“Then Jocelyn’s Daddy used bad language to the ref and the match was turned off,” the young girl informed her best pal in front of me, “and we were winning and all like” she added with some frustration, annoyance that was speedily cast aside as soon as the next wave crashed at her feet and off they both galloped in to the warm and toasty Atlantic. Coolmaine Strand just outside Bandon holds a very particular place in my heart, it being a beach where many a happy summer was spent with my mother and her mother and today it was especially dazzling as the entire island of Ireland continued to be held tightly in the bosoms of the sun gods “’D’ya know what now we don’t see it too often, and you know another thing there’s nowhere like it in the world when the sun is shining” declared the man to my left. “That’s for sure” I smiled and stuck my nose back into my novel. He turned to his wife and advised her: “For the love of Christ Mary willu put on your sun factor!” I giggled and chomped down on a ham and cheese bread roll with a side serving of Mr. Tayto’s finest always so much tastier and saltier after a long swim. Simple pleasure. Hello summer 2018…

And what a few months it has been, the welcome rays of yellow divinity that radiated down on us all since late May will stay long in the bones and brains of the Irish people. Simply put- It WAS A.M.A.Z.I.N.G! On the last full day of that same heatwave some Colombians, French, Venezuelans, a Croatian, a mix of West Corkconians and Mallow folk descended on Dessie Fitz’s pub in Killavullen where cultures collided for a really special wedding BBQ.  Stories were told, food was shared and music was played until late into the night. The craic was definitely had. The image of my brother fighting back the immense emotion as he made a short speech will always stay with me. Not a man inclined to show his feelings on any grand scale he was completely and utterly at the mercy of that one moment in which his life must have felt so full of love. To quote one guest “their love is the lantern that lights their communities, their friends and their families”- touché! We continued the party for a few days after that, taking in all of what north and east cork had to offer, from plush dinners in Longueville House, watching liners glide past us like seagulls in Cobh and whiskey tasting in Midleton’s stoneclad fortress to dancing feet and fluttering hearts out in Lahern Cross!  Friends and lovers swirling and twirling all around amid faraway hills of golden green.

 “I believe I can fly, I believe I can touch the sky… I think ‘about every night and day, spread my wings and fly away” boomed R Kelly from the DJ box in the Garden Room of the Hibernian Hotel in Mallow. Old photos of school friends (living and some deceased, sadly), of buildings and books and long demolished classrooms flashed behind us on a screen as we gathered in big circles and let it all out there, on the dancefloor. I had the pleasure and joy of co- organising a 20 year school reunion this summer. Weeks of preparation and work culminated in a very special night when time as we knew it stood still for a few hours as the 90’s came back in all their glorious shiny shell tracksuitedness. Long lost friends reconnected over prosecco and packets of meanies. I laughed so much that night as stories came flooding back from way back when. It felt at times like nothing had changed, everyone looked and sounded like they did in school. It was kind of magic really. I will always be so glad I spent a night with these girls, a night where we left our collective baggage at the door and just chatted and danced and giggled like we did all those years ago. Time melts away and slips through our fingers so quickly. That night was a timely reminder of that.

 “What can a song do to you?” “Can it bring back a spring in December?” go the lyrics of a beautiful song by The Unthanks. The songs that boomed out from every nook and cranny of Lord and Lady Waterford’s magical estate carried me into the next phase of summer 2018. Myself and my diamond ukulele sister spent a weekend like no other at the All Together Now Music Festival, a weekend that has left an indelible mark on my soul. We danced like mad wimmin all weekend long, the love, creativity and music willing our exhausted feet to dance to one more tune before bed. One of the highlights was listening to “Bring your own Brass’ at the bandstand on Saturday, a stunning brass ensemble of mad men from London that had people jumping out of their skin. I even got a shout out from the stage for my dance moves! A highlight only matched by actually falling over onto a grassy knoll laughing so much I couldn’t walk or talk as Bairbre’s brilliant mind conjured up another hilarious image.  I had a few days to recover before I took to the skies and made my way to the wine growing soils of classy France. Oh France, where do I even start…?

 After 3 nights discovering Bordeaux city I caught the train to a little town called Libourne just a stone’s throw from the UNESCO listed medieval city of Saint Émilion home to some of the finest red wine makers on the globe. The cobblestoned streets here date back to the 8^th Century when a Saint named Émilion decided to set up shop for a bit of praying in an abbey and over the centuries was joined by his buddies the Benedictines, the Augustinians, and The Ursuline Sisters to name a few. They prayed and got pissed- hooray! The only people to beat them here were the Romans in the 2^nd century and it was they who planted the first vines- GOD BLESS ‘EM. Viticulture is taken quite seriously in these parts, don’t you know, proven by the fact that in 1884 the first French Wine Producers Union, more commonly known as The Wine Council, was set up. Now, there’s a board I would very happily sit on! I spent 4 days cycling, eating and tasting some very beautiful red wine and on one unexpected afternoon a very fine wine indeed! One hot evening I stopped the bike on the hill in front of the old abbey and as its bell tolled loudly joined only the rustle of a very gentle wind sweeping through the low hanging purple grapes on either side of me I found I was completely and utterly in my element. I almost shed a tear- pure contentment with life in every way. Later that night I shared some wine and fois gras with a lovely young French couple. We all agreed that the perceived snobbery, prestige and fussiness that can sometimes be attached to wine is so misplaced. For me it is primarily about fun and respect, sharing it and not abusing it. The dedication, time and history attached to its production is no longer lost on me, a fine art where man and nature come together to produce love in a glass-CHEERS! As for France, some 20 years ago I missed out on an opportunity to live and study there- I hope to put that right this year. A plan will be hatched…

