I’m sitting in front of my computer, asking myself what could be the worst thing to happen to a travel blogger. For me, it’s the loss of photos. And that’s what’s happened.
My camera’s memory card refused to download the photos of my month in England onto my PC, and then the photos disappeared from the camera altogether. All efforts by the guys at the camera shop and the computer technician have been to no avail. The memory card was a dud. The photos have gone.
Being a novice at all this, I had no idea you had to back up a memory card. They’re for storing photos, aren’t they? That’s what I expected it to do.
I’m terribly disappointed. I was pretty happy with how a lot of them turned out, and I wanted to share them: Port Isaac aka Portwenn of Doc Martin fame, a performance of Peter Pan at the Minack, a theatre carved into the side of a cliff in Cornwall, the Jane Austen festival at Bath and divine Bath Abbey, Canterbury’s winding medieval streets and ancient history.
I guess I’ll have to borrow other people’s photos but it’s not the same. Still, I was lucky enough to catch the first four days of the trip before the card gave it away altogether.
After my two hectic days in London, I caught the train to Cambridge. I’d booked into St. Catharine’s College, having enjoyed staying in a college at Oxford, along with the fact that it’s so much cheaper than other accommodation.
My room was very comfortable (except for the six flights of stairs to lug my case up – most accommodation in England haven’t discovered lifts yet), with loads of shelves and hanging space, a wash basin behind cupboard doors and, wonder of wonders, a case rack, something you don’t see much of these days. The toilet and shower were down the passage but I can put up with that little inconvenience to save that much money.
I’ve always wanted to explore both Oxford and Cambridge and to compare the two, having seen them both in so many movies and television shows. I loved Oxford, even though I only had two days there (sometime in the future I’ll return for a proper look).
Cambridge has a totally different look and feel, more like a village than a city, though, as I discovered later, its suburbs stretch out for miles. The river sparkled in the sunshine, its punts gliding serenely under arched bridges between banks rimmed by weeping willows.
I wandered between high stone walls hiding colleges hundreds of years old, and in and out of winding cobbled streets and lanes.