Hartman Travels - UK and Ireland 2026
15 April 2026
Here we are, settled into a small hotel at Finland Airport after arriving bright and early at 6:00am. It already feels like a long day, even though it technically began yesterday.
We left home at 7:30am, bundled into a minibus with the crew from Dawesville FIFO Transfers. Our wonderful neighbours, Peter and Gill, came out to see us off — a lovely send‑off before a big trip. Meanwhile, our beloved dachshund Toby is being looked after by Kylie, and early reports suggest he’s doing just fine. Probably being spoiled.
It rained most of the way to the airport, but we arrived at 9:15am, checked in smoothly, and made our way to the Qantas Lounge to relax before boarding.
QF71 left on time, and we were treated to some great views of Perth and the WA coastline as we headed towards Singapore. Always nice to get that last glimpse of home from the air.
We had about three hours in Singapore, enough time to stretch the legs before boarding our next flight — an Airbus A350. We were seated in the middle at the very front of the cabin. Convenient, except for being close to the toilets, which was a bit of a nuisance at first. Things eventually settled down, and we both managed to get some sleep.
And now, here we are in Finland, waiting for the next chapter of the adventure to unfold.
16 April 2026 — Long Haul to Ireland
AY132 was a marathon of a flight: 13 hours and 21 minutes, covering 11,126 kilometres. We passed over plenty of places where I was very happy to be cruising above the clouds rather than standing on the ground.
We landed at 6:00am to a crisp 3°C, though we barely noticed the cold. After Border Control and collecting our bags, it was only meant to be a short 100‑metre walk to our Day Room hotel. Naturally, we managed to get lost and turned it into a much longer trek. A strong start.
Our next flight — to Dublin — wasn’t until 4:00pm, so more adventures were waiting.
Later — Onward to Dublin
The Dublin flight left about half an hour late. The A320 was completely full, and we were squeezed in with the rest of the riff‑raff. No seatback map, lots of noise, but we made it.
At Dublin Airport, we had our second Border Control of the day. Bags took around 20 minutes, then we hopped on the shuttle to the rental car centre. A brief moment of panic struck when I thought I’d accidentally booked two cars — but it turns out Hertz, Dollar, and Thrifty are all the same operation. Mystery solved.
The shuttle driver was lovely, as was the guy at the counter… whichever brand he technically worked for. Our car is a Dacia — a brand I’d never heard of — and definitely not the Ford Focus (or similar!) that I’d booked. But it has four wheels and moves, so off we went.
First Night in Ireland
We drove about 45 minutes north of Dublin to Dundalk, staying at The Fairways Hotel — very nice, and the people here are incredibly friendly.
Then came the real crisis: I’d brought the wrong electrical adapter. Not ideal when the laptop I’m writing this masterpiece on is running on fumes. We eventually sorted it, but not without some muttering.
Dinner was from Gino’s Diner, taken back to the room. Rayls had gougons and chips (Irish for chicken tenders), and I had a burger and chips. All very tasty.
Rayls then tackled the medication sorting — 90% of which is mine — while I made a quick dash to a local shop to hunt for a travel adapter.
A long day, but the adventure has officially begun.
17 April 2026 — Crossing into Northern Ireland
We started the day with a very nice buffet breakfast at the hotel before heading out on a mission: find a power adapter. The laptop — and therefore this travel diary — depended on it.
Our first stop was Tesco Extra, where we hoped to find something simple. The plan was to get an adapter for the European plug so we could plug the Aussie cable into that. Easy in theory. Tesco didn’t have what we needed, but they pointed us toward a place called Mr Price, just a short drive away.
Success. Sort of. We ended up with a setup that looks like a small engineering project: UK adapter → European adapter → Aussie plug. Ridiculous, but it works. Genius, even.
Into Northern Ireland
From there, we continued north and suddenly everything changed — KPH became MPH, Euros became Pounds, and we were officially in Northern Ireland.
Our main stop for the day was the Titanic Quarter in Belfast. We spent about two hours exploring the museum, which sits right where the Titanic was built. It was crowded, warm, and laid out a bit like an IKEA maze, with endless nooks and crannies that made it tricky to see everything. Still, fascinating history.
We checked the gift shop, naturally. Nothing grabbed me, but Rayls picked up a book on the Titanic.
As much as Belfast is probably a lovely city, big towns aren’t really our thing, so we headed straight for our accommodation.
A Quiet Evening in Springmount
Tonight’s stay is a charming little bed and breakfast in Springmount, and it’s perfect. Peaceful, a bit of rain outside, and a lovely rural setting. We’re here for two nights, which feels like a treat after the constant movement.
Nikki had already made us feel incredibly welcome. She pointed out everything available to us and even supplied cakes for afternoon tea — a lovely touch and very much appreciated. She has a way of making guests feel right at home.
I spent a good half hour wrestling with the new adapter setup, but everything is finally charging. Small victories.
Now we’re relaxing, listening to the rain, and settling into the rhythm of the trip.
Evening Update — A Home‑Cooked Feast
Just when we thought the day was winding down, our hosts surprised us with an offer we couldn’t refuse: they had enough food to make dinner for us. At 7:00pm we headed downstairs for “tea,” and what a meal it turned out to be.
Rayls ordered bangers and mash — and the mash could have fed a small village. There was no chance she was getting through it all. I had stew and mash, and it was absolutely delicious. Proper comfort food, exactly what we needed after a long day.
Neil, our host, stayed with us while we ate. He chatted about our travel plans, offered suggestions, and shared stories. It felt less like staying at a B&B and more like visiting old friends.
Then came dessert. Nikki brought out apple crumble with custard, and I’m not exaggerating when I say it was the best I’ve ever had. Warm, sweet, perfect.
18 April 2026 Giants Causeway – Soaked, Impressed, and Slightly Out of Breath
Breakfast was every bit as good as dinner last night — Nikki and Neil really do look after us. We had cereal, eggs that were literally laid this morning, bacon, pancakes, fruit, juice and more. Proper farmhouse hospitality. Safe to say we didn’t leave hungry, and we’re very glad we’re staying here again tonight.
After breakfast we headed to the Giant’s Causeway — and were immediately reminded that Northern Ireland weather has a sense of humour. We arrived just after 10am and got absolutely drenched sprinting from the car to the Visitor Centre. Not a gentle mist. Not a light sprinkle. A full soaking.
The plan was simple: walk downhill to the Causeway, then take the shuttle bus back up. Naturally, being the fool I am, I hopped straight on the shuttle at the start and rode down like a king while everyone else walked. No regrets.
The Giants themselves are genuinely impressive. I clambered up the columns for a cracking view and tried to coax Rayls up too, but she sensibly declined. Thankfully there’s a path through the rocks, so she still got the view without the mountain‑goat routine.
We had a lovely chat with a lady from Manitoba — clearly the Causeway is where every nationality on Earth comes for a morning stroll.
In a moment of questionable judgement, we decided to walk back uphill to the Visitor Centre. It’s only about a kilometre, but it feels like it’s all at a 45‑degree angle. By the time we reached the top, a café stop was mandatory. We shared a piece of chocolate fudge cake, which absolutely counted as medical recovery.
A quick bit of history
The Giant’s Causeway was formed around 60 million years ago, when cooling lava cracked into 40,000 neat hexagonal columns — basically nature showing off. Legend, however, insists it was built by the Irish giant Finn McCool, who apparently had a flair for dramatic stonework and neighbourly disputes.
Science says lava made it — locals say a giant did. Honestly, after seeing it, I’m not ruling out the giant.
Giants Causeway
Bushmills Distillery
Bushmills
Just a couple of K’s from the Giants is the town of Bushmills which is a small, charming town built along the River Bush. It has a pleasantly old‑fashioned Main Street full of cafés, gift shops, and little local businesses that feel like they’ve been there forever. It’s also one of the few places where you can more or less park wherever you like — the local mentality seems to be, “If there’s a space, it’s yours.”
