Well, Orkney was lovely, but I didn't see any puffins. I did however see three concerts! There was a music festival on while I was up there, and they were selling student tickets to some performances for £4! So I went to two of those in one day (one was a nouveau classical music performance, which was actually incredibly good, and the other was Bach, which was actually incredibly soporific), and caught a jazz/bluegrass performance at a pub afterward. Three concerts in one day!
On another night I went to a traditional(esque) story-telling evening, which was neat until they got us up to dance. Usually I'd be right in to it, but I wasn't really keen that night cos I was feeling a little homesick and didn't want to dance with this random guy, especially with no warning! I also saw some castles, and the MotoGP in a pub with no sound. I've planned that better this time - I am in a hostel with a TV room this weekend, so I will be able to catch it there.
I am in Edinburgh now, as you may have guessed from the title. It was quite amazing coming in - I felt like a country bumpkin! It had been a month since I'd been anywhere bigger than a small town so I was a bit awed by the size of this place!
Edinburgh is home to the ugliest human construction in the history of the world; the colossal Forth Rail Bridge. This was the sight which greeted me closest to the "Welcome to Edinburgh" sign. Happily, the central city is much more picturesque. Spiky things abound, from Cathedral spires to monuments to writers to random buildings - everything has a turret, and most things have some architectural feature seemingly designed to imperil the life of the recreational skydiver. Some of them are even serrated!
They do like their monuments here. They have one hill here with four of them on it. One of these, the somewhat famous "Edinburgh's Disgrace", also known as the National Monument (unifinished since the 1800s) is a facade of a Greco-Roman temple. Some pillars, and half a low wall. Hahahahahaha.
I went on a ghost tour one evening, with some people I met at the hostel. It was cool, and actually quite scary! I don't really believe in ghosts, but it got me going all the same. We visited one of the world's first concentration camps, called the Covenanter's prison, and entered a mausoleum which is supposed to be haunted by a poltergeist which is able to inflict actual physical wounds on people. One lady, who claimed to not be a credulous individual and seemed more fascinated than scared, came out with three bloody scratches on her finger. Nifty *shiver*.
Today, I finally got to see puffins! They were very far away though - so far that they had to be seen over a surveillance camera. So it wasn't really actually seeing them, I guess. I wanna seeeeee them! But I got to move the camera around to look at different ones and stuff, so it was cool.
I'm here until Monday, when I will be retreating to London as opposed to making my way leisurely down the country as I had planned to. One of my wisdom teeth is coming through, and being really nasty about it. It's given me pain bad enough to keep me taking neurofen all day for the last three days, and using bonjela too, so I figure I should do something about it. It sucks, cos I'm a bit scared of getting it done, but my insurance will cover it so I should just deal to it, I guess. I'm going to get it done in London so Tony can look after me and give me a towel to drool blood all over. Sound like fun Tony? ^^
Friday, June 29, 2007
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Higher Lands: Our Heroine Goes Further North
Okay, so after my rather drunken interlude in Inverness - where I also saw Loch Ness (no monster, though plenty of pics I can photoshop one into) and some of the Highlands (a couple of sword-wielding maniacs, but that's another story, which I can't tell without the pictures) - I finally moved on. I headed further north.
"Why on earth would you want to go further north?" you ask. *Shrug* Why not? I reply. I think the first reason I decided to go up more was because I fell in love with the scenery on the bus ride up, and decided I wanted to see more of it. Then I remembered about all the ancient Viking and Pict sites on the Orkney Islands, so I thought that would make a good end destination. And then I read that it is the right time of year to see puffins. That sealed it!
So I decided to go to Orkney by way of a little place called Helmsdale. I stopped there for no particluar reason - it has a memorial statue to the Clearances - the Scottish Diaspora - which I thought I'd like to see, and that was about it. The train pulled in, and I caught sight of the place from the station. It is this TINY little village with two dairies, five cafes, two pubs and a permanently locked set of public toilets.
The hostel there was little more than a hall with two rooms at one end - one for boys and one for girls. It had a very nice fire, but it doesn't let you stay inside during the day. We were kicked out at 10am, and then not let back in until 5pm! As you can imagine, when I arrived at 1pm and saw that the hostel didn't open for four hours, I was a little miffed. Especially given I was desperate for the loo! It was ok though - it wasn't raining, so I found the library which had a toilet, and then found a nice grassy sward upon which to sit and read my book for four hours. I wasn't able to do much else - like explore, for example - with my 25kg (or whatever it is now) backpack on!
The next day I spent half the morning on the internet, trying to book a hostel in Edinburgh (my next destination after Orkney) and then went for a walk. It looked like a nice gentle stroll on the map, and I thought it would be a pleasant way to spend the rest of the day. Heh. It said it would take two hours but I figured I'd stop to admire the view in a few places. So I set off up this hill, carrying three huge books and the rest of my bag (needed the books for finding a hotsel, and I couldn't drop them off cos the place was closed). It was a nice walk, and I saw some fantastic Highland scenery - heather, hills, glens, rivers... but I had no idea where I was on the map! So after two hours and some images of broken ankles and hypothermia, I decided to go back the way I had come, rather than trying to find the way any longer. Kept me busy though.
