Sugar & slavery at Penrhyn Castle

This blog is about family travel around the world without leaving the UK in order to reduce our impact on climate change. No one likes being told they're hurting the planet through their holidays, school run or woodturner but a trip to a National Trust castle, just outside Bangor in Wales, made us talk about the 19th century elephant in the room - slavery. Words from Nicola Baird (see www.nicolabaird.com for more info about my books and blogs).

Wish you were here: Lily, Nell, Nicola, Pete at Penrhyn Castle

The driveway is about a mile but it’s worth the long walk, especially when you reach what seems like a Medieval castle. In the right light the turrets glow like burnt caramel and from the windows the views are across the lawns to the estuary. Magical, except this is a mock castle completed in 1838 for an English lord who made his money from sugar, slavery and slate mining.  Actually the story is worse than that. In 1833 slavery was abolished and British slave owners – like Pennant– were compensated. He received more than a million pounds for freeing 764 people from the sugar plantations in Jamaica that he’d never even visited. The ex-slaves got nothing. Nothing!

Touring the castle it’s obvious what Pennant spent his ill-gotten gains on – fixtures, fittings and a knockout art collection.

In 1949 Penrhyn Castle was passed to the National Trust in lieu of death duties. It opened to tourists a few years later.  These days the slavery isn’t a dirty secret – it’s made clear from the moment you go into the entrance hall. But even now the Welsh locals aren’t big fans. I'm told they don’t like to volunteer, and on the bus ride back to Bangor we were shown a neat terrace of mining cottages still called Traitors’ Row, because that’s where the sell-outs who worked for Lord Pennant lived. 

Who knew a day out at a National Trust home, just for the cream tea and a garden stroll, would turn out to be a lesson in keeping uncomfortable situations under wraps?

• If you want to visit the castle - and it's certainly a good place to visit with spectacular views - then look at the National Trust website here.

How the hackers made me travel to Cyprus (except I didn't)

This blog is about family travel around the world without leaving the UK. Impossible? No. This post takes a look at how being hacked on line allowed me to find out a lot about Limassol in Cyprus. Words from Nicola Baird (see www.nicolabaird.com for more info about my books and blogs).

Not quite Limassol, Cyprus though there are ruins and a sea view
at Harlech Castle in Wales. The Welsh coast here is full of sand dunes -
Limassol makes more use of its coast & has planted lines of palms
between the seafront and the city.

A few days ago my whole email list received a spam.

THIS IS SPAM.... (except the subject was SOS help)

Sorry for the inconveniences, I'm in Limassol, Cyprus and I just misplaced my bag containing all my vital items, phone and money at the Bus station. I am stranded at the moment, I may need a little help from you.

thanks Nicola

My email signature (with my phone numbers) had been deleted. This meant that anyone who didn't smell a grammatical rat and replied asking what help I wanted didn't send their email to me, instead they were redirected to a false yahoo email account which looked similar in name to my gmail account. They were then asked for 550 euros. I really hope no one handed that over. It's a lot of cash, especially when the obvious thing to do in a situation like that would be to go to the embassy...

Now I'm a journalist and I have ridiculous numbers of email contacts - many people don't know me very well. The moment I figured out I'd been hacked... (9am on a Friday morning)  I worked out a plan  about what to do - change my password, and cancel the email redirection (which I was frankly lucky to pick up as it just popped up for about 30 seconds near my dashboard before fading. 

I assumed that was it, but quite soon people started contacting me asking if I was OK. I had more than 30 calls/emails that day alone. It wasn't long before I was getting rather curious about LImassol, Cyprus. TripAdvisor has 65 hotels listed for this busy holiday and business centre. At the bus station (I couldn't resist looking at the timetables on line) there are zillions of buses including ones that run night, day, Sundays and to rural stops as well as the city. The restaurants look lovely - although some visitors aren't so keen on the many stray cats that turn up when you eat.

I may not have heard of Limassol before, but it's a big place: there's a port, a posh yacht club, fabulous ancient ruins, a lot of tourists, a sea front lined with palms, gardens (and a busy road of course).  Indeed it's such a cool spot that in 2017 it will be European City of Culture, see this link http://www.limassol-2017.com/index.php?pageid=26

On the LImassol bidding page for Culture Capital there is a fascinating poem written... 

