Hello December - looking back & blogging through the 'flu

December in London - 5.00pm

So, apparently it's half-way through December... And suddenly I'm looking down the home straight.  My flight is no less than THREE sleeps away.  I can count the hours until Nick and I board our Air China jet for the start of our 56-hour (!) odyssey back to the Southern Hemisphere.

And with perfect timing, my body has decided to help me wind down by catching a hefty flu/tuberculosis/whooping cough combo.  My standard expression for the last week-and-a-half:

Sensing that once the cold tablets have worn off I will realise the lunacy of posting this on the internet...

Being housebound with outside temperatures plummeting and a mild dependency on mulled wine developing, I've started to look back on the whirlwind of the last 11 months.  

I have most recently visited Finland and Bologna, and those trips have been amazing.  But while I'm reminiscing, and before I dose you with another photo-a-thon, I thought I'd share some of my 'highlights' from the year, and even some of the lessons I think I might have learned, if I can claim to be wiser from the experience.  

I've also been struck with a big dose of "oh shit, what was my plan for NZ again..?" so I'll touch on that a little too.  And all in that tidy order; it helps me feel like I'm making sense of things!

First things first:  Highlights

The Basilica San Vitale in Ravenna - been wanting to check it out since 6th form, it didn't disappoint

I've travelled to a fair few places this year.  Not an insane amount, but enough to make my head spin nonetheless.  Along the way and  for various reasons, some places and events have proven to be even more amazing than the rest.  A non-exhaustive list, in no particular order of things that stand out in my Sudafed haze flash-back:

• Portland, OR: super-cool hosts courtesy of airbnb.com, more sweet vintage sh*t than you can shake a stick at (for pennies!!) and the best beers I've tasted yet puts Portland up there as one of my fave spots;  
• The Berkeley Spa Experience was one-of-a-kind; 
• Americans (in general); 
• Staying on Fox Island, Puget Sound - taken in by wonderful people who didn't know me from a bar of soap;
• Manchester, of all places - here's an example of why.
• Finland (post to come!) lived up to and exceeded all expectations, again aided by a wonderful host met earlier in the year in NY;  
• new family in Spain and London; 
• Seeing Henry V at the Globe; 
• making it to see a stage of the Tour; 
• hiking in the Pyrenees and, of all things, 
• the infamous night we spent 'car camping' in this magical place:

view of Castle Stalker from the 'campsite'

Hilarious what turns out to be the good stuff.  Then there are the little things - trips to Liberty's, Aussie coffee at Grind in Putney, relaxing by the river in Perarrua, a hundred little bits and pieces that I know will keep popping back into my mind for ever and ever.

The carpet section on the top floor at Liberty's - many a pilgrimage made.

However when I was looking back through the photos for this post, the biggest smiles came to my face when I saw photos of the people I've met. It might be an obvious one, but it has been wonderful to rekindle old friendships in new settings, and it has been especially fun meeting new people.  These have been the most 'stretchy' experiences for me, going out on a limb to make connections with new people and every single time being amazed at the kindness of near-strangers.   

I'm often too shy (yes, really) to take photos of these moments and then regret it later, but I have taken some - so; to friends old and new - the best part.

Beautiful, kind people

'Lessons'

As well as the things which stood out as extra interesting/beautiful/fun, there are some stand-out things I seem to be thinking to myself frequently throughout the trip.  I'll call them lessons, although they're probably a bit of a mash-up of all sorts.

Before leaving NZ, I had coffee with a friend in Wellington who said to me matter-of-factly, “Sarah, you’re putting a bit much pressure on yourself for this trip - you'd better not be planning on getting enlightened while you’re away or 'finding your calling'”. 

I quickly changed conversational tack and took an intense interest in the weather.  But of course, friends are mind-readers and mine knew I was desperately hoping to ‘get enlightened’ by the magical travel fairies and come back raring to go – immunizing orphan children or whatever.

I realised pretty quickly after departure that constantly moving around is great for information gathering, and less conducive to spontaneous revelation. As it turns out, if you take yourself to the other side of the world, you’re the same person there as you were back home.  Not heaps wiser or anything.  Huh.

A long way from home, on Mallorca

However – this knowledge is not the depressing realisation I would have thought if you’d told me in February that it would be one of my Grand Conclusions.

