I have travelled reasonably widely in Europe from school trips in the 1970's to, most recently, a short city-break in Florence, Italy. My first student exchange to Paris, France involved a week attending joint classes in a secondary school followed by a further ten days when my host family, in effect, kidnapped me and took me to their crude but homely holiday cottage on the Brittany coast, a road trip of several hours. I am not really sure, even now, if this abduction was with the prior knowledge or consent of either my school, or even more disturbingly, my own parents.
That was, I accept, a bit of an extreme case but even so not something that would be allowed now.
Cheap airfares and the ability to assemble your own vacation put just about every global destination within reasonable reach, making allowances for no-go areas, war zones, hostile nations and countries where it is necessary to make an ethical decision not to endorse corrupt or tyrannical regimes.
The undercurrent of political, social and religious upheaval currently sweeping many parts of the planet seems to ever reduce potential destinations for the casual tourist and inquisitive visitor.
The coining in recent years of the term "stay-cation" to mean staying at home as part of the annual vacation rather than going away does reinforce that in the UK there is a great wealth of attractions, both natural and man-made to be seen and appreciated.
A prime example was, just yesterday, when I discovered Aysgarth Falls in the Yorkshire Dales.
I phoned and asked my mother if I had ever been there before which was a possibility given that as a family we did holiday a few times in our caravan and small encampment of tents in another part of the same National Park.
My father did ensure that there was always a point of interest in any journey to and from the final destination of a camp site and by this method we were availed of many stately homes, natural features, heritage sites and high level vantage points.
This gradual immersion in things of interest was responsible for my continuation of the tradition with my own children when younger but with the key proviso's that if possible an admission charge should be avoided, similarly the gift shop and that cruel imposition that is an honesty box.
It turns out that I had not previously visited Aysgarth Falls.
The strong and enduring image of a fast flowing watercourse and cascade of falling water seems to be imprinted on my mind from the use of Aysgarth as a location for a defining scene of the relationship of the key character and Little John in the 1991 movie blockbuster "Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves"and not a passing visit over the last 50 years.
The tourist attraction, one of the most visited in the UK is found deep in the Yorkshire Dales.
Aysgarth, the village, straddles a ridge through the Dales and travelling in from the A1 via Bedale and Leyburn it takes a sharp right hand turn and a 1 in 4 plummet over a narrow stone bridge to first glimpse the frothing River Ure.
The Falls themselves are in three sections over a running distance of about 1000 metres.
Up river, on a pleasant May Bank Holiday, the peat coloured water is shallow and still until reaching a fault fold in the river bed which takes on the role of a low weir. Thereafter the flow becomes increasingly disturbed by rocky outcrops, fissures and under-water crevasses and trenches serving to constrict the passage and inject more speed and violence.
The upper falls are a mini-escarpment and catching the spring light the torrent shines with a caramelised sugar shade of gold before turning to a close representation of the top few centimetres of a pint glass of hand drawn Guinness.
It is possible to get very, very close to the water from the smooth eroded stone of the river bank and a few brave and intrepid photographers, both accomplished types and enthusiastic hobbyists attempt to get that unique picture. Two twenty somethings were carefully placing Lego figures in front of the dramatic back-drop for one of those shots that make a fan Blog or a #legoontour Instagram posting.
The middle falls sit just upstream from that old stone bridge in between tranquil pools and eddying currents. A fine mist of spray fills the air although on a warm day this could as easily be the vapour of evaporation.
The north side of the ravine looms up and to reach the lower falls it is necessary to follow the well worn footpath inland through a wooded copse. There is a hazardous almost Medieval Castle staircasing, all natural down to the rock shelf above the river bed but for those of a cautious nature the pathway, a bit further along, just slopes gently down.
Compared to its upper and middle sections, the lowest point is well worth walking for. The valley is at its narrowest point and so the Ure is at its most virulent and potent. The sheer noise is both deafening and soporific in equal proportions and there is a temptation to rest awhile and doze for a few minutes even with the sheer and deafening roar of the great volume of peaty river.
It is not to be as there is a roundabout trek of 7 miles to do up to the impressive towers and ramparts of Castle Bolton and back before being welcomed by the perpetual soundtrack of that beautiful, natural force as it once again comes into earshot.
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