueror Timur, who conquered and created the Timurid Empire of the 14th century onwards, ushering in a great period of peace and intellectual and cultural discovery. He is now a national hero in Uzbekistan, and the museum is a fascinating look at how he is remembered here.

Eating like a local After getting food poisoning in China, I was

Bukhara, Uzbekistan

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hoping for better luck with food in these countries! I was not disappointed! One traditional food popular in both Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan is plov, a meat and rice dish flavoured with herbs, spices, and stock. The flavours are quite different between countries, Kazakh plov is quite meaty tasting, from the stock, while Uzbek plov is lighter with more herby flavours. Plov is often (especially in

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Kazakhstan) served with shashlik, meat on skewers - very tasty.

Cheese is not that common and is quite salty when it is served as part of cold meat platters. There are so many kinds of delicious breads, I often bought some from a bakery or supermarket just as a snack!

I was surprised at how common "Indian" snacks were, samosas, bhajis and similar, but it makes sense looking at the influences on both areas from Iran and Turkey.

Dried fruit is especially popular in Uzbekistan, particularly apricots they were very tasty!

Richer and sweeter than I've had at home in the UK. Walnuts are also a signature product. Alas it wasn't apple season in

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Kazakhstan, I imagine there are so many delicious desserts using them!

Safety and modesty I mostly felt quite safe on my solo travels, people were always very friendly, I just had one incident with a toofriendly taxi driver in Almaty. I stayed safe by returning to my hostel by around 8pm at the latest and going to restaurants recommended by the hostel staff. I felt just as safe as being in my home country really. It helps that I don't drink alcohol usually, so I always have a clear head.

closed due to a state visit by a minister from Turkey, hoping to reenergise ties between countries as Soviet influence wanes.

Also, whilst I knew from my research that elections were going to be held in Uzbekistan, it was only when I returned to Tashkent that I learned the borders were being closed because of the elections.

Fortunately, I was booked onto the last train out of the country!

What luck! 66 hours later I was in Moscow and my time in Asia was behind me.

Surprises Sometimes no amount of pre-trip planning can help you, like when I found the centre of Samarkand

About Justine Hall Justine Hall has a PhD in urban greenspace. Graduating during the post global financial crisis recession, and without much opportunity to go into environmental work, she took a yearlong expenses-paid volunteer position in Malta, where she worked on people engagement in nature.

After subsequently qualifying to become an English as a Foreign Language teacher, she spent three years teaching English to adults in Japan (first in Nagoya and then Tokyo), and later spent another year teaching in China’s biggest city, Shanghai. After all of those experiences, she’s now happy working back home in the UK.

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UNESCO FEATURE In 1993 the historic centre of Bukhara was declared an UNESCO World Heritage Site. Based on its cultural significance. Bukhara is described by UNESCO as “the most complete example of a medieval city in Central Asia.”

Follow this link for more from UNESCO on Bukhara. https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/602

The Mir-i-Arab Madrassah, which together with the Kalyan minaret and the Kalyan mosque, make up the Po-i-Kalyan religious complex in Bukhara.

Photo courtesy of Pixabay

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Before airlines, super tankers, and trains, before even the mighty ships of the second half the second millennium, there was trade between Europe and China, trade made able by camel trains along what became known as the Silk Road. Due to its position, Samarkand became a hub along the silk road. UNESCO describe the city as being “at the crossroads of world cultures for over two and a half millennia.”

Samarkand | Silk Roads Programme (unesco.org). However Samarkand is even older than the silk road, dating back to the 7th century B.C. It became an UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2001.

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Who are the three most influential explorers? What about Marco Polo? Perhaps Christopher Columbus? Or how about Hilary Bradt?

Some of you may say who? Others might say, really? But a few of you might nod your head in agreement. Yes, she’s that iconic.

So who is Hilary Bradt? Together with her then husband George Bradt, in 1974 she “accidentally” founded Bradt Travel Guides.

From selling one book typed up by George’s mother, the company has grown and now has over 200 books in print. Along the way Bradt became known as a publisher unafraid to go and seek out emerging destinations.

Earlier this year our editor caught up with the now octogenarian Hilary Bradt over Zoom when they discussed book publishing, travel stories and anxiety and given their mutual loves of horses, of course, Hilary’s travels on horseback in Ireland.

In your autobiography A Connemara Journey, which is the story of your 1000 mile horse ride in Ireland during the 1980’s you write about anxiety and how you had to handle feelings of anxiety, both in terms of talking to strangers and in looking after your pony, Molly. What tips do you have for people who want to travel, but have got anxieties of their own?

respect it's easier for women. There's only one recommendation, you have to face and accept your fears and do it anyway, not just in travel but in life.

You wrote about wanting to meet the locals but feeling rather shy. How did you deal with your shyness, so you did interact as much as possible with the locals?

It's a good question. It's a real problem because I am an adventurous traveller and a writer. To be a good writer, you must meet the locals, but I am an introvert and still have a lot of anxiety going into pubs and groups of people. With Molly and later her replacement, Peggy, each night I had to make myself go up to a farm and say, “Do you have a field for my pony?” The pony

I think everyone has anxieties. I mean, women might be more willing to admit them. But when we published a book called Roam Alone, which was stories of people who were afraid to travel but travelled anyway, we got quite a few stories from men who had the same anxiety, but of course being men, it was much harder for them to admit it. In that

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was a huge icebreaker actually. I got used to the benefit of having a horse with me, people wanted to talk to me as I was so different and that was lovely. I mean if you know people want to talk to you, even if you're shy, it makes it much easier as it takes one of the barriers away.

(business directory) and I literally wrote a letter to every hospital in Boston. I got a reply from one accepting me without an interview. It was a great job in a hospital specializing in arthritis.

It was before jet planes, so I went over to the USA on a boat, a cheap boat. Even though the hospital was very welcoming, it was nerve wracking and I had quite a lot of difficulty fitting in initially. Still I embraced the opportunity with my whole being because, and I think I'm lucky like this, my enthusiasm has always surpassed my fears. Eventually I did fit in.

You went to work as an occupational therapist in Boston in the United States in the 1960’s, long before the internet simplified researching overseas job opportunities. How did you hear about the opportunities available to you in the United States?

It was the early 1960s. I really really wanted to see South America, my whole ambition was to see the Inca world, Peru.

Machu Picchu. I had a black and white photo on my wall of Machu Picchu on my wall. Going to the USA was a way of earning more money, so I could travel.

Whilst the hospital in Boston accepted my British qualification, I eventually also got the American qualification as it made more jobs available to me. One of those was in San Francisco. That opened me up a lot as a person, as you couldn’t live in San Francisco in the 1960s without opening up.

To get the job I actually went to the American Embassy in London. I knew I wanted to work in Boston. At the embassy I looked at the Yellow Pages

You started Bradt Travel Guides with your then husband, George. What was it like?

Hilary Bradt whilst leading a trek in Peru during the 1980’s

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Above: Willy Leahy, Loughrea - the horse dealer who sold Mollie the grey Connemara pony to Hilary Bradt, at work on his farm. Here he’s seen bringing in a sheep and her lamb. Connemara ponies are a tough, strong breed, native to Ireland. They are magnificent work horses and were extremely useful on farms like this one.

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Below: Farmer Tom and his mother.

Their kindness in letting Mollie graze in one of their fields, and the kindness of many other locals, is what made the ride possible.

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Above: Pierce who ran a pub that then existed by the River Shannon and who dropped everything to borrow a horsebox and give Mollie a ride across the mighty river. They are magnificent work horses and were extremely useful on farms like this one.

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Below: When tragedy befell Mollie, it was Kathleen Hennessy and her incredibly kind family who came to the rescue.

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setting up the company and finding out about printing and binding the books?

on the shelves, so people wanted even our badly printed books. It all gradually developed from a wonderful sort of chaotic start and we're really very lucky that it worked out.

We didn't have a clue. I mean, I must say, although George and I are divorced, I would never have started the business without him. He was and still is a huge extrovert. We talked to people. We knew about writing the book, that was no problem. We sent the first book to my mother in law, George's mother. She had to retype it as there were too many spelling mistakes. She then went to a local printer and had 1,000 copies printed. That’s how it got started.

I understand in 1976 you were in a rather awkward position in Uganda. Many of us have seen the film The Last King of Scotland, which opened the eyes of many to the atrocities committed in the 1970’s

by Idi Amin’s regime. What made you go to Uganda at such a tumultuous time, given Idi Amin’s reputation?

It was on the way. We were traveling north from Cape Town to Cairo. We knew Uganda had wonderful game parks and the mountains of the moon, the Rwenzoris, which we were very keen to climb. I don't think it ever occurred to us not to go. I remember though feeling really nervous as we walked with our heavy backpacks across this big stretch of no man's land between Zaire (now the Democratic Republic of Congo) and Uganda, as there had been an incident only a few months previously. What was going to happen to us? A intimidating man came towards opened his mouth and said, “welcome to Uganda.” They didn't have many travellers that route. He was carrying a stem of bananas, shared some with us, stamped our passports and off we went.

When we moved to the UK we had no money, no business plan, no bank loan. We didn't know about any of that. We wrote the book. My sister typed it up prettily on a golf ball typewriter which did different fonts, headings and so on and it looked okay, and was properly spelled because my sister could spell. We actually did two books, the second edition of our Peru book, and the first edition of our Backpackers Africa book. We couldn't afford to pay a printer to print them, so George went to work for a printer and instead of being paid money, he was paid in books. I remember George on the pavement in Slough surrounded by boxes of 2,000 copies of badly printed books.

With time we learned about proper printers, and gradually made the money to pay for printers, and eventually typeset rather than type written and then got cartographers and so on. I remember we also didn't know how to sell them; I was still working as an OT to support us. So George went to Stanfords which is the biggest map and travel book shop. They said to George “what discount do you give”? We had no idea we were supposed to give a shop a discount, and he said, “the usual.” So we learned by doing and because we had books people wanted to buy, I mean, there was nothing like that

We had a fantastic time until the Entebbe raid and we got arrested trying to go to a botanical garden in Entebbe, which shows just how stupid we were. Except there was a shortage of newsprint so there was no newspaper, so actually it was difficult to hear the news.

We were held on a disabled bus for three hours under machine gun guard and it was very frightening. I did think at one point we might die. When George was taken away I thought he was going to be

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shot. He came back with a sort of half smile and said “this gentleman says that there's no one to take us to the police station because there's no petrol but would we please walk to the police station and turn ourselves in. But we didn't, we went back to our hotel room and got the hell out of there.

But they treated us very well until that time. We were we were careful not to talk about politics, obviously.

We got very friendly with one young man. He was very non-committal about Amin’s men, but afterwards he wrote to us and said what it was really like. But people were very careful. You find that in dictatorships, when you’re in the country, if you keep out of politics, people are normal, friendly people, they just steer clear of anything that will be a risk.

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The Entebbe Raid Very simply, in 1976 an Air France plane was meant to fly from Tel Aviv to Paris via a stopover in Athens.

Between Athens and Paris the plane, which had mostly Israeli and other Jewish passengers on board, was hijacked.