The town’s real claim to fame is the Old Bushmills Distillery, whose whiskey‑making roots go back to 1608, when King James I granted a licence to distil in the area. The company itself was founded in 1784, rebuilt after a major fire in 1885, and went on to ship its whiskey around the world. Today it’s the oldest licensed distillery still operating, and the pride of the town.
Dunluce Castle – Clifftop Ruins and Atlantic Views
After our stay in Bushmills, we made the short drive out to Dunluce Castle, a place that looks like it was designed specifically to make visitors say “wow” out loud. Perched on a sheer cliff edge with the Atlantic hammering the rocks below, the ruins feel dramatic before you even step through the gate.
We spent about an hour wandering through what’s left of the old stronghold — roofless halls, broken archways, and windows that now frame nothing but sea and sky. Even in its ruined state, the place has a presence. You can almost picture the castle in its prime, lords and soldiers moving through the same stone rooms now open to the weather.
The real star, though, is the coastline. Every direction gives you another postcard view: jagged cliffs, rolling green fields, and the endless grey‑blue stretch of the North Atlantic. It’s the kind of spot where you stop taking photos because you realise you’ll never capture it properly.
Dunluce is one of those places that doesn’t need much time — an hour is enough — but it leaves a bigger impression than many full‑day attractions. A perfect mix of history, scenery, and that wild Northern Ireland atmosphere you can’t fake.
Dunluce Castle
Ballintoy Harbour – Windy Roads, Old Stones, and One Very Particular Labrador
After leaving Dunluce Castle, we followed those classic Northern Ireland roads — narrow, winding, and just unpredictable enough to keep you alert — until Ballintoy Harbour suddenly appeared below us. The place looks untouched, a tiny 18th–19th century working harbour built for fishing and limestone boats, still sitting exactly where the cliffs allow it. But the best part wasn’t the scenery. Down by the slipway, a local guy was throwing sticks into the water for his Labrador, who had a very strict rule: he wouldn’t fetch unless there were two sticks in the harbour. One stick? He’d stare at it like it was beneath him. Two? Straight in, full commitment. It was the perfect little moment — a rugged old harbour, Atlantic waves, and a dog with standards.
Ballintoy Harbour
Rest and More Food
By around 4pm we were back at our home away from home, our B&B, and it felt good to stop for a bit. We dried out, rested, and I chipped away at this website. It really had been a wonderfully varied day — we got soaked, took in some spectacular coastal scenery, wandered through centuries of history, and even watched a dog proudly collecting sticks like it was on a mission.
Lunch never crossed either of our minds. We’re being far too well fed here, and dinner tonight proved the point again. Rayls went for the bangers and mash, I had the stew and mash, and despite asking for smaller portions, the plates arrived just as generous as last night. I somehow found room for another apple crumble, and Rayls managed a brownie she wasn’t sure she could finish — but she did, and she loved it.
Our hosts have been sensational. This stay has been more than just comfortable; it’s felt personal, warm, and genuinely memorable. We leave feeling like we’ve made new friends.
Sunbeam Bed and Breakfast
Here is the review I left on Trip Advisor
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ 5/5 – A standout stay with unforgettable hospitality
We had an exceptional stay at Sunbeam Bed & Breakfast. From the moment we arrived, Nikki and Neil made us feel completely at home. They strike that perfect balance of warm hospitality and genuine conversation — the kind that turns a stay into a memory.
The room was comfortable, spotless, and quiet, exactly what you want after a day exploring the coast. Breakfast was a highlight: fresh, generous, beautifully cooked, and clearly made with care. It was easily the best breakfast we had during our trip.
What really sets Sunbeam apart is the atmosphere Nikki and Neil create. You’re not just another booking — you’re welcomed, looked after, and sent on your way feeling better than when you arrived.
A wonderful stay and absolutely recommended for anyone travelling through Northern Ireland
19 April – A Crappy Day (Literally), but We Soldiered On
It wasn’t the finest day of the trip, but we pushed through and washed it off — in every sense. We started our morning at Sunbeam Bed & Breakfast, our home for the last two nights, where breakfast was once again sensational. Cereal, eggs laid that morning, bacon, pancakes, fruit… the works. We chatted with our new friends, Nikki and Neil, before the sad moment came to say goodbye. They’ve set a new standard for hospitality.
From there we drove to Portrush, had a look around the harbour, and agreed it seemed a pleasant town. Then it was through Portstewart on the way to Londonderry — and that’s when the day took a turn.
Somewhere along the road, Rayls spotted a large black bird — probably Irish, definitely malicious — swooping with intent. Before we could react, it unloaded its entire digestive system across the bonnet, windscreen, and part of the roof. The car wasn’t just hit; it was decorated. The washers and wipers did their best, but the rest of the car looked like it had been through a biological incident. I do have some standards, and this was pushing them.
We eventually reached Londonderry, parked at the Foyleside Shopping Centre, and walked the 1.6 km city wall. A fascinating mix of old and new history, and well worth the loop. Afterwards, Rayls bought a shirt and a dress while I held court at Maccas like a man who’d earned a seat.
Portrush
Very Short History of Londonderry, Its Wall, and the Troubles
Londonderry’s famous walls were built between 1613 and 1619 by London guilds to protect new English and Scottish settlers during the Plantation of Ulster. They form a complete one‑mile loop and are among the best‑preserved city walls in Europe.
The walls became iconic during the Siege of 1689, when the city held out for 105 days against the forces of King James II. Because the walls were never breached, Derry earned the nickname “The Maiden City.”
In more recent history, the city was a focal point during the Troubles, particularly in the late 1960s and 1970s. The civil rights marches, tensions between communities, and events like Bloody Sunday left a deep mark on the city. Today, murals, museums, and viewpoints from the wall itself help tell that story — a reminder of how far the city has come.
Walking the wall now, you see 400 years of history in one loop: the old city, the new city, and the chapters that shaped both.
Londonderry
Back on the road, we crossed out of Northern Ireland and back into Ireland — goodbye miles and pounds, hello kilometres and euros. In Letterkenny, we spotted a hand car wash, and for €10 the car was restored to a state that didn’t embarrass me.
We reached Donegal just after 4pm, rested a bit, then wandered down to the harbour for fish and chips. Simple, fresh, and exactly what we needed.
As for Northern Ireland, my memories are clear:
a wonderful B&B, an extraordinary number of blue cars, endless green fields, sensational coast line and some of the friendliest people you could hope to meet.
Donegal
20 April 2026 Athlone: The Accidental Destination
Today was one of those mostly‑driving days where the map says one thing, the GPS says another, and somehow you end up in Athlone. Don’t ask why — we certainly didn’t.
We checked out of the Donegal hotel and wandered over to the Blueberry Café for breakfast. Just plain toast for me, and sadly no Vegemite in sight. At least the hot chocolates were good. Then it was off to Donegal Castle — a two‑minute drive that took fifteen thanks to the GPS deciding we needed a scenic loop of Donegal’s backstreets. Add a couple of laps of the block looking for parking and we finally made it.
Worth every minute. The castle is free to visit, beautifully restored in parts, and left romantically ruined in others. A great mix of architecture and atmosphere.
From there we headed south toward Athlone. It should have been a straightforward two‑hour run, but a fire brigade incident sent us on a major diversion. Suddenly we were on narrow local roads carrying lines of traffic and the occasional truck, all squeezing past each other with barely a car’s width to spare. Half an hour of that and we were back on the N16, grateful for every extra centimetre of road.
We rolled into Athlone mid‑afternoon and stretched our legs along the Shannon River before doing something far more important: buying coats. Rayls found one that guarantees she’ll never be cold again. Mine was more about rain protection — a practical choice, as always. Both came from TK Maxx, which seems to specialise in unexpected bargains.
