Tag Archives: weather

The Picturesque Pyrenees

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There is something sublime about walking in the mountains.

Once you get up there, that is.

It was a long, hot ascent to the summit. The summer heat made our clothes stick to us as we stumbled up the winding fir tree forest path. The unforgiving ascent seemed endless.

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At one point, the path disappeared and we were launched into ferns.

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Another path had eroded partly off the mountain, and we had to lean into it to avoid sliding off.

But it was all worth it when we spotted a Griffin vulture soar out of the clouds, low above us. It flew serenely on the thermals, surveying us scrambling about on the peak.

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A brightly coloured patchwork of alpine flowers decorated the ground and the mountains in the distance were blue and green. You felt like all the city stress was slipping away down the slopes as you inhaled the fresh air and became absorbed in sounds of nature.

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One day we had a wild swim. The water was not particularly cold. The lake was encircled by pine trees and reflected the blue sky like a mirror. When we stood on the bottom, little fish came and nibbled at the dead skin on our feet. A complimentary pedicure.

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We walked away from the heat of the valley and up into the Pyrenees over two days, each route lasting around 7 hours. We walked slowly on GR tracks – French for big walk, taking plenty of photographs of the breathtaking scenery. We were staying near the picturesque French village of Seix, where we saw an impressive firework and kayak flare display for their festival.

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When we got down, hot, sticky and weary, we enjoyed tasty French food, full of flavour. Even their tinned beans were perfectly edible.

Our Air B’n’B host had friends round one night. They shared pineapple-infused rum with us from La Reunion, an island that is a French colony, and invited us to go on a traditional morning walk up a mountain with them. They were meeting the Spanish at 9am at the summit border. The French were bringing cheese and the Spanish were bringing wine!

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September 4, 2018 · 2:57 am

A Walk in the Peak District

I am lucky to live on the edge of some stunningly scenic countryside. Here are some pictures from a walk I did on the way back from a village open-air swimming pool.

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(c) literarylydi

Hand-gliders jump off the top of the hill above.

 

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(c) literarylydi

There was a lot of greenery after a thunderstorm and rain the day before:

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(c) literarylydi

A scenic spot called Burbage. On top of the hill (below) are the remains of an Iron Age fort.

 

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(c) literarylydi

The weather was perfect, not a cloud in sight and warm, a tropical 24 degrees. All bipeds have right of way in Derbyshire, with sheep at the top of the list. They are also allowed to stay in the middle of the road for as long as they so choose and frequently abuse that privilege.

All bipeds and bikes have right of way in Derbyshire, with sheep at the top of the list.

(c) literarylydi

(c)literarylydi

(c)literarylydi

I tried to take pictures of the butterflies that stopped in front of me but they flew off as soon as my shadow was over them. This one is roadkill, a beautiful insect killed by big ugly polluting metal cans zooming past and ruining the country idyll.

 

 

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July 23, 2014 · 8:45 pm

What’s hot – thermals and my blog on its anniversary!

Hello and welcome on a rainy dark cold English winter evening.

First of all I just want to thank you for checking out my blog over the last year. In 2013 I was unhappily unemployed and decided something needed to change. With qualifications and experience but fighting just to get an interview I began blogging and found a virtual family. Thank you to all those who read, commented, and supported me through that tough time and gave me the strength to keep going.

Thinking of ways I could help readers in my situation gave me something to do other than the endless repetitive task of filling out applications mixed in with a YouTube workout or two. I suddenly had an exciting project to do that stimulated my neurons far more than the endless repetition of personal details.

A year on I yet again face an uncertain future. But either way I will have gained more experience to help me stand out.

So what have I learnt during my year of blogging?

Rose Heart (4)1. Love and relationship stories are the most popular. My highest spike in viewings was the story of my first date. There are some highly entertaining dating blogs out there.

2. To accept an award you are expected to write endless drivel about yourself. I have only done this once, although I have appreciated the nominations.

