FAMILY FORTUNE

“Many people think excitement is happiness. But when you are excited you are not peaceful. True happiness is based on peace.”- Tich Nhat Hanh

“Righty- o, bye so Ryan, thanks a million, God bless”

The man I had just heard say goodbye to Ryan Tubridy was called Tom. I had decided to flick on the radio a mere 2 minutes previously and had caught the arse end of the show.  I heard Tom tell Ryan he had recently decided to sell his Post Office and move to Sri Lanka with his wife to begin a new life as guest owners in a place called Happy Bay. I decided to reach out to Tom and suss it out a bit more so I contacted the guest house via Facebook messenger. I wanted to ask Tom a few things about his life and business. Plus I thought perhaps I’d take a jolly jaunt over to Happy Bay-after all who wouldn’t want to go to a sun drenched place named Happy Bay? I received a very prompt reply from the guest house manager  who informed me that Tom was not currently in Sri Lanka. He was at his daughter’s wedding…in CORK!

I got his number and phoned him up straight away. We arranged to meet for a coffee the following day, as he, in another stroke of coincidence would be passing through my hometown. We met in a pub and had a lovely chat. We talked about his family, the events that led to them leaving Ireland, the practicalities of running a business on Asian soil, the leases, the labour costs, the cultural nuances etc and Tom was very honest regarding the pros and cons. Of course, the pros far outweighed the cons to my burning ears.  So finally after 4 months of  fearful paralysis I had a plan. I decided my next move would be to Sri Lanka, to research opening up a guest house- just like Tom and Bernie. I booked myself on a flight. I decided to email The Tubridy show again to tell them the scéal and within a few minutes Susan, the show’s lovely researcher phoned me to invite me on air to talk about life, choices and the soul’s yearning for change.

***

-“Ok Ryan, thanks a million. Lovely speaking to you!”

-“ You too Liz!” he quipped. “We’d like to follow your story so stay in touch now and we’ll talk again when you arrive in Sri Lanka!” The producer cut in straight away and congratulated me on a very lively, honest and interesting interview.

Good Jaysis!

This was really happening.

A few texts and calls came in from friends and family, all utterly lovely and encouraging but  one in particular will stay with me.  A stranger contacted me via this blog to say he had been driving in his car in Brighton, England and had heard me chatting. He said he felt compelled to contact me. He wrote: “Liz, well done to you for recognising the need for change in your life and for having the courage to follow through with a plan. It may not be your ideal plan yet, but the course correction has started and your new journey is unfolding. Advanced happy 40^th for August.”

From a perfect stranger.

 The tears came to my eyes when I read that. Humans can be so utterly lovely to each other sometimes, and I will always try to live by the guiding principal that human love and  the need for connection will always outweigh hatred and the need for segregation.  

Are you listening Donald Trump, you incomparable idiot?

Another email came through from a lovely woman in Wexford whose own story and link to Sri Lanka prompted the Tubridy show to contact her husband also for a chat. It’s a beautiful story and well worth a playback if you get a chance. This woman’s husband had lost his shirt during the recession, he lost hotels, homes, and millions of euro. In the darkest of places he found light in Sri Lanka and began a fundraising drive to build orphanages over there, helping at a time, when I imagine he was at rock bottom himself. This couple now run over 14 orphanages in SL, one which is called the “Cork Boys Home”, 3 crèches and a small college of education. Building on their first hotel is also underway. Remarkable stuff! I was due to make a visit to The Cork Boy’s Home at some point in my travels.  Michelle sent me many emails after the show- she gave me travel tips, sample itineraries, advice, encouragement and by pure and utter coincidence her husband was flying out the same day as me to Colombo! Now, destiny is not a concept I normally subscribe to. I tend to think life is comprised of a series of decisions that we make- big ones and ‘ickle ones and maybe a bit of karma thrown in too but I really was beginning to believe that maybe destiny was playing a part in all this. I started packing my bags!!!

The days and weeks melted away. It is very difficult to describe how I felt during those days because I don’t think I even knew myself. It seemed that Sri Lanka was a good idea, the signs were definitely there but there was one thing happening that I didn’t like…..it was fast becoming heavily pregnant with expectation. And expectations can be exceedingly dangerous. I also wondered how wise it was to be straying so far away from family and friends at a time when my life was undergoing mammoth change.

