Poop in Europe

Not here. Over there. Go on. Get a move on.

2008-07-25T12:19:00.002+01:00

If you're reading this you probably haven't caught up with us for a while. This is the old blog site of the Winter family posted to chronicle our wee adventure round France, Italy, Sicily, Spain and Portugal last year before finally finding a little slice of heaven in the village of Amieira, central Portugal. To find out what we are up to now just click here. It's called WeLoveMoses.blogspot.com. Of course it is. And we would be thrilled to hear from you. Drop us a line, a call, a card or just send warm fuzzy feelings to us from wherever you are sitting right now. Cheers. Ta Ta.

HEY HO! IT’S OFF TO WORK WE GO…

2008-04-18T15:17:00.005+01:00

We arrived in sunny Lisbon 4 weeks ago, on the Thursday before Easter. Angel and Moses made it safely through the drama of travelling by aeroplane, handling the whole thing way more calmly than we did. Peter picked us up in his pick up and, after an eventful drive back encountering a little police investigation involving MOT papers that apparently indicated very clearly that the car was not allowed to carry passengers or luggage (imagine how full the van actually was!), it was so lovely to be reunited with Sue and Michelle again back in our home town of Oleiros, Portugal.

In the sunshine of the next day it was clear that Sue and Peter had achieved an incredible amount in just 2 months since buying Bacelo (seen here in the photo) in January and, not surprisingly really, were suffering a little from the exhaustion of it all. They’d cleared out buildings, set up a nifty clean drinking water system from one of their 2 water mines, installed a new kitchen and shower in ‘Kahn’ cottage, cleared great chunks of land, cut down trees, dug out and planted a large vegetable patch. In the midst of all that, they had had to make a safe and a large watertight space for boxes and boxes of their stuff shipped from Sheffield.

Before Christmas we’d rented a house in Oleiros for all of us to stay in. We’d planned to be there for the next year or so until our own reconstruction work on the magical place called Moses would be finished. However, after only a few days, we decided it was far more sensible to move into Bacelo, next door to Moses. Eventhough it’s only a 20 minute drive between Amieira and Oleiros, the energy involved in making the daily trip coupled with the need to look after and clean another house just didn’t make sense. There will be an incredible amount of work to get done this year in order for Moses and Bacelo to be ready for the first yoga retreat season next April. It was immediately obvious that we could do that work loads more efficiently and with more energy if we were all staying together rather than apart.

Last week Sue (pictured here with Von) and Peter travelled back to the UK to stay with Sue’s critically ill father. Our thoughts and prayers are with them right now as it’s a tough one. Peter should be joining us again in the next 2 or 3 weeks, but Sue will stay with her Mum and Dad for as long as is necessary. While they are away we’ve moved into their lovely rustic but still fairly posh country estate house to continue the reconstruction and gardening work.

Before they left though, we were able to help them prepare Harry’s house, named after one of Sue’s kittens, ready to be the Winters new home. I worked with Pete (the one actually doing the work here) to put on a new tile roof, install a wooden floor and clear the grounds of some pretty nasty caterpillar nests in the pines. To give you a better idea of what it's like here we have taken videos on the mobile phone and uploaded here below, so hope you can see them. If not let us know.

Vonny, the kids, Michelle and Sue got stuck into creating state of the art self build compost bins necessary to use in conjunction with our chosen dry toilet system; one which will produce the best compost for our hungry vegetables and flowers. Von can tell you more about this in her bit. But just to say we are learning loads in a really short time about all this stuff and have had fun chopping down Memosa trees to use to construct the huge compost bins. And boy was it a good feeling to finally finish it yesterday. First project completed to time (1 week) and to budget (about 10 euros for the balls of string). Next!

Anyway, everybody is well here. Kids are working hard with us on the land, are making a kennel next week for our neighbours dog called Mourinho (another one is Scolari!) for shelter from the rain and sun, and have been to school a couple of times already. Angel has settled in like she’s always owned the place and is kindly allowing us to live here with her (no change there then!). And Moses is sooo happy to be back, thriving in the country life taking himself off for walks on the estate whenever and wherever he fancies. It’s been great to hook up with our Portuguese new mates too, Raquel, Belita, Pedro, Anita, Sara and all. Fine fine people. Sara and To’s wedding on Saturday too. 270 guests. So we had to pop into Coimbra yesterday for some outfits as ours are still in storage in Salisbury, along with the plants from our garden, awaiting delivery to Portugal (don’t ask). All will work out for good in the end. We’re sure of it.

We’ve watched this type of mad life change thing before in films like Under the Tuscan Sun, and that one with Russell Crow in his uncle’s rural French vineyard, but to experience it for ourselves is something quite different. I could expound for pages on the profundity of it all and how divinely delightful it is to stay here; cold misty mornings, warm lazy afternoons, blossoming fruit trees, frolicking rabbits, (frolicking children even), gushing streams loud from the spring rains, generous and kind neighbours infinitely wise concerning the plants and land which they’ve worked for decades, fresh vivacious home grown veggies, scrumptious red wine at a pound a bottle, etc etc. But I’m going to spare you. You’ll simply just have to book your flights and come live it with us for a while. Go on. What yer waiting for?

This is probably the last post on our beloved Poop in Europe Tour blog. We have loved this. It's been a great way to document what we've done and where we've been so in the future we can always look back here and know how and why we got to where we did! We are setting up a new blog about our new adventures in Portugal. This is now at http://welovemoses.blogspot.com - of course. So for now, Ciao, ate logo, au revoir, merci, grazie, obrigado and above all thanks for all the fish.

London’s Final Chapter

2008-02-25T11:15:00.014Z

One year ago today, we left our jobs, our house, our friends and family, bought a motor home and began a 12 month European adventure to unearth a future for our little family outside of London. Since arriving back in London before Christmas we’ve been staying at my parent’s house in Dulwich. But today we are moving back into our old house at number 34 Shardeloes Road in New Cross to pack it up ready for Portugal and the new life that has been made available for us there.

We came back to London to do a few important things. Sell the Motorhome, sell the house, catch up with family and friends, and for Joshua and Eloise to have their last ever birthday parties in London.

For Eloise’s 9th birthday in January, she travelled up town on the bus to go ice skating with her friends Connie, Livi, Anoushka and Hatti outside the charming setting of Somerset House in central London. Ellie also bought her first ever guitar from Hank’s, one of the many cool old music shops in Denmark Street just off the Charing Cross Road. Eloise, as always, is happy.

Hanging out with Vonny’s mum Arlene and sister Anne has been wonderful. Anne is 17 and studying drama at Lewisham College. She’s already a superstar to us, but I have a feeling that one day the rest of the world will know it too. It was very special to be here to see her first professional performance as Chanice, in the short play Scenarios. The first of many to come. You go girl! Once Anne is settled into her career, I hope Arlene will come out with us to Portugal and Anne can join us all whenever she needs to recover between shooting movies.

It’s been great to see my Aunty Sally too, who has very kindly been giving the kids intensive piano, guitar and knitting lessons. We took her for lunch to say thanks, in the middle of 300,000 people (plus a few dancing dragons) celebrating the Chinese New Year in Chinatown. Although Sally has lived fairly close to central London for over 40 years, she like me, had never been to these before. It’s a funny thing about London and I imagine other big cities, that all these incredible events go on around you every year, yet very few join in. Anyway, this time we did and loved it.

Joshua had the longest ever 11th birthday. It involved a whole week of stuff. We were staying at my friend David Gold’s top floor flat in Notting Hill, and thought it an excellent idea to be tourists for the week. The camara shops in New Oxford Street were the first port of call to buy Josh a good quality, second hand, close-up lens so he could experiment more with his gifted eye for detail. We battled with rogue prams and screaming kids so we could sniff the sharks and fish in the Aquarium. Nipped into the brilliantly inspiring Dali & Picasso exhibition next door. Took walks in Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park bizarrely without Moses who was staying with Papops and Grandma. Walked to the movies to see the film Jumper at Bayswater Odeon. Marvelled at the stunning winning entries for the Wildlife Photography Exhibition in the Natural History Museum.

We also rummaged around in all the tatty but demonstrably well loved book and magazine exchange shops round the back of Portobello Road. Those old-school book shops are the antithesis of the modern day, sterile, globally franchised, advertising laden, coffee selling book stores so prevalent everywhere else. In the midst of the must and dust and chaos, you feel that the books actually magically find you rather than the other way round.

At the weekend, we hired a powerboat from the Ahoy Centre in Deptford and sent Josh with his mates Halim, Tyran, Noosh and Hatts along with his cousins Sam and Joel, up and down the Thames for the afternoon. Josh even got to drive the thing himself, right through the enormous silver Thames barrier. We had an amazing week, so thanks Joshi for being 11.

And so it comes to pass, the final chapter of our life in London. Our time in my home city of London is coming to an end, and we’ve had heaps of fun. Now we’ve finally found cash buyers for the house and the motorhome, we’ve booked a removal firm called Armishaws to pick up the contents of our house on March 11th. We should be booking flights to Lisbon for the week after that. Although the last 10 weeks have sometimes been frustrating simply waiting, doing very little here when we have so much to get on with in Portugal, it has been good to have the time to say goodbye to the places and the people that have made London our home for so long. But it is, without question, the final chapter. As Caroline Purday said to us this week after they decided they are planning to join us in Portugal at some point in the next few years, she is acutely aware that she is now living in her past. Their future, like ours, is in Oleiros, Portugal. London is just the place we used to live; already it has become our past before we’ve even left it.

Last night Von and I began watching the DVD, Into Great Silence, a documentary about a monastery of monks that live most of their lives without speaking. Their experience of a silent life is in such stark contrast to the nature of this vibrant, pulsating city. But it is a contrast that calls to the very depths of me. I don’t think Von will allow me to become a silent monk, but we are both truly excited by the prospect of the quieter, contemplative, gardening life that awaits us, along with all our friends, in rural Portugal. Enough said.

A Spanish Honeymoon

2007-12-27T15:07:00.000Z

7 months after we left on our voyage of discovery, our Poop in Europe Tour is coming to an end. The Fellowship of the Poop broke 2 weeks ago when we tearfully said goodbye to our beloved cherubs Joshi and Elli at Lisbon Airport for their flight back to London (kindly chaperoned by Michelle) to stay with Papops and Grandma. Moses had said his goodbyes to the kids in the morning because he was to be spending the day (and night as it transpired, naughty thing) with Raquel. After months of travelling, exploring, wandering round France, Italy, Spain and Portugal, living cheek by jowl, sleeping, eating, washing, dressing, studying, chatting, laughing, singing, dancing and sharing every moment together in a single 5 x 2 metre room, all of a sudden, just like that, Von and I were alone.

For the whole 2 hour drive back to Oleiros from Lisbon we were quiet. Missing the kids before they had even taken off. Only our thoughts to keep us company. Reflecting on what an incredible truly life changing experience this year has been. Travelling like we have as a family has validity in itself. We are definitely stronger now than we were before we left. We know each other better. And what we know we like. Loads. It has been an experience that has dug a deep well that will last our little family for many years to come.

But the best thing is we don’t have to go back to what we were doing before. Our travels have opened the door for a chance to live in Portugal. With this view down the hills from our place. And it’s a chance we are grabbing with everything we have. We now have a future that is Portuguese. We will grow old there. See our children, grandchildren and probably great grand children actually be Portuguese. The possibilities of what that entails are so exciting that as soon as I ponder on them for just a minute, a thousand images explode through my imagination. Particularly how Von, Josh and Ellie (and not forgetting Moses and Angel) will be able to grow in ways that life in London simply does not permit. My prayer is that I will not waste the abundance of time available in this life unfolding before us.

Madrid & Barcelona
We spent a few days in Oleiros saying farewell and thank you to our truly lovely new friends. Cleaned up the house, packed up the motorhome and set off for London, with Madrid and Barcelona planned stops along the way. We knew this was the last trip we would take in the Mosiemobile. So it was a little sad too that we were also saying goodbye, maybe only for a while, to life on the open road.

We stopped for the night just over the border in a wee town called Alcantara and nipped into a couple of cafés just so we could hear the noise we knew we’d hear. We have found the Portuguese to be a very quiet people. Polite, good natured and respectful in public. The Spanish in comparison are so very different; they are unbelievably loud, brash, passionate and expressive. Even with just a few people in a bar, its sounds like there could be 100. I think I like Spanish culture, but because it seems more obvious, more immediate, it doesn’t intrigue me as much as my experience so far of Portuguese culture. As the border is just 90 minutes away from us and Madrid only 5 hours, I think Von and I will make regular forays here in future.

Spanish landscapes are just jaw dropping gorgeous in parts. Cork trees are magnificent on their own, but when they’re planted in such vast numbers, they take your breath away. We stopped at a campsite just outside Madrid for the afternoon, took Moses for a long walk through the countryside and then headed into the centre for a night out. 2 hours waiting for a bus wasn’t much fun but we reminisced on the days we were first married with no car and spent far too much time waiting for buses and trains in London. Madrid has a lovely vibe to it. Lovely old centre which doesn’t really wake up to party til 2 or 3 in the morning. We found a delicious and posh restaurant recommended by the Lonely Planet and there we were, Von and I, on a date. No responsibilities. Just the 2 of us. Wonderful.

As the trip in and out of town was a little tricky we decided to leave the next day for Barcelona. And boy is it far away from Madrid. 13 hours of driving later we arrived. As the closest campsite was also a fair way out of town, about 13km, we decided to hire a little car and to stay for 3 days. This really was turning out to be like another honeymoon for us. Wandering hand in hand around Barcelona’s bohemian old quarter either side of the Rambla, popping in and out of shops and cafés, exploring the Picasso museum, marvelling at all the various Gaudi buildings and then taking evening strolls on the beach. Loved it.

Barcelona has a reputation of being one of Europe’s best cities and it’s clearly a fun place to be; the bohemian parts rival the best of Covent Garden and to be so close to the sea must be extra special in summer. But for me it didn’t live up to the hype. Apart from the rich heritage of arts and music, the dominant culture seemed to be that same old same old soulless modernist commercialism that is at the heart of so many of our cities. Maybe if we stayed there again with someone from Barcelona it would be different. We would see the city not as a tourist but from the inside out and have the chance to meet the people that have clearly made it a remarkable place for so many others. Next time I think we’ll fly though. That drive from Portugal is a beast.

Blocked by the British

The final leg of the Poop in Europe tour was upon us. A drive straight through the centre of France (stopping off regularly for Almond Croissants – how do they make them so scrumptious) to Paris and then north to Calais for the ferry to the white cliffs of Dover and for England. We had booked the early morning crossing in order to leave us plenty of time to arrive for my Dad’s 70th birthday bash. Unfortunately the border control officials said the tick treatment issued and certified by a vet we’d seen in Barcelona, was not acceptable for the British authorities. So we would have to see another vet in Calais and wait 24 hours before being allowed to board a ferry. It was gutting that we would have to miss the party and also bloody typical of the immovable systems of control that plague my country. Not once did any official even look at Moses to make a judgement on the risk. It was simply the wrong brand of tick treatment, so the right box on their forms couldn’t be ticked, and nothing would convince anyone any differently. Welcome home Andrew.

Christmas
Finally we arrived in Dulwich, London, to the house of my parents where I was born. Great to see the kids again and Moses went a bit nuts with excitement at seeing my Dad. Christmas was lovely with Josh and Ellie really enjoying being with their grandparents and cousins again after so long. It’s now the day after boxing day and my family has gone to the ballet to see the Nutcracker. I’m at home in bed suffering a little from a dodgy flu. Although probably just exhaustion from all the Christmas shopping!

Anyway, that’s about it from me for 2007. Just to say a Merry Christmas and the most happiest of new years ever to you all.

WITH OPEN ARMS by Vonnie

2007-12-03T18:43:00.000Z

Hi guys, it’s Von, or Maria if you prefer. So much has happened since my last blog that I am really not sure where to start. In order to cope with the multitude of comings and goings and decision makings I have been spending some of my time looking at trees, just staring, not moving enquiring into the possibility of giving my brain the opportunity to be quiet and still. One thought always leads to another and looking at my life now I see myself both as a small tree plant and as the gardener. The best way for me to explain where I am at now at this stage of our travels is through the metaphor of gardening. So bear with me a little and hopefully you will see where this metaphor goes.

I have been silent about being in Portugal because I have been watching, waiting, observing, is this place really the best place for us to plant ourselves as a family. When you have invested your time and effort in the growing of a small seed you want to make sure it’s the right place. Gut instinct and universal signs are wonderful indicators giving you a kick start or a nod in the right direction, but when you are responsible for the growing of something precious you want to be as certain as you can that the site is right. Whether I like it or not I have been at the centre of this move. It was me who said to Andy it’s time to go. It was me who said to the kids it is time to go. It was me who said to my dear friends Michelle and Sue and later Peter come and do this thing, whatever it is, with me. So after the thrill of moving, travelling and finding Moses I went into a little panic. Oh God, is this the right place, is this the right place for all these beautiful people to plant themselves?

The Greenhouse
A greenhouse is a place where little seeds are planted into a little soil. As the gardener you provide the greenhouse to give this fragile life some protection and shelter in the hope that it will grow. You provide some water and nutrients, you cover them when they are under the soil with some black plastic to encourage humidity and moisture retention, to make sure that the strong light of the sun that they will eventually need, does them no harm. As the gardener you watch over them, you wake early to see if they have awoken and as soon as that first green sprout shows itself above the surface you invite them to come into the light. You keep them warm but not too hot. You water them never letting them dry out but never drown them. You talk to them, whisper welcome to them, tell them you love them and can’t wait to see them flourish if you are a crazy loon like me you may even walk in every now and again and brush your hands lightly over them to encourage them to resist you and grow stronger. At some point you know that in order to facilitate better growth you will have to pinch out the top growth of that plant to encourage branching, the first pruning. You marvel at their rapid growth and recognise that no matter how much you do that the majority of the magic of their growth belongs to the seed and not to you.

Barbados was my greenhouse. My family did this for me. I was watched, loved, cherished, kissed, cuddled, encouraged to grow in every direction possible. When I was getting a little leggy (ie lippy) and out of hand I was pinched out, pruned to encourage better growth. And for all this I am truly grateful. To be loved and cherished as a child is the single most important thing a family can give and looking back now I can see that all that was given to me freely. But there comes a time when each little plant must leave the greenhouse go through the difficult stage of acclimatisation and enter the nursery bed.

The Nursery Bed
When I left Barbados at 17 I left with very little in my suitcase and a whole lot of love and encouragement in my heart. The nursery bed is all about that little plant beginning to spread roots and to become strong in a less protected environment. Indeed at first acclimatisation was difficult, the cold, the grey, the rain, the loneliness of not being surrounded by all the other little plants just like me. The loneliness of being without family. But England is a great gardening place and so many people in their own way facilitated that growth. My wonderful teachers at the London School of Economics. My great friend Eska who shared a pineapple with a lonely sullen Bajan girl and got me on my way to spreading roots - to finding Andy. I will never forget the magic of that first Christmas at the home of my father and mother in law, Rev Pops and Dr. Mops. In that truly beautiful English home I was welcomed and I was taught. I learnt so much about the environment I was in about the finer aspects of English culture, English life and most thankfully I learnt about English gardening. At Shardeloes Road the largest possible roots were spread with my beautiful friends. So many beautiful people have passed through that house and in their passing I grew stronger, with good root system and wide branches and with my beautiful Andy established some plantlets called Ellie and Josh. London was a great nursery, a wonderful place to grow and to be challenged. I left London a much stronger and more capable person.

One man and a chainsaw or an axe or a sickle or a knife or a stick…or basically anything that cuts a path.
I have discovered that my hubby loves a chainsaw or anything that can cut through a path. With great determination he has managed to clear so many of the old overgrown paths around Mos and during that process we have discovered that the land we have bought is even more special than we first thought. It has been wonderful to spend days cutting and hacking and chopping and shifting and getting horribly scratched up by brambles. The finest time so far is when we discovered that running along the boundary of the land are the most beautiful series of granite pools surrounded by impressive trees and rocks that look like megaliths. We have also discovered that there is a whole lot of cutting down to do so that will keep him occupied and happy for some time to come, result! So now we know that there is good solid hard work to do.

Leaving the Motorhome
Once the weather started to change and Michelle came we realised pretty sharpish that it was time to go. Off we went to our dear friend Sara just to ask if she knew of anyone who was renting a house or apartment with some space outside for Mosey. Within 24hours we had moved into a lovely house with more space than we knew what to do with after so long in the motorhome and the best thing of all… a hot bath! Yipppeeee! At this moment we Poopers are now comfortably housed, well fed, well watered and very content. Thanks Sara. So we know that we don’t have to be stinky horrible campers for the next year or so.

Sara & Antonio’s Engagement Party
What do you do with a new house? You fill it with as many people as possible of course… When we heard Sara’s news last week that Antonio had proposed, we asked when the party was, naturally. But here they don’t have engagement parties. They seem to have parties just because they want to, but not for this reason. So we said because we are English that we simply had to host one for them and last Friday we held our first of probably many parties to come, in the house we’re renting. We cooked traditional Bajan food, everyone ate and drank loads, and a few stayed til the early hours, singing, joking and drinking in the kitchen or in front of the huge roaring fire in the lounge. At 2.30am someone announced it was time for the traditional Portuguese final drink of the night. The last one. The one you drink and then say goodbye and go. However it seemed to kick start more singing and drinking of wine, port and aqaurdente. 2 hours later it was all over. (Pictures: the happy betrothed. Or at the time of taking these at 4.30am more like the patient Sara and Antonio the baird!) So now we know that good parties can be had in our pad, absolutely essential for long winter nights.

First days at School for Josh and Ellie
The biggest burden I have been carrying is how will my children be able to interact with other children here if we live at Mos? Once again the support of good friends came to the rescue and for this we have to give huge thanks to Annabella or Bellita or Bellina as I like to call her. Over the course of the time we have been here she has given the kids worksheets in Portuguese and then one night at the bar she came and said to the kids, “would you like to come to my class next week?” On the first day we arrived at the school gates, let’s just say we were really nervous. Standing at the gates were an entire class. Now normally in London that would have had made us very nervous. But, as we walked up we were welcomed with a chorus of “Hello!” and within minutes Joshua and Ellie had disappeared totally enveloped by the most beautiful smiley bunch of school kids. Within the week Josh and Ellie had been to three classes and by the end of the week they were talking about going to school. What an amazing breakthrough for Josh and El. Muito obrigada Bellina, I can’t tell you how much that experience meant to all of us. (Pictures: Spot Josh and Ellie amongst the kids and in the far right corner just a little taller than the children is Bellina)

So now we know that Josh and Ellie will make friends here.

Tree Huggers
A special big up has to go to our dear friend Raquel. Raquel is definitely the mover and shaker of the group. She manages to speak English so fast that I have to ask her to slow down just so this slow Bajan girl can keep up. So far Raquel has managed to give us an amazing education on the local flora and fauna around here including a terrific seminar this week on the amazing Medronheiro trees and their fruit, the Medronho (pictured here in the fruit bowl, in the cakes and in the Aguardente). The best time for me though was when she took us to the local tree nursery. So many tiny and somewhat larger trees lovingly planted in a nearby forested valley waiting to be rehomed as sadly the nursery is closing sometime soon. And all of them, no matter what their size, can be bought for 25c each. I am still hoping that we will be able to save some of them and take them to Mos with us, but not so sure. For now we have just been going for walks there and are truly grateful that our other friend Barbara (gosh I could write a whole blog entry on our time together so far) will be coming and taking as many of them as she can. (Pictures Medronheiro fruit cakes. Very good. Just about everything to eat here is very good). So now I know 2 people who are as madly in love with trees as I am.

A Permanent Hole
Ultimately the aim of every gardener (especially one who is dealing with trees) is to find a permanent home for the plant you have grown and cared for. A site where you can plant it in the hope that it will take over the care of itself and in time care for you so becoming an important part of the life cycle of your shared environment. A good tree in the right environment should limit soil erosion, soaking up excess water to make the land more usable, provide clean life giving oxygen and take away your carbon dioxide. It should give some shade on a hot day and shelter for wildlife. It may even give you beautiful foliage, scented flowers or fruit. In short it will not only care for you but it will reveal the fullness of its beauty. For all this to happen the right tree has to be planted in the right place or the effects can be devastating.

Is what I have discovered here what I need to make the decision that Oleiros is the right place for us?

After careful observation this is what I know. The place is beautiful, no doubt. But the people! They’re truly amazing. On our first meeting with the President of Oleiros two things struck me. One, he listened intently saying very little and two, the little he did say. At the end of our huge nervousness induced monologue he said, “You’ll have all the support you need.” I went away from that meeting thinking about those words and I have been thinking on them ever since. What is it that we need, what is the support that we need? The answer I think is the same as it always is: the support of people. It was the support of people who helped me to grow in Barbados and to thrive in London and it is always the support of people that we need. Without that, all hopes, dreams and potentials at best limp along and at worst die.

If I had moved to Portugal just for the beautiful place, it would have been enough and together my friends, Michelle, Sue and Peter and my family Andy, Josh, Ellie, Moses and Angel would have made a life work. If I had then realised that there was a lovely community of people who we could be on the outside of and just enjoy the fact that they were here that would have been enough too. I would still have got pleasure from watching them. But, this is not how it is. We have come to Oleiros and found a community of people who have welcomed us, who have helped us each and every step of the way and have become friends. (This is the lovely Carlos whose married to the delightful Theresa.)

Almost every night we have met them at the fantastic Bar called “Calado” which translates in English as “Shut Up”. Calado is owned by the totally yummy Pedro (in the GANT top with Umberto and Ines). Here we meet everyone and laugh, watch football, play cards but mostly do the opposite of the name ie talk. It is this talking that has been the most wonderful thing. We have discovered that just like us many of our new friends have moved from the cities, have taken all their incredible skills, energy and hopes and decided to plant them, like us, right here in this little town of Olieros. They hope to plant, to grow, to nourish themselves, the people around them and the environment in which they live. This similarity is wonderful but the truly exciting thing for me is their approach.