The next day - yesterday - I moved on, up to Orkney, where I arrived at 8pmish. I met a nice German couple on the way up, whom I hated because I miss Simon, and then found my hostel. It has free internet! But I have much more active things to do than sit here all day. I am off to the tourist office in a minute to find out if there is public transport to all these ancient sites I want to see. And puffins!
"Why on earth would you want to go further north?" you ask. *Shrug* Why not? I reply. I think the first reason I decided to go up more was because I fell in love with the scenery on the bus ride up, and decided I wanted to see more of it. Then I remembered about all the ancient Viking and Pict sites on the Orkney Islands, so I thought that would make a good end destination. And then I read that it is the right time of year to see puffins. That sealed it!
So I decided to go to Orkney by way of a little place called Helmsdale. I stopped there for no particluar reason - it has a memorial statue to the Clearances - the Scottish Diaspora - which I thought I'd like to see, and that was about it. The train pulled in, and I caught sight of the place from the station. It is this TINY little village with two dairies, five cafes, two pubs and a permanently locked set of public toilets.
The hostel there was little more than a hall with two rooms at one end - one for boys and one for girls. It had a very nice fire, but it doesn't let you stay inside during the day. We were kicked out at 10am, and then not let back in until 5pm! As you can imagine, when I arrived at 1pm and saw that the hostel didn't open for four hours, I was a little miffed. Especially given I was desperate for the loo! It was ok though - it wasn't raining, so I found the library which had a toilet, and then found a nice grassy sward upon which to sit and read my book for four hours. I wasn't able to do much else - like explore, for example - with my 25kg (or whatever it is now) backpack on!
The next day I spent half the morning on the internet, trying to book a hostel in Edinburgh (my next destination after Orkney) and then went for a walk. It looked like a nice gentle stroll on the map, and I thought it would be a pleasant way to spend the rest of the day. Heh. It said it would take two hours but I figured I'd stop to admire the view in a few places. So I set off up this hill, carrying three huge books and the rest of my bag (needed the books for finding a hotsel, and I couldn't drop them off cos the place was closed). It was a nice walk, and I saw some fantastic Highland scenery - heather, hills, glens, rivers... but I had no idea where I was on the map! So after two hours and some images of broken ankles and hypothermia, I decided to go back the way I had come, rather than trying to find the way any longer. Kept me busy though.
The next day - yesterday - I moved on, up to Orkney, where I arrived at 8pmish. I met a nice German couple on the way up, whom I hated because I miss Simon, and then found my hostel. It has free internet! But I have much more active things to do than sit here all day. I am off to the tourist office in a minute to find out if there is public transport to all these ancient sites I want to see. And puffins!
Saturday, June 16, 2007
There Can Be Only One
Okay, so it's not my best work, as titles go. I'm in the Highlands of Scotland, in the town-called-a-city called Inverness. Broadswords, kilts, drinking and fierce landscape. It's awesome!
In our last episode, our heroine (meeeeee!) had narrowly avoided death by lack of hygiene, or worse, and mounted a bus for Scotland. I headed south, as you do, then transferred in a random little place callled Preston to my bus for Inverness. As we headed north, everything got more awesome. Gah, my descriptive powers are really not up to scratch today. Oh well, you can laugh at me if nothing else. This hang over is pretty bad! Okay, so I'm going to skip the flowing narrative and just describe the cool bits.
We drove through Cairngorm (I know what a cairn is, and I know what gormlesness is... ?) National Park, and the hills were huge, bare expanses which crouched like a waiting thing along the side of the road. The weather had turned nasty and rain lashed the coach, winds buffeted us and the clouds hid the tops of the hills, shrouding everything in mysterious goloom. It was awesome.
I got to the hostel and there were three German girls already in the room. They were really cool, and within 5 minutes of meeting them they invited me to go to Loch Ness with them the next day. I did, and it was cool.
Then we went out to a pub, and met some Danish boys who were cool. I went out with them the next night.
The day after that - yesterday - I went on a "Canny Tour" which went all the way around the place... [brain... not... go good] it was really cool. Some more incredible scenery, these awe inspiring bare mountains.
Alright, I might leave it there and try to describe more later. Remind me to tell you about the lady from the Outer Hebrides. She was cool.
In our last episode, our heroine (meeeeee!) had narrowly avoided death by lack of hygiene, or worse, and mounted a bus for Scotland. I headed south, as you do, then transferred in a random little place callled Preston to my bus for Inverness. As we headed north, everything got more awesome. Gah, my descriptive powers are really not up to scratch today. Oh well, you can laugh at me if nothing else. This hang over is pretty bad! Okay, so I'm going to skip the flowing narrative and just describe the cool bits.
We drove through Cairngorm (I know what a cairn is, and I know what gormlesness is... ?) National Park, and the hills were huge, bare expanses which crouched like a waiting thing along the side of the road. The weather had turned nasty and rain lashed the coach, winds buffeted us and the clouds hid the tops of the hills, shrouding everything in mysterious goloom. It was awesome.
