There is a daily bus between Kathmandu and Varanasi. The bus, known as the Indo-Nepal Maitri Bus Service, is run by UPSRTC and travels in both directions. For details of the opposite journey, from Varanasi to Kathmandu, see this post.
The coach to Varanasi is much, much quieter than its counterpart running in the opposite direction. Perhaps tourists prefer to fly into India and then visit Nepal, or perhaps something subtler is responsible. The benefit is that everyone on our bus was able to take a double seat and stretch out to make sleeping a little more comfortable.
We departed just after 19:00 from the tourist bus stand near Swayambu Temple: a huge, golden Buddha on the Western side of the ring road, beneath the famous Monkey Temple.
It was quite hard to find the exact location as, unhelpfully, our eTicket simply specified “ring road” with the landmark as “Nepal”. Excellent. Once at the bus stand, however, we saw the coach and any trepidation vanished. The location is easy to reach and is a long walk from Thamel; a short, expensive taxi ride or a cheap, cramped me microbus (ask or listen out for “Swayambu”).
The coach stopped for dinner at around 10pm and the continued toward the border, arriving sometime around 03:00. The drivers unrolled their blankets and everyone slept for another few hours until 05:00 when the border begins to open.
After crossing the border (and getting your exit/entry stamps at their respective offices – don’t worry, the staff will help you with this!), the bus continued for another few hours before stopping for a 09:00 breakfast at a roadside dhaba. We then continued all the way to Varanasi, stopping once for the bathroom and arriving at the Bus Stand just after 16:00.
There are a few busses that run between Delhi and Kathmandu each day. They are quite hard to find but they are a great way to travel cheaply and easily easily between the two countries.
On our recent return to Nepal we decided to take a direct bus from Delhi. It is possible to go more cheaply, by train to Gorakhpur, then taking local busses to the border and beyond, but this is hassle-free and comfortable.
We booked an air-conditioned Volvo semi-sleeper, the later of two listed on RedBus. It claims to depart from 09:30 from various locations but, as was our experience, it will likely leave an hour or so late.
By the way, a semi-sleeper is one with reclining seats, usually in two rows of two (“2+2”). A sleeper bus has actual beds and is very comfortable but not often available in the mountains.
We had trouble finding the boarding point for the bus: we had selected “Mayur Vihar Phase I Metro Station” but, actually, the bus never left the Noida Link highway several hundred meters away. Luckily a passing man came to our rescue and, by asking several rickshaw drivers and ringing 3 or 4 RedBus phone numbers, was able to find us the right spot (it’s here).
As with the Varanasi to Kathmandu bus the border crossing will be made early in the morning, about 5am. We arrived a little early and the bus simply waited until the immigration offices opened before waking us.
You’ll need to visit Indian immigration first to obtain your exit stamp, then hop back on the bus to cross the border before visiting the Nepali office.
To obtain a Nepali visa you’ll need a passport photo and pristine US dollars (no rips, tears or pen marks). It’ll be cheaper to get these in Delhi but you can get them at the border – ask a rickshaw driver if you need help.
The bus then continues all the way to Kathmandu, stopping for breakfast/lunch at a town or dhaba along the way.
We actually got off early, in Mugling, as we were travelling to Pokhara; it’s easy to get westward busses from there. Ask the driver if you wish to leave and they’ll likely be very obliging.
How we caught a bus from Varanasi to Kathmandu. It was long but a cheaper, more eco alternative to flying. The scenery is beautiful too!
Varanasi, Benares or Banaras is an ancient city with many names that draws countless tourists and pilgrims each year. The city is home to the famous burning ghats, a Hindu cremation site that guarantees an end to the birth death cycle.
We visited Varanasi in early May and it was scorching. The sun beat down and temperatures soared to 45 degrees Celsius almost daily. Too hot, we decided to flee to the mountains of Nepal.
There is a bus that runs directly berweeb Varanasi and the Nepali capital, Kathmandu. Many sources online claim that the bus has shut down but it is now up and running once more.
You can book tickets via RedBus (using a foreign credit card), in person at the Cant bus station or with a local travel agent (who will charge you a hefty fee for the service). We used RedBus and paid INR 1229 per person (you get a slight discount for your first trip, please use the link above and I’ll get one too).
The journey itself is long, about 20 hours to be precise. We got stuck in traffic soon after entering Nepal and spent about 8 hours crawling towards Kathmandu. The road surface is awful and, due to the condition and the volume of traffic, everyone is bumper to bumper the whole way. The bus is comfortable though, with AC and reclining seats, so if you’re well stocked with books and snacks it’s not so bad.
We reached the border at 4 or 5am, just as it opened for the day. The bus will stop as any tourists get their visas and the staff were very helpful. The first stop is the Indian office for your exit stamp, then you’ll be taken to the Nepali side to apply for your visa.
You’ll need a passport photo and pristine US dollars for a Nepali visa. They refused to accept one with a tiny tear from another passenger on our bus. Be warned. However, you can exchange money and get photos at the border if you forget or are unable to do so in advance.