Yes we have great bars in London too, yes we have friends but these guys in Oleiros have something that I think has been lost in London. They have the desire to move forward together and they make the time no matter how tired they are to be together and to make sure that everyone is ok. That no one is alone. That everyone has someone to share time with at the end of the day (usually at Calado) no matter how the day has gone for themselves. In London I could never do this, so caught up was I in my own personal drama that there was never enough time to share. They share time and you know what guys, it is really really good. It is perhaps the best kind of support anyone can receive; it is the basis of community. This community is ripe for growth in all directions. (Picture: Ines, another tree hugger who I hope will one day help us to grow alot of herbs at Mos.)

You see, you can move to a place and set up your own little island and not be a part of anything around you. That is not for me. I was concerned that that was what would happen; that we would move and be put in a position of setting up our own little Eden because we would not be able to be a part of a wider community. Nope not for me. It is largely because of this community of people that I know this is the right place and the right time. I now feel we can grow here. It is not just my own personal growth that is important or the growth of my family or my immediate friends, but the growth of the whole, together. I want to be a strong tree here. Not just for me but for all. It is a fragile land here in Olieros. For most of my new friends their partners live away, in either neighbouring towns or in the cities, because there is not enough work. The weather is beautifully sunny here now, and in many ways that is lovely but it should be raining and if it doesn’t rain what then? Will there be fires, will the trees survive? Will my new friends have to leave some day simply because the environment can not support their needs? Will we one day have to move on for whatever reason? Is this our permanent planting hole? The answers to these questions no one knows. And I find yet again I have to rely on instinct. My instincts tell me that there is good life to be had here, not flashy life, not showy life, not a life of constant leisure but a life of time shared and a life of community and a life of hard work and a life of open arms. So whenever you are ready come and share time with us. Our arms (just like our postbox that we finally got the key for a few days ago) are wide open.

Life, parties, markets, Oleiros. By Josh

2007-12-03T18:41:00.000Z

The past few weeks have been great. We’ve been gardening, on the internet every day looking for mosaic makers and suppliers, the best type of horses to get (we think we should get the Lusitano aka: the wind and pride of Portugal, and the Peruvian Paso: bred for working the land and carrying heavy loads. Considering they are both 14-15.5 hands I would say that they should be top of the list since we have two six-foot-something guys with us and Ellie is supposed to be 6ft 4” and I’m supposed to be 6ft 6”) and have found some local suppliers. We have our tools (sickle, clippers, mini shovel and fork the only thing we need is a chainsaw to cut down the dying fig tree in our courtyard) and we are searching LOCALLY for tractor suppliers and 4x4 suppliers (quatro by quatro as they say here in Portugal). We have had our first proper conversations (Ellie and I get one word every 10 which is enough to put a sentence together and no matter how many times we say ‘mais devagar por favor’ they never slow down, it’s even harder now we have the accent and I look so Portuguese). So far we love it here and there is a new surprise every day.

My vocabulary is small but I understand the difficult words and many of the words are similar to English words (name=nom) and Italian words (Portuguese is Latin slang). 2 in 3 people speak French and I can spot it when someone switches language after spending 4 weeks in France so the sentences eventually piece together. It’s great learning the language. Mummy says that when I go to sleep my mouth is in a permanent pout because Portuguese is all ‘shushes’ and ‘ão’s’ (pronounced like ow!) it is definitely one of the romance languages. Every day I’m learning at least one new word or verb (we have tackled the hardest one ‘to be’ but frustratingly there are three verbs for ‘to be’ in Portuguese) which is difficult. I think Moses speaks the most Portuguese because the amount of people that come up to him and say ‘oh bonito!’ and speak at the speed of light must be about 50 billion a day.

We can trust everyone in Olieros like family; we leave our bikes outside the café in Amieira, we park our motor home outside the school or the gym, everyone knows us since everyone in the council are our friends. Every Tuesday there is a market which is really cool because everybody shouts out and rings bells to draw people’s attention so it gives it a feel of those old English Medieval movies. Olieros is our home. It has a fountain ten times too big for the town with a park that is 20m² that looks like it is there to soak up all the spray from the fountain. The funniest part is when all the sprinklers turn on and miss the plants completely, when they turn off though the cars are all sparkling. Olieros is like one of those villages that you see in cheesy T.V. shows. It has a butcher a baker and a candle stick maker (I’m not sure about this last one but it makes it sound good). Since it’s a farming village it has a ratio of 10:1 of bars and houses and the restaurants are full of beef, pork and chicken (I bet you that if fairytales could include bars and loads of meat they would). Olieros has everything we farmers need. It even has a good clothes shop and the market has the best jeans and jumpers I’ve ever worn. Olieros is known for its school (it’s so good the one in Amieira has gone out of business) and its children in fact we are visiting it today (the last half of this blog will be written after we go to the school). Yes, Olieros is perfect. Everyone knows us and everyone loves us and visa versa. What can you say? It’s Family.

Part II

A new adventure comes every minute it seems. An hour ago we took a 10 year old 4x4 out for a drive. Eventually we found out that Mummy was going to have to drive. Mummy had never driven a manual before so it was either the 3m (9ft) 4x4 or the 8m (26ft) 4.5 tonne motor home so she chose the mosiemobile mark II.

We bought the 4x4 from a place just out of Olieros (I said locally) and drove off. Although mummy had not driven a car (let alone a left-hand-drive manual 4x4 on the right side of the road) in 6 months I almost fell asleep if it wasn’t for the incessant panting mixed with the I-need-oil kind of squeak. My mother drove so well for a beginner (it was probably the smoothest drive I had since London!) that I actually thought dad was driving (the only way I remembered mummy was driving was the dad goes 30kmph to fast). The only bit that made her jump was when a coach was coming round the corner (in Amieira¿!?¡) so she had to reverse (well this was a tough first lesson) up the hill. I am very proud of my mother but she will give you the more detailed part of the story.

We entered yet another dinner with no camera and my friend João (there are many João’s in Portugal) gave us a tour round the school. The first thing we all noticed was that the classrooms were all spotless. The cleaners said that they’re like that all day and that they are just employed to sweep and mop. After that we ate……and ate……and ate……and ate…….and ate……and……then sat round watching castanhos (sweet chestnuts) roast.

Everyone wants an excuse to have a party (we haven’t had one yet but on Friday we’re introducing engagement parties to Olieros for Sara, our angel, and Antonio; the next pictures were added after the party), Whether it’s because somebody has been given thousands of castanhos (normally the reason) or whether it’s because some strange English people have come to a little town -which maps only show if they’ve been made there- to live. Olieros is the party town (dad nicked that from this blog) and that is something that should make it map worthy.

We’ve rented a little house on the outskirts of Olieros (Olierosers don’t believe that it has outskirts and that it just fades away) and I’m sleeping on the floor (it feels strange trying to sleep in a bed) in a really cool camping type bed. We have a huge open fire that heats the whole house up only when it’s on (we experimented and found that orange peel, banana skins and flies all burn, BURN, BURN!!!!!). The lady bought a washing machine (that’s already packed up and gone away after a week) a really nice leather sofa and a 50 year old Hoover and a brand new toaster. We have already made use of the bookshelves and are making it home.
Life is absolutely great here. Parties=Olieros, social life=Olieros and to Olierosers, Portugal=Olieros. Olieros=a good life.

Oleiros the Party Town

2007-11-26T15:09:00.001Z

Before I put you in the picture on the subject of partying, let me prattle on about the weather here; because I’m English and it’s my birth right to talk about it. Apart from a couple of days in November, every day has been gloriously sunny with brilliant blue skies. Although the midday temperatures range from 15 to 22, and even yesterday shirts were off in the heat of it, the nights are a different story. Without the clouds to trap the heat, just like in the desert, it drops to well below freezing. Minus 8 the coldest so far. We’ve also had rain for the first time in 2 months, which has swelled the rivers and brooks, raising the volume a notch from the cascading waterfalls, especially the little ones bordering Móses.

Autumn has well and truly kicked in, transforming fragments of the landscape into beautiful shades of golds, oranges, coppers and rubies. The leaves of the deciduous trees, found sprinkled along these rolling hills, are turning through their spectrum of colours before dropping to kindly enrich the earth for the following spring. However, the majority of trees are pine and eucalyptus that in contrast drop nothing, give nothing, only take. Their prevalence creates a forestry monoculture, which people say, was one of the major reasons why the devastating fires of 2003 and 2005 spread so quickly and unbridled through most of Central Portugal. So when you catch a glimpse of the autumnal trees they convey something much more significant than simply a picturesque rural scene. Their dying leaves are a beacon of hope, albeit a melancholic one. As the rising winds whistle through stirring the branches you can almost hear their cry before the long winter sleep, “We are here. Do not forget us. Do not let us be ousted by the eucalyptus and their insatiable thirst. Stand with us. Protect us and we will surely protect you.”

Moses, of course, has been in his element. Pile driving himself recklessly through the mounting heaps of leaves and at high speed along the rivers’ edges frequently daring little forays into the frosty waters. One happy dog. While he’s been playing, we’ve all been working hard clearing out (“limpar”) the junk and the old clothes left in the houses. I bought a chainsaw (most cool), and also borrowed a truly rapid, ferociously bladed, gas fuelled, professional strimmer. We have begun the gigantean task of chopping down any erroneous trees and clearing (also “limpar”) the shrubs and bushes from the forest. Consequently, we’ve been able to open up some old paths and discovered yet more beautiful areas on and adjacent to our land. The enchanting water pools in these photos are carved out of granite and unexpectedly hidden at the bottom of two pretty valleys. They are surrounded by overgrown but superbly crafted old stone terrace walkways that appear not to have been in use for decades. Astonishing really that we still keep finding more on this little patch of land. I’m sure Von will tell you the magical tale of how she came upon them in her piece.

Farewell and thanks a million
to the magnificent Mosiemobile

It’s been 2 months since we stopped travelling on our European tour and have been residing in the village of Amieira. We bought ourselves a fairly knackered 10 year old 4 x 4 for the frequent journeys up and down the dirt track to Mos. We were able to park the Mosiemobile permanently outside the old café by the entrance road to the village. The thing about motorhomes is that they’re cool for travelling around. You drive to a new town, jump out, explore, come back, cook, wash and sleep. Sweet. But to live in it every day, in the same place, without moving is not really what they’re made for. You can read between the lines here, but as a stationery house it just became a tad too small. Then when Michelle arrived from Italy on the 9th November, and we became 6 in the Mosiemobile (cos it was way too cold for her to continue bunking down in her new house without heat, light, water or electricity although she tried valiantly for a week), it kind of precipitated a conversation with Von that went a little bit like this. “Andrew, we’re renting a house.”

So last Saturday night we asked Sara if she knew of anywhere available. 15 minutes later we were standing in a large detached 3 bedroom house with huge garden, big open fire in the lounge, next to an old bridge down by the river in Oleiros and were agreeing terms of 270 Euros a month, with Angelica, the mother of the lifeguard that works with Sara at the swimming pool. Touch.

The Mosiemobile, is now cleared of all previous contents (you would not believe how much stuff we’d managed to cram into that vehicle – took us 2 days to empty it) and is parked alongside the house waiting for its final journey with us to London next week. It’s a little sad in a way to look at it just sitting there all alone. Parked. Abandoned. Cos for 8 months it was our home. On the Poop In Europe tour our environment changed daily, but the Mosiemobile was the one thing that remained constant. Always there when we needed it. Always hospitable, kitchens open 24/7. Obligingly turned itself into a night club once on the way home from that Bread Festival in Tuscany. Never once complained even when it was woken early to run away from a few dodgy predicaments we got ourselves into. Never grumbled even when it was always just slightly wider than the average Italian street. “Thank you Mosiemobile. Without you none of this would have been possible. We will always love you. But now we’ve reached the end of an era; please forgive us we have to move back into a house.” A house we will be renting probably with Michelle, Sue and Peter til at least next October when the work on our houses should all be complete. So when you visit us next year, forget the tents and roughing it. Hot showers and beds await you.

Hermitdom? Au contraire monsieurs.
As you know by now, our quest was to find tranquillity away from the hustle of working life in the city. But Oleiros is a busy little place. Surprisingly so. For the past 3 weeks we’ve been out almost every night. Til 1,2 even 3 in the morning. Either at people’s houses for scrumptious local cuisine. Or at a few “magustos” where at this time of year the Portuguese bake chestnuts in bonfires, drink and eat vast quantities of vinho, meat and cod fish and dance a wee bit too (the one in the picture was organised by the dance society in Oleiros even had fireworks). Or the most common place you’ll find us is in a cool bar where all the young things hang out (and kindly let us share it with them) called Calado (meaning “Shut Up” in Portuguese). Anyway, all way too late for me at my age. Way too much socialising. I don’t think I went out this much even at Uni.

We have, as a result of all this partying, made lots of new friends. Really really lovely people. I thought you might like to be introduced. So here they are. The cast of Oleiros - at least the ones we’ve had the pleasure of fraternising with so far.

The Party Cast
Sara Nunes. Yoga teacher. Works at local swimming pool. Just like the cadbury’s bunny but without the ears. Just got engaged last week to Antonio. We’re throwing them a party at our new pad next Friday.

Belita the English Teacher who is kind and generous, and who although overstretched at school (same the world over) has consistently made time for us and the children. She’s even negotiated with the school that the kids can come to her Year 5 English classes this week.

Raquel, a whirlwind of energy and drive in her quest to save the planet by protecting the land in Portugal, by introducing new ZIFs (forestry copperatives), by evangelising the world about the potential of a small bush called Medronio (from which they make the potent cocktail Aguardente). She oozes warmth and sunshine, and can speak English so well and so fast we have to tell her to slow down just so we can understand it!

To’ and Monica. To’ works with and lives in the same apartment as Raquel. His sense of humour is pretty dry. He wore his England jumper the day after England were knocked out of Euro 2008 just to kindly remind me. Monica, his girlfriend, is another English teacher and keeps To’ to heal most of the time.

Pedro, Sara’s younger 26 year old brother that runs the Calado bar. A returnee from Lisbon who’s proved lots of fun to be with already and has given me the low down on a few of the essentials about life in Portugal.

Umberto. Is worth his weight in gold with his invaluable tip off that protective fathers here check the school registers each year to see which boys are the ones performing badly and so need to be kept along way from their daughters. Good thinking. He’ll also be the potato and wine supplier for the party on Friday.

Anita and her kids Joao and Soria. Returnees from France, Anita lives in a beautiful house that we were delighted to learn was designed by the architect we’ve hired, Filipe. Dinners happen regularly there. Joao is 13 and has taught the kids how to play the card game Trinca. Anita and I are negotiating terms for Eloise’s dowry. I’ve suggested she pay 20000 goats as minimum first instalment.

Barbara and Jared we met yesterday. Barbara is a Portuguese friend of Mike Love in Leeds, who suggested we should meet if we ever went to Portugal as he knew she was doing a cool community thing with the land. But we lost her contact details after the Bilbao job and so it was another incredible coincidence to find that her place is only an hour’s drive away the other side of the mountain near Fundao. Jared, from North Carolina, is staying with her for the winter. Lovely lovely lovely people. I am sure we will spend a lot more time together next year.

And there are more that Von or I will have to tell you about later. The delightful Carlos and Theresa, Sophia from the Pool, Marinalva the nurse from Brasil who first introduced us to Sara, and many many more including Ines, Ines and Ines!

So I’m unexpectedly knackered and in need of a holiday to recuperate. We head back for London in a fortnight. But not before we sign ownership papers on Monday December 3rd. Hopefully submit our plans for our houses to the council on the 4th. Go for another dinner Tuesday night at Anita’s (their Christmas one cos we’re leaving early – bless). Kids jump on a plane from Lisbon with Michelle the next day on the 5th. And Von and I drive Moses in the Mosiemobile back via Madrid, Barcelona, and then through France for its last journey with us before we sell it on our return for my Dad’s 70th on the 15th. Phew!

The recently erected Christmas lights in party town look way better than the ones in Oxford Street last year. We’ve heard they switch ‘em on around December 1st (photos when they do, promise.) Although we’ll miss this festive season in Oleiros, we’re already looking forward to spending the next one here. I suspect it will be the first of very very many. In so many ways, this place and its wonderful people have made us feel completely at home here. And so it has become. Our home.

Hook, line and sinker

2007-10-27T16:55:00.001+01:00

It’s been almost 2 months since we miraculously and magically were led to our piece of paradise on earth here in central Portugal. Since then, we have seriously fallen in love with this place. As they say, "hook, line and sinker". This is the one. No turning back. All bridges to burn. Here in this little village of Amieira we will raise our children, grow the most beautiful gardens imaginable, grow our own vegetables, raise our own animals, spread a few tonnes of shit in the soil, host our friends for months at a time, drink copious amounts of homemade wine, build spaces for our parents to stay for as long as they like, grow old ourselves, entertain our grandchildren, and one day, die here. This is not just a project. This is the rest of our lives laid out before us. And the very idea of what all of that could mean fills me with such excitement that on some days it feels like I simply cannot contain it.

Susan and Peter (pictured) flew over from Leeds via Luton airport and Michelle travelled for 48 hours from Tuscany for a wonderful weekend at the end of September to view the properties and then to buy them. As you do. Von said we’d find a village to buy one day. And we did. And they came. And fell in love with this place in an instant as we had done. We had a bit of an intense weekend grilling each other on the reasons why we all wanted to do such a crazy thing as this. By the end it became crystal clear that although we shared many similar values and aspirations about this new life, we also each had fundamentally different personalities and skill sets; the diversity necessary to become a strong team. Strong enough to build a community. One which we will begin to create when we gather back together in Amieira next March, April.

We also began to consider the principles by which we want to live together. The first of these principles, these values, seems to be self sufficiency. There is an unbelievablly useful and inspiring book written by a bloke called John Seymour that has taught us (read Von) an incredible amount already and we’ve not even begun yet. The guy talks a whole heap of sense too. What he writes in the first few pages has taken me years to work out. That millions of people just like us, in cities all across the world, are working as hard as they can in organisations, to earn money, to buy from other organisations the goods and services which we are more than capable of growing or making for ourselves. When you look at it from his perspective, our city lifestyles sound bizarrely ridiculous. Like we are all, albeit unwittingly, slaves to a tyrannical and immensely wasteful system that exists solely to support itself. Self sufficiency on the other hand seems to be such a simple, common sense alternative; it is a wonder that more people have not sought it. It might well be the enormous amount of work involved that put people off. But it is also unreservedly satisfying work. To eat what you sow. To grow roses from the poop that you produce. To harness the power of the sun and to utilise the water found in abundance beneath us. To become intimately and vitally connected to the natural systems that sustain the entire planet. To eek out a lifestyle that also requires interdependence on others, without which people aspiring to live self sufficiently apparently tend to go either go nuts or starve. We will let you know how we get on. But do buy the book if you can. Lots of practical advice also provided for people living in cities to help them transform their over reliance on our ‘developed’ evil consumption system.

Second, to make this place as beautiful as humanly possible. The land in this area of Portugal was ravaged twice by merciless fires first in 2003 and then again in 2005. Which left the vast rolling hills, forests and landscape looking, we think, much like a shorn sheep. In many places, new trees have yet to be replanted and only the tall broken black charred pine trunks remain as a stark and sad reminder of those catastrophes. Within this context we want to nourish the land. To plant gorgeous gardens on our plot. And to work with the dynamic local people we have met working here (Raquel and Antonio link to Apfam) to help restore the natural beauty of this place in a sustainable and exemplary way. This land needs caring for. It needs investment. It needs loving. And its for this reason that if and when things get tight financially as I am sure they may well do over the next few years, we do not want to skimp on the quality of what we do. Everything, from the way we restore our houses, to the gardens, to the vegetable patches, to the accommodation we create for guests, to the yoga sala, has to be utterly magnificent. There really is no point in doing it any other way. Life is just too short to waste it on mediocrity. When resources are scarce, or limited, the pressure to dumb down, to compromise on quality, to simply do the essentials, we imagine will be a real force, which right at the outset we are committed to fighting every step of the way. We are aiming high. It has to be beautiful, draw droppingly gorgeous. It’s the very least this part of the world needs after such devastation.

There are more values which I will write about in future. But for now in this blog entry I want to tell you about an angel we’ve been given in Oleiros who has helped us open more doors and introduce us to more people than we thought was possible in such a short amount of time. She is not the first angel we have met. The first in Portugal were probably John and Sam from Bosch Real estate who have gone above and beyond at every step of the way to help us purchase Moses and Quinta and begin to settle here. The second were Christian and Alice who we met the day we discovered Moses (Christian popped back from Switzerland this week to help his father in law make some wine and it was so nice to hook up with him again.) The latest angel in our adventure is Sara Nunes and we met her 2 weeks ago.

We heard about Sara one fine day, and boy have there been lots of those here this October, when Von and I went for a stroll around Oleiros early in the morning. Skipping would probably be a more accurate description. It really is so exciting to be doing this. Anyway, there we were, in awe of the gift life has been giving us recently, when we bumped into a lovely middle aged black nurse from Brazil. “Bom dia.” “Bom dia.” “What you 2 young things doing here and where are you from? Fancy a wee coffee?” (my best guestimate of her softly spoken Portuguese, probably translated nothing like this, but hey ignorance lets you interpret everything just how you want to doesn’t it?). Over coffee we found out that Marina works in the local health centre, and by chance (there’s been quite a lot of that going on recently) does yoga every Thursday night in the local sports pavilion. She gave us the number of her yoga teacher, Oleiros’ one and only yoga teacher. Sara Nunes. We called her mobile, delighted to discover she spoke excellent English and met up the next day in the town square.

(This pic shows the wine vats in the basement we'll convert into our kitchen.)

What a fabulous lady she is. Recently moved here from Lisbon with her boyfriend who works in the local pyrotechnic firework firm (one that organises firework events globally apparently, from this little remote town of Oleiros). She teaches yoga twice a week to a handful of people and works part time as a receptionist in the brand new swimming baths. She was so excited to hear that another 4 yoga teachers were coming and that we intended to do something so aspirational, that she organised a meeting for us the very next day with the President of the council for this region. Just like that. A meeting with the top man to present our plans. His name is Jose Marquis and he is the numero um. With a fantastic Portuguese moustache and a stoic, kind face, Jose listened attentively to our aspirations, ably translated by Sara for the yoga parts, and by her friend Ines for the environmental/gardening parts. At the end the man from Delmonte he said yes “you will have all the support from this council that we can give”. Nice one. Not sure whether this helped or hindered our cause, but Eloise was so overawed by the occasion of meeting the President that she dropped a wee fart in that meeting. I spun round so fast to look at Els and then back again in utter embarrassment and with hope that my offsprings contribution had not been acknowledged by the dignitaries in the room. Politely all pretended not to notice. Von and Josh did incredibly well to hold down the giggles.

(This one's a view from our courtyard)

Our angel Sara has also introduced us to Raquel and To’ from Apfam, the forestry charity that works here (Von will tell more about that delicious encounter) with whom we want to partner with to help them implement their sustainable land strategy for the region. And yesterday she arranged for us to meet the councils planning department. I don’t know whether you have had experience with dealing with planning departments in the UK. But accessible and generous are not words most people associate with dealing with them. In Oleiros though we were bold over by how they agreed to meet us so quickly, how 5 obviously busy professionals all gathered round us to listen to what we want to do here and how eager they were to make us feel welcome that they went off to find gifts for us. All we expected to achieve was say a quick hello before seeking formal planning permission later in November, but instead we left with 2 bottles of the powerful locally made vodka called Aguardente, a jar of yummy honey, an Oleiros pen and a personal and immediate introduction to an architect they recommended called Filipe Bartolo. Truly astonishing. And we are really grateful to Sara for opening all those doors for us. Muito obrigado Sara.

Finally, on the subject of hook, line and sinker, lets talk fishing. In my final year at college, I was sitting in a particularly dull accounts lecture scribbling notes down as fast as I could. A friend, Nick Marshall, sitting next to me at the time was in contrast writing absolutely nothing. What you doing, I asked. He wrote down a line that I will never ever forget. With an arrow pointing towards the pompous lecturer he wrote. “Bet he can’t catch a fish with a spear.” Since that day I have always wanted to learn how to fish. If or when the western world crashes, our so called advanced professional skills like accounting, too oft valued with ludicrously high salaries, wont count for ought. To fish, to farm, to build fires, to feed your family will be the most treasured skills. So, I bought a 10 euro fishing rod from Decathlon and for 2 months have been trying to catch something in the rivers. Peter came out and showed me how to do it, but we caught nothing apparently because we didn’t have the right tackle. Last weekend we popped into Coimbra and bought the appropriate hooks and bait and tried them out immediately. Again Josh and I had no luck. But along came Eloise with a “Can I try Daddy?” Course you can sweetheart. 3 minutes later she reeled in an 11inch something just big enough to eat.

Since then I have a bit more luck but only caught a few tiddlers. Lost a load of tackle to the river bed in the process. But I'm hooked. Addicted to the serenity and the significance of this new pastime. Pete tells me some guys are able to meditate and call the fish to them just with the power of their minds. So in years to come while Von and the others are meditating on their yoga mats, you’ll know where I will be. When the first huge catch is landed, this blog will be full of nothing else but photos of the momentous occasion. I have faith. And patience. And hope. And lots and lots of time to practice. Ate logo as they say here. Laters.

On the Road to Zion - Josh

2007-10-27T16:41:00.000+01:00

When we first saw Moses it was like a dream come true. All we had were smiles and ideas (this is after I changed my mind) and it was the same with Sue and Peter our friends who are buying Bacelo (quinta parfume) aka: the perfume estate. Michelle was more like me but she is starting to feel what it could be like. Now, after a gazillion more ideas, guess what, we still have more! Every idea brings knew ideas and new smiles and new expressions (good ones luckily) and the picture just forms in our heads. My first idea (before I changed my mind) was houses with a huge garden. Now it’s changed to a garden with houses, except the houses drowned in flowers herbs and fruit. Who would want to live in a place like this? I certainly would.