I got to the hostel and there were three German girls already in the room. They were really cool, and within 5 minutes of meeting them they invited me to go to Loch Ness with them the next day. I did, and it was cool.
Then we went out to a pub, and met some Danish boys who were cool. I went out with them the next night.
The day after that - yesterday - I went on a "Canny Tour" which went all the way around the place... [brain... not... go good] it was really cool. Some more incredible scenery, these awe inspiring bare mountains.
Alright, I might leave it there and try to describe more later. Remind me to tell you about the lady from the Outer Hebrides. She was cool.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
...And then it got worse.
I had finished writing my blog the other day, and afterward I went back to my horrid room to hang out. I then noticed that the rubbish bin had not been emptied, and the cups for tea or coffee (there were some chipped old mugs) hadn't been cleaned. I was starting to feel more and more uncomfortable, when I went out to the loo (creaky bare boards, unsanitary) and came back to my room.
I put the key in, turned it, and pushed a bit. The same as when I came back earlier, that didn't work, so I pushed harder. It gave with a little snicking noise, which made me wonder. I closed and locked the door again, put the key away in my pocket, and pushed the door. Snick. The door opened.
What had hapened was that the hole in the wall I mentioned was down the side of the door, and this allowed the catch that the bolt went in to move, enough that the door could just be pushed open. I was about to sleep, a young woman by herself, in a room above a bar in a strange town, with no locks between myself and the street. For thirty-five pounds.
There was no other accommodation available in the whole town, so while I wasn't at all happy, I decided that I'd probably just have to stay there and hope I'd be safe. Then the music started. Loud, obnoxious, LOUD music. I cried.
I also texted Simon, who called me back and listened to me freaking out about not having a lock. As you can imagine, he wasn't very excited about the idea. He didn't say much, but he seemed a bit shocked. Talking to him calmed me down, so I decided I'd just have to chance it and try and find something further afield, even if it meant going back out to the place I'd stayed at the previous night - the one which cost a million pounds.
I went down and told the (rather bulshy) girl at the bar downstairs that the door didn't lock, and she said she'd send the manager up, who should be back in five minutes. I waited for half an hour, went back down, and was told that he would now be back in fifteen minutes. By this time it was getting late, and my chances of finding somewhere were getting slimmer.
Eventually he turned up, and had a look at the door. "Wait here a minute", he says, and rushes off downstairs. He came back with a handful of coasters, and proceeded to stuff them under the locking mechanism to try to pad it out! "Try that now", he said. I kind of looked at him, and he asked if it was alright, and I said "to be honest, I'd rather just have my money back and go and find somewhere else". So he gave me it back, and called me a taxi, and I went back to my old hotel of the previous night. Which was full.
Fortunately, the girl at the desk was really nice, so she called around and found somewhere for me. It was a £15 ride up the M6, and cost stupid amounts, but it was safe. I slept well, although by this time it was late, and got up feeling relatively composed for my bus ride north.
I put the key in, turned it, and pushed a bit. The same as when I came back earlier, that didn't work, so I pushed harder. It gave with a little snicking noise, which made me wonder. I closed and locked the door again, put the key away in my pocket, and pushed the door. Snick. The door opened.
What had hapened was that the hole in the wall I mentioned was down the side of the door, and this allowed the catch that the bolt went in to move, enough that the door could just be pushed open. I was about to sleep, a young woman by herself, in a room above a bar in a strange town, with no locks between myself and the street. For thirty-five pounds.
There was no other accommodation available in the whole town, so while I wasn't at all happy, I decided that I'd probably just have to stay there and hope I'd be safe. Then the music started. Loud, obnoxious, LOUD music. I cried.
I also texted Simon, who called me back and listened to me freaking out about not having a lock. As you can imagine, he wasn't very excited about the idea. He didn't say much, but he seemed a bit shocked. Talking to him calmed me down, so I decided I'd just have to chance it and try and find something further afield, even if it meant going back out to the place I'd stayed at the previous night - the one which cost a million pounds.
I went down and told the (rather bulshy) girl at the bar downstairs that the door didn't lock, and she said she'd send the manager up, who should be back in five minutes. I waited for half an hour, went back down, and was told that he would now be back in fifteen minutes. By this time it was getting late, and my chances of finding somewhere were getting slimmer.
Eventually he turned up, and had a look at the door. "Wait here a minute", he says, and rushes off downstairs. He came back with a handful of coasters, and proceeded to stuff them under the locking mechanism to try to pad it out! "Try that now", he said. I kind of looked at him, and he asked if it was alright, and I said "to be honest, I'd rather just have my money back and go and find somewhere else". So he gave me it back, and called me a taxi, and I went back to my old hotel of the previous night. Which was full.
