Doubtfully Beautiful 'Doubtful Sound'

Before travelling to New Zealand, I'd set out on doing my research. It seems, when you start asking, that as many people who turn out to vote in the UK have been to New Zealand. And what surprises me most is the real breadth and variety of those who've made the voyage (more than can be said for the general election ;)) Parents, aunties, cousins, friends - even granny's touched down here. And every single one has but good words to say. We took on a lot of advice when planning our trips, and perhaps one of the best morsels was to take an overnight trip on Doubtful Sound.

So here I am, in true tranquility. Anchored in the dark night surrounded by towering rainforest hills, deep brown waters, and the sound of occasional birdsong. The Maori believe these impressive fiords were carved out with a canoe, while the historians among us tell us that the glaciers hacked out the way for the sea water. Either way, something unique has formed here - a delicate eco-system in such a fine balance that the smallest of foreign influence could throw a kilter.


We have spent the day exploring this magnificence on a picturesque sailboat. I'd love to draw parallels to James Cook's first venture here in the eighteenth century, but so far we've enjoyed a leisurely kayak, a refreshing baltic swim, a well deserved hot shower and an indulgent three course dinner. Something tells me those first explorers had a somewhat tougher time! I, for one, would have been petrified venturing through this hidden landscape - ignorant to what was lurking in the forest or the deep. Turns out i needn't have worried about tigers on the prowl since New Zealand has no indigenous mammals at all. In fact, the biggest creature we've encountered today is a school dolphins darting alongside the bow.

Waking up the next morning to the spluttering of the engine at 6.30am really didn't feel so bad in such a fantastic setting. It's certainly the most picturesque cup of tea i've ever experienced (though it's no northern brew. pah.). Away from all the clangs and demands of the 21st century, the captain casually flicked off the engines for a moment of calm. Nothing but birdsong and trickling waterfalls. If i'd woken up in a nature documentary, i would have been none the wiser. No HD needed here!

Sailing back into West Arm harbour we had the smug feeling of being truly spoilt by nature. Nowhere else I have been in the world has been so well preserved from outside influence and human meddling. What a privilege! And long may it continue.

Cheers to Beer!

Wait! Summer's not over... I'm ecstatic at the prospect of a warm September and more time spent on the grand beaches of the Southwest. This weekend we went off exploring some of the windy lanes of East Devon in search of a great beach and an even better pint. Digging out the map, we began searching for the trusted blue beer tankard symbol (A-Z are the walking map of choice having got their priorities right!). We couldn't help but be drawn to a small shining beacon - by the sea (tick), beach (tick), blue tankard (tick) - with a name like BEER, surely we couldn't go wrong?!

Looking upon this pretty coastal village cut out into a sheltered turquoise blue bay in the chalk cliffs, I began to ponder - there are so many great features to this place that either a) the beer they were drinking when the named it was damn fine, or b) they were absolutely trollied when they put the signs up. Either way, we were happy that such a name had brought us here.

Ambling onto the beach, we soon realised that fishing is still very much a way of life here. The painted fishing boats line the pebble shore, and fishing trawlers circle the bay with the squawking seagulls not far behind. The best thing about this beach is that it really is accessible for everyone - not only can you buy the daily catch from the locals (at the Wet Fish Shop), but you can also hire your very own little motorboat (complete with lines for catching your lunch). Content to leave it to the pros, we purchased a weighty pot of fresh crab, a few rolls from the local bakery, and sat toes in the ocean to enjoy. Delish!

And do you know what? We were so bedazzled by the beauty of the sunshine and quaint little village that we left Beer without even having a Beer! Now there's a rarity for us...

Dartmoor - Bellever Tor

Summer has flamin' flown by and though i'm refusing to believe it's over, I did contemplate making a fire last night. Although Dartmoor has a reputation for windswept horizontal rain and dark mists (perfect for a night by the woodburner), I thought i'd push the stereotypes by reminiscing on a gorgeous summer day stomp out on the moor a few weeks back.

We drove the windy road out to the middle of Dartmoor from Exeter (don't forget the carsick bag) to the babbling brooks of Bellever... a nice enough spot. NICE. Preened. So much so that anyone would forget about the wild moor up top. Not us though - we set out to conquer the windswept terrain, and clambered up to enjoy our home made sarnies overlooking... well... absolutely nothing. This is the beauty of course - just us four, a few wild ponies and a can of festival cider.

It seems that nobody else was too bothered about about the wilderness, and after the novelty of isolation had warn off (and the wind picked up), we headed back down the sheltered stream. Now wild ponies are not your standard find, and we couldn't leave without at least trying to tame a few of the beasts - "you'll never get within a mile of them" I proclaimed pompously, to which Caroline whipped out a packet of leftover picnic pink wafers (pre-purchased from Aldi) and began shaking them around coo cooing the 'wild' horses. Much to my delight, the majority took a sniff and cantered off to the tasty green pastures.

But.... there's always one isn't there (if there were pink wafers around when God created the universe, Eve would have been munching away without a care in the world!), and this curious little man couldn't resist the pink sugar high.

And so we left - leaving pink wafers and taking photographic evidence that we may well be responsible for bringing 'my little pony' to life someday.

Starcross to Exmouth

We set out on another jolly last weekend to explore what is arguably our nearest beach - Exmouth - the gateway to the famous Jurassic Coast. I had heard plenty about the incredible rocks here, and was keen to start the hunt for fossil treasure and clues to the grand events of the past.

This time, we headed down the west side of the river from Exeter towards Starcross. Cycling swiftly by, we tipped our hat to the trusted Lock Cottage which was our (holiday) home here when we first arrived in Exeter. It's now converted for the summer into a welcoming little cafe - a lovely resting stop to dip your toes and view the birdlife with a big slice of cake.

