by Jane | Nov 4, 2014 | Colombia, Destinations |
Kite fishing in Colombia
After the inactivity of Taganga, Palomino and Santa Marta the three of us –me, Emy and Lio headed off inland. We got a cab up into the mountains to the little town of Minka. We arrived in the drizzle without accommodation to discover that our options for accommodation were limited as everywhere was full.
As usual, we decided to get our priorities right and we immediately sat down for lunch rather than dashing around to find somewhere to sleep, and then, after chatting to the cafe owner about places to stay, we began to climb the steep steps behind the church to a hostel.
Accommodation was indeed limited but we settled for a hammock and a tent between us. The hostel was a strange place with hammocks slung among the trees in the forest and the main communal area being built of wood and all open to the air. But the views were amazing. From up here we could see the coastal city of Santa Marta (we just could not escape it) and despite Santa Marta and the coast not having had any rain for ten months, we were in lush, damp tropical forest with enough rain to sink a battleship.
We decided that we should go for a hefty hike the next day and beat our lethargic demons into touch. We set off up the mountain. Just one hour in it began to rain. Six hours later it was still raining. To say that we were wet was an understatement. When the rain was at its heaviest and with thunder and lightning echoing off the mountains, we were clambering up a narrow, steep path, miles, or so we thought from anywhere, when we came across a tiny little cottage. We decided that we would see who was home and we went in through the gate or at least Lio went in and Emy and I waited to see if he would come out alive.
Sat at a wooden table and staring out of the glass-less window was an elderly couple. They were sitting in the gloom watching the storm and eating tangerines. They spotted us looking like drowned rats and they didn’t hesitate to open the door and then invited us to sit with them until the worst of the storm passed. It was a mini-adventure like something out of a Brothers’ Grimm fairytale but there were three of us and the elderly couple were so very trusting to take us in, I think that our fears of a Hansel and Gretel moment were a little exaggerated.
With an earth floor and simple rustic furniture which we dripped all over they peeled and handed us segments of tangerine and attempted to communicate. After a while, they un-padlocked a door which bizarrely only led to the kitchen and proceeded to stir a pan which was on an open range. We didn’t want then to feel obligated to share their lunch with us, or to make us a part of it, so we thanked them profusely and set back off into the deluge, although this took a long while as the lady of the home kept on hanging on to me and Emy and was almost crying because we wanted to leave.
Continuing our uphill slog we finally reached the high point and posed for photos in the rain with a couple of guys who had reached the same point from the other direction and then we carried on along our circular route, but thankfully we were mostly going down hill by now. We were singing every song known to man which incorporated any wet and rainy lyrics and we stopped every so often to feast on the sweetest, ripest and discovered too late, worm infested wild mangoes which we collected from the ground under the trees.
The next day after watching a toucan hopping about in the tree canopy above our tent, we set off for the bus back to Santa Marta. We were fed up of the rain and whilst pretty, there wasn’t enough in Minka to keep even us three sloths occupied and certainly not enough rum.
Amazingly we were early enough to keep on moving and we caught an onward bus to Cartagena. Me and Lio hugged a hasty goodbye with Emy as we were deposited next to a supermarket on the road into Barranquilla and Emy disappeared into the afternoon sun all by herself towards Cartagena.
As per our usual pattern, we were not going to decide on anything until we had eaten, but we finally found our way to our hostel – The Meeting Point, Barranquilla. It was probably the only one in Barranquilla but it was run by a lovely family and had long term guests there who were working in the area. Lio and I decided to head off the next day for a very unusual tourist attraction in the port area. A wide river runs out into the sea from the city and in this down-trodden barrio it is flanked by some very rustic looking fish and seafood restaurants. We had lunch first at one of these overhanging the water and then went to find the little train that we had been told about.
Train is probably too grand a word for a platform driven by a lawnmower engine. Running along metal tracks embedded into the side of the road we slowly chugged along, following the riverbank. Soon we came to the sea, but strangely the track continued, along a barrier of piled up rocks between the river and the open ocean.
