“I’ve Looked at Clouds from Both Sides Now…………”

Life is a constant learning curve, no doubt about it. If you allow it to be of course.

Last Friday I was in the Teide National Park (and World Heritage Site), proudly showing visiting friends what is probably the most dramatic scenery of my island home. The sun shone, the sky was bluer than blue, and we strolled around comfortably without jackets or sweaters. Though I heard later that the coastal weather had been a bit less sunny, we had driven through the mists, which writhed through the forests as we drove up from La Laguna, and emerged into crystal clear air and warmth. Looking down, over those clouds, is akin to the view you get from an airplane, acres of cottonwool and an endless, azure horizon. But, up here, the difference is that from all that fluffy white, tree-lined mountain flanks, strangulated rock formations and volcanoes rise.

Yesterday was a day of quite different hue, however. Fellow blogger RunawayBrit has been wintering in Tenerife, and we’d spoken a couple of weeks ago about making a photo trip one day. So inspired by the rainbow colors of my daytrip, I asked her if she wanted to do a similar one yesterday, but with the focus on taking photos and seeing parts of the island which she had not yet visited. Remarkable, ain’t it, how, on an island which boasts around 350 days of sunshine per year, and which is currently suffering drought conditions, I could pick a rainy, cloudy day for a photo excursion…but pick it I did.

It’s odd, but, living here for so long, I sometimes feel responsible if some aspect of the island or island life doesn’t live up to the picture I, or others, have painted, and so I found myself apologizing for the gloom which was obscuring views I knew to be quite amazing on a clear day, as we left the coast behind and meandered up the backbone of the island. Even so, there were photo ops. The clouds are never still, they shift constantly, crossing paths, hiding mountains only to reveal their grandeur for seconds before drawing a veil across the scene again,  and we stopped a lot, sometimes waiting patiently for the wind to speed the cloud cover on its way.

Friday, by the way, is always a good day for a trip to the National Park. It remains the busiest arrival/departure day,  so there are less visitors everywhere. A few coaches passed as we hovered around waiting for scenes to unfurl, and it was hard not to smile, noting how glum the faces peering from the steamed up windows were. I’m a big “lemonade” ** fan personally, and yesterday was just proof of the saying. Looking back at my pictures this morning, I can see elements and colors that the brightness had hidden the previous week.

It was my decision to make our way back via the Orotava Valley, thinking to hanger left to Garachico and over the hills to Santiago del Teide by way of return. I should have known better. Although we’d seen some drizzle and lots of cloud, the weather hadn’t seemed too threatening, but we weren’t too far down the mountainside when those clouds truly closed around us, visibility was severely reduced, and we joined a line of traffic inching its way coastwards behind one of those tour buses. We stopped off for warming soups, local cheese and papas arrugadas, but when we emerged the rain was almost as full on,  and had found its way into the car even, forming a puddle on the passenger side floor, so when we eventually found ourselves near the autopista the wiser decision was to go for Plan B and wend our way southwards, leaving the lush but damp north, and trusting that the south would live up to its dry reputation. With frightening predictability, within a kilometer of Santa Cruz, the rain began to ease, the visibility increased and by the time we joined the southern autopista, although the clouds  looked grim, the way ahead was dry.

And so it was that we detoured to Candelaria, the island’s spiritual home. I have stacks of photos of this town. It’s center, around the basilica, which is home to the statue of Tenerife’s patron, the Virgin of Candelaria, is small but photogenic. The main square is bordered on one side by the church, and on another by some impressive statues of the Guanche Menceys, who were the rulers of Tenerife’s nine kingdoms before the Conquest. They line the promenade, guarding the black sands of the beach.

I’ve never been especially happy with any of the photographs I’ve taken of these statues, even when not surrounded by other happy snappers, the sun always seemed to be in the wrong place to get the shot I wanted. Yesterday, however, with those moody storm clouds overhead I really liked the way they came out.

