I am an explorer; I love discovering what the world around me has to offer. I have done my best to travel the 22,000 acres of the “Emerald Necklace” of the Cleveland Metroparks, sampled the historical Cleveland tradition of ethnic diversity at the West Side Market, and gotten lost in the memories of a magical time period at Stan Hywet Hall and Gardens. Recently, I have boarded another timeless journey: the Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railroad.

From serving as a transportation corridor for the Indians thousands of years ago to later providing settlers with an easy way to move bulk goods, the Cuyahoga River and Valley in northern Ohio has always been an asset to people of all ages. The Valley Railway was primarily built to transport coal from south of Canton, Ohio to the prosperous industries developing throughout Cleveland. Today it serves as transportation through beautiful meadowland, the homes of beaver, fox, deer, and owl, and shopping and lodging destinations. Children anxiously climb aboard the “Polar Express” during the Christmas season and experience a magical trip to the North Pole to visit Santa Claus. Families travel alongside the railway on miles of the Towpath Trail to bike, walk, and even canoe.

With twelve main points of interest and eight stations, the Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railroad stretches across 33,000 acres of our National Park. I have visited and photographed two of the stations including Peninsula Depot and Brecksville Station. Each station offers various forms of entertainment ranging from recreational activities, dining, shopping, and art galleries.

Peninsula Depot
The Peninsula Depot sits in the small town of Peninsula that offers various tourist attractions for its visitors of all ages. A few dining options include the Winking Lizard and Fisher’s Cafe and Pub, stores range from Burda Books to Yellow Creek Trading Company, and art galleries include Diane Seskes Photography and Elements Gallery. Special events are held throughout the year and attract families from all over the Midwest. Not only is the town packed with excitement during the day, but it also has a great night life featuring various bars, karaoke events, and live musicians.

While visiting I traveled the Towpath Trails. Not only was I able to observe wildlife throughout the dense forest, recreational activities on the trails, and the beautiful scenery, but I also came across the Canal Feeder Dam, a historical landmark of the Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railroad. While the dam was originally built in 1827 to provide water for the Ohio and Erie Canal, today it functions as more of a memory for the town. Peninsula once greatly depended on this dam and the Cuyahoga River, and many of the buildings throughout the town still stand as to portray the purpose it once served.

I also walked alongside the Cuyahoga River which has created a series of peninsulas over the course of its existence. While the river was once completely polluted and disregarded by society, it now serves a different purpose. I observed two children skipping rocks across the water, a family canoeing on the calm rapids, and a blue heron searching for its lunch.

Brecksville Station

The Brecksville Station also offers much excitement for its visitors.  Well known restaurants are just around the corner and offer a wide variety of dining options including Creekside Restaurant and Bar, Sakura Japanese, and The Courtyard Cafe. Shopping centers are within walking distance from these restaurants and feature unique stores such as Riverview House Antiques Gifts and Florals and ABC Art and Coin Exchange. The area also serves as a great recreational destination as people come to hike, golf, play softball, and run cross country.

While visiting I photographed the beautiful fall scenery around the station. The Route 82 bridge spans the Cuyahoga Valley and runs directly over the railroad at the Brecksville Station. Built in 1931 the bridge stands at a height taller than the Statue of Liberty and its unique construction the evolution of bridge engineering.

From recreational opportunities to gourmet dining to experiencing historical landmarks, the Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railroad is truly a beautiful asset to Northeast Ohio. While I have only visited two of the stations, I look forward to exploring and photographing more in the near future. Board the Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railroad yourself and discover all that it has to offer!

~Kerry~

Check out my complete Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railroad photography album
on EntertainingYourself.com’s Facebook page!

I spent four sunny days in London at the end of March – not nearly enough time to see and do everything I wanted to do, but enough time to stroll around some of London’s many beautiful boroughs. (Visiting London became even more significant because I had learned not long before the trip that I would be moving there after finishing my Peace Corps service.) Here are my recommendations for a few nice walking-sightseeing routes if you find yourself in London for several days.

DAY 1

Marylebone/Fitzrovia and Regent’s Park

At the Marylebone Farmers’ Market

This posh, neighborhood-y area is known for its proximity to peaceful Regent’s Park. One of the friends I was visiting lived in this area, on Weymouth Street just a few blocks from the Sunday Marylebone Farmer’s Market, which even in late March was already full of gorgeous greens, plenty of parsnips, delicious homemade goat cheese, and the best carrot cake I have ever had. I recommend trolling for postcards and souvenirs on Marylebone Road – if you like wax figures, also check out Madame Tussaud’s – before ducking into Regent’s Park for a stroll around the lake or a run on the many winding paths that offer glimpses of the London Zoo’s residents.

