A very strange thing has happened since I finished work on Friday. Something I hadn't expected and was therefore quite unprepared for. My anxiety has returned. Back are the disturbed sleeps; that unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach; the shallower breathing; the I could freak out right here on this crowded tube feeling; the oh my god here I am in the City where T used to work; the over-analysing (and I mean more than usual - I know it's a really bad habit of mine); the stressing about everything; the dream that T returned after a period of absence (like he'd been away at war or something) that made me wake up crying in the middle of the night. That kinda thing. It's horrid. I haven't felt like that while I've been working. But I didn't notice those feelings had gone until they came back this week. Funny how the subconscious works, innit?
There was I thinking I'd be breathing a big sigh of relief to have finally finished work, but instead I'm getting familiar, but long ago buried, thoughts popping into my head: What's my purpose in life? Who am I if I don't work? What the hell am I gonna do with my life? I'm only in this situation because T died. I miss T. I'd prefer not to be in this situation and have T here with me... A good friend counselled me well. Told me to think of this as a minor blip; I've had them before and I'll have them again. Told me to not let myself retreat to those dark places in my head. Reminded me that I'm strong and capable and don't need to succumb again. Which is exactly what my counsellor, the wonderful Sheila the Healer, would have said. It helped. A lot.
The other thing that I'm 99.99% sure will cure me, is my escape to Italy and France. I'm off tomorrow to visit someone I've known for 15 years but haven't seen for 14. We've kept in regular contact over the years and have always got on amazingly well. So I'm really excited about that, and know that there's a high probability that I will feel like I've found another place to retreat, away from the gremlins and with someone who will look out for me. I love those places and those spaces that I've found on my journey. They are important to me and always seem to come along just when I need them. (I'm also slightly stressed about the whole situation too, but I need to take some of my own advice and stop worrying about tomorrow!) I'm then joining my parents for a week in France. I'm going to swim every day. Maybe even run too. I'm going to drink amazing red wine. Eat delicious cheese. And bread. And duck. And pastries. I'm going to switch my brain off and take a deep breath and RELAX. I don't think I've done that for a while. And I can't wait.
Wednesday, 15 June 2011
Wednesday, 1 June 2011
"The question is whether you step forward, or you stay behind and watch."
Hats off to these guys. They are truly selfless and an inspiration.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-pacific-13598607
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-pacific-13598607
Saturday, 28 May 2011
Me, myself and I at the wedding
Yesterday I went to my lovely friend's lovely wedding. It was like no wedding I've ever been to (in the best possible way) and it was also the first I've been to without T or my family. In the greater scheme of things — especially given where I'm now at emotionally — this wasn't really a big deal, but in the smaller, day-to-day scheme of things, this was a slightly bigger deal. Four good friends of mine, two couples, were also there so I wasn't really on my own and the thoughtful bride, ever sensitive to other people's feelings, ensured that I was sat between my two girlfriends at the reception and told me this in advance so I wouldn't fret. Her thoughtfulness was touching and much appreciated. But nevertheless, I missed having T by my side.
I had a choice of three dresses for the big day. I tried them all on at home last week and managed to narrow it down to two — one was just too short — but just couldn't make that final decision about which one to wear (indecisive really is my middle name!). In the past, I would have been able to ask my own personal Gok Wan for his fashion advice, and he'd have told me the honest truth whether I wanted to hear it or not. But now I don't have that luxury and, although it might sound trivial, it's hard not having that advice, and the confidence boost that you get when the person you love tells you you look good. So I ended up taking both dresses into work yesterday and sought the opinion of my colleagues, who I knew could be relied upon to be brutally honest.
So, outfit decided, the next hurdle was getting from work, in the centre of Covent Garden, to the venue, the National Theatre, at 4pm on a Friday afternoon. I was very insecure about that bit of the day (and also about getting the pissheads' train home on my own on a Friday night dressed in only a LBD, heels and a fascinator), but with the help of my trusty Rescue Remedy and some encouragement from my lovely colleagues, I made it out the door and clip-clopped down the cobbled street to find a cab. I felt so self-conscious, especially in tourist central, and was pleased to escape into the sanctuary of a black cab, to be met by my lovely friends at the other end.
As a single person, I've become more conscious of not wanting to prevent couples that I'm with from being together in the same way they would if I wasn't there. I don't want to make couples who might want to sit together during the ceremony, for example, sit separately because I'm stuck in the middle of them and I don't want couples to miss out on have a smooch on the dancefloor because they don't want to leave me dancing on my own. I'm also conscious of the introductions that are made at these kind of social events, 'And this is my husband...'. I sometimes feel like telling people that I too had a husband who should have been there with me, getting the beers in with the menfolk, providing a steadying arm to cling to when I'm wearing heels that make it slightly difficult to walk, and telling me how great I look in my finery. I hear his voice; I just can't see his form. And nor can anyone else.
