UK photos

I HAVE arranged the photos I took during my two-week adventure in the UK into a collection of Picasa galleries...hit the links if you're interested.

London...
https://picasaweb.google.com/wordsillustrated/London?authkey=Gv1sRgCP_stLTk0tW3aQ&feat=directlink

Windsor, Bath and Tetbury...
https://picasaweb.google.com/wordsillustrated/WindsorBathAndTetbury?authkey=Gv1sRgCLP4v-663abOrwE&feat=directlink

Oxford and the Cotswolds...
https://picasaweb.google.com/wordsillustrated/OxfordAndTheCotswolds?authkey=Gv1sRgCNv5pYGdj-OmigE&feat=directlink

Scotland...
https://picasaweb.google.com/wordsillustrated/Scotland2011?authkey=Gv1sRgCLWb4KzG0L3CowE&feat=directlink

Trip #2

SO, here are the stats for my second trip of the year.

Flights – Four in three weeks

Kilometres flown – 34,628km...MEL to AUH 11,736km, AUH to LHR 5561km, LHR to AUH 5587km, AHU to MEL 11744

Total Kilometres flown in 2011 – 42,358km

Hotels – The Dorchester (London), Winsdor MacDonald Hotel (Windsor), Hilton Bath Spa (Bath), Randolf Hotel (Oxford), Western House Hotel (Ayr), Hotel Missoni (Edinburgh), Apex Waterloo Place (Edinburgh)
Total number of hotels in 2011 – Eight

New stamps in my passport – One, a stamp letting me into the UK

New countries – Scotland was a new country for me, which takes my list to 48 countries visited

At the moment there are three domestic trips in the work diary.

I will be visiting the King Valley and Goldfields in Victoria during March, and then venturing into Outback SA in early April.

But keep checking back, I'm getting my UK photos organised into galleries and will post the links when they're in some order.

Flying high

I LOVE watching the flight tracker map when I'm on long-haul journeys.

I admit part of that is a control issue, I find great comfort in knowing where I am and what's going on, but it's also a fascination with the world and the revelation that our planet is such a small place.

As the plane soars from horizon to horizon, leaving a white line across the sky like the ones I watch enviously when I'm on the ground, I see the names of places I know from the history books and travel pages.

Today, on my six-hour hop from London's Heathrow to the long strip of concrete in the middle of the sand that marks Abu Dhabi's desert airport, we flew a big arc from England to the UAE which took us over some notable locations.

We took off into the north an did a big right turn and then flew over the English Channel going feet dry -- that's US Navy talk for the moment one flies over the coast to be above land rather than water -- at a little place called The Hague.

As we flew over this Dutch address I thought about all the nasty pasties who have sat in the dock of the world's war crimes tribunal and wondered if there would ever be a day when there would no longer be a need for that particular institution.

We flew over Hannover in Germany and Krakow in Poland -- another spot that saw its share of war criminals -- before crossing the Black Sea coast south west of Odessa.

As the map cycled through, zooming in to give a more detailed picture of our location, I noticed other intriguing locations.

Warsaw and Moscow were off our left wing, Bucharest and Sofia were out to the right, and features with names like Porcupine Bank, Gloria Ridge, Josephine Seamount, Great Meteor Tableland were way behind us in the expanse of blue that marked the Atlantic Ocean.

Cities that once sat behind the iron curtain, places I only heard about when I was watching the Olympics and some good Soviet citizen won a gold medal, were out there to the north and east.

Kursk, Kiev, Minsk, Novgorod, Tula, Gdansk, cities I can only imagine by borrowing pictures from old editions of National Geographic which fill my head with images of soldiers turkey stepping through vast concrete parade grounds, bleak apartment buildings and centralized sports academies.

As we flew across the Black Sea Yalta was off to our left -- a settlement thathosted a significant meeting back during WW2 -- and places like Varna, Constanta, Samsun, Sochi, Batumi and Trabzon were dots on the shore. 