When we first found Moses It was the end of summer. I should have been packing my rucksack and heading off to school. New teacher, year 6, yeah, cool. That is probably what everyone in my class at Myatt Garden thought. Guess what? Boring. I can imagine it. The end of summer was always the worst. Everyone walking around with the heat reflecting off the concrete and the windows. People shouting and screaming at each other; arguments about people pushing in front of other people in the four square line; having to eat in silence because the dinner hall always echoes. Not being allowed to share food and having to race to get a seat with your friends while the loser goes and cowers off in a corner with all the other rejects. All of this was probably happening while we lay laughing and eating in the Portuguese sun on the greening grass waiting for the sun to go down.

Another thing, I lived in London for 10 years of my life and not once did I notice a London sunset. I never saw one view without concrete (in London at least). It fact if it wasn’t for holidays in Barbados to see my great (in both ways) granny who goes to the gym 5 days a week, walks 5 miles everyday and is just hitting 75, or trips with my Dulwich Grandparents to Kent and Cornwall, or the 250 mile walk (400km) through England with The Lifeline Expedition, I would think that cows lay eggs and bacon came from sheep (those aren’t myths. Some kids do think that and that is scary). One last thing before I move on. To all those people out there (and I’m mainly talking to my teachers here) who wonder whether I am learning anything. I am. Not just maths and literacy either. I’ve learnt to fish, kayak, and many other sports. I am learning Chemistry, Biology, Physics, Geography and History from cool CDs and books for children aged 11-14 (key stage 3).

Amieira is our village, Olieros is our town. Dad and I are already looking for cricket clubs and have had a reply so far from one club here. There is a local football club in Olieros. Portugal has a cricket team, loads of great football teams. Porto FC is my Portuguese football club, (that doesn’t mean I’m giving up on Chelsea though), I could get used to their national football team and their cheating ways (World Cup 2006 and Euro 2004 still fresh in the memory I’m afraid). The best surfing beach in Europe is 2 hours away. A great skim boarding beach is an hour away. Decathlon is in Coimbra, only two hours away. We are not too secluded but not too close to the busy city life either.

Right now if I was back at my old life – our house is already on the market - I would be finishing my lunch in silence, not being able to talk to most of my friends who eat school dinners or are sitting on a table that is full, just because I didn’t get there in time. I would just be leaving for the playground for the last 10 minutes of playtime and then be going in for literacy that I have been learning (would you call writing out 4 letter words in handwriting and being bored to death learning?) for the past year. Right now I am learning because I want to after just helping Ellie with her maths for forty five minutes and letting her ask as many questions as possible but making her answer them. I can learn for as long as I like without being told ‘it’s time to stop now’ or ‘if you haven’t finished you haven’t finished you have to do your work at playtime’. I don’t have to wait in a queue for cold pizza or vegetarian (at school the meat is unidentifiable, it might as well be from a guy who died at war) food that looks like brown porridge (I like porridge but I’m not eating that). My P.E lessons are what ever I like, hiking, cricket (if possible), football. Home education is literally like camping. You get to go orienteering, climbing, catapulting, and all just trying to get to Moses!

My mum says I have to write something I appreciate about my old school. So. I had some really cool teachers and I learnt a bit. I really liked the school trips like going to Kent and following riddles and maps to try and find your way out first. I really do miss the cricket competitions (well of course I do I was captain of ks2 which is an accomplishment for a boy in year 5), and we did win some trophies (I was given a leaving card from my class with a picture on the front of me kissing the trophy in a competition that was postponed for 5 months due to a storm that flooded the pitch in 2 feet of water). In the football cage at playtime (which was not my favourite time because when we lost it was blamed on the centre forwards) and I scored goals -which usually came 2 at a time and in long spurts. Like the last time I played 10 matches and scored 12 goals, the starting one being a header (which is not too hard for considering I was the tallest boy in year 5 and 2nd tallest out of all) that hit the under side of the cross bar (which is 1m high) then hit the post and went in the goal (I didn’t see it because I was jumped on by my team mates as soon as it hit my head but I was told by my friend Jedd, the next Petr Cech). I’m going to get all my school friends emails when we go back this December.

I’ve got to include my friends in this because they were all great. Tyrann and Luke, the 2 monkey boys who helped me get through with minimum trouble, Jedd, Jordan, Michael and Halim, the type of friends who you can completely trust, Rogan, Katie, Izzy, Alice, Anita and Melina, the girls that I enjoyed working in a group with (on the same table every year) and helped me when I needed it and I helped when they needed it. Like the musketeers, 1 for all and all for 1.

I do miss those summer Saturdays when we travelled to Dulwich (the very posh side) to see my grandparents house when our cousins Sam and Joel and Jasmine came over and Sam, Joel (sometimes), and I play cricket or golf with our grandpa from 09:00 till 12:00 when we stopped to eat my grandma’s famous chicken-nosh-up or cod or trout potato pie with butter-drowned carrots and then apple crumble with whipped cream just to go out and play cricket again. Or those weekends when we would stay at mums house (not my mum but our other grandma, Granny Arlene! With the Barbados accent) where we would eat Caribbean style chicken or lamb chops with sweet potato pie, macaroni pie and rice, and wake up at 07:00 to smell pancakes drowned in maple syrup. That’s what grandparents are for, as well as giving and receiving huge bear hugs (the hugs not our grandmas. I’m probably taller than both by now) that make your eyes pop out. But two or three days with your grandparents is not enough. We figured that the further we are from each other the more that we will see each other.

In the real world here in Portugal, Zion Retreats (the name we are thinking for what we want to do) has not yet gone under way, although in our minds it has already begun. There’s no turning back now. We are on the Road to Zion.

Hey! I’ve found a Motto!

October in Central Portugal

2007-10-24T19:59:00.000+01:00

Hello. New posts are coming soon we promise. There's been so much happening here in sunny Portugal (seriously sunny at 25+) this last month since we bought Moses and Quinta Perfume with Sue, Peter and Michelle, that we've not had a chance to reflect for our blog. Vonny and I have been meeting as many people as possible. Builders, architects, politicans etc. We're so keen right, that even on our 13th wedding anniversary on Monday we chose to go see some (really lovely as it turned out called Freya and Evout living in Ameixeira) people about why building with lime and mortar is far better than using cement. Stacks more meetings planned next week too. So learning Portuguese as fast as we can.

For a peek at what we are thinking of creating over here see the fledgling new site Peter posted up last week that you can access via their website http://www.sundarayoga.co.uk/. Follow the link to Zion. (Or "follow the white rabbit" in Matrix speak.)

Josh has just written his latest blog which he will post up shortly with new pictures. As always, he is sharp as ever. And after hours of fishing here with absolutely no result whatsoever, not even a bite, Josh and I taught Eloise how to cast last week when we popped into Coimbra for a few days. 3 minutes later she only goes and pulls out our tea. "Oh my days" I already know she will never ever tire of telling that little story. But my repost is already worked out. "Remember the time you let one rip in the office of the President of all Oleiros? " Details of that wee saga to follow.

Congrats to Joel and Zoe and Myla for making the jump out of formal school education too. Enjoy the ride folks.

THE DAY DESTINY SERVED A BANQUET SCREAMING "EAT ME"…

2007-09-19T22:27:00.000+01:00

It was a day like any other really. Well, I suppose like any other of the Poop In Europe type of days we’ve been having since leaping out the Matrix 6 months ago and hurling ourselves into Europe 4 months ago. 4 months to the very day in fact. It was 7th September 2007. Woke up in Coimbra (pronounced ‘queembra’) and said to each other lets go see this place called Moses we’ve seen on the web. We can’t wait 2 more weeks for the appointment booked with the estate agent. We want to see it today. Now. Destiny waits for no man. Drive.

With no idea what lay in front of us, not a clue what the area and the landscape in that region of central Portugal would be like, what the vibe of the local village called Amieira would be, and even if we would be able to find Moses at all, we set off. On the website it had said Moses was a 15 minute walk down a dirt track from the tiny hilltop village so to search all directions might take us a few days of wild trekking to actually find it. We could ask people in the village but with my Portuguese vocabulary only just topping the 6 word mark I wasn’t expecting much quality communication.
So as usual we had no idea what we were doing, but bizarrely, coursing through mine and Vonnie´s veins, was a not inconsequential level of adrenalin. Would today be the day we found the place that we set out to find? Could this be the place we had spent so many months imagining might exist? Could this be the one?

The closer we got, the tinglier the sensation grew. And oh yes, we recognised this feeling. It was the same when we met each other 15 years ago when after only 6 hours in each others company, decided to get married. It was the same when we saw our tumbling down house in New Cross with rain pouring in through the roof all the way down to the basement and we knew it was to be our house; the house where we would raise our yet to be born kids. Unmistakably the exact same feeling. Eyes wide open. Hearts racing. Spirits soaring in delight at the expectation of what was ahead of us, what we saw around us and what was happening inside of us. As we drove the last 10km stretch to the village all we could do was grin inanely at each other. Surely this couldn’t be it? It’s called Moses. How cool would that be?

Blissfully unaware of all the commotion taking place in our emotions, Moses the dog lay peacefully asleep on the back seat. No need to get excited by what you can’t smell, eat or swim in, is there boy?

Turn after turn, view after view, forest after forest, river after river, remote pretty village after remote pretty village, our excitement just kept growing. It felt like we were going home after years of being away.

Finally there it was. The signpost to the village of Amieira. Somewhere in the surrounding forested hillsides of this sweet looking white washed village was a property for sale – and its name is Moses. As the Mosiemobeel pulled into the village entrance road, a lively little fiesta type car came bolting out and screeched to a halt. 4 blond smiley faces stared out at us in wonder. Mum, Dad and 2 young kids in the back. In their faces I read a whole heap in a few seconds. They were expressing a look that kind of said "What is that beast of a vehicle? And what is that doing here? In this village. Motorhomes don’t come here. Campers don’t come here. In fact no one comes here. What is that thing doing here? And who are those young people driving it? They have got to be lost" Then the smiley faces spoke. In English. Really. In English. We introduced ourselves. They were Chistian and Alice. Living in Switzerland which explained the perfect English. This was the village Alice was born in and they were back just for the holidays. "We’re here to look at a property for sale called Moses. Do you know where it is?" "Moses? Ummmm, There’s a Mós (pronounced like a sort of Mojzsje). It’s where my gran was born and where parents grew up. Take the dirt track after the orange brick house and walk for 15 minutes." Off they sped with a "might see you later for a drink if we’re still here" farewell.

Result. A warm and friendly welcome from a young family who spoke English and gave directions. I’ve been fortunate in my short life to have experienced a number of such coincidental encounters. Too many for me to even want to explain away with rationality. The angels were singing loud and clear. And the door of destiny was opening as wide as could be. Step on through buddy boy.

Half an hour later (after a kindly local builder walked me briskly down the hill to make sure we didn’t get lost, with Vonny and the kids led ably by Moses following in the rear), we came to the top of the dirt track drive to Moses. 100 metres later we could see it all. 3 abandoned one hundred year old stone houses and 2 windowless stone store houses covered in vines, nestled in a lush little valley on 2 hectares of the sweetest sweeping stone terraces with ancient olive trees dotted along, surrounded above and beyond as far as the eye could see by eucalyptus and pine forests, with spectacular views of folding mountains into the west over which the sun would set rivalling anything we’d seen so far on the trip, and to top it all off a noisy meandering rock lined, fruit tree bordered broke at the bottom. It was the place in our dreams. It was the one. We had been led to the Promised Land by Moses. And it’s called Moses.

We sat and imagined. Didn’t take much imagining either. It was immediate. Like a film. Like flashes of light illuminating our paths with each new view. Our entire lives stretching out in front of us here in this out-of-the-way grassy Portuguese idyll. So many flower beds. So many olive trees. So many grapes. A myriad of walkways and vistas. A whole farm to sow, nurture and harvest. So many delicious meals to be created entirely from the produce of this small piece of rural paradise. So many sun soaked evenings spent supping home grown wine with friends joining us from around the globe and new ones we’d make in the area. Everything was possible. It might take us a lifetime to create but everything was beautifully and bountiful in its potential. A banquet of promising possibilities.
We set off up the hill to the village awe struck by what we had found. A bit numb to be honest.

After only 4 months of searching round Europe we had found Moses. We had found our home. But in all these things the waves of doubt come in like a tide sometimes. A bit like snakes in the head. So even by the time we had got back in our motorhome to drive off to a local campsite for the night, we were questioning everything. Are we just naïve fools? Are we laying layers of meaning to this place when in fact it’s just a dud? Silent in our thoughts we exited out the village lane. Then, again by the most provident of consequence, along scooted that little fiesta to block our path. Out jumped Christian and Alice with more gushing warmth and excitement for us. We told them of our fledgling plans and they were overjoyed for us. If someone could calculate the probability of both those meetings, I know it would be a rather large figure. We arranged to come back and see them the next day. We returned over the next few days to dream some more and to start planning how it could all fit together. We met with Alice’s parents over an impromptu Portuguese breakfast which included home made port and grappa. And heard more stories of village life.

Vonnie being Vonnie, wasn’t entirely happy. Although there was loads of room for a yoga retreat in the midst of a Giverny style garden, there wasn’t really enough housing space for our friends Peter and Sue. So we set off on a wee hike, which Christian kindly offered to be our guide on, through brambles and fennel along the brook to see if we could find another property nearby that would be suitable. And we did. We found Qunita Perfume (keenta parfum) much closer to Amieira than Moses was. Another beautiful ruined farm with 2 houses and several outhouses. Perfect for them. We had read that the nearest neighbours to Moses were 0.5km away but didn’t realise that it would be abandoned and for sale.

So, a house for us. A house for Josh and Ellie next to it (you wouldn’t believe how excited they were when we told them that was what we were thinking). A house down the valley lane for Michelle. A house 500m away for Pete and Sue. And about 7 or 8 store houses that could be converted into guest houses or into granny flats for all our parents when the time comes. No need for planning permission for yurts either. Tutt’ a posto as they say in Italy. All in its place.

That evening we nipped into the local town of Oleiros 20 minutes drive away to look for an internet café. We found a state of the art one provided free of charge by the council. Again, result. Not just cos it was free (see earlier blogs on my fondness for freeness) but because it demonstrated a forward thinking council. The council staff guy that worked there that night asked what we were doing in Oleiros. In response to our project he said he thought the council would love it, be right up their street and he thought they would help us however they could. Roll out the red carpets. We emailed pictures to Michelle, Sue and Peter to see what they thought. And when Sue saw the blue doors of Qunita she just cried and cried and knew we had found them their home.

Later we went out for a meal with Christian and Alice, and while gorging ourselves on barbeque chicken, meat, chips and salad in a local restaurant we discovered they were considering returning to live in the village too at some point in their future. They were also on their honeymoon as they had just had a church marriage the week before. They were christians and felt as strongly as we did that someone somewhere had orchestrated our happenchance meeting – for both our benefit.

Day by day everything seems to be falling into place for us. Moses fits us like a glove. Exhilarating challenge lies before us. Mountains of hard work and toil. But what a thing to invest our lives in. Up to now its all been rhetoric and ethereal notions of a life less ordinary. Today it’s real. It’s tangible. It exists. And its name is Moses.

Offers for an early advance on the book and film deal are most welcome. Only thing left to do now is to buy it.

ELOISE - THE HUSTLE AND BUSTLE OF A LOVELY PASSENGER

2007-09-19T22:21:00.000+01:00

So, it’s September the 12th a passenger (whose name you will find out later) was to be picked-up in the evening and come to stay with us in the mobile home.

"So", we thought in the morning "we have time, why don’t we ride to the beach?"
And that was just what we did!

But dum dum dum dummmmmm…..

We came to a campsite (on our bikes) but we had to go down steps to it, then we had to go over a blue tube! I thought "how on earth are we going to get over that!" But oh we were not allowed to pass-by! ¡Turns out it was an air tube! ¡¡Fancy that!!

When we eventually got home, we then packed up the mobile home, which means: wind in the awning, fold up the ground sheet, and make sure everything is secure etc etc etc. Off we went to the airport to get our….

…PAPOPS!

When Moses saw Papops he was like a new dog! Oh my days I’ve never seen Moses so happy on this trip. It was wonderful! We kept on chanting, PAPOPS, PAPOPS, PAPOPS, PAPOPS, PAPOPS!!!!

"Oh" I thought "what do I do now?"

In the morning we drove to Moses (not the dog, the houses!!) Papops likes it! We are so glad! With Papops we ate, drank, swam, walked, climbed, talked, we did lessons, we watched rugby (yuck), we swam some more. It was lovely. In two days when Papops left, we all knew (including Moses the dog not the houses) that there definitely was a part of us was missing.

Well now we are where I belong… the sea!!!!!!!!!

See you soon Ellie!!!

The Sparkling Roads of Portugal by Von

2007-09-19T21:57:00.000+01:00

We Poopers are very impatient people and we just couldn’t wait two weeks for the estate agents. We decided to call them a second time to see if we could find the place Moses for ourselves. They said no but we ignored them anyway. We decided not really knowing where we were going. Or what the place would be like. Or how far it was. Or well anything. All I knew was that 1, we were going to find it and 2, the Mosiemobile would get us there.

Andy has written a great deal about the journey to Moses but there are a few experiences special to me that I will share with you. All the time we were driving to this place I was falling in love. After leaving Coimbra we drove through an area of once forested mountain that lay exposed due to the ravages of the 2005 fires. Due to the lack of trees we could see down the mountain side into a valley. All along this valley were terraces of olive trees and nestled within the terraces were these lovely stone houses and secret gardens. We stopped off because I just had to see. I managed to climb down a little way to get a closer look. Squatting on the side of the mountain I said aloud, "I would like a place like this, nestled in the valley but surrounded by mountain, I wonder who lives there." On the way up I got my answer. Coming towards us were three smiling older ladies all dressed in black. One carrying hay on her head, the other supporting her and the other talking and chatting. One of them came up to the motor home and promptly started blowing kisses at Moses, the other started blowing kisses at me and the last one blew a kiss at the children. There is something very special about the kisses of these older traditional women and that day I felt that there was something special about to happen. Some special blessing for us Poopers. Blessed and welcomed by the upholders of the traditional ways we moved on. The sun was shining and we were all in thoughtful silence, it was then that I realised the road was actually sparkling. I have later learned that many of the roads sparkle due to a mix of minerals from the granite used in their making. So, sparkly inside and out, we carried on in search of Moses.

As we drove, the city gave way to towns and the towns gave way to villages and the villages to tiny hamlets and then finally we were surrounded by gently folding Portuguese hills. Not as dramatic as on the North coast of Spain, or as wooded and enclosing as in the Italian Abruzzo’s, but gently folding and wrapping into each other mile upon mile. The landscape looked so feminine; sensual, approachable and vulnerable. We were finally on the road less travelled in Portugal and then we arrived at Amieira the village we had read was closest to Moses.

Always when we stop driving, there’s a flurry of activity to make the motor home comfortable for when we return and depart. There was more of a flurry than usual because 20 or so villagers came out to see us and the builders argued over where Moses actually was. Eventually one builder carted Andy off to take him to Moses, leaving the kids, the dog Moses and myself sorting the motor home. Once the sorting was done we were too impatient to wait for Andy to come back, not knowing where to go I decided to try and ask the one or two villagers still standing around. My Portuguese only extending to ‘good morning’, ‘good night’ and ‘I’m sorry’ meant that asking directions was pretty fruitless. Frustrated I stood at the side of the road and said to myself, ‘I can find this place because it is mine’. I knelt down next to Moses the dog and said to him, "Hey bud can you find it? Can you find Pa Pa? Can you find the water? Take us there, find it boy." I had barely finished speaking before he set off at the highest speed I have yet seen him capable of running. So rather than a slow thoughtful walk to Moses, the children and I set off at full pace down the hill following our beloved dog but not sure if he would take us to the place. Then we saw Andy coming. He was just leaving to come back up the hill and fetch us. With a huge grin at once annihilating any questions in mind he said, "Come and see". So not only is our new home called Moses but Moses the dog was the first one to lead me there. How special is that!

When I looked at Moses the place (okay from here on in I will spell Moses the place in the Portuguese word for it Mós, meaning ‘millstones’, renamed Moses last year by the estate agents so we’d know it was ours: most thoughtful of them), so when I first looked at Mós I couldn’t believe it. It was a replica of the village I had seen in the valley with the three old ladies. At the time that village was the only one we had seen that looked like that and here I was standing in a place that looked almost exactly the same. It really is beautiful, exactly as it is, but standing there I could see all the possibilities of the future unfolding. In my minds eye I saw the colour returning to the village, I heard the children swimming in the brook and Andy playing piano in the house. And once Papops came I could also see the grandparents hanging out sipping port, laughing (and eventually probably drooling a little [Andy’s addition]) and reading to the kids as the sun sets over the valley. I was hooked. I was home.

We spent most of the day in Mós, talking, looking around and clambering up and down the terraces. I was so happy, but then I became aware that there were a couple of shadows. One, Joshua looked crestfallen. The place was beautiful but it wasn’t Italy. Two, none of the houses were big enough for us to live in as a family and three, there just weren’t enough houses for my friends Sue and Peter to join us.

I hadn’t realised how much Joshua loved Italy and seeing how crestfallen he was, I said to myself, " I have seen this place. It has been offered to me. It is magical but it cannot be home if my little boy does not want to be here. If this place is meant to be for us then answers to questions will come, if those answers do not come then we move on. Life is too short and too good to be wasted on regrets." Well, the answers to question one came quite suddenly, after the second time we went to be there I noticed Joshua playing a little and relaxing and then he came to kiss me and said "Mum it is beautiful". I knew in my heart that those words were the beginning of a change of heart. Mós was beginning to work its magic on Josh.

The answer to question two came in the middle of the night when Andy woke up and said that if we had the two houses that are virtually two foot apart then the kids could have one and we could have the other and we could connect them via a covered court yard and pathways. You see in my secret dreams of our new house, I had always seen an internal courtyard with the home structured around an indoor garden. During our travels we have had the opportunity to see this in the many Roman ruins we visited so that Joshua and Eloise could continue their learning on the Romans which they’d began in school. When visiting the archaeological sites all of us had fallen in love with the indoor courtyards and now here we were planning to do the same. Well once we told Josh and Ellie our plans they were totally convinced.

So the obliterating of shadow one and two came pretty quick. Encouraged by this and the sheer magic of all our experiences associated with the place so far I felt certain that we could deal with shadow three. In my being I knew that somewhere amongst the undergrowth there’d be a place for lovely Sue and Peter. The next day we found Christiana, our Swiss German angel, who said he would walk us to Mós. At the start of the walk I felt strongly that we should not go the usual way but go the long way round via the village as we turned the corner away from the village we saw Quinta Perfume!

We had read on the website that the closest neighbours were 500m away. We had also read that there was a really lovely property called Quinta and were thinking of going to see it with the estate agents just in case we didn’t like Moses. Never in our wildest dreams had we thought that the neighbouring property would be up for sale and that it would then be the lovely estate called Quinta Perfume! Sue and Peter love it and join us next week to buy it at the same time we buy Móses. Well I guess this trip is all about wild dreams and the realisation of those dreams, step by step.

In the last two weeks question after question has been answered. Big ones, small ones, tincy, tiny niggling ones. It seems as if life has big neon arrows pointing at this place and we just have to follow the path. We’d said all along that Moses would lead us to the promised land and that the place we would find would rise up and bite us on the arse. Mine definitely feels bitten. And it’s not letting go.

Besides all that, I really like Portugal. It is a very gentle place, unassuming and elegant. I can grow all my favourite temperate plants here and virtually all of the plants that grow in Barbados. Imagine nectarines growing next to bananas. Finally, there are so many black people here. Everywhere we have been, in the cities, in the towns, in the villages, on the beach. I have seen black Africans, black Brazilians, white Portuguese and every combination of this spectrum walking together, talking, working etc. I have seen more mixed race couples here than anywhere else we’ve been in Europe so far outside of London and no one stares at me. At all. It’s amazing!

There’s a lot to be done. So much to be sorted out and so many more questions to arise. Questions we know will be answered like our first ones have. There is so much work to do and I am sure there will be many hurdles to climb over, go around, dig under or simply blast through. But with such a magical beginning we are feeling blessed. We have been pointed towards a place and when the universe points only a fool walks away. The universe pointed me to Andy, to Shardeloes Road, to Josh, to Ellie, to Moses the dog and now to Móses the place. There is indeed a long road ahead to be travelled, it is the road less travelled but I really feel it is a sparkly road. We have found our new home and it’s called Moses!

Need I say more?

Josh – Free to be free

2007-09-19T21:29:00.000+01:00

Forget what I said about Portugal being too perfect. It is just right.
Since my last blog my mind has changed (dramatically) about Portugal. The flowing streams, happy people, flourishing flowers, green grass, beautiful houses and villages and just the inventiveness make Portugal my favourite country I’ve been to (I said dramatically). From our stay in Porto we have driven through the “mountains” and the multi coloured towns and forests until we met our future; Mos. If you look on a map you will probably see a place called Castelo Branco (if you look on a more detailed map it is possible but highly unlikely that you will see a place called Amieira) that is roughly where Moses (Mos) is.

We came across Amieira, not by chance, but with loads of excitement. First of all I wasn’t sure about Amieira or Mos (moshjz) but after the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th time I guess you’ll grow to love a place. It was because of that, the fact that I had many conversations with dad about it and the fact that mummy was so happy, so at home in the wonderful place that you could see the joy seeping out of her, that made me change my mind about Portugal.

Dad had told me that in all the 13 years and eleven months they had been married, not one single time (maybe apart from when Ellie and I were born) had she been this happy. Constantly these words rang through my head saying “hello brain to Joshua. 13 years! 13 years! Do you speaka da Engleesh? 13. T-H-I-R-T-E-E-N years. Your mother's happiest moment is here. The person, who loves you, cares for you, comforts you and held you for nine months. How does that make you feel dumdum, Mr. grumpy and moany? You’re making that joy level drop. Remember 13 years.” Those words rang through my head, day and night, night and day.

However one piece of the puzzle was still missing in my mind; me. Now that piece of the puzzle is packed in tight with the rest and right now is being welded into place.

