Saturday, 31 May 2008

Cardingmill Valley to Great Whitley: The South West Odyssey Days 1 to 3

The South West Odyssey was a long distance walk.
Five like-minded people started in 2008 from the Cardingmill Valley in Shropshire and by walking three days a year finished at Start Bay on the South Devon Coast in May 2019.

The First Three Days of an Epic Walk that would take 12 Years to Complete

29-May-2008

Shropshire

Day 1: The South West Odyssey Starts by Heading East across the Stretton Gap, over Caer Caradoc and along Wenlock Edge

The South West Odyssey started on the 29th of May 2008 from the Cardingmill Valley car park on the edge of the Long Mynd\in Shropshire.

David, Francis, Alison, Mike & Brian ready to Odyss

Most walkers ascend the valley onto the Long Mynd but, being perverse, we descended towards and then across the Stretton Gap before climbing Caer Caradoc.

Walking down the Cardingmill Valley

At 459 metres Caer Caradoc is not the biggest hill in the world. If it was twice as high it would be classified as a Munro, but its 270 metre prominence is more than enough for it to qualify as one of England's 176 Marilyns. It is also more than enough to raise the heart rate and to provide a fine view from the top. According to legend the Iron (or late Bronze) Age hill fort on the summit is the site of the last stand of Caractacus (or Caradoc) against the invading Romans; hence the name of the hill. Nice story, but probably untrue.

Alison atop Caer Caradoc with the Stretton Gap and Long Mynd as a backdrop

Dropping down from Caer Caradoc we skirted Cardington Hill and made our way to Longville in the Dale, where the Longville Arms provided a welcome and much needed pint or two of lunch. Revived, we continued west to Wenlock Edge. A coral reef on the ocean floor in Silurian times, Wenlock Edge is now a hump of limestone running across 25 kilometres of Shropshire countryside. Although it has inspired a poem by A.E. Houseman (On Wenlock Edge) and a song cycle by Vaughan Williams, the word I associate with Wenlock Edge is 'mud' which is neither poetic nor musical. The footpaths on the top double as bridle ways and during a wet spring horses had churned the surface to a considerable depth. We wallowed rather than walked along Wenlock Edge.

Climbing onto Wenlock Edge

Leaving Wenlock Edge, field paths took us to Brocton and the end of the day's walk, some 18 km east of our starting point. We spent the night at the Fox Inn at Much Wenlock.

30-May-2008

Day 2: An Amphibian Surprise and Mislaid Binoculars on the Way to Cleobury Mortimer

Brocton - has Alison noticed we've gone?

Setting off again from Brocton we crossed field paths through Skimblescott and Great Oxenbold, villages that are actually smaller than their names.

The path to Great Oxenbold

We then crossed parkland to the larger village of Burwarton where the Boyne Arms provided us with a glass of lunch and an Amphibian Surprise.

Brian is unfazed by the Amphibian Surprise

We left Burwarton and survived the heroic crossing of the Cressell Brook.

The Crossing of Cresell Brook

Our journey continued along a grassy bank that had once been a railway line. At some point we stepped carefully from one OS map to the next. Francis put his binoculars down on the bank, changed the map in his map case and strode off, leaving 800 pounds worth of optical equipment lying in the grass.

Along the disused railway

Half an hour later he spotted an interesting bird and was startled to find he had nothing to look at it through. We phoned the cavalry (Lynne, Hilary and Alison T) and arranged that Mike and Francis would walk back, retrieve the binoculars and make their way to the nearest tarmac road where they could be picked up. Meanwhile Brian, Alison and I would continue to a point where our path crossed an appropriate road and wait there until Mike and Francis were delivered. There were plenty of opportunities for the plan to go wrong, starting with the assumption that it would be easy to find a pair of binoculars sitting quietly in the long grass.

Brian, Alison and I reached the rendezvous point, waited for five minutes and then a car appeared and Mike and Francis were back with us, Francis clutching his precious binoculars. The plan had been perfectly executed. [You might think Francis would learn from his experience, but on April Fool's Day 2010 he left them outside a pub in Telford. Fortune - and the pub landlord - saw to it that Francis and binoculars were again reunited.]

I was probably not the only one feeling footsore and weary by the time we reached Cleobury Mortimer where we spent the night in the Kings Arms.