Why? Because it is accompanied by a second realisation – that finding the perfect thing for me to do and doing it absolutely perfectly?  Doesn’t matter so much.  In fact, worrying about it less would probably do me a lot of good.  For an authenticity-obsessed perfectionist, that’s a bit of an adjustment.

I’ve been a bit of a cart-before-the-horse type when it comes to ‘life planning’.  My brain has worked along the assumption that if I can only:

1. figure out how the world works (maybe by going to University… or living in a different city… or going on a trip of random countries for a year…?) then I can
2. Figure out my take on it all, and
3. Decide how I should apply myself to best effect.  (I'm not sure how I imagined I'd pay the bills etc while I sorted this out - my brain isn't practical like that.)

But meeting a few people/seeing a few places and generally appreciating that this world's a big, old place and I'm a pretty small part in it has got the brain stretching itself enough to realise that there's something amiss with the above strategy.

It would be awesome.  It is also impossible. It turns out you can't taste all of life at once and then choose which part you think is best.  The only thing for it is to pick a piece and bite it (life is now a cake - roll with it).

At this point I realise you may well be marvelling at how I find such round-about routes to come to the most basic of conclusions.  You’re welcome.

The real change isn't in what I'm doing, but in giving myself permission to stop agonising over where things are leading and just learn from what's in front of me.  This would've been a useful revelation at the start of the year, and saved me a lot of "but what does it mean" moments.  But that's the point isn't it - 'experiential learning' and all.

This quote I came across in March confused me madly then, but has been a sort of guide throughout the year, changing colour and shape in my mind until I now love it.

...plans?

 My plans for returning to NZ aren't rocket-science or revolutionary.  At present they probably look relatively mundane, from loose criteria for work (writing involved, a general mission I can sign up to), to 'extra-curricular' bits and bobs (re-learning how to paint, instead of half-heartedly dragging out the pencil box every six months), to slowly plodding on in the church/spirituality vein, they're all about starting small and just getting amongst.

It might not be everybody's idea of fun, but turns out it is mine. No more agonizing over Grand Plans (well, old habits die hard but less of it anyway), more getting on with it.  

In Spain - looking pretty much the same as when this whole thing kicked off.  Just a bit more chilled out.

So!  The most photo-less, thought-ful blog post yet.  Enough of that - time to top up the Sudafed and head out into the cold to finish off the last of the Christmas shopping...

I'll leave you now until the next (and potentially last!) post.  Happy December - !!    

Lots of love as always,

Sarah 

September... Everywhere!

From a sunny Autumn morning in Earlsfield I bring the promised blow-by-blow of where we've been/what we've been up to this past month.  After some good girl-time with friends and just chilling out at home, I'm feeling properly caught-up and Creative Things are happening in my Brain - which is exciting even if as yet completely nebulous & incommunicable.  For now, something straightforward - here is a photographic recap of September xx

Mallorca/Majorca

We left Perarrua with heavy hearts after a wonderful farewell feast with Jochum and Judith, and headed to Mallorca where my lovely friend Elise is working with the rich and beautiful on yachts in Mallorca. (Well, Elise is working, what the rich get up to in Mallorca could fill another few posts...)  A crazy world and a big change after our little farming village!

Bonnie, Nick, Me, Renee and Elise on the steps at Elise's pension

Elise - I love this photo

Elise's pension - a heritage-listed house run by an ex-navy Brit and his wife

The Diner where we ate on many occasions (burritos/burgers/apple pie...) run by a lady from Kentucky.  Nick took this photo which I love.

The road to a beach on the west coast of the island - not for the faint of heart.

The beach at the end of the trek

...accessed via a tunnel in the rock!

We spent just under a week in Mallorca, and found it to be a real mixture.  It was great to have Elise show us around, as we headed to the bars where the boat crews tend to hang out - it felt like a real pirate town, with all sorts of shady characters and dodgy deals alongside/overlapping with mega-swanky restaurants, spas and shops.

A week was enough though, and after two and a half months away from her shores we headed back to the United Kingdom.  

Specifically, to the hospitality of Freya and Colin, who welcomed us despite themselves being in the process of packing up house for NZ.

Freya and laser-eyes Delia, advising us on how to cook "a brace of pheasants" (which Freya happened to have in the freezer, posh kid).

