Here and There

We’re in transit, from here to there, and this, a state I quite enjoy: Not yet arriving. No longer in my old family home and a long way away from my current home. There’s distance, countries, a nice selection of languages in between. Bliss! Yesterday afternoon, we arrived in Dover in a strange kind of

Dover, once again

Just quickly checking in before heading off again. I’m on route to Germany, so here comes my traditional image of the port of Dover as I am leaving the last little bit of English coast behind me. I can’t get enough of this view. Always different, always familiar, always interesting. Also, always promising… The grass

P-i-t-t-o-r-e-s-k

Leaving Germany. Yet again. I’m developing a habit of leaving, of ping-ponging to and fro, between here and there and it’s a real shame I’m not a pigeon. My environmental footprint would be considerably smaller! When it comes to looking after my dad (and my mum), miles multiply with unfathomable ease. There are the planned

Leaving Dover in three pictures

Leaving Dover in three pictures… here’s my selection. First and foremost: I never tire of this. Seeing the White Cliffs of Dover in a different shade of chalk every time, depending on the light. Who would have thought that the finely grated limestone made of the remains of coccoliths could look so beautiful? My second

Dover

We’ve arrived in Dover and the long drive does seem like a very familiar routine by now. There are a few personal marker points along the route from Central Scotland to the south of England – and perhaps not the ones you may expect. Somehow, there’s this stretch in Cambridgeshire, where we always see red

Birders’ Bliss

I love ferry crossings. Yes, there’s the joy of the open sea. Of watching waves. Of leaving and arriving. Of here and there, and my hair being windswept into an abstract, avantgarde sculpture while I’m walking on deck leaning into the breeze. And then, there’s also the peoplewatching. More. The listening in on conversations. It

Everything

Yesterday, I wrote a little about our lengthy wait in the Port of Dover. Stuck between lorries, not the most scenic of places. Mind you, we had lots of nice conversations with Romanian and Bulgarian lorry drivers. Somehow, we ended up exchanging recipes. All the marvellous things one can do with potatoes… You’d think that

April Fools’

It feels like a joke, albeit not a very good one. We’re queuing in Dover. Again. Bumper on bumper, surrounded by lorries, and we don’t move an inch. There will be snails outside, seeing this as yet another opportunity at winning a race. Any race. And perhaps, the verges are full of small souls, creepy

Driving into spring

Driving a good five hundred miles from Central Scotland to Dover has been quite an interesting journey through the season. Every hour, we got a little further into spring. We started our journey this morning on the outskirts of Glasgow with virtually no leaves on the trees and wrapped up in our winter jackets. A

Serenity

Here’s a thing I learned about the seagulls in Dover: They are far worse than the ones we get at home. Our meek Scottish Central Belt hooligans sound like mere sparrows, compared to their rough and ready South of England cousins. Yesterday afternoon, I had already noticed that the seagulls in and above the streets