By 4pm we were starving, so we ducked into Maccas for a late lunch/early dinner. It was loud, full of school kids blowing off steam, but good on them — they were having a great time.
Then it was off to our hotel for the night. I usually book the night before, always hunting for the best value with two non‑negotiables: free parking and a private bathroom. Breakfast is a bonus. Tonight’s pick: the Hodson Bay Resort. Very nice, very large, and surprisingly hard to find reception, but we got there eventually. Room 154 is home for the night. I was out cold before the sun even thought about setting.
Tomorrow: Galway and the Cliffs of Moher — weather permitting, energy permitting, and GPS‑cooperation.
Driving Notes from the Donegal–Athlone Run
• A “two‑minute drive” in Ireland is never two minutes.
If the GPS can find a backstreet, laneway, goat track or medieval cart path, it will. Expect scenic detours you didn’t ask for.
• Parking near castles requires patience and a willingness to circle the block… twice.
Consider it part of the heritage experience.
• Diversions are not suggestions.
When the fire brigade shuts a road, you will be redirected onto roads that were designed for one donkey and a milk cart, not trucks and holidaymakers.
• Narrow Irish roads build character.
Especially when you meet a truck coming the other way and both of you pretend there’s enough room.
• Local traffic knows what it’s doing.
If you see a line of cars following a tractor at 40 km/h, just join the procession. Fighting it is pointless.
• The N‑roads feel like a luxury after the backroads.
When you finally rejoin the main route, you’ll swear the lanes look wider than the runway at Dublin Airport.
• Always allow extra time.
Not because of delays — but because you’ll inevitably stop for a river view, a castle, a coat sale at TK Maxx, or a Maccas that appears at exactly the right moment.
• Hotel navigation is its own sport.
Large resorts hide their reception desks like they’re part of a treasure hunt. Persistence pays off.
21 May Athlone → Galway → Kilmacduagh → Cliffs of Moher → Shannon
We started the day at the Hodson Bay Hotel just outside Athlone. I’d paid extra for the buffet breakfast — it was good, plenty of choice — although I always walk away feeling I never quite get my money’s worth. Still, it set us up for the day.
Then it was onto the road for the hour’s drive to Galway. We parked right in the centre and wandered through Eyre Square, Shop Street, and down to the Spanish Arch. The city centre was buzzing: little shops tucked into every corner, restaurants everywhere, buskers adding their soundtrack, and crowds drifting along in every direction. A lively, fascinating place to stroll.
Galway
From Galway we headed towards the Cliffs of Moher, which of course meant more narrow, windy Irish roads. Somewhere along the way the car ticked over 1,000 kilometres for the trip — a small milestone, but it felt like a nice marker of how much we’ve already seen.
Not long after that we spotted the Kilmacduagh Round Tower, so we pulled in for a look. The site dates back to the 7th century, and the round tower leans at an angle that makes you wonder how it’s still standing. We wandered through the old cemetery, quiet and windswept, with weathered headstones scattered among the ruins. Some graves were centuries old, others surprisingly recent — a reminder that these ancient monastic sites are still part of living communities. It was a peaceful, reflective stop.
Then it was back on the road to the Cliffs of Moher, the perfect place to test out our new coats. Very windy — the kind of wind that tries to push you back to the car — but incredibly scenic. Lots of steps and uphill walking, but we made it to the viewpoints and the views were worth every bit of effort.
Kilmacduagh
Cliffs of Moher
From there it was back onto the narrow roads again as we headed to Shannon for the night. We’re staying at Bunratty Meadows B&B, a lovely spot with wide views and a paddock full of cows grazing just a few metres from our bedroom window. Peaceful, comfortable, and a great way to end a big day on the road.
I three‑quarter filled the car with petrol today — €68 to take it from just over a quarter back to full. A few days ago, after the bird strike, I’d already put 20‑something in the tank, and I honestly can’t remember if that was in pounds or euros because I was right near the Northern Ireland–Ireland border at the time. I had stopped for water to try and clean the bird mess, found none but got some fuel. Anyway, today’s €68 works out to about $111 AUD, and that is far and away the most I’ve ever paid for petrol anywhere, ever.
22 July Shannon to Killarney: Waterfalls, Castles and a Spiralling Staircase
We started the day at our B&B near Shannon, a comfortable spot with a good breakfast to set us up for the road ahead. Bags in the car, GPS behaving itself, and off we went — bypassing Limerick and making steady progress toward Killarney.
We rolled into the area around 11:30am and headed straight for Torc Waterfall. It’s only a short walk from the car park, maybe a hundred metres, but the rocks were slippery enough to keep us honest. The trees, mossy stones and the waterfall itself made it a beautiful stop, and we took plenty of photos. One of those places where nature does all the work and you just point the camera.
Torc Waterfall
From there it was on to Ross Castle for a guided tour. Lots of steps in a tight spiral staircase — the kind where you’re very aware of the person behind you — but our guide, Marie, made it worthwhile with stories about life inside the tower house. No photos allowed inside, which is a shame, but the talk was excellent and the building itself is impressive.
Afterwards we drove into Killarney town for a wander. It’s an interesting little place: busy, colourful, and full of shops and people doing their thing. Dinner was at Denjoe’s Family Restaurant on the main street — simple, straightforward food, exactly what we needed after a full day.
With the evening settling in, we made our way to Lios Na Manach, our base for the next two nights. It’s tucked just outside Killarney, peaceful and welcoming, the sort of place where you know you’ll sleep well. A good spot to recharge before whatever tomorrow brings.
Ross Castle
23 July Ring of Kerry – A Loop That Somehow Became 200 Kilometres
The Ring of Kerry is one of those drives people speak about in reverent tones, as if the road itself might rise up and applaud as you pass. So today we set out from Killarney to see what all the fuss was about. It’s officially a 160‑kilometre loop, but by the time we rolled back into town, the car cheerfully informed us we’d done 200 kilometres. Only we could turn a circle into a long‑distance event.
We followed the recommended clockwise direction, the trick for avoiding the tour coaches that thunder around the opposite way. It worked — the roads were clear, the pull‑ins easy, and we had the scenery mostly to ourselves. Even so, for all its fame, the Ring didn’t quite deliver the jaw‑dropping spectacle we’d been primed for. A good drive, yes. Some wonderful views, absolutely. But not quite the earth‑shaker of scenery we’d been promised.
Ladies View
Our first stop was Ladies View, named after Queen Victoria’s ladies‑in‑waiting who apparently swooned over the panorama in 1861. We didn’t swoon, but we did admire the lakes and mountains rolling away into the distance. A solid start, even if the royal ladies were easier to impress.
Derrynane Beach
From there we carried on to Derrynane Beach, a wide, pale sweep of sand with gentle surf and a relaxed, unhurried feel. We took a stroll along the shoreline — flat, easy, and very pleasant — the sort of beach that makes you slow down without trying. Wish our Dawesville Beach was that calm, probably a few less sharks in these waters as well!
Geokaun Mountain – The Unplanned Adventure
Then came the detour that turned into the day’s highlight. We followed a side road up Geokaun Mountain, which began innocently enough before narrowing into something that felt more like a footpath with ideas above its station. I managed to drive myself into a spot clearly intended for pedestrians only, which meant reversing 300 metres down a track barely wider than the car. A fine test of mirrors, patience, and vocabulary.
But the views at the top made every awkward metre worthwhile — inland valleys one way, the Atlantic stretching out the other. Quiet, dramatic, and far more impressive than half the official viewpoints.
Back to Killarney
We rolled back into Killarney just after 4 pm, legs intact and car unscratched. Dinner was at Cronin’s on the main street — hearty, straightforward food that hit the spot after a long day behind the wheel. Then it was back to the B&B for the night, another chapter added to the growing list of Irish adventures.