When we went there with my Grandfather (who brought us tonnes of new books and school books for the “new school term”) that same joy that seeped out of my mother, seeped out of me. Although Papops held a bit of a grudge (don’t all grandfather’s with really expensive houses in Dulwich village when their son and daughter-in-law are about to buy a ruin) at first, he soon decided that he liked Mos.

We had a great time with Papops. He flew out from Gatwick to Lisbon with a rucksack, a bag, and a 27kilo suitcase full of books that smelt of frankincense (the bag of incense had split). As soon as the books arrived we dived into the suitcase looking for what was ours. We settled in all snug in the back while dad drove and Papops talked about life at home.

Mummy, Ellie and I stopped reading only once it became too dark to do so. That’s when we saw the lightning. It must have been an electric storm because there was no thunder. The last real thunder storm we experienced was in Andorra (we did have a couple in Italy and France) which was pretty loud especially because it echoed throughout the mountains. This storm was by far the biggest I have ever seen, the whole sky was lit up in a violet light. The splashes of colour from the lightning lit up all the villages and the view that were previously hidden in darkness. The few seconds in brightness showed Papops the view too. It was an amazing experience, driving though the fog with huge bolts of lightning being the only source of light apart from the village street lights (that carried on flickering) and the motor home headlights.

Our destination (one of the 3 campsites we’ve stayed in throughout the week that we’ve been in that area) was closed, so instead we parked up outside the gates to sleep. In the morning we packed our bags and headed towards Amieira, where the news travels quickly between the 20 people that live there (although we’ve heard when there’s a summer party 20 turns to 150). We started our hike by heading towards Quinta then taking the road to Moses. We headed down to Lisbon the next day and after the 2 ½ hour drive we stopped off at a little restaurant to eat. The first dish was a small plate of salad for the 5 of us. The 2nd plate was huge, almost 3 times the size of the first and piled high with barbeque chicken, beef, ribs you name it. What we have noticed is that the Italians, Spanish and the Portuguese (especially the Portuguese) have a fondness for meat.

We parked up at a campsite in the evening of Moses’ Birthday eve at a campsite just outside of Lisbon.

When the morning came Moses was 2 and got a new collar, Papops left (Moses huffed and puffed all the way through the drive back because Papops is by far his favourite. Although maybe it was because he hadn’t had breakfast yet and it was 10 O’clock), and we spent the whole day pampering Moses.
We spent the day at the swimming pool campsite and left for a day out in Lisbon the next day.

The old Lisbon, Alfama, is mainly white with splashes of colour from the trams, shops and people. I had a painful limp (dad had cut out my verruca and then put on this stuff that is supposed to freeze it out but instead it was burning into my foot) so we didn’t walk far but we still took lots of photos. We ate out at a Portuguese café called Pois Café (translated in English as Next Café) and actually found three meals with no meat (of course Ellie had to have smoked salmon sandwich with salad, but no tomatoes), Hallelujah! After we had some cakes (I had the cinnamoniest apple strudel, while Ellie and Mummy shared 4 slices of lemon cake and dad had the best Dutch orange chocolate cake ever. All of them had to be homemade) we walked up (in Lisbon you either go up or down, never flat) towards the 28 tram stop and hopped on the longest going one. Ellie and I got window seats so we could stick our heads out of a 20mph (30kmph) moving tram just to bring them in as soon as a post went by, while mummy took photos and dad sat on his own until he got a chance to come up with us.

Once we left Lisbon we drove up to the coast to check out the best surf (and skim boarding) beaches in Europe. Some of the beaches hold the world championships, so there were people doing 360’s, 540’s, I even saw a guy do a back flip. Kayakers were there doing 720’s there were even boogie boarders their doing tricks. Right now we are outside a beach with the hottest water in Europe and I’m off!

Josh - Returning to Our Roots

2007-09-08T18:57:00.000+01:00

With our new photos and more experience about handling our camera we now have photos for every occasion.

After finding out a couple of years ago that my mum’s great-great-great grandmother was Portuguese we decided it would be like going home again. We drove through Galicia – the last “county” before Portugal – stopping off and taking long walks for Spanish “passagiata” (I still think Italian passagiate have a lot more vibe) or going for trips specifically (or as Ellie would say it: pacifically) for photos we eventually took our last look back at Spain before entering Portugal. We were driving down the road and dad suddenly decided to pull over next to a café – one which thought that hot chocolate was a chocolate drink warmed up - 200ft from the border. Ellie and I ran to the border to see who would enter Portugal first. I won obviously but decided to take a rest under the border. Eventually dad drove on and the landscape changed dramatically. Although Portugal is pretty flat (the highest point being 2000m, 7m of it being a statue, the lowest point being well under sea level) mountains were springing up everywhere!

We drove through to a little town and decided to stay there a couple of nights out side a bumper car pitch, result. The first thing we did was go to the estate agency. We were gob smacked. Almost all the houses were under 100,000€! We found one house with 18 hectares of land that was under 75,000€ called Moses. I’ll tell the truth, I have been a bit unfair to Portugal but I have an excuse which, I think, is a rather good one. We came into Portugal and all we have seen is amazing, the beaches, the towns and the houses. I love Portugal just as much as anyone else but the thing is, it is almost too perfect. Also Italy felt like home to me, sure there’s some Portuguese in me but Italy is just so……random. Of course nobody else understands a word that I’m saying. Portugal has got this; Portugal has got that, which I understand. Don’t get me wrong I’m not trying to be moany but that’s how I feel. I know I say this about everywhere but if you ever have a chance to go to anywhere in Portugal (I recommend Porto just remember your walking boots. We heard that Lisbon is steeper) or even travel it - like my grandma and grandpa have done lots of times – do.

Ok enough moaning and mourning lets get to the happy part and (I hope) the funny part. Everywhere we’ve been has been so lush, so green, and so full of colour; the mountains the towns even the cities, which are becoming a huge problem in global warming all over the world (there are 10,300,000 people in Portugal. 10,300,000 is the amount of people who live in London), are beautiful. Everyone is so happy so joyous with that which life has given them, everyone knowing that life will give them what is best for them which is hard to imagine in a city. I for one, and I know I speak for many people when I say this (I’ve been reading waaaaaaaaaaaay too many books), have been inspired by the people who are happy with their lives in all the places I’ve been. In Italy: be free and happy. Live life and love it because if you are not you will feel locked up and grumpy (also EAT GOOD FOOD OR ELSE!). In Spain: let nothing bring you down mentally or physically because if you are happy your mind body and soul will be happy too. In Portugal: smile even when the sun is not shining because life will do what is best for you. In Barbados: chill man. The lord has given ya whatcha need bwoy. Ya don’ need any more dan dat. In Africa as a whole from what I’ve seen: make use of what you got while you got it because it might disappear before you know it. In France: Um…… Ur…… one sec…… it’s in there…… Oh yes, no matter how many bad things that happen the good things and people will be greater in mind and number. These are my views and they have helped me a lot and they all join to mean one thing…… Don’t worry, be happy, don’t worry, be happy, don’tworrybehappydon’tworrybehappydon’tworrybehappydon’tworrybehappydon’tworry you get the picture. You might think “what is he talking about! I don’t want to be free or eat good food. I am fine with being brought down. If the sun is not shining or life is not good to me I won’t smile” that’s your choice. Personally if that was me I would cower in a corner for the rest of my life but everyone has their own opinion.

One of my favourite places in Portugal is Braga, home of Bom Jesus whose commissioner was a 1.2m midget bishop. We drove into Braga and stayed in a campsite because it’s forbidden (not legally) to wild camp and you get glares when you wear swimming pants or bikinis (not so smiley now) in Portugal. We left Moses to sleep in the motorhome while we started our 3 hour walk to bom Jesus. We reached the church in 30 minutes after taking a bus and started our walk up the billions of steps. Ok my last moan, for me - carrying the camera a huge rucksack and having turned down my food for the campsite swimming pool - which I will talk about later – and having no water the 45min walk felt like 45 hours. Eventually we reached Bom Jesus for the last rays of the sun. The taxi back was like a roller coaster. If you ever find yourself at bom Jesus make sure you take a long taxi ride. We hopped in the black Mercedes and we shot off like a rocket. Within seconds it was over but the thrill was amazing. Back at the campsite I dived off the 8ft diving board without a hesitation but it took a good lot of encouraging to make me dive off the 15ft one. I did it three times in the end three times of pure agony.

My all time picture perfect place in Portugal is Porto. It is beautiful. There are no other words to describe it. Be-a-u-ti-ful. The gushing river, multi coloured houses, billions bookshops and cobble streets, a photographers dream, that is Porto. We roamed around (more like sprinted because dad always sets the pace at 6kmph) looking at everything. I would love to see how Porto will be in 10 years time. We met a guy who spoke English who said that Porto has changed dramatically in the last ten years. It is the same all over the world. The world is changing and being destroyed at the same.

We have now found a little spot to stay for the night. Ellie is annoying dad, dad is cooking, mummy is warning Ellie, Moses is sleeping outside and I’m peacefully writing this on mummy and dads bed.

I’m just going to check the check list. Am I relaxed? Yes. Do I love life? Yes. Are my soul, mind and body happy? Yes. Am I content with life and have I got a smile on my face? Yes. Am I chilled? Yes m’lion. Am I using what I got? Of course. What’s the ratio of bad and annoying things to good and helpful things? 1:4 (Ellie: dad, mummy, Moses, god). Am I worrying? What a stupid question. Am I happy? Yes. Living life and…… well, you know the rest.

My Favourite Places in Southern Europe (so far)
1. Rimbochi, Tuscany, Italy
2. Porto, Portugal
2. Giverney, France
3. Basilicata, Italy
4. San Sebastian, Spain
5. Alberobello, Puglia, Italy
6. Mt. Etna, 3000m, Sicily
7. Pyrenees, Spain France Andorra
8. Lago di Campotosto, Abruzzo, Italy
9. Paris, France
10. Braga, Portugal

PLUGGING IN …PLUGGING OUT

2007-09-08T18:25:00.000+01:00

Since our fateful time in Bilbao when we were marooned outside a shopping mall in Leon trying to replace all of our favoured gadgets, I have been thinking about the nature of plugging in and plugging out.

In the Matrix, when they plug in you know it is a physical illusion of sorts, but everything looks so much cooler. Food tastes good, their clothes are super cool, their bodies strong and capable of impossible feats. Out of the matrix, unplugged food is bland mush, their clothes are these grey shrouds and you realise that Neo can’t fight for sh..! Yet, for the majority once they taste their freedom whatever they want to fight for it, whatever its lack of slickness. Well being in the motorhome is a lot like that!

After that brief stint in Leon we were desperate to be back in nature, we really did not do Leon justice, it is a fascinating city but with the memory of that shopping centre lodged in my mind I don’t think I will be going back. From Leon we wild camped all along the spectacular Northern Coast of Spain. The most beautiful series of mountain scapes I have ever seen. We washed in freezing cold rivers, accumulated huge amounts of laundry so that all our clothes looked like grey shrouds, we ate whatever we could manage to eat from the local shops (our chef is very creative and managed to turn nothing into something yummy most nights…never bite the hand that feeds you). While we enjoyed the freedom of being away from towns and cities and people the only problem we faced was the weather!

You see when it’s sunny we are all outside enjoying the space of not having to be on top of each other. After lots of time outside everyone manages to find space in the motorhome. Josh usually hanging out by his bed near the `kitchen’, Ellie in her bed above the driving area, Andy and I in the lounge at the back and Moses sprawled infront of the toilet or lying outside under the motorhome. Alternately we are all outside lying under the canopy on cushions and blankets and just generally being quite hedonistic. But as we were to find out it is entirely a different situation in the rain and on that North Eastern coast it rained. It rained, rained, rained. In fact it rained so much that we wondered if the rain was following the Mosiemobile. Being from fair England rain is not normally a problem for us, you get dressed for it and go out in it and embrace it. But not if you are wild camping in a motorhome. We couldn’t get anything dry, including our wet hairy and very enthusiastic Golden Boy – Moses that is who instead of being sprawled outside was permanently sprawled in front of the toilet, the one place you want to get to in a hurry. Damp walking shoes, damp clothes, damp kids, damp dog, damp carpet. Our first sunny day was at the fishing village and even then the very next day the rain started and so desperate to feel a little more human we decided to plug in once more and made a beeline for Santiago de Campostello leaving out A Coruna and that apparently divine stretch of Spanish coastline, heading for sunshine, washing machines and hot showers we put in our latest favourite CD The Black Eyed Peas and headed south.

Usually when we arrive at a campsite we are chomping at the bit to get going. Not this time. 5 bedraggled Poopers arrived parked up after several attempts at a pitch where we were all alone. Immediately ran in 4 directions, Andy to the internet, kids to the swimming pool, Moses to his favourite spot under the motorhome and me to the showers. What bliss. After a lot of wow this is what it feels like to plug in this is so cool we headed off on the 40min walk down the hill from the campsite to Santiago. Ellie rollerbladed all the way. Watching my little girl roll and rock through the town will be my most treasured memory of Santiago. Even with the 50 min hike back up the steep hill at midnight, pushing her most of the way.

What a cool city to be plugged into. There is rather a lot important-historical-information I could tell you about Santiago but you can read it from a travel book, Lonely Planet is great. I can tell you what it felt like for me, bliss. Santiago is a gorgeous city, refined, open, eclectic, historical, modern, elegant and in many ways spiritual. It restored my belief that cities could be beautiful. We walked in its broad expansive plazas, ooowed and awed at its unbelievably impressive cathedral, breakfasted in lovely courtyards, sighed at the fountains and statues. We were blessed by the sultry guitaring and amused by the aweful bagpiping (very strange). Moses picked up girls wherever he went and Andy promptly took his lead from me. Pluggin in on that occasion was awesome and after a few days rest we were ready to head for Portugal.

Just outside of the border crossing for Portugal, Andy made a sharp right turn, (every unexpected turn feels sharp in our great and kind beast of a Mosiemobile) into the parking lot of what must easily win the grottiest café in Spain award. We ordered two horrendous coffees and two awful hot chocolates served from a bottle and microwaved to a toxic heat, then sat looking out onto a rather uninspiring bit of Portuguese land and a more promising Portuguese river. Andy proceeded to give me one of his inspiring talks on my Portuguese heritage. If you are a friend of his you will know roughly what this kind of talk is like. He reminded me that like this river whose beginnings were on Spanish soil but quickly flowed into Portugal, so part of my heritage came from Portugal either through the legacy of the slave trade (as the slaves of Barbados were first brought to Barbados by the Portuguese) or via a distant 4 generation back Portuguese grandfather. These two factors meant that even in some small way this land has more significance for me than any of the other places we had been too so far. I don’t know what I really thought of all that he said but what I do know is that after the talk and after watching my two imps, Josh and Ellie playing under the border crossing sign I felt inspired to explore Portugal and plug into this space which in some way may be a new aspect of home.

We dropped into the Northern region of Minho and felt instantly plugged into another culture. Minho is a pretty heavily populated area, and everywhere we went we saw browned skinned dark haired people, startlingly white towns very sleepy relaxed towns such as Viana do Castelo with its romantic Baroque churches, rococo architecture and blue and white azjuelo tiled houses. We travelled to Ponte de Lima, through which the River Lima runs, its most striking feature being its beautiful restored roman bridge and warring Church bells from largely identical Churches sitting either side of the bridge.

Of all the lovely towns we passed through Ponte de Lima sticks most in my mind. We arrived feeling a little tired, the thrill of crossing a border died down and the tiredness of a days travel mounting. On top of that there is always the having to reorientate yourself to a new place, language, customs, rules,etc, etc. Andy as usual fearlessly turned a corner, I sat next to him fearfully wondering if I was going to have to get out in the middle of the road and guide the traffic and the motorhome out of a tight corner. Something I have had to do many times in a constant effort to take this motorhome where no other motorhome has been before. But, on this occasion my Portuguese ancestor must have been smiling down on me for instead of a tight corner the road opened into a grand pavilion and then lead to a huge parking area in front of the river, Yeah! We had found somewhere to rest in a town but not in a campsite! In our glee we failed to realise that there was a sign saying no caravans or motorhomes and had to move on after two sneaky nights. We managed to stay 2 nights cos we were welcomed by the Portuguese fairground bumper car company gypsy guys that were operating in the said car park and gave the children rides – it looked like we were one of them. Not before we swam in the River, Moses mostly, and walked in the streets and met an estate agent and had a look at some property and drank lovely Portuguese white wine and woke up with thumping headaches from the overlyloud crazy European style house music from the kind bumper cart gypsies.

After Ponte di Lima we realised that in Portugal, wildcamping is not permitted, but having taken away that freedom the Portuguese authorities have offered the Portuguese people and visitors all over Portugal very cheap, safe campsites with good facilities – called Parque di Campisto. So armed with a book on these campsites we Poopers have been enjoying the benefits of plugging in a lot more than we would normally. Portugal is definitely not set up for remote living. In our beloved Lonely Planet guide they mention that the Portuguese hate walking anywhere and will definitely not go anywhere remote. This has been our experience so far, many of the roads seem set up to ferry you into the towns, cities and villages. With our motorhome it has just not been easy to reach the more remote areas and since Bilbao our confidence at leaving it has been shaken so that we have not yet felt comfortable with leaving it and hiking off somewhere for a day. As a consequence we have been plugged in a lot more than we would normally choose and have seen some remarkably beautiful towns, villages and cities.

Moving south we’ve seen the cities of Braga, Oporto, Coimbra and next week, Lisbon. There’s a saying here in Portugal that Braga prays, Oporto works, Coimbra studies and Lisbon plays. Thinking this is as good enough a map to follow as any we thought we might visit these cities. So far we have plugged into Braga a discordant combination of religious strong hold and desire to modernise, largely through tacky touristy commerce, most evidenced as we climbed the steep pathways to the remarkable cathedral of Bom Jesus only to hear awful loud speaker music and be offered overpriced icecream and coffee. But we did have the most fantastic taxi ride home (I’ll let the boys tell you about that).

We’ve experienced incredibly atmospheric Oporto the second capital of Portugal. Oporto is incredibly Dickensian in nature and looks set for a great play involving romance, murder, and tragedy with the accompanying music being the sound of the seagulls and the smell of the daily catch. The dishevelled good looks of Oporto have made it one of my favourite cities so far. After viewing the old town the kids and I spent a wonderful morning wondering around the spectular contempary Museu Serralves, there I felt my friends Jon and Caroline with me and hope to return with them some day.

We took a short trip through the National Park of Serra de Estrela where I immediately felt relief at being in the fresh cold mountain air again. Moses having being confined to leads in the city joyously leapt out of the motor home and peed in front of the monument declaring the highest point in Portugal. That’s my boy! Disappointingly we could not stay as the campsite in the park was spookily deserted. We are now in the city of Coimbra said to be the studious town of Portugal. It is an extremely hot day and despite several attempts at getting moving to view what is supposed to be a beautiful city we just cannot get off our butts.

I am a little disappointed that we will not be seeing Coimbra, but every experience has something to teach us and this one has taught me that cities, no matter how beautiful is just not where I want to be right now. It is good to be safe, a relief to be clean and have clean washing, easy to communicate through the internet and delightful to be able to leave the motorhome and go see the sights. But I am finding it difficult. I find myself longing again for the freedom of being in the mountains away from all the conveniences but surrounded by all the natural beauty. It is definitely not easier to wildcamp, it is harder to look clean as clothes washing is not so easily available, food supplies run low and it’s either hiking to the nearest shop or conjuring up something passable to eat. But the rewards of being surrounded by all the natural beauty and silence that nature has to offer is a gift without comparison. So I guess coming back to the metaphor of the Matrix, I am looking for Zion, a place where beauty, music, dancing, culture and people are but freedom is also a possibility. So far we have experienced that mostly in Italy with our dear friends at La Croce. In two weeks we are meeting some English agents who buy remote properties and sell them, we will go and have a look and see if there is the possibility of enjoying these relaxed hard working, Portugese people and their sleepy towns but living in the remote freedom of the hills a kind of halfway house between pluggin in and pluggin out.

P.S. Andy has just bought me some postcards of Coimbra I will probably send them to some you entitled Coimbra the city we never saw.

Bonjour Portugal

2007-09-06T16:54:00.000+01:00

Not so much from me today. Just a few piccies to see, all snapped by my brilliant wife and son. And this map that shows our route round Europe so far. Von and Josh are in the midst of their new blogs but its been too hot in Coimbra today to finish them off. Both their musings will be here shortly. Still cant get Eloise to write a word. Although she's suggested a number of sequels to her by now infamous "how to eat and ice cream" earlier contribution, nothing has yet materialised.

Santiago di Campostella in Spain was most cool full of pilgrims and students and musicians. You could hang out in its bars, squares and cafes for months. No wonder its such a destination attraction. Forget the mythical bones of St James in the gold plated church.

Portugal towns most charming so far with lovely sculptures and fountains everywhere. Ponte de Lima was first port of call in the Minhos then a quick visit to Viana do Castello on the coast.

Porto now a protected Unesco town famous for its old and port cellars and ancient town houses in the centre still in use, had a sweet vibe. Mix of the old and new. Nice. Stayed a couple of days and even had time to see the arresting minimalist Contemporary Art Museum. More photos coming soon.

For those interested in the welfare of the protagonist of our journey, Mosie is having a ball. Swimming in and out of rivers, lakes and oceans pretty much every day. Climbing moutains. Chatted up by all the girls. Watching sunrises and sunsets with us. Eating and pooping his way round Europe as originally requested to us some time last year (a little projection perhaps but hey, we thought we heard him ask). Here's a shot of him peeing ontop of Torre, the highest peak in Portugal 2km up. Good boy. That'll do.

One last thing, yo have to check out http://boschrealestate.co.uk/ for some amazing old abandoned houses, farms and hamlets for sale. We are off to Lisbon this week and then coming back to meet the people that run that cute company for a tour. My favourite so far, simply because of the providence of its name, is on the list of properties over 40k. Near the bottom. Called Moses. Now wouldn't that be a story to write about one day.

Cold beer is calling. Gotta go.

THE ROAD TO HERMITDOM

2007-08-28T13:41:00.001+01:00

It’s been a month since our last blog update and a whole bunch of stuff has happened in August. Josh has rewritten his smashing piece below describing just a few of the wonderful things we’ve done and places we’ve seen on our journey from Southern Italy to the north west tip of Spain - where this morning I’m writing overlooking a picturesque fishing village with an exquisite Atlantic bay. As Josh has covered the physical details I’d like to explain a wee perceptual transition that’s been taking place inside my head.

Since leaving work 5 months ago, an exciting thing has been happening. It feels like a new book of blank pages is being fashioned for me on which a different story has the opportunity of being written. The journey is, of course, a story in its own right. But the process of travelling has, to use a technology metaphor, cleaned my brain’s hard drive from the expectations of its previous formatting - a task that I think the time, space and experiences of travel makes a whole heap easier. I now think differently than I did before this trip.

I’ve often wondered what circumstances facilitate a person choosing to live away from established societies and become a hermit. Since my early teens, my mission, my purpose has always been wrapped up in the entwining of lives and activities of the city; probably a result of the fusion between my social conscience - a treasured gift from my parents – and the notion inculcated by the modern western church that God’s attention is keenly focussed on the inner city and his desire to bring healing to it. To consider spending ones life away from the hustle, the energy, the possibilities, the mix, the destiny of ‘lives laid down’ in a city community, was always an inconceivable option for me. To opt out and choose solitude or alternatively some type of utopian community outside of the city would have meant a lack of tenacity, a lack of determination, a lack of faith, ultimately a failure to believe in divine provision in the midst of a surrounding tormented, hurting world. It would have meant, slightly arrogantly, that we, as one of God’s lights in the darkness, would have gone out. Thus in my thinking, to opt out was essentially to fail.

Recently I have begun to be aware of the existence of a new desire to gravitate towards places void of human inhabitation. The remote mountain landscapes and the wild stretches of hard to find beaches have stolen my heart and changed my view. These places contain ingredients that deeply soothe the soul. The breathtaking scenery, chiselled landscapes, enormous panoramas, imprint themselves effortlessly on the retina of the eyes and of the spirit. The air is invigorating and cleans the lungs. The water is fresh, cold, nourishing and is in abundance to drink and wash in. Not bottled. Not processed. Free and available for every living thing to feed off and thrive. All this natural created stuff generates a peace, a harmony, a balance that needs nothing more added. It is perfection just the way it is.

In between those remote places, nestled in a valley or a cove, or perched precariously on a mountain side are the small ancient villages and towns that are definitive of rural Spain and Italy. In Spain especially, the architecture and the design of public spaces has been astonishingly pretty. Churches, houses, sculptures, squares. So beautiful. And the people we’ve met usually express a kindness and generosity that is not impossible, but in our experience, far rarer to find in cities. Large towns seem to reveal (or attract) the ugly side of human nature more evidently. Cities are the temples of consumerism. We over consume. We are vastly wasteful. We over develop. We endlessly concrete. We spoil the natural order. We spoil each other. We disconnect ourselves from the earth, the environment, the elements, and often the creator. Where large numbers of people gather you are more likely to encounter the harsh effects of poverty or greed that cause people to abuse, to harm, to destroy. Ugliness. I can’t help agree with Mr Smith from The Matrix. It is hard not to acknowledge his view that humans act in a very similar way to another organism on this planet – the virus.

Of course our experience of being done over last Saturday at the beach in Solpena north of Bilbao colours my judgement here. My thoughts therefore are a tad in the extreme and also probably part of a process of deconstruction. However, there’s been a realisation growing that my previous framework of thinking about cities might well have been an unavoidable rationalisation for the maintenance of sanity while living there. If you’re reading this and loving the city, I do not wish to change your view. Cities need more committed citizens like you. And even Revelation in the bible describes heaven as a city (although one without temples). Ugliness is not always the day to day experience for sure. Brockley, for us, was like a little village of people we loved. Walking Moses in Hilly Fields, nipping to the local shops, dropping kids off at schools, working in Deptford, churching for a while at The Bear, were all activities that gave us the chance to encounter and be surrounded by lovely relationships. Bits of heaven breaking through on earth. Because of these relationships and the investment made in them I think we were more able to ignore the ugliness of the human virus around us.