Bloomsbury and Russell Square

Enjoy a picnic lunch in Russell Square

After your morning stroll through the park and farmers’ market snack, walk east out of Fitzrovia to Bloomsbury, the district from which the early 20^th-century Bloomsbury Group – the Woolfs and E.M. Forster were some of its prominent members – took its name. Drop into one of the many Sainsbury’s grocery stores to pick up picnic fare, then take it to Russell Square – most famously featured in Thackeray’s Vanity Fair – and enjoy people-watching while you nosh. Once your legs (and stomach) feel rejuvenated, walk one block to the British Museum. If you don’t have time for the whole museum you must at least stand gazing upwards in the glass-domed atrium for a few minutes. If you’d like to continue your literary tour, walk east on Guilford Street to Doughty Street, where you’ll find the Charles Dickens museum, situated in the house where Dickens lived for much of his life in London.

The British Museum atrium

DAY 2

Tottenham Court/Charing Cross Road to Trafalgar Square to Whitehall; the Houses of Parliament; Westminster Abbey to Buckingham Palace, St. James’ Park, and The Mall           

If your feet feel up for it, use a leisurely second day to take in many famous sights. Start on Tottenham Court Road in Fitzrovia and walk south; when you cross Oxford Street it will become Charing Cross Road in Soho. Take your time to stroll along, pop in and out of bookshops, and check out what’s playing at the theaters. Not far from Leicester Square you’ll run smack-dab into Trafalgar Square (contrary to popular belief, when I was there people actually outnumbered pigeons). If the weather is nice, grab a bite at Pret A Manger and people-watch while sitting on the steps of St. Martin in the Fields; if you’re lucky you’ll catch a choir rehearsal or concert in the church.

Westminster Abbey

When you have sufficiently refueled, walk south through Trafalgar Square to what becomes Whitehall Road; you will be flanked by tall, white buildings and soon will glimpse the Houses of Parliament and the famous clock tower known as Big Ben. Pause for some photos and then swing right to Westminster Abbey. You can pay to see the entire Abbey, but if you’d rather get a feel for it without shelling out any pounds, walk around to the west entrance and sit in on Evensong or Evening Prayer (check the schedule first; they offer free services and small concerts every day).

From the Abbey, continue walking west toward St. James’s Park, in the center of which you will find Buckingham Palace and the Queen Victoria Memorial. Walk away from the Palace along The Mall; you’ll eventually come out under the Admiralty Arch and find yourself back in Trafalgar Square. Stop in at the National Gallery or Portrait Gallery if you have time.

DAY 3

South Kensington and Chelsea

Start in Chelsea’s Sloane Square and visit the Saatchi Gallery, an art gallery that had an exhibition of contemporary German art when I was there. Even if modern art is not your cup of tea, the gallery is free and worth spinning through for its gorgeous design and use of space. Do you prefer shopping to art galleries? Walk up Cadogan Square to the famous department store, Harrods, where you will find anything you could ever want.

Prince Albert Memorial

From Harrods, it’s a short walk down Brompton Road to South Kensington and Exhibition Row, an area also known as “Albertopolis” for Queen Victoria’s establishment of museums, concert halls, and colleges in honor of Prince Albert, her husband who died too young. You could easily spend the rest of the day here in the Victoria and Albert Museum and the Natural History Museum. Take some time to walk up to Kensington Gardens/Hyde Park to see the ornate Albert Memorial and the spot of the 1851 Great Exhibition’s Crystal Palace.

DAY 4

City of London

If you still have energy after the previous three days, start this day in the one-square-mile City of London, the oldest part of London and now the financial center. Spend some time at the Museum of London, free and chock-full of London’s history from the earliest times to today. When you feel saturated, walk south and follow your eyes to St. Paul’s Cathedral. Ogle at its dome and design – if you want to spend some money you can go inside – before continuing south to pedestrians-only Millennium Bridge, leading straight to the Tate Modern art museum. While crossing the bridge you will see the reconstruction of Shakespeare’s Globe Theater. If you have time, catch a performance at the Globe after enjoying some modern art at the Tate. (Unfortunately I didn’t have time to do either of these things on my visit.)

