What's your most memorable trip, and why?

[Ansiktsburk]

To Thailand 1989, only long trip I ever made, and I hope I will not do another, at least South. Unbearable heat, snakes, poverty, dirt. Only good thing was the Thailanders, great people. But I learned I’m not made for the tropics and I haven’t been anywhere close since.

[Maia]

In May 2017 I spent a wonderful week in Bristol with a guy I had met at a Pagan moot. Or at least, I thought it was wonderful at the time, but subsequent events have rather spoilt its memory, to be honest. He was really into boats, and had booked a few nights at what I can only describe as a floating hotel in Bristol Harbour. It was a large river boat, but the engine had been removed and it was permanently moored. Bristol Harbour, I should add, is not really a harbour in the usual sense, though it used to be, a long time ago. It consists of a very large ring of water surrounding Bristol city centre, more like a canal I suppose, full of boats of various sorts, and surrounded by trendy pubs, restaurants and museums. We went in a few while we were there, including a floating pub, basically another large boat that was permanently moored. Bristol, of course, is steeped in maritime history, and you really can't escape it, wherever you go. I love the accent they have there, a slightly more muted, or clipped version of the wider West Country dialect, so they all do fine on Talk Like a Pirate Day, because the so-called pirate accent is basically just the West Country accent, as so many pirates in centuries gone by were from that part of the world.

Because the boat we were staying on was fully booked up on one of the nights, we headed down to Plymouth instead, and stayed in a more normal hotel. Plymouth is another famous maritime city, where Sir Francis Drake insisted on finishing his game of bowls before heading out to deal with those pesky Spaniards and their massive invasion fleet, the Armada, in 1588. Unlike Bristol, however, Plymouth is still has a massive Royal Navy base to this day. We spent most of our day there on a boat trip.

Anyway, that was my trip to Bristol, and Plymouth, with a guy who I liked very much, at the time.

[Maia]

In September 2017 I took another boat trip with the same guy, who I'd been in a relationship with for quite a few months, by this time. This was a trip by canal boat, to a Staffordshire village named Abbots Bromley, site of the famous Horn Dance. Or rather, we took the boat, which we had hired for a week, to a town called Rugeley, since the canal doesn't get any closer to Abbots Bromley than that, and took a taxi the rest of the way. The canal trip itself was an interesting experience. Because the canals are so sedate, with long stretches where there are no other boats around, I even had a few goes at steering, with my boyfriend keeping a lookout. I didn't much like having to moor the boat up every so often to get off and do the locks, though. That got pretty old, pretty quickly. It takes days to get anywhere by canal, and on one of the nights we stayed at a village called Fradley Junction, a genuine canal village in that instead of being built around roads, for cars, it's built around a canal junction.

The Abbots Bromley Horn Dance is famous, in Pagan circles, as one of the few surviving apparently pre-Christian traditions in England, and this was not, indeed, the first time I'd been to it, and nor would it be the last, though on previous occasions I'd gone in someone's car, and not stayed for the whole day. The dancers are all members of the same family, whose ancestors have been performing the dance since at least the Middle Ages, it's believed, and certainly since the 17th century, when it's mentioned in a written source for the first time. For the dance itself they wear huge, heavy stag horns on their shoulders, which I had the privilege of being allowed to touch on one occasion, and spend the whole day going round the village and its environs, re-enacting a mock battle between light and darkness, for the turning of the year. The horns, incidentally, have been carbon dated, and are around a thousand years old, attached to little wooden heads covered in layers and layers of paint, dating back centuries. They're kept in the church at other times of the year, but despite this Christian veneer, though, there's no real doubt about the Pagan origins of the dance, which the dancers freely admit, whenever I've spoken to them about it.

The village attracts thousands of visitors on Horn Dance Day, including, of course, large numbers of Pagans, and in the evening, the pubs are bursting at the seams. We ended up in one called the Crown, where most of the Pagans were. A lot of them were hanging out in the rather large beer garden round the back, smoking spliffs. This is always a popular activity among Pagans, though the only time I tried it I had a massive coughing fit, and have steered clear since. My boyfriend, though, was well into it, and what with that, and the booze, it's probably fair to say that he was a little out of his face, laughing around with his Pagan mates. At one point I was talking to other people I knew, at a different table, and he must have thought that I couldn't hear him, or something, because he began saying some pretty unpleasant things about me, things that called into question our entire relationship. Needless to say, I was extremely upset, and, after an embarrassingly public argument with him, during which he claimed he was only joking, which, even if true, is bad enough in itself, I got a lift home with my friends, that night. I don't really know how he managed with the boat, on his own, getting back, and haven't spoken to him since.

