It's been forever since I've posted an entry here (by 'forever', I mean 'approximately two months'), and my excuse is that I was terribly busy moving from one country to another. Yep, that's right. After spending the past 7 months in Canada, I decided to move back to merry old England. It was a simple decision, really. Canadian citizens under the age of 30 can live and work in the UK for two years, and I hadn't gotten over my study abroad experience, so I decided to go back.
I'm not saying that it was easy. Coming back to Canada after my 15-month stint in Manchester strengthened my relationship with my friends. When people are far apart and don't get the chance to see each other, they take advantage once they're (physically) close again. It's as if the separation has made them (perhaps subconsciously) realize that they need each other more in their lives. I also met my nephew for the first time, and got used to spending a full day or two a week taking care of him. He became a major and constant role in my life. Part of me also felt I was starting fresh in Canada, especially after I'd just graduated with a Master's degree, but instead of hunting for a job, I decided to take it 'easy' (if you can call it that) and work on my writing. My parents nagged me. My friends (well, a select few) nagged me. But still, I decided to work on my artistic endeavours and live the bohemian life. It didn't take long before I thought to myself, "I'm still young. My legs work. That UK visa for Canadians 30 and under is available. I want to keep travelling. Living at home with my parents is restricting. Screw this, I'm leaving." And so I left.
I've been back in Manchester for just over three weeks now. When I arrived, I felt weird. Heck, I still feel weird. It feels as if I was on a really long trip and I finally came back home to Manchester. At the same time, however, it feels like I'm taking a really long trip in the UK from my home back in Canada. It's like I'm leading a double life. I'm that kid who's gone into the wardrobe and crossed into Narnia where I became a queen, and have come back home to my regular old boring life. Manchester is Narnia for me, as cheesy as it sounds. It's that place that changes you.
This also brings me to another point I want to make. Even though this is essentially a travel blog, and I love travelling, it's not much compared to living abroad. During your travels, you see and experience things you've never seen before, whether wonderful and magical or crazy and horrible, but when you live abroad, whatever that's new and different becomes your life, and you're no longer the person you were before you left.
I know I'm different from who I was before, and here's a short article I wrote about the first time I moved away from home to live in Manchester, England. I wrote this is as an entry for the Summer 2013 Independence Travel Writing Contest at the We Said Go Travel Site. It'll be up there until August 24th, 2013, and they'll announce the winning entries on September 3rd, so please take a look when you've got the chance!
Monday, 12 August 2013
Sunday, 9 June 2013
Adventures in Scotland Part 5: Edinburgh aka The Search for Haggis
1. I wanted to learn more about Scotland and its different cultures (as we all know, most countries/nations have different cities and parts to them. One city in the same country can be widely different from another)
2. To eat a proper dish of haggis. I didn't want to get a frozen one in some random supermarket chain, but at an eatery where they serve it to you hot with side dishes.
After strolling around Glasgow's city centre, I took a short (approx. 1 hour) train ride to Edinburgh where I settle into a hostel called Haggis Hostels. The location is great - only a couple minutes' walk from Waverley train station and in the heart of Edinburgh (just across from Princes Street Gardens). The hostel is clean (especially the bathroom and kitchen) and there are very few guests, making it a quiet and comfortable accommodation. However, it's near the top of a building and can only be accessed by a long climb up a set of spiral stairs that span over three stories high (no lifts/elevators I'm afraid!). Other cons: the rooms are tiny (in the 4-person dorm I was in, it was very hard for us to manage and squeeze through the bunk beds, they were practically squished together) and there is a charge for almost everything (even for bag storage it cost me at least 2 pounds when all the other hostels I've been to it's free).
Before closing time (usually 5pm, a very important thing to keep in mind when you're traveling), I head out to explore, walking up the popular Princes Street, and check out the paintings at the Scottish National Gallery until it closes. It houses a fine European collection from world-famous painters, ranging from Monet to Rembrandt to Turner. What stays with me most is their seemingly unending Italian (religious subject, of course) and Dutch collections. The gallery is worth a visit if you're into gazing at classical European paintings.
When evening rolls around and I look for dinner, I finally achieve one of my two objectives: haggis. I had seen it refrigerated in souvenir shops that day and thought about buying one to bring back to Manchester (share it with a friend or something). I'm glad I didn't. I find a pub on the other side of town from the hostel, closer to the Royal Mile, called The World's End, and I order two small dishes: one haggis (of course) with neeps and tatties (aka turnips and potatoes - you gotta love Scottish slang!) and one cullen skink (a traditional Scottish creamy fish chowder with potatoes and onions). The cullen skink ends up being delicious and full of flavour, so when the haggis arrives I'm already full. But I've come so far. I can't not eat it. I take one bite and I know immediately. I do not like haggis. This dish I've been gearing myself up to try for ages ends up being a great disappointment. The truth is, it tastes exactly as it sounds. Mushed up organs. Everyone already knew that it tasted gross (Organs cooked in a sheep's stomach? Eeeeww, that's nasty!) but I wanted to be adventurous. Before I even tried it, I had actually convinced myself that it would taste good, delicious even. What was I thinking?
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| Outside of its stomach casing, it doesn't look too bad, right? |
To be honest, I think what made it unbearable was its texture more than its bland taste. The chewy (I'm convinced also raw) oats was what destroyed it for me, I think. But I can't just pick them out, can I? Apart from the fact that it's too much work, it just wouldn't be a haggis anymore, would it?
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| The more appetizing of the two dishes I ordered. |
Despite my disappointment, I was still quite happy that I'd achieved this objective and put an end to the long search for haggis. I'd much rather try things than spend the rest of my life wondering what they're like.
In the morning I climb up the Gothic spire that is the Walter Scott Monument (built in the first half of the 19th century in dedication of the celebrated writer and national figure). Its stone is carved with intricate design and miniature knights. There is a room on the way up that displays the writer's history through informative billboards and excerpts of his texts. When you reach the very top, you're treated to a gorgeous panoramic view of the city of Edinburgh. You can see so much, and all of it looks so small.
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| Edinburgh looks a little something like this |
The Walter Scott Monument is a hard sight to avoid - it catches everyone's eye, its structure prominently sticking out to the sky in a sea of green in Princes Street Gardens, and when I first saw it, I knew I had to climb it.