The wedding ceremony was full of so much fun, love and laughter, that I didn't shed a tear (for once). It was beautiful and if I ever remarry, I'm going to borrow lots of ideas from this wedding, including possibly the venues, florist, musicians and caterers! When I did shed a tear, was during the speeches when the bride mentioned those people who were no longer with us, including 'Mr TM who is particularly missed by table five'. Again, thoughtful bridey had consulted with me in advance to check it was OK with me, so it wasn't a surprise, but I was so incredibly touched and it helped me to feel that T was part of the day too. She'd only met T a handful of times, so I had explained that I certainly didn't expect her to mention him, but she was adamant that if he was still alive he would have been there and therefore he was missed. I love you for that MM (and many other things to boot!). It's interesting how many people guess at my feelings about something and that guess determines their action, or lack of. The bride could have assumed that mentioning T would have been too upsetting for me and not done it. But she didn't, she was honest and brave and asked me direct. Thank you lovely friend.
I also spent some time at the wedding talking to a friend who told me that I should keep writing my blog. I said I didn't have much to write about but he told me to just keep writing about how I'm feeling and how various things are affecting me. That conversation inspired me to write today. I love writing my blog and have missed it, but I'm going to aim to write more often, so thank you J for your encouragement. Oh, and in a shameless plug, his wife Zehra, another of my amazing friends, is officially a published author! (All the children I know can expect to receive a copy of 'The boy who hated toothbrushes' for their next birthday/Christmas present. If Zehra can bear it, they may even be signed by the author.) Z and J accompanied me home on the last train of the night, so that wasn't a worry in the end. As old Sheila the Healer would have told me, I shouldn't waste valuable time and energy worrying about things that might never happen. She is very wise.
So once again, I've survived. As I mentioned at the start of this post, I was looking forward to this wedding a lot and knew I'd be well supported by my friends, so it wasn't really a big deal. This is more about sharing the minutiae of my emotions and the things, both big and small, that challenge me every day.
PS I've probably posted the below before (I didn't write it), but I've just re-read it and it's so darn true I thought I'd post again. (On a whim I went to see a psychic the other day. Among other things, she said I had a deep-rooted pain inside me that I hid very well from the outside world. Maybe there's something in that mumbo jumbo after all).
How you can help me
Please talk about my loved one, even though he is gone. It is more comforting to cry than to pretend that he never existed. I need to talk about him, and I need to do it over and over.
Be patient with my agitation. Nothing feels secure in my world. Get comfortable with my crying. Sadness hits me in waves, and I never know when my tears may flow. Just sit with me in silence and hold my hand.
Don't abandon me with the excuse that you don't want to upset me. You can't catch my grief. My world is painful, and when you are too afraid to call me or visit or say anything, you isolate me at a time when I most need to be cared about. If you don't know what to say, just come over, give me a hug or touch my arm, and gently say, "I'm sorry." You can even say, "I just don't know what to say, but I care, and want you to know that."
Just because I look good does not mean that I feel good. Ask me how I feel only if you really have time to find out.
I am not strong. I'm just numb. When you tell me I am strong, I feel that you don't see me.
I will not recover. This is not a cold or the flu. I'm not sick. I'm grieving and that's different. My grieving may only begin 6 months after my loved one's death. Don't think that I will be over it in a year. For I am not only grieving his death, but also the person I was when I was with him, the life that we shared, the plans we had, the places we will never get to go together, and the hopes and dreams that will never come true. My whole world has crumbled and I will never be the same.
I will not always be grieving as intensely, but I will never forget my loved one and rather than recover, I want to incorporate his life and love into the rest of my life. He is a part of me and always will be, and sometimes I will remember him with joy and other times with a tear. Both are okay.
I don't have to accept the death. Yes, I have to understand that it has happened and it is real, but there are some things in life that are just not acceptable.
When you tell me what I should be doing, then I feel even more lost and alone. I feel badly enough that my loved one is dead, so please don't make it worse by telling me I'm not doing this right.
Please don't tell me I can find someone else or that I need to start dating again. I'm not ready. And maybe I don't want to. And besides, what makes you think people are replaceable? They aren't. Whoever comes after will always be someone different.
I don't even understand what you mean when you say, "You've got to get on with your life." My life is going on, I've been forced to take on many new responsibilities and roles. It may not look the way you think it should. This will take time and I will never be my old self again. So please, just love me as I am today, and know that with your love and support, the joy will slowly return to my life. But I will never forget and there will always be times that I cry.
I need to know that you care about me. I need to feel your touch, your hugs. I need you just to be with me, and I need to be with you. I need to know you believe in me and in my ability to get through my grief in my own way, and in my own time.
Please don't say, "Call me if you need anything." I'll never call you because I have no idea what I need. Trying to figure out what you could do for me takes more energy than I have. So, in advance, let me give you some ideas:
(a) Bring food or a movie over to watch together.
(b) Send me a card on special holidays, his birthday, and the anniversary of his death, and be sure to mention his name. You can't make me cry. The tears are here and I will love you for giving me the opportunity to shed them because someone cared enough about me to reach out on this difficult day.
(c) Ask me more than once to join you at a movie or lunch or dinner. I may say no at first or even for a while, but please don't give up on me because somewhere down the line, I may be ready, and if you've given up then I really will be alone.
(d) Understand how difficult it is for me to be surrounded by couples, to walk into events alone, to go home alone, to feel out of place in the same situations where I used to feel so comfortable.
Please don't judge me now - or think that I'm behaving strangely. Remember I'm grieving. I may even be in shock. I am afraid. I may feel deep rage. I may even feel guilty. But above all, I hurt. I'm experiencing a pain unlike any I've ever felt before and one that can't be imagined by anyone who has not walked in my shoes.
