Salut,
this is going to be a very short post for reasons that will soon be made clear. Greg and I are now in Nantes, having walked over 350 kilometres. We have faced yet more rain and Greg's feet and leg is in a very bad way (looks like that medical insurance will prove useful!) yet we both remain resilient and happy.
Anyhow, today Greg and I received our final university results and we both now hold 1st class degrees in International Development with Non-governmental Organisational Management. And so it would appear that the headlines really are true, UK educational standards clearly are at an all time low.
Now, we're in the land of champagne and we have reason to celebrate, so I hope you will excuse us for a few days... .
x
Tuesday 26 June 2007
Monday 18 June 2007
Though the rain did smite them, sunny remained their disposition...
Bonjour Mon Amies,
well it's day 18, we have lugged our saggy bodies over 200 kms, it has rained for the past five days and Greg and I are still talking to one another, so I guess all is well. If the week has had a theme, it would be rain, blisters and the kindness of strangers. We have uploaded our latest pics so do have a gander. And so to the high/low lights:
- It is becoming increasingly difficult for me to justify my prejudices against the French. Although on some key areas I remain smugly assured that the British way is superior than that of the French, I have to concede that the French could teach us a thing or seven about a "quality" rather than "quantity" approach to life. Let me elaborate. The French drink, but emphasis is on the quality of the beverage rather the desire merely to get inebriated as fast as possible. They also know when to stop; a skill I could do with homing. The food? Quite simply it would seem they do indeed have the best cuisine in the world. They take genuine pride in buying locally and in supporting farmers and working the land is a respected occupation. Being here has helped me understand a little better why the French people (not so the new government) are so resistant to adopting a fully liberal, market-based economy. They value their (long!) lunch breaks and Sunday as a day of rest. It seems they view Margaret Thatcher as a symbol of the destruction of society merely for the pursuit of material gain. To be fair, France's economy is in fairly bad shape (especially compared to Britain's) and looks likely to follow the British/US model from a necessity to reduce unemployment and it's massive domestic debt, yet this is a country where young people (for the most part) genuinely respect adults and where strangers acknowledge and help one another. If the cost of economic growth is the loss of society, is this a price worth paying?
- I don't like rain. It makes me wet. It makes my tent wet. It makes all my possessions wet. At times, this makes me sad. In an attempt to stay dry I am forced to wear a brightly coloured "high-vis" waterproof and an equally garish cover for my rucksack (see photos!). Looking like a wet, luminous orange blob and not speaking French very well, does not help me blend-in with the locals. This also makes me sad.
- For the first time in my life I am able to look at a map and compass and understand the information they reveal. This makes me happy. It also helps us avoid walking around in circles.
- I like French women. They are generally beautiful and are inexplicably good at just being women. I even like the way they laugh at me when I am dressed as an orange blob.
- I've spotted a gap in the market here. Fresh milk. You can't get it here. Porquoi?
- Greg is better at skimming stones than me but I am far superior at hitting targets.
Au Revoir.
well it's day 18, we have lugged our saggy bodies over 200 kms, it has rained for the past five days and Greg and I are still talking to one another, so I guess all is well. If the week has had a theme, it would be rain, blisters and the kindness of strangers. We have uploaded our latest pics so do have a gander. And so to the high/low lights:
- It is becoming increasingly difficult for me to justify my prejudices against the French. Although on some key areas I remain smugly assured that the British way is superior than that of the French, I have to concede that the French could teach us a thing or seven about a "quality" rather than "quantity" approach to life. Let me elaborate. The French drink, but emphasis is on the quality of the beverage rather the desire merely to get inebriated as fast as possible. They also know when to stop; a skill I could do with homing. The food? Quite simply it would seem they do indeed have the best cuisine in the world. They take genuine pride in buying locally and in supporting farmers and working the land is a respected occupation. Being here has helped me understand a little better why the French people (not so the new government) are so resistant to adopting a fully liberal, market-based economy. They value their (long!) lunch breaks and Sunday as a day of rest. It seems they view Margaret Thatcher as a symbol of the destruction of society merely for the pursuit of material gain. To be fair, France's economy is in fairly bad shape (especially compared to Britain's) and looks likely to follow the British/US model from a necessity to reduce unemployment and it's massive domestic debt, yet this is a country where young people (for the most part) genuinely respect adults and where strangers acknowledge and help one another. If the cost of economic growth is the loss of society, is this a price worth paying?
- I don't like rain. It makes me wet. It makes my tent wet. It makes all my possessions wet. At times, this makes me sad. In an attempt to stay dry I am forced to wear a brightly coloured "high-vis" waterproof and an equally garish cover for my rucksack (see photos!). Looking like a wet, luminous orange blob and not speaking French very well, does not help me blend-in with the locals. This also makes me sad.
- For the first time in my life I am able to look at a map and compass and understand the information they reveal. This makes me happy. It also helps us avoid walking around in circles.
- I like French women. They are generally beautiful and are inexplicably good at just being women. I even like the way they laugh at me when I am dressed as an orange blob.
- I've spotted a gap in the market here. Fresh milk. You can't get it here. Porquoi?
- Greg is better at skimming stones than me but I am far superior at hitting targets.
Au Revoir.