...with the aim of obtaining the title European Capital of Culture, the long voyage towards the destination that is the city’s Programme for 2017 has begun. The words of Constantine Cavafy, one of the most important Greek poets of the modern era, are characteristic, as he described Odysseus’ journey to Ithaka.
“As you set out for Ithakahope the voyage is a long one, full of adventure, full of discovery. Keep Ithaka always in your mind. Arriving there is what you are destined for.B ut do not hurry the journey at all. Better if it lasts for years, so you are old by the time you reach the island, wealthy with all you have gained on the way, not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.” Constantine Kavafis

Culture is both a destination and a process and through the process comes the benefit, overcoming obstacles and dangers, gaining experiences and knowledge, always looking forward to arriving at the final destination. 2017 will be a special year and the city of Limassol will celebrate the success of reaching the final destination, having taken on board all that is required for the next voyage. The long voyage, however, begins with bad weather and stormy seas. The whole of Europe is still being buffeted by the effects of the global financial crisis while many neighbouring countries are experiencing social unrest and a great deal of questioning. Culture is nothing less than a catalyst for solutions and answers to all these passing challenges.

Here's a video which might help you get to know the place.

Looking at the pix I'm struggling to imagine where in the UK looks the same. But Kavafis' poem and interpretation for the Culture Capital 2017 certainly matches the spirit of this blog. This hacking incident not only gave me a taste of virtual travel, it also revealed that I have a stunning number of contacts who were willing to check I was OK, ranging from an ice cream seller to a lawyer, many people I've interviewed, even the guy who cuts my hair!

It's not quite like reading your own obituary, but it certainly made me realise that I'm a very lucky person blessed with a lot of friends. I'd rather not have been hacked (and will be changing my passwords far more regularly now) but on the plus side I have I've learnt a lot about Limassol in Cyprus and other people's generosity. Written up properly it would make a sweet little screen play, but that's a task for another day.

Italy in Wales (via Portmeirion)

This blog is about family travel around the world without leaving the UK. Impossible? No. This post takes a look at the joys of pretending to be in Italy from an Italianate village in Wales....  Words from Nicola Baird (see www.nicolabaird.com for more info about my books and blogs).

Portmeirion offers Italian views and
rabbits... (a Welsh reminder).

Oh how lovely Wales is when the weather is good. But even on a wet day Portmeirion - the extraordinary Italian village built by eccentric Clough Wiliams-Ellis makes you feel you might have been teleported an Italian seaside hillside. See here.

My mum and Nell consider
 different options for birthday
presents: would you want a
fountain or a lion statue?

What's so Italian about Portmeirion?
Well, it's got arches, frescoes, bell towers, strong colours, italian restaurants and cafes, public sculpture, seaviews, a (concrete) ship, and even those tall thin green fir trees that scream "Italy" (not literally!).

All that's missing is a load of skinny cats.

I love the way you can visit, picnic or play. There are lots of walks and if the tide is out lots of beach too. You can also stay at Portmeirion - there are 17 self-catering cottages, plus a hotel. Years ago my mum did this and said the visitors to the cottages were brought breakfast in a wheelbarrow...

Plus breakfast service...
Once at Portmeirion you can take home their lovely botanical china. Or you can get into the 1960s TV spirit by being a "prisoner". This is such a cult activity that there's now an annual Festival No 6. In 2013 it's from 13-15 September.

We also enjoyed surprises on walks around the grounds. Nell was thrilled by the money tree stump (above) and plans to make one at home (should we ever have a tree we chop down).

Even in the rain my mum was inspired to paint a quick sketch. There's definitely something fabulouso - excuse my Italian - about the place...

Making Welsh waves

This blog is about family travel around the world without leaving the UK. Impossible? No. This post is in honour of all things Welsh, wherever they are... Words from Nicola Baird (see www.nicolabaird.com for more info about my books and blogs).  

You can take the girl out of Wales, but you can't take Wales out of the girl. On a recent wander around Colombia Road Flower market I found this sign "a little bit of the Welsh countryside in the city" at www.jandbtheshop.com. It was selling knitted bunting triangles, jackets with patches, pretty pottery and a host of crafty lovelies - at London prices. But it started thinking about how many people have connections with Wales.  Not just famous-ish folk like Sian Loyd, Huw Edwards, Tom Jones, Cerys Matthews etc, but also my friends. Turns out I know far more people who've chosen to live in Wales (especially around Bangor, Machnynlleth, Cardiff and Llanidoes) or have some kind of a Welsh link, than I do Scottish or Irish locals (my dad who grew up in Nairn, Scotland and my mum who spent her first seven years running wild by Strangford Lough, co Down in northern Ireland would both be shocked!).