St. Paul’s Cathedral as viewed from Millennium Bridge

Obviously, you cannot see all of London in four days. But if you like to walk, admire architecture, and really get the feel for a city, I recommend the four above walks as good starting points. I look forward to discovering many more great London walks after moving there – perhaps I shall share them with you. If you have suggestions for other walks, feel free to leave them in the comments section. Happy exploring!

~Tammela~

Onward…

By Megan Ritchie

The next day, Day 4 for those counting, Chris and I awoke, sore from our wigwam slumber and hit the road once again. It’s at about this time in a road trip, I think we can all agree, when real life starts to feel like a foreign thing, and all you have is a car, a radio, and, inevitably, an interesting collection of empty fast food containers crammed in various recesses throughout the vehicle. Yep, we were feeling the miles.

Thankfully, we were just in time for a detour of grand proportions. Now, when Chris and I were originally planning the trip’s route we were all, “Rockies! Rockies!” and my dad was all, “You’re insane and will kill yourselves/the car!” so, as I mentioned before, we chose the southern route. As a compromise of sorts we decided we would take a detour of about 100 miles, give or take, to see the Grand Canyon because, after living abroad for a year, all I wanted was some good old American splendor. And Chris and I, Midwesterners that we are, had never been to the Grand Canyon. And it’ the Grand Canyon, you guys. 100 miles ain’t nothin’ for something that awesome.

 So, over the river and through the woods, to the Canyon we went. When we arrived and hoisted our creaking bodies out of the car, the sun was blistering hot. Armed with sunscreen, sunglasses and some stylish hats, we made our way into the park office. After a few hasty conversations with people giving us impressively mismatched directions (“Isn’t this one of the biggest tourist destinations in the country? Shouldn’t this be more straightforward?” we asked ourselves), we managed to find our way onto a shuttle that would take us into the Grand Canyon National Park.

The bus ride was rather pleasant, mostly because we weren’t the ones responsible for driving. I kept craning to see the canyon, but it was shy and kept itself hidden from the road the entire time. In fact, it wasn’t until we were dropped off that I got my very first view of the canyon. We scuttled up a trail and spread out in front of us, stretching as far as we could see in both directions, was the Grand Canyon.

It was utterly breathtaking. For those of you who haven’t seen it, it is truly one of those places that photographs do no justice. In fact, trying to flatten out something so dimensional, so expansive, so rich in color and shadow and texture, seems borderline insulting. Not that I didn’t try. But after a few pictures, including one on my horrible camera phone for the fans back home (“Hi Mom!”), Chris grew a little antsy and so we headed down the trail.

It seemed the deeper and deeper we got in the canyon, the more beautiful it became. I was snapping pictures left and right, some of the canyon itself, but many of us with the canyon: Chris in an arch, me near the edge, Chris gazing out over the canyon; just call me Annie Leibovitz guys, ‘cause it was a regular Vanity Fair cover shoot.

I clicked on and on and–wait a second: Life was (somehow) continuing on the trail beyond our photo-shoot. In fact, the more we tuned in to our fellow National Park trail enthusiasts, the more we realized that everyone seemed to be from out-of-town. And, while we (obviously) were too, everyone around us seemed to be from a bit farther out-of-town…as in, out-of-country. Nearly everyone on the trail around us were speaking various European languages, and striding purposefully up and down the trail. The Americans, large and in charge, were up above on the shuttle buses, breathing heavily behind their digital cameras, while down here, svelte and workin’ it, Europeans were showing us who was boss. Chris and I decided we were done with the photo-shoot—we needed to pick up the pace…for America! We cruised down the trail a handful of miles to our turn-around point, a sturdy-looking outhouse with a water-pump nearby. It seemed to be a popular spot to stop and find some shade, no matter your country of origin.

After a quick bathroom break and a few swigs of water we looked around, glanced at our watches and decided it was probably time to head back up—we still had over 200 miles to drive before our stop for the night in scenic Needles, CA and the road was calling our names. So, up we went.

The hike down was easy-peasy, but the hike up, well, it. was. hot. Chris quickly ditched his shirt, and I just as quickly regretted having brought my stupid, heavy digital camera along (call me Annie Leibovitz, guys, but only if she comes with a camera caddy who carries all of her equipment for her). Cheeks blazing red, we strode along, and in a competitive push, passed a group of German tourists and an elderly French couple with walking sticks in one sweep, before collapsing in a heap on the side of the trail.

The Europeans quickly re-passed us.

