A Great British Holiday

About nine months before the 2012 Olympic Games in London I got word from my boss that I would be the reporter sent to cover the quadrennial spectacle.  Naturally I was overcome with excitement however this soon subsided given that the event was hardly around the corner.  As time edged nearer I began to think about spending some time in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland after the Games for a holiday.  I was unsure whether or not it would be ethical as the company was paying for my flights.  After checking with my boss I was given the green light.  Of course a lot of prayer went into all of this as you can imagine.

What really excited me was the fact that the week after the Olympics was most likely to be the start of the new English Premier League season.  I was seeing stars.  Imagine if my beloved Newcastle United were playing at home on the opening weekend?  Could it actually work out that way?  I prayed daily.

The fixtures were released in late June and it was confirmed.  Newcastle would host Tottenham Hotspur on the opening day; a week after the end of the Olympic Games.  All along the deal with my boss was that I would confirm my adjusted dates with him once those fixtures had been released.  Now it was up to me to take care of the administrative side of things.  The Group Head of News has a temperamental Personal Assistant named Gill and she was my contact person.  I walked into Gill’s office and told her about my plans and asked for her help.  She began to shake her head saying it would not be possible.  She became agitated and pointed out I should have told her last year and that it was too late.  Firstly you can imagine how dejected I felt.  My dream was shattered and all because of one person’s selfishness.  How on earth could this be happening?  All it would take was an email or a phone call for which she was apparently too busy.  I was angry.  I was bitter but most of all I was devastated.  I began praying to God asking that He would soften her heart.  I could not believe that my dream could be shattered simply based on one person’s mood.

Well there is tremendous power in prayer because it did not take much (a kind email offering whatever assistance I could) to win her over.  The next thing you know Gill was on my side.  Amen!  I had to pay a fee for the flight to be changed but so what?  It was a small price to pay all things considered.

During the actual Olympic Games my colleague and I saw most of London.  You name it and we were probably there.  By the completion of the Olympics, my London experience was complete.  Before leaving I booked and paid for all my accommodation and transport so that was taken care of.  It meant that the money I had with me became spending money.  What a bargain.  Especially when you consider the spending money the company gave us was overly sufficient.  It actually worked out that I had around £60 per day all for myself for my ten day holiday.  It was always my plan to tour as much of England as I could and then either visit Wales or Scotland factoring in of course a football match at St James’ Park.

Further excitement stirred in my heart when I realised my beloved Proteas were playing the third of three Tests against England at Lord’s and the first day was the Thursday after the Olympic Games ended.  I paid £90 for my ticket but I did not care.  My attitude was akin to the one I adopted during the 2010 Fifa World Cup.  I might never get this chance again and I am going.  It cost me a bloody arm and an even bloodier leg but it turned out to be worth every penny.  I actually harboured a hope of going to watch Celtic play a Champions League qualifier in Glasgow but time and the fixture list did not allow for it and that helped me choose Wales over Scotland.

And so it was Monday morning after the Olympic Games had ended and I bid my colleague farewell.  I took the 10-or-so minute walk to the train station at King’s Cross and I was about to board a 08:15 train to Swansea.  The weather was generally good during the Olympics but it was not looking too good on this day.  Owing to my keen interest in English football and the years of my life wasted playing Championship Manager I recognised many of the small English towns and villages the train passed on the three-and-three quarter hour trip to the Welsh second city.

One thing I love about travelling is the spontaneity that exists.  You really can be as spontaneous as you wish.  I am a big believer in planning a trip, particularly when you do not speak the local language but no such problem in this case.  Of course my accommodation was booked as well as transport and I had a rough itinerary planned but it was subject to change however I saw fit.  I found Leonardo’s Guest House where I put my stuff down and headed off to explore.

I enjoy my walking and Swansea is a pedestrian-friendly city.  Frankly by South African standards Swansea would be a town most comparable to Hermanus in my opinion.  Except of course that it has a larger city centre.  Still there is only one internet café in all of Swansea.  The Three Cliffs Bay, Gower Peninsula and walk from the Swansea Marina to Mumbles Pier provides scenery similar to the Western Cape.  I made my way to the Swansea Castle and enjoyed the friendliness of the locals who quickly recognized my South African accent and this was a superb conversation starter.

