Walks

Living in Brighton opens up numerous places to visit. London is only an hour and ten minutes away by train, and the South Downs runs between the two cities. Along that route you also have The Old Way. The Old Way starts in Southampton and makes its way to Canterbury, some 240 miles long. 

About a 35-minute drive from Brighton is a quaint little village called Alfriston, it sits not far from The Old Way/South Downs Way. It is on the river Cuckmere, and I had heard that the whole area is delightful. I wanted to experience this for myself and so I drove over to Alfriston, parked up the car, and set off to discover.

I have come accustomed to relying on the OS (Ordnance Survey) app on my phone to show me the route. Alfriston is one of those places just remote enough for there to be no signal. I had to follow my nose to just begin the walk, but I wasn’t worried, I needed to make my way to the river and go with its flow and I would, at some point, reach the sea!

I found the track by the Church of St Andrew in Alfriston, down the side, across a little bridge and hugging one of the tributaries that will eventually lead me to the Cuckmere River. The Cuckmere valley is beautiful, a wide, low valley mostly owned by the National Trust, hence it has become a haven for wildfowl. As I walked today, I saw Swans, Canadian Geese, Heron’s, Little Egret’s, Seagulls, Kormoran’s, Magpies, Crows, the list goes on. I loved it.

I decided to follow The South Downs Way which basically keeps me high, you stay up on the top of the valley and can look down at the river. The estuary of the Cuckmere is breathtaking. I popped out of Friston Forest to be greeted with this amazing vista, the Cuckmere River meandering its way to the English Channel. Dickens lived here, Queen Victoria enjoyed the beach here and you can see why.

I walked down to the coast and started to make my way east, towards Eastbourne along the coast. Boy, am I glad I did! The Seven Sisters stand stoic here, towering white chalk cliffs that stand proud, saying “We are England, and we know it!”. The contrast of the black rocky beach and the grassy green tops pops the cliffs in a way that is unforgettable.

If you are ever in this area or come to London, take time out and come for a walk along this coastline, you will not be disappointed. I walked so far along, and in one of the dips between the cliffs I sat and ate my lunch. This is why I walk, to be out, in nature, connecting, reconnecting, listening and learning.

I walked back along the coast and up the west side of the Cuckmere. I was treated to the White Horse of Litlington, carved out into the hillside in 1924. The smell of a bonfire took me back to my childhood.

This day was all about time and it was a time I enjoyed.

As I type this, my heart still pulsates with the rhythm of Cape Town—a city I’ve longed to explore for over three decades. South Africa, a land of contrasts and raw beauty, together with the distant allure of Japan, has topped my travel wish list for years.

Finally setting foot in Cape Town, I found myself immersed in a tapestry of poignant history, breathtaking natural wonders, and a vibrancy that resonates with the soul of a traveller. ‘the story pilgrim’ may have journeyed far and wide, but this was a pilgrimage of a special kind—a dream realized.

Day One

In the Footsteps of Giants and the Embrace of the Sea – 4^th Nov ‘23

Arriving on a lively Saturday morning, my introduction to Cape Town began with a stroll along the Sea Point Promenade. The Atlantic air was laced with the salty zest of adventure as I walked among families and friends, all revelling in the sun-kissed, wind-whipped shores that spoke of freedom and the simple joys of existence. Robben Island, a stark silhouette on the horizon, served as a silent testament to the indomitable spirit of Nelson Mandela. It stood there, stoically, a reminder of resilience and hope, and I couldn’t help but reflect on the profound solitude he must have felt, so near yet so far from the mainland that was his home.

As the day waned, I found myself in the company of colleagues, savouring what can only be described as culinary bliss—a steak so succulent, it seemed to capture the very essence of South Africa’s rich bounty.

Day Two

Ascending Table Mountain, A Monument to Eternity – 5^th Nov ‘23

The next morning was a call to ascend, a steep trek up Platteklip Gorge to conquer the iconic Table Mountain. Each step was a narrative of persistence, a two-hour journey of contemplation, surrounded by the wild, rugged beauty that only nature could so artfully design. Reaching the summit, I stood there, triumphant, in a sanctuary above the clouds, Cape Town sprawling endlessly beneath me. It was a clear Sunday, with the city parading its finery—the cerulean waters, the urban expanse, and the welcoming smoke of braai drifting on the breeze.