Yet, after a few moments, or perhaps more than a few, we dusted ourselves off, took a final sip of water, and climbed back up.

The trail winded far more than I recalled it doing as we’d walked down, let’s put it that way. Finally, mercifully, at last I began to recognize some arches and vistas from our descending photo-shoot from what seemed like so long before (It had really only been about 90 minutes). We paused a moment to “take in the view” (ahem, for a breather) but were brought out of our reverie by voices behind us. Was that Italian? Without looking back, we quickly scrambled up the rest of the way to the edge of the canyon before enjoying a lazy, air-conditioned shuttle bus ride back to the car.

~ Megan~

Part 1 – Road Trip West

Part 2 – Wigwam Motel

Part 4 – The Wildfire

See also:

In Defense of the Family Road Trip

For the most part this has worked out well enough. They’ve been able to get past my comments such as “I think my favorite beer is Coors Ice- Coors Light poured over a big glass of ice,” and I’ve been able to ignore their Indiana Jones like reactions in beer shops to a rare “one of a kind” find.  But this weekend a connection was made – I have now become a beer “forager.”

It all started a few years ago- Alex had discovered wild hops growing near Colorado Springs.  He had seen it for a few years and after many smell tests found when it would be most ripe for harvest.  It just happened to coincide with this past Saturday, so Alex, Maddy (Alex’s girlfriend), Dan (another beer advocate) and I hopped into the car.

We arrived at a familiar running spot, and started hiking up the road keeping our eyes peeled for what I perceived to be these “illusive” hops.  On the way, I found my eyes (and mind) wandering away from the task at hand, to the crags and rock walls along the path, wondering which I could climb.  I pointed an especially nasty looking one out to Dan, (an experienced climber) wondering if I’d be able to attempt the route while being securely roped up.  Reading my mind he declared: “That’s about the limit of what I’d do without a rope!”  Instantly I was in disbelief and awe for it was 100 feet of near vertical and overhanging rock. We continued on, me pondering Dan’s skill level and the rest of the group searching for the still undiscovered hops.

The trip was not without treasures. We did stumble upon a rare squirrel that looked like a cross between a bunny and the devil.  We photographed the demon and moved on.

Throughout the search, I was completely ignorant to what hops looked like and imagined us gathering long stalks of brown wispy wheat-like plants.   Our prospects weren’t looking too good until finally Alex spotted the “elusive” hop.

I could not have been more surprised.  Rather than brown, tall and thin, it grows as a vine and has little buds ranging from ½ to 1 inch long.  We smelled them and were mildly impressed but moved on to see if there were more.

BOOM- we found the bumper crop.  A small pine tree was covered in them.

This bunch smelled different and we all went back and forth, on which we liked more.  In the end we gathered half a plastic bag full of both varieties and headed to the home brew store.

And despite the excitement of our find, I was still pondering Dan’s declaration about the rock climb, so before we reached the car I convinced Dan to try and “free solo” (climb unroped) his peak, except that I was horrified when he actually took up my challenge and started up.  I thought my stupid dare was about to lead to the witness of my friend falling onto the sharp rocks below.  Luckily, fear or reality got the better of him and he decided ascending in sandals sans rope was not the best plan.

The adventure continued as we drove way out east of the mountains to the plains.  The homebrew store was a combination of a warehouse and bar.  Across the street was a strip club.  We entered the store and Alex and Dan rummaged around, selecting their special ingredients (malted barley extract, yeast) and tools (tubing, buckets). Alex and Dan already had much of the gear but after two batches of last year’s brew had resulted in explosions, Alex wanted new tubing to prevent another round of infection, which he speculated might have been caused by wild yeast entering the beer.

The owner rung us up and delighted in informing us that tax was only 4.7% – we were out of the city now where tax was 9.8%!

“Gotta love being right on the border” he joked.  “But the winter was a drag, snow plow didn’t even plow the street.”

“But you gotta love that tax,” I told him, “hell, I bet you’ll put the plow on your truck and make your own path.”

He gave a hearty laugh, it appeared I hit the nail on the head.  (I wondered if he had a deal with the strip club guy).

Fast-forward to the next day and our cottage was transformed into what could easily be mistaken for a meth lab.  Tubes, and buckets everywhere with a big vat of wort (beer before it has fermented) on the stove.

The smell was… interesting, but it grew on me and over all the hops smelled great.

Alex and Maddy did most of the actual brewing, while I hung around on the sidelines, watching in wonder.  Now, after all the excitement and activity, for once I can honestly say that I’ve never been so excited to crack open a beer.  I’ll let you know how it goes in 4 weeks!

