Laaaandaaan! With Ana and Gio!
Having lived 20 minutes (by train) from London until the age of 18, I obviously know the city as well as I know Empire Records, The Princess Bride and 27 Dresses. Well that is, I think, what my good friends Ana and Gio might have hoped. I met them just over 2 years ago, when they were my incredible ‘host parents’ while I spent two weeks in Italy teaching. We became instant friends, and one day I invited them to come stay with me at my parents’ house in St Albans (thanks Mum and Dad!) so they could see London.
So, Ana and Gio might have hoped for a very erudite London guide. However I sadly have pretty much ZERO knowledge of our capital city. I never really wanted to go to London as a kid. It was noisy and stank (traffic). And dear God it is so busy. ALL THE PEOPLE. It gives me severe pedestrian rage. Norwich on a Saturday is bad enough. I must have been there about 5 times in total before I was 18 and went to uni. Since living in Norwich I've been there a lot more, because eventually the UEA students who live in Norwich and work in bars decide they want a proper job and move to London – so I have a lot of friends who live in London. But when I go see them I meet them at a tube station and then follow. Em, who is the person I most frequently follow around London is very good at VERY CLEARLY DESCRIBING the world's most obvious landmark at all of the tube stations in London. So, yeah, I don't know much. Luckily, Ana stepped into the breach. I would heartily enter her into a 'People Who Know London Really Well' competition (with the help of one of those fancy new - but they're not actually that new are they? - phones). And so (thank you Ana!) we had a really amazing time.
(My knowledge of London has, as a result, gone up from 1% to about 2%. Yes, this is still low, but don’t worry – Ana is going to add her comments to this, to make it a useful travel guide with tips and facts and all sorts of things.)
Friday 31st March
Ana and Gio arrived at pretty much lunchtime. Ana texted me the platform they were arriving at (yes, I should have been able to work this out myself), and I finished my tea and ambled over. They were both (I think) wearing sunglasses, which might seem slightly over-optimistic for England in Spring/England at any time of year, however we actually had unbelievable weather. On the Saturday we even sat and basked in the sun in...some park...somewhere....
Gio is a food person, and his main aim for the trip was to taste English foods. However, as we all know, the minute someone asks you what the traditional dishes are of your country, you go blank. Everyone else does that too, right? Not, in my experience, around the rest of the world. Other people know about their countries. I mean here, in England. I think we're somehow less knowledgeable about ourselves here in the UK. I mean I mainly studied the Nazis and US history during my A-levels and GCSEs.... Here's a question for you all: What is our national costume? Please feel free to send me pictures of any ideas you might have.
So I know we like tea and beer and vindaloo, but I discounted curry when Gio asked what our traditional foods were because you know, it's technically Indian. Somewhat bastardised Indian, but still. Spaghetti carbonara would not have worked. Anyway my first task as a tour guide was to think of (and find) a lovely traditional English lunch. And sandwiches were not appropriate. Hmmm. Luckily Gio saw a pasty stall at the station. Were Cornish pasties traditionally English? Oh! Yes, they were!!! Cornish pasties are English because they are from Cornwall! Hurrah!
They were also massive and really filling, and I stepped it up a notch as a tour guide by informing Ana and Gio that these fine items were traditional meals that sometimes had sweet in one side and savoury in the other side, the idea being that the wives had provided (in the old days) in this pasty everything that their hard working husband could need for the day.
Now, Ana had done some pretty good research and had found these things called 'London passes'. And they'd bought one each plus one for me! This meant I was able to do all the things I'd always wanted to do in London but gone, 'Oooh, that's a bit expensive.' It's not just that obviously – it's also the fact that when I go to London I go to see my friends to watch a play they're in or to make super-awesome banners for some event or the other, or just to hang out, so we don't necessarily go to the tourist attractions. Now the passes didn't include a couple of things that we did – Madame Tussaud's, and The London Eye, but I think, otherwise, it was pretty good value. (Ana can comment more on that.)
So we ate then got on the tube, and I imparted my amazing wisdom aka 'Look, those are the tube lines.' We had an important dilemma re. Oyster cards/cards/tickets. Apparently you can use your credit card instead of buying a Picked up passes! A very helpful train man came and gave us helpful advice, saying that if Ana and Gio had credit cards it was potentially cheaper than getting a day card because of rates being cheaper (I think), plus the cap – but he didn't realise that we were just going to pick up our passes, and THEY came with nicely topped up Oysters. Anyway for simplicity and so as not to have to worry about whether the cards would work or not, we just got Ana and Gio two tickets.
After getting the tickets (in some magical tiny kiosk that opened, underground, into a pretty big shop), we then used Ana's phone to get us to Trafalgar Square. As it's a while since I started writing this (it's now July) I'm a little hazy on the details, but I have a feeling I knocked over a street artist's chalk, and then we went into the National Gallery and saw lots of Italian painters. I was very excited to learn (or not learn) where the National Gallery was, and to find that it is right next to the National Portrait Gallery. I've always had a love for the National Portrait Gallery, ever since I went there with my mate Lauren, who knows about art and told me to look at the way they used to paint lace. (Amazing!) What with two galleries and each obviously has a cafe selling tea and cake, that is a day of wonder without moving an inch.
So we went into the National Gallery and saw lots of Italian painters (ironically). Loads more we could've seen, but we had to GO. Because 1. The human brain can only take looking at 3 rooms' worth of paintings at a time, and 2. We were going to go on the London Eye. I don't remember too much except that there was a pretty much 100% religious content of these paintings. In terms of judging them, I can say that I like gold IN paintings, but golden frames make me feel a bit nauseous: there's something wrong and slightly food about them.
I managed to lose Ana and Gio just before the London Eye. I felt this was particularly bad as my phone was about to run out of battery. (This is something that ALWAYS happens when I'm doing something important where I am trying to meet up with someone and don't really know where they will or I should be. And it's usually my fault. My brain often tries to tell me useful things e.g. 'It's going to be really hot this weekend so maybe don't just pack long sleeved shirts and jeans when going to see Sarah this weekend in Oxford,' or 'Your phone battery is getting low.' But I just ignore it.) Anyway I went to the POSHEST TOILETS IN THE WORLD. They cost 50p, but were a treat! Visually, uh...nasally.... It's some kind of toilet block designed I imagine just for those about to queue for the Eye, set up by a very enterprising soul who then has gone on to make millions 50p at a time.
We were lucky enough to have only a half hour (ish) queue, and then we were on the Eye! (Yes, we managed to find each other before my phone battery ran out.) I was a bit nervous about the fact that when you get off (I think maybe when you got on too – that would make sense) your pod it doesn't actually stop. I mean it's going pretty slowly, but, you know, STRESS! Reminded me of the time Gemma and I couldn't get off the bus in India. I mean it didn't stop! It just slowed down! But we somehow managed it.
London is beautiful. Overwhelming, with an unbelievable amount of stuff that I ought to know the name of. Luckily there were pictures and things to help when Ana and Gio asked what certain buildings were. It would have been great if, at that time, I'd known the fact my brother Bob told me later: that there are certain 'protected views' in London. Something to do with if people are building things they have to check and make sure there is a clear view from e.g. some hill somewhere to probably St. Paul's Cathedral. As it was, I just enjoyed the view.
At one point on the tube, Gio commented on the very orderly way everyone got on the escalators. Left hand side for those walking/running up the tube, right hand side filled up neatly with standers. He I think found this amusing, but I was filled with pride at the British (and I include ALL people who've lived in London long enough to learn the importance of queuing and escalator etiquette) way of life: it is NEAT, it is SENSIBLE. :)
So we got back to St. A., and Ana and Gio met my lovely parents. Always great when four people you love meet! Mum had made some kind of yummy chicken with a mustard and cream sauce plus CAKE! We ate, then went to bed.
Saturday 1st April
We got up early. We had a lot to do. Dad kindly drove us up to the station, saving us precious time. And, first, we went to Westminster Abbey. I've always loved churches. Although my friend recently ruined one of the reasons I love them: I was telling him how there was this essay called 'The Virgin and the Dynamo,' where the atheist writer said whether you believe in God or not, religion is amazing for the way that it can inspire and motivate people. The writer said the only thing like that these days is money. And I've always thought that the way every single thing in these buildings, practically, has been carefully carved or made beautiful somehow, is evidence of this kind of love. He said they were probably just slaves/barely paid anything labour, just trying to make enough money to survive and doing what they were told.
GRINCH.
I was also particularly moved by poets' corner – yes, actually emotionally affected by seeing the graves of and memorials to various poets. It's possible I was a little tired, and feeling the pressure of my tour guide responsibilities, but I have to mention the incredible plays of Oscar Wilde and poetry of Wilfred Owen and Philip Larkin. They are what GCSE and A-Level English are for. It was while studying Larkin during my A-levels that I realised what a depressing pessimist I am, and how I can suck the joy out of anything, if I am thinking that way: Philip Larkin and I would have got on well.
Hmmm, this is supposed to be a travel guide isn't it, not a commentary on the amazing compatibility of myself and Phil. Well ok, is it worth going to Westminster Abbey you ask? I say YES! I mean we sort of rushed through it a bit, as we needed to get on to see the changing of the guard, and I think we all felt we'd pretty much seen enough – there's only so much looking at graves one can do in a morning – but I definitely say yes, go. I'd like to sit and attempt to draw things in there. I should probably think of a rating system shouldn't I. As I like cups of tea, I will use that. Out of 5. I give it...3 cups. Oooh. Harsh. But I should say that my rating system will largely be influenced by the amount of amusing/witty tales I can remember from our journey to whatever place it is I am judging.
After this we went and had a cup of tea in...a park near Buckingham Palace, ready for the changing of the guards. The beautiful weather continued, and we basked in the sun on the grass with our drinks. We were disappointed, briefly, because although the internet said that the changing of the guard was happening from this day, it didn't seem to be appearing.... A massive crowd wasn't appearing. BUT we decided to amble along to the palace to have a look at the front anyway – and saw the unofficial changing of the guards. It was brilliant: less pomp, true, but MORE clipboards. Well, one clipboard.
After that was the Queen's Gallery. It had a cool exhibition...of...uh-oh. It's now even further after the events. (Now December.) Hang on...have found it in the guide book – it was called 'Portrait of the Artist' – had lots of self-portraits and portraits of artists in the Queen's collection. Really interesting – it was something you don't normally see, and I felt like a very successful snooper :) It's just always interesting, isn't it – the private lives of famous people. (Although why is it?) Tea rating.... 3/5 (not many interesting stories from it, I know, but I really enjoyed it!)
We went on, then, to the Royal Mews. Here there are all the carriages owned by the royal family and the horses! One of the horses (he wasn't there that day, sadly) has to have a padlock on his stable, because otherwise he escapes. Can't remember his name, but it was probably Houdini. The carriages were amazing in various ways, BUT the best one was a pretty old one and it looked, basically, like TACKINESS had vomited all over it. I think in the old days it was the height of flamboyance and it was obviously very expensive, but Dear God it was ugly. Gaudy, gaudy, gaudy. If anyone ever invents a time machine, go back to...whenever that one was made...and make the case for minimalism. It is, however, the reason that the MEWS get 5/5 for their tea rating: Houdini Horse + vomit coach = 100% awesome.
It may have actually been before the Mews that we found a fish and chips place for lunch. Here I would like to apologise for my lack of knowledge of (and research into!) food places in London. It was close by, and fish and chips is very British food, but I felt that the place we found wasn't the best example of fish and chips. It was food. And it gave an idea of the dish, but please, Ana and Gio, if you come again, I must find you a better example!! The cakes were good though :)
After this is was onto the V&A. The V&A is another place that makes me want to sit and pretentiously try to draw things. I'd be put off by embarrassment and the fear that people would 1. think I was really pretentious and 2. (when they saw my drawings) suspect that I might be insane or, at the very least, rather deluded. When we tried to redeem our free cream tea, a supervisor was immediately called to explain that they no longer have the agreement anymore – we must have been given an old guidebook. (Bad London Pass people.) So we shared a cream tea. I do love them! I had my first one when I was about 18 with my friends Hannah and KP – until then I thought it was just tea with cream in it instead of milk, and had thought it sounded not the best. BUT I WAS WRONG! The added benefit of having a cream tea at the V&A is their gorgeous cafe rooms – some of them have beautiful tiles and carvings etc. I'm already starting to get bored of the rating system, but I will finish it for today – 4/5 (and potentially more – it's the type of place you can spend more than a day at).
BUT we had to go on – to the Science Museum! I was surprised at how amazing this was. I'm not much of a technology person, but it was incredible seeing things like Iron Lungs from...the old days. And a dialysis machine from...the old days. And far older than I expected! Like Victorian or something. Wait, that can't be right. Hang on.... Ok, 1940s apparently. But still, wow!!! And there was a weird car that opened at the front. I told my mum about this and she had seen a real one! Well this was a real one too, but you know what I mean. 5/5! (Lovely cups of Earl Grey.) Oh and there were old planes. They were cool too.
We then went on a jumper and dinner hunt :) Again, I sadly went blank on British brands :( (Sorry!!!) And started getting hungry. But the amazing Ana and Gio sensed my near-hanger and we stopped off for a quick bite of sushi before going home. (Thank you, Gio, for temporarily waiving the British food requirement – it was very much appreciated.)
P.S. Possibly on this day we also went on a BUS – yay! (I'd, obviously, done this before.) And we went inside the ...checking guidebook...I think it must have been the Wellington Arch at Hyde Park Corner. Again, after this time, not many interesting things to tell you, except that I had no idea you could go in there, and that you should go! Oh and at some point there was a boat trip!
So, Ana and Gio might have hoped for a very erudite London guide. However I sadly have pretty much ZERO knowledge of our capital city. I never really wanted to go to London as a kid. It was noisy and stank (traffic). And dear God it is so busy. ALL THE PEOPLE. It gives me severe pedestrian rage. Norwich on a Saturday is bad enough. I must have been there about 5 times in total before I was 18 and went to uni. Since living in Norwich I've been there a lot more, because eventually the UEA students who live in Norwich and work in bars decide they want a proper job and move to London – so I have a lot of friends who live in London. But when I go see them I meet them at a tube station and then follow. Em, who is the person I most frequently follow around London is very good at VERY CLEARLY DESCRIBING the world's most obvious landmark at all of the tube stations in London. So, yeah, I don't know much. Luckily, Ana stepped into the breach. I would heartily enter her into a 'People Who Know London Really Well' competition (with the help of one of those fancy new - but they're not actually that new are they? - phones). And so (thank you Ana!) we had a really amazing time.
(My knowledge of London has, as a result, gone up from 1% to about 2%. Yes, this is still low, but don’t worry – Ana is going to add her comments to this, to make it a useful travel guide with tips and facts and all sorts of things.)
Friday 31st March
Ana and Gio arrived at pretty much lunchtime. Ana texted me the platform they were arriving at (yes, I should have been able to work this out myself), and I finished my tea and ambled over. They were both (I think) wearing sunglasses, which might seem slightly over-optimistic for England in Spring/England at any time of year, however we actually had unbelievable weather. On the Saturday we even sat and basked in the sun in...some park...somewhere....
Gio is a food person, and his main aim for the trip was to taste English foods. However, as we all know, the minute someone asks you what the traditional dishes are of your country, you go blank. Everyone else does that too, right? Not, in my experience, around the rest of the world. Other people know about their countries. I mean here, in England. I think we're somehow less knowledgeable about ourselves here in the UK. I mean I mainly studied the Nazis and US history during my A-levels and GCSEs.... Here's a question for you all: What is our national costume? Please feel free to send me pictures of any ideas you might have.
So I know we like tea and beer and vindaloo, but I discounted curry when Gio asked what our traditional foods were because you know, it's technically Indian. Somewhat bastardised Indian, but still. Spaghetti carbonara would not have worked. Anyway my first task as a tour guide was to think of (and find) a lovely traditional English lunch. And sandwiches were not appropriate. Hmmm. Luckily Gio saw a pasty stall at the station. Were Cornish pasties traditionally English? Oh! Yes, they were!!! Cornish pasties are English because they are from Cornwall! Hurrah!
They were also massive and really filling, and I stepped it up a notch as a tour guide by informing Ana and Gio that these fine items were traditional meals that sometimes had sweet in one side and savoury in the other side, the idea being that the wives had provided (in the old days) in this pasty everything that their hard working husband could need for the day.
Now, Ana had done some pretty good research and had found these things called 'London passes'. And they'd bought one each plus one for me! This meant I was able to do all the things I'd always wanted to do in London but gone, 'Oooh, that's a bit expensive.' It's not just that obviously – it's also the fact that when I go to London I go to see my friends to watch a play they're in or to make super-awesome banners for some event or the other, or just to hang out, so we don't necessarily go to the tourist attractions. Now the passes didn't include a couple of things that we did – Madame Tussaud's, and The London Eye, but I think, otherwise, it was pretty good value. (Ana can comment more on that.)
So we ate then got on the tube, and I imparted my amazing wisdom aka 'Look, those are the tube lines.' We had an important dilemma re. Oyster cards/cards/tickets. Apparently you can use your credit card instead of buying a Picked up passes! A very helpful train man came and gave us helpful advice, saying that if Ana and Gio had credit cards it was potentially cheaper than getting a day card because of rates being cheaper (I think), plus the cap – but he didn't realise that we were just going to pick up our passes, and THEY came with nicely topped up Oysters. Anyway for simplicity and so as not to have to worry about whether the cards would work or not, we just got Ana and Gio two tickets.
After getting the tickets (in some magical tiny kiosk that opened, underground, into a pretty big shop), we then used Ana's phone to get us to Trafalgar Square. As it's a while since I started writing this (it's now July) I'm a little hazy on the details, but I have a feeling I knocked over a street artist's chalk, and then we went into the National Gallery and saw lots of Italian painters. I was very excited to learn (or not learn) where the National Gallery was, and to find that it is right next to the National Portrait Gallery. I've always had a love for the National Portrait Gallery, ever since I went there with my mate Lauren, who knows about art and told me to look at the way they used to paint lace. (Amazing!) What with two galleries and each obviously has a cafe selling tea and cake, that is a day of wonder without moving an inch.
So we went into the National Gallery and saw lots of Italian painters (ironically). Loads more we could've seen, but we had to GO. Because 1. The human brain can only take looking at 3 rooms' worth of paintings at a time, and 2. We were going to go on the London Eye. I don't remember too much except that there was a pretty much 100% religious content of these paintings. In terms of judging them, I can say that I like gold IN paintings, but golden frames make me feel a bit nauseous: there's something wrong and slightly food about them.
I managed to lose Ana and Gio just before the London Eye. I felt this was particularly bad as my phone was about to run out of battery. (This is something that ALWAYS happens when I'm doing something important where I am trying to meet up with someone and don't really know where they will or I should be. And it's usually my fault. My brain often tries to tell me useful things e.g. 'It's going to be really hot this weekend so maybe don't just pack long sleeved shirts and jeans when going to see Sarah this weekend in Oxford,' or 'Your phone battery is getting low.' But I just ignore it.) Anyway I went to the POSHEST TOILETS IN THE WORLD. They cost 50p, but were a treat! Visually, uh...nasally.... It's some kind of toilet block designed I imagine just for those about to queue for the Eye, set up by a very enterprising soul who then has gone on to make millions 50p at a time.
We were lucky enough to have only a half hour (ish) queue, and then we were on the Eye! (Yes, we managed to find each other before my phone battery ran out.) I was a bit nervous about the fact that when you get off (I think maybe when you got on too – that would make sense) your pod it doesn't actually stop. I mean it's going pretty slowly, but, you know, STRESS! Reminded me of the time Gemma and I couldn't get off the bus in India. I mean it didn't stop! It just slowed down! But we somehow managed it.
London is beautiful. Overwhelming, with an unbelievable amount of stuff that I ought to know the name of. Luckily there were pictures and things to help when Ana and Gio asked what certain buildings were. It would have been great if, at that time, I'd known the fact my brother Bob told me later: that there are certain 'protected views' in London. Something to do with if people are building things they have to check and make sure there is a clear view from e.g. some hill somewhere to probably St. Paul's Cathedral. As it was, I just enjoyed the view.
At one point on the tube, Gio commented on the very orderly way everyone got on the escalators. Left hand side for those walking/running up the tube, right hand side filled up neatly with standers. He I think found this amusing, but I was filled with pride at the British (and I include ALL people who've lived in London long enough to learn the importance of queuing and escalator etiquette) way of life: it is NEAT, it is SENSIBLE. :)
So we got back to St. A., and Ana and Gio met my lovely parents. Always great when four people you love meet! Mum had made some kind of yummy chicken with a mustard and cream sauce plus CAKE! We ate, then went to bed.
Saturday 1st April
We got up early. We had a lot to do. Dad kindly drove us up to the station, saving us precious time. And, first, we went to Westminster Abbey. I've always loved churches. Although my friend recently ruined one of the reasons I love them: I was telling him how there was this essay called 'The Virgin and the Dynamo,' where the atheist writer said whether you believe in God or not, religion is amazing for the way that it can inspire and motivate people. The writer said the only thing like that these days is money. And I've always thought that the way every single thing in these buildings, practically, has been carefully carved or made beautiful somehow, is evidence of this kind of love. He said they were probably just slaves/barely paid anything labour, just trying to make enough money to survive and doing what they were told.
GRINCH.
I was also particularly moved by poets' corner – yes, actually emotionally affected by seeing the graves of and memorials to various poets. It's possible I was a little tired, and feeling the pressure of my tour guide responsibilities, but I have to mention the incredible plays of Oscar Wilde and poetry of Wilfred Owen and Philip Larkin. They are what GCSE and A-Level English are for. It was while studying Larkin during my A-levels that I realised what a depressing pessimist I am, and how I can suck the joy out of anything, if I am thinking that way: Philip Larkin and I would have got on well.
Hmmm, this is supposed to be a travel guide isn't it, not a commentary on the amazing compatibility of myself and Phil. Well ok, is it worth going to Westminster Abbey you ask? I say YES! I mean we sort of rushed through it a bit, as we needed to get on to see the changing of the guard, and I think we all felt we'd pretty much seen enough – there's only so much looking at graves one can do in a morning – but I definitely say yes, go. I'd like to sit and attempt to draw things in there. I should probably think of a rating system shouldn't I. As I like cups of tea, I will use that. Out of 5. I give it...3 cups. Oooh. Harsh. But I should say that my rating system will largely be influenced by the amount of amusing/witty tales I can remember from our journey to whatever place it is I am judging.
After this we went and had a cup of tea in...a park near Buckingham Palace, ready for the changing of the guards. The beautiful weather continued, and we basked in the sun on the grass with our drinks. We were disappointed, briefly, because although the internet said that the changing of the guard was happening from this day, it didn't seem to be appearing.... A massive crowd wasn't appearing. BUT we decided to amble along to the palace to have a look at the front anyway – and saw the unofficial changing of the guards. It was brilliant: less pomp, true, but MORE clipboards. Well, one clipboard.
After that was the Queen's Gallery. It had a cool exhibition...of...uh-oh. It's now even further after the events. (Now December.) Hang on...have found it in the guide book – it was called 'Portrait of the Artist' – had lots of self-portraits and portraits of artists in the Queen's collection. Really interesting – it was something you don't normally see, and I felt like a very successful snooper :) It's just always interesting, isn't it – the private lives of famous people. (Although why is it?) Tea rating.... 3/5 (not many interesting stories from it, I know, but I really enjoyed it!)
We went on, then, to the Royal Mews. Here there are all the carriages owned by the royal family and the horses! One of the horses (he wasn't there that day, sadly) has to have a padlock on his stable, because otherwise he escapes. Can't remember his name, but it was probably Houdini. The carriages were amazing in various ways, BUT the best one was a pretty old one and it looked, basically, like TACKINESS had vomited all over it. I think in the old days it was the height of flamboyance and it was obviously very expensive, but Dear God it was ugly. Gaudy, gaudy, gaudy. If anyone ever invents a time machine, go back to...whenever that one was made...and make the case for minimalism. It is, however, the reason that the MEWS get 5/5 for their tea rating: Houdini Horse + vomit coach = 100% awesome.
It may have actually been before the Mews that we found a fish and chips place for lunch. Here I would like to apologise for my lack of knowledge of (and research into!) food places in London. It was close by, and fish and chips is very British food, but I felt that the place we found wasn't the best example of fish and chips. It was food. And it gave an idea of the dish, but please, Ana and Gio, if you come again, I must find you a better example!! The cakes were good though :)
After this is was onto the V&A. The V&A is another place that makes me want to sit and pretentiously try to draw things. I'd be put off by embarrassment and the fear that people would 1. think I was really pretentious and 2. (when they saw my drawings) suspect that I might be insane or, at the very least, rather deluded. When we tried to redeem our free cream tea, a supervisor was immediately called to explain that they no longer have the agreement anymore – we must have been given an old guidebook. (Bad London Pass people.) So we shared a cream tea. I do love them! I had my first one when I was about 18 with my friends Hannah and KP – until then I thought it was just tea with cream in it instead of milk, and had thought it sounded not the best. BUT I WAS WRONG! The added benefit of having a cream tea at the V&A is their gorgeous cafe rooms – some of them have beautiful tiles and carvings etc. I'm already starting to get bored of the rating system, but I will finish it for today – 4/5 (and potentially more – it's the type of place you can spend more than a day at).
BUT we had to go on – to the Science Museum! I was surprised at how amazing this was. I'm not much of a technology person, but it was incredible seeing things like Iron Lungs from...the old days. And a dialysis machine from...the old days. And far older than I expected! Like Victorian or something. Wait, that can't be right. Hang on.... Ok, 1940s apparently. But still, wow!!! And there was a weird car that opened at the front. I told my mum about this and she had seen a real one! Well this was a real one too, but you know what I mean. 5/5! (Lovely cups of Earl Grey.) Oh and there were old planes. They were cool too.
We then went on a jumper and dinner hunt :) Again, I sadly went blank on British brands :( (Sorry!!!) And started getting hungry. But the amazing Ana and Gio sensed my near-hanger and we stopped off for a quick bite of sushi before going home. (Thank you, Gio, for temporarily waiving the British food requirement – it was very much appreciated.)
P.S. Possibly on this day we also went on a BUS – yay! (I'd, obviously, done this before.) And we went inside the ...checking guidebook...I think it must have been the Wellington Arch at Hyde Park Corner. Again, after this time, not many interesting things to tell you, except that I had no idea you could go in there, and that you should go! Oh and at some point there was a boat trip!
Sunday 2nd April
At The Globe I was distracted from facts by the presence of a very attractive man and wondering whether Fate meant he would somehow notice me pretending I wasn't interested and fall in love with me. This, combined with my general lack of memory for facts, and the fact that it is now December, mean that I have no information to give you about The Globe. But I'd definitely recommend going on a tour! And ours was a super enthusiastic tour guide. So enthusiastic, in fact, that he was a bit annoying at first, but he just kept on being so HIM, and in such a positive, happy manner, that you couldn't but help to warm to HIM. I mean he was obviously a fan. It's a bit like my teaching style sometimes. So he told us lots of interesting things, which was fun, and we saw a sword-fighting workshop thing. THEN we went to the stage and the tour guide (whose name I can't remember, sorry!) managed to do the tour around rehearsals that were going on for some thing. Schools maybe? Joining for some joint...thing? We got to see one of their songs, anyway. Hurrah!
Then it was London Bridge. That was pretty great – greater than you might expect. Just seeing the machinery. And I remember, at the end, seeing something (I can't remember what!!!), and feeling somehow close to the people who made and ran the bridge, all those years ago. Which was nice.
After the Bridge I bought some caramelised nuts. These were DELICIOUS! And I also was able, as amazing tour guide, to give Ana and Gio a fact: Hola, an ex-con who used to know the Kray twins, had told me, while I was ghostwriting for him, that a good way to dispose of guns was to drop them off a bridge into a river. When I asked him surely that was dangerous because people could see and call the police he said no – no-one bothered, and you did it quickly – it was a risk, but you took risks. Besides, he said, the Thames is full of guns. He said the Thames was particularly good because it was a tidal river so sand quickly covered the gun. Off the end of a pier is apparently also good.
At the Tower of London I, sadly, had to renounce my short-lived status as a tour guide. Because I gave a wrong fact: I thought that the Tower of London was where Bloody Mary was held. But apparently that is an urban myth. The horrible actual reason why part of it is called 'The Bloody Tower' is because there were some sons of some king...and there was a takeover...I guess maybe Oliver Cromwell time?...(Google is your friend. It could be my friend, but, you know, it's getting late.) Anyway the takeover thing happened and the two sons went missing, and then, many years later, they found a chest with the bodies of two boys in them. And (I think) the story was that they hadn't been injured.... Ok, going to have to Google this. Hmm. 1483. (Is that the War of Roses?) And maybe they were smothered first. That sounds slightly less horrific than just shut in a chest until they suffocated or starved to death or died of thirst or something.
I loved the Tower of London. Such a beautiful place – it's countryside in the middle of the city. And so many things to see! We saw the Crown Jewels, for example. In another (well done Britain) very efficient conveyor belt style viewing system. It might have actually been a conveyor belt.... While we waited to go in to see them, we saw that one of the guards looked like he was wearing a lot of makeup. Sort of contoured face with paled skin and rouged lips. It's possible he was a woman or, of course, a transvestite. Or, I guess, just concerned about the amount of photographs that were being taken of him.
And this person led to possibly my favourite comic experience of the trip (although, technically, post-trip): I went to see my brother Bob at his work. Near some bridge in London. We were having a drink and I told him about the sighting of this made-up soldier. I think it was just before this (otherwise I was being particularly stupid) that I'd been telling Bob about an unfortunate day I'd had where I basically offended everyone I came into contact with, including my friend Katy, who is a transsexual woman. Anyway Bob then said, “I think they have to live life as a woman for a year.” To which I replied , “What, soldiers?” I was surprised, but then thought that maybe Bob meant that these soldiers, as soldiers of The Queen, had to live a year of their life as a woman to properly understand their charge, The Queen. It still seemed odd, though, and it turned out Bob was talking about transsexuals.
Then I treated Ana and Gio to two very traditional London experiences (possibly not actually at the same time): being wedged on a tube stuck under someone's armpit, and running for the train! Ana gamely ran up up escalators. Gio was eventually persuaded and did very well.
And that evening we went out to a pub with my secondary school friends. Now, remember when you take your Italian friends who are a little (only a little!) older than you to the pub with your secondary school friends...well remember who your secondary school friends are. I mean I think we gave a good example of pub banter. But I really needed a bleeper to censor the language! (And just to mute Jon. Sorry Jon. :) ) It was also funny at the end because Gio was confused when we got a round in and Jon had another beer even though he'd just got one from a previous round. Gio did not realise how quickly Jon drinks beer and, also, you know – he was just lining them up!
Monday 3rd April
The last day – well we only had a morning. And we spent it at Madame Tussauds! Not part of the pass, and another amazing treat for me from my good friends. And I was surprised at how much fun it was seeing and having photographs with copies of celebrities. There was a lot of fun being had by people, doing fake 'killing Trump' poses next to the wax Trump. And I really liked being near fake Gandhi and fake Martin Luther King. But why? They are not the actual people!
I can't tell you why. I'm sorry. It just is!
At Liverpool Street (I think...) we then had delicious Scotch eggs and bangers and mash: English food!!! And it was goodbye. Very sad. There's a lot more of London to explore, Ana and Gio – come again!
They pointed out, as they left, that my pass was still valid for the rest of the day, and my ticket back to Norwich wasn't till...well I think the evening. So I then went to see the Hodgkins exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery. What I noticed here was that the famouser an artist becomes (or, at least that was the case with this one), the less he can be arsed to actually paint, and the less-good his pictures need to be. Still, quite nice.
But what was more fun was going to...St Martins in the Fields Church and getting to do a free brass rubbing. It was so much fun. And the lady who gave me the crayons was dubious about my request for three different colours, but gracefully conceded that I'd done a good job. YAY!
So anyway it was then that I took the tube to see my brother at wherever he works. I had to wait for a bit because I got there quicker than Bob expected. Bob said he'd expected me to just walk. I understood why he'd expect me to walk, as I normally walk everywhere, but THIS IS LONDON! I would have got lost or killed or something.
Still, Bob directed me (walk forward then right then straight) and I DID manage to walk to Liverpool Street from wherever he works. (With energy from some more yummy caramelised bridge-nuts.) I got a bit lost at the end because there was another attractive man, who seemed to be heading to Liverpool Street too, and I didn't want to seem like I was stalking him, so I took a detour and got a bit lots.... But, you know, I got there before my train left.
The end!
Oh, except the following addendum....addenda? Addendae?
Handy Facts About London
A) LOGISTICS
I was surprised by how many of the places were actually very close to each other! Especially around the Portrait Gallery and National Gallery. Very near there are also all the Royal bits – Mews etc. And the Victoria and Albert Museum is near the Science Museum and probably some others...maybe the Natural History Museum. Overground by foot (especially with how the tube map is) is often quicker. And, if you go to see one thing, have a wander round – there's probably another cool thing next door
Kings Cross vs Kings Cross St Pancras and Kings Cross Thameslink. They are different! I've known this for a while, but some people might not know it. It takes time to get between these, and also other lines in other stations e.g.... (For those who know London, I once had 12 minutes to get from Kings Cross to Kings Cross Thameslink. Sprinting all the way down St. Pancras is probably my greatest achievement ever.)
There's some weird thing at King's Cross St Pancras with I think it is the Northern Line not connecting. It looks like it does, but it DOESN'T! (This is probably obvious to anyone with eyes, and Ana quickly sorted out my error, but still, I found it confusing.)
London airports wise, for those who are not British, this is how it works: London Gatwick is NOT in London, London Stansted is NOT in London, London Luton is in LUTON. Heathrow is in London. But still not that close to the fun. I have for many years felt that this is misrepresentation on the part of whoever named those airports, and that some kind of fraud is being committed.
B) NICHE FUN THINGS TO DO AND THINGS TO SAY TO SOUND CLEVER
Bob's protected view thing – apparently there are certain views of London which are protected. Something like you have to be able to always see St Paul's from Hampstead Heath. (Oh, I think we went by St Pauls....)
There's a cool thing which talks about what normal London bus lines to take to see different things. Cheap and cool! (Thanks Cata.)
I remember Em saying to me there was a graffiti tour of part of London. There are probably several.
Daylight Music. I'm not sure where this is, but if you want I can ask Emma. It's a cool church which does live music on Sundays. And tea and cake!
C) FOOD LIST
What do you think when you get asked what the traditional dishes of Great Britain are? If you think, ‘Uhhhh spaghetti carbonara, gnocchi, pizza...toast?’ then this list is for you!
At The Globe I was distracted from facts by the presence of a very attractive man and wondering whether Fate meant he would somehow notice me pretending I wasn't interested and fall in love with me. This, combined with my general lack of memory for facts, and the fact that it is now December, mean that I have no information to give you about The Globe. But I'd definitely recommend going on a tour! And ours was a super enthusiastic tour guide. So enthusiastic, in fact, that he was a bit annoying at first, but he just kept on being so HIM, and in such a positive, happy manner, that you couldn't but help to warm to HIM. I mean he was obviously a fan. It's a bit like my teaching style sometimes. So he told us lots of interesting things, which was fun, and we saw a sword-fighting workshop thing. THEN we went to the stage and the tour guide (whose name I can't remember, sorry!) managed to do the tour around rehearsals that were going on for some thing. Schools maybe? Joining for some joint...thing? We got to see one of their songs, anyway. Hurrah!
Then it was London Bridge. That was pretty great – greater than you might expect. Just seeing the machinery. And I remember, at the end, seeing something (I can't remember what!!!), and feeling somehow close to the people who made and ran the bridge, all those years ago. Which was nice.
After the Bridge I bought some caramelised nuts. These were DELICIOUS! And I also was able, as amazing tour guide, to give Ana and Gio a fact: Hola, an ex-con who used to know the Kray twins, had told me, while I was ghostwriting for him, that a good way to dispose of guns was to drop them off a bridge into a river. When I asked him surely that was dangerous because people could see and call the police he said no – no-one bothered, and you did it quickly – it was a risk, but you took risks. Besides, he said, the Thames is full of guns. He said the Thames was particularly good because it was a tidal river so sand quickly covered the gun. Off the end of a pier is apparently also good.
At the Tower of London I, sadly, had to renounce my short-lived status as a tour guide. Because I gave a wrong fact: I thought that the Tower of London was where Bloody Mary was held. But apparently that is an urban myth. The horrible actual reason why part of it is called 'The Bloody Tower' is because there were some sons of some king...and there was a takeover...I guess maybe Oliver Cromwell time?...(Google is your friend. It could be my friend, but, you know, it's getting late.) Anyway the takeover thing happened and the two sons went missing, and then, many years later, they found a chest with the bodies of two boys in them. And (I think) the story was that they hadn't been injured.... Ok, going to have to Google this. Hmm. 1483. (Is that the War of Roses?) And maybe they were smothered first. That sounds slightly less horrific than just shut in a chest until they suffocated or starved to death or died of thirst or something.
I loved the Tower of London. Such a beautiful place – it's countryside in the middle of the city. And so many things to see! We saw the Crown Jewels, for example. In another (well done Britain) very efficient conveyor belt style viewing system. It might have actually been a conveyor belt.... While we waited to go in to see them, we saw that one of the guards looked like he was wearing a lot of makeup. Sort of contoured face with paled skin and rouged lips. It's possible he was a woman or, of course, a transvestite. Or, I guess, just concerned about the amount of photographs that were being taken of him.
And this person led to possibly my favourite comic experience of the trip (although, technically, post-trip): I went to see my brother Bob at his work. Near some bridge in London. We were having a drink and I told him about the sighting of this made-up soldier. I think it was just before this (otherwise I was being particularly stupid) that I'd been telling Bob about an unfortunate day I'd had where I basically offended everyone I came into contact with, including my friend Katy, who is a transsexual woman. Anyway Bob then said, “I think they have to live life as a woman for a year.” To which I replied , “What, soldiers?” I was surprised, but then thought that maybe Bob meant that these soldiers, as soldiers of The Queen, had to live a year of their life as a woman to properly understand their charge, The Queen. It still seemed odd, though, and it turned out Bob was talking about transsexuals.
Then I treated Ana and Gio to two very traditional London experiences (possibly not actually at the same time): being wedged on a tube stuck under someone's armpit, and running for the train! Ana gamely ran up up escalators. Gio was eventually persuaded and did very well.
And that evening we went out to a pub with my secondary school friends. Now, remember when you take your Italian friends who are a little (only a little!) older than you to the pub with your secondary school friends...well remember who your secondary school friends are. I mean I think we gave a good example of pub banter. But I really needed a bleeper to censor the language! (And just to mute Jon. Sorry Jon. :) ) It was also funny at the end because Gio was confused when we got a round in and Jon had another beer even though he'd just got one from a previous round. Gio did not realise how quickly Jon drinks beer and, also, you know – he was just lining them up!
Monday 3rd April
The last day – well we only had a morning. And we spent it at Madame Tussauds! Not part of the pass, and another amazing treat for me from my good friends. And I was surprised at how much fun it was seeing and having photographs with copies of celebrities. There was a lot of fun being had by people, doing fake 'killing Trump' poses next to the wax Trump. And I really liked being near fake Gandhi and fake Martin Luther King. But why? They are not the actual people!
I can't tell you why. I'm sorry. It just is!
At Liverpool Street (I think...) we then had delicious Scotch eggs and bangers and mash: English food!!! And it was goodbye. Very sad. There's a lot more of London to explore, Ana and Gio – come again!
They pointed out, as they left, that my pass was still valid for the rest of the day, and my ticket back to Norwich wasn't till...well I think the evening. So I then went to see the Hodgkins exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery. What I noticed here was that the famouser an artist becomes (or, at least that was the case with this one), the less he can be arsed to actually paint, and the less-good his pictures need to be. Still, quite nice.
But what was more fun was going to...St Martins in the Fields Church and getting to do a free brass rubbing. It was so much fun. And the lady who gave me the crayons was dubious about my request for three different colours, but gracefully conceded that I'd done a good job. YAY!
So anyway it was then that I took the tube to see my brother at wherever he works. I had to wait for a bit because I got there quicker than Bob expected. Bob said he'd expected me to just walk. I understood why he'd expect me to walk, as I normally walk everywhere, but THIS IS LONDON! I would have got lost or killed or something.
Still, Bob directed me (walk forward then right then straight) and I DID manage to walk to Liverpool Street from wherever he works. (With energy from some more yummy caramelised bridge-nuts.) I got a bit lost at the end because there was another attractive man, who seemed to be heading to Liverpool Street too, and I didn't want to seem like I was stalking him, so I took a detour and got a bit lots.... But, you know, I got there before my train left.
The end!
Oh, except the following addendum....addenda? Addendae?
Handy Facts About London
A) LOGISTICS
I was surprised by how many of the places were actually very close to each other! Especially around the Portrait Gallery and National Gallery. Very near there are also all the Royal bits – Mews etc. And the Victoria and Albert Museum is near the Science Museum and probably some others...maybe the Natural History Museum. Overground by foot (especially with how the tube map is) is often quicker. And, if you go to see one thing, have a wander round – there's probably another cool thing next door
Kings Cross vs Kings Cross St Pancras and Kings Cross Thameslink. They are different! I've known this for a while, but some people might not know it. It takes time to get between these, and also other lines in other stations e.g.... (For those who know London, I once had 12 minutes to get from Kings Cross to Kings Cross Thameslink. Sprinting all the way down St. Pancras is probably my greatest achievement ever.)
There's some weird thing at King's Cross St Pancras with I think it is the Northern Line not connecting. It looks like it does, but it DOESN'T! (This is probably obvious to anyone with eyes, and Ana quickly sorted out my error, but still, I found it confusing.)
London airports wise, for those who are not British, this is how it works: London Gatwick is NOT in London, London Stansted is NOT in London, London Luton is in LUTON. Heathrow is in London. But still not that close to the fun. I have for many years felt that this is misrepresentation on the part of whoever named those airports, and that some kind of fraud is being committed.
B) NICHE FUN THINGS TO DO AND THINGS TO SAY TO SOUND CLEVER
Bob's protected view thing – apparently there are certain views of London which are protected. Something like you have to be able to always see St Paul's from Hampstead Heath. (Oh, I think we went by St Pauls....)
There's a cool thing which talks about what normal London bus lines to take to see different things. Cheap and cool! (Thanks Cata.)
I remember Em saying to me there was a graffiti tour of part of London. There are probably several.
Daylight Music. I'm not sure where this is, but if you want I can ask Emma. It's a cool church which does live music on Sundays. And tea and cake!
C) FOOD LIST
What do you think when you get asked what the traditional dishes of Great Britain are? If you think, ‘Uhhhh spaghetti carbonara, gnocchi, pizza...toast?’ then this list is for you!
- The Cornish pasty – walked past it ‘what’s this?’ Me (thinking, Italian food is far nicer, ‘Oh that’s a Cornish pasty stall.’ ‘Is it traditional?’ Oh yes, it is!! Also FACT: full meal in day and sometimes would have sweet and savoury in one. JAX FACT TIME! (Might be wrong.)
- The pork pie. If you wanted an extra fact you could inform your guests that we often refer to them as 'dirty' pork pies, as in 'I'm going to have a dirty pork pie,' because they are so disgusting. You might want to do this after you've fed them it.
- The Scotch egg. And at Kings Cross on the upper floor there is a nice place – sadly I can't remember its name – that does cool fancy ones.
- Cream tea.
- TEA!
- Ummm haggis?
- Fish and chips.
- Shepherd’s pie? I’m not sure what this is. My mum used to make it for us, but that was a LONG time ago. I think it involves minced lamb or something with mash on top.
- Mum’s genius ideas: English breakfast, cold cuts of meat with horseradish sauce, pickle, cheeses etc.
- Beer.
- Cider.
- Shortbread.
- Bangers and mash. Using the ‘slang’ term of bangers makes this a particularly exciting experience. It was another of my amazing FACTS!
Ireland - in 2016. (Delayed due to internal debate.) With Bob and Tom!
Where? I do not know. Near that island that was in Star Wars.
Day 1: Very early, flying and stuff
This evening, after having previously tried eight times, consecutively (yes, yes we did), to win Pandemic at 'Heroic' (not the absolute hardest, which is 'Legendary'), we managed, on our first go, to succeed in curing all the diseases without...well, you don't need to know the game.... But anyway, this was a massive victory, and led to a 6-way high-five.
Day 1: Very early, flying and stuff
This evening, after having previously tried eight times, consecutively (yes, yes we did), to win Pandemic at 'Heroic' (not the absolute hardest, which is 'Legendary'), we managed, on our first go, to succeed in curing all the diseases without...well, you don't need to know the game.... But anyway, this was a massive victory, and led to a 6-way high-five.
Going back in time, (getting up early)
At the airport, Tom and Bob had arrived earlier than me (due to the parent-lift: Mum and Dad are always super-organised), so were practically at the front of the queue. They somehow then managed to persuade the people behind them to let me jump in front of them. I almost didn't want to do it, though, despite their saying I could. It went against every British bone in my body: this is not how one queues!
Once through, we went to get a bite to eat and a cup of tea, as we'd not get to the house till about 3 (at the earliest). We went to Pret, and I chose a sandwich, a gingerbread man, and then proffered my Mr Happy plastic cup with a lid thing, and asked for an Earl Grey. The lady said something to me as she did the bill, which sounded like, “And you're cup of tea is free/on me,” but I discounted this as crazy-talk, and then had an internal debate of feeling that I really should tell her that she was undercharging me, but I wanted to have the extra money in my purse! Plus what if she actually had for some reason given me a free cup of tea...I certainly didn't want to bring that to the attention of her colleagues/bosses. (Then, later, I remembered they do that in Pret sometimes, so what I should have done was said, “Thank you.” I am racked with guilt over this.)
Day 2: Walking!
We got back in today and Bob went for a shower immediately. We arranged this scheme, where Tom and I would chop, Bob would shower then prepare dinner and Tom would shower, for maximum efficiency as we got back about 8 and wanted FOOOOD! As part of his chopping, Tom gave me the ends of the chorizo – warning me about the metal, because he is a responsible older brother – and my brain's instant reaction on this treat was, “Oh yeah.” It was good.
Oh, I said I would shower before going to be bed, as I like to be clean then, and felt too lazy to do it twice, but that Bob and Tom could send me to get clean if they found I ponged too much. (They did not.)
The highlights of the journey back were our inane ramblings, the repeating of 'Death Cliff' – which we have to pass on the drive to the middle of nowhere, and my verification of my theory that I'd started considering the day before: yes, most shops in Ireland (or at least this part of it) are named after people. I've obviously forgotten the specifics, but along one small part of road there was a (details made up): Patrick's Bar, Sarah's Supermarket, Freddy's Funeral Parlour and Patricia's Whatever Shop. The tea we are drinking is called Barry's Tea. It is very good! So this seems to be a thing. If people have been to other parts of southern Ireland, can you verify?
At the airport, Tom and Bob had arrived earlier than me (due to the parent-lift: Mum and Dad are always super-organised), so were practically at the front of the queue. They somehow then managed to persuade the people behind them to let me jump in front of them. I almost didn't want to do it, though, despite their saying I could. It went against every British bone in my body: this is not how one queues!
Once through, we went to get a bite to eat and a cup of tea, as we'd not get to the house till about 3 (at the earliest). We went to Pret, and I chose a sandwich, a gingerbread man, and then proffered my Mr Happy plastic cup with a lid thing, and asked for an Earl Grey. The lady said something to me as she did the bill, which sounded like, “And you're cup of tea is free/on me,” but I discounted this as crazy-talk, and then had an internal debate of feeling that I really should tell her that she was undercharging me, but I wanted to have the extra money in my purse! Plus what if she actually had for some reason given me a free cup of tea...I certainly didn't want to bring that to the attention of her colleagues/bosses. (Then, later, I remembered they do that in Pret sometimes, so what I should have done was said, “Thank you.” I am racked with guilt over this.)
Day 2: Walking!
We got back in today and Bob went for a shower immediately. We arranged this scheme, where Tom and I would chop, Bob would shower then prepare dinner and Tom would shower, for maximum efficiency as we got back about 8 and wanted FOOOOD! As part of his chopping, Tom gave me the ends of the chorizo – warning me about the metal, because he is a responsible older brother – and my brain's instant reaction on this treat was, “Oh yeah.” It was good.
Oh, I said I would shower before going to be bed, as I like to be clean then, and felt too lazy to do it twice, but that Bob and Tom could send me to get clean if they found I ponged too much. (They did not.)
