First order of the day was to mail a package of clothes to Cambridge, which left me with the clothes I was wearing and one change. Plus I also sent off my other pair of shoes and a few bits and pieces. I can’t tell you how many hours of thought I put into every item in my bag, but after lugging it even a short way I found I could happily let quite a few things go. I imagine I am not alone in this experience.

Pub breakfast with my usual accompaniment of iPad and blogging.

Unfortunately when I got to the post office I realised that I still had my room key in my pocket, which meant walking back in the opposite direction. Less than half a kilometre, but still, I was annoyed at myself for getting off to a bad start.

However the weather was perfect and when I got to the monument that marks the beginning of The Way it was festooned in very new-looking banners. Someone has let them know I was coming, obviously;-). No brass band to send me off, which was disappointing, but one cannot have everything I suppose.

The very first bit out of town is a short, somewhat steep hill then there’s a walk through some lush fields, over stiles and very soon the town is out of sight. The very most unpleasant part of the day, terrain wise, was very early on. A series of cow-filled fields that smelled like the Bog of Eternal Stench, which only grew worse as the farm buildings loomed closer. I couldn’t believe the intensity of the odour as I passed between the buildings then had to navigate an actual bog for a few hundred metres, struggling to find grassy lumps to put my feet down on so I wouldn’t sink in up to the ankles.

It was all massively frustrating, primarily because I’ve never hit that sort of terrain in Australia and I also felt a bit worried about the cows in the field because another uk blogger I follow (www.coastalwalker.co.uk ) is always talking about the dangers of cows. Did you know they are the most deadly animal (bar humans I suppose) in the UK, and they kill people by knocking them down then crushing their victim’s ribs in by pressing with their heads? I’m not saying this happens on a daily basis, but knowing it happens at all when you’re standing with a few of the beasts in a spot where you can’t get up any speed… well, it didn’t leave me in the best head space.

Then I got out of the mire and walked up a hill where a bluebell Wood was just coming into flower. It was lovely so I stopped to take a photo.

Except I couldn’t find my phone. Then I thought maybe I’d put it in my shirt pocket and it had fallen out while climbing a stile and then I would have to go back through the cow field and I swear to god I nearly started crying and wondered what on earth I thought I was doing and maybe I shouldn’t even be here.

Of course I then found my phone in one of the hundred or so pockets that my backpack has. Which led me to have a good think about being resilient and why I reacted so strongly. I am not the sort of person who likes to step far from my known physical limits and I almost never take anything close to a risk. So to find that, after all my careful planning and thinking, I might have made a stupid and easily-avoided mistake, was upsetting. Still, the whole thing was a good reminder to just be thorough, don’t panic and always put precious things in the same, zip-up pocket rather than moving them around. During the day I developed a system of where to keep various items so they would be accessible and now I feel much better.

Anyhow! Apart from that blip things went very well. I met a Scottish woman while I was having a snack break and she stopped to chat for a while (you’re camping? My goodness!) it was nice to meet another solo female. Then I met a retired couple and walked with them for a couple of hours until they split off to find their accommodation.

This is the view I had pretty much all day.

I don’t really know what walker etiquette is in terms of how long you keep going with people you start chatting to… I guess people make it clear if they want to be alone. They were very friendly though and we had a good time and I didn’t feel he need to look at my map every five steps, which is what I do when I’m alone.

After that I didn’t see another soul. I decided to camp at a place called Birch Bank, about half a km from the trail. It was quite a remote spot and I’d called ahead to make sure there was room but only got their answering machine.

Not that it mattered – I was the only person there.

Having taken it very easy (I’d walked about 14km in 7 hours) , I arrived at about 4pm. I pitched out of the wind and in the sun and I had time to sit and read a bit of The Inimitable Jeeves before cooking a unique mix of two minute noodles and couscous, then donning every warm thing I owned and rolling into my sleeping bag. I think I was asleep before the sun set at 8:30.

A day well spent!

As I was walking I was wondering – what are other people’s must-have camping equipment? Do you take any luxury items? My pack feels so pared-down now that unless I ditched the jetboil and fuel I don’t think I could leave anything else out… and yet it is so heavy!

Yesterday I caught the train from Euston to Lancaster, then a small local train from Lancaster to Ulverston. I have nothing much to say about the train from Euston, except that people who paint their fingernails in confined public spaces should be shot, and anyone who needs to pick up 12 napkins when they buy a bacon roll is what’s wrong with this planet (even though it could be said, I suppose, that paper napkins grow on trees). Either way, the napkin-purloiner also chewed with his mouth open and after an hour I couldn’t believe the people around him had allowed him to live.