There are always exceptions to these broad generalising comparisons between rural and urban. Even on the evening we were robbed, we experienced the touching kindness of strangers such as Adriana working that afternoon in the restaurant who came to our rescue translating for the police and feeding us. Or Anna who provided us shelter in the safe security of her apartment block´s parking lot for the night. Anna and Adriana were angels, lights in the midst of our own darkness. However, humanity living together on mass has an inevitable viciousness to it that I no longer want to overcome. In fact I want to avoid it and leave it to its own inexorable destruction.

I’m dreaming and searching for places that are a considerable distance away from the masses and their accompanying societal structures, dogmas and cruelty. If we find nothing on this road ahead of us, if we do not realise this emerging dream, I cannot consider retreating to the old way of living in order to provide for my family. I don’t want to opt back into the matrix of a working city life. This is a substantial reversal of expectations and it’s occurred in a relatively short period. Before, to opt out was to fail. Now, to opt out would be to truly live. To eek out an existence in the city, continually fighting the forces of darkness that are given strength by mankind’s insatiable appetite to destroy, is a battle I do not wish to engage in. At least not for a long while yet.

I have never read anything about the life of Moses (the Israeli liberator rather than our own liberating canine) for the 40 years after fleeing Egypt and prior to his encounter with God in the burning bush. But I wonder. What on earth was he doing? Was he a hermit escaping his destiny? Or maybe his episode away from Egypt gave him the perspective, the strength, the confidence to lead his people out of captivity and into freedom. I’ll have to ask him one day what it was like. In the meantime we have some more pooping to do. Thanks for listening.

Josh -Yogi camp, British Italy and the Pyrenees

2007-08-28T13:27:00.000+01:00

New laptop. New camera. And lots more backup. Lets get started.
We are all feeling the loss of leaving Italy. It’s an amazing place and if you ever have a chance to go there, go there. From eating excellent Italian pizzas and going out to restaurants (not just baguette and cheesy cheese or ham sandwich) to visiting millennia old churches and villages.

After we struggled to leave our little nature spa in Abruzzo we drove on once more passing more beautiful little villages and passagiatas in towns until we joined the Chianti shire, aka: Toscana! We reached a town called Cortona that was full to the brim of Americans. I lost count how many times I got asked; “can I stroke your dog?” (Except with the thick American so written down it would be “caan I stroke your dwog?”) Dad tried updating our last blog but it didn’t work, Ellie and I (mother is always telling us to speak proper English, how delightful) bought 2 crystals (these now have their own clothes, tents, pillows, blankets, duvets, bed sheets, mattresses, beds, cupboards, and a swimming pool and a playground that are under construction. Mummy said we could make a village when we buy our new house because we want to make a collection) while Mummy took Moses for a walk -to dad’s delight, wearing a very Italian mini skirt.

Eventually at late passagiata our very English friends the Jago’s decided to come and join the fun. With 10€ in our back pockets we went wandering on our own, with our friends who we hadn’t seen for months. Our 3 days we spent with Anna, Simon, Anoushka (who beat me to life by 5 days) and Hatti (who lost to Ellie by 2 days) was cherished. We loved it.

After leaving Cortona we decided to go to yogi camp for a day or two (those days stretched to 120 hours each) with Godfrey, Mummy’s yoga teacher. We decided to do yoga as we were there (now we even speak like yogis) and we can now do things we couldn’t do before. It was an amazing experience but guess what, no photos. The yoga came with huge tents called domes, breakfast on weekends and silence until one. It was great and we made loads of cool friends. There was Peter, my mess about buddy, Jose Luis, my cake buddy and great friend, Benoit, the French entertainment (there was one time when Peter, Benoit and I went to buy building equipment. Here is a tip: NEVER LET THE FRENCH MAN DRIVE! With the wood Benoit knocked over 11 ironing boards like dominoes then a whole shower stand. While Benoit went red in the face, Peter and I were killing ourselves with laughter), Charlie, the English person that is learning to speak south east London, Ricky, the head chef, Ray, builder and Joker, Mark, my backgammon buddy and great friend, Liz and Kim, the people to talk to, Michelle, fellow traveller and home finder, Joe, the guitarist, Tsipi and Uzi and many more all great friends.

In two day’s we reached the Italian border. We didn’t bother looking on the map for the French border we just looked for the speed signs when we reached France they went down 40kmph. Another thing that happened was that as soon as we had finished singing Frere Jacques 3 driving incidents happen. First a car sped in front of us on a toll then a truck nearly crashed into us on the same toll and then a car over took us millimetres from our front bumper and then shot out into a petrol station. Everything happened in the space of 5 minutes. Forget what I said about Italian driving and (dare I say it) Sicilian driving……… AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!

It took three day’s to get through France. Three days full of French driving. We celebrated when we entered Spain. We celebrated and we relaxed (mainly because we were free of French driving). We admired the Pyrenees Mountains as we drove through them; the height, length, and just the pure beauty of them. We drove straight through the Pyrenees to a little town called Martinet where we had our first taste of Spain. It was a bit like the dinky Italian villages but the colours were more random.

The Spanish people have all been very warm to us and we appreciate it, we’re extremely thankful to Adrianna and Anna who helped us when we were robbed, but I’m not going to speak about that because that’s life, quell’é vita. We have been very surprised by Spain; it has rained a lot (those people singing “Rain, rain go to Spain and never come back to England again” -because it has been raining a lot in England from what we have heard- please stop), the greenery, and the wildlife.

Ok, believe me if you want to but be free not to. One day, in the middle of nowhere near San Sebastian we woke up by the side of a road and saw 15 eagles (obviously eagles because of the frayed wing tips and they must have had a 2 ½ meter wingspan) diving and swooping around a mountain which was pretty usual considering we’ve seen eagles nearly every day since we have been in Spain, and they were on our path so we drove up for 3 hours to get to them and get some close ups with the camera. We reached there and the eagles (which were golden eagles, which are the only type of eagle we’ve seen apart from bald headed eagles) left. Just as we were about to leave more golden eagles came. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 10, 20, 30, 40. 300 eagles came streaming in. You can believe or you can just think I’m lying, it is up to you. I know I’m telling the truth, we had pictures to prove it.

After Martinet we decided to go to my 9th country ever, Andorra. We stayed near a stream where we went skinny dipping and had bucket baths (another trick mummy learnt from India) and slid down more mini waterfalls. It was a fun time but I don’t think we will be going back to Andorra again. All it is is one big shopping mall with some ski lifts. In the lonely planet it says Andorra is famous for shopping, skiing and smuggling!

If you ever want to go to Spain and you don’t know where to go, San Sebastian should be high on your list. The statues are so random. We drove down one road and saw statues of heads with no bodies, bodies with no heads. Legs with one wing, it is just so modern. One of the first things we noticed when we woke up in San Sebastian was the statue of Christ on an island. It looks a lot like the statue of Christ in Rio di Janeiro. We went for a day trip round Sebastian on our bikes. It was so fun. There was a jazz festival but we were at the wrong side of town for it we still saw the fireworks though. We haven’t seen anything of Spain at all. It is such an amazing country and we have had some great experiences from it so far.

We have only been to 2 beaches in Spain. Dad bought me a skim board so I could learn to surf and Ellie a boogie board. Now on another rainy day with the sea next to us we are still doing it the Italian way. Sweet life, Dolce Vita.

THE WORLD IS MY BEDROOM

2007-08-28T13:15:00.000+01:00

Long but not lost friends
We have really been getting into the swing of this ‘life on the open road’ thing. We all started to feel really at home in Italy, speaking the language as well or as badly as we could, but still trying. We had the most amazingly restful time at Lake Campotosto in the Abruzzo mountains and then went to Cortona to see our friends the Jagos.

When you’re travelling like this with long lazy days to fill and everyday seems like a Sunday there’s plenty of opportunity to observe others but even more so yourself. Thrown out of your usual situation one is not always sure how one will react to any situation and awareness of what is happening to you and the way you are reacting, feeling, behaving in any given situation becomes much clearer.

In short I was nervous as hell about seeing my dearest friends again. Why? A pretty useless question, but all I could see was that I was genuinely nervous. Perhaps it was just that I was realising how vulnerable I would feel if somehow the ease of this friendship was stolen by time and distance. Right there in that Italian hilltop square I felt completely naked to the possibility that something might be lost.

We went out for the Italian 8pm walk-about and climbed to the top of the steps of the Duomo in the main square. There I sat watching everyone walking and laughing going by looking so at ease. I love this time of day in Italy everyone is at their best, best dressed, best behaviour, loving living. You have the cool young Italians sporting the latest fashion, black and white as far as I could see. You have the contented older Italians talking and elegantly gesticulating while sitting on their benches, men on one side, women on a separate bench from the men or going into church to pay their respects to the Madonna. On this occasion there was an added accompaniment of loud but very sweet American teenagers obviously brought in by the coach load overflowing with enthusiasm and joy to be in Italy. The light is perfect at this time as only the light in Italy can be - apricot with a hint of rose so that everyone and everything exudes beauty. There I sat nervously awaiting my friends, nerves that lasted until the moment I saw them turn the corner, four faces that I love. In that moment I forgot myself, forgot I was nervous, forgot we were in a foreign country, forgot any time that had passed since I last saw them. In that moment I recognised that no matter where we are or what we are doing these people are people I will always love. People I can always fall in step with as only beloved friends can be. After 3 lovely days spent in their company we headed for Tuscany in the hopes of catching up with Michelle at Windfire hosted at La Croce deep within the Tuscan National Park.

We arrived in the region and I knew that the nearest town was called Rimbocchi, but as to exactly where the La Croce was I honestly couldn’t remember, with dead mobile phones and no powersource to recharge them as yet, there was not much we could do. So we drove on for a bit and then decided to park along the road. I had the vague thought that if we parked there I was sure to see Godfrey, my yoga teacher. We parked, got hot and decided we just had to get to the river that we could hear gurgling below. We started down what looked like a path but then halfway down it led to an apparently impenetrable patch of blackberries, to wide to go round, to high to go over and to deep to go under. Andy and Josh decided to take a hint from Moses who is so excellent at leading the way. Moses had found a hole and gone through and was already down by the river. Well once Moses hits the water the only way to get him back is to go get him. So there was no going back only going forward. Andy and Josh got their many muscles together and decided to hack a path to the river with sticks, while Ellie and I daintily followed after. It was so touching to watch my boys sweating and puffing and using all that God given testosterone to get us to the water. Well we got there in record time, I might add, the swimming was delicious perhaps the best ever.

Finding the right path back up and still not sure what to do I realised Andy’s back was in a bit of a mess after all that driving. Now it isn’t easy giving a massage in a motorhome esp when the person being massaged takes up all available floor space the moment they lie down. So we decided to do the massage on the side of the road. You have got to imagine this, on one side the mountain going up, on the other the mountain going down in between a snaking road with Italian drivers and a verge cut out just wide enough for the motorhome and long enough for Andy and the motorhome. In the past for me to give a massage it had to be in a quiet room, the temperature had to be right, the lighting just so, the table at the right height, etc, etc. I don’t know what these Italians must have thought but having no where else we just got on with it. Then one car screeched to a halt and in it was Godfrey! Needless to say I was overjoyed to see him and even more overjoyed when he told us that we were the wrong side of the mountain and he was just coming by because he had to go somewhere and that we were welcome to see La Croce. This was a time to believe in providence and to be grateful that I am not as private about giving massage as I once was.

Arriving at la Croce
La Croce is set up a pretty steep mountainside and after a failed attempt to get our enormous, comfortable but not so flexible Moseymobile up the mountain we decided to just stay at the bottom. That journey is a story in itself, where Andy had to reverse down the mountain with me walking backwards saying left a bit, right a bit, slowly, whoaaaa cowboy and such like. At the time it was terrifying but when we actually got down we were definitely comrades in arms like never before. It takes two of us to drive this thing. So parked at the bottom there was nothing left to do but take the 30min walk up the mountain every morning and the 20 minute walk down every evening. I grew to love that long sweaty hot walk up, running to the cold outside showers and getting ready do yoga every morning. All this to do before 7am! Us poopers have gotten used to lazy mornings were eyes don’t open before 7 and feet don’t get moving before nine.

The offer to stay was made (thanks Shirlii) and in return we would pay some cash and do a little work. It was a blissful week. You see I have been to Windfire three times for yoga now and love it. I love the yoga, the teachers, the lifestyle, the people who come there. But every time I was there I longed for my family, wishing they could experience this with me, even though I wasn’t sure if they would like it. To be there and to see my Andy, Josh and Ellie doing yoga every morning was priceless. To watch the kids playing and working with everyone else and loving it so much, well no words to describe that. We yoga’d, we talked, we played. Andy and I took 45 minute midnight walks through the mountains with the other yogis to drumming and fire juggling parties in the mountains. We danced with the local Italians in Rimbocchi at the annual bread festival. Remarkably these people managed to dance but not once smile when doing so. Stony faces and moving feet, for a Barbadian girl that would have been hard to imagine but to see it, very surreal. When Josh Elli and I got on to the dancefloor we brought with us our poorly coordinated feet, big happy faces and a lot of squealing. We played with Moses in the rivers. We sat in total darkness and the not so total silence (nature is noisy), we lived. I was given a 4 hour thai massage. I loved it! I love the mountains. I want to live in the mountains. All I can say is thank you to everyone who we came in contact with that week, we were really blessed by you.

Leaving Italy for Now, Arriving in Espania
We grew very fond of Italy but momentum is the name of this trip so leaving the place we loved so much was hard but it had to be done. I read in one travel book that Italy is the easiest place to be and the hardest place to leave. How true. But knowing that we would be back we set off for a brief foray through France and the Pyrenees (definitely must learn to ski) off to Spain. We decided to go across the Northern Coast of Spain and then drop down into Portugal. What a treat. The Northern Coast is beautiful, green, green, green, mountainous; water everywhere, gathered in lakes, flowing in streams, gurgling in rivers, rushing in waterfalls, gathering in clouds, spreading in mists, falling as rain. Not the Spain I imagined. Very reminiscent of Scotland. I found the Spaniards along this coastline immediately likeable, quick to smile and offer a cheery “hola”. We stopped off for a brief shop in Decathlon for surfboards, fishing rods and jellies (lake mud between the toes is gross). We rested for the night in a parking lot and I decided to sing and dance into the wee hours of the morning. Asking for our protection, guidance, giving thanks for everything we had experienced so far.

Having recognised that we are not really Mediterranean sea lovers we moved onward to embrace the long awaited Atlantic surf. I noticed a billboard sign for a surfing competition and we decided to go see. And it was there that we were robbed. The truth is I never saw it coming. Usually I am pretty adept at feeling when we might be heading for trouble. But this day I felt nothing but joy. I had loved surfing competitions as a teenager in Barbados, the waves, the people, the very beautiful surfers, everyone hanging out, sharing food, just generally having a good time. We parked our motorhome in front of a busy restaurant, locked up, walked to the beach and then took it in turns to walk back every two hours. It was in the last two hours that we were broken into.

It’s a funny thing being robbed. They took our camera, our laptop and most sadly our back up hard drive containing all our photos of the last two years. All the photos of Africa, India, Moses, the trip, all of it gone. It would have been painful to have lost the laptop, Andy had spent hours compiling our music, and Ellie and I have often entertained ourselves setting up a dance floor outside the motorhome and dancing until our knees hurt. We curled up with films when it was wet or we were just tired. But all these things can be replaced. What really hurt was the loss of the back up drive containing my images, my images of a life I never thought I could have. A life filled with laughter and love and kisses and people and experiences. They came to take things, but they didn’t know (or at least I like to think they didn’t know) what they were really taking, so much, too much.

Up until the last two years photography has never been a huge part of my life. Then getting to know Caroline and Laura I started to really love it. This opportunity to capture forever what you may forget. To capture on screen what your eye sees, your heart feels and then to use your mind to somehow portray an instant forever, well its addictive and Josh and I have been collecting images together like some people collect stamps. We lost out big time. The anger and the hurt ran raw for a while. But this experience has led me to thinking about taking in general.

On our trip we have seen some beautiful places and met some beautiful people. But we have also seen some really ugly things, rubbish thrown down the side of mountains, rivers grown stagnant with waste, skies grey with smog and smoke from factory stacks, people begging in the middle of sidewalks and outside churches only to be ignored by others who have so much. Animals, dogs in particular, obviously terrified of humans running and hiding at the mere site of us. Most of these experiences have been near cities or near where humans have gathered in large numbers or having used natural resources beyond the capacity that these resources can bear. It seems that taking is what we do. We go to a place and we take, take, take. We consume beyond what is necessary we live outside of natures laws and abuse her gifts. We take from those who have very little to accumulate more for ourselves. We even attempt to tell people who they can and can not love. We cheat and steal everyday. We humans take too much. Not knowing the consequences of the things we take does not absolve us from the effects.

I really don’t want to be like that and am making a commitment to be more mindful of my interactions. I want to give, to give beyond what makes sense. To live freely, openly and with love. Yes, I did pray hard the night before that we would be kept safe and yes the next night the one object I would have taken with me in a fire (our photo hard drive) was stolen. Perhaps one could say that it is a delusion to pray to ask for protection and I have been in danger of thinking like that. But today sitting by the most beautiful little cove with the sun shining on white washed walls with the rain just having washed slate roofs clean I think something different. I think we were reminded of how precious it is to go into a place and give, give of your love, your consideration, your thoughtfulness, your generosity.

Would I be doing anything else right now? A question I ask myself whenever I am feeling overwhelmed with travelling. No. We’ve had bad things happen to us, Ellie in hospital in France, our roof light smashed in Italy and now our photos stolen in Spain. I will capture more images. I will be more watchful. But I can not stop bad things from happening they happen everyday and they can happen to me. I am as vulnerable as the next person. In this Mosiemobile on this tour I am even more vulnerable than I was in our South East London home. The world is now my bedroom. We’ve got rid of the barriers so commonly erected in the city – multiple locks, bars, alarms, high walls, territorial space markers – and so it’s become easier for me to enter the world and easier for the world to enter my space; to either give to me or take from me.

I went out this morning for a long walk. I remembered what David Pott said on our walk across England “It is solved by walking”. I gave myself more images, more memories it was sweeter than any other time before, an experience made sweet by the possibility of recovering a loss. However, some things once lost can never be recovered. Recently I read the novel “The Road” by Cormac McCarthy that Simon Jago lent us. In it the author shows a world where every light and good thing has been taken. The world is utterly destroyed by our overconsumption, greed and fear. Nothing moves but wind, dust and ash. Everytime I see a beautiful place now just for a moment the lens of my inner eye shifts and I see that place as it would be in McCarthy’s story and all I can do is pray, is ask that somehow we would stop taking so much. The world is a beautiful place. As for our robbing, Adriana the angel that helped us was wearing a t shirt. When I first saw the back of her t shirt it was about 10 minutes after I realised we’d been robbed. On the back pretty small was the archetypal smiley face except that instead of a line for the smile there were words, these words said “nothing more to say”. 10 minutes after we realised we’d been robbed I was reminded, smile, there is nothing more to say. We are here, we are together, we are more in love than we were yesterday. I am bruised but still smiling.

Tomorrow we head for Santiago de Compostelo, a city based on pilgrimages to honour the corpse of Santiago Apóstol (St. James) which was apparently brought here in AD44 after his execution in the Holy Land. I have always been intrigued by the idea of doing a pilgrimage. Of walking in the footsteps of other people who come to honour something greater than their own lives. It is one of my ‘want to do’ things just once in my life, so here’s hoping it is a special city, a beautiful city. I’ll let you know what we find.

Peace and love

Von

Robbed in Bilbao

2007-08-20T12:56:00.000+01:00

Sorry there are no pictures to see of all our incredible adventures since we left the Abruzzo mountains and our last blog entry. Josh spent ages editing them all and wrote a fabulously funny new blog on our time with our friends Anna, Simon, Anoushka and Hatti in Cortona; on our week of yoga with Godfrey and friends in Virginia´s house in Rimbochi near Bibbiena; on our speedy trip through Italy and south of France to Perpignan; on our exploits in the Pyrenees mountains, lakes and streams in Andorra and beyond; or at the Festas in San Sebastian on the north Spanish coast. All of these precious insights from Josh and all of the thousands of our family´s photographs over the last 4 years are now gone. They have been stolen from our Mosiemobeel outside a busy cafe as we were on a beach on near Bilbao watching a surfing competition. The bastards took cameras, cash, laptop all of which are replaceable. What isnt is the back up disc with everything on it they found hiding in the back of a cupboard. Only worth 60 quid new. But for us what was on it was absolutely priceless.

Needless to say we are all in a bit of shock at the loss. Grieving over the beautiful pictures of this trip, of all of Moses´life to date, of all our holidays and life experiences over the last few years that we now can only recall from our already fading memories.

We are now in the University at Leon heading towards Portugal fast and away from Spain. We will write more about our experiences since Italy when we get a new laptop. And no more pictures here until we can replace cameras, laptop, phones etc. You can call us on Von´s mobile 07967 808465 until I get my replacement sorted out.

Trying not to let the whole thing sink our hearts. Adios amigos.

Wild Camping in the Abruzzo Mountains

2007-07-22T17:47:00.000+01:00

At last we found a spot where could settle for a few days and rest. 4 days on the side of Lago di Campotosto has been delicious. There’s hardly anyone up these mountains as Italy seems to disappear on mass to the sea for the summer. We’ve shared the space on the side of this hardly used road with Giorgio and Simone, a young couple from Northern Italy and their 2 little dogs Hugo and Pepe. Then for one night with Margo Portrait, a young french dancer from Corsica who’s been working her way round Europe for 15 months. Like us, Margo is looking for some land, somewhere heavenly, on which to build her own home.

The best bit about wild camping is the freeness. Free to wander off the beaten track and find a place with a stunning view for the night. Free then to build our own fires and cook on them. Free to pee in the bushes. Free from the little microculture of campsites with their rules and their people. But best of all free of charges.

The last time we booked into a campsite was a fortnight ago in Alberbello where we stayed for Vonny’s birthday amidst the Trulli of Puglia. Since then we’ve been shown round a couple of abandoned farms to get used to terms of negotiation for when we find the place we know we want to buy. Stopped off to see one of the many sweet towns built around ancient cave dwellings. Nipped up to the Castel del Monte 12th century octagonal masterpiece. Passed through Minervino which had the best vibe. Kipped in a lorry park paying a short fat bloke with a big torch a few euros for our protection. After being impressed by the largest medieval fortress in Europe at Lucerno we headed deep into the Gorganno mountains and baked out first cake in the motorhome for Vonny’s delayed tea party. We’ve also bought sugared almonds from the home of confetti at the original factory in Sulmento (I’m sure Von and Ellie will tell you more about later). We’ve seen the little old ladies dressed in traditional black in Sconno, where we took a walk in the hills and bathed in a fresh mountain stream fountain trough, usually used by flocks of sheep passing to drink.

The evening walks, Passiagiato, in Italy are quite lovely. Everyone comes out to see and be seen walking around the town. The guys come out first at about 5 and sit in the squares in the shade by a bar, drinking coffee and talking together. The girls come out a little later and sit in another part of the square, gathering, chatting. And then the whole city, town or village begins to heave with the mass of people descending for the evening stroll. It’s a wonderful sight, and touching to see how such a regular ritual appears to be a way to connect into the community where you live and a means to make sure everyone is OK. I imagine if you don’t show for Passiagiato for a couple of days, you’d get a call from someone.

Our walk this Sunday evening was in L’Aquilla, another medieval town and some say the capital of Abruzzo. University towns so far have been quite special. They seem to have more of a vibrancy to them and a racial diversity that I’ve found to be a welcome change from some of the mono cultural towns in Italy. The kids played on a bouncy castle in the central piazza, we had ice cream, bought some more English books, and even had time to buy a new outfit for Von from Benetton before finally settling down to yet another delicious pizza this time outside the 14th century church doors of Saint Marco. We stayed the night next to L’Aquilla’s 16th century castle fortress built by the Spanish and met a really lovely dutch couple on tour with a van, Nikko a theologian and Margareed a lecturer in education.

This week in Campotosto has been so relaxing. As each day heats up we take a plunge for a swim and cover our bodies with the silty mud washed down from the various mountainous tributaries that feed this lake, man made in 1939 because it was over farmed of peat. The mineral rich mud instantaneously rejuvenates your skin. I reckon a tub of it would set you back £50 in London. And another £50 for someone to spread it on you. More freeness. Love it. In the afternoons we’ve taken a couple of long bike rides, the first return trip of 23km to the town. A bench mark for the kids. Now they know how far they can ride and just how good your body feels when you finish exercise like that. Evenings are spent gathering vast quantities of wood (and tea smelling grass packed dried cow poop) for the fire on which we cook then watch until it eventually dies out late into the night. Last night we gorged on a huge bbq of meat and salad and the essential toasted marshmallows and realised (thanks to Joshua’s playing with fire experiments) that if you burn the end of your marshmallow stick in acts like a sparkler on Bonfire night and you can make all kinds of patterns in the darkness when you whiz it round fast.

I know gazillions of people have made life changes like us. I know it’s not something new we are doing here. But I do feel incredibly blessed to have the chance to figure out what our life change is going to be without having to do so amidst the pressures of working life in the city. We have all the time we need to muse, to ponder, to wonder at what could be. And from each new experience on this journey we take away a little something that we might just be able to use in our next life.

Next we’re off to Tuscany to see our dearest friends from London Anna and Simon, Anoushka and Hatti currently holidaying in Cortona. Hopefully popping into Assisi and Perugia on the way. It’s a tough life this. And one I’m getting quite attached to already.

Josh - Turning Italian

2007-07-22T17:28:00.000+01:00

I’ve decided that waiting a month is too long to wait (for me that is) so I have decided to post randomly, depending on how much we have done, and this last fortnight has been wild.

