L'Abri

L'Abri is located in a small village, called Greatham, halfway between Portsmouth and London, but the closest train station is at Liss, two miles away. Due to disrupted train service, I didn't arrive at Liss until 9:45 PM and so walked the last few miles in the dark. But by now walking is old hat to me. I was worried, however, that the gates would be shut and I would have to camp in the yard until morning (like Harfang in the Silver Chair) but when I pushed on the front door it swung open to reveal a large front hall, a roaring fire and a group of people playing cards. I was immediately welcomed in.

Now I am going to try to describe what L'Abri is, but I know I will fail miserably. L'Abri was founded by Francis and Edith Schaffer in Switzerland about 60 years ago. Since then seven other campuses have sprung up around the world. The word L'Abri is French for "Shelter" and it is a place where people (Christian or not) may go to live in a vibrant community and pursue the answers to their questions. Here they don't try to tell you what to study or what to be, but rather they foster an environment which is conducive to growth. It is also similar to what Bonhoeffer describes in "Life Together". Half the day is spent in study and the other half is spent in working (laundry, cleaning, preparing food, gardening, removing stumps...). There are regular times of Bible reading and liturgies, as well as evening lectures and thought provoking movies.

The English L'Abri was started in 1970 after a lady donated the building, which is called the Manor House. Manor House is ancient. Some parts of it date back to the 15th century. It is also huge. It reminds me of what C.S. Lewis said in the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, "It is the sort of house that you never seem to get to the end of." Every day I discover new places. There are about 30 people living in it now and it has capacity for many more. the grounds are beautiful with large patches of daffiodils, and a 19th century pool made of brick. There is a small chapel with pews made of hay bails. You'd think it was in the wild west except for the ancient half timber of the ceiling. There are several out buildings, including a stable which is currently being renovated into more living space. The interior or the Manor House is slightly shabby grandure--which is perfect for its intended use. If it were too nice we wouldn't feel that we could play or rough-house. I've spent a lot of time walking around looking at the way the bricks in the fireplaces were layed, the intricate fishbone pattern of the flooring, and the wildly lavish use of crown moulding.

But of course L'Abri is more about the people than the building. There are more full time staff than I can name, all of whom are very well qualified. They come from all over the world and are gold mines of knowledge.

Each day follows a similar rythmn. We eat breakfast together at 8, have liturgical prayer at 9:10, work from 9:30-1 with a tea break, have "discussion lunches" (where someone asks a question that they have been thinking about) and then study from 3-6:30 with another tea break. Then discussion dinner and then a lecture/movie/free night. Thursdays are free days and Sundays are different. On Mondays instead of discussion at lunch we sit for an hour in silence and listen to music. I thought this sounded rather hokey but it was beautiful.

I've especially enjoyed my work. L'Abri is in the process of renovating the old stable into a living space and I am building the brick pathway to the door. It will be the first time that L'Abri has been wheelchair accessible. Some other guys are working on digging out this huge stump which has grown to block to door. It has taken over a week, but finally, yesterday (Friday) they winched it out of the hole. I don't think I'll be able to finish the path before I leave, but its most of the way there.

About half of the other students here are from America, but there are also people from Kyrgistan, Switzerland, Lithuania, Italy, Maylasia and just down the road. We also range in age from 18 to 72. I have had so many good conversations and grown a lot through them.

One person who must be mentioned is Grace. She is 72 and is Chinese, born in Maylasia with an Australian passport. Until 1990 she working in a university teaching English Composition, but she felt a calling from God to quit her job and travel and meet Christians. In the last 24 years she has been everywhere--she just goes where the Spirit leads. She is so full of joy and is so obviously in tune with the Spirit. The other day a missionary from Turkey named Ron came to visit for several days. It turns out that he had met Grace in Turkey last year! She had come into his (all Turkish speaking) church saying that she wanted to pray with them. 

I just managed to finish the path on Saturday (I left early Monday morning). By the time i left L'Abri i felt as if i were leaving home. And so i was excited when Danny and Andrew asked me to come back this summer. They said they could really use my work experience and work ethic and would put me up at L'Abri for as long as i could stay this summer. I am thinking of going back to L'Abri instead of doing the Camino and staying until July. 