That evening, the promenade beckoned again, this time with a sunset that painted the sky in strokes of fiery passion, a canvas of tranquillity that no photograph could do justice.

Day Three

A Symphony of Landscapes – 6^th Nov ‘23

My final day was a voyage along Victoria Road, meandering towards Clifton and then Camps Bay, with Table Mountain cloaked in a veil of clouds, a mysterious guardian watching over its dominion. The diversity of the landscape was a marvel—the juxtaposition of rugged mountainside giving way to serene beaches, the textured rocks, the green of the grass, the whisper of trees, and the delicate brush of flowers against the canvas of the Cape.

As I ambled through this scenery, I was engulfed in a sense of serene joy, the kind that comes from witnessing the grandeur of nature coupled with the realization of a long-cherished dream. Each view, each scent of the sea, each smile from a local, was a chapter in the book I didn’t know I had been writing for the past thirty years.

Cape Town did not disappoint; it was everything I had imagined and more. The peace I found in its embrace was a gentle reminder that some dreams do come true, not with a grand fanfare, but with a quiet affirmation that resonates deep within the soul.

And so, as ‘the story pilgrim’, I have etched another tale into the fabric of my journey. Cape Town, with its myriad stories, has imprinted itself on me. And yes, I will return. For some pilgrimages are not meant to end; they are simply pauses in a story that is yet to be continued.

Thirty-three years ago, a twenty-year-old me first step foot in Mumbai – or as it was known then, Bombay. I was there to join a new cruise ship.

I didn’t have the correct visa, I nearly didn’t make it through immigration, but after five hours of waiting in the airport I was allowed in. I remember the airport seemed like a huge warehouse; empty, old equipment basically only able to do whatever job it was designed to do.

Here I am much older, and we are all living in a different time. I stepped off the plane after the eight-and-a-half-hour flight, with no worries about whether I was going to get let in. No worries about how my hotel would be, and yet I was nervous.

Ever since doing the Camino de Santigo, somehow I knew, had a feeling, that my next long pilgrimage will be in India. I don’t know what that is. I don’t know if it would happen, but the feeling is still there, it is so strong that I can not and will not ignore it. Coming back to India, at this time in my life, is exciting, it’s invigorating, it’s worrying. A good worry, the kind of worry that keeps you on your toes.

It was a night flight out; we would only have around 27 hours in Mumbai. I wanted to see the city as much as I could, so I decided a guided tour would be the best thing to do. The cabin crew community is a close one and we like to share our top tips for trips and so it was easy to find a highly recommended tour guide, Mr. Binny.

Mr. Binny met us at the hotel. There were only two of us, but he said he had arranged two more people to join us, but we were to drive about two hours to get to them.

Two hours. It was only thirteen miles away but the traffic in Mumbai is something else.

As we drove through the chaos you quickly realise that it isn’t chaos at all. It is just countless people, taxis, tuk-tuk’s, mopeds, bicycles, buses, cars, lorries, dogs, carts, going about their daily business. This city is huge. You can ask ten people that live here what is the population of Mumbai and you will get ten very different answers, I heard from between twenty-five million to as high as sixty million! Google it and you will find the answer twenty-one million. Interesting how all the locals I asked, they all overestimate. It seems like there are more. Everywhere you look you see people rushing, sleeping, talking, buying, stood still watching, there isn’t a moment of stillness.

We headed first to the Gateway of India. Erected to celebrate the visit of King George V and Queen Mary. Originally it was made from cardboard and then they decided that they liked it so much they would do it properly and used stone. Here was our first taste of being a tourist. Random people asking to have a photograph taken with you. Beggers holding out their hands, looking up at you with beautiful, large brown eyes, looking into your soul and very quietly asking for something, just anything.

Next, we stopped at Dhobi Ghat, the open-air laundry, constructed in 1890. In 2011 it gained a place in the Guinness World Record book as most people hand-washing clothes at a single location – 426.