The highlights of the journey back were our inane ramblings, the repeating of 'Death Cliff' – which we have to pass on the drive to the middle of nowhere, and my verification of my theory that I'd started considering the day before: yes, most shops in Ireland (or at least this part of it) are named after people. I've obviously forgotten the specifics, but along one small part of road there was a (details made up): Patrick's Bar, Sarah's Supermarket, Freddy's Funeral Parlour and Patricia's Whatever Shop. The tea we are drinking is called Barry's Tea. It is very good! So this seems to be a thing. If people have been to other parts of southern Ireland, can you verify?
The journey out was much longer and had some slightly more exciting incidents. We left about 10, and soon after Tom (who is kindly doing the driving) almost mowed down a black and white kitten. It wasn't his fault so much as the kamikaze beast's – it ran out in front of him, he slowed, and then it turned and made for the car's wheels. Tom stopped when he could no longer see the fluffer, and then it trotted away. I think, possibly, it enjoyed the power. This would of course have been inauspicious, but luckily Tom is a good and responsible driver, so all was well.
The other highlight was that, in a brief moment of signal, I texted Mum to check whether I was right the day before that Dad had once accidentally ridden a pig. I was right! Bob and Tom seemed less bothered about my victory than I was – but that's probably because they were the ones who were proved wrong. (We also verified that one year there were some kind of amusing shenanigans where we gave Granny and Granddad 'hardboiled eggs' in bed for breakfast, at Easter, but they were actually CHOCOLATE ones. Hee hee hee! Although I have no memory of this whatsoever. But apparently it happened.)
We did a long windy beautiful scenery drive on the Ring of Fire! Well, it's not actually called that. Ring of Kerry perhaps? It has all these pull over and take photos laybys, which shows good foresight, and reminded me of when Ann and I were driving back from Nick's funeral and came to a crossroads. We wanted to go across, down a single-lane road, but sadly that road went down a beautiful row of trees and such pretty prettiness, so we had to wait at the crossroads until some Japanese tourists finished taking photographs. (They'd just stopped their car in the road, blocking the whole thing – so we waited, and they photographed.) I didn't mind too much – it was so beautiful, and great that they appreciated it. But still, laybys on the Ring of Kerry was a good plan! At one of the stopping places, called 'Ladies Stopping Place' (or something like that), there was an outcrop of rock, a cool tree which Tom climbed, and obviously a view over hills etc. Tom and I stayed on one side of the outcropping, whereas Bob walked all the way round, which he advised us against doing, because there was, in his words, “A steaming pile of poo, with some tissue,” just there, on the other side. Freshly minted, human poo, so we looked around to see if any of the other tourists looked shifty and a lot more comfortable than they had previously. It was weird, though, as there was a sign saying that there was a cafe 100 metres away.
On the first walk, around Muckross House and grounds and a lake, a nature walk with numbered stones that we followed, and interesting comments in Bob's books about nature and history etc. There was a lot of cool stuff on it. In particular, we saw an outcropping of rocks on the edge of the lake, and these were amazing. You could climb under and through (and almost round – Tom tried that) them. Tom did an amazing Gollum impersonation, and I made the comment that the way the water had eroded away the rock looked like the way people used to chip away at flints. Bob then said exactly the same thing, except using the term, 'Flint knappers'.
“I just said that!!!!”
Tom backed me up on that, so that was ok: it was acknowledged that Bob had just copied me.
Earlier, we came to a beach (lake beach). Tom and Bob started skimming stones. Tom asked me if I was going to do this too, and I said I wasn't sure if I could. Tom and Bob then watched an example of my technique, then gave me some skimming lessons. I did one passable one, I think it bounced once, and Tom said, “There you go, just do it a few thousand more times, and you'll get it!” In the end, though, I did it about five or six more times, and got a four-bouncer! (Not loads, but still: mastered. Ha!)
Yes, this is what you are like when you are the youngest sibling. Or maybe it's just me....
Lunch we did in the posh house. Pretty nice food. And I was very careful, and managed not to trip anyone with my walking pole or to drop the tray of tea while carrying the pole. Sort of average price, maybe a tad more expensive, but as we'd been able to park and walk all around the place for free we did not mind!
Walk 2 – we did this in in 1 or 2 hours less than the expected amount. We decided to take the red route, the hard one! This meant many stairs upwards. Bob beasted through them. I stopped...from time to time...feeling a lot like Mum, who tends to trail after us doggedly, and then pause for a halfstep when she reaches us (eventually we wait) – but she can't stop because we've then gone on. Mum, I'm sorry! Tom did keep within ear and chatting shot and gradually stayed closer and closer to me as he I imagine felt I was the one more likely to trip and fall and tumble down the stairs, eventually landing in a jammy mess at the bottom of the mountain/hill. (Why did he do this? Because that's what brothers do! They also, both, frequently asked for knee updates, and I was pleased to report that they were holding up pretty well. The joys of my special knee bandages.) (This walk was to see a waterfall. It was nice. :) )
During this walk to Torc Waterfall (near Muckross House) – details courtesy of the maps Bob and Tom are currently looking at - we did some reminiscing about childhood TV shows. Bob agreed that Andrew Marr does look a bit like Pob. I said that I wanted to be like the witch from Simon and the Witch, but all I and my brothers could remember about her was that she was old, mischievous, and had crazy hair. This evening we've found a photo from the day, though, where I appear to have achieved two out of the three!
This evening we have played Five Tribes: The Djinns of Naqala. A new game to me. It is a good game! It involves collecting things, buying things, doing stuff, and has lots of cool wooden pieces, so I'm a fan. I did not win, but I never expect to. My brain is not a strategising one – it is too lazy. I like to think that if I tried I could be a total battle-winning genius. You never know.
Tom made a comment, which I feel was intended as a message for all my readers - “Socks and sandals are great! There's no shame in it!” (Apparently it's really comfy.)
P.S. On the journey back we got more food and also, importantly, a forest fresh dangly air freshener for the car. Currently it is mainly managing to mask the smell of wee.
P.P.S. Do not open your mouth while spraying yourself with anti-bug spray. (Twice.)
The other highlight was that, in a brief moment of signal, I texted Mum to check whether I was right the day before that Dad had once accidentally ridden a pig. I was right! Bob and Tom seemed less bothered about my victory than I was – but that's probably because they were the ones who were proved wrong. (We also verified that one year there were some kind of amusing shenanigans where we gave Granny and Granddad 'hardboiled eggs' in bed for breakfast, at Easter, but they were actually CHOCOLATE ones. Hee hee hee! Although I have no memory of this whatsoever. But apparently it happened.)
We did a long windy beautiful scenery drive on the Ring of Fire! Well, it's not actually called that. Ring of Kerry perhaps? It has all these pull over and take photos laybys, which shows good foresight, and reminded me of when Ann and I were driving back from Nick's funeral and came to a crossroads. We wanted to go across, down a single-lane road, but sadly that road went down a beautiful row of trees and such pretty prettiness, so we had to wait at the crossroads until some Japanese tourists finished taking photographs. (They'd just stopped their car in the road, blocking the whole thing – so we waited, and they photographed.) I didn't mind too much – it was so beautiful, and great that they appreciated it. But still, laybys on the Ring of Kerry was a good plan! At one of the stopping places, called 'Ladies Stopping Place' (or something like that), there was an outcrop of rock, a cool tree which Tom climbed, and obviously a view over hills etc. Tom and I stayed on one side of the outcropping, whereas Bob walked all the way round, which he advised us against doing, because there was, in his words, “A steaming pile of poo, with some tissue,” just there, on the other side. Freshly minted, human poo, so we looked around to see if any of the other tourists looked shifty and a lot more comfortable than they had previously. It was weird, though, as there was a sign saying that there was a cafe 100 metres away.
On the first walk, around Muckross House and grounds and a lake, a nature walk with numbered stones that we followed, and interesting comments in Bob's books about nature and history etc. There was a lot of cool stuff on it. In particular, we saw an outcropping of rocks on the edge of the lake, and these were amazing. You could climb under and through (and almost round – Tom tried that) them. Tom did an amazing Gollum impersonation, and I made the comment that the way the water had eroded away the rock looked like the way people used to chip away at flints. Bob then said exactly the same thing, except using the term, 'Flint knappers'.
“I just said that!!!!”
Tom backed me up on that, so that was ok: it was acknowledged that Bob had just copied me.
Earlier, we came to a beach (lake beach). Tom and Bob started skimming stones. Tom asked me if I was going to do this too, and I said I wasn't sure if I could. Tom and Bob then watched an example of my technique, then gave me some skimming lessons. I did one passable one, I think it bounced once, and Tom said, “There you go, just do it a few thousand more times, and you'll get it!” In the end, though, I did it about five or six more times, and got a four-bouncer! (Not loads, but still: mastered. Ha!)
Yes, this is what you are like when you are the youngest sibling. Or maybe it's just me....
Lunch we did in the posh house. Pretty nice food. And I was very careful, and managed not to trip anyone with my walking pole or to drop the tray of tea while carrying the pole. Sort of average price, maybe a tad more expensive, but as we'd been able to park and walk all around the place for free we did not mind!
Walk 2 – we did this in in 1 or 2 hours less than the expected amount. We decided to take the red route, the hard one! This meant many stairs upwards. Bob beasted through them. I stopped...from time to time...feeling a lot like Mum, who tends to trail after us doggedly, and then pause for a halfstep when she reaches us (eventually we wait) – but she can't stop because we've then gone on. Mum, I'm sorry! Tom did keep within ear and chatting shot and gradually stayed closer and closer to me as he I imagine felt I was the one more likely to trip and fall and tumble down the stairs, eventually landing in a jammy mess at the bottom of the mountain/hill. (Why did he do this? Because that's what brothers do! They also, both, frequently asked for knee updates, and I was pleased to report that they were holding up pretty well. The joys of my special knee bandages.) (This walk was to see a waterfall. It was nice. :) )
During this walk to Torc Waterfall (near Muckross House) – details courtesy of the maps Bob and Tom are currently looking at - we did some reminiscing about childhood TV shows. Bob agreed that Andrew Marr does look a bit like Pob. I said that I wanted to be like the witch from Simon and the Witch, but all I and my brothers could remember about her was that she was old, mischievous, and had crazy hair. This evening we've found a photo from the day, though, where I appear to have achieved two out of the three!
This evening we have played Five Tribes: The Djinns of Naqala. A new game to me. It is a good game! It involves collecting things, buying things, doing stuff, and has lots of cool wooden pieces, so I'm a fan. I did not win, but I never expect to. My brain is not a strategising one – it is too lazy. I like to think that if I tried I could be a total battle-winning genius. You never know.
Tom made a comment, which I feel was intended as a message for all my readers - “Socks and sandals are great! There's no shame in it!” (Apparently it's really comfy.)
P.S. On the journey back we got more food and also, importantly, a forest fresh dangly air freshener for the car. Currently it is mainly managing to mask the smell of wee.
P.P.S. Do not open your mouth while spraying yourself with anti-bug spray. (Twice.)
Etc.
Dear Readers. I stopped writing this due to a moral dilemma over whether to publicise the motto of our trip, which was WWBBD? (And its meaning.) In the intervening time I have forgotten all but the following key points from the trip:
1. One day we went for a beautiful walk around a coasty bit. There was lots of an orange flower (montbretia?) and a purple flower – so it was very pretty. At one point we were walking down a steepish bit and I fell over, except because of the steepness what essentially happened was I ended up leaning against the path behind me. Bob pushed me upright and asked me what had happened. I wasn't sure. We were trying to follow some big official walk, BUT some evil farmer had put walls and barbed wire in front and around pretty much all of where that walk crossed his land. We tried our best with climbing wire fences etc, but in the end had to just come back the way we came. Sad times.
2. Wee. When we got to the car hire place they said we were lucky – we could have an upgraded car. We didn't really care but obviously said wow, thank you etc. When we got to this car, we were overwhelmed with the stench of wee. We were too polite to complain, so we just drove with the windows and hoped it'd go away. It never faded away. We also found that air fresheners could manfully overcome the wee smell for about 2 hours, but then would succumb to the stench. I think it's possible the car people hated us.
3. One journey we wanted some music but for some reason couldn't/didn't just turn the radio on or play something. Instead we sang intros (and guessed them).
4. One day we went for a long walk on a hot day. A nice farmer offered us a drink in our house, but we were too polite to say yes, even though we were all very thirsty. Besides, that kind of friendliness seemed weird. So instead Bob and I ate as many blackberries as we could find, Tom was a cactus, and we walked as fast as we could. I might have told the farmer that I'd seen an eagle, and he was very excited, not realising that in my vocabulary 'eagle' = 'some kind of bird of prey'. So if you hear a rumour about eagles in that part of Ireland....
5. We watched Constantine. That was good.
6. We played a lot of games and walked a lot because it DIDN'T RAIN! - except a little bit on the last day. I'd had grand plans to write, and in particular work on the ghostwriting I was doing for this ex-con who knew the Kray twins, when it rained. But this didn't happen. (WTF?) So on the last evening I was feeling a bit stressed – I had a lot of work to do. I was also, as always, losing at the games. Bob and Tom noted my increasing crankiness and asked if I wanted to go write for a bit. They are very observant and wise siblings. (I did.)
7. I am sad to report that we think we accidentally cheated at Pandemic, giving ourselves more turns than we should have (or something), so I am going to have to rescind my report of our success at the 'Heroic' level.
(I hope Bob and Tom appreciate all the photos I've just put up of them looking their very finest.)
Dear Readers. I stopped writing this due to a moral dilemma over whether to publicise the motto of our trip, which was WWBBD? (And its meaning.) In the intervening time I have forgotten all but the following key points from the trip:
1. One day we went for a beautiful walk around a coasty bit. There was lots of an orange flower (montbretia?) and a purple flower – so it was very pretty. At one point we were walking down a steepish bit and I fell over, except because of the steepness what essentially happened was I ended up leaning against the path behind me. Bob pushed me upright and asked me what had happened. I wasn't sure. We were trying to follow some big official walk, BUT some evil farmer had put walls and barbed wire in front and around pretty much all of where that walk crossed his land. We tried our best with climbing wire fences etc, but in the end had to just come back the way we came. Sad times.
2. Wee. When we got to the car hire place they said we were lucky – we could have an upgraded car. We didn't really care but obviously said wow, thank you etc. When we got to this car, we were overwhelmed with the stench of wee. We were too polite to complain, so we just drove with the windows and hoped it'd go away. It never faded away. We also found that air fresheners could manfully overcome the wee smell for about 2 hours, but then would succumb to the stench. I think it's possible the car people hated us.
3. One journey we wanted some music but for some reason couldn't/didn't just turn the radio on or play something. Instead we sang intros (and guessed them).
4. One day we went for a long walk on a hot day. A nice farmer offered us a drink in our house, but we were too polite to say yes, even though we were all very thirsty. Besides, that kind of friendliness seemed weird. So instead Bob and I ate as many blackberries as we could find, Tom was a cactus, and we walked as fast as we could. I might have told the farmer that I'd seen an eagle, and he was very excited, not realising that in my vocabulary 'eagle' = 'some kind of bird of prey'. So if you hear a rumour about eagles in that part of Ireland....
5. We watched Constantine. That was good.
6. We played a lot of games and walked a lot because it DIDN'T RAIN! - except a little bit on the last day. I'd had grand plans to write, and in particular work on the ghostwriting I was doing for this ex-con who knew the Kray twins, when it rained. But this didn't happen. (WTF?) So on the last evening I was feeling a bit stressed – I had a lot of work to do. I was also, as always, losing at the games. Bob and Tom noted my increasing crankiness and asked if I wanted to go write for a bit. They are very observant and wise siblings. (I did.)
7. I am sad to report that we think we accidentally cheated at Pandemic, giving ourselves more turns than we should have (or something), so I am going to have to rescind my report of our success at the 'Heroic' level.
(I hope Bob and Tom appreciate all the photos I've just put up of them looking their very finest.)
Holibobs with a Horde of Secondary School Chums
Apparently people shouldn’t say holibobs or ‘sleeps’ as in ‘three sleeps till my holibobs’. This is what I saw on a recent Facebook article. So it is with great shame that I write these words.
(In the Yorkshire Dales)
The Yorkshire Dales are VERY green.
This is my main comment, and the lesson I feel everyone should take from this holiblog.
The green is this. Not almost, not a paler version. THIS:
(In the Yorkshire Dales)
The Yorkshire Dales are VERY green.
This is my main comment, and the lesson I feel everyone should take from this holiblog.
The green is this. Not almost, not a paler version. THIS:
(Minus the droplets.)
Greeeeen.
So the holiday. I have somehow managed to stay in touch with most of my friends from secondary school. This is a very good thing. And not just because they give me lifts places. We started a tradition of going on holiday maybe ten years ago? More? A few people (not many) then had kids and for a while we stopped having the holidays, until we realised that nothing was stopping us going without them. (To be fair to us, we did say they could bring their children along, but that hasn't happened so far.)
Anyway this year Steeley was the one to choose the location and do the organisational stuff – this means set up the Facebook page, find BIG self-catering place to book, get people to actually pay him back, arrange the pre-trip who goes with who and what shall we do meeting.... I mean it’s a pretty good system by now – we’ve had a lot of practice – but I’m sure Steeley would say there’s a fair amount of waiting and the odd bit of chasing to do. Then what we do is people share cars, someone gets the joy of picking me up from Stevenage or possibly some other train station, and we drive up there.
This year, there were some comings and goings, but generally there were 14 of us. Sometimes it was more.
The amazing thing about going on holiday with people you’ve known for years – a LOT of years – is partly the fact you all get along like old feet in old slippers or a teapot in its teacosy or me in my very old boots that I’ve worn in and are now very very comfortable although they did slightly get some cracks in the top which I then covered in rubber which apparently looks a bit like…well let’s say it doesn’t look great. So that’s part of it. The other part is that you revert to your teenaged selves. What do teenaged selves talk about? HILARIOUS things that are NOT witty or intellectual. No, they are crude. I kept trying to write a postcard to my parents including some of the witty banter, but unfortunately it all had to be censored.
Hopefully my mum and dad will not read this (look away parents!) so I will tell you a tiny amount of it: at one point me, Kathy and her boyfriend Chris played an epic game of would you rather. The height of this was the question ‘Would you rather suckle from a cow’s udder or a friend’s breast?’ – the answer all decided on was friend’s breast, but obviously unwillingly. The low point was the fairly obvious what would you rather $£&% - a chicken or a goat? During this discussion we realised that this was a very different issue for a man or a woman. And then, later, when telling my housemate Nicola’s boyfriend Robbie about this, and asking him the same questions, I had the thought that –
Ok, no. I’m stopping there. But he replied that -
No.
Censored.
Other witty banter that is discussable involved the classic moment of a sheep baa-ing, and all fourteen of us replying, in unison, ‘BAA!’, and talk around the concept of Steve’s amazing dishwasher anality. It was useful, yes, but was it, you know, just a bit too anal?
What do fourteen to seventeen people in their 30s do when they are on holiday in the Yorkshire Dales, you might ask?
Well. We like to go for walks – particularly to waterfalls, which Kathy climbs. We like to visit castles – which Kathy climbs. We like to go to ruins – which Kathy climbs. We like to go to towns and amble round going to charity shops or (Eddie) record shops or other money-taking places. On these occasions Kathy does not climb things, but, instead, will often join me and various others for some tea and cake.
In the evenings - on this trip and all the trips – we generally stay in, have a drink or two (for me it’s usually tea, or ONE beer!!!), we might play cards, watch a DVD, chat, chat a bit more, OR, if I’m lucky, I’ll manage to persuade people to play the intros game. This is like Marmite for the group. On this holiday I managed to persuade quite a few people, and it was AMAZING/LIKE TORTURE, depending on which side of the camp you are in. Personally, I LOVE Marmite. The particular benefit of being the quizmaster, playing my very own music, is that when others fail, I (almost*) always know what my own music is.
The two biggest highlights of the trip – other than Bolton Abbey with the cool stepping stones and Bolton Castle with the falconry display and baby owl that did a face-plant, and our cool cabaret evening, and walking over lots of stones through/beside a river to get to the waterfall, and… - well anyway the two BIGGEST highlights were, for me, 1. ROUNDERS, and 2. Bekki, Gitta, Melv and I’s train-fail.
The train-fail was amusing for two reasons. I shouldn’t say that, as now you’ll be disappointed, but you know, I’ve got an ever-expanding space that I can fill with words. We decided to take a steam train from…um let’s say Trainton to Steamville. We had to catch…let’s say the 11.30 train. We were pushed for time. Bekki, Gitta, Melv and I were in the front car. Two other cars after that.
I was in the front seat so had to try to interpret Bekki’s phone-nav, while not vomming (Bekki was driving like a nutter, but it wasn’t that – I’m just a delicate flower, and apparently reading pictures is the same for me as reading words). We arrived in the nick of time, and I shouted, ‘Yay!’, to which the phone replied, ‘I am sorry, I do not know how to help with, ‘Yay’.’ Which was weird, as Bekki didn’t think her phone had voice recognition.
But we had got there in the nick of time. Hurrah! The others, however – where were they?! We whatsapped them saying, 'Where are you?' They said, 'Where are YOU?' After a while I noticed that the sign at the station said Steamville, whereas we were supposed to be starting from Trainton. So what the phone-nav should have said was, ‘It is not appropriate to say ‘Yay’ as I have taken you to the wrong place. Mwah ha ha har.’
So we sent the others a selfie of us in front of the Steamville sign, they stopped holding the train, and we ate our packed lunches until, 20 minutes later, the others appeared.
D’oh.
Ok, then rounders. One evening we decided to play rounders. It was, I believe Gitta’s idea. 8 of us decided to go along, just as the light was starting to fade, to a small park in the village between a sheep field and some other field. Luckily we weren’t very good, but a couple of people had to hop the sheep fence (the side of choice of the right-handedly minded) and retrieve the tennis ball.
Now some of you might be thinking, ‘8 people, is that enough for a game of rounders?’ Well no, it is not. Or, it is, just. As long as the batter (?) runs ALL THE WAY ROUND IN ONE GO. So: batter, bowler, backstop, 3 bases, 2 fielders. And if the person doesn’t run all the way round, then we miss out one or more of the roles (you can have 3 people stuck on bases and 1 batter). This, combined with the fact we were continually having to change roles anyway meant that, well, occasionally people (like me) would be standing at a base ready to try to catch the ball in the fading light, and then suddenly realise that they were actually one of the running people, and have to abandon their ‘catch’ and sprint off!!!
The game was also hindered by trying to catch the ball but having to abort your looking/lining up of your catching hands from time to time to wildly flail at the midges attacking your face.
The final hindrance – for backstops only – was having to dive out of the way whenever I was batting, because when I bat and manage to hit the ball I get SO excited I fling it behind me wildly before running. (Chris, I’m sorry, and I hope you’ve regained your speech and those lost memories….)
After that we played on the swings, slide etc, and I threw the Frisbee into Melv’s head.
YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!
So, that’s enough of that I think. It was an amazing holibobs. I cannot wait till next year.
* Almost? How on earth do I not know some of my own music? HOW? Well, some of it comes from the old days when I used to get people to rip music for me, and others from gifts of music from people trying to encourage within me some kind of music-listening calibre. These are not always named as anything other than ‘Track 3’ when separated from the disk they came on. Don’t worry though, I have grand plans of, one day, showing my MP3 music collection to my brother Tom. And he will then fix it.
P.S. I’ve just seen I made a note saying ‘Me and my pole.’ I bought myself a walking pole to help with my rubbish knees. And I then spent a lot time pole-bombing people’s photographs. Good times.
Greeeeen.
So the holiday. I have somehow managed to stay in touch with most of my friends from secondary school. This is a very good thing. And not just because they give me lifts places. We started a tradition of going on holiday maybe ten years ago? More? A few people (not many) then had kids and for a while we stopped having the holidays, until we realised that nothing was stopping us going without them. (To be fair to us, we did say they could bring their children along, but that hasn't happened so far.)
Anyway this year Steeley was the one to choose the location and do the organisational stuff – this means set up the Facebook page, find BIG self-catering place to book, get people to actually pay him back, arrange the pre-trip who goes with who and what shall we do meeting.... I mean it’s a pretty good system by now – we’ve had a lot of practice – but I’m sure Steeley would say there’s a fair amount of waiting and the odd bit of chasing to do. Then what we do is people share cars, someone gets the joy of picking me up from Stevenage or possibly some other train station, and we drive up there.
This year, there were some comings and goings, but generally there were 14 of us. Sometimes it was more.
The amazing thing about going on holiday with people you’ve known for years – a LOT of years – is partly the fact you all get along like old feet in old slippers or a teapot in its teacosy or me in my very old boots that I’ve worn in and are now very very comfortable although they did slightly get some cracks in the top which I then covered in rubber which apparently looks a bit like…well let’s say it doesn’t look great. So that’s part of it. The other part is that you revert to your teenaged selves. What do teenaged selves talk about? HILARIOUS things that are NOT witty or intellectual. No, they are crude. I kept trying to write a postcard to my parents including some of the witty banter, but unfortunately it all had to be censored.
Hopefully my mum and dad will not read this (look away parents!) so I will tell you a tiny amount of it: at one point me, Kathy and her boyfriend Chris played an epic game of would you rather. The height of this was the question ‘Would you rather suckle from a cow’s udder or a friend’s breast?’ – the answer all decided on was friend’s breast, but obviously unwillingly. The low point was the fairly obvious what would you rather $£&% - a chicken or a goat? During this discussion we realised that this was a very different issue for a man or a woman. And then, later, when telling my housemate Nicola’s boyfriend Robbie about this, and asking him the same questions, I had the thought that –
Ok, no. I’m stopping there. But he replied that -
No.
Censored.
Other witty banter that is discussable involved the classic moment of a sheep baa-ing, and all fourteen of us replying, in unison, ‘BAA!’, and talk around the concept of Steve’s amazing dishwasher anality. It was useful, yes, but was it, you know, just a bit too anal?
What do fourteen to seventeen people in their 30s do when they are on holiday in the Yorkshire Dales, you might ask?
Well. We like to go for walks – particularly to waterfalls, which Kathy climbs. We like to visit castles – which Kathy climbs. We like to go to ruins – which Kathy climbs. We like to go to towns and amble round going to charity shops or (Eddie) record shops or other money-taking places. On these occasions Kathy does not climb things, but, instead, will often join me and various others for some tea and cake.
In the evenings - on this trip and all the trips – we generally stay in, have a drink or two (for me it’s usually tea, or ONE beer!!!), we might play cards, watch a DVD, chat, chat a bit more, OR, if I’m lucky, I’ll manage to persuade people to play the intros game. This is like Marmite for the group. On this holiday I managed to persuade quite a few people, and it was AMAZING/LIKE TORTURE, depending on which side of the camp you are in. Personally, I LOVE Marmite. The particular benefit of being the quizmaster, playing my very own music, is that when others fail, I (almost*) always know what my own music is.
The two biggest highlights of the trip – other than Bolton Abbey with the cool stepping stones and Bolton Castle with the falconry display and baby owl that did a face-plant, and our cool cabaret evening, and walking over lots of stones through/beside a river to get to the waterfall, and… - well anyway the two BIGGEST highlights were, for me, 1. ROUNDERS, and 2. Bekki, Gitta, Melv and I’s train-fail.
The train-fail was amusing for two reasons. I shouldn’t say that, as now you’ll be disappointed, but you know, I’ve got an ever-expanding space that I can fill with words. We decided to take a steam train from…um let’s say Trainton to Steamville. We had to catch…let’s say the 11.30 train. We were pushed for time. Bekki, Gitta, Melv and I were in the front car. Two other cars after that.
I was in the front seat so had to try to interpret Bekki’s phone-nav, while not vomming (Bekki was driving like a nutter, but it wasn’t that – I’m just a delicate flower, and apparently reading pictures is the same for me as reading words). We arrived in the nick of time, and I shouted, ‘Yay!’, to which the phone replied, ‘I am sorry, I do not know how to help with, ‘Yay’.’ Which was weird, as Bekki didn’t think her phone had voice recognition.
But we had got there in the nick of time. Hurrah! The others, however – where were they?! We whatsapped them saying, 'Where are you?' They said, 'Where are YOU?' After a while I noticed that the sign at the station said Steamville, whereas we were supposed to be starting from Trainton. So what the phone-nav should have said was, ‘It is not appropriate to say ‘Yay’ as I have taken you to the wrong place. Mwah ha ha har.’
So we sent the others a selfie of us in front of the Steamville sign, they stopped holding the train, and we ate our packed lunches until, 20 minutes later, the others appeared.
D’oh.
Ok, then rounders. One evening we decided to play rounders. It was, I believe Gitta’s idea. 8 of us decided to go along, just as the light was starting to fade, to a small park in the village between a sheep field and some other field. Luckily we weren’t very good, but a couple of people had to hop the sheep fence (the side of choice of the right-handedly minded) and retrieve the tennis ball.
Now some of you might be thinking, ‘8 people, is that enough for a game of rounders?’ Well no, it is not. Or, it is, just. As long as the batter (?) runs ALL THE WAY ROUND IN ONE GO. So: batter, bowler, backstop, 3 bases, 2 fielders. And if the person doesn’t run all the way round, then we miss out one or more of the roles (you can have 3 people stuck on bases and 1 batter). This, combined with the fact we were continually having to change roles anyway meant that, well, occasionally people (like me) would be standing at a base ready to try to catch the ball in the fading light, and then suddenly realise that they were actually one of the running people, and have to abandon their ‘catch’ and sprint off!!!
The game was also hindered by trying to catch the ball but having to abort your looking/lining up of your catching hands from time to time to wildly flail at the midges attacking your face.
The final hindrance – for backstops only – was having to dive out of the way whenever I was batting, because when I bat and manage to hit the ball I get SO excited I fling it behind me wildly before running. (Chris, I’m sorry, and I hope you’ve regained your speech and those lost memories….)
After that we played on the swings, slide etc, and I threw the Frisbee into Melv’s head.
YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!
So, that’s enough of that I think. It was an amazing holibobs. I cannot wait till next year.
* Almost? How on earth do I not know some of my own music? HOW? Well, some of it comes from the old days when I used to get people to rip music for me, and others from gifts of music from people trying to encourage within me some kind of music-listening calibre. These are not always named as anything other than ‘Track 3’ when separated from the disk they came on. Don’t worry though, I have grand plans of, one day, showing my MP3 music collection to my brother Tom. And he will then fix it.
P.S. I’ve just seen I made a note saying ‘Me and my pole.’ I bought myself a walking pole to help with my rubbish knees. And I then spent a lot time pole-bombing people’s photographs. Good times.
In Addis Ababa with the Tiger Kids and Jo - 2017
Day 1 – Teary at the Taitu
On the plane Jo asked me how I was feeling. I said nervous. She asked why and I said I didn’t know, because everything I imagined happening – obviously with thinking about safety, planning, all of that – was exciting, and good. But we got on that plane and I had to stamp firmly down on the feeling that I wanted to turn around and run back to my Mum and Dad/Norwich. Either would’ve been good. But yeah, mentally I was bracing myself for a month of ‘Just get through this’.
So other stuff from the plane. I made Jo watch Suicide Squad with me, for which I apologise to her. That was not the best. Morgan (Jo’s choice) much better. Then we parted ways – she snoozed/listened to music and I watched Love and Other Drugs. That was pretty good.
We arrived, and my mind wanted to cling to a nice old lady and her husband, who we saw. I was pretending to be an adult on the outside, but inside my mind was a three-year-old running around trying to find some legs to hide behind. I queued the wrong place for the passport for a while until a kind fellow traveller helped me out, but Jo and I made it through VISAs, passport control etc ok. We were a little concerned when we saw the scanner you were supposed to put all of your luggage through before leaving (the airport), aka arriving, but luckily a nice man told us not to worry about that bit of ‘arriving’. How would we have explained the saw?
We waited for a while outside. Yared and Melak had both said they’d meet us, but neither was there. And the number I had for Melak was wrong. We waited and discussed the backup plan of just going to the hotel ourselves and then finding them. I was getting a bit concerned, but then a nice Ethiopian guy who’d been a translator for the BBC when they came out here to do a documentary started chatting to me. That was nice! Jo noticed some beautiful birds, and all three of us chatted, and then Yared appeared!!! He’d found us.
And then, with the sight of that face – my friend (even if I’d shouted at him once two years ago) – all my fear went away. I was returning to see my friends. And it continued – we ate breakfast and Yared called over Amani, a Tiger Kid I remembered: we started spreading the word of our return. Then Jo and I went up to the Taitu to chill and have cups of tea, and we ran into all the other hustlers, many of whom I recognised. Like Jay-z! (He commiserated with me over the death of George Michael, while Jo tried not to laugh at our terrible musical taste.) So, so good to see them! And Tensaye walked by and said hi – he was on his way to work. Then, in the evening, Melak and Yared met us for dinner. It turns out Melak had come to meet us too, but an hour late. And Yared’s phone is broken, so he hadn’t been able to call Melak. (And the number I had for him was wrong.) So he’d waited for ages. So sorry Melak! But we had dinner and then drinks at Big Tree, and chatted to the manager.
Oh, but before that, while at the Taitu, I was drawing and this man sitting next to me asked if my native language was English. I said it was, and Jo (my eternal supporter, thank you!) added that I was actually an English teacher. He asked if I could help him check two documents he was writing. Mulugetu (I think – must check the spelling) was his name. He was working on a fundraising document to go to stakeholders. The aim is to make a museum about Haile Selassie in his birth town (and much more). I learnt so many interesting things about Haile Selassie. He loved animals, for example, and had two dogs...so many things. Now the document was seven pages long, and I get a bit OCD about these things, so after half an hour, Jo said she’d meet me back at the hotel. I did start to lose the will to live a little bit by the end (as I hadn’t slept in about 36 hours), but it was really interesting, and he was so great to talk to. And, guess what – he’s also really kind. Genuinely so. He is happy to help us – he said as much as he can – with the kids. So on Monday he’s coming along and is going to translate for us, which should be useful. (Very useful.) Yes, I know, I’m an English teacher, I should be able to do this.... But I don’t even always make sense to native speakers....
On the plane Jo asked me how I was feeling. I said nervous. She asked why and I said I didn’t know, because everything I imagined happening – obviously with thinking about safety, planning, all of that – was exciting, and good. But we got on that plane and I had to stamp firmly down on the feeling that I wanted to turn around and run back to my Mum and Dad/Norwich. Either would’ve been good. But yeah, mentally I was bracing myself for a month of ‘Just get through this’.
So other stuff from the plane. I made Jo watch Suicide Squad with me, for which I apologise to her. That was not the best. Morgan (Jo’s choice) much better. Then we parted ways – she snoozed/listened to music and I watched Love and Other Drugs. That was pretty good.
We arrived, and my mind wanted to cling to a nice old lady and her husband, who we saw. I was pretending to be an adult on the outside, but inside my mind was a three-year-old running around trying to find some legs to hide behind. I queued the wrong place for the passport for a while until a kind fellow traveller helped me out, but Jo and I made it through VISAs, passport control etc ok. We were a little concerned when we saw the scanner you were supposed to put all of your luggage through before leaving (the airport), aka arriving, but luckily a nice man told us not to worry about that bit of ‘arriving’. How would we have explained the saw?
We waited for a while outside. Yared and Melak had both said they’d meet us, but neither was there. And the number I had for Melak was wrong. We waited and discussed the backup plan of just going to the hotel ourselves and then finding them. I was getting a bit concerned, but then a nice Ethiopian guy who’d been a translator for the BBC when they came out here to do a documentary started chatting to me. That was nice! Jo noticed some beautiful birds, and all three of us chatted, and then Yared appeared!!! He’d found us.
And then, with the sight of that face – my friend (even if I’d shouted at him once two years ago) – all my fear went away. I was returning to see my friends. And it continued – we ate breakfast and Yared called over Amani, a Tiger Kid I remembered: we started spreading the word of our return. Then Jo and I went up to the Taitu to chill and have cups of tea, and we ran into all the other hustlers, many of whom I recognised. Like Jay-z! (He commiserated with me over the death of George Michael, while Jo tried not to laugh at our terrible musical taste.) So, so good to see them! And Tensaye walked by and said hi – he was on his way to work. Then, in the evening, Melak and Yared met us for dinner. It turns out Melak had come to meet us too, but an hour late. And Yared’s phone is broken, so he hadn’t been able to call Melak. (And the number I had for him was wrong.) So he’d waited for ages. So sorry Melak! But we had dinner and then drinks at Big Tree, and chatted to the manager.
Oh, but before that, while at the Taitu, I was drawing and this man sitting next to me asked if my native language was English. I said it was, and Jo (my eternal supporter, thank you!) added that I was actually an English teacher. He asked if I could help him check two documents he was writing. Mulugetu (I think – must check the spelling) was his name. He was working on a fundraising document to go to stakeholders. The aim is to make a museum about Haile Selassie in his birth town (and much more). I learnt so many interesting things about Haile Selassie. He loved animals, for example, and had two dogs...so many things. Now the document was seven pages long, and I get a bit OCD about these things, so after half an hour, Jo said she’d meet me back at the hotel. I did start to lose the will to live a little bit by the end (as I hadn’t slept in about 36 hours), but it was really interesting, and he was so great to talk to. And, guess what – he’s also really kind. Genuinely so. He is happy to help us – he said as much as he can – with the kids. So on Monday he’s coming along and is going to translate for us, which should be useful. (Very useful.) Yes, I know, I’m an English teacher, I should be able to do this.... But I don’t even always make sense to native speakers....
Day 2 – Buttloads of shopping (do not talk to me about cash machines)
Lappy is now fixed! I brought him out here to finish a novel I’ve been working on for years. I wasn’t too optimistic about this happening in the first place, but when I tried to type and about a third of the keys didn’t work...well. Yeah. Melak, the legend, offered to lend me his laptop, and that was my backup, but Plan A was try to get Lappy fixed.
I suspected biscuits in the keyboard. And dust. Turns out it was a buttload of hair. Well, and some dust. But yes, my shedding knows no bounds. How is it that I am not bald? Sadly this did not fix Lappy, but Jo came up with the genius idea of an external keyboard. (You may find this a theme of the blog: Jo has fixed it! Oh dear. That phrase is too similar to another one, isn’t it.)
We were meant to meet up with Yared and Melak. Melak appeared and we weren’t quite ready (Jo was still out for the count), and I was meeting Jay-z (a friend from two years ago) at 1 at KGs, so I suggested we all meet at one there. Melak went to tell Yared, but apparently didn’t find him. Yared came to us for 1 (an hour after we’d planned) and we were gone already. All a mess. Luckily Jay-z and his friend Jakob were somehow happy to spend their whole day helping us go shopping. Such great guys. We got hammers, nails, coffee to sell at Natural East (which was The People Tree), stationery for the kids. I had to go to the cash machine quite a lot. This made me feel a bit scared again, but I kept reminding myself – the donations, it’s all from the wonderful donations. And it’s not even masses of money considering! And all things we needed. You need scissors and Pritt sticks! (I hadn’t asked for those as donations.)
Oh, I’m writing this from the next day and the talk of stationery reminds me of my foolish error today (Thursday) – I left the wipeboard with its markers in the room unguarded. Came back to find kids drawing all over it. That was ok. Then, next time I looked, those kids, and all but one of the pens, was gone. It was then I remembered that the same thing had happened the last time I was here. For some reason those pens are like crack to the kids. Can you sniff them? I don’t know. Luckily, however, my subconscious/lazy self had left two wipeboard markers in my handbag (a late packing addition), so I have three. Hurrah!
Lappy is now fixed! I brought him out here to finish a novel I’ve been working on for years. I wasn’t too optimistic about this happening in the first place, but when I tried to type and about a third of the keys didn’t work...well. Yeah. Melak, the legend, offered to lend me his laptop, and that was my backup, but Plan A was try to get Lappy fixed.
I suspected biscuits in the keyboard. And dust. Turns out it was a buttload of hair. Well, and some dust. But yes, my shedding knows no bounds. How is it that I am not bald? Sadly this did not fix Lappy, but Jo came up with the genius idea of an external keyboard. (You may find this a theme of the blog: Jo has fixed it! Oh dear. That phrase is too similar to another one, isn’t it.)
We were meant to meet up with Yared and Melak. Melak appeared and we weren’t quite ready (Jo was still out for the count), and I was meeting Jay-z (a friend from two years ago) at 1 at KGs, so I suggested we all meet at one there. Melak went to tell Yared, but apparently didn’t find him. Yared came to us for 1 (an hour after we’d planned) and we were gone already. All a mess. Luckily Jay-z and his friend Jakob were somehow happy to spend their whole day helping us go shopping. Such great guys. We got hammers, nails, coffee to sell at Natural East (which was The People Tree), stationery for the kids. I had to go to the cash machine quite a lot. This made me feel a bit scared again, but I kept reminding myself – the donations, it’s all from the wonderful donations. And it’s not even masses of money considering! And all things we needed. You need scissors and Pritt sticks! (I hadn’t asked for those as donations.)
Oh, I’m writing this from the next day and the talk of stationery reminds me of my foolish error today (Thursday) – I left the wipeboard with its markers in the room unguarded. Came back to find kids drawing all over it. That was ok. Then, next time I looked, those kids, and all but one of the pens, was gone. It was then I remembered that the same thing had happened the last time I was here. For some reason those pens are like crack to the kids. Can you sniff them? I don’t know. Luckily, however, my subconscious/lazy self had left two wipeboard markers in my handbag (a late packing addition), so I have three. Hurrah!
Day 3 – First Day with the Kids!
I have to start today with the most amazing news: I can wear my unicorn socks more than once before washing them! This is not because of their unicornness, but just because Jo doesn’t mind the smell and does the same herself, so YAY! I can have say 6 days straight of unicorn socks, rather than just 3. Or 9? How far shall I push it? Ooooh. (Jo says for more than a week is ok! Hurrah!)
I am also gradually learning, with the support of Jo, the wonder of telling people what you want and then not having to do things you don’t want to do. And by this I don’t mean constantly telling people, ‘I want to do this, I want to do that.’ No, my key skill that I am working on is when people ask me if I want to do something or not, actually saying if I don’t want to do it. I’m not there yet, but luckily Jo is a patient teacher.
So today began and ended with the most amazing food. Breakfast was spritz at the smoothie place. And wasp-free. I’d raved about them to Jo so was a bit worried I’d over-sold them, but this it turns out is not possible. So we had the smoothies you have to eat with a spoon (which will stand up in the ‘drink’). Stripy, with an avocado layer, a banana layer I think, something red, something yellow – all fresh fruit and delicious! Then we went and had something called full/fool. Do not ask me what was in it, all I can remember is it was so good. Hmmm, wait, bread with various yummy goos like a beany one and a Quorny-one. Then, in the evening, we requested a properly local place from Yared – because of wanting to taste new things, and for cheapness. He took us...somewhere...and we’ve just had the best injera with meat stuff and spices I’ve had so far. Can it get better? I will keep you posted.
Anyway, the in the middle bit of the day involved the Tiger Kids: it was our first day. Jo is a genius for planning – her extra pair of eyes making my complex plan last night much simpler. Then the kids arrived and...we winged it! I mean we followed the plan roughly. Roughly.
They arrived, we fed them, and I brought round a bag for the rubbish and the kids went, ‘Oh, sorry!’ And I said, ‘That’s ok, I hadn’t shown you it was there.’ No English, or almost no English, or minimal English. But they were trying to talk to me, and loads of faces I recognised. A lot of questions about where was Cathy, which I tried not to take too personally J We had intended to do more structured card-making, but in the end we let it be mainly free-for-all. And they really enjoyed it. In fact, at the beginning when I was trying to roughly say the things we were thinking of doing, one of the kids said, ‘Don’t worry, whatever you do, we are happy.’ Such nice boys. And there was one girl, but she didn’t stay for the crafts.
Tomorrow we are going to show them as they come in the planned activities for later, to tempt more to stay. We said to the kids, like we did two years ago (or we tried to say) for them to make it for someone they wanted to say thank you to. I wasn’t sure how much this had come across, then, at the end, Jo and I were presented with a couple of cards, plus loads for Cathy!
Tadesse (one of the Tadesses – not the one with the wonky eye...I mean...the one with the handmade tattoo), stayed behind at the end. He was amazing, cleaning with Yared’s son (who is four). The two of them were utter legends. Then Tadesse, through Yared, said he wanted to go home, but didn’t have the money to get to his parents. It would cost he thought about 450 birr for the bus (it’s a long way). Could I help? I said I didn’t think so unfortunately – we can’t afford that for every child. And he said that was ok, he understood. But it would be so wonderful to reunite him with his family. Jo has come up with what we hope is a solution – we are going to do postcard making for them to sell. We are thinking of saying to him that he should sell as many as he can, and we will match whatever he is able to make by the end of the month. Hopefully that will at least get him close to going home. It really was so amazing, though, the way he said he understood – so mature, and selfless, and kind to us.
(On the other hand Samson arrived too late for food and was complaining a lot. In the end I gave him a small amount of money to buy some food. One day only. I shouldn’t ‘ve rewarded his behaviour, but tomorrow we have paid extra – luckily we can thanks to all our amazing donors – for 30, not 20 meals. So if he’s too late for those, after being told to come earlier, then tough! – P.S. Samson, for those who have seen the film the kids made two years ago, is Santa.)
(And on the other other hand, Yared thinks Tadesse was trying it on.)
Final footnote for today – another example of amazingness. Mulu rang me (the man who I’d helped on the first day with his 7 page document). He said where was I – he was at the Taitu. I had a momentary panic and thought he’d misunderstood my message saying could he come help us at 12.30 on Monday. But his English was brilliant.... But no, it wasn’t this. He’d come (his friend driving him) to bring us a phone to use in Ethiopia, complete with sim with some credit on it. So now Jo and I have a phone each, which means we can be in separate places, then call each other and arrange to meet somewhere – you know, all of that stuff that happened once mobile phones appeared in the UK. Thank you Mulu!!!!
I have to start today with the most amazing news: I can wear my unicorn socks more than once before washing them! This is not because of their unicornness, but just because Jo doesn’t mind the smell and does the same herself, so YAY! I can have say 6 days straight of unicorn socks, rather than just 3. Or 9? How far shall I push it? Ooooh. (Jo says for more than a week is ok! Hurrah!)
I am also gradually learning, with the support of Jo, the wonder of telling people what you want and then not having to do things you don’t want to do. And by this I don’t mean constantly telling people, ‘I want to do this, I want to do that.’ No, my key skill that I am working on is when people ask me if I want to do something or not, actually saying if I don’t want to do it. I’m not there yet, but luckily Jo is a patient teacher.
So today began and ended with the most amazing food. Breakfast was spritz at the smoothie place. And wasp-free. I’d raved about them to Jo so was a bit worried I’d over-sold them, but this it turns out is not possible. So we had the smoothies you have to eat with a spoon (which will stand up in the ‘drink’). Stripy, with an avocado layer, a banana layer I think, something red, something yellow – all fresh fruit and delicious! Then we went and had something called full/fool. Do not ask me what was in it, all I can remember is it was so good. Hmmm, wait, bread with various yummy goos like a beany one and a Quorny-one. Then, in the evening, we requested a properly local place from Yared – because of wanting to taste new things, and for cheapness. He took us...somewhere...and we’ve just had the best injera with meat stuff and spices I’ve had so far. Can it get better? I will keep you posted.
Anyway, the in the middle bit of the day involved the Tiger Kids: it was our first day. Jo is a genius for planning – her extra pair of eyes making my complex plan last night much simpler. Then the kids arrived and...we winged it! I mean we followed the plan roughly. Roughly.
They arrived, we fed them, and I brought round a bag for the rubbish and the kids went, ‘Oh, sorry!’ And I said, ‘That’s ok, I hadn’t shown you it was there.’ No English, or almost no English, or minimal English. But they were trying to talk to me, and loads of faces I recognised. A lot of questions about where was Cathy, which I tried not to take too personally J We had intended to do more structured card-making, but in the end we let it be mainly free-for-all. And they really enjoyed it. In fact, at the beginning when I was trying to roughly say the things we were thinking of doing, one of the kids said, ‘Don’t worry, whatever you do, we are happy.’ Such nice boys. And there was one girl, but she didn’t stay for the crafts.
Tomorrow we are going to show them as they come in the planned activities for later, to tempt more to stay. We said to the kids, like we did two years ago (or we tried to say) for them to make it for someone they wanted to say thank you to. I wasn’t sure how much this had come across, then, at the end, Jo and I were presented with a couple of cards, plus loads for Cathy!