The King's Arm, Cleobury Mortimer

31-May-2008

Day 3: Meadows, Skylarks and the Abberley Clock Tower

Cleobury Mortimer is, with 2000 residents, the second smallest town in Shropshire. Among its many charms is a church with a twisted spire.....

St Mary's, Cleobury Mortimer with its twisted spire.

....but it's not half as twisted as Chesterfield.

We spent the morning walking through rolling woodland and crossing several small rivers....

Crossing the River Rea

...and then across field paths and wildflower meadows.

Skylarks are still a common feature of Shropshire farm land. They fluttered above us, singing their hearts out and trying to lead us away from their nests. It is very pretty, but a waste of time and energy as humans do not eat skylark eggs- you would need too many to make an omelette! Nor do we ever find their nests - except hawk-eyed Mike did, spotting one half-hidden in the long grass at a field edge. An adult sat on a clutch of eggs, eyeing us nervously. In an ideal world you would now scroll down to a picture of a skylark on its nest. I did not want to disturb the bird by using flash, so I photographed it without. The results were dark, very dark indeed, so instead I will show you a picture of a wild flower meadow.

Meadow near Clows Top

Worcestershire

At some point we crossed into into Worcestershire and the final afternoon was brief stroll across more fields and through a wood and across the Abberley estate. There has been a manor house of some sort at Abberley since the early fourteenth century, or even longer. The current Abberley Hall was built in Italianate style for Birmingham banker John Lewis Moilliet who acquired the estate in 1836. In 1867 the house was sold to Joseph Jones, an Oldham cotton magnate. His son, John Joseph Jones, built the remarkable clock tower in 1885. He boasted that none of his farm workers would knock off early as the all knew what the time was. Perhaps it might have been better if he paid his workers enough to own a watch each rather than spending his money on vanity projects.

Abberley Clock Tower

Abberley Hall now houses a preparatory school, and Saturday afternoon games were in full swing as we walked past. We emerged on the A443 and made our way to Great Whitley and the conclusion of the first part of the Odyssey.

Relieved to have reached the end
from Left to right: Alison, Mike, Alison T, Brian, Francis, Lynne and me
(so Hilary must have taken the picture)

The South West Odyssey (English Branch)
Introduction
Day 1 to 3 (2008) Cardingmill Valley to Great Whitley
Day 4 to 6 (2009) Great Whitely to Upton-on-Severn via the Malvern Ridge
Day 7 to 9 (2010) Upton-on-Severn to Andoversford
Day 10 (2011) Andoversford to Perrott's Brook
Day 11 (2011) Perrott's Brook to the Round Elm Crossroads
Day 12 (2011) Walking Round Stroud
Day 13 (2012) Stroud to North Nibley
Day 14 (2012) North Nibley to Old Sodbury
Day 15 (2012) Old Sodbury to Swineford
Day 16 (2013) Along the Chew Valley
Day 17 (2013) Over the Mendips to Wells
Day 18 (2013) Wells to Glastonbury 'The Mountain Route'
Day 19 (2014) Glastonbury to Langport
Day 20 (2014) Along the Parrett and over the Tone
Day 21 (2014) Into the Quantocks
Day 22 (2015) From the Quantocks to the Sea
Day 23 (2015) Watchet, Dunster and Dunkery Hill
Day 24 (2015) Dunkery Beacon to Withypool
Day 25 (2016) Entering Devon and Leaving Exmoor
Day 26 (2016) Knowstone to Black Dog on the Two Moors Way
Day 27 (2016) Morchard Bishop to Copplestone
Day 28 (2017) Down St Mary to Drewsteignton
Day 29 (2017) Drewsteignton to Bennett's Cross
Day 30 (2017) Bennett's Cross to Lustleigh
Day 31 (2018) Southwest Across the Moor from Lustleigh
Day 32 (2018) South to Ugborough
Day 33 (2018) Ugborough to Ringmore
Day 34 (2019) Around the Avon Estuary to Hope Cove
Day 35 (2019): Hope Cove to Prawle Point
Day 36 (2019) Prawle Point to Start Bay: The End
+
The Last Post

That's All Folks - The Odyssey is done.

