Birdsong woke me up on Friday morning as I got out of my sleeping bag and back into my walking boots. The woodland clearing was unoccupied and my night had been relatively undisturbed, save for the faint murmur of the M20, and the occasional wood chipping that fluttered down from my makeshift shelter.
As rays of light snuck through the trees, I soon packed my rucksack and manoeuvred through some compromising brambles before regaining a footpath heading in a north easterly direction towards London.
This was the beginning of the final day of my 65 mile walk from Ashford International train station in Kent: a little adventure, to spruce up my August…
Coming up with the idea
Back in April I was sat in a coffee shop on Sunday afternoon with a group of friends doing Life Admin.
Bec was organising her fantastic blog, Eliot figuring out goals for his work at A Good Bank, and Greg marketing his then still-quite-small London Midnight Runs.
I had the more mundane task of booking a Eurostar ticket.
I was to be in Belgium for a few days sampling the cuisine (beer, chocolate, waffles) with my friend Dan, before seeing him off to report on the Grand Prix.
As I looked at the timetable/ map, I realised I would be taking the train back to St Pancras to either go back to work, or potter about in London for half a week. Much better to mix things up, I thought.
And with a bit of clicking and the back of an envelope I thought:
Why not try to walk home from Kent?
The estimated walking distance was around 65 miles and I could see a nice big green blob on Google Maps next to Ashford International which I assumed would be fun to explore.
With that, my mind was made, and a truncated train ticket was bought.
It later turned out that carved into this big green blob (the locals call it the “North Downs”) were historic walking routes, taken by pilgrims en route to Canterbury. Rather than fumble my way through fields, or flank an A road, I decided instead follow footsteps taken over the past few thousand years.
Unfortunately the historic town planning committee didn’t design the route to go past my home in Shadwell, and yet in a stroke of luck, I found another long distance trail that crossed over with the Pilgrims and went all the way to Greenwich which is close to ma endz.
I took screenshots of the routes, popped them in Evernote, and returned to them as I was pulling into Ashford International after my fix of Trappist brews.
So what did you do?
My time was predominantly spent walking.
I’m always keen to explore different places, and with Kent being somewhere I don’t know too well, this seemed an excellent opportunity to take in some of what it had to offer.
Beyond the fact that I needed to be in London by Sunday, I had no other real constraints, and so this was one of the most stress-free holidays I have ever taken.
Through fields and woods, along ancient paths and B roads, in countryside and minor metropolises; there was a huge amount of variety in what I saw over the 54 hours which I would struggle to achieve, had I tried.
And where did you sleep?
As I was concious of carrying too much weight, and didn’t know where I’d be laying my head, I decided against bringing a tent. Instead I spent the couple of nights tucked up in a sleeping bag within a bivvy bag (the latter is essentially a waterproof sheath for the former).
On the first night I found a flat spot by the side of the footpath, and the second, the woodland clearing mentioned before.
Bedtime was governed by the sun and so, save a few interruptions, I got a regular amount of sleep to had I been indoors. On the first night it wasn’t quite cats and dogs, but a brief spell of kittens and puppies meant I’d had drier starts to a day. But that’s all part of the fun.
Walking with the Pilgrims
The “green blob” bit of the route was indeed pleasingly green.
After setting off from the train station I got to the Pilgrims’ Way after an hour or so, and remained there until Rochester, about 30 miles away.
I was often guided by local fowl leading the way, and probably collectively saw more wildlife than I had in the rest of 2015. Fields took different colours, and save a few other rambling folk, there weren’t many other people out and about.
There was a hairy moment when cows and bulls lay on the path across one of the fields, though tip toeing around them thankfully kept them at bay.
There were a few wooden structures marking the heritage of the route, and when in one forest, I was treated to some excellent live tweets from the local residents.
Oat based snacks were perked up with handpicked blackberries and by the afternoon I had ended up near my halfway point in Rochester. With an appetite stirring, I headed for the city for dinner.
