Northumberland - Hadrian's Wall - Part 4

[Part 4, and the last part of my Hadrian's Wall series. Comes with video commentary like the previous 3 posts.]

Now, the ‘Walking in Hadrian’s Wall Country’ mentioned something about a “barbarian” view of the Wall, with the highlights of this section of Walk 7 being ‘landscape panoramas’ and ‘the barbarian view of the Wall from the north,’ complete with a pretty (albeit cloudy) picture of Sycamore Gap. I still needed my perfect Instagram shot, and much to my annoyance, apart from being a good reference with maps, the guide I had had all the routes and walks mixed up, with Walk 7 – 9 practically being identical, which makes you wonder if you’re going in circles if you didn’t read the entire thing beforehand.

Crag Lough and the jagged edges of Highshields Crag

Regardless of the format, under ‘Walk 8’ which is basically a rehash of ‘Walk 7’ (and gave me a headache going back and forth, especially when walking out in the rolling countryside with your tablet scrolling up and down the PDF), there was an interesting statement about ‘Hadrian’s Wall – spectacular section.’ There was no accompanying photograph unlike the other articles, so I was curious.

Looking towards Crag Lough, Hadrian's Wall and Highshield Crags

Walking westwards down from Crag Lough in the direction of Carlisle, at first I saw more hills to go up and down. “Yay,” I thought, “put all those squats to good use.” Then I saw it: the famed Sycamore Gap, curiously also called Robin Hood’s Tree.

[Note: which is curious, I thought Robin Hood and his quests happened in Sherwood Forest and Nottingham, down in the Midlands, not up North by the Borderlands? Then I discovered, there are two Robin Hood’s Tree[s]: one here and one in Sherwood Forest. This one gained popularity thanks to it being immortalized in the film Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves.]

Sycamore Gap or Robin Hood's Tree, Hadrian's Wall

So, this massive tree was at the bottom of a gap between two very steep hills, a good military chokepoint, though curiously not used as an easily defensible fort. So, down a steep slope I went, with the Wall naturally following the contour, despite the steepness. But this tree was worth it: this was a large tree, which grew out over the Wall, so I suspect it grew long after the Wall came and went in importance. Still, a sight to behold.

Reviewing my map, I noticed I wasn’t too far away from a place called ‘Once Brewed’: sounds good for a place for a meal. I also noticed another Milecastle along the way. It was along this stretch when the ‘Spectacular Section’ came into its own. Of course, there were a few more ascents and descents, which made me question my sanity for doing this hike after leg day at the gym.

But like the Sycamore Gap, right after the saddle of the hill, the view spoke for itself. Right before me was Milecastle 39, or Castle Nick. I was curious to why this castle wasn’t at Sycamore Gap: that site is perfect as a military chokepoint and control gateway, but alas, I suppose Roman discipline with exact measurements dictated that the castles be exactly a mile apart. It was still a defensible spot, don’t get me wrong, still along a tight pass, but where Sycamore Gap had a narrow point, Milecaste 39 had a good view.

Castle Nick/Milecastle 39, Hadrian's Wall

Now, the picture I initially took didn’t quite capture the image before me. Now I understood why they did not bother with a descriptive picture for this section: no picture could ever possibly capture the majesty, the imposing sight of the Wall. Yes, the Romans were authoritarian, they were a little sadistic at times, but dear God, when they had ingenious military engineers and determination, they could still make monuments to last, well, the passing of empires.

[Note: literally, empires. For almost 2 millennia, the Wall has seen the Romans, the Danes, the Vikings, the Anglo-Saxons, the Northumbrians, the Angevins, the Scots, the English, the British. Well, the latter three may be argued as a singular unit but let’s not nitpick too much here.]

To scale the size, insert people: Castle Nick/Milecastle 39 and Hadrian's Wall

As I was on the other hill, the business-types I bumped in to at Crag Lough caught up, and they were by Milecastle 39. The picture I took needed a scale of the size, so this group provided one. It may not be the largest of the milecastles, but it does its job in billeting the troops.

Peel Crags, with Hadrian's Wall as an accessory

From here onwards, it was quite a hike along the Peel Crags, with random sections of Wall. The raw granite beauty of the Crags provided a good filler in between the Wall: a marriage of nature’s defenses with those of the Romans, and it was here that, for once, I could imagine how a ‘barbarian’ could easily be deterred, if not awed at the sheer scale of the Wall. Sharp crags, juxtaposed against the cliffs, with a Wall hugging close along it, barely breaking in stride. If this was a ruin, the finished product after it was completed must have made quite the statement.

Past Peel Crags, there was a car park by Steel Rigg and an open field. At first, I ignored the site. If I headed straight, I’ll be heading straight on to Caw Gap, Cawfields and the town of Haltwhistle. If I turned left at the junction, I’ll be heading to Once Brewed, and potentially, a brew. Giving it a moment, I thought I would hike along the open field back towards the Wall, just to gaze on it again and decide what my next plan of action would be. That walk back was well worth it.

Crag Lough, Highshield Crag and Peel Crags viewed from Steel Rigg: the view of Hadrian's Wall

Adjectives used to describe the Wall: spectacular. Beautiful. Magnificent. With this view, I think I’ll use something a little more, erm….imperious. That view, that Wall, Hadrian’s Wall, is essentially a statement. If you want to find the ‘barbarian’s view’ of the Wall to make them think twice, this view from the car park at Steel Rigg would be perfect. The Roman Senator within whispered veni, vidi, vici, and meant it. It also made me think of Brandon's Wall. Might even look like it when it's winter and snow is on it.