The plane eventually ended up in Uganda’s Entebbe airport.

There without the knowledge or support of Idi Amin’s Ugandan regime, who is alleged to have known about the hijacking in advance and supported the hijackers, Israeli commandos stormed the airport to free the hostages.

A few hostages, one Israeli commando, all the hijackers and many Uganda soldiers were killed.

If you are interested in geo-politics, it’s worth reading up on the whole affair.

The Rwenzoris – photo courtesy of Pixabay

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Huascarn, during a visit to by Hilary Bradt to Peru in 2015

You mentioned dictatorships, etc. How does Bradt deal with the ethics of writing travel books for destinations that might not be, run in accordance with certain values?

Yes. That's a good question. I have sort of led by that. It goes back to when we were traveling in South America. We were going to Chile which was under President

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Allende. Six weeks before we were due to cross from Argentina into Chile, there was the coup and Pinochet took power. Like every good liberal we weren't then going to go to Chile. Only we were heading south to Tierra del Fuego and at the time, there was no proper route from where we were in Argentina to Tierra del Fuego. We had to go through Chile.

You don't hear this in the liberal press. We were good Guardian readers when we went there. We left thinking ‘you have to go somewhere to hear the other side of the story.’ It is of course only the other side. Pinochet was everything the press say he was, a torturer, and so on.

I was completely transformed by that We were really, really nervous about experience in Chile, and it’s affected the it. There was a curfew, and it was very rest of my travelling life. I think you have scary. We were hitchhiking and that’s to go there; you have to talk to ordinary what completely transformed our people and just keep an open mind. The experience. This is press will report going to sound one side, the side very strange, but they report this is how it was. depends on the People came up to paper.

“You have to go us saying “your So we did one of somewhere to hear the press has got it all the first guides to wrong, we’re so other side of the story.’

Burma when it was pleased that It is of course only the still Burma [now Allende’s gone, tell Myanmar] and also other side. Pinochet was our story right at South Africa when everything the press say home,” and “you it was still under know we’re not he was, a torturer, and so apartheid, and I devastated about on.” don't regret it it, we've had because I think Hilary Bradt terrible latter there is always this years, we welcome other story.

Pinochet.”

It's really That's what they important to hear said and I'm not these things. And I interpreting it. But also when we were hope you don't mind my asking them hitchhiking we were picked up by a farmer I. You have done so much traveling at a whose farm had been taken over by the time when travel was very different and communists and then just returned to you've lived through certain regimes and him. He said his workers had remained travelled through countries beholden to loyal to him and wouldn't work for the certain leaders, you’ve experience new people, but the new people had regimes most people will only read about slaughtered all his horses for meat. in the history books. If we don't learn It was little stories like that and a vet who from people who are older than us, who’s said how difficult it was and how a generation ahead of us, people like you, agricultural productivity had absolutely we're stupid. So getting your stories out collapsed. there is so important.

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Chile – a polarised nation Chilean politics has seen major swings, upheavals, and traumas, certainly since Salvador Allende became president in 1970, if not before. It could be the subject of an entire volume of books, not just one book.

Today Chile is still a land divided, as shown by the general election of 19 December 2021, which has been described by CNN as “one of the most polarised in decades”. That election led to 55.87% of the vote going to the left wing candidate and 44.13% going to the right wing candidate.

When these numbers are reduced to ‘out of 10’ the polarised nature of Chile becomes even more apparent, with less than 6 out of 10 people wanting one candidate and more than 4 out of 10 people wanting the other candidate.

Hopefully, this time around and in future, whoever wins such elections, whilst people might be divided politically, people can work together for a peaceful coexistence.

These opinions are so unpopular now. But so you know, it is what it is. And that's the thing with travel, if travel doesn't broaden the mind, what's the point? If you go in with a mindset and come out with the same mindset, you missed out? That's a great thing about hitchhiking, because you meet people you'd never normally meet. And as a hitchhiker you’re obliged to hear their story. You know, sometimes you get picked up by religious people, sometimes just very boring people, sometimes lonely people. And it's your job to be as to be a good listener and I think that's excellent, it’s up to you to make their day as pleasant as possible because they've been kind enough to stop for you.

Town in South Africa I went to a talk by a zoo collector, because in those days people collected animals for zoos which of course, you don’t do now. He’d been to Madagascar which I knew nothing about, and it was absolutely entrancing. George and I said we must get to Madagascar, it sounded so exciting, and the people and animals looked wonderful. As we travelled from Cape Town to Cairo when we got to Dar Es Salam in Tanzania, we sort of turned right and headed over to Madagascar and then got lost in the jungle for four days.

It was the densest rainforest in Madagascar for which we had these old French colonial maps. We needed a permit to go there but we couldn't find anyone to give us a permit. Finally we got a lift with some people, and they spread the word.

You're known as a specialist on Madagascar and have been awarded the equivalent of the OBE from Madagascar. What was it about Madagascar that first attracted you there and what is it that keeps taking you back there?

When we got near to the trailhead a little man wearing sandals and carrying a briefcase showed up. He was completely unprepared for any sort of trek. He introduced himself as an official of the forest and said he’d guide us, though he

So much of life comes down to a particular experience, a couple of hours can change your life. When I lived in Cape

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Hilary Bradt leaving the presidential palace under a guard of honour, after receiving Madagascar’s equivalent of the OBE in 2018.

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On the trail in Marojejy. This is the rainforest where Hilary Bradt and her then husband George, were lost and ate insects. She went back in 2008 to experience it as a new national park and stay in proper camps. As she says “very different – but the terrain is the same!”

hadn't actually been there before.

Unfortunately, there had been a cyclone the previous month.

There were lots and lots of fallen trees and by the time we got round and under a tree we’d lost the trail and couldn’t find it again. We would have gone back but the man persevered (it takes a lot of courage to turn back out and give up a dream) with trying to find the trail and we got totally lost. We were trying to follow the river, but it was between very steep banks, so we were climbing up these very, very steep riverbanks with our heavy packs and we were covered in leeches.

We’d thought it would be a two day trek and had food for ourselves for two days. Our man

Hilary Bradt enjoying an encounter with a snake.

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A giraffe necked weevil - Madagascar

hadn’t brought any food, so we had to share with him. After two days we’d ran out food apart from about four raisins and a cup of tea. It was really very dramatic. Later the man got very excited. He’d collected these insects, which were leaf suckers, about an inch long, quite plump and he said very good to eat.

point when I didn't care if I lived or died, so I skipped across those logs terribly easily - when you don’t care if you fall, you don’t fall.

After four days we ended up in a village all sweaty, covered in leeches and really in a pretty bad state. The village treated us beautifully. They cooked us this wonderful meal, including what I thought were roast peanuts, so I gobbled them up, but they were in fact roasted insects and they killed a chicken for us. Our man was the hero. He was telling our story with I’m sure huge embellishments. We could see him surrounded by admiring villagers. Later they led us to the best place for a sleep and then guided us back to the road - it was dead easy.

Without food, your energy is sapped. We were climbing these really steep hills without breakfast – and I remember looking at the hill and just you know thinking ‘I can't do this’ but of course you have to do it.

This was a rainforest and rain fell out of the sky in great quantities. We were also following a river. So we had plenty of water and weren’t going to die of thirst. At times we had to cross the river. When it came to wading it, initially we were, “no, we can't do that we might get our boots wet.” Later the boots just didn’t come into our minds. Other times we crossed on fallen logs. Normally that would terrify me, we were so tired and worried though, you just do it. It got to a

Still we loved Madagascar. In the late 1970’s I’d started tour leading in Peru for an American company, because I knew Peru pretty well. Once I'd done a few Peru trips, I suggested they added Madagascar to their trips, and they did. So I started leading trips to Madagascar and I've gone back again and again.

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In your guidebooks do you ever deliberately choose to omit a place that you’ve been, because it is so precious, you fear publicising it will destroy it?

many fences, where there's a more open culture where horses are used regularly.

Regarding kit, I found my system of one horse and saddlebags was absolutely fantastic. I still have the saddle bags.

Yes. There's a village that we visited in Madagascar that had never, well, very seldom been visited by tourists. It was so wonderful, and the people were so fresh, they weren't begging, they weren't trying to get stuff from us, they were just curious. And it's a place I never described how to get there or anything about it, because just one careless person handing out sweets or pens and all the things tourists do without thinking, would have changed that village forever.

One last question, please. What did you think when the Berlin Wall fell in 1989?

I don't remember having any important thoughts, though I was watching avidly, just like everyone else. It was exciting, but it didn't have a major impact on my travel plans or anything like that. But soon after we published one of our best sellers, a guide to East Germany, which people could now finally visit and really explore.

Returning to your book A Connemara journey, what advice would you have for somebody who like you loves and can ride horses, and whose dream it is to do a long distance trek on horseback?

So in retrospect, the fall of the Berlin Wall was extremely important to us because beforehand we had one guide to Yugoslavia and afterwards we had 5 guides to the new countries. Then we did guides to the ‘Stans.’ From that one political upheaval it’s given us perhaps 10 new guides, in that respect, it was very good.

Of course, I would say do it. It's difficult, but it is easier nowadays as there are proper bridle paths. I could easily have done it in Britain, but it would have been a bit tame. Ireland was much more - in those days - a third world country, much less developed, the maps were terrible.

That was one of the reasons I found it quite difficult finding off road bridle paths, but that was part of the adventure. But go somewhere where there's not too

I think that is a very valuable answer, because it shows the importance of seizing opportunities.

Yes, I am good at seizing the moment.

About Hilary Bradt In 2008, Hilary was awarded an MBE for services to the tourist industry and to charity, and the following year received the Lifetime Achievement Award from the British Guild of Travel Writers. She’s been granted the high honour of Officier de l’Ordre de Madagascar – the Malagasy equivalent of an OBE – in recognition of four decades’ pioneering promotion of the country’s tourism potential.

You can follow Hilary Bradt on her website https://hilarybradt.com

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This page: Baobabs, Madagascar Overleaf: Madagascar 2016 with schoolchildren and with a lemur

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What A Woman Award Feature As regular readers will know, for a while now in each issue we present a ‘What A Woman’ award. This award isn’t generally for someone featured elsewhere in the magazine. It’s for someone we think deserves it.

For her contribution to empowering, educating, and entertaining adventurers over what is now almost 5 decades, Hilary Bradt is undoubtedly worthy of this issue’s ‘What A Woman Award’.

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Books Reviews A Connemara Journey

By Hilary Bradt A non-horsey friend who knows our editor is horse mad, told her about a talk Hilary Bradt was giving on the time she rode over a thousand miles in Ireland. Our editor signed up and bought the book too. After the talk she approached Hilary Bradt for an interview. So what did our editor think of the book?

truly understand the depth of such a bond. That’s what makes this book special, it’s not just Hilary Bradt travelling, it is her relationship with the ponies.

If you want to travel through a rural area interspersed by hamlets, villages, and the occasional market town, then this book will give you a wealth of information.

If you feel like you’ve had some tough times whilst travelling, or if you feel like you’ve been lonely, then again, this book is one you will relate to.