Fortunately, the girl at the desk was really nice, so she called around and found somewhere for me. It was a £15 ride up the M6, and cost stupid amounts, but it was safe. I slept well, although by this time it was late, and got up feeling relatively composed for my bus ride north.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Reasons to Book Ahead; Or, There are No Hostels in Lancaster
A certain episode with the Kingsgate in Rotorua once upon a time sort of prepared me for this (eh Dad). I had a bit of a pricey one last night. I caught the ferry back from the Isle of Man, but I couldn't find any hostels on the internet so I hadn't booked in advance. Turns out, this is because there are no hostels in the port of Heysham, the town of Morecambe, of the small city of Lancaster. Typical.
I caught a taxi (the only form of transport to be had at that time of night) to Lancaster (ta Angus, you were right - it's not far at all) because that was where the driver said was the only accomodation which would be open at that time of night. I checked in to my £51 hotel room, wich was really quite comfy. I slept a little poorly (price cringe maybe? Or the "I have no plan" stress?), and got up this morning to have a nice long shower and then walk in to Lancaster proper.
The walk took me nearly an hour! I was wearing my backpack, which by no stretch of the imagination weighs just 17kgs anymore, and carrying a package of some things to post which, it turns out, weighed 6.2kgs! And the weather was hot!
I sweated my way into town, found a post office, posted my stuff (what a weight lifted! Another price cringe though... everything is SO expensive here!) and then walked on to find out where I am catching my bus from tomorrow, and to find somewhere to stay nearby. I managed both, and then (at 1pm) went out to find some breakfast!
I found a local "greasy spoon", as they call them, got a fry-up with tea for £4 and read my book for a bit. My next task was to find a book shop to buy a Lonely Planet for Britain. I figure I'm going everywhere, and it's going to be easier to buy one guide book with all the extra details than to buy maps at each place, even if it is another million kgs to carry :p
So I did that, and found this internet cafe near by. I now have to find somewhere that sells phone cards and call the hostel I am booking in Inverness, to pay by credit card before I get there.
The place I am staying is called the Duke of Lancaster, and it's basically just a pub with some rooms upstairs. It's the cheapest place in the whole city (at £35!) and looks like it's worth about £3; shared bathroom and all. Walls with holes in, doors with hand-scrawled numbers... *Shudder* Oh well, I've stayed in worse in India. Actually, I don't think that's true, apart from the trains. Hah. Still, at least I have somewhere to leave my pack. Touch wood it's still there when I get back... Heh.
Well, my bus comes at 10am tomorrow, so I won't be there long. I'll spend the rest of the day today poring over my new guidebook planning stuff, get an early night tonight, and then get up early to wrestle with whatever it is that passes for the bathing facilities and find some breakfast before I move on. To Inverness!
I caught a taxi (the only form of transport to be had at that time of night) to Lancaster (ta Angus, you were right - it's not far at all) because that was where the driver said was the only accomodation which would be open at that time of night. I checked in to my £51 hotel room, wich was really quite comfy. I slept a little poorly (price cringe maybe? Or the "I have no plan" stress?), and got up this morning to have a nice long shower and then walk in to Lancaster proper.
The walk took me nearly an hour! I was wearing my backpack, which by no stretch of the imagination weighs just 17kgs anymore, and carrying a package of some things to post which, it turns out, weighed 6.2kgs! And the weather was hot!
I sweated my way into town, found a post office, posted my stuff (what a weight lifted! Another price cringe though... everything is SO expensive here!) and then walked on to find out where I am catching my bus from tomorrow, and to find somewhere to stay nearby. I managed both, and then (at 1pm) went out to find some breakfast!
I found a local "greasy spoon", as they call them, got a fry-up with tea for £4 and read my book for a bit. My next task was to find a book shop to buy a Lonely Planet for Britain. I figure I'm going everywhere, and it's going to be easier to buy one guide book with all the extra details than to buy maps at each place, even if it is another million kgs to carry :p
So I did that, and found this internet cafe near by. I now have to find somewhere that sells phone cards and call the hostel I am booking in Inverness, to pay by credit card before I get there.
The place I am staying is called the Duke of Lancaster, and it's basically just a pub with some rooms upstairs. It's the cheapest place in the whole city (at £35!) and looks like it's worth about £3; shared bathroom and all. Walls with holes in, doors with hand-scrawled numbers... *Shudder* Oh well, I've stayed in worse in India. Actually, I don't think that's true, apart from the trains. Hah. Still, at least I have somewhere to leave my pack. Touch wood it's still there when I get back... Heh.
Well, my bus comes at 10am tomorrow, so I won't be there long. I'll spend the rest of the day today poring over my new guidebook planning stuff, get an early night tonight, and then get up early to wrestle with whatever it is that passes for the bathing facilities and find some breakfast before I move on. To Inverness!
Monday, June 11, 2007
Race reports and next steps
The weather is much better now. And I'm leaving. And probably not coming back until dad wins lotto and brings me over in a couple of years' time. It turns out the government isn't as benign as all that: I got all dressed up to go to job agencies, and the second one I go in to asks me if I have a visa. I say no, and they say I need one. "I thought it was different here", I say. "Yes," says she, "you need a permit as well as a visa." Bugger.