Once you’ve passed the border at Sonauli there will be a single stop for lunch, somewhere along the highway to Kathmandu. We stopped in a small town with a lot of dhaba style restaurants serving reasonable thalis. There will also be the occasional toilet stop, every 4 hours or so.
When the bus finally reached Kathmandu it will drop you at the Tourist bus stand, a layby near the ring road. It’s easy to catch a taxi into Thamel or to your hotel from here, so don’t worry about onward travel.
I travelled from Kumily in Kerala to Mysore (Mysuru), a city in Karnataka famed for its yoga classes and exquisite palaces.
The journey from Kumily to Mysore spans 3 states and is a full day, however it is easily manageable and reasonably-priced.
I caught a bus from the Tamil Nadu bus stand, just past the border in Kumily and 50m from the Keralan bus station. I asked for Coimbatore and was told busses leave hourly, starting at 8am. The journey took 7 hours and cost Rs. 207/-
Upon arrival in Coimbatore I needed to change bus stations; the Kumily bus dropped me off in the city bus stand and all departures leave from the Inter-city stand, near Gandhipuram Station. A local bus, 140, took me there in 20 minutes for Rs. 19/-
The final leg of the journey was made on a private, A/C bus caught across the road from Gandhipuram. Again, I asked for my destination, Mysore, and was told I could board the next bus without reservation. The journey took just 5 hours and cost Rs. 380/-
I travelled from the costal city of Alleppey (Allapuzha) to Kumilt in the Western Ghats, home of the Peritar Tiger Reserve.
There is a ferry that runs hourly from Alleppey to Kottayam; it chugs slowly through the backwaters past fishermen, picturesque villages and barges piled high with rice sacks. The ferry departs from a jetty by the bus station, just beyond the footbridge in the direction of the sea, every hour from 09:30. The ferry takes about 3 hours and costs a mere Rs. 19/-
From Kottayam, there is a short rickshaw trip or a walk of a few kilometres to the local bus station. There are government busses that run to Kumily (just ask, the signs will all be in Malayalam), taking around 4 or 5 hours ans costing Rs. 120/-
The bus winds it’s way through the hills, past the tea plantations in Peermade and offers beautiful views of the outer fringes of the Ghats.
After reading someunpleasantfindings about the state of the air pollution in London I decided to investigate cycling in a mask. I spend around an hour each day cycling and the prospect of breathing such noxious air was worrying me. Some time spent browsing the Internet later and I had a new Respro City mask in my hands.
The verdict seemed to be out on just how effective they were and so I decided to trial the mask myself, performing a qualitative study of sorts, to determine whether it was worth the money and the hassle.
Please note that am no way affiliated with Respro and they do not know that I am writing this article.
The Study
To perform my study I decided to wear the mask for a month and to record my feelings and experiences. I also decided to take as many photographs of the filter as possible; my aim was to track the colour change, if any, due to any collected soot or particulates. I attempted to keep the photographic conditions constant but inevitably some variation in the light level and positioning occurred.
Day 1: I find the mask uncomfortable and restrictive. It feels impossible to breathe through my nose, which is being pinched by the mask. I also have a cold and the entire mask feels clammy.
Day 3: after many adjustments I am now used to wearing the mask. I’m still unable to breathe through my nose but the pinching is no longer an issue and it feels more comfortable. The mask provides some welcome warmth on cold mornings.
Day 6: I decided to make a short journey without the mask (actually, I forgot it until I was halfway out of the door…) to see how different I felt. Less than 5 minutes into my journey I could smell the traffic and was aware of a cloying, slightly-choked sensation when riding behind lorries or busses. These smells are not entirely absent when wearing the mask but they lose some of the intensity and, without it, I was unhappy to be reminded of just how polluted the surrounding air was!
Day 10: wearing the mask now feels like the norm. I still catch my reflection from time-to-time and feel that I look a bit strange (the mask-helmet-jacket combination is a serious one!), but this is a fair price to pay for feeling happier about my ingestion of bus fumes.
Day 15: I find that the mask begins to fill with moisture after about 10 minutes of cycling. This doesn’t make it any harder to breathe but it does occasionally drip onto my face! When I get home there are visible droplets on the inside of the mask – the one-way ventilation system doesn’t seem to work as well as advertised.
Day 18: I forgot my mask yesterday and the difference was immediately apparent: I felt acutely aware of the traffic fumes surrounding me and strangely vulnerable and exposed.
Day 20: the mask remains comfortable and, in cold weather, I am grateful for it covering my face. There is a slightly unpleasant smell, however, despite my best efforts to allow any condensation to dry thoroughly and promptly after use.
Day 24: I’ve read reviews that claim cycling using the mask makes it difficult to breathe and that, when cycling at speed, getting enough oxygen can be tough. I’ve not found this and I’ve not been short of breath.
Day 30: after a month I find I am comfortable cycling in a mask. The filter is slightly discoloured (and more than a little unpleasant to look at) and I am convinced that wearing it has saved me some of the pollution. I think I will continue to use the mask in the future.