Late Summer walks near Putney common

After a week in London it was time to head north for the one date that had been on the calendar all year - our friends Andy and Jo's wedding at Loch Lomond in Scotland. 

Walking in the hills above Loch Lomond with fellow guests post-wedding

For the first time in years Nick had convinced me that camping was a great option (a quick look at our bank balances helped), and we headed up to the Loch with sleeping bags and tent in tow.  Imagine my disappointment when, half an hour before turning up at the campground, we got a call saying the whole place was waterlogged, and camping was off the agenda.

I rose above my heartbreak and quickly booked us in at the local YHA - as it happened, an old manor house which had been used by American troups as a radio base during the war, and then donated to the Youth Hostelling Association of Scotland once they were done.  Thank you, sirs.

The hostel by the loch

The wedding was beautiful, complete with Ceilidh (Scottish dancing, half as weird and twice as fun as it sounds).  The next day we headed off in our little rent-a-dent to see a little of the countryside:

Hiking the hangover into submission above Loch Lomond

Standing stones!!!! Real ones!  "Pull over pull over get the camera" - we got our nerd on and were so stoked to find these guys.

And an ancient burial mound... so mysterious and awesome.

We may have overestimated the amount of distance we could cover one day ("this country's small, that drive will take us no time..." - small and windy and single-track, oops) and twilight hit well before we approached the town where we were booked to stay.  Nick suggested finding a spot for some "car camping" and in a moment of daring, I agreed.  Far too late I realised that "car camping" is a hopelessly optimistic way of saying "sleeping in the car".  

I don't know what else it could have been, but I felt duped.  A bargain was struck whereby "car camping" would occur conditional upon the consumption of two bottles of wine to get us through.  One each, only fair.

Car camping - the reality.  Dinner for two by head-torch.

It wasn't all bad.  It was good, even. The discomfort was counterbalanced by a spectacular spot with an outstanding view over a loch, and a clear night provided one of the clearest skies I've ever seen.  A serious downpour also made for enormous puddles which in the dark, still night turned into mirrors for the stars - windows into bottomless galaxies below the earth.  Nick and I stood on the grass at their edges peering down and, after a bottle of wine each, having our minds blown fairly spectacularly.

The morning brought more rain - and rainbows

The view from the "car camp" - Castle Stalker on the wee island, as revealed by a later google search...

It was soon time for city comforts once more, and a visit to a university friend now living in Edinburgh.  A night in a double room in a hostel felt like five-star luxury and was the perfect way to bid Scotland farewell before heading to visit Rose in Manchester.

Northern English summer - Woolen dress, sandals, hat, sunnies... out walking with Rose

Rose had recently suffered at the hands of a seriously ill-qualified hairdresser and, after a couple of glasses of wine, bravely charged me with remedying the problem.  Apparently the resulting haircut has earned many a compliment, so I deem it a success.  Unfortunately we only took a "before":

As this photo clearly demonstrates, Rose was not at all sceptical of my abilities... 

The train station in Rose's little town.  Actual steam trains went past here, on real rounds - not historical-fun-times steam trains.  Amazing.

A bakery stall at the Market in Bury, near Summerseat.  Overheard from two shopping ladies:  "well, I was just saying it was exactly like in Coro-NAY-tion street, when Deirdre BAR-low was talking to that Moroccan lad"... people here were gold for watching.

Walking on the moors above Summerseat.

The time with Rose, chatting in the evenings and chilling out while she was at work, was a much-needed rest after the month of travel.  There are many things I've learned, or realised more fully, this year - and one of them is the value of quality time with good friends.  An oldie but a goodie.  Nick headed off to London to start his job, while I conducted my job search from the warmth of Rose's couch, cooking us dinner when she got home and talking about everything under the sun.

The spell eventually ended when I got a job interview (for a Department of Health job I didn't get, booo), and the London machine called me back once more.

So, now it is no longer the morning - I resumed this post at a deli in Earlsfield an I'm now sitting here with jamon de Serrano, olives and a second glass of wine.  With a place to live, a job to feed me and the time and space to be able to look back on all that we've been up to.  I hope you'll excuse the lengthy post - we're caught up!  And soon I can perhaps talk about the journeys/happenings unfolding in my brain... who knows?  But we'll talk soon at any rate.

