Googling Maps...

I find it surprising how often I refer to Google Maps.  This device to keep track of my movements, send advertisers to my laptop and keep the FBI aware of my activities has been a boon in so many other ways.  It is not just the local police who can follow me around if they so choose.  These maps enable me to find my way around and I use them daily these days.

During recent months I recall searching out the many places wherein I was once employed, you note I do not use the word 'worked,' this took me back to 1966, too far back for any of you to remember, where I noticed the dim dark fire hazard dwelling that housed my first employment remained dim and dark but in an amended and hopefully less hazardous condition.  Almost all others since then have disappeared and were now housing blocks of flats or small housing estates, the one in North Finchley asking around half a million for a house where I once lugged 15,000 bricks of the back of a lorry by hand, not by myself I may add. Whether anyone realises or cares that under their feet once stood a tank containing petrol for the council vans possibly does not really matter.  The only time that mattered was when the delivery man put diesel in the petrol or was it petrol in the diesel tanks, that mattered a lot to the stream of small vans that died before they left the depot. 

Google maps allows me a remarkably close view on how the world has changed since those days where managers would cheerfully smile while slapping something down on the desk muttering “These are for you.” The days of those insurance cards have thankfully ended.

Google maps are great if you wish to visit somewhere new.  A glance tells you transport links, items of interest and places to avoid.  In the days before such marvels the tourist could wander around a town missing all the good bits and find themselves wallowing in the midst of dank depressing lower-class Britain from where they originated and wish to escape from, at least in my case.  Google saves you that.  With hand held expensive phones in direct contact with both the US and Chinese security systems this makes wandering around much easier than in the days of aper maps.  This system allows you to pick the spots worth visiting, allowing for the Google cameraman only visiting places when the sun shone, and hoping he choose to wander down all the streets you fancy. 

Those house buying would find the maps a great boon also.  Do you remember the lovely cottage on sale by the sea near Dymchurch a couple of years ago?  The pebble beach, the small flowers, the sea, the distance from everyone else, the condition of the house, large rooms, well maintained, all one could possibly wish in such an area.  It was therefore unfortunate that the photographer forgot to include the nearby Nuclear Power Station situated about a mile behind the house.  This may have influenced buyers.  Google maps helped in such circumstances, power stations, roads, railways, scrap yards, petrol stations, schools and other unwelcome happenings are often missed by estate agents for reasons unclear, the maps aid the unwary here.

I found the maps particularly useful when reading about ancient Eridu, the oldest settlement in Sumer.  The map of Iraq, if you work hard at it, shows all those old settlements along with more recent ones such as Nineveh or Babylon.  Fantastic to see such sites from the desk here, especially when rain hits the window and temperatures drop, at that moment watching a dry hot desert under 120 degrees of sunshine can be enthralling. 

Those who take time to study such maps can find themselves lost as I often am staring at out of the way places such as St Helena and wonder why on earth people live there?  There again the world is full of strange and inhospitable places often teeming with life, how do folks end up there and why do they stay?  Why indeed do they fight savagely to keep it to themselves I wonder? 

The way the maps attempt to display the land at the bottom of the sea is also quite extraordinary.  Lines run across the bottom indicating the clash of plates below and the huge number of volcanoes and potential earthquakes especially in the Pacific region.

Similarly watching rivers run down mountains catches the eye.  Mountainous Costa Rico looks high and lush but there was a man in a wheelchair, surrounded by dogs and sheep, bossing people around at one area I noticed.  The USA was a wonder, it intrigues how people could cross such a landmass, plains, hills, deserts and survive yet alone create what some call ‘civilisation’ on that vast acreage.  Nice of the civilisers to keep ‘reservations for the Indians’ even yet.  Apart from those Trump has run oil pipes over of course.  Tucson, Arizona, offers an aircraft boneyard.  Here military aircraft are laid out for observation from above and to lie ready for use sometime in the future.  B52’s and the like sit there burning in the sun’s dry heat.