In all, I feel that using a cycling mask provides more benefits than it does hinderances.There are several notable demerits: the appearance can be sinister, the condensation that builds up a little gross and, most notable, the loss of the ability to breathe through your nose. However, as I’ve mentioned, I find that I am far more aware of the fumes and smells of the traffic when cycling without the mask and, whilst this is far from rigorous in it’s scientific method, that is an indication to me that the mask is preventing some of the pollution from reaching me.
Photographs
The photographs below were taken over 30 days. The final shots show a comparison between the filter I had been using an an identical, new Respro City filter. The filter comparison shots show some wear and tear and some unpleasant discolouration.
This is the story of my first month in London, during which time, in an effort to stay fit and healthy, I played the keen-bean and jumped at any free classes, introductory offers, vouchers and coupons I could lay my hands on. How did it go? Well, I tried a whole raft of new activities and, I think, it worked!
Getting Fit for Free
My first port of call was at Xen-Do, a kickboxing gym with a big sign offering a complimentary first class. I snapped a photo and, on arriving at work, arranged to join a beginners class later that week. It had begun!
I was excited to try kickboxing as a friend of mine became incredibly fit after getting involved with the kickboxing society during University. Suffice to say, it was not what I was expecting, yet lots of fun and extremely tough!
The class took place in a fairly small, padded basement room beneath a casino on Goodge Street (sounds dubious, huh?). Upon descending into the dojo I found pairs of people chasing one another around the mats, punching and kicking the gloves of the other, shouting what sounded like “uus” at one another repeatedly. After filling out the obligatory health form I strapped on some gloves and foot pads (harder than it looks!) and lined up with the rest.
We were taken through a very quick introduction to punching and several kicks, each with a quick demonstration by our sensei. The class then involved carrying out sequences of punches, kicks and movements, interspersed with push-ups, sit ups and a lot of pair-based sparring. It was tremendous fun, mainly due to the mutual encouragement given by everyone, but I couldn’t help feeling mildly embarrassed by the state of my t-shirt – it was saturated just 15 minutes in!
Next up, after my martial arts success, was Momentum Cross-Fit, a small warehouse gym offering high quality CrossFit tuition just off Kingsland Road. A friend was a member and, upon checking out their website, I found that they offered a free first session; result!
I arrived, tentatively, just in time for the 08:00 start. The gym was full of very toned, muscled-looking guys, and an encouraging number of women too (I’m immediately put off by an all-male class). A previous class was in session and I could immediately tell that this would be hard work – everyone was sweating and clearly working to their limit, busy lifting plates above their heads, pulling ferociously on the ergo rower or jumping into burpies.
The class its self was full of energetic, friendly, and very fit people, all of whom worked extremely hard; it was contagious! I don’t think I’ve ever trained so hard as I did at Momentum! We performed a tough mixture of cardio and strength exercises and I left feeling exhausted but incredible – all before 9am!
My third conquest was an Orange Theory session in Islington – I walked past their gym and saw the offer of a free class and so, in my stride at this point, I immediately jumped inside to sign up.
The workout was your stereotypical movie “fitness class”, complete with instructor yelling motivational remarks into a headset, patting each of us on the shoulder at appropriate moments, and generally driving everyone to run, row and squat that extra mile. It was exhausting, very sweaty, but surprisingly good fun! The hour-long class flew by and, whilst I don’t think I’d attend regularly (the drop-in price is fairly off-putting at £20 a pop), I enjoyed the experience and certainly worked much harder than I would have on my own.
The remainder of the month was spent stretching (I attended a free Justretch class, booked by sending a text after seeing an advert in a cafe), practising yoga (the Iyengar Institute in Maida Vale offers semi-regular beginner yoga classes, free to book online; I am Yoga London gave me a free class after finding a leaflet in Planet Organic) and learning to defend myself at the Taekwondo Academy (I phoned up to book my free beginner session). The variety was immensely appealing and, whilst I did ache for much of August, I felt amazing and was constantly motivated to try the next class.
Beyond the gym
Of course, there are a wide range of lifestyle changes that you can make to increase your fitness and quality of life that don’t involve a gym. I have been taking the time to walk and cycle to work, a surprising reprieve from the stress of commuting as I know exactly how long it will take and I am in complete control of my journey – it’s always a great way to relax after a long day, particularly when the sun is shining. Most guidelines suggest 30 minutes of activity each day with desk workers upping this to 60 minutes when possible: a half-hour cycle to work will cover a surprising amount of distance and shave a few hundred calories to boot.
There are several apps that I’ve been using to log my activity: Human.co and Google Fit taking the spotlight, but MyFitnessPal also making an appearance for easy tracking of nutrition. The first two apps track the distance and time walked, cycled and run by the movement and location of your phone, clever stuff. Human goes one step further and will show you a comparison of your activity with those nearby, providing a little extra incentive to walk to the shop or take a morning run. It also offers beauty graphics of your routes…
I've been trying out @human over the last couple of days and I've just found their stunning visualisations! pic.twitter.com/dhBbkQQ3Xi
Finally, just so you know, this article was written without the knowledge of any of the parties involved. The opinion expressed is entirely my own and is unbiased by any external payment, benefit or social impetus.
