I've been wanting to write about my travels for a while. But I've never found the motivation to. In fact I've been trying to write this piece for a few months now, but have not been pleased with it (inner perfectonist oops). The times when I did actually try to set up a new travel blog using wordpress, I got pissed off at its user interface (cos I hadn't paid at that point, it refused to let me use the theme I wanted! annoying!). Anyway I finally figured out how to make the pages with multiple posts on Blogger (took me long enough lol), so I'll be recounting most of my travels during my 3 years adventure as a university student in London. I'll definitely cover London at some point, but for now I'm going to focusing on my trips (at least 1 night) outside London. I'll do it the most boring way possible - chronologically. Call me out for that, but it's convenient for me to relive my experiences through my gallery too. Anyway, here we go: first stop, the Peak District, England.
I've been on multiple day hikes with the UCL hiking club at this point, but this was my first residential trip. I had made some friends prior, but most of them didn't make it to the trip (except Pedro!). Anyway the train ride up was uneventful, but I made some decent small talk and got to know some people beforehand. Some of the very people I talked to are still my close friends. Shout out to you guys Gary, Thomas, Julien, Anna, Sanjey!
I honestly can't remember the first day, all I know is that we had a short trek up to the hostel, then went out for our 'short' 8km walk. It was meant to be 6km or something, but somehow the 'bridge' which was supposed to be there on the map didn't exist (it was a river). Maybe a troll destroyed it? Thankfully, the weather wasn't too bad at that point. A little chilly perhaps. A gentle drizzle. But it wasn't anything unbearable. If only I knew what was to come...
Excitement was generally high, and we all got up pretty early the 2nd morning. I opted for the shorter hike (why, I wouldn't know, but I'm glad I did. Think it was due to the forecasted incoming storm). Ho-ho, it was a warm sunny morning. Storm? Nah, not gonna happen I reckon. I distinctly remembered sweating like crazy within the first 10 minutes: long johns, waterproof pants, a shirt, fleece, down jacket. God, I was soaked even with my down jacket off. As though that wasn't enough for the 8 degrees celsius morning, I even brought my gloves and beanie. I remember thinking that the meterologists really got it wrong. Too bad I specialised in Geography, not meteorology.
The mud was something else. Anyone who has hiked in rural England should know what I'm talking about. The extremely dense, thick, cake-like mud that sticks to your boots. Each step becomes progressively harder due to the accumulating mud buildup in your boots. Seeing the other newbie hikers struggling, I passed my hiking poles to them. Honestly, should have charged a quid for that. We got out of the mud bath soon enough, thankfully. Within the first hour, we got to our first landmark. The dam. Jesus, the wind cut straight through my face. Thankfully, I still had an emergency face mask which I quickly put on. Thanks, covid. I was still in a great mood at this point. I took this selfie with my good mate Pedro! Iconic one till today.
It is at this point I think additional characters need to be introduced. Let's call her Princess A. I've seen her on a few day hikes previously, and she was honestly a very nice lady. I was always amazed at her ability to hike in white converse shoes and a long pick coat (if you've been to London in winter, you know what I'm talking about). Miraculously she comes to every hike with perfectly white shoes again. Imagine the dedication to clean off that calcified, dung-like mud buildup every hike. Honestly I salute her for that. Back to topic. Guess what she brought to this residential trip? The exact same pair of pristine white converse shoes, together with her long pink coat. The hike leaders were pretty shocked to find out she didn't take their warning to bring hiking boots, or a waterproof down jacket (to be fair she brought a rather light waterproof jacket). I would like to think they contemplated disallowing her on the hike.
After the short one hundred metres of getting wind-blown on the dam, we started the real hike proper. We were entering higher altitude (honestly, just a couple of hundred I believe), less sheltered hills. The dark clouds also started looming above and before long light raindrops started peltering us. The rain, the cold, and the ill preparation of our small group was starting to show. There was an increasingly large gap between the slower hikers and the more experienced hikers. It was going to be a long hike.