The thing is you see, my family are my people. I’ve been lucky to have made some very deep and meaningful friendships over the years but it is my family that are my most trusted support network. I sometimes wonder what it is I must have done in a former life to have been given them in this one? Naturally we argue and disagree and we see the world very differently at times. We also harbour very mixed opinions on say, the musical plausibility of Coldplay- but all our arguments, our niggling and even the hurt is borne from that same sheltered cove in our hearts- Love. So I was beginning to seriously question if I really wanted to start a new life so far away from these guys.  But I didn’t have time to be dwelling on these thoughts- I had a mere couple of weeks to get ready.  I drove on with my plans and started researching Sri Lanka. It all looked so beautiful- the temples, the rolling surf, the food, the old fashioned fun steam trains puffing through world famous tea plantations. I love tea. And trains.

Easter glided in with welcome and cloudless warmth. I was due to fly out in eight days’ time. I found myself in Dublin, eating, drinking and trampolining (in that ridiculous order) in the garden of my brother’s house. I remember standing in the middle of the living room with my baby niece in my arms, singing to her softly. She lay on me like a doll, floppy and relaxed, her angelical soft and sallow cheek resting on my shoulder. It was at that moment I knew I wasn’t ready to go.  I was trying extravagantly hard to be ‘excited’ but I just felt off, uncertain and a little overwhelmed. House sale, job resignation and now a rash move to the other side of the world with no plan all in the space of 4 months. Too much. I sang and swayed and rubbed her darling little back but it was she that soothed me in those moments, more than she will ever know. I’ll be sure to tell her one day.

The following morning my brother called at me from his room to check my phone, “something awful has happened in Sri Lanka- a bomb” I jumped online and scrolled through the incoming news with disgusting familiarity. Another terrorist attack. Churches and hotels had been blown to high heavens snuffing out precious life yet again. I watched as the death toll number rocketed like a petrol gauge. Senseless, gut churning horror. This exquisite island, ironically shaped like a teardrop, was being attacked at its beautiful core, and was bleeding out chaotically. The Irish Department of Foreign Affairs were advising against all non-essential travel. As the instability and news of further bombs continued, going there didn't feel like a good option anymore. I felt the tide change on the whole affair. A week later,  still news of curfews, empty streets and more attacks continued to flow from the capital Colombo, I agreed to a refund from Emirates and called the whole thing off.

One sobering fact remained, had I booked a flight for a few days earlier than my actual flight date, I'd have been in Negombo, in a hotel, slap bang in the middle of one of the worst terrorist attacks since 9/11.  

The next few days had me scrambling to make a new plan. A friend offered me her apartment in Vancouver, another offer came in from Colombia.. Should I stay in Cork? Get a job? I really didn't don't want to teach again, at least not in Ireland. What else could I do? I applied for a few jobs and kept myself busy and focused. I made friends with the fact that a trip to Sri Lanka might come at a later stage and who knows maybe I'll get to share it with someone! As I placed my Lonely Planet guide book back onto the shelf a curious mixture of sadness and relief washed over me.

Enter The Mammy stage left.

“Come on away over to Mallorca with me for a holiday to see your brother, and just have a bit of craic with your family, it’ll do you good and Palma is supposedly a great city!” she chimed. I was adamant I needed to put my head down now more than ever and create a new plan, that and after 5 months living together we needed a break from each other. I told her to head away on her own.

Then the night before the flight,

I decided to go…


xxx

“I always get to where I’m going by walking away from where I’ve been."
-WINNIE THE POOH

I had three dreams and three pees last night...

Dream 1:

 No one person was completely discernible but it felt like I knew them all. We were in a huge room, a school hall maybe but we were edged into a corner. It was a very enclosed space, dark and with no natural light. This darkness was very much in contrast to the brilliant and dazzling colours these people seemed to be waving (furiously) at me.

