We were very lucky to find accommodation in an AirBnB with Guida in her apartment in Lisbon. She lived just ten minutes walk from the Optimus Alive Music Festival venue but she provided us with much more than just beds for the night.
Before we got down to the business in hand and went to the festival we spent a day and a half exploring Lisbon thanks to Guida’s help and guidance.
Guida provided us with food for breakfast every day, she helped us to book our onward tickets to Lagos (because the website was in Portuguese), she took us on a quick guided tour of her neighbourhood and she got us cheap bus passes. She also printed out our tickets at her local library and even drove us to the bus station at 7.45am on her day off.
There was just one funny incident which was when she first showed us around and she asked us to make sure that we kept the bathroom door closed as her cat would get in. Guida was very vague about what the cat might do and I just assumed the cat would probably drink from the toilet – but we found out the next morning because I had accidentally left the door ajar in the middle of the night. I was first one up and in the bathroom and it turned out that the cat preferred to use the bidet rather than her litter tray. There, curled up in the bowl of the bidet was one very smelly, very large poo! Oops!!
Exploring Lisbon
On that first afternoon in Lisbon after a siesta we got a tram back into town and we walked up the steep hill to the Castelo de Sant Jorge. The views across the city from the ramparts were amazing although we arrived at the Tower of Ulysses just five minutes after they had closed off visitor access to the periscope. The camara obscura is an optical system of lenses and mirrors which had been invented by Leonardo da Vinci and I had actually seen one in action in Havana, Cuba. The castle is quite big with complete walls and seven towers to climb, and then as we wandered down the hill from the castle, we found a cute little rooftop bar with a sun terrace that overlooked the terracotta roof tiles of the city below.
Lisbon streets
We then wandered around tiny narrow streets in the Amalfa district on the hillside which consisted of steep steps and cobbles. Coloured garlands criss-crossed the washing lines that were strung between the balconies, children played in the gutters, and most of the houses were faced with painted ceramic tiles.
These tiles are common all over Lisbon and they lift common looking buildings into works of art. We then stumbled upon a ‘World Fair’ in a large square where we sat and drank caipirnhas from the Brazilian stall and listened to Latin American music whilst watching the Lisboans promenade past us in the park. That evening we ate in a tiny restaurant where I had the most delicate grilled sea bream that you could wish for and we also struck gold with our tram ride home when for the late night journey, the sleek modern tram had been replaced by one of the original bone-rattling wooden trams.
On Saturday morning we walked to the Belem area and visited the Torre de Belem (Tower of Belem), we wandered along the waterfront to the Padreo dos Descobrimentos (Monument to the Discoveries), we chatted with a Marine who was guarding the war memorial (more about him later), we poked our noses inside the Mosteiro dos Jeronimos (Jeronimos Monastery) and find of finds, had coffee and the most exquisite pasteis at the famous Cafe de Pasteis.
Guida had recommended that we shouldn’t miss this little treasure and we were so glad that we found it. Reminiscent of a tearoom in times gone by there were little ante rooms off from the main hall and we were served by waiters who glided silently around the rooms with their pretty tiled walls. As well as the opulent surroundings those pasteis were quite a little bit delicious and actually, as it turned out, quite famous.
The Optimus Live Music Festival
After a couple of very pleasant days sightseeing it was time to go to the festival.
I had never been to a music festival before, after having a bad experience involving a near riot with Dexys Midnight Runners (who remembers them?) when I was aged sixteen when they performed at the Top Rank night club in Cardiff. Since then I have always been wary around crowds and I had actively avoided concerts or gigs for most of my life. I wasn’t involved in the fracas in Cardiff but I had been just an innocent teenager who was caught up in the middle of a large mob who were out to cause trouble. Once some guys in the crowd turned violent and began throwing beer bottles at the band on stage, the police were called and it turned very quickly into something like the Wild West. I just wanted to escape from the cave like venue but I was trapped with all hell breaking out around me. The band left the stage and then when the police arrived the gangs turned on each other and a huge fist fight broke out.