It has been a fortnight since we were last at a campsite and a fortnight since my last blog so this is about my wild camping experience. I think our tour will be wilder than we thought, because of the fun you find from every day things, like mud. Wake up in a tent, slumber into the roasting morning heat, open up the freezing cold motorhome (we have realised it’s the sun that is hot so we’ve been sticking to the shade), and eat breakfast. After slowly pulling on our swimming costumes on we run down to the lake, jump into the water and take a mud bath worth £150 and cook. The wild cows and flocks of sheep climb up to your motorhome and stare at you like ‘where the heck are you from you human idiots?’ The burnt biscuits that fall off your makeshift spear into the fire go to the cows and the charcoal to the sheep (they will eat absolutely anything!). To wake up in a tent knowing that the billions of sheep that will come round between 9-10 o’clock is a experience that you will remember for the rest of your life. To go down to the lake to swim and knowing that the cows are just around the corner is another memorable experience.

Wild camping gives you Freedom to do anything. Dad has said a lot about Freedom so I will just share my Freedom. Freedom gives you the pleasure (especially for Moses) to wander down to the lake and go for a swim by yourself. Freedom lets you collect the dry tea smelling cow turds for the fire. Freedom lets you play with the still burning ashes of the evening fire and learn about chemistry for the sake of it. Freedom lets you pee where you want when you want (like in the hot ashes of a fire, I will remember to be careful of the sparks next time). Freedom is a thing you will never experience unless the boundaries are billions of miles beyond the horizon, which was what they were for us.

It is so simply easy to turn Italian. Going for the evening passagiata, eating excellent Andy/Jamie Oliver Italian food and let the world go by is all you need to become one with this long living round race. Let me get this over to you; do none of these things you never will truly fit into Italy. Italy is one of those things that flow into you with a little push; reach out for it though, and it will run away. Italy is something that will change you forever and if you don’t want that then you will never experience the fun of Italians. Live Italy, Love Italy and Love Life; that’s the done thing. Make sure you keep some of your old life because Italy is a thing that will change you forever (which is not necessarily a bad thing).

What we have decided to keep is exercise. A few days ago we went for a 23km ride into a town (or more like a piazza with houses) and yesterday dad and me went for a 800-900m swim across the lake with the current (in a lake!?) against us. It took a good 45 minutes, we also had to deal with a kilometre walk back on thorns, boiling concrete and sharp rocks, not to mention the tank loads of sheep poop (it is the Poop in Europe Tour is it not!). Italy has not only surrounded our life but has also crept into us and we are Lovin’ It. Just for extra measure I’m playing football with anybody at anytime possible because cricket is basically unheard of in Italy.

Alright 23km a bit long don’t you think (especially since it is mainly uphill even though it was a round trip)? Ok, get ready by 12:00 get the bikes off the back and start riding. Start going down hill going very fast and feel very cool (both ways). There were a few up hills but still we sped round the corners. We stopped at a fountain and drank. We looked ahead at a huge hill. We pedalled up eventually and looked at little piazza open mouthed. We pedalled back so fast that my wheel reflector shot off at high speed. The swim was hard. It was against the unexplainable tide non-stop and feeling like the shore was moving away from us. When we were 10-20m away from the shore two fishermen started being rude and saying that we were disturbing the fish. For the second time dad cussed in a different language (again in the polite form)! The walk was more painful and our feet are still covered in cuts and bruises. That evening we left towards Tuscany and went through a 5-6 mile long tunnel!

The evening passagiata is the done thing in Italy. It means the passage and it is when everyone comes to stare and get stared at ([sigh] typical Italians)! It is especially amazing because it is always at sunset and normally around the main piazza and the main fountain so it is pretty amazing I must say. The main reason (I think) is so you can make room for the huge 8 o’clock dinner whether it’s pizza or pasta. We bet that if you don’t turn up at passagiata you’ll get about a billion phone calls to see if you’re alright.

Now dressed up and leaving for passagiata. What can you say? We’re turning Italian!

ONE OF THE PACK OR NOT? by Von

2007-07-09T08:55:00.000+01:00

As you know if you have been reading Andy’s blog we are in Italy. We have been through Scilly and are now in Italy again. I am really not sure how I am feeling about this part of our trip. The Walk in March seemed to be about tying up loose ends; the trip to India about exploring the possibility of working with friends and seeing the homeland of yoga. The trip through France was about getting to Italy and getting used to being together. The first part of going into Italy about getting to Scilly before it got too hot, something we absolutely failed at doing since when we got there it was climbing to the 50 degree centigrade mark with a hot wind coming from Africa. Now we have left where we have been aiming to get too and I am feeling a little like so many of the rivers we have seen, large placid and meandering around the land.

Sicily Weeks 1 and 2
I kind of hit a low point in week 6. It seemed we were working towards Sicily for so long and then when we got there I just ran out of steam. I just felt lost and a little purposeless. Sicily was all about the water, mainly because it was just too hot to do anything else. I truly felt on the outside of the experience as I could not swim or bike or snorkel or do any of the things that brought Andy and the kids so much pleasure and relief from the heat. I started longing for land for soil for flowers for my garden. I felt fed up with not being able to speak to anyone with anything more than the most basic Italian. Just generally feeling like a square peg in the round hole of mia familia. I became acutely aware of myself and my own limitations the way I like to see the world and take part in it, i.e. largely on land, by foot and in English and just how limiting that way of seeing has been.

I suspect this is the joy of being in a family. The people who make up your family are so close to you that they reflect your limitations and if they love you can encourage you to expand in as many directions as possible. So with snorkels on eyes and mouth piece clamped between my teeth holding onto Andy’s shorts I went snorkelling into the deep waters on the hottest day of the year so far. All around us there were fires burning and the inhospitability of the land just pushed me into the water. Live freely or die trying I said to myself but whatever you do let go of the limits and live. What a beautiful day that was, I saw very little of the ocean creatures as I was so bloody terrified; but I could feel Andy being so proud of me and the children loving me being with them and that was enough.

Sicily will always feature warm in my heart as it is where the home-schooling has really taken off. The kids have taught me to ride a bike and to swim and every morning I try to learn a little Italian. Little did I know that when we started out I would be the one learning, learning, learning but it is so good to be taught by them, a great privilege. To be honest I started to feel a little younger day by day especially when Ellie and I spent over an hour doing handstands in the water or Josh and I played volley ball. Or even when Andy and I just lay on our sides shutting one eye and then the other or just jabbered about nothing in particular. I never seemed to have time to do these things in London but these are the experiences that make you feel so silly, young and free and don’t cost you a penny.

Sicily is indeed bellissima. The beaches reminded me so much of Barbados and the Sicilians are incredibly friendly, warm just like the climate until they get too hot. The heat of the people can be experienced in its finest when driving. So many times I was certain someone was going to crash into us as waiting for anyone is not the done thing. However with our mouths wide open and many times my eyes squeezed shut we managed to stay intact.

You can not have warmth without some heat and when these Italians are good oh they are so good. They move in packs, large groups of families, they do the same things at the same time, like arrive on the beach at 10 and leave at 1 and be back at 3 and leave at 6. They all wear bikinis no matter how big or small how young or old. I love that, big lovely mamas without a care in the world, I felt so at home amongst them and very small! They all bring umbrellas to the beach and lie under them or swim very gentling and then go swiftly back to the work of lying down. When camping they bring what looks like their entire homes with them and they eat, eat, eat and talk, talk, talk. The family is a beautiful thing to behold here. To be a Mama is an honour a privilege something close to sainthood and even more so if your children are even a little attractive. Joshua and Eloise have been absorbed into several large families for an evening or two leaving Andy and I waiting up for them wondering when we will be allowed to go to bed. Children are never a problem and always a pleasure and as they are so incorporated into everything that is good about the world I felt so proud of myself for having them.

Sicily Week 3
I am feeling quite comfortable now, even beginning to feel a little comfort with the stares for as soon as I brave a Buona Sera or a Buonjourno the smiles light up faces that would otherwise be thought of as extremely austere. There have been many times when we have arrived at a place apprehensive as to what we will find only to have people cross the street walk up to our camper and say would you like a glass of wine or beer (never a cup of tea which is what I would really want). Or to offer us cake or biscuits or fruit or a welcome just anything that they have on offer at the time. I have even started introducing myself as Maria (my middle name) as opposed to Vonetta. Vonetta just seemed to be too confusing a name. Whenever I introduce myself as Maria the warmth that comes from them is incredible. “Ah Maria, that is a good name” punctuated by kisses on both cheeks and lots of hand holding and even some crossing of the chest on their part. I love it! Yet it also speaks of another side of Italy the side that wants everything as it has always been as it is supposed to be. So that while I enjoy the warmth I also fear the implicit cultural control. But as a visitor it is all good and the kisses from the black clad grandmas is too yummy to think about any further.

Moses has even managed to be a big hit in Sicily. Very surprising as many Sicilians are extremely afraid of dogs. Sadly, many people simply use their dogs as guard dogs, locked in a small space all day these poor creatures become mad with boredom and fear. After three weeks in Sicily we could understand and appreciate that fear. Moses charmed himself into many hearts by swimming. And swim, swim, swim is all he has been doing. We have even taken to continuing his training in the water. The throw of a stone brings him even more pleasure than a treat and I have looked up often to see a small crowd of families watching then clapping saying Bravo, molto buono.

I am sad to be leaving Sicily but it is just too hot now and I think we have come to the conclusion that it is not the place for us. A wonderful place to holiday by the beach but that is just not enough for us.

Italia
We have now arrived in Calabria in Italy and have stopped for the night at the home of a family from Tuscany at their summer bolt hole in the mountains. I can not begin to express how wonderful it is to be here. The air is deliciously crisp and cool as if God himself is blowing a gentle breeze on us, greatly appreciated after being hot and dry for so long. All around us there are fields and mountains, mountains and trees. The yellow laburnum flowers are coming out all over the mountain sides so that the air is filled with their gently sweet smell. Jazz is playing , Ellie is reading her latest book, Josh is reading over my shoulder, Moses is lying at my feet and Andy is cooking a risotto, “tutt’a posto”, everything in place, as they say. I think we will stay here another night after all what else is there to do other than whatever is happening.

Basilicata
We are really quite high up in the mountains and have stopped off for the night a home/restaurant/camper parking place. It is owned by a truly gregarious Italian he could not be more archetypal if he tried. Round in the middle, red in the face with long laugh lines, quick to laugh loudly and gesticulate wildly. His name, Guiseppe! Perfetto!

Leaving Guiseppe and travelling through the Pollino mountains I have fallen in love and am certain we will be back here. Everywhere we look there is nothing but mountain and high rolling plateaux, goats, sheep, cows with musical bells. This time our welcome came from two Golden Eagles, one carrying a newly acquired snake and the other trying to steal it. As we drove down we realised the snake-free Eagle decided to check out our motor home and swooped down to around three feet from my window. Hearing these beautiful creatures calling out over the mountain landscape, their cries carried by the wind, was enough. But to see them carrying prey and then to have one come so close to my window, well…

From Basilicata to Puglia
So what is happening with me, Von? Well not a lot and everything at the same time. It’s my birthday tomorrow, 8th of July 2007 a Sunday. I was born on a Sunday and I think birthdays which occur on the day you were born are somehow more special than any other. In fact today seems even more significant for so many reasons as it is the 07-07-2007 I lived in Barbados for 17 years, England for 17 and who knows where for the next 17! We are also in Puglia and it’s about 7 months ago that I saw Puglia on a travel programme and thought, “what a lovely place I would like to go there” not for a moment actually thinking I would. You see the Barbadian girl in me still speaks and says those places are just too far and too expensive and too foreign and yet here I am! In Puglia and feeling very happy. Honestly speaking I can not think of one negative thing to say about our experiences in Italy so far even the scary ones outlined above have been appreciated; just life happening as necessary as love, happiness and good times, all legitimate all adding to the adventure.

The drive to Basilicata to Puglia was indeed a long one. We had two days waiting in a WWF car park for a vet who we felt would not take advantage of us. Moses had been bitten by another dog on his paw and it was a little swollen. We were not too worried as he was still his old self rushing to the sea as soon and as often as possible, still it needed looking at. As it turned out the vet was lovely and gave us yet another lead to the possibility of finding a new home. That is how it feels really that we are being given leads or clues by the people we meet having no real plan but just following the latest scent.

Anyway back to Puglia, after the long drive and a stop off at a shopping mall to kit out the outside of the motorhome and a stop off to fix our leaky gas we decided to set out for Puglia. My reaction to being in a shopping mall revealed the truly natural life we have been living. The experience sent me into sensory overdrive and left me hiding in the motorhome like the coward I am, leaving Andy and the kids to brave the shiny surfaces on their own. Not an experience I am hoping to repeat soon.

Generally speaking I have found the architecture in Southern Italy (apart from the Duomos and Churches) just a little dull, square and uninspiring. Puglia is famous for its olives, wine, pasta and Trulli. I had seen a few of the Trulli on the programme about Puglia and was expecting to have to hunt out the dwellings in the usual archaeological sites. However, as we turned a corner into Alberobello…. we were suddenly orbitally blessed with the site of a previously unimaginable number of these whitewashed circular stone tepees complemented by beautiful whitewashed homes, rich red well turned earth, olive trees, gardens and a vast sky. Being a lover of mountains and hills or expanses of water I was surprised by my appreciation of the flat landscape not only because of the vast sky and uninterrupted views of the beautiful Trulli but also because I knew my cycling muscles would be grateful for a break from mountain cycling.

We haven’t quite as yet walked through the towns to see the Trulli up close as we have chosen to hang out in our delightfully and surprisingly simple campsite with the newly upgraded motorhome. (This picture added after we saw the Alberbello yesterday.) You see we spent a lot of the time in Sicily thinking wouldn’t it be nice to live outside of the motorhome more, seduced by the large Sicilian family camping style. So we bought two tents so the kids can sleep outside (result!); a dining room table, a pretty table cloth and a large ground sheet to which we have created a sitting area or dance floor as Ellie prefers to see it. However now we have arrived at a campsite with simple rented caravans and not one single extended table, armchairs or any of the other home away from home stuff we had grown accustomed to seeing and coveting when in Sicily. So instead of looking like another well equipped Sicilian family on a camping holiday, we look like total urbanites bringing as many creature comforts as possible.

The day has been spent, cleaning, tidying, swimming, painting toenails (girls only) singing and dancing. Ellie has this amazing new bikini which I wouldn’t have been caught dead in not even when it was possible for me to wear such a thing. Andy frowns everytime he looks at it, I guess he can see that she is no longer a baby and blossoming perhaps a little quicker than any protective father would wish. But this is Italia after all and I love seeing how happy it makes her to wear it. Josh is hanging out being the little Andy and I can see that he wants so much to be like Dad now that Andy is around all the time. I can’t help staring at them all for even in the thick of having a good time just being family I can feel the time passing, the kids growing and leaving and these moments quickly becoming fond memories to keep us warm in our old age. The slow letting go of their parents is so bittersweet to watch and be a part of esp when there really is nothing else to do but watch it.

It truly is amazing to live like this for the moment to have no other agenda but to live in each moment, to not know where we will be going next or whether a little Barbadians girls dreams will come true and then waking up day after day and finding that all my dreams are coming through one by one. When I think of all the things I could have been an artist, a lawyer, a doctor unfortunately never a singer (next life), I am so grateful for being the thing I am at this moment Andy’s wife, Ellie and Josh’s and Moses and Angel’s Mum and just Von on the edge of being 34!.

As to the question “Could I be one of the pack? Could I live in Sicily or in Italy?” Who knows, I most certainly don’t and right now I couldn’t care less too busy just living right here and right now and exploring Puglia tomorrow.

Last night I dreamt I was dancing. Dancing in a large richly coloured room. Dancing to ballroom music. The room seemed to sparkle without lights. I was dancing but my dancing partner was not in front of me, my partner was behind me dancing close. Holding my left hand with their left hand and holding my waist with the right arm my partner danced close taking every step I took and breathing in time with every breath I made. My partner was my dear sweet Mum and behind her, her mother and behind her, her mother and today I danced with Ellie. I just want to keep dancing. Do I miss you all? Do I wish my friends and extended family were here with me? No, because I now think that all the people who have been part of my life so far are here with me all making me the person I am and the person I am yet to be. Ci vediamo! Maria.

Peaches and plonc from a pastor in Pollino

2007-07-07T16:36:00.001+01:00

They always say you never really appreciate what you have until it’s gone. But in the midst of having everything, of having it all, I think you can. I’m sitting outside our Mosiemobeel (on one of 4 Ikea style wooden fold away chairs that just made our day when we saw them last week at a beach side market stall), at 2 o’clock in the afternoon while my family, including the adorable Moses at my feet, are sleeping in what we’ve all, including the dog, have just realised in this part of the world, is the essential pastime of siesta. Everything is shut so you can’t do or see nuffink anyways, but still for 8 weeks we managed to knacker ourselves out in these wee afternoon hours labouring away at something or other while we should have all been sleeping. So while they are sleeping today, I type.

The view all around us here is unbelievably breathtaking. The photo here doesn’t capture it in the slightest. The feeling is like being in a set from a movie - I keep half expecting the animated horse ‘Spirit’ to run over the nearest hill neighing in unadulterated pleasure at being so free. It’s timeless here. It’s magnificent. It’s miles away from the now tired and deeply unstimulating experience of life in Italy’s beachside chocker campsites where we’ve been forced to frequent after our gas ran out a few days ago. Now, refilled with gas, we’re 10k from the nearest paese, in between Morano Calabro and Mormanno, slap in the middle of the Pollino national mountain park in the north of Calabria, Italy’s southern most state. Staying at another agrotourism place – a summer bolt hole of an elderly couple from Tuscany who themselves just arrived yesterday - they’ve put in water and electricity so campers can stay in their fields and revel in such resplendent views. We’re the only people here, which sweetens the idyllic experience.

We crossed the ferry from Sicily last week and have been meandering our way up the eastern side of the sole of Italy’s boot. Stopping over on the sea promenade at Brancaleone; lunching at an hearty family trattoria in the thousand year old georgeous hillside town of Gerace; resting a day on the beach at a campsite near Stilo; getting ripped off at a pretentious seaside seafood restaurant past Soverato, then doing an early morning runner to avoid paying the remainder of the €110 for 2 course meal; and eventually ending up at a huge city of a campsite in woods next to the beach in Sibari. We fled the mundane and took a tour of yet another extraordinary Calabrian mountain town called Civita, which proudly overlooks an impressive gorge to a gushing river a few thousand feet below. Unfortunately our motorhome was a touch too big for its tiny streets (fit only for cars the size of those nifty little Fiat 500s) and after the kind help of 8 locals including 4 pushing on one side to avoid scrapping the bottom of the coach, we manoeuvred our way to a safe parking space on a hill next to a house from which an old bearded pastor emerged to offer us his home made white wine and a bag full of large nectarines, which he implored us to consume together. Peaches dipped in plonc. If you’ve not tried it, you must. Superb combination. Go on. Buy some today.

Back to the appreciation of now thing. The day is nearing when our children will enter the phenomenon of teenagedom. It might not be as an horrific rite of passage for us as it usually is for most (thank you Potts for being such an exemplary inspiration to the contrary), but nevertheless change is afoot. I sense it. I sniff it in the air. It is the smell of inevitability. What we have now, with the kids as delightful as they are, in these precious moments, in these days that we cannot relive, in these dramatic mountainous landscapes, on this irrefutably enchanting episode, I know will not last forever. They will all disappear in a twinkling. Children into adventurous adults. Effervescent swimming puppy into prolific stately sire. This watchless travelling, musing and dreaming will morph one day soon in its right time into planning, building and engaging once again with people in some shape or form somewhere or the other. But today there is only really one thing to do. Cherish. To treasure this outstanding family of mine. To bask in their sunshine and simply to play. For on occasions like these, when all is quiet (except for their surprisingly harmonious little snores) I hear with exceptional clarity a voice speaking to me from the future. The voice is recognisable and it is mine. It is my 70 year old self once again urging me to waste no more time on the futility of life’s busyness but simply to “walk more, listen more, kiss more”. Obediently I proceed. After my nap I’ll attempt to master another of Jamie Oliver’s Italian recipes for our supper this evening. But first I might just have to nip into town for some more peaches and plonc. As it’s a tip from a pastor, it might just become the first religious habit I’ve practiced in a while.

Josh’s Month 2 – Sicily & Italy

2007-07-07T16:23:00.000+01:00

Our drive through Italy was full of beauty and wonder as we drove through the mountains laughing and learning Italian as dad drove; stopping to watch the last rays of the red sun go down behind a mountain or little village. The sights are unforgettable, sticking in your mind and filling it up with questions and thoughts that just make you cry, whether because of sheer amazement, or love for the planet that we live on.

We are having lots of fun driving through the tiny village streets with Italians speeding down in their scooters and Ducati’s or even a 40ft coach! No matter how annoying the experience we never can hold back the laugh of Italian driving! The funniest parts are when the five foot Italian men step out of there BMW’s look up at our six foot two dad, struggle to find words to tell us to get off the road so the only thing they do say is ‘Midispiaaaaaaaaache’, and scamper back into their cars and reverse as fast as possible towards the next turning, eyes wide and red in the face. Luckily we have enough self-control to hold the laugh back long enough to take our turning and then let out the ear-splitting-laugh that stops us from breathing for a good 30 seconds!

It is amazing how the people react to the temperature. When its warm (which it can be) they are warm, when it’s hot (which it almost always is) they can be a bit grumpy, and when its cold (which seems almost impossible) even the coach drivers have an ear to ear smile that is impossible to erase (they have the same face when they get their way!). The Italian culture is similar in the places we have been so far. The boys have short hair until they become 14 – 15, and so I’ve had some pretty nasty looks from adults and children alike. To be polite almost all the men over 30 have stomachs the size of three beach balls! The strange thing is that the girls like boys with long hair (which I hate because my hair is constantly being played with), and the men laugh and call me Ronaldinho! What makes us laugh almost as much as their driving is the way they move in groups. For example, theirs a 250m beach that’s exactly the same all the way along, and only 35-50m of that is used up by about 100-175 Italians, so 200m is left for anyone who wants it!

Our first week in Sicily was spent wondering where all the people went between 12 and 4. I don’t have to say why they disappeared at mid-day, 40-50ºC is too hot to do anything let alone drive, which, is what we were doing at that time because it takes a good 3 hours to get the mosismobile ready and another hour to get ourselves ready, and by then it’s 12 and 5 is too late to drive, we would still be in France if we left at that time!

If it seems like the Italian driving is too bad for you, don’t go to Sicily, you might explode. If I wrote a list of the bad driving it would be about one word long. If I wrote a list of terrible driving maybe ten words long. But if I wrote a list of unthinkable driving in Sicily it would stretch round the world 100 times with 50 metres to spare in the tiniest writing possible! For example in one instance a 4.5ft Sicilian man with a 4-beach-ball-belly got out of his coach and ran at dad at 5 mph his personal terminal velocity because he wanted to come down a narrow road first. Before dad could open the door fully the man slammed the door on dad’s fingers and shouted at him in quick rough Italian, trying to scare him by saying they will call the police. Dad knows when to let his temper go, smartly, this wasn’t one of those times. He may not speak much Italian, but dad knows how to silence a Sicilian, the only problem is Sicilians hate to be silenced, so he stormed back to his coach wide eyed and red in the face with anger.

Parking, don’t get me started because I might never stop! The amount of double parking on roads just wide enough for a SICILIAN car and truck to fit through could fill Asia the US and Europe! When there are no parking spaces they stick the nose of the car in between two other cars and call that parking! The Sicilians may be crazy drivers but they are warm expressive people and have been lovely to be with.

It’s funny, everyone has a dog, but everyone is afraid of dogs. If you went to Sicily you would see why. Dogs are frequently locked up going mad with boredom. Funnily enough (or maybe not so funny) they use one of the friendliest dogs, the golden retriever, as guard dogs, which give Moses a bad name. But when they see Moses lying down oblivious about what his teeth can do they swarm round saying “Bello canne, Come si Chiama?” And we reply “si chiama Moses.” They start pampering Moses and he replies by rolling on his back and thinking ‘left a little, no, no right, up, down, Ahh that’s the spot!’ We have had some scary moments with dogs attacking Moses; the most recent one was when a golden retriever attacked Moses going for his throat but caught his foot, he now has a plaster on it. This was a time though for dad to let his temper go and he did just that. The dog went for Moses again and dad shouted, “NO! STAY!” (Then something in Italian) Now he started to speak to the owner who was an old farmer “LEI MOLTO STUPIDO! IL CANNE é MOLTO PERICOLOSO!” (You are very stupid! That dog is very dangerous!) Since dad is English and he just cussed the old man in Italian, the old man must have felt very stupid! As for dad he felt very proud of himself (as he should do), he defended the youngest of our very small pack.
The other way Moses pulls people towards him is by his swimming! He loves swimming so much Mummy got him to do left right and out! Mummy finally got over her fear of the sea and is swimming with the rest of us. Once you overcome your fear you look back and think how silly you were, which is true for many things. We are still beaching everyday (almost), and snorkelling. There was a very special snorkelling moment where mummy finally realised she could float. There were fires all around us one just a couple of streets away and mummy dad and me were snorkelling oblivious. We saw a huge shoal of BIG fish and I dived down to touch them. It is so easy to fall in love with something as beautiful as the sea, and that is what happened to mummy, she fell in love.

Biking has been a miracle. Mummy has learnt just as much as me and Ellie and maybe more. She has learnt how to play cricket, swim and bike! Before we left my great aunty sally gave mummy an old fashioned bike and that is how mummy has learnt to ride. She is no longer the beginner who crashed into fences; she is the intermediate who rides 6km to the shops to get us dinner! Mummy now has the same pleasure that Dad Ellie and I have biking and swimming. One last thing, roller-skating!

Ellie has listened to her MP3 loads. Get driving, MP3. When she’s bored, MP3. When she’s got nothing else to do, MP3! It is like she is addicted to music!Ellie has also learnt how to play cricket, and a lot about maths. Sometimes she is a pleasure to be with (when Ellie and I have full stomachs), but sometimes She can be a royal pain!

We have all learnt something, I have learnt about KS3 chemistry and algebraic equations. Mummy has learnt how to play cricket swim and bike. Ellie has learnt to play cricket and maths, and dad has improved his Italian.

We are now driving through the Pollino mountains in Italy at 12:35 4th July, we still haven’t got used to mid-day siestas!

