Red Kite Centre

Nicole and I were sitting in Café Wynd, Dunfermline, trying to think of an interesting bird-related expedition, something different to the usual reserves we haunt. She remembered visiting the Red Kite Centre near Doune at some point in the past and we looked up the place online. They were due to feed the birds in a couple of hours so we headed off to the town where we married back in 2008. Doune can be reached in 30 minutes from our home village and a large chunk of the journey is on the motorway. The bird centre was a couple of miles further along a minor road. We passed the old trackbed of the Callander to Dunblane railway and the section at Doune seemed to have been converted to a walkway. I mentally filed this away. It's always a good strategy to keep your eyes peeled and I was to be rewarded big style on the way home, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

The reserve was a private concern situated on a farm and there was a small visitors centre and toilets. We were greeted by a friendly chap named Ross who informed us it would cost £7 each to enter the hide and watch the kites feeding. A short walk uphill was required and there was ample seating in the shelter. Another couple soon arrived and Ross gave us a talk about the status of the red kite past and present. It was once commonplace but had died out in Scotland and England due to ceaseless persecution and the activities of egg collectors. It retained a toehold in Wales and was surely on the way out until the RSPB intervened and successfully etsablished a re-introduction programme. A few more visitors arrived and Ross distributed binoculars as the food (deer offal) was laid out in anticipation of a swoop. I had my camera at the ready. I really enjoy taking photos of birds and (inevitably) posting them on social media. I do slowly accumulate facts about our feathered friends but Nicole is a fountain of knowledge compared to me.

It didn't take long for the birds to start circling overhead. Just a couple initially but soon growing to a dozen or more. It can be frustrating trying to get a good shot of a bird of prey in flight and you have to be patient and hope for a slice of luck. Often you catch the detail but only manage to frame part of the bird. I did get a few decent snaps and also observed the action though the binoculars. You don't want to spend the whole time staring through a camera lens. Ross had refrained from telling us exactly how the kites would feed and it was a bit of a surprise. After watching them repeatedly fly in circles, one bird plucked up the courage to come all the way down to the ground to snatch a morsel and speed off again. That was the sign for the rest to zoom in and grab their share. Very little time was spent on the deck. They repeated this procedure a handful of times until the nosh was gone. A worthy spectacle, especially of you're seeing it for the first time. I certainly felt I'd got my money's worth and as the place receives no outside funding, they rely on visitor contributions.

We decided to head along to Dollar Glen in the hope of spotting a dipper and left the kite centre. After half a mile, trundling down the narrow access road, something caught my eye. A sign hung on an ornate gate informing us the premises were being watched by a security company. A slightly overgrown track led inside and was flanked by mock gas lanterns. Wrought iron railings ran along the roadside. My immediate thought was - that looks like an old estate. I parked on a low verge and wandered over to investigate. I could see a building in the distance and my camera zoom confirmed the structure was obviously derelict. I went back to the car, said to Nicole I would have to research the place and come back sometime. Go for a look now, she said. I didn't need to be told twice. I've had a fascination for abandoned places (especially old mansions) ever since I stumbled across the ruined Dunmore House near Airth in Stirlingshire. I've since visited a few similar locations after tracking them down online but this was another chance encounter. I hopped over the low railings and followed a path through the trees and suddenly a huge old house stood before me, clearly in a dilapidated state. Closer inspection revealed it to be a stone shell, which is often the case with these places, particularly if the roof was taken off to avoid property tax or if serious fire damage (usually arson) had occurred. A common pattern is the house belongs to a wealthy family for generations but times change and the upkeep becomes unaffordable. Sometimes the property lingers on for a while in another guise but eventually becomes abandoned. The elements and vandalism hasten the decline. A sad story all round.

I was looking at yet another casualty. In one respect it's sad that Scotland lost a lot of these grand properties over the decades (many were demolished) but I also understand the social factors. After two world wars, there was little sympathy among working people for privileged families whose vast estates had fallen upon hard times. But the disappearance of architectural gems is a shame. Could an alternative use have been found? We must consider running and renovation costs. Many of these mansions were situated well off the beaten track. I whipped out my trusty camera and started clicking away, working my way around the property and venturing inside. It was a familiar story, looking up at daylight, all internal flooring gone and weeds growing around my feet. There did seem to be quite a few metal supports in place. I had a wander about then headed over to a small outbuilding where I was surprised to find an empty outdoor swimming pool. I could see more substantial additional structures to the side of the main house and decided to investigate them, being wary of the fact they may not be uninhabited. Broken windows confirmed they were indeed abandoned and I strode around with confidence knowing I was the only person here (a great feeling). The urban exploration scene is very popular, judging by the number of posts you see about it online. There are also a great number of women involved. It's by no means a nerdy guy thing. One thing that unites urbexers is revulsion at those who deliberately torch or deface these locations. The golden rule is explore, take photos and videos if you desire, but leave the place as you found it. Amen to that!