The last races were excellent. I'm a bit confused as to what happened in the superstock - I thought Anstey won it, but I wrote that he won the... oh man, stupid 'super'ness. Anyway, he won one race, and it was the 600s, making four of those in a row. As to the others... meh. I wrote a report of the big one, the Senior TT, and sent it to dad, so you can all have a copy of that. It's even indented for you non-motorbike-people's skipping convenience.
I depart by ferry for Heysham Port today, arriving at 11.15 (at least, that's the scheduled time!) and from there I hope to find a way to get to Lancaster, or some accomodation in Heysham, I'm, not really sure (eek). Then on the 12th, in two sleeps' time, I get a coach (as they call them here) to Inverness, where I will hopefully be able to stay for about a week, or more if it takes my fancy. I then plan to wander my way down through Scotland - not sure how long where at all - and then to my castle, then probably back to London, either direct or via some places.
I am talking with Tony and Jamie about going to Morocco, Sweden or Portugal with the former, and Ireland (for just a weekend! Hehe) with the latter once I finish Scotland, funds willing.
I hope everyone is well; give me e-mans or msns or comments or something, say hi! I'm off to Scotland!
The last races were excellent. I'm a bit confused as to what happened in the superstock - I thought Anstey won it, but I wrote that he won the... oh man, stupid 'super'ness. Anyway, he won one race, and it was the 600s, making four of those in a row. As to the others... meh. I wrote a report of the big one, the Senior TT, and sent it to dad, so you can all have a copy of that. It's even indented for you non-motorbike-people's skipping convenience.
Well, what an exciting race. Anstey took out his Superbike, the one that had had the problems in the first race. In an interview at the start line up, he sounded happy with the bike, saying that he just wanted to do two laps (you pit at the end of the second) and see how it went, and that "it sounded good on the dyno last night". When the interviewer came back with a comment about the dyno and the race track being two different things, Anstey came back with a typically optimistic Kiwi "she'll be right".
So, at 10.45, (actually on time!) the race got underway. McGuinness flew ahead early on, passing the two riders who left ahead of him before the first commentator point(!), Anstey not far behind, then Guy Martin, Hutchinson and Lougher etc. Not long later, Anstey is starting to flag. He slips down to fourth, then down to 11th at the Ramsey hairpin, where it is reported that he is looking over his left shoulder at something on the bike. At the end of lap one, he pulls in to the pits. When the trackside interviewer gets hold of him, he says that "the bike is moving all over the place- it's not handling properly". His race is over.
Not long later, we get the news that Daniel Jansen, from Pukekohe, is out (retired) after having totally rebuilt the bike in the wee small hours of this morning. I think I should go shake Paul Dobbs' hand - the only Kiwi to complete all the races he entered!
In the meantime, John McGuinness has stretched out his lead over Guy Martin to 21sec and gets an astonishing average lap speed of 129.853mph on the first lap! The second lap sees little change on the leader board with McGuinness leading Guy Martin from Ian Lougher and Ian Hutchinson, I'm not sure in what order. Conor Cummins puts on a brilliant show, battling with one of the Ians for 5th place!
Coming in to the pits at the end of the second lap, John McGuinness does what we've all been waiting for: his foot goes down in the stop box and the a great cheer goes up from the crowd as the commentator yells "He's done it! It has been done! John McGuinness has broken 130mph - 130.354mph!". Everyone claps and cheers as he comes flying out of the pits for lap three.
Guy Martin follows a while later, having taken a small but appreciable delay in the pits, as is now usual, and proceeds to do a blisteringly fast lap, closing the gap between him and McGuinness to 16s! McGuinness's pit board obviously reflects this as he pulls up his socks a bit and extends his lead again to 18s over the next lap.
The rest of the race passes in a blur of fairing and early chicken-counting, with the final result being McGuinness a triumphant 1st, Guy Martin a tenacious 2nd, and Ian Lougher a dependable but slightly chagrined third.
So a good race, but I was really disappointed about Anstey; I think we might have seen the 130 broken more than just the once if he'd been pushing the others along. I bet I'm not half as disappointed as Anstey though. Oh well, I'll just have to come back next year to watch it. Hah.
I depart by ferry for Heysham Port today, arriving at 11.15 (at least, that's the scheduled time!) and from there I hope to find a way to get to Lancaster, or some accomodation in Heysham, I'm, not really sure (eek). Then on the 12th, in two sleeps' time, I get a coach (as they call them here) to Inverness, where I will hopefully be able to stay for about a week, or more if it takes my fancy. I then plan to wander my way down through Scotland - not sure how long where at all - and then to my castle, then probably back to London, either direct or via some places.
I am talking with Tony and Jamie about going to Morocco, Sweden or Portugal with the former, and Ireland (for just a weekend! Hehe) with the latter once I finish Scotland, funds willing.
I hope everyone is well; give me e-mans or msns or comments or something, say hi! I'm off to Scotland!
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
GO! Mo'bike!