It felt very weird to have open sea on our left and the wide river mouth on our right as we trundled along the narrow strip of land on the train. We had stopped to pick up passengers at various points along the tracks and we soon had a full load. A couple of times the train broke down but the very fed up driver soon got it going again with a couple of whacks of a huge hammer. At the end of the line the driver indicated that we had an hour or so to walk to the very end of the point to the lighthouse if we so wished. The narrow pile of rocks which was lined with bleached wooden ramshackle huts turned out to the be the final resting place of thousands upon thousands of shoes and flipflops and plastic which had been washed up by the sea.
The shacks were basic resting and sleeping places of the fisherman who worked off the rocks. We spotted a few of them sat on the rocks and flying kites in the wind. Originally I believed them to be lazily idling their time away with the kites, but then we stopped and spoke to one of them. It turned out that they were kite fishing. They would sit on their rocks day and night flying their kites high as dots in the sky, whilst trailing off the kites’ string were long lines with hooks and baits which dangled far below in the water. Skilfully manipulating the kites the men dipped and played the lines and caught their fish which they would take to market the next day. Lio had a go, sitting on the rocks and flying the kite whilst the fisherman proudly showed off his catch so far to us.
Kite fishing in Colombia
When it was time to head back to the land the train broke down more and more frequently, taking more than twice the time that it should have and then it finally deposited us back at the port in the dark. Not too worried, despite our hostel owners warning to be out of this poor barrio before dark, we walked out of the area to the main road with the other passengers from the train. At the main road we all separated but despite waiting for about half an hour we were unable to flag down any cabs.
Lio and I decided to split our efforts and we stood either side of the busy road. And then it happened. A skinny, dirty little man approached me. Taking hold of the strap of my shoulder bag he quietly and politely asked me in Spanish to give him my bag. I obviously refused and told him where to go. He rolled up his filthy t- shirt to show me what looked like a knife stuck in the waistband of his trousers and then grabbed me and shook me while shouting now to give him my bag. And as I angrily screamed back at him and I told him to fuck off my mind was computing the fact that he had a knife. I thought that if he ordered me a third time to give him my bag the sensible thing would be to hand it over but he didn’t get a chance. Lio had been alerted by my yells and came powering over the road, yelling like a mad thing and with arms waving like windmills and basically calling the man every name under the sun in Spanish, French and English. Lio does security work and is an expert at martial arts. You only had to read his body language as he launched himself over the road to know that this was a man who would not be afraid to attack – and the would be robber turned and ran down an alleyway. At that point an empty cab approached and scared that it too would drive past I jumped into the road forcing it to stop. I actually shut me eyes as it skidded and wondered fleetingly if I had escaped a knifing to be squashed flat by a cab.
However it did stop and we jumped in and collapsed onto the backseat laughing with relief at our lucky escape. Well, after all, I had wanted adventure and this one had ended well. But we decided to head south for Cartagena the next day.
by Jane | Oct 8, 2014 | Colombia, Destinations, My travels |
As the end of my original planned five weeks at the Ecohostel drew nearer I knew that I wasn’t ready to leave the area yet. Amagâ is a small mountain town where not a lot happens but it is one of the places on my trip that has stolen my heart.
the mountains around Amaga
Paola arranged for me to move in with a family and to teach English to the seven year old who I shall call Abra. So one weekend I moved from my shared dorm in the hostel with its cold showers and (very nice) vegetarian food to a place with a pool, my own room and massive grounds.
My routine was flexible but I began every morning with an hours walk back to the hostel so that I could continue with my Spanish lessons. Paola had replaced herself with Lu so that she herself could travel for a month and Lu from Mexico endeavoured to continue my education.
a pool with a view
I may have moved to a lovely home but this was still Colombia. Several events had the family laughing at me over and over again – from my shower which burst into flames above my head and dowsed me in thick smoke and flames, to the giant ants which set up a nest in my shoes. A dangerous spider was marching across my bedroom floor one morning – had it bitten me during the night I would have had to spend three days in hospital and the cockroaches and beetles were the two inch long variety.
these things actually manage to fly
Abra had an adorable four week old kitten which clambered everywhere and Abra just loved to kick a football around. I played handball with the sports team on one of their days out when as a group we all went for a hike into the countryside and I helped out with the basketball trainingat the town sports hall. I also taught English to a great seven year old girl (Juli) at her home and often Abra was joined by Jac – the thirteen year old daughter of the lovely Vivi who helped out at the big house.
