Mean, brooding, dark and cold. Not a description of my husband, but our first impression of Scotland in April.
 
“We’ll avoid the midges,” the husband said. Of course we will, because it’s too cold for anything to survive.
 
“We’ll see beautiful beaches,” he said. True, he had shown me photographs of stunning stretches of empty white sand. Empty because it’s too cold to get out of the car, let alone take a leisurely stroll. It’s nature’s way of mocking us. You can look, but you can’t touch.

A strange change has taken place across the world, hiding under the leathery wing of a vampire bat. Hallowe’en has carved its way onto the calendar as a regular event to be celebrated. I find this as strange as seeing a pint-sized Superman walking down the road.
 
This needs some explaining. When I was a child Hallowe’en was about cowering in the living room with the light off to avoid the eggs and flour being pelted by boisterous teenagers. And this didn't just happen on the 31st October, but for a period of up to two weeks.
 
I was taught that trick or treating was akin to begging, afterall it is a little strange to knock on the door of a complete stranger and ask for sweets.
 
Then I moved to America. These guys know how to party. Hallowe’en is a family affair with hoards of parents and children on the streets, dressed up in every costume imaginable. It didn’t have to be anything ghoulish or ghastly. We even saw a horse dress as Clifford the big red dog. We joined in, and apart from the ridiculous amount of confectionary that would send a toddler hyperactive for a decade, it was a fun event that allowed us to feel part of the fabric of our new home.
 
So why was it different? For a start the local council stipulated when trick or treating could take place; not just the day, but the hours too. It was also known that if you didn’t want to get involved you simply left your porch light off, avoiding the element of “trick” altogether. Really this is treat or treating.
 
More than anything it’s the irony that gets me, wrapped up in the distance past.
 
The history
The origins of Hallowe’en are intertwined: first there was the Celtic pagan festival to mark harvest and the end of summer, and then came the Christian celebration on the Eve of All Hallows. Yes, All Hallows’ Evening becomes contracted to Hallowe’en. From as far back as the 11th century, food was given in exchange for a poem or song. It wasn’t until the 19th century that tricks were involved.
 
Strictly speaking the festival doesn’t belong across the pond at all. It was introduced by immigrants, although the phrase “trick-or-treat” was first used in the US, in 1927.
 
Confusing, isn’t it? Even the church is confused. I’ve seen a pumpkin with a Christian cross carved out of it. I’m not sure how I feel about the church endorsing a festival that is so intrinsically linked to Pagans, or begging by another name.
 
The changing face
We’ve now returned to the UK after nearly seven years, and this year’s Hallowe’en has been a much more orderly affair. We live in a fairly rural area so trick-or-treating isn’t really done; the lanes are too dark, the houses are too far apart and I think there is a greater respect for elderly neighbours.
 
However, other neighbourhoods have been getting organised. Hallowe’en happens on the 31st October and that’s where is should stay. The role of the porch light seems to be understood. Children are accompanied by adults, rather than the marauding hoards of bored teenagers. It’s about children, and of course the children are excited about sweets. I hope all neighbourhoods are experiencing this changing face. It could be a great way to invigorate our communities.
 
I can’t change that Hallowe’en occurs, but I can get into the spirit of it, and it looks like everyone else is too.
 
What’s your Hallowe’en experience? Like it or loathe it?
 

When I moved to Chicago, I counted my lucky stars that I didn't have to learn a new language. I had enough on my plate: I was moving house for the fourth time in three years, moving away from family across the Atlantic, with a toddler and a new born in tow. I love learning about other cultures, but I am pretty crap at languages.

However, I very quickly learnt that I was learning a new language. You can't go to the supermarket (grocery store) and pick up a trolley (cart), and ask for aubergines, courgettes and nappies (eggplant, zucchini and diapers). People look at your blankly. And why wouldn't they? You are not speaking American.

So what about when people come to the UK, and have to navigate the subtleties and subtext of English? Here are some guidelines. This table has been doing the rounds on the internet. I can't claim to have written it, although I wish I had. The source has become untraceable, but bravo to the author.