Early man trekked vast distances, sometimes through the need for food or shelter sometimes just to see what was over the hill.  When you study the size of the world it is amazing how he moved so far in a relatively short time.  Of course so little evidence has been found and many conclusions jumped to that we really don’t know much about how he spread, nor how he managed to change colour to so many different hues.  We were informed at primary school this was because we were black but lost the colour as we moved north into cold regions.  Hmmm I wondered then how Indians were brown and Chinese yellow?  The equator runs across many of them also. 

A TV programme offered a trip on a train into the north of Siberia, the furthest north you can travel that way.  Some of the workers when challenged about the cold just shrugged their shoulders and laughed that anyone would query working there.  They were used to it.  Siberian troops were brought by Stalin from the Japanese border to defend Moscow in 1942 and they thought fighting in minus 8 degrees was warm!  They had experienced minus 40 regularly.  Excuse me while I huddle the heater.

You might be surprised to note that I have made use of Google while searching for Great War sites.  To view Ypres or Mons from the air and to compare with old maps or photographs is an interesting waste of time.  I especially like looking for remnants of old trench lines which have not yet been obliterated by the plough.  It is amazing what remains as well as what is now no longer visible.  

This adventure can take a lot of my busy time sadly. 

A Second day (well actually it is still the first...)

Climbing the Matterhorn meant that he and I had little enthusiasm for anything but lunch.  So it was off the beaten track to a beaten track at Hartland Moor where we scoffed lunch and rested bones.  This type of moor is somewhat bleak in my view, the purple stretches for miles into the hills in the far distance and small beasties crawl here and there but few birds fly by and in my mind there is no obvious beauty to be seen.  To observe that requires careful searching into the scrub to find the many insects that live here but at first sight I see it as somewhat bland.  This did not stop people, aged and with dogs, appearing out of nowhere and disappearing in similar fashion into the distance.  The road is quiet and apart from a selfish female cyclist who would not let us pass on the narrow road, he man moved aside, few other vehicles came that way.  A good place to stuff the face when the sun is shining.

Then it was time for the beach!

Raised in Edinburgh, a city that slopes down to the Firth of Forth, I love to be near the sea.  Growing up we often heard the deep long blast of the foghorn based on Inchkeith and often we could see the light from the accompanying lighthouse turning around.  The advancement (?) of lighting and creation of blocks of flats where my old school once horrified they surroundings would hinder both, if indeed foghorns actually sound thee days.  The smell of the sea and the light produced by the action of light bouncing of the water does lift the soul I say.  There is something about the closeness of the water, the end of land and the reaching out to whatever lies way over yonder that speaks to us in some way.  In times past few lived near the sea as it appeared dangerous, only sailors and fishermen would venture near, but today the majority love the sea, crowded beaches show that.
Naturally the woman of the party despises the seaside and prefers moorland and forest!  This is good however as we dumped her on a seat at the front knowing she would retreat to the car and sleep the day off.  We trekked on bravely.

Swanage is a small town in a bay which gathers an enormous number of visitors.  Possibly it is comparatively cheap, I suspect it is not that cheap to live here, but lots of UK visitors were noticed.  There again Bournemouth and possibly Swanage attract young folks to 'Language schools' and Bournemouth teems with such types and maybe there were some among the throng here.

We did not venture far, the break in the buildings ahead offered a seat and a 'Heritage centre,' a well run small and very well set out museum resplendent with history and well informed volunteer helpers.  I am very impressed with this place.  If collecting stones, those shiny things kids love is your thing this is the place to go, they have thousands, this is the 'Jurassic Coast' after all.

