Dave the Nomad

After leaving Sicily, I took a less eventful overnight train back to Naples. My main goal while in Naples was eating delicious delicious pizza. I took the recommendation of numerous people and went to Da Michele. Its arguably one of the oldest pizzerias open ever. They only serve two tyes of pizza: Marinara and Margherita. I preferred the marinara. The marinara is just tomato sauce, and some seasoning and does not have seafood on it. This is a misconception, it is actually named marinara sicne it was the preferred food of the fishermen when they landed.

My only other goal for the area was to visit Pompeii. A truly awesome place. It is a city, a large city, and really neat to walk around. At times, when the crowds were just far enough away in the streets you could imagine they were past citizens of Pompeii walking to the local bakery or going to visit a friend down the street. I believe the part that moved me more than other ruins I’ve visited is the authenticity. These werent temples raided and plundered for millenia and replaced by quiet replicas. This is the real deal, and its was a refreshing change.

I was planning to visit Matera before leaving across the Adriatic for Croatia. Matera is one of the longest continually inhabitated places on earth, and is also the backdrop for The Passion of Christ. Unfortunately, I found out the ferry only runs once a week (Wednesdays) to Dubrovnik, and I needed to take it the following day. So, with some resentment and understanding of living a quasi-unplanned lifeI hopped on the ferry to Dubrovnik.

The crossing was relatively smooth, and the boat was tidy even if still in late 1970′s decor. I landed in Dubrovnik with several other travelers my age, and we were immediately hounded by a couple old ladies offering their places. The other three were a bit unadventerous, and decided to stay at the HI hostel outside of the old city. I went for the private apartment, and am so glad I took the risk.

The lady who rented me the apartment didnt even live there, but I had a full kitchen and bathroom at my disposal 50 meters from the main strip in the Old city. We landed around 7 in the morning to a gloomy backdrop of rain and wind, so I decided to sleep for a bit and then explore the city. Sadly, the rain didnt stop, so I donned by rain jacket and walked around the stunning white city. I can see why this would be a thriving tourist attraction in the summertime,with daily excursions to the nearby wooded islands. The poor weather, off-season choices of dining, and efficient legs found me back in my room cooking food and catching up on some work after a couple hours. It was a nice break from the hostel lifestyle, even if a little lonely.

As I was just finishing cooking, a wind storm hit the city and knocked out all the power. After fumbling over to my backpack and finding a flashlight, hoping it was just me tripping a breaker, and realizing there was not much to do in a completely dark apartment I went out for a stroll. As I was exiting the old town, I saw what I thought was sheets of rain coming in, but I soon realized it was spray from the sea pounding into the small alcove on the edge of the city. It was terribly exciting, and the first real time I’ve seen what I would call an angry sea up close and personal. It was probably the highlight of my evening stroll as much of the city was shut down, and the forests around the new city and port were not alive with nighttime clubbers yet. I resigned to an early evening of sleep.

My final day in Dubrovnik was quite a unique one. I had a casual start to the day, walked around the city drier and happier, sat in the harbor watching the occasional stray meander along looking for a fishing boat to come in, and returned to my apartment to get some quiet work done. As the sun began to set, the noise began. A thunderously loud concert had started on the main strip, and I thought it would be best to scope it out. To my amazement I found myself in the middle of a crowd of people of all ages on a white city street all lit up for the Christmas season listening to a rock band. It seemed as if everyone single citizen of the Old City and more had crawled out to show up. I was unsure if it was because there was nothing else to do, and you would’ve heard it anyways, or if these guys were just that good. The front of the crowd was filled with Croatian flags flying through the air and the occasional flare being lit among a crowd of shirtless youth. The lionshare of the crowd seemed to know all the words, and was happy to just stand around and listen.

The band’s name was Thompsen, and from what I was told he was a war hero during the recent Serbian aggression. Other people had less is nothing to say at all about the band, and they have been criticized in the past for their role in politics. I wasnt that impressed, but it was good to see a healthy crowd of people in the city for once.

I took a day trip to Agrigento from Palermo in Sicily. The train ride was stunning with picturesque views of the countryside. Agrigento is known for some very well preserved Greek ruins, and I thought I would check it out before leaving this island of stereotypes. Will joined me for the day trip, and we soon found ourselves in quite an adventure.