I hope this helps motivate you to get out there and get healthy in the city!
As I mentioned in an earlier post, my previous bike, a beloved Dawes tourer (“The Dawes of Perception”), was stolen –just before I wanted to ride it to Cornwall! Pulling myself together I decided to take this as a blessing and to embark on a new project… today that project was completed!
I bought a battered, rusty and unhappy Dawes Super Galaxy, complete with 531st tubing, still-unworn Brookes saddle and the most beautiful group-set I have ever seen (much of it is Sun Tour and, after all the polishing I have put it, it lives up to it’s name!). Some sandblasting, repainting, a tube of autosol and many hours of polishing and fiddly reassembling later and I have a new, working bike. I’m rather proud!
This week I have been in the Peak District, staying with my mother and stepfather for the first family holiday I’ve attended in quite a number of years. We rented a cottage near the village of Edale, situated in the centre of a large, glacial valley, surrounded by hills including Kinder Scout to the north.
Okay, so, technically Edale isn’t a village – it’s a valley and a collection of farms, hamlets and booths (we think this is Peak Districtish for “really tiny village”). It’s a convenient way of referring to the area around the train station though, which includes a quaint church and a couple of cracking pubs.
We rented a holiday cottage at Cotefield Farm, a quiet collection of buildings on a sheep farm, a 10-minute stroll from the Edale conurbation. The cottage (“Meadow View”) was lovely and would happily sleep three couples – although the dining table may have struggled a little with 6! Still, it was very comfortable and a great base for our various excursions. The short walk into Edale was lovely, through a dappled copse, over a tiny pack-horse bridge and past some very photogenic mushrooms!
The Peak District, as I discovered on this trip, is squeezed between Manchester, Sheffield, Huddersfield and Chester. Somehow, despite it’s proximity to these cities, it remains one of the wildest and most beautiful areas of Britain that I’ve seen: it feels infinitely possible to get helplessly lost on Kinder Scout, leading to (presumably), a miserable few hours spent finding a dry footpath through the marshland! During our stay we made the journey to Sheffield to do some last-minute suit-shopping, taking around 40 minutes in the car, and to Manchester, boasting a very-reasonable 50 minutes on the direct train.
Our first role, the morning after our arrival, was to find clothing appropriate for a graduation ceremony. This called for a drive to Sheffield, a quick trip to John Lewis and a cream tea (to fulfil all the stereotypes of a British holiday!). We quickly tidied up our affairs and rejoined the wilderness, arriving in time for a late afternoon walk.
My mother had visited the Peaks several times as a teenager, primarily (I think) whilst completing her Duke of Edinburgh’s awards. During one of the walks she climbed Mam Tor, one of the better-known peaks in the area, and she was itching to re-live the experience. We set off towards the peak, climbing Hollin’s Cross and then walking along the ridge to the Mam’s summit. Somewhat disappointingly some do-gooder had built a massive flagstone path along the top – leading to many “this wasn’t here in my day” comments! It made the walk a little more leisurely though and did nothing to detract from the view.
The climb was perfect given our time constraint – and relatively easy once we had climbed the ridge. I found that, over the week, many of the walks required a steep ascent but became extremely accessible once you had done so. This meant you can walk for miles, absorbing the view (and the sunshine in our case) without too much difficulty.
We ate dinner at the Ramblers Inn, just past the train station as you head into Edale. The pub seemed popular and certainly had a nice atmosphere – the staff were also helpful enough to point me in the direction of the cottage when I stepped off the train, encumbered by several heavy bags and lacking any form of mobile signal! The beer also seemed good (try something called Rambler’s Gold if you like amber ale) and the food well-made and reasonably priced.
Luckily, it seems, Edale, Castleton, Hope and the surrounding villages cater very well for vegetarians. Olivia and I found it very easy to eat out, enjoying some widespread but fairly unusual options such as squash, beetroot and goats cheese burgers, which seemed pervasive in the area!
The new week began with a brace of graduation ceremonies. The Monday was my own, a stuffy affair during which my hands were ‘clasped’ as I put on my best wizard impression, before receiving a very expensive piece of paper. My sister graduated on the Tuesday and, thankfully, as Manchester is significantly closer than Bristol, we made it back to the countryside in good time to enjoy the sunset from our garden.
When Wednesday came we were all desperate to get walking. I decided to leave my stepfather, Adrian, and my mother and head off alone, anticipating walking a little faster and for a little longer than them. I struck out up Grindslow Clough, a steep ascent onto Kinder Scout that seemed, at the very end, like a literal climb up a small waterfall! It was a very enjoyable, if a touch hot, experience though and I recommend it to anyone in good health. As a warning, there were a few points where I had to climb boulders that were nearly waist-height, so it’s not for the faint-hearted.