Tadesse (one of the Tadesses – not the one with the wonky eye...I mean...the one with the handmade tattoo), stayed behind at the end. He was amazing, cleaning with Yared’s son (who is four). The two of them were utter legends. Then Tadesse, through Yared, said he wanted to go home, but didn’t have the money to get to his parents. It would cost he thought about 450 birr for the bus (it’s a long way). Could I help? I said I didn’t think so unfortunately – we can’t afford that for every child. And he said that was ok, he understood. But it would be so wonderful to reunite him with his family. Jo has come up with what we hope is a solution – we are going to do postcard making for them to sell. We are thinking of saying to him that he should sell as many as he can, and we will match whatever he is able to make by the end of the month. Hopefully that will at least get him close to going home. It really was so amazing, though, the way he said he understood – so mature, and selfless, and kind to us.
(On the other hand Samson arrived too late for food and was complaining a lot. In the end I gave him a small amount of money to buy some food. One day only. I shouldn’t ‘ve rewarded his behaviour, but tomorrow we have paid extra – luckily we can thanks to all our amazing donors – for 30, not 20 meals. So if he’s too late for those, after being told to come earlier, then tough! – P.S. Samson, for those who have seen the film the kids made two years ago, is Santa.)
(And on the other other hand, Yared thinks Tadesse was trying it on.)
Final footnote for today – another example of amazingness. Mulu rang me (the man who I’d helped on the first day with his 7 page document). He said where was I – he was at the Taitu. I had a momentary panic and thought he’d misunderstood my message saying could he come help us at 12.30 on Monday. But his English was brilliant.... But no, it wasn’t this. He’d come (his friend driving him) to bring us a phone to use in Ethiopia, complete with sim with some credit on it. So now Jo and I have a phone each, which means we can be in separate places, then call each other and arrange to meet somewhere – you know, all of that stuff that happened once mobile phones appeared in the UK. Thank you Mulu!!!!
Day 4 – Making Christmas Decorations and Crackers
My friend Shirley and I spent New Year’s Eve making templates of...things...for the kids. She has a die-cutter, and it was a great way of making enough duplicates of things for all the Tiger Kids to have a go, and making these templates made things a bit easier. Thank you Shirley! – if you notice that one of her arms – her ‘winding’ arm – is more butch than the other, that is because of us.
So the kids arrived – well over 30. We handed out the food, and then, with those who stayed (quite a few), we showed them the plans for the day. We had these ‘plans’ stuck up on the wall to show them as they came in: snowflake making, shiny star decoration making, Christmas cracker making, and colouring of nativity and snowflake decorations.
Jo and I demonstrated the making of each of these things, and received a lovely round of applause at the end of each example. It was lovely. Then we brought out the boxes and went round supporting those who needed supporting, and revelling in what they were doing. A fair few added their own spins to what we were doing – just being creative with the decorations, which was fantastic. At the end I asked Dowit 2 to be lead stick-er-upper of everything that had been made, which he did brilliantly.
A final sidenote – I saw Tensaye today, after work, and he said that one of the kids had brought him a Christmas card, to thank him for the work he’s been doing with the Circus school. So, he said, he knew we must have started teaching already. We’re going to catch up with him soon and see if he might be able to help us do a little circus skills day with the kids one day. (And then we can face paint the kids!)
My friend Shirley and I spent New Year’s Eve making templates of...things...for the kids. She has a die-cutter, and it was a great way of making enough duplicates of things for all the Tiger Kids to have a go, and making these templates made things a bit easier. Thank you Shirley! – if you notice that one of her arms – her ‘winding’ arm – is more butch than the other, that is because of us.
So the kids arrived – well over 30. We handed out the food, and then, with those who stayed (quite a few), we showed them the plans for the day. We had these ‘plans’ stuck up on the wall to show them as they came in: snowflake making, shiny star decoration making, Christmas cracker making, and colouring of nativity and snowflake decorations.
Jo and I demonstrated the making of each of these things, and received a lovely round of applause at the end of each example. It was lovely. Then we brought out the boxes and went round supporting those who needed supporting, and revelling in what they were doing. A fair few added their own spins to what we were doing – just being creative with the decorations, which was fantastic. At the end I asked Dowit 2 to be lead stick-er-upper of everything that had been made, which he did brilliantly.
A final sidenote – I saw Tensaye today, after work, and he said that one of the kids had brought him a Christmas card, to thank him for the work he’s been doing with the Circus school. So, he said, he knew we must have started teaching already. We’re going to catch up with him soon and see if he might be able to help us do a little circus skills day with the kids one day. (And then we can face paint the kids!)
Day 5 – Christmas!
Today was Christmas party day. We planned food, clothing gifts, Christmas hats, pull the crackers, and dance to some music. That was the aim.... And Yared’s sister saved the day for us here. She’s amazing! I’d failed to remember to bring a multi-plug adapter, and the night before I remembered that I needed two plugs, one for the laptop and one for the speakers.
Now Lappy (my laptop) has been having some issues since his major operation. He can type, which is good, but DVDs are a bit skippy, and when playing music he can only take it for so long before switching off. I’m guessing it’s an overheating issue. Anyway the kids did at least, thanks to Yared’s sister, get about half an hour of music before it died. They were ‘playing DJ’ – trying to find a song they knew, listening to one for about ten seconds before moving on, so I can understand why Lappy gave up. They were great though – at one point they asked me about removing the memory stick which I had the music on and I freaked out a bit, remembering two years ago when my MP3 player went AWOL: if you’re playing music off it you can tell it’s still there. But then I was quickly reassured that it was just to change to some other music, and so I took out the memory stick. (Sadly Lappy then died.) I felt bad for acting so suspiciously, but they were really nice about it.
They also queued up pretty well to be given the cardboard Christmas hats that Shirley had cut out and I had decorated with a strip of glitter. Very unusual – and especially when they were so hyped up with the excitement of Christmas. They did bundle Jo when she brought out sweets, but she took them straight away, and we said no, no sweets, unless they behaved. A little later we made sure they were all sitting down properly, and we gave them out and these gifts were received in the appropriate manner :)
Speaking of gifts – we gave out the hats, scarves and gloves. There were enough for the kids to choose either a hat, pair of gloves or scarves. Oh, and there were some socks too! Jo had sorted these into two boxes – one of hats, scarves and socks for her to dole out, and one of gloves for me. We began this process, and Jo was very good at it. She had the box under her arm and was handing them out and said she noticed a couple of hands reaching into the back of the box, out of the corner of her eye, but generally it was quite calm. I wasn’t sure how to hold my box, was trying to sort this out, and then the box collapsed. All the gloves fell onto the ground and boom! They were grabbed by hands that know freezing – and Christmas Eve had been freezing. Well, that was one way to do it.... We did a bit of negotiating: trying to get those who’d taken more than one thing (someone) to share, but otherwise it went fairly well, considering.
After most of the kids had left, Tadesse (with the wonky eye) managed, with the help of a friend, to ask if a few of them could stay and do some colouring. This they did, and it was peaceful at last.
Now, our lady had made us forty meals today, because we’d run out AGAIN the day before. However, because it was Christmas everyone around was in a generous mood, so the kids were less hungry than usual, and we actually had a fair bit left over! – but don’t worry, we took it round and gave it out to homeless people at the end of the session.
Later, Jo and I were at the Taitu. She was writing and I was drawing. A lovely local kid came up and asked what I was drawing. Unfortunately what I was drawing was a person surrounded by massive hornets. He wasn’t sure how to respond to this, but did ask to see the rest of my book. Sadly the rest of my sketch book was fairly dark too – dying man, girl (cartoon) who gets kidnapped.... Mental note: do some ‘nice’ drawings and leave them in the sketch pad for times like this.
Today was Christmas party day. We planned food, clothing gifts, Christmas hats, pull the crackers, and dance to some music. That was the aim.... And Yared’s sister saved the day for us here. She’s amazing! I’d failed to remember to bring a multi-plug adapter, and the night before I remembered that I needed two plugs, one for the laptop and one for the speakers.
Now Lappy (my laptop) has been having some issues since his major operation. He can type, which is good, but DVDs are a bit skippy, and when playing music he can only take it for so long before switching off. I’m guessing it’s an overheating issue. Anyway the kids did at least, thanks to Yared’s sister, get about half an hour of music before it died. They were ‘playing DJ’ – trying to find a song they knew, listening to one for about ten seconds before moving on, so I can understand why Lappy gave up. They were great though – at one point they asked me about removing the memory stick which I had the music on and I freaked out a bit, remembering two years ago when my MP3 player went AWOL: if you’re playing music off it you can tell it’s still there. But then I was quickly reassured that it was just to change to some other music, and so I took out the memory stick. (Sadly Lappy then died.) I felt bad for acting so suspiciously, but they were really nice about it.
They also queued up pretty well to be given the cardboard Christmas hats that Shirley had cut out and I had decorated with a strip of glitter. Very unusual – and especially when they were so hyped up with the excitement of Christmas. They did bundle Jo when she brought out sweets, but she took them straight away, and we said no, no sweets, unless they behaved. A little later we made sure they were all sitting down properly, and we gave them out and these gifts were received in the appropriate manner :)
Speaking of gifts – we gave out the hats, scarves and gloves. There were enough for the kids to choose either a hat, pair of gloves or scarves. Oh, and there were some socks too! Jo had sorted these into two boxes – one of hats, scarves and socks for her to dole out, and one of gloves for me. We began this process, and Jo was very good at it. She had the box under her arm and was handing them out and said she noticed a couple of hands reaching into the back of the box, out of the corner of her eye, but generally it was quite calm. I wasn’t sure how to hold my box, was trying to sort this out, and then the box collapsed. All the gloves fell onto the ground and boom! They were grabbed by hands that know freezing – and Christmas Eve had been freezing. Well, that was one way to do it.... We did a bit of negotiating: trying to get those who’d taken more than one thing (someone) to share, but otherwise it went fairly well, considering.
After most of the kids had left, Tadesse (with the wonky eye) managed, with the help of a friend, to ask if a few of them could stay and do some colouring. This they did, and it was peaceful at last.
Now, our lady had made us forty meals today, because we’d run out AGAIN the day before. However, because it was Christmas everyone around was in a generous mood, so the kids were less hungry than usual, and we actually had a fair bit left over! – but don’t worry, we took it round and gave it out to homeless people at the end of the session.
Later, Jo and I were at the Taitu. She was writing and I was drawing. A lovely local kid came up and asked what I was drawing. Unfortunately what I was drawing was a person surrounded by massive hornets. He wasn’t sure how to respond to this, but did ask to see the rest of my book. Sadly the rest of my sketch book was fairly dark too – dying man, girl (cartoon) who gets kidnapped.... Mental note: do some ‘nice’ drawings and leave them in the sketch pad for times like this.
Day 6 – Accidental feeding of the kids, and...you know when Monica in Friends gets corn rows?
So, today Yared took Jo and I up to Mtoto (I must check the spelling of that), from which trip came this: ‘That donkey needs a sandwich’ – for which I award myself quote of the day. (Jo said it didn’t look too well, and, well basically I agreed.)
Before that...well Christmas Eve I had two beers and spent the night dancing away with Melak’s friend Solomon (CHECK!). Great fun, and he was such a good dancer that he managed to make me look not terrible or, at least, to not feel like a total knob. He worked out that the best thing to do was to hold my hands and move them around for me, like I was a puppet. This was good, as his skill became my skill. Hurrah! The next morning we got up in a very leisurely manner, and went down to Pizza Napoli for the same yummy breakfast thing we had on the first day, and couldn’t have it because it was five minutes past twelve. Sad times. But we adjusted, and ordered a tuna pizza and two teas. Apparently at Christmas people drink restaurants dry of caffeinated beverages. So we adjusted again and changed our tea to water. An hour later we’d almost finished our water, and wondered where the pizza was. I went in to check and yes, we’d managed to confused him, and no pizza had been ordered. This was quickly whipped up for us, and just as Yared arrived, so did our breakfast/lunch.
Yared asked us to eat quickly – why? We’d said to a few of the kids the day before to come back on MONDAY, but with kids leaving at all sorts of times, we hadn’t covered them all. So a group of them had turned up and woken poor Yared asking them for food. Luckily there had also been a miscommunication with the cooking lady, and she’d prepared the food. So Yared had handed out some of the food, but other kids had stayed so he’d come to get us, because they wanted to say hi. We said hi, handed out more of the food, and the kids left. D’oh.
Anyway, then we went and paid the lady for the next two days’ worth of food. (This time we are going for 35 meals...hopefully that’ll be the right number.) And then me, Jo and Yared took a whole load of minibuses up the mountain – Yared leading the way of course.
What happened up the mountain? Well, we sat and looked at lovely views and breathed in the fresh air. A load of kids came and hung around, and two of them particularly enjoyed playing with and stroking Jo and I’s hair. Then Yared got one of the mothers to do half a head of braids for each of us. Ow! But really fun.
So, reaction to our new hair dos? Tally chart as of this evening: two unasked for compliments, and one car that slowed down beside me, a window opened, and I heard hysterical laughter. I can’t quite tell sarcasm yet, so the compliments might not have been actual compliments for Jo and I’s hair. But then, on the other hand, the laughter could have been coincidental.... They really hurt when the lady put them in. Ok, I’m a baby, but they DID hurt! And now they’re so tight that I think they are contributing to my current headache. I’m going to have to spend the rest of the trip dosed up on painkillers, I think.
But then Yared and his sister had us over for dinner – amazing stuff as always. Injera and tibs and...stuff... . You know, meat, lovely spices. And ribs. I tried to eat a rib and Yared had to swiftly reach for a bib for me. And Jo looked a little bit 28 Days Later by the end of it. And then we watched a movie – Stay Cool. All in all, an amazing day!
So, today Yared took Jo and I up to Mtoto (I must check the spelling of that), from which trip came this: ‘That donkey needs a sandwich’ – for which I award myself quote of the day. (Jo said it didn’t look too well, and, well basically I agreed.)
Before that...well Christmas Eve I had two beers and spent the night dancing away with Melak’s friend Solomon (CHECK!). Great fun, and he was such a good dancer that he managed to make me look not terrible or, at least, to not feel like a total knob. He worked out that the best thing to do was to hold my hands and move them around for me, like I was a puppet. This was good, as his skill became my skill. Hurrah! The next morning we got up in a very leisurely manner, and went down to Pizza Napoli for the same yummy breakfast thing we had on the first day, and couldn’t have it because it was five minutes past twelve. Sad times. But we adjusted, and ordered a tuna pizza and two teas. Apparently at Christmas people drink restaurants dry of caffeinated beverages. So we adjusted again and changed our tea to water. An hour later we’d almost finished our water, and wondered where the pizza was. I went in to check and yes, we’d managed to confused him, and no pizza had been ordered. This was quickly whipped up for us, and just as Yared arrived, so did our breakfast/lunch.
Yared asked us to eat quickly – why? We’d said to a few of the kids the day before to come back on MONDAY, but with kids leaving at all sorts of times, we hadn’t covered them all. So a group of them had turned up and woken poor Yared asking them for food. Luckily there had also been a miscommunication with the cooking lady, and she’d prepared the food. So Yared had handed out some of the food, but other kids had stayed so he’d come to get us, because they wanted to say hi. We said hi, handed out more of the food, and the kids left. D’oh.
Anyway, then we went and paid the lady for the next two days’ worth of food. (This time we are going for 35 meals...hopefully that’ll be the right number.) And then me, Jo and Yared took a whole load of minibuses up the mountain – Yared leading the way of course.
What happened up the mountain? Well, we sat and looked at lovely views and breathed in the fresh air. A load of kids came and hung around, and two of them particularly enjoyed playing with and stroking Jo and I’s hair. Then Yared got one of the mothers to do half a head of braids for each of us. Ow! But really fun.
So, reaction to our new hair dos? Tally chart as of this evening: two unasked for compliments, and one car that slowed down beside me, a window opened, and I heard hysterical laughter. I can’t quite tell sarcasm yet, so the compliments might not have been actual compliments for Jo and I’s hair. But then, on the other hand, the laughter could have been coincidental.... They really hurt when the lady put them in. Ok, I’m a baby, but they DID hurt! And now they’re so tight that I think they are contributing to my current headache. I’m going to have to spend the rest of the trip dosed up on painkillers, I think.
But then Yared and his sister had us over for dinner – amazing stuff as always. Injera and tibs and...stuff... . You know, meat, lovely spices. And ribs. I tried to eat a rib and Yared had to swiftly reach for a bib for me. And Jo looked a little bit 28 Days Later by the end of it. And then we watched a movie – Stay Cool. All in all, an amazing day!
Day 7 – A bit of English
The alphabet. Most already knew it, some didn’t know it at all. And of those who know it not all will speak up. I can already feel those English teachers I know beginning to go urrrrrrggghhh. Basically I’d come up with a plan, with Jo writing letters and me drilling them etc. We get there and Mulu, who came along and was helping us with translating, went through the kids and asked how much education they’d had. Most already knew the alphabet, and he said they’d get bored/frustrated. Fair enough. The teacher in me was quickly thinking and trying to change tack, and so was Jo. It’s difficult working these things out in two seconds with no time to conflab. ‘Uh, just one second guys, amuse yourselves quietly, while Jo and I have a re-think.’ That would have gone down well. Although, admittedly, it was an option. Anyway I said let’s quickly test you, and Jo started writing letters and kids were shouting them out. But then, Jo noticed that some kids on her side of the room were wanting time to write things down (like I said, VERY mixed ability). My side were a bit quicker, but some still wanted to copy down the letters, and luckily Jo had prepared big examples of the letters, so we ended up splitting, and roughly following each other. It might actually be a good way to work in the future – split the group in two.
It went fairly well really – the kids were engaged, and we managed I think to roughly balance going slow enough for those less able with going fast enough to stop the more educated ones getting bored, but the teacher in me, used to being the only one there, and being in control, might have had a little talk with Jo and asked if in the future she could be a little bit more like Debbie McGee when I’m teaching. Jo, being the legend that she is, took my feedback very well, and I will say that the next day, she was the perfect Debbie. And I was a pretty good Paul Daniels!
At the beginning of the session we’d, with Mulu’s help, explained about the postcards and the bracelet making (we’re not saying about the woodwork just yet – still trying to work out the logistics), and they were very excited and pleased, and we got many thanks, and a round of applause or two.
Then, Mulu and I went to go try to get some medicine for Nathanel. Because…he has scabies! Ick. I remember when we were at the Jungle, there was a pile of clothes, and some refugees started rooting through it, and the long-term volunteers were really worried, because those clothes might have been dumped there because they had those little parasites in them. Nathanel wanted medicine to reduce the itching, and so me, him and Mulu went out to get some. Sadly the local pharmacy was closed for a stock take. The minibuses were all full, so we walked for about half an hour to the next one. This one (unlike the local one) wouldn’t give out the medicine without a prescription. There was another one, but it was way over the other side of town. So we gave up – poor Nathanel would have to itch for another day.
The alphabet. Most already knew it, some didn’t know it at all. And of those who know it not all will speak up. I can already feel those English teachers I know beginning to go urrrrrrggghhh. Basically I’d come up with a plan, with Jo writing letters and me drilling them etc. We get there and Mulu, who came along and was helping us with translating, went through the kids and asked how much education they’d had. Most already knew the alphabet, and he said they’d get bored/frustrated. Fair enough. The teacher in me was quickly thinking and trying to change tack, and so was Jo. It’s difficult working these things out in two seconds with no time to conflab. ‘Uh, just one second guys, amuse yourselves quietly, while Jo and I have a re-think.’ That would have gone down well. Although, admittedly, it was an option. Anyway I said let’s quickly test you, and Jo started writing letters and kids were shouting them out. But then, Jo noticed that some kids on her side of the room were wanting time to write things down (like I said, VERY mixed ability). My side were a bit quicker, but some still wanted to copy down the letters, and luckily Jo had prepared big examples of the letters, so we ended up splitting, and roughly following each other. It might actually be a good way to work in the future – split the group in two.
It went fairly well really – the kids were engaged, and we managed I think to roughly balance going slow enough for those less able with going fast enough to stop the more educated ones getting bored, but the teacher in me, used to being the only one there, and being in control, might have had a little talk with Jo and asked if in the future she could be a little bit more like Debbie McGee when I’m teaching. Jo, being the legend that she is, took my feedback very well, and I will say that the next day, she was the perfect Debbie. And I was a pretty good Paul Daniels!
At the beginning of the session we’d, with Mulu’s help, explained about the postcards and the bracelet making (we’re not saying about the woodwork just yet – still trying to work out the logistics), and they were very excited and pleased, and we got many thanks, and a round of applause or two.
Then, Mulu and I went to go try to get some medicine for Nathanel. Because…he has scabies! Ick. I remember when we were at the Jungle, there was a pile of clothes, and some refugees started rooting through it, and the long-term volunteers were really worried, because those clothes might have been dumped there because they had those little parasites in them. Nathanel wanted medicine to reduce the itching, and so me, him and Mulu went out to get some. Sadly the local pharmacy was closed for a stock take. The minibuses were all full, so we walked for about half an hour to the next one. This one (unlike the local one) wouldn’t give out the medicine without a prescription. There was another one, but it was way over the other side of town. So we gave up – poor Nathanel would have to itch for another day.
Day 8 – Stamping postcards!
The English went brilliantly today, I thought. And Jo/Debbie was amazing, the perfect support. (Wait, am I getting a bit bra-like in my descriptions….) I demonstrated ‘on’ ‘under’ etc. Then, with Jo, I demonstrated THE GAME. What is the game? One boy sits, blindfolded – I should say that while I keep saying ‘kids’, because they are the Tiger Kids, they are currently almost all teenagers – and someone places a tambourine, very quietly, either in front, behind, or next to them, and either under or on a little stool. The blindfolded child asks where the tambourine is, and the rest of the class answers. Great fun!
So, after that, Jo started them on postcards. A great, creative session for them. We had mentioned in the explanation them being able to sell these to tourists. Then (after this session) we realised we could sell them in The People Tree, if they are good enough…plus I still need a few postcards! It was a little difficult making sure the kids only decorated ONE side, but there were a few really nice ones made, and the kids had a great time. (We didn’t finish till four this day – most left after the English, but that lasted until three I think!)
One very able and nice kid, Asmamu, who is so patient at my crapness at remembering his name, collected up all the alphabet letters and very carefully put them back in the box. Earlier he and Jo had had a secret project, with her helping him with some spelling…and then he presented me with his postcard, and on the back he’d stamped Jax, Love, Sister. And then I got him to stamp his name on it too, which he spelt Aswamw, but my memory is that there is an ‘oo’ sound at the end. It’s difficult though – different sounds in the words, so we are often only approximating what we think we heard them say!
After that, I left Jo sorting the pens and books (there is a continual struggle to reattach lids to the continually dwindling supply of pens – just a smidge of theft going on with the kids…) and Mulu and I went out to try to get the medicine: attempt number two. I’d said to Nathanel I’d find him later and bring him the medicine. I got to Mulu and got into his car, and he said, ‘Where’s Nathanel?’ Oh dear. I had been a fool! I think I’d thought Mulu might not want someone with scabies in his car…. Right, I said, ‘I know where he’ll be, let’s get him.’ So we drove up the hill, and I jumped out of the car while he drove round the block (no parking where the kids were hanging out), and I went to find Nathanel…he wasn’t there. Mesfin helpfully told me he’d gone to…some other part of town, I can’t remember which! (Mesfin is one of the long-serving kids, and is awesome.) This was a shame, however in doing this I saw that the local pharmacy was now open. So we went there!
What did the pharmacist say? He knew about Nathanel, having given him the medicine before. It’s nice and cheap there, because these government subsidised places buy cheap imitation medicines. I kind of agreed with Mulu, there, that this was a good kind of illegality, because it meant people could afford the medicine.... Obviously I don’t know the full ins and outs of it. So anyway, the pharmacist gave the medicine, but said that the problem was in the clothes, and because of hygiene, sleeping closely etc. He said it’d just come back unless we got him new clothes, and he had a shower, and then put the medicine on. So this is what we are going (and luckily able) to do.
Then, when I came back in the evening, Jo said to me that while she’d been tidying, a couple of the kids – I think one was Asmamu – had come back with some stamps, and an ink pad, that had been stolen. So amazing. And that is what Mulu had been saying to me, when he was talking. He said that he had found it revelatory helping with the kids the day before. He’d expected them to be rough, rude, maybe even violent. He said he felt guilty, that most Ethiopian people ignored these kids. I said the same is true, often, in England with homeless adults – I do it myself some times. Most of the time, actually. He said he had been astounded by their behaviour, and had found it really interesting getting to know them. And, most importantly, he had been wanting to say to the kids, ‘If you don’t behave, you can’t come.’ I’d done my usual wishy-washy trying to steer him away from that. Luckily he then said the same thing to Jo, who very clearly said no, that is not how we work. And that, he said, was his key lesson, and how he was trying to behave now: with universal, unconditional love for them.
Now as usual I have my mini personal triumphs while out here. Washing my clothes in the sink (thanks for the plug, Tom!) and hanging them out to dry, sewing up the hole in the side of my cropped trouser things, and the MASSIVE hole in the armpit of my pyjama t-shirt (I did consider going for just tearing that arm bit off)…. Oh, and a pretty big chunk of wax has released itself from my ear – that was exciting!
P.S. Obviously the minute ‘scabies’ was mentioned, I started itching. But touch wood I think we are so far flea-free.
The English went brilliantly today, I thought. And Jo/Debbie was amazing, the perfect support. (Wait, am I getting a bit bra-like in my descriptions….) I demonstrated ‘on’ ‘under’ etc. Then, with Jo, I demonstrated THE GAME. What is the game? One boy sits, blindfolded – I should say that while I keep saying ‘kids’, because they are the Tiger Kids, they are currently almost all teenagers – and someone places a tambourine, very quietly, either in front, behind, or next to them, and either under or on a little stool. The blindfolded child asks where the tambourine is, and the rest of the class answers. Great fun!
So, after that, Jo started them on postcards. A great, creative session for them. We had mentioned in the explanation them being able to sell these to tourists. Then (after this session) we realised we could sell them in The People Tree, if they are good enough…plus I still need a few postcards! It was a little difficult making sure the kids only decorated ONE side, but there were a few really nice ones made, and the kids had a great time. (We didn’t finish till four this day – most left after the English, but that lasted until three I think!)
One very able and nice kid, Asmamu, who is so patient at my crapness at remembering his name, collected up all the alphabet letters and very carefully put them back in the box. Earlier he and Jo had had a secret project, with her helping him with some spelling…and then he presented me with his postcard, and on the back he’d stamped Jax, Love, Sister. And then I got him to stamp his name on it too, which he spelt Aswamw, but my memory is that there is an ‘oo’ sound at the end. It’s difficult though – different sounds in the words, so we are often only approximating what we think we heard them say!
After that, I left Jo sorting the pens and books (there is a continual struggle to reattach lids to the continually dwindling supply of pens – just a smidge of theft going on with the kids…) and Mulu and I went out to try to get the medicine: attempt number two. I’d said to Nathanel I’d find him later and bring him the medicine. I got to Mulu and got into his car, and he said, ‘Where’s Nathanel?’ Oh dear. I had been a fool! I think I’d thought Mulu might not want someone with scabies in his car…. Right, I said, ‘I know where he’ll be, let’s get him.’ So we drove up the hill, and I jumped out of the car while he drove round the block (no parking where the kids were hanging out), and I went to find Nathanel…he wasn’t there. Mesfin helpfully told me he’d gone to…some other part of town, I can’t remember which! (Mesfin is one of the long-serving kids, and is awesome.) This was a shame, however in doing this I saw that the local pharmacy was now open. So we went there!
What did the pharmacist say? He knew about Nathanel, having given him the medicine before. It’s nice and cheap there, because these government subsidised places buy cheap imitation medicines. I kind of agreed with Mulu, there, that this was a good kind of illegality, because it meant people could afford the medicine.... Obviously I don’t know the full ins and outs of it. So anyway, the pharmacist gave the medicine, but said that the problem was in the clothes, and because of hygiene, sleeping closely etc. He said it’d just come back unless we got him new clothes, and he had a shower, and then put the medicine on. So this is what we are going (and luckily able) to do.
Then, when I came back in the evening, Jo said to me that while she’d been tidying, a couple of the kids – I think one was Asmamu – had come back with some stamps, and an ink pad, that had been stolen. So amazing. And that is what Mulu had been saying to me, when he was talking. He said that he had found it revelatory helping with the kids the day before. He’d expected them to be rough, rude, maybe even violent. He said he felt guilty, that most Ethiopian people ignored these kids. I said the same is true, often, in England with homeless adults – I do it myself some times. Most of the time, actually. He said he had been astounded by their behaviour, and had found it really interesting getting to know them. And, most importantly, he had been wanting to say to the kids, ‘If you don’t behave, you can’t come.’ I’d done my usual wishy-washy trying to steer him away from that. Luckily he then said the same thing to Jo, who very clearly said no, that is not how we work. And that, he said, was his key lesson, and how he was trying to behave now: with universal, unconditional love for them.
Now as usual I have my mini personal triumphs while out here. Washing my clothes in the sink (thanks for the plug, Tom!) and hanging them out to dry, sewing up the hole in the side of my cropped trouser things, and the MASSIVE hole in the armpit of my pyjama t-shirt (I did consider going for just tearing that arm bit off)…. Oh, and a pretty big chunk of wax has released itself from my ear – that was exciting!
P.S. Obviously the minute ‘scabies’ was mentioned, I started itching. But touch wood I think we are so far flea-free.
Day 9 – I didn’t teach body parts
Last night Jo got back late after a few beers, and I then kept her awake with a lot of snoring (my throat’s a bit sore. Not too bad, but I’m pretty phlegmy.). This meant that getting up in the morning was difficult. We didn’t have loads to prepare, though, so we didn’t rush too much. We got there a bit later than we’d intended, but still for 12.45 (start time is 1pm).
We’d forgotten that the Tiger Kids don’t have watches.
Also, Yared’s front door currently doesn’t lock.
We opened the door to a room full of Tiger Kids! And they were all sitting calmly and quietly. A little piled up, as usual, but perfectly calm. They asked where we’d been, and we apologised for our lateness (while still explaining we technically weren’t late…. Just not that early!)
So we handed out the food, and there was the usual discussion about it – people had asked for a change, and someone had requested pasta, so we’d gone for that. Obviously, though, not everyone likes the same thing…. So sadly with 40 different opinions on what makes a nice meal, there were still unhappy people. But not that unhappy.
I then attempted to teach body parts, but I didn’t really have the energy for it (was feeling a bit homesick too – sad times!), plus these kids weren’t necessarily in the mood. Still, we went through some, and there were some kids diligently writing everything down. We then had a very quick game of Twister (or a version I’d made up of it) where I told Tadesse to put his hand on Melasse’s nose, Melasse to put his foot behind Tadesse’s knee, and so on. That was pretty funny.
We then moved onto more postcard making. Getting everyone to listen wasn’t really on the cards today, and there was no Yared or Melak or Mulu to help with translating, but we managed to roughly explain that they were to make 1 card each, we’d take those home to sell in Norwich, and we would pay them five birr for each acceptable card. With the mess in the room, and lack of tables, it was pretty difficult for the Tiger Kids to keep their cards clean unfortunately. We still bought cards – and some my friends will have the pleasure of receiving – but tomorrow we’re going to clean and then gaffa tape down the lino, and then, after the food (and the kids swept and tidied up!) we can maybe wipe the floor down, or we can use some of the big sheets of pink and green paper as things for the kids to rest on. The thing is, a small room, no tables…there were quite a few postcards that fell to footprints! We’ll see what we can do.
Anyway, Jo then went out on a mission with Yared and Nathanel to buy clothes. They’re almost there with that now. And Jo also got more medicine, and some better medicine for Nathanel, thanks to a really nice pharmacist. So hopefully he will be better at least for a while – but with the kids having to sleep close together for warmth, reinfection is likely. It’s difficult.
I, in the meantime, spent several hours tidying. Sorting pen lids. Lifting up sofas and finding a few rogue pens and pencils, which was good! And sticking things more nicely onto the wall, including pictures which the kids have drawn (they love drawing). I’m making a collage wall. Now the walls are so dirty, and the tape and masking tape I got is a bit rubbish, so it won’t stay up forever…but then maybe Yared will prefer that J Actually, he has always kept up almost all of the kids’ artwork – thanks Yared! Jo came back and I showed her and she said that that made sense – I was homesick, so I was nesting. She’s very wise!
Anyway, I’m going to post this now, and try to put up some pictures. Ciao! (I keep trying to talk to people in Italian…but then there are some crossovers, because of the invasion….)
Last night Jo got back late after a few beers, and I then kept her awake with a lot of snoring (my throat’s a bit sore. Not too bad, but I’m pretty phlegmy.). This meant that getting up in the morning was difficult. We didn’t have loads to prepare, though, so we didn’t rush too much. We got there a bit later than we’d intended, but still for 12.45 (start time is 1pm).
We’d forgotten that the Tiger Kids don’t have watches.
Also, Yared’s front door currently doesn’t lock.
We opened the door to a room full of Tiger Kids! And they were all sitting calmly and quietly. A little piled up, as usual, but perfectly calm. They asked where we’d been, and we apologised for our lateness (while still explaining we technically weren’t late…. Just not that early!)
So we handed out the food, and there was the usual discussion about it – people had asked for a change, and someone had requested pasta, so we’d gone for that. Obviously, though, not everyone likes the same thing…. So sadly with 40 different opinions on what makes a nice meal, there were still unhappy people. But not that unhappy.
I then attempted to teach body parts, but I didn’t really have the energy for it (was feeling a bit homesick too – sad times!), plus these kids weren’t necessarily in the mood. Still, we went through some, and there were some kids diligently writing everything down. We then had a very quick game of Twister (or a version I’d made up of it) where I told Tadesse to put his hand on Melasse’s nose, Melasse to put his foot behind Tadesse’s knee, and so on. That was pretty funny.
We then moved onto more postcard making. Getting everyone to listen wasn’t really on the cards today, and there was no Yared or Melak or Mulu to help with translating, but we managed to roughly explain that they were to make 1 card each, we’d take those home to sell in Norwich, and we would pay them five birr for each acceptable card. With the mess in the room, and lack of tables, it was pretty difficult for the Tiger Kids to keep their cards clean unfortunately. We still bought cards – and some my friends will have the pleasure of receiving – but tomorrow we’re going to clean and then gaffa tape down the lino, and then, after the food (and the kids swept and tidied up!) we can maybe wipe the floor down, or we can use some of the big sheets of pink and green paper as things for the kids to rest on. The thing is, a small room, no tables…there were quite a few postcards that fell to footprints! We’ll see what we can do.
Anyway, Jo then went out on a mission with Yared and Nathanel to buy clothes. They’re almost there with that now. And Jo also got more medicine, and some better medicine for Nathanel, thanks to a really nice pharmacist. So hopefully he will be better at least for a while – but with the kids having to sleep close together for warmth, reinfection is likely. It’s difficult.
I, in the meantime, spent several hours tidying. Sorting pen lids. Lifting up sofas and finding a few rogue pens and pencils, which was good! And sticking things more nicely onto the wall, including pictures which the kids have drawn (they love drawing). I’m making a collage wall. Now the walls are so dirty, and the tape and masking tape I got is a bit rubbish, so it won’t stay up forever…but then maybe Yared will prefer that J Actually, he has always kept up almost all of the kids’ artwork – thanks Yared! Jo came back and I showed her and she said that that made sense – I was homesick, so I was nesting. She’s very wise!
Anyway, I’m going to post this now, and try to put up some pictures. Ciao! (I keep trying to talk to people in Italian…but then there are some crossovers, because of the invasion….)
Day…um…it’s Wednesday, Week 3 (and some backtracking)
So I’ve been silent for a while. My sincere apologies for this. When I took off the memory stick (I wear it from my neck – attached to the necklace Melak gave me two years ago) to put into the computer for working on this blog, I had a horrible feeling I hadn’t written anything since the day we went to Mtoto, but it turns out I have done some stuff, so that is good.
Why was I reminded of that day, when I took off the necklace? Because it’d got a bit tangled with another necklace, and I remembered that Mtoto day was after the night of dancing, at the end of which my necklaces were so tangled that Jo had to release me from them.
And speaking of escapes and Mtoto, my hair has never been a fan of hairdos. When we used to try to curl it and put mousse and all that stuff before going out, it’d always be flat in about 5 minutes. So guess how long it took my hair to escape from the very tight braids? About 4 days. I didn’t brush them out or anything. My hair just escaped!
What’s been happening the last few days then?
Hmmm.
Well the official WordUp Addis blog will say more that is of use. Mostly I have been ill and feeling very sorry for myself! I can’t remember exactly when or how it started…oh wait, I can. I can’t remember what had happened during the day, but Yared took Jo and I to a local restaurant that did lovely lentil goo to go on the endemic injera. I didn’t feel great already then, and had been pretty snotty the couple of days before, but after that I went home early (Yared was very concerned about me – he kept pulling Jo’s arm saying, ‘We need to leave now, leave now’) and then…well let’s just say it was a combination of a stomach bug and a headcold. It wasn’t terrible (not what I call exploding bum syndrome), but my body was definitely rejecting any sustenance that came its way.
The next day I was considering coming to help Jo with the football, but she (wisely) decided it was best I stay home and rest. The thing that clinched it for me was the point that there was unlikely to be a toilet near the football field. I went home for a nap, then crawled up the hill and attempted some food: the lovely vegan buffet at the Taitu which has what I’d been craving for ages – vegetables and salad, and without loads of spicy dressing. Just plain. Plain. No added flavour. YUM. In terms of the continuation of the illness, Mulu rang and I told him I was ill and he immediately went and bought me some medicine which perked me up considerably, and on Sunday, our day off, I happily ambled around reading books in various places, checking email etc. It is possible that I may have read in the sun for several hours and got an amazing burn (that two days later still caused tourists to go, ‘Whoa’ in shock when I showed them) on the left side of my neck and top of my left arm, but generally I was happy, and excited that the opportunities that the world provided: food, tea, work, sleep etc. Jo and I had a lovely time (part of my burning-time) planning a way to make a mini news-show with the kids, about everything they’d been doing.
And after that, what happened? Was I well? No I was not. The first symptom of this was on Monday, when I ended up shouting at a homeless lady who didn’t take no as an answer about food. (I was trying to save it for the kids.) And yes, I know I am going to hell. In fact, she had a young baby, so I think the lowest circle is reserved for me. And part of that was the stress of continually having people demanding demanding demanding stuff from you. And I say demanding because no is not an answer that is accepted. At least not until you’ve said it at least 10 time times and then ended up walking away clenching your fist. Obviously this is because of the desperation these people feel, and the fact that white people are viewed (probably not unreasonably) as endless reservoirs of gold ducats. But it still gets annoying. Not an excuse, obviously. And nor is the fact that I think my illness was affecting my temper control…..
Oh, wait, no, the FIRST sign of my returning illness was Sunday evening, when Jay-Z started demanding a copper bracelet from Jo. It had been offered at one point, true, but…well, backstory: Jay-Z had got drunk after spending the day helping Jo and I go shopping (and he and Jakob were very helpful) and then come and given us a big, interminable, whiney speech about how it wasn’t about the money for him etc…and then, in the evening, walked me home to ‘keep me safe’ and then asked to ‘borrow’ 200 birr to get a taxi home. Some sob story about not wanting to crash at a friends’, living the other side of town, and the (2-6 birr rather than 200birr) local taxis stopping after a certain time – probably true. Well in the end I caved and ‘lent’ it to him. Sort of seeing it as a payment for his help of the day, because he had helped us ALL day. But anyway he took the money and did he go home? No. He went straight back to the bar. THEN the next day I asked him if he got home ok, and he said yes, and no mention of returning the money he had ‘borrowed’. After his big speech, this all seemed a bit rich. Fair enough we recompense him for hours of work, but be straight about it! So fast forward a week or so, and he comes up and starts saying, ‘Hey, where’s my bracelet you promised me?’ and I told him I thought it was disgusting to be demanding bracelets from my friend when he owed me 200 birr. He went away with his tail between his legs. Now, I’m not normally that honest….
Right, so that was the first sign of the illness returning. Shouting at the poor lady (who will I meet in Hell I wonder) was the second. My special Mulu medicine had run out. The next morning Jo could tell I wasn’t feeling good, and tactfully asked whether I didn’t want the stress of teaching today, and asked how I was feeling…and in the end persuaded me home for a nap. First I had to get out a load of cash for Yared and Melak, who were amazing and spent the morning buying clothes for the Tiger Kids using some of the donation money. Then I went to sleep. AND, except for the occasional dash to the toilet, that was my yesterday morning and afternoon. In the evening I bravely took Jo to meet Melak by ‘the post office’ – figuring five minutes away from the toilet was probably ok – and it turned out to be the wrong post office…. We ended up finding the right one, and had a good explore, but basically it was about two hours or so before we returned. My bum managed to cope, but I decided not to eat till breakfast just in case.
So that’s the illness. Status update is that today breakfast and dinner are still within me. HURRAH! I think the main thing that happened, besides the second day of sleep, was that Jo managed to get me to agree to see the doctor this afternoon if I wasn’t considerably better. Well I wasn’t having that, was I. SO I GOT BETTER.
Well, almost. Well enough to help hand out the clothes. And I arrived just before Jo (who was picking up the metal work stuff just in case) today, to a room FULL of kids. Half an hour early, but they knew that today was clothes day. And so many of them asked how my throat was, and how I was feeling! Yes, it was a bit grabby and quite difficult at times handing out the clothes, but considering their real need for the clothes, and the conflicting systems that Jo and I were using versus Yared’s, they were really quite good. Some adult homeless people kept coming in and trying to get clothes. I said it was lijoch only – children only – and they pointed out some of our Tiger Kids who are probably a tad over 18, and I could see where they were coming from, but these guys had come regularly to the lessons etc, and were younger than these guys, plus we just had to narrow it down somehow. I think as it was, some of the children had their clothes taken off them by bigger kids. If the clothes are small enough, then there’s no point, but unfortunately there is nothing we can really do about this. Everyone is so desperate. Any suggestions are welcome though!
I saw another example of this side of living on the streets today – this darker side that we don’t really see much of. When I came in, Nathanel (who had had the scabies, and we’d reclothed him and got him medicine) took me and showed me his friend Abukeye. The left side of his face was quite badly cut, and Nathanel said yes, he was a bit dizzy too. Lots of blood on his clothes. I said we’d take him to the doctor afterwards. Naty then spoke to Jo, and asked her for 200 birr for a taxi to the doctor and to pay the doctor (he obviously didn’t want to wait, understandably). I said no because, somewhat suspiciously, I was worried they might have been exaggerating the amount of money that they needed. So, after the clothes, Mulu, who had arrived towards the end because all the roads were closed for Timket, and I went with Naty and Abukeye to the hospital. There I felt initially vindicated because it was 50 birr to ‘go to the doctor’. We sat and waited while the doctor saw Abukeye, and then the doctor came out and said that he had wanted to stich the wound on the face, but Abukeye had said no. And the doctor thought this was ok – he said, ‘He’s young, he will heal.’ He had dressed the wound, and prescribed some medicine to prevent infection. We then went out and there was another bill. The first had been for ‘registering’. The second was for the treatment. This was 300 birr: about ten pounds. Not horrendous obviously. My first thought was thank God I’d gone with them, as they wouldn’t’ve had enough. The second was guilt at my mistrust. Naty, on the other hand, immediately looked horrified. He said he was sorry, he hadn’t known it would be so much. That someone had paid for him to get HIV testing and he hadn’t thought it had been that much. I told him not to worry at all – this was important, and this was what our fundraising was for. Abukeye was quite quiet the whole time – probably still in shock – but at the end, after we’d bought the medicine too, and I’d given Abukeye 10 birr to get some food, as Naty said he hadn’t eaten earlier (just been lying in the corner on the sofa I guess) they both said thank you.
Now as a dilemma: Naty, while we were waiting for Abukeye to be treated, told us more about what had happened (with Mulu’s translating help). Earlier he had said that someone had bottled Abu. Now he explained that a rival gang had attacked Abu – that Abu had been alone and the rest of them hadn’t been around to protect him. He then said, ‘But don’t worry, we are going to get them back.’ I immediately said, ‘No! Fighting leads to more fighting, and more….’ Naty wasn’t upset with me, but he just stayed said, ‘We have to.’ And they do. It was a fight over territory, and territory is all they have. Plus, if someone in their gang can be attacked without fear of reprisal…. I should have suggested the police, but out here, they’re not going to do anything except attack all of the street children with batons. It’s scary though, thinking this way: that I couldn’t argue, persuasively, against violence. 'We have to.'
A list of other things that have happened; an amazing body-parts Twister game, culminating in four of the older boys collapsing in a heap; a ‘family tree’ lesson which some were less keen on, but others asked, and Jo helped them, if they could draw their own family trees; Jo has started doing the copper bracelets with the kids, and they are LOVING this; Melasse being an absolute diamond helping us translating with the kids; Enoch, today with the clothes, being so helpful – both in helping get the kids to sit down and listen to me as I repeatedly asked for their patience, and thanked them for it, and said there were plenty of clothes, don’t worry. He even said he was happy to wait till the end…. Luckily I didn’t do that as, in the end, it was slim pickings by the end. We’ve made a list of what else is most needed, with names and what they need, and, as people have been so generous (I keep saying this), we’ve been able to buy some more clothes: we sent Jonny, who was a legend helping me with crowd control, and Yared out to buy more clothes (if people see a ferengi – a foreigner – the price automatically doubles), and they’ve also done a really good job at negotiating and got more than we bargained for with the money we gave them. So that’s good. Good things.
So I’ve been silent for a while. My sincere apologies for this. When I took off the memory stick (I wear it from my neck – attached to the necklace Melak gave me two years ago) to put into the computer for working on this blog, I had a horrible feeling I hadn’t written anything since the day we went to Mtoto, but it turns out I have done some stuff, so that is good.
Why was I reminded of that day, when I took off the necklace? Because it’d got a bit tangled with another necklace, and I remembered that Mtoto day was after the night of dancing, at the end of which my necklaces were so tangled that Jo had to release me from them.
And speaking of escapes and Mtoto, my hair has never been a fan of hairdos. When we used to try to curl it and put mousse and all that stuff before going out, it’d always be flat in about 5 minutes. So guess how long it took my hair to escape from the very tight braids? About 4 days. I didn’t brush them out or anything. My hair just escaped!
What’s been happening the last few days then?
Hmmm.
Well the official WordUp Addis blog will say more that is of use. Mostly I have been ill and feeling very sorry for myself! I can’t remember exactly when or how it started…oh wait, I can. I can’t remember what had happened during the day, but Yared took Jo and I to a local restaurant that did lovely lentil goo to go on the endemic injera. I didn’t feel great already then, and had been pretty snotty the couple of days before, but after that I went home early (Yared was very concerned about me – he kept pulling Jo’s arm saying, ‘We need to leave now, leave now’) and then…well let’s just say it was a combination of a stomach bug and a headcold. It wasn’t terrible (not what I call exploding bum syndrome), but my body was definitely rejecting any sustenance that came its way.
The next day I was considering coming to help Jo with the football, but she (wisely) decided it was best I stay home and rest. The thing that clinched it for me was the point that there was unlikely to be a toilet near the football field. I went home for a nap, then crawled up the hill and attempted some food: the lovely vegan buffet at the Taitu which has what I’d been craving for ages – vegetables and salad, and without loads of spicy dressing. Just plain. Plain. No added flavour. YUM. In terms of the continuation of the illness, Mulu rang and I told him I was ill and he immediately went and bought me some medicine which perked me up considerably, and on Sunday, our day off, I happily ambled around reading books in various places, checking email etc. It is possible that I may have read in the sun for several hours and got an amazing burn (that two days later still caused tourists to go, ‘Whoa’ in shock when I showed them) on the left side of my neck and top of my left arm, but generally I was happy, and excited that the opportunities that the world provided: food, tea, work, sleep etc. Jo and I had a lovely time (part of my burning-time) planning a way to make a mini news-show with the kids, about everything they’d been doing.
And after that, what happened? Was I well? No I was not. The first symptom of this was on Monday, when I ended up shouting at a homeless lady who didn’t take no as an answer about food. (I was trying to save it for the kids.) And yes, I know I am going to hell. In fact, she had a young baby, so I think the lowest circle is reserved for me. And part of that was the stress of continually having people demanding demanding demanding stuff from you. And I say demanding because no is not an answer that is accepted. At least not until you’ve said it at least 10 time times and then ended up walking away clenching your fist. Obviously this is because of the desperation these people feel, and the fact that white people are viewed (probably not unreasonably) as endless reservoirs of gold ducats. But it still gets annoying. Not an excuse, obviously. And nor is the fact that I think my illness was affecting my temper control…..