I've been here for a week now. I arrived in the middle of the night, and it was Cold. Oh well, I thought, I'm sure it won't be this cold the whole time, and at least it's not raining. Heh.
On the first day, I did the first thing one does in foreign places and found out where I was in relation to the most important parts of the city. So I went for a walk and (eventually - my poor feet!) found the race circuit. Then I went and bought a map (should have done THAT earlier) and found my way to the centre of the city. Both of these things are about 5 or 10mins walk from the place I'm staying at. It's pretty brilliant.
The next day I went a little further afield, and found the grandstand. I bought myself a nice warm polar fleece jacket with TT written all over it, and got a free cap! I also bought myself a ticket to the grandstand for Saturday's race, the 1000cc Superbike class. These are bikes which can be changed from road bikes in any way you like, except you have to use the same frame as one you buy in the shop. This effectively limits the power at a certain amount, because if you get too much torque, it twists the frame! MotoGP bikes, the next step up, are built from scratch and don't necessarily have anything in common with one you buy in a shop. Like the Britten bike.
When I arrived at the home stay, Mrs Cartmell gave me all these leaflets about things to see and do on the Isle of Man, which, she told me, came with the homestay pack, from the Government*. Added to the pile I had picked up at the port, I now have quite a library. One of these pamphlets mentioned a wildflower garden at St Johns, where they also had a little arts and crafts place, and something called Tynwald Green. I thought the garden sounded nice so I jumped on a bus on Tuesday and went out there. Well, I found a garden. It looked like it hadn't been gardened for ages, and it was pretty poky and boring. Didn't have any wildflowers either. Turns out, this was because I had the wrong garden.
The craft centre was boring, unsurprisingly, and it was actually quite a walk down this pathway. That was a very nice walk though - like walking through a leafy tunnel. As I walked back up it, I noticed a little plaque stuck in the stone wall, half hidden under ferns and moss. I had a look, and it said that I was looking at a bronze-age tomb. I took a few steps back into the road (not a very hazardous thing to do in the Isle of Man, even when there are 40,000 extra people here!) and lo and behold, there was an upright slab of rock set in to the wall, which was topped with another slab... it really was an ancient tomb! Just hangin' out, looking like part of a wall. Choice.
The Tynwald Green is this grass lawn with a stepped mound at one end of it. It is used once a year for a meeting of all the Islanders to pass any new laws. It is the longest surviving open parliament in the world! That's pretty cool.
The next day I went on a steam train! It looked just like Thomas! But without the face, of course... I got off at a place called Castletown, where they have the most well preserved medieval (wait for it...) castle in the world. It was so cool - it was a real one. And then I took the steam train back. That was an awesome day.
I did a bit of walking around Douglas on Thursday, took a train up the mountain (they only have one. It didn't have snow but was Really Cold up there) and discovered the BEST ICECREAM FLAVOUR IN THE WORLD (it's called toffee crunch, and it's like a cross between maple walnut and hokey pokey: maple flavoured ice cream with bits of toffee in. Ohhhh *drool*) on Friday, and stayed in bed with a hangover on Saturday. You may think I missed a few steps there, and you'd be right.
Those steps are the practices. Every evening from 6pm till about 9ish when the light begins to go, they close the roads (the race circuit is on normal roads) and let the racers practice. I went out to each of them, trying out different spots for viewing. I met a few different people at some of them. On Friday I went down to the Quarterbridge, which is a section of the course where they turn a corner from one long straight-ish to another long straight-ish. I sat on a grass bank along with plenty of other spectators, waiting for the practice to start. It didn't. I could make out from the speakers that there was a delay for some reason or another, but I wasn't sure when it would start. Eventually I got bored waiting, and saw the pub across the way sitting there, looking all beguiling. So I went down and got a pint. While I was in the (rather large) queue/mob of bored punters trying to get beer, I asked this guy if he knew when the practice would start. He did, and we got talking, and he found out I was on my own, and asked if I wanted to join him and his friends. They had a good spot, so I did. Then there were rounds. Rounds of pints. I should have learnt by now. There is still a lot of beer in a pint. A whole pint of it.
I woke up on Saturday morning when my alarm went off, and dragged myself up to the freezing cold grandstand to watch the race - I had bought a ticket for it, so I had to be there. Needless to say, I wasn't feeling very well. The only breakfast I had had was in reverse, and there was no juice (my preferred hangover cure). So I sat there, and waited while the race was delayed and delayed (fog on the mountain road section of the course), with nothing to distract me from how terrible I felt. And then they cancelled it. The weather was closing in, so they moved it to Monday instead, and I could go back to bed! I did a fairly good job of concealing my glee, went back down to my homestay, and spent the rest of the day sleeping or reading. It was great.
On Sunday I went and saw a ruined castle. The weather was still awful, but it was still a cool ruin. Even the shockingly dry and boring audio-guide of the place wasn't enough to put me off it.
Monday it was the day of the superbike race. Again. I went back up to the grandstand, in much better humour this time, and the weather, which had been looking a bit iffy, eventually co-operated. Unfortunately, the Kiwi's machine didn't. Bruce Anstey, who wins a lot of things here, had a clutch problem with his superbike and had to resign from the race before he even made it to the first map-clock point (ask me to explain it if you're interested and don't know. I may have to use hand gestures).