Anything to add? Drop us a line below.

Dear expats: what do you miss about home?

Every year the expat hubs around the world begin to leak foreigners who flood back to the homeland. Like birds, the migratory pattern is seasonal and routine.

We have lived in two of the world’s biggest global expat hubs, Dubai and Singapore, and the phenomenon is similar in both places.

After school breaks up in June, families depart for the Western world, the husbands only staying a week or two in order to protect their annual leave.

But why do we make this annual trip, at great expense and inconvenience? After all, the husband complains he misses the kids (and occasionally his wife), the children complain that they miss their toys and friends, and the wife is pulling her hair out carting children around single-handedly.

[As an aside, I’ve often heard expat wives complain about hair loss issues. This happens in both Dubai and Singapore. I once put this down to desalinated water (Dubai) and humidity (Singapore). Now I put it down to stress of the Expat Exodus. I’ve just returned from the UK after a four-week trip. One week in Singapore and the plughole looks like the Yeti has fallen down it.]

So back to the subject. There are several reasons why the summer Expat Exodus is a necessary one. Most importantly it is about your identity and place in the world:

1.     We’re expats. We haven’t emigrated. This means we still feel the pull of the homeland. We understand that circumstances and jobs change all the time, and while we may feel that we’re here to stay, we could be gone tomorrow. We are part of a transient society.

2.     The homeland offers us stability in a global economic market that has had its ups and downs. We understand how the homeland ticks. We haven’t had to learn it, unlike our temporary expats homes. There is something comforting and effortless about that.

3.     Culture is important. What is the world without it? And so we ensure our children know what they need to know about bring British, or American, or Australian, or Kiwi.

4.     Family is really where the home is. We make fantastic friends in our expat homes, supporting each other with knowledge and a tissue when our mother is too far away. We all need support, and there is a certain magnetism about being with your own tribe.

5.     Friends also fit into the support category. We are the ones who have moved away and we need to make every effort to stay in touch with homeland friends. Forget about them and your risk feeling like an expat when you return home, starting your network from scratch.

6.     Getting out of the heat. Of course we love the weather where we live, most of the time. But everyone needs a break from 50C heat and 99% humidity.

We all miss different things about our homeland. For some it’s a postal system that runs smoothly (Dubai doesn't have a door to door system). For others it’s the freedom of having a car (Singapore, where the cost is astronomical).

For me, apart from friends and family, it has been the British countryside, gastro pubs and historical houses.  Oh, and strawberries that taste like strawberries, and don’t cost $20 and have a guilty-inducing 10,000 air miles attached to them.

What do you miss and why do you go home? We'd love to know.


Linked to the My Global Life Link-Up at SmallPlanetStudio.com.

Each time I travel, I step into a time machine. An understanding of the past gives me an appreciation of the present. From there I can allow my mind to wander around the possibililities of the future.

But travel can also send me to new worlds that are full of drama and excitement, especially if the destination has been part of a film set. Sometimes I turn a corner and feel the familiar sense of déjà vu. The familiar scene I see however, evaporates with the realisation that I’ve only seen it on the silver screen.

Today, computer generated graphics are so realistic it’s often a challenge to work out film sets that are real, and those that are digitally created. So if you fancy stepping into a film here’s my top three untouched sets. Click the links for more information about each destination.


New Zealand & Middle Earth: no trip to New Zealand is complete without wandering around like Bilbo Baggins. The Lord of the Rings films are virtual adverts from the tourist board, with beautiful vistas of rolling green hills and craggy snow-capped mountains. Here’s more information about a trip to JRR Tolkein’s fantasy kingdom. 

• New Zealand in pictures

Jordan & the home of the Holy Grail: The Treasury at Petra, in Jordan, provided the stunning backdrop to Indiana Jones and the Crusade, as the entrance to the temple housing the Holy Grail. You used to be able to go inside The Treasury, but it’s now roped off. However, you would have been disappointed. It’s a plain dark square cavern. There are no curtains of cobwebs or wobbly stone floors waiting for an unsuspecting gold digger. Travel around Jordan for a week or more and travel through time from Roman rule to Lawrence of Arabia's desert.