The industry and countless work that goes on here is amazing. Sheets, napkins, bedding, jeans, shirts, hang from every available space. No clothes pegs needed here. They take two equal lengths of rope, twist them together and use the natural force of the ropes squeezing together to hang. We are in a slum and the laundry here is spotless. As we stood on top of the buildings we could see high rises in which, Mr. Binny tells us, live millionaires. One building he points out, which is about 12 stories high, only homes four people.

Off to Victoria train station, or as it is now known, Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus, CST for short. Modelled on St Pancras Station it is another place of a hive of activity. Mr. Binny points out that here was one of the places that the terrorists attached back in 2008, killing 58 and injuring 104. Crazy.

Our final stop was Mahatma Gandhi’s house. This hit me like a brick wall. Having just spent a whole day driving and making our way through what I described as earlier chaos, this house was a place of peace, stillness, calm. As you walked up the steps you could physically feel the serenity the eluded from inside.

The first floor was basically a library, full of books that were read by Gandhi or about the great man. The second floor was sparse, just the walls dotted with articles about him and his life. The third floor was where he lived and worked. The room he slept in was out of bounds, but a glass wall allowed you to have a look at the basic way he lived.

Two other rooms had dioramas depicting events in his life. What this man encountered and fought for in his life is simply astounding.  The level of self-control that he must have had is beyond anything I have personally encountered. In 1930 he walked 240 miles as a non-violent protest against the British salt monopoly. In 1933 he went on a country wide pilgrimage against untouchability, the class system in India. The list goes on.

I was shocked into silence.

‘the story pilgrim’ is all about trying to figure out what this life is. Here in India the difference between how we all are blessed, or not, with differing lifestyles, choices and privileges is evident. Well, it isn’t evident, it is thrust into your face. Poor living right next door to the megarich. The untouchables working with the elite, and they are happy to do so.

Every person I met had a soft soul, a smile on their face or a longing in their eyes to want to be a better person. They work hard here, and India is most certainly a place that I will return to, again and again.

It is Friday the thirteenth and I am here in Las Vegas, Sin City!

It has been an interesting couple of days. There was a time in my life when I wanted to live here. My first career was in Casinos. Started off working as a croupier, dealt many of the games, was a craps dealer, ended up in management. What I didn’t know about casinos at that time was not worth knowing. Now, is a different story, the essence of a casino is still the same, but it has changed so much. With the automation of a lot of the games, the heart and soul are now lacking.

I walked a lot while here. I love to take in the sights and sounds. Vegas is a sensory overload, for all senses. All of it is cleverly designed to make you stay longer than you intended, to draw you in and almost hypnotise you. I love watching people as they interact with the slots, table games, dealers, hustlers on the street, taxi drivers, security, the list goes on.

I walked all the way north along the strip past the Strat, to Downtown. I wanted to see Freemont; it has been decades since I was up there. The walk from the Strat to Downtown was an interesting one. This is no mans land, not a lot there, a few shops, new IHOP, a Denny’s, quite a few dispensaries and a lot of homeless people. I walked past three separate women, all of which were screaming and shouting at security guards who, for whatever reason, would not allow them into the various dispensary. Nearly 95% of the homeless I saw were on some kind of drug. Either just lying on the ground, slumped against a wall or staggering along, trying to focus on going forward. I felt sad, uneasy, shocked and yet again not, helpless. What could I do. Nothing? Can I do nothing? I just kept walking.

I walked past the Supreme Court of Nevada and could hear some chanting, shouting, noise. I looked a block ahead and I could see a group of people standing on a street corner with signs and flags, Palestinian flags. I looked across the street and opposite them was another group of people, they were also shouting, screaming, also waving flags, Israeli flags and The Stars and Stripes. I noticed on the edge were US Marshalls, fully armed and down the middle of the road where Nevada State Police. I walked up to the area. I asked a US Marshall if it was okay, and he said it was safe and everything was under control.

I was on the Palestinian side of the street, I stood and watched. Each side had a man on a megaphone, and they were hurling, what can only be termed as abuse at each other. As I stood and watched a lady approached me and said, “I am going to the other side, they are God’s people, you should also come.” I told her that I would walk across with her, but I wasn’t going there for that reason. I asked her, if you do believe in a God then aren’t we all God’s children? She muttered something about those people over there don’t deserve that title.