Oh, wait, no, the FIRST sign of my returning illness was Sunday evening, when Jay-Z started demanding a copper bracelet from Jo. It had been offered at one point, true, but…well, backstory: Jay-Z had got drunk after spending the day helping Jo and I go shopping (and he and Jakob were very helpful) and then come and given us a big, interminable, whiney speech about how it wasn’t about the money for him etc…and then, in the evening, walked me home to ‘keep me safe’ and then asked to ‘borrow’ 200 birr to get a taxi home. Some sob story about not wanting to crash at a friends’, living the other side of town, and the (2-6 birr rather than 200birr) local taxis stopping after a certain time – probably true. Well in the end I caved and ‘lent’ it to him. Sort of seeing it as a payment for his help of the day, because he had helped us ALL day. But anyway he took the money and did he go home? No. He went straight back to the bar. THEN the next day I asked him if he got home ok, and he said yes, and no mention of returning the money he had ‘borrowed’. After his big speech, this all seemed a bit rich. Fair enough we recompense him for hours of work, but be straight about it! So fast forward a week or so, and he comes up and starts saying, ‘Hey, where’s my bracelet you promised me?’ and I told him I thought it was disgusting to be demanding bracelets from my friend when he owed me 200 birr. He went away with his tail between his legs. Now, I’m not normally that honest….
Right, so that was the first sign of the illness returning. Shouting at the poor lady (who will I meet in Hell I wonder) was the second. My special Mulu medicine had run out. The next morning Jo could tell I wasn’t feeling good, and tactfully asked whether I didn’t want the stress of teaching today, and asked how I was feeling…and in the end persuaded me home for a nap. First I had to get out a load of cash for Yared and Melak, who were amazing and spent the morning buying clothes for the Tiger Kids using some of the donation money. Then I went to sleep. AND, except for the occasional dash to the toilet, that was my yesterday morning and afternoon. In the evening I bravely took Jo to meet Melak by ‘the post office’ – figuring five minutes away from the toilet was probably ok – and it turned out to be the wrong post office…. We ended up finding the right one, and had a good explore, but basically it was about two hours or so before we returned. My bum managed to cope, but I decided not to eat till breakfast just in case.
So that’s the illness. Status update is that today breakfast and dinner are still within me. HURRAH! I think the main thing that happened, besides the second day of sleep, was that Jo managed to get me to agree to see the doctor this afternoon if I wasn’t considerably better. Well I wasn’t having that, was I. SO I GOT BETTER.
Well, almost. Well enough to help hand out the clothes. And I arrived just before Jo (who was picking up the metal work stuff just in case) today, to a room FULL of kids. Half an hour early, but they knew that today was clothes day. And so many of them asked how my throat was, and how I was feeling! Yes, it was a bit grabby and quite difficult at times handing out the clothes, but considering their real need for the clothes, and the conflicting systems that Jo and I were using versus Yared’s, they were really quite good. Some adult homeless people kept coming in and trying to get clothes. I said it was lijoch only – children only – and they pointed out some of our Tiger Kids who are probably a tad over 18, and I could see where they were coming from, but these guys had come regularly to the lessons etc, and were younger than these guys, plus we just had to narrow it down somehow. I think as it was, some of the children had their clothes taken off them by bigger kids. If the clothes are small enough, then there’s no point, but unfortunately there is nothing we can really do about this. Everyone is so desperate. Any suggestions are welcome though!
I saw another example of this side of living on the streets today – this darker side that we don’t really see much of. When I came in, Nathanel (who had had the scabies, and we’d reclothed him and got him medicine) took me and showed me his friend Abukeye. The left side of his face was quite badly cut, and Nathanel said yes, he was a bit dizzy too. Lots of blood on his clothes. I said we’d take him to the doctor afterwards. Naty then spoke to Jo, and asked her for 200 birr for a taxi to the doctor and to pay the doctor (he obviously didn’t want to wait, understandably). I said no because, somewhat suspiciously, I was worried they might have been exaggerating the amount of money that they needed. So, after the clothes, Mulu, who had arrived towards the end because all the roads were closed for Timket, and I went with Naty and Abukeye to the hospital. There I felt initially vindicated because it was 50 birr to ‘go to the doctor’. We sat and waited while the doctor saw Abukeye, and then the doctor came out and said that he had wanted to stich the wound on the face, but Abukeye had said no. And the doctor thought this was ok – he said, ‘He’s young, he will heal.’ He had dressed the wound, and prescribed some medicine to prevent infection. We then went out and there was another bill. The first had been for ‘registering’. The second was for the treatment. This was 300 birr: about ten pounds. Not horrendous obviously. My first thought was thank God I’d gone with them, as they wouldn’t’ve had enough. The second was guilt at my mistrust. Naty, on the other hand, immediately looked horrified. He said he was sorry, he hadn’t known it would be so much. That someone had paid for him to get HIV testing and he hadn’t thought it had been that much. I told him not to worry at all – this was important, and this was what our fundraising was for. Abukeye was quite quiet the whole time – probably still in shock – but at the end, after we’d bought the medicine too, and I’d given Abukeye 10 birr to get some food, as Naty said he hadn’t eaten earlier (just been lying in the corner on the sofa I guess) they both said thank you.
Now as a dilemma: Naty, while we were waiting for Abukeye to be treated, told us more about what had happened (with Mulu’s translating help). Earlier he had said that someone had bottled Abu. Now he explained that a rival gang had attacked Abu – that Abu had been alone and the rest of them hadn’t been around to protect him. He then said, ‘But don’t worry, we are going to get them back.’ I immediately said, ‘No! Fighting leads to more fighting, and more….’ Naty wasn’t upset with me, but he just stayed said, ‘We have to.’ And they do. It was a fight over territory, and territory is all they have. Plus, if someone in their gang can be attacked without fear of reprisal…. I should have suggested the police, but out here, they’re not going to do anything except attack all of the street children with batons. It’s scary though, thinking this way: that I couldn’t argue, persuasively, against violence. 'We have to.'
A list of other things that have happened; an amazing body-parts Twister game, culminating in four of the older boys collapsing in a heap; a ‘family tree’ lesson which some were less keen on, but others asked, and Jo helped them, if they could draw their own family trees; Jo has started doing the copper bracelets with the kids, and they are LOVING this; Melasse being an absolute diamond helping us translating with the kids; Enoch, today with the clothes, being so helpful – both in helping get the kids to sit down and listen to me as I repeatedly asked for their patience, and thanked them for it, and said there were plenty of clothes, don’t worry. He even said he was happy to wait till the end…. Luckily I didn’t do that as, in the end, it was slim pickings by the end. We’ve made a list of what else is most needed, with names and what they need, and, as people have been so generous (I keep saying this), we’ve been able to buy some more clothes: we sent Jonny, who was a legend helping me with crowd control, and Yared out to buy more clothes (if people see a ferengi – a foreigner – the price automatically doubles), and they’ve also done a really good job at negotiating and got more than we bargained for with the money we gave them. So that’s good. Good things.
Blog Part 2
I start today with my earnest desire to be a teacup kitten. Jo hit upon this last night as a way of trying to encourage me not to cough. If I coughed I was chucked (kindly) out of the cup, and lost all feline rights. Today I have not yet achieved an hour of kittenhood, but it is certainly getting closer!
Jo and I are not going mad, I should say. (Well, I’ve always been pretty close.) But you find your jokes to try to mitigate the incredible annoyance (on both our parts) of things like constant coughing. Another joke we have comes from the continual shouts we get from local people as we go by in the street (and occasional request for sex etc). One day – probably our last here – we are going to install ourselves in seats on the edge of the road, with tea and or beers, and shout at everyone who walks by, “Oy! You! Oy! Oy! Come here! Oy! You! Habusha! (Ethiopian.) Oy! You! You! You! Gimme a kiss!! Oy!!” etc. Then we’ll be even. We did consider that possibly the many variations of “Hey, beautiful” we get, and occasional proposition, might come from confusion because of this being the red light district, but we feel it is more likely the wonderful reputation of white people for being easy. (And, I guess, technically, with sex before marriage pretty much expected these days (right?), we are. But still, shouting at us in the street isn’t likely to win our hearts.)
Now I should say I’ve accidentally deleted the computer-copy of my blog, and have no access to the internet right now. As I have the memory of a goldfish, I might well repeat myself – sorry if this is the case.
When did I do the last catch up? Who knows.
So, some high and low-lights.
Jo and I commented today – when discussing a plan to have no days off now till we go – that the kids were our favourite part of the trip. (Many other good bits, but we want to help them every day now until we leave, rather than just 6 days a week.) My personal lowlights are the homeless adults who, on the two days we gave clothes, tried to force their way in and demand clothing. On the first day I ended up losing it and pushing one of them physically (and with a bit of a struggle) out of the house – patient explanations to him that it was lijoch (children) only hadn’t worked. He was angry and mimed throwing a rock at me, but did leave. And I can understand the frustration on some parts – they are desperate too, plus some of our Tiger Kids might be over 18 – it is hard to tell. But just rocking up on the day we are giving out clothes...that’s extra rude.
The next day another asshole adult came in and as I calmly herded him out I suffered a torrent of what I presume was abuse. Then, as he got to the door, he pushed me in the face and left. It wasn’t hard, and I think he was mainly trying to save face, but it still shook me. Our kids were all dead silent and still. I think they would have defended me if they’d had to, but then that could have meant trouble for them on the streets. I closed the door and put the rock against it, and Tadesse (one of the long-term people) ran up to the door when there was knocking on it, and peered out to check who it was, before letting another one of our kids in.
Then the day after that a drunken adult came in and caused trouble. Yared helped me get rid of him and, actually, the next day, sober, he came up to me, more calmly, and gave me a ‘Habusha’ (brand of beer, and means ‘Ethiopian’) beer label. I think it might have been an apology....
Another thing I felt very bad about at the time was massively stubbing Jo’s toe with the door one day. The reason I mention it (I think I have said this already) is her amazing self-control at not swearing at me in front of the kids. And it wasn’t broken – phew!
I sent a comedy, slightly homesick postcard to my friend Matt, listing things I wanted to help Ethiopia with: mainly toilets with SEATS, locks on the door that work, door handles that work...and flat streets and pavements with no holes in. Admittedly most pubs and other establishments seem to have similar toilet problems. Why is it so hard to keep these things fixed? I mean how often do bolts and toilet seats break? Is it a daily occurrence? Why can’t places keep up?
So now good things. 1. The Melaktop. The second best thing about it is that Jo and I get to refer to it as the Melaktop. My laptop (and old one, don’t worry) after being ‘fixed’ is now pretty dodgy, so Melak has, for most of the trip, lent us his laptop. Thank you so much Melak!
2. We’ve started making (and quite quickly almost finished) the fake news show. Look East will see that I have put my years there to good use! Mulu was there on the day we explained the project, and the kids were really excited and said thank you, applauded, and said, when we said we didn’t have much time, not to worry, they wouldn’t let us down! Then, in about an hour, we made ALL of the props we needed. Mulu said he’d never imagined they could be that focussed. I’d seen it two years ago, but I was still impressed.
3. 50 Birr. As part of the show, we’ve made a music video. Rapper 50 Birr has come out with a remix of the classic In Da Club by 50 Cent. Now Jo and I have been finding it incredibly amusing that our rapper was called 50 Birr. Sadly it seems some of the Tiger Kids might have thought they were going to be paid 50 Birr (in a similar way to us paying them for the bracelets and postcards). Freyu got Yared to translate to me and say he’d thought I’d said the day before we were going to give them all money today. I apologised to Freyu and said it was a misunderstanding, and he was fine, as were all the other kids (only a couple of queries). This, I think, is amazing, and I’m sorry we caused this confusion! The filming of the music video was great fun, and we managed to get the kids in 3 groups – one group doing a We Will Rock You beat, one doing the ‘Da da, da da, da da’ tune from in the club, and a third singing the first two lines (on repeat) of the song. Then at the end one of the littleuns, whose name I might eventually learn, comes forward and does part of another song, which asks people to ‘look at me’. I’m pretty sure that when it’s all edited together it’ll be a work of genius. Amani ‘made it rain’ with the 5 dollar bills we made, and there was a lot of dancing....
Final thing for now – another doctor trip. Two of the Tiger Kid needed help today. One had a cut/sore on his mouth which was getting worse, and a painful throat, so we got him some antibiotics, and lotion and cotton wool to clean the wound. Then Abukeye needed help again. We managed – through Melasse’s inspired drawing – to work out he had pain in his kidneys and when he peed. I was worried there might have been a problem caused by the beating he’d received a few days before that. Yared, Abukeye and I went to the doctor. There was a lot of waiting, and there were several tests: blood test, urine test.... Yared had gone to talk to a friend, and Abukeye had to go for an ultrasound. He said, “Jax,” and motioned for me to come with him – I think he wanted the moral support. Then we waited a bit longer. Two local staff sat with us and smiled. Abukeye was quiet and I thought he seemed very nervous, and possibly trying to fight off tears. I mean, he felt like crap, was having loads of tests – he must have been really worried. I’d seen the ultrasound person typing (in English) on the sheet ‘STONE’ on the kidney, so I tried to say it looked like there was a kidney stone, and that was fixable, but I didn’t want to say too much as I didn’t really know what was going on. Then the Doctor called us in to give us his verdict – well, called Abukeye in, and he again asked me to come with him. The Doctor was lovely – asked a bit about why I was there so I briefly discussed WordUp Addis and wrote down the website and my email and phone number. He’d asked – I think – what he/the medical profession could do to help.... Either that or he’ll tell the authorities about us..... Anyway he said that Abukeye had had radiotherapy in the past (or something like that) to reduce the size of the kidney stone. He reassured Abukeye that although sometimes the radiation kills the kidney, Abu’s kidneys were working fine. The stone was still there but had shrunk, and he said that if Abu drinks 2 litres (at least) of water a day, it should pass out of him. (Very painfully, I think.) Then he also said – I think – that there was some sclerosis (?) of one of the kidneys, and he definitely said there was a very bad kidney infection. This, as I’d thought, could have been caused by the beating. He prescribed various medications, told Abu not to drink, smoke, to get new clothes/clean his clothes, stay clean...various things that would be very hard for him on the street (we are going to try to help with the clothing problem)...and we went to get the medication. When we got off the minibus, Abu through Yared, and himself, said thank you so much for helping him. I said, “Don’t worry,” and then thought and said, “Chigarillum” – it’s cool. Then Abu gently took my arm and helped guide me across the busy road. We’re going to make sure he gets at least 2 litres of water a day, and then we’ll take him for a check up on Friday.
Oh, also, one of the Tiger Kids presented me with two (slightly old, possibly stolen, but really lovely) roses :)
I start today with my earnest desire to be a teacup kitten. Jo hit upon this last night as a way of trying to encourage me not to cough. If I coughed I was chucked (kindly) out of the cup, and lost all feline rights. Today I have not yet achieved an hour of kittenhood, but it is certainly getting closer!
Jo and I are not going mad, I should say. (Well, I’ve always been pretty close.) But you find your jokes to try to mitigate the incredible annoyance (on both our parts) of things like constant coughing. Another joke we have comes from the continual shouts we get from local people as we go by in the street (and occasional request for sex etc). One day – probably our last here – we are going to install ourselves in seats on the edge of the road, with tea and or beers, and shout at everyone who walks by, “Oy! You! Oy! Oy! Come here! Oy! You! Habusha! (Ethiopian.) Oy! You! You! You! Gimme a kiss!! Oy!!” etc. Then we’ll be even. We did consider that possibly the many variations of “Hey, beautiful” we get, and occasional proposition, might come from confusion because of this being the red light district, but we feel it is more likely the wonderful reputation of white people for being easy. (And, I guess, technically, with sex before marriage pretty much expected these days (right?), we are. But still, shouting at us in the street isn’t likely to win our hearts.)
Now I should say I’ve accidentally deleted the computer-copy of my blog, and have no access to the internet right now. As I have the memory of a goldfish, I might well repeat myself – sorry if this is the case.
When did I do the last catch up? Who knows.
So, some high and low-lights.
Jo and I commented today – when discussing a plan to have no days off now till we go – that the kids were our favourite part of the trip. (Many other good bits, but we want to help them every day now until we leave, rather than just 6 days a week.) My personal lowlights are the homeless adults who, on the two days we gave clothes, tried to force their way in and demand clothing. On the first day I ended up losing it and pushing one of them physically (and with a bit of a struggle) out of the house – patient explanations to him that it was lijoch (children) only hadn’t worked. He was angry and mimed throwing a rock at me, but did leave. And I can understand the frustration on some parts – they are desperate too, plus some of our Tiger Kids might be over 18 – it is hard to tell. But just rocking up on the day we are giving out clothes...that’s extra rude.
The next day another asshole adult came in and as I calmly herded him out I suffered a torrent of what I presume was abuse. Then, as he got to the door, he pushed me in the face and left. It wasn’t hard, and I think he was mainly trying to save face, but it still shook me. Our kids were all dead silent and still. I think they would have defended me if they’d had to, but then that could have meant trouble for them on the streets. I closed the door and put the rock against it, and Tadesse (one of the long-term people) ran up to the door when there was knocking on it, and peered out to check who it was, before letting another one of our kids in.
Then the day after that a drunken adult came in and caused trouble. Yared helped me get rid of him and, actually, the next day, sober, he came up to me, more calmly, and gave me a ‘Habusha’ (brand of beer, and means ‘Ethiopian’) beer label. I think it might have been an apology....
Another thing I felt very bad about at the time was massively stubbing Jo’s toe with the door one day. The reason I mention it (I think I have said this already) is her amazing self-control at not swearing at me in front of the kids. And it wasn’t broken – phew!
I sent a comedy, slightly homesick postcard to my friend Matt, listing things I wanted to help Ethiopia with: mainly toilets with SEATS, locks on the door that work, door handles that work...and flat streets and pavements with no holes in. Admittedly most pubs and other establishments seem to have similar toilet problems. Why is it so hard to keep these things fixed? I mean how often do bolts and toilet seats break? Is it a daily occurrence? Why can’t places keep up?
So now good things. 1. The Melaktop. The second best thing about it is that Jo and I get to refer to it as the Melaktop. My laptop (and old one, don’t worry) after being ‘fixed’ is now pretty dodgy, so Melak has, for most of the trip, lent us his laptop. Thank you so much Melak!
2. We’ve started making (and quite quickly almost finished) the fake news show. Look East will see that I have put my years there to good use! Mulu was there on the day we explained the project, and the kids were really excited and said thank you, applauded, and said, when we said we didn’t have much time, not to worry, they wouldn’t let us down! Then, in about an hour, we made ALL of the props we needed. Mulu said he’d never imagined they could be that focussed. I’d seen it two years ago, but I was still impressed.
3. 50 Birr. As part of the show, we’ve made a music video. Rapper 50 Birr has come out with a remix of the classic In Da Club by 50 Cent. Now Jo and I have been finding it incredibly amusing that our rapper was called 50 Birr. Sadly it seems some of the Tiger Kids might have thought they were going to be paid 50 Birr (in a similar way to us paying them for the bracelets and postcards). Freyu got Yared to translate to me and say he’d thought I’d said the day before we were going to give them all money today. I apologised to Freyu and said it was a misunderstanding, and he was fine, as were all the other kids (only a couple of queries). This, I think, is amazing, and I’m sorry we caused this confusion! The filming of the music video was great fun, and we managed to get the kids in 3 groups – one group doing a We Will Rock You beat, one doing the ‘Da da, da da, da da’ tune from in the club, and a third singing the first two lines (on repeat) of the song. Then at the end one of the littleuns, whose name I might eventually learn, comes forward and does part of another song, which asks people to ‘look at me’. I’m pretty sure that when it’s all edited together it’ll be a work of genius. Amani ‘made it rain’ with the 5 dollar bills we made, and there was a lot of dancing....
Final thing for now – another doctor trip. Two of the Tiger Kid needed help today. One had a cut/sore on his mouth which was getting worse, and a painful throat, so we got him some antibiotics, and lotion and cotton wool to clean the wound. Then Abukeye needed help again. We managed – through Melasse’s inspired drawing – to work out he had pain in his kidneys and when he peed. I was worried there might have been a problem caused by the beating he’d received a few days before that. Yared, Abukeye and I went to the doctor. There was a lot of waiting, and there were several tests: blood test, urine test.... Yared had gone to talk to a friend, and Abukeye had to go for an ultrasound. He said, “Jax,” and motioned for me to come with him – I think he wanted the moral support. Then we waited a bit longer. Two local staff sat with us and smiled. Abukeye was quiet and I thought he seemed very nervous, and possibly trying to fight off tears. I mean, he felt like crap, was having loads of tests – he must have been really worried. I’d seen the ultrasound person typing (in English) on the sheet ‘STONE’ on the kidney, so I tried to say it looked like there was a kidney stone, and that was fixable, but I didn’t want to say too much as I didn’t really know what was going on. Then the Doctor called us in to give us his verdict – well, called Abukeye in, and he again asked me to come with him. The Doctor was lovely – asked a bit about why I was there so I briefly discussed WordUp Addis and wrote down the website and my email and phone number. He’d asked – I think – what he/the medical profession could do to help.... Either that or he’ll tell the authorities about us..... Anyway he said that Abukeye had had radiotherapy in the past (or something like that) to reduce the size of the kidney stone. He reassured Abukeye that although sometimes the radiation kills the kidney, Abu’s kidneys were working fine. The stone was still there but had shrunk, and he said that if Abu drinks 2 litres (at least) of water a day, it should pass out of him. (Very painfully, I think.) Then he also said – I think – that there was some sclerosis (?) of one of the kidneys, and he definitely said there was a very bad kidney infection. This, as I’d thought, could have been caused by the beating. He prescribed various medications, told Abu not to drink, smoke, to get new clothes/clean his clothes, stay clean...various things that would be very hard for him on the street (we are going to try to help with the clothing problem)...and we went to get the medication. When we got off the minibus, Abu through Yared, and himself, said thank you so much for helping him. I said, “Don’t worry,” and then thought and said, “Chigarillum” – it’s cool. Then Abu gently took my arm and helped guide me across the busy road. We’re going to make sure he gets at least 2 litres of water a day, and then we’ll take him for a check up on Friday.
Oh, also, one of the Tiger Kids presented me with two (slightly old, possibly stolen, but really lovely) roses :)
A bit more Blog
I’m surrounded by a menagerie! A soft-toy menagerie. It consists of a rhino, three elephants, and three giraffes. They’re awesome. Jo and I went shopping with Yared and Nahom to Shromeda – buying things to sell at Natural East in Norwich (thank you guys!!) to raise money for the Tiger Kids next year, plus one or two things for ourselves. Yes, the rhino is mine. Jo is currently struggling over whether to give the elephant to her goddaughter or not.... Nahom and Yared were incredibly helpful. We did some pretty good haggling, and then hit on the great idea of hiding round a corner while we sent Nahom out to ask the price of something we were interested in buying: in your face ferengi prices!! (We think this has worked pretty well.)
I’m also currently itchy. Something/some things has/have made dinner of me. It is probably fleas. Jo says it isn’t, and she is BITE FREE! I however have a fair few. Jo says I mustn’t whinge, but I am not impressed. Admittedly there are worse problems in the world.
Today we filmed the Tiger Kids saying what their favourite things from the last month were. Most of them loved the football most. I’m sure if they’d had a second choice my amazing English lessons would have got in there. I’d had no sleep the night before due to getting in a massive (totally my fault) strop – sorry Jo! Luckily she is a rock, and also very understanding. I slept in, and then arrived to Jo and Yared handing out the food to the kids in what they said was possibly one of the most calm food-distributing occasions. Several of the kids – Ashenafe, and Mesfin for example – were commenting that we leave on Monday (they started asking about this a few days ago) and there were fingers pulled down from the corners of their eyes to express sadness. Jo and I are already starting to feel quite sad, and poor Makele had to suffer a big hug from me. Later in the afternoon I saw Makele and some of the other kids and told them that seeing them made me happy (it does, for both of us), and this evening I was walking home from the pub feeling tired and Mohammad shouted “Jax!!” and ran along and came and said hello to me.
It is so sad there are only two more days left. Although home is also calling me – friends and family. Yesterday morning Yared and I went with Abukeye to the doctor for his check up. This was after quite a hunt, aided by Danil and Abosh (who is deaf and dumb, but also an amazing negotiator/reconciliator for the boys, Jo noticed one day) and Dowit 1 and various others. He had been sleeping by the river it turned out. We went to sign in and (I think) pay and were waved straight in – Doctor Peter, who has given me his number, had asked how he and the medical profession could help – and I think he arranged free visits for us. I think.... I didn’t want to query Dr Peter too much myself in case he thought I was demanding free treatment, and it’s not always the easiest to understand Yared, but Yared seemed to say we’d been given a free ride. And, similarly, Abukeye was saying, through Dr Peter, that he was worried about after we go. Dr Peter wants Abu to go for two more check ups next week, and he seemed (again I’m not totally sure, but I’m pretty sure) to be saying to Abu not to worry – he’d sort it out. Abu’s given me his brother’s number, and Dr Peter has my number and the WordUp website and email address, and I’m going to make it super clear to Abu that if he has any urgent problems, to talk to Yared, who will then get in touch with us. I hope his kidney heals, and he is able to pass the stone....
The doctor yesterday prescribed him some painkillers, because kidney stones are not fun. Abukeye said something to Dr Peter at one point, and Dr Peter said, “You say it to her.” (Kindly.) So Abu again said thank you to me. He also, he said, has a friend who lives near Piassa who sometimes helps him out. I hope this is a good enough support network – us (distance) – and this guy who is close by, for Abu. And, of course, Abukeye is only one of the Tiger Kids. On Thursday Abu made his two bracelets courtesy of Jo, and he wanted one to say, “Thank you Jo and Jax”. I got him to change it to “Thank you” as we can sell that, and I’d already bought two bracelets off the kids. But then Abu took this bracelet and carefully put it round my wrist. Thank you Abu.
The Tiger Kids have chomped through the news-show filming, and we’ve finished everything we needed for that, so tomorrow we’re going to try to sort (courtesy, we hope, of Yared’s TV and DVD player and possibly an extension cable) out watching a film with the kids. The bracelets are done too: well done Jo! They’ve loved this so much! And quite often tried to wheedle another go. Abe tried to tell me today that the boy I’d photographed doing bracelets was not him but his brother! It’s often quite difficult clearing the room of all but 5 kids, and today I had to go to the back room to calm down after a wave of Tiger Kids returned about ten minutes after I’d finally cleared out the first lot, and were proving pretty intransigent.
ARGH! Luckily Jo has got pretty good at knowing when to tell me to go take a breather. And she’s also good at handling things without me from time to time.... Anyhow so bracelets are done, news show is done, English is essentially done. So with two days left (we’re working right up to the wire – flying back 1.30 am ish on Tuesday) we’re going to do film tomorrow, and then I think we’ll just let them loose with the camera. We’ve already had quite a few photograph sessions. Should be great fun!
I’m losing brainpower, so I think I’d better go to bed now (and put on some stop the itching bite stuff). Must post this tomorrow. Night!
(And as a final note - I ended up posting this late because my memory stick got accidentally wiped. Luckily my legendary work friends Pete, John, Adrian and Graham helped me recover everything. YAY! So the last day...it was a while ago now! We took a lot of photographs. There were a lot of kids at first, and they ate and stayed a bit, but then gradually they said goodbye and left. A hardcore stayed for a couple of hours, though, and we mainly chatted and danced. They started singing local songs and we clapped and made our own music, and then when we got tired of that I got my phone and let one of the kids be DJ with that. It was really nice, just hanging out and enjoying each other's company. I miss them.)
I’m surrounded by a menagerie! A soft-toy menagerie. It consists of a rhino, three elephants, and three giraffes. They’re awesome. Jo and I went shopping with Yared and Nahom to Shromeda – buying things to sell at Natural East in Norwich (thank you guys!!) to raise money for the Tiger Kids next year, plus one or two things for ourselves. Yes, the rhino is mine. Jo is currently struggling over whether to give the elephant to her goddaughter or not.... Nahom and Yared were incredibly helpful. We did some pretty good haggling, and then hit on the great idea of hiding round a corner while we sent Nahom out to ask the price of something we were interested in buying: in your face ferengi prices!! (We think this has worked pretty well.)
I’m also currently itchy. Something/some things has/have made dinner of me. It is probably fleas. Jo says it isn’t, and she is BITE FREE! I however have a fair few. Jo says I mustn’t whinge, but I am not impressed. Admittedly there are worse problems in the world.
Today we filmed the Tiger Kids saying what their favourite things from the last month were. Most of them loved the football most. I’m sure if they’d had a second choice my amazing English lessons would have got in there. I’d had no sleep the night before due to getting in a massive (totally my fault) strop – sorry Jo! Luckily she is a rock, and also very understanding. I slept in, and then arrived to Jo and Yared handing out the food to the kids in what they said was possibly one of the most calm food-distributing occasions. Several of the kids – Ashenafe, and Mesfin for example – were commenting that we leave on Monday (they started asking about this a few days ago) and there were fingers pulled down from the corners of their eyes to express sadness. Jo and I are already starting to feel quite sad, and poor Makele had to suffer a big hug from me. Later in the afternoon I saw Makele and some of the other kids and told them that seeing them made me happy (it does, for both of us), and this evening I was walking home from the pub feeling tired and Mohammad shouted “Jax!!” and ran along and came and said hello to me.
It is so sad there are only two more days left. Although home is also calling me – friends and family. Yesterday morning Yared and I went with Abukeye to the doctor for his check up. This was after quite a hunt, aided by Danil and Abosh (who is deaf and dumb, but also an amazing negotiator/reconciliator for the boys, Jo noticed one day) and Dowit 1 and various others. He had been sleeping by the river it turned out. We went to sign in and (I think) pay and were waved straight in – Doctor Peter, who has given me his number, had asked how he and the medical profession could help – and I think he arranged free visits for us. I think.... I didn’t want to query Dr Peter too much myself in case he thought I was demanding free treatment, and it’s not always the easiest to understand Yared, but Yared seemed to say we’d been given a free ride. And, similarly, Abukeye was saying, through Dr Peter, that he was worried about after we go. Dr Peter wants Abu to go for two more check ups next week, and he seemed (again I’m not totally sure, but I’m pretty sure) to be saying to Abu not to worry – he’d sort it out. Abu’s given me his brother’s number, and Dr Peter has my number and the WordUp website and email address, and I’m going to make it super clear to Abu that if he has any urgent problems, to talk to Yared, who will then get in touch with us. I hope his kidney heals, and he is able to pass the stone....
The doctor yesterday prescribed him some painkillers, because kidney stones are not fun. Abukeye said something to Dr Peter at one point, and Dr Peter said, “You say it to her.” (Kindly.) So Abu again said thank you to me. He also, he said, has a friend who lives near Piassa who sometimes helps him out. I hope this is a good enough support network – us (distance) – and this guy who is close by, for Abu. And, of course, Abukeye is only one of the Tiger Kids. On Thursday Abu made his two bracelets courtesy of Jo, and he wanted one to say, “Thank you Jo and Jax”. I got him to change it to “Thank you” as we can sell that, and I’d already bought two bracelets off the kids. But then Abu took this bracelet and carefully put it round my wrist. Thank you Abu.
The Tiger Kids have chomped through the news-show filming, and we’ve finished everything we needed for that, so tomorrow we’re going to try to sort (courtesy, we hope, of Yared’s TV and DVD player and possibly an extension cable) out watching a film with the kids. The bracelets are done too: well done Jo! They’ve loved this so much! And quite often tried to wheedle another go. Abe tried to tell me today that the boy I’d photographed doing bracelets was not him but his brother! It’s often quite difficult clearing the room of all but 5 kids, and today I had to go to the back room to calm down after a wave of Tiger Kids returned about ten minutes after I’d finally cleared out the first lot, and were proving pretty intransigent.
ARGH! Luckily Jo has got pretty good at knowing when to tell me to go take a breather. And she’s also good at handling things without me from time to time.... Anyhow so bracelets are done, news show is done, English is essentially done. So with two days left (we’re working right up to the wire – flying back 1.30 am ish on Tuesday) we’re going to do film tomorrow, and then I think we’ll just let them loose with the camera. We’ve already had quite a few photograph sessions. Should be great fun!
I’m losing brainpower, so I think I’d better go to bed now (and put on some stop the itching bite stuff). Must post this tomorrow. Night!
(And as a final note - I ended up posting this late because my memory stick got accidentally wiped. Luckily my legendary work friends Pete, John, Adrian and Graham helped me recover everything. YAY! So the last day...it was a while ago now! We took a lot of photographs. There were a lot of kids at first, and they ate and stayed a bit, but then gradually they said goodbye and left. A hardcore stayed for a couple of hours, though, and we mainly chatted and danced. They started singing local songs and we clapped and made our own music, and then when we got tired of that I got my phone and let one of the kids be DJ with that. It was really nice, just hanging out and enjoying each other's company. I miss them.)
Lisbon 2016
Appendix
We're just packing and going to go and sit in a cafe and have a leisurely breakfast and read, then collect our luggage and go fly home.
But I forgot some things from yesterday!
We're just packing and going to go and sit in a cafe and have a leisurely breakfast and read, then collect our luggage and go fly home.
But I forgot some things from yesterday!
- For the last part of the tour, our guide gave us two options. He'd kept asking us if we were tired, and (I think possibly out of competitiveness) we all said no. So, when he offered us Option A: short walk up a small hill to quite a good view, or Option B: a ten minute walk up a long steep hill to the best view, we all went for – or the person who actually said something – went for Option B. The great view was obviously also a tempter. And it WAS amazing. Here's some photos from Em's phone, which likes the dark. (Above.)
- Another thing I forgot to say – the tile place we went into, we got chatting to the owner and were talking about cats, as there were some beautiful cat tiles. She said that she thought that all cats had a bit of terrorist in them, which was why she'd named her cat Gaddafi! And he certainly had a terrorist in him – she said that if he was displeased with her he'd open up her underwear drawer and throw all her pants and bras onto the floor. I decided not to tell her about my friend Clare's cat, who was perfectly well house-trained, but used to poo, vengefully, on her bed, if she was away for too long.
- It was Halloween this night! One of the treats this gave us was watching three young girls dressed up in various costumes, all trying to remember the Thriller dance. MJ, your legacy will never die!
- The dodgy crims. We'd been told repeatedly to watch out for pick pockets. And when Em and I were walking down the hill and shopping (all nibby), she'd been advised by a shop assistant to carry her rucksack on her front if it had her purse in it. Well, at the bottom of the hill we turned a corner and I noticed this man who was walking past us suddenly change direction to walking in our direction. And he was joined by another man. Now Em had sensed them – she'd felt they might be closing in on us. That was possible, but I saw the first man, who'd changed direction, pointing to this old man who was walking in front of us. The old man was carrying two bags full of shopping, and was walking slowly and swaying a bit. Possibly drunk, possibly just old. I think they were following him, and planning to snatch his bags and run.
I kept looking over my shoulder (as we overtook the old man). I wasn't sure whether to tell him, but you don't want to make possibly unfounded accusations, especially not with two scary looking men. On one glance I saw that the first man was starting to put a grey scarf up higher, so it was around his mouth. I then made eye contact with him, and sort of glared at him. He saw I was onto him, and I think started to back away, but I'd looked away quite quickly out of fear. I looked again, and saw the old man, waiting to cross the road, and I don't think I could see those two men still following him (or us). They seemed to have disappeared. I hope I was right.
I should have warned the old man.
Stage 6 – Day 3 Part One: Custard Tarts and Books.
I apparently snored less horrifically than last night. I mean I still snored, but the sounds were apparently less worrying. This is good.
We got up EARLY and went into town to have breakfast and then do the walking tour. I got a bit grumpy because I'd been willing to try one of these custard tart things that are famous here, despite not being a fan of cold custard or that yucky skin that appears on top of it, but I'd also wanted a croissant, as something to fill me up, and something nice. But the shop that Em'd found that was renowned for these tarts sold ONLY TARTS.
GRUMP!
I at first refused to buy any tarts, like a petulant child. Then, after Em had bought hers, I admitted I could at least buy one and then go find other food elsewhere. Still, when the man tried to get me to buy two I said, “NO!”
(Sorry Em!)
I am now a full convert to these yummy tart things. Especially when warm. NB the pastry is puff pastry, and very thin. This is a good thing.
Now we'd been planning on an 11am walking tour by some company, but then when we got to the meeting point at 10am (on our way to breakfast) we were accosted by someone from the Lisbon Chill Out Tour group. This lady said that they'd been doing these tours for years and were local, and that this company that did the other was some big multinational that had only been here for four months. We declined their 10am tour, but came back for the 3pm one. This was the best decision I think Em and I have ever made. I mean I obviously don't know what would have happened in the other tour, but this one gets all of the stars from me. A whole galaxy!
(So, in the meantime, Em and I carried out our ambles from food to food, as per usual. We sat and had a cup of tea and I had a sandwich and Em had a coffee in the square. I read a bit, Em did some research and went and got another yummy custard tart. Then we went downwards, towards my future husband and LUNCH.)
Stage 7 – Food station 2: CURRY!
Unfortunately the whatever it was gardens place was closed. So we walked two more steps down the road and found a curry house. Hurrah!
What to say about that? Not much. It was nice :)
Then we went back up the hill.
Stage 8 – Walking Tour!!!!
This tour began with introductions and a random drunk homeless (I think) man shouting abuse at us, and that he knew far more about Lisbon than our guide, who was born and bred in Lisbon and had obviously done his history, and that he wanted to kill us. But after that it got a lot better.
Oh and it began with a brilliant summary of Portuguese history which I was worried would be dull and way too long, but was neither of those things. Especially not dull!
So many good stories and beautiful sights. I'll mainly say just do it, if you can, but I'll mention a few (mainly me-specific) bits.
So much more great stuff, but I'll leave it at that for now. Except to say it's a free tour, just asking for donations. Em and I donated – definitely worth it. Three hours of wonder!
Stage 9 – Feeling Nibby
We walked back down as per our tour guide's directions, rather than taking the tram, because Em had spotted a Jax-friendly shop. I'd told her I was feeling nibby. This is a term I've started using on this trip. It means nothing to anyone, unless they happen to have watched Brooklyn 9-1 (is that right?). In this show, one of the characters gets addicted to a health-food (nibs) that is actually high-fat. When he's challenged on how many he's eating, this pressure makes him say, “Now I'm feeling nibby!”
What I was referring to was the desire to shop. It was so strong in me that I'd even been considering a hideous salmon pink bra and pants set that we've been walking past each day. Oh dear.
So this first store was amazing – it was called 'Garbags'. The shop lady told us all about the store. Basically local people donate their rubbish – plastic bottles, cartons, newspapers, all sorts of packaging. They reward regular donors with free gifts after a certain number of donations. Then, they have some local people who they pay to make these things into amazing stuff to see. Mainly involving adding zips to things. I am now the proud owner of a Garnier Fructis bottle with a zip sewn into the top, which I will be putting pens and pencils into. I bought various other gifts which I will attempt to give to people at Christmas. I figure if I wrap them straight away, that might help....
Then we went to a craft store with beautiful tiles. Lisbon's Tiles. And Oh Dear, I was still feeling nibby. Again, I've managed to mainly buy presents, which I will, again, try very hard to give to people other than myself.
Stage 10 – Too much din dins.
It was difficult walking back down the hill because we'd both eaten quite a lot :) But we managed valiantly and soon were on the tube and then back home, ready to brave the cat.
Em had a craving for Italian food, most particularly some kind of pasta, and more particularly those pasta things with stuff in them. (Tortellini? My brain is failing me at present.) So we used the wonder that is TripAdvisor.
Or we tried to. TripAdvisor was not playing ball. It occasionally said there were about 2 Italian restaurants on the coast, then, when we asked for ones nearby it said there were zero Italian restaurants in Lisbon, then when we went back to the more general search to check what the two had been, they'd now disappeared. So instead we had to do it old-school. We wandered around looking at restaurants to see if any had vegetarian options and/or were Italian restaurants. Finally one of those annoying waiters who tries to make you eat at his restaurant came over to hassle us. We looked at the menu and saw not really any vegetarian, and mentioned that we were actually interested in Italian restaurants. He was then amazing. He said there were none near where we were, but there were loads in....the Square of Pomblar? (My brain remembered this much because Em and I were singing, 'Remember you're a Pomble' on the way up to this place.) He said these were proper Italian restaurants with Italian staff, fresh pasta and everything. Once we got to the Pomble area (and saw the amazing statue of the man we'd heard about earlier) TripAdvisor started working, and we selected one that had great reviews and started walking.
This was up a massive hill. And it was getting on a bit. Luckily Em knows about my food-rages, so she'd already fed me some cashews to stave off The Hulk. It still got pretty close, though, to me having a rage over tramping around the whole of Lisbon in search of pasta.
But it was totally worth it! Such yummy food! (I don't think that I need to learn any other words for food than yummy/not yummy, but let me know if you'd like me to look into it.) This was also classic yummy and no vegetables in sight food. This made me a bit sad, but I figured I'd made up for it over the past two days. (That message is NOT approved by the NHS.) It wasn't as cheap as our other places had been, but it was good.
So we chatted, wrote our bucket lists, wondered how we were going to achieve some of the things on our bucket lists, e.g. buy a house, and came up with some important moral themes that the Claude Stories will be trying to encourage such as kindness and creativity and what to do if you fail sometimes. How to deal with jealousy should be another one.
Oh, I also had my first ice-bucket experience! We had an actual ice-bucket, and the waiter put our wine and water in it, and then he came round and filled our wine up for us whenever we'd drunk it. This was AMAZING! (See the photograph!)
Then, basically, we rolled home.
The most important thing of this day, overall, is a question that has been building up in us over the whole three days: Who is Carla Rocha, and what is she so happy about?
I apparently snored less horrifically than last night. I mean I still snored, but the sounds were apparently less worrying. This is good.
We got up EARLY and went into town to have breakfast and then do the walking tour. I got a bit grumpy because I'd been willing to try one of these custard tart things that are famous here, despite not being a fan of cold custard or that yucky skin that appears on top of it, but I'd also wanted a croissant, as something to fill me up, and something nice. But the shop that Em'd found that was renowned for these tarts sold ONLY TARTS.
GRUMP!
I at first refused to buy any tarts, like a petulant child. Then, after Em had bought hers, I admitted I could at least buy one and then go find other food elsewhere. Still, when the man tried to get me to buy two I said, “NO!”
(Sorry Em!)
I am now a full convert to these yummy tart things. Especially when warm. NB the pastry is puff pastry, and very thin. This is a good thing.
Now we'd been planning on an 11am walking tour by some company, but then when we got to the meeting point at 10am (on our way to breakfast) we were accosted by someone from the Lisbon Chill Out Tour group. This lady said that they'd been doing these tours for years and were local, and that this company that did the other was some big multinational that had only been here for four months. We declined their 10am tour, but came back for the 3pm one. This was the best decision I think Em and I have ever made. I mean I obviously don't know what would have happened in the other tour, but this one gets all of the stars from me. A whole galaxy!
(So, in the meantime, Em and I carried out our ambles from food to food, as per usual. We sat and had a cup of tea and I had a sandwich and Em had a coffee in the square. I read a bit, Em did some research and went and got another yummy custard tart. Then we went downwards, towards my future husband and LUNCH.)
Stage 7 – Food station 2: CURRY!
Unfortunately the whatever it was gardens place was closed. So we walked two more steps down the road and found a curry house. Hurrah!
What to say about that? Not much. It was nice :)
Then we went back up the hill.
Stage 8 – Walking Tour!!!!
This tour began with introductions and a random drunk homeless (I think) man shouting abuse at us, and that he knew far more about Lisbon than our guide, who was born and bred in Lisbon and had obviously done his history, and that he wanted to kill us. But after that it got a lot better.
Oh and it began with a brilliant summary of Portuguese history which I was worried would be dull and way too long, but was neither of those things. Especially not dull!
So many good stories and beautiful sights. I'll mainly say just do it, if you can, but I'll mention a few (mainly me-specific) bits.
- Rafael (that was our tour guide) was a bit confused when I asked him, “What's that 'S' over there?” However, once he'd seen what I meant, he happily told me he thought it was some kind of signal for the tram. For those of you on future tours, you're welcome!
- I redeemed myself somewhat later by knowing who Jose Saramago was, and that he wrote The Gospel According to Jesus Christ, which is Rafael's favourite work by J.S. Jose was not just an author, it turns out, but also set up some awesome centre that was for...oh dear...human rights maybe?
- Alfama was amazing. This is the part of Portugal that was rebuilt (after the EARTHQUAKE, which was unbelievable, and a long time ago) NOT according to the super-enlightenment plans of...Pomblar (?), but according to how things were built before. It was in those days the Jewish and Islamic area I think. And they rebuilt again with narrow streets still, and lots of steps. It is beautiful and peaceful. We sat and listened for a while to the sounds of children playing and the people who lived there talking (ok, sometimes shouting) to each other. But shouting to, not at. And there was a granddad, who was decorating his home – something our tour guide hadn't seen before – for Halloween for his grandchild. He'd made some amazing ghosts by blowing up balloons and putting sheets over them and cutting eye and mouth-holes.
So much more great stuff, but I'll leave it at that for now. Except to say it's a free tour, just asking for donations. Em and I donated – definitely worth it. Three hours of wonder!
Stage 9 – Feeling Nibby
We walked back down as per our tour guide's directions, rather than taking the tram, because Em had spotted a Jax-friendly shop. I'd told her I was feeling nibby. This is a term I've started using on this trip. It means nothing to anyone, unless they happen to have watched Brooklyn 9-1 (is that right?). In this show, one of the characters gets addicted to a health-food (nibs) that is actually high-fat. When he's challenged on how many he's eating, this pressure makes him say, “Now I'm feeling nibby!”
What I was referring to was the desire to shop. It was so strong in me that I'd even been considering a hideous salmon pink bra and pants set that we've been walking past each day. Oh dear.
So this first store was amazing – it was called 'Garbags'. The shop lady told us all about the store. Basically local people donate their rubbish – plastic bottles, cartons, newspapers, all sorts of packaging. They reward regular donors with free gifts after a certain number of donations. Then, they have some local people who they pay to make these things into amazing stuff to see. Mainly involving adding zips to things. I am now the proud owner of a Garnier Fructis bottle with a zip sewn into the top, which I will be putting pens and pencils into. I bought various other gifts which I will attempt to give to people at Christmas. I figure if I wrap them straight away, that might help....
Then we went to a craft store with beautiful tiles. Lisbon's Tiles. And Oh Dear, I was still feeling nibby. Again, I've managed to mainly buy presents, which I will, again, try very hard to give to people other than myself.
Stage 10 – Too much din dins.
It was difficult walking back down the hill because we'd both eaten quite a lot :) But we managed valiantly and soon were on the tube and then back home, ready to brave the cat.
Em had a craving for Italian food, most particularly some kind of pasta, and more particularly those pasta things with stuff in them. (Tortellini? My brain is failing me at present.) So we used the wonder that is TripAdvisor.
Or we tried to. TripAdvisor was not playing ball. It occasionally said there were about 2 Italian restaurants on the coast, then, when we asked for ones nearby it said there were zero Italian restaurants in Lisbon, then when we went back to the more general search to check what the two had been, they'd now disappeared. So instead we had to do it old-school. We wandered around looking at restaurants to see if any had vegetarian options and/or were Italian restaurants. Finally one of those annoying waiters who tries to make you eat at his restaurant came over to hassle us. We looked at the menu and saw not really any vegetarian, and mentioned that we were actually interested in Italian restaurants. He was then amazing. He said there were none near where we were, but there were loads in....the Square of Pomblar? (My brain remembered this much because Em and I were singing, 'Remember you're a Pomble' on the way up to this place.) He said these were proper Italian restaurants with Italian staff, fresh pasta and everything. Once we got to the Pomble area (and saw the amazing statue of the man we'd heard about earlier) TripAdvisor started working, and we selected one that had great reviews and started walking.
This was up a massive hill. And it was getting on a bit. Luckily Em knows about my food-rages, so she'd already fed me some cashews to stave off The Hulk. It still got pretty close, though, to me having a rage over tramping around the whole of Lisbon in search of pasta.