I admired the ornate wrought ironwork featured on gates and balconies and I also spotted a carved lion's head adorning the stonework of the main house. The courtyard where I now stood appeared to be an old stable block. It had obviously been converted into additional living quarters or perhaps office space. Bits and pieces of furniture could still be seen through the shattered window panes. I didn't attempt to climb in as Nicole was waiting for me in the car and I didn't have any protective gear on. I took the estate road back to the entrance I had first noticed when passing by. I'd just spent an afternoon watching kites and now I felt as high as one. The exhilaration was rushing through my veins after such a spectacular random explore. If you get a buzz from healthy and educational pursuits then isn't that a highly positive thing? We stopped at Dunblane on the way home, hoping to spot a dipper in the Allan Water but the river was a raging torrent after the recent heavy rainfall. No bird would have stood a chance against that current - even a dipper with its specially strengthened legs. Later in the evening, I researched the history of my find and instantly unearthed several stories about a serious fire at a Perthshire Mansion in 2011. It hadn't been lying empty but was home to a family who were sunning themselves in the garden when flames began licking around the roof. The blaze was caused by the careless actions of a workman. Argaty House had been purchased for £1.75 million at the turn of the century. A historic mansion wiped out purely by accident. Do the owners accept an insurance payout in these cases and start again elsewhere?

Edinburgh small museums

Another German meetup in Edinburgh rolled around and since I was off work, I decided to make a day of it in the capital city. The original plan was to walk out to Portobello but an unpromising weather forecast prompted me to scale down to a stroll around the city centre, taking in some of the smaller museums. This would also give me a chance to watch some of the street performers at the Edinburgh Festival. I took a bus to Dunfermline and popped into the Guildhall Linen Exchange for a swift pint of Lancaster Black before making my way down to the railway station. A throng was assembled on the platform but fortunately Scotrail had provided extra coaches and the journey was a comfortable one.

Truth be told, I tend to avoid Edinburgh when the festival is in full swing but if I find myself over there, I do like to take a wander along the Royal Mile and surrounding streets where the entertainers ply their trade. A young woman on the High Street received rapturous applause for an electric violin rendition of Englishman in New York - originally by sting. I threw a pound into her case as she had done a sterling job. By contrast, I'd witnessed a juggler around the corner in New Street struggle to attract any interest from a straggle of pedestrians. It did make me wonder how the pitches are allocated and whether the spots are rotated to give everyone the chance of a prime location. The main museum I wanted to visit today was The People's Story on the lower reaches of the Royal Mile. As the name suggests, it follows the development of the city from the perspective of ordinary working citizens. Trades past and present are examined as are changing living conditions. A fascinating tale and admission is free. Highly recommended. I'd actually been here several years ago and had been meaning to revisit for quite some time.

Directly across the road is the Museum of Edinburgh - a somewhat lofty title for a limited collection. The exhibition space appears constrained although the ancient building does unfold TARDIS-like as you poke around the nooks and crannies. The narrative just doesn't flow in my opinion and basically the place struggles to live up to its name. All the city-owned museums are free however and you might as well take a punt if passing by. Horses for courses! Next up was the Museum of Children, a couple of hundred yards further uphill. I had walked past this establishment countless times without ever venturing inside and I therefore had no idea what to expect. The glass cases were stuffed with toys, board games, dolls and all forms of child entertainment from a range of eras. I was particularly interested in the computer consoles and games. I was delighted to see the Sinclair ZX Spectrum +2 machine I'd spent many hours sitting behind as a young teenager. I did learn how to program by studying the accompanying manual - something I found captivating, the fact you could tell the computer to do what you wanted. But playing commercially produced games was always the main focus and I especially enjoyed sports management and adventure titles. Platform games also got a look in but shoot 'em ups were never my bag. All loaded from cassette tape - a process which took several minutes.