3. The blog world is a real community – there are always friendly people that have been through exactly what you have and can sympathise. I found this especially helpful during times of financial hardship and struggling to get work. Use this support network.

4. It is a great way to help others. My most popular article remains Pros and Cons of Unemployment. I couldn’t find any articles on positives of unemployment. In this dire situation I thought about the British idiom “every cloud has a silver lining” and realised that if I could focus on this I would be able to cope with the situation much better. I began feeling happier, more confident and began interviews by following my own advice (for once). 

5. Blogging is a great tool to test creative projects – sharing photographs, paintings, cartoons and so on.

international-students1_10892518_std_16. I have been surprised at how international it is – my blog has been viewed in an incredible 87 countries and counting.

7. There is such a great variety out there. Just search for the topic you want to read and it’s all free.

And finally –

I have just realised how fantastic these are. Most people know that wearing layers keeps you warmer because they trap heat. The most important layer is the one next to your skin. Then the second one insulates and is also close to the body to minimise air gaps. You can read more about this technique here.

The lower the rating, the warmer it is! By silk I assume this means thick woven fabric…

Everyone raised their eyebrows and told me they were for the elderly and the elderly alone. When I looked on the thermals section of a clothing company the metrics did show that all comments were from the over 50s. But when thinking about saving money why not remember the wisdom of previous generations. Instead of turning up the heating, buy a few undergarments.

It cost me about £12 for the shirt and for the leggings but it’s a one-off purchase. You will get a lot more off your heating bill than that. I’m currently wearing thermal leggings with trousers over the top, thermal and standard long-sleeved shirts and an acrylic jersey. I have worn them all day. I don’t need an expensive wool one with all these layers. I find it itchy anyway.

As you have clothes over them, it doesn’t matter what they look like and you don’t have to admit to wearing them. But actually there are some good looking ones now – my shirt has dark blue and white stripes and being a scoop neck I can wear it under other tops without it showing. The leggings I’m wearing at the moment are more effective at retaining heat. They are mostly acrylic and their snug but comfortable fitting means there are no air gaps.

So go on, stay warm for less this winter.

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Filed under Advice, Jobhunting, Life of Lydia, Work

The Naked Rambler Revealed

Yesterday I watched a BBC documentary on Peter Gough’s latest activism. Released from HMP Edinburgh, he was walking over 425 miles to Eastleigh, Southampton, once again trying to persuade us that nudity equals freedom.

A decade of intolerance and imprisonment has not deterred Peter. He even had to be put in solitary confinement for his own safety. People seemed to find him hilarious, as I did or offensive, with one Scotsman saying it was inappropriate given the Jimmy Savile enquiry. I don’t really see the link myself. If people find it offensive why don’t they look away, rather than wasting taxpayers’ money reporting him to the police. Time and time again he was arrested and then released.

What is so awful about being in our natural state anyway? If anyone has the balls to do it in public and in British temperatures I say why not. He even walked in the snow without getting hypothermia.

The real reason the public find Peter so offensive is because he is being “deviant” – that is, subverting societal norms.

You could see he was on a collision course for disaster when he walked towards a primary school at closing time. The cameraman was getting more and more agitated, warning him of impending police action but Peter kept insisting “my compass says this is South so I’m going South”. Sure enough he was arrested, with charges mysteriously dropped after months of custody. I suspect Peter’s fan club paid them off. One of them, Augustus,  joined him part of the way with an improvised loin cloth. It was like a bizarre version of the Emperor’s Clothes.

He hadn’t seen his children for seven years. Personally I’d be mortified if that was my father. It’s embarrassing enough when he wears his multicoloured “clown” pants. He says he’s showing his love of Fauvism but it offends my sense of taste. Peter’s mum couldn’t understand his “cause” and even Peter himself was rather muddled about it, merely repeating the words “democracy” and “freedom”. When he finally got down to Eastleigh he was given an Anti Social Behaviour Order again for going to the dentists naked. I had wondered why his teeth were so bad. He breached the ASBO twice and is currently serving a 16 month sentence.