But it was totally worth it! Such yummy food! (I don't think that I need to learn any other words for food than yummy/not yummy, but let me know if you'd like me to look into it.) This was also classic yummy and no vegetables in sight food. This made me a bit sad, but I figured I'd made up for it over the past two days. (That message is NOT approved by the NHS.) It wasn't as cheap as our other places had been, but it was good.
So we chatted, wrote our bucket lists, wondered how we were going to achieve some of the things on our bucket lists, e.g. buy a house, and came up with some important moral themes that the Claude Stories will be trying to encourage such as kindness and creativity and what to do if you fail sometimes. How to deal with jealousy should be another one.
Oh, I also had my first ice-bucket experience! We had an actual ice-bucket, and the waiter put our wine and water in it, and then he came round and filled our wine up for us whenever we'd drunk it. This was AMAZING! (See the photograph!)
Then, basically, we rolled home.
The most important thing of this day, overall, is a question that has been building up in us over the whole three days: Who is Carla Rocha, and what is she so happy about?
Stage 5 (All of Day 2!)
I woke Em with my superb snoring I think several times in the night, but at about 8am she caved and woke me up. After much subsequent discussion, we're wondering whether I have polyps in my nose. I wasn't sure about this because my nose feels closed up, not octopussy, but Em looked up the symptoms and I'm convinced enough to go to the doctor when I get back. It'd be nice not to have to force the air through my nose when breathing. Maybe I need some kind of reverse pegs for my nostrils, to just stretch them out a bit! Em is hopefully going to record my snoring tonight, if it wakes her again.
The other main thing to report on from the day is that apparently there is a where Emma's from/St Albans divide as to what the word 'guff' means. To Emma it can also refer to burps, to me it refers solely to that other kind of burps, that comes from slightly closer to the ground. I won't say specifically what this discussion stemmed from, but I will say we ate dinner at some very healthy Tibetan vegetarian restaurant. And there were LOTS of vegetables. :)
(The Urban Dictionary provides this wonder:
Guff
Over-inflated information, bordering on superfluous or wholly irrelevant.
Origins: Onomatopoeic word describing a fart that starts with a short, low musical note, followed by a more prolonged, muffled “fffffh”, usually achieved by sitting on office furniture.
"Never read the manual, it's usually just guff in twenty languages.")
So, to now go over the day from the start. We woke at 8 then went back to sleep, and then I started getting hungry and looked at my clock and it was quarter to eleven! Oh no!!! We'd planned on a lie-in, but not that much of a one! Luckily Portugal also has that daylight saving clocks going back thing, so we magically got up at quarter to ten. Huzzah! This brought us true joy. You'll see true joy in various of the photos I took of Emma today. This is where it came from!
(And the sun.)
I got up first and I had a think about my Claude stories while Em got up. I'm pretty sure that the world really wants stories about my bike Claude, kids stories that is, but I'm not sure of much beyond that. Then we left the building and walked about five feet, ok maybe more, maybe about three dads (that's 18feet) to the cafe next door, and ordered a cup of tea and a croissant (me) and a coffee and sort of puff pastry tart thing with custard in (Em). Sadly I did yet another ordering fail, and Em had to go re-order my croissant for me. It was nice and warm, but a bit more salty than I'm used to.
Then we hopped on the death bus. We'd debated whether to just take the metro, but I felt the death-bus would give us better views, and luckily this driver was clearly new to the area and not aware of the special bus driving requirements. I mean he didn't drive slowly, but this guy was far more sane. We rode it all the way to the end of the line because we were going to
Um.
Somewhere. You need to ask Emma for the details. We had to take a ferry to get there. So we took the bus to the ferry port, got off, and walked for fifteen minutes in the wrong direction. This was because I thought, 'These people look like they know where they are going, let's follow them.' They did, but it was not the same place as where we were going.
This wasn't bad though – because of this detour we sat by the sea on these step things that were designed super-wide so you could sun yourself with waves lapping at your feet. We did this while sipping on some lovely lemonades from a vendor in plastic jars which we could then put in their special plastic recycling bin, and then we got our feet splashed by a rogue wave and were smirked at by everyone else who'd sat one step thing higher. We also saw a whole load of pretty stuff, so we were happy.
Anyhow, we found the ferry terminal two minutes before the ferry left, but had to then work out how to get tickets. No matter though – they were every twenty minutes. So we went (as it was about 3pm by this point) to get lunch. And we found THE MOST HIPSTER CAFE IN THE WORLD!!!! It was really nice. By the sea, selling art stuff and prints originally – that was half of the shop – but they'd branched out into the world of food. And it was delicious! I was a little concerned when my bagel appeared and it was blue and red, but no, it was so, so, so good.
So after this we jumped on the ferry – it's the third ferry terminal – and walked along the most amazing place. It was basically a load of old, falling apart beautiful – if a bit concretey at times – buildings, all covered in amazing graffiti, and you walked along a path that was sometimes car-width, and then there was the sea. At one point we got to a couple of amazing looking restaurants, and there was a shoal of fish right up next to us (but in the sea), all up kissing the air. I guess they were after flies, not love. There were also a couple of big orange jellyfish which my camera was not quite man enough to do justice to. (Well, it probably would've been if I'd not just had it on auto.)
We kept going, and got to the lift that took you up what was basically a sheer rock face. I'd somehow thought that we'd be able to walk it. Em had been more dubious because she'd understood that Rosario meant a climb, as in it looked like there was possibly a giant ladder, rather than just a steep walk. Rosario had warned us there was work going on at some point to renovate the lift, so it might be closed, but we decided to risk it, and luckily it was there, complete with an old man who sold you the tickets and pressed the up button. (And down button – we got back to it just after six and were a little concerned it was closed, but no, it came and brought us back down to earth.)
We stepped out of the lift and wandered up to this place Rosario had recommended which was an art gallery place and cafe with beautiful views over the sea to Lisbon. (You might see that the way Em and I roll is from food to food.) I got to satisfy my craving for writing pretentiously in cafes – although the first probably twenty minutes of this involved me sitting and picking at my hair. (Emma had to eventually tell me to actually write so she could take a photograph.) And Emma went for a walk and had an explore.
Then we returned and walked from the port to town to the amazing restaurant. Em's phone was dying so we used my camera to take photographs of the GPS maps on her phone, and this pretty much worked, with a bit of checking. We did end up having to walk down a very very steep and slippery hill. There was a funicular going up it as it was so steep, but for some reason I press-ganged Em into walking down it. Even though she was having a vertigo attack.
Uhhh, I'm very sorry Em!
Anyhow then restaurant with yum food especially the mint chocolate icecream! Then Em's phone had died but we knew how to get to the tube and home from what we call the Zoo Gardens tube stop. Oh we thought we did. But the tube stop we'd passed on the way to the restaurant, plus two others near it, were closed. We eventually found one that was open and then emerged at Zoo Gardens a little confused to find escalators. We'd only ever gone down into it to charge our Oyster things and out again. It turns out Zoo Gardens is a massive station with LOTS of exits. Eventually, thanks to a lovely lady who could tell by our faces as we reentered the station hoping to find our usual way in and out that we were lost, we found our way home.
And now it's bed time!
P.S. Tonight we are safe from the cat as it is staying with Rosario, our host. Last night, however, we were lucky to escape alive as it managed to enter our room on several occasions, and I then had to bravely push it out with a big cushion. It did scratch my finger though :(
P.P.S. Two more toilet sign photos. The Portuguese, it seems, are very aware of body hair.
I woke Em with my superb snoring I think several times in the night, but at about 8am she caved and woke me up. After much subsequent discussion, we're wondering whether I have polyps in my nose. I wasn't sure about this because my nose feels closed up, not octopussy, but Em looked up the symptoms and I'm convinced enough to go to the doctor when I get back. It'd be nice not to have to force the air through my nose when breathing. Maybe I need some kind of reverse pegs for my nostrils, to just stretch them out a bit! Em is hopefully going to record my snoring tonight, if it wakes her again.
The other main thing to report on from the day is that apparently there is a where Emma's from/St Albans divide as to what the word 'guff' means. To Emma it can also refer to burps, to me it refers solely to that other kind of burps, that comes from slightly closer to the ground. I won't say specifically what this discussion stemmed from, but I will say we ate dinner at some very healthy Tibetan vegetarian restaurant. And there were LOTS of vegetables. :)
(The Urban Dictionary provides this wonder:
Guff
Over-inflated information, bordering on superfluous or wholly irrelevant.
Origins: Onomatopoeic word describing a fart that starts with a short, low musical note, followed by a more prolonged, muffled “fffffh”, usually achieved by sitting on office furniture.
"Never read the manual, it's usually just guff in twenty languages.")
So, to now go over the day from the start. We woke at 8 then went back to sleep, and then I started getting hungry and looked at my clock and it was quarter to eleven! Oh no!!! We'd planned on a lie-in, but not that much of a one! Luckily Portugal also has that daylight saving clocks going back thing, so we magically got up at quarter to ten. Huzzah! This brought us true joy. You'll see true joy in various of the photos I took of Emma today. This is where it came from!
(And the sun.)
I got up first and I had a think about my Claude stories while Em got up. I'm pretty sure that the world really wants stories about my bike Claude, kids stories that is, but I'm not sure of much beyond that. Then we left the building and walked about five feet, ok maybe more, maybe about three dads (that's 18feet) to the cafe next door, and ordered a cup of tea and a croissant (me) and a coffee and sort of puff pastry tart thing with custard in (Em). Sadly I did yet another ordering fail, and Em had to go re-order my croissant for me. It was nice and warm, but a bit more salty than I'm used to.
Then we hopped on the death bus. We'd debated whether to just take the metro, but I felt the death-bus would give us better views, and luckily this driver was clearly new to the area and not aware of the special bus driving requirements. I mean he didn't drive slowly, but this guy was far more sane. We rode it all the way to the end of the line because we were going to
Um.
Somewhere. You need to ask Emma for the details. We had to take a ferry to get there. So we took the bus to the ferry port, got off, and walked for fifteen minutes in the wrong direction. This was because I thought, 'These people look like they know where they are going, let's follow them.' They did, but it was not the same place as where we were going.
This wasn't bad though – because of this detour we sat by the sea on these step things that were designed super-wide so you could sun yourself with waves lapping at your feet. We did this while sipping on some lovely lemonades from a vendor in plastic jars which we could then put in their special plastic recycling bin, and then we got our feet splashed by a rogue wave and were smirked at by everyone else who'd sat one step thing higher. We also saw a whole load of pretty stuff, so we were happy.
Anyhow, we found the ferry terminal two minutes before the ferry left, but had to then work out how to get tickets. No matter though – they were every twenty minutes. So we went (as it was about 3pm by this point) to get lunch. And we found THE MOST HIPSTER CAFE IN THE WORLD!!!! It was really nice. By the sea, selling art stuff and prints originally – that was half of the shop – but they'd branched out into the world of food. And it was delicious! I was a little concerned when my bagel appeared and it was blue and red, but no, it was so, so, so good.
So after this we jumped on the ferry – it's the third ferry terminal – and walked along the most amazing place. It was basically a load of old, falling apart beautiful – if a bit concretey at times – buildings, all covered in amazing graffiti, and you walked along a path that was sometimes car-width, and then there was the sea. At one point we got to a couple of amazing looking restaurants, and there was a shoal of fish right up next to us (but in the sea), all up kissing the air. I guess they were after flies, not love. There were also a couple of big orange jellyfish which my camera was not quite man enough to do justice to. (Well, it probably would've been if I'd not just had it on auto.)
We kept going, and got to the lift that took you up what was basically a sheer rock face. I'd somehow thought that we'd be able to walk it. Em had been more dubious because she'd understood that Rosario meant a climb, as in it looked like there was possibly a giant ladder, rather than just a steep walk. Rosario had warned us there was work going on at some point to renovate the lift, so it might be closed, but we decided to risk it, and luckily it was there, complete with an old man who sold you the tickets and pressed the up button. (And down button – we got back to it just after six and were a little concerned it was closed, but no, it came and brought us back down to earth.)
We stepped out of the lift and wandered up to this place Rosario had recommended which was an art gallery place and cafe with beautiful views over the sea to Lisbon. (You might see that the way Em and I roll is from food to food.) I got to satisfy my craving for writing pretentiously in cafes – although the first probably twenty minutes of this involved me sitting and picking at my hair. (Emma had to eventually tell me to actually write so she could take a photograph.) And Emma went for a walk and had an explore.
Then we returned and walked from the port to town to the amazing restaurant. Em's phone was dying so we used my camera to take photographs of the GPS maps on her phone, and this pretty much worked, with a bit of checking. We did end up having to walk down a very very steep and slippery hill. There was a funicular going up it as it was so steep, but for some reason I press-ganged Em into walking down it. Even though she was having a vertigo attack.
Uhhh, I'm very sorry Em!
Anyhow then restaurant with yum food especially the mint chocolate icecream! Then Em's phone had died but we knew how to get to the tube and home from what we call the Zoo Gardens tube stop. Oh we thought we did. But the tube stop we'd passed on the way to the restaurant, plus two others near it, were closed. We eventually found one that was open and then emerged at Zoo Gardens a little confused to find escalators. We'd only ever gone down into it to charge our Oyster things and out again. It turns out Zoo Gardens is a massive station with LOTS of exits. Eventually, thanks to a lovely lady who could tell by our faces as we reentered the station hoping to find our usual way in and out that we were lost, we found our way home.
And now it's bed time!
P.S. Tonight we are safe from the cat as it is staying with Rosario, our host. Last night, however, we were lucky to escape alive as it managed to enter our room on several occasions, and I then had to bravely push it out with a big cushion. It did scratch my finger though :(
P.P.S. Two more toilet sign photos. The Portuguese, it seems, are very aware of body hair.
Em and Jax go on holiday!!!
(To Lisbon)
Stage 1: That bit at the airport, before the plane.
I've just licked some lemon juice off of my little finger of my left hand (a bit of description for you there, to get you into the story). It is lemon juice EXTRA STRENGTH. Lemony! Em is eating her French toast with yoghurt and fruit and stuff like that. I've wolfed my bagel with salmon – thick bits of salmon – and cream cheese. We both have large glasses of pinot grigio (sorry Mum and Dad!) and we've cheersed twice so far. We are in the Wetherspoons, because where else would you go when in an airport? Oh wait, Starbucks? But if you want wine you go to Wetherspoons.
Ok, actually, other wine providing businesses are available.
My food was yummy. I would say yummy, rather than that it was 'food', which is my usual judgement on food. (I'm possibly a bit too unfussy.) Emma would like to suggest to Wetherspoons that they improve their vegetarian options a little bit. She fancied something savoury but not eggy. Sadly everything was either eggy or sweet. After having eaten some of it, however, her hunger has abated and her tolerance has increased, so she says, actually, it's ok.
We're both tired! We did a typical Jax and Em preparing for something important night last night. As in I got to London, went to where Em was soon to finish work, had dinner type food and a cup of tea and read my Big Issue (one of them! - I've got behind) in Costa, and then joined Em and her workmate for a quick post work drink. We eventually left the pub after a lot of chatting at about 10pm. Then we stopped off at Waterloo for another cup of tea and snack in possibly Costa again...I'm not sure. Bought catfood in Tesco just before it closed (hurrah!). Then Em and I eventually got back at midnight, checked in, printed boarding passes, and Em decided to get up at 6am and pack in the morning.
Luckily this wasn't too much of a problem, because our flights weren't too early – we only had to leave at 8am.
BUT.
Emma has a cat. She is called Lily. She's very lovely. But she is also a bed hog. I got into the bed last – Em having kindly allowed me to share it rather than sleep on the sofa. But rather than having half, I had essentially a me-sized (lying on my back) surface area within which to sleep. This was do-able, but then Lily likes to gradually take over more and more of the bed. A bit like Risk. She edges over, then Em edges over, and so then I'd edge over. Turning over (something I like to do frequently in the night), was a problem. It got to the point where it was more like half my surface area and I got up and went to the toilet. When I returned, I had even less space. I squeezed back in, able just about to fit in on my side, but then, eventually, after about an hour of lying there, I ceded the bed to Lily. (Em managed to last the night.) It took me a little while to work out how to cede the bed, because I wasn't sure how to exit the bed without just falling out. You try it! - Getting out of bed when you are lying on your side with your back to the edge of the bed and you have about 15 cm. In the end I think I slithered my legs off first and sort of used my arms to push myself upright.
I grabbed Em's dressing gown for way of a blanket, went downstairs to the sofa, and lay there for a while, wondering when I would go to sleep. (Quick time-check – when I went downstairs it was I think 5am. Why do I not KNOW what time it was? I think I was delirious. Now, however, I am surprisingly chipper. This is because of the excitement of holiday, and also because of TEA!)
Stage 2: The Plane.
The main thing to say about the plane journey is that my bum managed to knock Em's tea over AND knock a book out of someone's hand.
Stage 3: The Toilets in Lisbon Airport.
These smell of wee! Majorly of wee! At one point I wondered if they smelled of horse-wee, it was so pungent, but that would not make sense.
I couldn't see any evidence of leftover wee in my toilet, but Em said hers had wee all over the floor, so maybe hers was affecting mine (a few cubicles down).
Emma caused me mild mental trauma as we went into the toilets – she suddenly said:
“That lady's only got one leg. One big wide leg. Heee heee heee!”
I was shocked! Em would never be so insensitive about a person with a disability!!!
Luckily she was talking about the toilet sign. Emma also commented that the baby in the baby toilet sign was weirdly developed, body-hair wise.
Then I accidentally ordered a coffee AGAIN. I think I've worked it out. When I say 'cup of tea' people think I'm saying either 'cappucino' (as in this instance) or 'coffee'. I think they sort of stop listening during the majority of those letters that are coming from my mouth.
(PICTURES!)
We then went on from the toilets in the airport to the underground. We were trying to work out how to buy the Oyster Card style things. Well I was trying to top mine up (my housemate had given me hers). This man (staff) was very helpful and patient with me. He did not even roll my eyes when he said, “Not put your card in the slot.” and I replied, in a mini hysterical panic, “But which one????!?!?! THERE ARE THREEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!” I definitely award this man ten points.
Em then used her magic phone gps skills, and I used my bus-stop counting skills, to get us to our accommodation. We were welcomed, and the place and host lady are very lovely. The cat, however, is evil. And we chose this out of the way place BECAUSE of the cat. V. disappointing. I texted my mum and dad my usual, “I'm alive,” notice that I do when travelling, and told them about this, and Mum replied saying that this was very odd, because cats usually liked me.
(PICTURE!)
It IS odd.
Stage 4: DEATH BUS!
The speed limit for buses in Lisbon is 20mph higher than everything else. I was going to say that I thought it was possible, but no, it's just true. This second bus we took, back into town, was lucky because the reduced evening traffic meant that it was able to achieve its legal requirements. It also did a lot of extreme testing of its steering wheel, turning circle and brakes. (Or some kind of vehicle talk like that.)
(Em and I took the tube back.)
We both got off the bus, and eventually, being the good friends that we are, were able to admit to each other that yes, we'd both been pretty scared! There were a few horns sounding as we came along on our journey and I think that yes, they were being beeped at our bus.
We then went to an amazing buffet vegetarian restaurant (via magic Em phone again). We clung onto hand rails down stairs, and otherwise channelled our inner geckos (No Em, gecko, not ghetto. You are right, you have NO inner ghetto :) ) down the slippery streets. Basically cobbles polished after many many years of footfall.
This restaurant was very nice. It was called the Something or Other Garden. Its main courses were yummy, the desserts were (2 out of 3 of the ones we sampled) misleading. Oh, it was a buffet. We weren't just being major fatties! The best thing about the restaurant was the very attractive waiter who Em said was definitely flirting with me. Hurrah! I did my best to engage him in conversation in response. He will be my future husband.
We did eat a lot. You sort of had to do your best to try to sample it all, if you possibly could. This meant we were VERY full as we walked to the metro to get back home. Luckily, as I informed Em, I did a couple of burps, and this meant that I was still full, but somewhat more nicely so. Is this too much information? I think not. We all know how it is.
Oh, there's lots of pretty tiles and art everywhere and we found in the tube the long lost Burgoyne. (PICTURE!)
(To Lisbon)
Stage 1: That bit at the airport, before the plane.
I've just licked some lemon juice off of my little finger of my left hand (a bit of description for you there, to get you into the story). It is lemon juice EXTRA STRENGTH. Lemony! Em is eating her French toast with yoghurt and fruit and stuff like that. I've wolfed my bagel with salmon – thick bits of salmon – and cream cheese. We both have large glasses of pinot grigio (sorry Mum and Dad!) and we've cheersed twice so far. We are in the Wetherspoons, because where else would you go when in an airport? Oh wait, Starbucks? But if you want wine you go to Wetherspoons.
Ok, actually, other wine providing businesses are available.
My food was yummy. I would say yummy, rather than that it was 'food', which is my usual judgement on food. (I'm possibly a bit too unfussy.) Emma would like to suggest to Wetherspoons that they improve their vegetarian options a little bit. She fancied something savoury but not eggy. Sadly everything was either eggy or sweet. After having eaten some of it, however, her hunger has abated and her tolerance has increased, so she says, actually, it's ok.
We're both tired! We did a typical Jax and Em preparing for something important night last night. As in I got to London, went to where Em was soon to finish work, had dinner type food and a cup of tea and read my Big Issue (one of them! - I've got behind) in Costa, and then joined Em and her workmate for a quick post work drink. We eventually left the pub after a lot of chatting at about 10pm. Then we stopped off at Waterloo for another cup of tea and snack in possibly Costa again...I'm not sure. Bought catfood in Tesco just before it closed (hurrah!). Then Em and I eventually got back at midnight, checked in, printed boarding passes, and Em decided to get up at 6am and pack in the morning.
Luckily this wasn't too much of a problem, because our flights weren't too early – we only had to leave at 8am.
BUT.
Emma has a cat. She is called Lily. She's very lovely. But she is also a bed hog. I got into the bed last – Em having kindly allowed me to share it rather than sleep on the sofa. But rather than having half, I had essentially a me-sized (lying on my back) surface area within which to sleep. This was do-able, but then Lily likes to gradually take over more and more of the bed. A bit like Risk. She edges over, then Em edges over, and so then I'd edge over. Turning over (something I like to do frequently in the night), was a problem. It got to the point where it was more like half my surface area and I got up and went to the toilet. When I returned, I had even less space. I squeezed back in, able just about to fit in on my side, but then, eventually, after about an hour of lying there, I ceded the bed to Lily. (Em managed to last the night.) It took me a little while to work out how to cede the bed, because I wasn't sure how to exit the bed without just falling out. You try it! - Getting out of bed when you are lying on your side with your back to the edge of the bed and you have about 15 cm. In the end I think I slithered my legs off first and sort of used my arms to push myself upright.
I grabbed Em's dressing gown for way of a blanket, went downstairs to the sofa, and lay there for a while, wondering when I would go to sleep. (Quick time-check – when I went downstairs it was I think 5am. Why do I not KNOW what time it was? I think I was delirious. Now, however, I am surprisingly chipper. This is because of the excitement of holiday, and also because of TEA!)
Stage 2: The Plane.
The main thing to say about the plane journey is that my bum managed to knock Em's tea over AND knock a book out of someone's hand.
Stage 3: The Toilets in Lisbon Airport.
These smell of wee! Majorly of wee! At one point I wondered if they smelled of horse-wee, it was so pungent, but that would not make sense.
I couldn't see any evidence of leftover wee in my toilet, but Em said hers had wee all over the floor, so maybe hers was affecting mine (a few cubicles down).
Emma caused me mild mental trauma as we went into the toilets – she suddenly said:
“That lady's only got one leg. One big wide leg. Heee heee heee!”
I was shocked! Em would never be so insensitive about a person with a disability!!!
Luckily she was talking about the toilet sign. Emma also commented that the baby in the baby toilet sign was weirdly developed, body-hair wise.
Then I accidentally ordered a coffee AGAIN. I think I've worked it out. When I say 'cup of tea' people think I'm saying either 'cappucino' (as in this instance) or 'coffee'. I think they sort of stop listening during the majority of those letters that are coming from my mouth.
(PICTURES!)
We then went on from the toilets in the airport to the underground. We were trying to work out how to buy the Oyster Card style things. Well I was trying to top mine up (my housemate had given me hers). This man (staff) was very helpful and patient with me. He did not even roll my eyes when he said, “Not put your card in the slot.” and I replied, in a mini hysterical panic, “But which one????!?!?! THERE ARE THREEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!” I definitely award this man ten points.
Em then used her magic phone gps skills, and I used my bus-stop counting skills, to get us to our accommodation. We were welcomed, and the place and host lady are very lovely. The cat, however, is evil. And we chose this out of the way place BECAUSE of the cat. V. disappointing. I texted my mum and dad my usual, “I'm alive,” notice that I do when travelling, and told them about this, and Mum replied saying that this was very odd, because cats usually liked me.
(PICTURE!)
It IS odd.
Stage 4: DEATH BUS!
The speed limit for buses in Lisbon is 20mph higher than everything else. I was going to say that I thought it was possible, but no, it's just true. This second bus we took, back into town, was lucky because the reduced evening traffic meant that it was able to achieve its legal requirements. It also did a lot of extreme testing of its steering wheel, turning circle and brakes. (Or some kind of vehicle talk like that.)
(Em and I took the tube back.)
We both got off the bus, and eventually, being the good friends that we are, were able to admit to each other that yes, we'd both been pretty scared! There were a few horns sounding as we came along on our journey and I think that yes, they were being beeped at our bus.
We then went to an amazing buffet vegetarian restaurant (via magic Em phone again). We clung onto hand rails down stairs, and otherwise channelled our inner geckos (No Em, gecko, not ghetto. You are right, you have NO inner ghetto :) ) down the slippery streets. Basically cobbles polished after many many years of footfall.
This restaurant was very nice. It was called the Something or Other Garden. Its main courses were yummy, the desserts were (2 out of 3 of the ones we sampled) misleading. Oh, it was a buffet. We weren't just being major fatties! The best thing about the restaurant was the very attractive waiter who Em said was definitely flirting with me. Hurrah! I did my best to engage him in conversation in response. He will be my future husband.
We did eat a lot. You sort of had to do your best to try to sample it all, if you possibly could. This meant we were VERY full as we walked to the metro to get back home. Luckily, as I informed Em, I did a couple of burps, and this meant that I was still full, but somewhat more nicely so. Is this too much information? I think not. We all know how it is.
Oh, there's lots of pretty tiles and art everywhere and we found in the tube the long lost Burgoyne. (PICTURE!)
Villafranca 2016
This is not travel writing really. It is more musings influenced by travelling. Or, rather, working abroad.
I can give you a summary of my week in Villafranca – which is in Italy, near Verona. Another amazing host family – mum Katy, dad Gianni, and daughter Caroline. And Gianni's friends are right: he does look like a close relative of Paul McCartney.
It was really nice staying with them – amazing, really – and particularly because I'm not normally a very sociable person, but this family was so gregarious and interesting that I couldn't help but enjoy sitting at dinner and talking with them and Caroline's grandmother. I did sometimes feel a little bad at my lack of knowledge about British things – like how much houses cost, food costs...or even anything. My main specialism, the thing I know stuff about is..... Yeah, there isn't anything. Sorry Gianni! But it was good to talk, and Caroline, who's essentially fluent in English, or at the very least fluent enough that she could pretty much say anything, had a lot of translation work to do. It often got quite late, before I returned to my shell, the bedroom that had been kindly gifted to my be Katy and Gianni. (Katy was good at keeping an eye on my energy levels, though, and seeing when I needed to go to lesson plan and then bed: thanks Katy!)
The weather was wonderful too – hotter than it should've been for the end of August, beginning of September, they said. On the last day, the day I left, it was 37 degrees. I don't know about the rest of the time, but I do remember in one of the after school meetings lifting my arm and a squelch coming from my armpit, and I remember planning a lesson during the day – a different day - in the staffroom, and resting my arm on my leg with a fan full-blast on me, and lifting that arm to find I had a wet arm-shaped patch on my leg. The question is was it my leg sweating, or my arm? Probably both, I guess, but since when do arms and tops of thigh sweat?
Gianni and Katy and Caroline took me various great places too – we went to Lake Garda, and saw a beautiful art exhibition – almost walked past, but then Caroline and I discovered it was free – so we came and looked at and discussed the art. Well Caroline discussed it. I said various things were 'pretty!'. I was treated to a yummy ice cream at the lake too, and managed to resist a particularly nice jumper! Before that, we went to this beautiful village, made up of only really one, maybe two main streets, and the whole of it was historic, fantastically maintained buildings. It'd been awarded the status of something like 'Most beautiful town in Italy', for fairly obvious reasons. Katy and I tried on various hats, and Katy showed me how it's done in terms of the comedy 'pout'!
So that's the gist of it – great host family, great weather, great places to visit – oh and great teachers and students. Pretty 'great' really! (Repetition for emphasis.) The other thing that was great was chatting to Caroline. She showed me how to cycle to the school and back – we went there and back twice on Sunday, then she escorted me there and back on Monday.... Then we kept doing it. One day I went back on my own because we had our 'staff drinks', so were finishing late. But otherwise she'd leave early in the morning to go out with me, wait for half an hour until school started, wait for half an hour after school as we had our daily meeting, then cycle back with me. I hope she didn't mind this – and I don't think she did. She did know I was able to go on my own, I think, but we both just liked talking. So we'd cycle slowly to school, and slowly back, and we'd talk.
It was on another journey though – when we went to try to post my postcards, I think, or possibly when we went to get thank you biscuits for the bidelli (sort of janitors/admin type staff), that we had the conversation that I started writing about, initially. A journey on foot.
And I will say that when I started writing this next bit – or parts of it - I was feeling upset, about my friend, Nick, who died in Spring.
We were walking in the town and talking about music, I think. I started talking to Caroline about how my friend Jess was thinking about writing a piece about the fact that she thinks that American folk music – true folk, not country – came out of the Negro spirituals, and therefore that it has a religious side or, at least, that it does for her. (I hope I'm paraphrasing Jess correctly here!) I commented that Jess wanted to write this, but didn't know if she should as there might be a backlash. Caroline asked why, and I started to try to tactfully explain that religion is a bit like a bad word here. A bit like racist or whatever. I mean not that bad – and I kept stopping myself, catching myself, and questioning was this true or was it just me? I asked one of my friends – I can't remember which one – if they agreed with this, and they said yes, they thought that was the culture here. That faith wasn't something you admitted to or, if you did, it was only when people asked you; you didn't proclaim it from the rooftops. But then that could be the person I asked. Of course, this is any faith, not just Islam, I will say – and should not have to say, but felt it was best in the current climate.
So, religion as a shameful thing in England. Caroline asked why was this, and I said I thought that religion was maybe associated with prejudice, with intolerance.... She said weren't we a Christian country? I said maybe officially, and most people maybe would say they were religious, but very few people went to church, or prayed.... I said that I, myself, was an atheist.
And that's when she said that she'd assumed I was religious. Because of all the good deeds I do, the volunteering I do. (If you ever meet Caroline's dad, ask him about the centre he's fundraised for, and campaigned to set up, that is a place where – again, I hope I'm remembering this correctly – people with disabilities can come to pet animals, to have this form of therapy.) This is the good side of religion, and I was recently talking to my friend Rhi about kindness, and how sad it feels at the moment that in the Brexit debate, for example, the 'Remain' side talked only about money. There wasn't a single thing said about helping other people, about giving up a little of what you have because other people's need is greater than yours which was, for me, the main reason why I voted to stay in: because I want to try to make everyone's lives as good as they can be. And I don't think that being born in another country makes you any less deserving of help. So Rhi and I were thinking that maybe we need something like religion, that teaches people to be good to each other, and to be selfless, at least sometimes. Because right now it seems like our dominant culture – but by no means everybody – is always saying me, sex, money, and sex and especially money for me.
Of course, then the snarky part of me raised its head and said to Rhi that as a non-religious person who still does good, I was actually gooder, because I did good without the stick of hell and the carrot of heaven, and without anyone telling me that it's something I should do. Certainly religion doesn't have the monopoly on good. Not good nor bad.
Rhi and I's discussion then meandered on. Rhi noted that - countering that point about my goodness – my parents gave me these values, to some extent. And then I countered my own goodness: why do I do these good things? I said it was selfish, really, because it made me feel good, and because it gave me an interesting life. Rhi then said, 'But you don't just do it because of that, do you?' And she was right, I don't: I really do want everyone's lives to be as good as they can. And that's partly because I'm an atheist – see the rest of this, below.
But anyway, tangent over. Back to me, and Caroline, my 'host daughter', as we call it. Talking on the way to by either stamps or sweets, in Italy. In the shade. Why did I come back not very tanned? Because when it's 37% you don't go out in the sun!
Caroline and I then started talking about why she did and I didn't believe. It was a good conversation, actually, with both sides – I hope I was anyway – listening and respecting the other's view. Caroline asked me what it was like not believing, and I started to say to her about railing against a God I don't believe in whenever things aren't perfect. When it rains, when I want to eat chocolate and cake, and these are the precise things that make you fat: is it sod's law, or is it God's law? (Or, is it biology? - not a question. It's biology.)
We went on a tangent then, and she maybe thought I meant I wanted something to blame, and it would be good to have that, as well as someone to pray to when you need help, but I liked the question, and I thought about it several times afterwards, and this is more (Caroline) what I was trying to get to:
(Now the emotion comes in – the main part that I wrote in the heat of my grief.)
This anger on my part/railing at God is more that this is IT. This is the only life I will get, so every bit of crap that happens is something that pushes out something that could have been good. I know all the stuff about suffering making other things better etc., and it's actually not even like I have suffered, but I don't accept that. Fuck that placidity. This is the only thing I will ever have, this life, so I want the best of it. I want the best life I can get, and I rage when I don't get it, and I mourn each day of it that passes because it is over and never coming back and has taken me one step closer to the end of the line where my brain will switch off and my body will disintegrate into its components. I have no 'Hell' to fear, true, but there is only this life that I have. This is it.
(Andrew said that I was being bleak when I said that each one of us is dying, a little, every day: one step closer to dead. As a scientist I thought he should've acknowledged that this was bleak, yes, but also true. Still, it's something worth looking away from.)
Nothing but death. This is why I try to push everything I can into my life. Which is good, but is also why I'm full of anger and frustration and resentment against nothing, why I rail against God. And that's the another annoying thing – there is no-one to hate or blame. I turn to 'God' as an imaginary scapegoat (according to my beliefs) because I want to shout at someone.
When I was in primary school I had a small pink reporters-style notebook. I wrote in it that the curse of humanity is self-awareness. What I meant, then, was the boredom, and the fear of dying, lead us to creating pastimes, which leads to waste, which leads to the environmental killing of our planet. What I also meant was that as we are sentient enough to be aware of death, and intelligent enough to avoid it, we have done precisely that: not entirely, of course. No brains in jars yet, but we now live to one hundred, rather than, what, forty? And that is, ultimately, why this world is bursting, at the seams, with humans. (Remember – we are a virus, reproducing uncontrollably, and then killing our host. Even though we ought to know better.) (Yes, that was a rant.)
The other, the thing that I feel, right now, intermittently - it's gone down to intermittent – is total loss. For a few months it was quite often that the tears filled me up and came out of me. Now it is much rarer, but that is the other thing about being an atheist: fear of death but not only that, living with death, and loss.
So, Caroline, what is it like, being an atheist?
Horrible.
With grief, horrible.
Yes, grief is always terrible, and no, you shouldn't compare it.
But.
Nick is dead. My friend Nick is dead.
And if you are an atheist, the dead are dead and will only ever be with you in your imagination or when you painfully rehash your memories of them (eventually you get used to the pain).
So Nick, my friend, is dead. And I know that I shouldn't belittle other people's pain, but I will say this to anyone who is religious and believes they will see their relative or friend again – believes in heaven, believes in angels, believes in spirits floating around in the ether and watching over you and giving you advice and waiting to hold you with open arms when you, too, pass into that wonderful place: you don't know grief.
You don't. You don't know what I am feeling. You don't know grief, not the full depths that it can go to. And you never will.
(And yes, that makes me angry, jealous, makes me want to cut away your happiness and security. But that's my grief talking. The grief of my totally dead dead, and of the other life – my own - that I am losing day by day.)
Talking to my friend John about this, about the conversation I had with Caroline, we talked about this existential crisis. If that's what this is. And we talked about how nice it would be to believe, except the thing is you can't choose to lie to yourself: you can't choose to believe. I have friends who have flirted with God during times of grief and breakdown. We all have certain lies and stories that we tell to ourselves, and my advice to anyone who is of religion is to stick with it. Don't take your eyes away from the book that you are reading.
When I was young I used to go around trying to 'de-convert' people. But I don't do that anymore, because it's cruel.
I can give you a summary of my week in Villafranca – which is in Italy, near Verona. Another amazing host family – mum Katy, dad Gianni, and daughter Caroline. And Gianni's friends are right: he does look like a close relative of Paul McCartney.
It was really nice staying with them – amazing, really – and particularly because I'm not normally a very sociable person, but this family was so gregarious and interesting that I couldn't help but enjoy sitting at dinner and talking with them and Caroline's grandmother. I did sometimes feel a little bad at my lack of knowledge about British things – like how much houses cost, food costs...or even anything. My main specialism, the thing I know stuff about is..... Yeah, there isn't anything. Sorry Gianni! But it was good to talk, and Caroline, who's essentially fluent in English, or at the very least fluent enough that she could pretty much say anything, had a lot of translation work to do. It often got quite late, before I returned to my shell, the bedroom that had been kindly gifted to my be Katy and Gianni. (Katy was good at keeping an eye on my energy levels, though, and seeing when I needed to go to lesson plan and then bed: thanks Katy!)
The weather was wonderful too – hotter than it should've been for the end of August, beginning of September, they said. On the last day, the day I left, it was 37 degrees. I don't know about the rest of the time, but I do remember in one of the after school meetings lifting my arm and a squelch coming from my armpit, and I remember planning a lesson during the day – a different day - in the staffroom, and resting my arm on my leg with a fan full-blast on me, and lifting that arm to find I had a wet arm-shaped patch on my leg. The question is was it my leg sweating, or my arm? Probably both, I guess, but since when do arms and tops of thigh sweat?
Gianni and Katy and Caroline took me various great places too – we went to Lake Garda, and saw a beautiful art exhibition – almost walked past, but then Caroline and I discovered it was free – so we came and looked at and discussed the art. Well Caroline discussed it. I said various things were 'pretty!'. I was treated to a yummy ice cream at the lake too, and managed to resist a particularly nice jumper! Before that, we went to this beautiful village, made up of only really one, maybe two main streets, and the whole of it was historic, fantastically maintained buildings. It'd been awarded the status of something like 'Most beautiful town in Italy', for fairly obvious reasons. Katy and I tried on various hats, and Katy showed me how it's done in terms of the comedy 'pout'!
So that's the gist of it – great host family, great weather, great places to visit – oh and great teachers and students. Pretty 'great' really! (Repetition for emphasis.) The other thing that was great was chatting to Caroline. She showed me how to cycle to the school and back – we went there and back twice on Sunday, then she escorted me there and back on Monday.... Then we kept doing it. One day I went back on my own because we had our 'staff drinks', so were finishing late. But otherwise she'd leave early in the morning to go out with me, wait for half an hour until school started, wait for half an hour after school as we had our daily meeting, then cycle back with me. I hope she didn't mind this – and I don't think she did. She did know I was able to go on my own, I think, but we both just liked talking. So we'd cycle slowly to school, and slowly back, and we'd talk.
It was on another journey though – when we went to try to post my postcards, I think, or possibly when we went to get thank you biscuits for the bidelli (sort of janitors/admin type staff), that we had the conversation that I started writing about, initially. A journey on foot.
And I will say that when I started writing this next bit – or parts of it - I was feeling upset, about my friend, Nick, who died in Spring.
We were walking in the town and talking about music, I think. I started talking to Caroline about how my friend Jess was thinking about writing a piece about the fact that she thinks that American folk music – true folk, not country – came out of the Negro spirituals, and therefore that it has a religious side or, at least, that it does for her. (I hope I'm paraphrasing Jess correctly here!) I commented that Jess wanted to write this, but didn't know if she should as there might be a backlash. Caroline asked why, and I started to try to tactfully explain that religion is a bit like a bad word here. A bit like racist or whatever. I mean not that bad – and I kept stopping myself, catching myself, and questioning was this true or was it just me? I asked one of my friends – I can't remember which one – if they agreed with this, and they said yes, they thought that was the culture here. That faith wasn't something you admitted to or, if you did, it was only when people asked you; you didn't proclaim it from the rooftops. But then that could be the person I asked. Of course, this is any faith, not just Islam, I will say – and should not have to say, but felt it was best in the current climate.
So, religion as a shameful thing in England. Caroline asked why was this, and I said I thought that religion was maybe associated with prejudice, with intolerance.... She said weren't we a Christian country? I said maybe officially, and most people maybe would say they were religious, but very few people went to church, or prayed.... I said that I, myself, was an atheist.
And that's when she said that she'd assumed I was religious. Because of all the good deeds I do, the volunteering I do. (If you ever meet Caroline's dad, ask him about the centre he's fundraised for, and campaigned to set up, that is a place where – again, I hope I'm remembering this correctly – people with disabilities can come to pet animals, to have this form of therapy.) This is the good side of religion, and I was recently talking to my friend Rhi about kindness, and how sad it feels at the moment that in the Brexit debate, for example, the 'Remain' side talked only about money. There wasn't a single thing said about helping other people, about giving up a little of what you have because other people's need is greater than yours which was, for me, the main reason why I voted to stay in: because I want to try to make everyone's lives as good as they can be. And I don't think that being born in another country makes you any less deserving of help. So Rhi and I were thinking that maybe we need something like religion, that teaches people to be good to each other, and to be selfless, at least sometimes. Because right now it seems like our dominant culture – but by no means everybody – is always saying me, sex, money, and sex and especially money for me.
Of course, then the snarky part of me raised its head and said to Rhi that as a non-religious person who still does good, I was actually gooder, because I did good without the stick of hell and the carrot of heaven, and without anyone telling me that it's something I should do. Certainly religion doesn't have the monopoly on good. Not good nor bad.
Rhi and I's discussion then meandered on. Rhi noted that - countering that point about my goodness – my parents gave me these values, to some extent. And then I countered my own goodness: why do I do these good things? I said it was selfish, really, because it made me feel good, and because it gave me an interesting life. Rhi then said, 'But you don't just do it because of that, do you?' And she was right, I don't: I really do want everyone's lives to be as good as they can. And that's partly because I'm an atheist – see the rest of this, below.
But anyway, tangent over. Back to me, and Caroline, my 'host daughter', as we call it. Talking on the way to by either stamps or sweets, in Italy. In the shade. Why did I come back not very tanned? Because when it's 37% you don't go out in the sun!
Caroline and I then started talking about why she did and I didn't believe. It was a good conversation, actually, with both sides – I hope I was anyway – listening and respecting the other's view. Caroline asked me what it was like not believing, and I started to say to her about railing against a God I don't believe in whenever things aren't perfect. When it rains, when I want to eat chocolate and cake, and these are the precise things that make you fat: is it sod's law, or is it God's law? (Or, is it biology? - not a question. It's biology.)
We went on a tangent then, and she maybe thought I meant I wanted something to blame, and it would be good to have that, as well as someone to pray to when you need help, but I liked the question, and I thought about it several times afterwards, and this is more (Caroline) what I was trying to get to:
(Now the emotion comes in – the main part that I wrote in the heat of my grief.)
This anger on my part/railing at God is more that this is IT. This is the only life I will get, so every bit of crap that happens is something that pushes out something that could have been good. I know all the stuff about suffering making other things better etc., and it's actually not even like I have suffered, but I don't accept that. Fuck that placidity. This is the only thing I will ever have, this life, so I want the best of it. I want the best life I can get, and I rage when I don't get it, and I mourn each day of it that passes because it is over and never coming back and has taken me one step closer to the end of the line where my brain will switch off and my body will disintegrate into its components. I have no 'Hell' to fear, true, but there is only this life that I have. This is it.
(Andrew said that I was being bleak when I said that each one of us is dying, a little, every day: one step closer to dead. As a scientist I thought he should've acknowledged that this was bleak, yes, but also true. Still, it's something worth looking away from.)
Nothing but death. This is why I try to push everything I can into my life. Which is good, but is also why I'm full of anger and frustration and resentment against nothing, why I rail against God. And that's the another annoying thing – there is no-one to hate or blame. I turn to 'God' as an imaginary scapegoat (according to my beliefs) because I want to shout at someone.
When I was in primary school I had a small pink reporters-style notebook. I wrote in it that the curse of humanity is self-awareness. What I meant, then, was the boredom, and the fear of dying, lead us to creating pastimes, which leads to waste, which leads to the environmental killing of our planet. What I also meant was that as we are sentient enough to be aware of death, and intelligent enough to avoid it, we have done precisely that: not entirely, of course. No brains in jars yet, but we now live to one hundred, rather than, what, forty? And that is, ultimately, why this world is bursting, at the seams, with humans. (Remember – we are a virus, reproducing uncontrollably, and then killing our host. Even though we ought to know better.) (Yes, that was a rant.)
The other, the thing that I feel, right now, intermittently - it's gone down to intermittent – is total loss. For a few months it was quite often that the tears filled me up and came out of me. Now it is much rarer, but that is the other thing about being an atheist: fear of death but not only that, living with death, and loss.
So, Caroline, what is it like, being an atheist?
Horrible.
With grief, horrible.
Yes, grief is always terrible, and no, you shouldn't compare it.
But.
Nick is dead. My friend Nick is dead.
And if you are an atheist, the dead are dead and will only ever be with you in your imagination or when you painfully rehash your memories of them (eventually you get used to the pain).
So Nick, my friend, is dead. And I know that I shouldn't belittle other people's pain, but I will say this to anyone who is religious and believes they will see their relative or friend again – believes in heaven, believes in angels, believes in spirits floating around in the ether and watching over you and giving you advice and waiting to hold you with open arms when you, too, pass into that wonderful place: you don't know grief.
You don't. You don't know what I am feeling. You don't know grief, not the full depths that it can go to. And you never will.
(And yes, that makes me angry, jealous, makes me want to cut away your happiness and security. But that's my grief talking. The grief of my totally dead dead, and of the other life – my own - that I am losing day by day.)
Talking to my friend John about this, about the conversation I had with Caroline, we talked about this existential crisis. If that's what this is. And we talked about how nice it would be to believe, except the thing is you can't choose to lie to yourself: you can't choose to believe. I have friends who have flirted with God during times of grief and breakdown. We all have certain lies and stories that we tell to ourselves, and my advice to anyone who is of religion is to stick with it. Don't take your eyes away from the book that you are reading.
When I was young I used to go around trying to 'de-convert' people. But I don't do that anymore, because it's cruel.
Calais - February 2016 (The Women and Children's Centre in The Jungle)
Monday
Monday morning. We (me, Rhi and Ann) set off very early from Norwich - at hideous o'clock in the morning (about 4.30). Wrong o'clock is any time before 8 (in my world), before half six is urgh o'clock. Half four is hideous.
We went to St. Albans to meet Kathy and transfer the donations. And we discovered that Rhi falls asleep really easily in cars. Literally, it's pavlovian – car moves off and zzzzz. Brilliant! The car was totally packed with the donations – sardine style: Rhi had to slide in, and then we pushed a load of bags onto her and quickly closed the door. Luckily Kathy's dad had lent us his car, which is much bigger than Ann's. So although when we got to St Albans Kathy had some extra donations, the bigger car plus the fact that my dad is a packing ninja, meant it was all fine. We cannonballed some more cups of tea, ate some breakfast (was way too early for food when we first set off) and drove on to Dover.
Now I'd been incredibly paranoid time wise. I allowed forgetting to set our alarms time, running late time, lots of M25 time.... All this meant that even after the nice tea, toast and re-packing break, and a cookie (for me) and cup of tea at some services, we still arrived 45 minutes before the 1 hour early that we were recommended to arrive. Which was lucky, because it turned out our ferry had been cancelled. A few days earlier. We hadn't been told this. But it was ok – because we were so ridiculously early they put us on the ferry before. (Or maybe two before, or three...!) And this was all a very good thing because otherwise we might not have got to our Airbnb in time for getting the key.
Ok actually we were 10 minutes late for that anyway. But that wasn't because of my hideous navigational skills*, which were only remedied by us discovering the satnav actually did work, it was because we foolishly stopped for a late lunch and a drink in a nice cafe, and then they took AGES to bring us the bill!!!! (Totally not our fault.)