24 April Cork, Carlow and the $133 Tank of Petrol
Today began with breakfast at the B&B, courtesy of Allie and Brigid. Both turned out a solid spread, though the blueberry scones spent a touch too long in the oven — more “crunchy enthusiasm” than “light and fluffy”. Still, fuel is fuel, and by just after 9am we were rolling out the driveway.
With Monday’s flight to Edinburgh creeping closer, the loose plan was to make it to Oldleighlin. It was only six kilometres further to swing through Cork, so naturally we did the sensible thing and added the detour. Cork, as it turns out, is not Killarney or Shannon. It’s big. Proper‑city big. Which meant driving into the centre, finding parking, and going for a look‑see was… let’s call it “character building”.
At one point we lost internet while separated, which added a little spice to the morning. Eventually we found each other again and ducked into a McDonald’s to borrow their Wi‑Fi and book our next accommodation — somewhere near Oldleighlin. We ended up with a hotel in Carlow, which turned out to be a very good decision.
Parking in Cork cost us €5.30, which bought just enough time for a wander before the road called again. The drive from Cork to Carlow was a mix of everything Ireland likes to throw at you: smooth 120 kph motorways, then suddenly narrow country lanes where you pull into hedged‑in pockets to let oncoming cars squeeze past. We passed through a string of postcard‑worthy towns and stopped in Cahir for fuel and a drink. The fuel bill? The equivalent of $133. A personal record I didn’t need but now have.
One of the great pleasures of driving around Ireland is the way old ruins just appear out of nowhere, as casual as you like. You’ll be rolling along a quiet country road and suddenly there’s a roofless abbey in a paddock, or the remains of a stone cottage that looks like it simply gave up sometime last century. Some have been patched up, others are barely hanging on, but all of them have that irresistible pull that makes us stop for a look‑see.
Today the scenery added a splash of colour with wide stretches of canola fields glowing yellow against the green hills. The contrast of bright canola, grey stone walls and rolling countryside made the whole drive feel like Ireland was showing off again — and we were more than happy to pull over and admire it.
We rolled into Carlow around 4pm, and the hotel was an immediate win — four stars, spacious, modern, and exactly the sort of place that makes you forget the narrow roads and the €133 tank.
A good day’s travel: a bit of stress, a bit of scenery, a bit of wandering, and a very comfortable finish.
Sunday is officially earmarked for Dublin, but we’re still not convinced we want to plunge into the big city. After days of quiet roads, rolling countryside and the occasional ruin popping up like an old friend, the thought of traffic, crowds and multi‑storey car parks feels a bit abrupt. We might still go in — Dublin has plenty to offer — but there’s also a certain appeal in keeping things simple, staying on the outskirts, and letting the day unfold at its own pace. Ireland has a way of rewarding the unplanned moments, so we’ll see where Sunday takes us.
25 April Carlow – Laundry, Lichen and a Little Bit of Luck
We stayed in Carlow today, just an hour’s drive from Dublin, but it felt like its own little world. The day began with a mission: laundry. Self‑serve laundromats seem to be an endangered species in these parts, so we handed our worldly goods over to Oscar’s Laundry. The catch — pick‑up was strictly between 3:30 and 4:00pm, and the place shut at 5:00pm sharp. It wouldn’t reopen again until after we fly to Scotland on Monday. Losing our clothes to the weekend would’ve been a disaster, so we both set alarms like responsible adults under pressure.
With that hanging over our heads, we went for brekkie and then wandered into the Carlow Library to dig into Rayls’ ancestry. No major breakthroughs, but we did walk away with the name and email of the local expert, so the trail isn’t cold yet.
From there the day took a historical turn — four cemeteries, each with its own atmosphere. The highlight was St Lazarian’s Cathedral, where the graveyard is full of stones so old they’ve practically melted back into the earth. Two‑hundred‑plus‑year‑old markers, lichen‑covered and barely readable. AI helped tease out some of the inscriptions, which felt like a small miracle. A few relatives found, a few mysteries deepened.
Spring was doing its best to show off — birds chirping, freshly cut grass, that soft Irish light that makes everything look like a postcard. And yes, we remembered the laundry. A small victory, but a satisfying one.
Tomorrow we move on to Dublin, ready for our 9:30am flight on Monday. Ireland has been great to us — green fields, old stones, friendly faces, and the odd laundry‑related heart flutter — but Scotland is calling. This time we’re heading in without the shadow of Covid hanging over us like last time, which already feels like a win. A new country, a fresh chapter, and a bit more energy to enjoy it properly.
26 April Our Last Day in Ireland — Narrow Roads, Ancient Stones, and One Very Questionable Knife
Our final day in Ireland arrived far too quickly. We’ve both loved this place — the people, the scenery, and those wonderfully narrow roads that make every oncoming car feel like a trust exercise. Tomorrow we fly to Scotland, but today was one last meander through the Irish countryside before the three‑lane motorways of Dublin took over.
We started with breakfast at the hotel, then wandered down to the river behind the property — a quiet little spot that felt like Ireland giving us a gentle farewell. After checking out, we pointed the car towards Dublin with four stops planned along the way.
First stop: Brownhill’s ancient wonder.
Visible from the car park, yes. A long walk to actually reach it, also yes. Given our well‑established preference for minimal uphill exertion, we admired it from afar and saved our energy for the rest of the day.
Next: Duckett’s Grove.
A dramatic ruin with enough atmosphere to satisfy anyone with a soft spot for crumbling stone and half‑imagined ghosts.
Then: Altamont Gardens.
Sensational — easily one of the highlights of the entire trip. Sweeping lawns, lakes, flowers, quiet paths… the sort of place that slows you down without asking.
Finally: Huntington Castle.
We did the tour, which was genuinely interesting. Old houses like that always feel as though they’re holding a few stories back.
From there it was an hour and a half to our hotel for the night, just a short 15‑minute drive from the airport. Dinner was a hotel carvery. I’m still not sure whether the meat was tough or the knife was blunt — probably a bit of both. Rayls enjoyed hers, including profiteroles for dessert, so at least one of us finished on a sweet note.
Somewhere in the middle of all this, I was also keeping track of the boys. Ryan is easy — he’s back home in Kalgoorlie, same time zone, no mental gymnastics required. Scott, on the other hand, has been in the the USA and is now on his way home via Tokyo. Every time I tthought of sending him a message, I have to run the time‑zone maths so I don’t wake him at some ungodly hour. Between ancient ruins, garden paths, and motorway exits, I’ve become a part‑time international clock.
And that was Ireland — our last full day. A mix of ruins, gardens, history, and the kind of scenery that stays with you long after you’ve left.
27 April Scotland: Day 1 – New Country, New Accent, Same Travellers
Here we are in Scotland — Stirling, to be exact — and just when I’d finally started to decode the Irish accent after ten days, I’ve now got to reboot the language processor all over again.
Early start. Rental car returned by about 7am. Shuttle bus to the terminal in a few minutes. Check‑in took a bit of detective work. I met my first grumpy Irish person — I was in the wrong line, apparently a common offence among fools like me. To be fair, the sign did say check‑in… just not the right one.
A much friendlier young lady rescued the situation, and five minutes through security had us in the gates area with two hours to spare.
Breakfast was at Burger King. The bacon and egg muffin was, without exaggeration, the worst I’ve ever had. But they had free refills, and I made full use of that small mercy.
Gate 333, an hour early. Rayls got a seat; I stood. A series of 20‑minute “operational delays” stacked up until we finally took off 55 minutes late. The flight itself was only an hour.
No customs. Bags out quickly. Then the “5‑minute walk” to the rental car area — which was definitely more like 12. Maybe 15. Then a short wait, the usual upselling attempts, and finally the keys to our new ride: a blue Kia Stonic.