Don't worry if you think I'm getting better and then suddenly I seem to slip backward. Grief makes me behave this way at times. And please don't tell me you know how I feel, or that it's time for me to get on with my life. What I need now is time to grieve.
Most of all thank you for being my friend. Thank you for your patience. Thank you for caring. Thank you for helping, for understanding.
And remember in the days or years ahead, after your loss - when you need me as I have needed you - I will understand. And then I will come and be with you.
I had a choice of three dresses for the big day. I tried them all on at home last week and managed to narrow it down to two — one was just too short — but just couldn't make that final decision about which one to wear (indecisive really is my middle name!). In the past, I would have been able to ask my own personal Gok Wan for his fashion advice, and he'd have told me the honest truth whether I wanted to hear it or not. But now I don't have that luxury and, although it might sound trivial, it's hard not having that advice, and the confidence boost that you get when the person you love tells you you look good. So I ended up taking both dresses into work yesterday and sought the opinion of my colleagues, who I knew could be relied upon to be brutally honest.
So, outfit decided, the next hurdle was getting from work, in the centre of Covent Garden, to the venue, the National Theatre, at 4pm on a Friday afternoon. I was very insecure about that bit of the day (and also about getting the pissheads' train home on my own on a Friday night dressed in only a LBD, heels and a fascinator), but with the help of my trusty Rescue Remedy and some encouragement from my lovely colleagues, I made it out the door and clip-clopped down the cobbled street to find a cab. I felt so self-conscious, especially in tourist central, and was pleased to escape into the sanctuary of a black cab, to be met by my lovely friends at the other end.
As a single person, I've become more conscious of not wanting to prevent couples that I'm with from being together in the same way they would if I wasn't there. I don't want to make couples who might want to sit together during the ceremony, for example, sit separately because I'm stuck in the middle of them and I don't want couples to miss out on have a smooch on the dancefloor because they don't want to leave me dancing on my own. I'm also conscious of the introductions that are made at these kind of social events, 'And this is my husband...'. I sometimes feel like telling people that I too had a husband who should have been there with me, getting the beers in with the menfolk, providing a steadying arm to cling to when I'm wearing heels that make it slightly difficult to walk, and telling me how great I look in my finery. I hear his voice; I just can't see his form. And nor can anyone else.
The wedding ceremony was full of so much fun, love and laughter, that I didn't shed a tear (for once). It was beautiful and if I ever remarry, I'm going to borrow lots of ideas from this wedding, including possibly the venues, florist, musicians and caterers! When I did shed a tear, was during the speeches when the bride mentioned those people who were no longer with us, including 'Mr TM who is particularly missed by table five'. Again, thoughtful bridey had consulted with me in advance to check it was OK with me, so it wasn't a surprise, but I was so incredibly touched and it helped me to feel that T was part of the day too. She'd only met T a handful of times, so I had explained that I certainly didn't expect her to mention him, but she was adamant that if he was still alive he would have been there and therefore he was missed. I love you for that MM (and many other things to boot!). It's interesting how many people guess at my feelings about something and that guess determines their action, or lack of. The bride could have assumed that mentioning T would have been too upsetting for me and not done it. But she didn't, she was honest and brave and asked me direct. Thank you lovely friend.
I also spent some time at the wedding talking to a friend who told me that I should keep writing my blog. I said I didn't have much to write about but he told me to just keep writing about how I'm feeling and how various things are affecting me. That conversation inspired me to write today. I love writing my blog and have missed it, but I'm going to aim to write more often, so thank you J for your encouragement. Oh, and in a shameless plug, his wife Zehra, another of my amazing friends, is officially a published author! (All the children I know can expect to receive a copy of 'The boy who hated toothbrushes' for their next birthday/Christmas present. If Zehra can bear it, they may even be signed by the author.) Z and J accompanied me home on the last train of the night, so that wasn't a worry in the end. As old Sheila the Healer would have told me, I shouldn't waste valuable time and energy worrying about things that might never happen. She is very wise.
So once again, I've survived. As I mentioned at the start of this post, I was looking forward to this wedding a lot and knew I'd be well supported by my friends, so it wasn't really a big deal. This is more about sharing the minutiae of my emotions and the things, both big and small, that challenge me every day.
PS I've probably posted the below before (I didn't write it), but I've just re-read it and it's so darn true I thought I'd post again. (On a whim I went to see a psychic the other day. Among other things, she said I had a deep-rooted pain inside me that I hid very well from the outside world. Maybe there's something in that mumbo jumbo after all).
How you can help me
Please talk about my loved one, even though he is gone. It is more comforting to cry than to pretend that he never existed. I need to talk about him, and I need to do it over and over.
Be patient with my agitation. Nothing feels secure in my world. Get comfortable with my crying. Sadness hits me in waves, and I never know when my tears may flow. Just sit with me in silence and hold my hand.
Don't abandon me with the excuse that you don't want to upset me. You can't catch my grief. My world is painful, and when you are too afraid to call me or visit or say anything, you isolate me at a time when I most need to be cared about. If you don't know what to say, just come over, give me a hug or touch my arm, and gently say, "I'm sorry." You can even say, "I just don't know what to say, but I care, and want you to know that."