~Martin~

This story was a submission to EntertainingYourself.com’s first ever “Best Running Story in a Foreign Country Writing Contest” – April 2011. Our story’s author, EY Contributor, Martin Mudry, an avid traveler and runner, is currently filming a documentary in Kenya called “Where Dreams Don’t Fade.” You can follow his latest project on a special facebook page devoted to the movie.  Or check back here for more stories to come!

Carl had just arrived in China. Wade, Megan and I picked him up at the airport in Kunming, the city he’d be spending the next 4 months in for his study abroad. While Wade, Megan and I had been traveling around China together for a few weeks, Carl should have been tired, jet lagged, and ready for bed. So what did we do? Immediately upon returning to the hostel we made him take a shot of one of the strongest and foulest drinks known to man called Baijiu. At $.50 for the equivalent of 5 shots, it also must be one of the cheapest drinks available anywhere.

The rest of the first night was pretty tame. We walked around a bit past some empty stores, through the big square where our hostel was located and then went to bed. The next morning we all went out to breakfast together before bidding Wade and Megan goodbye, as they flew back up north to the city where they are both teaching.

Once they left, Carl had quite a bit on his plate. He had just arrived at altitude, (Kunming’s altitude is 1,800 meters ~6,500ft); he was with someone who has a dairy allergy but doesn’t speak any Chinese; he was adjusting to a 13 hour time difference from where he had just come; oh yeah, and this was his first time traveling outside of the United States, EVER!

So as a good friend, what did I do to ease the transition? Take it easy for a few days? No! Carl and I immediately headed out to the city outskirts and hiked into the nearby mountains where I had previously seen a few hotels. We hiked up to an even higher elevation at which point the real fun began- watching Carl barter for a room with people in Chinese. The problem was, aside from Carl not having practiced Chinese for a few months, he also had to speak to people who barely knew Mandarin- the only dialect he had been taught.

We checked out one place, which seemed nice, but the price was a bit high, so we decided to check out another knowing we could always come back and try to drive the price down more.

At the second place, the guy showed us rooms but opened each door by sliding open the room window first and then unlocking the door from the inside with his hand. But the price seemed right after a little negotiation, so we made the decision to stay and asked for the room key.

What? The guy didn’t seem to understand. “The key to the room” Carl said again in Chinese. He seemed very confused and reluctant, but took a key off a key chain that appeared to hold only the master keys. We went back to the room, where I took a closer look at the window- thinking: “Great, no lock, so the key is useless per his little trick to get in.”

As I debated whether we should leave our stuff in the room while we went for a run, I realized that there was a key to the bathroom and if we locked our stuff in there, chances were he wouldn’t be able to get past that second door.

So with our passports and cash secured behind one door with virtually no lock and behind another door as flimsy as balsa wood, we went out for a quick walk and then a run.

As we were leaving with our backpacks to explore the area, we ran into the guy who had given us the room and key. He asked us for the keys. Carl tried to tell him that we had it, but he kept asking for it. I, of course, didn’t know what he was saying, although it was pretty clear that he was motioning for the keys. Finally Carl told him for the 4th time that we were just going for a walk; that we would be coming back; and that we were taking the key but would give it back before we checked out.

On the run we went through small villages, down single track trails and came upon some kids. They appeared utterly terrified and I’m sure the youngest thought the foreigners were going to kill her and leave her dead in the forest. We tried to tell them it was OK and the older ones actually start to laugh, but one of the youngest continued to run in terror.

We ducked by some houses and got back out onto a main road. A few more times we took trails that came to dead ends. One looked nice but quickly ended at a small temple in the hillside. Another led us down a path toward a village but soon we were surrounded by huge German shepherds, which while chained, were barking furiously, giving us the clear message about which way to go (back the way we came). We wandered through more fields, before finally coming to a trail that led down a steep path and crossed a beautiful hill of tall grass.

It reminded me a lot of the hills on the coasts of Northern California, with little halftrack trails. Carl was out running in front when all of a sudden he slipped. The image flashed before me of Carl tripping and tumbling a hundred feet down the steep slope. Luckily he caught himself.

Feeling like my mother, I warned him: “Be careful Carl.” “I know” he said. A few minutes later, he tripped again, and then again. I felt at a loss, and could picture having to call his parents to tell them how he slid down a hill in rural china. Again, with a little luck, we found a way up and over and finally were on the path heading back to the hotel.