• Jordan in pictures

Cambodia and the Temples of Doom: Ta Prohn, near Siem Reap, is the Angkor Wat temple that became part of Lara Croft’s Tomb Raider set, and Indian Jones and the Temple of Doom was also filmed here. Tree roots cling to and ooze over the ruins. Luckily I wasn’t offered any monkey brains. 

• Cambodia in pictures

Here’s a few more out of the way sets to explore:

• USA, Lower Manhattan, New York: The Tribeca firehouse at 14 North Moore Street made a star appearance in Ghostbusters.
• USA, Astoria, Oregon: the 19th century Captain George Flavel House Museum, was the Pirate Museum in The Goonies, where Mikey’s dad worked.
• UK, Monson Road, London: home of The Winchester pub in Shaun of the Dead, now renovated.
• UK, Carlton Street, Edinburgh: The stone bridge archway is the site of the opening scene in Trainspotting when Renton tries to run away after shoplifting.  

Where’s your favourite film set? We’d love to hear from you. Drop us a line.

When you arrive in an unknown land you process what you see based on what you know; past experiences, sights and sounds. I tried to have no preconceived ideas of New Zealand other than I knew it was the home of hobbits, dwarves and elves. But having travelled half way round the world I was surprised by my initial impressions.

I wasn’t even out of the airport before I involuntarily started to draw comparisons; I felt like I’d come home – to Wales. The two countries reminded me of twins separated at birth. They both have heart-breakingly beautiful, lush, verdant countryside. They both have a lot of sheep. They both have a lot of rain. New Zealand was even part of the colony of New South Wales, until 1841. (New South Wales was named by Captain James Cook, who thought it looked like South Wales in Britain.)

Ok, Wales has fewer vineyards, and fewer volcanoes for that matter, but you don’t have to scratch the surface very far to draw other parallels.

I was born in Wales and it’s therefore very close to my heart. I recognised the hedgerows, the rolling hills, the fecund fields. Even the crash barriers are the same. Ok, some of the plants are a little more tropical than the land of my fathers, and the road signs are different, but reading the signs I faced a similar panic to many an Englishman crossing the Severn estuary heading to Wales – I couldn’t. I found it almost impossible to pick out the syllables that would allow me to start sounding out place names. I wracked my brain for my six-year-old daughter’s reading lessons, but still floundered.

And that leads to the biggest similarity of all. Both New Zealand and Wales are countries dominated by non-natives. The indigenous populations live in harmony or become absorbed. New Zealand is very proud of its Maori heritage. Wales’s original lineage, now dominated by the English, is hidden under so many layers of history, even most Welshmen have forgotten their roots; for this little corner of Britain is not Germanic by descent but Iberian.

Keep digging

I’m sure if I kept digging I would be able to find more similarities between these nations. In fact, quite literally, I bet that if you dug a hole, starting in New Zealand, you would be able to follow the umbilical cord of attachment, through Middle Earth and into Wales. It’s a kind of portal from one place to another. Before you go rushing to your globe to see if this is actually true, I am stretching the truth, although it’s close; if you started digging on the beach on the southern most tip of New Zealand you would end up in the North Atlantic, a little wet, but not too far off the UK coast. Who lets a couple of kilometres get in the way of an interesting theory?!

A photo memory

Either location lends itself to the wink of the camera’s eye, but New Zealand’s sky appears bigger, its waves rougher, its mountains higher. Just add driftwood and stormy purple skies with bubbling clouds to a walk along the beach at Hokikita, and that’s a memory I will cherish through photos.

Sometimes the perfect photo is about turning left instead of right. At Rotorua, I heard fireworks and stepped outside to investigate. I couldn’t see any glittering starbursts, but the sky reflected in the lake was a soft pink that glowed through the clouds. Idly wondering why it was such a brilliant sunset in the east, I turned round to face west to be met with the true meaning of the word brilliant. The east “sunset” was just a reflection of this fiery sky. Within five minutes all evidence had disappeared.

