Back in York at last! It feels good!

Last term was the best yet, but stupidly I put working on the back burner in favour of drinking and messing around. This term, and this year, call for a change I think.

So far so good. Healthy eating, healthy living and all that, but isn’t that how it always starts, only to be replaced by old ways a mere few weeks later?

I’m not really sure how this term will be able to improve on last, but after looking at my last post, whittering on about last year being the best ever, so far this year at university has been amazing, and every so often the thought that I’m almost halfway through my course creeps into my mind, and it scares me. The thought of leaving somewhere that’s come to define home for me, that’s provided me with so many amazing times leaves me with a horrible feeling. But alas, I’m not quite halfway through, so I’m still in the first half!

This term though…yeah. I seriously need to get a grip. It’s costing me a fortune, and all I have to show for it is a damaged liver. It’s time to get my arse in gear and actually do some serious work without compromising too much on the social side of stuff. Which means only two things. Wake up earlier, and stop procrastinating! They’re the two resolutions I HAVE to stick to this year.

But last term, although I didn’t learn masses course-wise, personally I’ve learned so many lessons that a lot of people probably learned many years ago. Lessons that enable you appreciate things close by, without needing the endless searching and long-haul flights to find. Happiness can be found at home as well as in the exotic places I used to long to go to. It’s clear to me now that I was only looking to go to these places and do these things because I’d never really felt truly content at home. I always wanted something more, and these were things that appeared to hold the contentedness I was looking for. But now, unexpectedly, I’ve found contentedness at home and the burning desire to do these other things has in a sense, gone.

Obviously, I still want to do these things. I still want all of these experiences, but now, none of it seems so urgent. I no longer feel like I’m wasting time be being at home as being at home , here, is where I feel most content, and at the moment, I can’t thing of anywhere else I’d rather be.

Well here I am, at the end of my first year at university!

I arrived last October, not knowing what to expect. I wasn’t a confident person to say the least. I had no self-esteem, and was worried about how easy it would be for me to make new friends and be myself.

Through the year I’ve gone through times when I’ve loved the place, to times when I’ve just wanted to run away because of the stress of the work that I was being buried under.

Now in retrospect, I can see that this has been one of, if not the, best year of my life. I’ve been climbing outdors for the first time, completed a winter skills course, hitch hiked to Morocco, wild camped in Glencoe, slept on the streets in Spain, conversed with French people: in French, camel trecked in the Sahare, bargained with a Berber, got lost in Marrakech, was awe stuck by the Atlas Mountains,  watched loads of fantastic films, tried ju jitsu, became a gear sec of the Mountain Walking club, visited museums, came across masses of great music, learned to cook, iron, wash my clothes and manage my time, started running, developed a passion for cycle touring,  I’ve learned how to live away from home. I’ve learned how to enjoy learning. And most importantly, I’ve had the privelege to meet some of the greatest people I’ve ever had the fortune to meet. I’ve been given so many memories, and had such a great time, and have made friendships that I know will last a life time.

Thinking about moving halls gives me so many mixed feelings. It feels like this has been a mini-era. It’s gone so fast. Too fast.  I don’t want this year to end, yet I want to have a rest. Yesterday, the best friend I’ve ever had went back to America and I’m nervous about what next year will be like without him. I’ll be moving into a house with two other climbers, which is bound to be fun, but I feel like I’ve not exhausted halls yet. It feels like I’ve only just arrived, and now I have to leave.

Summer holds a short cycle tour and some work and money saving. Hopefully a couple of weekend city breaks and plenty of climbing will be thrown in too.

Next year I plan to make the best year yet, but when I think about it, it’s going to be hard to improve on this year. The aims are to meet more people, to start learning a foreign language, see new places, improve my climbing considerably, study hard: play harder, learn a martial art, meet more people, then some more people, go white water kayaking, learn some sailing, meet more people, broaden my horizons, learn how to speak to strangers, become more confident and meet more people…

It hurts me to break the news that my trusty training bike has now passed away. It hadn’t been sounding too healthy for a few weeks, but a couple of days ago the front wheel decided to just….fall off….bending the forks in the process. In other words, its a rightoff.  =(

I’ll take the stand and bottle holder off, and then let the porters recycle it, or whatever they do in situations like these.

Now I’m stuck for what to do when it comes to training. Running may be the only way to keep up my fitness until I go home in three weeks time, but it’s hardly the right sort of training for a cycle tour! Oh well, c’est la vie.

Over the weekend, I decided to go on a bit of a last minute trip up to Scotland for some backpacking and wild camping. The jouney up there was a long one, but the views of the silhouetes over Loch Lomand at 11:30pm were amazing! (the picture doesn’t do it any amount of justice at all)

We parked the car at around 1am, and started the walk to find somewhere to camp. The only suitable place was right next to the river, but as soon as the tents were out of the bag, a plague of Midges arrived and began their attack. I’ve never seen anything like it! I’m itching just thinking about them! Millions, no, billions of them! Luckily, the morning view and perfect weather the next day made it well worth the pain.