Just because I look good does not mean that I feel good. Ask me how I feel only if you really have time to find out.
I am not strong. I'm just numb. When you tell me I am strong, I feel that you don't see me.
I will not recover. This is not a cold or the flu. I'm not sick. I'm grieving and that's different. My grieving may only begin 6 months after my loved one's death. Don't think that I will be over it in a year. For I am not only grieving his death, but also the person I was when I was with him, the life that we shared, the plans we had, the places we will never get to go together, and the hopes and dreams that will never come true. My whole world has crumbled and I will never be the same.
I will not always be grieving as intensely, but I will never forget my loved one and rather than recover, I want to incorporate his life and love into the rest of my life. He is a part of me and always will be, and sometimes I will remember him with joy and other times with a tear. Both are okay.
I don't have to accept the death. Yes, I have to understand that it has happened and it is real, but there are some things in life that are just not acceptable.
When you tell me what I should be doing, then I feel even more lost and alone. I feel badly enough that my loved one is dead, so please don't make it worse by telling me I'm not doing this right.
Please don't tell me I can find someone else or that I need to start dating again. I'm not ready. And maybe I don't want to. And besides, what makes you think people are replaceable? They aren't. Whoever comes after will always be someone different.
I don't even understand what you mean when you say, "You've got to get on with your life." My life is going on, I've been forced to take on many new responsibilities and roles. It may not look the way you think it should. This will take time and I will never be my old self again. So please, just love me as I am today, and know that with your love and support, the joy will slowly return to my life. But I will never forget and there will always be times that I cry.
I need to know that you care about me. I need to feel your touch, your hugs. I need you just to be with me, and I need to be with you. I need to know you believe in me and in my ability to get through my grief in my own way, and in my own time.
Please don't say, "Call me if you need anything." I'll never call you because I have no idea what I need. Trying to figure out what you could do for me takes more energy than I have. So, in advance, let me give you some ideas:
(a) Bring food or a movie over to watch together.
(b) Send me a card on special holidays, his birthday, and the anniversary of his death, and be sure to mention his name. You can't make me cry. The tears are here and I will love you for giving me the opportunity to shed them because someone cared enough about me to reach out on this difficult day.
(c) Ask me more than once to join you at a movie or lunch or dinner. I may say no at first or even for a while, but please don't give up on me because somewhere down the line, I may be ready, and if you've given up then I really will be alone.
(d) Understand how difficult it is for me to be surrounded by couples, to walk into events alone, to go home alone, to feel out of place in the same situations where I used to feel so comfortable.
Please don't judge me now - or think that I'm behaving strangely. Remember I'm grieving. I may even be in shock. I am afraid. I may feel deep rage. I may even feel guilty. But above all, I hurt. I'm experiencing a pain unlike any I've ever felt before and one that can't be imagined by anyone who has not walked in my shoes.
Don't worry if you think I'm getting better and then suddenly I seem to slip backward. Grief makes me behave this way at times. And please don't tell me you know how I feel, or that it's time for me to get on with my life. What I need now is time to grieve.
Most of all thank you for being my friend. Thank you for your patience. Thank you for caring. Thank you for helping, for understanding.
And remember in the days or years ahead, after your loss - when you need me as I have needed you - I will understand. And then I will come and be with you.
Wednesday, 4 May 2011
Into the Hour
I received this poem from a friend. I think it's beautiful. Sorry for lack of postings recently. I've been a busy bee. But my work contract is up in June, so I'm hoping to do a bit more travelling/volunteering over the summer so I reckon you can probably expect postings from somewhere more exotic in the not too distant future. I'll keep you posted.
I have come into the hour of a white healing.
Grief's surgery is over and I wear
The scar of my remorse and of my feeling.
I have come into a sudden sunlit hour
When ghosts are scared into corners. I have come
Into the time when grief begins to flower
Into a new love. It had filled my room
Long before I had recognised it. Now
I speak its name. Grief finds its good way home.
The apple-blossom's handsome on the bough
And Paradise spreads round. I touch its grass.
I want to celebrate but don't know how.
I need not speak though everyone I pass
Stares at me kindly. I would put my hand
Into their hands. Now I have lost my loss.
In some way I may later understand.
I hear the singing of the summer grass.
And love, I find, has no considered end,
Nor is it subject to to wilderness
Which follows death. I am not traitor to
A person or a memory. I trace
Behind that love another which is running
Around, ahead. I need not ask its meaning.
I have come into the hour of a white healing.
Grief's surgery is over and I wear
The scar of my remorse and of my feeling.
I have come into a sudden sunlit hour
When ghosts are scared into corners. I have come
Into the time when grief begins to flower
Into a new love. It had filled my room
Long before I had recognised it. Now
I speak its name. Grief finds its good way home.
The apple-blossom's handsome on the bough
And Paradise spreads round. I touch its grass.
I want to celebrate but don't know how.
I need not speak though everyone I pass
Stares at me kindly. I would put my hand
Into their hands. Now I have lost my loss.
In some way I may later understand.
I hear the singing of the summer grass.
