The Lake District: Keswick

I knew when I applied for my UK working visa last year the timing could have been better. With the global economy the way it was, a smarter choice would have been to stay in my job in Australia - not try to look for one in Britain. But here I am anyway. After a few, admittedly half-hearted, weeks of job hunting, one position really caught my eye. The youth hostel in Keswick, a town in England's Lake District, needed an assistant.

The position was advertised as a contract until the end of September, but some shuffling with existing staff meant they only needed someone for two weeks. Two weeks of living in a gorgeous little town in a beautiful area filled with big blue lakes and rolling green hills? Pick me, pick me!!!.

So that's how I find myself here in Keswick. A head's up: it's pronounced Kessick. It has a population of about 5000 and it's a mostly older demographic. The houses are beautiful and it's a B&B paradise. It's also chock-full of tourists. The Lake District is very popular with walkers, as there's a lot of mountains here, including England's highest, Scafell Pike. I'm living in a house next to the hostel right on the River Greta. And when the clouds clear, I look up to see big, fat mountains. It's beautiful.

After just one day of work I was rewarded with three off. The forecast for the weekend was a bit iffy so I didn't make plans and instead headed out when the skies cleared.



Keswick sits at one end of Derwentwater, a lovely big lake. On Saturday I walked through town to the riverbank with the intention of having an ice cream and relaxing by the water. One of my favourite things about this countryside is the colour. The paddocks are so green. In some my photos it looks a bit fake, but that's how it is. There is a small hilly paddock that separates the town centre from the river bank with sheep in it, but also a gate where the public can walk in. Quite a few people had taken in picnic chairs and or blankets, just sitting overlooking the water. Dogs were running around but none bothered the sheep.

I bought some food for the ducks and sat on one of the small jetties throwing it into the water. Then I followed one of the walking tracks around the river's edge. The skies had cleared up and the threat of rain had been replaced with sun. The lake edges are rather jagged so quite often I would come to a little tip that looked out over the water. Then I would decide perhaps I would walk on just a bit further. This continued for a while. About 4km. Most of the track was flat, although a bit sloppy from the morning's rain. I'd be walking along the water for a few hundred metres, then through the bush, appear at a gate and head across a field, then back to the water. I eventfully settled on Lodore Falls as my destination, which is nearly at the other end of the lake.



The recent rain meant the falls were quite full. Apparently they dry up a lot when the weather is fine. I doubt that's a common occurrence though. I considered walking right round the lake, but I was without a map and it looked  a bit more hilly on the other side. I didn't want to risk biting of more than I could walk before it got dark. Most of the walkers I had met on the trail were quite well equipped. I had a camera, a water bottle and half a bag of duck food.

I retraced my steps: along the little stone fences, past the canoeists taking a break on the shore, overtook the seasoned hikers with their backpacks and walking poles and finally reached the ducks, with whom I shared the last of the duck food.

Hello my name is Megan and I'm a bibliophile

BIB • LI • O • PHILE (noun): A person who collects or has a great love of books.

The above is a relatively new term for me, but it has become apparent that a predisposition to sunburn and  a quick wit are not the only things I have inherited from my father.

My friend David, who along with his wife Amy have become my family in Scotland, recently took me to visit some of the sights in Carlisle, one of the major towns on the northern border of England. We visited the cathedral and walked around the grounds of the castle before he took me to a second-hand book shop. Talk about saving the best till last. To sum up how I feel in second-hand book stores, I'll use the image below from bookfessions.tumblr.com:



This mainly applies to second-hand book stores - new stores just don't have the same appeal, largely because you know what you'll find. And if you can't find it, they'll order it. But old book stores, well, you could find anything. I didn't realise I felt this strongly about such stores until David took me to Bookcase. My expression at the thought of exploring its 30 rooms of books left David fearing I was going to have a heart attack. It was just too much to take in.

Second-hand books stores are magical places. I still remember the crammed store in New Zealand where I found two gorgeous copies of Winnie the Pooh books for $15 and the Most Beautiful Bookshop in the World in Venice. Scotland has been particularly fun - Edinburgh has so many. After about six weeks in the country my book collection is at 16. I think. I lose track, especially with the Agatha Christie's because they are little and I forget to count the copies I'm carrying in my handbag for emergencies.