 Speaking of things hatching… I’m going to divert completely now and divulge a little something more personal with you about my eggs, the reproductive ones that is.  I’ve had mine counted and tested! Yes, around this time last year I decided to get my fertility levels tested for no great reason other than I could and in all seriousness I was quite relieved to learn that indeed I had plenty of healthy little follicles in there and gave a little cheer in my heart when I was told by the lovely egg doctor opposite me that I was in fact ‘bucking the trend.’ Maybe I should freeze them I thought the other night as I watched the Rose of Tralee gals leaping around the stage. So I asked the all-knowing wise uncle Google about such.  I was less than impressed on his stats about egg freezing for women of my vintage.

“Egg quality decreases with age… for this reason we cannot offer egg freezing as a reasonable option for women over 38 years…

I have eggs a plenty but it would seem they are all on bloody zimmer frames. Shit. I turned back to the roses my mind quickly wandering (all too easily done during some of these interviews to be fair) and as I half listened to these women with their unflappable positivity and their young eggs- the bitches- I thought Jaysis have I left it too late? As I turned my attention away from Daithi’s big vacant head I decided in a moment of uncharacteristic urgency that perhaps sperm donation was indeed the way forward because let’s face it folks the clock is ticking and impregnation by the swimmers of some Scandinavian hunk (or knowing my luck some dwarf with a limp and a gooey eye) should not be dismissed. Realistically when the time comes to produce offspring the way Pope Francis and his lot would like me to, I’ll be on a zimmer frame myself by the time the kid is swimming without armbands. I was close to heading off down to  the local town park with my €50 bottle of 2014 Grand Cru and a bag of garlic chips n’ cheese from  the Kentucky chipper for a swing on the swings and  to have a good long think about what I’ve been doing all these years. But I didn’t, instead I had a cup of calming herbal tea and watched an episode of Better Call Saul on Netflix. “What have I been doing since I left school?” I wondered. Well... I’ve been having the time of my life. I chose a path of freedom and adventure and followed my heart at every stage. Husbands and babies were far off in the distance, if at all. I wouldn’t change a single thing. I have spent years trying to live in the present moment so I’m not about to undo all that good work now by rushing into baby mania. One day at a time. My precious eggs and I are in absolutely no rush.

 So the leaves are turning, the evenings drawing in and the flamed coloured dance of seasonal change is upon us once more. School reopens next week for another year of snot and phlegm encrusted shoelaces and endless lesson plans all the while trying to avoid another life altering dose of pinworms. Oh the glamour!  No wonder I have a tendency for fine wines! But shur I do love those little kids, they get into bloodstream you see…

 Have a gentle and colourful autumn everyone. Keep the summer of 2018 close to your heart. I know I will!

 

Liz

xxx

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cartagena De Indias

 

“Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.”

William Wordsworth

 

Somewhere between the intensely colourful streets of Cartagena’s old walled town and the heavenly tropical islands that sit along her historical coastline I left some pieces of my heart. I know I will go back there someday, not to retrieve those pieces, but to scatter more around the crumbling 16^th century cobblestones of this utterly charming Colombian port town. This is no ordinary seaside destination. It overflows with something for every human sense you have and perhaps for the ones you’ve not yet discovered: art, music, history, food, architecture and of course, love.

It was love itself that brought myself, my mother (coughing like an old dog left outside a shed in the damp misty drizzly rain of a West Kerry winter morning) my brother and his family, and a handful of Irish friends to this northern patch of South America’s vast soil. Green palm trees jutted out from wooden slats and welcomed us off the plane and into the humid maritime air, air we would gulp into our Celtic lungs for the next three weeks or so after an unforgettably cold, wet and grey few months back home. I inhaled deeply. My mother inhaled deeply too then her chest rattled like chains on a train line. We both really felt like crying after 14 hours of her incessant (that is NOT an exaggeration) inflight coughing. We didn’t cry though, we held it together, well, until we saw our gorgeous and precious Des and his beautiful Analucy leaning against the pillar outside the airport, arms around each other, waiting for us. Hugs and relief all round.  Finally, we had arrived. After hours traversing the North Atlantic Ocean we found ourselves standing on this golden veiled Caribbean seaboard and at the start of what now feels like a very sweet dream.

