Take Me Out to the Ballgame

And they did! Bags still in the car we sped from Dulles Airport to the stadium, just in time for the beginning of the game! With rules way easier to understand than football, it was no time before I was scoffing hotdogs and crackerjack, and swilling ice cold beer…..and feeling as if I had been doing this all my life. The evening turned a tad chill, as you can see from the foto, but not so cold as to spoil much. I even knew the words to the song at the 7th….much to my amazement….sign of a mispent youth watching old, black and white movies I think

Of Cancelled Flights, Ruined Hairdos and Uncomfortable Airports

Beggars can’t be choosers, right? Right! Maybe it was foolish to think I could spend an eleven hour stopover, which spanned the wee small hours, studying to try to finish the paper I should have handed in the previous Tuesday. The four hour flight from Tenerife lulled me into thinking everything was possible. I studied. I stayed awake. I arrived in Dublin on time. So far, so good.

I wandered around Dublin airport at 2 am looking for a place to park myself and study some more. Now, I hope none of my Irish friends will take this personally, but Dublin airport is NOT designed for comfort. It is, apparently, designed for DIScomfort. Unless I missed some comfy corner somewhere, and apart from the couches in Starbucks, which were already strewn with bodies, there was nowhere, save hard or metallic chairs to park my, by then, weary bones. I toyed with a Starbucks and a scone. I fell asleep over my books, despite the lack of comfort, and after wandering around some more, decided to try the departure lounge. “You’re very early, aren’t you” said the checker as I presented my passport. I explained my hopes of finding somewhere to rest and he laughed…….my heart hit my toes. He was right.

It was around 4am. I gave up on the studies, and tried to read. I drank more coffee, I bought sandwiches which I didn’t eat. The sun rose. I bought chocolate, which I did eat. People drifted down to the gate. I stretched my legs, and returned to find no seating left, so I sprawled on the tiled floor, which turned out to be slightly warmer than the metal seats, more comfortable too, come to that.

11.30 arrived, surely they would be calling us to the gate very soon for the 12.30 take off, but, no, only an annoucement about a delay, and more news at 1.30. I walked some more. Bought another sandwich, which I did eat. Vainly tried to make out the rolling, Irish hills, of which I had heard so much amongst the heavy clouds, about which I heard just as much. Returned to the gate at 1.30.

A heavily accented announcement told us the flight was cancelled owing to a technical fault. No-one had understood much more than that, so we queued to get information from the staff. My fellow passengers being either American or Irish the queuing was good-natured, and the staff were charming. We should claim our luggage and proceed to a hotel which Aer Lingus had booked. We trekked across the airport, no more guidance, we asked each other if we were going in the right direction, we followed other people who looked as if they knew where they were going. At the luggage claim a nice man indicated vaguely that we should go upstairs to the check in area. The charming staff explained that we would be bussed to a nearby hotel, and take the same flight the next day.

This was where the niggles began to set in. They already KNEW that they could accommodate today’s passengers on tomorrow’s flight? It occured to me that the technical fault might be non-existent and that they had simply decided to cancel the flight for economic reasons. Maybe someone here who knows more about airlines than I do could confirm or deny that possibility for me?

We trekked again. In the pouring rain we followed a nice, young man, whose back displayed the words “Carlton Hotel Flight Delay Team” across several roads to the waiting bus. Drenched we handed over our baggage and climbed aboard to shiver whilst the rest of the passengers arrived. We arrived at the Carlton. We stood around in the pouring rain whilst our bags were unloaded (could the driver not have suggested that the people who arrived last got off first to collect their bags, so we didn’t have to crowd the narrow pavement, getting soaked as we waited for our first-loaded bags?) We checked in. The dour staff handed out keys and information about meals. All I could think about was a hot bath and sleep, but the information about tomorrow’s departure would not be available until after dinner.

Hot bath taken, and the idea of food not appealing, I popped down to check on departure. The dour staff informed me a bus would be there at 9am, so I ran back up and tucked myself in for the night at 9.30 pm. I slept the good sleep, woke in time, took a deep breath and did the best I could with my appearance. I had hoped to arrive in DC looking just the tiniest bit glam after an expensive session at the hairdressers, but the rain had put paid to that, so I went for the “pulled through a hedge backwards” look.

A couple of courtesy buses were waiting outside the hotel when I got downstairs. With no-one to confirm which one we were supposed to take, we made a best guess and heaved our bags into the hold. Waiting for the bus to set off I heard tales about the awful food, and thanked god I’d opted for rest over sustenance. I shivered in the early morning cold and drizzle. I hadn’t figured on a prolonged stay in colder climes, and stupidly I didn’t have warm enough clothing!