I think most people would gravitate towards the galleries that best represented their own childhood experience. Definitely a museum worth dipping into. I pushed on up the Royal Mile, the crowds becoming ever denser as I approached the castle. A never ending stream of flyers were being handed out from Fringe hopefuls. I cut back down to Princes Street then walked along George Street to the large Wetherspoons pub where I had arranged to meet Peter from the German group. He wasn't due for a while so I proceeded to enjoy a few pints of Iron Maiden Trooper. The place was rammed (as expected) but I did find a bar stool at one of those small high tables where you perch your drink. The building is an old bank and has been very tastefully converted. There wasn't a hope in hell of finding a dining table so I stuck to my little slice of territory and headed for the entrance to meet Peter at the agreed time to suggest we go elsewhere. We simply headed to the meetup venue a couple of streets away which was a Czech bar. I'd read on their website that unpasteurised Staropramen was available so I decided to sample that. Not bad, but I rarely find a lager that excites me and at £5.50 a pint, very pricey. I quickly switched to the house beer as it was two quid cheaper. A plate of chips to eat and a good meetup, fairly well attended considering it was festival silly time.

Back to Brandenburg

I go to eastern Germany a couple of times each year. My wife Nicole is from a region known as the Uckermark which is a rural area north east of Berlin. It belongs nowadays to Bundesland Brandenburg. I always enjoy visiting Nicole's family and the German culture appeals to me greatly. I usually plan to complete a whole list of walks but - inevitably - when you're on holiday, particularly at the height of summer or winter, the original schedule can be curtailed. I do however always undertake at least a couple of expeditions.

The summer of 2019 turned out to be a hot one all across Europe. Fortunately I arrived in Berlin during a cooler spell. I had taken a very early flight from Edinburgh, making use of the 24-hour bus service from Fife. As I was going to be away for three weeks, I wanted to avoid the airport car-parking facilities. As a rule, I try to avoid spending money while inside the terminal and usually take advantage of the meal deal at Boots or Superdrug. Locating the water fountain is also a handy tip, although they aren't always prominently placed. I had initially intended to follow the River Spree trail for a few miles through the city centre and work my way to the next railway station down the line before catching my onward connection to the Uckermark. This plan was abandoned upon checking the train times and discovering I would have to travel by a more convoluted route due to engineering works. I decided instead to restricted my walking activity to a short stroll along the river to the DDR Museum - a place that had in any case been on my radar for some time.

Ah yes, the good old DDR, Deutsche Demokratische Republik or just plain old East Germany. My in-laws were indeed all born on the communist side of the fence. That era now seems so distant yet the two halves of Germany didn't formally re-unite until we entered the 90s, although that is practically 30 years ago come to think of it! Anyway, this is not the correct place to ponder over political minutiae. Suffice to say, the museum is packed full of artefacts and recollections from this bygone age. Fascinating stuff. I was just turning 18 when the Berlin Wall came down and I followed the events with great interest. I enjoyed some banter with the staff who demanded to know why the Scotsman wasn't wearing his kilt. All in fluent German of course! I made my way back to the station, passing the beautiful Berliner Dom (pictured at top of page). An awkward journey ensued, involving an extra change, a hour to kill before my final connection arrived and - to rub salt into the wound - a technical issue as the train approached the Uckermark which saw me limp into Angermünde well behind schedule. I was eagerly greeted by Nicole and her nephews. From here it was a 15-minute drive out to the tiny village of Schönermark, which has become a home from home. The largest town in the vicinity is Schwedt, with 30,000 inhabitants. In a country of over 80 million people, most have never heard of the place! The nearby River Oder forms the border between Germany and Poland but Schwedt is served by a canal which parallels the river - the natural floodplains sitting in between. I had picked out a walking route along a cycle path which follows the canal and planned to trek around 5 miles to the village of Gatow. Off I headed on the local bus to Schwedt.

Schwedt was largely destroyed during the war and subsequently rebuilt to house workers at the oil refinery and paper plant - complexes that dominate the industrial landscape today. The bus station is adjacent to the main shopping centre and from here it was around a mile and a half to the canal. Schwedt Castle was badly damaged in 1945 as the Russian army advanced and the historic remains were finally obliterated in the 1960s - a practice communist states across Europe proved remarkably adept at. A scale model of the castle provides a link to this lost heritage. The modern theatre building stands by the water and it was here I saw my first ballet performance (excluding my younger sister's stage debut when she was around 7). I picked up the cycle route which actually runs a total of 335 miles through three countries, starting in the Czech Republic and then shadowing the German/Polish border along the rivers Neisse and Oder. I wonder if anyone has ever walked the entire route? One thing you notice about the German waterways is they continue to function as freight arteries whereas leisure transport seems to be the main commodity in Britain. It didn't take long for the first barge to come chuntering past. The craft was as long as a football pitch!