For a while after we left the Black Sea the clouds cleared far below and, instead of looking at a layer of cotton wool, I could see the snow-covered landscape of northern Turkey (right).

White covered everything, except the roads which looked like black ribbons laid on a piece of fabric, and I could see towns and villages because the asphalt grids stood out even from 10 kilometres up.

The creeks and rivers that started high in the mountains, and emptied into the lakes that filled the valleys, were the most intriguing feature and it looked like the same artist had poured a tub of ink over dense paper with the black liquid bleeding into the fibre.

The second leg of my long journey home, the 14-hour hop from Abu Dhabi to Tullamarine Airport on the outskirts of Melbourne, covered a lot of blue with the Airbus I was travelling in crossing the coast about an hour into the flight somewhere above Oman.

We flew parallel to the west coast of India -- Mumbai and Goa were cities that sat out to the east -- and we flew 700km from the Sri Lankan city of Colombo before crossing the Equator and aiming for Perth.

The names of more underwater features filled the flight-tracker map as we flew over the Indian Ocean -- the Carlsburg Ridge, Somali Basin, Chagos Trench, Nikitin Seamount, Ninetyeast Ridge, Chagos-Latccadive Plateau and Amirante Trench.

When it was about 11pm in London and 10am in Melbourne I looked out the window and could see a cluster of island far below, possibly a Maldivian atoll, with lights marking the outline of each piece of land.

I was thinking about sleeping, so had my eyes shut listening to my iPod, but when I opened my eyes the Southern Cross was framed by the window with that bottom star pointing at my house in Sunbury.

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Going the distance

TODAY my journey was better than the destination.

I was travelling from Edinburgh to London, with my destination an airport hotel at Heathrow conveniently placed for my early departure tomorrow morning, and it was the train ride south from Scotland that was the highlight.

When I woke up in Edinburgh big flakes of snow were falling from the sky, but by the time I emerged from my hotel and made my way to the station the grey was gone and the sky was blue.

I found a window seat on the left side of the train, retrieved my iPod from the depths of my bag, and settled in to spend the five-hour journey gazing out the window at the ever-changing view.

The first hour of the trip, from Edinburgh to Newcastle, we hugged the Scottish coast and I could look across the wind-swept fields that lined the cliffs to the navy water of the North Sea as we raced between seaside villages.

The train stopped in Newcastle, after creeping by a handsome bridge that looked suspiciously like the famous one that spans Sydney Harbour, and when we left the station we passed rows of terrace houses like the ones you see in the movies.

It looked like some early town planner tipped a bucket of water down the side of the hill above Newcastle, and put the streets and lanes where the rivulets of water formed and built the uniform rows of workers cottages on those narrow roads.

The next part of the journey, another hour-long stretch from Newcastle to York, I was presented with a picture of bucolic bliss as green fields stretched towards the horizon with little clusters of red-roofed houses and stone church steeples marking small farming villages.

Moss covered gates opened to fields with green shoots pushing through the black soil, farmers on horseback cantered around their fields, and bands of children played in the yards of the small rural schools.

As we raced south jets painted white lines across the blue, marking their paths towards the pole on their journeys to North America, and train spotters armed with notebooks and cameras stood on station platforms as we cruised through.

York and Doncaster were next, we stopped at one settlement and crawled through the other, and the towns started coming closer together and spreading out further.

But there were still large plots of farmland where the paddocks, which accommodated either crops or flocks of black-faced sheep, were separated by dry-stone walls of rows of gaunt hedges.

Before too long we were in London, racing past block of low flats and then towers of high-rise apartments as suburbs gave way to inner-city neighbourhoods and I knew my journey was almost over when we passed that stadium that is home to the Arsenal Gunners.

That wasn't the end of my day of travelling, and I had to catch two more trains and an airport bus to get to my bland hotel, but I won't remember the four stops I rode on the Tube when I think back to the train journey I did on my last day in the UK.

Edinburgh

ON my last day in Scotland, and with no plans to keep, I spent the afternoon wandering around Edinburgh between the rain storms that drifted across the city every hour or so.

