In which we have a Future Friday.

Klimastreik, 12 Uhr! Hamburg was taking part in the global climate march, and I wanted to be there. I thus took the day off work, slept in, and then took my globe for a walk. 

It was expected that about 30,000 people would take to the streets in my home city, but in the end, final estimates from the police put us at 70,000 -- a picture of us even made it here! There were so many people that we first had to stand for hours before even starting the march route. 

Making my way from my apartment to the U-Bahn, I got a little teary to find myself surrounded by kids leaving school, carrying handmade posters and talking about going to their first protest. There were whole kindergartens, kids donning high-vis vests and flowers or pictures they had drawn. Teachers were there with their students, parents with their babies, whole offices that had been allowed to leave work early that day. All smiling (despite the depressing signs and reason for being there), all helping one another, like the strangers helping people in wheelchairs up the escalator when the line for the elevator was so long. Lots of kids wanted to spin my globe, several of them playing the "Where am I going on the vacation?-game", where you spin, close your eyes and point. 

Later, looking through the news at pictures from protests all over the world, knowing my friends and I had been marching with millions, I felt hope as well as worry, and hoped that hope will win.

In which England still throws one hell of a springtime.

Quick, before the seasons change again and I get even further behind on this! 

Back in the spring, after the first time Brexit didn't happen (and may there be many more non-Brexits to come), Tom brought me home to England for a gorgeously sunny Easter holiday. After my highly photogenic English Springtime Adventures of 2017, I was quite keen to go back and did not need much convincing. 

Our plans to Do Things once arrived in London were thwarted by the good weather, where we were forced to picnic and snooze and slurp expensive ice cream in Kensington Gardens.

From there we went south to visit family and continued the picnic tradition, this time at the Wakehurst country estate and botanic gardens with a toddler in tow.

From there we trained a couple hours north to Cambridge, to visit old friends and stomping grounds. The good weather held, and we went a-cycling and a-punting on the river. For someone who grew up kayaking, punting was harder than it looked, particularly considering the imminent danger of falling in that just doesn't exist when you're firmly inserted in a kayak. In the end, we only lost and then regained one child's hat, and that was luckily the extent of the wettage. Otherwise it was delightful being pushed along the river amidst the old university buildings with recognizable names and swiftly greening willows.

Walking around the university afterwards, I have a jolly memory of child 1's chocolate ice cream melting all over her father's head while riding on his shoulders ("THERE'S CHOCOLATE ON MY HEAD!"), and mum nonchalantly saying "Stay away from the liquid nitrogen, darling" to child 2 when walking by some science buildings. A fantastic day.

The next and last leg of the journey brought us to the little town of Skipton in North Yorkshire, on the southern border of the gorgeousy, greeny, hilly Yorkshire Dales. "Skipton" apparently derives from "Sheep-Town" and indeed there were many a woolly creature to be found as soon as one strolled out of town. Let it henceforth be known that attending the annual Skipton Sheep Day has been added to my bucket list. Also there is a castle, and canals with bridges that people can rearrange to have their boats pass through, and lots of baby bunnies out in the forest that glow golden in the evening bunnylight. Tom had never mentioned how beautiful his hometown was, and sure, maybe you don't really notice it when you grow up there, and maybe the sunshine and blossoming everything and lambies and bunnies made it more enchanting than usual, but it rather took my breath away.

Our main family outing to aid in digesting all the Easter festivities was an excursion to nearby Bolton Abbey, where we parked at a lesser known entrance and then had a long afternoon walk through the woods and along a river to the grounds of an old priory. The weather was still impeccable, the water calm, the bluebells chiming all along the forest floor.

The Strid: described by Atlas Obscura as "This lovely little burbling creek is actually a deadly waterway that has dragged down everyone who ever set foot in it". On this day it was a canvas for artistically marbling Natural Nature Froth of some kind.

Along the river they had made a particularly kid-friendly stretch of forest with giant bunnies dressed up as well-known characters. Many of them included a nearby box with props for taking photos, and the Easter Bunny had cleverly hung huge, sparkly eggs from branches overhead.

Nearing the priory, we had a view of the line of cars waiting to get into the main entrance, were glad we parked where we did. Everyone was eager for a splash in the river on this unusually warm April day.

This fellow was also eager to hop in the river, or perhaps to lift a leg on the priory ruins.

At some point the lazy afternoons drinking tea in the garden had to come to an end and we voyaged back south to the Continent. I for one was grateful for a week of wonderful, comfortable adventuring that I did not have to plan. Thanks to the tour guide, and to all the generous and delightful hosts.