And love, I find, has no considered end,
Nor is it subject to to wilderness
Which follows death. I am not traitor to
A person or a memory. I trace
Behind that love another which is running
Around, ahead. I need not ask its meaning.
Tuesday, 22 March 2011
Incredible Iceland
Putting VSO decisions aside for a while, I jetted off to to Iceland on Friday with one of my oldest friends, Margot. The entire experience was truly awesome! Iceland is a fascinating country, situated in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean where the North American and Eurasian plates join. It's weird and it's wonderful and it's got me totally hooked. If I left a wee bit of my heart in NZ last year, I think I may have a left another bit in Iceland this year.
Visually, many parts of the country we saw weren't exactly pretty. A lot of the architecture has a cold war feel about it (we later learnt that this is because the buildings have to be earthquake-proof). There's lots of concrete; lots of angular shapes in the landscape. And the natural environment can be pretty bleak too. There's vast flat plains, scattered with volcanic rock. There's vast amounts of cold, North Atlantic seascapes. There's pockets of steam and various sulfur-smelling hubbles and bubbles emerging from the geothermal goings on beneath the earth's surface. But it's incredible. I love it!
Of the total population of Iceland - some 320,000 people - two-thirds live in and around Reykjavik. That's staggering. This lack of people means that Reykjavik is probably the smallest and quietest capital city I've ever visited. It's really strange. You don't hear sirens, you don't see many people - even downtown, it's just quiet and peaceful and very chilled out. There's lovely little cafes serving great coffee. There's amazing restaurants dishing up the freshest, loveliest fish. There's tourist shops selling cuddly puffins and Icelandic jumpers. There's a rocket-shaped cathedral. And a great hot dog stand. And incredible views across the sea to the fjords opposite the city. But there's not a great deal else to Reykjavik. Maybe that's what makes it so lovely. It's a city break like no other. And it's only 2.5 hours from London. Even better.
On our first night we went to a restaurant called Tapas Barinn for dinner. We thought we might try the Icelandic tasting menu, which includes whale and puffin dishes, but we thought better of it once we read up about the legalities of whale eating. Instead we opted for a five-course fish menu - lobster tails, shrimps, bacon-wrapped scallops and dates, sea trout and monkfish in lobster sauce. It was delectable. We'd gone prepared for the worst pricewise so were pleasantly surprised that this set us back about £25 each. Seemed like great value for money and I didn't begrudge paying a penny of it.
Saturday was spent exploring Reykjavik. This comprised a visit to the rocket-shaped cathedral where we were lucky enough to hear the choir rehearsing Bach's St John Passion - an amazing sound in such a big space, an obligatory coffee-stop at a cute little boho cafe called Babalú, and a walk around the peninsular that was warm and sunny going one way and windswept and icy cold the other. We were more than ready for our lobster soup when we arrived back at the harbour in Reykjavik. There's a tiny little fisherman's shack that sells the most delicious lobster soup and fish kebabs. Unfortunately the owner, who didn't speak English, took advantage of my new 'live in the moment and try anything once' philosophy when he offered me some shark - hákarl. OMG. If only I knew then what I know now... This sums it up:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H%C3%A1karl
Jesus! What was the man thinking?? I'm actually very very proud that I didn't gag. I really thought I was going to. I now know that would be the ammonia. It makes me feel sick just thinking about it. I really really don't recommend you try it. There's really no point. Not even to say you've had it. And especially not after that delicious lobster soup. Doesn't exactly leave a pleasant taste in your mouth.
On Saturday night we treated ourselves to a hot dog dinner at a little stand near the harbour called Bæjarins Beztu. Bill Clinton has dined there (although dined is maybe a little bit of an exaggeration. Eaten is maybe a better choice of word). And in 2006, The Guardian voted it best hot dog stand in Europe. As hot dogs go, they were pretty good. Cheap too. Then it was off to try and track down the Northern Lights. The weather hadn't been especially clear that day but we were told that the trip was definitely being operated that evening and pick up was at 10pm. We set off on our coach, heading north. Eventually we stopped and piled out into the freezing night. It really was cold. At first, all we could see of the Lights were bands in the sky that looked a bit like high cloud. Then they started glowing green. Not for long. Just every now and again. It was really and truly incredible and something I've wanted to experience for a long time. I'd love to see them again in their full glory but was more than happy with the display we got.
We didn't get to bed until about 2.30am and it was up again a few hours later for an 8.30am pick up for our Golden Circle trip. This took us to a national park, a spectacular waterfall called Gullfoss and the geothermal area where the geysers are. It was a really worthwhile trip and nice to see a bit more of Iceland. We went through the agricultural area, which is far less barren than the volanic scenery - there's even a few trees. When the settlers arrived in Iceland they chopped down all the trees, so it really is barren. We also went to a geothermal power plant but that didn't really float my boat.
Dinner that night was at Icelandic Fish & Chips; the healthy take on a fish supper. We had a choice of cod or haddock, both in a spelt and barley batter, with oven-cooked rosemary potato chips, a mango and coconut salad and a coriander and lime skyronnaise. (Skyr is actually a very soft cheese but is more like yogurt in taste and texture. It's delicious with blueberries for brekkie and we also had it in a banana smoothie.) It beat greasy, deep-fried fish and chips any day. In fact, I think there's a gap in the market for an Icelandic Fish & Chips equivalent here, certainly in the NE. We topped off our night watching Cool Runnings in a chilled out little bar called Prikið. Well, it was chilled out until the barman set his fleece on fire and threw himself to the ground to try and put the flames out. We didn't see the flames, so it just looked like he was having a fit. He got up very quickly when he realised he wasn't burning to death, looking very embarrassed and he apologised to us. How we laughed!
