Scotland

Vicinity of Loch Doon!

It's been a while because I have been just so busy but here goes again. This is my blog on Bonnie Scotland. Just been up there with some of the family for a week staying in Ayrshire and getting to know the hospitable people of Scotland. I was invited up to Scotland by family members this Christmas holiday for a change. My sister and brother in law were kindly given a free holiday and invited me along as well so who can refuse! Here's to the Union, thank God they stayed in the UK last September, we have Scottish blood on both sides so I like it.

The holiday started with a Southern Region train to Victoria packed to the gunnels but I cannot complain as I have a cheap ticket bought online in advance. I have in fact bought two cheap single tickets to get to Victoria and back. The first one has worked. Will I get back through London in time to catch the return train next week as I will only have 20 minutes to get from Euston to Victoria? Get talking to the two ladies sitting opposite me for most of the journey. Everyone very friendy in a pre-Christmas winding down sort of way. One lady lives in Portugal and is visiting friends/relatives in the UK and the other plus her daughter is on her way to Richmond Park for a day out. She relates the You Tube hit 'Fenton' of the out of control dog chasing deer in Richmond Park and I resolve to watch it later.

Glasgow Central 

Now here's a good travel tip, you can get to Glasgow return with Virgin trains from London Euston for £42 return which is not bad at all for a five and a half hour journey. It beats driving all the way up any day and proved cheaper than flying. Only problem was I arrived on a Saturday night, not a good time to hire a car in the city centre. So get the airport shuttle from Glasgow Central station to the airport, a journey of about 22 miles, then hire a car from Enterprise cars and you are away. The car cost me £135.03 for the week including the lowest level of insurance for tyres and windscreen damage. Then I had to find my way to Brunston Castle near Dailly in Ayrshire in the dark. Fortunately my new iPad, a real box of tricks,  acts as a sat nav, and got me to my destination albeit rather late. Seasons holiday park at Brunston Castle golf course is a very amenable place to stay with extremely comfortable chalets truly home from home which makes Pontins look like French foreign legion digs in comparison. Tastefully  arranged over the hillside around a central core with reception, a swimming pool, gym, table tennis and snooker tables, you could do a lot worse even in the middle of winter. Each chalet has its own verandah although we had to ditch the sunbathing. And ours looked out onto a very pleasing line of hills which were virtually begging to be walked on. We never managed that due to daily excursions.  The area is as you'd expect in the day time, rolling hills and lots of winding twisty roads. And as for the potholes, it's best to keep in the middle around these parts unless faced by an oncoming tractor!

Our first excursion of the holiday was to Troon. Troon sounds extremely Scottish, any word with 'oo' in it is guaranteed to get people practicing their untried Scottish accents pronouncing words such as the 'River Doon' and 'Troon.' The guy in Dad's Army knew how to do it, 'We're all doomed!' Troon is a port perched on the coast above Ayr and is home to the Swan Restaurant, 39 Portland St, where we had most pleasing provender at lunch time on Sunday, a very nice lamb roast for a very humble price, accompanied by a very friendly Scottish waitress. Our other visit later in the week to Troon was also specifically to eat, we were looking for the 'Wee Huri' on the harbour front, an establishment renowned for its fish and chips. It must be one of the most difficult eateries to find in the UK, so take your sat nav with you, or ask one of the lorry drivers that you might see parked up. This whole area reeks of maritime industry and trade, and unless you know exactly what you are looking for your car is in danger of driving straight into the harbour and ending up with the supermarket trolleys. But careful searching will reveal this tiny takeaway can be winkled out of the port infrastructure surrounding it.

Ardrossan Harbour

View north up the coast

Ardrossan beach

View over Ardrossan

We had hoped to visit the Isle of Arran which temptingly appeared to be Little Scotland. However when we checked the ferry times and prices we realised it might not be so appealing what with an early start and limited daylight over there. So we wimped out I am sad to say and instead took the next best alternative and drove to Ardrossan, the port for Arran. This is one of the Three Towns together with Stevenston and Saltcoats which all merge into a blob on the coast. Ardrossan has a nice little harbour with great views over to Arran which invitingly rose up in the far distance evoking images of misty Scottish fells and warrior horsemen riding through the glades. Ah, another time perhaps! Asda in Ardrossan right on the seafront does a great sausage sandwich/bap however. We took a walk up from the harbour to the castle, perched at the edge of a grassy hill overlooking the sound and coastline, as a castle should, although there it's not much left of the castle and it was out of bounds when we visited for some sort of restoration work or suchlike. Ardrossan has a fine sandy bay stretching round to Saltcoats which must be a treat in the summer if you can brave the Scottish seawater. Like many British beaches, they look great but your extremities might drop off if you go for a swim at the wrong time of year.