How to eat an ice-cream - by Eloise

2007-07-07T16:19:00.000+01:00

#1 Lick round the sides of the ice cream until it no longer drips, and that it’s in the shape of a top hat.

#2 Eat off the top of the ice cream until it is flat.

#3 now blow in-to the cone and when you hear a crackling sound stop, and look in side if it has gone down then your doing the right thing!

#4 munch around the cone until your tongue meets with the ice cream.

#5 finally, do what you want!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Decisions over Granita and Brioche

2007-06-30T17:38:00.000+01:00

It’s a funny thing trying to find somewhere in the whole of Europe to relocate to. We’re travelling with the completely unfounded expectation that the perfect place to settle down will miraculously appear on our road and scream “this is the farm you’ve been looking for guys, buy me!” It’s a kind of bizarre mix of serendipity and stupidity. It means that every day I am open to the possibility that any of the people we encounter on the journey might just lead us to the discovery of our utopian dwelling. It’s a provident optimism which believes in a destiny that’s bright and full of magical experiences. Naïve it might well be. But I’d much prefer to look at life through the lenses of this hopeful naivety than the alternative, and oft considered more sophisticated and mature version, which tends to be a little more pessimistic, sceptical, cynical and therefore distrustful.

One of my clients told me this year that research had just been published into the subject of happiness. It was a big study apparently from a prestigious university involving hundreds of people from all over the world, seeking to ascertain the common factors that make happy people, happy. They found that it wasn’t the existence of money, fame, success, family etc that leads to contentment. The one common trait of all truly happy people, was their propensity to trust others. So we journey on, trusting in each other, in the goodness of life, and in the one that made us.

Another funny thing is when you find something so obvious you think “why doesn’t the whole world know about this?” So it is with the Sicilian breakfast of granita and brioche. A granita is simply crushed ice mixed with juice of your choice. Our favourites by far are Mandorla or Lemon. Mandorla is an almond thing. You find it everywhere here - in biscuits, scrumptious soft cakey things and now we’ve discovered it in ice form. As it’s been between 40 and 50 degrees the last few days in Catania, with massive fires in the city and the suburbs, we’ve had a few Granite to keep us sane.

Last week we wild camped for a few days on a rocky beach in the north until we nipped down to Marsala for a few bottles of sweet sherry. Dry almond biscotti dipped in cold sweet almond sherry are simply delicious and unbelievably addictive. In Marsala we stayed in a car park next to the sherry shop, but unbeknown to us, twas a car park that became inhabited by the young and inebriated til the wee dawn hours, revving car engines, motorbikes, and singing the latest and diabolically poor (why is that?) Italian pop tunes at the tops of their voices. Von slept like a baby as it obviously reminded her subconsciously of the harmonious lullabies of New Cross that have sung has to sleep for the last decade. But for me it was torture.

Michelle called us the next morning and said she’d arrived in Sicily and we should come back up north to see her at Virginia’s place in Castellamare del Golfo – a quaint old little town where Virginia and her man Uchio have been renting an apartment for the last year. They sorted us out for a couple of days at a mate’s little house which is normally rented out but was fortunately free for us. We rested, enjoyed being in bricks and mortar with an endlessly-running-water kitchen again. Virginia also gave us a tour of a local vineyard for sale complete with old broken down farm house. It had everything we said we wanted. In the hills. Stunning view of the sea below. Vineyard. Olive trees. Character with 3000 year old catacombs on the property. Fertile land surrounded and protected by tall rock formations. Perfect in so many ways. Except one. Although it had its own spring, we realised a spring was not enough. For Von to grow the garden that she wants to grow she needs lots of water. A rivers worth. Also streams and rivers provide a flowing energy that even in the hottest days means it’s unlikely to ever feel stagnant. So we are now looking for enormous farms that have gushing rivers running through them, in the mountains not far from the sea. Probably with a small village of farmhouses already in situ (as getting planning permission for new living accommodation in Italy is a trifle tricky they tell us with current State commissions into Mafiosi controlled building developments). Not much to ask I know, but it felt good to clarify what we really want.

We left to see the south coast and the Greek temples at Agrigento and came to the swift conclusion that the north of Sicily beats the south not just because of the beautiful mountainous terrain and endless jaw dropping landscapes, but simply because there are less people that live there! Wherever humans gather in larger numbers we are a disgrace. Or maybe my intolerance for cities clouds my judgement. Either way, large towns and cities are not for us. The quiet of the uninhabited calls me from the deep.

We did enjoy a couple of days at a cute campsite south of Ragusa on the coast where Von noticed an interesting thing about Italians and I got some excellent motorhome tips from Denis and Kath a sweet English couple from Bristol who’ve been on the road for 3 years. Von realised that Italians move in packs. The beach on the weekend where we were staying was rammed. The family unit in Italy is large and all seem to go to the beach together at the same time. But there was no agro like you’d expect on crowded British beaches where families preciously guard their territorial space. In this culture the hustle and bustle of large families juxtaposed in close proximity with one another is not just tolerated, it’s desired and respected.

Next, a drive to Syracuse for a day rubber necking at the Roman amphitheatre and Greek theatre was topped with a meal out at a Pizzeria where the pizza was the best yet. Although the pizza was awesome the most special moment happened when an old granddad celebrating his 78th with his family at the table next to us, invited us to share his ice cream cake. Maybe it was because we sang along with the chorus of “tante auguri” but I suspect it was our kids. The most touching thing here has been the way so many Italians have utterly adored Josh and Ellie. Everywhere we go it seems that people can’t wait to be introduced and when they are, they lavish attention and praise on the kids and Moses, and through association, on us as a family as well. Hardly a day has gone by where we haven’t heard “You are a beautiful family. You have a beautiful dog. You have beautiful kids. Beautiful. Really beautiful.” After a while you actually begin to feel it too.

Day 50, Sunday 24th June, an afternoon spent sharing coffee, limoncello liqueur and loads of laughs with 2 similar aged Italian families parked up next to us in the Syracuse parking lot. Marco and Nadia, Giuseppe and Laura and their fabulous kids from Trento on the Austrian borders, holidaying in Sicily. While all the kids cooled themselves down with a water fight in the sprinklers the parents had lengthy discussions in our broken English and Italian on the merits of home schooling. I do hope we see those guys again. They were good people and we very much enjoyed their company.

Today we’re on our way to Regione di Calabria on the mainland and then onto a speedy trip through the mountainous regions of Italy – Abruzzi, Umbria, Tuscany and onwards. Probably going north to get away from this blistering heat and onto Norway for Roberto’s wedding if it’s still happening in late August. Then I suspect we’ll head for Portugal as we keep hearing how gorgeous and how cheap it is there. Not often you get that. Gorgeous and cheap. Must be worth another little serendipitous adventure.

Greek Temples and skinny dipping on Mount Etna

2007-06-19T08:13:00.000+01:00

We popped into Paestum for a 2 day history lesson wandering serenely through magnificently preserved 500BC Greek temples. Von and I remember studying temples at school and being baffled why we were made to spend so long drawing those archetypal 6 by 14 column Greek buildings, without, as it seemed to us at the time, any learning purpose whatsoever. Admiring up close the brilliance and durability of the architecture and hearing more about the alternating religious and social usage through the various empires of the ages, was a whole different experience. It bought history alive for us let alone the kids.

Walking through and touching a place that old made it possible to tune in to any moment of 2500 years of history and imagine with surprising clarity what the inhabitants of that city were doing, what clothes they were wearing; you could almost hear the sounds of life in the city and smell the cooking. The Greeks, the Latins and the Romans all built vast empires of wealth and power. And in a generation they were gone. All the sophistication and brilliance of these civilisations couldn’t sustain them. At the height of their influence I bet few could foresee they would all collapse. But ultimately they did. And if History teaches us anything it’s that every empire falls. And so surely will ours. The era of the west is drawing to a close and the dawn of the east begins. Sitting in the ruins of a Roman villa brings that inevitability of our future into sharp focus.

So to Sicily. The ferry across was exhilarating mainly because a new and strange sense began to surface in my consciousness. I never met my half Italian grandfather, Vittorio Emmanuelle Maffezzoni, but I started to feel like he along with his 2 brothers, were calling us. Even, dare I say heretically, guiding us? Vittorio’s father, Arnaldo, came to London at the turn of the last century from northern Italy near Milano to set up a restaurant business in Soho. We don’t know why he left Italy or what he was fleeing from. And I don’t know what the connection with southern Italy or Sicily would be. But I feel something deep in my bones like I am home at last. More probably I am identifying subconsciously with the young Don Corleone first journey’s back here in The Godfather II!

Day 34: Skinny dipping in the Gore D’Alacanta was a bit special. Like so many of the sites of natural beauty through Italy where tourist centres have been built to cash in on the passing trade of wallets, this one was no different. 5 sanitised walks were laid out on a map which indicated the dangers of the gorge below and suggested strongly hiring necessary fluvial trekking equipment along with the €10 entrance fee. Luckily some kind Dutch travellers told us we could climb down steps a little further along the road for free. So we did and consequently discovered a stunning stretch of the gorge where the usual crowds of pesky tourists were thankfully absent. Huge boulders scattered at the bottom of a deep ravine with icy cold waters from Mount Etna’s snow covered summit gushing past. Perfect for a sneaky dip to cool down. Moses absolutely loved it too.

We travelled on in the evening to Randozza, a grey non descript busy but sad little town north of Mt Etna where we stayed with a lovely old retired couple, Johny and Ezna, in the grounds of their house. They explained the reason they lived there was due to the weather in that region having 2 clear seasons - snowy winters and not too hot summers. The rest of the island was mainly hot throughout the year. It was good to hear about snow as Von is worried about relentless heat and missing the changing English seasons. On the drive through to Randozza we passed several farms for sale and one area can best be described as ‘wild’. Although there was clear evidence it must have, at one time in its past, looked altogether different. Behind the overgrown vineyards and tumbling down buildings we caught glimpses of Yorkshire dales style dry walling and terraces carefully constructed from the volcanic rocks. It was a rich, green and fertile area but oddly abandoned. Who knows why but we could imagine ourselves living there and making one of those farms beautiful and fruitful once again. Probably a bit far inland to what we are really hoping to find, although with the spectacular backdrop of Mount Etna to inspire and protect us, we might consider settling for it.

The last week we’ve toured precariously along mountainous cliff edge winding roads in the 2 national mountainous forested parks on the north coast of Sicily – Monti Nébrodi and Le Madonie. After a days driving through Palermo, we headed for San Vito lo Capo and found by chance along the way yet another quiet tourist free Agrotouristico farm available for campers. I think we must be the first visitors of the season as the owners are quite excited by our arrival and are spoiling us rotten. Apart from the horses, donkeys, cows and mountainside outside showers overlooking a sun baked valley, they also have a restaurant here and the first night it was rammed with a hundred people in what initially appeared to be a wedding reception. The noise level when Italians eat altogether like that is phenomenal. They all made us feel exceptionally welcome rather than what could have been construed as gate crashing a private family affair. It actually turned out to be an end of season celebration for the local boys swimming team. All the 16 year old lads had dark curly black hair with rich olive bronzed skin and were accompanied by girlfriends and parents. Bizarrely, the boys all looked liked they could have been Josh’s older brothers. He looked spookily similar to a few of them.

Then the food started rushing at us one course after another complemented with an endless stream of vino rosso from one of Italy’s 300 varieties of grapes (compared to France’s paultry 50 and the Aussie’s 7). Antipasta was scrumptious cous cous, grilled aubergines and cheese followed by prima plati of pastas, one with truffles the other with tuna. Perfect thinly cut fillet of steak with a sausage dish and salad arrived next for secondi plati. Dolce were large cream filled sweet case somethings washed down with aniseed flavoured liquor. To be honest we were stuffed after the antipasta! The rest was pure Roman gluttony and another extraordinary evening already etched into our long term memory that we’ll treasure for years to come. It’s set the benchmark for what we now expect for an evening eating out in Sicily. I could live with this.

Next we’re off along the west coast past Trapani, sampling the sweetness of Marsala and hopefully a quick peek at the ancient now mafia infested town of Agrigento in the south. After her trip to India, Michelle should be hopping over from London to join us at some point next week too. If we find a place to settle for a week or two here, we’ll extend a warm invitation to join us if you fancy a week in the scorching Sicilian sun.

Salve From Von

2007-06-12T13:51:00.001+01:00

Allora! Here we are. You are probably wanting me to rush you through the beautiful scenes you will see, to tell you of the latest activities of the poopineurope tourers from my perspective and that will come, but first a little context.

This is the experience of Vonetta, you may have heard a bit about her from the other characters in the blog. Vonetta has come all the way from Barbados and while you make think you know what this means you do not, in fact neither does she fully. You may think that to come from Barbados is to come from a paradise of beautiful beaches, soft sweet smelling sea air and warm laughing locals. You may even think, well it is obvious where she should go back to, paradise. But what may be paradise for one may not be so for another. Even paradise has its shadows, shadows of historical uprooting, people taken as trees from the earth for no purpose other than greed and left upended and homeless. In these circumstances perhaps you can see why paradise is not all it is cut out to be.

The March of the Abolitionist walk was an excellent way of working through some of this conflict of being born in paradise but a paradise not of choice but of force. Walking through the intellectual homeland of England powerfully revealed that this feeling of homelessness has within me nurtured a considerable amount of anxiety, fear and sadness. However, sadness is fertile ground, allowing the flowering of a feeling of freedom, if one has no home then one has no obligations to any particular place and like any uprooted creature will just have to find new territory to battle for, and now in Europe I think it will be quite a battle!

England has provided a wonderful resting place. As the old saying goes ‘home is where the heart is’ and the heart generally warms to those who love the wearer of that heart. In Barbados and in England there have been many people to love and it is hard to leave those people and the people in those places. Long lunches and loud gaffawing with Granny, Mum and my gorgeous sister Annie; walking in the fields in Dulwich with Sally and Jonathan and getting a damn good education over a cup of tea. Listening to Joshua and Eloise playing piano with Aunty Sally. Eating, laughing, playing, crying, arguing and being taken the piss out of with Anna, Hatti, Nooshi and Simon; oh so hard to leave you four. Watching films and opening bottles of wine with Jon and Caroline, playing with Mya and Luka. Crossing the street to borrow rice, sugar, tea or just to borrow a chat with Becky, Keith and their girls. Nights at the Jazz Café and days spent in Greenwich market and park; walking along the Thames; hanging out in Deptford and endless hours of dog walking in Hilly Fields. Parties in the garden at Shardeloes road; teaching and working with the lovely people that the word client seems to small to describe and just the general familiarity of a place that has welcomed you and all the numbers of people you know and get to smile at or just chat too. Urban London at its best is hard to leave. At times, even in the most beautiful places my heart spasms and my mind questions the judgement of leaving.

Still, once the urge to journey starts it is hard to resist, the wind changes and will not be ignored and so everything flutters along or is swept away to a new place. I am aware that this is not a holiday but a chance to see whether there is a new place to settle and root for a while. Consequently, the going facilitates the knowing that things will never be the same. Peoples’ circumstances and lives will change significantly during the time I am gone and nothing will be the same as it once was. The good, the bad and the ugly will change and with that two thirds of ugly and bad falling away there will always be one third that I will miss and will only be reachable through fond memories.

India

What to say of this magical place in one paragraph. Well, if you have the chance ever in your life to go to India - go. India is an incredible place and as Michelle said to me, “it demands that you love it”. Go to India knowing that all of your senses will be assaulted, that your morality will be questioned, that your spirituality will be shaken, stirred and stilled if only because the only stillness you can find is within yourself. Go knowing that India will show you as much of herself as she can. Everything that is hidden will be turned inside out. Go knowing that it is likely that at some point you will get very sick. Go knowing that when you leave India you will never be the same again, your journey through life will be catapulted. Go to see to feel and to experience. Try not to push against anything you find or you will just be exhausted, go with the flow of life whether that flow be a sudden dust storm, a flat heavy, placid river, a muggy unable to catch a breath day; a squash of bodies so tight and so loud that you fear that the small particles you are actually made of will soon explode and dissipate to nothing. Go knowing that just as you have had enough she will romance you again with a cool, crisp, clear and perfect mountain breeze; a simple beautiful devotee; or just the sheer quantity of life all jostling and rubbing up. An amazing place and an awe inspiring experience, totally exhausting and simultaneously invigorating. I hope to see India again someday.

5 Weeks in Europe

Ferry Crossing from Portsmouth to Le Harve

Finally we are off on our European tour. How long it will last, where will we go, who will we meet, when will we stop all nonsense questions because we have no idea and still my infernal mind keeps asking them. Stop I tell it and just enjoy the moment, moment by moment and breath by breath but the mind is a reckless and stubborn creature and still carries on. Fortunately the body is a little more ready to relax and just see what happens next, a lesson well learnt from a month in India. The heart is a little more pulled between the mind and the body at times relaxing into the experience and at other times pulling towards the past. Andy’s enthusiasm is a god send at the moment and pushes us on. Already I can see the characters we play, Ellie is overyjoyed and appears to have forgotten all else other than the joy of being in the ferry; Andy is busy trying to make sure we are all safe and secure and grinning like an idiot, I love seeing him like that. Moses is in the mobile home probably wondering what the hell is going on and in his characteristic manner taking it all in his stride by stretching out on the nearest bed and sleeping. Joshua stands with me looking out at a fast receeding England and says with the beautiful simplicity of the young, “ that is where I was born, that is where my friends are, it is where my life has been but I am not there anymore”. Speechless with the way he seems to say what is knocking around in my mind, I finally manage to say, “That is how I felt sitting on a plane leaving Barbados and look how many wonderful things have come out of that, let’s see what happens.”

Giverny: Monet’s Garden

I have to write about Giverny in the present tense because everytime I think about it I am right back there in that garden of dreams…

I can’t believe I am finally here. I have wanted to see this garden for such a long time and I am here! Giverny does not disappoint it is a symphony of sensuality, every corner filled with colour, every plant I love is here and many that I have only ready about in books I am now seeing in full bloom. I feel like a little girl in a sweet shop and all at once I know what I want to do with my life, grow flowers, grow a garden, find a piece of land and spend the rest of my life loving it. Giverny has reminded of why I have chosen to leave the ethnic haven of Lewisham. London has become a little small for us as a family, we need just a little more space to grow, to feel the sun, to be in the ocean, to enjoy the land and to get all those lovely friends to come out and share it with us as often as possible.

A print of one of Monet’s paintings now hangs above our bed area to remind me of why we are

Gay Paris!

Our trip into Paris was actually created out of the disaster of trying to get our enourmous mosiemobile into Versaille, after much roaring and cursing (on Andy’s part) and eating our picnic in the mobile home we decided to head back to camp and just forget the day. But unable or unwilling to accept defeat we eventually set a new destination for Paris, this time by train!

I have seen Paris so many times but never like this. For me, Paris was all about seeing it through the eyes of the children, particularly through the eyes of my 8 year old princess Eli. Eli fell in love with Paris and Paris with her. Everywhere we went people commented on how beautiful she was and how lovely her French accent was (thanks to a month of Inspector Clueseau – see Andy’s blog). She lept into the language, speaking as much French as her memory could muster (or speaking English words with a French accent) studiously copying the French mouth ie pout.

Climbing the Eiffel Tower with them was such fun. The enthusiasm of truly happy children is better than food and water for a tired out Mum and before long I was as giddy with Paris happiness as they were. Admittedly I resisted the urge to spit off the Eiffel Tower choosing instead to duck behind a large person and pretend the children were not mine; but the discussion after did give opportunity to create a lengthy discussion on terminal velocity beginning with the question, “Mummy, does spit take longer than a coin to reach the ground off the Eiffel Tower”. To which Andy said, “You let them spit off the tower?” To which I said, “Well I didn’t actually let them, it was more a case of I turned around and saw them doing it, that it was too late to say stop and therefore I did what any responsible mother does and pretended they weren’t mine.” Ah…Home education, it’s all about imagination and exploration after all.

In the evening we stopped over yet another beautiful French bridge, they really do know how to create beautiful vistas. Now you have to picture this with me, a day that started as a disaster, midway led to a change of plan that turned out to be really quite pleasant, we stop and pause over a bridge I stand behind Eloise (Josh and Andy and Moses are faffing with something in the background) us girls are looking out without talking and all of a sudden the Eiffel Tower starts to sparkle. I look at Ellie and she is silently crying she says, “ I am Eloise, I am in Paris and the Eiffel Tower is sparkling, Mummy thank you I am so happy.” Need I say more.

Other highlights and dimlights

Highlight – walking down the Avenue de Montaigne and pressing our noses up to the windows of the designer stores without the snotty sales assistants looking back.
Dimlight – feet killing, really tired, extremely thirsty, ravenously hungry.

Highlight – Josh taking photos along the Champ Elysee with eyes as huge as saucers.
Dimlight – Missing the train and waiting another 50 minutes for a train coming at 12:15am, kids tired, me tired, Andy close to tears! Moses calmly taking a leak up the wall.
Highlight – Organising the kids a bed made of scarves, our jumpers and a fluffy warm dog called Moses, they looked so cute.

Dimlight – French tolls, wow so expensive.
Highlight – Sitting in a service station watching tourists’ confusion as French men walk into the ladies toilets because the men’s ones are being cleaned; the French are so delightfully rebellious and disrespectful of rules.
Dimlight – Having to go into the same toilet and try to use trying to avoid all that French male pee.

Highlight – Moses being loved to pieces everywhere we went. If you want to get into the French heart then borrow someone’s dog and take it with you on holiday.
Dimlight – Don’t the French ever pick up doggie poo!

Highlight – The French aesthetic: beautiful countryside, beautiful promenades, beautiful houses; even their places to stop for the night on the road and sleep are beautiful and such a welcoming sort of name - “Air de Service”.
Dimlight – Being woken up in thickness of the night by truckers and odd men hanging around outside their trucks at the “Air de Service”.

Highlight – 3 days with our dear friend Monette
Dimlight – Leaving Monette to go to Aix-en-Provence and then rushing Eli to hospital
Highlight - Being with Eli in hospital, having nothing else to do but just be with her and cuddle her and kiss her and love her. She is a lovely kid.

Dimlight – Having to speak very complicated French in the hospital
Highlight – Being so tired that I forgot I couldn’t speak French and speaking it perfectly.

Dimlight – Leaving Aix-en-Provence without really enjoying it.
Highlight – French nurses pushing me out of the hospital after I had been in it for 36hours and saying go for a walk. Then having a café in a beautiful square.

Dimlight – On two occasions trying to drive through the most outrageous traffic with our huge mobile home and wondering what in heavens name is going on.
Highlight – Both times finding ourselves at the Cannes Film Festival and The Grand Prix in Monaco surrounded by lots of sexy amazing people wearing outrageously gorgeous clothes and ridiculously high heeled shoes and smelling rubber and testosterone and seeing famous actors, well actor – Bill from Kill Bill!

Dimlight – Andy shouting at us to get out of the motorhome when he is cooking. Oh so Italian, so passionate!
Highlight – Lots and lots and lots of kissing.

Highlight – Moses being picked up by lots and lots of beautiful girls as we take photos of him in famous places
Dimlight – Getting Moses or Andy away from said girls.

Dimlight – Leaving France with its wide roads and Air-de-Service and crossing the border into Italy in the middle of the night, hanging onto the edge of the seat as the roads suddenly become narrower, and more winding and the driving suddenly becoming a lot more aggressive and faster and just generally bloody scary!
Highlight – Italia! Italia! Italia!

So far it has been a truly wonderful experience. It took us a while to settle into being together all the time, as you may well imagine. There have been times when I feel like I am going to go crazy being with my family 24 hours a day, but could I go back to being without them for so many hours? I don’t think so. Joshua is so relaxed these days I hardly recognise him. He has the biggest smile on most of the time and at any given moment if it isn’t there it can be summoned ever so speedily. Ellie is growing from strength the strength, swimming most of the day and just being delightful at every turn. Andy has lost his frown, and spends a great deal of time getting well dressed and looking at himself, as if he is seeing this new person for the first time. Moses is so excited, every time we stop the mobile home he looks at us expectantly. He now knows that not driving equals water and the chance to swim his little heart out. As for me, I am loving just watching everyone bloom. I struggle a little with being the only black person for miles around if not the only black person, full stop. Being in Italy now I am trying to get used to the penetrating stares of entire piazzas or campsites. Every now and again the desire to run and hide under the nearest bush rises up but Andy is always quick to say they are staring at you not just because you are black but also because you are beautiful. I try to remember my recent lessons: that my ancestors like so many others, have paid with their blood for the wealth that the West enjoys today and secondly that this planet belongs to all and does not recognise the boundaries created by human beings. So black and beautiful I lift my chin, stick my chest out and journey on.

My first month – France & Italy - by Josh

2007-06-10T17:18:00.001+01:00

This month our lives have changed. From packed weekends, long school days, miserable evenings and being bored to death, our weeks have been free to do with what we want ( as long as we see famous places and learn from them i.e. we went to the Eiffel Tower and we learnt about terminal velocity and area)! There are still the occasional arguments, sometimes multiplied because of our small spaces, but they are soon forgotten.

My favourite things that we have done so far have probably been taking photos that are impossible to go wrong (some of them are on here) and sending postcards to my friends at school from places like The Leaning Tower and rubbing their noses in it ( I hope you’re reading this!)!

It’s not just the famous places that I love; in fact I like the small villages like Cinque Terre (they are five villages that are on a huge cliff over looking the sea) and Siena (a medieval town with a huge cathedral and palazzo) that I find more beautiful. And its not just man made things that are amazing, although to think that the Romans built huge aqueducts like Pont du Gard is pretty outstanding, nature also has a way of making you fall in love. The views from mountains and cliffs just make you want to stay there for ever and watch the world go by.

There have been funny incidents, sad incidents, happy ones, scary ones and ones that include all of those feelings! Things that we would never be able to do in London, like go for 10 minute rides in places that we have never been before, on our own, its even easier to learn languages because of everyone speaking to you in the same language, I mean I’ve already learnt 50 times more than I could have ever learnt in London!