So, instead of stopping by Once Brewed, I thought I’d soldier on towards Cawfields. My GPS map showed another lake and more crags. My guide basically had a gap between Caw Gap and Steel Rigg. Walking for god knows how long, I understood why: there wasn’t much to report on.

Cawfield Quarry and Cawfield Crag

However, once I passed Caw Gap and went up along the ridge on to Cawfields Crags and Thorny Doors, it was once again an endless march of Wall from point A to point B. Then, as abruptly as it starts, it ends, at Cawfield Quarry. The mighty march of Hadrian’s Wall, that majestic barrier built from Wallsend on the River Tyne to Bowness-on-Solway on the Solway Firth, that statement of ruins, now ends on a cliff facing a pond and a carpark. Sadly, I couldn’t get to the very end of the ruins: it was fenced off for security reasons.

And a sudden end it was. Right at the cliff, on a hill which found itself cut in half, Hadrian’s Wall, or the ruins of it, came to an end. The quarry and its pond, now disused, provided a somewhat bleak end to this story. The Wall was partly demolished during construction of this quarry, together with the hill that it used to be on. Now, it’s a somewhat pretty picnic site with a relatively picturesque site.

Cawfield Crag and Cawfield Quarry

It was here that I decided to end my hike along the Wall. From Cawfields Quarry, I walked along Haltwhistle Burn towards Haltwhistle, in the general direction of a pub for a meal, and the train back to Pons Aelius, whoops, Newcastle. It may seem like an endless, somewhat featureless walk after Hadrian's Wall, but Haltwhistle Burn will surprise you, as it did in my little adventure. Overall, it was a fun hike, with lots of contemplation and daydreaming. Maybe a little too much.

It is a walk, a rather long-ish walk, from Housesteads to Cawfield

We have a habit of constant retrospection, even stating that we are better than our forbearers. I do not dispute that, in a technological sense, but we are more alike than different. A resident of Iberia transplanted to the edge of Britannia to guard a Wall could easily connect with a Scot ordered to India to govern a mercantile empire as much as a Canadian sent to Western Australia to manage an oil rig. The time reference may differ, but the culture shock and individual commentary may have resonance: the desire for food from home, the peculiarities of expat life and trying to get with the locals.

Yes, the Wall may be in ruins, but the stories are alive. We may be awed by the remains, but we can easily connect with the human stories of the Wall, as we fill in the gaps and wonder what life would have been back then. Now, I hope that Greek academic clerk of mine got all these musings in writing. I bet Cicero didn’t make his walk up and down hills all day.

Oh, and what other souvenir did I get from this trip? A sunburn. Yes, I got a sunburn, in England, along my neck and arms. That's a first.

Northumberland - Hadrian's Wall - Part 3

[Part 3 of my Hadrian's Wall series. Comes with video commentary like the previous 2 posts, and a bit wobbly.]

From Housesteads, the proper hike begins! After getting off the walls, I followed Hadrian’s Wall itself westwards in the general direction of Carlisle. Eastwards, I could see remnants of the wall, but I wasn’t exactly on planning on walking back towards Newcastle just yet. Nay, the row of trees growing along the wall, forming a giant’s hedge, beckoned.

'Keep off the Wall.' Hadrian's Wall. Sure.

For 100m westwards, this stretch of wall had a lot of visitors. Some were walking along the Wall, some were trying to figure out if the hedge was part of the Wall, others got in the ditch that formed part of the Wall’s defences, making for quite the scene of ‘are we in the right spot’ for all concerned.

Me? I was content with walking along the stretch, until I encountered that perfect image: a wooden fence advising people against walking on the Wall itself, as the trees framed that iconic image of the Wall, stretching as far as the eye could see, standing defiantly on the ridge as if it just happened to grow out of it.

Then it struck me: as I looked out, I saw nothing but open fields and grassland, with that single patch of forest behind me being the only vegetation that stood taller than 1 foot.  This was vast open country, that iconic image of rural England. This is that rus which so inspired the Garden City movement. This is what happens when you chop down all the trees for wood and then decide the now bald land would be best for sheep and cows.

Housesteads/Verovicum and Cuddy's Crags in far background

So I set off, GPS map in hand, out towards the (direction of) sunset, leaving the crowd behind me. Occasionally, while hiking up and down the rolling hills, I would glance northwards, towards what was once the border not between two cultures and two empires, but between what was perceived as the civilized and uncivilized worlds. Standing on the Roman side, I could only imagine what a legionary from Tuscany would have thought of this weather. What would he have written home about?

“Dear mummy, the weather is dreary,” I imagined him writing. “The barbarians seem to have a fondness for the colour blue-grey. Maybe because all we see every day, especially in winter, are multiple shades of grey. Their woad is everywhere.” He would then look out his window at the occasional Pict trader, trading haggis for Iberico ham, and a sudden longing for home came over. “Please send garum. The food here is bland. ”

What amazed me while walking along the Wall is how much actually survived the ravages of time, multiple empires, battles and the humble cottage dweller. In some sites, stones from ruins would be repurposed: something practical to do at that time, considering you are more concerned with your own well-being than the legacy left behind. It’s not as if those gone by would miss a stone wall or two.

The steep Hotbank Crags and the Wall that sticks to it.

Large stretches stand proud, and not in the manner of a single line. No, this was large chunks of it, double height at times, wide enough to theoretically race a horse on in others. Granted, you did have grass and other vegetation growing out of it, but for a Wall which was minimally maintained for centuries, the fact that it could withstand the ravages of sun, rain, wind and the untamed North is amazing.