We sat listening to a group of men in English shirts informing the world around of their inability to hold their drink while we cogitated on the number of 'Fish & Chip' shops advertised or seen in the small square.  The Jewish man who apparently began selling chips with his fish in the 19th century did not realise he was introducing the UK's main lunch when he did so.  The pesky foreigners keep changing good old English attitudes and it really must stop!  By the way it was supposedly an Italian, one who had walked all the way from Italy, who late in the century introduced Scotland's first 'Chippy.'  When you consider how in the last fifty years the UK now eats Indian (often Bangladeshi actually) and Chinese (are we still banned from saying 'Chinky?') you see how the nations eating habits have developed with the introduction of foreign Johnnies into the country.
 I await the popularising of Middle Easter cuisine in similar fashion however that may be limited by cries of 'Islamic Terrorist!' every time you went in for a falafel.  The gulls however cared not what you ate just as long as you ensured they got their share.

The sun shone brightly but there was a haze limiting the sight of the Isle of Wight.  At times it was almost clear but rarely could we see the lower end.  The sea itself was somewhat rough as the wind roughened the tops of the waves while the tide came in our direction.  The sea is very much colder than it looks and those tempted into it discover this fooled by the warmth of the sun.

 
Surprisingly few yachts were out there and this was good weather for that kind of thing.  Were the owners all off making money in the city in this heat I wonder?  Few craft of any king out there while we meandered about and headed back via the shops.  Lots of small shops still surviving in spite of business rates and greedy councils but a lot of them were, shall we say, tatty?  Lots of pap on offer, ice cream and chips, not at the same time,  and all the other requirements of holiday makers and their kids in the sun filled cheery seaside.  I wondered where these people resided?  On returning we found our madame still sitting there, now people watching, now gossiping with strangers, very like her.  These strangers were holidaying nearby, were others doing the same?  Swanage does not appear to have many obvious 'Bed & Breakfast' places, maybe I juts did not look. 

Then it was time to sail the seven seas, or at least make use of the Sandbanks Ferry.  

Timing it to be just too late to board we waited in the sun while people clambered out of cars, avoiding the massive chains that keep the ferry stable, and photographed their surroundings.  The young men on their jet skis bouncing upon the waves somewhat carelessly were less interesting than the madman trying to reach France by paragliding there on wind power.  He would be lucky to make the other side, which he would not do if he ran into the ferry from Boulogne.  It amazes me when you see the size of the ships which enter this narrow channel into Poole Bay.  Huge ships arrive and park themselves way over the far side of the bay yet in other parts the water is only a few feet deep.  For several thousand years men in boats, from dug out canoes to car carrying ferries have deposited their loads here, one of the reasons Many folks have made use of the hill upon which we found Corfe Castle and where I must have left two stones of ugly somewhere on the way up.  

Brownsea Island, not somewhere I have been but maybe if we could walk further we might venture onto one day, not this week mind.  Fampusly owned by one woman, famous for the first Boy Scout Jamboree (girls allowed but no boys allowed in Girl Guides for some reason) and we watched the ferry (yet another) pull away from the Island and make of round the bay.  Maybe next year but I doubt his missus will be up for that!  The island is now another National Trust property.

The Sandbanks Ferry has been running since the 1920's, a fact which surprised me as I always thought it a Victorian achievement.  £4:50 gets the car across in a few minutes accompanied on occasions by the sound of someone aboard informing a yachtsman or sailboarder of their opinion regarding how close he could get to a moving ferry chain.  Most big boats work the passage well.  
If you ever have too much cash floating around pass it on to me and I will buy one of the flats where I will waste my life watching the ferry move back and forth day after day, that is how active my body wishes to be these days.  I note one available for a mere £950,000 which appears to me to be a bargain that must not be missed. 

In the distance Bournemouth towers above the cliffs while on the beach thousands frolic in the sun, we will be there tomorrow.  Just think, around 1850 nothing much but bracken and a small stream, the Bourne, had its collision with the sea here, known as the 'Bourne Mouth' the name has stuck but now from Christchurch at one end to Poole at the other how many thousands cram into this place day after day?
I do like it however.

Sea Sick, Too bad!

