The market was about one hundred yards long and we made it to the top with only a couple of purchases but then of course we had to turn around and walk all of the way back and run the gauntlet of the stallholders for a second time. Sally seemed to pick up the knack of bartering much easier than I did and I think we bought some tee shirts and a couple of bracelets but to be honest I can’t be absolutely sure.
Posted in Arts and Crafts, Childhood, Europe, Food, Hotels, Morocco, Travel, Turkey, World Heritage
Tagged Culture, Efes Beer, Life, Market bartering, Market Shopping, Markets, Sarigerme, Suntopia Tropical Hotel
The Talyllyn Railway is a narrow-gauge preserved railway in Wales that runs for nearly sixteen miles from the town of Tywyn on the Mid-Wales coast to Nant Gwernol near the village of Abergynolwyn. The line was opened in 1866 to carry slate from the quarries at Bryn Eglwys to Tywyn, and was the first narrow gauge railway in Britain authorised by Act of Parliament to carry passengers using steam haulage.
Posted in Beaches, Childhood, Europe, Food, History, Literature, Natural Environment, Postcards, Travel, Wales
Tagged Catell y Bere Wales, Little Railways, Llanuwchllyn, postacrds, Talyllyn Railway, Towyn Wales, Welsh weather
Skipsea beach is getting bigger. Every winter the storms gnaw away at the soft boulder clay cliffs and take away a few more feet and inches. It is the fastest eroding coastline in England. The savage North Sea is like a giant excavator.
Sometimes it is possible to visit and not really notice a great deal of change but not so this year. The Winter storms of 2023 have been especially fierce and the sea has taken away more than usual.
Today we walked along the beach from Skipsea to Barmston, a distance of about four miles. The tide was out, the sun was shining and the wind was blowing a gale. The sand was damp but firm and we made steady progress towards our destination.
We were last here just nine months ago but we detected huge change.
The advance of the sea is relentless. This is an unfortunate stretch of coastline and I say unfortunate because in the local Coastal Management Plan it is identified as a place not worth defending against the advancing sea and one day it will be gone. Every year six foot of land is swept away, an estimated average of two million tonnes which is moved south on the tides towards the Humber estuary and builds land there whilst it takes it away here. It is called ‘managed retreat’.
A holiday chalet waiting for the day of destiny…
There used to be an attempt to stop the inevitable and these are the remains of some wooden groynes that the sea just laughed at…
On a previous visit I once came across an official looking man in a hard hat and a yellow high visibility jacket who was taking photographs and making notes. His name was Brian and I asked him about the erosion. He explained to me that the problem is that this coastline really shouldn’t be here at all because it is made up of unconsolidated soft clay and small stones called glacial till that were scooped up from the sea bed by a glacier as it advanced south during the last ice age and dumped here as the ice eventually melted and receded north about ten thousand years ago.
It is just soft clay with the consistency and the look of a crumbly Christmas Cake that simply cannot resist the power of the waves. In that time an area of land twelve miles wide has been eroded away and returned to the sea bed where it came from. Not really an ideal sort of place to build houses and construct roads. Once, not so long ago, there was a row of houses here with long stretched gardens enjoying glorious sea views. All gone.
Along the way we came across a fisherman tending his nets, nets stretching out to sea and full of fish, he told us that he came down every day to get his catch but it was becoming a chore because a great deal of the eroding cliffs was getting caught in the net and it took him a long time every day to clear them. He said that he was packing them up now and moving on, aggravation from the recently arrived gypsies hadn’t helped especially as one day recently they had stolen his quad bike and left him stranded on the beach. Luckily for him he got it back later.
Further along was a great deal of concrete debris, the remains of Second World War coastal defences called pill boxes, because they looked like pill boxes. It is not known for sure but it is estimated that there were once twenty-eight thousand of them both around the coast and further inland as well. There were different types and designs based on the type of invasion that might be encountered. Bigger and stronger if there was the possibility of tanks and heavy artillery, not so strong if the threat was from parachuting invaders and hostile infantry. As it happened none of them were needed for their intended purpose. Today it is estimated that there are roughly six thousand of them left.
I can’t imagine that it was very pleasant being on duty in a pill box. Cold and austere, long hours of nothing to do but scan the water, no toilet facilities and no internet for entertainment.
These ruined specimens once sat high above the cliffs, half a mile or so inland but now they have given way not to an army of soldiers but the invasion of the relentless sea.