Anyhow, I digress. This trip was all about finding myself and becoming confident so I decided to bite the bullet and go to a music festival – and after all, this destination was the winning ticket in my lottery to decide where to begin my travels so it was like fate was guiding me; which was how I ended up in Lisbon with tickets to the Optimus Alive Festival.
Queuing in the sun was relaxed with people from across Europe waiting in line. It was good fun trying to work out the language and the nationality of people but it was even more fun eavesdropping on people trying to chat each other up, with English as their second but common language.
Festival Highlights
Optimus Alive Festival, Portugal
I had never heard of the band Of Monsters and Men and because they didn’t have one of the headline slots and were performing in the ‘unknown’ tent I thought that it would be safe to get a place quite near the stage; however by the end of their set the tent was packed and people were standing outside right back to the food stalls. I think that their popularity took many people by surprise but the word soon went around that this wasn’t a band to be missed, and they continue to be a band that I listen to today.
Greenday were the headliners on the first day and as they had been one of my son’s favourite bands I knew most of their music. They gave a terrific live performance, as did The Kings of Leon – although with both bands I was careful to stay back, well away from the crazy mosh pit.
The Stereophonics also played as well as Biffy Clyro, Depeche Mode and the Brass Wires Orchestra and many others.
There wasn’t a huge choice of food but there were food trucks where we discovered a great Portuguese dish called ‘tachadinha porco’ which was spicy pork pieces served with onions, sauce and rather bizarrely tiny sticks of crisps in a bun. We also ate a lot of ‘farturas’ which are best described as giant churros which were served piping hot, rolled in cinnamon and sugar. For just one euro and eaten hot they provided the perfect energy rush.
To top everything off a LARGE tumbler of very decent red wine could be bought for just two euros. Maybe it’s not cool to drink wine at festivals but hey, when in Europe…! By the end of the festival I had hardly any anxiety – due in part to the relaxed atmosphere and the fact that so many people weren’t focusing on drinking but only wanted a good time in the sun with good music and their friends.
I didn’t see any trouble or anti-social behaviour as I would have expected but the majority of Spanish and Portuguese have a very different approach to alcohol compared to large number of Brits on an evening out.
I felt very pleased and proud of myself that I had faced my fears and I had been in large crowds for two days running but now it was time to say goodbye to Guida (although our paths would cross again) and time to take that bus south towards the Algarve where we were booked to do some volunteer work on an eco-farm and hostel.
A Portuguese Marine’s perspective on life.
Before the next article in which will tell you about our time in the Algarve I would like to tell you about our encounter with the Marine that I mentioned above.
It’s probably not a story that most people would bother including when they recount their holiday memories however I find people’s stories and opinions as interesting, if not more so that ticking off the top ten of places to visit.
In this instance, when we stopped to chat with Juan who was a guard at the war memorial we got a real insight into what a soldier thought of politics and customs.
It can do us all good to listen to another person’s view on one’s own country. All too often we can be quick to dismiss our heritage and we may grumble about our politicians and our way of life, or we might look the other way and assume that what we grew up with is superior to someone else’s experience in another part of the world. Sometimes it takes a foreigner to highlight what they believe to be bad in their country and to point out how your own might be so much better – but at the end of the day we don’t need to agree or to argue, but to keep an open mind and ask questions.
We had been walking along the seafront from Alges to Belem when we passed a large war memorial and we happened upon the changing of the guard. We stood to watch the ceremony and after the retiring guards had moved away, the sailor (I assumed) who was now ensconced in his guard box, beckoned me over and indicated that I should have my photo taken with him. I teased him that he would get into trouble as in the UK the guards were supposed to stand very still and be serious but keen to break the monotony of his day he proceeded to chat with us for the next twenty minutes.