Inside the park containing the ruins is also a unique garden (the Garden of Kolymbetra). This particular garden was at one time a huge pool forcibly dug by the Carthaginians under Greek rule, with time it was drained and turned into a beautiful garden. After much hard work, the garden has been returned to its days of splendor. We were greeted at the gate by an old lady in a hut who reminded me of the type of woman from fairy tales who could transform in a moments notice if you answered her riddle, or did a good deed. In reality she gave us some fresh picked mandarins to snack on as we wandered around the garden. It was a relaxing and vibrant break from the desolate ruins we were just in, and absolutely gorgeous.

While we were touring the ruins we ran into an American who was working in Sicily while compiling her thoughts from several months on a French ship locked in the Arctic ice. We all missed our train back to Palermo and sat in the train station at a inconspicuous table. She taught us some very useful phrases, and we inadvertently got a chance to try them out.

There is an ominous word to the Italians known as “bon.” If you don’t know already, Italian men can be very forward and Sicilian men can be down right intimidating. However, they have a crux which would make Pavlov drool. “Bon” is actually a French word, but to the Italians it has a plethora of meanings including: “I dont know what to tell you”, “well that’s just how it is”, “I don’t know”, “leave me alone”, “I dont want to talk to you”, “que sera sera”, and much more. When you say it though you have to throw your hands in the air, make a smug frown and look away from whoever is harassing you. This word is effectively a verbal version of Aikido martial arts. All of its purpose is used to deflect and redirect an attack while not making any offensive moves.

As I mentioned before, we were seated at a table in the train station, and with the minutes passing by, an increase of fedora wearing old men with newspapers mumbling under their breath emerged. As our train was about to arrive we got the impression we were sitting at their table, and it was clearly time for us to catch our train. As soon as we stood up, they pounced on the table like Americans shopping on Black Friday. We all had a good laugh, and were happy to leave the tense station behind us. To our chagrin, the tale wasn’t over.

Boarding the train with us, was a younger man who was very lively, chatty, and a bit creepy, who I’ll name Dion. Dion was also a very large guy who clearly got his way whenever he wanted, and as we later found out a policeman. It was one of the most unnerving and awkward times on my trip, but also somewhat comical as I look back on it. Dion was very interested in where we were from, and joining in our conversation. After a few minutes it would be uncomfortable, and one of us would say “bon”, and frown in his general direction and look away. In that instant he would walk away, not say a word, and find someone else in the train car to talk to. It was utterly amazing to watch this take place over and over for the next hour, and its effectiveness was pure genius. So I leave all of you with nothing else to say. “Bon.”

Compared to the Highlands, this place is moving. The pace of life shift is phenomenal. I did manage to see some great sites and pieces of history. As I was told a proper trip to London requires a suit. Go to a play, go to a pub then a club, and get a Curry dinner. Well, on a bit lower budget there is still a lot of great things to see in London. I’ll try to pass on some tips from my stay.

1) If you’re in town for more than 2 days, get an Oystercard. You can use the tube for 4.5 quid all day and buses are only 90 pence. If you are in town for the day, Left luggage at the train stations costs 6.50 GBP.

2) British Museum. See the conquests of the British, half the parthenon, Cleopatra, the Rosetta Stone, and so much more for free. The museum closes at 5:30 pm and its quite an impresive collection of treasures.

3) Take a ferry. Its only 3 quid to take a commuter ferry versus tourist ferry, but still great views from the Thames

4) Texas Embassy. Yep, when Texas was a country they had an embassy in London. Now its a great Tex-mex restuarant. Interestingly, Mexican food is extremely hard to find in Europe and I’m told this might be the best place in Europe since there are only a handful to choose from. Its near Trafalgar Square.

5) The National Gallery. Lots of classic paintings inside, and a statue of George Washington outside with its own piece of history. Respecting his statement that he would never lay a foot on English soil (as a true American patriot would’ve despite being a British General), his statue is placed on top of 9 cubic feet of Virginia sod.

I have to thank my host Blake. Blake and I went to “Uni” together, he was in town doing an internship and took me in for several nights. He also brought me out to India-town. Lots of cities have a China town, but not too many can say they have an Indian equivalent. My favorite part were the heckling waiters in the restaurant doorways trying to lure you inside with free drinks like it was the red light district. Regardless, the food was amazing.

Every little village I passed through from Inverness to Aberdeen had one defining similarity. Granite walls and slate roofs. An appropriate amount of hanging flowers and colorful décor can brighten these small towns into a welcoming city, but the streets with nothing on them look grey and gloomy, a town lifeless and cold. This countryside is well known to many a connoisseur of single malt whiskey, and maybe more familiar under the alias of Speyside.