For the record: the Dacia in Ireland clocked 1,939 kilometres. Topped it up today with another €45 at €1.81 a litre. A fine farewell gift.
After figuring out how to start the Kia (key hidden in a place only a designer with a sense of humour would choose) and sorting Apple CarPlay, we headed to Linlithgow Palace — about 25 minutes from the airport.
The palace is impressive. Restoration work is excellent. Rayls went up the tower. I followed… briefly. Spiral staircase, heights, and I parted ways quickly. Still, a solid two‑hour visit.
Next stop: the Kelpies. Should’ve been a 20‑minute drive, but I missed the turnoff while trying to figure out the cruise control. The next exit was 10 km away, so we enjoyed a scenic loop. Eventually arrived. The Kelpies are genuinely impressive — worth the detour.
Then it was off to the hotel in Stirling for the night. Tomorrow: Stirling Castle, Culross, and Falkland before spending the night in Perth.
28 April Perth… again
Here we are in Perth — again. Hard to believe it’s been three years since our 2023 Covid‑era trip, when half our Scotland plans were wiped out and we limped into town exhausted, foggy‑headed and barely upright. We spent two days in bed back then, venturing only as far as the McDonald’s next to the hotel because even getting in the car felt like too much effort.
Now here we are, three years older, back in the same hotel… but no Maccas this time. Probably for the best.
We began the morning in Stirling with a decent hotel breakfast before tackling Stirling Castle. It’s a big place — lots of steps, lots of up‑and‑down, and more history than you can absorb in one go. After a bit over two hours we left feeling noticeably wearier than when we arrived, which seems to be the castle’s parting gift to all visitors.
A quick detour to the Wallace Monument, then we pointed the Kia (beeping at us for daring to exist) towards Culross.
Culross — cobbles, colour, and Outlander crowds. Culross is a beautifully preserved 16th–17th century village perched on the Firth of Forth. Narrow cobbled lanes, ochre buildings, and that unmistakable “time‑slipped” feeling. We were mainly there for the Outlander filming spots — and so was half the planet, judging by the crowd.
The Mercat Cross stood in for Cranesmuir, and Rayls was delighted to see it all in person. After about 90 minutes of wandering, photographing, and dodging other fans, we moved on.
On the way to Falkland we stopped at Greggs for cold sausage rolls and warm drinks — the exact opposite of what you’d ideally want temperature‑wise, but it did the job.
Falkland, another Outlander favourite, was our next stop. It’s the very first location viewers see in the series, and everything is conveniently close to the village centre. We covered the main sites in about half an hour before the Kia beeped us back onto the road.
This Kia deserves its own paragraph. Speed slightly? It beeps. Drift a millimetre off centre? It beeps. Come within two metres of anything? It beeps.
It’s like travelling with a nervous chaperone who thinks we’re about to crash at all times. Stupid car.
We reached Perth around 4pm, checked into our familiar hotel, and went for a wander. It’s a pleasant town — older than home, not too big, not Cork‑sized. Dinner was at the Harvester next door, and that wrapped up the day.
29 April Inverness — finally, properly
Here we are in Inverness. It’s taken me 39 years to get back, and even longer if you count the version of Inverness that first lived in my imagination. As a youngster I devoured the Biggles books, and one of my favourites was set right here. Long before I knew anything about Scotland, I knew I wanted to stand in Inverness one day. That childhood dream stuck.
My first attempt was in 1987, on what can only be described as my ill‑fated trip. Dad offered to pay my airfare to the Netherlands so he could show me places from our family’s past. For reasons that now feel obvious, I foolishly agreed — and decided to tack on a detour to the UK to visit my sister‑friend Jane in Inverness. On paper it was a great plan.
In reality, it unravelled the moment I landed in London. By the time I boarded the train north, I was a mess. Homesick doesn’t even cover it. I missed my wife. I missed my very young sons. I missed the feeling of being anchored. I did make it to Inverness, but only just. I lasted a single day before Jane, doing what any sensible person would do with a distraught Australian, put me on a plane to Amsterdam via London. I was inconsolable and needed to be with family.
Still, before I fled, Jane took me on a quick tour. My clearest memory is standing outside her house, looking across the road at the fields — wide, green, peaceful, and impossibly beautiful. That view stayed with me far longer than the panic of the trip.
In 2023 we meant to come back so I could finally share that view with Rayls, but Covid had other ideas. The best‑laid plans and all that.
But today — at long last — we made it. And this time I’m here properly, not as a homesick 1987 version of myself, but as someone who can finally take in the place that once lived only in books and memory.
After breakfast we left Perth and headed off towards Tay Forest Park and stopped at Queen’s View first. Nice lookout, great view over Loch Tummel, and the café did good scones, so morning tea was sorted.
Then we drove down to Faskally Wood and walked around the loch. Easy, quiet, nothing too hard. A good stretch of the legs without making a big deal of it.
After that we thought we’d go to Balmoral Castle. The King’s in the USA, so we weren’t expecting much, but figured we’d have a look anyway. That plan fell apart when the road was closed. We thought the GPS would sort out another way, but it just kept trying to send us back to the same closed road. Balmoral must only have a couple of ways in, because it wouldn’t budge. So we gave up. If the King wasn’t home, no point fighting the sat‑nav.
We carried on to the Highland Folk Museum in Newtonmore, which turned out to be a great stop. Outlander fans will know the old township from Season 1. Rayls really enjoyed it.
Next was Culloden Battlefield. Short, brutal battle in 1746, and the place still feels heavy. Interesting to see, though.
After that we swung past Wester Dalziel Cottage, where I stayed back in 1987. Hard to believe it’s been 39 years. Still looks much the same. Mixed feelings!
Then we made our way to our accommodation on the edge of Inverness. Small room, but it’ll do for two nights. Poor wifi so have had trouble updating this web site.
30 April Driving Day: Inverness → Urquhart → Eilean Donan → Back Again
A fairly long driving day today, but the scenery more than paid its way. We started with the hotel breakfast, loaded up the car, and pointed ourselves towards Urquhart Castle.
The run from Inverness is only about half an hour, following the edge of Loch Ness the whole way. Easy driving, good views, and enough lay‑bys to satisfy even the most enthusiastic photo‑taker.
Urquhart sits in a brilliant spot on the loch, but it’s not exactly gentle on the legs — plenty of steps and uneven bits. Two ferries arrived from Inverness while we were there, which instantly doubled the crowd and made the place feel like someone had kicked an anthill.
From there we headed for Eilean Donan, and that drive is the real highlight. Lochs, mountains, twists, turns — the full Highlands sampler. Another Outlander location ticked off, which always adds a bit of fun.
The return to Inverness via the A890 was a completely different mood: quieter, more remote, and almost no traffic. Sea lochs, long empty stretches, and that feeling you’re cutting through the middle of nowhere. A good contrast to the Loch Ness tourist conveyor belt.
Back in Inverness we stopped at the Victoria Markets, which turned out to be a bit of a fizzer. Had a wander through M&S, and I ducked over to the train station to see where I arrived back in 1987. Strange how some places barely move with the times.
1 May Inverness to Glasgow
Today was one of those driving days where nothing really flowed. We’d planned to leave Inverness, take our time, and stop somewhere around Glencoe. But with the holiday weekend coming up, every bed between here and the Highlands was either booked solid or charging like it came with a butler. So we just kept going and did the whole thing in one long haul — 286 kilometres at about 59 km/h, and not a single part of it felt easy.
We pulled in at the Falls of Foyers, which came with a bonus: 252 steps down and 252 back up. The falls were alright — not amazing, not terrible — but the legs definitely knew about it.
Back on the road, we followed Loch Ness down the right-hand side of the car. Good scenery, but the driving needed full attention. And then came the real fun: a continuous line of holiday traffic heading north. Campers, caravans, motorcyclists — the whole parade. It felt like every person in Scotland had decided to go the opposite way at the exact same time.