McGuinness won (no surprise there) and another favourite of mine, Guy Martin, came second despite some appallingly slow pit stops. A local lad, just turned 21, called Conor Cummins was promoted from the 28th starter to the 10th due to some people being "non-starters" for whatever reason. This meant that he was going to be circulating with guys who were meant to be a lot faster than him. A gentleman next to me thought this was a recipie for disaster for Conor - he'd either lose heart and let everyone past or push too hard and come off - but I had read in the newspaper that he was supposed to be pretty quick, so I reserved judgement. He gained three full places and ended up 7th! Must have really annoyed some of the older guys! Hehe. Go Conor!
Today, Tuesday, was the second race. It was the 1000cc superstock class, which is different from the superbikes in that you can only make the bike go faster by adding things you can buy off the shelves. So basically these are pretty trick bikes, but ones that you or I (with a bit of financial persistence) could put together ourselves. Though not me - I'm not allowed.
At the first point where they have a commentator, in the first lap of four, Bruce Anstey (the Kiwi) was already leading by five seconds from the next fastest rider, John McGuinness. By the end of the lap he had set a new record for average lap speed, and then the lap after, he set another! (128.something mph) Neither of these were "flying" laps, either - the first was the start, and in the second he pitted. So it's pretty impressive. Unsurprisingly Anstey won the race, coming home with a tidy margin of time from McGuinness. Ian Hutchinson came third, and Guy Martin failed to finish. He will be furious at his pit crew: they were slow yesterday, and today they didn't put enough fuel in his bike for him to make it round to his pit stop! An ignominious end for the "White Knight". Conor Cummins on the other hand acquitted himself beautifully, managing to pull a 6th place.
Tomorrow is the supersport (such stupid appellations for the classes - they're all super! I'm thooper, thanks for asking! Gah. It means 600cc bikes.) and on Friday it's Senior TT day, where you can ride any of your "super" bikes, regardless of which "super" class they're in. I will be watching Anstey, Martin and Cummins in both races: McGuinness is very good, but meh, I don't want him to win. Go Kiwi!
*In an aside, the Government here seems to be quite benign. They do all sorts of nice things like making the Island a tax haven (whatever that involves), not requiring a WOF on your vehicle if it's registered here, having an open parliament, and letting me work even though I didn't get a work permit before entering the UK! So although I am leaving on Sunday, it may not be the last I see of the Isle of Man.
On the first day, I did the first thing one does in foreign places and found out where I was in relation to the most important parts of the city. So I went for a walk and (eventually - my poor feet!) found the race circuit. Then I went and bought a map (should have done THAT earlier) and found my way to the centre of the city. Both of these things are about 5 or 10mins walk from the place I'm staying at. It's pretty brilliant.
The next day I went a little further afield, and found the grandstand. I bought myself a nice warm polar fleece jacket with TT written all over it, and got a free cap! I also bought myself a ticket to the grandstand for Saturday's race, the 1000cc Superbike class. These are bikes which can be changed from road bikes in any way you like, except you have to use the same frame as one you buy in the shop. This effectively limits the power at a certain amount, because if you get too much torque, it twists the frame! MotoGP bikes, the next step up, are built from scratch and don't necessarily have anything in common with one you buy in a shop. Like the Britten bike.
When I arrived at the home stay, Mrs Cartmell gave me all these leaflets about things to see and do on the Isle of Man, which, she told me, came with the homestay pack, from the Government*. Added to the pile I had picked up at the port, I now have quite a library. One of these pamphlets mentioned a wildflower garden at St Johns, where they also had a little arts and crafts place, and something called Tynwald Green. I thought the garden sounded nice so I jumped on a bus on Tuesday and went out there. Well, I found a garden. It looked like it hadn't been gardened for ages, and it was pretty poky and boring. Didn't have any wildflowers either. Turns out, this was because I had the wrong garden.
The craft centre was boring, unsurprisingly, and it was actually quite a walk down this pathway. That was a very nice walk though - like walking through a leafy tunnel. As I walked back up it, I noticed a little plaque stuck in the stone wall, half hidden under ferns and moss. I had a look, and it said that I was looking at a bronze-age tomb. I took a few steps back into the road (not a very hazardous thing to do in the Isle of Man, even when there are 40,000 extra people here!) and lo and behold, there was an upright slab of rock set in to the wall, which was topped with another slab... it really was an ancient tomb! Just hangin' out, looking like part of a wall. Choice.
The Tynwald Green is this grass lawn with a stepped mound at one end of it. It is used once a year for a meeting of all the Islanders to pass any new laws. It is the longest surviving open parliament in the world! That's pretty cool.
The next day I went on a steam train! It looked just like Thomas! But without the face, of course... I got off at a place called Castletown, where they have the most well preserved medieval (wait for it...) castle in the world. It was so cool - it was a real one. And then I took the steam train back. That was an awesome day.