Aberdeen is now the oil capital of the North Sea, and the heliport is more active than the airport. I originally was not planning to visit Aberdeen, but I was lured by visiting friends from college, and once I left even more so by their kindness in bringing my laptop with them!
Stephanie and John were visiting Stephanie’s parents in Aberdeen, and they were excellent hosts. We spent the first day traveling the Speyside countryside by car. We visited Fyvie Castle, a Stone Circle, and Aberlour Distillery. Aberlour also likes to mention that the water used to cool their distilling tanks is the water Glenfiddich uses farther downstream to make their world-class whiskey. The tour was 10 quid, 2 hours long, and had 5 drams of whiskey at the end! I found the most interesting part of the tour to be the “Angel’s Share.” This is in reference to the alcohol that seeps out of the barrels as the whiskey ages. This alcohol is present in the air all around the distillery. This”Angel’s Share” is quite visible in the form of a black fungus that grows on the bushes and trees nearby.

Our second day of touring around led us to the Pitlochry Highland Games and a short tour of Blair Castle. The highland games were the last of a 15-game league series and filled with heavy events like caber toss, hammer throw, shot put; highland dancers, foot races, tug of war, and a procession and contest of pipe and drum bands. As John mentioned they should rename it the ADHD Games. There were about 6 events going on at once, and I felt like I needed some ritalin trying to watch everything from the grandstands. For me it was hard to decide which event was more entertaining, bike races on wet grass or sac races for 10 and unders. Teams were arranged more or less by nearby towns, and as such members of all ages from the community were involved in the action. If you get the chance, I highly suggest attending one of these Games, and be sure to not miss the caber toss (an event of accuracy not strength.) I leave you to look up the rules for added entertainment.

I haven’t mentioned my Dad’s trip too much so far, but there are some very distinct differences here in Scotland. The West Highland Way was only made in 1980, albeit composed of century old sections of old military roads and herdsmen paths, the compilation and conservation of land around it is relatively new. After seeing this fantastic area, I didn’t choose to hike north of Inverness for some photo ops similar to my Dad’s. Inverness as a city is small, but appears to be under a massive facelift with construction crews everywhere. The city center was bustling, and the castle on the hill is well kept and also the current Sheriff’s office and Court Building. The most unique find for me was a backdoor pub. I went out to watch the football match (soccer for those of you who can’t conform) between Scotland and Iceland with my roommates at the hostel. We found ourselves initially in an overcrowded pub, but as we thought we were going outside again we were instead in a small patio with an adjoined additional pub. It is only accessible from the first pub, but filled with locals only. It was a great crowd to watch the game with, and fortunately they won and we didn’t have to see them when they were really pissed.

After an afternoon off my feet and a solid night’s sleep, I find myself reflecting on the last 85 miles of backpacking. I picked up the West Highland Way just outside of Drymen, and finished in Fort Williams 5 days later. The West Highland Way goes from Scotland’s largest city (Glasgow), along its largest loch (Loch Lomond), and finishes by its highest peak (Ben Nevis).

As I began my trek, I quickly understood the immensity of these lands, and remembered all 5280 feet composing a mile. Outside of Drymen is the major fault that separates the lowlands from the highlands, as I looked down from the first peak I climbed I saw pasture land well kept and green with fresh grass. As I peer into the valley and mere bumps and hills in front of me I see a flood of ferns, heather, and livestock scattered across countryside in its own tartan like pattern of colors and texture.

The first two days found me hiking out of this heatherland and into the forest covered banks of Loch Lomond. At times there was almost no light penetrating the tree cover and a varied trail composed of forest conservation roads to trails so narrow and steep that I had to take my backpack off between tree and boulder and pull it behind me sideways. Although I was envisioning a path a bit more like that seen in Braveheart as he runs along the munro ridge, I still found this walk through the woods refreshing and uplifting. For the first time on this trip I have felt completely independent. No train to catch, hostel to find, food to purchase, or site to run by before leaving town. No this, was all on my time, when I was tired I pitched my tent, when I was hungry I would stop and eat, and when I wanted to walk faster or slower I did so as I pleased.