Once we hit Fort William, the road tightened up and the mountains closed in. Suddenly we were on those narrow stretches where it’s basically one lane with passing bays every couple of hundred metres. Up, down, twist, turn Just constant concentration and nowhere to switch off. For a long part of the drive we had Loch Lomond on the left side of the cae.
By the time we rolled into Glasgow, we were a day ahead of schedule, but honestly, that’s fine. After today’s effort, we might just take a day as a rest day and let the car — and the legs — recover. Laundry also beckons, maybe when we get back to Edinburgh.
2 May Hurkle‑Durkle Day in Glasgow
Today was a Hurkle‑Durkle day. Well, sort of. I am told that Hurkle‑Durkle is a 200‑year‑old Scottish term for lounging in bed long after it’s time to get up. We did get up early enough, but by early afternoon we hit the wall and retreated to the hotel for some much‑needed rest.
Rayls wanted to check out a car boot sale, purely for curiosity and the chance of stumbling across something unusual. We ended up in Polmadie, a suburb of Glasgow. This place was a dump — a hoarder’s paradise. Piles of junk everywhere, half of it inaccessible, not that you’d want to get to it. We wandered around with our mouths open, amazed at how awful it all was.
From there we headed to George Square, which was completely fenced off and inaccessible. Driving around Glasgow itself was fairly easy — not much traffic, and it’s certainly no Cork. We visited Glasgow Cathedral, a genuinely historic spot, and Glasgow University, which has its own impressive presence. By then we were pretty tired and pointed the car back toward the hotel.
On the way we stopped at a Tesco and a Subway, which took us through the suburbs. I have to say, they were covered in litter. Not that it means much, but Glasgow isn’t my favourite place. There’s rubbish everywhere, and the line markings on the roads are so faint you can barely see the arrows — not ideal when you’re trying to navigate. I also came across a few aggressive drivers for good measure.
We made it back to the hotel and napped. Later, I booked the next four nights at the same hotel we stayed in three years ago — just outside Edinburgh but easily accessible by train. I also bought tickets to see Sunny Afternoon, the Kinks musical, in Edinburgh on Tuesday night.
3 May Glasgow to Edinburgh
Started the morning in Glasgow under this grey, half-asleep sky that basically matched my energy. We ducked into a shopping centre for a couple of bits, and I grabbed a shake from Tim Hortons that ended up being way better than it had any right to be. Small wins.
Then we headed over to Pollok Country Park for a wander. Everything was ridiculously green, like someone turned the saturation all the way up. We strolled around for a while and bumped into a Highland cow and her tiny calf just hanging out, looking like they owned the place. Honestly, fair enough.
After that, we decided Glasgow had given us what it was going to give for the day, so we drove the 45 minutes to Edinburgh. Checked into the hotel, immediately crashed for a nap, then wandered next door for a carvery dinner. Nothing fancy, just warm and comforting and exactly what we needed.
We’re still a day ahead of ourselves after the long drive from Inverness to Glasgow.,
Now we’re settled in, half unpacked, half thinking about laundry, and ready for three days of Edinburgh ahead.
4 May Edinburgh
Started the day with breakfast at the hotel, then I took the big plunge and drove us into downtown Edinburgh. At the suggestion of AI — a bad suggestion — we parked at the OMNI Centre. First time using it, and it turned out to be the wrong spot for what we had planned, but we made it work. A short walk to St Andrew Square and a number 19 double‑decker bus got us across town. I wouldn’t want to be a bus driver in Edinburgh. Narrow streets, heavy traffic, constant squeezing through gaps. No fun. I nearly got run over by cyclists as well. They have their own section next to the footpath and you don’t want to be standing in it when they come flying past.
We headed to Dean Village, had a look around, then walked a stretch of the Water of Leith. Flat, easy, and enough to get a feel for the place without overdoing it. When we were done, we caught a bus to the Royal Mile for our visit to The Real Mary King’s Close. The underground streets and old rooms were interesting and worth seeing. The guide was excellent.
Late lunch was at Bertie’s Proper Fish & Chips on Victoria Street — straightforward, good portions, exactly what we felt like.
We walked back to OMNI, now knowing it’s not the best parking choice for this kind of itinerary.
I still can’t work out why people in the UK walk on the right side of the footpath. They drive on the left, like Australia, but mostly walk on the right. Very confusing.
When I entered the car park, the barrier went up without giving me a ticket. I assumed it was number‑plate recognition and that I’d pay at the machine later. When I went to pay — expecting at least a £30 bill — the machine asked me to insert a card. I’d never been given one. Pressed the help button and got a very scratchy response from a man with a Scottish accent, doubly hard to understand. After some effort, Rayls and I worked out that rental cars aren’t charged. Go figure. Drove to the exit and the gate opened. No charge. Cool.
Then we hit the afternoon traffic back to the hotel, with a stop at Subway for something to eat later. It was a Subway inside a servo, one girl working on her own, doing her best but struggling to get the order right. As for the salt — I had to walk away in frustration.
It was a good day overall. Edinburgh is busy, especially on a public holiday Monday, but we managed. I think tomorrow we’ll catch the train in.
5 May A Quieter Day That Ended Loudly
It was a quieter day than we anticipated, but it certainly didn’t finish that way.
After breakfast we headed off to Bee Cleaners in Bathgate with a bag of laundry that had reached the “non‑negotiable” stage. The lovely lady there sorted us out straight away, and we’ll pick everything up tomorrow morning — always a relief when the washing cycle of travel life is back under control. Hopefully that is our. last trip to a. laudry befire we get home.
Rayls hadn’t been to a quilt shop all trip, which was starting to feel like a breach of international craft law, so we fixed that with a stop at Just Sew Simple in Livingston. After some helpful advice from the lady there, we continued on to West Calder, where Rayls struck gold at a kilt shop — some leftover kilt fabric perfect for a project she’s been plotting.
The plan had been to duck back to the hotel and then head out later to HMS Britannia, but time slipped away from us. Before we knew it, the afternoon had vanished and we didn’t leave the hotel until after 4pm. All being well, Britannia will get its turn tomorrow.
We caught the train into Edinburgh and wandered around before dinner at Nando’s — free refills, yippee. The last time I went to a Nando’s was in Kalgoorlie, so this felt like a strange full‑circle moment. The service was excellent and the food hit the spot.
By 7pm we were at the Edinburgh Playhouse to see Sunny Afternoon. I saw The Kinks live on 5 June 1971 at Beatty Park in Perth. There were quite a few concerts at Beatty Park back in the early seventies. My memory of that night is mostly the rain — a very wet evening, delays while they moved the stage undercover so no one got electrocuted, and a general sense that the whole thing never quite found its feet. I wasn’t overly impressed, though whether that was the band, the weather, or the last‑minute stage shuffle, I couldn’t say.
Tonight’s show told the story of The Kinks, especially Ray Davies. There were some great moments, and my Apple Watch certainly had opinions about the noise levels. The last fifteen minutes were sensational. But overall, I found myself disappointed — again. Maybe The Kinks and I just have an understanding: I admire them, but they never quite win me over.
After the show it was back on the train to Bathgate and then a short drive to the hotel. A quieter day on paper, but it ended with a bang — or at least a very loud guitar chord
6 May Edinburgh — The Quiet Day With One Very Loud Outfit
We slept in after last night’s late finish, drifted down to breakfast, and I finally locked in the hotels for the last four days of the trip. That took more mental energy than it should have, but it’s done.
First job of the day: collect the laundry. Always a relief to tick that off. Then it was back to the train station and into Edinburgh again, off at Waverley and a short walk to St Andrew’s Square. Short, yes — but not uneventful. Coming the other way was a middle‑aged lady in black lace leather hot pants, fishnet stockings, and a lace top that didn’t quite meet the pants. The exposed midriff was… prominent. Rayls and I both groaned. Each to their own, but sometimes the universe tests you.