If you want to read about characters galore met during a journey, then this book is a must.

Set in the Republic of Ireland during the 80’s, this book takes us back to a time unimaginable by many now. Pre internet, pre mobile phone, even in some of the more rural homes pre telephone.

The book is also an ode to the friendship between humans and animals. A bond so special, only those of us fortunate enough to have an animal in our care, can

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Roam Alone –

By Various Authors Ok admission time and in the interests of transparency we were given this book, but like a few other books we’ve reviewed, we haven’t been paid to review it, nor do we promise a complimentary review. There transparency over, now for the interesting bit.

This book is aimed to inspire people to travel, and we certainly think it achieves that goal.

An anthology, it examines issues that stop people from travelling including taking the first step, facing the fear and safety in numbers. It also shares stories about travel with a purpose and other issues.

Is it the same as Adventure She magazine?

Gosh no. We think it makes a great companion to Adventure She, that together they really help inspire people to get out there and go travelling. Whilst Adventure She has so far focused on women, this book also shares the stories of men, who struggle with being the person they want to be.

So put it by your bed and read a story before going to bed. Hopefully, it will help you to fall asleep thinking of your next wonderful adventure, for Covid 19 permitting, as the writers in this anthology show so clearly, there’s a whole world out there ready for us to explore.

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Hitchhiking Brazil

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Hitchhiking, some do it, some don’t. When you have a goal of travelling cheaply and of getting to meet as many of the locals as possible, what better way of travelling? Alas whilst many do hitchhike successfully, some encounter horrendous situations. The same goes with accepting hospitality from locals one meets along the way.

Hitchhiking can of course form a SMARTER goal, in that: • It can be a specific as in trying to hitchhike from Belem to the beach, as Alycin Hayes discusses in this article.

• It can be measurable, in that one gets a ride or doesn’t get a ride.

• It can make travelling to a place otherwise too expensive or difficult to visit, achievable.

• It can be realistic in that rides can be obtained and is even common in many places.

• It can be timely, you might have plenty of time to wait for a ride, or perhaps it’s a good time for you to meet and learn more about the locals.

• It can be ethical e.g. if aiming to reduce one’s carbon footprint, it certainly produces less emissions than hiring a car.

But hang on, does hitchhiking meet the ‘relevant’ criteria? Is it relevant for where a person is located and given their gender, dress, local customs, nationality, and local sensitivities?

Hitchhiking might be SMART sometimes, but other times it would be SMARTER to say no thank you? Likewise accepting hospitality from friendly locals?

The problem is, how does one decide who to accept hospitality from and who to politely decline? What is the SMARTest answer?

These are issues Alycin Hayes faced when travelling in Brazil way back in 1977. Of course in those days film for cameras was expensive to buy and to process, so photographs were taken sparingly. So this piece is mostly accompanied by photos sourced from Pixabay.

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E

arly in 1977 my best friend Jan and I flew from Toronto to a city located at the mouth of the Amazon River, Belem.

After landing in this humid, equatorial old Brazilian port we set out to explore its beautiful colonial Portuguese architecture. Running along the dock by the river we found a vast open-air street market that sold all kinds of jungle fruits and Amazonian fish we had never seen before. Also for sale were indigenous handicrafts, a large array of young monkeys, colorful parrots, and other rainforest animals I could not even name.

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There was one adorable, baby squirrel monkey that we could not resist. We impulsively bought it and took it home to our hotel where we soon began to realize owning a monkey was a huge responsibility. After it pooped all over our hotel room the poor creature's charm began to fade. We couldn't possibly travel with this baby monkey so we took it to a local park knowing that someone there would take it in. I still feel woefully guilty for buying it. At the time I didn't understand that its mother had certainly been killed to capture it.

Poor baby.

Belem

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Soon after abandoning our little orphan we left Belem and started hitchhiking south east through the Amazonian rainforest toward the Brazilian coast. We had heard that Janis Joplin had hitchhiked around Brazil so we thought if she could do it, we would too. Why not? We were two foolish, young, 23 year old blonde girls on the road to Rio. It seemed like a great plan.

Our hitchhiking adventure started out well until we were dropped off in the middle of nowhere on a lonely dirt road bordered by dense rainforest on either side with nothing else in sight. For the best

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part of a day we were forced to wait for a ride by the side of this road as we melted in the burning hot sun. Jan sat on her blue suitcase, and I rested against my orange backpack. There was no traffic at all, not a single vehicle. Bored and dusty we wondered if we would be there forever.

Eventually as the sun moved toward the west a big dump truck came along and stopped for us.

We joyfully jumped into the cab of the truck, thankful to finally have a ride.

As we traveled down the dusty dirt road in this old truck I began to smell something really terrible.

Did the truck driver have

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a serious problem with body odor? I turned my head to see what was in the back of his truck and noticed a rifle on the rack above our heads. This was concerning. Why hadn’t we had enough sense to check the truck before we got into it?

Looking further back into the cargo bed of the truck I discovered with horror the source of the terrible smell. The back of this truck was open and full of dead bodies covered with millions of swarming, buzzing tropical flies. Deceased cows, unrecognizable roadkill and who knows what else were behind us, in various stages of decomposition. I

recognized the skeletal remains of a horse. Its unseeing eyes stared directly at me. I had to look away.

The smell soon became overwhelming. I opened my window wider to be able to breathe and not vomit. Thank goodness I had the seat next to the window. Poor Jan was stuck in the middle. We exchanged frightened glances, regretting ever entering this truck of horrors. It roared on as we both stared straight ahead through the dirty windshield trying to figure out a way to exit, without offending our truck driver. He had a rifle! There was nowhere for us to legitimately ask

A forest track

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to get out on this stretch of lonely road because we were still surrounded on both sides by dense rainforest.

Worried that he would angrily shoot us if we asked to get out of his truck without good reason we remained silent. Perhaps his plan was to kill us anyway. I imagined him roughly throwing our murdered bodies into the back of his truck with the rest of the rotting beasts. Our poor families back home would never find out what happened to us.

Terrified we rode along silently for miles, powerless to escape the appalling stench of his disgusting cargo.

Eventually we arrived in a small town. Here our truck driver explained to us that he was an “homen matadouro.” It was his job to pick up dead and dying animals from ranches and roadkill from along the side of the road to be rendered into fat. He had to drop off his load in this town.

He apologized that he could not take us any further. We sighed with relief. This man was not a mass murderer after all,

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but a decent fellow with a ghastly job.

We thanked him for the ride as he let us off at a bus stop in the middle of town. Grateful to still be alive we watched him drive away with his horrendous cargo.

Before we could decide what to do next we were approached by two friendly young Brazilian men. They explained that the next bus would not arrive until the following morning. I asked, “Onde é um hotel barato?”

They replied that there were no hotels in this small town and kindly offered us a room for the night at their house.

Filthy and exhausted, we accepted their kind hospitality, took very long showers to wash off the stench of decomposing animals and went to bed.

It seemed we had not been asleep for long when we heard something above us crawling on the rafters.

Rats! Dozens of rats made their way above our beds threatening at any moment to slip and drop onto us.

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Jan was terrified and began to scream hysterically. I had to slap her face to get her to calm her down. She insisted we leave this rat haven and spend the night instead at the bus stop. I reluctantly agreed.

I didn't like rats either but thought a bed in a house would still be safer and more comfortable than a bus stop on the side of the road. We packed our bags to go only to discover that our new “friends” had locked us in the room! We could not get out. We were trapped inside. Why had they locked us in? Were they going to sell us as white slaves or to a prostitution ring?

At this point I knew we had to try to find a way to leave as soon as possible or who knows what might happen to us.

Desperately looking around I noticed a small window above the dresser. It might be just big enough to enable our escape if we could get it open. I climbed up on the dresser and pulled on the window latch. It was stuck. My heart fell.

I looked down at Jan, “It won’t open.”

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She encouraged me by saying, “Try it again. You can do it.”

Pushing with all my strength it finally moved.

The window flew open.

Overjoyed, I climbed down to get our bags. Jan crawled out first. I passed her our luggage and followed as quickly and quietly as I could. It was just a small drop from the window to the ground, so we made it out safely

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without awakening our dubious hosts. We hurried away as quickly and as silently as possible.

The rest of the night we slept on a cold concrete bench at the bus stop. At dawn, a bus arrived, and we climbed into it without even asking where it was headed. All we wanted to do was escape that town before the men who had locked us in discovered we were

gone. Luckily our sanctuary bus was heading south east toward the beach which was exactly where we wanted to go.

From the safety of our bus we decided that even if Janis Joplin had hitchhiked around Brazil we had experienced enough Brazilian hitchhiking; for the time being at least.

About Alycin Hayes Alycin Hayes is a writer of prose and poetry, an actress, filmmaker, and songwriter originally from Canada who has spent much of her life adventuring all over the world.

She is the author of the new release best seller Amazon Hitchhiker: A Woman’s Adventures from Canada to Brazil and the award-winning children's book Milo and the Mustang. You hope to bring you more about Alycin and her journey from Canada to Brazil in our next issue.

You can follow Alycin Hayes on the following social media channels: Website:

https://www.echohillproductions.com

Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/alycin.hayes

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/alycinhayes.adventurer/ Twitter:

https://twitter.com/AlycinHayes

The Amazon Jungle

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Scrambling on Skye

By Kate Lewis Photographs by Kate Lewis and John Briggs

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Kate Lewis first saw the Cuillin in the late 1980’s when a 21 year old hitchhiker. She and the friend she was travelling with, were advised by an experienced climber who they knew and trusted, not to venture onto the Cuillin Ridge without a local guide, as the weather there can turn nasty very quickly and because compasses don't work because of the natural magnetism of the rock.

In August 2021, already in Scotland to help a friend move and to take part in a coastal rowing expedition, with a few extra days of leave to play with, Kate took the opportunity to return to the Cuillin.

We at Adventure She like Kate’s style - three big accomplishments for one big motorway journey - that is value for miles travelled.

Saw the Cuillin first aged 65

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The Guide

The weather

I booked myself a 1-1 guide for the Cuillin. I googled and came up with West Coast Mountain Guides who offered a 2 day traverse of the Cuillin ridge, bivvying on top midway.. I decided not to plunge into that as it had been a while since I had used my mountain muscles and the traverse is notoriously physically demanding.

I was extremely lucky to be blessed with fabulous weather for my three days up in the mountains - the clouds lifted exactly as I started on day one, and only closed in again on my final day. A lot of people who go there climbing and scrambling never actually get to see the whole range from a distance, and never get to enjoy the stupendous views from the top.

Instead I arranged three separate day hikes.

My guide, John Briggs, told me he’d traversed the ridge in one day as soon as he'd arrived for the season! He was phenomenally fit, having grown up fell running in his youth and spent years all over the world leading expeditions.

He was wonderfully patient and skilled at judging my ability and fostered a real sense of trust.

Day 1 - Newly roped up

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About the Cuillin mountain range The Cuillin mountain range is located on the Isle of Skye, part of Scotland’s Inner Hebrides. It’s divided into two - the black and red. The black ridge contains 11 Munros and 16 other summits.