Everyone (including mosey and his mobile home) have been ill apart from me, HELP! Ellie had an asthma attack, mummy had trapped wind yet no matter how much she let it out (which was often) there was always more, dad had a cold, mosey had worms and the mosiemobile lost his skylight and I’m probably gonna be next! After getting the skylight fixed and going over our budget by about 1200€ (800 bleeping quid!) we left for Cassino just north of Napoli, Just south of Roma and staying in a campsite for 18€ a night! We are going to a monastery and after that we head south for Sicilia!

After leaving one journey, we join another; Italia! One world to another, Clueso to Luigi!

Kill Bill, 9 Ferraris and 5 Villages

2007-06-10T17:16:00.000+01:00

What a buzz to drive through Cannes on the last day of the film festival. Just to know that we were in close proximity to the Ocean’s Eleven superstars Brad Pitt, George Clooney et al plus all the who’s who of the world’s film industry. I know it’s terribly shallow but I absolutely loved it. Really really loved it. We drove round and round Cannes for half an hour trying in vain to spot any one of the A-list celebs that must have been in every bar and café on every corner. Alas we didn’t see a single one. But they were obviously just trying to be inconspicuous and blend into the ultra cool crowds. But then as providence would have it, just as we were leaving the cute little sea side town, and all hope had drained from us, right there in front of the Mosiemobile, only a few millimetres away crossing the road on his bicycle, looking tanned, fit and donning the classic American baseball cap and sunglasses was the one and only Bill from the film Kill Bill. David Carridine. Oh such sweet satisfaction. It felt so paparazzi.

Further up the Riviera outside Antibes we stopped for a couple of days at a charming campsite next to both a beach and a national park (where Vonnie managed to get properly lost one morning -but thank the Lord she found herself!). Ellie made mates with an English girl called Hannah in the swimming pool and they played from dawn til dusk in and out the water and with their Nintendo DS.

With Italy calling us we set off on Sunday for the border the other side of Monte Carlo. Lazily heading off at about 2pm we had a drive along the coast completely devoid of any traffic. A little suspicious we soon found out why there wasn’t a car on the road. Out of nowhere vehicles began approaching us from the opposite direction at high speed. First a Ferrari. Then a Porche. Then a brace of yellow Lamborghinis. Followed by countless luxurious 4x4s. All driven by extravagantly dressed sunglass wearing testosterone charged men. It was 3.30pm and we were, completely by coincidence, approaching the 2007 Monaco Grand Prix only minutes after it had finished. The police had just opened up the roads again after the race to let the traffic through but no one was stupid enough, except for us Poopers, to be considering driving through Monaco at that time.

As we drifted through the centre of Monte Carlo metres away from the actual Grand Prix race track, the streets were pulsating with thousands of Grand Prix fanatics, and the air was thick with the aroma of jet fuel mixed with burning rubber. In the space of 20 minutes I caught a glimpse of 9 Ferraris and drooled over countless other luxurious sports cars driving off to their outrageously opulent yachts moored in the harbour or their private helicopters which had begun passing over our heads like flocks of migrating birds. Simply marvellous. Another unforgettable experience we will treasure for the rest of our lives.

3 wonderful weeks in France but we were all ready for Italy. That evening as we crossed over the border in between 2 tunnels where the French A8 motorway became the Italian A10, our first adventure came to an end and our next was beginning. At that moment, quite unexpectedly our excitement erupted with spontaneous cheers for Pizza and ice cream, chants of “Italia, Italia” and a quick rendition of O Sole Mio. We had no idea what we were going to do in Italy, where we actually going to go, or how long it would take us. But it just felt so good to be here.

After a night at a service station we headed off for Levanto and a couple of days of exploring an adorable section of coastline known as the “Cinque Terre”, second only they say to the Amalfi coast. Apart from the stand up rows I had with a parking attendant, getting all of us thrown off a train for unknowingly not signing the back of our family tourist day pass (our first encounter with Italy’s famous non si fa - ‘it’s not the done thing’) and finally with another train inspector for not being prepared to pay a ticket for Moses or to muzzle him, we actually had a terrific time discovering each little historic village built precariously on the edge of the cliffs by generations of Italian peasants hundreds of years before. We took lunch in Consiglia from where bottles of wine were found buried in Pompeii, apparently still full with the Consiglia wine inside them. It tasted pretty good too they say, preserved perfectly under Vesuvius’ ashes over the centuries.

Next Pisa. And its badly built tower. The kids will post up their view of this experience (and the multitude of their other ones when they can stop for a moment from their vivacious existential lifestyle to type up their thoughts). Thanks to Vonnie’s research from the Lonely Planet guide my highlight was a perfect lunch in a back street family run restaurant away from the tourists and in the heart of Pisa’s university district. Von stocked up on reading material for all of us from the university bookshop including an exceptionally insightful and witty book for me which I am in the process of devouring - “The Dark Heart of Italy” by Tobias Jones, an English journo who spent 3 years in Italy trying to understand the complexity of the predominant conservative Italian culture beyond its obvious art, cuisine and history. He writes about the fascinating relationship Italians have with their powerful political and religious institutions and attempts to explain how the endless stories of corruption and crime rife in Italian’s recent post war history have created a morality where, beauty, wealth and cunning are such well respected traits. ‘Wrong doing and crime are invariably excused by the fact that political and church leaders are thought to be up to much worse things and a little tax dodging or bribery by us lesser beings really isn’t that important. Everyone is up to something and you’re stupid if you’re not too.’ A must read for any Italian visitor.

While at the Pisa campsite 15 minutes walk from the Tower and the Duomo, I had another run-in with a low hanging object. This time not a Brockley bridge to knock off our top box, but an equally destructive overhead wire. I was asked to reverse into another space on the site by one of the staff because the one we were in was apparently reserved. I obliged accordingly and an unseen ruinous wire sliced into our roof light shattering it into a few irreparable pieces. Moments later the heavens thundered violently and the rains poured down incessantly for an hour. I sat on the ground, lit my Hamlet cigar and sang a little Que sera sera.

Calling round local garages, we eventually we found someone with a replacement skylight. We drove there, but they didn’t actually have it. They did find another garage for us 150 kms away south of Florence. We arrived 5pm on the Friday of one of Italy’s numerous long Festival weekends for some saint or other. Only to find the Perspex part they had in stock didn’t fit. My basic Italian was getting stretched to its utter limits and my sanity was floundering just a touch at the prospect of spending the next 3 nights with a hole over our heads and the resulting risk to our security. A few deep breaths, 2 hours and 1200 euros later the guys at Due Elle garage had fitted us an entirely new skylight. And to be honest, a better quality one than we had before.

We left with a serendipitous recommendation of a free car park with facilities for motorhomes high up in the Chianti hills at yet another beautifully crafted historic Italian town called Castellini in Chianti. There I met a happy chap and Italian West Ham fan Giuseppe who advised us not to take the ferry to Sicily, which we were considering, but just drive the 800 kms south. He gave us a booklet of all the free decent car park facilities in Italy and told us not stop anywhere near Napoli cos of the robbers. Allora, these things all work out in the end. As we have no plan we can’t get upset from things happening that throw us off a plan we don’t have. We’re free to just enjoy the whole experience. The good and the bad. The hoped for and the feared. The irritations and the kindnesses of the strangers (or inanimate objects) we happen to meet on our way.

Day 30. After a day in Sienna on Saturday and a long drive down the A1 yesterday (waving to Rome promising to return later in the year and fast learning Italian from a CD on the stereo) we are now resting at a tucked away nearly empty tree shaded campsite site in Cassino, north of Napoli. We have been quenching our thirst today drinking directly from the ancient natural Roman springs that flow from the ground into a stream on one side of this site. We’ll pop up after lunch to the top of Monte Cassino to see its magnificent Benedictine monastery. And then head off for the Amalfi coast on our way to Sicily. Andiamo.

Un petit peu de Martinique en Valence

2007-05-26T07:55:00.000+01:00

Day 9: From Chablis we were on our way via Dijon to see Monette and Michael in Valence. We stopped off in Dijon by the side of a tres jolie lake (in which Moses swam unrewardingly after geese and swans), had a gorgeous picnic wetting ourselves as we continued to talk Pink Panther Clouseau at a completely inappropriate volume. Although it’s been loads of fun to take the piss out of the French speaking English, it’s actually proved a surprisingly productive exercise. The English talk with wide vowels and mainly with our jaws. French is spoken in the back of the throat with pouting lips. So Clouseau-speak is great training. And, as we’ve found now on several occasions, the French seem to understand English better when spoken in a Clouseau accent. Who’d have thought?

After bike riding and skating round the park, we booked ourselves into the campsite next to the lake and took a far too ambitiously long evening stroll with Mosie along the river into the centre of Dijon – a delightful old town in the centre but disappointingly no mustard to be found. However ice cream galore so Ellie was satisfied.

Day 11: Vonnie and I read some more of other people’s home schooling stories from the “Free range education” book. One example of structured school type learning programme with lessons in morning, text books and visits in the afternoons. Then another espousing the virtues of autonomous learning where you take the lead from the children’s questioning – they learn what interests them when it interests them. Both forms – structured and autonomous – seem to be inherently good and fruitful, so we’re gonna try both (and probably everything in between on that spectrum) until we find the right style to suit Josh and Ellie (and us). We stopped off before Lyon at another one of those “time to stop so let’s take that turning over there and see it where it goes” destinations and found ourselves by the side of the magnificent Rhone river 4km outside Marcon. I kicked the kids out to go on a long bike ride by the river to burn off the days drive and Von walked Moses to do the same while I had fun cooking up another morsel watching the fish jump as the sun set over the river running beneath us. It’s hard to describe just how it feels to park up by the side of somewhere so beautiful knowing you have everything you need in a home on wheels and not to have to pay anything to anyone. Experiences like that so far in our lives usually have a charge attached. But I guess from here on in on our journey they will be commonplace and free.

In the morning we packed up and set off to Valence to see Monette’s garden in Valence! So wonderful to see her and Michael again after so long. What a warm welcome. Treated like royalty and rested deeply for a couple of days, sharing stories, kids playing from dawn to dusk with Michael and his neighbouring mates. Monette is a spiritual person who has spent her life fighting and praying for reconciliation issues dealing with the world’s wounded history. Her home felt like we were stopping off at Elron’s house in the Lord of the Rings. Von’s dodgy stomach from Dehli began to ease a little in that healing sanctuary and we would have slept long if it wasn’t for Moses throwing up each night at 3am.

Coincidentally Monette and Michael were on their way on Saturday to see their friend Christienne in Nimes and we wanted to visit the old Roman aqueduct at the Pont du gard. So we took Michael and had a beautiful afternoon swimming in the river upstream to the old bridge, skimming stones and watching Moses swim with the fishes. That evening at Christienne’s house Ellie slept very little as she had an allergic reaction to the 4 long haired cats in the house. A reaction that lead to a severe asthma attack by the following evening after reaching Aix en Provence, where she would stay 2 days in hospital with Von.

Day 16: The site at Aix was superb. Massive and intimate at the same time, it’s built on a hilltop with over 700 sites cutely designed with hedges and trees in the grounds of an old chateaux. And a decent swimming pool that Josh and I made the most of while waiting for Eliie to recover. We also took the opportunity to cycle into town and fill up provisions at the Provencial street market in the town’s centre.

Rushing Ellie into hospital like that was scary. It was touch and go there and I thank God for Vonnie who remained very calm and sang to Ellie massaging her chest while we sped through the narrow town streets to the emergency department. And also for the staff of the hospital who were so patient to deal with my crap French spoken in desperation trying to explain the series of events that had lead to the attack and Ellie’s potted medical history. One thing that emergencies do do, is force you to communicate by any means necessary. If you are misunderstood the consequences could be serious.

Eventually Ellie was released with Ventalin, medication and advice to get allergy testing as soon as we were able to. What seemed to help her more than anything though was the yoga breathing that Von taught her in the hospital. It will be imperative that we do yoga regularly from here in – for so much more than just well being. We really saw with Ellie’s attack how not being able to breathe properly could kill you.

We’re just about to leave this pretty site and head off to our next destination – probably St Tropez (as you do) – but not before we spend the evening in this vivacious little university town of Aix en Provence. Off to café’s, shopping and hopefully an evening meal overlooking fountains and watching the French do their thing. We’re not far away from Italy now, I can hear her calling me, but I will miss France. A lot more than I ever thought I would. Her food and wine, her endless ancient villages and towns, her history and art, her people with their little dogs, little dresses and shoes, and jumpers thrown over the shoulders and their little cars. And most importantly of all, her joi de vie. But not time for au revoir just yet. Still life by the sea to taste and share with all those rich playboys in their yachts. The French Riviera and St Tropez here we come. Hopefully we might even get to pop into Cannes on Friday to mix with the A list celebs on the final day of this year’s film festival.

Un chien, deux enfants et le joie de vie

2007-05-13T19:19:00.000+01:00

Who would have thought just one week in France would be so lovely? We’ve spent time in France before, but not like this. Last August we drove down with the Purdays to a sun soaked villa in the impressive and delicious Dordoigne. But holidays are different. Holidays have the rush of the getting there; the stress involved in finishing off a week’s work so you can take your earned break without leaving anything for anyone else to do in the office and at home. Followed by the frenetic dash to the destination. And once you’re there somehow each day has to be packed with as much experience, even relaxation, as humanly possible. So to enjoy France with no agenda, no time frame, just pure aesthetic existential appreciation, feels actually quite French and the way one should live in France.

Ben Hagemeyer said to me on the phone yesterday while walking Moses in a Porchefountaine wood (Versailles, Paris), that this trip will allow us all “to breathe”. Boy was he right. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed breathing so much in my life. Each breath deep, slow and thankful. Alive. Each tiny facial muscle carrying all the weighty tension of life in the city, of the expectations of work, of the relentless eking out a living, is being soothed. Simply by breathing in and out. The scales of my old skin are falling away. And we’re only one week in. Everything is still in front of us.

Last Sunday after a wonderful “bon voyage” from Alison, Gail, Kyla and Rouirc in the New Forest we set sail from Portsmouth and landed in Le Havre at 7.30 in the morning. Where to go first? All of France to choose from. Roughly heading south. Probably crossing into Italy after a visit to our dear friends from the Lifeline Walk, Monett and her son Michel in Valence, just south of Lyons. Yet all of that choice, just like in the Billy Connolly sketch about aisles of shampoos, can sometimes be strangely paralysing. We got over it pretty fast and headed for a campsite in Les Anderlys, on the banks of the Seine, just a few miles north of Giverny. Unlocked the bikes, set the kids free, plugged into the lecky, lit the gas Barbie (oh yes, the marvelous Mosiemobeel even has an outside gas port), opened a bottle of local plonc, turned up the volume on one of Joel’s albums and sat with Von watching 2 suave swans drift and preen themselves effortlessly along the river in front of us. I cried. Free at last. Free to enjoy my family. Free to enjoy life. Free to be.

Next day, day 3, we converted the hotel on wheels back to a driving machine, filled up with water and left at midday before we incurred another days charges. Parked up in the charming town square and looked for round for an open boulangerie or a boucherie. Der! France stops for lunch! So we went for our first excursion up the hill to the old ruins of the Chateau Gaillard. Simply stunning views from the top both ways along the Seine while reading a little of the historical geographic importance of this site involving various royal treaties between Richard Lionheart and Phillippe Augustus. Moses cordially acknowledged the significance of the moment with the first of his poops at altitude. Good boy. Returned back to the Mosiemobeel and feasted on fresh bagettes while watching life go by around us. Sweet.

After a little siesta (I’m gonna love these I just know it), we set a course for a piece of heaven on earth that is, of course, Giverny. We arrived too late to enter Monet’s gardens that day so the nice man on the door said we could stay in the car park next to the entrance. How cool is that? Free accommodation right outside Von’s only ‘must see’ destination in France. All set for first entry into the gardens bright and early in the morning. And what a morning it was. To see Von’s face mesmerised by the beauty of Monet’s creation will stay with me my whole life. She knew instantly this is what she wanted to do in her life. To build a garden like that. Now all we have to do is find land magnificent enough to build it on. Easy.

Josh took a billion photos. Ellie took a few. Then they sat with their A2 sketch books on a bench and drew what they saw. Again the tears welled up. This would beat any art class they would ever expect to have in London. It was the sense this type of experience would now be the norm that touched me most. Or maybe it was just the beauty of the irises that overwhelmed me! But I am in France. To live is to cry n’est ce pas?

Day 5, Paris. John and Joel you know how I know the French are gay? Have you seen that Eiffel tower? A bigger monument to the penis there is not. Millions of Frenchmen worship there every year. At night it lights up. Then at 10pm it sparkles for 5 minutes. Anyway, von and the kids went to the top while I lay in the sun with Moses in the Trocadero gardens on the opposite bank of the Seine. Paris was magical as usual. We were on one of its bridges in the evening when the tower sparkled. Ellie cried. With happiness. She couldn’t believe where she was. What she was doing. Or that it was really all happening. Bless. We nipped up the Avenue Montaigne to gape at Gucci, Nina Ricci, D&G, Chanel et al before heading down the Champs Elyses and almost missing the last train at midnight to our motorhome waiting patiently for us in Versailles.

Day 6. Decided to make our way to Dijon. 20 miles out of Paris on the A6 we took an exit to some chateau, just cos we could. The kids and I went for a ride and found a delightful little farm shop and stocked up. Parked up by the river Ecole in a space by the side of a meandering country lane, looking out on an archetypal rural landscape of wheat fields lined with trees, cooked up a succulent poulet noir stew and pretended we were eating out at a posh French gastro. We stayed the night at that impromptu place, just cos no one said we couldn’t.

Day 7. Popped into Chablis as you do. Picked up a couple of bottles in a 13th century Cave du Connasseur where another nice little Frenchman shared with us his knowledge of the various categories of Chablis that us English seem to be so enamoured with. Found yet one more idyllic and empty municipal campsite in Ligny-sur-something where we’ve recharged all our batteries for a couple of days. Just had what we’ve decided will be a weekly treat eating out at a local restaurant. The Auberge de Bief. Exquisite and charming all at once. The French sure can cook. Highly recommended if you pass this way.

India and the Beamsley Beacon

2007-05-06T07:19:00.000+01:00

Finally after a few little diversions via India and the Yorkshire moors, we are off on our Poop in Europe tour today. We leave London this morning, pop in to see our old friend Alison Foster with Rourke and Kyla in the new forest for lunch, then take the ferry from Portsmouth tonight and arrive early tomorrow in Le Havre on our way to see Monet’s gardens in Giverny.

After the Lifeline walk finished at the end of March, Von nipped over for a well deserved break with fellow yoga teachers Su and Michelle to India. She started on a beach in Trivandrum and ended up travelling north on trains to Delhi, Varanasi and the Gangees. She’ll post up a few of her amazing experiences of her month long trip plus photos later.

Moses, the kids and I spent April really chilling out at Grandma and Papops house in Dulwich and enjoying London’s fine sunshine. We had a great weekend with my cousin Helen and goddaughter Cleo at their gorgeous new Malt House in Addingham village at the base of the Beamsley Beacon in Yorkshire. And enjoyed a lovely few days at a campsite in the middle of the New Forest with the Purdays - John, Caroline, Maya (goddaughter #2) and baby Violet – where Moses met his first horse and cow. Ellie said her goodbyes to Connie and Livi from school, Josh likewise to Halim and Tyran and we all cried buckets this week leaving the Jagos of Brockley for the last time in who knows when.

Home schooling is in full swing. Josh and Ellie will share how it’s been going and what they’ve been discovering on their next post. Anyone not entirely happy with the idea of forcing their children through a school system they might suspect is no longer fit for purpose, must read “Free Range Education” by Terry Dowty – the book has blown my mind. All my fears about whether or not we are doing the right thing by taking on the responsibility for educating the kids were dispelled immediately by the end of chapter 1. We’ve joined Education Otherwise and feel not only completely legit but also fabulously free. Free in the knowledge that they will love learning from the experiences we have together as a family, in ways they prefer, and in their own time. Free to wonder. Free to enquire. Free to explore this thing called life.

So our huge Motorhome (we really do need a cool name for our new home soon – any suggestions?) is packed ready to go including a brand new top box (cos like a muppet I knocked the first box off under a bridge only an hour after buying the bloody thing). Clothes? Check. Educational materials and dvds? Check. Lonely planet guides? A few. Food? not much. But so looking forward to ventures into little European markets buying enough fresh stuff for the day, cooking it on the barby that plugs into the side of the motorhome and washing it down with local vino. Music? All our CDs on the laptop. Golf clubs and cricket gear? Josh’s kit’s on board and I’ve sneaked on my Sand Wedge. Kids’ wet suits? Yep but keen to head south for warmer waters and buy our own surf boards.

Itchy feet? Oh yeah. Plus some rather large butterflies flying around at faster than the average butterfly flutter pace in our stomachs. What on earth do we think we are doing?

The Fellowship of the Coffle

2007-03-14T20:09:00.000Z

A fortnight ago we jumped out the matrix of our London life in a bit of a rush. Von gave her last massage on the Wednesday. I left my job at Prospectus on the Thursday. Josh and Ellie said goodbye to all their Myatt Garden primary school friends on the Friday. We bought our Mosey-mobile motor home on Saturday. Packed up our house into it on Sunday. Then drove to Hull to start a 250 mile reconciliation walk back to London to bring a symbolic European apology as part of the bicentenary anniversary of the abolition of the slave trade. As you can imagine, our little world feels a little turned upside down. But it feels amazing.

Eloise says
Its been tiring. But I have made some new friends. A family that lives in Washington state in America are walking with us and they have 3 brothers and 6 sisters. They are called the Lienau’s. To be honest, I haven’t walked much at all! I’ve been driving in my new friend Christof’s van. I’m being trained to look after him, I have to pray for him, hide my food when he is stressed , most importantly love him!!! He buys the food for our lunch, picks up people when they’re tired, hurt,or just can’t go any more. Oh, and he wrestles with the kids!

Josh says
Hi everyone walked 110 miles already! I’ve only missed on 29 miles! Almost everyone here has cried at least once!! We have seen some beautiful sights. Our Mosey Mobile Motor home has tonnes of secret compartments. Its amazing how we can fit a 5 story house into a 23x8x9 ft motor home!! We are now in Wisbech after 2 weeks of walking and days off on Sunday. We have to walk an average of 13 miles a day! Although we are away from OUR school we are teaching at other schools and everyone loves us!

Our new lifeline name is…THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE COFFLE. Coffle is the word used to describe a group of people in yokes and chains. Everything we do seems like it has some connection to THE LORD OF THE RINGS. David Pott, the leader of the lifeline expedition is just like Gandalf. I look a lot like Frodo, Ellie acts like pippin, Mummy is Arwen and dad is Eomer!!! Our group of 23 people from around the world can make a difference, and a very big one too! We’ve had media following us from the BBC and from Australia, Canada, Japan, USA, and Russia all interested in whether this apology and forgiveness thing can help mend their own historical wounds.

The Winter’s and the Lienau’s (our Washington State friends that live on Camano Island) are now staying at a wonderful little campsite. Michael and Shari (parents) have 3 sons and 6 daughters, Jacob [15], Anna [12], Bibianna [12], Joseph [11], Janey [10], Tatsi [9], Corina [8], Estee [6] and Josh [6]! Bibi, Joe, Tatsi, Corina and Joshua are all adopted from one native American family.

Preparing to jump out of the matrix

2007-01-04T10:43:00.000Z

Our little family has decided that our time in the big melting pot of London has come to an end. We’re jumping out the seductive matrix of life in the capital that we've loved for 12 years, yet costs too much of our lives and money . We’re running to stand still so we've decided to run all over Europe instead - a whole new adventure for 2007 and beyond.

On February 25th 2007 we will be heading off into the sunset to begin our quest for another way of living in a place and country we have not yet found. This exhilarating quest for a new beginning we are calling the "Poop in Europe Tour", in honour of the one that awoke the desire in us to explore and to live more simply: like him to eat, walk, sleep and poop. The one and only Moses - our 1 year old golden retriever puppy.

I have resigned from my job at Prospectus (the recruitment firm that bought my agency Source 3 years ago). Vonnie is preparing to hand over her yoga classes and acupuncture clients to someone else. Next week we are informing Myatt Garden school that the kids have had enough of schooling in London and will thank all their fabulous teachers for their superb work so far: particularly for instilling in them all the brilliant multicultural values that only London schools can. We really haven’t much of a clue about where we are going yet although we do have a starting point. Hull.

On 25th February we will drive in a motor home to Hull. To start a 200 mile walk to London with the Lifeline Expedition - an amazing charity reconciliation project that's journeyed through 20+ countries since 2000 – helping hundreds of people deal with the legacy of the transatlantic slave trade. This year is significant as it’s the 200th abolition (we never abolished just renamed it) of the slave trade. We joined the expedition to Barbados in 05 and Africa in 06 so are expecting even more from the Hull to London trip in March.

But after that the journey and life is all up for grabs. Probably France, Spain, Portugal, Switzerland, Germany, Italy and the Balkans. New Zealand and South America are possibilities too. A faint vision has begun to surface as to what the destination could perhaps look like. An olive grove in a part of Italy no one’s heard about, where we can build our own ‘Last Samurai’ Japanese style living quarters to live in and a village of yurts for people we know to stay in for a while, close to the sea to surf, near mountains to climb, with a few horses to ride, and a whole pack of amazing dogs to walk - a retreat that we need to set up and run until the kids are old enough to make their own journey in life. Then around 2017 Vonnie and I will probably look Eastwards for our next adventure.

So far its all been musings, possibilities, what ifs. In 52 days it gets real. We’re jumping and don’t know where. What a rush. I hope it’s as astonishing, remarkable and awe inspiring as my stomach is already telling me it might just be. Lots to do between now and then, including renting out our house in New Cross, buying a motorhome (didn't think i'd be saying that in my thirties) and most importantly of all, imagining all the possibilities of what lies ahead.

We've set up this blog site to hopefully make it really easy for us to keep in touch on our travels with the people we care about. For Joshua and Eloise in particular to share their experiences, messages and photos with those they are already missing. So watch this space and add your own thoughts to it if you can.