I went out a couple of times with Mauri into the campa. Maura speaks fluent English and German as well as teaching Spanish and told me many stories and tales about the area. On one occasion we trekked slowly in the searing heat, stopping to swim in the crystal clear pool of a river which tumbled refreshingly cold down from the mountains and then we poked our head into the dark entrance of one of the (probably illegal and unregulated) coal mines. We also had a beer at a football pitch on top of the world. Up here there was a three hundred and sixty degrees panoramic view where the mountains just marched on and on in their green folds for ever and ever.
fresh cold water from the mountains
I popped in and out of Medellin and I also stayed for a while at the Ecohostel whilst Paola was away. That was challenging – not least because one of the big humpback cows got onto the land through a hole in the hedge. Me and the amazing dog Guia managed to herd it back out of the gate (four times) and stopped it doing too much damage. It was a massive animal and not very sweet tempered but I was very proud of myself that we accomplished that between us before it could eat or trample too many of the vegetables.
Before I set off on this Latin American adventure I was always nervous out by myself and I would avoid walking out in the dark or the countryside alone. But now I was walking miles and for hours down country lanes. I wouldn’t freak out when a truck or motorbike slowed to talk – in fact I was actively hitching rides from them and as for living in the middle of nowhere all by myself – some of my friends would never believe it possible.
hitching on the back when the truck is full
I met up with Diego a couple of times for English/Spanish intercambio. One night I was unable to return home to the big house because the guard dogs were roaming free during the night and the odds were high that I would get eaten if I attempted to open the gate, D’s mum insisted that I stay and she gave me dinner and then made up a bed for me in the spare room. I cannot get over the kindness and the generosity of people here in this small town. They never see anything as an unsurmountable problem and they are full of trust and sunshine.
I was invited to dinner with families when before eating I would be introduced to the neighbours and local kids would hang through the bars on the living room windows watching me eat. I will be a lot more sympathetic when I next visit a zoo and stare and watch the penguins because it is very weird to be watched and listened to while you are trying to get on with other things. Everything happens in the open here – even the Alcoholics Anonymous meetings take place with the double doors open to the street because it is so hot – and whilst everybody can see the semi-circle of people gathered I guess that it is such a small community there is no way very much can be anonymous.
these kids watched us eating for ages
Yo and his partner Joha always have an open house in the town – for people and animals. They are both involved with a local community group called Corporacion Cultural Poncherazo and Yo also organises an intercambio language group with the volunteers from the EcoHostel. People just drop in and out of their home and they seem to know EVERYBODY in the town. They are both mad keen on animals and they have adopted some of the street dogs and cats, taking them into their home at night and leaving bowls of food and water outside their door for the others. I lived with Yo and Joha for nearly two weeks at the end of my stay in Amaga and I cannot thank them enough for showing me such kindness. I was living with them close to the centre of town and I was a part of the community.
my favourite street dog, Orejas (Ears) I would adopt him if I lived in Amaga
the view from my kitchen window for a few weeks
Night life in Amagâ is low key but fun with a couple of bars and nightclubs. One rather odd place even has the mens urinal at the side of the dance floor!! There are a couple of hotels (love hotels) where people check in for the night or part night so that they can get some privacy and countless bars with some very colourful locals who are often rolling drunk but funny and harmless and spend their days in the parque or in the market.
Amaga on a sunny Sunday afternoon, complete with childrens car ride
Colombia is one of the richer countries that I have visited so far in Latin America but there are massive differences between here and my old home in the UK. For the majority of people here, their social interaction with others is of the highest priority – both for the simple act of connecting and sharing with others and also because good manners have been instilled into them from an early age. The children will just as quickly approach and ask very politely how you are, or ask where you are from, engaging in a conversation, just because they can.
just an ordinary mountain town
Shopping takes on a whole new meaning as shopkeepers serve several people at once and all contribute to a five or six way conversation about what is being bought, the price, why you want the product and the news of the day. I have finally got used to being in the middle of being served and then abandoned for another customer – but that just means that the customer to my left can start a conversation with me. I am also now used to interrupting the customer who is being served and asking the price of something and I no longer feel embarrased when the shopkeeper abandons them for me. Its just the way that it is here.