After that we went to try to find the warehouse. And we managed quite easily – via the power of satnav. I'd emailed the week before (a bit last minute) to ask about when to drop off the donations – they like you to book a slot. I didn't have a reply yet, but we thought we'd just swing by in case we could drop them off. We got there about 5.30 – just before they close up (at 6) and we found out that the people in the orange reflective jackets were the ones to speak to. We found one of these, called Cais (I do not know about the spelling) and he said yes to leaving the donations, told us we'd have to sign waiver forms tomorrow, and to report back there at 9am for the briefing.
Good stuff. We went back to our Airbnb (via Carrefour – food shopping) and then watched Empire Records. We at this point only had the sound from Kathy's laptop (got a cable for the tv the next day) – the relevance of this is that I decided, about half an hour before the end, that I was too tired to finish it (even though it's an amazing film) so I went to have a shower.
And that pretty much drowned everything out. (Sorry guys!!)
* About 15 years ago me and Kathy and various other people drove around Paris. It's a legendary tale involving various broken red lights, going the wrong way on a dual carriageway, and going off a slip road to suddenly find ourselves in the 1st floor of a car park. (Sharp right turn.) On this occasion we never found our hotel and ended up sleeping in our cars in a car park off the motorway and waking up with a random lady knocking on our window trying to sell us a ring. Kathy commented that I was directing that time too....
Monday morning. We (me, Rhi and Ann) set off very early from Norwich - at hideous o'clock in the morning (about 4.30). Wrong o'clock is any time before 8 (in my world), before half six is urgh o'clock. Half four is hideous.
We went to St. Albans to meet Kathy and transfer the donations. And we discovered that Rhi falls asleep really easily in cars. Literally, it's pavlovian – car moves off and zzzzz. Brilliant! The car was totally packed with the donations – sardine style: Rhi had to slide in, and then we pushed a load of bags onto her and quickly closed the door. Luckily Kathy's dad had lent us his car, which is much bigger than Ann's. So although when we got to St Albans Kathy had some extra donations, the bigger car plus the fact that my dad is a packing ninja, meant it was all fine. We cannonballed some more cups of tea, ate some breakfast (was way too early for food when we first set off) and drove on to Dover.
Now I'd been incredibly paranoid time wise. I allowed forgetting to set our alarms time, running late time, lots of M25 time.... All this meant that even after the nice tea, toast and re-packing break, and a cookie (for me) and cup of tea at some services, we still arrived 45 minutes before the 1 hour early that we were recommended to arrive. Which was lucky, because it turned out our ferry had been cancelled. A few days earlier. We hadn't been told this. But it was ok – because we were so ridiculously early they put us on the ferry before. (Or maybe two before, or three...!) And this was all a very good thing because otherwise we might not have got to our Airbnb in time for getting the key.
Ok actually we were 10 minutes late for that anyway. But that wasn't because of my hideous navigational skills*, which were only remedied by us discovering the satnav actually did work, it was because we foolishly stopped for a late lunch and a drink in a nice cafe, and then they took AGES to bring us the bill!!!! (Totally not our fault.)
After that we went to try to find the warehouse. And we managed quite easily – via the power of satnav. I'd emailed the week before (a bit last minute) to ask about when to drop off the donations – they like you to book a slot. I didn't have a reply yet, but we thought we'd just swing by in case we could drop them off. We got there about 5.30 – just before they close up (at 6) and we found out that the people in the orange reflective jackets were the ones to speak to. We found one of these, called Cais (I do not know about the spelling) and he said yes to leaving the donations, told us we'd have to sign waiver forms tomorrow, and to report back there at 9am for the briefing.
Good stuff. We went back to our Airbnb (via Carrefour – food shopping) and then watched Empire Records. We at this point only had the sound from Kathy's laptop (got a cable for the tv the next day) – the relevance of this is that I decided, about half an hour before the end, that I was too tired to finish it (even though it's an amazing film) so I went to have a shower.
And that pretty much drowned everything out. (Sorry guys!!)
* About 15 years ago me and Kathy and various other people drove around Paris. It's a legendary tale involving various broken red lights, going the wrong way on a dual carriageway, and going off a slip road to suddenly find ourselves in the 1st floor of a car park. (Sharp right turn.) On this occasion we never found our hotel and ended up sleeping in our cars in a car park off the motorway and waking up with a random lady knocking on our window trying to sell us a ring. Kathy commented that I was directing that time too....
Tuesday
Due to amazing skills we only arrived 10 minutes late for the briefing. And it turned out the briefing hadn't started yet, so that was great! The main orange person was Hettie (I think), and she got all us new volunteers in a big circle - “Lot's of you. I love half term!” - and we began by following her in a mini workout and stretching session. Now don't expect to lose any calories if you ever do this, but it was nice, it warmed us all up a bit (although I wasn't ever cold the whole week because of the ski jacket I accidentally bought for my birthday, thinking it was a normal waterproof), and it – for me anyway – took some of the edge off the unknown. Although really the 'unknown' had been pretty much blunted after we met the orange person from the day before, and saw that we were surrounded by a system. There is a daily briefing meeting, there are people who are 'in charge'. Now of course the situation is ever fluid, and to be honest often when you ask a question people don't always know (the normal volunteers don't that is), but everyone works it out together, and the orange guys are pretty damn good.
So Rhi, Kathy and I needed to 'rent' waterproof trousers from the warehouse. I had some, but had cunningly left them at our airbnb, and the residents of the camp had requested that women had their hair tied back and not wear too tight trousers. This was something we were happy to comply with, although it rested a little uneasily. (Just a little bit.) But it is about respect, and I was chatting to my friend Jo today about the trip, and she was saying about how for probably a large proportion of the people there they've never seen women without a veil before, for example – she said it's just a massive learning curve on both sides, but she felt (and I feel) that everyone's doing pretty well, all things considered.
Thinking about other conversations I've been having with people, one friend, Shirley, was wondering – to herself really – why so many people in the camp (probably all, I guess?) want specifically to come to England. She was thinking, when you've travelled so far, wouldn't you want to stop, and rest, the minute you were safe? She considered the benefit system we had, she considered our strong currency.... I didn't really know. I could tell her that people seemed to be trying hard to learn both French and English. I thought maybe it was partly a myth - of England as a dream, promised land. A myth that I guess hasn't got out, so strongly, about other places. And partly maybe just the effect of word of mouth – one person says 'I'm going to England,' which makes another person think to do the same, and so on. But then I don't know about the numbers being accepted across the rest of Europe – I know for example Germany has accepted many. Shirley then said, to herself, when I told her about the stories of gangs coming into the camp (French gangs) and hurting people, and things like that, “Of course, would you want to stay somewhere where people hurt you? I guess I've answered my question.” I hasten to add, that I also met many, many, very kind French volunteers who were also there to help at the camp. (Two of them gave Ann and I a lift the next day!) At the morning meetings Hetty would remind us that this is a very difficult situation for the local Calaisians, and to be sympathetic.
Anyhow, we waited for the different groups of volunteers to be assigned and disperse. Then Cais told us a van was going to the camp, bringing over lots of volunteers. Kathy and Rhiannon were still hunting for trousers, and that was when I realised I needed some too, so although Cais held the van, it filled up and then had to leave. Basically we ended up hanging around trying various lift arrangements until we found some volunteers who were driving, and had been before – so we got in our car, and followed them.
Trying to remember the feeling of driving past the parked police cars (who just let us be – and there was only, each day, I think one, maybe two police vans, with a couple of policemen standing around)...I can't remember how I felt particularly beyond the general feeling of nervousness. We all got our passports ready, but we weren't stopped. Then the car we were following turned through a gap in the fence – not an unofficial gap, as I'd sort of expected (cut through barbed wire) but an official opening. Muddy track that looked like (in places) it had been reinforced with stuff like big gravel stuff etc. The first thing on the right was...I can't remember. I think it was a box/structure (I may at times call them buildings, but never think that they are – they are tents or sheds or caravans or similar structures. Pimped out tents or sheds at best.) that I think said something to do with the Daily Journal on it or something (seemed newsy). Never saw anyone near it though – and there were no windows/window equivalents to look through. Speaking of windows, we were asked, at each morning meeting, not to take photographs. It is so tempting, but they said, at the very least, ask permission, but to remember that this is people's homes we are walking past and at times coming into. Apparently sometimes there are people who just walk past, stick out their cameras (trying to do it sneakily I guess) and photograph into people's tents or caravans. As if it's a people-zoo. I can really understand the temptation, but also the frustration on the part of the photographees.
Hetty also always emphasised at the morning meeting the importance of...I can't think of the word. Humanising is wrong as obviously they are humans. Supporting self-respect was the general concept – for example the people sorting the donations were advised, “If there's something that's torn or dirty, then we will give it to cash for clothes – just think about whether you would want it. Would you, for example, buy it from a charity shop?” It occasionally felt weird, this concept of rejecting donations, but there were, luckily, a lot of donations – and I guess if someone offers you rubbish, maybe this might make you feel that way.
So we followed the car further and further into The Jungle. You had to go slowly – because of the terrain and because of the need, at times, to wait for people to walk out of the way. We passed various places that had signs painted on them e.g. 'Jungle Books', and there were various portaloos, plus some 'wash stations' - which appeared to have running (although I doubt it was hot) water and soaps hanging down from ropes. There was a car behind us that turned off about half way along. The car in front parked so we got out and asked them for directions to the Women and Children's Centre. It turned out we'd gone too far, but it wasn't too hard to find our way back. They asked us about the car that was following us, we said they'd peeled off...we all figured they must have known what they were doing, as it seemed deliberate. (These people were coming in to do litter picking I think.) So we retraced our steps then took a left – and there it was. Yellow and red tent/structure, with a wooden playground and fence around it. Hurrah!
Now my first main memory of the Centre is one of the long-term volunteers running in and bolting the door, and one of the teenage boys banging against the door – crashing against it. (Angrily.) But this was not the actual beginning. We arrived, introduced ourselves, came in with our art stuff, and began to take it out. There were, I think, not many people in there – so we went out with our leaflets to get more people in. (Ready-translated, via the help of my friend Ali, an amazing guy Spin from the BBC translation team, and...Google translate [sorry!!!].) There weren't many people obviously around. We found one young boy (maybe 9/10) and asked him if he could pass some of the leaflets around for us, and he took a chunk and went off – brilliant!
People started coming in – just a few. There were a couple of young girls, some women came in – it's all a bit of a blur, but I remember dropped off the few toys, then we quickly got more and more of the different activities out (painting, bracelet-making, colouring books, etc), and offered them, seeing what people were interested in.
But, yes, then the long-term volunteer ran in, and locked the door shut. So. What to say about a few of the teenaged boys. We were warned to expect some challenging behaviour. They didn't want to scare us off, but they also wanted us to be prepared. So what can I say about it. Well yes, there were a few who could be quite aggressive at times. One boy would swear a lot, too, saying 'Fuck you one, fuck you two, fuck you three.' I really wanted to correct his grammar – 'I think you mean once, twice, three times.' Although maybe he was referring to different groups of people. Anyway, at times it was scary, but the long term volunteers handled it really well. They have a good relationship with the boys – and it was only a few of the teenaged boys who were at times problems. The long-term volunteers had to be firm at times, but it was done on their side with a smile and, for one of the 'naughty' boys, a smile on his side too. The Centre Manager, Liz, is also wonderful, and I was amazed at the way she would shout when she needed to, and at times had to deal with and put up with a lot, but she handled it, and always handled it with tolerance and understanding, and not a hair of resentment towards the boys. The thing it really made me think was – in terms of trying to understand – that when you are or have been really scared, sometimes the only way you can deal with it is to fight back. (I spent a lot of my time there struggling to suppress my fear, because it was making me want to lash out – sound familiar?) Also, it was I think partly a bid for some sense of control after being for so long so powerless. And there was a lot of frustration not just because of the general situation but because communication was not always easy. I also felt that despite the at times threatening behaviour, these were overall kind, good people, who had been very damaged and affected by what they'd experienced, but they did not want to carry out their threats, they just wanted to feel stronger, and to hurt less. For any of you who've seen Firefly (Joss Whedon's show), sometimes when you come up against a will/something so terrible, the only way to deal with it is to become it. Two stories (but jumping around in time a little bit) to show what I mean:
One of the boys, who stays with Liz quite a lot, we were warned could fly off the handle quite easily. The one who was banging against the door on the first day. We were generally advised to avoid eye contact as he could sometimes take this as an act of aggression. On I think the Thursday he 'trapped' Ann under an umbrella. I stayed near, watching. Ann said he asked her how old she was. She said 30, and asked him how old he was. He said he was 13. She could not be 13. They repeated this a bit – it's always a difficult thing, to hear the difference between the teens and the tens. She said he looked into her eyes, and studied her. He then 'released' her. And on the Tuesday, our first day of art, he and his friend spent a long time painting a canvas with three thick stripes (one of the volunteers called it a Rothko). This boy's friend asked me at one point for clean paintbrushes (as we'd forgotten to bring water that day to wash them). I only managed to find one smallish one, and I apologised as I passed it to him. He said it was no problem, and they continued painting.
And on the Friday one of the other boys – the one who'd scrap with other kids but with a smile on his face – well he'd waved at me from across the tent one day and taken a small pair of wire-rimmed glasses from his pocket – and smiled at me (because we both wear glasses). On the Friday he came up to me and took my glasses off me and put onto my face instead a pair of sunglasses. I started freaking out a bit, as I'm totally blind without them, and they're expensive things. I said with increasing force, “Give those back!” until he said, “Is there a problem, are we going to fight?” He was I think a bit annoyed with my lack of trust. And I did think he would give them back, probably...but I am so, so blind without them. Anyway I quieted and let him try them on. And when he did he did the (people do it every time!) moving back and going 'Whoa, you're eyes are really bad,' and then gave them instantly back. I don't know, but I think he could tell how much I needed them, so he wasn't going to worry me any more.
But I must also tell you about the really good things. I remember talking to one girl, who was from Afghanistan. She was almost fluent in English, and said her mum had been a professor there, teaching people how to teach. I struggled to think about what to talk about that wouldn't be painful for her – the past might I thought make her feel homesick, and the present was hardly a bathful of joy. In the end I asked her about the climate and weather there – apparently it can get quite snowy. She was clever, very polite, very helpful (she helped translate while I was attempting to teach English another day). She really enjoyed the French knitting, and took hers home (the wooden thing you do the French knitting with), plus the ball of wool, to continue at home. Later she told me she'd made something for her hair from the tube of knitting that appears as you work away at it. Another boy enjoyed the French knitting – and came back another day to do more. And one amazing woman spent quite a lot of time (very patiently) teaching me crochet. I'd actually learnt this form about a year before, but had totally forgotten it. She was very patient. :) One of the younger girls started making a bracelet (Rhi had got these wooden bangles, and we were wrapping silk thread round them), and then, when she found this too time-consuming for her liking, she asked for a few and painted them blue.
The best bit, however, was one of the young kids deciding to draw on Ann's lips with a light pink crayon. Sadly no photos.
At the end of the day Kathy, Rhi and Ann had a drink from my thermos (tea, yay!) and then ran after the boy who'd grabbed it, while I waited to speak to Liz. In the end, as she'd had to go climb onto the roof of one of the structures to talk to one of the boys, I decided to talk to her the next day.
We got home and sorted out the donations. Bought some more food (I think – we did this quite a lot. Particularly cheese and salami-style sausages)... Then collapsed in front of the TV to watch The Boat That Rocked. Oh yeah, we DID do some more shopping – we went back to Carrefour and got a CABLE so we could have good audio, and a BUTTLOAD of food thanks to some cash donations from our friends. We decide fresh vegetables and fruit was the best, and £30 buys a lot of that! And hand sanitiser. Hurrah!
We also went to this great pub, just opposite our airbnb. (Before The Boat That Rocked.) I can tell you that there's this beer with a Pelican on it – was it called Pelemet? Something like that. Well the blonde version of that is very nice, although a half of that was plenty for me! And it was a very 'local' bar, with different people seeming to hop behind the bar and serve the drinks, and then go play pool for a bit. Might have been a bit scary, given some of the tales we'd heard, but these locals were really nice people. (Two pints of the Pelemet beer was certainly plenty for Rhi and Kathy.)
Due to amazing skills we only arrived 10 minutes late for the briefing. And it turned out the briefing hadn't started yet, so that was great! The main orange person was Hettie (I think), and she got all us new volunteers in a big circle - “Lot's of you. I love half term!” - and we began by following her in a mini workout and stretching session. Now don't expect to lose any calories if you ever do this, but it was nice, it warmed us all up a bit (although I wasn't ever cold the whole week because of the ski jacket I accidentally bought for my birthday, thinking it was a normal waterproof), and it – for me anyway – took some of the edge off the unknown. Although really the 'unknown' had been pretty much blunted after we met the orange person from the day before, and saw that we were surrounded by a system. There is a daily briefing meeting, there are people who are 'in charge'. Now of course the situation is ever fluid, and to be honest often when you ask a question people don't always know (the normal volunteers don't that is), but everyone works it out together, and the orange guys are pretty damn good.
So Rhi, Kathy and I needed to 'rent' waterproof trousers from the warehouse. I had some, but had cunningly left them at our airbnb, and the residents of the camp had requested that women had their hair tied back and not wear too tight trousers. This was something we were happy to comply with, although it rested a little uneasily. (Just a little bit.) But it is about respect, and I was chatting to my friend Jo today about the trip, and she was saying about how for probably a large proportion of the people there they've never seen women without a veil before, for example – she said it's just a massive learning curve on both sides, but she felt (and I feel) that everyone's doing pretty well, all things considered.
Thinking about other conversations I've been having with people, one friend, Shirley, was wondering – to herself really – why so many people in the camp (probably all, I guess?) want specifically to come to England. She was thinking, when you've travelled so far, wouldn't you want to stop, and rest, the minute you were safe? She considered the benefit system we had, she considered our strong currency.... I didn't really know. I could tell her that people seemed to be trying hard to learn both French and English. I thought maybe it was partly a myth - of England as a dream, promised land. A myth that I guess hasn't got out, so strongly, about other places. And partly maybe just the effect of word of mouth – one person says 'I'm going to England,' which makes another person think to do the same, and so on. But then I don't know about the numbers being accepted across the rest of Europe – I know for example Germany has accepted many. Shirley then said, to herself, when I told her about the stories of gangs coming into the camp (French gangs) and hurting people, and things like that, “Of course, would you want to stay somewhere where people hurt you? I guess I've answered my question.” I hasten to add, that I also met many, many, very kind French volunteers who were also there to help at the camp. (Two of them gave Ann and I a lift the next day!) At the morning meetings Hetty would remind us that this is a very difficult situation for the local Calaisians, and to be sympathetic.
Anyhow, we waited for the different groups of volunteers to be assigned and disperse. Then Cais told us a van was going to the camp, bringing over lots of volunteers. Kathy and Rhiannon were still hunting for trousers, and that was when I realised I needed some too, so although Cais held the van, it filled up and then had to leave. Basically we ended up hanging around trying various lift arrangements until we found some volunteers who were driving, and had been before – so we got in our car, and followed them.
Trying to remember the feeling of driving past the parked police cars (who just let us be – and there was only, each day, I think one, maybe two police vans, with a couple of policemen standing around)...I can't remember how I felt particularly beyond the general feeling of nervousness. We all got our passports ready, but we weren't stopped. Then the car we were following turned through a gap in the fence – not an unofficial gap, as I'd sort of expected (cut through barbed wire) but an official opening. Muddy track that looked like (in places) it had been reinforced with stuff like big gravel stuff etc. The first thing on the right was...I can't remember. I think it was a box/structure (I may at times call them buildings, but never think that they are – they are tents or sheds or caravans or similar structures. Pimped out tents or sheds at best.) that I think said something to do with the Daily Journal on it or something (seemed newsy). Never saw anyone near it though – and there were no windows/window equivalents to look through. Speaking of windows, we were asked, at each morning meeting, not to take photographs. It is so tempting, but they said, at the very least, ask permission, but to remember that this is people's homes we are walking past and at times coming into. Apparently sometimes there are people who just walk past, stick out their cameras (trying to do it sneakily I guess) and photograph into people's tents or caravans. As if it's a people-zoo. I can really understand the temptation, but also the frustration on the part of the photographees.
Hetty also always emphasised at the morning meeting the importance of...I can't think of the word. Humanising is wrong as obviously they are humans. Supporting self-respect was the general concept – for example the people sorting the donations were advised, “If there's something that's torn or dirty, then we will give it to cash for clothes – just think about whether you would want it. Would you, for example, buy it from a charity shop?” It occasionally felt weird, this concept of rejecting donations, but there were, luckily, a lot of donations – and I guess if someone offers you rubbish, maybe this might make you feel that way.
So we followed the car further and further into The Jungle. You had to go slowly – because of the terrain and because of the need, at times, to wait for people to walk out of the way. We passed various places that had signs painted on them e.g. 'Jungle Books', and there were various portaloos, plus some 'wash stations' - which appeared to have running (although I doubt it was hot) water and soaps hanging down from ropes. There was a car behind us that turned off about half way along. The car in front parked so we got out and asked them for directions to the Women and Children's Centre. It turned out we'd gone too far, but it wasn't too hard to find our way back. They asked us about the car that was following us, we said they'd peeled off...we all figured they must have known what they were doing, as it seemed deliberate. (These people were coming in to do litter picking I think.) So we retraced our steps then took a left – and there it was. Yellow and red tent/structure, with a wooden playground and fence around it. Hurrah!
Now my first main memory of the Centre is one of the long-term volunteers running in and bolting the door, and one of the teenage boys banging against the door – crashing against it. (Angrily.) But this was not the actual beginning. We arrived, introduced ourselves, came in with our art stuff, and began to take it out. There were, I think, not many people in there – so we went out with our leaflets to get more people in. (Ready-translated, via the help of my friend Ali, an amazing guy Spin from the BBC translation team, and...Google translate [sorry!!!].) There weren't many people obviously around. We found one young boy (maybe 9/10) and asked him if he could pass some of the leaflets around for us, and he took a chunk and went off – brilliant!
People started coming in – just a few. There were a couple of young girls, some women came in – it's all a bit of a blur, but I remember dropped off the few toys, then we quickly got more and more of the different activities out (painting, bracelet-making, colouring books, etc), and offered them, seeing what people were interested in.
But, yes, then the long-term volunteer ran in, and locked the door shut. So. What to say about a few of the teenaged boys. We were warned to expect some challenging behaviour. They didn't want to scare us off, but they also wanted us to be prepared. So what can I say about it. Well yes, there were a few who could be quite aggressive at times. One boy would swear a lot, too, saying 'Fuck you one, fuck you two, fuck you three.' I really wanted to correct his grammar – 'I think you mean once, twice, three times.' Although maybe he was referring to different groups of people. Anyway, at times it was scary, but the long term volunteers handled it really well. They have a good relationship with the boys – and it was only a few of the teenaged boys who were at times problems. The long-term volunteers had to be firm at times, but it was done on their side with a smile and, for one of the 'naughty' boys, a smile on his side too. The Centre Manager, Liz, is also wonderful, and I was amazed at the way she would shout when she needed to, and at times had to deal with and put up with a lot, but she handled it, and always handled it with tolerance and understanding, and not a hair of resentment towards the boys. The thing it really made me think was – in terms of trying to understand – that when you are or have been really scared, sometimes the only way you can deal with it is to fight back. (I spent a lot of my time there struggling to suppress my fear, because it was making me want to lash out – sound familiar?) Also, it was I think partly a bid for some sense of control after being for so long so powerless. And there was a lot of frustration not just because of the general situation but because communication was not always easy. I also felt that despite the at times threatening behaviour, these were overall kind, good people, who had been very damaged and affected by what they'd experienced, but they did not want to carry out their threats, they just wanted to feel stronger, and to hurt less. For any of you who've seen Firefly (Joss Whedon's show), sometimes when you come up against a will/something so terrible, the only way to deal with it is to become it. Two stories (but jumping around in time a little bit) to show what I mean:
One of the boys, who stays with Liz quite a lot, we were warned could fly off the handle quite easily. The one who was banging against the door on the first day. We were generally advised to avoid eye contact as he could sometimes take this as an act of aggression. On I think the Thursday he 'trapped' Ann under an umbrella. I stayed near, watching. Ann said he asked her how old she was. She said 30, and asked him how old he was. He said he was 13. She could not be 13. They repeated this a bit – it's always a difficult thing, to hear the difference between the teens and the tens. She said he looked into her eyes, and studied her. He then 'released' her. And on the Tuesday, our first day of art, he and his friend spent a long time painting a canvas with three thick stripes (one of the volunteers called it a Rothko). This boy's friend asked me at one point for clean paintbrushes (as we'd forgotten to bring water that day to wash them). I only managed to find one smallish one, and I apologised as I passed it to him. He said it was no problem, and they continued painting.
And on the Friday one of the other boys – the one who'd scrap with other kids but with a smile on his face – well he'd waved at me from across the tent one day and taken a small pair of wire-rimmed glasses from his pocket – and smiled at me (because we both wear glasses). On the Friday he came up to me and took my glasses off me and put onto my face instead a pair of sunglasses. I started freaking out a bit, as I'm totally blind without them, and they're expensive things. I said with increasing force, “Give those back!” until he said, “Is there a problem, are we going to fight?” He was I think a bit annoyed with my lack of trust. And I did think he would give them back, probably...but I am so, so blind without them. Anyway I quieted and let him try them on. And when he did he did the (people do it every time!) moving back and going 'Whoa, you're eyes are really bad,' and then gave them instantly back. I don't know, but I think he could tell how much I needed them, so he wasn't going to worry me any more.
But I must also tell you about the really good things. I remember talking to one girl, who was from Afghanistan. She was almost fluent in English, and said her mum had been a professor there, teaching people how to teach. I struggled to think about what to talk about that wouldn't be painful for her – the past might I thought make her feel homesick, and the present was hardly a bathful of joy. In the end I asked her about the climate and weather there – apparently it can get quite snowy. She was clever, very polite, very helpful (she helped translate while I was attempting to teach English another day). She really enjoyed the French knitting, and took hers home (the wooden thing you do the French knitting with), plus the ball of wool, to continue at home. Later she told me she'd made something for her hair from the tube of knitting that appears as you work away at it. Another boy enjoyed the French knitting – and came back another day to do more. And one amazing woman spent quite a lot of time (very patiently) teaching me crochet. I'd actually learnt this form about a year before, but had totally forgotten it. She was very patient. :) One of the younger girls started making a bracelet (Rhi had got these wooden bangles, and we were wrapping silk thread round them), and then, when she found this too time-consuming for her liking, she asked for a few and painted them blue.
The best bit, however, was one of the young kids deciding to draw on Ann's lips with a light pink crayon. Sadly no photos.
At the end of the day Kathy, Rhi and Ann had a drink from my thermos (tea, yay!) and then ran after the boy who'd grabbed it, while I waited to speak to Liz. In the end, as she'd had to go climb onto the roof of one of the structures to talk to one of the boys, I decided to talk to her the next day.
We got home and sorted out the donations. Bought some more food (I think – we did this quite a lot. Particularly cheese and salami-style sausages)... Then collapsed in front of the TV to watch The Boat That Rocked. Oh yeah, we DID do some more shopping – we went back to Carrefour and got a CABLE so we could have good audio, and a BUTTLOAD of food thanks to some cash donations from our friends. We decide fresh vegetables and fruit was the best, and £30 buys a lot of that! And hand sanitiser. Hurrah!
We also went to this great pub, just opposite our airbnb. (Before The Boat That Rocked.) I can tell you that there's this beer with a Pelican on it – was it called Pelemet? Something like that. Well the blonde version of that is very nice, although a half of that was plenty for me! And it was a very 'local' bar, with different people seeming to hop behind the bar and serve the drinks, and then go play pool for a bit. Might have been a bit scary, given some of the tales we'd heard, but these locals were really nice people. (Two pints of the Pelemet beer was certainly plenty for Rhi and Kathy.)
Wednesday
We arrived our standard about 10 minutes late (which didn't matter, but the pedant in me just wanted to again note this), and did the warm up etc. Star jumps, stretching, leaning type stuff (ok, that's just more stretching). I had a cup of tea in my hand, which made it a bit harder, but I did a rough approximation of everything, between sips. Rhi and Kathy offered to help somewhere else on this day, as there had been plenty of us at the Women's Centre the day before. There was the usual bit of waiting around and then trying to sort lifts etc. Kathy and Rhi were gladly taken along to help with handing out donations of boys' clothes in the geodesic dome, and Ann and I managed to grab a lift with a French mum and daughter, who were following another car in, which was following another car in. On this day we were stopped by the police, but the mum and daughter said a bit of French at the man and we were waved on. (In the end I never had to show my passport. Except at the ferry terminals of course.)
On this day Ann and I got our nails varnished a beautiful bright pinky/red by one of the young girls. Apparently it's not possible to say no to this. Not so much a language problem as we felt it would have been unkind to refuse. Thanks to Lucia for donating that! (Lol.) We were a bit more organised, offering two activities – Ann doing I think painting, and me doing French knitting – with more on offer if people asked, and I think this meant there was slightly less chaos.... The sister of the girl from Afghanistan with the professor mother appeared and kindly corrected my confusion, 'I'm not my sister, I'm...' and asked for a French knitting thing too. I also showed, that day, her sister how to start sewing it together – the tube of knitting that is – to make things like purses or placemats. Well, I worked it out – and openly told her I was sort of making this bit up, but she didn't mind.
Now when we arrived on the first day there'd been a break-in and the carpets had been taken. Luckily this meant when we got paint everywhere it didn't really matter. On this day we arrived and eventually noticed that the shelves had gone. I think the break-ins were getting much worse at this time because people had been told that the area was going to be bulldozed – so, with this place under threat, their own needs for these materials became more important. In the afternoon this great old man appeared who goes round the camp (to various locations) playing films. Today he was going to show 'Cars'. Unfortunately...everything had been stolen. Not his stuff (he takes that around with him), but the board that blocked out the light from the window, and the white sheet that could be projected on. Someone had gone to get a sheet, but it wasn't there, and it wasn't there.... We waited and waited and waited, and the kids waited and waited and waited. One of the boys got quite angry, by the end – although just with words, and actually all he said, when I apologised, was, “No, you're not sorry. You have wasted my time!” And he was right. Not intentionally of course. And he was also, I think, right that we could have at least tried to use another sheet, and maybe we could have stood on one of the boxes and taped paper to try to block out the light. But the old man had thought the box was too weak to support our weight (and we were too short), and we kept on thinking that the sheet would arrive soon. But we should have taken action straight away, to at least try to make it work – we could always have changed tack if the sheet had arrived. Fail.
Kathy and Rhi had popped in a bit before that (around lunch time) – they'd said the donating in the dome had had to be aborted as some older men had been traded the 'tokens' that were exchanged for clothes, but hadn't understood (language problems) that these clothes were for boys, so would be too small. There had been a riot, and they'd had to get out – not a violent hurting each other riot, just a lot of people trying to get the clothes. They'd gone back to the warehouse for a bit, saying they would come back for us in a bit with the car.
After the film had been abandoned (the sheet did arrive, but by then there was not time to fit in the film – the man had to go onto his next venue by a certain time, plus have time spare to recharge the batteries of his projector), Ann and I sat keeping an eye on the centre, and making paper chains. A teenaged (maybe 16/17) boy came in and sat and made paper chains with me for a bit. I asked him if he was here with his parents, and he said no, they were dead in Syria. I said I was sorry – and I sort of meant, at that time, for asking, as I'm sorry comes nowhere near what I would have felt if I'd let myself truly think of his loss (I found I had to protect myself a bit, putting a barrier around my emotions). Whatever he thought I meant by my, 'I'm sorry,' he kindly said, 'It's ok.' And I mean kindly – he knew I hadn't meant to cause him pain by asking him that question. He helped us hang up the chains (being pretty tall. Or, rather, Ann and I are not.) and left. Ann and I tidied, and then Kathy and Rhi appeared, the other long-term volunteers returned too, and I managed to grab Liz and get a status update from her to pass onto the people in England through whom we'd arranged our trip. She said that as of that moment the French authorities were going to serve the eviction notice on Monday (in 5 days time) and after that there'd be a maximum of 48 hours. But she said a legal challenge was being prepared, on the basis of the unaccompanied minors. (And when we left, on that last day, or maybe it was actually on the Thursday – how did all of this stuff happen in these four days? - we heard that a judge had granted 10 more days – had stopped the bulldozing for at least 10 days. Hopefully more to follow. When we came along to the camp on Friday Rhi had seen in the news that the bulldozing was starting. This was not true.)
One woman wanted me to teach her English. She had asked me if I could do this, on the first day, when she came and drew a picture of her, with her family, standing by the sea, looking towards England. She'd also drawn a cartoon for me, according to the instructions that I'd gotten translated: 1. Someone who wants something, 2. What they want, 3. An obstacle, 4. Overcoming the obstacle, 5. (What was five?!), 6. The person happy about their success.
She drew: 1. Her trying to get to England – and then a close up of her sad face. 3. The barbed wire fence, and I think a police van. 4. - she couldn't think of how to overcome this, so she repeated picture 3. And picture 6. was her smiling, in England.
On this day we did various things. I felt I wasn't very helpful, and she was also quite particular in what she wanted – because she was so keen to learn. She particularly (I worked out – with the help of the girl, who was translating) wanted to be able to chat, so we did some of this, and when she came, on the Thursday, to the 'shopping', I asked her how she was, she said fine, she asked me how I was...etc....
Then, in a quiet, ending moment, one of the women came and was gesturing to me – hand to mouth. I thought she wanted food, but no, she was offering it to us. That shows my assumptions, doesn’t it! I felt suitably embarrassed (inwardly), and also thrilled by this moment of kindness.
And in the evening – we sorted the art stuff again, and we watched a LOT of Coupling, a 90s BBC sitcom which I heartily recommend. 'It'd be like a breastoctopus!!!!'
Oh, WAIT! The best, most amazing, thing about this day was that a young boy (about 6/7 maybe?) came in and I managed to get him to join me in making toilet roll animals (which Ann very ably assisted with). YES!!! We made: toilet roll giraffe, toilet roll elephant, toilet roll lion (which Ann has). I knew this was a great plan.
We arrived our standard about 10 minutes late (which didn't matter, but the pedant in me just wanted to again note this), and did the warm up etc. Star jumps, stretching, leaning type stuff (ok, that's just more stretching). I had a cup of tea in my hand, which made it a bit harder, but I did a rough approximation of everything, between sips. Rhi and Kathy offered to help somewhere else on this day, as there had been plenty of us at the Women's Centre the day before. There was the usual bit of waiting around and then trying to sort lifts etc. Kathy and Rhi were gladly taken along to help with handing out donations of boys' clothes in the geodesic dome, and Ann and I managed to grab a lift with a French mum and daughter, who were following another car in, which was following another car in. On this day we were stopped by the police, but the mum and daughter said a bit of French at the man and we were waved on. (In the end I never had to show my passport. Except at the ferry terminals of course.)
On this day Ann and I got our nails varnished a beautiful bright pinky/red by one of the young girls. Apparently it's not possible to say no to this. Not so much a language problem as we felt it would have been unkind to refuse. Thanks to Lucia for donating that! (Lol.) We were a bit more organised, offering two activities – Ann doing I think painting, and me doing French knitting – with more on offer if people asked, and I think this meant there was slightly less chaos.... The sister of the girl from Afghanistan with the professor mother appeared and kindly corrected my confusion, 'I'm not my sister, I'm...' and asked for a French knitting thing too. I also showed, that day, her sister how to start sewing it together – the tube of knitting that is – to make things like purses or placemats. Well, I worked it out – and openly told her I was sort of making this bit up, but she didn't mind.
Now when we arrived on the first day there'd been a break-in and the carpets had been taken. Luckily this meant when we got paint everywhere it didn't really matter. On this day we arrived and eventually noticed that the shelves had gone. I think the break-ins were getting much worse at this time because people had been told that the area was going to be bulldozed – so, with this place under threat, their own needs for these materials became more important. In the afternoon this great old man appeared who goes round the camp (to various locations) playing films. Today he was going to show 'Cars'. Unfortunately...everything had been stolen. Not his stuff (he takes that around with him), but the board that blocked out the light from the window, and the white sheet that could be projected on. Someone had gone to get a sheet, but it wasn't there, and it wasn't there.... We waited and waited and waited, and the kids waited and waited and waited. One of the boys got quite angry, by the end – although just with words, and actually all he said, when I apologised, was, “No, you're not sorry. You have wasted my time!” And he was right. Not intentionally of course. And he was also, I think, right that we could have at least tried to use another sheet, and maybe we could have stood on one of the boxes and taped paper to try to block out the light. But the old man had thought the box was too weak to support our weight (and we were too short), and we kept on thinking that the sheet would arrive soon. But we should have taken action straight away, to at least try to make it work – we could always have changed tack if the sheet had arrived. Fail.
Kathy and Rhi had popped in a bit before that (around lunch time) – they'd said the donating in the dome had had to be aborted as some older men had been traded the 'tokens' that were exchanged for clothes, but hadn't understood (language problems) that these clothes were for boys, so would be too small. There had been a riot, and they'd had to get out – not a violent hurting each other riot, just a lot of people trying to get the clothes. They'd gone back to the warehouse for a bit, saying they would come back for us in a bit with the car.
After the film had been abandoned (the sheet did arrive, but by then there was not time to fit in the film – the man had to go onto his next venue by a certain time, plus have time spare to recharge the batteries of his projector), Ann and I sat keeping an eye on the centre, and making paper chains. A teenaged (maybe 16/17) boy came in and sat and made paper chains with me for a bit. I asked him if he was here with his parents, and he said no, they were dead in Syria. I said I was sorry – and I sort of meant, at that time, for asking, as I'm sorry comes nowhere near what I would have felt if I'd let myself truly think of his loss (I found I had to protect myself a bit, putting a barrier around my emotions). Whatever he thought I meant by my, 'I'm sorry,' he kindly said, 'It's ok.' And I mean kindly – he knew I hadn't meant to cause him pain by asking him that question. He helped us hang up the chains (being pretty tall. Or, rather, Ann and I are not.) and left. Ann and I tidied, and then Kathy and Rhi appeared, the other long-term volunteers returned too, and I managed to grab Liz and get a status update from her to pass onto the people in England through whom we'd arranged our trip. She said that as of that moment the French authorities were going to serve the eviction notice on Monday (in 5 days time) and after that there'd be a maximum of 48 hours. But she said a legal challenge was being prepared, on the basis of the unaccompanied minors. (And when we left, on that last day, or maybe it was actually on the Thursday – how did all of this stuff happen in these four days? - we heard that a judge had granted 10 more days – had stopped the bulldozing for at least 10 days. Hopefully more to follow. When we came along to the camp on Friday Rhi had seen in the news that the bulldozing was starting. This was not true.)
One woman wanted me to teach her English. She had asked me if I could do this, on the first day, when she came and drew a picture of her, with her family, standing by the sea, looking towards England. She'd also drawn a cartoon for me, according to the instructions that I'd gotten translated: 1. Someone who wants something, 2. What they want, 3. An obstacle, 4. Overcoming the obstacle, 5. (What was five?!), 6. The person happy about their success.
She drew: 1. Her trying to get to England – and then a close up of her sad face. 3. The barbed wire fence, and I think a police van. 4. - she couldn't think of how to overcome this, so she repeated picture 3. And picture 6. was her smiling, in England.
On this day we did various things. I felt I wasn't very helpful, and she was also quite particular in what she wanted – because she was so keen to learn. She particularly (I worked out – with the help of the girl, who was translating) wanted to be able to chat, so we did some of this, and when she came, on the Thursday, to the 'shopping', I asked her how she was, she said fine, she asked me how I was...etc....
Then, in a quiet, ending moment, one of the women came and was gesturing to me – hand to mouth. I thought she wanted food, but no, she was offering it to us. That shows my assumptions, doesn’t it! I felt suitably embarrassed (inwardly), and also thrilled by this moment of kindness.
And in the evening – we sorted the art stuff again, and we watched a LOT of Coupling, a 90s BBC sitcom which I heartily recommend. 'It'd be like a breastoctopus!!!!'
Oh, WAIT! The best, most amazing, thing about this day was that a young boy (about 6/7 maybe?) came in and I managed to get him to join me in making toilet roll animals (which Ann very ably assisted with). YES!!! We made: toilet roll giraffe, toilet roll elephant, toilet roll lion (which Ann has). I knew this was a great plan.
Thursday
On this day we drove directly to the camp – on the way back the day before Rhi had used her magic phone skills to find the location of the camp entrance, and so we were able to satnav it straight there this morning. (My phone had sadly gone AWOL – my friend Jo reckoned there's about a 50/50 phone losing [theft] ratio in The Jungle. Admittedly for us it was only 1 in 4. Oh well.) We parked and got out, and I struggled to put my wellies on over my thick socks and thick legs. (I call them 'muscular'.) I'd actually had to gaffa tape up the left wellie as it had split (although this was round my ankle, so was not a bursting-out of my calf). I finally stood up from this struggle, and a French policeman said something to me. I looked at him blankly as my mind frantically scrabbled through its archives. It came up with the classic line from the 90s dance hit by Sash – 'Uh...Encore un fois?' I think this means 'again one time'. The French policeman said what I think was 'you can't park here' and I think I somehow managed to ask 'where can we park then'? (I might have just said... 'uh...ou?' and then pointed at our car as I had no idea what park was and had forgotten the word voiture.) He pointed round the corner, and I said to him my most practised French phrase (excepting 'le singe et sur la branche'), which was 'I'm sorry, I don't speak French,' and he said something along the lines of my French wasn't that bad. Best Day Ever!!! In your face French teacher of mine who said I spoke French with an Essex accent even though I'm not from Essex: this French policeman understood me, and said my French wasn't bad. Excellent.
So we parked round the corner and walked in – we hadn't brought our art stuff as this day was a day when the centre was turned into a sort of shop. The women in the camps collected vouchers for certain times during the day (1 hour slots) and we stacked the donations up according to category – tops, jumpers, toiletries, etc., and they chose as much stuff as they wanted. Some, more rare, items we had to ration, but generally people were able to take what they wanted (needed). The van arrived with the donations and the four of us, plus two other new volunteers and I think one long-term volunteer (who had a really bad cough, so I gave her Ann's cough sweets), plus various other people, formed a line from the van to the Centre. We then passed the boxes along and along etc. I was I think overly excited by this very efficient and team-worky method of unloading, but I like that kind of thing – it's one of the great things about being in the gallery at work.
It was all very orderly. We had to give people warnings – 10 minutes left, 5 minutes left, so they weren't too rushed. I had to ration the conditioner (of which there was barely any). My first sgo – the woman went to take one and I said, “Just one!” – keen to do my job, plus showing my preconceptions again (people will always try to take more, especially these, desperate people). She said, only a little frustrated, “I know.” I should have waited and only spoken if she reached for another – lesson learned, and I did this the rest of the time. (And never needed to say, “Just one.”)
And sometimes the teenaged boys made efforts to come in. One boy was allowed to stay in, as long as he was quiet – and he tended the fire. Another came in and was cheekily trying to find himself some 'presents'. Ann asked if he wanted some red lacy pants – he was accidentally starting to rifle through the underwear box – and he beat a hasty retreat.
At the end of the day we sorted through the remaining donations – some to keep, some to go to 'Cash for Clothes'. The fire-tending boy (or maybe it was another) decided it was amusing to bring over a piece of burning paper and drop it on some of the remaining clothes. Me and another volunteer stamped it out quickly, and I think we just glared and him and he returned to looking after the fire (well, stove-thing).
So that was that day – and we went back again, and watched more Coupling.
Friday
So, the last day. I think I've said most of the things that happened. The morning was fairly calm. People came in for more wool. My crochet needles were all gone already, but some people took knitting needles to turn into crochet hooks (basically break them in half I think), and Rhi did a pretty good job of starting to teach a 12ish year old girl how to knit. This was the day that one of the boys came back to do more French knitting – although he found it frustrating that he wasn't able to do it quite as quick as me yet. I spent a fair amount of the time showing women how to make the bangles, and various of them came in groups and sat and did this for a while. (Those who wanted took these back to finish them, with enough silk thread to do this. One woman started one, but then her very young son decided he wanted to play with this one. So she started another...and then he wanted to play with that one!
I was pretty wiped out by this point – and at one point I threw one of the bracelets to/at one of the teenaged boys. (I'm very sorry.) He'd come to me earlier and I hadn't realised that he'd asked me to make him a bracelet. He loved rainbows, and had asked me to make him a rainbow one. It turned out one that I'd made randomly was, he said, good, which was a relief. (He'd come up, asking if I was done, and I'd got a bit annoyed, not realising he'd asked me this, and said he should make one himself.) But anyway this one was ok, which was good, except he then – sitting by the fire, started quite emphatically asking me to bring it to him now. I was sat under my bag etc – it'd've been easier for him to come to me. And I didn't like his demanding tone, and told him I wasn't his slave. He kept demanding, so I threw it at/to him. Again, sorry. He said I was crazy, but wasn't too angry with me – good of him. At least I don't think he was. And me, I was tired – it'd been a long week. Amazing but long.
In the morning we'd spent a long time tidying (another break in, and a bit of a whirlwind had been through), and then had occasionally re-tidied after the odd frustrated boy had come through and kicked the stuff about a bit. We then, at the end of this day, tidied again, and then said our goodbyes.
I think we helped. The long term volunteers were very nice, and said it was good to have people there, doing the art stuff, while they dealt with the day to day running of the centre, and the security. And I think it was good – on this last day some of the teenaged boys sat, for ages, colouring the 'mindfulness' things. I know how it's felt for me, when I've been stressed (over minor things) to have my mind taken away from all that, just for a bit, by these colouring books, or by any art and craft activities: I hope they also felt something like that – maybe something more. As well as having met four more people who cared about them. That must help....
(So, then, back at the airbnb - dinner out! And then more Coupling.)
Saturday
All I will say about this day (our journey back) is that I now have a very nice Minnie Mouse plate courtesy of Carrefour, and that when you get sent an email saying your ferry is now 1.5 hours earlier and from DUNKIRK, read the WHOLE email, not just the bit saying the change in time.
:)
So, this was it. And with a thank you to everyone at The Jungle in Calais – volunteers and refugees alike (Thank you! And thank you Kathy and Rhi and Ann – legends, the lot of you.) it was the end.
On this day we drove directly to the camp – on the way back the day before Rhi had used her magic phone skills to find the location of the camp entrance, and so we were able to satnav it straight there this morning. (My phone had sadly gone AWOL – my friend Jo reckoned there's about a 50/50 phone losing [theft] ratio in The Jungle. Admittedly for us it was only 1 in 4. Oh well.) We parked and got out, and I struggled to put my wellies on over my thick socks and thick legs. (I call them 'muscular'.) I'd actually had to gaffa tape up the left wellie as it had split (although this was round my ankle, so was not a bursting-out of my calf). I finally stood up from this struggle, and a French policeman said something to me. I looked at him blankly as my mind frantically scrabbled through its archives. It came up with the classic line from the 90s dance hit by Sash – 'Uh...Encore un fois?' I think this means 'again one time'. The French policeman said what I think was 'you can't park here' and I think I somehow managed to ask 'where can we park then'? (I might have just said... 'uh...ou?' and then pointed at our car as I had no idea what park was and had forgotten the word voiture.) He pointed round the corner, and I said to him my most practised French phrase (excepting 'le singe et sur la branche'), which was 'I'm sorry, I don't speak French,' and he said something along the lines of my French wasn't that bad. Best Day Ever!!! In your face French teacher of mine who said I spoke French with an Essex accent even though I'm not from Essex: this French policeman understood me, and said my French wasn't bad. Excellent.
So we parked round the corner and walked in – we hadn't brought our art stuff as this day was a day when the centre was turned into a sort of shop. The women in the camps collected vouchers for certain times during the day (1 hour slots) and we stacked the donations up according to category – tops, jumpers, toiletries, etc., and they chose as much stuff as they wanted. Some, more rare, items we had to ration, but generally people were able to take what they wanted (needed). The van arrived with the donations and the four of us, plus two other new volunteers and I think one long-term volunteer (who had a really bad cough, so I gave her Ann's cough sweets), plus various other people, formed a line from the van to the Centre. We then passed the boxes along and along etc. I was I think overly excited by this very efficient and team-worky method of unloading, but I like that kind of thing – it's one of the great things about being in the gallery at work.