When the clouds cleared, and the rays of the weak winter sun were able to find the ground, I headed outside to explore new neighbourhoods and when the rain returned I retreated inside to visit museums and browse shops.

Not a bad way to spend a day.

Sunshine to storms

I WAS fooled by a blue sky today.

When I woke there wasn't a cloud in the expanse of perfect blue that stretched from horizon to horizon so I grabbed my camera, piled on the warm clothes, and headed out to explore Edinburgh.

I had a plan to walk from my hotel just below Calton Hill to the end of George Street, where I would take a detour to visit the elegant georgian terrace houses on the other side of Queen Street Gardens, before strolling home along Princes Street in the shadows of Edinburgh Castle.

The sun was in the perfect place to take photos of the beautiful sandstone buildings that line the streets of the New Town, and I knew I would find a quiet cafe on one of the neighbourhood's streets to have lunch and warm up when I got too cold.

So I set off, camera batteries charged, for one of those lovely walks where you just follow your nose and see some treasures not mentioned in the guidebooks.

The NewTown, which was established in the 18th century, was built when a plague killed 22,000 of Edinburgh's 38,000 residents in one year during the middle of the 1600s.

Those who ruled the city decided that something needed to be done about the Old Town, where healthy living was not a big thing, and the New Town was built a few decades later.

While the Old Town, which is perched on the narrow ridge of an ancient lava flow, is a jumble of streets, with narrow lanes and paths leading down each slope from the Royal Mile, the New Town is a grid of organised avenues.

By the way, if you look at the Old Town from above it looks like a fish -- Edinburgh Castle is the tail, the Queen's official Scottish abode the Palace of Holyroodhouse is the head, the Royal Mile is the spine, and the little alleys are the bones.

I found a cafe near the end of George Street, where I enjoyed a bowl of soup and a lovely crusty bread roll, but when I returned to the footpath I found a spanner had been thrown in my fabulous plan.

When I turned the bend to head towards the Queen Street Gardens a ominous black sky was rolling towards me.

Change of plan, and instead of tuning right I went left back to Princes Street and the protecting of the shop awnings that covered the footpath and would provide some cover when the clouds burst.

Needless to say I got very wet, but managed to snap a few pictures when the sky turned black over Edinburgh Castle.

And all wasn't lost, I ducked into the shops during some particularly heavy showers and found a jacket that would go perfectly with my going-out jeans, some new PJs at Gap, and a pair of red wool knee-high socks which the local blokes wear with their kilts.

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Day tripping

I DID a circuit from Edinburgh today that took me to the Trossachs, through some of the villages that Mary Queen of Scots frequented, and into the barrel room of a whisky distillery to sample a wee dram of the local drop.

Scottish Blue Badge Guide Ken Hanley and I hit the road early, following Queensferry Street out of the capital, before we reached the pretty village of South Queensferry where Scotland's Saint Margaret used to catch a boat across the River Forth when she wanted to visit her chapel at Edinburgh Castle.

Two impressive bridges now span the Firth of Forth -- including the Forth Bridge that was considered a marvel of engineering when the cantilevered sections were constructed in the 1800s -- but the town is still a pretty waterside hamlet that's been left alone by developers.

Many of the cottages in South Queensferry have red tiles on the roof which are a souvenir from a bygone time when sailing ships would float between the Scottish port and the countries across the North Sea to trade.

The ships would leave home loaded with goods, but travel back from the low countries empty, so the sailors would load the decks with red roof tiles as ballast and then dump the stock when they got back to South Queensferry.

The next stop was Linlithgow and the ruins of the medieval fortress where Mary Queen of Scots was born, before we moved to the village of Stirling which is home to a another magnificent hill-top castle (above) with a rich royal history.

Stirling was built on the spine of a prehistoric lava flow, similar to Edinburgh's Old Town, and at the top of the main street was the Church of the Holy Rude where Mary was baptised and John Knox delivered some of his most powerful sermons.