We planned to go out to eat, but after a shower Carl was exhausted and just wanted to call it an early night. I didn’t blame him. When Wade Megan and I first arrived at altitude, we took it really easy. With Carl, I’d had him hiking, running, and translating from day one and maybe the jet lag was finally catching up with him. I read for a bit then lay down as well and we both dozed off until 9:30 pm or so.

We were both awake and talking when we heard a car pull in and the doors slam. Then, all of a sudden, loud piano music. It sounded so real – could there be a piano somewhere??

Carl and I were like what the ??, until the background music started and people started singing karaoke in Chinese for the next few hours. The music randomly went from loud to unbearable at no discernable intervals.

The absurdity of the situation – high up above Kunming, on the border of mountains and farmland – people were blasting music and singing as if their sole goal was to break glass.

Hours later the music stopped. Then we heard footsteps coming downstairs to where our room was. Then there was someone at the door trying to get in. We tried to say hello, but then the window slid open. I quickly got up to turn on the light as Carl yelled “What do you want?? We’re in here” in Chinese. As I turned on the light, whoever was there left quickly and that was the last we heard of them.

The next morning, we got up early and caught the sunrise on the hill. It was completely quiet and we were the only people. It was a complete 180 from the day I had discovered the place with Wade and Megan.  That day it was New Years and there were hundreds of Chinese people in high heels, suits, and dress shoes, miraculously scrambling over the rocks and shouting to each other across the valleys. This time we were alone and the light was perfect.

We hiked around a little more before returning to our room to gather our stuff to leave. Our friend who was so worried about our keys and maybe was the one trying to come into our room the night prior was no where to be found.  We left the keys with his wife and headed out.

We had 20 miles to hike and many more memories to be had before the day was up.  It may have only been Carl’s first few days in China, but it was important that he learn the rules to successful travel- do it while you can, push yourself, and don’t forget to go for a run.

~Martin~

Ben Nevis and Glen Nevis

(This story is a continuation of Part I: London to Inverness ,                Part II: Inverness to Loch Ness and Part III: Kyle of Lochalsh to Fort William)

View of Glen Nevis from Ben Nevis

Sunday, our last day in Scotland, we followed Benny’s directions to Cow Hill for a view of the mighty, 4,000-foot hump of Ben Nevis and its verdant adjoining valley, Glen Nevis.  Zigzagging up the ridge, the sun shone unimpeded for the first time on our trip. We chased sheep, lay in the sweet heather and made up stories about a Highland Goliath as older hikers passed us. I promised to be less of a miser—within reason.

Atop the hill we saw the sparkling expanse of Loch Linnhe and Fort William, and finally got a peek at Ben Nevis as it emerged from its cloudy wreath. We chased sheep back down the hill before returning to town. We only had a few hours left, but Bijani had one more thing on her agenda: the Harry Potter Waterfall in Glen Nevis.

It was too far to walk, and the only way to get there was by cab. I wanted to renege on my promise.

“You only get to go to Scotland once, but we have the rest of our lives to be broke,” I muttered.

“What’s that?”  Bijani asked.

“Nothing.”

The taxi driver pointed out the sights along the way: a field where Mel Gibson filmed a “Braveheart”  battle, hiring local amputees to fill in as the wounded; a bunch of shaggy highland cattle. He kindly agreed to pick us up in four hours.

***

A thin but strong current ran along the path to Glen Nevis. We walked through ferns and conifer trees. It seemed like a long way to go for sights from a movie. I walked ahead, rounding a bend past the stony face of a huge boulder and into the opening of the valley. A vast meadow unveiled itself. In the foreground stood the cloudy edifice of Ben Nevis; in the background, the forked deluge of Steall Falls.

A wire bridge traverses the stream to the waterfall trail, and gripping the coiled metal I forgot my fear of heights in the pale mist from the falls and the smell of wet grass. We ran slipping and losing our shoes in the thick mud, to the base of the falls.

It was time to return to the cab. I looked over my shoulder one more time as we re-rounded the bend. Bijani and I waited in the parking lot for the cab that would take us back to the train that would bring us down from the Highlands to our cold London apartment.  I looked in my wallet. I had $30, just enough for the return trip and to buy some snacks for our homeward journey.

“What a wonderful trip,” I said to Bijani and smiled.

She hugged me and for a moment I felt rich.