Rainbow over Edlington country park

Kilkenny town centre

Kilkenny abbey

Kilkenny abbey

Near Ardrossan is the Edlington Country Park, a green lung for the locals. We parked up for a stroll but then thought we'd better grab a cuppa at the cafe before they closed. Then it was off across the park to pose by a sort of tower folly and to ponder the scenery down by the river. A pleasant enough place to visit on a good day but hey it has started raining and would be getting dark soon, the problem that plagues Scotland at this time of year. After a bracing walk taking in the tumbling waters of the river at Edlington but not quite getting to the lake, we drove to Kilkenny just up the road, a town with a little more Scottish character compared with some of the slightly forlorn settlement seen so far on the holiday. Kilkenny has a bit of history, and it's also the place where the freemasonry movement started in Scotland. And you still have the Grand Lodge in the Main Street backed by the ruins of the abbey and flanked by the police station. The Grand Lodge next to the Old Bill next to the abbey? Sounds suspicious to me, a plot is forming in my mind for a story. I bet there’s a secret passage between those three buildings!

Castle snaps

Swan Pond

Culzean Castle is a great visit, pronounced ‘Colleen’ Castle otherwise you'll get into trouble with the locals. Now this is one impressive castle perched on the cliffs South of Ayr. It's got its own country park and is part of the Scottish National Trust. As you enter from the main road there is an air of anticipation as you follow the narrow lane through extensive grounds down towards the coast. When will the pointy turrets of a magic castle appear? This is not an old ruin but a fully functioning castle with its own swan pond, deer park and orangery. The main buildings rather majestically guard the coast line but unfortunately were closed to the public so bear that in mind with a winter visit. At least you will avoid the ghosts of which there are reported to be at least seven including a piper and a servant girl! It's still a good spot to take a few well-chosen photos with a palatial backdrop and the coastline stretching into the distance, although we could have done with a bit more sun to brighten up the rather dour shades of the buildings. You can take a path almost directly down from the castle to the beach below where you can find the boat house and the laundry. The castle was in the hands of the Kennedy family in its illustrious past, was a product of the architect Robert Adam, and was also the official residence of US President Dwight D Eisenhower when he stayed in Scotland. It's an expansive site, with at least 4 car parks for those who don't want to spend the day walking between the main attractions. The visitor centre has a restaurant, shop and toilets, there is a massive walled garden big enough to host hundreds of aristocratic posh women in historical costume discussing possible suitors or perhaps the menu for the next kitchen supper. Further to the west is the Swan Pond with its own little cafe, a splendid spot to sit in the height of summer but rather forlornly locked up at this time of year. A highlight has to be the book shop, a veritable treasure trove of second hand books all plumping out of the shelves and just begging to be picked up and read in the rather comfortable armchairs strategically situated around the room. With a cuppa from the friendly hosts we are in bookworm heaven.

If you want a great place to eat in the evening why not try Wildings at 21 Harbour Rd, Maidens on the coast south of Ayr. For just short of £100 we had a great meal for four at a venue right on the beach and just down the road from the Trump Turnberry resort and Open Championship golf course, often voted one of the world's best. The Trump Turnberry hotel at night sitting up the hill above the coast road and overlooking the sea looks with its glittering exterior as if it's stuffed with black tie gents and long dressed ladies, but alas, we were not close enough to see! If you every play golf here it must be quite fun on the ocean's edge with the amazing Ailsa Craig (Paddy's Milestone) in the distance, an island about ten miles off the mainland which looks like a giant Christmas pudding rising out of the sea.

Rangers footie ground!

Glasgow buildings scrub up well!

Glasgow was on the itinerary, but not to observe fine Victorian architecture or visit a couple of museums. This was a tribute to the football giants of Glasgow, Celtics and Rangers, but just be careful what you say in the presence of either set of fans, otherwise you might receive a Glasgow kiss! First of all we visited Parkhead, or Paradise perhaps if you are a fan, the home of Celtic and one of the biggest football grounds in the UK with a capacity of a whopping 60355. For £8.50 you get a tour of the boardroom with a talk on the trophies on display including of course that European cup they won in 1967. Apparently Rod Stewart stood in here posing for photos in nothing but a shirt but I wouldn't want to lower the tone. We stood in the entrance passage where visiting teams walk in and we were told about their heroic goalkeeper in 1931 who died on the pitch after going for the ball and being hit by someone's knee. Sadly he was concussed and never recovered. We visited the dressing room where we saw a number of shirts hanging up but not all of them. And then we stepped out into the arena, a seriously impressive structure decked in green and white, a tabernacle to the ‘Hoops’ as they are called. Here there are two seats overlooking the half way line and quite low down, yes, one for Rod Stewart and the other for Billy Connolly with their own plaques. So I sat in Rod's seat for the photo. The sun decided to shine upon us when we entered the stadium, a nice touch indeed. Afterwards we visited the press room and pretended to be managers before watching a film of the great Celtic history. A visit to the Celtic shop revealed that things are no different north of the border - £53 for a football shirt - daylight robbery!

Celtic board room

Father Wilfried helped start the club

We whipped across the south of Glasgow city centre on the M8 motorway to Glasgow Rangers on the far side, an ailing empire which gets barely 14000 for a game. Here we just visited the shop and saw a couple of really hard characters outside. There was also a bevy of journalists outside the entrance, trying to catch a word from Ally McCoist perhaps? Some of the buildings around here, old Victorian structures, have obviously been cleaned up and look really great.