 

Bristol!

On Thursday morning I checked out of my Hostel and caught the 41 bus to Dublin airport. At 1:50 I boarded the plane to Bristol! It took me quite a while to make my way to Clifton, but at about 5:00 I arrived at the flat of my dear friend Natasha! I can't describe how nice it was to see a familiar face!

Natasha and her three roommates were all running around preparing food: a Baroness was coming for dinner! Now I felt 10 times more embarrassed about my scruffy beard and unwashed hair. Natasha and one of her roommates (Rachael) are very involved in the Christian Union (CU) at the university of Bristol. Rachael had contacted Baroness Cox because the Baroness has done a wonderful job of upholding her Christian Faith in the House of Lords. She has founded a non-profit organization called HART which goes to countries which will not allow the larger, more well known relief programs within their borders and gives aid to starving and war-ravaged villages. After dinner we went to the CU event and she gave a trust inspiring talk and we had a good conversation afterward. I met lots of wonderful Christians who go to the University and I had to try to memorize all of their names.

On Friday morning Natasha hired a car! This is a big deal because she hasn't driven in about three years (but she didn't tell me that). We had an exciting drive to Bath with hardly any scrapes and very little off-roaring. Bath is a very Victorian-looking and touristy town with a fully pedestrianised city center and a beautiful cathedral where we received flyers which explained the gospel very concisely and well.

After Bath we drove another hour East to Stonehenge! We got to the parking lot and looked around but we couldn't see any big rocks. Then we fount out that tickets were £15 per person! Fifteen quid to look at some rocks? We got back into the car and drove around vaguely until we could see Stonehenge. The place was so roped off that the poor people who had paid were almost as far away as we were. Totally worth saving the money.

We then drove southwest toward the town of Chedder. Near the town is Chedder Gorge, a very deep and windy rift in the earth. We drove it several times and then got out and hiked for a bit. It was very scenic with many sheer rock faces that must be very good for climbing. But restrained myself, remembering that it is always easier to climb up to a desired ledge than to come down.

After Chedder we dove back to Bristol and had a wonderful dinner if fish and chips. They tasted great but could feel the ball of grease in my stomach for over a day afterward.

I enjoy so much chatting with Natasha's roommates. Rachael, Esme, and Beth are all from different parts of Britain and have come to Bristol to study. We find lots to talk about (mostly how different our cultures are). They make french-fry sandwiches with bread, ketchup and butter!

On Saturday Natasha gave me a bit of a tour around Bristol. It is a very lively university town with lots to see. We went to the Clifton Suspension Bridge which is one if the oldest suspension bridges. It was very photogenic but I had forgotten my camera. After the bridge we were walking down the street when we passed a museum that was free of charge, so we popped in. It was fantastic! It had huge displays of fossils, and rocks, and Assyrian artifacts, and art galleries, and stuffed animals. It was so cool. Then we went to Will's Memorial, where Natasha spends most of here time going to lectures and studying. It is a very grand cathedral-like building and very iconic. I was pretty jealous that she got to study there. After this we went to Cabot Tower, which overlooks the rest of the city.

In the evening Natasha tool me to "Organic Worship" at her church. It was grand. There were about 60 of us collage-ish aged people standing in the middle of a huge grand church singing our hearts out to the lord. I loved it.

After Organic Worship we went to a house party! One of Natasha's friends has recently become a Christian and was throwing a Jesus party. Sounded like an excuse for a party to me, and it kind of was, but it was fun. People here look for any excuse to dress up and go to parties. Natasha and Rachael tried to convince me to wear towels etc and call myself a Biblical character, but I wouldn't do it. When we got there, every other guy was wearing a tea towel on his head. The girls were much more imaginative in their Biblical character costumes. It was fun but I didn't know anyone. So I stood in a corner and worked on my blog. But now I have been to a booze-ridden college Jesus party in Bristol. I've seen everything.

Sunday morning Natasha and I want to Christ Church for the morning service. There were about 300 people with many families and young children. It was so encouraging to worship the Lord with such a large and vibrant community in such a grand and glorious building.

Natasha is a gem. So are her roomates. I am so indebted to them for thier welcoming spirits and their generosity with time, space and food. 