Occasionally, I would bump in to other fellow travellers and hikers. We wouldn’t say much, apart from a ‘G’day’ or a ‘hello’ coupled with a nod, as most of the time, we were walking in the opposite direction. Once in a while, I would see a group of three, or a pair, but on the whole, I would see fellow solo hikers.

Hadrian's Wall: goes on and on and on, and seems quite well preserved

Hiking is a good sport for a generally reserved person like me. Could I do team sports? Maybe, but I work best in individual sports, like running or mental gymnastics while contemplating the economics of the most destructive summer blockbuster. Here, out in the open, I could gather my thoughts and let my imagination run wild. Here, amidst the vast open fields, clear blue skies and countryside dripping with centuries of rich history and pitched battles, I could partake in that rare luxury of inner contemplation and focus, especially when we are now constantly bombarded with instant gratification and global communication on demand.

Dear God, I’m starting to sound like a potential zen hermit now.

Back to wannabe archaeologist. Along sections of the wall, I would encounter small holes cut in the bottom. Of course, I was curious as to what they were meant for. Of course, the online guides I had didn’t explain the ‘why’ apart from the ‘it’s there’ of it all. But one thing I like about my mini guide was the ‘at Mile X, look out for Y!’ And it was on the saddle after a steep descent that I found the view.

Now, the good thing about all those tourism promotion pictures is that it hints at what’s ahead, and even better, hints at what pictures you should take and then post in your occasional round of ‘guess where I am’ caption-less postings on Facebook, annoying half your friends and letting the other half take random stabs in the dark as to your exact location.

One of those tourism promotion pictures was that of a big chunk of green along a crag, much like the one I walked through from Housesetads. This was ‘Hotbank Crags,’ and as name says, it is a crag and perhaps, taking inspiration from the Hot Gates, it was a steep one, where you could easily funnel enemies through defensive lines. Upon reaching it, I noticed large sections had Wall. Some sections 

were steep, and yet they had wall. Roman engineering and ingenuity at its finest.

Hadrian's Wall postcard view, with Wall and Crag Lough: good tourism promo?

After a few sections of relatively steep ascents and descents, I caught a glimpse of a familiar image: a crag on one end, with the Wall snaking above it, hugging the shore of a lake. Since this was close to noon, I thought it prudent to make that a quick pit stop. As much as I could go on and on ascending and descending relatively steep slopes like a mountain goat, I do need moments to savour in the beauty.

So, while descending Hotbank Crags and joining up with another footpath, clearly marked on mymap as ‘Military Way,’ I saw on the map, and my guide, ‘Milecastle 38.’ Now, there is not much here, apart from a convenient narrow pass as an effective check-point, and another path which leads down to the lake below. Of course, I could walk along the lake and in the shade of the forest, but where is the fun in that?

Crag Lough, and parts of Milecastle 38 (I think)

Instead, I ascended yet another steep climb. It really does make you appreciate the ingenuity, determination and sheer scale of this endeavor. How on earth did they manage to build a great wall, up north, with this terrain. Now, I have not been to the Great Wall of China, and undoubtedly, that is more impressive, but considering that this was built more than 1,200 years prior, this wall is quite the achievement which could match if not surpass that wall.

[Note: while yes, the Great Wall of China has sections predating Hadrian’s Wall, with the Qin Wall being built in 220 BC, those are mostly earth-based, while the famous masonry sections you see in postcards of China were built during the Ming Period in the 14^th century. Regardless, this is what unquestioned authority can do: it can make you do ridiculous stuff, but at a social cost?]

While climbing, I saw two blokes briskly making their way doen, perhaps trail running? They had their Camelbaks on, which I regret not bringing with me. They came prepared. Upwards, I passed another group who were leisurely making their way up. I could understand why: it was nice and cool here under the foliage. An idea came up: maybe I’ll trail run and hike some sections later.

Crag Lough, and the extra defence called 'cliff'

And soon enough, I was at the ridge. Walking along, I could see why the Romans didn’t bother which much of a Wall: the ridge itself is a sheer vertical drop, with jagged limestone and sharp edges, enough to deter all but the brave, or insane, who have a knack for rock-climbing.

With a few other hikers also on the ridge, I saw a few groups huddling around enjoying the view, while setting out a small picnic. I overheard a group of fit business-types talking business while hiking. I saw an older group who sat down, sandwiches on the ready looking northwards while enjoying each other’s company. I saw a few lone walkers with their dogs, hiking along the ridge, with some making conversation with other lone dog walkers.

So I decided to join in, in unison yet separate. I picked a spot, with a nice view of the north, perched slightly precariously along the cliff, with the jagged ridges and raw weather-beaten rocks below, the clear blue of the lough below mirroring the clear sky above. A perfect spot for lunch before I continue on my journey, if you consider lunch a bottle of sparkling water, a leftover pie and a bar of chocolate.

Crag Lough, sections of the Wall, Cuddy's Crag and fellow hikers

I can easily imagine this being a perfect stop for my imaginary senator from Rome, with his slave pouring him a cup of wine, another preparing a sandwich, while his learned Greek recites to him the deeds of Romans who built this; as he absent-mindedly observes the edge of the civilized world, while a few solders off-duty either cool off down below, or sing bawdy songs on the other end of the ridge.

I used the 'Walking in Hadrian's Wall Country' as my guide, which you can get on nationaltrail.co.uk/hadrians-wall-path/leaflets in pdf format: useful when you bring gadgets instead of going old school with paper.

