The Wight Cliffs

I spent last bank holiday weekend visiting friends on the Isle of Wight. TomTom guided me into a multitude of GPS generated traffic jams, everyone blindly following orders from disembodied voices interpreting commands decreed by Big Brother in the sky. I need to dig out my map again and explore my own route creativity.

The ferry was expensive, the same price as a flight to more sunnier climbs. While sloshing around on the Solent , the thin watery barrier to this small ceremonial county, I assessed the distance. I reckon a running jump off deck and the gap could have been cleared. It is renowned to be the one of the most expensive sea crossings in the world. The engines were barely on, I suppose it would be rather an eye opener if the 30 minute snail pace bob was turned into a 3 minute dash at those inflated prices.

In time with the Phoenix Mars Lander I was about to break new ground, except my journey considerably more expensive than NASA's rocket propelled robot, and we already know that there is life on the Isle of Wight...well certainly lots of red squirrels.

On closer inspection from my northern approach, the island looked like an apple crumble, thinly sliced layers of golden sandstone rock topped with loose stony soil. Parts of this magnificent pudding are slowly crumbling into the sea at a rate of 3 metres per annum. Thankfully not all of the island suffers from this problem, and we have a generous 147 square miles of Alan Titchmarch's back garden to explore as he is the current High Sheriff. Now the Chelsea flower show has finished I expect he will be back with Charlie Dimmock to tend the borders.

The island borders are bristling with fortifications due to its strategic placement. Any invaders would find it a perfect staging post for an assault on Britain. Concrete batteries stare out to sea in all directions, now fighting against the eroding coastline and salty winds. 'The Needles' add the signature to the Isle of Wight, three chalk outcrops marking the most westerly point. The name was derived from the now invisible fourth spur in the shape of a needle, battered down by the sea back in 1764. Round the corner to the south are huge chalk cliffs, a lost sailor could easily mistake these for the white cliffs of Dover. This obvious abundance of limestone and warm southerly climate provides good conditions for vineyards. Adgestone vineyard, first established by the Romans, is one of the oldest in Britain.

I stayed in a block of bungalow holiday chalets overlooking Hurst Castle which was clinging to the end of a sandy mainland snake to the North. I noticed the precarious nature of some of the chalets, metres away from life on a beach 100 ft below. There were plenty of large cracks in the ground searching for the next victim.

The island is charming, like a Victorian time capsule, preserved by the extortionate ferry prices, with only the odd souped up Ford Escort cutting through the illusion, treating the coastal road much like a bob sleigh run.

A Noble Hop

I was at a conference last week in Regensburg, Bavaria. Time for wine to take a back seat and beer to stand up and be counted.

The easyjet plane smelt like a leaky Zippo lighter, which reminded me of recent news stories that claim cabin fumes may well be toxic. I was more worried about the germs emanating from the clearly ill, coughing person next to me. A cat with a fur ball. The cabin was like a combined doctor's waiting room and creche, very unrelaxing.

I know a little German, but he sadly did not travel with me, the luxury of English speakers not so prevalent in Southern Germany. After much flamboyant sign language I left Munich airport by bus and travelled on the autobahn, where it seems all sense of moderation is forgotten. The floor is the natural resting place for accelerators making it feel more like the Hockenheim circuit. Cars in the fast lane were almost travelling in their own dimension, producing a tunnel of air buffeting other lesser vehicles.
Whizzing by were endless fields divided up with matrices of tall posts, looking like a rather large pin cushion. I was puzzled as I had never seen this type of agricultural mechanics. It turn out that this is for hop growing. Bavaria is the biggest producer of hops globally, and we were passing Hallertau, a 'noble hop' region, which is a term with similar meaning to the French 'appellations' for wine, a designation for specific growing areas. The region affects the aroma, bitterness and quality of the hop, much like grapes. Hallertau Mittelfruh is said to be the original German lager hop.

Regensburg was stunning. The medieval town centre is full of large palaces set amoungst cobbled streets. The impressive stone bridge over the Danube was built by Roman workers fueled by Bavarian sausages, purchased 'it is said' from a 900 year old hut by the bridge still serving sausages today . I popped in to be confronted by a fierce looking lady next to a grill covered with countless chipolata type sausages. I was served two in a roll covered in fermented cabbage (sauerkraut) and locally produced Handlmaier's sweet mustard. They were delicious.

My evenings consisted of yet more sausages punctuated by biergartens, the 'Reinheitsgebot' (German beer purity laws) seemed to leave me without a hangover.