Now I'm going to go play Ultimate Frisbee with the University team! Wahooo! Then I head to L'Abri. I know that internet will be harder to get to for a while, so blog posts might be infrequent or non-existing until the beginning of April. But I'm excited to live in one place for a week and I'll update you about it afterward.

Wicklow Way Part 2

Tuesday was a very tiring day even though I only hiked about 18 miles. I woke to very strong gusts of wind and rain and stayed in the shelter for quite some time, hoping that it would abate. When it became clear that it wouldn't, I set out into the elements. I dawdled along for several hours until I came to the beginning of a four-mile stretch which my guidebook said had "Rough winds". The trail followed the very highest point of the ridges of the Wicklow Mountains. It was a stunning view to my right--I could see the sea about 15 miles away--and to my left a beautiful mountain lake. But the WIND. The clouds were close enough for me to reach out and grab but they were being blown away from me at an enormous rate. One moment it was sunny and the next it was pelting rain. And the cycle continued over and over. The wind was so strong that I could spread my body out and lean over at a 45 or 50 degree angle and it would hold me up. No joke. It was exhilarating. But after a while the fun wore off and I realised just how draining walking into wind that strong could be. I have no idea how strong it was but I've never experienced anything close to it. I burned many calories going almost no where. At times I was knocked down into mud and puddles and onto the edged of dizzying precipices. My map was blown from my hand, never to be seen again. I lost track of time and had no idea how much longer it was going to go on. Finally I found a small boulder and hunkered down behind it for a little rest. The wind whistled all around me, but straight ahead was the most beautiful view. For some reason I thought of Walter Mitty and his ridiculous cell phone. But mine didn't ring. I pressed on again. Just when I was getting ready to go crazy from the wind, the rain and the noise, the trail turned down the hill and the storm abated. I actually laughed out loud in joy and relief. (One gets this way after living alone in the wild).

I hiked for several more hours, following way markers and trying to call up in my mind images if the map. I needed a plan if where to stay the night. I thought I remembered that there was a place called Knockgree Youth Hostel, and after 3 days outside I was ready for a shower. I finally found it in a valley and it was heaven. I made as much pasta as I could eat, read all of Animal Farm, and typed this up.

The next morning, Wednesday, I got up and made breakfast. Toast with hot water--it was all I had. I cast jealous glances over at the American springbreakers from West Point who were digging into their continental breakfasts. But they were paying €8.50 and I spent nothing.

I left at 9:30 and slowly walked the last 12 miles to Dublin. After everything I have seen in the last week and 150 miles it was quite dreary. Just a few hills, then a nice view if the city, then golf courses and fine estates. Finally I came to Marlay park, which is an enormous city park which marks the beginning/end of the Wicklow Way. I had finished. And not a moment too soon. I have forgotten to mention that my right foot has been hurting awfully for the last while. Now it can rest for a while. At Marlay park I dawdled around for a while, trying to find some sign or sight if even person who would congratulate me on the end of such a long pilgrimage. But there was only a parking lot. It was quite anti-climactic. Like Hadrians wall had been. The joy is in the walking and the best parts are in the middle. Both have long, booring stretches and I'm still trying to make up my mind as to which way is best for walking both of them. While I have longer walks ahead of me, I never plan to walk more than 16 miles a day. 32 miles in a day is insanity.

While I stood in the parking lot I was greeted by two older gentlemen. They took a look at my backpack and asked me if I was starting the Wicklow Way. I told them that I had just finished and asked them which bus would take me to the city center. They were kind enough to give me a ride in their car to the correct bus station. I bussed downtown, and then, after wandering around for a while found the Jacob's Inn, my Hostel. After dumping my pack I went to the grocery store and then made myself a splendid Italian dinner with pasta, bread and sausages for only €4.50. I should have taken a picture--it looked really good. I really live cooking for myself in these hostels and trying to see how creative I can get on a budget. Here's an idea: would you please comment cheap and gourmet ideas for me to cook up for dinner? That would be fun!

Tomorrow I fly to Bristol to meet my friend Natasha! I'm really excited to see someone I know again. After a few days with her I head to L'Abri!

Thank you all of you for reading this! I'm having a blast seeing the world but I miss home too. Peace.