MoS2 Template MasterIt was sad seeing the man he was before – an ex-marine and family man who took care of himself, to a nudist living on a family commune to now, almost the definition of a tramp with his scraggly wild beard and hair, his crooked teeth, a manic look and not an ounce of fat.

Apparently he was ordered to undergo psychiatric evaluation at a trial and no issues were found. His mental state was quite intriguing. Almost a thousand readers of an English newspaper agreed with a comment about him being mentally ill. The Scots seem more accepting however – Peter had no trouble on his latest stint there and comments on The Scotsman newspaper appeared largely supportive, with one reader daring him to do battle with the midges.

We can be naked at home, in changing rooms, in communal showers and even as a model in an art class but not anywhere else. It seems ridiculous that porn is accepted while naturism is seen as a cult. We’ve all seen it before, so what’s the big deal?

I do think it’s selfish to pursue the cause at the expense of seeing his children grow up. What do you think? Personally my only qualm is hygiene…

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Charity Aid still vital in Philippines

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After the United Kingdom, the United States and Canada my blog is most viewed in the Philippines.

I have donated to the Typhoon Haiyan fund before but recently I was able to contribute a little more. Thousands died and a staggering 11 million people were affected. The videos and photographs of the devastation were horrific.

Charities have helped 1.6 million so far but there is still a long road to recovery ahead. Of course the disaster also impacted on infrastructure – depriving millions of basic needs such as food and shelter. Some cities are still reliant on electricity from generators and many survivors are entirely dependent on aid.

Today I finally got round to it and gave £25. After Christmas and the holiday and with only a temporary job, I couldn’t afford to donate much but something is better than nothing. Just £25 can give water purification tablets to ten families for a month. I did this through The Disasters Emergency Committee website, a hub uniting all the major charities. The country remains crippled by foreign debt, with £8.8 billion to repay in 2014. So charities have a crucial role to play in helping the country back to its feet. Just a quarter of the $791 million (over £483 million) appealed for by the Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs to cover needs over 12 months has been donated.

So when you’re sitting cosily by the (fake/real) fire with your (fake/real) tree, or having that turkey curry buffet, or just enjoying the holiday, spare a thought for the millions reliant on charity to supply food, clean water and shelter. Help continues to be needed even though the bright lights of the media have since moved on.

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The journey to Istanbul and our First Night

I hadn’t even thought about the train journey. But it was just my luck that there were gale-force winds. When I got to the station many trains were cancelled or delayed.

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There were crowds of people staring at the boards in desperation, or anxiously chatting into their mobile phones. I assumed the worst, but scanning down I saw my train was at least running and only delayed by five minutes. I had set off at a perfectly respectable hour, 2pm. I even had time for a haircut and colour and had made the split decision to go brunette. I wasn’t sure of it, but the styling was good. By the time I got to London my train had been delayed by half an hour and my boyfriend had already had dinner.

When we got to the airport hotel I was suitably impressed; it was the sort that had Kettle Chips in the vending machine.

The next morning we were up at 7am which was easy enough. From there we drove to the cheap car park my boyfriend had booked online and then took a transfer bus the short distance to the airport. I hadn’t been to Gatwick before and was pleased with the variety of shops on offer. It wasn’t hard to choose where to have breakfast – Jamie Oliver had a restaurant there, which was a pleasant surprise. I expected only low-calorie options after his drive for healthy meals and so was astounded that a “full English” was on the menu. 019

After that I felt as heavy as my cabin bag, which luckily made it on to the plane with 0.2kg to spare for souvenirs on the way back.