Livingstone and some tribsl chief?

Working on the spinning jenny

The great man himself

With the afternoon fast disappearing we decided to go to the David Livingstone museum and Centre in Blantyre. This is a National Trust for Scotland property and costs £6.50 admission for an adult. We were hoping to get to the cafe before closing time but missed it, what a bummer! But the museum was well worth it, a real insight into a great Briton who gave everything for the African people. He was actually named as one of the 100 greatest Britons in a UK wide vote in 2002. The quality of these old missionaries is just incredible, you have to ask how many of us would have lasted the pace given our modern Iifestyle. He was brought up in a tenement on the River Clyde and the whole family, parents, grandparents and children lived in the same one room with simple basic furnishings. David went on to work in the cotton mills, a dangerous occupation by any standards without all the health and safety law we have now. You only had to let your hair or clothes get caught in the machinery to come to a sticky end, yet David would do his duty on the machine whilst learning Latin from a book perched on the machine. Out he went to Africa and was one of the first westerners to traverse the continent from one side to the other, an explorer as well as a missionary. He spent his time with the natives, teaching them the Scriptures and ministering to their needs. He married out there and had a family who he sent back to Britain to be educated. It was a rough existence and at one point he suffered from about fifty different diseases. He even had his medicines stolen from him on one occasion and went about three years without them. Can you imagine going even one weekend without your medicine for a cold or toothache? The Welsh journalist and explorer Stanley went out to Africa to find him and after the two met near Lake Tanganyika, the famous 'Dr Livingstone I presume' moment, Dr Stanley was to stay with him to explore the region but failed to persuade him to return to England. Livingstone died praying at his bedside and was honoured both by Africans and by the British, who had him buried in Westminster Abbey.  A truly great man.

Copy of plaque in Westminster Abbey

Stirling Castle - solid hey!

Stirling castle was another visit - we ummed and ahhed about whether to visit Stirling as it was a fair old way and the weather looked better for another day. In the end we went for it and proceeded up the A77 and the M77, then sped through Glasgow to join the M80. The weather was not great, but forecast to improve a bit as the day progressed. If you want to do a good castle in Scotland then Stirling castle is the one for you. It sits above the town of Stirling in a very commanding position with a 360 degree viewpoint. It costs £14 adult admission and another £3 for an audio guide but this investment yields a positive return.

Stirling itself is a fine looking town in the same vein as Ayr, old, well established and prosperous looking, with lots of that brown stone architecture that fits in so well with the backdrop. We didn't get round to promenading around the town but it looked good, the sort of place you might find an elderly maiden aunt inhabiting with its Christmas decorations lighting up at dusk, the rain soaked streets and homely lights broadcasting warmth from the windows.

Chapel

The castle is big and strong covering the top of the hill above the town, and still in a fine state of repair. There is a very good exhibition on the history of Stirling castle complete with extensive model of the castle itself with lights highlighting the most notable features. We went on the guided tour led by a young blonde Scots lady speaking at machine gun pace. She took us through the chapel, great hall and into the palace as well. The chapel is a nice change from some of the ornate, dark and over decorated receptacles of religion that one so often sees. This one is large, light and airy with an attractive buff colour scheme and understated decoration.

The Great Hall

Now that looks pretty continental to me!

The Great Hall is equally attractive and more conventionally like a great hall you would expect to see with log fire and a seasonal Christmas tree by the window. Rod Stewart and Michael Buble have both done concerts here although numbers would have been very limited due to size. We were told the story of one monarch who took things a little far at one of his feasts and had a fully decorated ship brought into the great hall through the wall together with folks dressed up as gods and goddesses. and we go on about celebrity culture! The palace was well worth it with various Scots folk dressed up in traditional dress floating around the rooms and answering questions. A comely Scots maiden gave us a scholar’s interpretation of the religious paintings on the wall, our very own live ‘Lucy Worsley’ giving us a story of the symbolism embedded in the art e.g. the unicorn in Scottish painting is a symbol of Christ, of purity and strength. These representations are embedded in our history and yet sadly will go over the heads of most people.

Ceiling in the palace - looks like my bedroom floor!

The ceilings of some of the rooms were very tasteful and colourfully decorated. I expected something a little less Mediterranean and more austere in Scotland, but what do I know?

Loch Doon

I had brought my walking boots with me and really should have been be arrested by the police if I had not used them in Scotland for a crime against hill walking in ideal circumstances. Isn't that a cute car above sitting by the side of Loch Doon, yes, it's the car I hired from Enterprise Cars at Glasgow Airport and it goes like a dream surviving pothole hell on south east Scotland wiggly country roads. It's a Renault Clio which I seem to remember was advertised as a pretty young girl's car some years ago but we really have to move on from that image. Imagine a rugged mountain man leaning against the car and now we are talking!