Dublin and Wicklow Way part 1

On Friday morning I took the Metro to Newcastle airport and from there took a plane to Dublin, Ireland. After finding my way to the city centre and finding my Hostel, I began to explore the city. First I went the Trinity College, which houses the famous Book of Kells. But even more interesting than the book itself is the Long Room which houses 200,000 old books in a two story, barrel-vaulted room. It was just gorgeous. I sat and drooled. Many people would just walk in, take the customary 1 picture at the entrance and then walk to the end and exit. I couldn't believe that they would spend €9 on such a short experience and not try to get a little more out of it! I sat for almost an hour and just soaked the experience in. I also got into a long conversation with the guard. (But I'll admit that I was just trying to butter him up so that he would let me walk up the winding stair to the second floor). Unfortunately it didn't work.

After exploring the city to my hearts content (finishing with a pint of Guiness in the Temple Bar--packed and pricy), I returned to my hostel and went to bed.

In the morning I went to Busaras, the central bus station, and caught a Bus Eireann bus two hours south to the town of Kildavin. I would like to mention in an aside here that I was surprised to see how alive and well the Irish language is. It Is on every sign and you can hear it spoken as you walk the street. Whole communities speak it exclusively and it is a requirement in schools.

When I reached Kildavin I walked the 4 kilometers to Clonegal, which is the official start/end of the Wicklow Way. While not as large as the neighboring towns of Kildavin and Bunclody, Clonegal has been around for much longer. Some parts if the town date back 1000 years and some famous battles have taken place in the area. I ate my lunch in the town square, which was deserted. Than, as the church bell struck noon, I began the Wicklow Way.

I needed to average 16 miles a day to finish the 86 mile hike in 5 days and that included this half day.

For the first day my route primarily followed back country roads and farm tracks. The scenery was of green rolling hills covered in sheep pastures not very different from what I had seen along Hadrian's Wall. I hardly saw anyone all day. Hadrian's Wall was always in a straight line, even sometimes running straight through farms. This always gave me the impression that I was heading somewhere. Wicklow Way, on the other had is frustratingly circuitous. It bends upon itself two and sometimes three times so as to avoid civilization. This can be quite frustrating when you are traveling on foot and you go down a hill that you have just walked up. But I took no shortcuts.

At about 6 PM I had walked about 14 miles and was starting to look for a place to pitch my tent. This was worrisome because I was in a slightly more inhabited area. I rounded a bend and came to crossroads at which was a small building with a sign that said "the dying cow." It was a pub. I wasn't interested in spending money and was worried about pitching my tent before dark and so intended to walk right on past. But as I passed on a young man came out. "Hello man!" He said, in a thick Irish accent, "that pub there is a step back in history, it is. And their Guiness is fooking brilliant." Upon this recommendation I reconsidered and stepped in. I'm so glad I did.

The interior of the Dying Cow was about the size of my bed room and it was crammed with stools, chairs and benches--none of which matched. The walls were bare stone hung with signs which read "Guiness is good for you" "if you want breakfast in bed you'd better sleep in the kitchen" etc. The room was packed with about 15 people half of whom were little children. They were all huddled around a radio. I ordered a pint of Guiness and introduced myself. I met Jed and Lucy who, between themselves could account for four of the children, two of which were named Freddie and Tristen. We chatted for a long time and the children were quite taken with my collapsible hiking poles and my Toy Story recitations. It turn out that they were all listening to the rugby final of Ireland v. France which is at least as big a deal as the super bowl. Ireland ended up winning by only two points. It was quite an event to be a part of. The owners of the bar let me pitch my tent in the field in the back and I went to sleep warmed by beer and good Irish company. 

I sleepy very soundly and didn't get up until 7 AM. I took my time packing up and eating breakfast and didn't a start walking until 8. After all, I only had to walk 16 miles. I intentionally dawdled as I worked my way into rougher and rougher country. I passed through several more towns but I was staring to ascend into the wicklow mountains. Much of the land was covered in young forests because of a recent government grant which has given farmer an incentive to grow pine trees. It was overcast all day and sprinkled at times. I was hoping to reach an old mountain shelter which was indicated on my map near a place called Glendamore.