We flew by Turkish Airlines and they were excellent, with complimentary Turkish Delight of course. I read my pocket guide book and phrase book and attempted to test my boyfriend, but he had no interest in it and said they’d speak English anyway. He was probably right but I wanted to make an effort. I then leafed through the book that had almost taken me over the 8kg limit: “Strolling Through Istanbul”, a fascinating guide book of the history and attractions of Istanbul. Unfortunately sometimes there was so much detail that I found myself reading the same paragraph multiple times. It all blurred into one literally as I found myself getting tired. 023 As we arrived four hours later, we flew low across the entire city. On emerging from the clouds we first passed long lines of hills illuminated purple in the sunset. Then as we got closer I caught glimpses of domes and minarets, even getting a picture of the Haggia Sophia (pronounced “Aya Sofya” in Turkish) and the suspension bridges criss-crossing the Bosphorous. It was magical.

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View of Haggia Sophia from the plane. Originally a church and built around 500AD, it rises majestically into the air. From the ground its minarets appear to touch the clouds.

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The Bosphorous

However we were brought sharply down to earth (and not just on the runway) when we tried to get out of the airport. It took us a while to find  the subway as there were not many signs until you had actually reached it. Then we assumed they would have ticket offices. No, there were only machines, and they didn’t take anything less than 10 Lira. This was a bit of a problem, we only had 100 Lira notes.

I sleepily suggested going back into the airport and buying something, at which my boyfriend pointed to the queue of disgruntled travellers waiting to get their bags through security. Oh of course. Well why didn’t we see if there were any shops in this large hall area then. We couldn’t see any nearby but I thought surely there would be some further along. Exasperated, we followed the sign for “buses”. This led to a car park with a couple of minivans parked up and guys sitting around smoking (almost everyone smokes in Istanbul).

So we headed back inside, with my boyfriend now thoroughly agitated and fed up. By this time we’d probably spent half an hour finding the place and wondering what to do, so my boyfriend finally decided to give my idea a chance and we went off in search of a shop. Sure enough, we found a “market shop” further down. We breathed a sigh of relief and bought refreshments. I got some sickly sweet cherry juice (I found most of their drinks are either too sweet or too bitter) and some watermelon chewing gum, what a novelty. We then spent some time trying to distinguish our route from the blurred map available and worked out that we’d need to buy a 3 Lira token for any number of stops in one direction. What a bargain compared to the tube in London!

My first impressions of Istanbul (formerly termed “Constantinople”) were that there were lots of mosques… 042

and stray cats… 039 It was heartbreaking seeing the poor mangy fluffy things scavenging in bins, some of them mere kittens. My boyfriend loved watching though them as he has a pet cat.

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I was expecting a standard modern posh hotel. However when we got there it was more vintage posh, or at least had been once. There were signs that the place was a shadow of its former self and the decor was quite overpowering. Everything was gold or crimson, even the walls. My favourite part of it was the winding staircase all the way up, which made me feel like a princess. The roof terrace was also fantastic, offering views across the city. We just walked up there and it was deserted.

Our bed was a modest double but all in gold velvet, with “Palace” written slightly off to one side in the middle. When we went into the bathroom there was a hanging basket overflowing with freebies, from dental kits to fluorescent blue shampoos.

There was a spa in the basement and I proposed we relax from our airport ordeal with a massage. We went down to the reception, which consisted of a small bar. When we turned around there was a small swimming pool and some rooms behind it, presumably the steam room and sauna.

After five minutes or so a young blonde and a Chinese girl turned up and booked us in. I went for a Swedish and my boyfriend went for a “Medical” as he had a sore back. We were sent to two rooms with glass doors. Thankfully part of them were opaque. There we were covered with so much oil that after having every limb attended to we slid off the table and into our clothes a little too easily.

I discovered that the girl I thought was Chinese was actually from Uzbekistan and had emigrated to Turkey for a better life. She had come from a large family and had considered going to university in Uzbekistan but it had been too expensive, so she was now excitedly saving for hairdresser college. She said she preferred Turkey as it was cheaper and there was more to do. None of her family had joined her and had no plans to, and I thought she was rather brave, being just 21 years old.

Following that my boyfriend and I could hardly keep our eyes open and we stumbled upstairs in a happy sleepy daze.