Loch Doon by the way is in the area of the Galloway Forest Park in south west Scotland. I visited there on my very last day of the holiday when the sun decided to creep out to bless the Scottish hills. It was about a half hour drive east from our holiday park at Dailly, via the little town of Dalmellington. From there you strike south on the A713, then after a mile or two take a little side road to the right marked as the entrance to Loch Doon, the Galloway Forest Drive. Then you take a scenic drive up and down’ in and out to the Loch itself. The sun really kissed the surrounding hills and brought out the browns and greens of the heather and forest. This is also the home of the Dark Sky Observatory if you fancy a bit of star gazing. At the end of the holiday and driving around Loch Doon I found a good spot to alight from my jalopy and strike out in walking attire to enjoy the Scottish landscapes. There I found a sign to Loch Finlas, a much smaller loch a pleasant mile or so off to the west. A splendid opportunity to breathe in some Scottish fresh air and enjoy the heather and the hills. It's sort of 'half way to the Highlands' type territory, remote and wilderness like but less stupendous scenery. However the blue skies and gilded colours of the vegetation made it a most successful expedition.

Trip Advisor stated that Ayr was a top emerging global holiday hotspot in 2006, third behind resorts in Turkey and Greece.

North Wales

North Wales

Foothills of Snowdon

 

 North Wales still proves to be that comfortable old aunt that that you can always go back and visit any time without out a smidgeon of embarrassment. Memories flood back of family holidays as a kid when you leave the more mellow landscapes of England and enter the slightly wilder world of North Wales. The beautiful curves and humps of Shropshire give way to the rich green valleys and steep sides of Wales. The names of Cader Idris, Snowdon, and Bedgellert seem to invoke those memories particularly of camping and caravan holidays in farmers fields, ancient wash rooms and showers, gurgling mountain streams and country smells of grass and sheep. It is the mountains of Snowdonia that tug at the heart strings more than anything.

Barmouth itself where we stayed lies at the south end of the Snowdonia National Park, conveniently close to Cader Idris and Dolgellau. A recent newspaper article stated it to be one of the most expensive seaside places to stay for a holiday in the UK, ranked fifth after St Ives, Tenby, Cowes and Dartmouth. You wouldn't quite believe that if you visited, a plum spot but a bit on the quiet side. It’s probably a bit too far south for those who want to be snuggling up to the foothills of Snowdon, as it’s still a fair old drive up the coast via Harlech to hit the immediate Snowdon range. But it’s still a terrific location.

We were installed in Wavecrest, a tall, grey brick Victorian B and B stuck right on the seafront in Barmouth crammed alongside a whole series of similar establishments overlooking the Irish Sea. Imagine a slightly toned down Fawlty Towers. Eric presides over his B and B fiefdom with pride, making sure that you don’t sit where you want in the breakfast room. Eric is a doughty Welshman with a good sense of humour and an endearing deafness. Woe betide you if you sit in the wrong seat. And your key goes in the drawer in the hallway before you leave the house. It seems that Eric’s fame extends far and wide. Even at my workplace I met a colleague who has stayed at the very selfsame B and B when they even used to do evening meals. He was put onto the place by another colleague who was a bit of a railway buff, keen on the local steam trains.

Barmouth has a lovely setting with extensive beach flaying out from the Afon Mawddach estuary mouth and banks of sand ‘floating’ in the middle of the tidal waters, immensely scenic. The town lies on the north side of the estuary and is a hoch-potch of grey slate Victorian buildings, a slightly austere seaside town at the head of the estuary, straddled up the hillside and along the coast, presenting a bit of a dour face.  It has that air of slightly faded prosperity, the type of place that would have been popular with holiday trippers from the West Midlands in the early and mid 20th century (there were certainly still a few Brummie accents on display). Now it still brings in the holiday makers, but I suspect most of the action takes place further north, or even south in Aberystwyth. The old railway bridge across the estuary has a pedestrian footpath alongside which we walked almost to the other side on the first night. A temptation for another day as the expansive hills on the south side provide an inviting prospect for fell walkers. By the way, don’t try to get the train from here to Aberystwyth, it’s a long and tortuous route.

Above the town are some great walks over the hills with fantastic views over the sea and coastline, and also over the river valley to the east. The Panorama walk is well worth doing, we did a sort of circular route and tried to keep to a map but ended up losing the path and scrambling back down to the tiny lane at the end.

We decided to take the road north from Barmouth and then head west into the ‘Pig’s Ear’ to have a look at Abersoch. We would stop at Portmeiron on the way. For some reason I thought Portmeiron was on the North Wales coast and was pleasantly surprised that it was actually within striking distance at the south east corner of the Pigs Ear.