The End…(for now)

~Will~

Kyle of Lochalsh to Fort William

(This story is a continuation of Part I: London to Inverness and          Part II: Inverness to Loch Ness)

Eilean Donan Inside View

Kyle of Lochalsh  is notable for many reasons, depending on your priorities. It’s home to remarkably inexpensive fish and chips for example. A bay borders the one-mill town, which looks onto the Isle of Skye, while the restored Eilean Donan Castle, made famous by such movies as Highlander and the romantic comedy Made of Honor, lies aways to the East. Kyle also marked the penultimate leg of our journey before phase Harry Potter began in full.

Rain greeted us in the tiny town, as did a wryly good-natured fish and chips salesmen.

“How ya liking the weather?”

“It’s nice.”

“Sunny enough for ya?”

“We’d feel cheated if it was. We wanted the authentic Scottish experience.”

“It donna get more authentic than this.”

Bijani and I had taken a morning train from Inverness across the heart of the highlands—with its snow dusted mountains, its bright grassy valleys, its steely rivers and lakes—and if this trip and the stormy sound of Lochalsh represented the real Scotland , I was prepared to sign up for a lifetime membership.

***

An hour later we hopped on a bus that carried us along similar terrain south toward Fort William, on the shores of the beautiful Loch Linnhe. It’s a bed and breakfast town, not as picturesque as Inverness, but shadowed  by the 4,409 foot peak of Ben Nevis.

In town we found more rain and Benny, the friendly Englishman and transplanted owner of Invernevis, a handsome stone B&B with twin gables that overlooked the lake.

“Lovely weather, isn’t it?” he said as he took our bags.

“Yes,” we said in unison.

Bijani and I both ordered a traditional Scottish Breakfast, before heading to the Jacobite Train, named for the anti-British revolutionaries, now commonly known as the Hogwarts Express. The classic, black engine puffed smoke onto the platform and excited children ages 3 to 70 rushed into the cars, “just like in the movie!” The beautiful look accounted for the train’s finest attribute, and I couldn’t help note that another half-price train ran along the same tracks, to the same destination.

“You know, we could’ve just looked at this train and taken a ride on the other one,” I said as we boarded.

“Humbug,” Bijani laughed.

The Jacobite Train does not go to a school of wizardry, but rather Mailag, the dainty western-most port town in the UK. Locals say its home to Scotland’s best fish and chips. Best usually means expensive. As we chugged along, the ashy-white mountains and whaleskin lakes lying starkly against green and yellow grasses lost some of their luster.

In Mailag I loitered around the station, ordered fish and chips, vowed never to eat fish and chips again and got back on the train in an antagonistic mood.

“You know we could have saved fifty…”

“You don’t get it,” Bijani said.

We missed the famous aqueduct bridge on the way back because we were fighting. We went to bed in a bad mood back at Invernevis.

…To Be Continued in Part IV – The Final Installment!

~Will~

London to Inverness

Things started poorly.   Beneath a gloomy London sky at King’s Cross Station, my fiancée and I (see our Engagement Story Parts 1 & 2) boarded the Caledonia Sleeper  for Inverness, the Scottish Highlands’ largest city. Bijani had mapped a triangular tour of the region by train and bus, incorporating Loch Ness, the United Kingdom’s tallest mountain and many, many things Harry Potter.

Fun? Sure. Affordable? Probably not.

Early on there was tension: if nine years together had demonstrated anything, it would be the futility of lobbying me to “splurge” on a sleeping berth, and she didn’t even try. But my future wife clearly wasn’t keen on the half-empty railcar and reclining chairs we settled into, premade salami sandwiches in hand.

The situation didn’t improve. Near the end of our journey I awoke to a man shouting at his phone, “Yeah, Mate. I’ve been sitting next to a convicted murderer since Perth. Just introduced himself. Had his daughter with him. He was all right, but…”

I closed my eyes. When seats don’t actually recline and railcar temperatures fluctuate between steam-room sweaty and walk-in-freezer, murder seems less disturbing. For nine hours I’d questioned the wisdom of saving $20 to the point where my core beliefs faltered.

Then the brand new light unveiled our first real view of Scotland: fresh green pastures; sheep, cloud-like in their fluffiness; friendly white cottages economically trimmed with red.

As the train rambled into the unofficial Highland capital, I prepared for a wonderful time in Scotland, home of my ancestors, at whatever price—within reason.

