Pt3 - 19: I’d love to have hung around Derry for another few days, but time is beginning to be an issue again. The race through Greece and Italy was to make the date to pick up the bullet, now the gathering pressure is to be back in Paris for the flight home on November 1 st . Today is the 24 th of September, day 214, and the maths says there’s less than six weeks to cover the rest of Ireland, Wales and the south of England back to London, cross the channel again to Antogny then drive up to Paris in time to return the mighty bullet before exxing Charles De Gaulle, barring the unforseen. It’s forced a bit of corner cutting, which I’m literally doing right now. Instead of sticking to the coast as I’d originally planned, I’ve taken the most direct route to Sligo via Donegal and sliced off the northwest corner of Ireland. By way of consolation, I’ve already decided we’ll be back one day to see it all. * Random factoid : After Spanish Armada was routed in the Battle of Gra...
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Pt3- 18: Glenariffe is one of the nine glens of Antrim, or niyan gleeanns as the locals would say. Apart from the Giant’s Causeway they are Northern Ireland’s premier natural landmarks. I stationed myself here because it’s within easy reach of Belfast and it offers a handy base to explore inland. And it’s bloody beautiful in the classic meaning of the word. While Scotland’s immense, rugged, desolate and imposing landscapes are spectacular, they are beautiful only in the sense they inspire awe; great places to visit, but you wouldn’t want to live there. In contrast, if I won Lotto tomorrow I’d add a holiday retreat in Glenariffe to the shopping list, right after the private jet, the Mediterranean island and my very own Guinness brewery. The scenic trail through the scenic glen is extremely scenic, with lots of fetching scenery. I worked up a thirst with a brisk hike around the ten kilometre circuit, which at first followed a forest path down to the confluence of the Inver and Gle...
Pt3-17: THE EMERALD ISLE 15th September - 4th October The Stena Voyager pulled out of Stranraer at 2:45, precisely on time. It’s more small cruise ship than ferry and, judging by the bright decor and spotless facilities, relatively new. She pitched and rolled a bit on the southerly swell but the passage across the Irish Sea was pretty smooth all things considered. From my warm nest in one of the lounges I watched the smokers huddling on the exposed afterdeck, their hair boogying in what was clearly a stiff breeze. It was hilarious seeing them go through the ritual against all the odds; rotating through 360⁰ with lighters in cupped hands, taking minutes to get a flame to light the fag which then disappeared in seconds as the wind burned it off. They were lucky to get three drags. The Voyager tied off on Belfast dock at 4:35, precisely on time. I nosed the bullet out of the bowels of car deck number 2 into bright sunshine and slipped seamlessly through Belfast on the M2, bound for ...
Pt3 - 16: THE MAWD ON MULL When the road to Oban wasn’t tracing the rim of a loch it hugged the low coastline. So many islands of all shapes and sizes dotted the sparkling sea it may as well have been a lake anyway. I haven’t gazed upon an empty ocean since Durness. And I think I’ve become so blase about the breathtaking scenery it’s almost failing to register. In fact, it occurred to me as the kilometers clicked over that after more than two hundred days on the road the act of travelling has entered another phase. The first month or so it was an exciting novelty then, without us realising, it became a lifestyle. At some point, probably when we chunneled across to England , it evolved into a way of life. It’s a fine distinction tied to the culture you’re embedded in. In non-English speaking societies, and in Muslim countries where the language, customs and daily rituals are so radically different from your native experience, every waking moment is a challenge, every action requires tra...
Pt3 - 15: ACROSS THE TOP AND DOWN TO SKYE The most serious challenge driving across the very top of Scotland is resisting the urge to stop every 500 meters for a four second pan with the video camera. Rounding every corner and topping every crest drew gasps of wonder. The landscape is simply immense, a hostile and forbidding wilderness of bald moors and looming tors shrouded in shifting mists. The only evidence of human occupation are long abandoned, forlornly exposed stone bothys, now just weathered grey shells defying the relentless wind. On the shores of Loch Eriboll a savage squall swept in. The horizontal rain sounded like gravel hitting the bullet as I battled the wheel to keep her on the road. I pulled over to let it pass and as it did a perfect rainbow appeared, gleaming in the watery light. By the time I reached the western head of the loch the rain had blown right through and the sun beamed down on an exceptionally beautiful coastline, from the sheltered sandy cove imm...