Rochester to Dartford
I found Rochester confusing.
A juxtaposition hit me straight away seeing quaint mock-Victorian buildings and then being greeted in the pub with: “alwight babes”.
As well as an ancient castle and cathedral there was reference everywhere to the works of Charles Dickens, this being his home for a while.
The high street flitted between Pickwick Papers and Pizza Express; where one shop would display rare first edition books, the next was advertising Cheeky Vimtos.
Despite the diverse outlets, I found a pub to eat in, filled up water bottles, and then headed out around 7pm to the last bit of green on the map before London.
Friday took me along the Telegraph & Timeball Trail and, with rather vague instructions, I took to consulting my phone to stay on route.
After waking up in the woodland I was soon able to say Good Morning to a succession of dogs (and out of courtesy, their owners too), and explored a series of quaint Kentish villages as the sun warmed up.
After a relatively steep hill, I decided to rest my legs and finish off a book that I had been lent, and an hour later I was back on in the real world and on my feet.
Before too long I was heading underneath an M20 motorway bridge, looking at a lovely stream with wildlife all around.
Whilst my ears heard urban, my eyes saw countryside.
I was now walking up to the town of Dartford
Dartford struck me as a place that is having a go at this gentrification thing, but not having too much luck. In the Farmers Market was an artisan baker, and gourmet sausage man, however Greggs was still by far the most popular choice for locals.
I got fruit and cake for later from a Farmers stall, and then sat down to a pub lunch in the sun. This particular establishment had nailed its OAP Fish & Chip discount: the place was packed and I overheard that many couples were sitting down to their “usual spot”s.
Refueled, I walked out of Dartford, and began to see signs for the capital…
Dartford to Home
By this stage a few “national cycle routes” had cropped up, and so I now had the luxury of deferring to the blue signs, rather than my phone screen to direct myself.
I followed a river that took me to an industrial estate where I spent a while soaking up the heavy industry. Huge cargo ships were cranking through the Thames, forklights and diggers were ferrying around the site, and an ice cream man did the rounds relieving the heavy lifters.
The Thames path took me to my last bit of “proper green” — a meadow where I rested up and soaked up the afternoon.
From here, my route was more direct, and took me through a different type of area to the ones I’d been used to. Council blocks lined the way, and discount supermarkets were monopolised local grocery market.
In Woolwich I heard a guy describe “McDonalds cheese” as “immense” and near Belvedere I saw grown men riding tricycles.
By the side of the road to the Woolwich foot tunnel was a slumped man eating three panini, and as the sun began to set once more, the street lights illuminated a different world to the one I’d seen just 24 hours earlier.
Seeing a street map indicated I was now entering London, and sure enough, around the corner was a new-build property development, and promises of a short commute to Liverpool Street.
I’d never been through the foot tunnel at Woolwich, and had a local solicitor called Obe to share the journey beneath the river. He was working late ahead of a family trip to Dubai, and I left him to get back to his family as I embarked upon following the DLR east.
I spotted the Lyle’s Golden Syrup factory near London City Airport, and made my way up to Royal Victoria where I stopped for a while. The final hour or so was simply going past a still-lit Canary Wharf and retracing familiar steps past The Grapes pub, and the CS-3 cycle path.
At just gone midnight — I’d made it to Shadwell.
Cue: shower, sleep, repeat for the rest of the weekend…
What did I get from this?
Whilst arguably a little rogue, I found this experience a very enjoyable way to bookend a cracking short break in Belgium.
Recently I’ve found myself thinking and reading more and more about how to integrate elements of adventure into my everyday life. The #microadventure idea promoted by @Al_Humpreys has been excellent at demonstrating just how easy it is to do and, as someone who enjoys a regular dose of country air, I’ve enjoyed finding new ways to go off the beaten track.
If you’d be interested in heading out and doing something like this too, just hit me up — I’m now even keener to find more green blobs on Google Maps and see what’s in them.