Lots of love,

Sarah

Autumn in London

Well, September - I think I registered you as you whizzed past in a blur.  Phew! And now, it's good to be back in London.  In a flat, with a job - and unpacked bags.  Even if that job is admin that makes me look forward to lunch like it's Christmas, the routine and normality is welcome.

It's autumn here. I took the photo above on one of my blessed lunch breaks, in the SECRET GARDEN next to my work.  As soon I enter the gate (with a KEY) my imagination transforms me into Mary Lennox, which is pretty awesome:

Aside from my over-active imaginary journeys, I've also been to heaps of actual places in the last month.  Namely Majorca, London for a bit, Scotland for a wedding & some exploring, Manchester for a great catch-up with Rose, and then back to London where we've managed to find jobs and a flat.  Actually now that I write that down, I feel a little less sheepish about feeling nackered and not having posted in a while...

On the moors in Lancashire whilst visiting Rose (not unlike moors in The Secret Garden... ok I'll stop)

Many photos were taken and Stuff Done during the month; I will post those shortly and separately as a sort of 'paint by photos' instant update, I think - for now I wanted to say 'I'm alive and in one place for more than a week - it's good'.  

I'm even relatively restored, after a chance wandering into a 'solemn mass' at Westminster Cathedral last night (not Abbey - Catholic, not Anglican... all latin-ey etc.)  For some reason an hour sitting in a seriously beautiful place listening to angel-music gets to me like nothing else.  Feeling wound up like a spring after a mildly dramatic flat-finding mission, I was reminded of (nerd moment number... I've lost count) that bit in one of the Harry Potter books where there's a solid egg which nobody can open, until someone-or-other hops into the bath with it and the steam slowly releases its secrets - or something.

The sound of the choir and the smell of the incense, as well as the feeling of being in such a huge, still space - wound its way into my brain and opened me up something chronic.  A packet of tissues and mildly out-of-body experience later, I emerged onto seething Victoria St a new person - capable of facing blog-post catch-ups and everything.

So, live from Starbucks in Belgrave Sq where I'm listening to posh English boys talking to a posh American girl ("well, I'm taking Arabic at the moment"  "no, I don't think I've ever met a Mexican..." - I'm not making this up) I've finished another day of clock-watching and am heading home for a bath which, on top of the Westminster Cathedral experience, might just produce a real update post - with photos and everything.  Until then,  I'll leave you with a photo of my secret garden:

Love and steamy cups of autumn tea,

Sarah

Dos fiestas – Perarrua y Santa Liestra

Band and villagers arriving in Santa Liestra

Summertime in Spain – and in particular rural Spain – brings with it fiestas.  Thinly veiled as saints’ days, these are carnivals in the oldest sense of the word  (a la Breugels, a la Foucault) – where people take the opportunity to let go – drink, flirt, dance, fight and everything in between.  Everyone from toddlers to great-grandparents seems to get involved.

Fiesta passing through the Perarrua streets

The fiestas are conveniently spaced a week-after-another, seeming to progress along a geographical route.  The reason for this is apparently because the villages’ different patron saints are honoured on different days.  One would be forgiven for noting the convenient coincidence that this arrangement also allows the young Spanish folk with time on their hands to progress, week-by-week, across the country from fiesta to fiesta for the entire summer.

Seasoned fiesta-goers saluting the band - fiesta de Santa Liestra

Our village’s fiesta kicked off with the obligatory church service, the likes of which I’ve never seen.  The village church itself is spectacular, but it was the crowd who provided the best entertainment.  

Old women fanned themselves with lace fans printed with the Last Supper, and handed money to the young Dutch men sitting in front of them when collection time came ‘round – only to reveal their true motive by fanning themselves harder and letting out an audible ‘phwoar’ when the lads walked their donations up to the altar. 

Perarrua service in the village church

Once the final ‘amens’ were hastily muttered and a statuette of the Virgin had been marched out of the church smothered in flowers, the congregation was out like a shot and into the afternoon tea – a village-square affair with a dish provided by every household.  This signaled the beginning of the fiesta in earnest.

Afternoon tea in the plaza

Nick made bacon & egg pie to represent New Zild - everybody loves a bit of B&E pie.