Eventually we arrive at the airport. Check in is smooth enough, but no apology nor compensation is offered. The delicious 18 Euro sandwich and smoothie I have for breakfast bucks me up. Satisfyingly, a lady approaches me who is doing market research for the airport, so I can vent my feelings about its awfulness. I check in with the world via Facebook, and, after another half hour camped out on the airport floor we are boarding. Being in the first economy class seats I glimpse the more-or-less empty first class and fantasize about being upgraded to make up for the inconvenience, but it ain’t happening.

Take off time arrives. Ding, Dong. “This is your Captain speaking…..we have a computer problem…..excuse the delay……Ding, Dong…..”the computer is still playing up, we have to reboot, this will entail you sitting for 20 minutes without air con. We do apologize, but without this computer we are going no-where”………thank the gods for a pleasant travelling companion. We chat. We bite nails and we wait. Ding, Dong. “The computer has successfully rebooted we will shortly be on our way.”………and at last we are. We hold our breath as the plane climbs through the clouds, but as it levels out we relax, the waiting around is all behind us.

The flight is fine. I have a nice and interesting fellow traveller, and a good book. The time passes well, and eventually we can spot the Washington Monument as we cruise into Dulles. The only problem now is that half the world appears to be arriving at the same time, but after sitting still for seven hours, standing around for another hour doesn’t seem quite so bad.

Still, I am here, and off to my first baseball game!

Thoughts on the New Apartment

Interior of complex. View from our terrace.

This was a move only half my heart and mind wanted. That I will be sharing space again with my sons thrills me. It wasn’t something I expected, and I know it will be a moment in time, so I hope to enjoy every minute, until our roads take us in different directions again.

Leaving living at the beach has been difficult though, even though, I resent the stiff breeze which was whipping around Sotavento when I returned for the final packages the other day.

Here I step outside the door in the morning with Trixy, and wonder where the heck we should go. We amble down to the Promenade which winds along the shoreline and down to the harbor, and it seems far too tame. Close to the apartment the beach is rocky and narrow, and further down, where it widens into a tourist beach, dogs, of course, are not allowed. If we wander in the other direction we can very quickly leave the cement behind, and scramble onto what must have been a finca in the past, where crumbled terraces blend into the rocky terrain, and rabbits scurry as we approach. This doesn’t sound so bad, except that the fumbled tents and tarpaulins dotted around tell me that people are sharing this area with the birds and rabbits, which is not to say that I believe all homeless people to be dangerous, but I am prudent and walk in another direction. This is not La Tejita nor Playa Achile, where Trix could run and I could paddle, and I had no fear of the tent and cave dwellers.

Dog walking aside, the apartment is nice. It is light and spacious, but at the moment gets no direct sunlight, which is great for keeping cool now that Summer approaches. It overlooks the interior of the complex, which is green and pleasant. I am told the pool is nice, but I’m not a swimming pool person. The layout of the apartment is good, we shouldn’t be tripping over each other too much, which should make for easier living. The furnishings are adequate, cheered up by some throws and bits and pieces I cling to still. There is video security on the front door, which is, of course, a bonus, and we have a chemist, an expensive supermarket and a decent Chinese restaurant around the corner. It takes me five minutes to get to work and park up, or around 12 to walk, although arriving hot and sticky is not a good idea. Summer does seem to have arrived in the South of island at least.

It strikes me that living in such a close environment will get to be claustrophobic, and I must guard against that. Driving from Los Cristianos to Él Médano each day disconnected me from work, whereas here, it seems we are in the middle of the client base! Still, we shall keep ourselves to ourselves no doubt, neighbourwise. I am saving probably around €10 a week in gas, so I must keep that in mind.

As I write, I can hear gulls circling above and the deep, echoing blasts of the ferry’s horn as it eases out of the harbor. I love these sounds. They speak of the ocean, of course, and the boat is calling me to travel……..

Barranco del Infierno

Barranco del Infierno

Originally uploaded by islandmommacanarias

My favorite of the pictures I took on a hike this morning. I haven’t done this, particular hike in ages. It was great to go early (9am) to see the sun rising above the mountain tops. In the valley it is shady and cool, and because of the streams which trickle from the mountains above it is less dry than the climate of the rest of the South of island.

Am posting this via Flickr – there are more photos there, and I will expand on this entry when I get a minute!