The roar of the ocean filled the jeep as I rolled down the window. Waves rolled in and crashed against (and often over) low set stone walls set along the beach. Bright yellow taxis and insanely fast public buses raced wildly through vast pools of sea water. The frenetic beeping of car horns punctured the sea’s white noise with heart stopping shrills and the palm trees shook increasingly in the evening air. That happy and edgy hormone that kicks in when I’m somewhere new and unfamiliar kept my jetlag at bay. My brain couldn’t keep up with all the new sights and sounds.  As Des navigated the chaotic traffic with his trademark casual and calm manner telling us stories, I started thinking about all the things I wanted to see and do. “I’ll have to visit Medellín, coffee plantations, national parks, I should have brought my hiking boots- hard to fit everything in the bag! (Truth be told my gold stilettoes and other such fancies took priority this time) "I didn’t get any vaccinations, what about the Amazon?” Actually, you know what…. No. Stop, stop, STOP! I quickly realised that this trip was going to be different. There would be no checklist, no guidebook, and no itinerary. I was here to meet new family, new friends, immerse myself in my brother’s new home city and above all be witness to the very special coming together of two lovely people.

 So I took it down a notch and rambled around for days on end. It wasn’t until I visited the Castillo De San Felipe fort that I got some small sense of Cartagena’s important history. It wasn’t until I visited the local cosmopolitan cafés, modern art museum and bars that I realised its home to greatly talented sculptors and painters, global cuisine and rum pouring barmen- make mine a double, please Senõr! It wasn’t until I ate 'Pie de Coco' did I realise the people’s love of a sweet dessert, think apple tart but with coconut. And little did I know of the magical Colombian hospitality until I met Des' in laws. Each one warmer and more generous than the next. My mother’s sun hat flew off her curly mop of hair one day and a passer- by chased it out onto the road, ultimately going out of his way retrieving it for her. The heavens opened in a biblical style downpour the day of the wedding and the hairdresser who had done my hair stood with me for 10 minutes outside his salon with his own umbrella waiting to hail a by now scare taxi. I appreciate that on this particular trip I was in the touristy part of the city for most of it and tourist spots are not always very real or at least don't allow us to see true life. It is however worth stating that apart from one awful encounter (for someone else, not me) with a corrupt cop and seeing a dirty old man take a sneaky photo of an unsuspecting female’s bottom (the bloody creep) the fact remains that Colombia is most definitely stepping out of its male dominated, blood drenched and white powdery past. Colombia once famed for cocaine and women is changing. What is that quote again? 'To travel is to discover that everyone is wrong about other countries.'

Colombia’s neighbour Venezuela, itself in the middle of what could well be the fastest growing humanitarian crisis in Latin American history played a part in this trip to Colombia too. Standing at almost every traffic light or t- junction along the beach were Venezuelan immigrants selling their wares and sadly for some of the women, their bodies. Handwritten notices on blackened cardboard hanging from their weary necks pleading for help. These were doctors, nurses, teachers back in their own country, now selling bic razors and buns in the insufferable midday sun in an attempt to feed themselves and their families. I saw footage of a group of Venezuelan men and women frenetically chasing down a cow in a field in an attempt to kill and eat it. Kill or die from hunger. Seeing these men, women and children fill the beaches and streets made me think of my godchild Henry and the Venezuelan blood that pumps around his lively and beautiful little body. I hope that someday as an adult he will be boarding a flight to Venezuela with his sister to meet his mother's family there and the conflict currently unfurling is spoken about as a long distant memory and one they will say was resolved faster than the world had ever expected.

We laughed a lot on this holiday, a helleva lot actually! We stood, waist high in warm silky sea water a lot too, beers in our hands, red snapper in our bellies, talking, reminiscing and howling with uproarious laughter- mostly at our friend Kevin’s stories from home- stomach clutching, tears rolling down your face stuff, all against the backdrop of yet another perfect sunset. New friends met old ones- all ages and from all over the globe. This sort of thing doesn’t happen very often in life so we savoured and appreciated every second of it. My mother walked into the wrong apartment one morning in Analucy’s building to be met by a man in his bed, in some state of undress I presume. “Jesus Christ, what are you doing here?” she exclaimed at the red faced proprietor of the apartment before realising her mistake and wondering what in fact she was doing there! Cut to the dance floor the night of the wedding where my mother dancing with some style with some local music star (and his impressive dread locks) when she felt a tap on the shoulder...  the guy from the apartment!! Turns out he was a friend of Luci’s. They took a photo to mark their second and altogether less embarrassing encounter!

 Go where your heart leads you. I try to listen to my heart and to my mind in equal measure, each as instructive and intuitive as the other. If you and your heart and your mind ever find yourselves in this delightful part of the world, stay still, get lost walking the streets and give it the time it so richly deserves because it is a place of exquisite beauty and interest. As I walked up the steps to board the flight back to London I felt something I’d never felt before. I felt I was leaving home to go somewhere new. I didn’t want to leave, I wanted to stay. When I did walk through the door of my own home (minus my luggage- it followed me the next day) I was of course glad to be home as it is a much loved sanctuary for me. I don’t know how long more I’ll be in this particular house but for now it is where I am. I think I was born with a heart that can throw down roots anywhere and for that I will be forever glad. I do however hope that any home I ever have in the future is as colourful and warm as Cartagena, that the people who cross my door are as kind and loving as my extended Colombian family and new friends and that the brilliant salsa-loving sun that energised me there will shine brightly in my soul for many years to come.