Tuesday, 16 April 2013


Not the most eloquent of titles I grant you, but to the point. Which is exactly how I view these energy bars - the word "Trek" naturally caught my attention as I was reluctantly skimming past all of the packets of plain nuts and dried fruit. I remained dubious until I got home and tried one (the brownie option took priority unsurprisingly)... 

I'm trying to do this without gushing, but honestly it tasted just like a brownie. JUST LIKE IT! I have been getting fit for the Himalayas over the last few months and snacking was definitely the hardest part for someone as food-lazy as I am. No longer! These bars are life savers, they are delicious and really do provide good energy. It's brilliant, if a little baffling, to know that something this tasty can be so good for you. One of my five a day? How?! I am absolutely thrilled. They are also the perfect answer to my hiking lunch box woes - a decent size and not something you'll groan at the thought of eating. 

Thank you Trek!

(N.B. I should note there is also a 'mixed berry' option which is nice but not as exciting. Fickle.)

Wednesday, 6 February 2013

These boots were made for...

...Everything, it would seem. Let's begin this by saying that I have the sexiest new walking boots. Add to that some very exciting trekking plans for the coming year, including some of the Himalayan variety, and it seems to me that you have a clear case for lots of walking weekends. Then again I have always been very much 2+2 = walking ANYWHERE...

My victim (quite apt choice of words, you will see) on this occasion was my wonderful friend Hannah, who had been trying to arrange a weekend away with me for a while. Location: the Brecon Beacons, now re-named "Boggy Beacons". Ahahaha, see what I did there? (Warning, witticisms only get worse from here.) I've had the good fortune to spend quite a lot of time in the Beacons, canyoning and walking, but Han hadn't, so I got my little book of walks out and picked the well-known Pen Y Fan Horseshoe. I want to pretend that this was based on something solid or technical, but unfortunately I am known for scanning books for the highest peak in any given area and heading for it. I've done Pen Y Fan in exactly this fashion before - parked at the bottom in the Pont ar Daf car park, legged it up to the top and back down. I believe this earns me the label "peak bagger", which before this walk I possibly would have been proud of. The Horseshoe promises a much prettier route and a more substantial walk, so we went for it.

We probably should have guessed that it wouldn't be as simple as this after our third time driving up and down the same road, but I think the winter sunshine and excitement had gone firmly to our heads. Finally, Fergus (my beautiful Fiesta) was parked "securely" in a rather questionable alternative car park to the one suggested as it was closed, and we were off down the road again, but on foot this time! Progress! Enthusiastically clutching the book, we began looking for the first landmark listed. Half an hour later and we were still looking, facing different directions on a little bridge and desperately trying to make the description fit either side of the valley. We knew we had to get on top of the ridge, dammit, but how? After several enquiries including the response "I don't know, but we've seen two horses?" we thankfully happened upon a lovely Welsh man who told us how to get to Pen Y Fan. Reluctant peak bagger that I am, this was enough. I desperately wanted to do as much of the walk as possible while we still had good light, so we were quickly on top of Graig fan Ddu. I am getting fitter by the month, so am determined that my breath was taken away by the view, and not the climb. Pen Y Fan and Corn Ddu looked absolutely stunning, some stubborn snow still clinging to the sides and glistening in the afternoon sun. Both Hannah and myself exclaimed like loons on several occasions "there's no light like this one!" and I think we're right - it was about 2pm by this time and the hills were glowing. I have yet to find a better feeling than the one being on a mountain provides, no matter how small. You just feel...agh, I could gush for hours about it, but it's empowering and peaceful at the same time. I only ever feel real contentment when I'm up there. 

"I couldn't restrain myself any longer and scrambled quickly upwards. Next moment I was on the summit of my first mountain. 
I returned after the happiest day I had ever spent. And next day I returned home. But my new enthusiasm for the mountains went home with me and gave me little rest in the years that followed." 

- Edmund Hillary, "High Adventure", on his first experience in the mountains. No I'm not comparing us...

Walking book firmly shoved in the rucksack, we headed for Pen Y Fan. My new boots were behaving perfectly, though reminding me slightly of my Spice Girls days when I would totter around in pink foam platform shoes. They're not pink, just high. As a reward for their hard work, I was being awfully careful about where I stood (the first bit of mud is always the worst), until we reached the bog we had been warned about by our nice Welsh man. All of our "Fan Y..." jokes died on our lips as we tried to navigate the slightly less boggy (technical term) areas, until this too became hilarious and we were bounding up and down like men on the moon. Unfortunately, while quite amusing, this did slow us down considerably and I soon became concerned about losing the light. Eventually, responsible adults that we are (what?), we decided to turn around while we could still enjoy the view on the way back. In turn, the mountains decided to mock us. Method: drowning. We reached a section of the bog that resembled more of a still stream and, I once again blame the winter sun euphoria for this, we laughed in the face of it. Literally. "Take a picture of me right by this bit!" Famous last words, as two seconds later I was crouching thigh deep in said 'bit' and Han had one foot firmly stuck. Goodbye sexy boots, hello bog juice. When we were both free (three double handed yanks later, oo-err) and had recovered from the hysterical laughter, we assessed the damage. For a reason I don't think either of us will grasp, Han threw her gloves away from her in the commotion, perhaps allowing them a chance for freedom? So we were left with one pair of gloves, albeit soaked, and four very wet legs. It's still a bit too painful to discuss the boots right now. My trousers came up trumps though - this was also their first outing and within minutes they were dry and I was brushing the dirt off easily. Not naming any names (Craghoppers kiwi pro stretch). 