Borrow-dah (phonetic spelling)
Well 1 March is St David's day - the patron saint of Wales - so maybe it's reasonable to focus on the Welsh. I'd been hoping to see a friend who runs the wonderful organisation www.thesizeofwales.org doing PR in London, so put together a daffodil and leek collection in case she honoured us with a visit. Her team have been trying to save an area of rainforest the size of Wales - that's 2 million hectares. Here's hoping they make the target by St David's Day. Hurray, quick update about this from the BBC here.

Hats off
I also found this amazing hat similarity in this rather stylised (and upside down!) pic of old-time outfits. Look closely and you may be able to compare the rather similar headwear of the Welsh and Bolivian ladies.

Over to you
Where do you go to get a little bit of the Welsh countryside in your life - a farm, a phone, facebook or a particular place?

Ride like they do in Mongolia

Nell bareback on George in Wales.

This blog is about family travel around the world without leaving the UK. Impossible? No. This post is about how taking a ride on a horse just might make you feel as if you are away from it all in Mongolia. Words from Nicola Baird (see www.nicolabaird.com for more info about my eco-friendly books and blogs).   

I was lucky to be allowed huge freedoms as a child - from the age of eight I was riding a 13hh pony around the Hertfordshire lanes and fields. Telstar had almost no brakes and turned into a bolting wreck if we met a tractor. Two ponies later my bigger 15hh mare, Cassiopeia, was traumatised by the sight and sound of pigs. Unfortunately there was a pig farm on two of my favourite routes. If we were attempting to walk on hind legs past the pigs and a car came too fast there could have been a disaster. Indeed riding today on roads is far riskier - people drive faster, in bigger vehicles and there are so many more people driving. Strangely I don't remember ever being frightened by my horses' behaviour - but people drove slower then so I was at less risk of being damaged too.

As a result of the hours I clocked up with horses I took a professional riding qualification (BHSAI) back in 1982 (just before going to university). But nowadays to escort a hack at a BHS approved riding centre - through woodland with no roads at all - I need to upgrade my knowledge with two more exams (one a tourist leisure qualification, the other on Riding and Road Safety.

It's good that riding safety is taken so seriously, but an absolute pain to have to don hard hat, tweed jacket and jods for another exam in order to be allowed out riding in the woods again.  Meanwhile, when I go to stay with friends who have ponies, sometimes I get to take my children out riding on very quiet roads and tracks (see pic of Nell bareback above borrowing Hannah's pony, George).

Me in front, Lola and Nell in Wales. Possibly like Mongolia?

It's not like that in Mongolia. There people are still brought up with horses and have what appears to be the most marvellous roaming life across the huge steepes as they search for fresh summer grazing. My friend Anna has recently been visiting and says that the closest equivalent would be to go on a riding tour across the mountains of Wales. I've had a taste of this in Powys and it really is lovely - high up, stunning long views and often across wild country. Anna recommends Equitours as the place to hire a horse and go for a long, fast, Mongolian-style trek. Actually you could fix up your own style trek across Wales as the British Horse Society has worked hard opening bridleways, see info here on riding holidays.

If actually riding a horse is too much - try the great book by Rupert Isaacson, called Horse Boy (it's a film too) which charts his family's journey to Mongolia to try and help his severely autistic son through contact with horses and life in the vast outdoor safe space of the steppes. It's a really good read.

Over to you
Where in the UK is a lovely place to go for a ride and feel as if you are far from overcrowded Britain? Or what else could I do to get a feel of Mongolian life - besides take a mini-break in a yurt (though that sounds fab)?

Wales at easter

Pete with pretend-to-be cossacks Nicola, Lola and Nell love to travel but stay off planes to keep their carbon footprint down. Here's how they satisfy their passion for travel, this time using one of the oldest ways of getting around - on a horse
Wales used to be the UK’s best kept secret. It’s got the most gorgeous scenery, rolling hills that are steep enough to make you puff just looking at them; castles; activities, coastline and those green, green valleys. It’s got great poets, Taliesin(s) and lyrical Dylan Thomas to heroes such as Glyndwr and that girl from the Mumbles (no, I'm not thinking of Charlotte Church).