The black Cuillin are the dramatic mountains produced as a result of a huge volcano 60,000,000 years ago. Rough gabbro rock is good for wet weather grip and scrambling hand holds but you do end up nursing bleeding fingers.

Day 1 – Getting closer to the top of Pinnacle Ridge. Getting to this point involved a lot of scrambling and abseiling as you go over, not around the pinnacles

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Day 1 Pinnacle ridge and Sgurr nan Gillean which tops out at 966m.

I think we tackled 4 pinnacles en route to Sgurr nan Gillean. It was a climbing and scrambling paradise.

For some reason my helmet and rucksack seemed to stop me tilting my head up properly when I looked up for handholds, but I wouldn’t have been without the helmet, as I knocked my head on overhanging rock almost straightaway.

I don't know the technical terms for this, but basically for the abseils, my guide looped a rope around a really safe and sturdy rock that he knew was very safe and secure. After we descended, he released the loop from the bottom and then pulled the rope through.

With the ridge, instead of going around the pinnacles you climb up a pinnacle and then abseil down the far side, before proceeding to the next one. So by the time we got to the top, we’d already done about four abseils on our way up!

On the way back down to the Sligachan Inn we stripped off and sat grinning in the rockpools. It was June after all. Bliss.

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Day 1

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Day 2 Bla Bheinn ,928m, Clach Glas, Garbh Bheinn,978m View across Loch Scavaig and across to Rumm Eigg Soay Kilmory.

Instead of going onto the Cuillin ridge we went across the way. It was still the same sort of rock and was a fantastic walk, because whilst not part of the traverse, you can see the entire traverse from it.

This day took us about 8-9 hours. It was quite hot, the views were fabulous, we met one other chap, running the whole way! My legs were trembly from day one's exertion, after using my climbing / hiking muscles for much longer than usual. Because of my fatigue I chose to be roped earlier than I would normally expect to be roped up. I ran out of water, and the tourist route (scree) down was hard work. I was glad to reach a mountain spring for fresh water.

Day 2 – This was after being our for about one and a half to two hours.

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Day 2

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Day 3 Secret location

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Day 3 Secret location.

These days I’m a rower (of Cornish gigs) not a regular hiker and scrambler.

By now my hiking, scrambling, and climbing muscles were knackered. It was a Saturday, and we knew the more famous routes would be really busy, so we chose a different adventure, one the guides know and take their clients too, but which isn’t full of people wanting to bag ‘that’ photograph purely for the sake of social media.

First thing the clear skies of the past two days were no more. It was a drizzly day, slightly slippery and unnerving, quite a difficult scramble, it wasn’t easy to get up. At our lunch spot we were really rewarded as the clouds suddenly lifted to reveal the mainland mountains on the horizon. We’d timed it perfectly. But that wasn’t an accident, my guide had studied the weather forecast before we’d set off.

At the very top it was just like a pile of rocks. Then he said “you have to abseil off that.” That was absolutely terrifying. It was misty and cloudy, and you could not get your bearings or see anything apart from an abyss.

Later on when we were talking he said “I noticed you went quiet, and you were very focused at that point”. I had been so scared. When I got to the bottom of the descent I stood there waiting for him to follow me. First though he needed to prepare the rope so he could pull it through after he’d descended. I took this photograph of the knot whilst waiting for him. I suppose taking the photograph was a display of security and a show of faith in my guide, because I had put my 100% trust in him. He was just fantastic.

Reflections Would I do it again?

I’d love to. I would need to do lots of squats to build up my leg muscles and probably do some long rows on my erg over the winter to improve my endurance, before considering the ridge traverse.

To expect another weather window like the one I had would be asking a lot. only a couple of weeks before they'd have hailstones and stuff. pretty grim.

I really felt like someone was looking down lovingly on me and playing the strings in my favour last June.

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Day 3

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SAFE SWIMMING

BY PENNY HARRIS Like many others, we were saddened recently when four paddle boarders lost their life only a few miles from where we are based. Penny Harris (no relation to our editor Jane Harries) has been doing her bit on social media to encourage people to be water aware. She’s very kindly agreed to share some of her views with all of us.

Hopefully after reading Penny’s views we will all be encouraged to become more water aware and to better educate ourselves about the places and the conditions in which we go adventuring, so that our adventurers can be safe as well as enjoyable.

Open water swimming. Wild swimming. Call it what you like, but swimming in natural waters, be that rivers, lakes or the sea, has grown massively over the last few years.

People extol the benefits to their physical and mental health and the

ease of getting into a body of water and going for a swim. I get it. I have swum in open water for many years and love sea swimming for 12 months of the year in a just a swimming costume, adding neoprene gloves and boots when the

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water gets really cold. But I have also taken the time to learn and understand the potential dangers of the watery environment. And as we head into winter it is even more important to arm yourself with the basic knowledge you need to keep yourself safe..

I am going to talk mostly about sea swimming as that is the environment where I spend a large part of my time, either in it or on it! I can also only cover the basics. I would have to write a small book to cover it all.

So, where can you start?

Plan

I know some people will read this and mutter “here we go again, doom monger alert.” But please keep an open mind. I am approaching this wearing three different hats. I am an open water swimmer. I am a triathlon coach who introduces athletes to sea swimming. I am casualty care trained lifeboat crew and I know what it is like when things go wrong.

Plan your swim. Where are you going? Who with? It is far safer to swim with someone so you can buddy up. Is my kit ready to pack?

Have I checked the weather? Have I checked the tides? Have I checked for any pollution alerts? Have I got a hot drink and a flask?

Have I got warm layers to put on afterwards?

Have I got a charged phone with a waterproof pouch? Is voice control set up on the phone?

Time to think. Whilst for some these conditions might be ok to swim in, for others, they won’t be. Why not take some open water swimming lessons to learn more about what conditions are good for you to swim in.

Tides I don’t just mean what time is high or low tide. I also mean how many hours before or after high tide is it? What phase of tide is it?

Spring tides move a lot more water between high and low tides than a neap tide will. And exceptional tides even more so. This means the water will have a stronger flow between high and low tide and will come in and out a lot faster. Look up The Rule of Twelfths. The sea does not go out for 6 hours and in for 6 hours at the same speed every hour. It speeds up and slows down as it goes. The third and fourth hour after each extreme of the tide are when the water will be moving in and out at its fastest.

Photo courtesy of Penny Harris

Weather I have 6 different apps on my phone! My husband thinks it is hilarious. The two I rely on the most are The Met Office and Windy.

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Windy takes time to learn but it so useful when you do. You can overlay a visual forecast of the wind and swell that uses arrows and colours to show you the wind and swell direction at a glance. This will give you a quick idea as to whether it is worth even thinking about heading out for a swim. If the wind speeds are on an orange background then be very cautious, red background then leave it for another day. If there is a weather warning for wind, leave it for another day!

Waves Big waves will knock you over. That can lead to injury or ingesting sea water by accident.

Large waves will often have a strong undertow as well, which can take your feet out from underneath you and pull you out with it. If the waves are large and close together you won’t have time to recover and get your breath back before the next wave hits you. If the surf is 4 feet or more, walk away. 2 – 3 feet be careful.

Wrapping up warm after a swim.

Photo courtesy of Penny Harris

cajoled or carried away by a group or challenge chatter of “oh we will be ok.” This group pressure can be fatal.

Rips Rips are currents that will pull you away from the beach and further out into the sea. They can be spotted as an area that is calmer in breaking waves. If you find yourself getting pulled out in one, do not panic and do not try and swim against it. You won’t be able to.

Swim parallel to the shore. The Rips will eventually lose it power, but it could be a few 100 metres from the shore.

If everything is good, then go and have a dip.

Cold water shock Don’t go hurtling into the water at top speed, especially this time of year.

Water only needs to be 15c or under to induce cold water shock which is the biggest killer in cold water immersion. You can’t prevent it; it is a basic physiological response.

You will gasp and your breathing rate will shoot up. It only takes 1.5 litres of salt water to be fatal. One gasp will take in over 2 litres of salt water.

Sit and watch So you have arrived. Don’t just run in. Sit and watch. What are the waves doing? Is it rougher than expected? Can I see and strange water movement such as RIPS? Is there any debris obvious in the water? What are my entry and exit points? Do I feel comfortable with the conditions? Do not be

Walk in slowly. Splash some water gently on your arms, face, and the back of your neck. If you have run in too fast, jumped in or even fallen in, float on your back. Don’t panic. It 81

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It takes around 30 minutes for hypothermia to set in. Hopefully, you will be out of the water well before this. The signs are subtly different to cold water shock. One sign is confusion. Not quite making sense or answering questions with strange replies.

Feeling toasty warm then hot. Shivers turning into spasms. Limbs starting to contract into a foetal position. Any of these signs get yourself or the person you are with out of the water and call 999. The next step will be losing consciousness. Get any wet swimming costume off and wrap them up in all the warm clothing you have got, making sure it wraps all around them, so they are not losing any more heat through the ground.

A regular open water swimmer who swims year round - provided the sea and wind conditions allow - managing her entry to reduce the risk of cold water shock.

Photo courtesy of Jane Harries

will take 5 minutes for you to be able to control your breathing. Float on your back until you have that control.

Once in the water, keep monitoring yourself and anyone you are with for the signs of getting too cold. Cold water incapacitation is the thing you are likely to see. Swimming will slow down as the limbs get slow and heavy, and coordination gets a little off. You are shivering. Fingers will start to lose some dexterity. This is time to get out if still in the water. Get wet kit off, layers on, warm up, have a warm drink and a snack.

After drop Anyone that has swum in cold water will know about this. You are out of the water, dressed in your layers and you start shivering. You feel even colder than you did when you were in the water. Well guess

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what…..you are! You can lose up to 4.5c with after drop. It is NOT due to blood coming back into the circulation from cold limbs as they warm. It is due to the cold skin and muscles still being cold continuing to cool your core. It can last up 40 minutes. So be prepared for it. If you are shivering violently do NOT try to drive a car. Sit in the warm, sip your warm drink and wait for it to stop.

extremely difficult to spot in the water in daylight. At night it is virtually impossible.

Post swim warming up Water conducts heat away from the body so get that wet swimming kit off asap. Woolly hat on, cossie off.

Dry yourself off, patting is better than rubbing especially if cold. Dress your top half first! This is the large surface area underneath which you are still cooling.

Night swimming I don’t recommend it unless it is an organised swim with safety kayaks or paddle boards, insurance, a confined area to swim in that has some lighting, lit tow floats as a minimum and everyone is counted out and in. Group pressure and random online challenges are a big one for getting people swimming in the dark and forgetting all common sense. If anything goes wrong you are invisible. You cannot see any debris in the water, any changes in the water’s normal movement, anyone that has sunk or drifted off. Drowning tends to be silent, so you won’t know there are missing until you all get back to your cars.

Put on plenty of warm layers. These will warm you better than a couple of thick ones.

Each layer will trap body heat and add an extra layer of insulation.

Stand on a changing mat, towel, a tub with a bit of warm water tipped into it. Even a square of carpet. This gets your feet off the ground which will be happily sucking warmth out of your feet.