His name was Juan and he was a Marine. The Marines are a relatively young branch of the Portuguese services and were set up when a small group of their armed forces came to the UK to train and to learn how our Marines functioned. Juan had served in Somalia and Afghanistan and he was now serving a period of time on ceremonial guard duty in front of the war memorial. Whilst he believed that it was correct to have a guard present he also felt that it was an activity beneath the esteemed Marines. The large marble walls listed many fallen Portuguese with the majority of the deaths taking place during the 1960’s in the Portuguese colonies in Africa. There were thousands of lives lost in Mozambique and Portuguese Guinea during that decade.
Juan was trying to come to a decision. He had just about served his initial eight years in the Marines and was being pressured into signing up for a further term. He praised the British system and society for its forward thinking and appreciation of the role of its service personnel.
Like Britain, Portugal does not have compulsory national service, but unlike Britain it doesn’t allow its military personnel to sign up in chunks of time which may or may not be extended or opted out of (or at least it wasn’t an option when we met Juan.) Having served eight years he could now either leave or sign up and remain in the service until he was sixty five. He had enormous respect and pride for his country but he couldn’t begin to imagine how his politicians could consider an elite member of the forces would be able to continue until that age. He wanted to remain in the services, but not until he was that old, and he was therefore looking to terminate his career and return to university.
He was also full of praise for the British people and their support and pride in their troops. Juan explained that in Portugal the population generally considered people who went into the armed forces or the police to be civil servants and they refused to acknowledge their part in wars on the world stage such as in Afghanistan. He was so pleased to be able to thank me and BF for our pride in our armed forces (we are British therefore it was a given) and by proxy, our acknowledgment of his work.
Juan continued to highlight the differences between the decisions that the leaders of the two different countries had made when deciding to enter the European Union and choosing whether to adopt the Euro. He believed that both past and present British governments were fiercely protective of their rights, the currency and were strong and correct to stand up to the German Chancellor, whereas the Portuguese governments had given away too many rights and privileges in the past and now the population were paying for it. He was scathing about the German prime minister and her attitude towards the poorer nations in the EU and he could understand why so many young people wanted to leave his country and work abroad.
Politics aside, I am extremely proud of our armed forces in the UK and this was reinforced listening to Juan. We may have many things wrong in the UK but things are not always as rosy as they appear elsewhere and this was highlighted to me that day on the seafront in Lisbon.
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Just a month after we had excitedly unfolded the piece of paper which would dictate our fate we were off. It was hardly an auspicious start, tramping through the deserted streets of Plymouth at midnight to catch the bus to London, but that couldn’t dampen my spirits because my adventure was really about to start. The winning ticket was taking us to the Optimus Live music festival in Lisbon by rail.
I soon realised that my rucksack was far too heavy weighing in at 14.5kgs and with my daysack weighing in at an additional 7.5kgs I decided that I would have to take substantially less items to Peru!! From the bus, the new morning sun, an intense burnt orange, ponderously dragged itself up over the horizon and colour-washed the sky, first with a delicate shade of blue and it then added a sniff of rose pink to the palette which increased in richness until the misty fields alongside the speeding bus were bathed in golden rays. Arriving in London we took the Tube to St Pancras station where we boarded our Eurostar train which would take us to France.
The trains travel in the Channel Tunnel (the Chunnel) for 38 kms underneath the seabed of the English Channel between the UK and France making it the longest undersea tunnel in the world. Obviously there was no view, just blackness outside the windows whilst we were under the sea, but I found it quite strange to think about how much rock and water was above our heads.
Arriving in Paris we made our way via the Metro to the Gare de Austerlitz where we chose a bar to sit and wait for a couple of hours until our train was due. But there was a treat in store for us when what seemed to be the entire French air force started to display in the skies above us with their equivalent of our Red Arrows, jets, big fat transport planes and helicopters. Nobody else on the street or in the bar batted an eyelid, and most people kept their heads resolutely down despite the terrific noise. My schoolgirl French was understood when I questioned our waiter about what was going on. He explained that all eyes were being kept firmly down so as not to spoil the surprise when the air show would all happen for real on Sunday the 14th July which was Bastille Day. This was just the dress rehearsal and I thought it quite sweet that the Parisians wouldn’t take a peek because they wanted to enjoy the full display on Bastille Day.