It’s also wooed and won a lot of my friends so in order to make a visit to Llanidloes we were happy to housesit a combination of geese, hens, cats, horses and seedlings while our hosts took a mini break in their camper van from housesitting her mum’s place while she’s off working in Lesotho. A complicated bit of house swapping to organise (as a friend of our hostess also moved into our house in London), but five horsy days for me and the kids doing country stuff.
For Lola the highlight was bareback rounding up of sheep (!). Nell was delighted to go on her first hacks, have the big dog lick her hand and watch her mum treat geese as nervously as if they were a herd of rhinos. There scarier in fact.

A real treat was to saddle up the horses – grey Herbie and liver chestnut Rosie who was born on the farm – and take the girls for a ride up over the hills. It was hot and the last few lambs were popping out in one field which inspired lengthy discussion about why sheep don’t eat their placentas (much), how many placentas twin lambs create and human connected fact of life questions.

And then it was time to trot to the moor and Lola lent forward, clutching the mane, imagining herself as Laura Ingalls Wilder (of Little House on the Prairie fame) galloping bareback On the Shores of Silver Creek. While Nell was being a Nellie – find out which you are at the cute quiz site Are you a Nellie (spunky) or a good natured Laura, http://www.littlehousebooks.com/fun/nelliequiz.cfm

Content as I was, riding out with my two girls – who I’ve taught to ride despite their London address (a miracle really but it may come in handy come the fossil fuel cutbacks as this is the original renewable way of getting around until the bike was introduced) - I couldn’t resist dreaming of other horse nations where the mum would stick the kids on the GGs to make getting around more fun, and a great deal quicker. And within seconds the beautiful 360 degree skyline of wind farms and bleatingly busy ewes disappeared so Lola, Nell and I could cross the old soviet steppes Cossack style on our way to summer grazing. And as we looked for finger posts taking us along the National Trail my imagination was ticking off the horse-lovers Stans – Uzbekistan, Kazakstan, Afghanistan and Pakistan. It's a bit like TV Alexandra Tolstoy's rides with horse people of the word (see what the Guardian makes of her show here).

But less posh - because back in 1985 visiting a uni friend, Nicky, whose family were based in Islamabad, Pakistan I went to the North West Frontier Province, after a bumpy flight from Peshawar up to Chitral, which is very close to the Afghan border. I remember being aghast at the number of kalashnikovs slung over men’s shoulders, and stunned by how many Afghani refugees were forced to make new lives in an area that looked so bad for crop growing – although maybe I visited in the wrong season as this part of the silk road is famous for apricot orchards.

Dressed up in shalwar kameez (and sun glasses which rather ruined the common touch) Nicky and I looked at the sites, ate the delicious apricots and debated maternal health until we were invited to watch from the Prince’s dias (well he said he was) the amazing game of buzkashi played (in Uzbekistan it’s called uloq). Buzkashi is a kind of polo with a goat carcass used as the ball.. It’s very fast, only men do it (I think only men watch it but I guess Nicky and I were treated as honorary man) and at that particular contest a clarinet and drum band beat out a rider’s signature tune whenever they were on the ball.
It was a surreal afternoon – English polo has never seemed so exciting again, even when it’s injected with Argentinian verve and skill.

Now even the simple pleasure of a morning ride with my daughters surprises me. It's not just that we live in central London, or that Nell's asthma is made worse by the beasts, or the cost (although all are relevant) it's the surprise of having got to be old enough to hack out with my own children. The Welsh views may distract eco-bunny me - we counted enough wind turbines to provide energy for nearly 7,000 households but I'll have to check this - but when I'm around horses I feel just as I did as an eight year old out for a ride: happy, ready to canter and in touch with the place I am.
Horsiculture is maligned for being elitist, pricey and a little bit obsessional - so as a part time riding coach I'm delighted to see that a few environmental writers, specifically Mark Lynas and Sharon Astyk, have suggested horse transport may be the way to go. I don't for a moment think they were serious, but it's a good reminder that everyone used to be able to get around without using any fuel save grass, hay and oats.