It's the journey rather than the arrival

About this time of year, it's our custom to undertake a modest little backpacking trip of about 25 miles from home to Harwich, two days walking and one night's camping. It's an unassuming walk along country lanes and field and woodland paths,much of it along the Essex Way. I really should do the walk in the other direction, from Harwich to home, but tradition dictates otherwise. The walk is a bit of a warm-up for the challenge, rucksacs loaded, a reminder of how to put up the tent, and a stretch of our legs.

Harwich, it must be said, is a bit of a dump, with a severe case of east-coast-itis, the incurable disease that afflicts so many coastal communities in this country - depressed, run down, seemingly permanently out of season. I know it's wrong to make sweeping generalisations, but there's something about many Harwich people (although of course there are some lovely people in the town),  a slow, we'll-just-do-the bare-minimum, kind of surliness, possibly caused by generations of in-breeding. Anyway, that's enough of my indefensible geographical prejudices, so on with the walk.

Bluebells and spring flowers were out everywhere on the way to the rather splendid Bromley Cross Inn for lunch

Following our exceptionally dry spring, the ground was rock hard, so coupled with a fair bit of tarmac, my feet were a bit weary

Our camping spot was at the Strangers Home pub in Bradfield, with a fine juke box and pleasantly drunk locals in, er.. fine voice

To try and replicate the wilderness experience on the Challenge, we pitched in as wild a place as we could find. Yes, right next to the bouncy castle.

No sooner was the tent up than Mt Softy arrived, sadly not selling ice creams, but just popping in for a pint

The tent is a Big Agnes Copper Spur, with a huge amount of space compared to our trusty old Nallo. Trouble is, I'm not quite so sure about how it will stand up to high winds.........

Day 2 was entirely along the Essex Way, along the River Stour and through lovely woodland

To the unusual church at Wrabness, with it's bell parked outside

and on to the woods at Ramsey, with more lovely bluebells, and one of my favourite benches

On to the Castle at Ramsey, complete with windmill

before the interminable trudge along the seafront at Harwich

before home on the bus and out for a curry.

So, that's it - we are fully prepared for the Challenge, having experienced everything the Scottish landscape might throw at us. Except the hills, bog, heather, climate and river crossings........

over the hill to the Netherlands again

For most of the past 10 years or so, our lovely Dutch friends Bert and Suus have kindly organised a Challenge reunion in Holland, each time in a different region. As we are 50% Dutch, we get invited along each time, and this year we visited Friesland - as watery and flat a part of the most watery and flat country on the planet that you could possibly find.

As usual we took the night boat over to Hook of Holland, on which I reacquainted myself with the joys of drinking Heineken. It's been a few years since I last had a pint of Heineken, and I thought I'd try it once more to see if my recollection still held true. Sure enough, it was still just as cold and tasteless as I recalled, and I suspect it will be another few years before I have another.

One of the many joys of going to Holland are the trains. Unlike their UK equivalents, they are invariably on time, spacious and comfortable. The Dutch have the knack of doing so many things properly - such as double-decker trains with a silent coach. Yes, no half measure "quiet" coach, but a silent coach in which talking is prohibited. There are few things in life that I'm quite good at, but one of them is not talking, so I heartily approve.

Bert and Suus had chosen an excellent location, right on the lake (Sneekermeer)

Everyone enjoyed the sunshine on the terrace, while pretending not to notice the rather seductive pose that Alva had adopted on the bench......

Bernie, in particular, had to avert his eyes

Next day we had a choice of activities - sailing, cycling , or a bit of both. Naturally, I went for the cycling option, taking advantage of the superb cycle routes in the Worlds Best Cycling Culture

At home there are generally three types of cyclists -

Those who enjoy cycling for the joy and fitness it brings - invariably lycra clad and increasing in number (that's me)

A small number of hardy souls who use cycling as a practical means of transport - commuting to work and so forth

Those cyclists whose bikes stand in the garage all  year, and come out once or twice a year in good weather

In Holland it's very different - bikes are everywhere, used for shopping , sport, commuting, and just pottering about on a superb network of separated cycle paths. There's just one drawback, though, and this is it.........

Yes, it's the Dutch bicycle saddle - armchair wide, fully padded, looking most comfortable until actually sat upon. I'm not sure if the British backside is very different from the Dutch posterior, but I just don't know how they put up with these saddles.

The bikes that Suus had hired for us were the traditional "sit up and  beg" Dutch types, which do look a bit girly to me.....

but, nevertheless, we had a fine days biking, with the inevitable coffee stop 

before Pete and myself rode back

So, after 35 miles of cycling, that could only mean one thing - going out for a night walk. Suus had arranged for us to join a mass walking event, in which around 500 locals do a 14 km walk around the lakes and dykes in complete darkness. The event reminded me of the famous Tim Vine joke about his holiday ("it was a once in a lifetime trip - I won't be doing that again"), and combined utter pointlessness with rather endearing charm. The event itself  was wonderfully well organised and all the Dutch turned up in their traditional hiking gear - leather jackets and jeans, skyscraper-tall Dutch men and strikingly attractive amazonian Dutch ladies striding through the darkness as if it was a perfectly normal way of spending the evening

Next day, for me, was more cycling in the south-west of Friesland, a wonderful day riding on the dykes and sea-defence walls. Much of the latter part of the ride was spent standing up on the bike, as my buttocks gradually and inexorably turned to minced meat, courtesy of another Dutch saddle...

and, of course, a stop for apple pie 

The Dutch are particularly fond of their flags

Our last full day was a trip to the Wadden island of Schiermonnikoog , as unpronounceable a place as you would expect in Holland. The is a nature reserve, and afforded a fine day of walking through heathland, beach and dunes - rather like Suffolk in fact.

 Near white-out conditions made for tricky navigation.....

we came across an ants nest

and a scrounging jackdaw

before boarding the ferry back to the mainland

 A wonderful trip, organised, as ever, with military precision by Bert and Suus