A few minutes further, we couldn't help but park up for a tasty Dragon's Tears Devon Cider - served on tap at the Turf Locks. The huge beer garden here makes the perfect spot to watch the estuary life sail by. Continuing on along the rocky coastal path (soon to be accompanied by a smooth cycle path), we finally found the ferry at Starcross - just in time!

Sailing into Exmouth (bikes in tow), we headed for the beach - miles of golden sand and plenty of folk enjoying the seaside. Around 10 minutes cycling and we reached the tip of the main sands before ditching the bikes and disappearing off around the corner leaving the crowds behind. We were lucky to catch the end of the sunshine which made for beautiful views of the twinkling waters and impressive red rocky layers. Quiet moments amongst millions of years of natural history right on our doorstep - what a find!

A Cornish Solstice

So Summer has finally arrived, proven both by celebration of the longest day of the year, and an entire weekend of unhindered sunshine. This doesn't happen often in England and of course, it most probably won't be lasting long. Cue the typical British excitement (/panic of missing a millisecond of valuable tanning time) which occurs on such a forecast weekend; the frantic running around digging out shades and flip-flops from holiday days gone by; questioning the existence of that tent that was buried in mud on its last outing never to be seen again; jamming the car boot shut and blasting the tuuunes... we were OFF! 

Being only a stones throw from arguably the most beautiful County in the Country (and about to offend all who believe otherwise), we set the manual sat nav (old fashioned map) for Cornwall - Kernow - land of plenty. 

After a quick bicker and a dejected glance at our wonky tent, we set out for the nearby beach - Porthcurno. Gleefully hopping down the coast path (beach bag in tow, toes in the sand), we were stopped despondently in our track by the whiff of cheap sausages and the scream of small babies. Unfortunately, the rest of the tourist population had beaten us to our hidden gem. 

We weren't in the mood for giving up easily, and followed the coastal path down a steep hidden path clambering through the rocks. Lo and behold, we popped out onto a picture perfect Cove...a beauty to behold. Our eyes panned across to take it all in, the turquoise crystal clear water, the long white sand, the....hang about....the....NAKEDNESS! It was too late to turn back - we were here now, it would be rude to leave. And so it was that we embraced the nuddies, and a very pleasant afternoon was had prudishly bathing in tranquility amongst the free willies. 

Weary from all the snoozing, we stumbled back to refresh before taking an evening stroll to Lands End - the most westerly tip of the UK - to see in the Summer Solstice. As the sun set, our bellies rumbled and we made for Sennen Cove and 'The Success Inn" (a short mile or so away on the coastal path) only to arrive a disappointing 30 minutes after the lobster Kitchen closes (well, this is where even Cornwall lacks compared to 10pm tapas). Well, you can't win em all...a packet of ready salted later and we were ready to raise a glass half full "cheers" to many more long evenings here in the Southwest.

Moors and Christians - Fiesta en Alcoy!

After a few well earned days rest in Xativa, we headed to party to one of the biggest festivals in this region of Spain. Given that the people here have been celebrating this day since the 16th Century, it's a pretty big deal. 3 days, 5000 people, elaborate costumes, trombones, knife waving and an incomprehensible amount of cerveza (a dangerous combo)!

In a nutshell, the story goes that the christians march (/prance/dance/ride horses/are pulled by buffalo) into town followed by the moors. They get involved in a big battle outside the Castle when suddenly St George appears (this is where we started to feel very English!) and tells everyone to hurry up and let the Christians win. And then everyone retires to eat the biggest Paella I have ever seen and drink cerveza. Delightful.

The town of Alcoy doesn't disappoint as a backdrop for the Fiesta. It's perched upon a hill, and the small streets exude an almost medieval charm. Everyone gets involved...from tiny babies being carried through the procession in Daddy's arms, to cheeky teens sneaking a snog in the hidden gardens, to grandad taking advantage of the one night of the year he is allowed to get absolutely trollied! The whole town and people from miles around come out to play, and there is a real sense of family and friend camaraderie, friendliness and good honest fun. Of course, we jumped both feet in to the celebrations (had to stop J diving head first into the Paella) and it flew by in a whirl.

Xátiva on High

Leaving Valencia, we drove around 1 hour south to the town of Xátiva. Before we left the UK, we mentioned to a few that this funny little backwash town was on our agenda, and as you'd imagine we had a less that excitable response...hmmm was the general reaction. But I for one was extremely smug that we diverted this way, if only for the plush hip B&B we came upon here - La Maga rooms gets a big thumbs up, but only if you don't mind a liberal approach to open plan showering ;)

The town dates back to Roman times, and was once ruled by the Moors, who occupied its impressive Castle until around 1241. Beautifully preserved on its perch overlooking the old town below, this stunning fortress proved to be the royal highlight of our trip here. Lucky enough to be staying at the foot of the lofty hill on which it stands, we set out on the hot hike upwards. Although prepared for the long slog, we arrived at the top surprisingly quickly and the views didn't disappoint. We idled for a while in its walls and gardens, lookouts and dungeons before enjoying a quick bout of archery and a parting caña out on the terraza.

But this was just the beginning - on the way down, we stumbled across a cute hidden Terraza in the old church Ermita de Sant Josep. Of course, being English our 1pm hunger pang had long since arrived - for once, a true blessing that the Spaniards are slow off the mark as a petit table for two sat blinking at us in the sunshine. And gone was the afternoon, amidst local Monastrell white wine, Boquerones, Anchovies and Artichokes all doused with a typically generous glut of Olive Oil (Birdy Organic if olives float your oily boat). Oh, and not to forget the loooong siesta which must follow!

A great few days in an honest, local and understated town - trendy but truly antique - and the perfect place to recharge the batteries before the next town (and fiesta) calling.