H

H

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ELLO again, you intrepid little fellow. Thank you for once again joining us as we pull you away from the throes of Spring; from the glorious transition that marks the end of the bleak and gloomy into a thousand golden sunsets.

ELLO again, you intrepid little fellow. Thank you for once again joining us as we pull you away from the throes of Spring; from the glorious transition that marks the end of the bleak and gloomy into a thousand golden sunsets.

ELLO again, you intrepid little fellow. Thank you for once again joining us as we pull you away from the throes of Spring; 

The beginning of the year has felt uncertain and tumultuous: for you, for us all, and for your two narrators.  And so we have focussed inwards, locally, communally. Our adventures have – generally – been trying to find joy in the every-day. We’ve celebrated this welcome transition closer to home, with schemes, plots and plans featuring friends new and old. Is fearr an tsláinte ná na táinte, and so we’ve put health before all else to see us through to summer. ‘Sometimes, carrying on, just carrying on, is the superhuman achievement’.

Spring has quite intimately taken us – as it takes the world around us – on the journey from snowdrops to daffodils and into the bloom of garlics and bluebells. It seems the most gorgeous of this world’s offerings are becoming ready for the taking, ripe for the picking, blooming purely for the joy of being. It has shown decades of seasons in afternoons and it has graced us with bread and wonderful friends to break it with, in and out of doors. We’ve been blessed to find a local community in Hayley, Kat and Steve from their bird-watching group, spurring off into climbing, games, and cycling factions as we’ve gotten to know each other better. We’ve had the joy of our own travel, of time spent with friends from past adventures, and from fresh starts with stronger roots. We have embraced Spring and so Spring has become us.

The beginning of the year has felt uncertain and tumultuous: for you, for us all, and for your two narrators.  And so we have focussed inwards, locally, communally. Our adventures have – generally – been trying to find joy in the every-day. We’ve celebrated this welcome transition closer to home, with schemes, plots and plans featuring friends new and old. Is fearr an tsláinte ná na táinte, and so we’ve put health before all else to see us through to summer. ‘Sometimes, carrying on, just carrying on, is the superhuman achievement’.

Spring has quite intimately taken us – as it takes the world around us – on the journey from snowdrops to daffodils and into the bloom of garlics and bluebells. It seems the most gorgeous of this world’s offerings are becoming ready for the taking, ripe for the picking, blooming purely for the joy of being. It has shown decades of seasons in afternoons and it has graced us with bread and wonderful friends to break it with, in and out of doors. We’ve been blessed to find a local community in Hayley, Kat and Steve from their bird-watching group, spurring off into climbing, games, and cycling factions as we’ve gotten to know each other better. We’ve had the joy of our own travel, of time spent with friends from past adventures, and from fresh starts with stronger roots. We have embraced Spring and so Spring has become us.

from the glorious transition that marks the end of the bleak and gloomy into a thousand golden sunsets. The beginning of the year has felt uncertain and tumultuous: for you, for us all, and for your two narrators.  And so we have focussed inwards, locally, communally. Our adventures have – generally – been trying to find joy in the every-day. We’ve celebrated this welcome transition closer to home, with schemes, plots and plans featuring friends new and old. Is fearr an tsláinte ná na táinte, and so we’ve put health before all else to see us through to summer. ‘Sometimes, carrying on, just carrying on, is the superhuman achievement’.

Spring has quite intimately taken us – as it takes the world around us – on the journey from snowdrops to daffodils and into the bloom of garlics and bluebells. It seems the most gorgeous of this world’s offerings are becoming ready for the taking, ripe for the picking, blooming purely for the joy of being. It has shown decades of seasons in afternoons and it has graced us with bread and wonderful friends to break it with, in and out of doors. We’ve been blessed to find a local community in Hayley, Kat and Steve from their bird-watching group, spurring off into climbing, games, and cycling factions as we’ve gotten to know each other better. We’ve had the joy of our own travel, of time spent with friends from past adventures, and from fresh starts with stronger roots. We have embraced Spring and so Spring has become us.