I wasn't really sure if I wanted to include this one, to be honest, but it was certainly a memorable trip, for all the wrong reasons, in the end. I've had a few more camping trips, on my own, since then, when work commitments allowed it, but they were pretty similar to the one I described earlier.

[accelafine]

In September 2017 I took another boat trip with the same guy, who I'd been in a relationship with for quite a few months, by this time. This was a trip by canal boat, to a Staffordshire village named Abbots Bromley, site of the famous Horn Dance. Or rather, we took the boat, which we had hired for a week, to a town called Rugeley, since the canal doesn't get any closer to Abbots Bromley than that, and took a taxi the rest of the way. The canal trip itself was an interesting experience. Because the canals are so sedate, with long stretches where there are no other boats around, I even had a few goes at steering, with my boyfriend keeping a lookout. I didn't much like having to moor the boat up every so often to get off and do the locks, though. That got pretty old, pretty quickly. It takes days to get anywhere by canal, and on one of the nights we stayed at a village called Fradley Junction, a genuine canal village in that instead of being built around roads, for cars, it's built around a canal junction.

The Abbots Bromley Horn Dance is famous, in Pagan circles, as one of the few surviving apparently pre-Christian traditions in England, and this was not, indeed, the first time I'd been to it, and nor would it be the last, though on previous occasions I'd gone in someone's car, and not stayed for the whole day. The dancers are all members of the same family, whose ancestors have been performing the dance since at least the Middle Ages, it's believed, and certainly since the 17th century, when it's mentioned in a written source for the first time. For the dance itself they wear huge, heavy stag horns on their shoulders, which I had the privilege of being allowed to touch on one occasion, and spend the whole day going round the village and its environs, re-enacting a mock battle between light and darkness, for the turning of the year. The horns, incidentally, have been carbon dated, and are around a thousand years old, attached to little wooden heads covered in layers and layers of paint, dating back centuries. They're kept in the church at other times of the year, but despite this Christian veneer, though, there's no real doubt about the Pagan origins of the dance, which the dancers freely admit, whenever I've spoken to them about it.

The village attracts thousands of visitors on Horn Dance Day, including, of course, large numbers of Pagans, and in the evening, the pubs are bursting at the seams. We ended up in one called the Crown, where most of the Pagans were. A lot of them were hanging out in the rather large beer garden round the back, smoking spliffs. This is always a popular activity among Pagans, though the only time I tried it I had a massive coughing fit, and have steered clear since. My boyfriend, though, was well into it, and what with that, and the booze, it's probably fair to say that he was a little out of his face, laughing around with his Pagan mates. At one point I was talking to other people I knew, at a different table, and he must have thought that I couldn't hear him, or something, because he began saying some pretty unpleasant things about me, things that called into question our entire relationship. Needless to say, I was extremely upset, and, after an embarrassingly public argument with him, during which he claimed he was only joking, which, even if true, is bad enough in itself, I got a lift home with my friends, that night. I don't really know how he managed with the boat, on his own, getting back, and haven't spoken to him since.

I wasn't really sure if I wanted to include this one, to be honest, but it was certainly a memorable trip, for all the wrong reasons, in the end. I've had a few more camping trips, on my own, since then, when work commitments allowed it, but they were pretty similar to the one I described earlier.

Most women would be shocked at the way their 'soul mate' men talk about them behind their backs. Clueless creatures.

[Maia]

In September 2017 I took another boat trip with the same guy, who I'd been in a relationship with for quite a few months, by this time. This was a trip by canal boat, to a Staffordshire village named Abbots Bromley, site of the famous Horn Dance. Or rather, we took the boat, which we had hired for a week, to a town called Rugeley, since the canal doesn't get any closer to Abbots Bromley than that, and took a taxi the rest of the way. The canal trip itself was an interesting experience. Because the canals are so sedate, with long stretches where there are no other boats around, I even had a few goes at steering, with my boyfriend keeping a lookout. I didn't much like having to moor the boat up every so often to get off and do the locks, though. That got pretty old, pretty quickly. It takes days to get anywhere by canal, and on one of the nights we stayed at a village called Fradley Junction, a genuine canal village in that instead of being built around roads, for cars, it's built around a canal junction.