From the top of the Clough (which seemed to mean “gorge” or “gully”) paved paths led along the edge of the marsh, past several incredible-looking rock formations, over a ford and, eventually, down the winding Jacob’s Ladder trail. The guidebook pegs the walk at 6 hours for around 8 miles but, in good weather like ours, it’s possible in 3 or 4. I had a little climb on some of the boulders too which was a lot of fun – I’d have felt safer with a crash mat though!
At the bottom of Jacob’s Ladder, just after Lee Farm as you head into Edale, I turned right and wound my way towards the Lord’s Seat, another peak across the valley. The footpath onto the plateau is surprisingly steep and unforgiving – I took the National Trust footpath, another Clough, which exhausted me in its sunny ascent, straight up the slope. I think the nearby Coffin Path would make a more enjoyable climb! From the Lord’s Seat there is a fairly mundane walk towards Mam Tor; sadly it offers little in the way of views as the valleys to each side are hidden by the plateau. Once the path reaches Rushup Ridge, however, a steep, narrow path above the Edale Road to Castleton, the views return with gusto, and this is well worth seeing.
Rushup Ridge can be climbed from Mam Tor by descending to the road and following the path on the other side. I would say, with hindsight, that this is a better option – save your time for the other, more impressive walks.
The following morning we drove into Hope and Castleton to have a look around the villages. Both of these places are small but very pretty – jam-packed with cafés and opportunities for afternoon tea (too many bad puns possibilities…). The latter village seems to have more to offer: multiple good-looking pubs, some delicatessens, a ruined castle and several caves; but both would be good locations for a bite to eat or an afternoon walk.
Olivia arrived by train in the early afternoon – she was joining us late as she’d been cycling in the South of France for a fortnight! – and, after dropping off her stuff, we set off Eastwards, catching up and enjoying the weather. Our walk took us to Jagger’s Clough, a quiet, gently inclining road to the North-East of the valley; our map told us that there was a waterfall nearby but we neither saw or heard it… one for next time.
That evening we ate at the Old Nag’s Head, the second pub in Edale and, so it claims, the “official start of the Pennine Way”. The food was pretty good (although I think the Rambler’s Inn was better, on balance) but the beer was exceptional! We drank something called an Explorer: dark and delightfully smooth. Sadly my parents spent most of the evening in Sheffield General Hospital and couldn’t join us – luckily for nothing serious, although I think the sight of so many one-legged inpatients slightly unhinged them.
The morning of our final day was spent walking the Southern ridge, from Hollin’s Cross, up a steep, stair-like path to Back Tor and along to Lose Hill. The views from all of these peaks are astounding, although Back Tor, with it’s rugged, sheer Northern face, was the most impressive. Our walk took us back along the peak to Mam Tor and down the broken road into Castleton, where we met some family for a pub lunch.
The broken road was an old turnpike, built as a replacement to the steeper Winnats Pass, now the only way to drive up the valley. The road suffered several landslides due to it’s proximity to Mam Tor and was eventually closed for good in the 1970’s. Walking the road leads past some spectacular slumps in the tarmac, with some blocks falling over a metre from the surface.
We spent a little time exploring Castleton and built a small stone-balanced sculpture in the stream there before moving on. Our journey home took us back along the old road, past an ancient lead mine and over Hollin’s Cross once more. We took in the sunset (which is particularly beautiful from the ridge) before setting off once more to spend the evening eating cheese and drinking wine.
On our final morning, after packing up and leaving, we decided to stop at the Speedwell Cavern lead mine. This was another throwback of my parents’ youth and somewhere my mother had always wanted to visit. The mine is a long, claustrophobic tunnel, half-filled with water and you can pay to be paddled down the entire length to a cavern at one end. The tour was fascinating and well-worth the experience, I did feel slightly ill-at-ease for much of the time spent on the boat though!
In all, the holiday was a nourishing break from city life and a beautiful snapshot of the Peaks. I highly recommend making a visit if you’ve never been and, when possible, I would love to return.
One week, just before the late May Bank Holiday, my girlfriend and I set off from Bristol and cycled to St Blazey, a quaint, beautiful area of Cornwall near the Eden Project. It was a spectacular journey.
With the Bank Holiday approaching Liv and I decided to set off on our bicycles and head for the Eden Project. We’d been intending to go for a long time, talking about it for six months or more, and decided that this was the week to do it, before life got in the way!
Day 1 – Bristol to Cheddar
Unfortunately the trip begun a little badly: my bike was stolen the night before we left, right from outside Liv’s house. It put an initial downer on the whole journey but, as we’d been up early to pack, we quickly began making alternative arrangements. As we were discussing the merits of a hiking holiday a friend of mine (a lovely man named Dylan who I’ve cycled with before) pulled through and lent me his bike; we picked it up in the afternoon and made our way out of Bristol for early evening.
I always find cycling south out of Bristol difficult, there are a myriad of great cycle routes but all of them are hard to find. We had picked rush hour to set off and this only added to the problem. Regardless, we were soon cycling down Route 33 and in the blissfully peaceful countryside – and on our way!