The Speed-Run

The Speed-Run.

The Speed-Run

For Emily’s Christmas present your handsome and endlessly creative scribe created a bespoke version of the National Trust passport. We share a membership, and we visit loads of Trust properties every year. What better way to collect and scrapbook these visits than with a gift shop visit and a nice conversation with the volunteers about your excellent and contraband documentation?

For Emily’s Christmas present your handsome and endlessly creative scribe created a bespoke version of the National Trust passport. We share a membership, and we visit loads of Trust properties every year. What better way to collect and scrapbook these visits than with a gift shop visit and a nice conversation with the volunteers about your excellent and contraband documentation?

For Emily’s Christmas present your handsome and endlessly creative scribe created a bespoke version of the National Trust passport. We share a membership, and we visit loads of Trust properties every year. What better way to collect and scrapbook these visits than with a gift shop visit and a nice conversation with the volunteers about your excellent and contraband documentation? 

Being us, we couldn’t let this sit. No, on Emily’s birthday we took ourselves away in the van and after a few beers (...naturally) we decided our camping trip should be spent trying to visit as many as possible. And would you believe, dear reader, we were able to visit 3 across the weekend with minimal planning? There were, of course, some ground rules: If the location was a garden or landmark, at least one National Trust-approved route must be walked. If it was a historic house, we had to take a full tour and visit at least one part of the gardens. No skimping.

Again, being us, we couldn’t let this sit either. On the way back and for several days following we scouted out locations and planned a full trip to try to bag at least 4 following these very strict and definitely sanctioned rules. For our second attempt, we bagged Emmett’s Garden, Chartwell, Knole Park, and Ightham Mote. And you better believe we’re going for five next time. Sit tight.

~ K

Being us, we couldn’t let this sit. No, on Emily’s birthday we took ourselves away in the van and after a few beers (...naturally) we decided our camping trip should be spent trying to visit as many as possible. And would you believe, dear reader, we were able to visit 3 across the weekend with minimal planning? There were, of course, some ground rules: If the location was a garden or landmark, at least one National Trust-approved route must be walked. If it was a historic house, we had to take a full tour and visit at least one part of the gardens. No skimping.

Again, being us, we couldn’t let this sit either. On the way back and for several days following we scouted out locations and planned a full trip to try to bag at least 4 following these very strict and definitely sanctioned rules. For our second attempt, we bagged Emmett’s Garden, Chartwell, Knole Park, and Ightham Mote. And you better believe we’re going for five next time. Sit tight.

~ K

Being us, we couldn’t let this sit. No, on Emily’s birthday we took ourselves away in the van and after a few beers (...naturally) we decided our camping trip should be spent trying to visit as many as possible. And would you believe, dear reader, we were able to visit 3 across the weekend with minimal planning? There were, of course, some ground rules: If the location was a garden or landmark, at least one National Trust-approved route must be walked. If it was a historic house, we had to take a full tour and visit at least one part of the gardens. No skimping.

Again, being us, we couldn’t let this sit either. On the way back and for several days following we scouted out locations and planned a full trip to try to bag at least 4 following these very strict and definitely sanctioned rules. For our second attempt, we bagged Emmett’s Garden, Chartwell, Knole Park, and Ightham Mote. And you better believe we’re going for five next time. Sit tight.

~ K

Munch of the month

Munch of the month.

Munch of the month

This season has seen much change and disturbance in our lives, but there is no better disruption than the kind you seek. I have always taken much joy from trying new things and flirting with the boundaries of my comfort zone, but a recent joy for me has been pulling others out of their zones and into mine. 