My reaction to Bookcase left David and Amy wondering why they hadn't told me about Wigtown - a town filled with second-hand bookshops a short drive away. They weren't the only ones wondering why they hadn't told me this.



My parents are avid readers. The impressive collection we had at the farm was packed into boxes when we moved to Hobart. Those books remain in boxes under the house yet the bookcase is full again. Lets blame Dad for that. My own collection revolves around three authors: Agatha Christie, Jeffrey Archer and John Grisham - the latter caused a phone call home from my Grade 5 teacher who was concerned when I took a copy of The Client to school. Beyond those three you'll find anything from Harry Potter to a faded copy of Edmund Hillary's High Adventure, the story of his ascent of Everest that I found buried on a table of old books at a market. I've moved on from the little white bookcase filled with Babysitters Club and Sweet Valley High I had as a teenager.

[caption id="attachment_2642" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Wigtown"][/caption]

On Saturday, a day before I was due to go to Edinburgh to meet one of my best friends, Amy and David were also contemplating a trip to the city to see the Fringe Festival. I had a shower and came back downstairs to be told I had to pack a bag and would be taken Edinburgh the following afternoon. I was then driven to Wigtown, although it took about half an hour to work that out. Since I don't know the area well, I had to wait for a sign of some sort to know what direction we were heading.



There are now about 10 second-hand bookshops in Wigtown, and most of those are in the main street. We started at The Bookshop, Scotland's largest second-hand store. Despite the claim to fame, it isn't actually that big, compared to others I've explored. But it was glorious all the same. It's always a good sign when you need ladders to reach the books at the top. Wary of not amassing too great of a collection while I'm overseas, my purchases are restricted to Agatha Christie (I'm on a mission to get all 66 novels and 15 short story collections) and the earliest editions of the Winnie the Pooh books I can find and afford. Of course there are exceptions, but I'm only human.

We fitted in one more store before closing time and then checked into our B&B, the gorgeous Hillcrest House, and drove out to the Isle of Whithorn for dinner. In the morning it was back into the bookshops, the last of which was At the Sign of the Dragon. This was on the outskirts of town in the garage of a house. The owner specialises in fantasy, sci fi and, lucky for me, crime! His Agatha Christie selection rivalled mine and I picked up some I don't think I have already.

[caption id="attachment_2641" align="aligncenter" width="584" caption="Isle of Whithorn"][/caption]

We left just after midday to make it to Edinburgh in time. But there's a book festival late next month so I don't think that will be my last visit to Wigtown.

My adventure - one year on

One year ago I was sitting in the Sydney Airport, having just left Tasmania. As I waited for my sister I wrote this post. Twelve months later it seems appropriate to reflect on what's happened since then.

[caption id="attachment_2356" align="aligncenter" width="187" caption="My first day in Paris last year...I was actually wearing those shorts today. I'm impressed they still fit!"][/caption]

Travel

Of the last 12 months, I've spent almost four of them travelling. Just as I was last year, I'm on the road. Although then I was at the beginning of a trip last and now I'm a week away from the end. It's time to go to Scotland and rejoin reality.

My pack still weighs about the same. It's about 19kg. Although three boxes are waiting for me in Scotland so my possessions (what isn't stored in the spare room at Mum and Dad's) have grown a little.

The travelling I've done in the past year has only opened my eyes to how much more there is to see. Travel pushes my boundaries of adventure and self-reliance and it's a challenge I can't get enough of.

[caption id="attachment_2365" align="aligncenter" width="584" caption="My one year adventure anniversary, on the river in Prague."][/caption]

Work

I've had a 12-month hiatus from media for a lot of reasons. But that's been filled with a great nine months working in Vancouver at The Secret Garden Tea Company and Avenue Grill. Actually, that reminds me, a new Teacup Tales must be due...

Working in hospitality was good fun. You definitely see another side to people and I saw a different side to myself, but I'm missing media. I'm missing it enough to settle down and commit to the industry for a good while at the expense of some more passport stamps. Time for a come back? I think so...