I can't remember at which point the weather started becoming seriously bad, but by the time we were looking for a lunch spot, the wind was already howling in our ears, smashing rain drops in our eyes and every bit of exposed skin. In our desparate attempt to find shelter for lunch, we hid behind some trees (I'm inclined to say pines or birches, but really don't have any impression). The small respite of hiding behind the thin trees did little to boost our morale. I still recall munching on my extra cold sandwich - prepared cold in the morning, nonetheless - with the heavens adding extra dampness. Talk about ensuring enough hydration.
Our poor Princess A was miserable at this point: shivering uncontrollably, almost to the point of tears, and in such obvious discomfort that all of us were very concerned about her. Somehow, her resilience was stronger than her external appearance and she declined the hike leaders' offers to get an uber or take a short cut straight back to the hostel. Digging into my hiking daypack, I somehow found an old army relic of mine - a poncho. We all trudged on in gloomier spirits than a tube rat, with our dear Princess equipped with her latest gear - a Singapore army poncho. Unfortunately, the weather gods soon decided to wreak havoc on her fashion show - RIP! A shattering sound could be heard - I remember looking up and seeing a large hole in the poncho. Another step. RIP. Another step. RIP. Three steps later, the relentless storm utterly destroyed my poncho, and it blew off, like a candle in the wind. Goodbye, army poncho. Though I never knew you at all.
I'm not sure if it was the cold, or the general depressed sentiment among the group, or the fact that my poncho which survived my military training getting destroyed, which finally made Princess A realise that she could not carry on. The two hike leaders were fuming: they shouted that we were now in the middle of nowhere, and it would be so ridiculously difficult to get her back. Somehow, the decision was made to get to the nearest road (honestly, it was a highway), and thank god for our lucky stars, but an uber driver actually picked up. God knows why the guy was driving about in the storm, but three other frail and suffering hikers followed Princess A back. I think the rest of us all had a sigh of relief. We didn't have to worry about her getting hypothermia anymore.
We trudged on. We were basically all completely soaked at this point, wondering why we were doing this to ourselves. Anyone who has been to the UK countryside knows what bad weather looks like. We were never really high enough to be in the clouds, but still, it basically looked like we could touch the clouds if we reached out high. I was still new enough to the UK that I found some charm in this wind and rain-swept mess of a cloud storm over clearly demarcated agricultural land. The barrenness of the landscape was made even more apparent when there isn't anything but a sea of grey above your eyeline. I'm honestly not sure if it would have been better to hike in a tropical rainstorm. At least we didn't have to worry about getting struck by lightning.
All I remember as we were nearing the peak of the tors (large blocks of granite that are highly resistant to erosion) was how cold my hands were getting. My poor cotton gloves were completely soaked by then and were probably making me colder than I was supposed to. Unfortunately I still had a hiking stick and I always needed to put one hand out of my pocket. Anyway, I got a little excited looking at these granite monoliths at the top. Took a few iconic selfies. Gotta embrace my inner geographer, innit.
I clearly remember seeing water spray upwards because of the wind. That was quite entertaining. Can't upload videos onto blogger though. Get better, blogger. The way down was honestly pretty uneventful: a bad first hour when we were still exposed to the high winds and rains, but it got significantly better once we got below around 250m altitude. I totally made up the altitude, but you get the point.
By the time we made it back, the longer hike team were already back, together with the four early quitters. It was then that we heard the worst possible news after a long hike: there was no more hot water. S***. Tragedy would not leave us alone that day. In a rather silly attempt to change my fate, I waited to take a shower till the club leaders got the landlady to come and look at the heating system. That was a serious mistake. My body had cooled down too much by the time I started taking the frigid 10 or so degrees cold shower. Brrrrrrrrr. It was way too damn cold. Out in two minutes.
Thank god for my friend Gary offering me some fantastic tea after my shower, which reignited my passion for tea (I might share more some other day). Princess A was in much better spirits, and she indicated how she was not expecting such a difficult hike (duh). There was a lot of gossip exchange that day. Apparently a much more senior lady (I swear, she could be my mother's age) took a 20 minute long shower and used up all the hot water. Ugh. We did our chores (cooking, washing up, etc), and I knocked straight out after dinner, and got ready for a second crazy day of hiking. Oh, more adventures await.
