A trip to 'The Ferry'

The name Queensferry explains itself. Once upon a time, circa 1050, Margaret Canmore was Queen of Scotland, Dunfermline was the capital, and there were no bridges to Edinburgh across the Firth of Forth. Now there are three: a magnificent piece of 19thC engineering for trains; a road bridge opened in 1964 but too weak for endless streams of traffic in the early 21stC; and the Queensferry Crossing opened in 2017 to carry that load. The name was chosen by public vote.

I'd almost forgotten how magnificent the rail bridge is - three main spans, 6.5 million rivets, 640,000 cubic feet of granite, the height of 48 London buses, and now a Unesco Heritage Site.

South Queensferry (also self explanatory) sits under the bridge - a town of contrasts with historic buildings and 20thC brutalist architecture set side by side.

 

It also seems to be where Nessie goes for her summer holidays. 

 

I wonder how dearly the grateful inhabitants paid the kind laird for a bleaching green and water supply in 1817. 

Back in Edinburgh, it's a bit of a driech day up at the castle, so some creature comforts are called for.

With more than 90 gin distilleries to keep the supply flowing, who needs whisky?

Slàinte mhath!

New age travel

 If only it was always like this - no queues, no chattering hoardes, 15 mins to check in and a row of seats to oneself (Auckland to Singapore). The down side of course - mask breath after 26 hours in the air that even extra strong mints won't shift, restricted cabin service and the risk - however small - of catching something nasty from a delightful young man in the next seat (Singapore to London). Get straight to the point 'where had he come from? Oh Sydney - aren't they in lock down again?' 'Yes, but still a green route into UK.' Ok, we've all had our Covid tests but this is a long way from the safe haven of NZ. Time to shift to the more common mindset of living with Covid-19 rather than elimination.

All that plastic! Surely there's a better way to encourage social distance? 

 

Nice sunrise over Eastern Europe. 

 

It's Heathrow but not as we know it.  

 

Some travellers wore masks long before they were mandatory - now taking even greater precautions. 

Kings X Station at 9am on a Thursday in July - also unrecognizable.

A few stark reminders how unsheltered life is in the UK - a text from Vodafone with a number to call in case of suspicious activity or suspected terrorist threat, security staff with dogs on 24 hour patrol around the station and checking under the public use piano in the waiting area. Extra loud announcements implore the people who left bags unattended outside the Waitrose foodstore to return and remove immediately. Anyone who has ever tried to navigate the narrow aisles of station retail outlets with even small bags will understand why they might have done that. Vigilance is clearly the norm here.

The journey starts here...

 ...8AM at the local health centre with a pen-length swab stuck up my nose - the pre-flight Covid test required to board an aircraft just about anywhere in the world these days. It's not cheap at $250. The nurse makes a point of telling me the lab, not the centre, claims this prize. The receptionist asks me to remove my mask when I go to pay the bill. Only in New Zealand!!!

To recover from the novel rear-eyeball massage, I head for the beach. Its about 4C, frosty and bathed in glorious sunshine. Tangaroa, Papatuanuku and Ranginui all look their magnificent best. How could I even think of leaving this Pacific paradise for the purgatory of my homeland? Easy really - commonly known as family.

 

 

I think fondly of the OTT bureaucracy I'll no longer have to crowdfund as I read council instructions for an earthquake prone building. Drop, cover, hold. Maybe this place isn't so far removed from the sites of my misspent youth.  'Drop' and 'hold' make sense, I'm just not sure how to 'cover' - in a public toilet. I will miss you New Zealand, til MIQ places are available again.