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| Can anyone guess which of these buildings is the Walter Scott Monument? |
Following this I spent a good 3 to 4 hours touring around Edinburgh Castle. It's pretty huge and it's hugely popular. You will no doubt encounter many other tourists roaming around the place. If you're one of those people who can look at something really quickly and are okay with never having to see it again, then you can probably do the Castle in an hour. But if you're like me and you need to scrutinize everything, save the afternoon for it. There are many different sections to the castle (i.e. the chapel, the war museum, the crown jewels, etc.), all of which you can find with the guide of a map (given to you when you purchase your ticket). As far as castles go, of the ones I've visited so far, this is by far the biggest, the most popular, and the most educational. Just before 1pm (everyday but Sunday), everyone stands still as they wait for the firing of the cannon. The entire castle and its grounds are silent and full of anticipation. I managed to get to the Castle in time to witness what is called the One O'Clock Gun (thanks to the employee who served me tea at Haggis Hostels). The anticipation seems to last forever, but the actual cannon firing is a short, abrupt moment, and is followed by a lingering smell of smoke in the air.
True story: Has anyone watched the latest Game of Thrones Episode (ep 9)? Apparently George R. R. Martin took his inspiration for the shocking Red Wedding scene from a historical massacre that occurred in this very castle, known as the Black Dinner. The idea is similar - the host (in this case, the King of Scotland) kills his guests (the Douglas clan) by the end of the feast. What a horrific thing. You can learn all about it on your visit here...or by doing a quick Google search.
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| Edinburgh Castle - I have no doubt that history buffs dig this place. |
When I've finally had enough of Edinburgh Castle (don't get me wrong, a great place, but being my scrutinizing-self, a place so big and informative as this, it's too much for my head to take in), I walk down the Royal Mile (a famous must-see area in the heart of the Old Town in Edinburgh). One particular feature of this area is what's known as a "close" (though some are called "court" or "wynd"): a narrow alleyway, many of which riddle the cobbled streets in Old Town.
This architectural facet gives Edinburgh that old, historical edge, along with a spooky feel. Many have a gate (they used to be closed off to the public, hence the name) and I wander through a few of them to get a better sense of the city and its history (and it's just fun). Also, they all have a name. I walked through the well-known Lady Stair's Close to reach the Writers' Museum.
If you're into literature like me, this is a great place to be. There are exhibitions centered around three famed Scottish writers: Robert Burns, Walter Scott, and Robert Louis Stevenson (unfortunately I missed out on this last one, which was in the basement...hence my important note about keeping track of closing time, folks!). In addition, there's a nice sitting area upstairs, which has ads about writing competitions and other literature-themed events, and on the main floor there's a neat shop (I bought a few bookmarks that were on sale - they had designs of famous paintings and folded out!) full of interesting books and book paraphernalia.
After some more strolling about, I went back to the hostel to grab my bag and caught my evening train, arriving in Manchester in time to meet an old friend from back home and be her host.
Missed Highlights (in Edinburgh): Greyfriars Kirkyard (a supposedly haunted famous cemetery), Holyrood Palace, St Giles' Cathedral, the National Museum of Scotland, the Royal Botanic Garden, the Scottish Parliament, Arthur's Seat (I badly wanted to climb this extinct volcano but I didn't have time), the Central Library, and when it comes to festivals, of course the Edinburgh International Book Festival (probably the biggest literary festival in the world).
Heck, just listing all of these makes me want to live here.
And thus concludes my adventures in Scotland. I've trekked through the breath-taking natural landscapes, stayed in a thriving industrial city of the working class, and meandered through the old passageways of a city rich with history. Though I have now seen the different sides of Scotland, I know there is still a lot more to learn about this beautiful country.
Sunday, 12 May 2013
Adventures in Scotland Part 4: Glasgow
I first stepped foot in Glasgow in June 2011. I spent about three hours there, two of which were in a Chinese buffet where the food was stale and overpriced. While I meandered the city centre streets, all I noticed were people getting drunk on an early Saturday evening. I was unimpressed.
My opinion of Glasgow is different now.
Glasgow bears a similarity to Manchester. They both have an industrial look, reinforced by the combination of grey buildings of old warehouses and factories (and in Manchester's case, canals), and modern, eccentrically designed buildings. Glasgow's Buchanan Street, the main shopping district of the city centre, immediately brings Manchester's Market Street to mind. Both cities are approximately the same size: their city population is in the 500 000s and their urban population over 2 million. They both boast an interesting and reputable music scene: while Manchester is famed for its 80s bands like The Smiths and New Order, Glasgow is more known for its indie music with bands such as Belle & Sebastian, Camera Obscura, and Franz Ferdinand.
What I'm trying to say is that although Glasgow, like Manchester, doesn't give that immediate stereotypical UK image of mysterious abbeys, medieval townsfolk, and ancient castles, it's still a beautiful, bustling city full of culture and interesting things to see and do.
I spend all day in the West End, where my friend S lives, an area of Glasgow that is more high-end, chic, and full of cafes, restaurants, and pastry shops. I check out the Glasgow Botanic Gardens that is just a few minutes' walk from her place. It consists of a large park and several greenhouses, the biggest and most central of which is called Kibble Palace.
If you're a flower or plant lover, this is a great place to spend a couple hours in as they exhibit all sorts of different and interesting plants from all around the world and some of their greenhouses are dedicated to particular types of flowers, so you can look for specific things.
At lunch time, I explore the main streets populated by eateries, ranging from French bakeries to small deli's, and I decide on a casual Italian eatery that serves delicious pasta dishes, soups, calzones, etc. at affordable prices. Needless to say, the West End is a great place to find a bite to eat.
Afterwards, I take a quick walk around and pass by Kelvingrove park, where in the distance you can see the University of Glasgow behind a bridge surrounded by trees displaying autumnal colours.
If I had more time, I would have taken a stroll in the park (it's a massive park that one can easily get lost in), but instead I headed straight for the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum before closing time. On my way, I'm pretty sure I saw Billy Boyd (celebrity spotting #1) walk right by me - it seems he'd just come from the museum itself or in that general direction. And then I spend the hour or so that I had left at the museum looking at exotic, dead, stuffed animals. I have never been to a zoo, so this was the closest I'd ever been to seeing real elephants and giraffes.
Apparently the Museum also houses collections of artworks and armour in addition to those of natural history but unfortunately I didn't get the time to see that. If you're one of those people who, like me, are particular about seeing everything, or as much as you possibly can, then you'd have to reserve a whole afternoon for the Museum.
