Travel Gear: Trekking Gloves

In Marketing class I learned about a man who had a bunch of folding stools to sell. He first positioned them as general-purpose folding stools, but there were no takers. He sold them all when he positioned them as fishing stools.

A well-positioned product connects with a specific market. With a bit of luck, the sale requires minimal targeted advertising and fetches a premium price.

This week I've been in the market for gloves. Not just any gloves, but gloves to protect my hands when I clamber over rocks and ride scree.

Gas

It was breakfast at the Granvia Okayama Hotel.

The tour group at the next table murmured in agreement as the colonel railed against typographical errors in the itinerary.

I pegged him as "the colonel," now a paper-pusher, close to retirement.  It was impossible to tune him out as he recalled his first encounter with the errant itinerary in excruciating detail.

Our Castle in England

I'm back in Minneapolis from my travels, so it is a priority to plan future travels.

Today I booked an entire English castle for 2016. It's just a little castle, actually a gatehouse, it's only for a week, and it costs about the same as two hotel rooms.

I want to introduce my nephews and their parents to the area I grew up in Northeastern England. Morpeth Castle is a good base. It dates from about 1350, and it has a parapet where an almost-9-year-old and an almost-8-year-old can imagine pouring boiling oil on invading forces.

I found myself putting together a document about the trip, including the following mundane details:

Monasteries on Rocks

"It's a good trail."

I could tell from the young woman's hiking boots and glowing expression it would, indeed, be a good trail.

I gratefully accepted the walking stick (tree limb) her companion was ready to discard as they left the trail.

I clambered over rocks and headed away from the idling tour buses.

Views from a Rooftop Bar

"Great view."

I kept looking at the Acropolis. Then I realized I was being spoken to. I turned around to see a man in his 70's. I muttered something in agreement.

Hearing my accent he started a "Your Country" routine about British politics.

"Wrong country," I interrupted.

Once he determined my actual citizenship he started another "Your Country" routine, this time directed at American national politics.

"I don't talk politics in bars."

He deftly switched course to prime ministerial politics in his country, New Zealand.

"Sir, I do not talk politics in bars."

But I now had an inroad. I enthused about trekking in his country.

This led to a decent conversation about our daily lives--stuff that unites rather than divides us.

My Long Journey to Ireland

I disliked history classes at my high school in Newcastle upon Tyne, England.

The focus on studying for examinations did not fit my learning style. The teaching style often reflected the teacher's lack of interest in teaching.

To be fair, I did not then have the life experiences to sufficiently understand the nuances of how the world works.

Then, one day my ears pricked up when I heard the teacher talking about exploding mail boxes and post offices.

We had reached the Ireland of 1916. Domestic terrorism seemed so improbable.

Ireland by Numbers

Today we reluctantly leave Ireland: Dwight heads back to Minneapolis, and I continue my travels for a little longer.

18: # days in Ireland

It never rained, not once.

0: # days it rained
0: # days I wore a jacket

And it was warm.

We walked almost every day.

150: # miles walked (approximately)
75: # miles walked with backpacks

We took advantage of the good public transport system both in the Republic and Northern Ireland.

9: # buses (public transport)
2: # trains
0: # taxis

To be fair, we did rather enjoy being driven around by friends on a couple occasions.

Independent Scots

She stands resolutely in front of her home in the "mucky wee port" of Port Glasgow, Scotland. My Aunt Madge, helmet and gas mask at the ready, standing against the Nazi threat.

The threat was real. Bombs rained down on the nearby shipyards, and on British, American, and Free French bases. My mother and aunt spent each night in an Anderson shelter; in the morning they climbed over fire hoses to get to work.

This week, Scotland is confronting its own sovereignty. Mercifully, this time the confrontation is somewhat peaceful.

Sheep's Head Way

I like to hike in peace.

Consequently, today, we find ourselves hiking the Sheep's Head Way  along "a peaceful, unspoilt peninsula" in a remote southwest corner of Ireland

If I Google "Sheep's Head Way" I get 14,500 results. If I Google "Giant's Causeway" I get 3.8 million results. We'll give The Giant's Causeway, the Blarney Stone, and numerous other "must-sees" a wide miss.