The Abbots Bromley Horn Dance is famous, in Pagan circles, as one of the few surviving apparently pre-Christian traditions in England, and this was not, indeed, the first time I'd been to it, and nor would it be the last, though on previous occasions I'd gone in someone's car, and not stayed for the whole day. The dancers are all members of the same family, whose ancestors have been performing the dance since at least the Middle Ages, it's believed, and certainly since the 17th century, when it's mentioned in a written source for the first time. For the dance itself they wear huge, heavy stag horns on their shoulders, which I had the privilege of being allowed to touch on one occasion, and spend the whole day going round the village and its environs, re-enacting a mock battle between light and darkness, for the turning of the year. The horns, incidentally, have been carbon dated, and are around a thousand years old, attached to little wooden heads covered in layers and layers of paint, dating back centuries. They're kept in the church at other times of the year, but despite this Christian veneer, though, there's no real doubt about the Pagan origins of the dance, which the dancers freely admit, whenever I've spoken to them about it.

The village attracts thousands of visitors on Horn Dance Day, including, of course, large numbers of Pagans, and in the evening, the pubs are bursting at the seams. We ended up in one called the Crown, where most of the Pagans were. A lot of them were hanging out in the rather large beer garden round the back, smoking spliffs. This is always a popular activity among Pagans, though the only time I tried it I had a massive coughing fit, and have steered clear since. My boyfriend, though, was well into it, and what with that, and the booze, it's probably fair to say that he was a little out of his face, laughing around with his Pagan mates. At one point I was talking to other people I knew, at a different table, and he must have thought that I couldn't hear him, or something, because he began saying some pretty unpleasant things about me, things that called into question our entire relationship. Needless to say, I was extremely upset, and, after an embarrassingly public argument with him, during which he claimed he was only joking, which, even if true, is bad enough in itself, I got a lift home with my friends, that night. I don't really know how he managed with the boat, on his own, getting back, and haven't spoken to him since.

I wasn't really sure if I wanted to include this one, to be honest, but it was certainly a memorable trip, for all the wrong reasons, in the end. I've had a few more camping trips, on my own, since then, when work commitments allowed it, but they were pretty similar to the one I described earlier.

Most women would be shocked at the way their 'soul mate' men talk about them behind their backs. Clueless creatures.

Very true. And it was just so stupid, as well.

[attofishpi]

What's your most memorable trip,

When I stupidly pissed on an electric fence whilst on LSD.

...and why?

Because it made me real eyes that on certain occasions I am an idiot.

However.

I think regarding actual movements within spacetime around planet Earth, my most memorable would likely be flying across the vast canopy of the Borneo jungle that stretched to the horizon in all directions within a light aircraft and comprehending that if the plane crashed and my friends and I survived we would never ever get out of that jungle, ever.............until death.

[Wizard22]

The village attracts thousands of visitors on Horn Dance Day, including, of course, large numbers of Pagans, and in the evening, the pubs are bursting at the seams. We ended up in one called the Crown, where most of the Pagans were. A lot of them were hanging out in the rather large beer garden round the back, smoking spliffs. This is always a popular activity among Pagans, though the only time I tried it I had a massive coughing fit, and have steered clear since. My boyfriend, though, was well into it, and what with that, and the booze, it's probably fair to say that he was a little out of his face, laughing around with his Pagan mates. At one point I was talking to other people I knew, at a different table, and he must have thought that I couldn't hear him, or something, because he began saying some pretty unpleasant things about me, things that called into question our entire relationship. Needless to say, I was extremely upset, and, after an embarrassingly public argument with him, during which he claimed he was only joking, which, even if true, is bad enough in itself, I got a lift home with my friends, that night. I don't really know how he managed with the boat, on his own, getting back, and haven't spoken to him since.

I wasn't really sure if I wanted to include this one, to be honest, but it was certainly a memorable trip, for all the wrong reasons, in the end. I've had a few more camping trips, on my own, since then, when work commitments allowed it, but they were pretty similar to the one I described earlier.

You deserve better.

[promethean75]

You don't know that, sir. We need all sides of the story before we make a ruling. For all we know, Maia could have been making fun of the bloke earlier because his echo location sucks and hurt his feelings.

[Wizard22]

You don't know that, sir. We need all sides of the story before we make a ruling. For all we know, Maia could have been making fun of the bloke earlier because his echo location sucks and hurt his feelings.

It seems he took the side of his friends, instead of his date.

That's a hard thing you know--when you get romantically involved with somebody, you don't only have to seduce her, but you have to seduce her friends and family too. Like...her mother. That is, if you actually want to go through with the whole deal: kids, marriage, long-term etc.

Maia dodged a bullet if her date was willing to laugh at her with his friends, within ear-shot.