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December 15, 2013 · 10:03 pm

My First Charity Event!

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About two weeks ago I went the distance for a good cause. I’d done 20 miles a couple of times, but hadn’t had the chance to train for the 40 mile British Heart Foundation cycle at all. It was around a forest near Mansfield with cycling tracks of varying abilities.

In the weeks before I’d begged colleagues, family and friends to donate and was humbled by the response. Every pound was an achievement, and I excitedly monitored the charity web page http://www.justgiving.com/overrideladies (which is still open for donations. Special thanks to Fiona, a blogger who donated!)

I was anxious. What if I injured myself? What if I had a puncture? I hadn’t had the opportunity to get an inner tube kit and wasn’t sure how to change a tyre if it did blow out. What if I couldn’t finish it? There was rather a lot of uncertainty, but at least I knew I could get there. I woke my lovely boyfriend up at 6am and soon we were off. There was no turning back now. Just as we arrived the sun rose into a hazy pink gold and blue sky. Beautiful.

I had a cycling shirt and then winter running outfit over the top. Full length lycra trousers, a waterproof jacket from my boyfriend and a bag full of cereal bars. Great for that extra push.

I was anxious to start ahead of the slower riders, so I went right to the start line. There was a great sense of community, we were all in this together, and an excited tension. We were reminded it was not a race. I was treating it like one though, for all those who had supported me and would ask for my time. I saw a lady from my cycling group at the start but when I went back to the crowd I couldn’t find her again and I didn’t have their phone numbers. I found out later that they set off in the second wave.

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Copyright mysportspix.net (purchased copy)

The starting horn sounded and we were off in a blur of spokes and helmets. For the first 20 miles going out I was powering through, pedalling furiously, showering myself with mud and puddle water. We went past farmer’s fields, into a park, past a cockerel strutting his stuff, past caravans, lakes, over little bridges and round country lanes. The scenery was lovely, with golden bronze trees everywhere and farmer’s fields. There were army cadets helping us across busier roads and at water stops along the way (though I preferred to pedal on, I didn’t want to lose momentum).

On the way back several people got punctures tires hissing suddenly from the carpet of prickly conker shells. They had their bikes upside down replacing the inner tube. I could see why mountain bikes had been recommended. Quite a few cyclists with thinner tyres suffered. I zoomed past, hoping the next lot wouldn’t stop me in my tracks.

Then we were on the way back. I wasn’t sure how far I had to go as I could only get the distance in kilometres. Didn’t someone say there was 0.8km in a mile? I started to lose heart a bit. The route looked familiar but I couldn’t remember how far out I was. As I passed the farmland again I saw a band of rain sweeping through. I was glad of the jacket but I didn’t want to stop to zip it up so I did get a little drenched. When it stopped, I swung my bag round and text, drank or ate cereal bars as I cycled. The speedier  sportsmen zipped past, sweat flying off them. Some had hearts on the back of their rucksacks showing who they were riding for.

Finally we were into the forest again and I felt relieved. I’d had great fun but time was starting to drag now and after 30 miles my legs started burning. Every push became painful and I was grateful for the downhills. The route had been fairly flat, especially after compared to the hills where I live, and I had expected to feel the strain long before now.

Other participants spurred me on, yelling out encouragement as they passed. We kept saying to each other “surely it’s not much further!” and finally we heard the cheers of the crowd and the megaphone announcements gradually getting closer. It took me a while to work up a last sprint as I was drained (despite the many cereal bars) and my circulation was on fire. But finally we came out of the wooded track and onto the finishing field. It was over and I had done it. Twice my furthest distance, off road and in only four hours. Ten miles an hour was a speed to be proud of. I put on my medal and the camera flashed in my tired but triumphant mud-splattered face.

Will I do it again? I’m not sure. It was a little too long. 30 miles would have been enough, but I’m sure it would have been easier with training. I am so grateful to all those who had a heart and donated. I have so far raised £170. Thank you.

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