Glendamore was stunningly beautiful. It is a deep valley with with a plunging waterfall flowing into it. At the bottom was a visitor's center and a pub, but it looked too modern for my tastes. I had been spoiled by the Dying Cow. I was very surprised to find that there were already two people in the shelter when I reached it. A father, named Gee and his 11 year old daughter, Emilie out for some father-daughter time. They were very friendly and insisted that I stay rather than find a place to pitch my tent. We sat around the fire and Gee gave me some noodle soup and coffee--the be first warm things I had had in several days. Emilie and I became very good friends and talked about all sorts of stuff. At one point, when Gee went to get water from the stream she confided in me that she had been worried about how they were going to pass the time once they had camped. She was very glad that I was there to relieve the boredom. Gee was born in Vilnius, Lithuania and was brought up in the former USSR. He now works as an action sequence choreographer for movies and did work on Prince Caspian as well as a TV show called Ripper Street. We slept well and I was very sad to see my friends go in the morning. They also had a dog named Biscuit.

The next day, Monday, was saint Patrick's day! I celebrated by walking for a change. Although I was determined to take it easy. The day before, even though I had tried to go easy, I had hiked 27 miles! So Monday I intentionally sat around until 10. I was also almost out of food, but planned to hit the town of Laragh at noon--Gee told me that there was a general store there. Before Laragh is some of most beautiful scenery on the entire walk. This is a place called Glendaloch which means "Valley of two lakes." Its like the Irish Yosemite. Being Saint Patrick's day it was overrun with people and I was quite self-conscious of the fact that I hadn't showered in four days as I made my way through the crowds. In Glendaloch there is an old graveyard, tower and church which were built by one Saint Kevin. They are about a thousand years old and in very good shape for their age. You can see some pictures on the other page. Legend has it that Saint Kevin was a particularly good looking priest and had all the women chasing after him. But he, like all priests, had taken a vow of celibacy and would have nothing of it. At one point, beset by a woman named Kathleen, he ripped of his clothes and lept into a bed of stinging nettles. This sufficiently cured him of any sinful thoughts. Inevitably--it is said--Kathleen cornered Kevin at the top of the cliffs overlooking the valley. Because she would not stop her advances he hurled her to her death in the lake below.

Soon after Glendaloch I reached the next shelter which was only about 8 miles from the last but I decided to stay for the night. There was a group from Dublin up for the day and they already had a fire going. They invited me to to sit with them and soon I was drinking wine and eating sausages with the rest. It was a perfectly lovely way to spend Saint Patty's day evening. At about 5:30 they left and I had the whole mountainside to myself. I could see Glendaloch far down the valley to my right, and to my left were forests. It was perfectly silent and dark except for the crackling of the fire and the little hisses from the light rain.

I have had some truly memorable experiences on this trip so far and have met some wonderful people. But two moments stick in my mind: walking across the moon-lit moor in the wee hours of the morning, and sitting in the rain at my campfire atop an Irish mountain at night.

The Rest of Hadrian's Wall

Within twenty minutes of walking on Tuesday the scenery changed. As I crested a hill it changed from small fields and cottages to huge rolling hills, crags, and moorland. I was in Northumberland.

Soon I reached Thirwall Castle which, although not much more than a few ruined walls, was a charming place. Next door was a farmhouse with a farmer urinating in the backyard. He was unaware of his spectator. The stone over the lintel said "1669".

Soon after this I reached Walton Quarry which is now a pond. It was from here that the legions quarried much of the stone used in the construction of the wall. I took the wrong way round the pond and was just finding my way again when I ran into an old Northumbrian man and his dog out for a morning stroll. He told me that it was a "corker" of a morning. I agreed.

Soon after this I began to see the wall in all of its glory. At times it was higher than my head. Several miles after this I reached the town of Once-Brewed which is not more than three or four buildings.

Once-Brewed allegedly got its name name when a famous General came to the town and ordered a beer. It was so bad that he sent back to be brewed again.

Despite his reputation I decided to order a pint of the local brew at Twice-Brewed Inn. It was quite good.

Next door is Once-Brewed Hostel, one of the oldest hostels in the YHA. It is also the hostel where the covenant high school students stay on their way to Scotland. So I had seen this part of the wall before. It was nostalgic. I can see why Mr. B and Han the Man chose this part of the wall to show its--it is the grandest. But for the same reason it is the most touristy, and for the first time I saw other walkers. But they were all day hikers of the asian-with-expensive-electronic-equipment-variety. I soon left then behind.