 -“Pick this one!” shouted a voice.
- “No, don’t” said another “pick this one!”
- “NO, NO, NOOO! Not THAT one,” yet another voice bellowed
-“Liz! You REALLY need to consider this one!”
- “Liz, Liz, Liz, what are you doing? For Christ sake!” And on it went.

It took a while for this scene to come into clear focus but when it did I could see that these colours, bizarrely enough, were all my coats and my jackets from my wardrobe. Every jacket I'd ever owned and had ever worn being waved at me frenetically by this exercised mob of loved ones- each begging me to pick the one they thought I should wear.  I wasn’t shouting loudly nor confidently back at them, instead repeating over and over again in a clear voice that I had made my decision and that I was going to wear the jacket I had chosen for myself. They, of course, continued to try lovingly convince me otherwise.  All these faces. All eyeballing me – imploring me to go with their suggested jacket.  I woke up, realised I’d been dreaming, went for a pee and went straight back to sleep.

 Dream 2:

I was driving to somewhere, I think it might have been to my godmother’s beautiful home in Cobh. The sun was shining. The road road went out of view. It completely dropped out of sight- like a rock having tumbled from a cliff. Gone. I panicked a little and pulled the car over. I got out and walked a while.  There wasn’t a soul in sight. The road became visible again ahead of me. A giant inflatable children’s slide was plonked boldy in the middle of the dual carriage-way. It was a monstrous structure- huge! And very colourful and inviting. I could see that it had many exits jutting out from it- enormous ones- like tentacles-big enough for a truck. I climbed right up to where a tall shadowy figure of a man was standing. He took my hand and told me I’d be OK and he could help me. He didn’t have a face, it was blurred out, akin to a dodgy dating app photo of the ex- girlfriend. You know the one! I took off my shoes. He pointed to the exit off the giant fun slide, smiled deeply at me and gestured to me to go.  Down I went screechin’ and hollerin’ like a buzzed up sugar -infused child having their first playground experience.  I woke up, realised I’d been dreaming again, went for another pee and back to the snooze fest.

 Dream 3:

I was on a flight. As I settled myself in for take-off a man sitting beside me whose face again, was not clear, turned to me and said “Buckle up darling, this is going to be one helluva roller coaster ride” It wasn’t a figure of speech neither as the words had no sooner slid out of his beautifully formed blurry lips when the plane took off with a blast and catapulted us both up a giant iron incline and off we hurtled through the ups and downs. This Boeing Airbus had magically transmorphed into a high speed transatlantic, eh, rollercoaster ! Yer man was smiling at me, looking cool and calm whilst I hollered and roared like a mad yoke, gulping in mouthfuls of air in between shrieks of joy and fear! I woke up, needed another blinking pee and wondered how I could be dreaming so much in one sitting (read lying) whilst also suspecting a urinary tract infection. Christ.

Before long, dawn made herself known and I rose knowing that my life was finally about to change.

                                                                                    ***

The phone rang. I exhaled a long breath. I stared down at it. It was my boss. I held the phone a little tighter and took another breath and watched the flashing of the screen for another few seconds.  My heart was battering in my throat, yet my mind felt cool, calm and collected like I was watching someone else, not me.  Looking out my old bedroom window into the deep black February night sky I heard myself say: “I’ve come to the end of the road. It’s time for me to resign.” My official resignation letter was sent in the following day and that was surely that. One sentence sealed the deal. How many years of sentences had I uttered, I wondered, contemplating whether or not I would ever or could ever be in a position to say such a thing? My mother is the best woman to answer that question.  She’d say I’ve probably spent half my teaching career talking about leaving one day- that’s a lot of sentences. 

So why oh why oh why would you want to leave something you seem to like and sometimes have loved?

The answer to that, for me, came down to one simple premise- I was spent. I didn't have one single day left in me. Why? Four core issues; my soul, my health, my professional growth and sleepwalking.
My soul: I was bored, jaded, like an old jacket you know is past its best but you keep wearing it because it suits you and you’ve always worn it. It fits, it’s comfortable and it gets the job done- it protects you from the daily storms. 
My health:  I was getting sick- a lot, too much for somebody who didn't smoke 100 woodbine a day or booze like Georgie Best.  
Growth:  I wasn’t developing in ways in which I wanted and was capable of.  I wanted expansion. A new challenge. A new arena. 
Finally I felt like I was beginning to sleepwalk through the days on autopilot. Predictability was scaring me more than its opposite ever did.  