Anyhow, idiots aside, the journey to Lancaster was uneventful. Not so the train to Ulverston! On a suspiciously crowded platform I was asked by a group of middle-aged men, all of whom were sporting large rucksacks, if I was doing the Cumbria Way. Yes, I replied, and it turned out they were too. We had a little chat and they explained they were meeting up with a couple from the Netherlands, whom they had met doing the Coast to Coast a few years earlier (I am telling you this because it becomes relevant later so don’t forget!). More people gathered and the single carriage train began to look increasingly problematic.

A driver arrived and we all squished on, I even managed to find a seat next to a little old lady. She looked astonishingly like my late grandmother, and since my grandmother actually lived not far from where we were, she even sounded distinctly like her. We had a good chat about her family and her late husband and my travels (you’re walking by yourself? My goodness!) . Amusingly, the whole vibe on the train was one of happy bonding through complaining (the previous two trains and the one after ours had been cancelled and apparently this wasn’t unusual) and I don’t think I’ve ever been in a carriage that sounded so much like a party. She waved me goodbye cheerily from the window when I got off and I felt quite warmed by the whole experience, even though it was only half and hour from start to finish.

I hefted my bag on my back and walked through Ulverston to find The Stan Laurel Inn, where I had booked a room for two nights. The pub was closed until six, so I went to another pub and had a sit and half a pint of cider while I waited.

When I returned to The Stan I was greeted by a group of men (not the same ones as before) who asked if I was doing a pub crawl. I’m sure I looked a trifle confused because they explained they they’d seen me at the other pub with my backpack and now I was here. I ended up having a drink with them and they told me they were in town to see their team, Chester, play. They tried to explain relegations and league tables to me but I told them to stop, please. Then we talked about my plans, why I should go to York, why they weren’t interested in Harry Potter, and online dating. Then they had to catch the train home so I sat at the bar, drank a glass of wine and chatted to the bar staff before heading to bed.

Now, I have been thinking about the ups and downs of travelling alone, and for me one of the downs is that I can go to bed whenever I want. For most people this would mean staying up late, but for me it means going to sleep at 8pm, which means waking at 4am. I amused myself with sorting out a bag of things I can live without for the next two weeks (I shall post them to Andrew in Cambridge) then decided to walk up a nearby hill to catch the sunrise.

Apart from the fact that I got up there half an hour early and realised that I needed nothing in my life more than windproof trousers, it was stunning.

The path wasn’t too steep and there were a few sheep about. I could see all the way to Sca Fell (highest mountain in England… I think) and various other mountains and landmarks.

For reasons unexplained, there seemed to be aplethora of benches along the path. Normally there’s never one when you want one, but in Ulverston there’s no shortage. Maybe this is where they are all made? I guess we’ll never know.

When I got back to the inn it was still two hours before breakfast so I looked at my map and tried to estimate how far I could walk tomorrow. I’ve given myself a feasible goal (wild camp by Beacon Tarn or stop at a campsite before then) or a stretch goal of getting to Coniston – or at least one of the campsites along the lake before the town.

At breakfast who should I meet but the couple from the Netherlands who formed the other part of the Cumbria Way party leaving today – remember those men on the station platform? Quite a coincidence! We had a good talk about walking (You’re walking by yourself? My goodness!) and appropriate clothing and not hurrying, especially up hills. They also told me to pick up sheep’s wool to put in any spots (shoes, shoulders etc) which felt like blisters were going to come up, a strategy I’d only heard before from my friend Robyn.

The rest of the day consisted of walking. Twice to the outdoor camping store to get waterproof trousers and gloves, then to get fuel for my jetboil as I had to go back to get it and make sure their canisters would attach. They only had the large size so I suppose I could make risotto every night if I want.

I also took a walk along the Ulverston canal, which was awful in multiple ways. First, it was dead straight and flat, second there was no view that wasn’t industrial estates or caravan parking, and last was the horrendous stench of cow manure that blighted at least half the 2km length. Fortunately the path ended at a bay and there was a delightful pub where I escaped the rain and had the biggest pot of tea I’d ever been served in a truly charming room. You can’t really tell from the photo, but the pot held at least five generous cups of tea and the milk jug was huge.

I genuinely feared for my bladder’s ability to cope on the walk back. But cope it did, and I spotted some swans nesting on my return journey and then spent the remainder of the afternoon reading a very jolly PG Wodehouse novel.