The next day, I say good-bye to my friend and take the metro (or subway, as it's called here in Glasgow) to the city centre, and quickly look around its streets and buildings to have a general idea of it. As mentioned previously, the old buildings have a dull (but still appealing) grey, brown, or rusty red, colour similarly to those in Manchester, and reminiscent of an industrial era in British history.
I snap a photo of the Glasgow Royal Concert Hall from outside, a more modern-looking (it was opened in 1990), seemingly upper-class building, its front exterior shaped like an arc before I head down Buchanan street and notice the blue police boxes that make me think of the Tardis in Doctor Who.
I then stand in George Square for a bit, which was designed and built in the late 18th to 19th century, and admire its picturesque architectural sights. At the back firmly stands the Glasgow City Chambers, and around it stand towering statues of important Scottish figures, like Sir Walter Scott.
And then I say goodbye to Glasgow before I head into the Glasgow Central Station to catch my short train ride to Edinburgh.
There is still so much of Glasgow I have yet to see (Kelvingrove Park, Glasgow Science Centre, the Gallery of Modern Art, the Mitchell Library, etc...) and it's intrigued me to the point that I can now imagine myself living here.
My opinion of Glasgow is different now.
Glasgow bears a similarity to Manchester. They both have an industrial look, reinforced by the combination of grey buildings of old warehouses and factories (and in Manchester's case, canals), and modern, eccentrically designed buildings. Glasgow's Buchanan Street, the main shopping district of the city centre, immediately brings Manchester's Market Street to mind. Both cities are approximately the same size: their city population is in the 500 000s and their urban population over 2 million. They both boast an interesting and reputable music scene: while Manchester is famed for its 80s bands like The Smiths and New Order, Glasgow is more known for its indie music with bands such as Belle & Sebastian, Camera Obscura, and Franz Ferdinand.
What I'm trying to say is that although Glasgow, like Manchester, doesn't give that immediate stereotypical UK image of mysterious abbeys, medieval townsfolk, and ancient castles, it's still a beautiful, bustling city full of culture and interesting things to see and do.
I spend all day in the West End, where my friend S lives, an area of Glasgow that is more high-end, chic, and full of cafes, restaurants, and pastry shops. I check out the Glasgow Botanic Gardens that is just a few minutes' walk from her place. It consists of a large park and several greenhouses, the biggest and most central of which is called Kibble Palace.
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| Inside the Kibble Palace |
At lunch time, I explore the main streets populated by eateries, ranging from French bakeries to small deli's, and I decide on a casual Italian eatery that serves delicious pasta dishes, soups, calzones, etc. at affordable prices. Needless to say, the West End is a great place to find a bite to eat.
Afterwards, I take a quick walk around and pass by Kelvingrove park, where in the distance you can see the University of Glasgow behind a bridge surrounded by trees displaying autumnal colours.
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| Postcard picture, anyone? |
If I had more time, I would have taken a stroll in the park (it's a massive park that one can easily get lost in), but instead I headed straight for the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum before closing time. On my way, I'm pretty sure I saw Billy Boyd (celebrity spotting #1) walk right by me - it seems he'd just come from the museum itself or in that general direction. And then I spend the hour or so that I had left at the museum looking at exotic, dead, stuffed animals. I have never been to a zoo, so this was the closest I'd ever been to seeing real elephants and giraffes.
Apparently the Museum also houses collections of artworks and armour in addition to those of natural history but unfortunately I didn't get the time to see that. If you're one of those people who, like me, are particular about seeing everything, or as much as you possibly can, then you'd have to reserve a whole afternoon for the Museum.
The next day, I say good-bye to my friend and take the metro (or subway, as it's called here in Glasgow) to the city centre, and quickly look around its streets and buildings to have a general idea of it. As mentioned previously, the old buildings have a dull (but still appealing) grey, brown, or rusty red, colour similarly to those in Manchester, and reminiscent of an industrial era in British history.
I snap a photo of the Glasgow Royal Concert Hall from outside, a more modern-looking (it was opened in 1990), seemingly upper-class building, its front exterior shaped like an arc before I head down Buchanan street and notice the blue police boxes that make me think of the Tardis in Doctor Who.
I then stand in George Square for a bit, which was designed and built in the late 18th to 19th century, and admire its picturesque architectural sights. At the back firmly stands the Glasgow City Chambers, and around it stand towering statues of important Scottish figures, like Sir Walter Scott.
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| Glasgow City Chambers, home to Glasgow City Council |
There is still so much of Glasgow I have yet to see (Kelvingrove Park, Glasgow Science Centre, the Gallery of Modern Art, the Mitchell Library, etc...) and it's intrigued me to the point that I can now imagine myself living here.
Sunday, 7 April 2013
Adventures in Scotland Part 3: Skye, Day 2
It's Monday morning. After we wake, we head downstairs to the kitchen. We're the first ones up, it seems. There's nobody else around, except for the woman who works at reception (of course). The people who work at this hostel are friendly and helpful. They know a lot about Skye and also seem to have quite a bit of traveling experience under their belt as they offer some advice. The man at the desk yesterday let us use the computer (here they charge money for computer usage but wi-fi on your own device(s) is free) without charge so that we could look up bus schedules and the woman today gives us recommendations on what to see in Skye.
The other people at this hostel, (i.e. the guests) are also friendly. Apart from the young Montrealers we met yesterday, at breakfast we meet a diver who works in Skye collecting seafood from the bottom of the sea (I think it was clams) and a young woman who has been in Skye for quite a while; she advises us to check out the Storr and a bakery in Portree, the biggest village in Skye. That's the thing about being in a remote place with few people. Strangers are eager to know about each other and tend to help each other out. It's a warm and welcoming atmosphere, a community built on trust and generosity.
As we leave/check out of the hostel to hitch a ride with the Montrealers (kind as they are to offer us a ride), my friend points out a sign that hangs above the reception desk saying you can stay at the hostel for free as long as you do 2 hours of housekeeping every day. Not a bad deal if you're a traveler on a low-budget. I might do it myself if I return to Skye (which I plan to do at some point in my life).
We stop at Portree (as mentioned before, the largest village in Skye) and wait while the Montrealers check into their hostel. My friend S and I take a quick look around; we go to the edge and watch the boats in the water. It looks something like this:
The Montrealers then drive us to the Storr in their car. It's a bumpy ride along a narrow road that curves very high up and very low down. It's a bit nerve-wracking actually. And at some point there's only enough space for one car to go through, so we have to stop at the side to let the other car that's coming towards us pass by.