From Stirling we began our climb into the Trossachs, the region an hour from Edinburgh known as "the highlands in miniature'', where those staying in the capital can see a collection of bens (mountains) and lochs (lakes) without spending hours in a bus.

The weather wasn't the best for touring, a rain storm rolled in just as we were reaching the most scenic part of our drive, but I could see the frozen lakes, manor houses sitting on the banks, and steep hillsides through the mist.

We stopped at Roman Camp in Callander for lunch and enjoyed a big bowl of cauliflower soup and smoked salmon sandwiches while sitting in the stately drawing room beside an open fire.

Roman Camp was a hunting lodge that's been turned into a boutique hotel and the common areas look just as they would have back in georgian times with rooms crowded by overstuffed armchairs and couches (below). 

After emerging from the Trossachs we dashed towards Glasgow where we did a tour of the Auchentoshan whisky factory which is just one of a 100 distilleries in Scotland.

Auchentoshan, which was established in 1823, is the only factory that produces a single malt whisky that's been triple distilled which gives the liquid "smooth, light and sweet characteristics''.

I'm not a whisky drinker, so I can't comment on the intricate flavours of the drop I tasted, but I do know the wee dram warmed my toes right up and made my knees turn to jelly.

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Really freezing

THE next time I complain about a Melbourne winter's day being "freezing", please remind me of this visit to Scotland.

Since I arrived here last week the temperature has been stuck in the low single digits, with a couple of days where it has been literally freezing with the mercury sitting on zero.

The first morning I was in Scotland the water in the fountain outside my hotel froze solid, and there was one day when the cold wind blew so hard it felt like my face was being cut by a knife.

I have had to duck into a coffee shop or cafe several times a day, to have a hot drink or bowl of soup, and let the muscles around my mouth warm up enough that I can once again form words.

When I get dressed in the morning I face the challenge of deciding just how many layers I can pile on while still being able to move my arms and legs.

Yesterday, when I climbed the cobbled path to the highest point of Edinburgh Castle to enjoy the view over the city, I was wearing all my cold-weather options.

I was dressed in two pairs of socks, my RM Williams boots, my heaviest jeans, a long singlet I could tuck in to keep my back warm, two long-sleeve t-shirts, a thick wool cardigan, scarf, gloves, beanie, and my long red coat.

Having said that, there is a certain delight in rugging up and heading outside for a walk, and it has been special to see some of Edinburgh's most famous attractions without the crowds of tourists who visit here in the warmer months.

How many people have a photo of them at Edinburgh Castle without another person in the picture?

But I've been lucky, I've been in the UK for almost three weeks now and it hasn't really rained enough to stop me having adventures.

And it hasn't snowed, but that's about to change with white stuff scheduled to fall from the sky about the time I'm due to board the train on Thursday and head back to London for my flight home.

What's the bet it will be 40C in Melbourne when I get off the plane on Saturday?

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Location:Calton Rd,Edinburgh,United Kingdom

Royal rooms

I GOT as close to a royal bedroom today as I'm ever likely to get.

After spending the morning exploring Edinburgh Castle -- the impressive structure at one end of the Royal Mile in the Old Town that completely dominates the city's picturesque skyline -- I set the afternoon aside to tour the royal yacht Britannia.

While many royals have lived in Edinburgh's great castle over the centuries, it was on board Britannia that I stood just outside the cabins where members of the current royal clan slept as recently as 1997.

Her Majesty's Yacht Britannia was launched in 1953 and sailed more than 1 million miles, calling at 600 ports in 135 countries, before being decommissioned in 1997.

When the ship was retired -- it's last official duty was bringing Chris Patton home after he handed Hong Kong back to the Chinese -- a number of British ports applied to have her rest in their waters.

The Port of Leith, just a few minute's drive from central Edinburgh, wanted to leave Britannia exactly as she was an invite visitors to tour the vessel.

The family was chuffed that the yacht would be kept exactly the same if retired to Edinburgh, so they supported the application and left many of the original treasures on board when it was sent north to become a tourist attraction.