*** INVERNESS***

A city by population, Inverness (meaning “Mouth of the River Ness”) charms like a slightly stern European village. Inverness Castle, the modern day incarnation of a former Pictish stronghold, overlooks the city center from a small hill, while the Ness’ clean, industrious waters divide a picturesque downtown. Its main thoroughfares are appealingly cluttered with church steeples and stone buildings, many of which border an idyllic pedestrian mall.

Our guidebook compared the city’s High Street to London’s frenetic Oxford Street, just less crowded and with a kilt store instead of Dolce and Gabbana; a dollar store instead of a Gap, and instead of a Virgin Megastore, a dollar store.

The guidebook also noted Scots, perhaps by undue reputation, are notorious penny pinchers.

This was my kind of place.

“Does my Scotch ancestry explain why I’m so cheap?” I asked as we walked the empty mall toward our hostel.

“I don’t think there’s any question.”

“Oh good, it’s genetic.”

She laughed, though some resentment lingered in her voice. She’s still upset we’ve seen every breath in our London apartment this winter because I insist layers are more cost effective than heating, microwaves are luxury items for the upper classes and an authentic Dickensian experience will advance her literature studies.

Working back toward her good graces, I requested a private room at the BazPackers Inn,  a cozy site across from Inverness Castle, for $10 extra. Seated on a warm bed, we unloaded our stuff, took inventory and prepared for a full day of exploration.

…To Be Continued in Part II: Inverness to Loch Ness

   -Will-

A Procrastinating Pragmatist With A Heart of Gold

My Engagement

or

How A Procrastinating Pragmatist

Rediscovered Romance

I was romantic once.

It was late summer and I’d been walking with my girlfriend of somewhere-between-eight-and-nine-years down a rolling, park single-track. We’d climbed the dusty hill, descended the empty river bed and were just passing the riding ring and red barn of a stable I know intimately. It was where my mother brought my sister and me as children, ostensibly to pet and feed horses, but actually to inoculate us against farm diseases. 

The stables smelled of old redwood, dry hay, and also of horse manure, which as manures go is quite pleasant. And I felt quite pleasant, even though she and I were fighting.

It was one of those arguments, where problem A (I’d ditched her friends) was presented as the issue when in fact it was problem B (we weren’t engaged). I was winning.

As I petted a mare that searched my hand fruitlessly for something good to eat, my girlfriend broached the real subject.

“All I want,” she said, “is a sign that you are committed to this relationship and to me and that we have a future together.”

It was a very practical thing to say, and “Be pragmatic” had recently become an unofficial motto, a companion to the official: “When in doubt, procrastinate.” These may be difficult to reconcile, but I can be persistent.

“Listen,” I said, “give me one year and I’ll do it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

We’d reached the edge of the park and were walking quietly past a bulldozer idling on a vacant lot when I had a flash of inspiration. I would propose on her birthday, April 19th. She’d like it. It would be romantic. It would be easy to remember.

At that moment I was excited. I was committed. Then I forgot.

***

Mid-morning on April 18^th I woke up, looked at my phone, then rushed to the laundry room for pants. I had a lunch appointment with my girlfriend’s mom. I needed permission to marry her daughter. The rest of the day would be for ring shopping.

Seated across from the woman who’d once found you in your underwear, hiding in her daughter’s closet, might be intimidating for some, but not for me, until it came time to propose the big pre-question. 

“I’d like to ask your daughter to marry me tomorrow, but I wanted to ask you first.”

 “Awww, that’s nice,” she said. “Why should I let you?”

She looked at me keenly. I was unprepared and didn’t ace the response.

 “Well, it’s a responsible thing to do… it’s important to have commitment… it’s been such a long time…”  Then I rallied for a solid B-. “When it comes down to it, we really care for each other.”

I’d come out of the lunch date with more than I had going in and felt good walking my future mother-in-law to her car. I’d received her blessing, plus she’d improved my proposal plan. Instead of handing over a simple ring box, I would hide it in a second box filled with my girlfriend’s favorite Parisian macaroons, which they just happened to have at home.

I held the car door open for my girlfriend’s mom.

“I’m so happy for you,” she said, “But a taqueria? Couldn’t you have chosen a nicer place?” 

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to give any illusions about the kind of guy I am.”

***

To Be Continued –  in Part 2: The Engagement

-Will-

EntertainingYourself.com writer Martin is off on an adventure in China!  He’s traveling around the country on foot and via trains, boats, and buses to find the best views.  Here he’s seen climbing his way to the top of Green Lotus Peak overlooking Yangshuo!   So this is what it’s like on top of the world!

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