Portmeiron is the Italianate village associated with the sixties TV series, the Prisoner, starring Patrick Mc Goohan. I’ve seen the odd excerpt, with our hero, Number 6 swanning around in black, and oversize balls bouncing around the village as if a giant demented board game is in process. I understand he is an ex spy who is being kept under some sort of lock and key for his own good. It costs £10 to get into the village, and you can stay there for a holiday, although I suspect it is very expensive. We did not see No 6, but we had a young Welsh guide in a suit to take us on a short tour, and he was very tight lipped about prices. It looks like the plaything of a very rich man who thought he would reproduce the Ligurian Rivera in North Wales. It was in fact built by the architect Clough Williams-Ellis who bough the site in 1925 and spent 50 years building it. The village is perched on the north side of the river estuary on its own private peninsula, a very attractive location and a jumble of Mediterranean style architecture in different pastel shades mixed with finely tended gardens and water features. There is even a train ride. The village is surrounded by 70 acres of sub tropical forest gardens with lakes, temples and gazebos. A haven for anyone who wants to impersonate an English gentleman. The place was swarming with tourists going in and out of the gift shops and down to the waterfront. I would love to be there for a ‘Prisoner’ convention to see the village filled with multiple Number 6s with drainpipe trousers and black rollerneck sweaters dodging giant bouncing balls, seriously weird in a Star Trek convention kind of way!

What's Italy doing in North Wales?

 

Yes it is Wales!

I found out later that you can get a 'Be Our Guest' package for £130 including dinner and bed and breakfast being offered in November and December of 2014. All Portmeiron cottages are grade 2 listed buildings. used as holiday cottages and hotel suites.

Outside a hotel adjoining the village was a quintessentially British scene, a row of little sports Jaguars of a certain vintage stood parked on the hotel apron, hoods pointed towards the estuary glinting in the sun far below. It really needed James Bond in plus fours and carrying a rifle to step out of the hotel, deftly jump into a little speedster, and roar off for a bit of game shooting. Would have been a great backdrop for a TV advert.

Take the road west along the coast into the Lleyn peninsula and you pass through the towns of Criccieth, Phwelli and then Abersoc in the west which is supposed to be a bit of a millionaires spot. Here we explored the town centre and perused the beach. The coastline here reminded me of Swanage in Dorset. The Lleyn Peninsula is a terrain of sweeping open rural landscapes across to the nearby seas. However there is plenty of evidence of holidaymakers with family in tow enjoying the late August sunshine.

If you want a great ride then take the road north from Barmouth along the coast, via Harlech, and then into the heart of the Snowdon range. Harlech itself is a neat spot to spend an hour or two. Perched on an outcrop starkly rising above the plain bordering the sea, it is a marvellous spot to look out to sea and to the mountains of Snowdonia. In fact if you find a spot on the terrace at the back of the hotel on the High St you will enjoy a view every bit as good as the one I witnessed earlier this year on the Amalfi coast, different, a little cooler, but just as good. And we enjoyed fair weather as we sat for lunch. The castle is a good visit, a huge rectangular affair still preserved enough to bear the feet of countless tourists ascending the towers, walking the ramparts and peering into the great green space within. The views are peerless out over the plain and north to the mountains. In the evening it is all lit up as you pass beneath it on the coastal road, perhaps even a bit underlit.

Hurrah for the Welsh Dragon

 

Heading north from Harlech you need to bear in mind that the bridge over the Afon Glaslyn is inconvenientally out of circulation in the process of being rebuilt/upgraded, so you have to take the long road along the south bank of the river, then traverse the river to bend west to Portmadoc. From here you head north on the A498 to the splendidly named Bedgelert, a pretty village in a green and pleasant valley buried amongst serious hills. From here the road climbs into more wild and majestic scenery, with various spots to get out and admire the mountain and lake scapes.

When you get to Llanberis you can park on the grass verge just as you enter the town, this saves the parking fee opposite the mountain railway station. Here is all the infrastructure you need to prepare for an assault on the highest peak in England and Wales, eating places, toilets, a great shop with museum, and of course the old station with its classic steam engines. But don’t make the mistake of thinking the first hill you see is Snowdon. Bad mistake, it’s a long way up yet!

Snowdon supertrain!

Snowdon slopes

 

The train up Snowdon is a mind blowing £20 one way and bank account emptying £28 return, guaranteed to wind up the misers amongst us. We were advised to buy the tickets the day before which we did on the phone, being charged with a further booking fee! However it is an hour’s ride each way over 9km which helps to soften the blow, with marvellous views all the way up, which we were privileged to see until just before the very top when a huge black cloud descended and took us into in a melee of fog and mist marooning us all in the summit cafe. The cafe is heaving with the world and his wife today, I don’t think I have ever seen so many people scuttling up, down and on the top of a mountain. Surely good for the national blood pressure and chlolesterol levels. We decided to nip the last few yards to the top, took our photos despite the fog and a maul of people crowding around the summit pillar, then to make our way down the Pyg track to catch the last bus to Llanberis. The Pyg track is recognised as the most difficult one, the most ‘rugged and challenging of the six paths up Snowdon, but we coped OK coming down!

Incidentally this part of the world is stuffed to the gunnels with little steam railways, the Ffestiniog railway, the Welsh Highland railway, the Talyllyn railway, and of course the Snowdon railway. So if you are a railway buff, grab that anorak and camera and get up here for a cornucopia of iron horse delights. By the way there are another three railways on top of the ones I mentioned!