This morning, at least here on the south east coast, the sun is bright, the sky blue and the clouds white and fluffy. At dawn, however,  those somber and heavy clouds still dominated the horizon when I walked along the seashore, lending drama to the sunrise.

So – I can say that I am thankful for clouds; for the variety and drama, color and interest they bring to familiar scenes, and, in the words of the song, I think I can say:

“I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now,

From up and down, and still, somehow,

It’s clouds illusions I recall.

I really don’t know clouds at all.”

And so, here’s to the next time there are clouds on my normally blue horizon :=)

** Just in case there is anyone who has never heard the saying: If life hands you lemons, make lemonade!

 

Some Things About Me Which May Not Be Obvious

Some reorganizing is going on around here (about time I can, truly, hear some of you say!), hence less writing or photos than normal. One of the things I am reorganizing is my computer (in hopes of making it work a little faster), and I’m hitting the delete button like crazy. I was about to delete this post, which I wrote months ago in response to some meme which was going the rounds, and then never bothered to finish, and then I thought, “Meh, there’s really nothing much else to write about just now, so why not just throw it into the mix which is my blog.”

I have some unbelievably caring, talented, witty and wonderful friends in my life, and I am more grateful for those friendships than you could imagine.

My feet are  wide & I always have trouble finding shoes to fit, consequently am probably the only woman on planet who hates shoe shopping.

Apropros the last, my very first ambition was to be a ballet dancer ………….ok you can stop laughing now!

I don’t so much like the logistics of moving (though experience has made me quite adept), but I love moving house and discovering a new neighborhood or town. It’s a substitute for not be able to constantly travel.

I am a country girl at heart who adores cities.

I am, by nature, a procrastinator and a mugwump…….doesn’t say much for me, does it?  And also explains a lot.

Am probably the only person of my generation who wasn’t knocked sideways by the Beatles.  Nostalgia now, yes, but at the time could take ‘em or leave ‘em.

I remember Hopalong Cassidy and the Cisco Kid.

The older I get the more I am angered by sexism and ageism.

Racism has always, always been the thing which, literally, was capable of making me see red.

The things I believe in now are the same things I believed in in my youth, but I haven’t always been true to them, so now I need to make up for lost time.

Am incredibly saddened by the fact I haven’t travelled outside of Europe and the US (except for a day trip to Morocco!).  It’s time.

I seriously can’t get going in a morning without a coffee.  I can get through the rest of the day without (though I’d rather not) but I HAVE to have that first one before I do anything at all.

Becoming a mother was a turning point in my life.  It made me more aware of the world around me, more alert, made me ask more of myself.  It was stimulating, fascinating and rewarding.  I didn’t feel at all limited by my new role, I found it liberating and fulfilling, and it also put me back in touch with my emotions.  I didn’t know this until my nest emptied, and I looked back, but I am incredibly grateful for the experience and its outcome!

I love food (and drink!) but don’t always like to cook.  Usually in winter I cook and/or bake most days because I believe in fresh foods cooked well, but in summer it’s too hot here, and I hate cooking!

When I say, “I like food.” I mean “I like food.” For me, when the mood is right a burger is as good as foie gras, and an ice cold beer as good as Chateau Yquem…….to everything there is a season.

JFK was my first hero, and it hit me like a ton of bricks when he died.  His assassination came at a time when I was very vulnerable, and it turned my world upside down, and made me question my beliefs and life in general.

I find it really hard to précis or edit.  I LIKE to ramble!

Took me a long time to realize that some decisions don’t HAVE to be made – redwine/white wine, favorite movie/book/song/singer/band/city/country, whatever – it’s ok to like more than one or two or more!

The first thing I remember being passionate about is reading. The first time I remember being utterly lost in a book, I was around 9 years old, and it was only when the teacher’s ruler snapped across my desk that realized that the ‘quiet reading time’ at school was over. It was a revelation – books could transport me anywhere I wanted to go. My favorite reading is non-fiction of various types, but especially travel, needless to say, or classic novels, but often I am pleasantly surprised by modern works when I am encouraged to read them by my much wiser friends!