I visited the Love Spoon Gallery.  The Welsh love spoons are very pretty but sadly I could not think of anyone back home to buy a love spoon for.  I was unable to visit the local Chocolate Factory as bookings were required.  This is an area where additional research may have served me well but while in Swansea I did manage to savour local foods like Welsh cakes, laverbread and cockles.  I recommend all three.

As the sun rose over Swansea on Tuesday I took a walk down into the Central Business District (CBD) where I found a local car hire agent.  I had booked my car back home already and made sure of securing an International Driver’s Permit beforehand.  I was climbing into a hired vehicle to take a drive up to northern Wales to find out if it was as beautiful as they said it was.  Snowdonia was my desired destination.

Snowdonia is the largest mountain in Wales, and considered the most beautiful and poetic in Britain.  How sad that I never actually reached it.  I have stubborn tendencies.  For example I do not own a GPS as I am of the opinion that it is an expensive map book and I have no trouble reading a map so why get one, right?  I was happy to abandon this policy for this trip.  I mean I was in a foreign country to be fair.  What I am about to write is rather embarrassing.  I was unaware that the GPS battery could die and therefore should be on permanent charge during my trip.  I guess you can anticipate what happened next.  After not hearing the voice prompts for a good number of minutes I pulled over to check that it was still working only to find it was dead.  I realised only then I should have been charging it.  You can imagine how happy I was that there no one around to point and laugh at me.  What made it worse was that the GPS thought we needed to go home and I only figured out I was going back to Swansea when it was too late.  I decided to write off Snowdonia as a bad idea.  Maybe one day I shall get another chance.  I took the extra late afternoon time to stroll around the local harbour and just take in the fresh air and scenery.  I reckon I could live in Swansea.  Maybe one day the opportunity will present itself.

They say when in Rome do as the Romans do.  If I may adapt this slightly it will come as no surprise then that when I was in Wales I began singing Tom Jones songs to myself.  Actually what happened was while I was walking around the harbour I began to think of famous Welsh musicians.  Shirley Bassey, The Stereophonics, The Manic Street Preachers and Jones immediately came to mind.  Perhaps it is not unusual to sing Tom Jones songs when in Wales and I just helped myself to the rest.

I checked out of Leonardo’s in the wee hours to catch a 04:30 bus to Cardiff.  The trip is just an hour but as you can imagine not much is happening at 05:30, even in the Welsh capital.  The only place open was McDonald’s so I ordered a coffee and sat down and read my book until shops and the like would open.  Like Swansea, Cardiff is a compact city.  The CBD is really just a big square with signage to all the major tourist destinations everywhere and you are never more than 10 minutes’ walk from anything really.  I checked my luggage in at the local tourism office before I headed out for a tour of the Millennium Stadium.  Wales’ national rugby and football teams call the stadium home and I enjoyed my tour of the iconic venue.  In pouring rain I then made my way to the Cardiff Castle.  There is a lot of war-time history there and I enjoyed the walk through the chambers where you hear simulated audio recreating the mood of the time.  One almost feels like an enemy air strike was taking place outside.  I particularly enjoyed the actual BBC Radio extracts that played during the walk.  After buying one or two souvenirs I hopped on a bus to go and see the Millennium Centre which is across town.  In other words a five minute bus drive.  After returning to the tourism centre I collected my luggage and made my way to the youth hostel.  The truth about youth hostels is that it is generally a gamble.  Many of them are lovely but every now and again you really do get exactly what you are paying for.  I figured that since my trip was more about sightseeing than resting in a hotel, that youth hostels were the way to go as far as possible.  Additionally it is a great way to save on expenditure.  In Cardiff this approach would come back to haunt me.  I guess the thing I want most is a decent shower but when the shower is not even enclosed and the toilet and basin get soaked then I start feeling like I want to leave.  The walk from the CBD to the hostel was a good 40 minutes and I was sweating and slightly grumpy by the time I reached it.  You can imagine the shower situation adding to my discontent.  I ordered a taxi for the next morning to take me to the train station.  I was happy to see the back of Cardiff, especially the youth hostel.

The 05:30 train to London takes about three-and-a-half hours.  At 09:00 I was back in the British capital and had to hurry to get to another youth hostel, The Thameside Hostel.  I dropped my bags at what looked a sure upgrade from the previous night but that was the least of my concerns at that stage.  I needed to get on the next tube to Lord’s.  It was Test cricket day at the home of cricket and I was going.  South Africa won the toss and batted first although it was more England’s day.  That did not really matter though.  I had fulfilled a lifelong dream of watching cricket at Lord’s and what is more England were playing against my team; the best-case scenario I would argue.  Needless to say it was a thoroughly enjoyable experience.