A nice warm drink and a snack. Start warming gently from the inside. If you feel fine, walk around, and generate some heat.

If you insist on a night swim you need to be doubly sensible. A spot you know inside out and have checked before it goes dark.

Beaches are not static environments. A couple of stormy days alters the topography of a beach and how the water moves over it.

Make sure you have had a good long look before the light goes. Only swim if the conditions are flat calm. Make sure you swim as a pair. Both with tow floats with safety lights on them and a light attached to you. A red light will let you see but not destroy your night vision. You can get waterproof divers headtorches that are not expensive. Carry a mobile phone in a waterproof case, voice control set up and fully charged. And a whistle. Wear a bright swimming hat that will catch the eye of anyone having to search with a spotlight or torch. A swimmer is

DO not drive until you have stopped shivering. If needed sit in your car with the heating on gently until the shivering has stopped.

Do NOT go into a hot shower or a bath. You may faint as you suddenly dilate all the blood vessels that were protecting your organs from the cold. This will drop your blood pressure.

Open water swimming can feel amazing and have huge benefits. But please don’t forget that water doesn’t care who you are, what challenge you are doing, how many of you have talked each other into going in for a swim. Water will always win if it decides it doesn’t want company that day. Enjoy, but always respect the water.

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More resources on doing open water swimming safely The Royal National Lifeboat Institute (RNLI) has a great website containing a lot of information about safe swimming. https://rnli.org/safety/choose-youractivity/open-water-swimming Wherever you are in the world, why not take a look? Please also look at information relevant to your country. Whilst the deadly box jelly fish off the coast of Cairns, Australia may not be applicable to the waters of Wales, each country and each area has its own danger, whether from rips, or currents, or tides, or marine life or even waste floating around below eye level. So let’s educate ourselves in general about safe swimming and also, educate ourselves about the local conditions.

About Penny Harris Penny Harris is a triathlon coach with the British Triathlon Level 2 Diploma qualification.

Penny Harris got what she describes as “properly” into open water swimming in 2006. She’d entered a triathlon and needed to be able to do the swim in deep open water, something she says is “always a good motivation”.

Since then she has swum a lot in lakes and the sea, sometimes in a wetsuit, sometimes in just a swimming costume. She swims through the winter in a swimming costume but adds neoprene boots and gloves when it gets really cold.

How to follow Penny Harris on social media Twitter:

@nellieh64

Facebook:

@octopussportscoaching

Please note, whilst Penny’s Facebook coaching account has she says been quiet this past 12 months, Penny hopes to upload content more regularly from early 2022. So it can be one to watch.

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Night Time Swimming In August 2017, our editor took part in an organized night swim.

Every participant had to pre-register, plus report and sign in prior to their swim. In addition each swimmer had to use an illuminous glow wrist band plus a glow stick. Numerous illuminous inflatables and lights were placed in strategic parts of the lake.

There were also several well lit up safety kayakers. Rather than swim anywhere a person wanted to, swimmers had to stick to a certain marked course.

Our editor found placing her head in the water to be really disorientating, a very different feel to swimming during daylight. It took her some time to settle down and that was thanks to the support of a safety kayaker. Our editor might be a slow swimmer, but she is an experienced swimmer. She couldn’t believe how swimming in the dark was so different and played on her senses.

At the end of the session every swimmer had to sign out.

It was an amazing experience. Our editor’s glad she did it. However, after seeing how disorientated she felt, she has no intention of doing any more night swimming, unless perhaps at an equally well organized event with experienced safety personnel in attendance.

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Goal Setting and the Marathon des Sables A Personal Journey By Jane Harries

In this personal essay our editor explores pursuing her goal of doing one of the most legendary ultra races in the world, the Marathon des Sables. This article focuses on the importance of SMARTER goal setting in helping one achieve one’s goal of making it to the start line. We hope to bring you a follow up article about the race itself in another issue.

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The Sahara Desert, Morocco, Photo courtesy of Pixabay

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I

n 2008 the oncologist shuffled his papers, looked up and uttered the words that changed my life — “the mammogram is clear but the MRI shows a lump”.

SMARTER goals. Had the anacronym SMARTER goals even been ‘invented’ then?

Regardless about management speak, I’m sure a lot of you wouldn’t do have done what I did, you wouldn’t have simply parked your goal at the back of your brain, would you?

I am lucky, because they found my lump before it had a chance to turn nasty.

Fast forward to 2006, when I next heard of the MDS. This time it was thanks to a documentary which told the story of how an Italian Olympic pentathlete almost died when he got lost during one of those frightening, furious, ferocious sandstorms that whip up across the Sahara.

I am lucky, because when I developed postsurgical complications, a team of specialists collaborated to heal me.

I am lucky, because I know the magic of having a second chance to attain unfulfilled dreams.

Fear and doubt crept in. Was MDS too tough for me? Was it achievable? Was it realistic?

I am going to share with you the story of one of my dreams, the Marathon des Sables (MDS) and the role my illness played as I pursued that dream.

When faced with a challenge, what steps would you take so that instead of giving up on a goal, you work at it and thereby get closer to achieving and eventually attaining your goal?

In November 2001 I moved to Melbourne, Australia. Knowing almost no-one, I threw myself into everything that interested me. In those days I was a rather fit adventure racer, kayaker and avid hiker unsurprisingly I sought out the adventure scene. Soon afterwards a chance encounter with an ultrarunner led to my learning about the MDS. He described it as:

For when we embrace a challenge, perhaps by reading a book, attending a course or talking to our boss, we develop as a person.

Instead of a solid wall blocking our path, the obstacle becomes a hurdle we can step over.

What did I do? Nothing. I let fear, doubt, and a lack of confidence to move the MDS from goal to fantasy.

250km in the blistering burning baking heat of the Sahara Desert. 250km over sand dunes, across rocky plains and up dried riverbeds. 250km of thirst, hunger and (most likely) humongous blisters.

Fast forward again, this time to 2009. Guess what was coming to Melbourne? A talk and book launch about the Marathon des Sables.

Was this race stalking me?

I was mesmerised. Slight problem, I didn’t have enough annual leave.

In the previous year, the MRI had picked up that lump I mentioned. I’d been operated on, developed complications, spent a month in hospital, had undergone seven general anaesthetics and thanks to those complications, had been on a cocktail of powerful prescription pills some of which were so potent, not even my surgeons that the authority to prescribe them, they needed special authorisation available only from a

What would you have done in that scenario?

Perhaps diarised it for next year, written to the organisers asking for more information, or asked your employer for unpaid leave so you could go to the Sahara right away?

I wasn’t that organised. I parked the idea somewhere at the back of my brain and promptly forgot about it. You see, at the time I had no idea about SMART goals, let alone 92

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select group of specialists, like the infectious diseases specialist assigned to my case.

To conclude, I have some good news.

I am lucky, for after two more operations I felt different. It’s as if the surgeons finally managed to remove the last atom of poison from my body.

Now that my body was in no fit state to do adventure races, ultras or charity hikes I really wanted to do the MDS. Finally in 2010 I contacted the race organisers and joined the waiting list for the race.

I am lucky, for whilst rebuilding my broken body took time I have now substantially rebuilt it.

Months later an email landed in my Inbox offering me a place the following April. Only I’d needed more surgery and was now up to eleven general anaesthetics. Surprise, surprise — my weakened, drained, exhausted body was spent.. The MDS was no longer timely, and it definitely wasn’t realistic.

I am lucky, for thanks to the power of illness I reclaimed my goal. For without at the time realising what I was doing, I eventually did apply the SMARTER principles to the MDS, and finally in April 2017 after two years of training, I lined up at the start line. So I did eventually get to hike that scorching, sizzling, searing Sahara Desert, all the way to the finish line.

What would have been achievable for me in 2002 or 2006, or any time prior to my initial surgery in 2008, had passed into the realms of fantasy. Yes, thanks to procrastination, fear, and doubt — I had let all hope of my doing the MDS to float away.

When you drift off to sleep tonight, I urge you think about your own goals. Whatever you do, please do not be a Jane and wait until a bout of ill health makes you realise the importance of working towards your goals.

So go on, take that first step and the second and the third. Take all the steps you need to take, to go on and attain your goals.

Please do not let procrastination, fear and doubt kill your goals. Instead, whether personal, family or business related, use the SMARTER tool to help yourself achieve your goals.

The author - our editor - enroute to achieving her 15 year goal during the 2017 Marathon des Sables

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Harriet’s Top Ten Navigation Tips

By Harriet MacMillan

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If one of your goals for 2022 and beyond involves exploring the great outdoors more, particularly if you haven’t already done a lot of map work, we think you’ll find Harriet MacMillan’s tips on navigation to be of great value. Remember, if you get lost, wherever you are, whatever you do, stay calm, don’t panic, and think back to this article and Harriet’s tips.

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1. Check the weather Check the mountain weather forecast and make sure you are looking at the area you are going to and importantly the height you are going up to (it is usually windier the higher you go). This means you can plan and prepare to take out the right kit, equipment, and amount of food with you.

2. Plan your route A very useful tool is to plan your route before you go. This allows you to be prepared for what’s coming up and allows you to think about what decision you might have to make before you get there.

3. Have a look Look at your surroundings first.

Move around, look, be curious about what you can see. Is there a road? A big building? A river or lake that you’d be able to notice. Use 2 to 3 features at every decision point.

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4. Orientate your map Move your map around to make sure it matches up with the land and features around you. For example, you can do this as soon as you get out of the car and use the road or river or small hills to match the map to the ground.

5. A story For each section of your navigation journey, break it down and make it into a little story so it's in manageable sections, i.e. I will keep a river on my left until the path crosses it, or, I will pass 3 footpaths on my right and then a house on my left.

6. Have another look before you look at the map At every point that you need to make a decision about where to go and do number 3, again. You need two to three bits of information to confirm where you are. If you use only one piece of information you may find yourself in a confirmation bias situation, where you confirm where you think you are (based on one piece of information and an assumption) rather than challenging yourself to come to an informed and logical conclusion.

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7. Give yourself time Take into account that it takes more time to navigate and process information when you’re out. So if you are going out with the sole intention of practicing your navigation, consider planning a shorter route in order to allow yourself enough time

8. Contours Remember that when the contours are closer together that means that the land is steeper up or down hill.

This means that it will be slower going up and for a lot of people, it means that it can be equally as slow going downhill.

9. Patience please Be patient with yourself. Do not expect yourself to come to the answer or conclusion straight away. Navigation is a complex topic with lots of information to understand. Even when you are experienced and have navigated a lot, we are all human and it takes time to process. Coach yourself through it, like you’re talking or to another person, with kindness and patience.

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Image courtesy of Pixabay

10. Basic needs Fulfil your basic needs, make sure you are fuelling yourself correctly, and are warm enough. Prevention rather than cure, always. So take an extra snack (they don’t weigh much) and shove an extra jacket in your bag. Better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it. .

About Harriet MacMillan Harriet MacMillan is a mountain leader in the UK’s Lake District. She has worked in the outdoors for over 15 years and as part of an effort to increase female participation in the great outdoors, runs women led navigation and mountain skills courses.