Northumberland - Hadrian's Wall - Part 2

[Part 2 of my Hadrian's Wall series. Comes with video commentary like the previous post, if you are curious what I sound like babbling away.]

Last, we were at Vindolanda, walking instead of taking the bus to Housesteads like any other sane person. It was supposed to be a 20 minute bus ride to the famous site, the postcard perfect view of the fort and stretch of Hadrian’s Wall; the view that functions as their tourism promo. Instead, I decided to walk the almost 5 km to the site, out in the spring sun and along the green pastures of the quaint English countryside.

Bardon Mills to Vindolanda/Chesterholm

Vindolanda/Chesterholm to Housesteads

And the elevation changes quite a bit

Walking past fields and sheep, pastures and cottages, I could only imagine how a Romano-British settler would have lived out here. Quiet country roads, nary a car in sight, and even less in people. If you like your peace, quiet, solitude and space for contemplation, this is your hike. Out here in all its glory: quaint rustic scenes, fresh from a Constable painting.

Hiking up and down the hills, one would occasionally bump on to old Roman sites. I did so *some* research on this subject, so I was aware of the general military defensive architecture of the Romans, from the walls to the dykes to the vallum. Once in a while, you would look around, and then your map, and then a name would suddenly pop up, making you go ‘OH!’

Pasture and the occasional public footpath marker

One of my favourite is the ‘Military Road,’ so proclaimed on my GPS map. Naturally, I was curious. Is this Roman? Well, partly yes, partly no. Some parts were the actual Roman military road, others, and a big chunk of the present, was the military road commissioned by General Wade, who famously went against the Scots during the Jacobite uprising.

Along this stretch of the military road, just above on a hill, I could see Housesteads, or to use its original Latin name Vercovicium (annoying as it is also known as Borcovicus, Borcovicium and Verlution) , just slightly obscured. At least I assumed it is the site. I just saw another cottage on what looked like a private dwelling. So, following the well-marked trail, and occasionally harassing sheep and ducks by walking really fast behind them as if I was about to sheer them or get a golden goose from a duck, I trotted along towards Military Road and the fort beyond.

Rolling countryside between Vindlanda and Housesteads

Now, there is some history to this aptly named road. The foundations of one empire tend to be made from another, much like how the ruins of Carthage built Rome’s imperial might. In true imperial form, and as unwitting(?) heirs to Rome, England, under General Wade and the Hannoverian monarchs, decided, in their quest to rid themselves of the troublesome Scottish separatists, to build the aforementioned military road. Holding up the might of Imperial Rome on a grand pedestal for reference, they quite literally built the foundations of Great Britain on the very foundations of the Wall itself. Sections of the Wall were spared, but along a major part of its course, Military Road follows the Wall, which naturally led to the stones of the Wall being used as road foundations [glimpses in the accompanying video commentary].

So, up a hill I went, past the cottage and *poof* just beyond the crest was the site of Housesteads / Vercovicium, the fort built in AD 124, and thus I have arrived at checkpoint 2. In need of a drink and a treat, I went in to the cottage-cum-giftshop-cum-exhibition space and got myself the entrance ticket, a soda, a bottle of water, some chocolate and an ice cream. Yes, it was hot. I was walking, if you remember, unlike the others here who either got shipped in by bus or car. Also, no check-point would be complete without a ‘relic,’ so I bought a book on what travellers in Imperial Rome would expect to encounter during their adventures.

The fort of Vercovicium itself sloped southwards, with the main towers and walls on the crest of the ridge, proudly demarking the very edge of civilization. Compared to Vindolanda, there was not a hive of archaeological or academic activity; rather it was filled with tourists touring the walls, walking through what could be mistaken for as a stone garden maze. Of course, this was before I tried to get in to the fort.

On the wall of Housetseads/Vercovicum Fort: Civilized world to the right, uncivilized world to the left

See, walking along the fort’s wall, I missed the ‘main door’ to the site-proper. Following Hadrian’s Wall Path, I missed it altogether, reaching the Wall and a small patch of forest that doubled as a quadruple-height hedge instead of entering the fort. Instead of walking back down the hill and up again, I took a shortcut, while squeezing my body through a ‘crack’ in the wall: all very ‘dignified.’

There I was, squeezed past a 2,000 year old wall on my hands and feet like Nathan Drake-Lara Croft. It wasn’t that high to begin with: maybe 1.5 meters at most? I tried to not make my entrance too obvious by making as if I was getting comfortable sitting on it, looking north towards what was at one point in time, the great land of the uncivilized, now known as parts of the Dukedom of Northumberland and the Kingdom of Scotland.

To the left and right, I saw the Wall, in her relic yet imposing glory, perched on the ridge, demarking the frontier of Empire, the washed from the unwashed. It was clear why this site was chosen. Militarily, it was advantageous. Perched on the hills, it formed a natural barrier. It was, in every sense of the word, magnificent. How did they build this on this site with the elements bombarding them, and the infamously treacherous English weather ever looming, is a feat worthy of celebrating.

It was then that it struck me: I finally understood what George R. R. Martin kept harping on about as his inspiration for the Wall of Game of Thrones. Here I was, sitting on a major achievement of human engineering, on the only stone wall on the fringe of the Roman Empire. There I was, in spring, wearing shorts, t-shirt and sunnies, momentarily transported mentally, to the mind of that bored Roman senator who went to pay a courtesy call to his friend the governor of Britannia and was left to his own devices as his mate had to deal with issues in Anglesey.

No caption needed.