On Monday we had a well-deserved lie-in (and waffles for brek!) before heading for the Blue Lagoon. I can't begin to tell you just how nice it was to float around in the hot water, with mud packs on our faces, gazing up at the snow-covered mountains and blue blue sky. There was even a lagoon-side bar. It was bliss. We got back to Reykjavik in time for a final coffee at Babalú then headed back to the hotel to pack and try and polish off the litre bottle of gin we picked up at Heathrow on the assumption that everything would be ridiculously expensive in Iceland. (I was pleasantly surprised by the prices generally. OK, it wasn't the cheapest place I've ever visited, but it wasn't a patch on somewhere like Switzerland. A pint of beer at the lagoon-side bar was approximately £4.80 for example, and cheaper in town. Pretty comparable to London.).
We braved a serious white out to get to a veggie resto - Á Næstu Grösum - for dinner. The food was good but there was only Margot and I in there and no music, so it was pretty darn quiet. We got the giggles when Margot tipped them all of about 3p and then proceeded to try justifying it, saying she hadn't got to grips with the currency. To make giggling matters worse, she then proceeded to say that they could do with some mints. Oh shit, no, not 'mince', vegetarian waitress, 'mints', I meant 'mints'. I don't think the vegetarian waitress had even cottoned on, but that set me off and I had to leave. We had a couple of drinks in a gay bar that was playing great disco tunes before battling the wind and snow to get back to the hotel ready for our 05h10 alarm this morning.
I was surprised to learn that Iceland has a temperate climate because it's warmed by the Gulf Stream; it's milder than New York, despite being just outside the Arctic Circle. We had a mixed bag of weather when we were there. There was quite a lot of snow and sub-zero temperatures, but also some blue sky days and lovely warm sunshine. Apparently the amount of snow they've had isn't normal, but they seemed well equipped and dealt with it very well. We fully expected our flight to be cancelled or at least delayed this morning, but it left on time. Oh, and that's another thing - I think Icelanders are more punctual than even the Swiss. They run like absolute clockwork.
So, all in all, I had the most incredible trip. I laughed a great deal with my old mucker, I relaxed, I absorbed big skies and big landscapes, I ate delicious food, I developed an appetite for discovering more about a whole new country that I knew very little about before I went. In fact, I think that's partly why I compared my feelings about Iceland to my feelings about NZ; in both places I've been overwhelmed by nature and landscapes, they are both good for my soul. I also feel a strong pull to the land in both countries. That desire to see more, absorb more, appreciate more, discover more and experience more. I want to hire a camper van and explore Iceland in the summer, I want to go on a super jeep adventure (I've got a bit of an obsession with super jeeps now), I want to see what the rest of the country is like, I want to stay in a cosy cabin where I can see the Northern Lights play across the night sky, I want to ride an Icelandic horse. The possibilities are endless. And, thinking about it, I really believe that these are the two countries that T would have loved as much as me. I feel sad that he didn't get to visit these two special places. But given Margot and I saw the Northern Lights on the only clear night we had during our stay, I do wonder if T put in a special word for us. Stupid, I know, but kind of a nice thought and exactly something he'd do.
Tapas Barinn - http://tapas.is/
Babalú cafe - Skólavörðustígur 22A
Saegreifinn - http://www.saegreifinn.is/
Icelandic Fish & Chips - http://www.fishandchips.is/
Prikið - Bankastræti 12
Á Næstu Grösum - Laugavegur 20b
Fosshótel Baron - http://www.fosshotel.is/en/hotel/reykjavik_hotels.php
Of the total population of Iceland - some 320,000 people - two-thirds live in and around Reykjavik. That's staggering. This lack of people means that Reykjavik is probably the smallest and quietest capital city I've ever visited. It's really strange. You don't hear sirens, you don't see many people - even downtown, it's just quiet and peaceful and very chilled out. There's lovely little cafes serving great coffee. There's amazing restaurants dishing up the freshest, loveliest fish. There's tourist shops selling cuddly puffins and Icelandic jumpers. There's a rocket-shaped cathedral. And a great hot dog stand. And incredible views across the sea to the fjords opposite the city. But there's not a great deal else to Reykjavik. Maybe that's what makes it so lovely. It's a city break like no other. And it's only 2.5 hours from London. Even better.
On our first night we went to a restaurant called Tapas Barinn for dinner. We thought we might try the Icelandic tasting menu, which includes whale and puffin dishes, but we thought better of it once we read up about the legalities of whale eating. Instead we opted for a five-course fish menu - lobster tails, shrimps, bacon-wrapped scallops and dates, sea trout and monkfish in lobster sauce. It was delectable. We'd gone prepared for the worst pricewise so were pleasantly surprised that this set us back about £25 each. Seemed like great value for money and I didn't begrudge paying a penny of it.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H%C3%A1karl
Jesus! What was the man thinking?? I'm actually very very proud that I didn't gag. I really thought I was going to. I now know that would be the ammonia. It makes me feel sick just thinking about it. I really really don't recommend you try it. There's really no point. Not even to say you've had it. And especially not after that delicious lobster soup. Doesn't exactly leave a pleasant taste in your mouth.