You can follow Harriet MacMillan on the following social media channels: Website:

www.navigationwithharriet.co.uk

Instagram: www.instagram.com/navigationwithharriet Facebook:

www.facebook.com/navigationwithharrietm

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Romania After Ceaușescu By Kirsten Hamilton-Sturdy

How do we evolve from being an unemployed recent graduate, to a published writer whose visited over 70 countries? In this article Kirsten Hamilton- Sturdy revisits her first steps into achieving a goal of visiting very different lands, for almost three decades ago, rather than a being a member of the European Union, Romania had only recently emerged from behind the iron curtain which had divided Europe into east and west.

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t was 1994 and I was an unemployed recent graduate. But an advert I saw in the university newspaper, seeking volunteer teaching assistants in Romania, was about to change all that. It wasn’t simply the chance to volunteer, or to be a teaching assistant, it was everything, especially Romania.

When I was 13 there was an announcement about a school trip to Romania, unusual, in that it was behind the Iron curtain.

It was the only trip I ever signed up for. Alas the trip never happened as only seven pupils signed up. I was crushed but kept a little glimmer of hope that one day I'd still get to explore Dracula’s homeland.

A few years later, Christmas Day 1989 to be precise, I saw the bodies of Nicolae Ceaușescu and his wife Elena - still wearing their hats and coats - slumped against the wall. I wasn’t actually there; it was on the news. Romania’s long term president and dictator, and his wife had been executed by firing squad after a very hasty trial. It was apparently

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Elena's wish to 'go together', as they were supposed to be shot separately. Romania’s tumultuous revolution reawakened my dream to visit Romania.

going. Only some of us weren’t on that list, so they gave us the option of Bucharest or Dracula’s homeland, Transylvania.

Who wouldn't want to go to Transylvania?

That advert for volunteer teaching assistants, was my chance not just to see Romania, but to live in Romania, to really experience what was going on at this monumental time, as Romania was still very much a land in transition, after its emergence from decades of tyrannical rule.

That night ten of us boarded a train for our new life far away from the capital of Bucharest.

As the huge 1940’s style train reached a station, a loud rousing song announced our arrival.

Three times during that long dark one of our group disembarked. As a lantern carrying station guard dressed in a long coat walked along the platform and blew his whistle, we called out “good luck” to our fellow volunteers. They were off to find their postings.

The rest of us still had the remainder of the night ahead of us.

A few weeks later, ten of us volunteer teaching assistants from the UK sat in Bucharest airport waiting for someone from a company called Teaching Abroad (TA).

We sat and we waited.

We had no choice, as we had no local contact details, and that's the kind of thing one did before the internet or mobile phones, sit, and wait. About three hours later Catalin, our TA agent, and another man turned up to meet a later flight 'full' of volunteers and were surprised to see us. They had a list of names detailing where each volunteer was

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Grey drizzle met us when we arrived in Deva, the capital of Hunedoara County in historic Transylvania. Host families collected the others, whilst the local agent Maria, plus Catalin, took me by taxi, past factories billowing orange smoke and parks with huge metal pipes winding around them, to my host,

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who lived on the far side of town amidst all the tower blocks. As we climbed the stairs to the 6th floor of the tower block, a block without a working elevator (it didn't work in the entire time I lived there), the smell of cabbage got stronger and stronger.

My host mother, Oti, was so excited to see me. She was actually called Otilia, but everyone called her Oti, pronounced Oh-tee.

We all drank coffee and she kept telling me how wonderful I was, so that was a good start. I had a quick tour around the flat. It seemed quite big with two bedrooms and a

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large living room. There was one small problem with all but the beautifully carved front door. Oti explained her apartment was so dark, she’d asked a carpenter to cut out panels from l the doors and to replace those missing panels with glass, making the flat lighter. Only the carpenter had duly cut the panels out, taken the money and not returned.

The first night I closed my bedroom door only for Oti to step through it the next morning with my tea. No point closing it really. Luckily, the bathroom door only had a small hole in it, so at

least there I managed to have some privacy by hanging a small towel to cover the hole.

They say Deva got its name from the ancient Dacian language, dava which means fortress. In town there’s a hill some believe to be an extinct volcano, on top of which is a citadel built around the 13th century which can be seen from almost everywhere. From a distance though, like from my end of town, it looked like a grey crumpled crown.

Deva’s town hall as viewed from the citadel

View from the kitchen

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A lot of people who were ethnically Hungarian lived in Deva. One of Oti's best friends and neighbours, Rosie, was from Hungarian descent and spoke a type of Hungarian dialect. I eventually learned that until 1918 Transylvania had been Hungarian.

During Soviet times, the Hungarian houses in Deva had been razed to the ground and the people put into tower blocks, like the one where Rosie and Oti lived.

Within two days I discovered I wasn't to be the teaching assistant,

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but the teacher.

This led to a small panic on my part, as I’d never done any teaching and had only brought a few books. I was supposed to teach in a nursery, but the school wasn't sure the toddlers would cope, so I ended up at School Number Four where two of my new friends were also teaching. We taught every day after the normal school day from 36. I had three different groups

Value of Money Romania’s rate of inflation in the early 90s was about 230%.

That had dropped to approximately 130% by 1994 when I saw there. It levelled out at around 30% during the rest of the 90s, but with a few dramatic rises.

People therefore had to be careful and resourceful with their money. I remember when I visited a friend she wanted to give me a coffee, so rather than buy a whole pot, she bought two teaspoons of coffee from the shop next door.

Whilst people did grumble that in some ways life had become more difficult, the families I met never really complained about the situation. This was the new life, the new way of the world.

On my first night, before boarding the train from Bucharest to Deva, the whole group of us went to Pizza Hut for dinner. Apparently at that time two thirds of Romanians couldn't have afforded to eat there. For the record, the most expensive pizza I saw on the menu was for 3000 lei, which at that time equated to approximately £1.25. It's important to note here that whilst Romania is now part of the European Union, it doesn't use the Euro. Since I was there several zeros have been ‘taken off’ the Lei, as inflation eventually meant people needed thousands of notes to buy everyday items.

Oti and the author at the author’s bedroom door

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with the least knowledge of English.

After the 1989 Revolution divorce was suddenly allowed, accepted, and acted upon. A lot of divorced mothers came to my classes. For them [see boxed text] childcare was not always an option. It was usual then that on top of my 20 pupils in class, there were children sleeping, playing football, or crying. It made for an interesting afternoon.

That first week was difficult and tiring, but through adversity we learn what we are able to do, even if it means improvisation.

Tough times also made for a good excuse to have

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a drink afterwards with my fellow teachers, when we swapped ideas and teaching practices. We met at a bar we called 'The Railings' as it was surrounded by white railings.

We often had to walk around the drunks on the floor on our way to the loo, which was actually a dark room with no light behind a curtain. Pints were 5p and the banana liqueur was something special. The local drink was lethal, palinka, a plum brandy that is totally colourless, but it can take your eyebrows off with one sip. Most people made their own and you could tell a 'good' palinka by the bubbles on the top. Not

sure I could ever tell the difference.

Weeks later Oti told me it was known as a rough bar, but we were locals by then and liked the atmosphere. Besides, we usually sat outside under metal roof whilst the fights mostly happened indoors.

That bar is also where we met some remarkably interesting people. One of the best was the ‘Mad Professor,’ as we named him, I'm not sure I ever knew his name.

The ‘Mad Professor’ was renowned for both his teaching and drinking abilities. Always dressed in his buttoned up cardigan and carrying a soft leather briefcase

Combating the low birth rate The following is a very simplified summary of some of the social policies introduced under Ceaușescu’s government to combat the falling birth rate in Romania.

After Ceaușescu came to power in the mid 1960’s new laws were introduced making it exceedingly difficult for people to divorce.

From 1967 abortion was illegal except in a small number of cases., including (but not only) incest, rape, and a malformed foetus. Contraceptives were next to impossible to locate.

Fines through monthly deductions from wages were imposed on single women over 25 and for married couples who didn’t have children.

From 1977 single men were also subject to these deductions or fines.

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(like a large scale clutch bag) he’d join us in the bar and talk about politics and history. I now wish I'd paid more attention. He also persuaded us to come to his secondary school to teach his classes, saying it was a way for his students to hear all our different accents. It could have been true, or perhaps he didn't want to teach every day.

Whenever I taught his class he'd meet me for a morning coffee beforehand, only his coffee was actually a vodka. I enjoyed teaching a class which didn’t involve wiping wipe snotty noses or helping take a child to the toilet.

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Gifts from students pasted into the author’s notebook

We also met Steven at the Railings bar, a young 17 year old boy who was studying English and knew a shocking amount about English football statistics but not so much about normal conversation. His father saved us a table and supplied us with a constant stream of booze during our evenings with Steven.

Old coins and a paper money changer bag

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The author and the professor outside the bar

When I think back, I realise the reason Steven’s father was spending so much money, was to help his son’s conversational English and this was his way helping his son's future prospects.

University of Deva wrapping paper with its citadel emblem

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There was a lot of that type of feeling in Romania at the time.

Before there were jobs and security but no food.

In fact they were led to believe that Europe was starving, and it was only Romania that had been saving them as lorries loads of wheat and crops left the country for Europe. Hence people

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like Steven's dad doing whatever he could, in the hope that his son might gain some advantage in life.

Whilst Steven’s dad was trying to help his son through education, others were trying to get ahead, or even get by, through hustling. As my friends and I travelled around Romania we were always coming across people hustling, trying to make money, and preferably US dollars.

Long before anyone ever heard of Air BnB, Romanians were sharing not only spare rooms, but their bedroom, and their living room. Most of the places we stayed in were because someone stood outside of a train or bus station offering a room for the night. Usually we slept in either the hosts’ bedroom or the living room. Once when there was a group of us, our elderly host slept on the floor under her kitchen table, whilst we had both the bedroom and the living room. This was their pension fund, their security now. My landlady, Oti, had a 6 year old son, Radu. He used to visit at weekends and have a bath. My

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room was his bedroom. I was never sure if he always lived at his grandmother’s, or if he was staying with his grandmother whilst I stayed at Oti’s.

about rich people.

Beverly Hills was particularly huge and everywhere there were stickers and posters. I often got given them as 'gifts'.

It was these encounters that were so interesting for me. To see how people adapted and perceived the world. How they felt life had changed since the Revolution and what they thought of us.

Most people were sure that a Romanian scientist had invented a cure for AIDS, and I was told that John Major was a priest.

None of them believed us if we tried to change their opinions; they had seen it on the news so it must be so. The old dictatorship whitewash was still within the mindset, especially in the older generations. The younger generation, who had seen friends killed in the Revolution were a bit more curious about the realities of the media. I spent endless nights watching Dallas, Dynasty or Beverly Hills 90210 with Romanian subtitles and I always had to try and convince Oti that people in the UK did not live like that, these were fictional American shows

Romania is known for its Gypsies. According to Oti, there were two types of Gypsies. The type of travelling carpenters that are accepted who go around repairing things and delivering milk. Once we had a huge plastic bowl of fresh milk arrive at our doorstep. Oti would only let me have a tiny sip as she was worried it would make me sick. It was thick and creamy; she put the rest in a huge metal pan and boiled it up. We had some later with semolina.