I am sure that I will return to Amaga and the region of Antioquia one day. In the meantime I take a little piece of it and its inhabitants away with me in my heart.
public transport mountain style
On my final bus ride out of the town I sat on the left hand side so that I could drink up the views for one last time. I had my dark sunglasses jammed on tightly and I wept a few tears at leaving. I really hope that I will be back one day.
by Jane | Nov 20, 2013 | Europe, My travels |
You will laugh about this later
sunrise over the Andes
Those words were supposed to comfort me, but I just wanted to pull the duvet tightly around me, snuggle deep into the wonderful bed and never surface again.
My adventure had begun. I had booked my coach to Heathrow and I was looking forward to my treat of a night at the Thistle Hotel where I had planned to enjoy a leisurely evening meal with a couple of glasses of wine, check out their roof terrace which overlooks the runway and Terminal 5 and experience their new Pod transfer system.
Instead of a fluttering of anticipation and excitement I began to feel quite queasy on the coach and before I even reached Heathrow, I was in the throes of a fully fledged vomiting bug. Somebody up there must have been looking out for me because at least I had one of the better coaches with a decent clean toilet. The bus deposited me at Terminal 5 and feeling dizzy and more light-headed by the minute I struggled with my backpack and my rucksack and staggered off to find to the Pod, the state-of-the-art transport system to my hotel.
the ‘station’
clean lines
I have to admit that when the hotel had phoned me to enquire whether I had heard of the Pod I thought that it was an expensive sounding gimmick, but boy, was I glad of it now. At the futuristic little station tucked away in Terminal 5 consoles rather than ticket officers waited, their screens glowing invitingly in the muted light, lined up alongside little docking stations behind a glass screen. As I followed the very simple instructions on the screen an unmanned electric cart trundled into view. Parking up next to the waiting business man standing at the next station I watched as he stepped in. My Pod was not far behind and I gratefully collapsed onto the wide seat, whilst a soothing recorded voice welcomed me to the experience and advised me to remain seated. Smoothly and almost silently we whizzed along a little roadway, up and down ramps and bridges, crossing over main roads packed with cars. The journey took just five minutes and I very quickly found myself in the car park of the Thistle. Check in was luckily speedy and hassle free, no doubt hastened by my very odd grey complexion as I just needed to get to my room and collapse in a heap.
So no nice meal or drink on the terrace. I couldn’t even take advantage of the tea and coffee making facilities in the room, but I did come very close to experiencing the on-call doctor. Luckily by four in the morning my symptoms had eased and I felt more confident about taking two consecutive flights and travelling for close on twenty four hours.
the pod
As I checked out, I was able to experience the Pod transfer system a little better. The little vehicles reminded me of some of the better bubble lifts at ski resorts, clean and nippy with stacks of room inside for up to four passengers and their bags. The station was just a short walk from the hotel reception and whilst marginally more expensive that the Heathrow Hotel Shuttle Bus, it was certainly worth the extra. I still come out in a cold sweat when I think how I was intending to catch the shuttle bus and I am not at all sure that I would have managed that journey.
Anyhow the day picked up and the adventure truly got under way.
The British Airways flight to Miami airport passed smoothly despite the American man to my left pointedly refusing to be drawn into any sort of conversation at all but he insisted on spilling over into my seat. The British man on my right did chat away but he also kept falling asleep and snuggling in against my shoulder.
Customs at Miami was more interesting. I had to go out through customs and then re-enter. It was very busy and at the head of my queue there were two men joking with each other about who was to go first. Well, the customs officer wasn’t having any nonsense at all and bounced out of his booth, got right into their faces and bawled at them, insisting that they tell him what was so funny. He really was quite menacing and was tapping his belt as if itching for them to give him an excuse for a good beating or a shooting. Torn between being nosy and trying to shrink down behind the man in front I really wished that I could have taken a photograph but that was a definite no-no. After my turn of being photographed and finger printed I automatically drifted forward to lean on the officer’s desk – and was promptly ordered in a very loud voice and in no uncertain terms to stand right back IMMEDIATELY. To lull me into a false sense of security, the official allowed the corners of his mouth to twitch in what was possibly a tiny smile, and when I responded with the same he yelled at me again – he was certainly revelling in his power and also managed to snigger at my passport photo too, but he did ‘ma’am’ me and wish me a good onward flight.