 

The Black Forest

 

 

Typical Black Forest scene

'I am sorry we don't take cards.'

I had just ordered my evening meal at what seemed to be the last outpost of civilisation before being swallowed up by the remotest of spots in the Black Forest, but thought I had better check the payment arrangements as I was out of euros. Oh dear, I really should have got some out of the cash machine in Freiburg.

'How long are you staying here, just one night? Oh that is no good, if it had been a couple of nights we could have arranged payment with your guest house.' The restaurant manager wasn't giving a message I wanted to hear.

Things were not looking good, the night was darkening outside, I was in need of a hearty dinner, like roast hog from a red hot spit with lashings of vegetables and gravy, and I was faced with a vision of an apple and a crunchy nut bar back in my pension room.

'I only know of one other establishment round here and I am sorry I don't think they will accept you,' he said, looking down at my army camouflage cargo pants.' He did not think my rugged mountain man demeanour was enough to admit me into a local eatery dressed like a Glasgow docker.

My heart was sinking fast. Why hadn't I just stayed in Freiburg where all I has to do was fall out of my accommodation with my eyes closed and find myself sitting in a restaurant with an EPOS till.

'There is another place but it is a 45 minute walk up the hill and over the other side some.' The German seemed not to think this was a good idea and was very apologetic. I bade my farewell as I stepped into the approaching night.

Sometimes in life when your heart has been tossed in the air, juggled around a little, then thrown
onto the floor and stamped on you just have to reach for those inner reserves. When you do life is full of little surprises. I'd already had one that evening when setting off from the guest house up the hill to the village for my evening meal. A car actually stopped for me and a kind German lady offered to take me up to the village, an offer I gratefully accepted. Now I had to decide whether I should walk 45 minutes further up the hill away from the village into Black Forest nocturnal gloom, not knowing what I should find, or give up and nibble my apple back at base. I had spied a local map on a board and noticed some settlement further on. I would take the harder path in search of a proper man sized meal.

Walking up those hair pin bends I was able to look out from a great height across an ocean of hill and forest swathed in developing darkness, as this was very high up, a ski area in the winter. When I got over the lip of the hill I could see far, far away over the other side, a mass of twinkling lights in the valley far below. This evening walk was actually becoming worth it especially as I espied a substantial building blazing with light in the distance. Yes I had hit the jackpot. It proved not to be a mirage for my fevered mind but a top class hotel and eatery (Hotel Die Halde). When I asked the traditionally costumed girl at reception if they took cards, and she answered in the affirmative, I could have hugged her on the spot. I followed her into the very posh restaurant, where she patiently explained the German menu to me. By the way, that's one thing you have to get used to. The Black Forest is a delight in terms of comfort and ease of travel, but not much is translated into English, so be ready for that.

It was all worth it in the end, I had been allowed in despite my casual dress and enjoyed possibly the best meal of the holiday, a tender side of beef with vegetable accompaniments and a salad, washed down with a fine German beer. Despite being peered at by stern looking portraits on the wall, the atmosphere was warm and the restaurant brimmed with people. I was in much better heart to take the 40 minute night descent back to my pension and work off the calories.

My earlier investigations on reaching the Black Forest concluded that Basel and Strasbourg were the most convenient airports, Basel to the south and Strasbourg to the north. I flew into Basel from Gatwick, then got a bus to the hauptbahnhof, then a train, which takes you north through the plain with hills far to the west and more hills edging the Black Forest immediately to your east. You change at Freiburg to strike into the heart of the Shwarzwald at Schluchsee (total fare 41 Swiss francs). Regional German trains round here are meaty beasts, red double deckers which draw you to the top floor and seem to have a bit more oomph than your average British train. You can really feel the power pulsating through the carriages as they take off from the station. And the Deutschbahn (DB) website is very good for a bit of planning, you type in your details and get swift responses including the relevant fares. In addition, at the DB office in the rail station they give you a full itinerary with all bus and train times on one print out - coordination heaven!

The Black Forest is seen as the best walking area in Germany and in the winter the walking trails are kept free of snow by the authorities. There is a slight sense of more coordination and strategic thinking than you would get in Britain! A great touch the Germans have organised in the Black Forest area, a pretty big area, is free transport on buses, trains and trams throughout the whole area for those staying in local guest houses/hotels, as tax is paid on the accommodation. Each guest house gives you a guest card which you just show to the train guard for your free travel.

I travelled all the way to Kehl on the French border for free on my last day courtesy of my guest card, before flying home from Strasburg. This meant a journey of 2 hrs 55m cost me 5.70 euro just to cover the final bit from Kehl to Strasbourg airport. First I caught the bus and train to Freiburg from my gasthof deep in the Black Forest at Hansenhof. Then I got the train from Freiburg up to Offenburg, then changed trains to a two carriage chugger to take you me to La France. This half hour journey deposits you at a little platform all on its own at Strasbourg rail station. To find it, if you enter the station from the front through the armadillo like entrance structure,  find platform 1, then take a left to find the sub platform.