It was all very orderly. We had to give people warnings – 10 minutes left, 5 minutes left, so they weren't too rushed. I had to ration the conditioner (of which there was barely any). My first sgo – the woman went to take one and I said, “Just one!” – keen to do my job, plus showing my preconceptions again (people will always try to take more, especially these, desperate people). She said, only a little frustrated, “I know.” I should have waited and only spoken if she reached for another – lesson learned, and I did this the rest of the time. (And never needed to say, “Just one.”)
And sometimes the teenaged boys made efforts to come in. One boy was allowed to stay in, as long as he was quiet – and he tended the fire. Another came in and was cheekily trying to find himself some 'presents'. Ann asked if he wanted some red lacy pants – he was accidentally starting to rifle through the underwear box – and he beat a hasty retreat.
At the end of the day we sorted through the remaining donations – some to keep, some to go to 'Cash for Clothes'. The fire-tending boy (or maybe it was another) decided it was amusing to bring over a piece of burning paper and drop it on some of the remaining clothes. Me and another volunteer stamped it out quickly, and I think we just glared and him and he returned to looking after the fire (well, stove-thing).
So that was that day – and we went back again, and watched more Coupling.
Friday
So, the last day. I think I've said most of the things that happened. The morning was fairly calm. People came in for more wool. My crochet needles were all gone already, but some people took knitting needles to turn into crochet hooks (basically break them in half I think), and Rhi did a pretty good job of starting to teach a 12ish year old girl how to knit. This was the day that one of the boys came back to do more French knitting – although he found it frustrating that he wasn't able to do it quite as quick as me yet. I spent a fair amount of the time showing women how to make the bangles, and various of them came in groups and sat and did this for a while. (Those who wanted took these back to finish them, with enough silk thread to do this. One woman started one, but then her very young son decided he wanted to play with this one. So she started another...and then he wanted to play with that one!
I was pretty wiped out by this point – and at one point I threw one of the bracelets to/at one of the teenaged boys. (I'm very sorry.) He'd come to me earlier and I hadn't realised that he'd asked me to make him a bracelet. He loved rainbows, and had asked me to make him a rainbow one. It turned out one that I'd made randomly was, he said, good, which was a relief. (He'd come up, asking if I was done, and I'd got a bit annoyed, not realising he'd asked me this, and said he should make one himself.) But anyway this one was ok, which was good, except he then – sitting by the fire, started quite emphatically asking me to bring it to him now. I was sat under my bag etc – it'd've been easier for him to come to me. And I didn't like his demanding tone, and told him I wasn't his slave. He kept demanding, so I threw it at/to him. Again, sorry. He said I was crazy, but wasn't too angry with me – good of him. At least I don't think he was. And me, I was tired – it'd been a long week. Amazing but long.
In the morning we'd spent a long time tidying (another break in, and a bit of a whirlwind had been through), and then had occasionally re-tidied after the odd frustrated boy had come through and kicked the stuff about a bit. We then, at the end of this day, tidied again, and then said our goodbyes.
I think we helped. The long term volunteers were very nice, and said it was good to have people there, doing the art stuff, while they dealt with the day to day running of the centre, and the security. And I think it was good – on this last day some of the teenaged boys sat, for ages, colouring the 'mindfulness' things. I know how it's felt for me, when I've been stressed (over minor things) to have my mind taken away from all that, just for a bit, by these colouring books, or by any art and craft activities: I hope they also felt something like that – maybe something more. As well as having met four more people who cared about them. That must help....
(So, then, back at the airbnb - dinner out! And then more Coupling.)
Saturday
All I will say about this day (our journey back) is that I now have a very nice Minnie Mouse plate courtesy of Carrefour, and that when you get sent an email saying your ferry is now 1.5 hours earlier and from DUNKIRK, read the WHOLE email, not just the bit saying the change in time.
:)
So, this was it. And with a thank you to everyone at The Jungle in Calais – volunteers and refugees alike (Thank you! And thank you Kathy and Rhi and Ann – legends, the lot of you.) it was the end.
Paris (sorry, without the photo, for those of you who know about THE photo)
For those who read the Calais one, and wondered about it....
(All name except Kathy's – of the people who went to Paris - have been changed. You'll see why.)
So.1
My friend John, after reading my Calais blog, has told me to write fully about Paris. Well I did my token bit of work at Look East, then walked home, braving the MANY dangers of Norwich at night. (At one point I did jump when I looked to my left and there was a man sitting on a wall. I think I noticed him because he – I presume – heard the music blasting from my headphones and wanted to get a little closer.) V. dangerous. I walked by, continuing to chip away at my hearing, and he continued to sit on the wall. After surviving this encounter and 20 more minutes of potential-death, I reached my house. (Me, Nicola, Andrew and Jimmy's house.)2 My freshly hoovered house – because Mum and Dad are coming tomorrow. I would also clean the kitchen, but I think they would feel a bit twitchy if there was no cleaning to do. Particularly Mum. Besides this is more important.
What, you are asking, happened in Paris? Well, if you want a teaser then read my Calais blog – or at least the footnote that talks about that. But, really, it'd be quicker to read this, as I'm almost done with my tangents. Mainly I wanted to tell you about my twatting about – basically I got home, ate a very unhealthy salty fatty German burger thing from LIDL which apparently is 50% of my daily salt and fat intake, made a hot milk, left it in the microwave for a few minutes while I did a very thorough Facebook check. When that sadly yielded very little of interest except a cat being scared by watching a horror film, and a photo of my sister-in-law's mum's cat, which was much cuter as a kitten (but I did not say that, instead choosing polite silence), I opened this Word document. THEN I thought hang on, I must surely have already written about Paris. In fact I'm pretty sure I did. So I went to my website and scrolled through my travel- and life-writing. This was fun. It wasn't there, though. It's possible it is saved somewhere random in a file on Quentin (my computer), but at this point laziness overtipped work-avoiding, and I started to type.
It is possible you are regretting this.
So, now for the tale. Of Paris.
(I may put an instruction to people saying to skip the first half a page.)
Many years ago some of my secondary school friends and I went to Switzerland. Switzerland? Yes, but on the way there and back we drove through Paris. The people involved were Kathy (also of Calais fame), Rachael (whose granddad owned a chalet near Gruyere, which is home to yummy cheese and a very patronising cow – literally a cow. I'm not being rude about a lady.), Sally, Colleen, and Me. And Dear God I hope I haven't forgotten someone....
We were I think 17/18 – just finished doing A-levels (I think...). Now I'm 33, so for those of you who are also of that age. Wait, I'm 32.
Ok.
Now, I'm 32, so for those of you who are also of that age, what does being 17/18 mean? Well I'm not exactly sure on the technological timeline, but certainly for most ordinary humans it meant no satnav. Now my brain has decided to discount a world without satnav, or at least has excised all possible memories of it, so I don't know if we had printed maps from Googlemaps – did that exist? - or had some proper actual Europe and Paris road maps. Maybe we only had one of those big maps people have in cars.... Whatever we used, we generally managed ok, getting across various countries/just France...(my Geography's a bit weak)...and into Switzerland, but on the way back there was a problem. This problem was that we got lost.
I SWEAR I have already written this. Hang on. Nope. Maybe it's that I've told it so many times.
We were supposed to be staying in a hotel in Paris, to break up the drive on the way back. We'd booked somehow – the internet did exist, obviously, but I feel things were less simple then. Certainly we didn't have magic internet phones. We had bricks that you could stamp on and they'd still work. We did have some handily printed thing that told us how to get to our hotel from at least three different directions. In English. It went along the lines of, 'Get to blah road, then go left down blah road, right down le troisieme rue a droit -' (oooh French! Yes, I know I said it was in English, but see how I remember some of my GCSE.) '- and then IT IS THERE!' Except it was never there.
We were driving in two cars, in convoy. Rachael and I were in the first car, and the others, with Kathy driving, were in the second. (This is more important later, but I just thought I'd mention it here because it'll help you understand the level of awkwardness. It's pretty difficult following a car that doesn't know where it's going.)
No hotel. Where was it? The first thing we did was try all three entrance angles. Sadly the hotel was never 'THERE'. Everything else worked, except the presence of the hotel. This was quite stressful. So what do you do when your directions are leading you to a non-existent hotel? Perhaps you are being a numpty? We stopped and Rachael, our very best French speaker, went to ask a hot French bloke for directions. When she returned we asked her what he had said, and she said (I paraphrase here), “I don't know, but he was dreamy.”
We were quite calm about this at this point, because we were having an adventure, and we had sweets. Lots of sweets. Cake. The lot.
But things went a little bit downhill. After the direction-asking-fail, we tried a few more times to 'left right etc and it is there!'. It was still, repeatedly, never there. Now apparently in the second car they were listening to some pretty good music, and Kathy is very chilled, so everyone was having a lot of fun. In me and Rachael's car it was a little different. 1. I must have been having to read maps. I suck at this. 2. Rachael was getting very stressed – understandable – and kept going through red lights. At first I tried to tell her - “Rachael that's a red, a red...ok, don't worry,” but in the end I just kept quiet. Kathy, of course – because we were travelling in convoy – had to then BOMB through the red light that we'd just broken. (Many apologies to all Paris drivers, and the French police.)
We had walkie talkies to communicate between the cars. And this worked well, except for the time when a random French truck driver had said, on the way out, “Bonjour?”. (CHANGE CHANNEL!!!!! we had all screamed.) So we were, while going through all these reds, discussing what best to do. Last check-in time passed, so we decided to try to find another hotel. This was v. bad, because we were v. poor. It seemed necessary, but we really didn't want to do this. Our purses did not. So we dithered and dithered for so long that the only hotels we could find that were still open seemed a little bit like they were...not for whole-night visitors. Oh, at one point during this Rachael and I accidentally turned right on a two lane road where both the lanes were going left. So we walkied to Kathy, “Reverse! Reverse! Reverse!!!!” Obviously at none of these points did we die, but that was a pretty close one.
Our hunt for a new hotel took us various other places. It took us through a few toll roads, as we did the outside of Paris, and it was at this point that Rachael and I lost one of our CDs – while opening the door to pay the toll...why did we open the door? I do not know, but it was a very sad occasion. We also while on a clearly not-in-Paris motorway bit took a slip road and ended up very suddenly in the second storey of a car park. We're not sure how that happened, but it did. Then, because it was dark by this point, we couldn't find the Exit. So we had to go down the Entrance. The Entrance that we'd all just bombed up at 60mph. Then it was “Sharp right turn,” on the walkie-talkie, as I instructed Kathy to essentially do a u-ey back onto the motorway.
(I must never let my Mum and Dad read this....)
I really should go to bed now, so I will swiftly finish this off. Rachael and I's car was by this point like all the censored bits of every music video ever made. Kathy's car was happily singing away. And we decided to just sleep in our cars in a carpark. So we found one, off this motorway, and went to sleep.
And woke up with a crazy old lady knocking on our window trying to sell us a ring.
P.S. Yes, I had forgotten someone – therefore names were changed to protect my friendships. :)
1The first half a page of this is mainly rubbish. You may want to skip it. :)
2I have just remembered Sod's Law. Having been so blaze (imagine the accent) about walking home at 11pm in Norwich, my life is quite probably now at risk. However I'm not going to retract it. A la Simba, I LAUGH in the face of danger!!!
(All name except Kathy's – of the people who went to Paris - have been changed. You'll see why.)
So.1
My friend John, after reading my Calais blog, has told me to write fully about Paris. Well I did my token bit of work at Look East, then walked home, braving the MANY dangers of Norwich at night. (At one point I did jump when I looked to my left and there was a man sitting on a wall. I think I noticed him because he – I presume – heard the music blasting from my headphones and wanted to get a little closer.) V. dangerous. I walked by, continuing to chip away at my hearing, and he continued to sit on the wall. After surviving this encounter and 20 more minutes of potential-death, I reached my house. (Me, Nicola, Andrew and Jimmy's house.)2 My freshly hoovered house – because Mum and Dad are coming tomorrow. I would also clean the kitchen, but I think they would feel a bit twitchy if there was no cleaning to do. Particularly Mum. Besides this is more important.
What, you are asking, happened in Paris? Well, if you want a teaser then read my Calais blog – or at least the footnote that talks about that. But, really, it'd be quicker to read this, as I'm almost done with my tangents. Mainly I wanted to tell you about my twatting about – basically I got home, ate a very unhealthy salty fatty German burger thing from LIDL which apparently is 50% of my daily salt and fat intake, made a hot milk, left it in the microwave for a few minutes while I did a very thorough Facebook check. When that sadly yielded very little of interest except a cat being scared by watching a horror film, and a photo of my sister-in-law's mum's cat, which was much cuter as a kitten (but I did not say that, instead choosing polite silence), I opened this Word document. THEN I thought hang on, I must surely have already written about Paris. In fact I'm pretty sure I did. So I went to my website and scrolled through my travel- and life-writing. This was fun. It wasn't there, though. It's possible it is saved somewhere random in a file on Quentin (my computer), but at this point laziness overtipped work-avoiding, and I started to type.
It is possible you are regretting this.
So, now for the tale. Of Paris.
(I may put an instruction to people saying to skip the first half a page.)
Many years ago some of my secondary school friends and I went to Switzerland. Switzerland? Yes, but on the way there and back we drove through Paris. The people involved were Kathy (also of Calais fame), Rachael (whose granddad owned a chalet near Gruyere, which is home to yummy cheese and a very patronising cow – literally a cow. I'm not being rude about a lady.), Sally, Colleen, and Me. And Dear God I hope I haven't forgotten someone....
We were I think 17/18 – just finished doing A-levels (I think...). Now I'm 33, so for those of you who are also of that age. Wait, I'm 32.
Ok.
Now, I'm 32, so for those of you who are also of that age, what does being 17/18 mean? Well I'm not exactly sure on the technological timeline, but certainly for most ordinary humans it meant no satnav. Now my brain has decided to discount a world without satnav, or at least has excised all possible memories of it, so I don't know if we had printed maps from Googlemaps – did that exist? - or had some proper actual Europe and Paris road maps. Maybe we only had one of those big maps people have in cars.... Whatever we used, we generally managed ok, getting across various countries/just France...(my Geography's a bit weak)...and into Switzerland, but on the way back there was a problem. This problem was that we got lost.
I SWEAR I have already written this. Hang on. Nope. Maybe it's that I've told it so many times.
We were supposed to be staying in a hotel in Paris, to break up the drive on the way back. We'd booked somehow – the internet did exist, obviously, but I feel things were less simple then. Certainly we didn't have magic internet phones. We had bricks that you could stamp on and they'd still work. We did have some handily printed thing that told us how to get to our hotel from at least three different directions. In English. It went along the lines of, 'Get to blah road, then go left down blah road, right down le troisieme rue a droit -' (oooh French! Yes, I know I said it was in English, but see how I remember some of my GCSE.) '- and then IT IS THERE!' Except it was never there.
We were driving in two cars, in convoy. Rachael and I were in the first car, and the others, with Kathy driving, were in the second. (This is more important later, but I just thought I'd mention it here because it'll help you understand the level of awkwardness. It's pretty difficult following a car that doesn't know where it's going.)
No hotel. Where was it? The first thing we did was try all three entrance angles. Sadly the hotel was never 'THERE'. Everything else worked, except the presence of the hotel. This was quite stressful. So what do you do when your directions are leading you to a non-existent hotel? Perhaps you are being a numpty? We stopped and Rachael, our very best French speaker, went to ask a hot French bloke for directions. When she returned we asked her what he had said, and she said (I paraphrase here), “I don't know, but he was dreamy.”
We were quite calm about this at this point, because we were having an adventure, and we had sweets. Lots of sweets. Cake. The lot.
But things went a little bit downhill. After the direction-asking-fail, we tried a few more times to 'left right etc and it is there!'. It was still, repeatedly, never there. Now apparently in the second car they were listening to some pretty good music, and Kathy is very chilled, so everyone was having a lot of fun. In me and Rachael's car it was a little different. 1. I must have been having to read maps. I suck at this. 2. Rachael was getting very stressed – understandable – and kept going through red lights. At first I tried to tell her - “Rachael that's a red, a red...ok, don't worry,” but in the end I just kept quiet. Kathy, of course – because we were travelling in convoy – had to then BOMB through the red light that we'd just broken. (Many apologies to all Paris drivers, and the French police.)
We had walkie talkies to communicate between the cars. And this worked well, except for the time when a random French truck driver had said, on the way out, “Bonjour?”. (CHANGE CHANNEL!!!!! we had all screamed.) So we were, while going through all these reds, discussing what best to do. Last check-in time passed, so we decided to try to find another hotel. This was v. bad, because we were v. poor. It seemed necessary, but we really didn't want to do this. Our purses did not. So we dithered and dithered for so long that the only hotels we could find that were still open seemed a little bit like they were...not for whole-night visitors. Oh, at one point during this Rachael and I accidentally turned right on a two lane road where both the lanes were going left. So we walkied to Kathy, “Reverse! Reverse! Reverse!!!!” Obviously at none of these points did we die, but that was a pretty close one.
Our hunt for a new hotel took us various other places. It took us through a few toll roads, as we did the outside of Paris, and it was at this point that Rachael and I lost one of our CDs – while opening the door to pay the toll...why did we open the door? I do not know, but it was a very sad occasion. We also while on a clearly not-in-Paris motorway bit took a slip road and ended up very suddenly in the second storey of a car park. We're not sure how that happened, but it did. Then, because it was dark by this point, we couldn't find the Exit. So we had to go down the Entrance. The Entrance that we'd all just bombed up at 60mph. Then it was “Sharp right turn,” on the walkie-talkie, as I instructed Kathy to essentially do a u-ey back onto the motorway.
(I must never let my Mum and Dad read this....)
I really should go to bed now, so I will swiftly finish this off. Rachael and I's car was by this point like all the censored bits of every music video ever made. Kathy's car was happily singing away. And we decided to just sleep in our cars in a carpark. So we found one, off this motorway, and went to sleep.
And woke up with a crazy old lady knocking on our window trying to sell us a ring.
P.S. Yes, I had forgotten someone – therefore names were changed to protect my friendships. :)
1The first half a page of this is mainly rubbish. You may want to skip it. :)
2I have just remembered Sod's Law. Having been so blaze (imagine the accent) about walking home at 11pm in Norwich, my life is quite probably now at risk. However I'm not going to retract it. A la Simba, I LAUGH in the face of danger!!!
Sussex (Eastbourne) (And Lewes)
(There be monsters!)
I was going to do some editing of a film from Addis, but I feel I have to tell you about Sussex, while I remember.
My friend Shirley has invited me down here to Eastbourne to stay at the holiday place she's rented (she knows I need a few days' break). I was expecting old people and a beach and check, check. But, additionally, things aint normal round here.
Well, they are, actually. Face to face all seems well. But Shirley's been telling me tales. Her brother being strongly against people from Sussex ever leaving Sussex is just one cracked pebble from the white chalk cliffs. (See how I use metaphors!) WEIRDNESS.
Now, having moved from St. Albans to Norwich I felt I'd acclimatised to this type of thing. People generally hippying around, lying chilled out on the grass bit by The Birdcage, having fun etc. (Not working/working as little as possible.) But this is different. It appears that, underneath their veneer of people who go to work and go to the beach and eat icecream etc, Sussex people are NUTTERS.
Apparently you can push a Sussexman, you can shove them, but you can't druv them/they wun't be druv – to make it grammatically more accurate. Imagine your mum (or my mum anyway) and she's baking a cake, like her famous chocolate brownie. And then she comes out from the oven with a flamethrower and a maniacal gleam: SUSSEX.
I base this judgement on two additional pieces evidence to Shirley's brother who thinks leaving the area is a very bad idea.
2. BONFIRE.
This is in Lewes. Or Lewis? Or something like that. But round there too. Apparently some Protestants were killed by some Catholics some centuries back, and now there's an annual commemoration/dangerfest. Sussex people's extreme sport is FIRE! There's about 2 months' worth of mini events involving various amounts of flame, but the main one is done on bonfire night in Lewes. About 8,000 bonfire boys congregate there. What happened originally involved the Protestants rolling burning barrels of tar down the hill at the approaching Catholics. Nowadays they pretty much still do that (the locals haul the unsuspecting tourists out of the way). Not pretty much, sorry: they still do that. Ok they're small and on little metal wheel things that apparently bounce back if they hit the kerb....
They've also added firecrackers (low-level [HEAD-level] ones), some things called um crow scarers(?), which they'll throw under passing cars etc. Oh and two people at the front of the procession with boat flares tied to sticks to clear the way.
Then they explode massive effigies. Which are not The Pope.
They've decided against health and safety here. I like it.
P.S. The buildings are like wedding cakes, the white cliffs are beautiful, the beach by them would make a great space- filmscape, and when you put Shirley's sunglasses on (or presumably any of them) and catch the waves at the edge before they crash down, they shimmer with neon blue.
P.P.S. My extensive research has told me that it is called 'Stoolball'. (*)
Also (to save 3 Ps), when I work out how to get pictures off my Iphone, I will put some up.
My friend Shirley has invited me down here to Eastbourne to stay at the holiday place she's rented (she knows I need a few days' break). I was expecting old people and a beach and check, check. But, additionally, things aint normal round here.
Well, they are, actually. Face to face all seems well. But Shirley's been telling me tales. Her brother being strongly against people from Sussex ever leaving Sussex is just one cracked pebble from the white chalk cliffs. (See how I use metaphors!) WEIRDNESS.
Now, having moved from St. Albans to Norwich I felt I'd acclimatised to this type of thing. People generally hippying around, lying chilled out on the grass bit by The Birdcage, having fun etc. (Not working/working as little as possible.) But this is different. It appears that, underneath their veneer of people who go to work and go to the beach and eat icecream etc, Sussex people are NUTTERS.
Apparently you can push a Sussexman, you can shove them, but you can't druv them/they wun't be druv – to make it grammatically more accurate. Imagine your mum (or my mum anyway) and she's baking a cake, like her famous chocolate brownie. And then she comes out from the oven with a flamethrower and a maniacal gleam: SUSSEX.
I base this judgement on two additional pieces evidence to Shirley's brother who thinks leaving the area is a very bad idea.
- Masochism cricket.
2. BONFIRE.
This is in Lewes. Or Lewis? Or something like that. But round there too. Apparently some Protestants were killed by some Catholics some centuries back, and now there's an annual commemoration/dangerfest. Sussex people's extreme sport is FIRE! There's about 2 months' worth of mini events involving various amounts of flame, but the main one is done on bonfire night in Lewes. About 8,000 bonfire boys congregate there. What happened originally involved the Protestants rolling burning barrels of tar down the hill at the approaching Catholics. Nowadays they pretty much still do that (the locals haul the unsuspecting tourists out of the way). Not pretty much, sorry: they still do that. Ok they're small and on little metal wheel things that apparently bounce back if they hit the kerb....
They've also added firecrackers (low-level [HEAD-level] ones), some things called um crow scarers(?), which they'll throw under passing cars etc. Oh and two people at the front of the procession with boat flares tied to sticks to clear the way.
Then they explode massive effigies. Which are not The Pope.
They've decided against health and safety here. I like it.
P.S. The buildings are like wedding cakes, the white cliffs are beautiful, the beach by them would make a great space- filmscape, and when you put Shirley's sunglasses on (or presumably any of them) and catch the waves at the edge before they crash down, they shimmer with neon blue.
P.P.S. My extensive research has told me that it is called 'Stoolball'. (*)
Also (to save 3 Ps), when I work out how to get pictures off my Iphone, I will put some up.
Addis Ababa Blog!
The Last Few Days
It’s my last day with the kids today. I mean I’ll see them Saturday and Sunday, but today (Friday) is the last day that I’ll be there teaching them. It’s pretty sad – I’m trying not to think about it really. And to focus on the good things at home that I’ll be returning to. Reminds me a little of when I lived in America for a year, during my degree, and then, when I went home, I missed them so much I sort of shut it all off in my mind. If you don’t do that you spend your whole time homesick for one place or another.
Cathy has got anther month to keep going, which is good – we’ve been focussing on the film for now, so when I’m gone she’ll move onto the guerrilla gardening, card and postcard making, internet sessions, more English...all that stuff. I have to get the films (or at least their one) edited before Cathy goes home, so she can show them to the kids on youtube. Or, actually, Lucy and I’s business website is best as we have our music license.
Just made four signs – neck-hanging signs, with shoelaces - for Tensaye’s short film he’s going to make today, about the glue. This was his initial idea, but when Cathy and I showed him the kids’ script and told him all about them having ownership etc he was totally happy to switch to theirs, and do his after, if we had time – which we have (hurrah!).
We casted on Tuesday and started filming. Recasted on Wednesday, and Thursday.... Yeah, the kids don’t all come every day. But in a way it’s a good thing as now we’re up to about 35 each day. It’s pretty expensive feeding them all (and cramped in the room)! And there’s the occasional dispute over bread – one kid will say he has had no bread. I (or Cathy) will say yes he HAS had bread, I/Cathy gave it to him.... This continues for a while until the bread is produced by a laughing boy, and I/Cathy laugh too. Not always though. Sometimes we HAVE forgotten. Sometimes we end up giving (probably) and extra bread to someone. Generally, though, they are all still well-behaved, and most will share with latecomers (unless the latecomers are too late and it’s all gone). Yesterday a bunch of the older kids came when all the food had gone. We explained and said sorry, and they said ‘Chigarillum’ (which means ‘It’s cool’/’Don’t worry’) and stayed to do the film.
Setwise we made the Taitu (complete with a few flames...yes...v bad taste), and a background cityscape plus a shop and a house, which Cathy brilliantly painted the insides of (perspective and everything), while propswise they made a Santa hat, sack of presents, and a few other things (I think I’ve said this already?). As it’s all, however, basically what they experience on a day-to-day basis, there weren’t too many props needed. Oh, I made a policeman’s hat, and Cathy a baton: there you go, complete.
We’ve finally got some flea-spray for the classroom, which we’ll do after class today. A bit late for me, but it’ll be good for Cathy and Yared (and hopefully will help the kids a bit too). When I get home I...or maybe my mum (sorry Mum!)...will wash all my clothes in a very hot wash. I’ve also put my coat in for a wash, which was worn by the boy playing the ‘glue-seller’ (just because of fleas). I forgot to ask for it back after, and had to trek quickly up the hill to retrieve it. It’s a pretty good – if old – coat, and the boy could have sold it or insisted on keeping it, but he handed it back no problem. (I explained apologetically that I needed it for England, which was cold.) I’m going to give him the hoody I’m leaving when I go, to say thanks.
Right, I think that’s enough of that for now. See you all in a few days! ...depending on where you live....
It’s my last day with the kids today. I mean I’ll see them Saturday and Sunday, but today (Friday) is the last day that I’ll be there teaching them. It’s pretty sad – I’m trying not to think about it really. And to focus on the good things at home that I’ll be returning to. Reminds me a little of when I lived in America for a year, during my degree, and then, when I went home, I missed them so much I sort of shut it all off in my mind. If you don’t do that you spend your whole time homesick for one place or another.
Cathy has got anther month to keep going, which is good – we’ve been focussing on the film for now, so when I’m gone she’ll move onto the guerrilla gardening, card and postcard making, internet sessions, more English...all that stuff. I have to get the films (or at least their one) edited before Cathy goes home, so she can show them to the kids on youtube. Or, actually, Lucy and I’s business website is best as we have our music license.
Just made four signs – neck-hanging signs, with shoelaces - for Tensaye’s short film he’s going to make today, about the glue. This was his initial idea, but when Cathy and I showed him the kids’ script and told him all about them having ownership etc he was totally happy to switch to theirs, and do his after, if we had time – which we have (hurrah!).
We casted on Tuesday and started filming. Recasted on Wednesday, and Thursday.... Yeah, the kids don’t all come every day. But in a way it’s a good thing as now we’re up to about 35 each day. It’s pretty expensive feeding them all (and cramped in the room)! And there’s the occasional dispute over bread – one kid will say he has had no bread. I (or Cathy) will say yes he HAS had bread, I/Cathy gave it to him.... This continues for a while until the bread is produced by a laughing boy, and I/Cathy laugh too. Not always though. Sometimes we HAVE forgotten. Sometimes we end up giving (probably) and extra bread to someone. Generally, though, they are all still well-behaved, and most will share with latecomers (unless the latecomers are too late and it’s all gone). Yesterday a bunch of the older kids came when all the food had gone. We explained and said sorry, and they said ‘Chigarillum’ (which means ‘It’s cool’/’Don’t worry’) and stayed to do the film.
Setwise we made the Taitu (complete with a few flames...yes...v bad taste), and a background cityscape plus a shop and a house, which Cathy brilliantly painted the insides of (perspective and everything), while propswise they made a Santa hat, sack of presents, and a few other things (I think I’ve said this already?). As it’s all, however, basically what they experience on a day-to-day basis, there weren’t too many props needed. Oh, I made a policeman’s hat, and Cathy a baton: there you go, complete.
We’ve finally got some flea-spray for the classroom, which we’ll do after class today. A bit late for me, but it’ll be good for Cathy and Yared (and hopefully will help the kids a bit too). When I get home I...or maybe my mum (sorry Mum!)...will wash all my clothes in a very hot wash. I’ve also put my coat in for a wash, which was worn by the boy playing the ‘glue-seller’ (just because of fleas). I forgot to ask for it back after, and had to trek quickly up the hill to retrieve it. It’s a pretty good – if old – coat, and the boy could have sold it or insisted on keeping it, but he handed it back no problem. (I explained apologetically that I needed it for England, which was cold.) I’m going to give him the hoody I’m leaving when I go, to say thanks.
Right, I think that’s enough of that for now. See you all in a few days! ...depending on where you live....
Awasa
I think I said that when we told the kids about Awasa they all burst into a song. (We took them on a trip, for two days, to the South, where there is a lake and a nature reserve.) The song I think was something about Awasa being beautiful – Awasa bellema.....
Cathy and I got to Yared’s (the meeting point) at about quarter to eight, and the kids were already there. The ten that we were able to take, plus a few extra. They had slept outside Yared’s to make sure they weren’t late. The day before we’d been telling them how important it was to get there for eight, and they had offered to get there for seven. They had also, those going on the trip, all got their hair cut, in honour of the occasion. (They’d been concerned about not having good enough clothes for the trip, so we gave the wonderful knitted jumpers from my friend’s Mum to these boys, and we also, once we were there, got Anumut some trousers, because his were virtually non-existent.)
The red minivan thing was already there, so we loaded it up and the kids came in, and we drove up the hill to buy them all a shower. Some of them said that Abeneezer did not want to come, so could this other boy come instead. We drove up the hill and Abeneezer was running up after us – so the chancer was turfed out. There were various other people trying to get a place, and a couple even tried tears, but as we left they (those not coming) were all smiles and waved happily. Those on the bus were ecstatic. The person who was most determined to tag along was their dog, Jack, who ran after us for a fair while. I wished I could speak dog and explain to him not to worry – we would return his children in two days. Incidentally, on the way back from Awasa one of the policemen who stopped us asked us if we were trafficking the boys. Good of him to check, and luckily the happy boys were able to reassure him.
On the 5 hour journey out there some of the boys slept and, obviously, it is always great fun to take comedy photos of those who are asleep – cross-cultural fun. There was a weird man at one point, when we were going through town and there was a big traffic jam because of a slow-moving beer delivery. He seemed to want to throw dung at the coach, or a rock, and was circling us. Melak told us to close the windows. The driver forced an overtake (in the stoodstill traffic), and Melak then flipped the window next to me open again: we were safe. Although I had a feeling the man could probably catch us up again, if he put his mind to it.
While we were driving the kids kept wanting to use the camera to take photos. I was happy to do this except a bit nervous when they were near the open windows. But I’d say be careful and they would – especially Makele, straight away – put the cord of the camera around their wrists.
At one point we stopped and Melak got us strawberries. Yum! And I saw camels on the way out, which excited me greatly. Then, on the way back, they made sure to stop so I could go see the camels. Unfortunately we stopped the car and the camels started moving past us, before I could get out of the car, but I got a great video of them. They’re owned by some of the richer farmers. I asked Melak why there weren’t any fences around the animals. Melak said if the farmers fenced the animals they did it near their houses so they could hear if a predator was attacking them – otherwise it’s better to make it so the animals can run away. I then asked how people knew, then, whose animals were whose. He said they just did. Boys looking after herds of hundreds of goats know every one by sight. I commented that I liked the using of cacti as hedges. Melak didn’t know what hedges were. I explained they were a bit like fences made of trees and bushes. It does look really cool. I think we should start doing it in England. If we can....
When were were nearly there we stopped off at Shashamene - which I have until now been calling Rastaland. The tour guide round their church/museum forgot some of his speech at one point, for obvious reasons, but they were very welcoming, and I was struck by all the good things Haile Selasse had done. Including little things, like breaking the tradition and having his wife crowned Queen on the same day as he was crowned King. I guess because he loved her.
We got to Awasa (a town) and went to a hotel. Melak and Yared had originally thought of having the kids stay somewhere different to us – I think because of cost – but the hotel wasn’t too expensive, and they let us have five kids per room, plus two for us, which was great. (Melak, the tour guide, didn’t charge us for his time on this trip J. ) The rooms were nice, with beautiful white mosquito nets hanging over the beds. I was at first a little disappointed because my brother, Bob, had bought me one, at my request, but don’t worry, I did use it!
After checking in we went to the lake. There a man at the lake offered us a boat trip to see the hippos. We considered it and yes, we could afford it! But first we had some food. (We’d had breakfast on the way, don’t worry, but now it was time for a late lunch.) We had fresh fish and there was bread too. The fish were delicious but quite small (totally could have eaten about four of them). You picked the fish off the bones – they were whole except eyes, entrails etc. Cathy bought some stuff for The People Tree, and I bought a couple of gifts for friends and family, we bought a load of pineapples, all tied together, for the next morning, and then we went on the boat. The man guiding the boat was great – great English and knew all the bird names etc (of which there were loads). Cathy, while chatting to him, made sure he knew that Norfolk has a lot of birds too. Lol. After a journey of maybe 40 mins to an hour on the boat, we got to the hippos. Not too near, and they turn the boat off as loud noises can scare the hippos, and that’s when they become dangerous. We just saw their eyes and noses, and occasionally a bit more of their faces, but it was really cool. We then turned around and I swear the hippos followed us for a while. I was concerned it was a hippo mafia hit, but in the end we were fine.
Back in the hotel – we walked back in the dark, with the kids kindly carrying Cathy and I’s stuff – we were mobbed by local kids, most of them wanting money. But we managed to get to the hotel in the end, without getting too frustrated. Cathy always says she doesn’t get annoyed by the hassling, just finds it funny. I am trying to adopt that position! I do occasionally get tourettes, though, when you order something from a restaurant and they don’t have it. This happens about fifty percent of the time. I suggested to Cathy today that they should get those pens you can wipe off with white spirit, and adjust their menus daily, to save my disappointment. The kids ran into the rooms and turned the tvs on. That’s what they wanted to do. Not run out into the night and hunt down beer or anything, just watch tv. The next day, on the way back, one of the kids said that sleeping in a bed like that was heaven. Cathy and I, fishing through our bags reviewing our purchases, saw the pineapple and considered eating some before the morning, but don’t worry, we resisted.
Quick dinner trip was quite funny – we walked along in the dark, found somewhere, and ate. On the way out I was messing around with my torch, trying to blind the kids, and then at one point I – half on purpose – flashed it into my own eyes. “Oh!” I said. And Barraket cracked up. The dinner was injera with um, some stuff. Can’t remember. Was quite nice. The kids toasted us and said this was the best day ever, and Cathy said it was the same for her too – because she had shared it with the Tiger Kids. (I seconded that.) During the dinner small Tadesse (there are two) laughed himself into a coughing fit, and Cathy and I cracked ourselves up by talking about when we should make like a tree and leave, or make like a banana and split. It’s the small things. The kids shared some of their food with us – and in Ethiopia that means they physically feed us. Melak, a pro, managed fairly well with a pretty big mouthful. My instinct with the first lot was to take the load from I think Barraket’s hands and then eat it. That didn’t work well. Cathy was laughing outside as I sprayed food everywhere – from my fingers and then my mouth. They then had to wait while I chewed, and chewed.... Second mouthful I received from the hand that offered it (sorry Mum and Dad). That went slightly better. Cathy then came in, and I give her an A for her eating food from other people’s hands effort. But then, this is her fourth year.
Walking home we were told to be careful because there were dangerous hyenas around. Having seen The Lion King I’ve never been particularly scared of hyenas, because at least one of them is crazy, and another one is Whoopi Goldberg, but I got the feeling that these weren’t Ethiopia’s Most Wanted Hyenas: they’re just all dangerous. Barraket was trying to say something to me. Or, it turned out, ask me something. I got as far as ‘hyena’ – he did some good miming – and then asked Melak to translate. Melak said he was asking if we had hyenas in England. I said no. I loved that question. It wasn’t funny, it was brilliant.
With the kids in bed, Cathy and Melak and Yared had a couple of beers – I had one then went to my room to write. I had a shower then got out my laptop to sit at the table and write. AND I HEARD A MOSQUITO. I took out my mosquito net and hung it from the tv, over me. I then re-slathered the top level deet stuff all over me. Then I got my Boots battery powered anti mosquito fan and bug chemical thing and put it under the net with me. With my anti malarial pills as well I think I was fairly safe. Cathy thought I was hilarious – British person travelling abroad J.
In the morning the boys invited me to join them playing football. Well, not actually football, but a game involving kicking the ball, one person in the centre trying to get the ball and the others passing the ball around. I’d said, before the trip, they must let me play football with them, and they’d remembered. I was pretty rubbish, and a bit too sleepy to run around, but it was fun! Unfortunately the ball escaped into the road and was exploded by a passing van, but we had a good hour or so of fun.
On the journey back we stopped off at Wondo Genet – beautiful springs amongst forest and rich farmland. That place is where all the fruit and veg for Addis comes from. Well, a lot of it. We asked if the boys could swim naked, as they didn’t have swimming trunks, and were told yes, but the boys were too shy. Luckily we had enough money in the budget to get them all swimming trunks, which now can act as pants, and fill in some of the holes in their trousers.
Overall, it was an amazing time. We got some great footage, too. (Just a few bits. And a whole load of photos.) So thank you to everyone who has been donating. It was an incredible part of what we do.
Mini (Tired) Blog
I'm feeling a little nauseous. And I haven't even taken my anti-malarial medicine yet. I'm looking forward to that. Waiting till later in the hope that my stomach will settle. I'm also tired. My brain keeps on not switching off at night. Not running around thinking about things, just sitting there going 'Doo-be-doo-be-do.' I must be dozing, I guess. It's not helped by the fact that every now and then, in the night, Cathy emits a loud cough that sounds a little bit like a hell-hound barking (we watched Hercules last night - not the cartoon. A film version.) Not that I can talk - I snore like a beast. In fact, Cathy has been incredibly good at putting up with and kindly accommodating my foibles (thanks Cathy!).
We were listening to music while preparing the veg - and I was writing up the beginnings of the script- put the power's gone again. The water is also not working today. Argh!
Yesterday we showed the kids the first of the questions that I'd filmed the Woodcraft Folk children asking. I was going to go through all of them, but everybody wanted to answer the first question - "What do you want to do when you grow up?" So that took up almost all of the time. But they all waited so patiently for everyone to answer. Some of the answers were touching - "I want to rent a house and then give it to my family." (Anemut, 9?) - others interesting, most fairly usual: pilot, policeman, businessman. Cathy commented afterwards that it was sad e.g. when Abeneezer said, "I want to be an engineer." Cathy said, "Because he's a bright boy. He knows it's not likely to happen. Although if anyone can do it, he can." (Sometimes you have to tell yourselves these things - make these hopeful statements.)
A couple of people, including a girl called Anna, wanted to be journalists. I bent the truth and told them that was what I wanted to be too, and we fist-bumped.
WordUp Addis: Article 2 - full version
Today (Monday) was the first day of teaching. But I’m going to backtrack a bit. The last few days we have been working to get the classroom ready, preparing resources like an alphabet (A is for Apple), which we have laminated, and getting more contacts and help. It’s wonderful. There’s King, a man who is in Addis for a week, from somewhere in North Ethiopia. I started chatting to him on the bus after we had bought some small plastic chairs from the main market (Mercato), and he’s coming tomorrow to teach the kids for a bit. There’s the manager of KG Corner (a restaurant) who is coming on Friday to teach a drama lesson. Jimmy, who was filming and occasionally translating today and is back tomorrow and basically the whole time – I think – unless he’s busy, is amazing. And, of course there’s Yared, who, as well as letting us have about 20 street kids in his front room – which he did up for them, has been sourcing us crates and cardboard for tables, and much more.
When the kids were here today, you could see they appreciated the somewhat scrappy (to us) lino that Yared had put down for the, because two of them took tie to neaten it up when it moved. And Mahmoosh, who has crutches, was constantly picking up the food wrappers and tidying for us.
Today we had treats of biscuits, crisps and milk for the Tiger Kids, but tomorrow we’re going healthy and cooking them some pasta with vegetables. It was a two hour session this time, and an easy introduction for them – wash hands, register, food, and How to Train Your Dragon, which they loved, watching, rapt, even though their English is very limited. Then we explained (with Jimmy’s help) to the idea of doing a film, got their consent, and gave them all hats (just a small part of the donations we received).
As a small testimony to the session, there is one girl who has a daughter, who is – from previous years – quite bolshy, pushes the boundaries, and last year did not come very regularly. She makes herself look like a boy – it is probably safer that way. We had to tell her and one other boy to stop sniffing glue and to put it outside. The boy did, but she refused. However at the end of the lesson she spoke to Jimmy and wanted him to tell us she would not bring glue tomorrow. We will hope she keeps this promise.
Thank you for reading!
I'm feeling a little nauseous. And I haven't even taken my anti-malarial medicine yet. I'm looking forward to that. Waiting till later in the hope that my stomach will settle. I'm also tired. My brain keeps on not switching off at night. Not running around thinking about things, just sitting there going 'Doo-be-doo-be-do.' I must be dozing, I guess. It's not helped by the fact that every now and then, in the night, Cathy emits a loud cough that sounds a little bit like a hell-hound barking (we watched Hercules last night - not the cartoon. A film version.) Not that I can talk - I snore like a beast. In fact, Cathy has been incredibly good at putting up with and kindly accommodating my foibles (thanks Cathy!).
We were listening to music while preparing the veg - and I was writing up the beginnings of the script- put the power's gone again. The water is also not working today. Argh!
Yesterday we showed the kids the first of the questions that I'd filmed the Woodcraft Folk children asking. I was going to go through all of them, but everybody wanted to answer the first question - "What do you want to do when you grow up?" So that took up almost all of the time. But they all waited so patiently for everyone to answer. Some of the answers were touching - "I want to rent a house and then give it to my family." (Anemut, 9?) - others interesting, most fairly usual: pilot, policeman, businessman. Cathy commented afterwards that it was sad e.g. when Abeneezer said, "I want to be an engineer." Cathy said, "Because he's a bright boy. He knows it's not likely to happen. Although if anyone can do it, he can." (Sometimes you have to tell yourselves these things - make these hopeful statements.)
A couple of people, including a girl called Anna, wanted to be journalists. I bent the truth and told them that was what I wanted to be too, and we fist-bumped.
WordUp Addis: Article 2 - full version
Today (Monday) was the first day of teaching. But I’m going to backtrack a bit. The last few days we have been working to get the classroom ready, preparing resources like an alphabet (A is for Apple), which we have laminated, and getting more contacts and help. It’s wonderful. There’s King, a man who is in Addis for a week, from somewhere in North Ethiopia. I started chatting to him on the bus after we had bought some small plastic chairs from the main market (Mercato), and he’s coming tomorrow to teach the kids for a bit. There’s the manager of KG Corner (a restaurant) who is coming on Friday to teach a drama lesson. Jimmy, who was filming and occasionally translating today and is back tomorrow and basically the whole time – I think – unless he’s busy, is amazing. And, of course there’s Yared, who, as well as letting us have about 20 street kids in his front room – which he did up for them, has been sourcing us crates and cardboard for tables, and much more.
When the kids were here today, you could see they appreciated the somewhat scrappy (to us) lino that Yared had put down for the, because two of them took tie to neaten it up when it moved. And Mahmoosh, who has crutches, was constantly picking up the food wrappers and tidying for us.
Today we had treats of biscuits, crisps and milk for the Tiger Kids, but tomorrow we’re going healthy and cooking them some pasta with vegetables. It was a two hour session this time, and an easy introduction for them – wash hands, register, food, and How to Train Your Dragon, which they loved, watching, rapt, even though their English is very limited. Then we explained (with Jimmy’s help) to the idea of doing a film, got their consent, and gave them all hats (just a small part of the donations we received).
As a small testimony to the session, there is one girl who has a daughter, who is – from previous years – quite bolshy, pushes the boundaries, and last year did not come very regularly. She makes herself look like a boy – it is probably safer that way. We had to tell her and one other boy to stop sniffing glue and to put it outside. The boy did, but she refused. However at the end of the lesson she spoke to Jimmy and wanted him to tell us she would not bring glue tomorrow. We will hope she keeps this promise.
Thank you for reading!
Sunday
So, this morning Cathy and I had just sat down to have breakfast at KG’s. Someone had said hello and asked if he could sit down with us, and I was feeling frustrated at having to sit through another conversation with a stranger (but we couldn’t exactly say no). I was feeling a bit tired after my stomach decided last night it didn’t like something I’d eaten. (Fun times.)
Then there was a bang. People ran forwards and backwards. The people at KGs pulled a big metal gate half closed, then open. I wondered if it was some crazy militant group on a shooting spree (didn’t seem likely). The man we were with beckoned us to come, and he said we could look. A crowd had gathered. The Taitu was on fire.
The Taitu – the oldest hotel in Ethiopia, which opened in, I think, 1818 Cathy said. Full of beautiful art. I had a thought that this sucked because I was going to buy some postcards from there.
Cathy is talking now to a jazz musician who plays at a bar there. He’s made a joke that maybe the Taitu were making our breakfast and ‘Bang!’ (Blame the farengi.)
We watched for a bit, and then people started running and, not screaming but…is it called ululating? Cathy held my hand and we moved to the edge and walked away. We didn’t want to break into a panic; there to be a stampede. But it was ok: the police were moving the crowd away with their truncheons. Because we were walking we fell to the back of the crowd. The police saw us, but as foreigners (farengi), and because we were still moving away, they let us be. Still, we sped up our pace a little. The crowd would run a bit then stop then run a bit. Cathy and I just kept walking, said hi to the street kids, and made our way to this café – a few streets clear.
Cathy said the fires can spread quite quickly in Piazza because of the old wood in the Italian buildings. Last year she said there was a fire here and it spread badly and although they put it out, it kept restarting, because of the heat – lasting for several days. Yared said that 25 families lost somebody in that fire.
I said – half-joking – should we go to our hotel and pick up our passports? I have a photocopy of it with me, and a version in my email. Cathy said not to worry, it’s far enough away, and now the plume of smoke we’ve been watching is reducing.
(Forward in time.)
Now we’ve having a juice at Pizza Napoli, and I’m braving scrambled eggs. Our street is blocked off, police are around, fire engines keep passing. From this angle- behind the hotel – you can still see flames.
A man came, again, while we were there, and asked if he could join us. Argh! But actually he was really cool. He is a musician too, from Ethiopia, but he’s lived in Australia for 37 years (he’s 62, called Theo). He was back in Addis to make a music video. He had breakfast with us and we chatted and listened to the fire engines coming by. Theo went out to smoke, and I finished my coke while Cathy worked on painting a copy of a beautiful painting in the restaurant (she’s so good), that she can make into postcards and then sell, to raise money for the kids. We left, and Theo called us to him, “Come meet this man.”
Cathy, I think knowing my frustration, said we were just walking, but this man turned out to be Australian and an actor – Dwayne Peachey – in an Ethiopian film. And he feeds loads of street kids in the morning! It’s so good to know they have someone else helping them. He’s making a film about water – he’s been setting up wells – and he wants to see us teaching the kids.
Now we’re back at the Ankober (it didn’t burn down, but we think KG Corner, where we were when it started, was hit). We were allowed up to our hotel by the police. Then we went to leave, but were told to stay for 10 minutes, so we’ve been drawing (Cathy) and writing in the courtyard. Two people came in with cameras. They didn’t say much but said they were there, at the Taitu, when it was started. The man (not tourists I don’t think) said he’d been helping put the fire out, with buckets of water, “But then” – and stopped.
I don't think the picture uploaded correctly, but you get the idea.
Another Blog
When did I last do a blog? I am not sure! I'm just sitting, relaxing (and pretty tired) after we've had our Christmas party - Melkam Genna. (Christmas is later here.) I danced a lot!