Route 33 takes you from Ashton Court, a beautiful estate just over the Clifton Suspension Bridge, down through Long Ashton and towards Nailsea. The first section takes you along a dedicated path, past several meadows and cattle fields and through the village of Long Ashton. The route then makes it way up some reasonably busy roads towards the coast.
We turned left at Flax Bourton and wound our way around the edge of the Mendips, passing through Cleeve, Congresbury and down towards Cheddar. The roads get steadily smaller and the traffic lessened as evening wore on, resulting in a fairly gentle first days cycling. The roads are reasonably hilly – something Liv struggled a bit with until we topped our energy with flapjack and redistributed our weight a little – but the views more than make up for this.
We camped just beyond Cheddar, finding a secluded field alongside the river Yeo. After dinner and a campfire we turned in for the night. You can view our route for the first day on Strava.
Day 2 – Cheddar to the Blackdown Hills
When the morning dawned we woke early and bleary-eyed. Neither of use had slept particularly well thanks, on my part, to a lack of roll matt (one day I’ll learn!) and to a harem of cows that had surrounded us overnight; our sleep was punctuated by frequent snorts and puffs from the animals as they grazed, metres from our heads. I unzipped the tent, startling the herd a little, and we got up to eat breakfast.
Under siege! Note the bullock with the nose ring, the tan beast in the centre
It seems that cows are quite unused to seeing humans and, when they do, they assume they are going to be fed by them. This was quite inconvenient for us as, not being farmers or bovine experts, we found ourselves circled by 20 large animals (included a bull, complete with nose-ring)! We packed up slowly but, upon laying our tent out to dry and removing our panniers, the cows pressed even closer – presumably convinced that our bright-yellow Ortliebs contained their long-awaited breakfast!
We eventually managed to dry and pack up our tent (after saving it from being nibbled by one particularly insistent individual) and make our way towards the gate. As we did so the farmer arrived, helpfully pushing the animals back with his Land Rover. He informed us that the public footpath was on the other side of the river (we knew, sorry!) so we didn’t stop to tell him about our predicament.
The morning cycle was blissful, the sun came out and, due to our early (08:30) start, we made great progress. We followed Route 3 to Bridgwater and onto Taunton, cycling next to a waterway for the final 20km. The path is fairly small but seemingly in light use – we only saw another few cyclists and a few obligatory dog walkers; it’s really worth seeing though, the wildlife on offer is fantastic.
Chilling on Route 3
We reached Taunton in time for lunch and, in search of fruit, found our way to a farmer’s market. We worked out way along the stalls, bikes in hand, cheekily sampling the food for sale and talking to the owners. At the far end of the market we saw a baker’s called the Common Loaf; we ate some of the delicious bread they were selling and got talking to the stallholder, a lovely man named Shebeth and his wife, Shalomen. After telling the couple about our trip they invited us to stay at the community they lived in, a group of people living a “spiritual lifestyle” in the hills – we were also given us a very hearty lunch from the stall and told to “excuse my generosity!”
Liv and I headed to the park, just beyond the market, to eat our spoils, relax in the sunshine and to think over the offer of a host for the night. The previous weekend had been spent deep in conversation about communal living and it seemed obtuse to refuse the offer – and if you can’t deviate from your plans life gets all wooden and boring anyway! With this in mind we took a leisurely break and enjoyed the weather for a little longer than we’d planned.
We left Taunton and headed straight for the Blackdown Hills, an area of outstanding national beauty full of ancient woodland, tiny single-track roads and some breathtaking views. The sun continued to shine down on us for the afternoon and it was one of the most enjoyable cycles of my life. We wound our way through the woods, stopping to forage some wild garlic and enjoy the vistas, before finding the community at Stentwood Farm in the early evening.
The Blackdown Hills are beautiful
Upon arriving we found a man performing some repairs to a balcony, chisel in hand and obviously teaching a young child as he worked. We stowed our bikes and were directed to the tea room where we were served herbal tea and plied with some amazing-tasting cake. In return, we asked many questions about the running of the community and what it was like to live there – a fascinating experience all round.
That evening we attended the daily meeting, during which the running of the community was discussed and much emphasis was given to the biblical teachings that they had discussed that morning (we’d long-since gathered that this was a Christian commune, although in a very unconventional sense, the religious elements ran far deeper than we’d guessed however!). The group then donned plaited headpieces and sung and danced together, Liv and I a little bemused and left slightly unsure what to do; a man that I’d spent a lot of time talking to asked me twice if I wanted to dance but, feeling that it would be a little false of me, given my atheism/agnosticism and the very religious theme of the music, I declined.
After a communal dinner – a sort of egg and onion tart, eaten with stainless steel chopsticks! – we went outside to see a swarm of bees being re-hived. Our timing was perfect as Liv is something of a bee fanatic. The bees were placed on a white board, adjacent to an empty hive, and we watched as the first bees explored the potential nest site before encouraging the others to follow suit.
The day was topped off sat around a large fire, talking to our hosts and their fascinating children.
The route we took for the morning and the evening can be found on Strava.