[caption id="attachment_2359" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="With "Garden Girls" Robyn and Whitney. We may or may not have coordinated our glasses that day."][/caption]

Life, love and friends

I can't log into Facebook without congratulating a friend on their engagement/wedding/pregnacy/new arrival/child's birthday. It seems everyone has reached that stage of their life. I'm so so happy for them, but as for me? Not yet. And not any time soon.

As one of my favourite customers in Vancouver liked to remind me "your life can change in the blink of an eye". That's so very true and I know so much is out of my hands. But for now I'm happy with things as they are.

If the last 12 months has taught me anything, it's how important people are. Friends, family...everybody. In the short time I was in Vancouver (nine months isn't that long compared to my 26 years in Tasmania) I made some friends I'll have for life. I also forged stronger bonds with friends back home. When you see people every day at work or home, it's easy to take that relationship for granted. Move to the otherside of the world and see what lasts and what doesn't.

The year ahead...

In a lot of ways the uncertainity I felt 365 days ago is back. I have no idea what's next for me. In the immediate future it's job hunting and settling somewhere in the UK. The specifics of that are anyone's guess. As is what will happen beyond that. Life's fun isn't it?

An AWESOME night in Halifax

If I gave you $1000 to pursue ANY idea, what would you do?

The possibilities are as endless as they are awesome.

While in Halifax, I was introduced to The Awesome Foundation. And by geez does it live up to its name. Barney Stinson would be proud. Here's how it works in a nutshell:

• Each chapter has a board of Awesome Trustees. The trustees put in money each month to make $1000.


• People submit their awesome ideas of how they would spend $1000.


• The trustees consider the ideas and pick a winner.


• The winner gets $1000 to make their idea happen.

I was in town for the May Grant Event of the Halifax chapter. A total of 25 people submitted ideas this month. Finalists were then chosen to present their ideas to the trustees and anyone and everyone, including me, a random Australian CouchSurfer in town for just three nights. These four ideas were pitched on Thursday night:



Permanent Ping Pong: Veronica wants to build a concrete ping pong table in Victoria Park so people can play ping pong when ever and with who ever they like. The money would be used build the table.

Tulipmania: Sam lives on Tulip St in Dartmouth, across the river from Halifax. This spring, he has a gorgeous bed of tulips blooming in that little useless patch of lawn between the road and the footpath. His idea is that next spring, EVERY house on the five-block long Tulip St will have a bed of tulips out the front. He also put out the challenge to residents of Rose St and Dahlia St to join in. The $1000 would be spent on bulbs.

Wish You Well: The Canadian penny is on the way out but Renee would like to farewell it in style by hold a huge wishing well day. The event would attempt to create a world record for the most wishes made. Money would also go to Make-A-Wish. The $1000 would be used to organise the event, buy pennies, and the remainder going to the charity.



Digital Scavenger Hunt: Regina and her sisters want to hold a great big scavenger hunt in the city. Teams would have to go take photos of things, or of them doing things etc. The money would go to organising and prize money.

Veronica, Sam, Renee and Regina & Co pitched their ideas. There was excitement, posterboards, storytelling and tulips. The trustees asked questions, the crowd asked questions; it was good fun. There are chapters around the world. I was pleased to note it's kicking around in Sydney and Melbourne. You can never have too much awesomeness in the world.

So who won? Well next spring, if you're in Dartmouth, drive down Tulip St and visit the fruits (well flowers) of Sam's idea. Awesome.

CouchSurfing and party crashing in Quebec

I'm a big advocate of CouchSurfing and this little recount of my weekend in Quebec explains why. The generousity and hospitality I received from not just my host, but complete strangers, was incredible. And lots of fun.

In Quebec I'm staying with Juan and his lovely pointing griffon Kelvin. Seriously - best behaved dog ever. On Saturday afternoon I met Juan at his place to head to his friend's birthday. I asked what I should take and he warns me we might not be coming back that night. I ask if we need to get any food or anything to drink and the reply is nope, it's all waiting for us. We pick up some people on the way - one has to ride in the back with Kelvin - and drive about 40-minutes out of the city.