The following days involved a variety of events which ensured everyone from the village had a piece of the action. My favourite event by far was the Passa Calles.  Literally ‘passing through the streets’, this ritual is so simple and so brilliant…. The basic premise is: Take one oompa band, and the people of one village.  With band at full volume, start at one villager’s house for tapas, drink, a song and a dance.  Once complete, move to the next villager’s house – and repeat.  Continue through the village for approximately four hours, until nobody can stand the sight of another anchovy, or think about dancing without getting a stitch.  So brilliant!

The band in some nanna's basement while the village parties at the door

Passa Calles

This was an absolutely fantastic opportunity to see the variety of tapas the local people like to enjoy on special occasions, as well as to have (one of my all-time-favourite activities) a nosy into people’s houses to see what was hidden behind the quaint stone walls and wooden doors.  

Answer:  Orange-water scented donuts dusted with sugar, macaroon-style sweet slice, little toasts with everything from anchovies to olive paste and roasted red pepper to chorizo and quails’ eggs… and wine, wine, wine.  Second answer: Spanish people use the whole basement level of their houses (the coolest space in summer by far) as a kind of flexible space – garage/cards room/eating room/reception area… /impromptu band venue.  

Nick enjoying a home-made donut in full fiesta regalia

Everyone turned out – it’s fun, it’s a chance to nosey on the neighbours, there’s FREE WINE – it’s a winner.  As the sun got hotter and the wine comsumption increased, the dancing inevitably got more fervent – but never problematic, and the kids bopped away on their dads’ shoulders as the young folks flirted madly and the nannas sat in the shade, chatting away.

Fiesta participant perfecting his 'porron' technique - the vessel above, which allows the wine to be shared without touching anyone's lips. Definitely takes a bit of practice.

As well as the Passa Calles, the fiesta also involved two nights of music/djs – it’s a family fiesta, so the music started at the reasonable hour of 11, with the ‘big act’ coming on at 2.  And the (local and seriously amateur, potentially got some decks for Christmas) dj started (started!) at a cool 6am.  All a bit much for me, I went to bed shortly after the first act started, and got up again at 6.30 to have a wee boogie with the last revelers looking a little dazed in the morning sun of the plaza major.  (Shock discovery – Rihanna mixed to a Latin beat does not equal success.)

When the last plastic beer cups had been swept from the plaza we were all exhausted, and I was glad for the pre-fiesta break in Graus.  The sudden influx of revelers moved on to the next village and the next fiesta, and we attempted to return to our pre-fiesta sleep patterns.

Fiestas at neighbouring villages

We didn’t engage in any of the other village fiestas quite as fully – however, Nick made it to the Graus fiesta (the Graus fiesta boasts the slightly awkward claim to fame of longest sausage in the world), and we both joined our neighbours in Santa Liestra for their saint’s day after we’d heard that it was also a whole-of-village waterfight.

Eating and drinking outside (and inside) the church above Santa Liestra

After a brief celebration in a seriously old church atop the nearest hill to the village (not a priest in sight, vat of sangria set up next to the Virgin, cup of said sangria offered up by way of being placed semi-reverently in the holy water basin), we headed back down to the village and the fiesta, which delivered big time.

After the first excited teenager had flung his bucket of water at his giggling girl of choice, it was all on and grandpas and kids were running all over the show, filling up vessels at the village well throwing them in the face of the first person they ran into.

Never too old for a water fight

Amidst the water madness, the event was also a Passa Calles – same band, same idea – so it was a multi-taskering nightmare dodging buckets and even hoses aimed from balconies to alight on a doorstep, scoff a donut/swig some wine and get back out into the fray.  

In the main street of Santa Liestra

The one rule: the band had immunity.  This was violated once, whereupon the music stopped immediately, a hushed ‘ooooo’ went around the crowd, the offending boy was clipped around the ear and the proceedings continued.  Down a major highway, without much thought for the traffic.  Along the route, the old geezers who’d been working the land for a million years showed their knowledge of every secret irrigation outlet and took great thrills in having one over the young kids.

Fiesta proceeding down the highway

We departed at 5 after a good two-hour water-slinging, donut-scoffing session, although the event continued in full swing.

If you’re thinking of coming to Spain in the summertime, I say forget the running of the bulls/tomato festival – bring a tenner for the collection plate, a food donation and your Spanish phrasebook and hit up the fiestas.  We had so much fun, and we just scratched the surface of this summer-long fun-worshiping phenomenon.

Nick and Jochum serving breakfast to the all-night crowd, Perarrua