I ate lunch at the highest point on the wall which was truly a beautiful sight. To the north was the entire expanse of Northumberland National park, huge clumps of pine trees are the forest reserve. Behind me, to the west, is Cumbria, where I came from and the southwest is the Lake District.

A little before 4 PM I once again came across civilization. Housteds, although not quite touristed as Vindolanda, is the best preserved fort on the wall. On this beautiful day there were a good few people wandering the ruins.

I dropped down into the visitors centre hoping to fill my water bottle and feel into conversation with a nice old chap named Roger. He was from Newcastle but was showing his North Carolinan nephew around.

I also met a family from Kennewick Washington! Boy were they surprised to see me.

After chatting for a while I set off again, now hoping to find a nice place to camp. Over the next few hours I descended steadily from the crags into lower lands and a bit more civilization. I set up camp on the ruins of an old Roman mile castle. Pretty cool huh? I went to sleep at 7 PM.

By two AM I was awake and ready to go. There isn't much to do besides sleep and walk.

So I packed up and was walking by 2:30. Of course it was pitch black and I had a bit of difficulty finding my way but I went slowly. It was below freezing and completely gorgeous. Down in the valleys there was fog with only the occasional tree poking through. But up where I was it was perfectly still and clear with the stars shining bright and the moon s shining like the sun. I kept stopping just to glory in it. But then I had to start walking again because it was freezing.

Sarah, thank you for the buff. I've used it not only as a head wrap but also as a hat and a face covering.

At one point I disturbed a herd of about 20 cattle. I didn't see them until I was right on top of them. They might have been scared but I was terrified at the sight of 20 lowing black shaped jumping up and running away.

So I continued to walk in the dark; hour after hour, mile after mile. The moon set and an hour later the sun rose. Slowly the countryside began to wake up. At this point the the trail started to follow the road and it was quite boring. By 10 I had been walking for 7.5 hours and I was starving. I didn't have anything to eat except for homemade cliff bars and kiwis. Nothing was open. At one point I tried to detour to the town of Corbridge, but I turned around when it was apparent that it was too far. So I ate my last kiwi, tightened my belt, and headed on. Finally, at 12,  reached the town of Heddon-on-the-wall. I had walked about 20 miles. After stuffing my face with pita bread from the corner store I headed on to the last 15 miles I'd the walk. Soon I was in the suburbs of Newcastle. By four o'clock I only had 6 miles to go, but I couldn't take another step. I caught a bus to my hostel and checked in a day early. I had backpacked 32 miles in 14 hours. I spent the rest if the day typing up this report only to loose it. :P

On Thursday I slept in, made myself fried eggs and toast and walked the leisurely last 6 miles to Wallsend. After tooling around the remains of the Roman fort there I caught the metro back to the city center and explored the city. Then I stocked up on food from the local grocery store. Next time I'm not gonna be forced to buy food at expensive pubs.

Day 1 on Hadrian's Wall

Hi there! First, I would like to apologize for not posting sooner. I typed three days worth of notes up (on my phone) and then it froze. So this is try 2.0 and I'm trying to not be frustrated and say too little. Also, forgive the typos and frequent switching between past and present case. Lastly, I'm including only a few pictures at the end because pics are hard to neegotiate on the mobile app.

It was a gorgeous morning when I woke in Carlisle at 6:30. I jumped out of bed and went into the town hoping to find some breakfast and begin walking the wall. But I guess these people like to sleep in because nothing was open. I wandered aimlessly looking into shop windows until I reached Carlisle cathedral. I went in. I've seen grander, but Carlisle was quaint, well-kept, and 1000 years old. And I had it all to myself.

After finally finding breakfast I went to Sainsbury's (like Wal-Mart) and bought kiwis, carrots, bananas, and three rolls for just 2.5 pounds! This is a country where a chip of coffee it's three pounds. Looking back I should have bought more food when I had the chance.