From this point onwards, I left the shores of the Loch and into the highlands I was expecting. Not to impart too many details on you, but there is one particular section that I found most amazing. The Rannoch Moor is prized by Scots as an area of increased conservation and heritage. These particular moor is crossed by one path these days, the West Highland Way. it is exposed, wet, and dangerous for inexperienced day hikers but most of all, full of character. I entered the moor on mile 18 for the day, and I knew that I wasn’t guaranteed safe land to camp on for another 10 miles but I went for it anyways, the weather was fair and I was in good spirits. The reason there was no guaranteed area to stay was that the moor is much like a sponge. The peat and bog that compose this area will quickly start soaking your feet. Besides the cragged rocky herding road which appeared much like a cobblestone alley in the exposed outdoors with a jagged Scottish attitude of its own, there is no safe path beside if through the Moor..

I knew of two possible areas that I might be able to camp on the moor based on the topographical map, and to my delight I found a perfect place. I took off my pack before wandering into possible quicksand and headed up to a small cauldera not far from the trail. The area had obviously been used before, by both recent campers based on the trash, and earlier people from the piled rocks lined with lichen inside and on the edge of the cauldera. Moreover, it gave me an amazing view a small loch and forest, wind protection, and a cushy four inch layer of moss to pitch my tent over.

The next morning I was “delighted” to find the temperature was a warm 38 F. The looming clouds heading my way were the only motivation I had to start hiking. For the next several hours I felt as if the clouds followed me as if some malevolent being waiting to punish me for any potential wrongdoing. It was not until dinner that evening in which I saw kinder weather.

The time on the trail gave me clear views and more importantly time to clear my mind. The fast pace of life has always been my best distraction, and out here no matter how fast you hike there is still time for contemplation. I picked up a bit of a runny nose, and with a bad weather forecast for the next several days and poor reviews of the younger, flatter, and less secluded Great Glen Way in comparison with the West Highland Way I’m going to stay in Fort Williams a day before moving onto Inverness by bus. The weather moving in also means that Ben Nevis is not only an unpleasant summit climb, but also engulfed in clouds and beginning to snow!

Among the group of guys I met from Blackpool in Edinburgh was a friend who lived in Glasgow. He and his unsuspecting flatmate invited me to stay with them while I made my final preparations for hiking the highlands. Jimmy and Alex have been superb hosts. They pointed me to the Kellingrove Museum and appropriate shops for gear and camping food. Glasgow is much more of a working city compared to Edinburgh. The hustle and bustle of everyday work and life take over from the more touristy and laidback feel in Edinburgh.

The Kellingrove Museum is a small compact hodgepodge of a museum. They have a smattering of armour, portraits, Scottish art, and a nice photography section. Alex told me that the architect who built the building laid out the entrance the wrong way and instead of facing the park, was facing a busy street. He apparently jumped to his death from the top of the building. Nonetheless it was a good start to my stay here. Jimmy took me around town and helped me navigate the large avenue of shops in search of a good topographical map.

There are several distinct culinary aspects to Glasgow. One as a part of the Scotland, I had to have haggis neeps and tatties in whiskey cream. Its the national dish of haggis, turnips, and mashed potatoes. Besides not needing to chew it wasn’t terrible and wasn’t great. Certainly a must try. I was also told that Glasgow is the home of Tikka Masala. Apparently someone requested a good spicy sauce from an Indian chef, and it was born. My quick search of Wikipedia could neither confirm nor deny this fact. I’m guessing I can ask some locals in India their thoughts on the matter. Finally, the bar close to Jimmy and Alex’s is a theme bar called Lebowski. They have a whole menu of white russians. For those of you unfamiliar with all this, rent the movie “The Big Lebowski.”

One final note. I finally posted some pictures. Hope you enjoy them while I’m off taking more in the Highlands!

Edinburgh was spectacular. I arrived at the very end of the city’s festival, but the city was still alive and well with the onset of the weekend. The city seems to be the place to go for Stag and Hen parties… that’s the more crazy version of bachelor and bachelorette parties in the US. Especially when they are all dressed up in ridiculous outfits. I do have to say I didn’t meet too many actual Scottish people here, but I did meet a group of guys from Blackpool who were there for a stag party. They were great fun, and invited me to Clevelys (their actual town near Blackpool) whenever I was coming through.

I decided to play tourist in Edinburgh and visited the Castle and walked the Royal Mile. The castle didn’t seem worth the £14 entrance fee, but I do know a good mile stretch of shops where you can find a kilt. There was a constant drizzle overhead, but I dared the weather to climb Arthur’s Seat. Cool park and absolutely beautiful views of the city. It was a good enticing taste of what’s to come while I’m backpacking in a few days.