I reached a canal junction and switched to the opposite bank. The enormous paper mill soon appeared on the side I had just vacated, highlighting that nature and industry exist side by side in this part of Germany. To my right, the river flood plains stretched into the distance, covered in lush vegetation. Eventually I came across a bird hide with ample information about the local species. I can speak, read and write German without difficulty and what a difference that makes! It obviously takes years to become proficient in a language but I put the work in and I'm never in the situation where I don't know what's going on around me. I caught sight of a red woodpecker and yellowhammer as I ate my lunch. I knew the next bridge over the canal would lead me into Gatow and I had timed my walk to coincide with a bus back to Schwedt. A decent network of services runs across the region but they are often infrequent therefore it's never a good idea just to turn up at wait. Isn't it great that you can now simply download an app to relay all this information instantly rather than having to source paper timetables or jot down various permutations at a bus station?

I could simply have strolled into the village in good time for my planned transport connection but a path led temptingly into the polder lands. A sign informed me the River Oder lay two and a half kilometres distant. That's a 3-mile round trip in old money and I swiftly calculated I'd have ample time to explore the area and catch the next bus in a couple of hours. Nicole and I had previously ventured into the flood plains at the nearby National Park and this seemed too good an opportunity to miss. Almost straight away my choice was vindicated when a flash of green flew out of the undergrowth and into the trees. I later verified I'd encountered a green woodpecker, a new spot for me. It was a highly pleasant wander through an area alive with insects, birds and butterflies. I love the way you can actually hear a wild meadow sing at the height of summer. Such a tragedy that almost all of this type of habitat has been lost back home (somewhere in the region of 99% I read). I reached the river which is flanked by border posts painted in the German colours. The red and white Polish markers were clearly visible on the other side. They are spaced a couple of hundred metres apart but are rather superfluous as the border follows the line of a major river. The frontier does stray from the Oder as it approaches the sea and apparently there is a bench somewhere that straddles the divide. Being an Inselaffe (island monkey), I've always had a curious fascination for crossing international lines.

I made my way back to the canal and into Gatow. As I half expected, there was no village shop. I think Germany has fared worse than the UK in terms of losing local convenience stores to the supermarket culture. I consciously make an effort to support local traders in my home village, where we still have the luxury of a petrol station as well as two shops. I'm not perfect but I do my bit and if everyone spent at least a little money close to home then these businesses would be secure. Rant over! The bus arrived and one other person got on. At no point in the journey were more than half a dozen people on board. This is typical for the region and it's also not unusual to be the only passenger. The car culture totally dominates here and there's no way these buses are even coming close to turning a profit. However it's good that coverage exists to convey those who choose not to or aren't able to drive. I had hoped to squeeze in a post-walk beer, or even a refreshing Radler (shandy) but unfortunately the Gaststätte in Gatow was closed. I came close to Poland on the walk just described but my next Ausflug saw me jump into the country itself. Nicole's family live around 20 minutes away from the border by car and on many occasions we have crossed into Poland to buy petrol or shop for items that are cheaper than in Germany. On my first trip across the Oder, Poland was not yet in the EU and passport checks were still in place. Did the arrival of a Scotsman in a far-flung corner of Europe arouse a flicker of interest? Nope - the guard glanced cursorily at my documents and languidly waved me through. All these trips ended at the village on the other side of the bridge. The nearest city is Stettin (nowadays known internationally as Szczecin) and it lies less than an hour away by train. For some reason, I had never ventured there. Until now.

Stettin was part of Germany until the aftermath of WW2 when the borders were redrawn. The city was name-checked in a famous Churchill speech when the old fox declared "From Stettin in the Baltic to Trieste in the Adriatic, an iron curtain has descended across the continent". With the ethnic Germans expelled, Stettin became a Polish city, although to this day it is not widely known in the UK. Despite the wartime destruction, parts of the old town have survived and others have been restored over the decades. The train journey was rather uneventful, trundling across a largely flat agricultural landscape. The ticket price was reasonable as Stettin is included in the Berlin and Brandenburg travel zone. As expected in a city of half a million souls, the main station was a hive of activity and it's always worth pulling out the map (or loading it onscreen) to try and get your bearings. I had decided to keep it simple. Stettin has created a 7-km tourist walking route by the remarkably basic method of painting a continuous red line on the pavement. It was this path I intended to follow and I quickly found it outside the station.

As you might expect, the tourist trail takes you round historic buildings, churches and monuments. There is a handy information board at each point of interest with text in three languages. My personal highlight was the Hakenterrase, an elevated promenade with fine views across the Oder. The city's main museum is located here and the admission price was inexpensive. A varied collection had summaries in English and it was an interesting distraction from the walking schedule. I deviated from the red line to take a wander along the banks of the river and finally left the route with about a third still outstanding as I felt I'd seen all the attractions that interested me. Besides, I was starting to feel peckish. I'm a great believer in trying the local cuisine and I'd already spotted a bar that served Polish goulash soup. That'll do me, I thought. The meaty potage was washed down by half a litre of local lager-style beer (total cost £6) and while this certainly slaked my thirst, I did wonder if the city might offer a more artisan pint. I still had well over two hours until my return train, so I performed a Google search. It turned out there was a craft brewery a mere two streets away. Moreover, I'd already walked past it on the red trail as it was built into the town hall on one of the main squares.

