For ever and for ever when I move

We leave at 5.30 in the morning from North Queensferry. I sleep in the front seat until we begin winding through the start of the highlands, the hills are dramatic as they rise and fall as far as the eye can see. Our arrival at Fort William is simply to scope out the engine, shunting on the tracks: Black 5 no. 45407, the Jacobite, built in 1936-7 for LMS (London-Midlands-Scotland) in Crewe, privately owned and contracted to West Coast Railways for the six-month tourist season to run from Fort William to Mallaig. It’s a gorgeous engine, shining black steel, massive cast iron wheels connected by forged steel simple-linkage rods, healthy exhaust as the train primes.

We set off to Corpach Basin, to have a brisk walk along the lower loch and watch the departure of the train from across the lake. It’s off in perfect time, 10.20 on the dot, steam blowing, a line of exhaust tracing across the cluster of white, fort-like buildings arranged on the hillside that composes Fort William. We reverse direction, pick up the pace and return to the Basin, past the ducks quacking as they skim across the lake and the boats bobbing between the bridges in the canal space of the seventeen lochs, waiting for their chance to rest in the lower loch.

A crowd is gathered in the parking lot, cameras at the ready: the engine sails through, giving a whistle of greeting, exhaust beautifully stretched out behind. The windows are full of smiling faces, everyone waving, six red carriages and then it is gone, racing along the lake and out of view. We jump into the car and we’re off in hot pursuit–leaving Coprach and racing through villages, overtaking cars and lauries on the motorway and before long we are next to the train, racing beside it as it flashes though the trees, slowly overtaking the carriages and the engine is barely visible, the powerful barking sound resonating through the air, chugga-chugga-chugga, the exhaust billowing and the red bodies of the carriages flashing, windows perfectly placed inside them, faces seemingly frozen beside us as our speed matches and the route changes, the train disappears behind the hill and we are alone, racing on the road, buried in the trees.

We race on. “A turn on the right, and the lay-by just after it,” John repeats to himself, a road flashes by on the right and he slams on the brakes: “Seatbelt off, dearie, saves a few milliseconds,” and we pull off the road at Fassfarn, jump out of the car and John grabs his camera, we jump over the fence, race across the track, clamber over the second fence and we are in a field, sheep grazing to the right and Loch Eil stretches up to the base of the railway on the right. “We’ve got a few seconds here,” John tells me, and, “Oh, look at that spot of sun!” and he is visibly excited, walking in his rushed, bouncing gait to stand beneath a tree and situate himself with his camera.

The sound reaches us first, a-chugga-chugga-chugga, the engine is working and for nearly a minute we are bouncing with excitement and anticipation: a glimpse of exhaust in the trees in the distance and, “Wah-hoo! There it is!” and the engine races beautifully out of the woods towards us, the sounds and the sight and the sun peeks out and it races past, faces waving in the windows and we are buried in the field, laughing and waving as it races by.

“Very good, carry on,” says John and we race back over the fences, across the tracks and back to the road where we rush on, eating wine-gums and hooting and hollering and laughing, racing down the sprawling roads and John starts chatting and drives slightly slower and we miss it at Craigag bridge, getting just a glimpse of the tail end as it races along the hillside and into the trees out of sight and we speed along. “We’ll catch it tomorrow!” I exclaim with a whoop.

We race on to Glenfinnan, where all the tourists are clustered at the base of the hill: John drops me off at the edge of the parking lot and I sprint out of the car, laughing and running in sheer exhilaration, and just as the train reaches the start of the viaduct in the distance it slows down, lets out a stream of exhaust and whistles for the crowd, everyone cheers and as it disappears on the other side of the epic valley I race back to John, jump in the car, and we’re off again.

And so it goes, for three days, chasing the trains from Fort William to Mallaig and back again, climbing through the wild, rugged highlands, making our way through ferns and boggy mosses, over the cliffs to see hidden parts of the railway, pruning back the trees that distract the view of the train: being eaten by midges, searching for ticks, no time for food in the day as we race after the morning train and afternoon train and in the evening we enjoy meals of fresh seafood or fish and chips before I go to rest in the Bed & Breakfast and John drives off to sleep in the car and bathe in the river, he enjoying his ‘wild living’ as I bask in the glorious luxury of a hot shower, a brief time of quiet and rest before a proper breakfast early in the morning and the call of the whistle to roil our blood and entice us to follow.

“It’s super! It’s wonderful! It’s excellent!” John yells in his excited English accent, pumping his fist in the air, reaching and exceeding the speed limit for the first time since I’ve met him. “It’s all in the chase! Who-hoo! Just knowing it’s coming! Who-hoo! Oh, wonderful, dear. Just wonderful. Fantastic! Ho-ho! Who-hoo!”