over Peru
There then followed an extremely boring seven hour wait at Miami for my next flight which would take me down to Lima in Peru. I have to admit to getting a little nervous at this stage, worrying about the imminent taxi ride and simply locating my hostel. A couple of airplanes later (they kept breaking) and three gate changes we boarded two hours late but had another uneventful five and a half hour flight to Lima. I managed to doze for most of it but woke to a magnificent sunrise whilst below the plane, the sharp jagged peaks of the Andes pierced the fluffy magicalness of the clouds, running all along the horizon on the left as far as the eye could see. I was momentarily confused as the captain announced that landing was imminent and the clouds were still far below us, but all became clear as we suddenly descended and landed in thick fog know as garua. Carmen, the dinky little Peruvian to my right explained that for much of the year. Lima is rather cruelly cloaked in a grey mist, not like any normal mist but one which bathes the city in a luminescent ghostly pale glow. It lifts briefly for a few short months during the summer and is due to do so any day now and when it does the people of Lima will rejoice
My adventure did not have the auspicious start that I had hoped and planned for but I will certainly not forget it and Sis was right – I am in the southern hemisphere, I am in South America and I can laugh about it now
Disclaimer: I received complimentary tickets for the Pod by the Thistle Hotel: but this did not, in any way influence my comments in this article, which are my own, personal views.
by Jane | Nov 5, 2013 | Europe, My travels |
To the British, who are brought up on a culture of home-ownership and with a continuous supply of DIY and gardening programmes which are drip-fed to them via a plethora of television channels, many European towns may appear bland and characterless. With properties which often front straight onto pavements and windows shuttered tightly against prying eyes and either the sun or the cold, houses can appear austere and foreboding.
I am always curious (or perhaps that should be ‘downright nosy’) to know what goes on behind the facades and a quick peep or a more resourceful strain of the neck will often reveal pretty courtyards with colourful plants and tinkling fountains, ultra-modern designer kitchens or rabbit runs of corridors and polished wood or marble. Unlike the British who often feel the need to parade their accomplishments and possessions, the Europeans are generally not too concerned with displaying their homes and instead focus inwards.
Le Touquet bucks the trend. Sitting on the coast to the south of Calais this town is jam-packed full of beautiful buildings. I defy you not to gasp as you approach the town along long tree-lined avenues. Tantalising glimpses of the most amazing homes can be caught between the trees, or for an even better look, get out of the car and walk. Away from the edge of the road, smaller secondary pavements weave and dodge between shrubs and trees and swoop past manicured lawns. From these inner paths you can gaze freely at verandas, swimming pools, statues and turrets. Just as you think that you have found THE dream home, an even grander property comes into view.
The Post Office
The older buildings nearer to the town centre set a precedence when they were built. The Post Office is housed in an imposing mustard yellow stone building, designer shops jostle alongside a huge array of delicatessens and the market place has permanent stone tables tiled with pretty mosaic all ready for the traders to set up their stalls.
Le Touquet
Even the smaller properties boast little wooden verandas or arched windows with multi-coloured shutters. On the promenade these quaint little buildings are being elbowed into the shadows by the inevitable rectangular apartment blocks, but if these bring holiday makers and money into the town we must forgive this minor intrusion..
The beach is MASSIVE. And windy. Land yachts nip along the huge expanse of sand and the wind whips up the fine sand, blasting it into bare legs and stinging the eyes. A few resilient souls lean into the gale force wind clutching their coats and jumpers tightly around them and strongly suspecting that no matter what time of the year they were to visit, the wind would still howl along that particular stretch of coastline.
Le Touquet
The market at Le Touquet
I visited two establishments on my visit this time. One rather posh bar cum coffee shop which doesn’t deserve a name check here and the English Bar called Le Globe Trotter. On entering both places I checked that I would have access to Wifi (as I needed to work on my laptop). In the posh, lets charge silly money for a hot chocolate place in which the fawning proprietor assured me that I could use his Wifi, the waitress looked extremely puzzled when I complained that I couldn’t access the net and informed me that they had never had Wifi for customers. I didn’t feel quite so bad when I managed to throw the contents of my hot chocolate over their pristine linen table cloths and I certainly did not tip. Le Globe Trotter in contrast, had a lovely atmosphere and despite being themed as an English bar was really quite French. There was the old lady sat in the corner with her little dog and drinking her coffee, the men reading their newspapers with their beers and the bar man polishing glasses and listening to the radio. I sat there in my booth for nearly two hours, taking my time over a couple of beers, working on my computer and watching the wind howl up and down the street outside.