I forgave myself for not noticing the place before as it was set out like a typical European pavement cafe. There were plenty free tables and I enquired about the beer. They had a couple of their own brews available - described as summer ale and sweet IPA. Both were excellent and at not much more than two quid per 500ml, I could hardly complain! The waiter was a young lad and I spoke to him in English. I did hear him dealing with other customers in German. While Stettin is not officially a bilingual city, German seems to be reasonably well understood, at least by those working with tourists. I paid my bill in zloty as I'd changed a €20 note into the local currency upon arrival at a rate of 4.2. I heard the waiter inform the German drinkers they could pay in Euros and that 1€ = 4 zł which means the bar shaves off the fraction in their favour. A toilet visit was required before I moved on and I was directed below street level which revealed a large indoor seating area completely unoccupied. Everyone had been outside in the nice weather. I made my way back to the station and returned to Germany. I was pleased to have finally seen Stettin, a bustling Polish city with a mix of old and new architecture. I did a couple of other walks starting from Schönermark, taking off-road paths to neighbouring villages. One expedition took me along the trackbed of a dismantled railway as far as Biesenbrow, which was obviously my kind of terrain. The route formed part of an 18km waymarked circular trail, one for the future at a cooler time of year. One thing that really strikes you when out and about in the Uckermark is the almost total lack of fellow hikers. It's by no means unusual to meet nobody! Bavaria this isn't!

Another local wander took me through the fields to the small settlement of Hohenlandin. An abandoned Schloss was an interesting sight and there were some pretty grotesque gargoyles carved into the stonework. Things didn't go quite to plan on the homeward leg, however. A confluence of routes met at the village war memorial and I happened to take the wrong one. Instead of being on the path back to Schönermark I was skewing away in the wrong direction for a couple of miles on a minor road. I did observe some beautiful butterflies and come across an interesting information board so my time wasn't completely wasted. But I realised I had to backtrack and would almost certainly miss my evening yoga class. My fault completely for not checking the map and relying on the rough notion I had in my head. I searched online for interconnecting paths but couldn't find anything. An about turn it was then. Lady Luck did smile upon me as a pickup pulled over and the driver enquired "Wo läufst du denn hin?" which translates as "Where are you headed?" As I said previously, leisure walkers aren't a common sight in this area. I quickly explained I'd taken the wrong road from Hohenlandin and was instructed to hop in. He was rather amused at finding a blundering Scotsman in such a remote area and offered to take me back to Schönermark. I politely declined, saying I wanted to complete my circuit and thanked him profusely for returning me whence I came. Back on the correct trail, I made rapid progress but there was to be a sting in the tail - quite literally. It's not uncommon in the Uckermark to come across the occasional beehive at the side of farm roads. A warning sign is placed and normally you creep past without incident. It didn't play out like this today and I heard a buzzing sound right behind my head after I'd passed the hive. One of the blighters had followed me. I quickened my pace. Now it was buzzing at my ear and I broke into a jog. I drenched myself with the remains of my water bottle in an attempt to flush the bee off my skin but it plunged it's sting into my neck. Ouch! I'd been stung several times by wasps during my life but this was the first bee attack. Fortunately I didn't have far to go and Nicole plucked out the barb with tweezers upon arriving back at the house, my nephews looking on with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. And yes I made the yoga! God knows why the bee chose to kill itself by stinging me, but I was none the worse for wear.

Finally, I attended my first ever classical music concert during my stay in Germany. Yes, I'd caught snippets of musicians playing in museums and art galleries before, but this was my first proper onstage production. We had noticed an advert for a youth orchestra playing at Kloster Chorin - a local monastery we'd previously visited and which hosts a medieval festival every year over the Easter weekend. €17 for a ticket seemed fair enough and off we went. The event was held indoors but one side of the nave was open to the elements and guess which way the wind was blowing when the heavens opened? The place was around half full and everyone on the open side shuffled across to the seats that weren't quite so exposed. The youngsters played remarkably well and we later found out the orchestra recruited talented young people from across the whole of Germany. There was a funny moment when the conductor himself grabbed a violin and ripped out a solo, without sheet music! Even the purest art form has an element of showbiz when performed in front of an appreciative audience.