The Black Forest covers that bit of south west Germany bordering Switzerland to the south and France to the west. For the traveller panging for a bit of adventure the Black Forest always seemed to have a bit of mystique, conjuring up images of endless forest trails, tumbling waters, cosy guest houses, hats with feathers, chocolate gateau, and of course cuckoo clocks. Well most of this is pretty well true. Once you get there these images prove to be just about on the button.

Freiburg, one of the larger towns, is stuck on the western edge of the Black Forest, its centre snug up to the hills that signal the beginning of this fascinating region. Being of an ancient bent, it looks like the sort of place that should be peopled by medieval minstrels in scarlet, finely coiffed merchants, city alumni flowing along in black robes and ladies in ankle length dresses. Instead it is full of tourists like me wandering its well worn streets, admiring its pastel residences and partaking of its coffee and gateau. From the railway station, der Hauptbahnhof on the western edge of the old town, just head east on foot on Bertoldstrase straight into the heart of this south German gem.

The old town is shoehorned into quite a small area and can be 'done' in an afternoon. You can quite easily do a circular walking tour of the main sites by following the map you can get at the rail station for one euro (free if you book local accommodation). The Town Hall square is a cute spot with the old and new town halls and St Martin's church. Here you can sit at an outside café and watch the punters go by. You may be interested to know if you're a history buff that Erasmus of Rotterdam none the less lived in Freiburg for a while in the House of the Whale in Franziskanergasse. The cathedral square (Munsterpaltz) is a highlight with its Munster market, surrounded by quaint multi coloured buildings straight out of Grimms fairy tales, especially the red coloured Historic Merchants Hall with its pointed turrets. Is that Rumpelstiltskin's fairy tale girl hanging her hair out of the window?

For two euro you can ascend the circular staircase to the tower of the cathedral, although be warned, it's quite a climb and leaves little room for two way traffic. But the views from the top are worth it. This cathedral took 300 years to build by the way! To get to the stairs we wandered into the midst of the cathedral, a gloomy interior for a wet Sunday afternoon, or any afternoon, the whole place seemed under-lit, then out again to find the entrance at the front of the cathedral. I recommend the large sausage in a roll with piles of onions from one of the market stalls in the square.

If you take a trip in the cable car (Schlossbergbahn) at the north east edge of the old town, or walk up if you fancy, you reach a very nice café/restaurant perched on wooded slopes with great views over the town, although they were not so great when I was up there as the rain was pummelling down from an unforgiving sky. Nevertheless a fine place to bring your mum for Sunday tea. To the south, on the same wooded slopes is a network of footpaths slicing through the greenery, and one of those ubiquitous German beer gardens with a fine viewing platform over the city. You can access this area by the bridge over the road from the south east corner of the Aldstadt by the city gate, Schabentor. In the south of the Aldstadt is a stretch of canal which adds to the city's quaintness. Incidentally, a feature of the walking streets are sunken drainage channels which would have yellow jacketed Health and Safety chappies going mad with red and white tape in Britain. Here you just use your common sense and step over them.

Historic merchants Hall - architectural eye candy!

On my lasr day I happened to be in Freiburg on a Sunday and how quiet it was, as the Germans still practice the Sabbath rest. It reminded me of what England used to be like before deregulation, when having a day of rest was not just seen as a lost opportunity for the market economy. On balance I think the Germans have it right in this area.

From  Freiburg you can get the train right up into the Black Forest, snaking south east, upwards and onwards through lush valleys, an exciting gorge alongside the main road, and then in to a German lake District as one reaches the towns of Titisee and Shluchsee. This railway is a marvel of engineering, just as you'd expect in Germany, especially where it has tunnelled through the sides of the steep gorge before reaching the lakes, a gem of a train ride into the heart of the Schwarzwald.

Titisee seems more the town for posers and promenaders, with smart cars and flash bikes, it has more of an air of the place to be to be noticed. One expected celebrities to step out of the pages of the Bild and onto the walkways. Titisee has some tempting shops for those who would like to buy a cuckoo clock, all attractive decorated wooden boxes on various themes and priced up to the several hundreds of pounds or more. There are also plentiful witchy puppets based on the old hag on a broomstick type idea.

Schluchsee is more of a quieter, gentler town, more of a stately sister to Titisee. Again Lake Titisee is perhaps more attractive and plump with desirable residences than Shluchsee Lake, although the latter is the biggest lake in the Black Forest. But Schluchsee has its own attractions including an Aquafun waterpark with its own water slide and swimming pool. We had a group ticket for the Aquapark but alas on the day the sun decided to stay out of the limelight and I had no incentive to swim unless I can catch some rays between dips. There are rowing boats, canoes and 'phut phut' motor boats for hire.

Schluchsee has a fine upstairs café in the centre of town opposite the church where you can sample Black Forest gateau in all its glory. I somehow got through the week without eating one piece, but can testify from observation that you get served a truly giant slice which appears more cream than sponge. I did try to find some Black Forest gateau on the last day in Freiburg, as surely a Black Forest ten commandment is to eat such during your holiday, but I failed miserably and had to resort to eating a pale imitation in the railway café, a large slice of cream and chocolate cake. I surely should have been arrested by the Black Forest police for such a failure!