We've had an amazing time today! The Michael Jackson competition had a clear winner - one of the youngest kids. Then a proper disco, then musical bumps. The balloons were an instant hit (it doesn't take much) and also tied in with practising numbers. Me and a couple of them ramped up the usual game by having a game of balloon-keepy-uppy with headers. We also gave them a nice Christmas meal - in the end, instead of chicken, Yared cooked some beef because people in the street clubbed together to buy two cows (which I photographed yesterday - sorry to the vegetarians reading!).
With Melak's help, we explained to the kids the things we need to do to make our film - decide story, learn how to film, decide characters.... And they came up with the following ideas for what to make their film about:
1. Christmas
2. Comedy
3. Fighting
4. Life on the street
5. The struggle to stop the glue and to teach others.
We're going to combine all of these together :)
Yesterday Cathy and I did a series of fails. I forgot to bring the plug thing for my laptop. Cathy forgot to bring the key for Yared's (and he was asleep and dead to the world). Well, she THOUGHT she forgot to bring the key. After I walked back to the hotel twice to check the room, she looked in her bag and it was there. Was I impressed? No I was not. Lol!
However I was proud that I'm now brave enough to walk the few places we go to in Piazza (and pretty much know the way). Hurrah!
It's interesting that the kids came up with the idea of stopping the glue. Or, rather, one of the kids, but the others seemed happy with that. Will be good working on the plot tomorrow. (Thursday.)
Last night we spent hours making Christmas decorations - mainly painting cardboard yellow, then cutting out stars. and sticking them on the wall. They look nice.
Right, I'm going to instigate a dinner trip now - hungry!
P.S. Did I say I got sunburnt and my face and neck are peeling? Admittedly my neck was worse and that is fine - I think the main problem with my face was actually that I got confused one night and thought Cathy's aloe vera moisturising facewash (aka soap) was moisturiser, and left it on my face all night.
P.P.S. Yesterday I got asked by one of Melak's friends if I was macchiato (sp?) 'half-caste' (or that's the translation Melak gave me). I'm not that tanned.... Lol :) (#thingsyouwouldn'tsayinEngland)
And, finally, I think there may be an extra blog on Lappy somewhere. I will check.
When did I last do a blog? I am not sure! I'm just sitting, relaxing (and pretty tired) after we've had our Christmas party - Melkam Genna. (Christmas is later here.) I danced a lot!
We've had an amazing time today! The Michael Jackson competition had a clear winner - one of the youngest kids. Then a proper disco, then musical bumps. The balloons were an instant hit (it doesn't take much) and also tied in with practising numbers. Me and a couple of them ramped up the usual game by having a game of balloon-keepy-uppy with headers. We also gave them a nice Christmas meal - in the end, instead of chicken, Yared cooked some beef because people in the street clubbed together to buy two cows (which I photographed yesterday - sorry to the vegetarians reading!).
With Melak's help, we explained to the kids the things we need to do to make our film - decide story, learn how to film, decide characters.... And they came up with the following ideas for what to make their film about:
1. Christmas
2. Comedy
3. Fighting
4. Life on the street
5. The struggle to stop the glue and to teach others.
We're going to combine all of these together :)
Yesterday Cathy and I did a series of fails. I forgot to bring the plug thing for my laptop. Cathy forgot to bring the key for Yared's (and he was asleep and dead to the world). Well, she THOUGHT she forgot to bring the key. After I walked back to the hotel twice to check the room, she looked in her bag and it was there. Was I impressed? No I was not. Lol!
However I was proud that I'm now brave enough to walk the few places we go to in Piazza (and pretty much know the way). Hurrah!
It's interesting that the kids came up with the idea of stopping the glue. Or, rather, one of the kids, but the others seemed happy with that. Will be good working on the plot tomorrow. (Thursday.)
Last night we spent hours making Christmas decorations - mainly painting cardboard yellow, then cutting out stars. and sticking them on the wall. They look nice.
Right, I'm going to instigate a dinner trip now - hungry!
P.S. Did I say I got sunburnt and my face and neck are peeling? Admittedly my neck was worse and that is fine - I think the main problem with my face was actually that I got confused one night and thought Cathy's aloe vera moisturising facewash (aka soap) was moisturiser, and left it on my face all night.
P.P.S. Yesterday I got asked by one of Melak's friends if I was macchiato (sp?) 'half-caste' (or that's the translation Melak gave me). I'm not that tanned.... Lol :) (#thingsyouwouldn'tsayinEngland)
And, finally, I think there may be an extra blog on Lappy somewhere. I will check.
Friday (and Thursday, and Wednesday) – I’m getting behind!
Yared then got to us – we’d arranged for him to come to our hotel to show us the buses again, so we could do it on our own in the future. Did this work? No. On the way back yesterday we managed to get on the right bus, because Yared took us to it. We managed to get off the bus at the right spot because the man on the bus who takes the money told us when to get off. We managed then to get back to our hotel because one of the buses took just Cathy and I to our hotel for 50 birr. Hurrah! Perhaps it’s a good thing that we’re now in the Ankober, so can walk home from Yared’s.
It’s quite nice here. Clean, more space than in our last room. Don’t think there’s a communal space, but there is a kettle we can use and we’ve now got ourselves milk and tea BUT the shower was cold and then got colder – I’m pretty sure it had been in the freezer for at least five minutes. I couldn’t make myself do it, but I reckoned I could manage a strip wash in front of a sink full of cold water. AND that water did actually get hot. Just need to find a plug (putting the toothbrush cup in did not work). I was able to wash my hair in the ice cold shower because I am hardcore. Either that or because hair is dead and feels no pain.
Right, I’m going to have to skim some things and waffle less than usual otherwise this blog will never end. So much is happening!
So – on Wed (our second day), we went to Yared’s an unpacked the donations of stationery etc. So much stuff! Isobel (my friend from BUILD) had given us some big (but thin and light) pink and cream paper, and this was great for making big signs with classroom language like ‘Can I have a/some’, on which we stuck amazing pictures of pens, pencils etc. Below I did some very good representations of colours using felt tip pens. I did the sign making while Cathy sorted out the stationery. We now have a big bag of felt tip pens which hangs from a random nail that sticks out of the wall, bags of paper etc on the floor, plastic water bottles cut in half for pens – and as we didn’t have enough we also used the top half of one, cut the very top off it, and taped on some card from some packaging so it didn’t fall over. That’s for the scissors. And don’t worry, I was very careful and spelt scissors correctly when I wrote it underneath my picture. I think I’ve finally managed to overcome my deep belief that it should be spelt with two zs. I then drew an amazing load of alphabet things ‘A is for apple’ etc., and discovered that I really can’t draw cats, dogs, but my goats have got better since my housemates and I practised a few months ago.
We asked Yared to ask shops if we could buy from them some of the boxes they use to put fruit in – we thought we could then put planks on them and they’d be seats and desks that we can also put stuff in (a little safer to have things under our bums, with those kids around). In the end, today, we wandered around the Mercato (big market area) for MANY hours – by the of which I remembered that I should put suncream on before going out into the sun – and got some little plastic stools that we’ll use as desks, and we’ll just have to watch the kids like hawks! (And accept the odd loss of a pen or two, probably.)
We also started to plan the first day in more detail. It’s going to go along the lines of:
1. Food
2. Explain to them that we’re doing a film project, that it’ll be all theirs, all done by them, and get them to sign consent. (Jimmy and Yared will help explain this, and Melak has translated it into Amharic, which we’re going to photocopy and ask those who can to sign it. Of course not all of them – maybe not many – are literate in Amharic either, or can sign their names, so we’re also going to film us or them reading it out in Amharic and English and then all saying ‘Yes’!)
3. Name games including I like/don’t like.
4. Classroom language.
5. Discuss thinking of ideas for films (will do this soon) – get them thinking (if time).
6. Watch some of How to Train Your Dragon for inspiration (and fun).
7. Then we had thought to do postcard making, but timewise we think we’ll save starting that and instead spend a nice amount of time giving out some of the clothing (more will be kept as rewards for the best students – but we’ll obviously try to ‘fix’ it so it’s distributed fairly evenly), taking photographs etc.
This reminds me – we’re planning, on Wednesday (our 3rd day of classes) to have a special day because it’s CHRISTMAS (#2). I did wonder why they were still selling Christmas decorations. They have a different calendar to us. And different time thing. 6 is 12 or something like that. Can lead to difficulty when making arrangements.
Thursday. What did we do on Thursday? Hmmm. I think that was a more chilled day. Oh yes, so Yared got to us in the morning. We had lunch and then Cathy and I went to meet someone who had contacted Cathy on Facebook saying he wanted to help us out. We’d arranged to meet him in the Taitu at 3pm. He didn’t show up, but we had a great conversation (well Cathy did as she actually knows about stuff like that) with this random British traveller called Jonathan. I enjoyed listening to it, and drew a picture of them both.
Then more colouring in of the alphabet (which has taken a little while, but is now done). Oh and we started having a look at things we might get for The People Tree. We saw some amazing bird things in this man’s shop – he’s a proper artist, he’s been in magazines across the world. He’s done some beautiful paintings. I really want one, but have to be sensible.
Speaking of sensible, rather than buying a new leather bag that is too small, Yared and I went to a local markety area and this great man, with a foot-pedalled sewing machine, fixed the zip in my bag – which I call the sheep, so if I say that, I mean my bag – and also redid the rubbish sewing I’d done to fix the previous tears. Everyone loves the sheep (Rhi! – as always, thanks so much). I have also found a way of making the sheep super safe – I’ve untied the pom poms and retied them to the zip end – they then go through the um round thing that the shoulder strap attaches to, and voila, a lock!
While the man was doing that, Yared and I went to try to find someone who could unlock Cathy and I’s old Nokias so that we could use the sims he got us (in an effort to have slightly more reliable phone abilities). But everyone kept saying no. One man did say yes, but that it was really expensive for these old phones, and that it was cheaper to buy a new phone. We’ve decided to stick with our normal sims. We only need them for emergencies anyway. I came back and the man was still working on the sheep, so I sat and watched – and also watched another person fixing a foot pedal sewing machine that they’d pimped out to make it electric. Very Heath Robinson (for those of you who know of those books).
So, today was basically changing hotel, then going round the Mercato. Oh, we also got some flower and Swiss chard (spinach) seeds – we are going to get the kids growing things, and then plant them out in Piazza. Melak has written for us an AMAZING sounding itinerary for the trip. We just need to work out the costs.
Oh, after we went to Mercato we stopped off for lunch and a St George’s beer in this local place. I drew Melak, Cathy painted some people, and then these people who were watching us asked Cathy and I to draw them. Cathy and I of course drew different people, to avoid professional jealousy, but I do feel my people got a bit short changed. Only because she then painted hers in, of course...!
One final thing – I’ll try to remember to upload a picture I took of these corrugated iron big box things that Cathy point on street. Cathy said some people (the luckier of those on the street) sleep in them. The kids keep coming up to us and saying hi every time we pass, and I’ve taken some photos of them now – they liked that
Right, I’d better get to bed. See if I can find Cathy another blanket. She’s such a cold beast.
Yared then got to us – we’d arranged for him to come to our hotel to show us the buses again, so we could do it on our own in the future. Did this work? No. On the way back yesterday we managed to get on the right bus, because Yared took us to it. We managed to get off the bus at the right spot because the man on the bus who takes the money told us when to get off. We managed then to get back to our hotel because one of the buses took just Cathy and I to our hotel for 50 birr. Hurrah! Perhaps it’s a good thing that we’re now in the Ankober, so can walk home from Yared’s.
It’s quite nice here. Clean, more space than in our last room. Don’t think there’s a communal space, but there is a kettle we can use and we’ve now got ourselves milk and tea BUT the shower was cold and then got colder – I’m pretty sure it had been in the freezer for at least five minutes. I couldn’t make myself do it, but I reckoned I could manage a strip wash in front of a sink full of cold water. AND that water did actually get hot. Just need to find a plug (putting the toothbrush cup in did not work). I was able to wash my hair in the ice cold shower because I am hardcore. Either that or because hair is dead and feels no pain.
Right, I’m going to have to skim some things and waffle less than usual otherwise this blog will never end. So much is happening!
So – on Wed (our second day), we went to Yared’s an unpacked the donations of stationery etc. So much stuff! Isobel (my friend from BUILD) had given us some big (but thin and light) pink and cream paper, and this was great for making big signs with classroom language like ‘Can I have a/some’, on which we stuck amazing pictures of pens, pencils etc. Below I did some very good representations of colours using felt tip pens. I did the sign making while Cathy sorted out the stationery. We now have a big bag of felt tip pens which hangs from a random nail that sticks out of the wall, bags of paper etc on the floor, plastic water bottles cut in half for pens – and as we didn’t have enough we also used the top half of one, cut the very top off it, and taped on some card from some packaging so it didn’t fall over. That’s for the scissors. And don’t worry, I was very careful and spelt scissors correctly when I wrote it underneath my picture. I think I’ve finally managed to overcome my deep belief that it should be spelt with two zs. I then drew an amazing load of alphabet things ‘A is for apple’ etc., and discovered that I really can’t draw cats, dogs, but my goats have got better since my housemates and I practised a few months ago.
We asked Yared to ask shops if we could buy from them some of the boxes they use to put fruit in – we thought we could then put planks on them and they’d be seats and desks that we can also put stuff in (a little safer to have things under our bums, with those kids around). In the end, today, we wandered around the Mercato (big market area) for MANY hours – by the of which I remembered that I should put suncream on before going out into the sun – and got some little plastic stools that we’ll use as desks, and we’ll just have to watch the kids like hawks! (And accept the odd loss of a pen or two, probably.)
We also started to plan the first day in more detail. It’s going to go along the lines of:
1. Food
2. Explain to them that we’re doing a film project, that it’ll be all theirs, all done by them, and get them to sign consent. (Jimmy and Yared will help explain this, and Melak has translated it into Amharic, which we’re going to photocopy and ask those who can to sign it. Of course not all of them – maybe not many – are literate in Amharic either, or can sign their names, so we’re also going to film us or them reading it out in Amharic and English and then all saying ‘Yes’!)
3. Name games including I like/don’t like.
4. Classroom language.
5. Discuss thinking of ideas for films (will do this soon) – get them thinking (if time).
6. Watch some of How to Train Your Dragon for inspiration (and fun).
7. Then we had thought to do postcard making, but timewise we think we’ll save starting that and instead spend a nice amount of time giving out some of the clothing (more will be kept as rewards for the best students – but we’ll obviously try to ‘fix’ it so it’s distributed fairly evenly), taking photographs etc.
This reminds me – we’re planning, on Wednesday (our 3rd day of classes) to have a special day because it’s CHRISTMAS (#2). I did wonder why they were still selling Christmas decorations. They have a different calendar to us. And different time thing. 6 is 12 or something like that. Can lead to difficulty when making arrangements.
Thursday. What did we do on Thursday? Hmmm. I think that was a more chilled day. Oh yes, so Yared got to us in the morning. We had lunch and then Cathy and I went to meet someone who had contacted Cathy on Facebook saying he wanted to help us out. We’d arranged to meet him in the Taitu at 3pm. He didn’t show up, but we had a great conversation (well Cathy did as she actually knows about stuff like that) with this random British traveller called Jonathan. I enjoyed listening to it, and drew a picture of them both.
Then more colouring in of the alphabet (which has taken a little while, but is now done). Oh and we started having a look at things we might get for The People Tree. We saw some amazing bird things in this man’s shop – he’s a proper artist, he’s been in magazines across the world. He’s done some beautiful paintings. I really want one, but have to be sensible.
Speaking of sensible, rather than buying a new leather bag that is too small, Yared and I went to a local markety area and this great man, with a foot-pedalled sewing machine, fixed the zip in my bag – which I call the sheep, so if I say that, I mean my bag – and also redid the rubbish sewing I’d done to fix the previous tears. Everyone loves the sheep (Rhi! – as always, thanks so much). I have also found a way of making the sheep super safe – I’ve untied the pom poms and retied them to the zip end – they then go through the um round thing that the shoulder strap attaches to, and voila, a lock!
While the man was doing that, Yared and I went to try to find someone who could unlock Cathy and I’s old Nokias so that we could use the sims he got us (in an effort to have slightly more reliable phone abilities). But everyone kept saying no. One man did say yes, but that it was really expensive for these old phones, and that it was cheaper to buy a new phone. We’ve decided to stick with our normal sims. We only need them for emergencies anyway. I came back and the man was still working on the sheep, so I sat and watched – and also watched another person fixing a foot pedal sewing machine that they’d pimped out to make it electric. Very Heath Robinson (for those of you who know of those books).
So, today was basically changing hotel, then going round the Mercato. Oh, we also got some flower and Swiss chard (spinach) seeds – we are going to get the kids growing things, and then plant them out in Piazza. Melak has written for us an AMAZING sounding itinerary for the trip. We just need to work out the costs.
Oh, after we went to Mercato we stopped off for lunch and a St George’s beer in this local place. I drew Melak, Cathy painted some people, and then these people who were watching us asked Cathy and I to draw them. Cathy and I of course drew different people, to avoid professional jealousy, but I do feel my people got a bit short changed. Only because she then painted hers in, of course...!
One final thing – I’ll try to remember to upload a picture I took of these corrugated iron big box things that Cathy point on street. Cathy said some people (the luckier of those on the street) sleep in them. The kids keep coming up to us and saying hi every time we pass, and I’ve taken some photos of them now – they liked that
Right, I’d better get to bed. See if I can find Cathy another blanket. She’s such a cold beast.
Days 3 (and 2) – Thursday (and Wednesday)
Lappy has seized up (my old laptop), so I thought I’d work on my blog a bit – I’m doing it mainly in my notebook as that’s easier to carry around. Lappy is struggling because he has a million and one updates to download. THAT is because I’d been using him (it) without internet, just to print for several years, because those updates made him so slow. Still, it’s been...maybe 5 minutes as I’m pretty sure this (Calvin Harris and John Newman – Blame) is the second song to come on the tv. I hope Lappy unseizes up at some point, as I’m pretty sure I’d just written some genius sentences in my novelly thing I’m working on. And I’d some other sentences planned which I’m now forgetting. Mental note <I then wrote various notes for things to put in the novel thing, which I won’t bore you with>.
This (Thursday) is our last night at the Cozy until the 13th – unless we decide to stay in the Ankober (or whichever hotel in Piazza we decide to stay in). Sad times, as it is amazing. But it would be easier not to have the travelling – busses are cheaper but kind of hard with the streets all looking pretty much the same to Cathy and I (so it’s not just me!!), bus stops being discernable only by the fact there’s blue minibus things lingering there, no timetable as buses basically run until some time in the evening, and wait at their stop until full enough to make it feel worth it to move on. Having said that, it’s pretty cool because we’ve had to wait a maximum of 30 seconds for a bus, and they cost about 50p. If that. (Do I understand the exchange rate? No. Will I be haggling? No. Do I constantly ask Cathy how much things are in pounds? Yes. Does she know? Roughly....)
Right. Cathy has suggested I tell you more about what we have been doing re. the Tiger Kids. And that is a very good point. So, yesterday morning Cathy and I walked up this big road with loads of those shops. To orient ourselves (although I haven’t seen street names. They may exist and I haven’t noticed them as they’re written in Amharic. I’ve asked Cathy and she’s not sure either, but says they’re certainly not plastered and obvious like in the UK. I think she was somewhat overstating the obviousness of our street signs, but I generally agree with her concept.) but also to have a look for potential furniture. We saw loads of furniture places – with three main types of things: beautiful carved wooden things, cane furniture, and lots of pouffes/footstool/stool things. And you can see people making the things, which is wonderful. I really want to learn to make furniture!
Lappy has seized up (my old laptop), so I thought I’d work on my blog a bit – I’m doing it mainly in my notebook as that’s easier to carry around. Lappy is struggling because he has a million and one updates to download. THAT is because I’d been using him (it) without internet, just to print for several years, because those updates made him so slow. Still, it’s been...maybe 5 minutes as I’m pretty sure this (Calvin Harris and John Newman – Blame) is the second song to come on the tv. I hope Lappy unseizes up at some point, as I’m pretty sure I’d just written some genius sentences in my novelly thing I’m working on. And I’d some other sentences planned which I’m now forgetting. Mental note <I then wrote various notes for things to put in the novel thing, which I won’t bore you with>.
This (Thursday) is our last night at the Cozy until the 13th – unless we decide to stay in the Ankober (or whichever hotel in Piazza we decide to stay in). Sad times, as it is amazing. But it would be easier not to have the travelling – busses are cheaper but kind of hard with the streets all looking pretty much the same to Cathy and I (so it’s not just me!!), bus stops being discernable only by the fact there’s blue minibus things lingering there, no timetable as buses basically run until some time in the evening, and wait at their stop until full enough to make it feel worth it to move on. Having said that, it’s pretty cool because we’ve had to wait a maximum of 30 seconds for a bus, and they cost about 50p. If that. (Do I understand the exchange rate? No. Will I be haggling? No. Do I constantly ask Cathy how much things are in pounds? Yes. Does she know? Roughly....)
Right. Cathy has suggested I tell you more about what we have been doing re. the Tiger Kids. And that is a very good point. So, yesterday morning Cathy and I walked up this big road with loads of those shops. To orient ourselves (although I haven’t seen street names. They may exist and I haven’t noticed them as they’re written in Amharic. I’ve asked Cathy and she’s not sure either, but says they’re certainly not plastered and obvious like in the UK. I think she was somewhat overstating the obviousness of our street signs, but I generally agree with her concept.) but also to have a look for potential furniture. We saw loads of furniture places – with three main types of things: beautiful carved wooden things, cane furniture, and lots of pouffes/footstool/stool things. And you can see people making the things, which is wonderful. I really want to learn to make furniture!
Day 2 (and 1) – Wed
(and Tues). ADDIS!
First, I cut this out of my column yesterday. I can’t be bothered to work out how to fit it into the rest, so here you go. (It was the top of what I had written!)
I’m still breathing heavily after running between Cathy and I’s room – in Mr Martin’s Cozy Place, Bole, Addis Ababa, Ethiopia – and the common area, to get my phone to help me write this first column. I didn’t have to run, probably, as this place seems very safe, but one of the other guests has ‘lost’ his phone while out in the town today, so you can understand my paranoia. And I’m not that unfit – it’s the high altitude (lack of oxygen) – it’s affecting my balance too.
So, to begin again. We arrived yesterday after a meal on the plane which included a really nice dark chocolate mousse with caramel sauce – yummy, but something in the meal made Cathy and I really gassy! Not fun for the guy sitting next to me, Felix, who was travelling back to...somewhere...Nairobi possibly, after doing a computing MA...somewhere in England. He asked me my religion quite quickly – not adhering to our rules of what not to say – and, on hearing I was an atheist, gave me a book, which I might read a few pages of, and then will definitely put on my shelf of books to read when I’m retired.
At the airport I managed to successfully sneak through the minimal filming equipment. Cathy was less lucky – the rules for visas had changed, compared to last year, and compared to the Ethiopian Embassy’s website too. This meant Cathy couldn’t get a 2month+ visa, just a 1 month one, and she’s going to have to go to immigration one day while out here. Apparently one other time she was there all day, and then was just told to go away. But I’m sure this time might be different.
Cathy and I are sitting here (or were, I’m typing this at Cozy, and my parents have made me unable to lie, so I have to tell you that) having spent the afternoon setting up the classroom at Yared’s place – he is the person Cathy rents the room where we teach from.... Actually, I’ll paste the column in at the end of this so you can hear more about Day 1.
So Cathy and I are sitting in Yared’s, and she’s just given me two top tips for Addis, which I will now relay.
1. Have toilet paper for the toilets (which are of varying toiletness).
2. And a torch. For the toilet, and when the power goes off.
We went shopping for a few things this morning and bought ourselves some soft (toilet roll) and I also bought a mug (because the Cozy, while very nice, doesn’t appreciate the concept of a decent sized cup. I also also bought some pants, because I’ve decided I can’t be bothered to do laundry quite as much as my zealous pack-light self decided. They are...beautiful. Bridgety, bright pink/black with hearts. Not sure what fabric they’re made from, but it’s a bit weird (cheap-weird I guess). Probably originating from some form of plastic.
Anyway, enough of my pants. Most of Addis seems to be shanty-towns from Geography GCSE days. But really it’s a step or two up. Yared’s place has electricity, proper walls – because it’s one of, or part of one of the Italian places from those years of occupation. But a metal door. He’s now got a tap which provides running water outside. There’s a fridge...wait, no, Cathy says it’s a cupboard. I wondered why it looked like a cupboard. And then the toilet. Here I will provide you with another removed bit from the article:
Yarid has done up the room we rent, and it looks beautiful, but things are still pretty primitive – he decided that a bucket was a better option for us as a toilet because he felt his was so bad. We have then been chucking it into his toilet (he just indicated throwing it into the room, but I figured a more specific aim was best, and hope I did the right thing).... It’s not a problem though, just builds up the calf muscles (squatting)!
Right. Oh yes, the torch – Tip #2. The toilet is pitch black at Yared’s. (Which didn’t help when trying to chuck my bucket o’ 1+2 into whatever it was. However, my phone has a torch! This is something I intermittently discover about my phone. And it was very helpful last night when I was sitting, trying to email the EDP to explain that the article would be late because Cathy was asleep, and the power went. This powercut gave me a somewhat better excuse, but did mean that I was in a midnight room, the common room = one room, another room, a corridor, stairs into outside, more stairs, a corridor, stairs, and an outside bit away from Cathy and I’s room. But it was ok – I felt around for my phone. Ta-dah! Well done Nokia!!!
So I was talking about the shops. Or I was going to. They are small. Imagine a kitchen or a market stall for most of them. Or those things in busy town squares that sell newspapers etc – what the people hide in near the beginning of 28 Days Later. Except more corrugated iron painted various colours surrounded by scrapyard, than neat newsstand. Newstand? I think that’s what they’re called. You peer at them as you walk by and try to work out what is being sold. They’re somewhat lacking in...you know. Being a shop. Merchandising, branding, space.... I think this is what Cathy meant by it being quite a poor country. And also things like the block of flats (or something) I saw which was being built with some kind of bamboo scaffolding, and the men doing roadworks with pick axes. I felt that there must be easier ways, but it was probably good exercise. And did also, actually wonder if power tools were really that expensive. Yes, I am that naive/middle class.
Another thing that shows my...Englishness...is the stress I’m feeling at the fact that Hotmail has locked me out. Aaah! I hope my Mum can help me fix that soon. (It’s all very ridiculous, involving an email and a backup email that are both hotmail, and so I can’t access the verification code in the second email without getting a verification code from the first. ARGH!) I think this is what twitter users would hashtag as a ‘First World Problem’.
Right, column:
Cathy and I arrived in Addis Ababa, after no sleep but a worry-free flight, at 7.15am. The sunrise was amazing, from the window of the plane, so the lack of sleep was worth it. We were met by Cathy’s friend Yared, who we rent the room where we teach from, and his friend Jimmy. We checked into the guesthouse then went straight to Yared’s place.
It turns out we’re off to a really good start with the film project part of our trip, because Jimmy is doing a filmmaking course at a school in Piazza. He’s already made several documentaries, and has wholeheartedly offered to help us. We discussed how to ensure it is the Tiger Kids’ film, not ours, and also about the idea of doing a creative film – with a plot, props etc., and then the other film being a ‘Making Of’ documentary.
We spent the morning and afternoon chatting to Jimmy, Yared and also Melak, a friend of Cathy’s who is a tour guide. He thinks that we should be able to take all the Tiger Kids out to some lakes south of Addis, that are National Parks and have beautiful scenery he says – he’s just working out the costing and logistics. The others are all willing to come along on this trip, if it happens, so we’d have a good number of adults to kids.
As for the Tiger Kids, well Cathy walked into Piazza and kids started running up to her, hugging her, and asking when lessons would start. I noticed that, although the whole area was pretty poor, these boys’ clothes were torn, and they often had grey on their face – dust I presume. Later on, during our discussions, one of the boys came in, asking things but not making a whole load of sense. Yared and Melak gave him some money, told him they wanted some bread. He disappeared and I do not think the bread will appear – they did not seem to expect it to. They said he was high on shoe glue – what almost all of the boys do, to try to get some happiness in their lives. We discussed our aims of moving them away form this, showing them other ways to find joy, and I managed to over come the urge to cry.
Tomorrow we are shopping for some simple furniture – something we could use as a table would be very helpful, and other extra resources – beyond all the amazing donations we were able to bring.
Only the one photo for you today I’m afraid – my camera battery died, and I’ve only just round to charging it. (Power is a bit dodgy, but fingers crossed....)
Thank you for reading.
And now for some photos! (Don’t worry, I have a few more now.) See above!
First, I cut this out of my column yesterday. I can’t be bothered to work out how to fit it into the rest, so here you go. (It was the top of what I had written!)
I’m still breathing heavily after running between Cathy and I’s room – in Mr Martin’s Cozy Place, Bole, Addis Ababa, Ethiopia – and the common area, to get my phone to help me write this first column. I didn’t have to run, probably, as this place seems very safe, but one of the other guests has ‘lost’ his phone while out in the town today, so you can understand my paranoia. And I’m not that unfit – it’s the high altitude (lack of oxygen) – it’s affecting my balance too.
So, to begin again. We arrived yesterday after a meal on the plane which included a really nice dark chocolate mousse with caramel sauce – yummy, but something in the meal made Cathy and I really gassy! Not fun for the guy sitting next to me, Felix, who was travelling back to...somewhere...Nairobi possibly, after doing a computing MA...somewhere in England. He asked me my religion quite quickly – not adhering to our rules of what not to say – and, on hearing I was an atheist, gave me a book, which I might read a few pages of, and then will definitely put on my shelf of books to read when I’m retired.
At the airport I managed to successfully sneak through the minimal filming equipment. Cathy was less lucky – the rules for visas had changed, compared to last year, and compared to the Ethiopian Embassy’s website too. This meant Cathy couldn’t get a 2month+ visa, just a 1 month one, and she’s going to have to go to immigration one day while out here. Apparently one other time she was there all day, and then was just told to go away. But I’m sure this time might be different.
Cathy and I are sitting here (or were, I’m typing this at Cozy, and my parents have made me unable to lie, so I have to tell you that) having spent the afternoon setting up the classroom at Yared’s place – he is the person Cathy rents the room where we teach from.... Actually, I’ll paste the column in at the end of this so you can hear more about Day 1.
So Cathy and I are sitting in Yared’s, and she’s just given me two top tips for Addis, which I will now relay.
1. Have toilet paper for the toilets (which are of varying toiletness).
2. And a torch. For the toilet, and when the power goes off.
We went shopping for a few things this morning and bought ourselves some soft (toilet roll) and I also bought a mug (because the Cozy, while very nice, doesn’t appreciate the concept of a decent sized cup. I also also bought some pants, because I’ve decided I can’t be bothered to do laundry quite as much as my zealous pack-light self decided. They are...beautiful. Bridgety, bright pink/black with hearts. Not sure what fabric they’re made from, but it’s a bit weird (cheap-weird I guess). Probably originating from some form of plastic.
Anyway, enough of my pants. Most of Addis seems to be shanty-towns from Geography GCSE days. But really it’s a step or two up. Yared’s place has electricity, proper walls – because it’s one of, or part of one of the Italian places from those years of occupation. But a metal door. He’s now got a tap which provides running water outside. There’s a fridge...wait, no, Cathy says it’s a cupboard. I wondered why it looked like a cupboard. And then the toilet. Here I will provide you with another removed bit from the article:
Yarid has done up the room we rent, and it looks beautiful, but things are still pretty primitive – he decided that a bucket was a better option for us as a toilet because he felt his was so bad. We have then been chucking it into his toilet (he just indicated throwing it into the room, but I figured a more specific aim was best, and hope I did the right thing).... It’s not a problem though, just builds up the calf muscles (squatting)!
Right. Oh yes, the torch – Tip #2. The toilet is pitch black at Yared’s. (Which didn’t help when trying to chuck my bucket o’ 1+2 into whatever it was. However, my phone has a torch! This is something I intermittently discover about my phone. And it was very helpful last night when I was sitting, trying to email the EDP to explain that the article would be late because Cathy was asleep, and the power went. This powercut gave me a somewhat better excuse, but did mean that I was in a midnight room, the common room = one room, another room, a corridor, stairs into outside, more stairs, a corridor, stairs, and an outside bit away from Cathy and I’s room. But it was ok – I felt around for my phone. Ta-dah! Well done Nokia!!!
So I was talking about the shops. Or I was going to. They are small. Imagine a kitchen or a market stall for most of them. Or those things in busy town squares that sell newspapers etc – what the people hide in near the beginning of 28 Days Later. Except more corrugated iron painted various colours surrounded by scrapyard, than neat newsstand. Newstand? I think that’s what they’re called. You peer at them as you walk by and try to work out what is being sold. They’re somewhat lacking in...you know. Being a shop. Merchandising, branding, space.... I think this is what Cathy meant by it being quite a poor country. And also things like the block of flats (or something) I saw which was being built with some kind of bamboo scaffolding, and the men doing roadworks with pick axes. I felt that there must be easier ways, but it was probably good exercise. And did also, actually wonder if power tools were really that expensive. Yes, I am that naive/middle class.
Another thing that shows my...Englishness...is the stress I’m feeling at the fact that Hotmail has locked me out. Aaah! I hope my Mum can help me fix that soon. (It’s all very ridiculous, involving an email and a backup email that are both hotmail, and so I can’t access the verification code in the second email without getting a verification code from the first. ARGH!) I think this is what twitter users would hashtag as a ‘First World Problem’.
Right, column:
Cathy and I arrived in Addis Ababa, after no sleep but a worry-free flight, at 7.15am. The sunrise was amazing, from the window of the plane, so the lack of sleep was worth it. We were met by Cathy’s friend Yared, who we rent the room where we teach from, and his friend Jimmy. We checked into the guesthouse then went straight to Yared’s place.
It turns out we’re off to a really good start with the film project part of our trip, because Jimmy is doing a filmmaking course at a school in Piazza. He’s already made several documentaries, and has wholeheartedly offered to help us. We discussed how to ensure it is the Tiger Kids’ film, not ours, and also about the idea of doing a creative film – with a plot, props etc., and then the other film being a ‘Making Of’ documentary.
We spent the morning and afternoon chatting to Jimmy, Yared and also Melak, a friend of Cathy’s who is a tour guide. He thinks that we should be able to take all the Tiger Kids out to some lakes south of Addis, that are National Parks and have beautiful scenery he says – he’s just working out the costing and logistics. The others are all willing to come along on this trip, if it happens, so we’d have a good number of adults to kids.
As for the Tiger Kids, well Cathy walked into Piazza and kids started running up to her, hugging her, and asking when lessons would start. I noticed that, although the whole area was pretty poor, these boys’ clothes were torn, and they often had grey on their face – dust I presume. Later on, during our discussions, one of the boys came in, asking things but not making a whole load of sense. Yared and Melak gave him some money, told him they wanted some bread. He disappeared and I do not think the bread will appear – they did not seem to expect it to. They said he was high on shoe glue – what almost all of the boys do, to try to get some happiness in their lives. We discussed our aims of moving them away form this, showing them other ways to find joy, and I managed to over come the urge to cry.
Tomorrow we are shopping for some simple furniture – something we could use as a table would be very helpful, and other extra resources – beyond all the amazing donations we were able to bring.
Only the one photo for you today I’m afraid – my camera battery died, and I’ve only just round to charging it. (Power is a bit dodgy, but fingers crossed....)
Thank you for reading.
And now for some photos! (Don’t worry, I have a few more now.) See above!
Dancing Grannies in Offenberg, Germany
(Hopefuly not offensive.)
(And more like life-writing really.)
P.S. I do not know if Netterer is actually Betterer, I just liked the wordplay.
Granny 1
Every pub in Offenburg has its own resident Dancing Granny. This is what I have learnt in the two days I have been in Offenburg with my friend Corina and her boyfriend Steve. It may not be strictly true, this dancing grannies fact, but two out of two isn’t bad.
The first pub was the Biermichel, which is in the centre of town, well edge of centre, somewhere and is a dark pub in the traditional style – old advertisement signs, and wooden stools. Steve and I went there, after consuming about a bottle and a half of wine (we told Cori a pigeon drank it – cue extended in-joke that lasted the rest of the trip) to wait for her while she had a meeting for this cool club she’s joining where you wear very expensive wooden masks and patchwork jumpsuits for festivals and the like. (A bit like the Saw mask.)
Now, another rule in Germany (as well as the Grannies in Offenburg) is that the pubs will – by midnight at the latest – be playing 80s rock. This was true the whole night in Biermichel. We checked out the smoking side (they have sides in Germany) and decided we could take it: it wasn’t too bad, and there were more people there. We drank beer and chatted, until Cori came, about things like how amazing Fleetwood Mac were, in all their incarnations, but particularly the Rumours album, and the wonders of German radio, which plays a proper mix of old and new music (emphasis on the old).
(Waking up to The Eye of the Tiger is ALWAYS good.)
We carried out this conversation to the accompaniment of Queen, AC DC, and I don’t know what else. Cori appeared (the meeting had run late) to find two people who were quite a bit ahead of her in the drinking scale (she being sober). Not ‘in a state’, but definitely ‘merry’ to the point where we emphatically told her, as soon as she arrived, that she had to watch Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and the latest American Pie movie, and that we were going to watch them tomorrow. Cori ordered a yummy sweet alcoholic milk thing, and I tried that and decided to have one too. We chatted and the music went on.
Gradually we noticed, behind us, someone (the only person in the pub doing this) dancing away – gadgeting around in a style (Dancing Granny classification wise) known as the Duracell bunny: jigging about and shaking her hands. She had short white hair and was wearing I think a t-shirt and jogging bottoms. Or something like that: casual granny. She didn’t stop, and she was awesome! Song after song after song she danced.
Anyway we requested one song – and it immediately was played, very next song – Shook Me All Night Long (more ACDC). We sang along heartily. We head- and chair- danced. I got the biggest wolf-whistle I’ve ever had from the two men who were sitting opposite us (one of them just didn’t stop hitting on me) when I took my hair down to properly headbang to some important song.
Then we asked Steve to request (he was the requester) Van Helin’s Jump and as we weren’t drinking any more, Steve said he’d only do this if we danced and JUMPED at all the relevant times. So it was requested, and we became three more people on the dancefloor. (Aka the square of free space next to the DJ box.) I wasn’t drunk enough to not feel a bit embarrassed about this, but I thought ‘Oh well’ and just kept going. And obviously we got the granny to join in with our dancing, grabbing her hands, Cori and I had one each, so that she was part of our circle that jumped wildly each time Van Helin told us to. Hurrah!
After that we stayed up dancing for a while, and as Cori and Steve were canoodling, I was dancing on my own. The Dancing Granny saw this, and grabbed my hands, and we waltzed, did ‘primary school’ pair dancing where neither’s really sure what to do, and she finally persuaded me to attempt a foxtrot after her attempt to get us to do a twirly thing comprehensively failed. In between this she asked me where I was from after I said, ‘Ich nich sprachen die Deutsch’ (this is probably spelt wrong), and we had a mini conversation. I was ridiculously impressed by this granny, who was clearly very cool, and may have been a lesbian (she had short hair and a female friend with her – but do grannies do that?).
We finally left the pub, after dancing wildly for maybe half an hour. We forgot to pay, but we rectified this sheepishly after the bargirl, who is grumpy when it’s busy (like this night) and cheerful when it’s quiet, ran after us.
I heartily recommend the alcoholic milk.
Granny 2
So the next night we ended up in The Dubliner on Weingartenstrasse. The chef who is the owner is a French guy, ‘So it’s the least Irish Irish pub I know,’ said Cori. She added, though, that they do have an Irish girl who can speak pretty good German – can swear really well, and she does, apparently. You always learn the foreign swearwords first.
We came here after going to this street festival in the dodgy part of town which did not seem even remotely dodgy. In fact, the festival was a celebration of the fact that the residents of this part of the town, who came from a myriad of different countries, had said, ‘We don’t like this place being run down and a bit dodgy: let’s stop that.’ And they had.
They had renovated buildings, they had renovated parks. I’m not sure what other initiatives. But in the end, in celebration of all this, they were having this fair. With four stages – music ranging from German hiphop (which I enjoyed the rhythm and tune of while not understanding a single word) to Brazillian drumming (those guys were having a LOT of fun), lots of different food, and things like mosaic making and a track where kids raced down a slope in these go-kart type things. It wasn’t rained off, and the rain stopped, so we came along and stayed for a few hours until we started getting cold. Then we went to The Dubliner.
This pub is quite well-known for having live music. And it’s a nice place which serves you hot chocolate when you ask for it, has places to sit, and a big tv that usually plays animal documentaries but on this occasion had images of paddy field and forests etc – lots of aerial views. We hadn’t been convinced by the billing of ‘Jazz’, but we were cold, so we went there.
So Cori and I went to the toilet, and got Steve to order our hot chocolates. As we came out of the toilet a very manly looking woman went into the ladies’ toilet. And when she came out she went onto the stage and proceeded to sing in a very masculine way. This caused us some confusion, and we discussed it for quite some time, weighing up the evidence (sorry).
She was a very good singer, and the band was very good. And by Jazz they apparently meant things like before-the-eighties rock, and some sixties blues. A bit of Elvis (Suspicious Minds) and other such songs. It was, as I said, very good, and it activated a Dancing Granny – she got up and BOPPED – this was a bopping granny who was in the style of the 1920s with legs stepping from side to side and hands swinging and waving. She had a skirt on and a smart jacket: she was more traditional-style.
Occasionally people danced with her. Occasionally she got a bit embarrassed and sat back down, but then always the music would inspire her back up to the dancefloor. And she shouldn’t have been embarrassed, because we were smiling, and probably grinning a bit, but it was joy: if you do not know how much joy a Dancing Granny can inspire, I hope you soon feel it. (This is the old age that we all want: when it’s midnight and you’re at a pub dancing to live music!) And I hope that there’s another one in the next pub I go to. But I’m going back to England tomorrow, so I’m not sure....
Fingers crossed. (England: if you don’t have them, it’s time.)
(And more like life-writing really.)
P.S. I do not know if Netterer is actually Betterer, I just liked the wordplay.
Granny 1
Every pub in Offenburg has its own resident Dancing Granny. This is what I have learnt in the two days I have been in Offenburg with my friend Corina and her boyfriend Steve. It may not be strictly true, this dancing grannies fact, but two out of two isn’t bad.
The first pub was the Biermichel, which is in the centre of town, well edge of centre, somewhere and is a dark pub in the traditional style – old advertisement signs, and wooden stools. Steve and I went there, after consuming about a bottle and a half of wine (we told Cori a pigeon drank it – cue extended in-joke that lasted the rest of the trip) to wait for her while she had a meeting for this cool club she’s joining where you wear very expensive wooden masks and patchwork jumpsuits for festivals and the like. (A bit like the Saw mask.)
Now, another rule in Germany (as well as the Grannies in Offenburg) is that the pubs will – by midnight at the latest – be playing 80s rock. This was true the whole night in Biermichel. We checked out the smoking side (they have sides in Germany) and decided we could take it: it wasn’t too bad, and there were more people there. We drank beer and chatted, until Cori came, about things like how amazing Fleetwood Mac were, in all their incarnations, but particularly the Rumours album, and the wonders of German radio, which plays a proper mix of old and new music (emphasis on the old).
(Waking up to The Eye of the Tiger is ALWAYS good.)
We carried out this conversation to the accompaniment of Queen, AC DC, and I don’t know what else. Cori appeared (the meeting had run late) to find two people who were quite a bit ahead of her in the drinking scale (she being sober). Not ‘in a state’, but definitely ‘merry’ to the point where we emphatically told her, as soon as she arrived, that she had to watch Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and the latest American Pie movie, and that we were going to watch them tomorrow. Cori ordered a yummy sweet alcoholic milk thing, and I tried that and decided to have one too. We chatted and the music went on.
Gradually we noticed, behind us, someone (the only person in the pub doing this) dancing away – gadgeting around in a style (Dancing Granny classification wise) known as the Duracell bunny: jigging about and shaking her hands. She had short white hair and was wearing I think a t-shirt and jogging bottoms. Or something like that: casual granny. She didn’t stop, and she was awesome! Song after song after song she danced.
Anyway we requested one song – and it immediately was played, very next song – Shook Me All Night Long (more ACDC). We sang along heartily. We head- and chair- danced. I got the biggest wolf-whistle I’ve ever had from the two men who were sitting opposite us (one of them just didn’t stop hitting on me) when I took my hair down to properly headbang to some important song.
Then we asked Steve to request (he was the requester) Van Helin’s Jump and as we weren’t drinking any more, Steve said he’d only do this if we danced and JUMPED at all the relevant times. So it was requested, and we became three more people on the dancefloor. (Aka the square of free space next to the DJ box.) I wasn’t drunk enough to not feel a bit embarrassed about this, but I thought ‘Oh well’ and just kept going. And obviously we got the granny to join in with our dancing, grabbing her hands, Cori and I had one each, so that she was part of our circle that jumped wildly each time Van Helin told us to. Hurrah!
After that we stayed up dancing for a while, and as Cori and Steve were canoodling, I was dancing on my own. The Dancing Granny saw this, and grabbed my hands, and we waltzed, did ‘primary school’ pair dancing where neither’s really sure what to do, and she finally persuaded me to attempt a foxtrot after her attempt to get us to do a twirly thing comprehensively failed. In between this she asked me where I was from after I said, ‘Ich nich sprachen die Deutsch’ (this is probably spelt wrong), and we had a mini conversation. I was ridiculously impressed by this granny, who was clearly very cool, and may have been a lesbian (she had short hair and a female friend with her – but do grannies do that?).
We finally left the pub, after dancing wildly for maybe half an hour. We forgot to pay, but we rectified this sheepishly after the bargirl, who is grumpy when it’s busy (like this night) and cheerful when it’s quiet, ran after us.
I heartily recommend the alcoholic milk.
Granny 2
So the next night we ended up in The Dubliner on Weingartenstrasse. The chef who is the owner is a French guy, ‘So it’s the least Irish Irish pub I know,’ said Cori. She added, though, that they do have an Irish girl who can speak pretty good German – can swear really well, and she does, apparently. You always learn the foreign swearwords first.
We came here after going to this street festival in the dodgy part of town which did not seem even remotely dodgy. In fact, the festival was a celebration of the fact that the residents of this part of the town, who came from a myriad of different countries, had said, ‘We don’t like this place being run down and a bit dodgy: let’s stop that.’ And they had.
They had renovated buildings, they had renovated parks. I’m not sure what other initiatives. But in the end, in celebration of all this, they were having this fair. With four stages – music ranging from German hiphop (which I enjoyed the rhythm and tune of while not understanding a single word) to Brazillian drumming (those guys were having a LOT of fun), lots of different food, and things like mosaic making and a track where kids raced down a slope in these go-kart type things. It wasn’t rained off, and the rain stopped, so we came along and stayed for a few hours until we started getting cold. Then we went to The Dubliner.
This pub is quite well-known for having live music. And it’s a nice place which serves you hot chocolate when you ask for it, has places to sit, and a big tv that usually plays animal documentaries but on this occasion had images of paddy field and forests etc – lots of aerial views. We hadn’t been convinced by the billing of ‘Jazz’, but we were cold, so we went there.
So Cori and I went to the toilet, and got Steve to order our hot chocolates. As we came out of the toilet a very manly looking woman went into the ladies’ toilet. And when she came out she went onto the stage and proceeded to sing in a very masculine way. This caused us some confusion, and we discussed it for quite some time, weighing up the evidence (sorry).
She was a very good singer, and the band was very good. And by Jazz they apparently meant things like before-the-eighties rock, and some sixties blues. A bit of Elvis (Suspicious Minds) and other such songs. It was, as I said, very good, and it activated a Dancing Granny – she got up and BOPPED – this was a bopping granny who was in the style of the 1920s with legs stepping from side to side and hands swinging and waving. She had a skirt on and a smart jacket: she was more traditional-style.
Occasionally people danced with her. Occasionally she got a bit embarrassed and sat back down, but then always the music would inspire her back up to the dancefloor. And she shouldn’t have been embarrassed, because we were smiling, and probably grinning a bit, but it was joy: if you do not know how much joy a Dancing Granny can inspire, I hope you soon feel it. (This is the old age that we all want: when it’s midnight and you’re at a pub dancing to live music!) And I hope that there’s another one in the next pub I go to. But I’m going back to England tomorrow, so I’m not sure....
Fingers crossed. (England: if you don’t have them, it’s time.)