And then there are the picturesque lakeside views that look perfect until the seamless white sky breaks in half, harpooned by snow-capped mountains. Sometimes the best photographs are hidden from view, a secret known only to a few, and revealed only for the shortest of time. I’d love to say my photos of Wales are just as stunning, but these twins have very different personalities.

#expatproblems

Time for a rant. Let's talk about money. Not about getting rich, saving it or the warmth of happiness when you find a small stash down the back of the sofa. I mean tax. A horrible, three-letter word that strikes fear into the heart of all adults. The bogeyman to most grown-ups.

If you're a Brit and you haven't filled in your tax return, you will (hopefully) be painfully aware that the submission deadline is this week. If you had forgotten that we are already at the end of January you might be having a few sleepiness nights as you scramble to gather your paperwork in time. If you are an expat and filing an online tax return for the first time, I'm afraid my friend, you're stuffed. So here are some observations, and please also allow me to use it as an excuse to get a few things off my chest.

Expats are not exempt. While you soak up the sun in your expat homeland, the drizzly, grey UK days might be a distant memory. Put the Mojito down. You still need to fill in a tax return even if you don't have any earnings. You have to account for any interest you make on savings (fat chance), and any income if you rent out your UK home.

You have to register. If you haven't filled in an electronic UK tax return before, you will have to register in order for your name to be on the system. The process involves HMRC sending you an activation number...by post. Now given the wonderful world of technology, and the fact you wish to file an electronic tax return, presumably because you're late, don't want it to get lost in the post, don't have a postal system that works where you live, or all of the above, this seems a daft system. I have to admit to waking up in a cold sweat at 3am one night last week because despite living abroad for four years I had forgotten all about the UK tax system – it’s not at the top of my thoughts usually. I have my excuses, don't we all: we've just moved country (third time in four years) and my husband has changed job. This means all our stuff is on a ship somewhere.

You need more than the HMRC. I’m not a rule breaker. I feel a little uncertain if the grass in the park is not clearly marked to tell me whether I’m allowed to walk on it or not. I panic on stairs – do I keep left or right? And don’t ask me to put a glass bottle in a rubbish bin. In essence, I try to do the right thing. The HMRC online system isn’t helping me to do this. It’s not the end of your taxing journey. It’s just the beginning. If you’re an expat, there is additional paper to fill in, not available on the HMRC system, which means you have to buy a commercially available product. And if you have a Mac, the number of products is limited.

Gathering tax receipts in one problem; Some banks only provide electronic information, some only provide it by post. However, actually filling in a tax return is another problem.

I’m feeling a little lighter sharing this burden. It’s time I found a Mojito. Good luck.

Northern Ireland is not a big country, but in this reasonably small package are crammed sights that will entice any traveller brave enough to face the weather.

This was my husband’s first trip back to his homeland for two decades, and the last time I was in the Province I was a newspaper reporter following the British Army, seeing life through the windows of an armoured vehicle.

“So Darling, what can you tell me about Ballymena?” As soon as I opened my mouth I regretted asking the question. I knew the answer. I’d heard it before. More than a few times.

“Did you know,” my husband mused, “that my name is on the school hall wall and that it’s Liam Neeson’s home town?”

Twenty years might seem a long time, but not much has changed, and at the same time everything is different. The police station is still surrounded by high security fences, and when the shops shut, the iron curtains descend across their façades. But this is an habitual routine rather than any real expectation of violence. After decades of taking heed of bomb alerts, and taking the long way round to avoid the delays at the police checkpoint, it is very hard to break habits.

However, I don’t want to dwell on the political clouds that hang over Northern Ireland. This was an opportunity to see it in a new light, and open the doors of travel to new possibilities.

I want to tell you about the unusual, the impossible and the strange.

Love for the homeland is deep routed. So deep in fact, that people buy holiday homes just 20 miles from where they live. Why drive long distances if you don’t have to? Mr Mc. was obviously being flippant when he said: “There is only so far you can take a Thermos flask,” but there’s an element of truth.