Sunday, 25 May 2008

The South West Odyssey: An Introduction

The Genesis of an Epic Walk

The South West Odyssey was a long distance walk.
Five like-minded people started in 2008 from the Cardingmill Valley in Shropshire and by walking three days a year reached Start Bay on the South Devon Coast in May 2019.

Go West! (1998 or 9)

First there was Go West! in which six like-minded people decided to walk due west from Stafford, or as due west as footpaths would allow, until halted by the sea. After nine days walking - spread over five months - we had all stood knee deep in the briny on Barmouth beach. That was in 1998 (or maybe 1999 – it was certainly in the days before digital cameras put a nice clear date and time on every picture).

Go North! reaches Settle - and Alison wears a fine pair of trousers

Go North! (2002-4)

After an intended year off, which foot and mouth extended to three, we embarked on Go North! and after fifteen days walking - over three years - we reached Hadrian’s Wall and a natural conclusion. This time we had allowed ourselves some deviation from due north – strolling through the suburbs of Manchester with rucksacks on our backs and walking boots on our feet would have looked weird. Instead we swung east to traverse the moors between Oldham and Sheffield – much more natural walking country.

Beside the South Tyne, (photograph: Alison)

By the end of Go North! we had established a pattern of walking for three days during the summer half term whilst non-walking spouses were kind enough to drop us off at the start and after a spent doing touristy things, picking us up at the end.

The South West Odyssey (Welsh Branch) (2005-7)

Up the Cardingmill Valley onto the Long Mynd

The South West Odyssey started in 2005. Setting off from a point near Shrewsbury on the Go West! route, we headed for the Long Mynd and then along the Welsh border before turning deeper into Wales towards Brecon.

The River Usk at Brecon

The western extremity of the Brecon Beacons National Park seemed an appropriate place to stop, so in 2008 we returned to the Long Mynd and set off on an English branch to the South West Odyssey.

Brecon Beacons

In Homer’s poem Odysseus, Greek hero of the Trojan War, spent ten years wandering around the eastern Mediterranean trying to find his way home to Ithaca. The gods chose to shower him with problems and diversions, but even so the eastern Mediterranean is small and ten years is a long time; the inevitable conclusion is that Odysseus was a pretty crap navigator.

Corn Du and Pen y Fan - Brecon Beacons

Like Odysseus, we will, doubtless wander. [update 2011:We have spent whole days walking southeast, and at least one half-day walking north]. Our wandering is not the result of navigational problems – ‘if in doubt follow Francis’ is (almost) foolproof – it is by choice. Our Odyssey is about the journey, not the destination. Our ‘Ithaca’ is, at best, hazily defined; we may take ten years to reach it, or more, or less, it matters not; no Penelope is waiting at the end fending off suitors with unpicked needlepoint.[Update 2019: It actually took 12 years, and ended, with a little gentle irony, at Start Bay on the south Devon Coast.]

The Black Mountain - Brecon Beacons

To find out about the walk or just look at the pictures simply click on the episodes below

Wednesday, 1 August 2007

Ulaanbaatar (formerly Ulan Bator): Trans-Siberian Railway Part 11

Two Visits, Four Days Apart, to Mongolia's Only Real City

27-July-2007

Arriving in Ulaanbaatar

Mongolia

Ulaanbaatar

Our first impressions were right, Ulaanbaatar is an ugly, unplanned sprawl of a city; indeed I cannot think of an uglier capital city. It is not particularly run down or dirty, though it is no shining city on or off a hill, but there is little that aspires to be more than ‘functional’ and disparate buildings – and tents - are plonked down without regard for their surroundings.

Formerly anglicised as 'Ulan Bator' the city's name is now written ‘Ulaanbaatar’, which is an accurate transliteration of the Mongolian Cyrillic (Улаанбаатар) though how close that is to the Mongolian original (see right) is a question for somebody else. The city claims to have been founded in 1639 as a Buddhist monastic centre, but as that centre was originally nomadic it did not really come into being until it settled on its present site in 1778. Originally called Khuree, the city was renamed Ulaanbaatar (literally: Red Hero) when it became the capital of the People’s Republic of Mongolia in 1924. 1.2 million people live there - roughly half all Mongolians - and it is the only city of any size in the whole of the sparsely populated country.