The Storr is a rocky mountain about 700 metres high, a famous landmark in the Isle of Skye. We thank the Montrealers and say good-bye when we get there. S and I decide to leave our bags at the bottom of the mountain behind some bushes before we start climbing (S's idea, of course, as she is the more experienced adventurous traveler of us two).
As someone who's only climbed mountains a handful of times in her life, and who's probably not in the best physical shape, I found it a bit hard climbing this mountain. It doesn't help that I've got a fear of heights either. The way up feels pretty narrow to me; I can't help but think I might fall backwards, off the mountain, and tumble to my death. We acknowledge most of the climbers that pass us by, whether it's a "hi" or a quick smile. It's as if it's part of the social code in Skye to be courteous to each other, strangers or not. I like it.
I notice that some climbers go up the Storr with their dogs. I know there's no way I can climb up this mountain whilst holding an animal by its leash. I can barely go up with my own backpack. And every step I take, I'm afraid I might slip on a rock. Or the muddy ground. Or even a branch. I have to be careful with each step. There's always that fear of falling, which escalates (no pun intended!) the higher I go up.
We take a few breaks here and there, but they're too short for me. S is always ahead of me. That recent camping trip in the Alps of hers has done her some good.
This is what the Storr looks like from below, looking up:
To the side is a group of rocky pinnacles, the most famous of which is the Old Man (of Storr). To be honest, I'm not sure I saw it. I might have, but nobody else is sure which one's the Old Man. It's much clearer from the pic with an aerial view on Google Images, but unfortunately I don't own a helicopter.
Here's a pic that is more focused, from a different and closer angle:
Because S has work the next day, and buses go through Skye only 3 times a day (about every 5 hours or so) in the fall season, we go up Storr as quickly as we possibly can. I usually hate to rush things, but we're on a tight schedule. I don't even make it to the very top. I'd rather spend the little time that we have left relaxing near the top, gazing at the views below and taking it all in. I wait for S and take a few pictures as she goes up to the peak. There's something mystical about this place (well, I guess that can be said for much of Scotland, especially the natural areas). I can totally envision Celtic myths taking place here, among the crags covered in green on this mountain. There could be giants and ogres living here, or gods and wizards, or maybe a warrior-like clan. This is what I love about Celtic landscape, and being immersed in it: I find it inspiring as it stirs up the imagination and makes me think of old folk tales, tales I want to revisit and visit anew, rework and create.
A couple of pics from above, looking down below:
We go down the mountain as fast as we can once we've had our fill of the top, grab our bags that we've hidden from behind the bushes, and wait for the bus. There are a mother and a daughter from the US already waiting there with whom we make chitchat. They tell us how they had lunch at the top of the Storr and I grow envious. Perhaps next time?
S and I get off back at Portree. Despite it being the largest village in Skye, it is still tiny. The bus stop is at the town square, and from there we already see both the police station and the main bank, and of course, the bakery (previously mentioned, recommended by a girl in the hostel) which we head straight to for our next meal. I haven't eaten much in Skye at all (I was still feeling queasy from the fatigue and that 5-hour bus ride) and even though my appetite still hasn't been whetted, I buy a lot of baked goodies (fresh shortbread - delicious!, cupcakes, pasties, cookies, you name it!) because everything looks good and is affordable. I'd recommend that bakery to other Portree visitors myself and if I ended up in Skye again, I'd probably go back.
S and I eat our food before the bus comes and heads back to Glasgow directly from Portree. This makes it a 7-hour ride as opposed to the previous 5 hours. Can you guess what happened this time, considering that it's two hours longer of the same kind of ride - bumpy, wavy, curvy, and zigzaggedy (so maybe that last one wasn't a word, but it definitely made sense in this context)? Can you guess what happened this time, considering that after we made a major stop at the Morrison's supermarket (super affordable food everywhere) I decided to eat the two pears I'd just bought on the bus? Yes, that's right. You guessed it. I threw up. Twice. The second time happened not long after the first. S was really helpful as she immediately passed me napkins and plastic bags that didn't have holes in them (apparently all the supermarket plastic bags, be it from Tesco, Morrison's, Waitrose...have little air holes in them), so travel tip #1: It's always good to carry napkins/tissue paper/paper towels and plastic bags that don't have holes because you never know when you're going to throw up on a bus/train/plane/boat ride.
That was the first time I'd ever thrown up on public transport in my entire life. It was a bit embarrassing but I don't think anyone but my friend noticed. Everyone seemed to be twiddling their thumbs, or staring into space deep in thought, or reading a book. Yeah, that's right, I could barely sit on that god-forsaken bus ride and somebody was actually reading a novel the whole way through! I bet there was someone else doing sudokus and crossword puzzles. I couldn't understand any of it. They must have all been made of steel or something, because to be fair, as written before, I'm not usually the kind to get sick on buses.
So thus ends my journey in Skye. Even though it was short and rushed and I had to endure horrendous bus rides, I didn't regret it one bit. The beauties of Skye made it all worth it. And now I know better in preparation for my next journey to Skye. I can be more adventurous next time, going off the beaten path and trudging through wild grass, climbing a mountain, sitting by the bay, and god knows what else. There are numerous attractions in Skye that I've yet to tackle and maybe sometime in the future, I'll spend a month or two there.
Skye has now become one of my absolute favourite places in the world. It's the perfect place for adventure as well as making art (in my case, that's writing). Its natural beauty is incomparable, its scenic attractions magical and inspiring, and its atmosphere calm and peaceful.
One final note: Weather can be a major factor in the turn-out of one's trip, especially when it comes to a trip in which the outdoors plays a huge role. When traveling to a place where the beauties of nature are in abundance and are hence the main sights, it's always best to have the sun and comfortable temperature. S and I were lucky; it didn't rain at all in our short visit to Skye. It would have sucked to stay indoors when the purpose of visiting Skye is to see its natural sights, and it would have equally sucked to go out, walk for god knows how long, and climb a mountain in the pouring rain.
Late October, or the fall season in general, is a nice time to go. The temperature is mild and the autumnal colours add a splash of beauty to the natural landscape. However, if you are traveling by public transport, the high season of the summer might be a more ideal time. Buses go through Skye more often, thus giving more flexible travel schedules. The fall bus schedule kicks in mid-late October, so if you don't have your own car, visiting Skye before then would give more options and be more ideal.