Dinner that night was at Icelandic Fish & Chips; the healthy take on a fish supper. We had a choice of cod or haddock, both in a spelt and barley batter, with oven-cooked rosemary potato chips, a mango and coconut salad and a coriander and lime skyronnaise. (Skyr is actually a very soft cheese but is more like yogurt in taste and texture. It's delicious with blueberries for brekkie and we also had it in a banana smoothie.) It beat greasy, deep-fried fish and chips any day. In fact, I think there's a gap in the market for an Icelandic Fish & Chips equivalent here, certainly in the NE. We topped off our night watching Cool Runnings in a chilled out little bar called Prikið. Well, it was chilled out until the barman set his fleece on fire and threw himself to the ground to try and put the flames out. We didn't see the flames, so it just looked like he was having a fit. He got up very quickly when he realised he wasn't burning to death, looking very embarrassed and he apologised to us. How we laughed!
We braved a serious white out to get to a veggie resto - Á Næstu Grösum - for dinner. The food was good but there was only Margot and I in there and no music, so it was pretty darn quiet. We got the giggles when Margot tipped them all of about 3p and then proceeded to try justifying it, saying she hadn't got to grips with the currency. To make giggling matters worse, she then proceeded to say that they could do with some mints. Oh shit, no, not 'mince', vegetarian waitress, 'mints', I meant 'mints'. I don't think the vegetarian waitress had even cottoned on, but that set me off and I had to leave. We had a couple of drinks in a gay bar that was playing great disco tunes before battling the wind and snow to get back to the hotel ready for our 05h10 alarm this morning.
I was surprised to learn that Iceland has a temperate climate because it's warmed by the Gulf Stream; it's milder than New York, despite being just outside the Arctic Circle. We had a mixed bag of weather when we were there. There was quite a lot of snow and sub-zero temperatures, but also some blue sky days and lovely warm sunshine. Apparently the amount of snow they've had isn't normal, but they seemed well equipped and dealt with it very well. We fully expected our flight to be cancelled or at least delayed this morning, but it left on time. Oh, and that's another thing - I think Icelanders are more punctual than even the Swiss. They run like absolute clockwork.
Tapas Barinn - http://tapas.is/
Babalú cafe - Skólavörðustígur 22A
Saegreifinn - http://www.saegreifinn.is/
Icelandic Fish & Chips - http://www.fishandchips.is/
Prikið - Bankastræti 12
Á Næstu Grösum - Laugavegur 20b
Fosshótel Baron - http://www.fosshotel.is/en/hotel/reykjavik_hotels.php
Sunday, 13 March 2011
Decisions, decisions
Last week I was offered a six-month placement with VSO in Sierra Leone, starting in June. I'm busy trying to decide whether or not to accept the offer.
Sierra Leone, on the west coast of Africa, is the twelfth-lowest-ranked country on the Human Development Index and eighth-lowest on the Human Poverty Index. (Paradoxically, it's extremely rich in mineral resources, being one of the top ten diamond producing nations of the world.) Sierra Leone is slowly recovering from a particularly gruesome civil war – although there's not really any other kind, I guess.
All of that makes this placement offer hard to turn down. How can I, in my privileged position, say that I'm not going to go and try and help this country and its people in my own small way? Weighed against all that, the fact I'd have to get my water out of a well and would be without mains power, pales into relative insignificance. Yet, I'd have to live and work there for six months, so I have to be sure that I'd enjoy the experience enough to survive my time there. A wise friend of mine who has been through his own share of shit, wisely told me that I need to think long and hard about my decision. He said there's no point taking a leap and then feeling abject again because I've rushed into it. He's got a point. He also said that after his loss, he never wastes time doing things he even half likes, ever again. He's got a point about that too.
I'd be working as a marketing adviser for an NGO, based in a small, green, town in the hills. There's a plentiful supply of fresh fruit, vegetables and rice but no running water and no mains power. Power is available via generators *sometimes*. There is a cinema in the town and some bars and 'chop houses' (not quite restaurants, apparently). I've been told that Sierra Leoneans are generally very friendly and that I'd receive numerous marriage proposals, even from married colleagues! The capital, Freetown, sounds like an interesting place to visit for a long weekend, and the beaches in Sierra Leone are meant to be particularly beautiful. So I'll be expecting at least one or two brave souls to take advantage of me being there, if I choose to go.
Anyway, I'll keep doing my research and thinking things through and will keep you posted regarding my final decision.
Sierra Leone, on the west coast of Africa, is the twelfth-lowest-ranked country on the Human Development Index and eighth-lowest on the Human Poverty Index. (Paradoxically, it's extremely rich in mineral resources, being one of the top ten diamond producing nations of the world.) Sierra Leone is slowly recovering from a particularly gruesome civil war – although there's not really any other kind, I guess.