We caught the tram north to Ocean Terminal — about twenty minutes — and stepped into a shopping complex that includes a casino and the entrance to HMY Britannia. The Royal Yacht Britannia, now moored in Leith, Edinburgh, is a beautifully preserved floating palace that served the Royal Family for over 40 years and today stands as one of Scotland’s most popular visitor attractions.We bought tickets and did the full tour. They hand you an audio guide with 27 stops, and it’s surprisingly absorbing. The Queen’s and Duke’s living quarters, the state rooms, the bridge, the kitchens, the dining room, the crew spaces — four decks of up and down, but worth every step. Rayls checked out the gift shop afterwards, naturally.
A very late lunch, then tram back to the city, straight onto the train, and back to the hotel. Rayls sorted the bags for tomorrow’s departure — she’s got that down to an art form.
And just like that, Scotland is nearly done. The whole trip is nearly done. Tomorrow we shift to London until Monday, then Helsinki for a day and a bit before heading home on Wednesday.
7 May Travel Day: Scotland to London
Today was mostly about getting from one place to another. We were up just before 6am, had breakfast at 6:30, and were on the road to the airport a little after seven. Dropped the car at Avis after clocking up 1,276 kilometres. I mentioned the constant beeping to the guy checking it in, and he said he hears that about Kias all the time.
The walk to the terminal took about ten minutes, made a bit harder by a suitcase wheel that finally gave up. Check‑in and security were quick, so we had a couple of hours to wait — some time at Burger King and then in the seniors’ area.
Gate 6 came up, and we boarded BA8715, an Embraer 190. The flight was straightforward and took about an hour and twenty minutes. Bags came out fast at London City Airport, and then we navigated the DLR to West Ham and the District Line across to Hammersmith. Google Maps didn’t make the last part easy, but we eventually found the hotel, only a short walk away.
We rested for a few hours and then went out for something to eat. A long, tiring travel day, but all went smoothly enough.
8 May A Day in the Cotswolds – Villages, Views, and a Royal Drive‑By
Today was a good one. We’d booked a day tour to the Cotswolds, just a couple of hours out of London, and despite a rocky start the day more than redeemed itself.
The tour departed from Gloucester Road Station, so we arrived early and ducked into Burger King for breakfast. That lasted about thirty seconds. The server opened with a warm and professional “wadda ya want”, which set the tone. Incorrect food, poor service, and a general sense that we were interrupting their morning. I got my money back and we went elsewhere. Not the finest start to the day.
Once the tour began, things improved immediately. We left London behind and rolled into the Cotswolds — officially an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, and for once the title isn’t an exaggeration.
Our first stop was Burford, the Gateway to the Cotswolds. We wandered down the ancient Main Street, browsed the local shops, and soaked up the old‑world charm that seems to cling to every stone building.
Next came a two‑hour visit to Bourton‑on‑the‑Water, often called the “Venice of the Cotswolds”. A lovely spot for lunch and a bit of souvenir shopping. I had a look through the motor museum while the river — crystal clear and gently flowing — wound its way through the centre of town. Picture‑perfect.
In the afternoon we reached Bibury, one of the most photographed villages in England. We strolled around for a while and then stopped for an ice cream. Very nice, although a duck helped itself to part of mine. I suppose that’s the local wildlife tax.
We headed back toward London at 3pm, catching glimpses of Windsor Castle and watching planes descend into Heathrow. Then, as we approached the city, the bus suddenly came alive — police motorcyclists, two black Range Rovers, and in the first car, unmistakably, King Charles. We actually saw him as he passed. A bit of unexpected excitement to finish the tour.
The bus dropped us back at Gloucester Road Station. We caught the train to Hammersmith and walked back to the hotel, tired but satisfied after a long day.
The train was packed — full standing load — and we were bracing ourselves for the final stretch on our feet. But two high‑school girls jumped up immediately and offered us their seats. A small gesture, but a lovely one at the end of a big day.
9 May A Tough Day
It was a tough one today, and we’re both feeling it tonight. The day started innocently enough with a hotel breakfast, followed by checkout and leaving our bags in storage. Then it was onto the train to St James’s Park Station and a short stroll to Westminster Abbey.
We’d meant to visit the Abbey on the first day of our 2023 trip, but Covid put paid to that plan. This time we had prepaid tickets and only a short wait. Inside, the place was absolutely packed. You don’t so much walk through Westminster Abbey as shuffle along in a slow-moving river of humanity. Still, we got to see the major highlights — and there are plenty of them. Famous dead people everywhere you look, and an impressive number of nooks, crannies, alcoves and corners to tuck them into.
The hardest part wasn’t the crowds, it was the floor. Two hours on those stone slabs and both our legs and backs were protesting loudly. We eventually escaped to a café, not so much for food or drink but for the luxury of sitting down.
From there we hopped on a bus to the Imperial War Museum. I was mainly keen on the WWI exhibition, but we also wandered through the WWII section. After that, another bus took us to St Bartholomew’s Hospital. Rayls’ grandfather spent time there recuperating after being injured in the Great War, so this was her way of paying respects to a place that’s part of her family story.
We walked on to Greyfriars Station via St Paul’s Cathedral, then caught the train back to Hammersmith. A final walk to collect our luggage, and then an Uber to the Renaissance Hotel at Heathrow.
We’re here because of an early flight on Monday — and, I’ll admit, for a bit of plane spotting. The hotel sits right on the airport perimeter, overlooking the northern runway. Perfect for anyone who enjoys watching aircraft take off and land. Our room has a brilliant view, and I’ve spent much of the afternoon sitting by the window, watching the steady parade of planes.
A long day, a sore day, but a memorable one.
10 May A Quiet Mother’s Day, and Scott’s Birthday Far Away
Mother’s Day and Scott’s birthday landed together this year, and there’s a sting in not being there to mark either properly. Celebrations feel a bit muted these days anyway, but distance adds its own ache.
After a string of busy days, today was deliberately quiet. Breakfast was a simple Maccas run up the road, then back to the hotel for a long stretch of rest and plane‑watching. The wind has been against us, so arrivals have been landing on runway 06 — the far end of the airport from our window. Most aircraft exit before they reach us, though the big heavies still lumber past now and then. Departures are using the far runway, so we mostly catch them as they rise above the terminal buildings. Plenty of movement around the gates, though, so there’s always something to watch.
There’s also a Star Trek convention on in the hotel — Warp 2, apparently — with celebrity guests from across the various series and films. I don’t know any of them, but the lobby has been full of fans in every kind of costume imaginable. A bit of unexpected colour in an otherwise quiet day.
Late afternoon we wandered over to the Three Magpies for a roast dinner. A proper English pub, only a short walk from the hotel, and exactly the sort of easy meal we needed.
Rayls has been perfectly happy pottering about, and we’re all packed for the early departure to Helsinki tomorrow. Two days there, then the long journey home. Titanic is on the TV, planes are drifting past the window, and the day is ending the way it began — quietly, gently, and with the sense that rest was the right call
11 May Travel Day: Heathrow to Helsinki — Again
It was an early start to the day. Alarm at 4am, out the door before most of London had even considered waking up, and onto the Hoppa Bus at 4:56am for Terminal 3.
Check‑in and bag drop were straightforward, as was security — although I briefly lost my glasses. I’d put them in one of those trays, took my coat out, and they must have slipped onto the floor and tucked themselves into the most unhelpful spot imaginable. Thankfully an airport official found them, and equilibrium was restored.
Breakfast was “breakfast of sorts” in the terminal shops, and then the waiting game began. No gate number until 6:30am, so we just sat and watched the morning unfold. Eventually we were assigned gate 28 — an air bridge this time, a novelty after the buses and stairs of Ireland and Scotland.