The other people at this hostel, (i.e. the guests) are also friendly. Apart from the young Montrealers we met yesterday, at breakfast we meet a diver who works in Skye collecting seafood from the bottom of the sea (I think it was clams) and a young woman who has been in Skye for quite a while; she advises us to check out the Storr and a bakery in Portree, the biggest village in Skye. That's the thing about being in a remote place with few people. Strangers are eager to know about each other and tend to help each other out. It's a warm and welcoming atmosphere, a community built on trust and generosity.
As we leave/check out of the hostel to hitch a ride with the Montrealers (kind as they are to offer us a ride), my friend points out a sign that hangs above the reception desk saying you can stay at the hostel for free as long as you do 2 hours of housekeeping every day. Not a bad deal if you're a traveler on a low-budget. I might do it myself if I return to Skye (which I plan to do at some point in my life).
We stop at Portree (as mentioned before, the largest village in Skye) and wait while the Montrealers check into their hostel. My friend S and I take a quick look around; we go to the edge and watch the boats in the water. It looks something like this:
The Montrealers then drive us to the Storr in their car. It's a bumpy ride along a narrow road that curves very high up and very low down. It's a bit nerve-wracking actually. And at some point there's only enough space for one car to go through, so we have to stop at the side to let the other car that's coming towards us pass by.
The Storr is a rocky mountain about 700 metres high, a famous landmark in the Isle of Skye. We thank the Montrealers and say good-bye when we get there. S and I decide to leave our bags at the bottom of the mountain behind some bushes before we start climbing (S's idea, of course, as she is the more experienced adventurous traveler of us two).
As someone who's only climbed mountains a handful of times in her life, and who's probably not in the best physical shape, I found it a bit hard climbing this mountain. It doesn't help that I've got a fear of heights either. The way up feels pretty narrow to me; I can't help but think I might fall backwards, off the mountain, and tumble to my death. We acknowledge most of the climbers that pass us by, whether it's a "hi" or a quick smile. It's as if it's part of the social code in Skye to be courteous to each other, strangers or not. I like it.
I notice that some climbers go up the Storr with their dogs. I know there's no way I can climb up this mountain whilst holding an animal by its leash. I can barely go up with my own backpack. And every step I take, I'm afraid I might slip on a rock. Or the muddy ground. Or even a branch. I have to be careful with each step. There's always that fear of falling, which escalates (no pun intended!) the higher I go up.
We take a few breaks here and there, but they're too short for me. S is always ahead of me. That recent camping trip in the Alps of hers has done her some good.
This is what the Storr looks like from below, looking up:
To the side is a group of rocky pinnacles, the most famous of which is the Old Man (of Storr). To be honest, I'm not sure I saw it. I might have, but nobody else is sure which one's the Old Man. It's much clearer from the pic with an aerial view on Google Images, but unfortunately I don't own a helicopter.
Here's a pic that is more focused, from a different and closer angle:
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| The sun is high in the sky on a pleasant day in Skye. |
Because S has work the next day, and buses go through Skye only 3 times a day (about every 5 hours or so) in the fall season, we go up Storr as quickly as we possibly can. I usually hate to rush things, but we're on a tight schedule. I don't even make it to the very top. I'd rather spend the little time that we have left relaxing near the top, gazing at the views below and taking it all in. I wait for S and take a few pictures as she goes up to the peak. There's something mystical about this place (well, I guess that can be said for much of Scotland, especially the natural areas). I can totally envision Celtic myths taking place here, among the crags covered in green on this mountain. There could be giants and ogres living here, or gods and wizards, or maybe a warrior-like clan. This is what I love about Celtic landscape, and being immersed in it: I find it inspiring as it stirs up the imagination and makes me think of old folk tales, tales I want to revisit and visit anew, rework and create.
A couple of pics from above, looking down below:
We go down the mountain as fast as we can once we've had our fill of the top, grab our bags that we've hidden from behind the bushes, and wait for the bus. There are a mother and a daughter from the US already waiting there with whom we make chitchat. They tell us how they had lunch at the top of the Storr and I grow envious. Perhaps next time?
S and I get off back at Portree. Despite it being the largest village in Skye, it is still tiny. The bus stop is at the town square, and from there we already see both the police station and the main bank, and of course, the bakery (previously mentioned, recommended by a girl in the hostel) which we head straight to for our next meal. I haven't eaten much in Skye at all (I was still feeling queasy from the fatigue and that 5-hour bus ride) and even though my appetite still hasn't been whetted, I buy a lot of baked goodies (fresh shortbread - delicious!, cupcakes, pasties, cookies, you name it!) because everything looks good and is affordable. I'd recommend that bakery to other Portree visitors myself and if I ended up in Skye again, I'd probably go back.
S and I eat our food before the bus comes and heads back to Glasgow directly from Portree. This makes it a 7-hour ride as opposed to the previous 5 hours. Can you guess what happened this time, considering that it's two hours longer of the same kind of ride - bumpy, wavy, curvy, and zigzaggedy (so maybe that last one wasn't a word, but it definitely made sense in this context)? Can you guess what happened this time, considering that after we made a major stop at the Morrison's supermarket (super affordable food everywhere) I decided to eat the two pears I'd just bought on the bus? Yes, that's right. You guessed it. I threw up. Twice. The second time happened not long after the first. S was really helpful as she immediately passed me napkins and plastic bags that didn't have holes in them (apparently all the supermarket plastic bags, be it from Tesco, Morrison's, Waitrose...have little air holes in them), so travel tip #1: It's always good to carry napkins/tissue paper/paper towels and plastic bags that don't have holes because you never know when you're going to throw up on a bus/train/plane/boat ride.
That was the first time I'd ever thrown up on public transport in my entire life. It was a bit embarrassing but I don't think anyone but my friend noticed. Everyone seemed to be twiddling their thumbs, or staring into space deep in thought, or reading a book. Yeah, that's right, I could barely sit on that god-forsaken bus ride and somebody was actually reading a novel the whole way through! I bet there was someone else doing sudokus and crossword puzzles. I couldn't understand any of it. They must have all been made of steel or something, because to be fair, as written before, I'm not usually the kind to get sick on buses.
So thus ends my journey in Skye. Even though it was short and rushed and I had to endure horrendous bus rides, I didn't regret it one bit. The beauties of Skye made it all worth it. And now I know better in preparation for my next journey to Skye. I can be more adventurous next time, going off the beaten path and trudging through wild grass, climbing a mountain, sitting by the bay, and god knows what else. There are numerous attractions in Skye that I've yet to tackle and maybe sometime in the future, I'll spend a month or two there.
