The Plough Hotel
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Travel Blogs from Yetholm
Happy Birthday Anne!
Traveling down the wild and beautiful Northumberland Coast, our first stop was the Holy Island of Lindisfarne, which is reachable only at low tide, across a narrow causeway. As is typical for us, the tide WAS out, but this time we were pleased! The causeway was still covered in saltwater puddles, and it was an uncomfortable feeling not knowing how long it would be before the road would be covered (we had ...
... each of Nana's movements as she made them. I don't think the elevator has had that much exercise in the past few weeks. Not to mention, the residents were made keenly aware of Talia and "my sister Avaia who only speaks a little french" and that they "love toast that Nana makes".
Nana was kind enough to brave the front seat of the car and directed Tony to Aunt Gill's house where we had a house/kitchen party for the rest of the day. ...
... Cafe but we won't because Kate and John are somewhere on route to join us and we must be there for their arrival.
Finally, we go to the bus stop to meet them in this tiny flea speck of a village, Kirk Yetholm, and are disappointed when the 4.35 bus arrives and they are not on it. Hardly surprising perhaps you may think that they set out from Stockholm around 3.45 am and have had to pass through Heathrow and ...
... make for happy tummies!) Debby, by the way, had scrambled eggs which were also okay.
By 9 o'clock, fortified and full of the joy that springs from knowing that everything is well in the breakfast world, we walking on a small road out of Morebattle contemplating our first significant hills for a while. Today we have only about 10 kms or so to go to Kirk Yetholm, but we tackle three peaks along the way. These peaks looming ahead of ...
... it must have seemed when it was abandoned.
C from northern Afghanistan joined us for Hadrian's Wall with her sister R. Odd how all these Afghanistan friends suddenly saw fit to join us on the PW, the toughest stretch of our trip... We had dinner together in Haltwhistle, a town which fervently declares itself the geographical centre of Britain - a reminder of how far we ...