For the record the hostel experience was highly satisfactory to boot.  I could have stayed there longer if needed.  However it was not to be.  At 08:00 on Friday I was on a bus en route to Newcastle-upon-Tyne.  The seven hour journey passes through well-known centres like Birmingham, Sheffield and Leeds before docking on Tyneside.  I was so excited to be in the city of my beloved football team.  I have supported Newcastle United since 1996 and had always dreamed of one day watching them at St James’ Park.  That dream was some 24 hours away from being realised.  Again I was in a youth hostel but this was a great choice in this case.  I could hardly complain about the Albatross Backpackers.  It was also conveniently close to the Newcastle bus station.  I found Newcastle to be a charming and compact city.  Of course I was always going to be slightly biased but if I had to be frank I do not know if I would actually want to live there.  Still I found the Geordies, like the Welsh, to be very friendly folk.

I immediately went sight-seeing but only after I walked up to St James’ Park to collect my ticket and buy goodies at the Newcastle United Official Shop.  I walked about the city centre and took in the sights of Grainger Town, the Tyne Bridge and the remains of the castle which sadly was closed due to repairs after recent weather damage.

By Saturday I had hooked up with a new mate, Michihiro from Japan.  I sent messages back to South Africa to tell my friends and family that I had befriended a ninja.  I do not think they actually believed it but for theatrical purposes Michihiro is a ninja in spite of being about half my size.  My new friend and I spent Saturday morning checking out the Gateshead Millennium Bridge and the Angel of the North, a large steel construction that’s reputation oversells it.  After the little outing to Gateshead it was back to Newcastle and the Official Shop for more purchases.

I was not taking any chances and made sure I was seated just to the left of the Directors’ Box at St James’ Park a good hour before kick-off.  Unwittingly I bought a ticket that secured me access to the Platinum Lounge.  I could not believe my luck as I entered this VIP room that leads to the stands.  My beloved Magpies beat Tottenham 2-1 thanks to goals by Demba Ba and Hatem Ben Arfa.  The Toon Army are famous worldwide for creating a revered atmosphere and I was so privileged to experience it.  I love Soccer City but the noise generated by singing songs of reverence and insult overshadow the vuvuzela.  My favourite chant came after Newcastle went 2-1 up.  Spurs fans had been making the most noise after equalising but after restoring the lead the Toon Army chanted at the travelling contingent to the tune of Bread of Heaven, “You’re not singing, you’re not singing, you’re not singing anymore. You’re not singing anymore.”  To paraphrase Kevin Keegan, I loved it!

After the game I figured the only appropriate thing would be to savour what the locals call the dog – a Newcastle Brown Ale.  I chose to leave the Platinum Lounge and go downstairs outside the stadium to Shearer’s Bar to enjoy my dog, so called after local coal miners would sneak out for the ale by telling their wives they were taking the dog for a walk.  Oh and of course there was another stop at the Newcastle United Official Shop.  Yes, it is becoming pathetic now isn’t it?

The next morning it was back on the bus and this time I was headed to Leeds, the largest city in Yorkshire.  This time I was staying in a low-budget hotel which meant my own room, television and best of all shower.  I would enjoy this privilege for two nights and saw this as the ideal opportunity to try and organize my bags as I would have just two more nights in England after my Leeds stay.  After storing my bags I was on a bus to York, the capital of the county.  York is a charming city to say the least.  I hopped on a sightseeing bus and got off at points I considered important.  I savoured some of the local chocolates and liquorice but was less interested in the haunted and spooky museums on offer.

After York it was back to Leeds and after some walking around the CBD I was in my hotel room happy to just relax that evening in front of the telly.  I had ambitious plans the following day to see Scarborough’s cliffs, bay and castle as well as spending time in Whitby.  However owing to public transport schedules I had to abandon Scarborough altogether.  However Whitby did not disappoint.  I enjoyed a walk around the castle ruins, the local markets and even took a boat excursion around the bay.  After getting out the boat and realising I had ample time before my bus back to Leeds, I entered the amusement park and had a few rides.  I think I was easily the oldest person on the rides but so what?