I then began the walk! Hadrian's wall was commissioned by emperor hadrian in AD122 and took ten years to complete. It ran 73 miles across England from Carlisle to Newcastle. Today the trail is 85 miles long and encompasses the two cities. I cut off 15 miles by starting at Carlisle instead of the coast. Not much if the wall remains for the first 20 miles. I walked for many pleasant hours through pastures, down lanes and over bridges. Even through people's yards! But I hardly met a soul. I did, however, meet many sheep. This goaded me into inventing many foolish puns: "I should kidnap ewe and start the Hadrian's Whool company." But such jokes made me feel sheepish and I hurried on to the next stile or whicket gate. Its lambing season. Baby sheep are cute. Shout out to Amy. You'll never guess what I yelled every time I saw a new flock.

My guidebook says that if March ever had a week of nice weather it would be the best month to walk the wall. Well I got that perfect week. As a result there aren't any other trekkers. I have it to myself. The locals say that this time last year there was a foot and a half of snow. But I've been hiking without my shirt on.

My walking poles have already proved themselves to be invaluable. I've also devised a way of tying my camera to the front if my pack for easy access. The best camera is the next that You have ready.

I need to average 16 miles a day to complete the wall in the time that I have allotted. My hope was to camp outside But before I knew it I was in the town of Greenhead. I had walked 21 miles and was pretty tired. So I took a bed in the completely empty 40 bed hostel. I chatted for a while with a very friendly couple in the town of Banks and they filled my water bottles.

Greenhead hostel was cool because it was in a converted church. I had a good pint of beer at the only pub and had a meal. Food was so pricy which is why I wished I'd stocked up at sainsbury's. I went to bed and slept for 11 hours.

The Journey to Hadrian's Wall

Someone great (whose name I cannot at the moment remember) once said in one of his books (the title of which escapes me at the moment), that "all good things come to those who wait." This truism was brought home to me in spades today.

I arrived at the airport in plenty of time for my flight on Lufthansa airlines (one of the best airlines I have ever flown with), and was informed by the man at the check-in desk that they would be calling for volunteers to go tomorrow because the flight was overbooked. "Will there be a voucher?" I inquired.

"Yes," he replied, "a voucher for $800 will be given to you upon your arrival at your destination."

"$800? Is that real hard cash that I can buy food with or pay to go to the zoo with?"

"If you want, sir, they can give you eight $100 bills."

I had a tent and a sleeping bag so I volunteered. But, alas, many other people apparently also thought that a daily wage of $800 was to be coveted, because the supervisor announced that they would be drawing tickets for those who would stay. After about an hour of waiting (in which my stomach ulser from India reared its ugly head) the flight desk person called a list of names. Mine was the last to be called. "Mr. *****, I am 99% sure that you will be going tomorrow, however yours was the last name drawn and there is a slight chance that another passenger will not show up so would you kindly wait to the side until we have boarded?"

Kindly, I waited.

It is an odd feeling, not knowing if in 15 minutes you will be headed to Europe or to the McDonald's in the food court.

I watched the desk people have a lengthy whispered conversation. I even heard "Mr. *****" bandied around with a lot of German words. Finally I was called to the desk.

"Am I going to Europe today?"

"Yes, Mr. *****, but in a little better class than you had expected."

And here I am. $800 would have been nice, but a three-course meal with real silverware, unlimited Jack Daniel's, a chair that turns into a bed, and Anthony Dvorak through noise-cancelling sennheisers is pretty good too. And all I had to do was wait a little.

I don't have any clue how to use any if this stuff though. I'm taking all my cues from the rich German businessman beside me. I mirror his every action. "Whoa! That's where the tray comes from! What? I have my own toothbrush in this little compartment here? The lady is taking my jacked and hanging it up? It's a crumpled up Patagonia backpacking jacket for crying out loud." Pretty fun. Oh and dad, Lufthansa's special wine of the month is the Columbia Crest Two Vines Shiraz. They have good taste.

I had a layover in Frankfurt and then flew to London. After a very friendly (and lengthy) conversation with the border official I exited the airport and had very little trouble finding the Underground. I too the Picadilly line to Green Park and transferred to the Victoria line. I got off at Euston, got my train ticket and now I am speeding across beautiful english countryside. It is absolute corner of a day. And everything has gone so smoothly! Except that I had to pay 30p to go to the bathroom.