We arrive at this house in god-knows-where. Honestly, I have no idea where we were. But it was a big house, with a huge block backing onto woods. And the party is in full swing. There's food out, kids are running around and randomly Britney Spears is playing on the CD player. I'm not the only ring-in: Juan has some friends up from Montreal and another workmate has brought his girlfriend, who doesn't know anyone either. But regardless we are welcomed with open arms and fed lobster. Lots and lots of lobster. I met so many great people, understood more conversation than usual because a lot was in English, and had a fabulous time.

As the night winds up around a fire we are shown into the basement where our hosts help us set up camping mattresses and sleeping bags. I'm ashamed to say I can't even remember the names of the people we were staying with. Just too many new faces. But when one asks who the CouchSurfer is I put up my hand and he returns with the cushions off the couch for me to sleep on. Very sweet.

In the morning we wake up to breakfast: bread and spreads and cereal and juice all waiting for us. We eat out on the deck in the sun before heading off around mid-morning.

Of the ones who stayed, about half had never met our hosts before. And for me, well I was just some random who had no connection to anyone. But regardless, we were treated like family and it was wonderful.

Back in Quebec City, we head out for Columbian for lunch (there are three Columbians in our group) and then walk through the Old City before relaxing in a park until it gets a bit chilly for us.

To have Juan, my host, agree to have me stay and then include me in this (it was his birthday too last week so the party was a bit of a joint celebration) was really sweet. And then to have these strangers welcome me, feed me and take me in for the night was incredibly generous.

It just goes to show there are some really wonderful people out there and this weekend I felt really lucky to meet some of them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everyone will want a little teacup

My little Secret Garden Tea Company teacup had been cooped up for a few days so I took it out for breakfast on board The Canadian.

We were somewhere between Allanwater Bridge, Ontario, a station that exists only to serve a nearby wilderness lodge, and Collins, a First Nation community home to about 30 people on the journey to Toronto.

As I unwrapped it from the tissue paper and handed back the boring white cup already on the table, I shared its story with the crew. They thought it was gorgeous. "Now everyone will be asking for the nice china," one of the servers said.

I didn't hear anyone ask, but the other passengers who later shared my table gave it a glance before looking back at their normal cup.



It sure did brighten up the table. Wonder how long before cute cups become standard issue on Via Rail?

Teacup Tales - The beginning

This post is in the wrong place...I should have written it before my first post of my travels, but anywho, here it is.

Last night I had to say goodbye to Vancouver, a city I've fallen in love with over the last nine months. Vancouver has been very, very good to me. In short, I've had a blast. I've also met some incredible people and it was even harder to say goodbye to them.

It's nearly a year since I left Tasmania. That departure was hard, but I was more than ready to leave. Oh so ready! This time, I wasn't. It's only by situation and circumstance that I'm leaving at all. Oh why oh why did I apply for a UK working visa as a "back up".

I'm leaving some of the most amazing people I've ever met. I'm also leaving a job that rarely felt like work. As a farewell present my wonderful bosses at The Secret Garden Tea Company, Kathy and Erin, let me select a teacup from the selection of vintage cup and saucers in store. The decision wasn't hard. I'd been in love with one for weeks.

That teacup is now living in the top of my camera bag. The safest place I can think of for now. It will accompany me on my travels and be a little reminder of everything Vancouver means to me. I will photograph it on my journey so Vancouver and everyone I love there knows I haven't forgotten them.

xx

[caption id="attachment_1392" align="aligncenter" width="584" caption="My gorgeous teacup from The Secret Garden Tea Company at our first stop: Jasper"][/caption]

One more year down...

So it's a year since Will and Kate. I doubt you care. I certainly don't. But such events have a way, regardless of your interest level, of making you think "A year? Really? Gee that went quick". This anniversary was no different. When I found out the second most annoying milestone of the year was upon us (Titanic's 100th took the cake: now in 3D...gee thanks), I found my brain flashing back to the last 12 months and wondering what happened to them.

Turning 26 was the start of something special. I quit my job, rented out my house, travelled through Europe, moved to Canada, met some amazing people, saw some amazing sights and did some amazing things. At my 26th birthday, while I sat on my living room floor eating a Moroccan feast with friends, running a half marathon was not on the cards. Yet nine months later I was crossing the finish line of the First Half Half-Marathon in Vancouver.

