Slow travel

 From Scotland we travel by train south, to the Cheshire moored Santiago.  A 4 hour journey becomes 8, as the system near Manchester is stopped by 'a major incident',  ie a suicide, on an intersecting line. Santiago wraps round us, and we unwind, walking, sleeping. A pilgrimage to Little Morton Hall, c 1540, approaching across fields and sites.  In the local pub we meet up with other boaters, also waiting for the canal to reopen. A local bus takes us to Sandbach, Saxon crosses in the market square. Another bus we blithely board, but it's route deposits us 2.5m from our boat.  So a goodly walk, the scenic route. Now on wheels to say goodbye fir now to our northern cousins.  Weather chilly,  and damp. Send it down, Hughie!

 This place isn't always pretty, but so interesting. Some quirky modern buildings like the Riverside Transport Museum with its sharp roof lines, and the monumental older structures, tall windows, graven sculptures.  The Artdeco Mackintosh Tea Room, with the strong vertical chairs. In the old Kelvingrove Museum we renew our love of  the arts and craft movement,  with William Morris, Rennie Mackintosh pieces, fine glass, practical sturdy yet exquisite furniture. A train to Edinburgh for an evening meal with our niece's Scottish family, much tale telling, laughter. And a last night on the side of Loch Lomond,  a pub meal with cousins.

 Rolling fields, sheep dotted, bare fells climb above. Narrow lanes, stone villages. Our valley friends excellent hosts, guides, driver. The marvel of design and artisanal craft in the Losh church in Wreay. Walk along Hadrian's wall despite grumbling knee. And sleep in the converted chapel. Santiago now moored on the south reaches of the Macclesfield,  a tad closer to home base.

 That is not the real question. Is it sensible to own a boat some 10000 miles  from home, and use it for say 4 weeks a year? Boating per se is still wonderful. And so we ponder. In the meantime in the past few days we hired an EV, giving the Capn a new experience,  including  range anxiety. Delays while we used our ever dwindling 'juice' to track down a functioning charging unit. Finally found near my birthplace, in Congleton.  The main reason for our wheeled transport was the boaters' reunion, the first in 3 years. A great catch up, renewing friendships. The trip back took us across the Pennines, deep valleys resplendent in green, stitched with ancient stone walls, blooming with sheep. Wandered round a small spa town perched next the R Derwent, which joins the R Trent on its way to the North Sea. And tomorrow we will be joined by friends from our valley, and travel west as today the locks were opened, after some splendid rain.

 To celebrate our friendship of nearly 50 years, begun in Sydney,  we dine together in Schloss Oberhafen. It is an extraordinary site, with floor to ceiling glass looking over the lake to the mountains.  The setting sun, a few sailing craft and the stately paddlesteamer splashing past. As the day faded a thunderstorm chased the sailors home, with strong winds from a westerly hurricane whipping the lake. In the morning  our friends farewells us at Thun station, for the 12+ hour return to Santiago and slow travel. A final blessing was arranged by our friends, with a Basel mate greeting us to wish us well, bringing with her a gift of provisions for the journey.

 Our friends take us south west (I think) by train then bus, to the high plateau of Moosalp ('morsarlp'). The road climbs 1400 metres in an hour, corkscrewing up hairpin bends on a road so narrow passing involves reversing  or creeping inches from the precipice. Some spurs of pasture run down, with cows and farmhouses enjoying spectacular views. My friend asked if I was scared by the drive, but as no vehicular wreckage was evident  fatalism took over. And at least we weren't walking! At the top an excellent meal in the typical wooden chalet, geranium fringed  after a walk through the plateau pastures, large black cows chiming their bells as they grazed. The drive down gave even more dramatic views of the glaciers, deep ravines.  Some isolated houses had just flyingfox access that we could see. 

 On the 3rd, a party at our friends' mountain cottage, complete with a magic pianist and singer, we raised the roof with our silly songs, loving the atmosphere and friendship. The next day Jeffrey went mushrooming under the imposing cliffs of the seven horsemen  traversing first the high alpine summer meadows. The route took them past the old dairy,  which acts as a coop, milk deposited turned into wheels of cheese, collected at the end of the season.  Another banquet, then a privileged look at friend Hanou's life work as a goldsmith, artist and cabaret performer.  Walked through the evening light, bells ringing on the cows, the valley illuminated by the shadows.

 Even Zurich has very little high rise. Such a surprise.  A country which respects its built heritage, with pedestrians and public transport prioritised. The ancient town of Schaffhausen is a mecca of fine architecture, climbing up from the  river to the Munot, a huge round fortress built by the townsfolk, large enough to hold the medieval population.  A pleasant lunch at the summit, then a train to Zurich. So good to tour with our 4 Swiss friends, met in Sydney 50 years ago in my English teaching days.

 We walk to Thunersee to  take the boat down to Interlaken. Clear blue expanse edged by hills and mountains. Stroll through Interlaken to a grand hotel for a cold beer. Mid 20s warm. Later a bus back to Oberhafen for a late lunch, a nap. 

 Thanks to Themaninseat61 our train journey was seamless. We started at 11.31 from St Pancras, having arrived the day before from our mooring at Stone. The journey involved 2 taxis and a train, standing room only for JJ. Signalling problems meant 4 train loads had to pack into one. Fortunately for me after an hour, a nattily dressed gentleman of uncertain years offered me his seat. In London we walked east from the station, away from the crowds, to find an eaterie...the Fires of Azerbaijan.  Delicious tucker. And so to bed, ready for our 9 hour train the following day.  Flying would have been much easier and cheaper for us but not the planet In the morning Eurostar to Gare de nord, a short walk to Gare d'Est, on to Strasbourg (last visited by bike in 1972, where an organ grinder and monkey busked), to Basel, change to the Thun train in a rushed 15 minutes, to be collected by our dear friends from Oberhafen. From their apartment a glorious view of Lake Thun.