Keen to plan ahead I timed a walk from my hotel to the Leeds train station that evening.  It came in around 20 minutes.  I was up early on Tuesday morning and made the 20-minute journey to the station with bags that increased in heaviness the longer the trip went on.  I was now on my way to the Lake District via Manchester.  While I did not actually get to see any of Manchester at least the train goes through the city so I guess that counts … a little.  Eventually I would stop at Windemere in the Lake District.  The wet weather was continuing but as one local pointed out if there was no rain there would be no lakes.  The aptly named Waterhead Youth Hostel was another decent spot.  Again I could not complain.

This time I would team up with a Chinese girl whose name I have forgotten.  The two of us went walking around the Lake District as best we could.  It was most enjoyable and I came away thinking that this was easily the most breathtaking view I had seen in Great Britain until now.  I would even go so far as to say that there are probably parts of Heaven that resemble the Lake District.

It was Wednesday morning and my penultimate stop in England was going to be Nottingham, a city most famous for its connections to the legendary Robin Hood.  In fact, one of the main avenues in Nottingham is even named Maid Marian Avenue.  I arrived in the city at 11:30 some five hours after leaving the Lake District via train.  After dropping my bags at the Igloo Hostel (this one has a positive reputation and provided anything but an icy reception) I was on a bus to take me out of town to … where else but Sherwood Forest?  The area itself is actually quite quick to tour and I am afraid my own camera’s lens was not suited to taking a good picture of me at the fabled oak tree.  What I did do though was drop three one pence coins into a machine that reshapes the circle coins into oval-shaped ones with Robin Hood, Maid Marian and Friar Tuck printed on them.  It costs £1 per coin.  They make great souvenirs in my opinion.

To my dismay the transport system would curtail my hopes of seeing the City of Caves.  The caves start inside a local shopping mall and continue to … well I would not know now would I?  Never mind, I thought as I made my way to the Nottingham Castle.  Alas, as I arrived they were closing.  I begged the security guard and pointed out I was a tourist from South Africa and this was my first time in England and it would be my only opportunity to see the castle.  My sob story paid off and he told me I have 15 minutes to do what I need to do.  I ran around the perimeter as I snapped shots of the castle, panoramic views of the city and a stunning sculpted hedge of a bowman.  I thanked the guard as I went walkabout.  My walk took me across the River Trent where I saw Meadow Lane, home to Notts County, just down the road from the City Ground which hosts the city’s most famous football club, Nottingham Forest.  It was already closed by the time I arrived so I could not get any great pictures.  The same is to be said of Trent Bridge, Nottingham’s cricket venue.  Even so at least I was actually there and got a relatively good picture.  I started walking back and when I got back to the CBD I walked into a Sports Direct.  This store had already won my heart earlier on my trip when I was able to buy Nike running shoes for £30.  I bought two pairs.  They had last season’s Newcastle United shirt at a bargain price.  I could print “9 Cissé” on it and the price would still have been great but alas, I did not have enough money with me and the shop would close in ten minutes.  Oh well …

The evening at the Igloo Hostel was spent watching Raiders Of The Lost Ark before a charming conversation with a Pole, Nigerian and Greek.  The next morning London would be calling.

You can imagine my displeasure when my taxi did not pitch to take me to the train station in the morning.  At least I did not have to walk too far to find another taxi to do the necessary.  The near two-hour train trip arrived in London just before 10:30.  I had a few hours to kill and decided the only thing to do was to go to the Wimbledon shop and see if I could get my hands on the 2008 men’s final DVD.  I reached SW19 but there were no DVD’s.  At least I tried.  I returned to Paddington Station and took a walk about the platform.  I recalled that it had been about 10 days since I was in the exact same space about to leave for Swansea.  A better reflection was realising it had been almost a month since I had arrived here for the first time and I recalled the panic upon realising I had left my bag containing £1 200 on the train from Heathrow and how it had been miraculously recovered.  How different things could have been.  I was thanking God for His mercy before I had my last Starbucks strawberry frappuccino.  Speaking of thanking God for mercies and miracles, now is a good time to point out that I would return to South Africa with the equivalent of R2 000 in my pocket and I spent liberally.  Can I get a good Amen?  I then boarded the Heathrow Express.  A few hours later I was on the flight back home.  I could look back with great satisfaction knowing that I had just enjoyed the best month of my life.