“What if,” I thought, “what if I was here when this was a proper wall? What would the legionaries tell me? What stories would the centurions regale me with as we stand here looking north, as a woad-encrusted Pict streaks in front of us on the fields beyond? What would I do if it was winter and I was used to the warmth of Carthago Nova? What would I do if I was out of French burgundy?” It didn’t help that I saw the ‘North Gate’ which only served to fan my imagination more.

Which then reminded me: it’s lunch time. I could do with a glass of wine and something nice to eat. I am, after all, on a hike, and a few chocolate bars, a bottle of water and a can of Diet Coke can only go so far. The cottage here in Housesteads did not have much in terms of food, merely refreshments. I had a look at my GPS and sought out the next waypoint. There was a small village ahead, so I assumed there would be at least a guest house if not a local I could stop by.

Along Hadrian's Wall looking towards Housesteads/Vercovicum Fort: Notice the trees that function as hedges

Surely there would be a small public house with provisions to spare for a weary traveller?

So, after strolling around the fort and looking through the ruins, her majestic slope looking southwards towards the Northumberland countryside, I headed towards that titan of a hedge and walked along Hadrian’s Wall, in the general direction of west, towards Carlisle. The GPS and guide both hinted at food and wine. No mead or beer please, I’m still roleplaying a bored Roman senator who needed some time away from Umbilicus Mundi.

Entrance to Housesteads/Vercovicium is GBP 7

There is no charge to the visitor’s center or the Wall.

Northumberland - Hadrian's Wall - Part 1

[This is a rather long post, so I will break it up in to a few posts. My second series after Phuket!]

Now, during my formative years in England, we used to have a show-and-tell, and one of my classmate’s parents just so happened to be archaeologists. Coupled with my fascination with Indiana Jones and my over-eagerness to visit the British Museum whenever we were in London, it would be little surprise that I grew up to become a closet archaeologist, eventually leading me on the path to an Indiana Jones-Nathan Drake-Lara Croft-esque hike out in the open Northumberland countryside, and along the since 122 AD 135 km stretch of Hadrian’s Wall.

So, on one fine Saturday in early spring, as my mates were either hungover or sleeping in, I decided to take the morning train from Newcastle Station to Bardon Mill for a little ‘me time’. Of course, I could have used the AD122 bus which runs on regular intervals between Newcastle-Monument to major sites along the Wall itself, but where is the fun in that? (That, plus I don’t like busses).

After a one hour plus train ride in the general direction of Carlisle, I stopped in, well, what felt like the middle of nowhere. Hardly even saw a corner shop.  So, leaving the station, or more like the halt, I switched my GPS and Nogago Navigator on and started my trek.

Wanting to keep this as adventure game-like as possible, I did relatively minimal research and a lot in terms of map preparation. Of course, like adventure games, Nathan Drake has no idea how far a site genuinely is, and neither did I, apart from the general direction of ‘North-Northeast from station.’

Passing through the village, walking along quiet paths and leafy neighbourhoods, intersped with the occasional pasture and cow, and walking through a pretty forest reserve which, had I not packed a satchel with provisions in, I would have went on a little trail run, I savoured in this slice of quaint rural life.

Before walking through the pretty forest reserve-turned park with Chainley Burn flowing through it, I encountered the first of many ‘checkpoints’ which formally introduced me to the English fascination with walking: the wooden gate without a lock but secured in place by something approximating a lock. It was the first of many, and it gave me a hint of where I was supposed to walk, and occasionally an entertaining way for me to side-step when I got bored of walking in a linear fashion.

Vindolanda: a magical site amidst the green

After an hour of walking, I checked my GPS to see where I was heading, and lo and behold, just a few clicks northwest was my first checkpoint: Vindolanda. I walked up along a ridge and a clearing to get a better look, and like a bored senator who was invited by the governor of Britannia to visit the great land tamed by Claudius, I turned from ‘ugh, plebes’ to ‘and behold, the might of Rome!’

Of course, my next problem would be how to get there. I was in the middle of pasture, and a few parts were fenced up. My map showed a path in front of me, which went through someone’s land. I thought ‘sure, I’ll just open the gate and walk through’ but the cows ahead of me in that field were giving me weird looks. Tantalizingly close just on the next hill, I started to wonder how to get to the site. I walked down the hill, only to be encumbered by dense vegetation and a stone fence, with a few more obstacles.

Not exactly in the mood to scale along fences or potentially be chased, comically, by a cow, I decided to forgo the direct route and use the slightly more circuitous road above. Of course, being in a fenced up field, I still needed to scale a few fences and jump up and down hedges. Eventually, I reached the road and used the more pedestrian (hah!) road.

No caption needed

Walking along the main entrance, I encountered a small cottage which doubled as the reception, mini museum and restaurant for the entire site, aptly named Chesterholm. Quaint, with a replica of a patrician Roman garden, complete with grotto and folly. After paying the entrance fee and looking through the museum, I decided to cut short the foreplay and head straight for the action.

Archaeologists digging, with a reconstructed turret in the background

I followed the sign through the garden and up a path leading to a hill. I could sense the archaeology permeating through the greenery. And then, past a few poplar trees, was Vindolanda, in all her ruined glory, a fort being there, in multiple forms from 85 AD. Archaeologists were out and about digging in their carefully laid out quadrants. I decided to indulge my little fantasy and got as close to a working archaeological site as humanly possible. And then I took a picture and immediately posted it.