I am utterly ashamed that after living so long in Spain I don’t speak Spanish better than I do.

What can you say about London?

Maybe it’s because I live on a small island, which boasts only two cities (which are so close together that really they are one) that I seem to write more about the countryside or the coast – simply, there is more coast and more mountains than there is city life. It isn’t that I don’t like cities.  Often I ache for the energy of a big city.

What’s left to say about London? Honestly, what can you say about London which hasn’t already been said?  I have friends who loathe cities, London included. Me? I love ‘em. I love cities, but in a totally different way to the way I love the mountains and the coasts.

I’m a slave to the beauty and the majesty of ocean, mountains, sky and trees, but there is  vitality and zest in cities, which comes from the rubbing together of so much humanity, the pooling of their enthusiasms and enterprise. If I go to Nature for renewal, to wind up my mind and energy, and then the city uses and drains it,  and there is a satisfaction in that being drained too.

Whilst I prize solitude in the countryside, if green spaces in the city are thronging with people I prize the variety and energy that produces also. So a walk in Hyde Park the other week, though beautiful, bursting with the new growth of Spring and easy on the eye, was filled with people too; people walking, running, skating, skateboarding, cycling, sitting, strolling, eating, reading and enjoying the warmth of the sunniest March I ever remember.

 

Look closer at the picture above. At the bottom of the wall you can see swans building a nest. In the midst of folk rambling about, kids shouting and the general cacophony of man they were serenely going about their task, apparently oblivious to all else around them.

On the other hand, in other parts of the park’s animal kingdom, not all was so serene, there was definitely some vying for attention going on!

And the warm weather brought an additional surprise for me – this is the first time in over 25 years that I’ve seen bluebells.

And whilst I was surprised that the craze for gelato seemed missing in Britain’s capital, the Mr Whippy went down a treat! Is there anything quite like it on a hot day? :=)

 

So, Again, I Didn’t Get to do York’s Ghost Walk

My trip to England took me, as is my custom these days,  to York. It’s a city I know more for its shops, cafes and restaurants than for its historical sites, though its history is as rich and colorful as anywhere in the country. I go to visit family, and there is rarely time to revisit the famous places I remember from youthful visits. This time too I went on family matters, so neither as tourist nor even as traveler, because I was born in England. It is, at the same time, both familiar and novel. The streets run in the same direction they always did, but the facades change, new structures rise, things improve, things have been left to rot. Change and renewal in the city as in the countryside.

York – again – and yet again I didn’t do one of those ghost walks I so much want to try! My time to explore and wander was mainly early evening or early morning. I have two memories from this trip. One is the Big Wheel. I’m sure it wasn’t there in October, the last time I visited. Folk told me it was, but in a different location. Clutching the best Cornish pasty I’ve ever, ever had (bought at the train station when sorting out tickets), full of chunks of moist and mellow meat and the pastry crunchy but light, I approached it around sunset. That seemed like a really good idea, to photograph the city from its heights, bathed in the light of the setting sun, or even just enjoy my supper from that vantage point. Sadly, no food allowed, and I’d bought the large size, and it was far too good to rush, so I wandered off, intending to return at the same time the following day. The price was certainly right at eight pounds.

The next day, wandering along the riverbank, having some time to kill before sunset I became entranced by Spring. Often said I’m an Autumn gal, but not having been anywhere in Springtime for a couple of years, and then it was the “back end” of the blossom season, I was drawn to the daffodils and narcissi, the blossom and the buds.

The way the colors of the fresh, crisp flora glowed in the late afternoon sun seduced me.

The reflections and shadows on the river fascinated me.

The way the sun appeared, unexpectedly  between the skeletal remains of centuries-old shells of building, intrigued me.