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The other type of Gypsies, the Roma were not accepted at all. They were considered lazy and thieves and were often spat at on the street.

One day as my shoes were hurting, I walked home from school barefoot. Hours later when Oti came home at about midnight she was incredibly angry with me; she told me never to walk home barefoot again as I was not a gypsy! I wonder who had seen

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me and snitched... there were very few foreigners in town, so I guess most people knew who we were and more importantly where and who we lived with.

One of my favourite nights in Romania was the night I spent in the flat with Oti, Licia (one of Oti's cousins) and her neighbour Rosie, celebrating Deva’s national city night. In honour of Deva they’d

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prepared a particular cabbage dish. The cabbage was boiled over night until it was a thin pale membrane of a former green cabbage leaf. This was then laid flat over the kitchen table and minced pork rolled into it, like little seethrough parcels. These were then boiled for hours before they were laid out on a table decorated with dried flowers in glass domes.

Cakes and home-made

The author at Voronet monastery during her Romanian travels

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biscuits completed the scene. Drinking, watching television and cards games ensued. It was lovely just hanging out with the ladies not really understanding them but being included.

Another night we celebrated Oti's Birthday, I had bought her nail varnish and a book, and the other teachers came round with flowers and chocolates. Soon the dining room table was pushed aside, and the dancing began, the music cranked up. At eleven the police arrived since the neighbours had phoned complaining about the racket going on. They came in and checked Oti's identity card. Once they saw it was her birthday they said, 'Noapte buna, la Multi an!' (Good night, happy birthday) and then left!

10 minutes later Oti's brother and her six year old son turned up and that when the singing started.

In Romania at the time it was said that during the day and until midnight, the police were there to protect and help you, after that then the Army patrolled, and you were

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Bucharest – architecture, fashion, and cars

People walking to work

Little traffic at Bucharest’s Arc de Triumph

An architectural marvel of a house in Bucharest

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on your own. Brought up on mainland UK, the role of the army wasn't something I had ever really considered.

Late one night whilst walking home a light shined into my face. As I looked down my nose I saw the end of a rifle. I squinted; there were two shapes, one with the torch the other with the gun. The army. They demanded to see my ID card or my passport. I hadn't got it, I never carried it in case it got stolen. It so happened that the TA representative Catalin was in Deva, to see how us volunteers were doing.

He was nearby. I called out to him. It seemed like an age before Catalin emerged. The torch was still in my face whilst Catalin explained I was a

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foreign volunteer with no money who lived in the next block and was happy to fetch my passport.

They shrugged and suggested I carry ID in future. But for all the times I walked home, mostly alone, well after midnight, that was the only time I ever came across the army.

There was also talk of the Securitate, this was one of the largest and most brutal secret police groups in Eastern Europe.

After the Revolution this was disbanded but in fact it just changed shape and regrouped under a different name. One of the host families we visited always covered her telephone with a heavy blanket or towel before talking to us about times before the Revolution, because she

Ceaușescu’s Palace in Bucharest in 1994

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believed that they still bugged people.

During the summer months we stopped going to the Railings bar and chose to drink at the Lido hotel as it outside.

Often there were men sat at nearby tables with sunglasses, leather coats and the most ridiculous of moustaches. They were the new secret-notso- secret police. Perhaps they were keeping an eye on us perhaps there weren't.

These memories of mine are special, for they belong to what seems like a different age. An age when my friends and I, dressed in our scruffy clothes, went to the opera in Bucharest for all of 20 pence each. Where and when else would one sit amongst high society, expats, and diplomats at

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the opera for a mere 20 pence? I can’t imagine seeing an opera anywhere for that price now. The banana I ate later than night cost more, at 25 pence.

It wasn’t just the opera though. There was a palpable buzz in Bucharest (which I visited for a few days), with its parks, markets and mixture of French, Ottoman, and Baroque architecture. I could feel the inhabitants’ excited for the future, even if thanks to its past, most of the museums were closed and riddled with bullet holes.

Then of course there was the legacy of Ceaușescu, still visible in more ways than one, including his gigantic palace which still hadn’t been finished.

When construction

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started rows of houses were demolished to allow for a wide strada to lead up to the palace. Only the strada was so wide, the palace ended up looking small and insignificant. So they built a whole other section on top.

The Romanians may not have been sure what to

do with the palace after the Revolution, but they knew what to do about life, and that was to make the most of life and to seize with both hands any opportunities that come our way. With my time in Romania ending it was now up to me to follow their example.

About Kirsten Hamilton-Sturdy After her time in Romania Kirsten Hamilton-Sturdy studied for and obtained the Teaching English as a Foreign Language (TEFL) qualification and subsequently spent 14 years travelling and teaching overseas. Despite having travelled to over 70 countries and living in 11 of them, she maintains the Romania trip was not only one of the most exciting things she has done, but that it also shaped her and her life choices.

You can follow Kirsten Hamilton-Sturdy on the following social media channels: Instagram: www.instagram.com/kirstenhsturdy Twitter:

www.twitter.com/BraundKirsten

A more recent view of Ceaușescu’s Palace in Bucharest, photo courtesy of Pixabay

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LONG DISTANCE HIKING IN THE UK –

BY STEPHANIE COOKE

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Steph Cooke is a keen long-distance walker who has a goal of inspiring other women to get outside.

She’s determined to show that we’re never too old for adventure. Here she relives her time on two of the UK’s classic hikes, the fixed route Pennine Way and the ‘plan your own route Coast to Coast. We hope Steph’s story and her kit list will help some of you, or someone you know, to get out there and achieve their own adventure goal.

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he tiny village of Keld lies in the heart of the Yorkshire Dales, nestled between folds of moorland. There’s not much to it. A few houses, a shop and a couple of places offering Bed and Breakfast accommodation. Most people wouldn’t give it a second glance, yet this sleepy North Yorkshire village is loved by longdistance walkers. Two of the best-known and iconic long-distance routes cross paths just north of Keld – the Coast to Coast and the Pennine Way.

pulling feet out with a squelch when I got it wrong.

T

Sitting in the bar of Keld Lodge that evening with other walkers, we shared the day’s adventures over a few drinks. We were all walking the Coast to Coast with just one exception. A Dutch gentleman immediately caught our attention when he slowly announced he was walking the Pennine Way after completing the Coast to Coast last year. Eagerly we asked him what it was like. He replied, ‘There’s nothing on the Pennine Way that’s as hard as the Lake District section of the Coast to Coast, but it’s tougher overall. It’s longer, more remote and there are more bogs.

I first stayed there when I walked the Coast to Coast. It had been a short but tough day, starting with a steep climb to the mysterious cairns of Nine Standards Rigg and ending in a battle with some of the worst peat bogs I’ve seen, zig-zagging to try to find the driest way through and

I mentally added the Pennine Way to my bucket list and wondered what it would be like to head north from Keld rather than East, to face day after day of moorland and walk for nearly three weeks instead of two.

Coast to Coast – Nine Standards Rigg

Three years later, I set out from Edale to find out for myself. I wanted to experience both of these well-known trails to see what different experiences each could offer me.

Both the Coast to Coast and the Pennine Way are indelibly linked to fell walking legend Alfred Wainwright, who is best known for producing a set of guidebooks to the fells of the Lake District complete with hand drawn maps and illustrations.

The Coast to Coast was his creation, based on an idea he had in the 1970s of a walk across England taking in three National Parks. He produced a guidebook of his 190-mile route from St Bees to Robin Hood’s Bay, passing through the Lake District, the Yorkshire Dales, and the North York Moors. Although he

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encouraged people to make up their own cross-country marathons, Wainwright’s original route is largely the one most Coast to Coasters follow today.

bed and breakfast has liberal supplies of Vegemite. I felt humbled that so many people wanted to walk across England.

In contrast, I only met a handful of people who were walking the entire Pennine Way. It was just after lockdown to be fair, but there isn’t quite the same camaraderie. It was the solitude I loved on the Pennine Way, however. On the ninth day I threw off my rucksack and collapsed on a clump of spiky grass on Sleightholme Moor for a much-needed break. Turning through 360 degrees, all I

The Pennine Way was championed by Tom Stephenson, who, inspired by the Appalachian Trail in the United States of America, envisaged a ‘long green trail’ following the line of the Pennines to Scotland. Officially opened in 1965 as Britain’s first National Trail, it runs for 268 miles from the Old Nags Head Inn in Edale to the Border Hotel in Kirk Yetholm, just over the Scottish Border.

Wainwright walked the Pennine Way in stages after he retired, producing an illustrated guide which some walkers still use today. And he hated it. In fact, he decided that anyone undertaking something so arduous deserves a drink, so he set up a fund to treat all successful Pennine Way finishers to a pint when they reached the Border Hotel. The fund has long since run dry, but the tradition has been upheld by the Brewery although it’s now been reduced to a half.

“There’s nothing on the Pennine Way that’s as hard as the Lake District section of the Coast to Coast, but it’s tougher overall. It’s longer, more remote and there are more bogs.”

Unknown Dutchman

The main difference between the two trails is that while the Pennine Way has National Trail status and the whole route is signposted, the Coast to Coast isn’t an official trail. It’s partially signposted, but there’s a surprising lack of signage, particularly in the Lakes. Despite this, it’s by far the more popular route. When I walked the Coast to Coast it was quite a social affair. I’d keep meeting the same people and it was lovely to compare our days over a beer in the evenings. I rubbed shoulders with fantastic people who had travelled vast distances to walk the Coast to Coast; so many walkers come over from Australia that every self-respecting

could see was the wide expanse of the moor, picked out in various hues of brown. No people. No houses. Nothing except the cries of lapwings and the tiny ribbon of the A66 in the far distance. It was wonderful; I sat there for ages, taking in this splendid isolation.

I think there are a several reasons why the Coast to Coast is more popular. It can be completed in a fortnight, which lends itself nicely to a two-week break, but the Pennine Way is longer and demands more of your time.

The Coast to Coast has a definite start and end point, the sea, plus the objective of

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crossing England. The Pennine Way starts and finishes in the middle of nowhere; despite its name, it doesn’t end with the Pennine chain but carries on over the Cheviot Hills.

Reaching the summit of Red Pike in glorious sunshine, I ate my lunch revelling in the views over Buttermere and Crummock Water. It was so clear I could even make out distant Loweswater sparkling in the sunshine.

I think another reason is the variety of scenery you get to explore on each trail.

The Coast to Coast wins this one. In just twelve days I experienced the dramatic mountain scenery of the Lakes, the gentler moorland of the Yorkshire Dales, the bogs of the Pennines and the heather covered hills of the North York Moors. I have a soft spot for the Lake District and kept the first few days short so I could take some of the higher route options if the weather allowed.

As I set off along the ridge, I noticed the cloud dropping like a shroud over the distant peaks of Pillar and Great Gable, and by the time I reached Haystacks – Wainwright’s favourite fell – the rain started. I arrived in Borrowdale soaked and exhausted.