A little later, at fifteen minutes to six, the station board clicked over to announce our platform and we went to find our seats. Our reclining seat for the night on the TrenHotel actually proved very comfortable. We settled ourselves in and ate our picnic tea, and then we shared a cheeky bottle of red wine – of course in France one must do what the French do best. At the crazy early hour of 7.30pm some guests settled down for the night, blankets tucked in and eye masks firmly on. Despite no sleep for 34 hours, my travel partner wanted to play and he successfully rounded up anybody in our carriage who admitted to speaking English or who had not got their eye mask on quickly enough, then like the Pied Piper he led a pack of us along the train. Out of cattle class, through the posh restaurant and down endless swaying corridors past the couchettes which we had been unable to book because they were too full to….the bar. And there Chris orchestrated a party.
I have previously partied on a plane on the way home from Turkey and now I have partied on a train. There was me, Chris and four other intrepid travellers at varying stages of their journey. A young Aussie lady from Perth, a student returning to his home town of Madrid from his university in Canada, a Canadian (not connected to the Spanish student) and a very articulate, young German. They were all travelling solo so we swapped travel tales and got into a very earnest discussion with the very lovely German who, it transpired, carried the guilt of Hitler upon his young shoulders and was concerned that we should not view him or his nation in a bad light. Before you jump to any conclusions I am well aware that politics and religion should not be discussed whilst travelling but the German himself opened the conversation and I am happy to report that following an intelligent and sympathetic discussion and despite or perhaps because of the amount of beer consumed, our young German was happy.
Our impromptu party eventually had to end because the bar ran out of beer so leaving behind an artistic display of our used cans in a pyramid on a shelf we successfully negotiated the swaying corridors and attempted (unsuccessfully) not to wake our other carriage occupants whilst we adjusted and played with our electronic seats, unwrapped our blankets which were wrapped in the noisiest plastic known to man and whispered goodnight to each other.
We were rocked to sleep lulled gently by the clicketty click of the train tracks and amazingly only one of the twenty people in our carriage snored; and because that was me it didn’t disturb me at all!
I did wake briefly at about 4am as the train negotiated the Pyrenees, twisting slowly through the mountains with wheels and joints screeching and creaking on the bends and then I woke again at 7.30am to another stunning sunrise as we careered across the Spanish plains which stretched on forever outside the windows of our TrenHotel.
After a fourteen hour train ride we sleepily landed on the platform of the Madrid Charmartin station, and after a little hunt around we found the left luggage office. Airport style x-ray machines and reassuring uniformed personnel were more than we could have hoped for and leaving our bags safely there we set off to explore the city.
Madrid was very hot that day and it was experiencing higher than average temperatures so we whizzed around some of the major sights, or at least, strolled as fast as we could. It was a fine balance between speeding up to get out of the sun and not going so fast that one would self-combust.
The Palace was impressive, the market was amazing and the traffic horrible, but I would return several times in the future and explore Madrid properly. What struck me was that everything was gigantic. They didn’t go in for delicate fountains or neat buildings. The planners must have had competitions – we want a statue – so let’s make it three times life sized. Let’s build a museum – and that of course must be enormous so that the oversized exhibits will fit in. We need roundabouts -make them the size of small countries so that the vast quantity of traffic can circulate with so much noise that it is impossible to think straight. Eventually we conceded to the heat and settled under a parasol for a very long, lazy Mediterranean lunch.
Then it was on to our next sleeper train. Oh dear! We had been properly spoilt the previous night. We were crammed into the carriage on seats which hardly reclined, there were no blankets or free water and it was HOT. They didn’t turn the carriage lights off until 1.30am when most people finally did drift off into a restless sleep – but then – at 3am some officious little upstart flicked all the lights back on and insisted on us producing our tickets again. Tickets which had been locked away in rucksacks and suitcases and stored in the luggage racks had to be located by some very sleep deprived individuals. Luckily for the officious little upstart it was too hot to start any sort of social rebellion and we all eventually complied with his request but grumbling is grumbling in any language. We were glad to finally roll into Lisbon albeit just two hours late, but we could unravel our limbs and stretch out.