And before I knew it, I’d lost the moment, because although sunsets do last longer this far North than they do at home, I still didn’t have time to make it to the Big Wheel in time…….so that’s something else, along with the ghost walk, that gives me a reason to return.

Another day, whiling away time whilst my aunt was at the hospital, I trotted into town quite aimlessly. I didn’t have time to commit to a tour of anywhere in particular, so I joined the throngs of other tourists, meandering the city’s narrow streets until I spied a Book CloseOuts-type place…..well, now, broke or not, there is always a few coppers for cheap books, isn’t there! My haul was very moderate compared to past times (thanks, also Ryanair!), but I took them off to a coffee shop to gloat. On the way I passed this shop, and fell just a little in love with its facade. Back when I’d have dived in, looking for treasures, but what with one thing and another I content myself with a photo of its pretty displays now.

Maybe the best thing about my few days in York, though, was meeting Mike Sowden of Fevered Mutterings. Mike is kind of a hero of mine (take a look at his blog if you haven’t already, and you’ll know why), and I don’t know if you’ve ever met a hero, but it makes you a bit tongue-tied. Standing outside of Marks & Spencer waiting to meet a strange man one knows only via the internet – hmmm, good job my dad couldn’t see me! Mike’s lovely, though, and funny and interesting, and he put me at ease right away, and we sat over chai latte and talked and talked. Afterwards he gave me a very brief mosey around the cathedral area, and fed me a couple of interesting facts I wouldn’t have known otherwise.

He’s also a true gentleman, and walked me to my train, because that day I was moving further north again. We walked along the city wall, and the picture below wasn’t actually taken that day because my stuff was all packed up for the journey (I haven’t mastered that art of keeping the camera out whilst juggling baggage too). However much of a hurry one is in, it has to give you a thrill walking the ramparts of a Roman city, knowing that 2,000 years ago soldiers patrolled the same stones, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it. We arrived at the station with minutes to spare for my train, and Mike kind of disappeared, leaving me grateful and wondering if I’d just imagined the last few hours!

Oh To Be in England Now That April’s There…….

Possibly for the first time in my life I understand why Browning wrote that.

I am definitely an Autumn person. I’ve always thought Spring a bit over-rated, even when I lived in England. It seemed so drawn out, and usually very wet. I suppose that I expected everything to bloom at once, rather than over the three months of the Season. Going in April two years ago I found the best of the blossom over, though there were some stunning scenes in London’s parks. To be honest I was there this year at the end of March, rather than the beginning of April. I got home early this morning, hence the dearth of posts of late. My internet access was woeful most of the time I was there, but more of that another time.

This Spring, which began the day I arrived, was sunny and balmy. Girls were striding out in summer dresses, daffodils were making the most of their last days and birds of all kinds were rushing around all over the place with twigs, bits of paper and all manner of stuff for their nests. Even in the North the sun-god smiled on me. Often I find that whilst the London area might be mild, further north can still chill the bones this early in the year.

Last Sunday Austin and I hiked from Rydal Water to the head of Grasmere, but then turned back and upwards returning to Ambleside, a beautiful walk, taking in the Lake District’s famous daffodils dotted around the edges of the lakes, and landscapes of morning mists and mirror-like reflections on still waters, all enough to inspire the most jaded of  poets.

This evening finds me tired after dozing last night away on a bench in Stansted Airport, but more of that another time, for today, photos of a lovely hike.

And, just to remind you how Browning put it so eloquently:

Oh, to be in England

Now that April’s there,

And whoever wakes in England

Sees, some morning, unaware,

That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf

Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,

While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough

In England – now!

 

And after April, when May follows,

And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows

Hark! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge

Leans to the field and scatters on the clover

Blossoms and dewdrops – at the bent spray’s edge

That’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,

Lest you should think he never could recapture

The first fine careless rapture!

 

And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,

All will be gay when noontide wakes anew

The buttercups, the little children’s dower, -

Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!