From Ballymena we headed north to the verdant, fecund north Antrim coast. Heathers, campanulas and cornflowers flow across the cliff top, the wind rippling the long grass to mimic the rolling sea below. The scenery is stunning. It’s wild, but accessible, pretty but with raw beauty. If you follow the coastal path every turn offers a new surprise; a hidden bay, an unspoilt white sandy beach, rock formations with families of seagulls nestled against them.

We walked from Port Rush to Dunseverick Castle, a challenging route that left our hair ruffled and our waistlines a little slimmer.

The full Causeway Coast Way path stretches 33 miles from Portstewart to Ballycastle, passing through an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, a World Heritage Site and several Areas of Special Scientific Interest. The sights are spectacular, whether you’re interested in the natural or manmade. Crumbling castles guard the boiling waters below (the least and most apt adjective for the churning, freezing sea), hinting at the troubled past of raiding Vikings and Ulster clans long gone; Impressive hexagon-shaped rock stacks loom out of the water at the Giant’s Causeway, surrounded by mystery and folklore; and for visitors with a head for heights, the Carrick-a-rede ropebridge offers an insight into the harsh lives of bygone fishermen.

No visit to the British Isles would be complete without touching on one of the most talked about subjects however: the weather. As it was August, the weather was changeable. In fact it was sometimes raining in between the showers. Across the dark, steely sea, fat, almost tactile, clouds, brought with them the threat of a drenching, and with the rain came winds that buffeted us along the cliff top. But after a short, sharp episode the dark skies split and shards of sunshine shot down.

Despite weather hardly warm enough to be out of thermals, hardy souls continued to frolic in the foam, and huddle on picnic blankets wrapped in coats.

Tempting as it is to hunker down into your collar, this is a coastline that demands you pay attention. The sights are staggering, the countryside is untamed, and what can be better than a hot chocolate in a café after a character-building hike?

For more photos please visit our Flickr page

The practical bit:
Strangest sight: a rabbit going for a walk on a lead at the Giant’s Causeway.

Fact: Part of the United Kingdom, but only separated by 11 miles of the Northern Channel from Fair Head to the Mull of Kintyre in Scotland.

Walking routes: www.walkni.com. A Rambler bus operates along the cliff top road to help you complete the loop back to your car.

Things to see and do:

• Giant’s Causeway (National Trust) 
  
• Carrick-a-Rede ropebridge (National Trust) 
  
• Secret rock pools and hidden caves at Ballantoy habour  
  
• Dark Hedges – a magical tree-lined road planted to create an impressive entrance to Gracehill House in the 18th century and reputedly haunted by ‘Grey Lady’. 
  

Places to eat:

• The Galgorm Manor (see below) has great food, whether you want afternoon tea, Italian with flare or a good steak. We ate in the new Fratelli’s restaurant, which is homely Italian fare with flair.  
  
• Sandwich with a view at the Bayview Hotel, Portballintrae 
  
• Coffee with a vista at 55 North, Portrush 
  

Places to stay:

• Ramada Portrush 
  
• Galgorm Manor: This spa hotel in Ballymena offers a luxurious rural escape with style. With dedicated facilities for weddings, extensive grounds and a Rolls Royce once owned by Alan Sugar, this country house is a great place to spend time relaxing.

Tapping my foot to the melodies created by the live guitars, a glass of Shiraz in my hand and a platter of prosciutto in front of me, I was having a peaceful and thoroughly enjoyable evening. Four streets away 56 police officers were injured in a riot.

Walking on eggshells, the people of Belfast have learned to live with the uneasy peace. It has been two decades since my husband lived in the Province and despite last night’s scuffle, parades and protests, much has changed. The shopping area is no longer barricaded, tourism is opening its arms offering a hearty welcome, and businesses are thriving. Tourists play a huge role in the city’s regeneration with new visitor attractions and experiences opening to draw a more diverse crowd. Traditionally, when you think of Irish tourism you think of lucky Leprechauns, four-leaf clovers and a good pint of Guinness. But you’ve come to the wrong Ireland here. Northern Ireland has its own offerings from the bustling city to the heart-breakingly beautiful coastline.