IMHO Susan Boyle

I can’t remember the last time there was so much fuss in the media, not that she doesn’t deserve it, because if this is what she wants then she richly deserves it. Not being a fan of either tv talent shows nor media “human interest” stories normally, I avoided logging on to YouTube this week, but was finally won over by comments on a friend’s blog. So glad I did, of course, Ms Boyle has the most beautiful voice, and her lovely personality is a joy, and I enjoyed it hugely…….not least watching the comeuppance of those shiney, young bimbos in the audience (oops, this whole thing is partly about not judging a book by its cover, and there I go doing just that!)…….I enjoyed even more her rendition of “Cry Me a River” (one of my favorite songs) which was all over the internet today. I am overjoyed for her, and I wish her lots of happiness and future success.

That said, there is another reason this story is so huge today. The entire world is facing one of the biggest crisises ever known, we are depressed, we are gloomy, we are down. People who thought they were about to enjoy a comfortable retirement are left to scrape by. Young people who should be enjoying the first pleasures of wage earning are “hanging” at the unemployment office. The situation is provoking violence and crime and suicides. The media screams headline after scary headline, so it is ironic that they have fed us this antidote too.

We needed a hero, someone who has beaten incredible odds to show us that it is possible, that anything is possible, as the gurus tell us….if you believe, if you want enough. Susan Boyle wanted it enough and she did it. We look at this middle aged woman, who has nothing in outward appearance other than a friendly smile, and we see ourselves. Even those lip-glossed and heavily-mascared bimbos in the audience feel that way inside. Then she opens her mouth and sheer beauty flows out, and that is how we would like to be, and we are thinking – “If she can do it, so can I”. Maybe we don’t want to sing, or be famous, but we can be the best mom in the world, we can pass that exam, we can do a better job or we can make the football team.

We already had proof of this in Barack Obama, but now he is, actually, is, President of the United States, and we are a bit awed. But Susan Boyle is on our level. She is ordinary.

So not only does she give us this marvellous gift of enjoyment, but she gives us hope too, and we most certainly do need that.

Guaza Rastro

I am ambivalent about markets and car boot sales. I love mooching around and finding bargains, but I hate the boob-brushing, sweaty, smoke-stinking closeness which comes as part and parcel of some, like the Sunday Market in Los Cristianos…….some interesting stalls amongst the tourist tat, but forget it…..not to mention €1.50 for a small bottle of water!! The best of the best is the Sunday street Market in Santa Cruz, which sprawls over the streets neighbouring the Market of Nuestra Señora de Africa, but more of that another day.

The Guaza Rastro is a car boot sale…….minus the mud and the brolly in the eye which come to mind when I think of boot sales in England! Well, for mud you can substitute dust, and I did see one lady using a brolly as a sunshade today.

For a cross-cultural experience, for a people-watching pastime or for a way to get a tan whilst standing around making money it is hard to beat. It is rumoured that the serious people arrived at 9pm yesterday evening to get the best spots, so when I rolled up at 7.45ish (daybreak!) I got a pretty bad pitch. I took heart from the fact that the van next to me belonged to a couple I know, who do the small markets regularly. If it was early enough for them, then it must be good enough for me.

Maybe the early people get time to set out their wares neatly I mused, as people crowed round peeking into my boot to get in before anyone else……..taking Trixy with me isn’t only for the company. This is something I have been doing from time to time for the past few years. I look on it as downsizing, or clearing the clutter out of my life, though I did it before those things were fashionable! Well, my available living space has been shrinking, so it made sense.

It’s something I have come to enjoy as well though. Where else on this island do you get this mingling of nationalities with the same intent, I wonder. It is symbolic of what I love about the South of the island. Sure, the North is lusher and prettier, more “authentic” Canarian but this mini United Nations is a thing to behold. I discussed Eric Clapton with chatty Brummie, talked books with a lovely English lady and an charming, elderly man, and the state of the world economy with a young man from Mali. I joked with a colorfully robed couple of ladies from Senegal, and discussed diving with a very well-educated German couple. I was haggled by Germans, Moroccans, English and Canarians – always with a smile. It stikes me that in this gathering of people, who, essentially, are not well-off, there is much more laughter and fun, more genuine liking and respect that in almost any group of wealthy people in which I have ever been.

Michel Camilo symphony for Tenerife

A horrid week, but capped by an absolutely wonderful night Saturday, though. Michel Camilo revisited the Auditorium, but this time to debut a symphony he has written and entitled “Tenerife”.