Now, the UK, and the North in particular, gets a bad rap for horrible, unpredictable weather, and a penchant for it being eternally cloudy, with clear fine warm weather being as rare as a four leaf clover. Not on this trip. It was nice, sunny, warm and, dare I say it, cloud-free. A jolly day to be surrounded by jolly archaeologists digging dirt, eager to find not a gold artifact which would affect the very foundations of the universe while dealing with rolling balls and booby-traps but just a plain simple bead.

'Main Thoroughfare' in the fort: perfect weather for a stroll

So, there I was, in the middle of a Roman fort, near the very edge of Empire and a famous Romano-Britain archeological site. I was shifting between Indiana Jones and Tacitus, one second observing the archaeologists digging like a fascinated Lord Carnarvon watching his Carter, the next like a bored Roman senator suddenly filled with pride at how his great Roman Empire could transplant a piece of the Med to the very doorstep of the Barbarians in this not exactly temperate site.

Digging archaeologists, amidst well manicured grounds and rolling hills.

It helped that the site was clearly signed. The map was of ‘some’ use, but wandering around was the best, as you stroll around and imagine what was propped up where in what order. I walked along the walls, went to the baths, admired the views from the commander’s quarters and scaled up a reconstructed guard tower, wondering where the wode-brigade was.

'Thermae' in the fort: fancy a warm bath? Get the slaves to light the fire

After a good hour living a fantasy with split personality, I decided to head on to the main event itself: the Wall. But before that, no checkpoint in an action adventure game is complete without a trophy! So, I got a post-ironic Roman Legion recruitment poster. It was either that or a gladius, and I didn’t have space in my satchel for a mock-relic. I then asked the nice receptionist at the cottage how to get to the Wall. She suggested the bus. Naturally, I ignored that advice and trotted on by foot, wishing I had a grappling hook instead to pull me ahead.

How to get there?

Train Stop: Bardon Mills

(Or for the less adventurous, a few stops on the AD166 Hadrian’s Wall Country Bus from Newcastle in front of Eldon Square/Monument)

Distance: Bardon Mills – Vindolanda (including my slight detours) is 3.75 km

Regular trains run the Newcastle-Carlisle route, though best to use ‘Northern Rail’ services, which stop at most if not all stations between Newcastle and Carlisle. I bought tickets on the day itself, as there is little incentive to pre-book tickets on this commuter-ish route.

Admission to Vindolanda is GBP 6.75 and includes an ‘optional’ 10% donation included in the price, though there is a joint ticket if you also want to see the Roman Army Museum further down the Wall, and not exactly convenient walking distance if you want to make  a stop during the hike, unless you have a car.

Bangkok - The Vertical Marathon

What do you do when you and a good mate are transplanted from Europe and based, for the moment, in Kuala Lumpur and Bangkok respectively? Go up to visit him. What do you do when the two of you usually do something active when together, i.e. run along the Amstel whenever you pop by to Amsterdam? Do something athletic. And what would this friend suggest in this exotic locale? A vertical marathon.

Now, neither I nor Dr J have done a vertical marathon before. It is an annual thing at the Banyan Tree Bangkok apparently. Usually, we go up the Banyan Tree to Moon Bar for drinks on the rooftop. This time, we were supposed to, erm, use human power in place of mechanical power.

Without much thought or research, I signed up. This was 5 days before the event. The next day, the day before my flight, I decided to read up on it. This is what I discovered:

And this is why you should do research before committing

-          17^th edition

-          8 November 2015

-          Race up all 61 floors

-          1,093 steps

And of course, my male bravado and I set our sights on ‘time to beat: 6 minutes 35 seconds.’

And of course, there was a clear absence of training. Mornings, after breakfast, we’d talk about the need to train. After lunch, we’d talk about training, after a swim (which counts! We do laps!) and chill by the pool with the looming Banyan Tree Bangkok tower just in front of us. Come evening, we’d have drinks with friends, who thought us daft for doing this, and again, realize our clear absence of training.

So, the Friday before, after lunch and a swim, we decided we seriously needed to train. Now, our residence is just about 35 floors. We could not start from ground, due to security, so we side-stepped a few floors, and a confused-looking cleaner, and started from the 14^th floor.

-          First 10 floors: Yay!

-          Next 5 floors: Come on, Dr, get those long legs working

-          Last 6 floors: Why did we sprint on the first 10?

With our Friday lesson learnt, we decided to try again on Saturday, after lunch. We paced ourselves properly, kept a steady rhythm and timed ourselves. Just under 5 minutes for 20 floors. Yeap, doable. We found our pace, knew our strengths and aimed for 15 minutes to reach the top.

The Navigator and Dr J, all smiles and grins: but will we smile after 1,093 steps?

Come Sunday morning, we were excited. We woke up early, got semi-ready, walked down the street to the Banyan Tree and got our kit. Naturally, we wondered who the insane man was who did the entire thing in 6 minutes and 35 seconds. I looked around and I saw a Slavic looking fellow, in full triathlon gear. I pointed him out to Dr J. We agreed: it had to be him.

So, come the ‘countdown,’ we had a brass band playing to get us in the mood. Some people were clearly excited. Some people were nervous. Some had GoPros strapped on them. Some were colour coded. Some had no clue at all. We were in the latter.

One hiccup came up: Dr J and I were in different classes. I was in the 20 – 39 class, he in the above 40, despite him just reaching that pivotal ‘change in age class.’ We were hoping to race up together to keep our pace and support the other. We tried, and I delayed my entry to the start line, to be the last in my group and him the first in his.

It almost worked. A race warden saw me, so I got slotted in a group before. We wished each other luck as I just took it in stride while my fellow racers were all geared up. First thing in my mind: pace. Pace. PACE, YOU FOOL. I also, naturally, targeted and numbered my competitors (and yes in the blink of an eye, I turned from casual indifferent observer into a Type A Top Gun jet pilot).