The end of this season saw us undertaking a two day hike along His Majesty’s new coastal path, affectionately known to those of us who know it intimately as ‘The Charlie’. This expedition along the wild and rarely-tramped North Kent Coast saw us frequenting 3 pubs, 1 and a half coffee shops, a stonemason’s shop, and 1 discoteque. Most notably Konnaire begged, borrowed and bought enough items to join me in a tent for the night(!), and entrusted me with the camp menu. I believe there are 3 easy ways to elevate a meal: 

1. Eat it sat on the floor, preferably cross legged;
2. Eat it outside;
3. Earn it. 

Our evening dinner of 90p Sainsbury’s  vegetable rice and a Mattesons sausage sliced up with a pen knife blunter than my spork achieved all 3 of my requirements. 

The 40km trod by us that weekend was marked by our conversations around the most fundamental and simple natures of being human: what we ate and where; how strong we were feeling and what we needed to feed that strength; and marvelling at how far our feet could take us. This munch of the month was a munch full of joy for what it gave us in its most fundamental sense as fuel, and its most blatant novelty as a one-pot meal eaten cross-legged on the ground.

~ E

This season has seen much change and disturbance in our lives, but there is no better disruption than the kind you seek. I have always taken much joy from trying new things and flirting with the boundaries of my comfort zone, but a recent joy for me has been pulling others out of their zones and into mine. 

The end of this season saw us undertaking a two day hike along His Majesty’s new coastal path, affectionately known to those of us who know it intimately as ‘The Charlie’. This expedition along the wild and rarely-tramped North Kent Coast saw us frequenting 3 pubs, 1 and a half coffee shops, a stonemason’s shop, and 1 discoteque. Most notably Konnaire begged, borrowed and bought enough items to join me in a tent for the night(!), and entrusted me with the camp menu. I believe there are 3 easy ways to elevate a meal: 

1. Eat it sat on the floor, preferably cross legged;
2. Eat it outside;
3. Earn it.

Our evening dinner of 90p Sainsbury’s vegetable rice and a Mattesons sausage sliced up with a pen knife blunter than my spork achieved all 3 of my requirements. 

The 40km trod by us that weekend was marked by our conversations around the most fundamental and simple natures of being human: what we ate and where; how strong we were feeling and what we needed to feed that strength; and marvelling at how far our feet could take us. This munch of the month was a munch full of joy for what it gave us in its most fundamental sense as fuel, and its most blatant novelty as a one-pot meal eaten cross-legged on the ground.

~ E

This season has seen much change and disturbance in our lives, but there is no better disruption than the kind you seek. I have always taken much joy from trying new things and flirting with the boundaries of my comfort zone, but a recent joy for me has been pulling others out of their zones and into mine. 

The end of this season saw us undertaking a two day hike along His Majesty’s new coastal path, affectionately known to those of us who know it intimately as ‘The Charlie’. This expedition along the wild and rarely-tramped North Kent Coast saw us frequenting 3 pubs, 1 and a half coffee shops, a stonemason’s shop, and 1 discoteque. Most notably Konnaire begged, borrowed and bought enough items to join me in a tent for the night(!), and entrusted me with the camp menu. I believe there are 3 easy ways to elevate a meal: 

1. Eat it sat on the floor, preferably cross legged;
2. Eat it outside;
3. Earn it. 

Our evening dinner of 90p Sainsbury’s  vegetable rice and a Mattesons sausage sliced up with a pen knife blunter than my spork achieved all 3 of my requirements. 

The 40km trod by us that weekend was marked by our conversations around the most fundamental and simple natures of being human: what we ate and where; how strong we were feeling and what we needed to feed that strength; and marvelling at how far our feet could take us. This munch of the month was a munch full of joy for what it gave us in its most fundamental sense as fuel, and its most blatant novelty as a one-pot meal eaten cross-legged on the ground.

~ E

Sound of the month.

Sound of the month.

Sound of the month

We know this sound well, but what do you think it is, listener? Hover to reveal ↓

We know this sound well, but what do you think it is, listener? Hover to reveal ↓

We know this sound well, but what do you think it is, listener? Tap to reveal ↓

Listener's takeover.