And I giggle and whoop and holler along with him, and roll down the window for the refreshing flood of energy that accompanies the pursuit of the barking and whistling steam engine.

A handful of useful sites and resources that I take for granted being familiar with, now gathered up to present to you: keep in mind that this is primarily Europe-based travel advice, as I am at this time primarily traveling through Western Europe and the UK.

I travel cheap. Dirt cheap. Sometimes all I eat is bread, for weeks, until I can’t stand the thought of cutting up another piece of cheese and ripping off another piece of bread and putting it in my mouth to thoroughly masticate before the sodden lump retreats down my throat to my grumbling, endlessly crying stomach. Brief relief: apples. Cream cheese and tomatoes. Different types of cheese and bread as per the country. Always buy enough for the day, and buy it fresh again in the morning. Local bakeries are best. Splurge and buy good jam. Carrots. Make pasta occasionally. Splurge and buy ingredients necessary to make a great dinner. Avocados can be a great relief. Canned artichoke hearts are a cheap and tasty snack. Take your own loose leaf tea and make it as you go: hot water is always free.

Lodging: if you have time and not money, look into WOOFing to do some local organic farm-stays or find a job through sites like WorkAway. Otherwise, stay with friends you meet along the way. Always take the contacts of people from interesting countries, especially those you like. Travel-minded people love to host and travel to meet other travel-minded people. Couchsurfing is a great site, which some people avidly swear by. You can get the occasional loose screw, but be smart about how you travel, always have an escape plan in the back of your mind, and be critical and selective when choosing who to stay with. Hostelworld is the next step up, which is pretty much the only site I use when searching for hostels. Search by price, read the reviews (I hate mildew and generally do my best to avoid mildew-ridden-comment places) and book from there. Generally the cheaper prices you get online are not available if you just impromptu arrive at the hostel desk: and as you pay a booking fee through the site, it is best to book the number of days you plan to stay and pay when you arrive.

Airbnb is a more expensive alternative, but a completely verified and totally reliable way to apartment-share. While I was traveling in New York, I stayed via Airbnb in a fantastic flat in Brooklyn: our hosts were so sweet and knowledgeable, told us where the best food was and how to order wine via delivery, and when the apartment was broken into and all our electronics were stolen, they completely reimbursed us the loss via the insurance they had through the site. Pretty slick. Slightly awkward at the time, completely resolved by the end.

Flights are best found through Kayak. It’s great to make a multi-city selection, as you can plan layovers in cool places and often find a cheaper flight. Sometimes I’ll search through Kayak to get an idea of which airline has the cheapest flight, and then go directly to the airline’s site, such as Aerlingus, United Airlines or Korean Air to find the same flight for slightly cheaper. Icelandair is pretty cool in that the government subsidizes layover flights through Iceland, in order to encourage tourism to the tiny isolated isle. It’s a super legit place to have a week to chill, but bring a tent if you’re budget-conscious. Be wary of China Airlines, as they give ZERO reimbursement if you cannot make the flight. NEVER buy a flight more than two months in advance. Every time I have purchased a cheap flight in advance, my plans have changed and I have to bite the bullet and suffer the loss. Be aware that buying cheap means no flexibility, huge charges to make changes, and potentially zero customer service (see Ryanair, local budget airlines from sites like Swoodoo, or Easy Jet).

Buses are the cheapest way to travel long-distance, and there are all sorts of incredibly cheap bus sites that vary via country. Megabus can get you from the UK to several key cities in Europe, such as Paris or Amsterdam, often overnight (which alleviates the need to pay for lodging) and is clean, easy, and has bathrooms onboard. Germany has recently has some legal shifts regarding rail monopolies over cities, and as a result a huge number of cheap bus companies have sprung up, nearly overnight: Meinfernbus is a great one, astoundingly cheap, the buses are brand new AND they sell cheap snacks onboard, if a nibbling need arises.

Hitchhiking is good in countries like Germany, the UK, Iceland, or Scandinavia, but it’s best to hitch with two, as you can put yourself into unpredictably bad situations with one. But the very best way of traveling overland is via carpool. I LOVE carpooling. I can’t rave enough about it. Though this brilliant communication system originated as a small cork-board office in Germany, you can also carpool France, which is also great to get through Spain. In France the carpools are generally empty, but the ride is comfortable and usually silent, unless you speak French well. The carpools in Germany are a riot, always full of Germans, and is a totally valid and acceptable way to painlessly arrange rides from city to city. It’s often cheaper and more enjoyable than buses, and is a great way to meet and talk with locals.

So, that’s about it for now. Enjoy your cheap, dirty travels, kids, they’re the best.