Now, you’d never have known that this was the case because it never showed, I never let it. The children needed someone energetic, motivated and calm to guide them along and care about them, especially the vulnerable pets, of which I’ve taught many. For many of them I was the only sane and loving adult they'd meet all day. But when I wasn’t in teacher mode, I was spending a lot of time in questioner mode- what else is there out there that I might someday do?

So after 17 years of teaching the incredibly funny, challenging, loving and exquisitely unique children of Cork’s beautifully bold North side I have closed the classroom door. It has been a gut wrenchingly difficult decision to make; sleepless nights type difficult, almost needing medication difficult, sobbing on the toilet of a busy bustling Dublin coffee shop type difficult. Leaving my permanent, pensionable, secure, well paid, good holidayed job just two months after selling my safe, warm and colourful little house in my hometown. Was I hitting the self- destruct button? Was this a mid-life crisis? Would I ever know security and certainty again? Would I ever work with such brilliant colleagues again? Tears come to my eyes when I think of not seeing my work colleagues anymore. After so many years of friendships, weddings, births, deaths, illnesses, craic, laughter and comradery I will miss them more than I could ever put into words. They were and still are some of the best work buddies you could have, a diverse melting pot of talents, personalities and world views. I could lie and say that I really miss the kids but the truth is I don’t- not yet anyway- maybe that’s normal. I’m currently too exhausted to miss them but I’ll never forget them and the smiles they gave me when I walked into a room. I could tell in their young eyes they knew I saw them as equals- human beings- just less lived than me. I cared about them deeply, sometimes maybe too much, wishing I could rear some of them myself. They taught me patience- Jesus did they ever? compassion, resilience and the importance of seeking out, nourishing and celebrating your god given talents. They were the real teachers.

 I always knew my life would be big. Doesn’t that sound very up its own arse? But my definition of big is decidedly not up its own arse at all. I mean big, not in terms of any notable fame, wealth or social status but in terms of balls, truth, action. I will always try to lean into the hard stuff, the big decisions, the life changing conversations, the boldness of owning and living your life in a manner true to yourself and your essence. My future is a complete unknown now- I have no solid plan to cling on to anymore. I am on the road to somewhere. I’m not sure where just yet, but I’m going to hug the unknown road with every ounce of gratitude and fun coursing round my body.

 I know very well that this modern thing we call happiness is an inside job, needing constant work, on an internal level but sometimes just sometimes- like now - happiness is external change. A road less travelled. A dream needing pursuing. As I thumb the page over onto a new life chapter it is not the voice of any family member, friend or colleague that guides me nor any great philosopher or guru or psychologist or life coach for that matter, all of whom have helped at various points.

 It is just my own voice now, nudging me forward.

Well mine and Winnie the Pooh.

“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.

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hiking the Cabo Blanco

       “No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path.” 

- BUDDHA-

 
The Nicoya Peninsula, Costa Rica, Central America.

Left or right? I couldn’t decide. One path looked well-trodden, the other a little more ungroomed.  A quick look at my battered, old and not- so- smart phone informed me that it was 4 minutes to 8am. The mercury was rising but morning freshness still filled the air. Thick green rainforest surrounded me. I was told this trail, through steep cliffs and gigantic trees, would eventually lead to the big blue ocean. With basic Spanish I translated the two signs in front of me. One said "easy" the other read "difficult."  “Oh well, I’m definitely taking the easy route,” I thought- I am hiking alone after all and only one (very sleepy looking) park ranger knows I’m even in here. What if I fell? already picturing the scene of doom: compound fracture to the lower left tibia, a pool of blood trickling down the rocks, screams for help muffled only by the enormous chests of the 15 or so howler monkeys that would surround me and maul me into a most premature and ghastly death. A loud rustle of leaves overhead woke me from this hair raising scenario and drew my eye up to a little coati sitting on a branch.  He stared at me judgingly for a couple of nano seconds before scampering off into the green abyss.  There were creatures unknown above, below and all around.