Someone clearly has a sense of humour about the situation…
Posted in Arts and Crafts, Beaches, Childhood, Europe, Food, History, Natural Environment, Travel, United Kingdom
Tagged Coastal Erosion, east Yorkshire, Fishing, Holderness, King Canute, Skipsea Gypsies, Skipsea Sands
The first time that I went there in 2019, I fell in love with Skipsea almost immediately. I liked the caravan, I liked the holiday park, I liked the countryside and I liked the beach and the sea. The exceptionally fine weather helped of course.
I returned again post covid in August 2021 and then again just nine months ago in July 2022. As the time approached to book a cheap Spring deal again earlier this year (2023) nothing would have stopped me going there again.
Let me explain about caravan holiday deals.
In the UK there is a very cheap and nasty daily newspaper (I use that description newspaper very loosely) called T’he Sun’ and several years ago they launched a voucher scheme that once collected allowed readers to book cheap caravan holidays in the UK.
The Sun newspaper is a curious conundrum, it supports the right wing Tory government and its extreme political views which cares nothing for the middle and working class and the middle and working class read the Sun and vote Tory. It is absolutely unbelievable.
I would never buy the Sun toilet tissue so I never got to benefit from the offer but a few years ago the voucher codes began to be published on-line so it was possible to get the offer without buying the rag.
So, I booked a caravan in my favourite resort of Skipsea for four nights for just £60, everything included. An absolute bargain.
On arrival, too early to book in, we took a walk to the seafront and were in for a nasty shock. Only nine months ago there were cliff top chalets which although being in danger of falling into the sea had a sort of seaside charm with friendly owners and there were steps down to the beach. All had changed.
A severe winter and a succession of storms had eroded the cliffs to danger levels, the local Council had negotiated a property exchange and compensation and after the no doubt relieved owners had moved out the gypsies had moved in and now there were caravans, ponies, big dogs, piles of rubbish, bonfires and the acrid smell of burning tyres. I felt immediately uneasy.
Where had they come from I wondered? Where had they come from I worried?
The village of Skipsea and the adjacent caravan site Skipsea Sands sits precariously on Yorkshire’s East Riding coast which is said to be the fastest eroding coastline in Europe. Since the Doomsday Book was completed in 1086 twenty-six villages along this stretch of coast have been lost to the sea. Cutting new steps to the beach is an annual job.
The advance of the sea is relentless. Every year along the Holderness coast nearly two metres of coastline is swept away, an estimated average of two million tonnes which is moved south on the tides towards the Humber estuary and builds new unwanted land there whilst it takes it away here where they would very much like to keep it.
Sea defences are just not financially viable (after all, it isn’t in the south of England), the area is officially designated as a zone of ‘no active intervention’ and it is inevitable that another twenty houses and a fish and chip shop will soon be lost to the waves. The Local Council is like King Canute and cannot control the sea.
These are houses that were built as recently as 1985 and at that time had long gardens and a road running along the front but that all seems rather foolish now. There were once houses on the other side of the road too but they had already gone which should perhaps have acted as a warning to the people who bought these properties as holiday homes. An especially violent storm in the winter of 2008 took the road away and the waves have gnawed away at the soft clay cliffs every year since.
The gypsy community is clearly prepared to take the risk, if the houses and all their rubbish fall into the sea they don’t really care, they will just move on. The Environment Agency should deal with it but I doubt the balls to do so. Gypsies can be tough people to deal with.
This was all rather disappointing, they had even blocked off access to the very fine beach. I try not to be judgemental but I don’t trust gypsies, I had several incidents with them in my working life, they live by a different set of social rules from normal folk.
Anyway, we weren’t going to let this setback spoil our holiday. Tonight we were staying in a caravan just five hundred yards away so I took the precaution of putting my wallet and car keys under the mattress before I went to sleep that night.
Gypsies are not known for their hospitality…
Posted in Beaches, Childhood, Europe, History, Literature, Natural Environment, Postcards, Travel, United Kingdom, World Heritage
Tagged Caravan Holiday, east Yorkshire, Gypsies, Holderness, Skipsea
My first car was two tone blue Hillman Imp which was a twenty-first birthday present but it was unreliable and would only go for about thirty miles before seriously overheating.
I only kept it for a few months and I bought my own real first car, a flame red Hillman Avenger, a top of the range specification GL 1500cc, registration WRW 366J, which featured four round headlights internal bonnet release, two-speed wipers, brushed nylon seat trim (previously never used on British cars), reclining front seats (very important of course) , hockey stick rear light cluster and a round dial dashboard with extra instrumentation.