Taking the high option over Saint Sunday Crag a couple of days later, the weather stayed fine, and I was rewarded with a perfect view of Ullswater, a couple of jets screaming through the valley below me adding a dramatic flair.

I decided to take the Red Pike and High Stile route on day two; a high-level traverse of the ridge separating the Ennerdale and Buttermere valleys.

The high-level option from Keld to Richmond climbs steeply past the

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evocative ruins of Crackpot Hall to pass amongst old mine buildings and abandoned, rusting machinery. I walked through areas where no vegetation will now grow thanks to the intensive and invasive industry; it felt eerily quiet, and as alien as the surface of the moon.

The path along the River Tees, where the river becomes increasingly turbulent before the cataracts of Low Force and then High Force are revealed, is a delight.

The rocky scramble by the side of Cauldron Snout, which can be quite intimidating when it’s in spate. My first sight of High Cup Nick; I’d seen photos, but nothing prepared me for the feeling of the ground dropping away to reveal a vast valley, seemingly scooped out of the hillside, views of the distant Lake District peaks on the horizon.

In contrast I found much of the terrain on the Pennine Way very similar. Many days were spend following paths over boggy moorland which felt endless when the rain set in and the views restricted to just a few yards. Flagstone paths have been laid over some of the worst bogs, but there are still plenty to negotiate, and I often found myself needing to rely on willpower to keep going.

I was able to plan refreshment stops at the cafes and pubs I passed on the Coast to Coast, which broke up the days nicely.

By contrast the Pennine Way passes very few pubs or cafes so I had to be more selfsufficient. However, when I did stumble on a café it made it all the more precious

The Pennine Way does deliver moments of high drama, however.

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me rather exposed. I thought I’d be able to buy new trousers in Hawes but both gear shops were shut, which led to a frantic telephone call to a friend so she could order me a pair for express delivery to Bowes.

Both trails have their tough sections. The Coast to Coast has the Lakes; proper mountain walking which can be quite technical in places, particularly in bad weather. The section from Richmond to the Cleveland Hills crosses the Vale of Mowbray, and as there is little accommodation many people choose to walk the 23 miles in one day. The Cleveland Hills provide a rollercoaster of ascent and descent which saps energy pretty fast.

The Pennine Way offers vast tracts of boggy moorland, the crossing of Sleightholme Moor particularly notorious.

Pen-y-ghent and Cauldron Snout need hands-on scrambling and the section between Dufton and Alston is long and tough. The highest point of the Pennines, Cross Fell, and its satellite peaks must be conquered. Suffice to say it’s the only area of Britain where the wind is so fierce it has it’s own name, the Helm Wind.

I didn’t use a baggage transfer service for either trail, so carried everything with me I’d need for my walk. Completing the Coast to Coast had been difficult with a heavy pack, so in an effort to shave weight for the Pennine Way, I had the bright idea of posting some clothes to my sister. She kindly agreed to bring them to Malham and exchange them for the clothes I’d been wearing, which could have walked to the wash on their own by then. This backfired badly. I gave her most of my underwear and trousers to take back but forgot that I hadn’t sent her any to replace them, which left me with just one pair of pants and one pair of ancient walking trousers.

By far the toughest day on either of the trails was the final day on the Pennine Way. There is no accommodation between Byrness and Kirk Yetholm, so unless you are camping or arrange for someone to collect you half-way there’s no option but to walk the 24 miles in one go. As I left my accommodation at 5:30am in the driving rain, I really didn’t feel like walking. My feet were wet through by the time I’d scrambled up the first steep, slippery hill, and were soon rubbing blisters. Miles of horizontal rain

Two days later, I felt a rip when I jumped over a stream, and to my horror there was now a huge hole in the trousers which left

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“You are stronger and more capable than you think.”

and steep climbs drained me, and by the time I reached the Auchope refuge hut on Border Ridge I was completely exhausted and in pain.

Stephanie Cooke

I had the shock of my life when I came face to face with my sister and brother-inlaw, who’d decided to surprise me and walk with me into Kirk Yetholm. This was so unexpected and so lovely, it did make those last few miles easier, despite a sudden heavy rainstorm making me shout expletives into the wind while sliding down the steep muddy slopes of The Schill.

meant several days of more than twenty miles. If I was walking it again I would have taken some extra time, which would have given me time to explore Reeth and Richmond. If I were to walk the Pennine Way again, I would have break up the last day into two by staying two nights in Byrness and using a transfer service.

Long, tough days make a long-distance trail a slog rather than a pleasure. Giving myself more time and covering fewer miles each day would have allowed me to relax and explore.

Which did I prefer? It’s not that easy. The Coast to Coast had been on my bucket list for years and it was my first proper longdistance path, so completing it was special. It felt like a treat. In comparison, the Pennine Way scared me. It was longer, more remote, and mentally tougher. However, there was something

incredibly special about being alone on the moors, watching curlews and lapwings take flight.

What did I learn? You are stronger and more capable than you think. When I started both trails I had doubts about my abilities to keep walking for so many days in a row. There were times when I could have easily given up and had to dig very deep, but I managed to carry on and finish. Despite your fears, your body will get used to walking day after day. You will be able to arrive at your night’s destination feeling completely spent, then get up the following morning, throw on your rucksack and do it all over again.

Don’t be tempted to rush. I walked the Coast to Coast over twelve days, but this

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Planning in treats made all the difference to my motivation. Arranging to meet a friend on the trip can be a real boost to flagging morale. On day five of the Pennine Way I had decided to give up, but after spending a lovely evening in Malham with my sister and brother-in-law I felt reenergised. A friend delighted me on the Coast to Coast with a surprise visit which came at just the right time for me. A treat can also be the promise to yourself of a special meal at a café you know you’ll pass along the way, or a pint in the pub.

will be staying each night. If you’re running late or need to cancel you’ll have the details handy.

Be prepared to adapt. Things don’t always go according to plan, so there may be days when you need to reduce your mileage or take a rest day. Having some flexibility in your schedule will help. Find out details of local public transport before you go so you have a back-up plan.

Be ruthless when packing your rucksack.

You’ll always take stuff you won’t use. It’s so tempting to think, ‘oh, this is really light, it won’t make any difference’ but all those ‘really light’ items add up!

In case you may find them useful, here are my top tips.

It helps to have a few treats stashed away for those times you’re feeling really low.

Some people get a boost from a bar of chocolate, for me a packet of salt and vinegar crispswill do the job nicely.

Don’t get too caught up in the need to share your adventure on social media that you forget to just enjoy the moment.

I think I should leave the last word to Alfred Wainwright himself; ‘I finished the Pennine Way with relief, the Coast to Coast with regret.’

Print out and email your itinerary to yourself with contact details of where you

How to follow Stephanie Cooke on social media Website:

www.endurance-adventures.co.uk

Facebook

https://www.facebook.com/enduranceadventures/

Instagram

https://www.instagram.com/endurance_adventures/

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Steph’s Kit List for the Coast to Coast Osprey Rucksack

Toiletries- small shower puff, folding toothbrush, small tube toothpaste, small tub moisturiser, small bottles of shampoo and conditioner, small bottle of shower gel, small comb, roll on deodorant, spare hair toggles

2 litre water bladder Pair of Komperdell trekking poles GPS unit Canon DSLR

Contact lens case, solution, glasses, and soft glasses case

Clothes

Sunglasses

Merrell Capra Gore-Tex Women’s boots

Small tube of sunscreen Earplugs

4 pairs of walking socks

Charger for GPS/ phone with leads

2 pairs of convertible walking trousers

Guidebook and OS strip maps First aid kit- paracetamol, ibuprofen, deep heat, Compeed plasters, moleskin, zinc oxide tape, small tin of Vaseline

3 assorted walking t-shirts, one long sleeve, two short sleeve 6 pairs pants

Fleece

Small Swiss army knife with knife, nail file and scissors for dressing blisters

Waterproof trousers

Phone- complete with Kindle app and books

Sprayway Gore-Tex waterproof jacket

Whistle incorporated into pack

Legionnaire type hat

Head torch (I didn’t use it but there for potential emergencies)

3 sports bras

Gloves

Emergency bivvy bag (as above)

Buff

Snacks- chocolate bars, flapjack, and nuts to supplement lunches and for emergencies

Clothes for evening- leggings, bra, tshirt, sandals Clothes for night- lightweight slippers (the kind given away at spas) and pyjamas

Gels and hydration tablets

Equipment

Total pack weight without water; 12kg

Wallet with money and cards

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This year once more, Covid 19 has hit many of us in some way, shape or form. Only a few weeks ago it looked like we might have a normal Christmas. Little did we think that our Christmas message would again be dominated by Covid 19. Yet with the Omicron strain spreading like a wildfire, who knows what the situation will be as dawn breaks on Christmas Day? It’s possible some really hard restrictive times are heading our way. It’s possible some of us might want to scream and shout and rant and rave with anger, at once again having our plans changed. It’s possible some of us might face illness or worse.

The theme in the August 2021 issue was control. Whilst we can’t control what Covid 19 related restrictions might be imposed upon us, we can apply the theme from our April 2021 issue, namely choice. For it is up to us to decide how we choose to spend any unexpected free time we might have, due to restrictions. So we repeat our message of last year. We can still dream. We can set goals for the future. We can work towards our goals. We can do our exercises, even if on our living room floor. We can go for a walk, even if it rains.

Let’s not give in. Let’s keep hopeful, even when it’s hard. We might be upset, we might be angry, we might hate everything right now. But we can still enjoy the taste of delicious food.

We are not in Mali which has suffered so much in the last few decades due to fighting. So let’s hang on in there, for life could be so much worse. Besides, isn’t there a saying ‘the darkest hour comes just before dawn.’

It might be dark out there, but dawn will come again. So let’s use this time to prepare ourselves, so when the sun does once again rise, we are ready to make the most of our freedom.

From everyone at Adventure She Magazine, we wish all of you the best possible holiday season and a happy and healthy 2022.

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Adventure She magazine, Issue 15, December 2021

www.adventureshe.com

Coming Up We hope you’ve enjoyed this issue and have found it to be empowering, educating, and entertaining. Here are some ideas we have for future articles, but please do let us know what you’d like to read about and please do keep sending us your stories. We love publishing them.

Adventure Psychology with Belinda Kirk from Explorers Connect

Drinking Tea With The Uyghurs

Exploring Sri Lanka

Getting Your Film Into A Film Festival

The Importance Of Attitude

Protecting Our Wilderness

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Adventure She magazine, Issue 15, December 2021

www.adventureshe.com

The Grand Canyon - Rim to Rim

Australia’s Kakadu National Park

Getting Into Adventure Racing

New Zealand’s Coast To Coast Race Cycling Victoria’s Rail Trails

Hiking New Zealand’s Abel Tasman

Houseboat Life in Berlin

Nepal After

Swimming in Antarctica

Interview With Explorer Lucy Shepherd

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Adventure magazine, Issue 15, December Adventure SheShe magazine, Issue 15, December 20212021

www.adventureshe.com www.adventureshe.com

Adventure She is a brand of TNA Consulting Services Ltd, Pembrokeshire, United Kingdom

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