Listener's takeover.

Listener's takeover

This month's takeover is from Josie, Bristol.

I got in my car, drove 200 miles, boarded a plane, and flew 11,000 more. I bought a van and camped for 184 nights beneath stars that felt close enough to rearrange by hand. I travelled on ferries, trains and even a boysenberry harvester (what on Earth is one of those?!). Along the way I saw dolphins and eels, penguins and seals, and my favourite of them all: the southern royal albatross, gliding effortlessly as though the laws of gravity simply didn’t apply. I hiked mountains to catch fleeting glimpses of melting glaciers. I went black water rafting through caves that shimmered with constellations of glow worms. I stood in quiet awe beneath some of the largest trees in the world. And I became one of the first humans of the day to watch the sun rise. It was exactly the kind of journey people imagine when they think about travelling far away. And in many ways, it was incredible.

That long journey, with all its twists and turns, eventually led me somewhere very small. A tiny town surrounded by forest, home to just 1,090 people, and for a short while 1,092. I got a job working behind a bar and was introduced to my new colleague, Emily. We quickly became friends, as chatterboxes so easily do. Sharing stories of our travels that tumbled out as quickly as the pints we poured and hastily drank, usually washed down with pies. We bonded over our excitement for this adventure, marvelling at how free and invincible we felt, or to use our word for it - sparkly.

From this town, we carried on our journey together, braving the harsh winter snow in search of more memories and tales to tell. We pulled each other through the tough times and have both since returned to the UK to embark on new experiences.

I suppose my big takeaway from all of this is that travel is sold to us as endlessly enriching, life-changing and transformative - and it can be all of those things. But it can also be lonely. It can be disorientating. And in my case, heartbreaking. What stays with you, in the end, isn’t just the places. It’s the people you meet who turn places into memories and moments into stories you’ll carry long after you’re home. The kindred spirits you find by chance, in bar shifts and campsites and kitchens and conversations that start with small talk and turn into feminist debates (or you might pick another hill to die on). Friends who slide into your story for a few pages, or sometimes far longer. They anchor you when everything else feels in motion.

So wherever your adventures take you, whether it’s the other side of the world or somewhere new a little closer to home, keep your heart open to the people you meet. Talk to strangers. Say yes to the shared table or that extra shift. Let yourself be surprised. Because the people you meet might just become friends for life. And years later, you might find yourselves awake far too late, laughing at memories of shared travels, still feeling a little bit sparkly, wondering how something so fleeting managed to leave such a lasting glow.

You can read more about Josie's travels on her blog.

Next month could be you! Submit by email to desk@vonkirschnell.haus

This month's takeover is from Josie, Bristol.

I got in my car, drove 200 miles, boarded a plane, and flew 11,000 more. I bought a van and camped for 184 nights beneath stars that felt close enough to rearrange by hand. I travelled on ferries, trains and even a boysenberry harvester (what on Earth is one of those?!). Along the way I saw dolphins and eels, penguins and seals, and my favourite of them all: the southern royal albatross, gliding effortlessly as though the laws of gravity simply didn’t apply. I hiked mountains to catch fleeting glimpses of melting glaciers. I went black water rafting through caves that shimmered with constellations of glow worms. I stood in quiet awe beneath some of the largest trees in the world. And I became one of the first humans of the day to watch the sun rise. It was exactly the kind of journey people imagine when they think about travelling far away. And in many ways, it was incredible.

That long journey, with all its twists and turns, eventually led me somewhere very small. A tiny town surrounded by forest, home to just 1,090 people, and for a short while 1,092. I got a job working behind a bar and was introduced to my new colleague, Emily. We quickly became friends, as chatterboxes so easily do. Sharing stories of our travels that tumbled out as quickly as the pints we poured and hastily drank, usually washed down with pies. We bonded over our excitement for this adventure, marvelling at how free and invincible we felt, or to use our word for it - sparkly.