Over the day, we walked up two munroes, which I think were called Stob a Choire Odhair – 945m and
Sgor nam Fiannaidh – 967m, but don’t quote me on that! I’d never been Summer walking in Scotland before, so the views from the top were a complete suprise. You just don’t realise how vast the ranges are in Scotland until you’re up therewith peaks far as the eye can see in all directions.

(It’s not a dodgy photo, that’s snow along the bottom! =P )

The downhill stretch was a prolonged killer, and by the end of the day, my neck and right arm were completely scorched. We decided against wild camping where we were. The weather was so good, we headed a bit further North to Glencoe, and the following morning, the view wasjust a tad special!

150m up, my ankle started to throb with pain, and would hardly hold my weight. An old injury coming back. I annoyingly turned around and painfully headed back toward the road. I knew that if I reached the top, I’d never get down, as I’d been told the descent was much steeper than the previous days.

The ridge that everyone else crossed is supposedly one of the most exposed in Britain and looks totally immense on the photos and hugely exposed. I only wish I could have been there!

In the meantime, I resorted to sitting outside the pub with an awesome bowl of Leek and Potato soup. The first, and extremely welcome, hot meal of the weekend!

When everyone returned, after a couple of hours rest we set off on the 7 hour drive home only for the car to break down 20 minutes before we reached our destination! Nooo! All was soScotland,

 Once again I’m back at university: this time after five weeks of relaxation. Well, relaxation seems too strong a word really. Especially taking into account that three of those five weeks were spent hitchhiking to, and traveling around Morocco.

In the end the hitchhike took us (thee of us) 21 lifts, or in timescales, one week. We traveled from London to Portsmouth, took the overnight ferry (only £19 with LD Lines!) to le Havre, and hitched Southward through Rennes, Bordeaux, San Sebastian, Vitoria, Madrid, Seville, and finally to Tarifa.

 

I have to say something about Tarifa though, as this is a town that didn’t even appear on my map! We were on our way to Algeciras when the Spanish surfer ‘dude’ who was giving us a lift told us that he can drop us off at Tarifa, where we could catch ‘cheap ferry: Spain to Tangier’. As soon as we arrived in the town, I knew that one day I would have to go back to spend some time there.

 

As soon as you arrive, it feels like you’re in Spain’s own Newquay. Surfers, windsurfers and power-kiters pack the beaches (this was in April, remember!), and in the town centre, there are surf shops, ‘kite lesson’ shops, and bohemian looking bars in all directions. And what’s more, it’s hardly been touched by the Brits! Maybe next summer…

 

When we arrived in Tangier, we weren’t too impressed. The conmen spotted some fresh meat- with their homes on their back- assuming these tramp-like figures, with no place to stay and no cash in their pockets could fork out some ridiculous amount of money so they could take us down the street to meet some friend or family member of theirs.

 

Luckily, we escaped unscaved, and discovered that once the backpacks were off, Morocco would be an easier place to deal with.

 

To be honest though, there’s very little to do in Tangier. There’s the obvious strolling around the Ville Nouvelle, having a butchers around the old city, and trying some local food, but other than that, we exhausted the options very quickly (although, the best Moroccan soup we had was in Tangier. It seems to be the only place that uses eggs as an ingredient: that must be what made the difference!).

 

After a couple of days, we took a 10 hour bus ride down to Fes and stayed in the YHA’s Hostel, which is an amazing retreat from the hustle, bustle, and bother you get when you step outside. The staff here were amazing. They arranged everything for us for the next leg of the trip to ensure we didn’t fall victim to any conmen. Breakfast was included in the reasonable price, and the closed-off courtyard was fantastic.

 

Again though, Fes didn’t seem to provide us with much to do, although seeing the Sun set over the Medina was a great experience. After another couple of days, we took a rickety bus through the Middle Atlas to Rissani where we had an overnight camel trek into the fringes of the Sahara booked. This was by far the highlight of the trip.

 

Surprisingly, the Sahara is exactly as it appears in the movies and documentaries! Rolling, red dunes as far as the eye can see, small tufts of grass sporadically and very sparingly scattered around: and camels. My camel- Jimi Hendrix was his name- was a great guy, and he treated me well, and the trek was amazing. Something I will never forget.

 

Our local guides- actually from the desert- were great hosts who made the best tea I’ve ever tasted, and a served up a great tagine before lighting a campfire which we sat around while they played some local songs on drums they’d brought along.