A quick breakfast at a backstreet station cafe consisted of amazing coffee and some very dodgy indescribable meat in a roll: imagine the taste and texture of a mixture of corned beef and salami; and then we set off to find a tram to our accommodation.
We had reserved a room in a fantastic apartment owned by a lady called Guida. There were beautiful parquet wood floors throughout and our bedroom had a balcony, the tram to the city stopped on the street opposite and the Optimus music festival site was just ten minutes walk away. We each had a very welcome shower and took a siesta before heading into Lisbon for some sightseeing. It was the best feeling in the world to feel clean and fresh again. Wet wipes are fine but we needed a shower to remove the grime of three days of travel in temperatures of forty plus. We could finally pause and draw breath before the festival.
I spent a lot of time considering my options whilst I was in Spain over the New Year and a plan formulated whereby I would apply for an extended leave of absence from my job and travel to South America for seven months. I was accepted onto a volunteer programme in Peru and my leave was granted, provided I waited until the autumn. One morning in April I woke to the sun streaming through my bedroom window and an internal monologue in my mind that was chanting over and over in my head, ‘Why wait? What are you waiting for?” Shut up! I told the voice. I won’t let my employer down, I don’t want to let my colleagues down, I always do the ‘right thing’, I have always shown loyalty and commitment regardless of the detrimental effect to myself…on and on it went for the next twenty minutes and then, silence. I thought about how I had arrived at this point and what I hoped to gain moving forwards. As if in a dream I got out of bed, opened my laptop and I wrote out a letter of resignation there and then. I showered, dressed and took the bus into the office where I printed the letter out and asked to see my manager. For the first time in a very long time I was doing something solely for me. To compromise on fitting in with the best time to take a leave of absence was not serving my best interests. To restrict myself to seven months of travel would not allow me to feel the freedom that I craved. I knew that whilst I had an end date in the diary I could never feel free, so despite the best efforts of my boss to change my mind, I left the office knowing that I had to work just three weeks more and without a return date or job to return to. I phoned family and friends to tell them the news and rather than feel apprehensive I felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from me. For the first time ever in my life I had no responsibility to anybody or anything. My life ahead was an open book with blank pages just waiting to be filled. I could influence my own path. The next few weeks flew by as I arranged to stop the tenancy on my apartment and I gave away almost everything that I owned. I still had my trip to Peru planned but in the meantime I could spend the summer testing the waters and discovering what I might be capable of. At this stage, if my children had reached out to me or had responded to my messages I would have willingly given up all of my plans and stayed, but they didn’t so I went out and I bought a backpack. Whilst the biggest challenge of my life would be to travel solo and my biggest desire was to test myself by doing just that, I was also quite relieved when my then boyfriend suggested we set out together for just a couple of weeks. Between us we had several ideas of where to go – including Morocco, Portugal and Italy – but I wanted to be as spontaneous as possible and to throw caution to the winds – why not start as I meant to go on! I had never done anything except to think logically and to weigh up the pros and cons in my life and I now wanted to experience life in a different way. So we wrote down our options on pieces of paper, folded them all up and we asked a friend to simply pick one out of a bowl. No matter what choice came out, that was where our destination was to be.
I have updated this article that I wrote in January 2013 to introduce myself to you if you are new to me and my story.
My journey took me from a nice job in the UK at a university in Plymouth to Europe, South America and South East Asia. Whilst my journey had actually begun several years previously one fateful morning when somebody asked me whether I was happy, back then in the first week of 2013 it felt as if this was the start of everything – the true beginning. Read on to discover what was going on in my head as I prepared to set out on a solo adventure.
New beginnings are often described as painful endings.