Skye has now become one of my absolute favourite places in the world. It's the perfect place for adventure as well as making art (in my case, that's writing). Its natural beauty is incomparable, its scenic attractions magical and inspiring, and its atmosphere calm and peaceful.
One final note: Weather can be a major factor in the turn-out of one's trip, especially when it comes to a trip in which the outdoors plays a huge role. When traveling to a place where the beauties of nature are in abundance and are hence the main sights, it's always best to have the sun and comfortable temperature. S and I were lucky; it didn't rain at all in our short visit to Skye. It would have sucked to stay indoors when the purpose of visiting Skye is to see its natural sights, and it would have equally sucked to go out, walk for god knows how long, and climb a mountain in the pouring rain.
Late October, or the fall season in general, is a nice time to go. The temperature is mild and the autumnal colours add a splash of beauty to the natural landscape. However, if you are traveling by public transport, the high season of the summer might be a more ideal time. Buses go through Skye more often, thus giving more flexible travel schedules. The fall bus schedule kicks in mid-late October, so if you don't have your own car, visiting Skye before then would give more options and be more ideal.
Thursday, 14 March 2013
Adventures in Scotland Part 2: In Skye, Day 1
After crossing into the highlands, the view from the window transforms into something that resembles a watercolour painting. It looks not only picturesque, but unreal. The farther up north you go, the more remote, the more wild, and the more hills. It's also more natural. And beautiful. The season most likely affects the scenery - It's late October, and the hills range in colour from a blend of green and mud-brown to a rusty orange. Many are capped with oddly shaped clouds. Other hills are surrounded by still water. Some have both. Here are a couple of pics I took on the ride:
That's how it looks for much of the ride. The scenery truly is breathtaking, but because the bus ride is making me sick, half the time I'm trying to hold it altogether and not throw up while the other half I'm wondering how much longer it will take to get there.
We take a quick rest stop at Kyle of Lochalsh, a village with a harbour where the currents of the lake come with a refreshing breeze. It is a small, quiet, and peaceful place, a place where upon first sight it is obviously remote, distant from the large, busy cities like Glasgow and Edinburgh. I think to myself that I would like to come here again someday to explore the town.
We all get back on the bus, cross the Skye bridge into Skye, and my friend S and I disembark at the first village, Kyleakin. It's just after 12pm, and we leave our bags at the hostel that is across the bus stop. It's called Skye Backpackers, and its info can be found here. I thought it was a pretty decent place, and I would go back there again for accommodation in Skye, for several reasons: location, tidiness, friendliness, and affordability. As soon as we enter the hostel, I hear French-speaking Quebecois accents from the kitchen. I can recognize these accents anywhere. There are four people from Montreal, probably about my age, and we introduce ourselves. I've only met a handful of Canadians while staying in Manchester (none from Quebec, usually either from Ontario or BC) so to find people from my home city in a place so remote as Skye, I was surprised.
S and I decide to do some exploring after checking out a map in the kitchen so we decide to walk to the next town over: Broadford. We walk along the highway, but the path for pedestrians is so narrow that we're forced to walk in a (2-person) line, one person in front of the other. We feel uneasy about being so close to the road as the cars speed by. To our other side is the wilderness, complete with grass, bushes, nettles, branches, and plants I don't recognize. Farther off beyond we see hills rising in the distance. All I can think about is how I'd like to be more in tact with nature and go up one of those hills, but it seems hardly possible with all those bushes in the way.
After some walking, and seeing that Broadford is still some ways away, it seems my friend has been reading my mind. S points to a hill and says, "Want to go there?"
"What?" I say.
She jerks her head toward the bushes off the road. "Why don't we try and just go up that hill? I don't think we can make it to Broadford in time, before the sun sets." She's serious.
I don't really want to tread through all these unrecognizable plants because it looks like a tough job, but she's right. There's no way we can make it to Broadford in time and I really would like to finally climb one of the many hills that we've passed by in Scotland. We go off the road, fighting through nettles or some type of prickly plants. The thorns sting me slightly and stick to my pants. There's no clear path, so I let S go ahead of me and follow her, knowing that she's got some experience in the wilderness. She has camped in Scotland before and her latest camping venture was in the Alps in Austria. She knows how to listen for water, thus preventing us from stepping into any inconspicuous streams hidden by thin branches and getting our feet wet. But they still get wet. There is only so much you can do to navigate yourself around such a wild, rough area as this. All I can think about through this trek off the path is how useful a scythe would be.
When we finally reach the top of the hill, we sit there for a while enjoying the breezes and the view. We can see more hills in the distance, as well as the town of Broadford. I learned that on Skye, especially via walking, everything looks deceptively close, but when you try and reach the destination, you realize it's actually kind of far away.
The view from the hilltop looks like this:
From up there, we also see a little rocky islet that stretches from the coast into the water. It doesn't look impressive from far, but I'm glad that S suggests to go farther off course down the hill because up close it's gorgeous.
Here's a pic from far:
And from up close:
There are no footprints here, no sign of any human life, only the life of crustaceans and other miniature sea creatures. I wonder if anybody else has ever come this way. I write my name in the sand with the edge of my shoe just to leave behind a mark, a piece of me in this desolate, empty but spectacular part of Skye. We stay there for about an hour or two. Seeing that the sun is about to set, we go through all the bushes and grass again (it feels like twice the effort because we've spent all this energy getting this far off the road) and finally hit the road. We're exhausted, so we stick our thumbs out in an effort to hitchhike but since we're clearly at a point in the road where no cars can stop or even slow down, we don't get any rides and we walk back to the hostel. It's the first time I've ever tried hitchhiking in my life. I would never do it alone and I'm only doing it now because I'm with a friend who's done it before. It's good to take risks sometimes, but it's still important to keep a certain level of precaution when doing so.
On the prowl for supper that evening, there was little selection. There was one Indian restaurant we passed by on our way back on the road, and it seemed to have plenty of customers, but we ended up choosing the pub/restaurant next door (our hostel also gives a discount on it...10% if I remember correctly?). I had the salmon but it wasn't so great. It was dry and I've made better. That's one thing about being in a remote area as opposed to a bustling city...beautiful scenery but horrible food. I think I might try the Indian restaurant next time.
When we got back from supper, we spoke with one of the Montrealers in the kitchen. He told us he and his friends saw us walking along the road as they drove past us that day. After some discussing, and realizing that we were headed for the same destination the next day, he agreed to drive us to The Storr (you'll learn more about this on the next post!).