 

At around midnight we climbed the highest dune in the area. We reached the top once, but climbed the damn thing at least 8 times. 1 step up, 25 steps down. When we eventually reached the top our guides taught us how to make different patterns in the sand- from tyre tracks, to pictures of camels- before we all raced down the side of the dune like Ferrari Enzo’s on a good day. I counted four shooting stars that night.

 

In the morning we made our way back to the town, squashed into the back of a converted Fiesta Van, away from the unbearable heat of the desert so that we could catch yet another bus, this time to the Todra Gauge. This was a 7 or so hour bus ride into, and through, the High Atlas which look like a picture pulled from a Himalayan guidebook.

 

The gauge is a 300ft high ravine which fortunately keeps out some of the day’s heat. It’s an awesome place to visit, but somewhat spoiled by local traders trying to sell everything from carpets to necklaces. I was almost persuaded to swap my phone for two rugs. Almost.

 

We stayed at a great campsite half an hour walk down the road, where we slept and sweated for three nights before catching a Berber taxi (an open top truck. It’s your job to hold on for dear life while trying to avoid the cow pat spread over the floor), to the nearest bus station to catch a ride to Marrakech.

 

After another 10 hours on a seat that may as well have been made of concrete, we arrived. There were people everywhere, traffic whizzing around and the sun blisteringly hot, as usual (at least it wasn’t snowing like it was in Northern Spain!). Eventually, we found a pretty nice hostel (El Abi I think it was called), which was cheap and shaded from the Sun.

 

Marrakech as a city is very nice, but the only thing that truly separates it from other Moroccan cities is the ‘Big Square’. This is where all the street entertainers gather at night. Story tellers, snake charmers, comedians, and clowns. Along with a host of other locals who’re clearly trying to make some money any way they can, which unfairly makes you wary of everyone, so you’re not fully able to enjoy and appreciate where you are.

 

The atmosphere in the Big Square is fantastic though. But be warned, the food in the open food market here is expensive for the size of the portions. I would recommend going here for one day to experience the eccentric waiters, but spend other days trying out different restaurants, most of which make great food.

 

After about 6 nights in Morocco, 2 of which were spent sleeping on the roof of our hostel: an awesome experience, apart from the difficulty of trying to escape the heat of the midday sun (which lasts from about 10am until 4pm). This is where I saw the biggest shooting star I’ve ever seen! It trailed across the entire sky before I even realised what it was!

 

On our last day in Marrakech, I tried to charge my phone in the hostel, but 15 minutes later, it was gone. Note to self. Don’t leave your phone unattended. Ever. Even a crack squad consisting of Poirot, Morse, Wexford and Frost couldn’t have solved that one.

 

All in all though, it was a great trip. I saw so many things, and came away with masses of stories to tell. Morocco isn’t the most fun packed place in the world, and it’s not on the top of my list for places I’m desperate to return to, but it’s great to say that I’ve actually been, and the smells, sights and sounds of Arabic culture have given me hundreds of memories to share with others, as soon as they show any interest in wanting to hear them!

 

Next Sunday, I start my charity Hitch to Morocco!  The bus to London is booked, and the Ferry tickets to France bought, the sponsorship money has almost been raised and all that’s really left to do is pack, make some hitch signs, and get started!

It should be a great trip. It seems like so long since I was last out of the country (about 6 months!), and last time I was in Spain over Easter it was awesome, so I’m hoping for the same this year.

I’ve no idea what to expect from Morocco….people say there’s a lot of touting and shouting going on, but I’m skeptical as to whether it can be worse than it was in Thailand or Cambodia…? Hopefully the prices are pretty low so I can bring home some souvenirs, but the main point of the trip is raising money for Link Community Development, and travelling on a shoestring!

One thing I’m desperate to do when I’m there though, is to camp out in the Sahara under the stars. It’s been a long time dream of mine, and this will be the first opportunity for it to come true!

Wish me luck!

In January I did my Winter Skills Course, which was absolutely amazing! It was my first time in the Highlands, and I can’t wait to go back- especially during winter!

We spent quite a while learning to self-arrest, which is amazing! Throwing yourself from the side of a mountain isn’t the most natural feeling, but stopping yourself with an ice axe feels great! :p

On the second day of the weekend, we climbed Stob Ban. From ground level, it didn’t look too appealing, thanks to lack of low snow, but once re reached around 700m, it was like stepping into a different world! The images from Vertical Limit seemed to be right in front of me!

I’ve been climbing for the past three days now, and today, after just one route, I’ve got to admit, my arms have never been in so much discomfort in their lives. It felt as though the muscles had turned to drawing pins that were grinding against the skin, nerves and bones around my elbows.

Not surprisingly, I chose to stop, and go home. I did do quite a bit of bouldering routes that I was pleased with (indoor), and some other top rope routes that I hadn’t tried before, so there’s more thing to tick off the list. But I will never go climbing so much in a matter of a few days until I’m A LOT more experienced.