If you care about something you have to protect it. If you’re lucky enough to find a way of life you love, you have to find the courage to live it – A Prayer for Owen Meany: John Irving
On the cusp of a new year.
2012 had certainly been an eventful year! I was finally granted my divorce after three and a half tumultuous years and I threw a big party to thank my friends and family for all of their support.
During those previous twelve months I had travelled to Paris, Spain, Turkey and Cyprus. It was in Paris when reaching the top of the steps of the Sacre Coeur I turned to look at the rooftops of Paris which lay sprawled below me and it began to snow. With perfect timing, large, fat flakes of snow drifted down across the landscape. It was like an old Hollywood film with the sounds of Paris muted by the snow which fell lazily with impeccable timing, and it was whilst in Turkey that I had conquered some of my fears when I took a hot air balloon flight over Cappadocia.
I studied Spanish, I completed my Open University degree (a BSc in Social Sciences: Sociology and Geography), I qualified to teach English as a foreign language and I had another tattoo.
Standing on the cusp of that New Year I had more hope that I had had in a long time and I knew that it was finally time to put the past behind me and I had already taken the first steps to move onwards and upwards. I had researched the logistics of working and travelling abroad and I had identified an NGO (non-governmental organisation; a charity) that was based in Peru and which had ethics that I aligned with.
New Year traditions – Spanish style
I spent this New Year’s Eve celebrations with some of my very best friends, in a small Spanish village. Close to midnight we gathered in the village square surrounded by the majority of the residents from the village. As the cava corks popped we chinked our glasses together and we waited to follow the local custom to eat grapes at midnight. As the bells rang out the hour a great roar went up from the crowd and there was the crack of a rocket exploding up in the sky. All around us, people were rushing to eat their grapes – twelve in total – one for each dong of the bell. Somebody let off strings of firecrackers which twisted around the feet of the crowd and the fireworks that were pinned to the side of the church fizzed their way around the numbers in the shape of ‘2013’. Then everybody began to move; mingling and kissing one another on both cheeks and wishing each other a Happy New Year, Feliz Aňo Nuevo or Bon Any…depending on one’s preference. The teenagers had also appeared, leaving their own parties for the moment and were standing in flocks with the boys looking mean and moody and the girls in their new party dresses. They all joined in the melee greeting everyone with Spanish gusto, young and old all together. It was a truly magical moment, and after a brief hesitation I took a deep breath and I embraced my friends, strangers and my future.
Finally, the square began to clear and we all piled returned to the hall which was laid out for a party. Pepe fired up his version of a disco and there was a rush for the dance floor. The music was Latino style with a twist, but it totally suited the region and the people. The men held their partners close, as they salsa’ad, meringued or cha cha cha’d their way around the dance floor, whirling around like the Waltzers ride at a fairground. Groups of friends and families were sat at long trestle tables eating and drinking whilst everybody was noisily chatting to everybody else.
We partied until three thirty in the morning before my friends and I left to slowly wind our way back up the mountain and to our beds. In the past I used to feel melancholic and unsettled at the New Year, but I decided that it was time to put an end to my grieving for what was missing and to allow myself to be excited by what was to come.
Looking forwards to 2013
I would learn over the next seven years how beneficial mindfulness would be, together with meditation and yoga and I would finally come to a place of acceptance of my situation – but this would all be baby steps and it would take time.
Many people would appear on the path besides me and would teach me what I needed to know, but I was also proactive in finding out how I could move myself forwards. I avidly read a wide range of topics and themes and I questioned so much.
One thing that really surprised me in the beginning was how much people seemed to like me and who wanted to spend time in my company! This might seem a strange thing to say, but I was only just beginning to truly understand how insidious and destructive coercive control could be.