We slept in a four person dorm and from what I saw, the rooms were quite clean, neat, and tidy, with a carpeted floor, and it was definitely spacious enough for four people. It also had a sink, which was handy. The toilets (and showers) were outside the rooms, and although a bit small, they were clean enough. Fatigued from our venture that day, we went to bed early, and I slept comfortably.
That's how it looks for much of the ride. The scenery truly is breathtaking, but because the bus ride is making me sick, half the time I'm trying to hold it altogether and not throw up while the other half I'm wondering how much longer it will take to get there.
We take a quick rest stop at Kyle of Lochalsh, a village with a harbour where the currents of the lake come with a refreshing breeze. It is a small, quiet, and peaceful place, a place where upon first sight it is obviously remote, distant from the large, busy cities like Glasgow and Edinburgh. I think to myself that I would like to come here again someday to explore the town.
We all get back on the bus, cross the Skye bridge into Skye, and my friend S and I disembark at the first village, Kyleakin. It's just after 12pm, and we leave our bags at the hostel that is across the bus stop. It's called Skye Backpackers, and its info can be found here. I thought it was a pretty decent place, and I would go back there again for accommodation in Skye, for several reasons: location, tidiness, friendliness, and affordability. As soon as we enter the hostel, I hear French-speaking Quebecois accents from the kitchen. I can recognize these accents anywhere. There are four people from Montreal, probably about my age, and we introduce ourselves. I've only met a handful of Canadians while staying in Manchester (none from Quebec, usually either from Ontario or BC) so to find people from my home city in a place so remote as Skye, I was surprised.
S and I decide to do some exploring after checking out a map in the kitchen so we decide to walk to the next town over: Broadford. We walk along the highway, but the path for pedestrians is so narrow that we're forced to walk in a (2-person) line, one person in front of the other. We feel uneasy about being so close to the road as the cars speed by. To our other side is the wilderness, complete with grass, bushes, nettles, branches, and plants I don't recognize. Farther off beyond we see hills rising in the distance. All I can think about is how I'd like to be more in tact with nature and go up one of those hills, but it seems hardly possible with all those bushes in the way.
After some walking, and seeing that Broadford is still some ways away, it seems my friend has been reading my mind. S points to a hill and says, "Want to go there?"
"What?" I say.
She jerks her head toward the bushes off the road. "Why don't we try and just go up that hill? I don't think we can make it to Broadford in time, before the sun sets." She's serious.
I don't really want to tread through all these unrecognizable plants because it looks like a tough job, but she's right. There's no way we can make it to Broadford in time and I really would like to finally climb one of the many hills that we've passed by in Scotland. We go off the road, fighting through nettles or some type of prickly plants. The thorns sting me slightly and stick to my pants. There's no clear path, so I let S go ahead of me and follow her, knowing that she's got some experience in the wilderness. She has camped in Scotland before and her latest camping venture was in the Alps in Austria. She knows how to listen for water, thus preventing us from stepping into any inconspicuous streams hidden by thin branches and getting our feet wet. But they still get wet. There is only so much you can do to navigate yourself around such a wild, rough area as this. All I can think about through this trek off the path is how useful a scythe would be.
When we finally reach the top of the hill, we sit there for a while enjoying the breezes and the view. We can see more hills in the distance, as well as the town of Broadford. I learned that on Skye, especially via walking, everything looks deceptively close, but when you try and reach the destination, you realize it's actually kind of far away.
The view from the hilltop looks like this:
From up there, we also see a little rocky islet that stretches from the coast into the water. It doesn't look impressive from far, but I'm glad that S suggests to go farther off course down the hill because up close it's gorgeous.
Here's a pic from far:
And from up close:
There are no footprints here, no sign of any human life, only the life of crustaceans and other miniature sea creatures. I wonder if anybody else has ever come this way. I write my name in the sand with the edge of my shoe just to leave behind a mark, a piece of me in this desolate, empty but spectacular part of Skye. We stay there for about an hour or two. Seeing that the sun is about to set, we go through all the bushes and grass again (it feels like twice the effort because we've spent all this energy getting this far off the road) and finally hit the road. We're exhausted, so we stick our thumbs out in an effort to hitchhike but since we're clearly at a point in the road where no cars can stop or even slow down, we don't get any rides and we walk back to the hostel. It's the first time I've ever tried hitchhiking in my life. I would never do it alone and I'm only doing it now because I'm with a friend who's done it before. It's good to take risks sometimes, but it's still important to keep a certain level of precaution when doing so.
On the prowl for supper that evening, there was little selection. There was one Indian restaurant we passed by on our way back on the road, and it seemed to have plenty of customers, but we ended up choosing the pub/restaurant next door (our hostel also gives a discount on it...10% if I remember correctly?). I had the salmon but it wasn't so great. It was dry and I've made better. That's one thing about being in a remote area as opposed to a bustling city...beautiful scenery but horrible food. I think I might try the Indian restaurant next time.
When we got back from supper, we spoke with one of the Montrealers in the kitchen. He told us he and his friends saw us walking along the road as they drove past us that day. After some discussing, and realizing that we were headed for the same destination the next day, he agreed to drive us to The Storr (you'll learn more about this on the next post!).
We slept in a four person dorm and from what I saw, the rooms were quite clean, neat, and tidy, with a carpeted floor, and it was definitely spacious enough for four people. It also had a sink, which was handy. The toilets (and showers) were outside the rooms, and although a bit small, they were clean enough. Fatigued from our venture that day, we went to bed early, and I slept comfortably.
Thursday, 28 February 2013
Adventures in Scotland Part 1
Of all the traveling that I'd done in my life, my 6 day trip in Scotland this past fall has so far indeed been the most adventurous. It's not saying much, to be honest, but I like to regard it as the start of something new; an experience that has established the introduction of more adventure in my future travels. It was a trip more exciting than your guided tour, than your yearly family holiday, than even your solo trip where you spend a few days on your own checking out the local culture in a city you've never been to.
The journey began with a first class train ride to Glasgow on a Saturday afternoon after attending a talk given by Chinese writer Wang Anyi (her most well-known book is The Song of Everlasting Sorrow) as part of the annual Manchester Literature Festival at the Anthony Burgess Centre in Manchester. First off, it was my first time riding first class anywhere; train, plane, you name it. I bought it because it was the cheapest ticket I could get, even cheaper than your regular ticket for the class of average Joes. They served hot drinks, a snack packet, then more snacks, and a mini bottle of water at the end. Also, you're guaranteed a mini table with an electrical outlet (which I suitably used for my laptop) and more legroom. I was prepared for a comfortable 3 and a half hour journey to Scotland on a late autumn afternoon.