[Maia]

Some may recall that I was planning to go to an event at a stone circle called the Nine Ladies for the winter solstice. Well, my lift fell through with just a day to go, so I had to improvise, since I was determined to make this solstice a special one, and decided to go to a place called Barr Beacon. I booked myself into the nearest Travelodge, that is, a reasonably cheap hotel, for the Friday night, and since I had already managed to arrange a highly coveted morning shift at work that day, as soon as it finished I set off on my trek, walking anti-clockwise around the outer circle bus route, and then turning off, heading further north and west, and eventually out of the city. It took about five hours altogether, or just under, through an almost wholly urban environment, except right at the end. I could, of course, have just got the bus, at least for the first half of the journey, but where's the fun in that? Towards the end of the journey, when I needed a break, Google Maps informed me that I was passing a garden centre, which included a pub, a very novel idea, so I decided to call in. After navigating a whole series of tunnels and what I can only describe as grottoes, I eventually came to the pub, a large, spacious building full of people, and ordered a coffee. I almost baulked at the price, nearly four quid. I could get a breakfast and as much coffee as I could drink at a Wetherspoon's pub for just very slightly more than that. Still, I was now entering a fairly posh, suburban sort of area on the edge of the city, so I suppose I shouldn't have been too surprised. The Travelodge was about an hour further on.

I crashed out really early as I had a very early start the following day. Barr Beacon was about an hour further on from the hotel, and I was now out in the countryside, which was a relief. I wanted to be there for sunrise on the shortest day, so, to be sure of making it, I checked out of the hotel at 6.30, and set off. It was a bit cold, even for me, but I made it in good time, with nearly an hour to spare. Barr Beacon is a fascinating place, with quite a few stories of ghosts and weird goings on. It's one of the highest hills in the area, and right at the top is, for want of a better way of describing it, a Greek temple built of stone. It's actually a First World War memorial, but is modelled after a Greek temple, and you have to be careful, when you go inside, not to knock over the wreaths of poppies. I say inside, but there's hardly any shelter in there, to speak of, and since I had a bit of time to kill, being so early, I could have done with some. Thankfully, the surrounding woods were a lot less exposed to the elements. By the time sunrise was due I could hear that there were some kids in the war memorial, so I didn't go back inside.

And that was basically it. I'd done what I'd set out to do. I didn't hang around for very long, after that, and began walking home. I got the bus for the second half of the journey, around the outer circle, which turned out to be a very good idea, otherwise I'd have been caught in a freezing rain shower. As it was, I was anyway, but only between the bus stop and my flat, but was absolutely drenched, nevertheless.

[carlafeit]

Mine was the day I ran away from home. I turned 18 that day so technically it was not running away - I could do what I want, but I had to make a quick getaway to make sure that important documents that I need to make it through life (e.g. birth certificate) do not get hidden away.

Didn't sleep all night and then got out of the house very quietly to catch the 4 am bus out of town. I was so nervous I nearly threw up.

[Maia]

I went to a Pagan moot yesterday at a place called Moseley Village, an area with a bit of an alternative reputation, like a tiny little version of Glastonbury. I met up with a guy I've, well, met up with a few times for coffee, over the past month or so, let's put it like that, and we spent the afternoon just wandering around, talking. We also sat in the beer garden of a pub called the Fighting Cocks, taking it easy, and in the evening went to another pub called the Prince of Wales, where the moot was. It was held in a room at the back called the Tolkien Room, so-called because he allegedly frequented the place, when he lived in the area, though I don't know how they know that. There were quite a few people there, more than I was expecting, a couple of dozen, maybe. One of them, the moot leader, gave a talk about spirit animals and witches' familiars, and we all had to describe which animal we felt the most drawn to, and why. I said a cat, of course, but so did at least three other people. Another popular one was wolf. Afterwards we basically just chatted and socialised, and I caught up with some people who I hadn't spoken to for ages.

[accelafine]

It's never a wart hog or a rat I seem to be drawn to birds, especially blackbirds. I've had several long term relationships with garden blackbirds

[Maia]

It's never a wart hog or a rat I seem to be drawn to birds, especially blackbirds. I've had several long term relationships with garden blackbirds

One of them said cockroach, but I'm sure he was joking.

I like crows, they have a very distinctive call. Very intelligent too, apparently.

[accelafine]

Yes. Crows are amazing. The closest we have here are magpies which are very clever too.
I didn't realise that birds are dinosaurs. Not 'descended from dinosaurs' but actual dinosaurs.