Tuesday 12 June 2007
Friends and family,
You find me balanced precariously on a stool, in a campsite, in St. Malo. My being on this stool represents the culmination of 12 days of foot-powered travelling (and a little help from a ferry). Now, before I set-off on this journey I had high ambitions for writing lots on this blog yet I suspect they will not be fully realised as:
1) The french (cue one of Seth’s favourite gripes) in a bid to remain individualistic and to prove to the world that they will not be bullied by the forces of globalization, have truly bizarre keyboards. For example, to produce the @ sign requires the pressing of 3 buttons simultaneously, while accessing the number keys requires pressing shift. I would like to go on record that, “I am not happy about this”.
2) The Internet is relatively expensive and I am practicing being poor.
3) Sometimes we say more by saying less (profound, non?).
Thus, updates will be brief and snappy with emphasis on pretty pictures.
Greg and I have walked approximately 135 kms thus far, London to Portsmouth and then a brief stroll in St. Malo. We began our journey having attended a 7am mass in Westminster Cathedral, Friday 1st June 2007. Having walked out of London, we then followed the A3 for a brief while before using footpaths wherever possible to snake down to Portsmouth. We spent just one night in a campsite and the other walking days, camping at the side of footpaths.
Highlights and key learning's:
Walking can be tiring. Especially while carrying everything you need for four months on your back. I’m not convinced I thought enough about this factor before agreeing with Greg that walking for four months would be “fun”. Note-to-self, be less ready to agree to ambitious schemes while drinking with a friend.
My tent is very small. No smaller than that. I am not very small. Problematic, no?
Green is good, brown and grey are bad. We like forests and scenery, not following "A" roads.
Walking all day makes even badly made tea with powdered milk, seem like an impossibly luxurious experience.
We both snore. Loudly. Previously, I used to blame this phenomena on booze. On walking days, we do not drink. Thus I am forced to acknowledge my nasal disability.
Do talk to strangers. More often than not, they are good people with wisdom to share.
On day 6 I went “ketonic”. I’m still waiting for my certificate but Greg assures me that the reward will be in weight loss. Apparently, a person is “ketonic” when they burn more calories than they consume. A sign of this is that (and I’m quoting Greg here) “your breathe smells like pear drops”. Mine seemed more reminiscent of "eau de sewer", but hey, weight loss is weight loss so I’m not concerned.
Again on day 6, we spoke to a farmer. He was very interested in our journey yet enquired as to how we were going to make the return journey. Upon telling him we would fly back he mused “I see, well that’s your carbon foot-print fu%$ed right there”. No impressing some people.
Travel lodge hotels are cheap yet inexplicably depressing. This we learnt while staying in one for two nights in Portsmouth.
And finally, the men of Portsmouth have unfeasibly large forearms.
Right, I'm off for a stroll...
You find me balanced precariously on a stool, in a campsite, in St. Malo. My being on this stool represents the culmination of 12 days of foot-powered travelling (and a little help from a ferry). Now, before I set-off on this journey I had high ambitions for writing lots on this blog yet I suspect they will not be fully realised as:
1) The french (cue one of Seth’s favourite gripes) in a bid to remain individualistic and to prove to the world that they will not be bullied by the forces of globalization, have truly bizarre keyboards. For example, to produce the @ sign requires the pressing of 3 buttons simultaneously, while accessing the number keys requires pressing shift. I would like to go on record that, “I am not happy about this”.
2) The Internet is relatively expensive and I am practicing being poor.
3) Sometimes we say more by saying less (profound, non?).
Thus, updates will be brief and snappy with emphasis on pretty pictures.
Greg and I have walked approximately 135 kms thus far, London to Portsmouth and then a brief stroll in St. Malo. We began our journey having attended a 7am mass in Westminster Cathedral, Friday 1st June 2007. Having walked out of London, we then followed the A3 for a brief while before using footpaths wherever possible to snake down to Portsmouth. We spent just one night in a campsite and the other walking days, camping at the side of footpaths.
Highlights and key learning's:
Walking can be tiring. Especially while carrying everything you need for four months on your back. I’m not convinced I thought enough about this factor before agreeing with Greg that walking for four months would be “fun”. Note-to-self, be less ready to agree to ambitious schemes while drinking with a friend.
My tent is very small. No smaller than that. I am not very small. Problematic, no?
Green is good, brown and grey are bad. We like forests and scenery, not following "A" roads.
Walking all day makes even badly made tea with powdered milk, seem like an impossibly luxurious experience.
We both snore. Loudly. Previously, I used to blame this phenomena on booze. On walking days, we do not drink. Thus I am forced to acknowledge my nasal disability.
Do talk to strangers. More often than not, they are good people with wisdom to share.
On day 6 I went “ketonic”. I’m still waiting for my certificate but Greg assures me that the reward will be in weight loss. Apparently, a person is “ketonic” when they burn more calories than they consume. A sign of this is that (and I’m quoting Greg here) “your breathe smells like pear drops”. Mine seemed more reminiscent of "eau de sewer", but hey, weight loss is weight loss so I’m not concerned.
Again on day 6, we spoke to a farmer. He was very interested in our journey yet enquired as to how we were going to make the return journey. Upon telling him we would fly back he mused “I see, well that’s your carbon foot-print fu%$ed right there”. No impressing some people.
Travel lodge hotels are cheap yet inexplicably depressing. This we learnt while staying in one for two nights in Portsmouth.
And finally, the men of Portsmouth have unfeasibly large forearms.
Right, I'm off for a stroll...
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