Thanks to the keen work of my family back home they were able to give me a contact for my second cousin, who now lives in Edinburgh. He is actually my Mom’s cousin and I’ve never met him and he’s been out of touch with most of my relatives for years. He also informed me that I’m part Scottish. We go back to the Duncan clan in the Highlands which was changed to Dawkins. Finding out you are part Scottish while in Edinburgh seemed to add that much more excitement to the whole bit. It was great to meet him, and I’m sure I’ll run back into him when I visit Edinburgh again.

I really liked Edinburgh and I know I’ll be here again.

My original plan was to take the chunnel to London and a sleeper car up to Edinburgh, but a last minute booking through the chunnel was a laughable 220 euro. I decided it would be more nostalgic anyways to cross via hovercraft or ferry as my Dad did anyways. I got a good train ticket to Dunkerque instead of Calais, but both had ferries to Dover, England.

I had no problem getting into Dunkerque, but my ferry was leaving from Loon Plage which was close. I was kindly directed (I’m sure my poor attempt at French didn’t help) to the beach…. which is Plage. Realizing when I got to the wrong end of town and could see a very nice beach that I was going to miss the bus to where I needed to go that evening. I enjoyed a sunset dinner on the beach and learned afterwards, thanks to a very kind French man on a bike who insisted on riding with me for a half mile to a restaurant where he knew a pretty young lady who spoke English, I found out Loon Plage was a small town about 15 km away. With no more buses running I resigned myself to one more night in France. I hiked a bit of the way, set up camp near some wind turbines and waited for morning. I hiked the couple of kilometers to the ferry port for the first ferry. Strike two!

The ferry in Dunkerque is only for vehicles. You can’t walk onto the ferry. My choices were to wait for someone willing to take me onto / off the ferry in their vehicle or travel to Calais. After about 10 minutes a nice Englishman picked me up and we both chuckled about the whole predicament. He was returning from a week of hiking with friends along the Belgium / France border. His friends he was joining are hiking from Brussels to Istanbul over a period of years on long weekends. He was quite amiable to my situation.

The crossing was uneventful, but the White Cliffs of Dover did prove to be quite impressive. It may have been that we were almost upon them before we could see them, but I can see how it would be a phenomenal strategic defense.

As we joked on the ferry I happened to be crossing one of the most expensive stretches of water for free! As a passenger I didn’t have to pay a fee! I lucked out yet again as I was offered a coninuous ride not only off the ferry but to the outskirts of London. We had a pleasent drive through Kent, and I hiked a couple miles to a nearby bus station. Kent stood up to its name as the Garden of England by providing a plethora of berries and apples along the side of the road (not on private property either!) For now London was just a stop over on my way to Edinburgh. I took a couple quick shots in Trafalgar Square where a festival was going on for the weekend. Unfortunately, I had to catch my train and couldn’t stay for more than a few minutes. The train ride was uneventful and the scenery dark with night. Time to relax after a long day of traveling. But to sum it up….there is a reason Lonely Planet didn’t put Dunkerque in its book, go to Calais. If you’re looking for a beach in France, it’s plage. Finally, the apples in Kent are delicious.

I’ve been in Amiens for a couple of days now. Josee and Geoff have been phenomenal hosts. I don’t want to boast, but their hospitality alone would make you jealous even without all the attractions. Josee and I are both Mechanical Engineering students at Case Western Reserve University, she and her husband moved here a couple months ago. For those that don’t know Amiens is about an hour north of Paris. I didn’t expect there to be a lot to do here, but there was a decent amount besides being able to sleep off some resilient jet lag, and visit friends.

To start the cathedral is not only a UNESCO World Heritage Site, its also three times the volume as the Notre-Dame in Paris…. I guess in the 13th century you pissed off the Parisians by building a larger cathedral. The more impressive part is that the facade is not only extremely ornate and sculpted but was brightly painted, and they rediscovered this a few years ago. During the summer months they project the original colors back onto the facade at night, and it truly is amazing. Don’t fear if you speak / understand French poorly they have an English narrated showing right after the French show.

Amiens is also known for its “floating” gardens. It is actually an intricate system of tiny canals along the river that were originally built to increase agricultural output. Nowadays they are home to summer cottages dotted with small personal gardens and an inordinate amount of flowers. There are some great paths for running or strolling along and a couple restaurants.

I’m sure I’ll be talking about Amiens some more as I plan to be back through some more as I progress around Europe. For now it’s time to cross the Channel.