Ben Nevis in suede boots

Misty view from Ben Nevis

Many have already heard this story, as it is one of my favourite stories to tell. In the early spring of 2008, my friend and flatmate Christina and I, met up with our friends, Simon and Charles, in Glen Nevis, Scotland, for the weekend. Charles worked in the backpacker in Glen Nevis, where we were welcome to stay at no cost, and Simon in a fancy hotel in Fort William, a short distance from the glen.

Unprepared, but enthusiastic, we ventured to ascend Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in the UK, around 7pm on the Saturday evening. We were already tired after about 40 minutes of climbing, maybe less. We chatted with people who were on their way down. They were dressed in professional hiking gear and leaned on tall, stable walking sticks. They had already hiked a total of seven hours. Right, we decided, time to descend and hit the pub. We would attempt the climb again around 10am the next morning, better prepared.

The next morning, water bottles, sandwiches and energy bars packed (thanks again Charles!), we started the climb, this time determined to reach the summit, even though the mist shrouded most of the mountain and the valley below. 

The climb was a lot more tough than I thought it would be. I thought, "Ag, it looks like a stroll in the soft, grassy highlands." Sure. Little did I know that the people with whom we spoke the day before, really needed their pro hiking gear. So, silly me dressed in my most comfy jeans, my 'Deep Scottish Love' T-shirt (which I acquired on a bus tour of the highlands and the Isle of Skye), a woollen jacket and... suede boots. So clever.

Not even halfway...

My boots, socks and jeans were soaked about halfway up because we (read 'I') didn't realise we would have to walk through streams and cross waterfalls. At one stage, the path we had to take actually was a stream. I can still hear Christina, astonished, saying, "Are we still walking through an f$#ing stream?"

Beautiful waterfall. 
Beautiful, but very wet.

The heels of my boots were ruined by the massive, sharp rocks which comprised our entire path. We were also surprised by the enormous amount of snow at the summit, which we could not see through all the mist. This froze my already wet toes and totalled my boots for good. I decided that 'if you can't beat them, join them', and posed for a few crazy pics at the summit, sporting my T-shirt against a snowy, mountainous backdrop. People must've given my jeans and boots one look, and thought me nuts. 
I would give them confirmation of my craziness. 

The people from the day before probably also had a lot more water and munchies on them too. We had already munched our energy bars halfway up, leaving only our sarmies for a quick lunch at the summit. Because we only had a small bottle of water each, my feet had swollen to the size of small melons by the time we had descended.

We thought this was the summit... We were wrong.

This was the summit!

Our descent was more of a jog than a brisk hike, as we only had three hours to descend (it had taken us four hours to reach the summit) before we had to grab our things and be in time for the last train back to Edinburgh. Of course, we lost the path, but we found it soon enough again and actually made it in time for the five hour train ride back to the city we called home.

The drama, of course, didn't just end there. Oh no, there must always be a grand finale when such adventures are experienced. Remember that I mentioned how my feet had swollen? Yes. An old man, Charles and I, all tried to yank the boot off my left foot, but to no avail. I ended up asking for a pair of scissors to cut my foot out of the wet, already-ruined-anyway and bought-on-sale suede. There was no way I was going to sit on a train for five hours with swollen feet in wet boots. I wore Christina's trainers, although two sizes too big, all the way home, which we reached around midnight.

Let's just say that without photographic evidence on me at the office the next day, it was very difficult to convince my colleagues to exactly what we had got up to over the weekend. Their eyes were as big as sauce pans at the mere fact that I was even at the office. 

Rest in pieces. You served me well.

My mother, once I had told her we had climbed Ben Nevis, told me that there was an insert on the news, showing a helicopter that was searching for missing people on Ben Nevis. I remember seeing that helicopter and joking with Christina that it was looking for us. I'm surprised, but delighted that it didn't have to...

I, for one, am very proud of myself for managing to reach the summit of the highest mountain in the UK. I'm also rather amused at the fact that I am most likely the only person (idiot?) on the planet to climb that beast with very few victuals, and wearing jeans, a T-shirt and... suede boots. Well done. 

  

Once a traveller, always a traveller

I've had the privilege of travelling to the northern hemisphere (I am South African) five times over the past seven years. The travel bug bit me hard in August 2006, when I was fortunate enough to attend a summer school programme in Edinburgh, Scotland. I fell in love with the country and saved up for a working-holiday, which began on Boxing Day 2007 and ended in September the following year. During my time in the UK, I had the privilege of travelling extensively within the UK. I also embraced an opportunity to visit the Republic of Ireland with one of my best friends.

I had searched for every possible way to go back to the UK in 2009 and ended up working as an activity leader at a summer school for children in London for just over two months, before a pilgrimage north to my beloved Edinburgh, just in time for the Festival.

It would be four years before I had the opportunity to travel abroad again - this time to Abisko, Sweden with my sister to photograph aurora borealis. What an experience!

Recently, just four months after our trip to the Arctic, I attended the wedding of a dear friend in Bali, but not before exploring every aspect of the Balinese culture, every second I could.

Friends and family tell me that they love to hear the stories of my experiences. I do tend to experience travelling with all my senses - I love to hear about the people and their history; listen to, play and dance to local music; take photographs of historical sights, unique natural beauty and people; breathe deeply the aroma of local flowers, spices and fruit; sample and savour local cuisine. It can be quite the sensory overload, but a sensory feast none-the-less.

Also, as most people who travel would agree, I learn much about myself when I travel, through the people I meet and through unexpected situations (both good and bad).

I would now like to share these stories of my experiences and lessons learnt with you. I hope you enjoy reading about them, as much as I enjoy reminiscing and writing about them. Hopefully, I will be able to travel again soon (it takes time to save up to travel!), so that I can share more of my experiences from other places. For now, let's take a journey down memory lane to the other side of the world...