From this town, we carried on our journey together, braving the harsh winter snow in search of more memories and tales to tell. We pulled each other through the tough times and have both since returned to the UK to embark on new experiences.

I suppose my big takeaway from all of this is that travel is sold to us as endlessly enriching, life-changing and transformative - and it can be all of those things. But it can also be lonely. It can be disorientating. And in my case, heartbreaking. What stays with you, in the end, isn’t just the places. It’s the people you meet who turn places into memories and moments into stories you’ll carry long after you’re home. The kindred spirits you find by chance, in bar shifts and campsites and kitchens and conversations that start with small talk and turn into feminist debates (or you might pick another hill to die on). Friends who slide into your story for a few pages, or sometimes far longer. They anchor you when everything else feels in motion.

So wherever your adventures take you, whether it’s the other side of the world or somewhere new a little closer to home, keep your heart open to the people you meet. Talk to strangers. Say yes to the shared table or that extra shift. Let yourself be surprised. Because the people you meet might just become friends for life. And years later, you might find yourselves awake far too late, laughing at memories of shared travels, still feeling a little bit sparkly, wondering how something so fleeting managed to leave such a lasting glow.

You can read more about Josie's travels on her blog.

Next month could be you! Submit by email to desk@vonkirschnell.haus

This month's takeover is from Josie, Bristol.

I got in my car, drove 200 miles, boarded a plane, and flew 11,000 more. I bought a van and camped for 184 nights beneath stars that felt close enough to rearrange by hand. I travelled on ferries, trains and even a boysenberry harvester (what on Earth is one of those?!). Along the way I saw dolphins and eels, penguins and seals, and my favourite of them all: the southern royal albatross, gliding effortlessly as though the laws of gravity simply didn’t apply. I hiked mountains to catch fleeting glimpses of melting glaciers. I went black water rafting through caves that shimmered with constellations of glow worms. I stood in quiet awe beneath some of the largest trees in the world. And I became one of the first humans of the day to watch the sun rise. It was exactly the kind of journey people imagine when they think about travelling far away. And in many ways, it was incredible.

That long journey, with all its twists and turns, eventually led me somewhere very small. A tiny town surrounded by forest, home to just 1,090 people, and for a short while 1,092. I got a job working behind a bar and was introduced to my new colleague, Emily. We quickly became friends, as chatterboxes so easily do. Sharing stories of our travels that tumbled out as quickly as the pints we poured and hastily drank, usually washed down with pies. We bonded over our excitement for this adventure, marvelling at how free and invincible we felt, or to use our word for it - sparkly.

From this town, we carried on our journey together, braving the harsh winter snow in search of more memories and tales to tell. We pulled each other through the tough times and have both since returned to the UK to embark on new experiences.

I suppose my big takeaway from all of this is that travel is sold to us as endlessly enriching, life-changing and transformative - and it can be all of those things. But it can also be lonely. It can be disorientating. And in my case, heartbreaking. What stays with you, in the end, isn’t just the places. It’s the people you meet who turn places into memories and moments into stories you’ll carry long after you’re home. The kindred spirits you find by chance, in bar shifts and campsites and kitchens and conversations that start with small talk and turn into feminist debates (or you might pick another hill to die on). Friends who slide into your story for a few pages, or sometimes far longer. They anchor you when everything else feels in motion.

So wherever your adventures take you, whether it’s the other side of the world or somewhere new a little closer to home, keep your heart open to the people you meet. Talk to strangers. Say yes to the shared table or that extra shift. Let yourself be surprised. Because the people you meet might just become friends for life. And years later, you might find yourselves awake far too late, laughing at memories of shared travels, still feeling a little bit sparkly, wondering how something so fleeting managed to leave such a lasting glow.

You can read more about Josie's travels on her blog.

Next month could be you! Submit by email to desk@vonkirschnell.haus

From the Desk of W. David.

From the Desk of W. David.

From the Desk of W. David.