150 shades of grey

Hooray, another escape from London town. This time to Wales, on a 5-odd hour train ride to Machynlleth (which I asked about every local how the frikkin hell to pronounce it and I still haven't the faintest) and then a short ride to Corris. What a wonder. So much of green and grey. I went along with Green London for the weekend, a lovely meetup group that does environmental outings. The quiet slate town with unlocked doors, a single pub, dense forests, a railway museum, and moss everywhere. The air was fresh, the rivers were clean, the mountain trails through the forests were silent. A little too silent for my lonesome-wandering-horror-movie-plot-visualising-self at 6-30 in the morning. Stumbled upon this place called 'Little Italy', where an elder sculptor (now deceased) painstakingly created miniature replicas of famous Italian architecture interspersed in his garden with quotes from his favourite poets. A recluse, whose work now blends in the the growing greenery. I have not come across something so lovely in a good long while. Then we all set off to the Centre of Alternative Technology, an inspiring organisation that runs courses in self-sustainability and green architecture. I came across a basket weaving course on the day. The lift to the centre was water-powered, with no need for electricity (since they never run out of a fresh supply of rain water). Our stay at Corris hostel was also a treat, an award-winning green hostel with a Celtic theme and down-to-earth owners. Weekends like this remind me how to slow down.

Ode to South London

Upon arriving in London over 8 months ago, Mr Handsome and I were lucky enough to stay with a friend in Crystal Palace (which I will go into in another post about the significance of the area). There is a not-so-gentle rivalry between North and South Londoners (similar to Capetonians and Joburgers I guess), but from the offset I really enjoyed staying south of the Thames purely from the greenery aspect and I came across some wonderful gems during my time there. A lovely quiet cafe to work from in Forest Hill; an overgrown Victorian cemetery in Nunhead, with saddeningly beautiful gravestone tributes to those who have "fallen asleep"; the Horniman Museum with a free natural history gallery, a shimmering white hothouse and eco cafe; a bowling club revamped into a restaurant with oh-so romantic lighting in Balham; some artisan tea at the Great Exhibit stall in East Dulwich; and the most delicious of all, Brockley Market. Something about Victorian typography, candle light and fresh food that makes me excitable. That and spying super cute doggie twins.

Oh Britannia

London has had its fair share of excitement these last few months. The Queen's Diamond Jubilee and the Olympics injected some (for a change) happy faces, some sun (finally!), and some 550 miles (err that's 855km, just from one retailer!) of blue, white and red bunting. Although the day of the Thames flotilla, where over a thousand ships sailed past, the weather in true London style was complete crap, but what I enjoyed seeing most (whilst drenched and huddled with my posh hat and a classy mug of Pimms and lemonade since the queen was a mere white speck from where we were sitting) was how the locals came along with their camping chairs along the borders of the river, had picnics and enjoyed themselves despite the rain. These last few months have included explosions of Union Jacks (pet outfits included), open air big screens across the city to watch the games, beautiful bridges lit up at night, choc-a-block pubs, free concerts, corgies, a jaw dropping collection of ambient torches at the National Theatre, and bobbies. Lots and lots of bobbies. I'm not one for Goliathesque (if that's a word) corporate sponsorship so I avoided the games for the most part. But you could notice there were foreigners around, as they were chatting on the train. Londoners don't do that. I'm all bunting-ed out now.

The Bard's abode

Getting out of London for me is a treat. Getting out for my birthday weekend was just what me and Mr Handsome needed. So off we went to visit Shakespeare's birthplace. Stratford-upon-Avon. Avon, it turns out is a lovely river that passes through the town, who knew? A river with swans in it, tons of them. As if this place could get any more romantic.

Lazy ice-cream houseboats, cafes, and rowing boats named after the Bard's many heroines. He invented over 1700 of our common words ('cold-blooded', 'swagger' and 'moonbeam'), we saw the wooden house where he was born (the one nexto the amazing wood-carved beast), the church where he is buried, beautiful Victorian typography, and hanging flowers. With the camino spirit never far from me, I thought it would be great to walk a part of the Cotswold Way, a 164km walking trail in Southwest England. We did a small section of it starting in Chipping Campden and ending in Broadway. My hopes of free-spirited walking from town to town without booking accommodation were tossed out the backpack when we started inquiring at BnB's around the area. One owner pretty much admitted that they all price-fix their rates for 'quality purposes', so beware, a day trip will definitely be on the cards next time. I would however reccommend the Broadway Hotel, who gave us a special deal on one of their rooms, as we arrived late and they wanted to fill the room. Each room is named after a famous racing horse, the hotel has horse portraits all over. Perfect. Aside from that, the English countryside is beyond beautiful. Black tulips, stone cottages, a castle that William Morris used as a holiday house, misty hills and cloudy puddles. What a piece of bliss those price-fixers have.