So let’s start in the city. At the top of any visitors’ to-do list is Titanic Belfast, the world’s largest Titanic visitor experience.  It is housed in a futuristic six-storey building on the site of the reclaimed slipway where the fateful ship was made. Visitors are taken on a journey from Belfast’s industrial development in rope and linen making through to the construction and launch. Whether you’re interested in technology, history or interior design, Titanic Belfast has something for everyone. You can examine the hype, myths and legends propagated by the years, Chinese Whispers and Hollywood. At the same time you can get under the skin of what actually happened, and examine the evidence that led to this iconic ship sinking 101 years ago. It’s a great place to start your Northern Irish tour.

From content we went to context. Belfast is a very walkable city. Just wandering around the red brick Victorian and granite Edwardian buildings gives you an insight into a stylish past. It was granted city status by Queen Victorian in 1888, and style, hand in hand with modernity, is pushing its way to the forefront again after a turbulent political paramilitary period in the 20th century. This is a slice of the past most wish to put to rest although murals depicting the troubles are still evident, flags are still flying, and flashes in the pan can still be seen from time to time. My husband warned me time and time: “Go ahead, ask questions and be interested in people, but don’t ask their religion.”

Architecture is the highlight of most walking tours and Belfast does not disappoint. The Merchant Hotel is one such gem, and a perfect place to rest after wandering the alleys of the Cathedral Quarter. This former bank, complete with vault door, and Ireland’s largest chandelier, dates from 1860s and is the venue for any elegant celebration. When high tea is served, the warm scones are presented and the string quartet strikes up, you are transported back in time.

Belfast is a city of two halves. One half is keen to respect and preserve its historic past. The other half is embracing tourism, enduring an uneasy peace and looking forwards to a less turbulent future. Two halves that almost go perfectly together. 

The practical bit
Where to stay: We stayed at Benedicts, in Bradbury Place. A clean four-star hotel within walking distance to the city centre. It has a restaurant, pub and nightclub to help you feel in the thick of it, but may be too noisy for some. www.benedictshotel.co.uk. For our Trip Advisor review please click here. 
Where to eat and drink: Deanes Deli Bistro, in Bedford Street, for great food, wine and live music at the weekend. 
What to do: 

• Titanic Belfast www.titanicbelfast.com
• Dome viewing platform at Victoria Square shopping centre, www.victoriasquare.com
• High tea at the Merchant Hotel, Skipper Street, www.themerchanthotel.com

Need more information: www.gotobelfast.com, www.nitb.com

What to see more photos? Please visit us on Flickr by clicking here.

A new voyage or destination gives a traveller the opportunity to learn something new about how people live. Travel offers us an insight into how the world ticks. 

A journey from one town to the next, or between two countries, gives us two points of comparison. It’s difficult not to compare. We notice how quickly cities have developed, especially if we are returning to somewhere we have been before. And one of the top topics to muse about over a coffee in the local café is how life has changed and how development has eroded our sense of community.

I don’t even think you have to leave the airport before the comparison starts. I’m sitting in Belfast airport, feeling a little bit abused. The problems started with my air ticket with a certain orange liveried bird of steel. You may say you get what you pay for, but I had thought that they were operating a business and the focus of any business should be its customers. Forget that.

Move a little further along the airport conveyor belt and you are greeted with several offers to relieve of a few heavy coins. Would you like to buy a plastic “security” bag for your cosmetics? No. Would you like to pay extra to shorten the frisk queue? Not keen on that either. Would you like us to be so inflexible that you think we are taking the …. I’ll leave it up to you to decide.

Above all, especially in an airport, security is paramount. I get that. But I can’t help beginning to feel that it is being used as an excuse to take short cuts and be lazy. I understand that you have an important job and we all benefit from the role you play in the airport game of manoeuvring thousands of people safely from one place to another. But apart from feeling like a pawn on a chessboard, I feel if we all smiled, phrased our requests with a little more respect and offered a helping hand rather than a slap, we would have happier and more efficient airports, and help to stem the community erosion. Rant over. Apparently, for safety reasons I “need to turn the computer off now”. Please.

Now for something to lighten the mood: