Mother Nature’s Revenge?

What an amazing lesson we are living through in Europe. All our technology, all our sophistication is no match for Mother Nature in her fury. A volcano in a country of less than half a million people, a blip on the edge of the globe for most of us, has thrown the world into chaos. Isn’t it tempting to say that she is exacting revenge for what we are doing to her planet?

See how I rate the importance of the country by the size of its population? Bad. Of course it’s not just the people which make any part of this earth important, it’s the flora and fauna, the rocks and the waters, and everything else which goes into making this wonderful planet – but newsworthy – that depends mostly on people, until something like this happens.

We have been abusing our home, our host for far too long. If I were Mother Nature I’d be pretty cheesed off too.

Of Trail Running, My Sons and the Variety That is Tenerife

Next weekend my heart is going to be half in the islands and half in England.  On Saturday Austin takes part in an ultra trail marathon, from the village of Güimar to Garachico on the other side of the island, a distance of around 72 kilometers, which will take him halfway up a mountain and down the other side.  The following day Guy will complete in the London Marathon, running for asthma awareness, something from which he has suffered since he was tiny.  (Even if clouds of volcanic dust weren’t around I couldn’t make it to both events for other reasons, unless I were rich enough to have a private jet!).

A couple of weekends ago I chauffeured Austin up to Güimar one early morning, and collected him from Mt Teide later in the day.  My pride in him aside, it was the most stunning day of scenery and weather I’ve experienced in a long time.  This is what I wrote afterwards, filled out with some explanations of where and what various places are:

My day begins before dawn, not unusual, but today, as in “way before” dawn, glugging down strong coffee, and at 6 I am washing my car windows.  Living this close to the ocean they become claggy with salt spray and sand, and the previous night I’d had difficulty in seeing traffic in the rear view mirror.  Even this early there is plenty of traffic, the driving force of the South of the island is tourism, of course, so lots of shift workers, as well as tourists up early or out late, so it still takes me almost a half hour to get to Austin’s place, door to door.

As we head North East along the autopista, the ocean to our right, the sun begins to rise over the island of Gran Canaria.  Small, pink clouds are scattered around the horizon, but the sun rises huge, glowing and solitary over the island’s purple shape, before it disappears behind a bank of hovering cloud.  Hiding there it fires rays of light skywards and seawards.  We travel silently, in awe.

It takes us around 40 minutes to reach the village of Güimar, where we turn away from the ocean and into the foothills.  As we being to ascend soft, white clouds nestle in the valleys above.  The storms of February and early March have bequeathed greenery, and the fields through which we pass are lush.    The village’s crooked streets meander down the hillside. Güimar  famous locally for being the site of 6 pyramids, which caused much excitement in the 1990s when Thor Heyerdahl took an interest in them.  Like many of his theories, it seems that nothing came of this, and they have been dated back only to the 19^th century, although some Guanche remains were found in a cave under one of the pyramids.  Visiting the site, which is now a pleasant museum, is worth doing though.  As well as theories about the origin of these pyramids, speculation about links to others in South America and Egypt (Heyerdahl’s theories) it contains memorabilia and information about the man himself (including a reconstruction of one of his reed boats), who, if nothing else, was a great adventurer.

It’s only 7.30, but the people are stirring, the old guys are gossiping at the small, local gas station when I stop to fill up.  Onwards and upwards, we leave the village, and I drop off Austin on a country road, which seems to be the middle of nowhere.  Is the middle of nowhere.  Except that this is a small island, everything is relative, in miniature almost.

I turn around and drive slowly back through the town, noting some pretty, traditional cottages and features I want to come back to photograph some time.

Arriving home to an eager dog I quickly put on her lead and let myself out again.  It’s still early, little heat in the sun which sparkles on the ocean and reflects off the white wings of the gulls as they cruise overhead.  The wind is brisk and reminds me of the place in which I grew up, although it is considerably warmer at this time of year than the North West coast of England.  Waves crash onto rocks, but gently.  There is a lone windsurfer enjoying the early morning breezes.

Home again, more coffee, chores to do, and then Trixy and I pile into the car and set off for Las Cañadas del Teide (the Gullies of Teide).  As we leave the ocean behind vegetation grows thicker and greener, at San Miguel village we turn left and then right up to Escalona, and it is after Escalona that I really get the feeling that spring is in the air, even on this island they sometimes call The Land of Eternal Spring.

They say, and I have come close to experiencing, you can pass through all four seasons in one day on Tenerife.  That would be around this time of year, because summer and winter are quite distinct when you get used to them, and by Fall the flowers are withered from the summer heat.

Escalona lies at around 1,000 m above sea level, and you can miss it if you blink passing through, but from there up to Vilaflor, the highest village in Spain, the roadsides are strewn with California poppies.  The first time I saw these vivid yellow flowers lining the wayside I thought of crocus.  The poppies are the exact same shade of rich, golden yellow that I remember from England.  The sense of renewal is just the same as the first sight of Spring crocus in England.

The poppies, though a magnificent site, especially where they cover entire fields, are not native to the Canaries.  A quick search didn’t yield specific information about how or when they arrived here, but as the  Islands were a stopping off place/trading post between the Old World and the New for many, many years, perhaps there is no specific data.  Many plants and animals arrived that way, hopping, intentionally or not, from boats as they came and went between worlds.

The clag of the coast is left behind as I climb, and the air becomes sharper, fresher through the car’s open window.  The mountains ahead become clearer, the purple shapes become defined, crags and hollows appear. At around 1,400 m,  we skirt the village of Vilaflor, which marks the treeline, and leave the flowers behind.  Now the landscape is populated by fir trees, and the ground is strewn with pine needles and fir cones.  Still we climb.  Many of the trees are blackened, witness to the last forest fire, which to the best of my memory was around ten years ago, but they flaunt their fate and rise into the blue with pride.

Now the trees begin to peter out, and the views on either side are breathtaking.  To my right I see the island of Gran Canaria again, from behind which I had seen the sun rise some three hours ago.  Now it rests majestically, a purple haze on an ocean of intense blue.  It is a glimpse, and then gone, as the road turns and climbs, now revealing the western side of the island, and the islands of La Gomera, La Palma and El Hierro shimmering on that same Atlantic blue.  They seem to be hovering above the water, deep purple, with wisps and darts of silver-grey clouds melding so perfectly with their shapes you begin to wonder if the scene is real.  It’s hard to watch the road and the traffic, especially being aware that other drivers must be marvelling at the view and not concentrating too.

A turn, the ascent is slower, and we are in a different landscape.  It seems like a different planet.  We drive through a huge, flat bed of rough rocks.  There is no doubting that this is a lava field.  It feels as if it was spewed out only yesterday.  As we drive the rocks change color, shape, size, and monstrous shapes rise alongside the road.  We are driving through the caldera, the bed of a volcano.

It is around 16 million years (depending on which theory you subscribe to) since Tenerife rose from the depths of the Atlantic, and 101 years since the last eruption, which was on the other side of the island from where we now are, but the sense of danger and strangeness, even to someone who has lived more than 20 years on this island is keen.  UNESCO named the National Park area a World Heritage Site in 2007, and generally that distinction is respected by locals and tourists.

In parts the road still bears marks from rockfalls during the recent storms.  Only a few short weeks ago this area was deep in snow, hard to imagine when the sun beats through the car windows.  As we reach the heart of the crater, to the right there is a parador, one of the chain of quality hotels set up by the government years ago, and to the left the weird, twisted, phallic rock formation we see on so many postcards.  Both areas swarm with tourists.  It is the beginning of the Easter holidays, so we give both a miss and drive on, past the cable car station and the traffic lessens considerably.  There are high winds today, and the cable car will certainly not be operating.

We are driving North now, and the road clings to the mountainside.  It’s one of those roads where you don’t really want to think about the drop on the other side, which would hurl you into one of those vast, unwelcoming lava beds, but there are plenty of neat, well-managed vantage points, where you can pull over, admire the awesome views and snap one another against the dramatic background.  The Canarian government is promoting the islands to film makers as a desirable location, and if you have seen the remake of “Clash of the Titans”, which released recently, you have seen samples of this barren landscape.

I pull into the least-busy layby and pull out my camera.  In the distance I can see the domes and towers of the observatory adding to the outer-space feel of the landscape.

Here it is fine pumice, looking like sand dunes, and the chill, high winds whip it up so it stings arms and face.  I let Trix out for a short walk and duck quickly back inside the hot car.

On to El Portillo, where the road branches, and you can meander down through forests to Puerto de la Cruz or take the right fork along the backbone of the island, over stark,

volcanic territory, past the observatory and down to La Laguna and  Santa Cruz, or you can branch off of that road and drop into Güimar, the way Austin has run up today.  I wait a while in El Portillo, let Trix sniff around a bit, but he doesn’t show, and since I am out of mobile range I deem it best to return to the Parador, where we had arranged to meet.

It’s a bit quieter when I return. I suppose the tourists went off for lunch somewhere, but I still have to wait for a parking space.  We amble around the rocks, and I snap some delicate, little flowers which cling to life amidst the stones and dead bushes, and the padlocked chapel which stands beside the parador.

Austin turns up, sweaty, exhausted but exuberant.  He’s run around 45 kilometers from Güimar up and down hill, and aches all over.  He stretches, drinks a violently-pink-colored recovery drink and eats the appropriate amount of correctly balanced foods to restore energy levels and hydration.  For someone who has just completed a run of this difficulty and length he amazes me.  He is so calm, and he glows with health and well-being.  His self-discipline is awesome.

We drive down, exchanging impressions of the landscapes and being thankful for the beauties and variety the day has brought.  Leaving the harsh, bright Summer, we pass through banks of Spring flowers again, and arrive back to the impossibly blue ocean where foamy, white waves beat the beaches.  It is only 4pm, but I feel as if I’ve had a trip around the world.

Almond Blossom Time

Now that I have more time I realized that I didn’t post these lovely pictures of the almond blossom at the end of January. It was the weekend after the Friday on which I was fired, and the weekend before I moved house, but this walk was something I had wanted to do for years. You can imagine, when you only have weekends (and one of those days is, inevitably, taken up in cleaning, shopping and all the boring stuff), and short, Winter days what a short window you have to do this. And, sure enough, just over a week later, storms with orange-alert winds and heavy rains stripped the trees of these gorgeous blossoms – phew, was I happy that I had decided to go!  It was a brilliant day, with clear, oh-so-blue skies, and the trees were groaning with the weight of the blossoms.  It was early.  The festival in Santiago del Teide (near to where these photos were taken) wasn’t for another week or so.  In the end we didn’t walk so much as amble, because there were so many photo-stops!

At this stage I had bought my new camera, but hadn’t even opened the box!!! I knew that once opened it would take over my life, and I knew that I had to finish off the packing and complete the move and unpack enough to get by before I could risk it! So these were taken with my very basic, little Kodak, which had no view finder. It was afternoon and Winter, so the sun was low, and looking at the screen sometimes I could see nothing at all, and had to guess……..very lucky guesses on this day! I went with my friends, Colleen and Pablo, and Colleen’s battery packed in, which meant that she very kindly took charge of Trixy, which did make it easier for me to snap away- it is well-nigh impossible to snap around Trix!

And the added advantage (apart from their delightful company) of going with Pablo and Colleen was that he explained to me how these almond plantations came to be here. Apparently, almonds were brought to the islands by the Conquistadors, yes, the same ones who went on from here to seek for treasures in the Americas, and had been taken to Spain by the Moors centuries before that – you see how, even then, there was a kind of globalization, how cultures mix and grow.  There are still commercial plantations here, but, I imagine, far less than there once were.  Where we were snapping looked a bit abandoned, as you can see, many of the trunks are ancient and twisted.  Between the trees were rows of cabbage and other vegetables (I couldn’t get too close because I didn’t want Trixy to maybe do any damage), looking like the allotments I remember in the UK.

Going back to Colleen and Pablo’s afterwards for tea and cake I snapped the sunset from their balcony….lovely end to a lovely day!

Playa de las Americas

Anyone who has ever lived in a tourist resort will admit to a kind of snobbery.  You will frequently hear, “That’s just for the tourists”, or bl**dy tourists (this, usually when driving) or some such.

I come from a tourist resort in England, Blackpool, but you wouldn’t believe how many people said, “Where? Tenerife?” with wrinkled noses when we said that we were immigrating to the islands.  I had an easy reply, “So, the worst it can be is Blackpool with 360 days of sunshine per year???”  That kind of shut them up.  Most of them would die for the sort of tan I now consider normal anyway.

The thing with English tourist resorts was that the season was limited.  In the days before hen and stag weekends, the months between September and July were “dead”.  OK, Blackpool has a longer season than most because of the Illuminations but that used to bring business mainly on the weekends. The Winter months were blissfully peaceful, Blackpool landladies took off for warmer shores until at least Christmas, walking on the “Prom” was a pleasure (so long as you could stand upright against the gales), and you could always find somewhere to park. We knew that passing strangers were “one of us”, and there was a sense of community. Near the beginning of a new season you could definitely feel something in the air. When you went into town you had to walk around ladders, paintbrushes, cabling and the other paraphenalia essential for renovationing and decorating. Everywhere was being spruced up ready for the Summer onslaught. Easter was a kind of trial run, and then the work really began.

Once the Season began you avoided the town center or Promenade if you could. The last thing you wanted to be was mistaken for one of those nasty tourists shivering in the shorts they had to wear because it was August, even if there was a stiff nor’wester blowing! And as for those Sunday drivers, or finding somewhere to park – forget it!

I was reminded of this today twice. First, there was a very confused tourist holding up traffic. Now, because of my background I’ve been used to that from the beginning of being here. Hated it on my home turf, but here I kind of feel sorry for them, afterall, they are driving on the “wrong” side of the road if they are Brits, with roadsigns they don’t understand, as well as being in a strange place. So the taxi driving up his “backside” was just being a pain, and wasn’t helping anyone.

Secondly, I brought a lot of that being dismissive of tourists her with me when I immigrated. For years I have actively avoided the principal tourist resort Playa de las Americas. In the beginning it was unavoidable, being the only place to find certain shops and offices, but progress, growth and prosperity have brought services and facilities to almost every town and village now, and Playa de las Americas is just a tourist resort.

In my mind it was rather tatty and very down market, so I was really surprised today, when I had to go there, to find it all prettified and smart. A huge chunk of the middle of the town has been semi-pedestrianized, trees and shrubs have been planted, shop fronts smartened up, benches have been dotted around. Cafés and bars which used to have bog-standard plastic tables and chairs now boast tropical-style rattan and wood. The potholes have been mended, and in general everything sparkled. I have to say that now I wouldn’t at all object to taking guests there, so long as they accept it for what it is – a purpose-built holiday town.

Sometimes that’s what you need or want, I guess, sunshine, sea and somewhere pleasant to sit and chill. I’m not sure just how much one could chill in high season, but this morning it was very pleasant, and I could, actually, appreciate the attraction it might hold for some. It would be a million miles from my first choice of somewhere to vacation, but I don’t feel as if I have to be ashamed of it so much any more.

Lemurs and Logging

A couple of weeks ago, as part of the photography course I am doing, we went to a small, local zoo.  The highlight for me was when, as I sat quietly on a low wall, one of these extraordinarily peaceful and cuddlesome creatures slid onto my lap, followed by another, and then another, until I had the three of them perched like pet cats.  It was a kind of honor that they would choose to sit on me!  They weren’t even begging like the mischevious capuchins with whom they shared space.  As one ambled off another took its place, so for quite a while I felt as if I almost didn’t dare to breathe in case they deserted me.  Cheeky capuchins I’d had interaction with before, but this was the first time with lemurs.  They just oozed good karma.

Here they are (right) queuing up to sit with me.  After a short while I stopped trying to snap in favor of absorbing a bit of lurve!

After that experience, I found this internet story even more upsetting than I would have done before (and I would have!)

http://news.mongabay.com/2010/0211-madagascar.html

They exist (outside of zoos) only on the island of Madagascar, which, aside from recent political troubles, is one of those tragic places on the planet suffering deforestation and illegal logging, so loss of habitat is causing much suffering.  Not only that, but they are now being hunted as bushmeat by a population in deep poverty.  I can’t get my head around that.  They were so gentle, which must make them easy prey and very vulnerable.  Heck, I know there are bigger problems on the planet than the loss of a species right now, but I suppose we call choose our “causes”.  There are too many, but this is one of mine from here on.

How My New Bracelet Cured the Grumps

Today was, well, one of those days when you get out of the wrong side of bed and expect that everything will go downhill from there – which it does if you let it i.e. if you feed your inner grump with negative energy.

The alarm summoned me from a deep sleep ….. well, I knew there would be days like this, which is why I chose this, particular alarm, shrill doesn’t really describe its tone!  Fact is, once I was sufficiently awake, I remembered it was entirely my own fault for staying up late searching the internet for material for an English lesson today.  Fact One:  I allow myself to wander whenever I am on the internet, so I probably could have been in bed at least an hour earlier than I had been.  Fact Two:  I’d had all of two weeks to prepare this lesson, and whilst what I wanted to do was all planned in my head I hadn’t researched the information I needed to do it.

I had had the gumption to get all my papers together for the respective parts of my day, lay out my clothes and make a prioritized list of all the tasks I had to accomplish.  This was going to be a busy day, and remember I have been out of work for two months now…..so it is no longer the norm in my world.

Showered, dressed, smeared a bit of makeup on my eyes, put on coffee, took Trixy for a quick drag around the block.  All accomplished, to my surprise with perfect timing.

Drove to Los Cristianos.  First task to pay the fee for my photo course, which is sponsored by the local authority.  Their system is to go to their offices, register and be given a slip of paper.  That slip you take to the Caja Canarias, and pay the course fee in there.  Full of efficiency I had attempted to do this the same day I registered.  However, on that day, two weeks ago, they refused to accept my payment because it was after 11am, and they only accepted local authority payments up to 11am. (Can I see  throwing up of hands amongst my friends who have never lived in the Canary Islands?)

The bank’s system then required me to select an option from a machine at the entrance, take a ticket and wait until my number came up.  Of course I chose the wrong option, how could I not do with all this negative energy around me? Start all over again……Note to Caja Canarias – if you are going to teach your grumpy staff to say “Have a nice day”, teach them HOW to say it too!

You see how grumps are infectious? They just attract more,  like magnets!

In the end, I arrived in time, and happy to see the great teachers I have for this course, but to find there was a slight delay and the class would start at 10.30 and not 9.30.

Bemoaning the missed hour in bed, I took myself down to the little bar we frequented  when I worked in Los Cristianos, Bar Venezuela, and ordered what used to be my “usual” – a slice of freshly-made tortilla española and a capuchino.  Now, I used to breakfast on this at least twice a week f or around 3 years, so you can believe me when I say it used to be great.  The tortilla was invariably just-out-of-the-pan fresh, chock full of chorizo or peppers or whatever Salvador had handy on the morning.  Today it was cold and dry and flavorless.  The cappuchino I used to crave was also cold, not so strong and was slopping all over the cup.  What did I tell you about negative energy?

I had been reading for around five minutes,when a young woman in a shell suit brushed by my table and left a note and one of those beaded bracelets which are so fashionable at the moment.  The photocopied note asked for a donation as she was homeless and had a family to feed.

Now, I am not clueless, and generally around here I don’t give to “beggars” (yes, of course, if they look 90 years old or are missing limbs, but not to the round-faced young woman who sits on the steps at the entrance to the shopping center – she of the 1001 gypsy skirts, nor to the older one who hangs around near the bank  - how’s that for guilting you when you’ve just drawn out money?), but the bracelet  gave me pause for thought, and  I watched her working the other tables, and saw peoples’ indifference, and my heart went out to her.  OK, maybe she reported back half her earnings to a pimp, but the fact is in this god-awful employment climate what chance does she have of finding a job?

I asked her where she came from.  She named a village which is, essentially, an immigrant community, people from all over the world who can’t afford to pay the exorbitant rental charges in the resort areas, or can’t  afford to live inland with the locals because they can’t afford the transport.  “No,” I said, “I mean what country”.  She mumbled.  Maybe she spoke less Spanish than I thought, maybe she just wasn’t going to let on. I didn’t press her.  It’s not the first time I’ve come across this, and I understand the reasons.  She thanked me for the €3 (a couple of dollars) and left.   Andre, the waiter,  said “There’s always someone asking for money these days”.  I agreed, “It’s the times we live in”.

It won’t take anyone more than a second to trace my line of thought.  I don’t have much these days, mainly because of my own stupidity, but I do have a darn sight more than she does.  As I put my new cellphone back into my backpack, alongside my new camera, thought about the course I am doing, and how the rest of my day was going to be blessed with good stuff my mood shifted dramatically.  Maybe the cappuchino, despite its temperature, contained more caffeine than I thought, but suddenly I was wide awake, and grateful for everything around and everything that lay ahead.

The day took on a whole new demeanour.  The positive energy had kicked in and was calling out to its ilk.  The photo session was fascinating.  My appointed English lesson was interesting and enjoyable.  I downed a luscious meatball sub on a Parmesan-flavored roll.  I got another half hour of reading time before I went up to the Center for the beginners’ class, where we had lots of laughs – which involved M & Ms.

I took the long way home, winding, back roads which take me along country lanes lined at the moment by wild lavender and margaritas, and through a small valley where lush vineyards nestle, before I reach the coast road, and the ocean breeze slightly rocks my car.  As I turned my key in the lock I could hear Trixy’s tail thumping out a greeting.

I’ve eaten, I’ve checked my emails, I’ve checked out what my friends on Facebook are doing, I studied a bit, and I’ve written this.  It’s past eleven, I got little sleep last night, and yet I am wide awake, without the assistance of caffeine or alcohol or anything else.  I am skipping on hope, gratitude and adrenaline.  I know the future is uncertain, but I also know I had proof today of the power of positive energy, the possibilities which open up if we grab at those possibilities and stay positive.

How, on earth, I wonder, could I ever have been so grumpy this morning?  And now I have a new bracelet to remind me to count my blessings in future.

On Being Fired at 63

I turned 63 at the end of last year.  It’s an age around which a lot of people give up on life it seems.  I didn’t know that until I became aware of it happening all around me.   A growing awareness of what I observed in others created a growing determination inside of me not to be like that.  I turned 60 at the end of 2006, and that was one of the most rewarding years of my life.  You could say I began as I intended to go on.

January 22^nd of this year found me at my desk, then, having returned Christmas week.   I’d just spent two and a half months on sick pay after falling and breaking a wrist. (More lessons in economy!)   I went back after New Years full of positive energy.  So you’d think that losing my job mid-January would have sent me into negative spin, wouldn’t you?  Truth is that my work ethic and that of the company had been running in ever-diverging lines for some while, add to that the slow, but sure, grind of spending a good part of the working day listening to whinging, and then add the irritation of office politics, and, well, I can’t say my heart was broken.  The euphemism I was asked to use was that I was taking “early retirement”; friends advise me to say I was “made redundant”, and there is a certain amount of truth in that because I am not the only one to be let go.

I feel sorry for people who dislike change, who aren’t ready for life’s twists and turns.  First off, it must be so worrying and second it must be so boring!

In that sense, then, it didn’t faze me.  Since I was under no illusions about the machinations which lead to my dismissal, and since, so far as I know, I was given the correct amount of severance pay, it resembled more a granting of freedom than anything else.

It capped a month of turnings points, Guy moving to England, Austin moving to Adeje and starting a new job in a field new to him, all of us moving house, so the timing was appropriate.

El Médano

The enforced downtime after breaking my wrist last October had already set in motion a self appraisal, and had made me take a look at myself in depth.  I didn’t much like what I saw.  An inner voice, one that whispered about stability and which condemned risk- taking, had led me into a string of dead-end jobs since my nest emptied back in 2002.  Although volunteer work had restored my self-esteem after 2005, it was a balance that had tipped back into a personal negative in recent months, the immigration crisis having lessened, and the need to be on constant alert having disappeared.  Comfort eating, mainly from boredom at work, had piled on pounds, especially over the last, two years.  Working in a basement, away from the public eye, in recent months, had made me tend to the hippie/sloppy in appearance (no problem if that’s you, but it wasn’t me).  Up until my reduced income in October a monthly pay-check had made me lazy about my dreams and ambitions, and it showed on the outside as well as inside.  So perhaps I had, in effect, done all the angsting and appraising before, rather than after, my dismissal, so that I had none of the loss of self-esteem or feelings of worthlessness a social scientist would have predicted.

Am I worried about my future?  You bet.  Do I feel as if I am on the scrap heap, unlikely to do anything with what remains of my four score and ten?  No way!  Am I going to let that worry rule my life?  No way!