[caption id="attachment_1372" align="aligncenter" width="600" caption="Coldplay up close. A great start to 27!"][/caption]

 

So what will 27 bring? One of my favourite bloggers, Seattle's Travels, on approaching her 24th birthday, listed her Bucket List for the upcoming year: 25 before 25. In a similar fashion I've compiled a list of goals for the next 12 months. I won't bore you with 27 goals (plus I doubt I could come up with that many) so I've kept it to nine.

9: Get Cadel Evans' autograph. I'm going to Le Tour de France a second time and I'm not leaving empty handed.

8: See an Olympic Event. I don't care if it's gymnastics, horse riding, hockey or weight lifting. London 2012 will be awesome!

7: Take a photography course. I am doing OK teaching myself, but there's so much to learn.

6: Go to Bruges. This one is on the cards but not set in stone yet.

5: Get back into media. It's been fun having a few months off from "real" work but I miss the industry now.

4: Drive on the right side of the road. For some reason it terrifies me.

3: Get a travel article published. I was a bit lazy on this front after my last trip so this time I'll put more effort in.

2: Visit Lords for a cricket match. If the Aussie's are playing, that would be smashing...and I'm not just talking about what we'd do to the Poms.

1: Make sure I keep in touch with the wonderful people I've met around the world.

Your life can change in the blink of an eye, so anything could happen. 27...bring it on!

And now it's snow time

I've been in Canada for eight months.

From my living room window I can see three ski runs: Seymour, Grouse and Cypress.

A bus from pretty much from my front door to the cable car at the bottom of Grouse takes about 36 minutes.

Yet it took until 10 days ago, my 27th birthday, to finally go snowboarding.

 



 

After many months of "I really want to go snowboarding" I decided that if the weather was remotely suitable on my birthday, I was going up. I didn't quite make it in time for snow school, which would have been the cheapest way to learn, so I decided to splurge on a private lesson because, let's face it, I had no idea what I was doing. My only exposure to snowboarding had been an indoor slope in Shanghai at a cost of $25. So that doesn't count. I was contemplating skiing, but I'm not a fan of anything where my legs can go in the opposite directions to each other. Bad images of doing the splits (and I am NOT flexible) fill my head at the thought of it. So snowboarding it is.

 

My instructor was James, an Aussie. He's been working the ski seasons in Canada and back home for about five years, but this may be his last. After spending about 30 minutes teaching me to stand up, slide and stop, I realised how boring this must be for him as I tried over and over again to stop after a little slide down a slight slope.

 

 

I lost track of time during the lesson, but far too quickly we were riding the lift up to one of the runs. I managed to get off the lift smoothly, despite fearing a Bridget Jones-style finish. To be honest, this happened just the once. The rest of the time I forgot to stand up. I'd expected to spend most of the two hours either on my butt or trying to get off it. However, I spent a surprising amount of time upright. This didn't mean I wasn't nervous when we moved to the big slope. OK so it was the smallest of the runs, but damn huge compared to what I'd just been practicing on. James was a great teacher who put up me with me crashing into him, complaining how sore my legs were, and deciding that practicing turns, which is usually not covered in beginner lessons but I was doing well and we had time, were just too hard.



We managed about four runs before our time was up. Part of me wanted to keep going for hours. But I was tiring and fearing my luck of keeping my butt out of the snow was running out. Also the weather turned rather unfavourable, so a bowl of soup inside the Chalet seemed like a much better option.

 

The season at Grouse is coming to an end - before my visit they were predicting another few weeks left. But unexpected snow, which started towards the end of my lesson, could mean it will be open for a little bit longer.

 

A few days later I was still paying the price for my adventure. Although I hardly fell over at all (much to the annoyance of my friend Craig who was armed with a camera to capture any embarrassing moments), my arms were killing me from pushing myself up out of the snow. But at least I can leave Canada having snowboarded at least once.

 

Spring has sprung

What better way to spend a sunny afternoon than riding around the Seawall at Stanley Park.[gallery orderby="rand"]