Day 3 – Blackdown Hills to St Germans
The next morning we were woken early with cups of maté, a purchase from a sibling-community. The community held a morning meeting that we felt we should attend and, whilst it was still fascinating for me to hear (especially as I have no knowledge of the bible, particularly the old testament, which seemed to be the focus of discussion) but quite taxing before breakfast! The meeting lasted almost an hour and a half and, by the end, I think Liv and I were both struggling; it was encouraging to see some of the children there also stifling yawns and looking more than a little asleep.
We were treated to a large breakfast to prepare us for the day, served in the tea room with some other guests that we’d yet to meet. After packing ourselves full of granola, banana and teacakes, we said our goodbyes and got on the road. It was rather a leisurely morning and, despite our early start, we didn’t manage to leave until almost 11:00. Still, it was due to the interesting and lovely people we’d met so who were we to complain?
The next phase of our journey took us out of the Blackdown Hills, past some extremely picturesque villages and towards the road to Exeter. The road itself, the B3181, was less of an aesthetic adventure than the rest of our trip but we made very good time and flew towards the city.
Broadhembry is a village of particular note: the houses were all identically thatched, painted a delightful ochre and with gardens overflowing with flowers.
In Exeter, which seemed a little disappointing in our estimation, we found an area of grassland near the ruins of the Mediaeval Bridge, and sat to eat our lunch: a donation of fruit cake and focaccia from our friends at the Common Loaf. Then came decision time: do we attempt to cycle over Dartmoor? The planned route took us right over the moor, an undoubtedly beautiful route but one with an additional 3000m of ascent. We were a little behind our schedule and, if we were being honest with ourselves, we might both have struggled – Liv certainly would and there is a good chance I wouldn’t have made it either! We opted to save our time for Cornwall… for once, it was about the destination.
To speed things up we caught a train to Plymouth. Outside the station we spent a while talking to a lady selling local flowers (I think her stall was named In Bloom) and she recommended that we visit the Lost Gardens of Heligan in St Austell; the garden was the pre-cursor to the Eden Project, designed by the same man, Nicholas Grimshaw). We quickly added it to our itinerary.
From Plymouth we rode down to the Torpoint ferry – which was a surprise, we thought Strava had led us via a paying route! Luckily, we were mistaken and the ferry is free, providing some pleasing respite and a chance to talk to some fellow cyclists. Torpoint marked our entrance to Cornwall and we set off with renewed gusto.
The ride past Torpoint was beautiful, through dappled woodland, up and down plenty of hills and up relatively quiet roads. The quality of the road was a little worse than in Devon, and the hills had definitely become more prominent too, but it made for very fun cycling.
My leg started to give me some problems after around 45 minutes and I became a little concerned, trying hard to relieve any pressure by shifting my weight to my stronger leg. By the time we stopped for the night, however, it was quite painful and I swallowed some ibuprofen in an attempt to avoid it swelling.
That evening we spent camping in a quiet, pretty field, watching the sunset and drinking sloe gin. It was beautiful.
Our routes for the morning and the afternoon can be found on Strava.
Day 4 – St Germans to St Blazey
We awoke to find a thick layer of mist coating the landscape, providing an eery yet strangely appealing view of the Cornish landscape. It made drying our tent a little cumbersome but, with the aid of a nearby length of fencing, a tubular gate and the morning breeze, we managed.
The view in the morning
Our plan was to head towards Liskeard, a town 7 miles to the north-west, before following a single road towards St Austell and our destination. We set off and I quickly became aware that my leg was unhappy – a tendon running the outer length of my left calf burnt each time I twisted it or applied uneven pressure. Foolishly, I pushed on, scarcely taking in the chocolate-box views and increasingly biking one-legged.
Whilst this may not be news to some, if you feel any pain, particularly something that feels “internal”, stop and rest. Pushing on only seems to complicate things and has been the demise of two cycle trips for me – rest, compress and ice!
Liskeard was a small, unhurried town and our base for several hours that afternoon. I threw in the towel as we arrived, fearing for my health, so we opted to take a second train. I felt slightly deflated at this point but, as Liv so lovingly reminded me, our trip was about enjoying ourselves and creating new experiences, not about pushing ourselves to cycle long distances, particularly when injured!
A small, free museum named Stuart House can be found in the centre of the town and we made ourselves at home, sitting outside in their oasis-like garden, drinking tea and playing cards in the sun. The museum itself is also fascinating: it’s still very much in construction and seeing exhibits planned and being developed was as interesting as the artefacts being displayed!
The town also boasts a small, pedestrianised shopping street in which we purchased some art supplies and some fresh vegetables. We then made our way up the hill to the church, a understated building with a jam-packed graveyard, full of old headstones, to draw some pictures and eat lunch.
Later that afternoon we caught the train to Par, the nearest station to St Blazey and Prideaux, where our campsite could be found. The final cycle was really enjoyable – my leg having (temporarily) healed well enough to make the ascent. The route followed a small canal and wound up a hill through some rhododendron-filled woodland, the slopes an avalanche of pink flowers.