Sukhbaatar Square Ulaanbaatar

Between our arrival from Naushki and departure in the direction of Buurd Sum we had time for a quick look round. Ulan Batar’s central Sukhbaatar (Axe Hero) Square is impressive but it is the only part of the city that looks as if it was planned.

In the centre is an equestrian statue of Sukhbaatar himself. After the First World War, the Chinese attempted to regain control over Outer Mongolia (the present Republic of Mongolia) and in 1919 ‘persuaded’ the country's ruler, the Bogd Khan, to sign an edict incorporating Outer Mongolia into China (Inner Mongolia had long been – and remains - a Chinese Province). Damdin Sukhbaatar, a founder of the Mongolian People’s Party, led the resistance which re-established independence in 1921. He died in 1923, officially of stress and overwork. As he was aged 30 and in otherwise good health it is generally believed that he was murdered by the Russians. Normally I distrust conspiracy theories, but this one has much to recommend it. Sukhbaatar may have been a communist, but he was too powerful for the Soviet regime to control and they wanted a more malleable leader.

Sukhbaatar in his square, Ulan Bator

Dying young and at the peak of his popularity, he naturally became a national hero. With a north-western town, a south-eastern province and a district of the capital named after him as well as his own square, he is Mongolia’s second greatest hero. The greatest sits outside the parliament building which occupies one side of the square. Mongolia today is a parliamentary democracy; I am not sure that Genghis Khan (or Chinggis Khaan as the locals would say) would have had much time for democracy, but there he sits, several times larger than life, guarding the entrance to parliament.

the Biggest Local hero - in every way - Chinggis Khan oustde Ulaanbaatar's Parliament building

We visited a money changer to turn some US dollars into togrogs. It was largely a waste of time as only once were we quoted a price in Togrogs. Generally we were asked for dollars and suggesting we might pay in togrogs produced a sigh and a calculator. This was not just because we were foreigners, I saw locals paying taxi drivers with dollar bills as well. Chinggis is, of course, on all the large notes, while Sukhbaatar is on notes from 5 to 100 togrogs. As there are some 2000 to the pound, 10 togrogs are quite difficult to spend.

Sukhbaatar on the 10 togrog note

Gandan Monastery, Ulaanbaatar

Gandan Monastery was built in 1809 and is the centre of Tibetan Buddhism in Mongolia. It was closed by the government in 1938 but later Stalin – who pulled the strings – decided to look more kindly on religion and it was reopened in 1949 (two years after the Ivolginsk Datsun we vsisited in Ulan Ude) as a token gesture to the country’s traditional culture and religion. It was extensively refurbished is 1990 and is now home to some 150 monks.

Entrance, Gandan Monastery, Ulaanbaatar

We wandered round Gandan marvelling at its many pigeons, at the monks’ exotic hats and at the way it looked so Tibetan despite Tibet being 2000km away. Then we set off south to stay with the nomads (a highlight of the whole journey), before passing back through Ulaanbaatar on our way to the Elstei Ger camp (a Mongolian dude ranch and a cold and damp anti-climax after the real thing). See Part 9: Across the Mongolian Steppe from Ulan Bator to Burd Sum and Part 10: With the Mongolian Nomads.

Gandan Monastery, Ulan Bator

01-Aug-2007

Return from Elstei

From Elstei we returned to Ulan Bator and checked into the Bayangol Hotel, a genuine four star international class hotel with soft beds and a shower which pumped out an unlimited supply of hot water.

Cleaner than we had been for some time we set out in search of lunch. Walking north towards the city centre we soon encountered The Brauhaus. Why two Germans chose to travel to Mongolia and set up a brewery in 1996 is a mystery, but I am glad they did. Khan Brau is a well-made pilsner style beer and the Brauhaus restaurant menu includes chicken. I was surprised how important this was, but after a week of eating mutton twice a day every day, chicken seemed exotic and luxurious.

The Bogd Khan's Palace, Ulaanbaator

Well fed, we walked south past our hotel and into the hinterland of the ugly city towards a huge portrait of Chinggis Khan on the hill opposite. We were in search of the Bogd Khan’s palace.