The aircraft was an A320, OH‑LZU, operating as AY1340. We pushed back pretty much on time at 7:40am. The flight took us directly over Copenhagen and landed two and a half hours later in Helsinki. Scheduled arrival was 11:10am, but the time difference nudged it to 12:10pm.
Bags came out quickly — a small miracle in itself — and we loaded everything onto one of those airport trolleys. Even better, we were able to wheel it all the way to our hotel room. The trolley spent the night with us, ready for the short return trip to departures
Hard to believe we were here just four weeks ago.
Our hotel is only about 100 metres from the terminal, so check‑in was quick and painless. And that was the end of us. Completely wiped out. Apart from a couple of food runs back into the terminal, nothing more was achieved for the day.
A pure travel day.
12 May Helsinki: The Day We Tried… and Then Gave Up
Here I sit in the Finnair lounge at Helsinki Airport, watching the evening drift by while we wait for our 12:30am departure. We did try to look around Helsinki today — we really did — but a combination of fatigue and the simple truth that big cities don’t do much for us finally caught up.
We stayed at the hotel until just after 10am, checked out, and left our bags with reception. The train line sits directly under the hotel, two long escalators down, then a shorter one, and you’re on the platform. About 35 minutes into the city, nothing particularly scenic, mostly residential blocks sliding past the window.
Once we arrived at the main station, we had breakfast at Starbucks. Then it was a tram to a market, then another to Helsinki Cathedral — very large, very white, very spacious. After that, a tram, then another tram, and eventually we found ourselves back at the station around 2pm. Lunch was Maccas. That probably says everything about our energy levels by that point.
By 4pm we were back at the airport, collected our bags, and dropped them at the Finnair counter where a lovely lady helped us. Priority security, border control, and then into the Finnair lounge where we’ve been quietly killing time ever since.
One thing I’ve noticed both in Helsinki and at the airport: everyone walks on the right. People stand on the right side of escalators, walk on the right side of footpaths — it’s all very orderly. Unlike the UK, where it’s a bit of everything and you just hope for the best.
The Trip in Review: A Tale of Two Halves
The trip has been great, but we definitely slowed down in the second half. The first half was all car travel and scenery — and apart from a short time in Belfast, we weren’t in big cities. Then came Scotland, and after a few days of castles and countryside, we hit Glasgow, Edinburgh, and then London. That’s when the city fatigue set in.
My neighbour Peter insists Glasgow is beautiful. I’m sure it is in the right light, but we found it dreary and full of litter. Edinburgh was for specific sightseeing, and we did that. London was London — Westminster Abbey, the Cotswolds, and the Imperial War Museum were excellent, but the city itself does little for me. A pity the planes weren’t taking off the right way at Heathrow the day before; when we left for Helsinki, the runway roll started right in front of our hotel. If only that had happened earlier.
Ireland, though — beautiful scenery, friendly people. I’d go back anytime. Scotland was good too; we should have stuck to the scenic parts. London was crowded but we ticked off what we wanted. Helsinki… well, we didn’t see enough to comment fairly. I’m sure Finland is beautiful, and the people we met were very friendly.
Odds, Ends, and Observations
There are a lot of vape shops in the UK, and a lot of people smoke — seems more than back home.
Things are also crazy expensive. We knew that going in, but still: £7.50 for two soft‑serve ice creams — about $15 Australian.
All the airlines have been good. All the hotels were good too, with Sunbeam B&B in Northern Ireland the standout. No real “worst” hotel. Car rentals were fine, though I don’t enjoy the upselling attempts, and Dublin hit us with an unexpected €40 charge just because I said yes when they asked if we were going into Northern Ireland. And I wouldn’t want another Kia — too many annoying noises, especially on narrow roads where you need to sit in the middle when nothing’s coming the other way.
As for future trips… not many left. I won’t go to the USA again until at least 2029, and I’ll be 75 by then. Scott suggested South Africa. Rayls would like New Zealand — and Tassie. We’ll see.
The Homing Instinct Arrives
There comes a point in every long trip when the scales tip. You’ve seen the sights, eaten the meals, navigated the accents, and suddenly the most exciting thing in the world is the idea of going home. I’ve reached that point.
I’m looking forward to seeing my sons and my dog Toby — not necessarily in that order — and I’m very much looking forward to a properly cold Diet Coke. Not the Helsinki version (which doesn’t exist), and not the UK version (which tastes like it’s halfway between Aussie Diet Coke and Coke Zero). And certainly not the European idea of “cold”, which is really just “slightly cooler than the shelf it came from”. I mean cold cold, the way it should be.
I’m also looking forward to sitting in my own lounge, watching my own TV, with the shows I actually like, instead of scrolling through hotel channels that seem to start at number 812 and work backwards.
The Language Game I’m Losing
One thing I’ve always found when travelling is that you can usually pick out a word or two in a foreign language. Enough to get the gist. Enough to pretend you’re following along.
Ireland and Scotland were a different challenge — half the time it took me a good minute to realise they were speaking English at all. But eventually the ear adjusts.
Finland, however, is a whole new world.
I have absolutely no idea what anyone is saying. None. It’s fast, it’s musical, and to my ears it’s pure jibberish at high speed. Not a single familiar word to cling to.
Thankfully, the Finns are incredibly smart and almost all of them speak English as well as their own language. They switch over effortlessly, without making you feel like the clueless tourist you absolutely are.
Ready for Home
So yes — it’s been a great trip, but the homing instinct has kicked in. I’m ready for Toby’s welcome, my sons’ company, my own TV, and that first icy, Australian‑standard Diet Coke.
Travel is wonderful.
Home is better.
Home
We have arrived home, 2:15am on Thursday 14 May. Thanks to Ryan for picking us up at the airport and a huge thanks to Kylie for looking after our dog Toby and the house so very well.
We spent over 7 hours in that Finnair Lounge. Just picking at the buffet and the the drinks. We both had showers, once I figured out how to get into the cubicle. Another one of this times it was easy for the lady who works there but not so eary for me.
More to come.
13 May The Long Way Home – Helsinki to Dawesville
We spent more than seven hours in the Finnair Lounge, doing what everyone does in a lounge when they’ve run out of things to do: picking at the buffet, sampling the drinks, and pretending we weren’t counting down the minutes. We both had showers — eventually. Once again, it was one of those situations where the staff member opened the cubicle effortlessly, and I stood there like I was trying to crack a safe.
At 11:30pm we wandered down to the gate and boarded Finnair AY131, an A350 (OH‑LWN). We pushed back a few minutes late and then traced a path across half the planet: Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, Slovakia skimming the Ukraine border, Romania, the Black Sea, Turkey, Armenia, Azerbaijan, the Caspian Sea, Turkmenistan, Afghanistan, Pakistan, India right over Lahore, the Bay of Bengal, Thailand, Malaysia — and finally Singapore.
11,249 kilometres, 45 minutes early, and not a single movie watched. Just the flight map and the cameras, which honestly is peak us.
Being early into Singapore gave us time to try the British Airways Lounge and sort out a seating issue for the next leg.
Then it was onto QF72, an A330 (VH‑EBG). A slightly bumpy climb out of Singapore, landfall at Denham, and touchdown in Perth at 12:25am on Thursday 14 May. Almost exactly 19 hours from Helsinki to home soil.
Ryan picked us up and took the scenic route — unintentionally. He was so tired he missed a few turnoffs, but we eventually rolled into Dawesville at 2:15am, where we were greeted by one extremely excited Dachshund. I think he missed Kylie more than us, but we’ll take what we can get.
A great trip, start to finish.
Now the real question: what’s next.
Hartman Travels
Gary and Raylene Hartman
Dawesville, Western Australia