by Jane | Oct 22, 2013 | Europe, My travels |
Flying into Madrid and with my instructions clamped tightly in my hand I negotiated passport control, the metro and the Cercanias train system to arrive at my destination for the next week . Senorio de Illescas is a dormitory town which lies bang in between Madrid and Toledo, just 35kms to either on a train or a bus and with the journey costing an amazing two and a half euros. I had discovered the family who were to be my hosts on the Workaway website – but unlike working on the farm in Portugal my remit here in Spain was to speak English. And to play with the adorable seven month old baby who I shall call Garban (Spanish for something small like a tadpole or a chickpea)
After the structure of the farm where we had a specific (though flexible) timetable to follow, here there was no such structure. The timetable was dictated by Garban, but with his ready smiles that was no hardship.
the familiar symbol of Madrid
I began writing this account of my experiences in Madrid intending it to be factual and objective but as I leave, heading south to Estepona, it is hard to remain composed.
The family that I lived with for three weeks took me into their home and into their hearts. I have met both sets of parents, brother, sister, aunts and uncles, cousins and the amazing grandmother. We have prepared meals together and swapped recipes, cycled, walked, shopped and chatted late into the night.
Dyana and Hunter have been the ultimate hosts, tour guides and friends and there were tears all around as we said our goodbyes. They have ‘met’ my parents via skype and they extended an invitation to them to visit them in Madrid which was reciprocated by my parents should Dyana and Hunter return to the UK.
Since my arrival, Garban has sprouted two new teeth, he has begun to crawl and he has started at his nursery. It was difficult to watch the anguish on Hunter’s face as he walked away from his crying son leaving him with the nursery staff, and it brought back many memories for me with my children. Perhaps if I could turn back the clock and I had the benefit of hindsight I would maybe do some things differently – but there is no point regretting what I did or didn’t do – they were the right things at the time.
tapas dish of pig’s ears
Anyway, I digress. It was easy to love Garban and I loved every minute of my time in Illescas – even when challenged to eat tripe (pigs intestines). With ten pairs of eyes watching me, and the family holding their collective breath, I struggled gamely to chew and swallow. Feeling rather like a contestant on ‘I’m a Celebrity’ I regret to say that I failed miserably, although thankfully Mario gallantly reached me with a bucket in time! I felt honoured that despite many of the family not speaking any English they included me in the family birthday celebrations and with sign language and with Dyana and Hunter translating, I felt very much a part of things.
The economic situation in Spain is bad – but Dyana (named after an actress) and Hunter (so called following his wild antics one evening when he chased a massive bug around the kitchen with a tea towel) have good jobs. Dyana was enjoying her last two weeks of her maternity leave when I rocked up at their door, and then during my third week Hunter took annual leave and stayed home while she returned to work and little Garban began his gentle introduction to the nursery.
I was impressed with Dyana and Hunter’s standard of English and also that of their brother and sister. It made me keen to persevere with my Spanish lessons. I know that my understanding did improve over the three weeks although I still lack confidence when trying to speak. Learning a language is a pleasurable pain – or should that be a painful pleasure – for people who want to be stimulated and love learning, and I know that forthcoming experiences will be greatly enhanced if I can understand and make myself understood in Spanish.
So what exactly did I get up to?
Well, no two days were ever the same.
sleepy tigers
To begin with, I usually rose at eight-ish most mornings and after breakfast I would usually entertain the baby and chat to Dyana. We would often go out for a walk or we would go to the shops. We went once to the weekly market set up in the shadow of the futuristic looking bull ring, where they sold local produce, stopping to study a pair of tigers who were sleepily sprawled out in a trailer which was parked on the street. They were not a permanent feature of the town but were part of a travelling circus which was in town. We stopped several times for beer or a coke and tapas in some bars and as the temperature was a toasty thirty degrees for the majority of my stay, I often lay in the garden on a sun lounger or I dipped in and out of the little pool.