***
Somehow despite our fatigue, everyone agreed to do the longer hike. Probably something like 23km or longer. The day started out well, considerably less windy and wet than the sky bath the previous day. Soon enough, we reached the ridge we were planning to climb - where we were going to be exposed to the full wrath of nature. This was the first time I was walking through a thick layer of fog. It paled in comparison to the deadly weather we experienced the day before. I struck up a conversation with Sanjey, my soon to be good mate. Unfortunately, the only selfie I took with him is of his forehead. Oopsies.
We soon reached the peak. Truly incredible views. At least it was the 'wildest' I've been to in the UK then. Cliche as it is, I clearly remember feeling this sense of living, 'damn, that's amazing'. I probably should have spent more time alone, taking it in, rather than taking all the photos I did. Photos are a great keepsake, but clearing my gallery makes me regret not experiencing it fully. Nowadays, I try to take just a few photos and then experience it by having a few moments of silence. It's why I don't always enjoy hiking in a large group anymore.
Anyway, back to the hike. After our photoshoot which Nat Geo could feature in their magazine, the real hike started. The storm the day before absolutely soaked the soils, making the entire slope more slippery than a car skidding on ice. Afterwards, I heard from my friend Julien that he slid at least 10 times going down the hill, ending with a very muddy bum. I must have made about 10 steps with the aid of my stick before I fell down. Ouch. Our rear end hike leader, 'Artemis', fell down behind me.
'You alright'? John shouted. 'Yea, I'm fine!' She might have cursed herself there.
As soon as she stood up and took the next step, she fell again. 'AHHH!'.
Artemis had what appeared to be a really really bad ankle sprain. She was almost in tears, and I felt god awful for her. The club president refused to call mountain rescue, citing their underfunding and how we had enough people to help her. He wasn't wrong there. But the issue remained: she couldn't walk, and her ankle was seriously injured. Henceforth became the most chivalrous I must have ever been in my life. Together with Pedro, John, and the club president, we began carrying her down. Definitely felt a moment of deja vu right there: this was what my military training prepared me for. Picture this: four blokes trying to carry the lady down while trying to maintain our own balance and not slip on the almost-frictionless mud. Two or three others were in the background carrying our daypacks and providing moral support. Perhaps her extra weight helped me to become more sturdy moving downhill, but it was still pretty damn tough. We needed help.
'See, you should lose some weight.' was the first thing Jack said when he came back up.
For context, Jack wasn't a bad guy. He was a final year PhD Math student who had been on at least 5 residential trips with the club. He's the kind of guy who vibed to German techno when we were meant to have a 'karaoke' session. He was also built like a serious 6"3 viking. Taking turns to rotate the carrying, we somehow made it down, and got Artemis into a taxi to shuttle her straight back to the hostel. Whew. Don't think I've done anything as strenuous as that since my days in the army.
Our hike leaders decided to cut short the hike, which was a very wise decision since I was much more fatigued than I realised. I could barely keep up at the end of the hike, which was a first for me. Dousing myself in some frigid shower tank water, I finally stopped and thought: 'What a crazy adventure this was!' There weren't any 'eureka' moments for me on this trip, but the memories were deeply ingrained in me. I'm glad to say that I'm still in contact with quite a few friends from this trip, and talking about the hiking adventures always bring up a good laugh from us. Even my new hiking friends know about some of these things that happened, and if you don't, well, now you do!
On a more insidious and creepy note, Artemis actually broke her ankle and had to undergo surgery a week after her return to London. She recovered soon enough, and even invited me to her house for dinner a few months later. That was the last time I saw her. While she was nominated as the treasurer for the hiking club the next year, she became uncontactable throughout the summer and apparently never returned to UCL. Till this day, it remains a mystery where she went to. Hope she appears in a hiking residential trip again...
P.S. In case you couldn't tell, I wrote this post with some obvious sarcasm. I don't actively insult or make fun of people. Pseudonyms were used when I did not seek people's approval for using their real names.
Music of choice: The clicking of keys on my mechanical keyboard. Somehow I wrote most of this without any music...Just one of those days!
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