Since I was last here a couple of years ago I wanted to return to this car park and sit here watching the ships go by.  The sun glinting off the water, the sounds of the ferry's chains rattling, the water sloshing against the walls, the variety of craft that run back and forward on occasion ignoring the 'Give way to the Ferry' sign on the ferry.  The sun shone but there was a chill in the wind still, note the two at the back of the wee boat!  They have been out on a fishing trip and I wonder if they have caught anything out there apart from pneumonia?
There were over twenty cars on the ferry but I lost count as they came off.  A tourist bus, a 7:5 ton van and other large vans also travelled alongside a cyclist or two and foot passengers.  During the summer this place must be teeming!  The sands opposite filled with revelers and others indulging in things you keep kids away from, unless you are Ofsted of course!

Away in the far distance stands 'Old Harry Rocks.'  Once in the days of long ago these were attached to the Isle of Wight that is now far across the Solent.  I have clambered out along the top, in the 1980's, and it seems to me bits have been worn away since then by the storms.  There is no chance of my clambering over the brutes now!

Somewhat closer than in reality the distant Isle of Wight is clearly seen, even the southern end often shrouded by haze can be seen in the far distance.  So what happened to all that chalk land that has eroded?  I suspect someone somewhere has a mountain or two on their beach that they are not too happy about.

We climbed up to a high spot on the cliffs to gain a better view.  Down below the handful of people walked along the bright sand, sand that looks as if it has been relayed in time for the summer season.  The tourist income is vast and this long beach stretching from Christchurch to Poole more or less is a fabulous place to be.  Thousands consider it so and it gets a wee bit crowded.  There is very good support from lifeguards and council controls.  Mostly for lost kids during the day I suspect.

More fishermen!  They are also the only folks at sea it appears.  Usually this place is teeming with life.  Ferries to France, lifeboats rehearsing, small craft passing by, occasional other bigger ships in the distance heading for Poole.  Today little moved except a  dog or two and some people enjoying the sun. 

The different shades of blue in the sky intrigued me.  The sea was the same, various shades, changing as clouds passed over.  The blue above lightens as it heads towards the horizon, gradually the blue dissipates until it touches the sea.  The clouds remained small cotton wool like and insufficient to fill the picture, which is good.

Sick off the sea?  OK, no more now.

oops, sorry!

Sandbanks

The fuss in the press in recent days concerning the possible move of 'Arry Redknapp from Portsmouth to Newcastle United several times mentioned his house in Sandbanks. This did intrigue me as I have often been down that way. The beach at Bournemouth is one of the best in the UK, and the sun shines there also! This small peninsula has Poole Bay on one side and Poole harbour on the other. This leaves a wonderfully attractive site, so attractive that houses built on this, near island, cost many millions of pounds.

From the photograph this may not appear to be the case, but a quick perusal of houses for sale show just what is on offer!

Swapping this for the cold gray of the north east may not have gone down well with Mrs Redknapp of course who may not have thought Gateshead as attractive as Sandbanks. A wise woman! 'Arry was quick to claim that he could not leave because he did not want to "Let down the players I have brought in!" and that he was 'Appy in the sarf." I suggest he forgot to mention Portsmouth, who's great improvement in 'Arrys time would come to an end, leaving them open to relegation once again, made him an offer he could not refuse. Our 'Arry knows all about wheeling and dealing, and one would not be surprised that the Newcastle trip was done to 'encourage' Portsmouth to loosen the purse strings.
Cynic? Me?

By the time I had finished going through the details of these houses, many newly built since the last time I was there, I was somewhat disappointed. I would love a place where I could see the sun coming up over the 'Old Harry' rocks and going down over Poole Harbour, as one thing I miss is being near the sea. But in the end I think the pretentiousness of so many of these houses, and the people who buy them, left me flat. Market forces might increase the price of better property, but seven million for a house? Nothing wrong with being wealthy, nothing wrong with having good quality furnishings, but there is something wrong with those who see this as the best that life has to offer. How many personality clashes occur in those expensive homes? How many are on there latest marriage? How many are content? Maybe a smaller house, overlooking the sea so I could watch the sun go down at night in the west, and have enjoyed its warmth in the morning would suit me.

Of course, a lottery win might change my mind for me.