Garban is totally doted on by his entire extended family and I never once witnessed any irritation or impatience with him. If he couldn’t sleep then not to worry, it just meant more time with him. If he refused to eat, no matter, still more time with him. Perhaps because of the devotion that he received, he had little need to cry or grumble and was ready with his smiles and cuddles. Dyana’s brother and Hunter’s sister showered him with affection and it never ceased to make me laugh when either set of grand parents arrived and the battle to cuddle and hold him began between the couples. He was so content and happy to be with me and I earned the nickname Mary Poppins.
With encouragement and plenty of hints and tips from Dyana and Hunter I set off on some mini-adventures and I explored Toledo, Madrid and Sergovia – and you will get in-depth reports from these amazing places in the future I met some lovely people including a lady from New Zealand, travellers from Colombia and Poland and of course from Madrid itself, and amazingly I also met up with friends from the UK who happened to be in the area.
the local bull ring glows under the sunset
As I now bowl south on the coach I can see an intriguing looking castle on a distant hill which is flanked by a row of old fashioned windmills. The rain that accompanied our departure from Madrid has stopped and the windmills gleam in the sun. The plains of Spain are truly enormous. Stretching for as far as the eye can see, crops and dried grasses wave golden yellow in the sun and with far away mountains propping up the sky on the horizon this is certainly no place for the agoraphobic. I have loved every place that I have visited so far on my travels and Pollyanna-like, I always try to find beauty or something of interest. Madrid felt very special to me. The centre is compact – even more compact than Lisboa and contains a diversity of sights all within walking distance to each other. The metro system is sleek, modern and inexpensive and there is a range of eating and drinking places to suit all tastes and budgets. Most importantly of all for me, it felt safe. When the lights come on at night it takes on a whole new persona but still envelops and welcomes its inhabitants.
I am very excited to be moving on and to be meeting up with friends at a wedding in Estepona but I am also very sad and truly sorry to leave an amazing family. I know that I have made some friends for life.
by Jane | Oct 14, 2013 | Europe, My travels |
What constitutes home?
Is it where you were born or raised? Is it where your family or friends live? Is it bounded by bricks and mortar or is it simply where you are at now?
Over the last four years I have lived in a variety of houses and flats, depending in many cases on the generosity of friends and family who have provided me with safe havens. Yet once I have gone out of my front door in the town which I had called home for nearly thirty years I have not felt safe and I was constantly looking over my shoulder. I realised quite how edgy I had been feeling when I was walking through the streets of Havana on my own in the dark. I felt a lot safer walking down the middle of the road where nobody knew me (or to be precise, where I was confident that AW would not be around) than walking around my home city in the UK in the daytime.
A Cuban woman watching the world go by
Pedestrians keep to the centre of the road because there are no streetlights in the suburbs of Havana and dangerous potholes lie in wait on the pavements – the roads too but they are more visible – all due to the economic situation there.
But people live their lives outdoors. Partly due to the heat as very few people can afford air con, often due to overcrowding in the homes – a side effect of the government policy of ensuring that nobody goes without a roof over their heads and also because for the Cubans people-watching and communicating with friends and neighbours is a free activity and there is a massive sense of community. Cubans sit on their front porches and watch the world go by so in the main, you are very visible and crime is low.
Since giving up the tenancy on my flat and setting out on my adventure I have no physical home of my own. I have a few small items which travel with me and constitute my ‘home’.
Rather like the lyrics in that song which compares a pack of playing cards to a Bible, my little treasures link me to friends and family.
I have my owl key ring which is attached to my smaller rucksack, my lucky Buddha whose size does not correlate to its leaden weight, a couple of pairs of earrings, a red bangle and a friendship bracelet, my silver thumb ring and my worry ring, a couple of cards and letters which I carry, a 5 rupee Indian coin, a green mosaic tile from a swimming pool and my St Christopher necklace. I also have my phone with music and photos of friends on, my netbook with the same and memory sticks loaded up with pictures too. It’s actually no wonder that my rucksack is so bloody heavy! These items were all given to me or bought by me for different reasons. I have other items stored away which I would love to have with me, but short of upgrading to pushing a supermarket trolley around with me (and THAT would be the slippery slope to shuffling around and have kids yell ‘mad bag lady’ at me) those things will have to remain safe in the UK for now.
My treasures
I have endowed some of my treasures with multiple meanings. I am not superstitious and having previously lost many valuable and sentimental possessions I try not to get too emotionally attached to items, but perhaps a little bit of me wants to remain rooted to what, or more specifically who I have left behind.