Imagine you are at a party with your partner, someone who knows you inside and out. Imagine that during the evening that person sends quick glares your way and whispers that you are talking too much. Imagine that when you get home you are subjected to a monologue about how boring you are, how bored people were in your company and how you are ‘too much’! If you are fortunate and if you have never been on the receiving end of this sort of manipulation then you will no doubt be baffled as to how this could change someone, but believe me that it will do so if it continues. Subtle put-downs and snide comments over time can begin to instil doubt in even the most confident of people – and then there will be a social event when you might even begin to tone things down a bit. You make a concerted effort to adjust your personality and character so that you can fit in, but the glares and the comments will continue although this time you will be accused of being too quiet, too miserable and still too boring and unlikeable.
This is just one element of manipulation and coercive control and by the time that 2013 came around I truly didn’t know who I was supposed to be anymore. A common refrain of someone who has been subject to emotional abuse is ‘I have lost my identity’.
I did come to work things out but at this point I only knew that I need to make some changes if sadness, resentment and anger weren’t to win.
A few of my favourite things.
A few days later sat in the Spanish sun and breathing in the heady citrus scent of the oranges which are a trademark of this little village I started to list my dreams and aspirations. I found however that I was getting myself bogged down in the logistics of how to begin my new life, so I thought that it would boost my confidence to list some of my most exciting achievements and experiences that I had had to date. I was lucky to have experienced some amazing things, some of which I have listed here. I may not have jumped out of an aeroplane (yet), but when I thought about some of the worst things that had happened over the previous three years this list began to put things into perspective.
I cried when I saw the beauty of the Taj Mahal
I threw up on a bus in India
I raced around the streets of Jaipur in tuk-tuks.
I swam in an outdoor pool in the snow
I prevented a mugger in Barcelona from attacking my friend
I snorkelled in the Red Sea and I snorkelled with turtles in the Caribbean
I slept under the stars in the desert at Wadi Rum, Jordan
I skied in Italy, France and Andorra
I witnessed the sunset from the top of Mount Sinai after a 3 hour hike to the top
I saw a priest on roller blades at the Vatican City
I learnt to salsa dance
I visited the Pyramids and the Sphinx in Egypt
I learnt to pole dance
I played roulette in a casino
I shed a few tears at the sheer majesty of Petra
I successfully performed the Heimlich manoeuvre in a real life situation
I partied on a plane and on a train
I participated on stage at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival
I paddled in the Arabian Sea on Boxing Day
I have two children
I own and ride a 650cc motorbike
I was married at 20, I got divorced at 49
I took a hot air balloon flight over Cappadocia
I had a hammam (Turkish bath) in Turkey
I bought a bangle in the Gold Souk in Manama,BahrainI galloped on a horse through a sugar cane plantation in the Dominican Republic
I waded through floods in Delhi
I attempted to smoke a shisha pipe
I found my sister
I floated in the Dead Sea
I rode an elephant at the Amber Fort, Jaipur (not so proud of this now that I know the consequences)
I regularly donated blood
I cruised the Mediterranean Sea for 3 weeks on the world’s third largest cruise liner
I visited Chichen Itza
I picked cherries in Spain
I rode camels in India and Jordan
I learnt to belly dance
I went on a behind the scenes tour of Versailles Palace
Even now, I can hardly believe how many things I had managed to pack in and that was even before I quit my job and went travelling full time. Life no longer looked so bleak and now, several years on as I revisit the story of my journey I can confirm that I always have been a positive person. I got a little bit lost for a while but with the help and support of family and friends I came through that period and here I was standing on the threshold of what was to become a wonderful journey of empowerment.
(If you would like to read about my journey along the iconic Camino de Santiago you can purchase my ebook at this link:
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His name was Juan and he was a Marine. The Marines are a relatively young branch of the Portuguese services and were set up when a small group of their armed forces came to the UK to train and to learn how our Marines functioned. Juan had served in Somalia and Afghanistan and he was now serving a period of time on ceremonial guard duty in front of the war memorial. Whilst he believed that it was correct to have a guard present he also felt that it was an activity beneath the esteemed Marines. The large marble walls listed many fallen Portuguese with the majority of the deaths taking place during the 1960’s in the Portuguese colonies in Africa. There were thousands of lives lost in Mozambique and Portuguese Guinea during that decade.