The campsite, a wonderful place named Acorn Camping and Glamping, was truly a site to behold. The owners, a warm, elderly couple that had owned the land for 21 years and built everything there themselves (we had lots of envy for their lifestyle) sat us down when we arrived and talked us through the site, the best spots to camp, what to do with our time and, best of all, rang the local pub to reserve us a table and check that they served veggie food!
The view from the yoga deck!
The campsite is home to quite a number of bespoke hobbit holes: cabins built into the hillside; bell tents; Scandi-style huts and other luxurious dwellings. We opted to rough it in our tent but found a lovely spot next to the Yoga Deck, overlooking a pair of small ponds and the valley, perfectly in line with the sunset.
That evening we walked the 1.5 miles to the pub, passing under a enormous aqueduct, installed in the 1830’s to transport minerals across the valley, and through the pristine woodlands. We joked that the woods were home to giants – due mostly the magical appearance the frequency of huge boulders, seemingly stacked and strewn across the landscape.
As ever, our cycled route can be found on Strava. There isn’t much of it for this day though – morning and evening.
Day 5 – The Eden Project
On Sunday morning (although we’d long-since lost track of what day of the week it was!), we opened our eyes a little earlier than usual and, forgoing our usual routine of drying and packing the tent, sat in the sun eating breakfast and contemplating the day to come: the Eden Project!
I’d had my eyes on visiting the Eden Project, that bizarre proto-rainforest, honeycombed into the Cornish landscape, for some time now and it felt slightly unreal to be actually going. The bike ride to the project was short, flat and enjoyable, a lovely way to wake up and to miss the morning queues. The campsite is under 2 miles from the entrance so we took it in our stride (despite my leg creaking and complaining bitterly at the thought of cycling!).
The Eden Project offers a discount for cyclists of £4; this stacks with the concession discount I received for being a student and brought my ticket down to £16.50. This seems quite steep for a day but, given my enthusiasm, I would have happily paid more. Despite this, the ticket is actually valid for 12 months if you are able to Gift Aid your fee – you have to be a UK taxpayer for this. There are also lockers and facilities for cyclists to use which was really handy.
We spent the day wandering around the planted rainforest biome and exploring the quarry. Once again we were blessed with hot weather – so hot in fact that the biome was closed several times that week as the temperature soared to over 40 degrees C! There is a huge amount to see and, whilst I won’t go into details, I implore anyone to visit, it’s spectacular.
Some highlights were the rainforest, for obvious reasons; the dye plants; drawing on one of the higher paths in the quarry and eating discount pasties with local beer for dinner.
The Eden Project doing what it does best… flowering.
Unfortunately the Mediterranean biome was closed for a wedding reception and so we opted to return to our campsite to explore the nearby forest. The area near the site is full of old mining works, including the vast, impressive aqueduct I mentioned earlier. We hiked across the valley and found a path that crossed it, gifting some amazing views and some beautiful spots in the fields above it. We then ambled around the woodland, feeling slightly lost, and eventually stumbled across some more infrastructure – an impressive waterwheel lying abandoned.
Mining remains. This was very fun to stumble upon.
That evening we sat by a fire, savouring the view and our last evening in Cornwall.
Day 6 – Home again
The final day was begun by, once-again, visiting the Eden Project; we were determined to see the Mediterranean biome and, as it was so close and our tickets valid for another 12 months, it seemed silly not to take the opportunity. The biome was well worth the visit, less impressive than the rainforest but still spectacular in its own right. We also managed to skip most of the crowds by arriving as the project opened, another bonus of our proximity.
Once our visit was concluded we began our final cycle, towards St. Austell and Charlestown, a small, costal visit where we had planned on spending our final afternoon. The cycle started with much concern about my leg – the route beyond the Eden Project leads up a reasonably steep hill for several miles. Luckily, with us heading coastwards, the rest of the way was spent flying down a long, straight hill, without any need to peddle at all!
Charlestown is a quaint, pleasant place with several pubs and restaurants, some kitsch touristy-type art shops and a quiet, stony beach. We eventually found a pub that sold mussels for a reasonable price and settled down for lunch. Interestingly, eating mussels is good for the planet and guilt-free: they soak up large amounts of atmospheric carbon and are very unlikely to feel pain.
The beach was also a welcome sight and we braved a frigid swim, marvelling at how the family sat nearby spent so long in the water – it was freezing! Luckily the sun was warm and soon dried us off as we sat, scouring the beach for interesting shells and stones. Bizarrely, we also ran into one of Liv’s piano students outside the pub – what are the chances of that?
A final cycle took us into St Austell and towards the train station to wait for our transport home. The sun beckoned and we sat in the park across the street, making use of our new art supplies and eating ice-creams – it was fantastic.
And then we went home. Real-life always seems so fraught with complexity after the simple, care-free living of travel, particularly cycle touring. The seemingly mundane existence of “wake, cycle, eat, cycle, eat, sleep” is, in fact, gloriously peaceful and right-seeming; the importance of looking after yourself, of eating and sleeping correctly, becomes blindingly obvious, and the pace of life slows to a recreational saunter, unhurried and contented. Until next time then…
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