I was fortunate enough to be able to walk from one side to the other and not be afraid someone could possibly attack me. I let the lady go into the middle of the demonstration.

‘the story pilgrim’ is not aligned to any political or religious belief. We trust in nature and leave nature to teach us how we should be living this life and interacting with others. I reflected how, not more than a few miles away, there were thousands of people just having fun, and yet these people demonstrating are having a completely different day.

This pilgrimage through life is fascinating. We are all doing it so different. Don’t be afraid of that. Be strong, be safe and challenge yourself, every day.

As I am contemplating all that is happening with ‘the story pilgrim’, myself, and life in general, my mind is a barrel of thoughts, emotions, wants, desires, ambitions, worries, fears and—heck, a ton a things. It is a little like that last sentence; my contemplating, my opportunities, my worries…endless.

Do I know what I am to do? No. Kinda. Erm, no.

Does that matter? No.

Do I worry? Yes.

Is that good? No, yes, maybe?

The podcast has not come out of nowhere, but the energy that I have for it now most certainly has. I have time. Do I? I am not sure I have, but I always feel I must be productive, so I fill my time with stuff. Sometimes that stuff ends up being productive, a lot of the time it does not.

Today I decided to go for a walk. Closer to home. I checked the OS Map app and found an easy 8.7-mile circle walk, just a 20 minute drive from my house.

I went and was not disappointed. Why have I not done this before?

It was a lovely walk starting and ending in Upper lodges. I took in some of the South Downs Way. I must walk that, the South Downs Way, need to research it. It is a chalk ridge running parallel to the coast, quite steep on the side in some places and undulating down to the coast. 

I saw sheep, horses, dogs, cows, pheasants, grouse, and I think a weasel! Came across a cool little café up on the way, The Pink Pit Stop. Didn’t have a coffee, but have made a note to stop by soon.

One field I walked through made me feel lucky to be alive. It was vast, and yet it hugged me. Held me close with its openness, invited me to look further away and yet study close all it had to offer. It was full of wildflowers, grass and the occasional small bush. The path was clear through it and yet it made me feel like I was the first person to ever experience it. And yes, I was, I was the first and only person to experience that field at that exact moment. No one will ever have the privilege that I had at that moment. Isn’t that great? Is it? Or is that just my ego talking?

What is that?

After I was treated to a wonderful full English Breakfast, prepared by Jenny, my Pilipino host, I headed out back onto The Saints Way.

A gentle climb out of Lanviet, The Saints Way continued to head south towards Fowey.

A couple of miles outside of Lanivet I caught up to Jake, a 28-year-old local who was out for his daily walk. Today he had decided he wanted to scale Helman Tor, the third highest peak in Cornwall, according to Jake. He asked me if I wanted to join him and of course I agreed.

It took us around an hour to reach the top. It is not a great height, but you certainly got a great view from the top, a set of granite stones were waiting for us. The way these stones are set almost makes you think that someone put them there.

Jake was delightful. A reformed drug addict, he now fills his days with keeping himself fit, both his mind and body. He loves to hike; he loves nature and loves looking after himself so he can in turn look after those around him. He had a lot to say, and I was more than happy to listen. We parted ways at the top of Helman Tor, but something tells me this won’t be the last time I am in his presence.

The walk to Fowey was undulating, slow ups and long painstaking downs. It was a tease of a walk, one of those that makes you think the finish is just around the corner. You get around the corner and no, the finish is not there, it is just around the next corner. Is it?

If you think Padstow is a delightful seaside harbour, then Fowey is going to tell you otherwise. Wow, what a quaint little town, nestled on the banks of the estuary of the river Fowey. Oh, while I am talking about Fowey, how do you pronounce it? Listen to Episode Four of the podcast and find out. Do I get it right? Of course, I don’t.

I made it to Saint Fimbarrus Church, the official end of The Saints Way, in good time. It was a peaceful welcome, to be able to go and sit in the Church where the pilgrims of old would have done. The past two days I have reflected a lot on why they would have taken that journey and why I am doing this right now.

I took the bus back to my car in Bodmin and drove home.

I felt tired, overwhelmed, but happy. Happy to be back out on the road again. I am not going to leave it another two years before I do my next walk.