GO! Went the warden. *Beep* went the buzzer. Zoom went the racers. WHOA went my head.

We ran past the brass band. I had to restrain and keep a steady pace as Bloke A – E sprinted. G – I decided to keep a steady pace. If only the brass band had a bag-pipe, I would be in heaven. There is something about the haunting deep melody of the sheep’s gut which stirs something deep down. But, alas, this brass band would do.

We ran past the lobby I knew well. We ran up a side entrance to an emergency exit I didn’t know exist. And so it began, up the stairs. You could hear the pitter patter of shoes, huffing and puffing and deep breaths. I had concerns over ventilation, but the sight of large fans blowing in to the shaft allayed my fears.

There were regular drink stops, and by the 5^th floor, I saw people clamouring for a drink. I went on, not wanting a distraction. I was not to drink until I reached the rooftop. Preferably, I wanted a vodka martini. I stayed close to the center of the shaft, imagining my body a well-oiled machine, as I used my legs to propel me up, my hands on my thighs if needed for an added push, and fighting the urge to use the handrail.

By the 10^th floor, a few of Blokes A – E were already slowing down. One already stopped. A few flights more, another was using the handrail for leverage. A few more, one was standing at a drinks stand, clearly wondering what he got himself in to.

By the 30^th floor, I heard the dread of all dreads: someone vomiting. Woe befall me if I dare step on it.

By the 40^th floor, the last few of Blokes A – E, including some of the runners ahead of me, were either slowing down, walking up, hauling themselves up or sitting on the floor, catching their breath. Random guys looked dejected or outright out of their elements.

Truth be told, the closer I got to the 50^th floor, the faster I went. There were less people now, and those at the top clearly had the summit in mind. So I picked up the pace, in anticipation for the top floor, in full knowledge and with autopilot on, that once on the top floor lift lobby, I had two more terraces and mezzanines to contend with.

And then, there it was! I saw the light, literally, as I approached the doors to the terrace. There before me was Bangkok in all her glory: Silom by my feet, the Thai sky ahead, Surya shining his rays on all. For a brief moment, I slowed down to savour, before realizing ‘NO! GET GOING!’

Shiny medal, sunny day, clear vistas of Bangkok: good combo

The last few steps, and there the finish line. It was quiet-ish. A giant cartoon mascot was urging me on, as was a very cheery cheerleader. I crossed the line with a hop, a scotch and a grin as I got my medal. I actually could go for another round!

The obligatory selfie after crossing the finishing line. It filled up fast.

With drink in hand, I looked around. A few of the guys were in their adrenaline high. I knew how they felt: I was in it. A few others looked knackered, while a few more were on the ground, exhausted beyond belief.

But this bloke takes the cake: GoPro attached to his person the whole time.

I roamed around, admiring the view I am accustomed to viewing with martini in hand. Done with the view, I went back to the finish line to wait for Dr J. Not long after, I saw him, and we congratulated ourselves at the top. Of course, we had to do the obligatory selfie to post on social media: our subtle way of guilting our friends who chose to lay in on a Sunday morning instead of running up to a rooftop bar.

Squinting, thanks to the sun, but still all smiles: all that is missing is a vodka martini and a gin + tonic

What did we win? Apart from a medal, bragging rights: we earned our drinks at Vertigo and Moon Bar no. We ran up the Banyan Tree Bangkok where most sane people would use the lift.

And they say running doesn’t bring you anywhere.

Our final time: me at 10 minutes 59 seconds, at 44/158 for my category. Dr J came in at 12 minutes 20 seconds, and 43/98 for his category. Would we do it again? I’ll let you know.I still think I could have gone faster, had I not gotten distracted.

Somehow, not as fulfilling without using the stairs up 61 floors.

2 weeks later, I took the elevator for an evening drink. 

Oh, who beat 6’35”? Mr Slavic Triathlete.

Langkawi - from a kayak

I have noticed two camps around New Year’s: those who insist on having a resolution and those who see no point in it. Again, the ‘resolutionists’ camps split in to two: the resolutions you could do without too much effort and the resolutions which seem like noble, albeit lofty endeavours. One part of my resolution was to bring a certain charity project to fruition. Noble, but requires quite the effort. The other resolution, and this I decided at dawn on 1 January itself on the terrace overlooking the bay, was to kayak to an island out there in the Andaman Sea.

New Year's morning from the villa, overlooking Ular Island in centre, Dayang Bunting Island to the left and Singa Besar Island to the right, from Teluk Baru bay

So, like any ‘sane’ man, after lunch, I left my friends at the villa, including my partner who insisted I do my silly youthful stuff as he lounges on the terrace, and went straight for the beach. Now, for the past 3 years, we made it a point to go to Langkawi as an escape from the chaos of NYE in big cities. For the past 3 years, I always sat on the same terrace, looked out at the same sea and thought of my own little pied à terre out on the horizon.

Tengah Beach, and Cenang Beach just beyond, with Mat Cincang Mountain in the background

Our villa is a 5 minute drive from Tengah Beach, and Tengah Beach is a quiet stretch of sand, away from the hustle and bustle of nearby Chenang Beach. It also has a nice assortment of watersports vendors. Naturally, I thought they had a kayak. Sadly, the nice lady in the headscarf said she didn’t have one, and the only kayak available on this side of the island is at Cenang Beach.