A few days ago, confirming arrangements for driving up there with the friend with whom I went, I confessed that when I booked the tickets I assumed it was going to be a jazz concert like the one we saw four years or so ago. I received an email from the ticket agency, and booked immediately on the strength of his name, without checking it out, had I done so, I might not have booked, because, operating on a very tight budget these days, I would probably have decided this concert was of less interest than my pocket could afford. I commented that I would just as soon listen to classical music on cd, where I would hear the world’s best musicians in the comfort of my own home. Plus there was little visual entertainment…but how wrong could I have been?!

The Tenerife Symphony Orchestra began with Beethoven’s 5th…..does it ever fail to get an audience going?? I am not knowledgeable about classical music at all, but the first concert I ever went to, back in my teens, was Beethoven’s 5th, so I have a very soft spot for it. What I had never seen before in real life was a truly great conductor. Sure, I’d seen them on tv, but to be in the presence of a musician like Lü Jia, who has been the guest conductor this season, teaches the meaning of the word awesome. Even watching his back the energy and passion were evident, but when one caught a glimpse of his profile you could see that he was living every note. His face glowed.

I could say the same of Michel Camilo, who played piano for his own symphony. This man excudes not only enthusiasm and energy, but a sheer “niceness” too. His smile could light up the entire Auditorium, his pleasure in the standing ovation was palpable, and just how he does it I don’t know, but his humility was also evident. As for the symphony, it was quite overwhelming. Muscially, it drew on Elmer Bernstein, classic music, and modern jazz, with more than a nod to ragtime and African rythmns. In other words a fusion, a glorious fusion. In my head I visited volcanos and cliffs. I watched huge waves crashing onto rocks, and I glided over a calm, moonlit ocean. I even took a stoll along a tourist promenade. There were times when i didn’t even want to breathe! He took two encores without the orchestra, one in similar style, and the other rousing ragtime to cap the night.

Despite not feeling my best, I loved every minute of my evening, even the drive there and back was relaxing enough, and troublefree. We had a salad before the concert, sitting in a pavement café under a warm sky. I know the good things about living here. wee

Carnaval Chicharrero

An odd thing was happening as I wended my reluctant way to work in the early morning sunshine today. As I prepared to face the working day, pirates, can-can dancers, vampires, ghouls and karate kids were slouching they way back to their beds……it’s Carnaval! In Los Cristianos the deserted streets gave off the feeling of a ghost town, the air was tranquil like when the first snow blankets the ground in Northern climes and muffles noise. It seemed like the whole world was in Santa Cruz for Fat Tuesday and the big parade.

Oddly, I struggled to find anything on YouTube which really conveyed anything like the atmosphere. This is the nearest I came, and you have to wade through some boring stuff too. It is shows how tv stations around Spain reported on this fantastic event last year.

Talk about Carnaval? Where to start? It’s a whole world, a magic that consumes your life for weeks, no, for months before your big day. What people see has been planned, practised, dressed, worried over and dreamed about for months, maybe even years before the finished display is seen on the streets.

Carnaval in Tenerife is reputed to be the second biggest in the world, the first being in Rio de Janeiro of course. It begins, well, it begins months before in the designing and planning. As soon as one year ends the planning begins for the next. The highlight for tv viewers is the election of the Carnaval Queen, which takes place around five days before Fat Tuesday. The “dresses” get more complicated, more glamorous and more imaginative by the year. Today they resemble a piece of architecture more than a dress, but the contestants for the honor of being Queen of the Carnaval have to tow, drag and dance their way fairly freely around a stage in order to be considered for the prize. This is a link to the fotos of this year’s winner in one of the local papers.

http://comunidad.laopinion.es/servicios/galeriasMultimedia/index.jsp?pIdGaleria=4315&pIndice=19

The hardest part of Carnaval for non-Latin people to understand are the Murgas. Musical groups,choirs I suppose you could say, mostly they are accompanied just by drums and the what look like the toy trumpets they tote, which sound like a paper and comb. Their costumes are almost always a riot of color, and their songs satirical and often, by today’s standards, both can be politically incorrect. Even after all these years, they are still a mystery to me. Here’s a sample from YouTube:

More familiar to outsiders are the comparsas, the very glam salsa troups, as famous for the scanty attire as for the dance :=) During the weeks prior to the whole party spilling out onto the streets, every theater and exhibition hall or indoor public space rings to the sounds and sights of competitions between these groups. These days every step and note is recorded by local tv, so every part of the island, or indeed, the archipelago can share the excitement.