All of that makes this placement offer hard to turn down. How can I, in my privileged position, say that I'm not going to go and try and help this country and its people in my own small way? Weighed against all that, the fact I'd have to get my water out of a well and would be without mains power, pales into relative insignificance. Yet, I'd have to live and work there for six months, so I have to be sure that I'd enjoy the experience enough to survive my time there. A wise friend of mine who has been through his own share of shit, wisely told me that I need to think long and hard about my decision. He said there's no point taking a leap and then feeling abject again because I've rushed into it. He's got a point. He also said that after his loss, he never wastes time doing things he even half likes, ever again. He's got a point about that too.
I'd be working as a marketing adviser for an NGO, based in a small, green, town in the hills. There's a plentiful supply of fresh fruit, vegetables and rice but no running water and no mains power. Power is available via generators *sometimes*. There is a cinema in the town and some bars and 'chop houses' (not quite restaurants, apparently). I've been told that Sierra Leoneans are generally very friendly and that I'd receive numerous marriage proposals, even from married colleagues! The capital, Freetown, sounds like an interesting place to visit for a long weekend, and the beaches in Sierra Leone are meant to be particularly beautiful. So I'll be expecting at least one or two brave souls to take advantage of me being there, if I choose to go.
Anyway, I'll keep doing my research and thinking things through and will keep you posted regarding my final decision.
Monday, 28 February 2011
Remembering
One year ago to the day, I left on my first adventure post T's accident. On one hand, I can't quite comprehend where that year has gone; I can clearly remember the excitement and anxiety involved in the planning of my trip. And the intense emotions I felt as I locked up the flat, waved goodbye to my lovely friends at Heathrow and finally boarded the plane to NZ - I was pretty distraught right now a year ago. It feels like it happened just yesterday. Yet on the other hand, I can't really connect the girl I was then with the girl I am today, and so much has happened in the past twelve months, so in that respect it feels like I made that trip in another lifetime.
It's heartening to have these milestones, to be able to look back and compare where I was emotionally a year ago and where I am now. I sometimes struggle to connect the two, they are so disparate. Work has definitely helped me. It distracts me and fills the endless thinking space I had, and indeed needed, for so long when I wasn't working. But sometimes it makes me feel quite sad. For these milestones also mark an increase in the time since I last saw T, in the life that we were happily living together, in the future we thought we had ahead of us.
There's still a T-shaped hole in my soul - there always will be - and I miss him every single day. Yes, I'm amazingly strong and yes, I'm doing so well, and yes, T would be so freakin' proud of me, but it doesn't make the situation right or fair. I'd do anything to have T walk through the front door right now. I've got so much to tell him about the adventures, both physical and emotional, that I've been on since he left. I know he'd love to curl up with me on the settee with a nice cuppa and hear all about the new me. I know he'd be proud and happy and he'd tease me, telling me that he'd been trying to tell me all those things for years but I just wouldn't listen. He'd have a point!
I'd also love to be boarding a plane to the other side of the world tonight, as I did a year ago, although I know I could never recreate that same emotional journey. I'm slowly losing that sense of perspective that I had in the early days. Well, not losing it exactly, I'll always have it, but once you've done something once, it's not the same the second time round. And the more I settle back into my new normal and the daily grind, the more I feel distanced from the girl I was a year ago. But I think that's a necessary and probably a good thing.
I wonder what I'll be writing on here one year from now...
I dedicate this post to the people of Christchurch, NZ who have been affected by the recent earthquake. And to my brave Kiwi friend LH, who is only a few hundred miles away from me right now (grrr, so close...) and who was my sanctuary when I got off the plane in Wellington, a little lost, anxious soul.
It's heartening to have these milestones, to be able to look back and compare where I was emotionally a year ago and where I am now. I sometimes struggle to connect the two, they are so disparate. Work has definitely helped me. It distracts me and fills the endless thinking space I had, and indeed needed, for so long when I wasn't working. But sometimes it makes me feel quite sad. For these milestones also mark an increase in the time since I last saw T, in the life that we were happily living together, in the future we thought we had ahead of us.
There's still a T-shaped hole in my soul - there always will be - and I miss him every single day. Yes, I'm amazingly strong and yes, I'm doing so well, and yes, T would be so freakin' proud of me, but it doesn't make the situation right or fair. I'd do anything to have T walk through the front door right now. I've got so much to tell him about the adventures, both physical and emotional, that I've been on since he left. I know he'd love to curl up with me on the settee with a nice cuppa and hear all about the new me. I know he'd be proud and happy and he'd tease me, telling me that he'd been trying to tell me all those things for years but I just wouldn't listen. He'd have a point!
I'd also love to be boarding a plane to the other side of the world tonight, as I did a year ago, although I know I could never recreate that same emotional journey. I'm slowly losing that sense of perspective that I had in the early days. Well, not losing it exactly, I'll always have it, but once you've done something once, it's not the same the second time round. And the more I settle back into my new normal and the daily grind, the more I feel distanced from the girl I was a year ago. But I think that's a necessary and probably a good thing.
I wonder what I'll be writing on here one year from now...
I dedicate this post to the people of Christchurch, NZ who have been affected by the recent earthquake. And to my brave Kiwi friend LH, who is only a few hundred miles away from me right now (grrr, so close...) and who was my sanctuary when I got off the plane in Wellington, a little lost, anxious soul.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)