I did a bit of walking around Douglas on Thursday, took a train up the mountain (they only have one. It didn't have snow but was Really Cold up there) and discovered the BEST ICECREAM FLAVOUR IN THE WORLD (it's called toffee crunch, and it's like a cross between maple walnut and hokey pokey: maple flavoured ice cream with bits of toffee in. Ohhhh *drool*) on Friday, and stayed in bed with a hangover on Saturday. You may think I missed a few steps there, and you'd be right.
Those steps are the practices. Every evening from 6pm till about 9ish when the light begins to go, they close the roads (the race circuit is on normal roads) and let the racers practice. I went out to each of them, trying out different spots for viewing. I met a few different people at some of them. On Friday I went down to the Quarterbridge, which is a section of the course where they turn a corner from one long straight-ish to another long straight-ish. I sat on a grass bank along with plenty of other spectators, waiting for the practice to start. It didn't. I could make out from the speakers that there was a delay for some reason or another, but I wasn't sure when it would start. Eventually I got bored waiting, and saw the pub across the way sitting there, looking all beguiling. So I went down and got a pint. While I was in the (rather large) queue/mob of bored punters trying to get beer, I asked this guy if he knew when the practice would start. He did, and we got talking, and he found out I was on my own, and asked if I wanted to join him and his friends. They had a good spot, so I did. Then there were rounds. Rounds of pints. I should have learnt by now. There is still a lot of beer in a pint. A whole pint of it.
I woke up on Saturday morning when my alarm went off, and dragged myself up to the freezing cold grandstand to watch the race - I had bought a ticket for it, so I had to be there. Needless to say, I wasn't feeling very well. The only breakfast I had had was in reverse, and there was no juice (my preferred hangover cure). So I sat there, and waited while the race was delayed and delayed (fog on the mountain road section of the course), with nothing to distract me from how terrible I felt. And then they cancelled it. The weather was closing in, so they moved it to Monday instead, and I could go back to bed! I did a fairly good job of concealing my glee, went back down to my homestay, and spent the rest of the day sleeping or reading. It was great.
On Sunday I went and saw a ruined castle. The weather was still awful, but it was still a cool ruin. Even the shockingly dry and boring audio-guide of the place wasn't enough to put me off it.
Monday it was the day of the superbike race. Again. I went back up to the grandstand, in much better humour this time, and the weather, which had been looking a bit iffy, eventually co-operated. Unfortunately, the Kiwi's machine didn't. Bruce Anstey, who wins a lot of things here, had a clutch problem with his superbike and had to resign from the race before he even made it to the first map-clock point (ask me to explain it if you're interested and don't know. I may have to use hand gestures).
McGuinness won (no surprise there) and another favourite of mine, Guy Martin, came second despite some appallingly slow pit stops. A local lad, just turned 21, called Conor Cummins was promoted from the 28th starter to the 10th due to some people being "non-starters" for whatever reason. This meant that he was going to be circulating with guys who were meant to be a lot faster than him. A gentleman next to me thought this was a recipie for disaster for Conor - he'd either lose heart and let everyone past or push too hard and come off - but I had read in the newspaper that he was supposed to be pretty quick, so I reserved judgement. He gained three full places and ended up 7th! Must have really annoyed some of the older guys! Hehe. Go Conor!
Today, Tuesday, was the second race. It was the 1000cc superstock class, which is different from the superbikes in that you can only make the bike go faster by adding things you can buy off the shelves. So basically these are pretty trick bikes, but ones that you or I (with a bit of financial persistence) could put together ourselves. Though not me - I'm not allowed.
At the first point where they have a commentator, in the first lap of four, Bruce Anstey (the Kiwi) was already leading by five seconds from the next fastest rider, John McGuinness. By the end of the lap he had set a new record for average lap speed, and then the lap after, he set another! (128.something mph) Neither of these were "flying" laps, either - the first was the start, and in the second he pitted. So it's pretty impressive. Unsurprisingly Anstey won the race, coming home with a tidy margin of time from McGuinness. Ian Hutchinson came third, and Guy Martin failed to finish. He will be furious at his pit crew: they were slow yesterday, and today they didn't put enough fuel in his bike for him to make it round to his pit stop! An ignominious end for the "White Knight". Conor Cummins on the other hand acquitted himself beautifully, managing to pull a 6th place.
Tomorrow is the supersport (such stupid appellations for the classes - they're all super! I'm thooper, thanks for asking! Gah. It means 600cc bikes.) and on Friday it's Senior TT day, where you can ride any of your "super" bikes, regardless of which "super" class they're in. I will be watching Anstey, Martin and Cummins in both races: McGuinness is very good, but meh, I don't want him to win. Go Kiwi!
*In an aside, the Government here seems to be quite benign. They do all sorts of nice things like making the Island a tax haven (whatever that involves), not requiring a WOF on your vehicle if it's registered here, having an open parliament, and letting me work even though I didn't get a work permit before entering the UK! So although I am leaving on Sunday, it may not be the last I see of the Isle of Man.
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