So now, when you stroll the decks and visit the official rooms, they are decorated just as they were when Liz, Phil, the kids, and grand kids would holiday on board.

It seems QE2 and her bloke slept in separate cabins when they were on board, and the inner walls of the suites have been replaced by glass panels so you can see just how the top couple liked to decorate.

Elizabeth's room was decorated in floral fabrics (above), while Philip's quarters were just as basic with a very ordinary maroon spread covering the single bed.

The Queen's father commissioned the yacht, and said where the private and official rooms would be placed, but when George died Liz was able to say how Britannia would be decorated.

The official rooms were handsome enough (below), just as you would expect spaces that hosted dignitaries like Nelson Mandela and Winston Churchill to look, but it was the private spaces that were most disturbing.

The private deck looked like a tired old holiday house and I was told the sitting room at the back, which looked like the place the royal family drank its happy-hour G&Ts, featured furniture that Phil picked up at a garage sale (above).

While I was aboard, walking the covered deck where Diana ran to hug her boys, I wondered 

how Britannia would look if a younger (and more stylish) royal had been allowed to redecorate the ship.

Imagine how the cabins and official rooms would look if Diana, or even Kate, were allowed to do to Britannia what Jackie Kennedy did to the Oval Office.

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Location:Calton Rd,Edinburgh,United Kingdom

The Mackintosh House

IF I ever get to design a house I will make sure it has two particular features.

It will face the direction necessary to ensure the winter sun floods into at least one room, and it will feature a collection of rounded French doors made from small panels of curved glass.

Catching the winter sun has always been on my wish list, but I added the special doors today after visiting Charles Rennie Mackintosh's House For An Art Lover in Glasgow.

Mackintosh, who was born in Glasgow in 1868 and died 50 years later in London, is Scotland's most famous architect and he designed a collection of buildings that rival those created by American Frank Lloyd Wright.

House for an Art Lover was actually built in 1987, almost 60 years after the architect's death, when a Glasgow civil engineer took a planMackintosh had entered into a competition and turned it into bricks and mortar.

In 1901 Mackintosh entered a German-based competition to design a "grand residence for an art lover'' with the condition set that "only genuinely original modern designs'' would be considered.

Mackintosh's original submission was disqualified because it was incompletely, so he added three internal perspectives and resubmitted the entry.

By that time the competition had closed, so the Glasgow architect's design couldn't be officially considered.

But it seems the judges couldn't see past his entry because no first prize was awarded and instead the Mackintosh plan toured the Continent along side the designs that were given the second and third-place ribbons.

Glasgow engineer Graham Roxburgh was walking in Bellahouston Park, on the outskirts of Scotland's biggest city, in the 1980s when it occurred to him the empty plot on a gentle rise would be the perfect place to finally build the property.

He set about raising the money and putting together a team of builders and tradespeople who could bring the design to life, and now House for an Art Lover is open for visitors to explore.

There is a cafe on the ground floor while the second level features a handful of rooms decorated with some of Mackintosh's beautiful furniture and lights.

Guests are welcomed into a foyer before a long corridor opens to a large two-storey space with boxy art nouveau chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling and sliding doors that open to the dining room.

On the other side of the main hall are two more rooms, one a rectangle gallery and the other a small square sitting space, with the winter sun flooding in through the curved French doors that open to a compact veranda.

The living and dining rooms are handsome spaces, featuring dark wood panels on the walls and ceilings that give these areas a moody peacefulness, while the gallery and sitting room on the sunny side are all white which make them serene but comfortably bright.

It was easy to see the similarities between Charles Rennie Mackintosh and Frank Lloyd Wright as I was exploring the House for an Art Lover, with the same careful attention to the use of wood and placement of unique designer furniture.

There is another feature I would love to have in my own house -- a staircase that leads from the centre of the living room to a stream right below the dwelling, just like the one at Wright's Fallingwater in the American state of Pennsylvania, but I guess I would need a very particular block of land for that to work.

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