We squelched our way back down to the Neuadd Reservoir in a comparatively uneventful fashion, stopping to soak up (ha) the atmosphere and take lots of pictures. To some, and it took some internal fighting for me to not feel this too, this may seem like an unsuccessful walk, but that depends what you walk for. Some, like the not particularly pleasant man we passed on the way up who snorted at our attempt and then actually pulled over in his car to gloat afterwards, seem to go purely to 'bag a peak' or prove something. I can't deny I haven't walked with that attitude before. But my goodness it's more fun to walk for walking's sake. I quickly typed out a conclusion to this post when I was writing the beginning and planned on changing it to edit out the cheesiness, however nothing else seems to say it better: "This walk has taught me that it isn't always about the highest peak... it's the journey, and who you do it with." Oh dear, definitely an over-used line, but too true to ignore I'm afraid! I said to Hannah at the end of the day, for me there are two types of walk - the one that is a success all round; beautiful weather, good views, challenging but achievable, and then there are ones like our half a horseshoe; an unexpected adventure. Good for the soul, if not the equipment. Days like that make you feel like you're on top of the world, even if you didn't quite make it to the top of South Wales. 

(On a completely unrelated note, ahem, come back soon to hear about our return the following day to claim Pen Y Fan...)

Friday, 1 February 2013


"If you are just safe about the choices you make, you don't grow." - Heath Ledger

So I've decided to quit my counselling course. Not based on this quote, I'm not quite that rash, it just goes rather nicely with the thinking behind the process. My whole life has been geared towards success (ooh-err) - throughout school and college I was one of those students who ended up being 'groomed' for university. I think they look at you and see lawyers, doctors...ultimately, you're headed for university. I thrived on this (somehow, considering my love of lie-ins and Neighbours) and never considered an alternative future. It turns out my university experience wasn't all that I'd hoped, which is another story entirely, though I did meet the most incredible friend in the most incredible city, so I can't complain. 
The pressure comes back tenfold towards the end of your final year, clear case of #firstworldproblems I know, when pretty much the only question you will hear is "what are your future plans?" 

I spent the best part of that final year thinking I wanted to be a primary school teacher until I woke up one morning and remembered I don't really like children. HILARIOUS. The following few months were spent in a blind panic trying to decide, yes decide, what I wanted to do with my life. No niggling gut feeling pointing me in the right direction, or a yearning for a certain career that couldn't be quashed. Only now am I starting to realise that perhaps I don't need a career. A job, oh god yes I need a job. But a career? One set thing for the rest of my life? I'm not sure. I don't want to hop from job to job, I would very much like to be settled, and I can't deny that there isn't a rather large ball of panic travelling at increasing speed from my tummy to my throat, but... I don't think those are my issues. I think they're the world's issues. And I really can't be bothered to get into THAT kind of "ugh, society" post, so I'll leave it there. Suffice it to say that I am currently unsure, but happy. It feels new and weird and very much against my nature. I definitely have moments of shame when I imagine my teachers finding out that I am essentially floating with no real direction, but let's focus on that old word "happy" for now shall we... Hopefully the rest will follow.

Remember your mortality/Remember you will die

I am completely in love with the Romans, so a Latin blog title seems quite fitting!
"Memento Mori" apparently originated in Rome, as a reminder to a lucky rich man that he could be brought down at any moment. The ancient 'pride comes before a fall' if you will... 
I see it a little differently, and the positive side appeals to me a lot. Once death has reared it's ugly head in your life, it's hard to ignore it - I find myself considering it in pretty much everything I do. I've had quite heated chats with friends about this because it can seem so negative. For some, this knowledge may as well be the end of them. They give up. Living in death's shadow can be very dark (haha) but it's all about how you view it.
In my reality, it pushes me to try new things. Yes it hurts like hell and is an absolute bitch, and in rare but hideous moments, the full force of the situation hits me and I can't breathe. But for the most part, this realisation is more of a motivation - motivation to get out there and live while you can. I know that sounds incredibly irritating, and I am well aware that life isn't all bunnies and rainbows - it is what you make it.