 Water-check. Sun cream- check. Food- check. Slight nervous rumble in the tummy- check. I started walking. It felt nice and safe to have decided to take the easy hike. Good decision. But as expected I’d hardly climbed a couple of metres up when that old familiar voice in my head started to chatter. “Why are you taking the easy path Liz? Go back and try the other one- it might be trickier-but if you don’t go- you’ll never know!” I felt my heart start to beat. I was scared of the path less travelled but I turned around and went back. 

After an hour or so the gentle incline had morphed into to an arduous and steep scramble up loose muddy rocks and through green shiny leaves. I was high up now.  This was a difficult hike alright. It wasn’t Mount Everest, granted, but you’d want your wits about you all the same. I suppose there is a certain caution one needs to adopt when travelling alone, or doing anything alone for that matter.  A flat green mossy stone caught my eye as the perfect seat for a snack.  I unpacked my bag and chomped down on a cheese and ham roll. The self-generated noises of hiking: the walking, the panting, the crunches of sticks, the clickety click of rucksack straps and the squish of mud made way for pure silence as I sat and ate. The animals had grown quiet and the only sound now was the slow and steady white noise of the ocean, wherever it was. 

 
I recall, at one point being very unsure of where I was. There were no signposts, just a track (of sorts).  Doubt crept in telling me I’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. It had been over 3 hours at this point. My feet were hot and tingly but the sound of the surf was steadily growing louder so I trusted my gut and kept moving forward. The climb had been going in a downwards decline for the last 20 minutes or so.  I bent down to avoid a slap in the snoz from a low swinging branch and as I straightened up to go forward again, there it was, the glimpse of blue magic through a gap in the bushes. I pushed the branches out of my way and there before me like a turquoise silk carpet laid down by the hands of some supernatural being was The Pacific Ocean.  Two headlands jutted out like outstretched arms, hugging the white sandy beach into their broad forest chest. Almond trees lined the beach, a few gulls screeched overhead and pieces of driftwood littered the shoreline. I steadied myself and jumped down from the sandy bank. I’d only love to tell you that at this point an absolute hunk of life altering proportions emerged from the sea, water glistening and dripping from his toned but not overly sculpted body, wet curls framing a rugged yet kind face... but alas no, instead...

 I plonked onto my  weary and aching arse and carefully began untying my dirty, wet laces. Removing my old manky boots I rubbed my throbbing feet. I neatly folded my socks into each boot. I scrunched my toes up and inhaled as the soft warm sand poured between each hot and swollen toe. “Jesus that’s divine.” I had a quick look around to make sure I was indeed alone before peeling my black leggings off and hanging them from the branch behind me. Piece by piece I removed the rest of my clothes. I stood there in my birthday suit and let the ocean breeze cool my face.  I released my hair from its tight ponytail and headed for the water. The water hit my feet with a gentle crash and it was the most perfect temperature. I walked to waist height and turned around to look at the jungle behind me. This was an immense view, wild, natural and very beautiful. It wasn’t polished and perfect like a tropical island postcard, its beauty was rawer and more awesome. I was in a veritable bath of green trees and blue seas - nature’s best.  With a big breath in and eyes closing I dropped straight as a plumb line down under the water.  The tense energy from the hike evaporated around me into the water in an instant and I let the ocean soak it up. Leave it there I thought, in the sea.  I swam and floated in that ocean for what felt like hours, around and around in circles, over and back in straight lines, on my stomach, on my back, on my side, splashing and diving. Not one single other soul stepped foot on that very remote beach for the day. It had been waiting for only me.

 I’ve no idea whether or not life’s path is set out for us in some pre-determined fashion or whether it reveals itself slowly as a result of the millions of often small and sometimes larger decisions we make each moment of each day, year after year. I don’t have the right to know exactly where life is taking me because I don't technically own my life, I cannot control it like I do the remote control. Instead I am life, it courses around my body and keeps me moving forward. That is all I know. I don't know my destiny nor do I want to. 

As I lay on the warm white sand at the edge of the oldest Rainforest in Costa Rica-staring at the blanket of blue above me- I was truly thankful to be alive and so happy that I had chosen that difficult path.