Oh Boy, I was so proud of that car.
I have had many since of course including a blue TR7 …
… and my first company car…
… but, if I could have any of my old cars back from the scrap yard it would just have to be be my red Hillman Avenger…
It all started in New York when in 1908 fifteen thousand women marched through New York City demanding shorter hours, better pay and voting rights.
Then, in 1917, with two million soldiers dead in the war, Russian women chose the last Sunday in February to strike for ‘bread and peace’. This turned out to be hugely significant and a contribution to the overthrow of the Romanovs and four days later the Tsar was forced to abdicate and the provisional Government granted women the right to vote.
In 2016 we visited the Greek island of Amorgos. As we wandered around an old lady dressed all in black asked for help negotiating some difficult steps and we naturally obliged and in return for our assistance she treated us to her life story and tales of Amorgian life.
Her name was Limonique and she told us that after sixty-five years of marriage she was now a widow so I guessed her age to be somewhere around eighty-five or so.
Posted in Arts and Crafts, Cathedrals, Childhood, Europe, Food, Growing up in the 1950s, History, Literature, Russia, United Kingdom, USA
Tagged Culture, Empire Youth Annual, International Women's Day, Islam, Latvia, Life, Morocco, Skyline Bar
March 1st is often regarded as the first day of Spring and to celebrate this it has some interesting (Mad March) festival days.
In Wales it is St David’s Day and mostly everyone wanders around with a daffodil in their lapel. Apparently it used to be a leek and in Henry V, Shakespeare had his Welsh soldier Fluellen wearing one in his cap to celebrate the day. I suspect the daffodil has replaced the leek because it is a lot more attractive and smells a whole lot better too!
In the USA March 1st is National Pig Day. I’ll say it again in case you don’t believe me – National Pig Day.
“The purpose of National Pig Day is allegedly “to accord the pig a rightful, though generally unrecognized, place as one of man’s most intellectual and domesticated animals”. The question of whether the holiday is a time to honour pigs by ‘giving them a break’ or to appreciate their offerings (spare ribs, bacon and ham) is an open question.” (Wiki)
I can’t help thinking that this is a bit insensitive towards the feelings of 3.3 million Muslims who live in the U.S.A.
“And the pig, because it has a split hoof, but does not chew the cud; it is unclean for you. You shall neither eat of their flesh nor touch their carcass.” Deuteronomy 14:8*
My favourite 1st March Festival Day however just has to be National Beer Day in Iceland…
On 15th February 2013 I was in the Polish capital city of Warsaw.
I had never really thought seriously about going to Warsaw before and I put this down to the fact that when I was younger Iit always brought two things to mind.
Firstly, word association and the town of Walsall, which is a dreary unattractive, industrial town in the Black Country in the United Kingdom which is a place that few people would visit by choice. Secondly the term Warsaw Pact, which was the name of the Soviet military alliance in Eastern Europe which during my early years seemed to be the sinister organisation responsible for plotting to wipe us of the face of the map in a messy nuclear strike.
Posted in Childhood, Europe, Food, History, Literature, Poland, Postcards, Travel, World Heritage
Tagged Budapest, Gary Cooper, Lech Wałęsa, Postcards, River Vistula, Royal Castle Warsaw, Solidarity, UNESCO Poland, Warsaw
Commenting on a recent post, a long term blogging pal of mine (who knows me so well) suggested that I am a cheapskate traveller. I am so proud of this, it is like being nominated for an award at the Oscars, like winning an Olympic Gold Medal, like getting a mention in the New Year’s Honours List.
It reminded me of this post that I put up first in February 2014…
Complimentary Shampoo and Shower Gel…
“I still enjoy travelling a lot. I mean, it amazes me that I still get excited in hotel rooms just to see what kind of shampoo they’ve left me.” – Bill Bryson
Posted in Age of Innocence, backpacking, Childhood, Europe, Greek islands, History, Literature, Travel, USA
Tagged Collectables, Culture, Hotel Bathrooms, Hotel Complimentary Shampoo, Hotel Shampoo, Life
The streets of Ortigia are a labyrinth of the unexpected and a treasure chest of discovery, something new and exciting at every twist and turn…
Click on an image to scroll through the Gallery…
Posted in Arts and Crafts, Cathedrals, Childhood, History, Italy, Literature, Postcards, Travel, World Heritage
Tagged Ortigia, Sicily, Syracuse, UNESCO Italy, World Heritage Site
Have Bag, Will Travel 