I’m a fan of Aerosmith, so the first time I heard “Life’s a journey, not a destination” was in their song, as I bopped in rhythm and agreement.  Of course it was Emerson who said it first.

This enforced change of direction then, is a new adventure, a “fork stuck in the road” (Offspring I think?).  True, generally speaking it’s better to make these turns oneself, but my feeling is that my positive energy may well have been the precipitator.  There was me thinking I could harness the energy to enjoy my work, when all the time it was pushing me in entirely the other direction.

This blog is now become a survival manual, a finger raised at convention and certain people (if they ever read this, they will know who they are).  This is me saying I refuse to roll over and retire, to spend my days gossiping with other miserable ex-pats or to add any more to the inevitable lines of age by baking myself in the sun every day.  This is my record of my new life.

This is my first collage for foto-class, and symbolic – doors which may open onto just about anything.

Within 24 hours of my dismissal I had bought a Canon EOS 500D.  Media Mart didn’t have in stock the Nikon over which I had been fantasizing, and no way was I going to risk my “sensible” voice cutting in and telling me this was folly, (my experience has always been that when I listen to that voice it turns out wrong) so I went for the Canon, before I could rethink, and no regrets as yet.

Within two weeks I had signed up for a photography course.  I am halfway through now, and can report it to be one the best things I’ve ever done.  My efforts, as shown below, are still feeble, but improve by the week.  Much of the rest is on my Flickr page (see sidebar for link).  This is not going to transform me into Eve Arnold, but it will help me to help myself to explore any talent I may have.

This picture, the collage above and the video in the previous post were what I submitted for the first exhibit of          students’ work last week.

I also took advice from both sons, and invested (I use the word advisedly because I did feel guilt) money in workout clothes and equipment, and made notes about what they told me about diet, which goes way beyond what I have read in magazines or on the internet.  Gym membership is out of the question, so this will all be in-house stuff.

I am also in the process of taking up other, abandoned or postponed ideas, more on those another time.  Sadly, the thing I can’t do is complete the BA with the Open University for a while, there just isn’t enough in the kitty.  Maybe I will be one of those people who, at 80+, makes the headlines by completing their degrees, who knows!  My lack of degree has weighed heavily around my shoulders over the years, but at the moment putting it on the backburner doesn’t hurt so much.

Otherwise, of course, I moved, and I already recorded my delight in the change of atmosphere.  I unpacked.  I packed up the owner’s stuff and took it down to the real estate agency, where they will store it for the length of my lease – that was a bit like moving twice over, but it’s all gone now.  The new place lacks a view, but the ocean is almost on my doorstep, so this means I will not be spending time watching passing boats and ships and daydreaming of being on one of them.  I am near the airport, departing flights almost pass overhead, but somehow, what with all the noise, they don’t inspire so much from this distance.  For the first time in a year and half or so my possessions are all unpacked, and in place to make my life as pleasant and purposeful as possible.

I have given two weeks to my father, whose annual inspection visit took up the first part of March.  What is more, I did that without giving away the fact that I am unemployed, without losing my temper and without allowing him to make me feel like a naughty fourteen-year-old – things must be looking up at last.

There is no doubt about it, I need to work, in more sense than one.  I think I always will, because I don’t expect much in the way of pension, but that’s the choices I made in life.  On an entirely other level, I don’t think I would ever not want to work anyway.  Work gives life purpose, satisfaction and fulfilment, raison d’être, so long, it goes without saying, that it isn’t the sort of mindless, repetitive and boring stuff I have been known to sell my soul for in recent years.

I can’t help wondering if another inner voice, one which is now way louder, was chipping away at my lifestyle bit by bit, pushing me onto the road down which I now travel.  Note to self:  “LISTEN next time!”

My feet itch less just now.  I think that’s because I am, actually, on a journey, even though I am still islandbound at the moment.  It feels like travel.  It feels like uncertainty and new discoveries.  I am running down the road, not ambling, anxious to see what lies around the next bend, and this will be my story about what I find there.

Island Colors

My first ever YouTube effort.  My submission for an exhibition which was part of the photocourse I am doing.  Most of all, tribute to this varied and stunning island.