At some early point in the train ride, this man (in his late thirties, I'm guessing?) sits opposite me, and I can't help but think he looks vaguely familiar. He opens up his laptop, working ferociously on some document. The train attendant, noticing something on the man's laptop screen, asks him a question. From what I can gather, this man is working on a full-length feature screenplay via his laptop, and so I ask him a casual question about whether the train provides internet service or not. This quickly evolves into friendly chit chat where I learn he's a playwright and actor currently working in London. Too cool, I think. What's also cool is that he's a polite, sociable, and friendly guy who knows how to talk to people. This is part of what I love about traveling, especially solo. You get to meet people, namely strangers, from different places and different backgrounds. You make a connection, no matter how long or short it lasts, with people you have never met before in your life and whom you will probably never see again. It reminds me that there is this inherent human need to connect with others, especially when we are, or feel, alone. And many times, in these connections, you learn something from these people you don't know, whether it's about a city, a country, a viewpoint, or simply life.
After the man opposite me learns that I'd just finished my MA in Creative Writing at the University of Manchester, he reveals more about his life as an artist and enthusiastically encourages me to pursue my artistic endeavours. It's refreshing to meet someone who shows artistic support (I meet more people than I'd like to who question my education and career choices), and even more so to meet someone deeply involved in the arts. After he gets off at his stop, I manage to strike up a conversation with the train attendant, who is not only friendly and accommodating, but also turns out to have a passion for the arts. He tells me he's written several feature-length screenplays on his own and is currently working on a performance project, collaborating with other artists. My trip to Scotland was already off to a good start, and I hadn't even arrived in Scotland yet!
After getting off at the Glasgow Queen Street train station, I meet up with my friend, to whom I shall refer as 'S', who is currently living in Glasgow's West End as an architecture undergrad. It's dark outside, being night-time, but we take a walk around West End anyway, going through one (clearly popular) crowded street of restaurants and then moving on to the University of Glasgow's campus. From what I saw (didn't get to see all that much because it was late and dark), it's a beautiful campus with old classical architecture that reminds me of parts of Fountain's Abbey in North Yorkshire, especially the low rounded arch ceilings (my architecture friend told me the term for it but my memory fails me).
The next morning, at around 7 am or so (too early for my taste), we take a bus ride from Glasgow to the Isle of Skye. Even if you don't drive or have a car, it's still possible to head up to a remote place like Skye from a big city like Glasgow. Of the ways that I know, it can be done via the Scottish Citylink bus (there are concessions for students, and even if you can't buy a ticket in advance, you should be able to pay in cash upfront) or by train to Mallaig, a small port town on the west coast of the Scottish Highlands and from there you can take a ferry to the town of Armadale in Skye. Next time I travel to Skye though, I'm going to try taking the train to Kyle of Lochalsh, and then take the Scottish Citylink bus from there (should cost under 2 pounds) to cross the Skye Bridge onto the village of Kyleakin, Skye. And I'll tell you why.
The bus ride to Skye was the most stomach-wrenching, head-aching, throat-gagging, vomit-inducing bus ride I've ever endured in my life, which is saying something for someone who doesn't normally get sick on buses. As the bus went up north of Scotland, the regions quickly turned mountainous and remote, making the ride bumpy and...wavy, if that makes any sense. Imagine the road as the body of a snake, and that's the road this bus is going along, in curves and waves. It didn't help either that the ride from Glasgow to Skye was 5 hours long. So if you are someone who gets even remotely sick in buses or cars, I'd highly recommend taking the train instead.
Not even an hour into the ride and I need to lie down. The nice thing (even better if you're not feeling sick) is that's about the same time some nice scenery starts showing up.
Here's the first picture I managed to take from the bus, having already crossed into the Scottish highlands, complete with a Scottish flag, proudly waving in the wind:
Tuesday, 30 October 2012
A Day Trip to Blackpool, UK
Let's be frank here. North Americans don't know much about British geography. Many of us simply think of London when England is mentioned. Maybe on some occassion, Cambridge or Oxford will pop up in our minds, which conjures up images of compact towns and old architecture, and professors/academics carrying books in their arms as they walk from one cobbled street to another. When you move to the UK though, you learn the names of many more cities and how they are different to each other (and even how they can be quite similar).
I first heard of Blackpool from an eponymously titled British television mini-series starring David Tennant and David Morrissey. As much as I would love to watch it, I don't know how to find it. All I learned was that it was a city known for casinos, arcades, and amusement parks. A "games" place, as it were. I'm not into any of that stuff, but I thought "Hey, if they make a TV series about it starring cool, talented actors, I might as well check it out", and it was a tourist town anyway. So I ended up telling people about my desire to go to Blackpool, and all I got were negative reactions.
"Whoa, my British friends say it's a sketchy place," my brother tells me. He's told me more than once.
"Not much to see there, really run-down and shady," one British guy tells me.
"There's nothing to see, there was just nothing," my French friend says.
So it seems that all I hear is bad news about this place. But I did not let that deter me. And it was a good thing I didn't. I liked it, and I enjoyed my day there. I'm not sure why they said "run-down". Maybe they were referring to the streets near the city centre that looked like they were still in the 80s (old-looking shops, no modern touch), but I thought that gave the city a cool, retro edge. There was some neat architecture though, like the curved shape street lights or the sculpture in front of the church:
When my friend and I got to Blackpool Tower (which we didn't go up because it cost 12.50 GBP, more costly than our roundtrip ticket to Blackpool), we saw that it was along Pleasure Beach and a great busy (and probably most popular for tourists) street to walk down. There was a multitude of eateries and souvenir shops (most of which sold toys and candy aka Rock candy, a British staple, especially by the beach. If you're into the rock candy, don't buy it straight away. I swear to god, the price for it seems to get better as you walk down the street. A lot of the eateries have some cheap deals too, and the majority of them offer burgers, fish & chips, and kebabs, which you can eat by the docks. If you prefer a more calming atmosphere, you can head down to the beach and walk along there. It certainly is tranquil, and the views of the sea is beautiful. When dusk hits, that's when the famous Blackpool Illuminations come on. They're only on display from late August to early November every year, so a date within that would be a very good time to go. The lights are beautiful as they also move in the pitch darkness of the night, and they heavily remind me of that old Hasbro game lite-brite.
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