Have I mentioned that a walking festival began here the day I arrived? Well it did, and one event I had time to attend was a talk by one of the mountain rescue volunteers. Despite being excellent, in hindsight it probably wasn’t a great idea to hear a slew of horror stories about things that can go wrong the evening before I set out on my first adventure. Still, I learned a lot and am regretting not bringing a whistle or learning how to properly use a compass (I am mainly joking, my trail is one of the safest and lowest in the region and I’m told it’s well-signposted) but I have masses of waterproof and warm clothing along with waterproof maps so I’m sure I’ll survive.

the crowd at the talk were almost as funny and entertaining as the presenter, with one guy loudly saying ‘YOU’RE LATE’ to the six or so people who came in after it had started, much to everyone’s amusement. I got the feeling that most of the crowd knew each other and the presenter and asked him good questions while at the same time heckling him a bit. It was great!

Oh yes, if you don’t know who Laurel and Hardy were, the names of the rooms in my pub would be quite confusing.

Stan Laurel was born in Ulverston and there’s quite a few things around town dedicated to him. It’s not often comedians get a mention so it’s yet another thing to like about this charming little town.

After a barely-sufficient quantity of sleep on my flight I caught the Tube into London, avoiding the £25 for the Heathrow Express which is crazy expensive. I marveled to watch the extraordinary number of people reading actual newspapers, which I never see in Melbourne, where everyone uses their phones on PT, which I think is probably better, since less elbow room is required.

London had put on a drizzly day but I was grateful for any weather that wasn’t sleet and I renewed my acquaintance with the intricacies of the tube map and the fact that I felt either too hot or too cold every ten minutes, depending on whether I was above ground or below it. Frequent changes of layers aren’t much fun when you’re hauling a huge backpack and I was already looking forward to being outdoors and walking miles rather than being crowded in busy carriages and feeling like I was in everyone’s way.

I went straight to the place I was staying, the Exmouth Arms pub, which is three blocks from Euston Station and was just about the cheapest place I could find at $65 AUD a night. The downstairs was quite a cute little pub and the upstairs was basic hostel accommodation. The reviews on TripAdvisor were mixed but I thought it was perfectly fine and decent value for money. Of course all hostel accommodation is made more bearable with earplugs, and eye mask and a sedative if you can lay hands on some.

I decided to check out some London sights I’d missed on my previous dozen visits. First I headed to Borough Markets for some food.

You’ll be astonished and impressed to learn that I didn’t buy any beef dripping chips (but I will when luke comes over) and opted instead for some welsh Caerphilly cheese, a bag of super juicy cherry tomatoes and some sourdough that looked great but ended up reminding me of Terry Pratchett’s description of dwarven battle bread. I tried to tear it apart with my bare hands and nearly tore a nail clean off.

I gave my jaws a good work out on the crusts of the rolls while strolling along the Thames towards St Paul’s, listening to the soothing sounds of Spanish tour guides shouting at groups of tourists on bicycles as they whizzed past.

The rain mostly held off and I made it to the cathedral, only to find the entry price a bit steep, especially considering I’d already spent twice my daily budget thanks to the acquisition of a new SIM card with lots of data and and Oyster card that I almost need to top up again already. How much is my daily budget, I hear you ask? I’m aiming for $100 and hoping it evens out with some cheap camping days over the next few weeks. Although the barmaid at the pub tell me snow is predicted in the north shortly so we’ll see.

Here’s a very colourful and dynamic bit of street art. No prizes for recognising the subject.

Next I decided to head to the Tate, which I remember enjoying about 17 years ago. As I walked there I contemplated travelling solo and how I felt I was paying much more attention to my surroundings than I would have if I was with someone else. I noticed many public sculptures, and about five thousand joggers dodging purposefully through the crowds. I know there are many runners in Melbourne but do we have more in the way of parks in which people can run? I know London is full of huge green spaces and yet people seem to want to do their running around places like cathedrals, which are thronged with crowds of people who walk slowly and unpredictably. Maybe it makes it more challenging? Who knows.

Anyhow, the Tate turned out to be the best stop yet. I didn’t actually look in many rooms because one of the first things I saw was a nook where little docos about artists were playing and they were so nicely done that I sat in there through every one and nearly fell asleep. I think if I’d taken advantage of the beanbags instead of sitting on the wooden bench I might have spent the night.

The artwork above was featured in one of the docos. I wouldn’t have given it a second thought if I hadn’t known the story. An Indian artist wove the rope from human hair – 4km in total. These ropes are often attached to bumpers of vehicles in India as good luck talisman. She used hair from people of all castes and background to symbolise her interest in the growing disunity of Indian culture. The contrast of the soft and organic hair with the shiny, industrial bumpers was also interesting.