At 7:15 I arrived in Carlisle. The streets were dark and mostly empty. It took me the longest time to find the street signs but eventually, after walking a mile in the wrong direction, I found Carlisle city hostel. Time to sleep.

Manipur India in Pictures

Several months ago I enjoyed the great privilege of teaching ESL to a school of 2500 children in the town of Lamka, in Manipur, India. Lamka is in the southern end of the Churachandpur valley—surrounded on three sides by luscious tropical hills.

Lamka, as seen from the village of Songpi

 

Lamka is only a generation old: its inhabitants have only recently arrived from far more remote hill villages. Most of them hail from the Paite tribe. They come in search of opportunity and education. They want a life filled with something more than making charcoal or slash-and-burn farming on steep hillsides. In Lamka they can practice their English, learn computer skills, and have at least a semblance of healthcare. 95% speak tribal dialects (like Paite) rather than Hindi and are of Mongol descent (they look more like the Chinese than an Indian that you would encounter in Delhi)

 

 

 

 

 

Lamka is still very remote. Manipur is connected to the rest of India by one road (via Gwuahati, Assam) which is frequently impassable due to landslides. The nearest airport is in Imphal, and boasts two flights a day to Delhi.

With air travel and the internet, Lamka is by no means cut off from the rest of the world, but its more recent modernization has created a wonderful blend of old and new. Many ancient traditions exist alongside modern ones. Weddings are day-long events involving the exchanging of many gifts of cloth and livestock. The people sing a lilting chant accompanied by a drum—but now they record their songs in studios. They cook their traditional tribal food, and weave all of their traditional cloth by hand

  

 

 

As the capital city, Imphal has regular electricity, but Lamka often goes three days without power due to rationing. People get up at 4:30 and are fast asleep by 8 PM.

One night, after I had been in Lanka for several weeks, I stayed out with a friend until 9:30. When I got back to the compound where I was staying I found that the gates were locked and everyone was asleep.

"No problem," I thought, "I'll find a way in." But after circling the entire building several times and contemplating breaking the glass in my bedroom window, I had to admit that I was locked out in India. I had a cell phone but I was too embarrassed to wake anyone up--here I was, the only foreigner in a town of two hundred thousand, and I had gone and stayed out until 9:30. I had sullied the reputation of all western culture.

I climbed back over the wall meandered down the dark street. Aimlessly I started trying car doors and eventually I found a Bolero that was unlocked. It was a terrible night. A restless mosquito was camped out in the front seat and at about 3 am I gave up. I got out and roamed the streets until the compound was unlocked and I could slip in again, unnoticed.

I never told my hosts. We all would have been embarrassed. And I didn’t want to do anything to shame my hosts who were the picture of hospitality. I was shown every kindness and honor—far more than I deserved. The Paite are a very hospitable people. My students were receptive and cheerful and I spent many hours outside of school learning how to play football and teaching them how to play the guitar. The elders were very kind also. Once I was invited to a wedding to find that I was given the seat of honor on a dais behind the bride and groom. Another time I appeared on TV with a dignitary. I did nothing to deserve these honors.

 

Perhaps my most memorable experience was a six-hour drive in a jeep through the jungle over the worst stretch of road imaginable to a tiny village named Tuima, on the boarder of Myanmar. As I stepped from the Jeep I was greeted with many prolonged stares. Then one man walked up to me and spoke to one of my companions: “He wonders if he might touch your ear?” And so there I stood, as people grabbed my ears and pulled my hair. I was the first Caucasian in Tuima.

Before I left Tuima the people had me plant a mango seed so that they would have a tree to commemorate my visit. It is one of my greatest desires to return and eat a mango from that tree.

 

Teaching was strenuous but rewarding. My class size would range from 52 to 98 eight to fourteen-year-olds who spoke only broken English. All to frequently bedlam reigned. But I quickly grew to respect them and they me. To them I am known as “Sir Nate” and all of them are “my kids.”

The Paite of Lamka are industrious, cheerful and generous despite the fact that they have very little. They have certainly received the short end of the stick when it comes government spending, but the lack of industrialization, the remoteness of the town and most of all the friendliness of the people makes Lamka a unique, beautiful and memorable place to visit.