Chinggis on the opposite hillside, Ulan Bator

The Jebtsundamba (Holy Venerable Lord) is Mongolia’s spiritual leader and is the third most important Lama in Tibetan Buddhism. In 1911 Mongolia declared independence from China and the 8th Jebtsundamba became Mongolia’s theocratic ruler, the Bogd Khan. He remained the titular head of state after the 1921 revolution, but died in 1924. The 9th Jebtsundamba was born in 1932 and despite spending most of his life in exile in India, he was enthroned at the Gandan monastery in 1999. [update: he became a Mongolian citizen in 2010 and died in Ulan Bator in 2012. The search is now on for the 10th incarnation]

There was a major refurbishment going on at the palace. Parts of it still looked rather sad…..

Bogd Khan Palace, Ulan Bator

…. while other parts were newly restored,….

Bogd Khan Palace, Ulan Bator

….the paintings on the lintels had been touched up….

Lintel, Bogd Khan Palace, Ulan Bator

….as had the decorations on the gables. There are always an even number of ornaments which remained popular throught China's Ming and Qing dynasty - 1368 to 1912, Chinese tastes evolve slowly!.

gable ornaments, Bogd Khan Palace, Ulan Bator

But the Bogd Khan, like all Mongolians, was a nomad at heart and when he went travelling he used a ger made from the skins of 150 snow leopards, which may account for why there as so few left. The ger is now in the palace museum.

Ger made of snow leopard skins, Bogd Khan Palace Museum, Ulan Bator

Back at the hotel we wrote an email home. The ‘business centre’ was part of reception and the dial-up connection was slow and unreliable. I tutted – nothing more – when I lost the connection in the middle of an email. An American serviceman – one of several we had seen around the hotel - using the other computer said, ‘Don’t complain, you’re in Mongolia and you’re on the internet.’ It was said loudly, within hearing of the the receptionists who spoke good English, and it sounded very patronising. ‘Hearts and minds,’ I thought, but I just smiled and grunted.

Cultural Show, Ulaanbaatar

That evening we walked into the centre to see a show that had been recommended to us by James and Naomi whom we had met in Listvyanka.

The auditorium, in Ulan Bator’s only shopping mall, was far from packed and we found ourselves sitting next to the W’s whom we had first met at the nomad encampment. They were there with their guide who expressed surprise, indeed amazement, that we had found our way there unaided. We had spoken to her before, and she was good at her job, but had suddenly become confused by the distinction between ‘foreign’, which we were, and ‘stupid’ which were (and are) not. This confusion often affects professional guides – and not just guides.

The band was good, the man with the one string fiddle really could make it sound like a herd of galloping horses, and Mongolian throat singing should be heard by everybody - once.

There is (literally) nothing like a bit of Mongolian throat singing, Nomin auditorium, Ulan Bator

Three skinny girls were impressive contortionists, but I would rather they had kept their act to themselves. The human body is not supposed to bend like that and watching it made me feel queasy. Several dances were supposed to portray the country’s shamanist tradition, but they seemed a bit twee – not that I have ever understood dance.

Shamanic spirits, I think, Nomin auditorium, Ulan Bator

We walked back to our hotel as darkness fell. I would not have liked to be out much later, with unreliable lighting and some unsavoury people abroad. We were only accosted by one drunk who was easily dealt with, but it can be a problem. Beer is being promoted to wean drinkers off harder liquor, but success has been partial – and are lager louts preferable to vodka vandals, anyway?

Breakfast Excitement and Departure from Ulaanbaatar

At breakfast we discovered just how many of our fellow guests were American military advisers. Lynne had gone to do some packing and I was finishing my breakfast alone when there was a noisy explosion. Shaven heads jerked upwards from their toast, and gimlet eyes darted round the room seeking out the terrorists. It was actually just a gas bottle loudly but harmlessly announcing that it was empty. Under the circumstances I was surprised and relieved that the omelette chef was not shredded by a hail of bullets.

Without further excitement we set off for the station and the last stage of our journey from Moscow to Beijing.

The Trans-Siberian Railway

Part 1: Moscow
Part 2: Yekaterinburg
Part 3: Across Siberia to Irkutsk
Part 4: Listvyanka and Lake Baikal
Part 5: Irkutsk
Part 6: Ulan Ude (1)
Part 7: Ulan Ude (2)
Part 8: To Naushki and into Mongolia
Part 9: Across the Mongolian Steppe from Ulan Bator to Burd Sum
Part 10: With the Mongolian Nomads
Part 11 Ulan Bator