I would like to go back with Luke and Jess when we have a bit of time in London as there is an outdoor section with swings built for two or three people and all the people I watched look like they were having a glorious time, despite the drizzle.

This artwork also caught my eye. There was a lot of Cold War symbolism mentioned in the blurb. Personally, I just like the idea of giant potatoes.

After my extensive period of sitting the jet lag really started to catch up with me so I had a mocha from Starbucks and then headed back to the pub to properly check in and relax. It being about 3pm, sleep wasn’t on the cards so I pulled myself together and walked to Regents Park. I’m glad I did because the tulips were glorious and it was nice to get out in a big, green, quiet space – also first squirrels spotted.

Last job of the day was a quick supermarket trip to buy a lighter for my jetboil and a couple of packets of two minute noodles then I headed back to the pub for a glass of wine and then bed. After a solid eleven hours sleep I now feel ready to tackle anything!

Next up: whatever happens on the train and my arrival in the northern market town of Ulverston!

I’m off! Well, almost. I’m sitting in Melbourne Airport, having made it through security with 45 minutes to spare – an improvement on my usual two or more hours. One of my resolutions for this year is to not spend so much time waiting, although I did once get an upgrade to business class because I got to Heathrow six hours early and the attendant felt sorry for me. Which sort of proves that early birds get the proverbial worms? Anyhow, airports are one place where extreme earliness never goes amiss and I always bring something to read – this trip I’m getting into PG Wodehouse’s Jeeves books. If I start inserting words like ‘jolly’ and ‘bally’ into my posts you’ll know I’ve read too many.

I said goodbye to Luke, who will be joining me in eight weeks, and he went off to see Infinity Wars at IMAX, the first of a long list of things he’s going to enjoy doing without me. He tells me he’s also going to take a photo of himself with an armload of frozen pizzas and so I shall make tsking noises at him over the Internet.

Here’s a rushed photo of us at the Sky Bus terminal in the city. So romantic!

And here’s me with Max and my new bag, the Aarn ‘Effortless Rythmn’, which looks unassumingly normal here, but when I attach the two balance bags to the front, makes me look like I have giant boobs.

In fact, on the Aarn website everyone comments on how only people age 40 and up can truly feel comfortable wearing something that looks so ridiculous. The trade off is that it’s supposed to be one of the best-designed and most comfortable backpacks in the world and everyone I know who owns one raves about it. The balance bags also clip together to make a day pack, although I can’t find the instructional video so I’ve sort of jimmied it together and am hoping I’m doing it right. Pro tip – if you buy a complicated piece of kit ask for multiple demonstrations in store and even video an expert doing it so when you’re on the other side of the world you don’t look like an idiot trying to assemble said item next to a packed baggage carousel.

I’ll get a photo of me with the front bags on once I have someone to take the picture for me.

London!

Ok, so this post is in two parts as I am writing this section in my hostel bed in London.

I imagined that is a universally-held truth that any hostel bed, no matter how mean, no matter how filthy, no matter how noisy or cramped, seems like four-postered luxury if it follows two consecutive long haul flights.

I’m staying at the Exmouth Arms, a pub which has basic dorm rooms and is three blocks from Euston Station, where I catch my train to Ulverston tomorrow.

To back track slightly, let me tell you the flight was alright – a whole row to myself on the first bit form Melbourne to Bangkok, then a full plane from Bangkok to London. I watched three movies (I always want to know what movies people watch on planes but I couldn’t really tell you why I find it so interesting), Coco (not bad, super colourful), Molly’s Game (Luke recommended it, was very good) and The Devil Wears Prada (kind of annoying but Anne Hathaway is hard to look away from, what with those unnaturally huge, doe-like eyes).

I had window seats both times, which was super handy for sleeping on the second leg. I got a good six hours, which I was grateful for because I felt like someone had put sandpaper to my eyes after the dry air on the first leg, then the weird stinky-humid-stiflingness of Bangkok Airport made me feel sick. I think I almost fell asleep sitting up in an airport lounge chair. Anyhow, the two little Asian ladies who hemmed me in on the second leg obligingly got up to pee at exactly the same time I needed to go, so all in all, it wasn’t a horrendous experience. The Thai Airways food was good too – spicy, varied and generous serves.

Still, having to spend forty minutes at customs wasn’t great, although the fellow who scanned my passport gave me a smile and told me to ‘go have fun’, so that was nice!

As you can see, the weather is classic London Spring so I feel like I’m getting an authentic experience ;-).

I think I’ll finish here and make the next post about my first day mooching around London.