We stayed up the road from Schluchsee in Dresselbach, in an old farmhouse dating back to the 1500s.
Our old farmhouse, 'Lindenhof,' was ideal for groups. Perched high above Schluchsee, about 3.5km out along a minor road, it is on the large side, with many different sized rooms. We dined together for breakfast and evening meals in a large room downstairs. Just to the left of the dining room entrance is a picture of the Lindenhof in 1942 when it was a 'Gasthof.' The Lindenhof is well equipped with a swimming pool, games room and sauna. The games room table tennis table proved to be a hit in the evenings, with knock out competitions most nights. An 'old pro' dusted off his bat and made a late entrance during the week to blow away plucky opposition of some of the youngsters. A table football table provided further entertainment and gave me the opportunity to experience an abysmal wipe-out!



Road to Lindenhof complete with rainbow!

Most of my holiday was spent with a group of about 50 providing good company aplenty. We went on various excursions, either walking or by bus/train. One trip was to Triberg, where we visited Germany's highest waterfalls. The drive to Triberg was a treat in itself, seeing the Black Forest in all its glory, endless woodland riding massive waves of bright green sunlit hills. The Black Forest itself is not very black, rather the dark green of the evergreen forest crowning the heights with the verdant green of the lower slopes contrasting beautifully. There is an absence of as many of the borders between fields you get in Britain, especially an absence of hedges.

We stopped en route at a clock museum, the Black Forest being the home of the cuckoo clock. Now you might think you have to be over 60 to visit a clock museum, but that would be a naughty thought, because our group of very young to not so young had a very interesting talk from the museum guide about different types of clock, both musical and non musical, including massive timepieces which pumped out music and disgorged figurines and cuckoos from all sorts of places. We were told at one point that clock marketing persuaded all good Germans to have a clock in  every room in the house!



Some proper timepieces

And so on to the waterfall, where the waters of the Gutach plunge over 160m in seven cascades. We were deposited at the top by the coach, and then left to get to the bottom under our own steam, not a particularly strenuous task especially if you sit down to eat at one of the numerous spots provided. Woodland straggles around the waterfalls and you are presented with a range of routes down, extending in time from three quarters of an hour to one and a half hours. I took issue with these timings, like sell by dates they were pushing extremities. One and a half hours maybe if you had a wooden leg and were visually challenged. The scale of the map you are given also  seemed slightly far fetched and did not add up entirely to reality. One of our number bought some red squirrel food as the area is a haven for such creatures but the only red squirrels we saw were a giant wooden one and the odd picture. How impolite of them not to turn up for the feast. At the bottom you find yourself right in the town centre, an attractive destination for all Black Forest visitors.

Back on the bus, we made our way to a 'giant cuckoo clock' attached to a cuckoo clock factory shop. The size of the side of a building, the clock promised to impress us with a giant cuckoo appearing on the hour with a hopefully ear piercing 'cuckoo' resounding through the valley. There we stood expectantly with our cameras, waiting for the moment. Out stepped the cuckoo on cue, to emit what can only be described as an apologetic sigh. Indeed if the giant wooden cuckoo had keeled over and expired on the spot, it would have been no surprise. If it was possible to lose the will to live from disappointment, this was the moment, but of course we laughed it off.

The Feldberg is not only the highest point in the Black Forest but the highest mountain in Germany outside the Alps, a substantial peak rising to about 4898ft above sea level bang in the middle of a winter ski area. This was the focus of another excursion by train, bus and finally by cable car. Unfortunately we were somewhat delayed as half the German population had decided to get on the bus up the mountain at the same time as us, and it was a bendy bus! So half of us got left behind, although a German lady assured me there would be a 'zweite' bus, as indeed there was. But that gave us enough time to partake of coffee and desserts at the railway café. Later as a reunited group we made our way to the top  by cable car where we admired the scenery. This was followed by a hearty walk down through forested slopes, with a stop at a beautiful natural lake sculpted into the mountain side.

Another day was spent visiting Titisee, followed by a walk alongside the lake's forested slopes to Feldberg station. Glimpses of a attractive chateau on the far side stirred up the desirability index. I suspect the rich and famous count around here is quite high. From the station we got the train to Aha. Yes that is the proper name and sounds very un German. From here we got a lake steamer back to Schluchsee.

From Lindenhof one morning we set out to walk through the forest to Fischbach, where we found a very amenable tavern with a great patio looking down over the valley. Here you gorge on cheesecake, gateau or plum pie for the genuine Black Forest experience -  a slice of decadence. Pressing on, we got to Aha later, a settlement on Lake Schluchsee.

I stayed on an extra couple of days after my holiday friends left for home. The town of Schluchsee took me to its bosom for one more night in the form of the Pension Gebele, 28 euro per night. I have to attest to a very comfortable bed, although the shower was one of those annoying units where the shower head is fixed to the side of the bath. OK for a midget, but not for a six-footer like me.