For most people, though, Carnaval takes off on the Friday before Fat Tuesday, when the dancers, singers and revellers take over the streets for the next week. You’ve all seen that on tv or in movies, it’s parades and partying all night, crawling into bed at dawn, and waking at lunchtime to start all over again for a whole week….for those with the stamina! It is a feast of color and music and movement. It is remarkable for its good nature and lack of crime. Of course, there is crime, but nothing like the level you might expect of that you hear of in other places.

Bits and Pieces from a tiring Week

It’s been an odd week, me feeling as if in limbo for some of it, and weekend finds me tired, if not exhausted. I hesitate to use that word, because I have had much more demanding weeks in my life, so I feel guilty about using it, when it is largely self-inflicted and all in my own head.

What was neither, was following the news story about the patera which capsized off the coast of Lanzarote. It used up a fair amount of emotional energy, just listening to it, reading about it, knowing that it won’t be the last time….

Focus of my week was the paper I had to do for the social sciences course Thursday. Using the honor system I had to do it in examination conditions, and it freaked me out just as much as if I had had to go to an examination center. I developed mysterious aches and pains and some tachicardia, which had disappeared this morning, after a good night’s sleep. Handwritten, it had to be posted by yesterday at the latest. Any sensible person would have had it in the post some days before instead of drawing it out until the last second, but not me. Anyway, it’s on its way to Barcelona now, for better or for worse, so I have some nail biting days until I get the result. When my alarm went off to tell me time was up I was too emotional to read it through, since I couldn’t change anything, and I felt I had done it really badly. After filling in the forms, writing out the envelope and poured a large glass of Sheridan’s I decided to read it, and it didn’t seem too bad. Popped it into the envelope, sealed it all up and ran a bath. Then, whilst soaking I kept remembering things I should have included. Oh, well, too late now.

I have to say that I am finding the course much more engaging and interesting than the English Literature I did a couple of years ago, so I know the changeover was right. This did not stop me from considering giving up, though. I am finding it difficult in parts, but that is a challenge. Mainly, I was chaffing against the financial restrictions I am experiencing, and, frankly, the cost of this course would pay for me to go to visit Guy, so it wasn’t an easy decision to continue. The second negative was the amount of my time it was taking. I turned down invitations to all sorts of things over the last three or four weeks, and despite a small wave of cayucos I didn’t go on callouts, and I felt bad. I emailed with my team leader who rubbished my feelings of guilt, saying that each one of us can only give the time we have to give, as volunteers. As he used to be a volunteer, as opposed to someone brought in from outside, so he understands.

It was a tiring week at work too – talk of redundancies, which didn’t happen, and customers being even more agressive or clingy than usual – the times in which we live I think.

So close……..

On Sunday evening, around 6.30 / 7pm, when most residents of the islands were packing up after a pleasant weekend, the residents of Los Cocoteros, a small coastal village in Lanzarote, one of the eastern Canary Islands, were startled by screams and cries for help. A patera, a smallish fishing boat, had capsized, very close to shore.

This patera had begun its journey from the West Coast of Africa, probably Morrocco. It would have been designed for a few people to fish, haul in the catch, work in the boat, but this one carried between 28 and 32 people, who were desperate enough to risk the winter seas to try to find a new life in Europe.

Within meters of land the boat had overturned, as the churning ocean hit the rocky shore. Many of the people on the boat would have been wearing several layers of clothing – Atlantic nights are cold – so that even if they could swim it would have been almost impossible. The wet clothing would have dragged them down. Just six people survived.

That they failed to reach their dream so close to land adds a harrowing dimension to this tragedy. It isn’t the first boat to be lost on this desolate journey, and, sadly, it won’t be the last, but it has resonated with many people here. Of the 26 bodies recovered no less than 15 are said to be juveniles, some children as young as 6 or 8, one pregnant woman and the rest teenagers.

The full body count, no doubt will be confirmed tomorrow.

To their eternal credit several of the residents of the village rushed to help, especially one young man, a surfer, who launched his surfboard and helped pull victims to shore, before the rescue services arrived. Without him and his friends there probably would have been no survivors. His is the picture in the set of pictures you can find in this link, which looks slightly incongruous if you don’t know the story.

http://comunidad.laopinion.es/servicios/galeriasMultimedia/index.jsp?pIdGaleria=4279&pIndice=1

Tell me if picture number two isn’t one of the most upsetting you’ve seen. Our tv screens daily bring us pictures of starving children, homeless children, abused children in far-flung countries. We sigh. We pause for a moment. Maybe we get a lump in our throats. This child was trying to escape all of that.

Too full to write more.