After a call, she got a contact, who came by and guided me to his little sports hut on the beach. There, amidst the hustle and bustle and hung over partygoers on Cenang Beach were 2 kayaks amidst an array of jet skis. “YES”! I thought to myself, as all I heard was random mumbling of his briefing while I kept daydreaming of me paddling the open sea while getting a good back workout.

He gave me a life vest, though he did not insist on me using it. My male bravado and I thought it unnecessary, so I placed it on the bow of the kayak. After getting the kayak to about knee’s length above water, I paddled out. So the adventure begins.

From the kayak, looking towards Cenang Beach

Of course, something will go awry somewhere. First came the jet skis. Good god are they a menace at times. Zipping past, thinking they own the waves. I paddled straight on, ignoring them at times, pausing at others, wary of the wake their jet skis will leave. Keeping a steady keel with numerous big wakes from over eager jetskiers is harder than it sounds.

Next came the wind. I do not mind wind. Being a regular visitor to Edinburgh and living in Newcastle, one would be very accustomed to great strong winds. Wind can add an extra challenge as you hike up Arthur’s Seat or the Northumbrian coast. Wind can also provide an extra challenge or annoying obstacle for a kayaker, depending on your point of view. Why? Because of the added waves, that’s why.

All this would not be complete without the waves coming from the sea either. Now, it has been about a decade and a half since I last formally saw physics equations, but out there, in the sea, with numerous waves and angles and pitches coming in, all I could see were wavelength equations and me trying to find the perfect angle to plough on through.

Thus, day 1 of my kayak adventure ended up with an aborted attempt to paddle from Cenang Beach to Rebak Kechil Island. I blame the waves.

Though it was not without adventure, no! As I was paddling on, I spotted this stunning yacht: “Itchy Feet.” Either a) the universe has a sense of humour and decided to caption my life, or b) the yachties on board are advertising their sea-faring lifestyle.

The yacht Itchy Feet: notice the two bicycles attached on stern

The great yacht and I made circles around each other, as I admired the boat, and the curious two bicycles attached at the back. Add on to this, a helicopter kept flying overhead, low above the water and beach.

Kayak + yacht + helicopter with the backdrop of tropical islands and open sea; makes you think of a Bond film

Now: adventurous kayaker + beautiful yacht + lone helicopter flying overhead + stunning islands and private beaches. How does that not spell out a Bond film? The soundtrack of Skyfall kept playing in my head.

One would think that I would abandon this futile attempt. Oh no. Day 2 came, and I was even more determined. First thing in the morning, I checked the clouds, the wind and the waves. Come breakfast, I sneaked a peek at the western side of the island to see the sea. Right after breakfast, I rented a kayak and set my sights on Rebak Kechil Island. That island is mine.

Rebak Kechil Island ahead, on day 2

Again, I saw the “Itchy Feet.” Again I saw the island before me. Again, the waves tried to hinder my approach. Now, the first ¾ of the way was smooth paddling. No wind, relatively calm sea in the harbour: seemed alright. And then came the sea waves. Truth be told, I was paddling too hard to compensate, so I did make a few 360 turns while correcting my bearings, but soon enough, and 25 minutes later, I reached the uninhabited island of Rebak Kechil, which for that brief moment in time, I lay claim in the name of my cat Cameron Aloysius Titus, Lord Protector and Sovereign of this little patch of sand.

The sandbanks and the yachties on the north of  'uninhabited' Rebak Kechil Island

But alas! That was not to be. The yachties claimed it first. 3 fit guys were already on the island. Still, it was big enough for 4 men. They were on the north along the sandbanks, I took the south and east with the beach facing the other islands and rocky promontory. Yes, I am making this island sound much larger than it actually is. Indulge me in my Raffles fantasy.

In the end, my New Year’s resolution ended in 1.5 days. I reached my goal of kayaking to an island in the Andaman Sea. Looking back, I don’t think it qualifies as a resolution now, considering that I was planning to do that already, and it wasn’t as ‘taxing’ as resolutions are assumed to be.

The kayak on Rebak Kechil Island looking towards the Andaman Sea and Tepor and Kentut Besar Islands

So, what was the first thing I did? Took pictures, uploaded it on Instagram and tagged it for a beach/villa/pool picture competition. I also decided to upload it on Facebook to further annoy and irritate my friends with my caption-less images. Narcissistic me also took a few selfies, just because.

'The Navigator' with his selfie on the kayak back to the main island

Not sure if I am that effective a navigator now. I can somewhat plot the path to my destination, though the route was just *slightly* circuitous thanks to circumstances. Still, a navigator who got from point A to the intended point B, with a tan and a tote filled with sand and stained with sea salt. Kayaking in the open sea off Langkawi *tick.*

From Rebak Kechil Island looking towards Langkawi Island: Tengah Beach in the middle, Cenang Beach off left

Notes: There are a few sports huts on Cenang Beach and Tengah Beach, and they cater mostly for mangrove tours, jet skis, banana boats or parasailing. The beauty of being in a small community is that everyone knows everyone else, and if you want a specific sea sport equipment and that one sport hut does not have it, ‘they have a guy.’

This specific sports hut on Cenang Beach is easily identified with the large number of jet skis parked on the beach with a (then) blue tent, and is accessible through the side street leading to the beach parking lot in front of ‘Cenang Mall.’ None of these huts have names to identify them, sadly.

Kayak rental is MYR 30/hour. Cheaper rates available for longer rentals. All the equipment are well maintained. All doubles, all open kayaks, life vests provided. Bush hat optional. Sunnies mandatory.

p.s. I would not advise taking pictures while kayaking: be mindful of waves and on-coming sea traffic