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Expats Remembers Easter Sweetly and Fashionably, Too

Eggs have been long associated with Easter. When I was a girl, I remember the excitement building up to the Easter egg hunt at our church in Southwest Georgia and the pleasure of at last participating in it and finding beautifully coloured eggs, some of them I had managed to colour personally alongside my mother, father and siblings.

Most folks in the Western world, Christian or not, will have Easter memories, be it of bonnets, baskets, eggs, new outfits, etc., if only because it has been long celebrated widely and officially as a holiday in some places.

Yes outfits… In some African American traditions, not only were there the Easter egg hunts but also there were new Easter outfits for both boys and girls to make the big day even more special, as we recited Easter speeches for special programmes at church. Not to mention the Easter baskets full of toys and candy eggs.

Admittedly, I’m too old for an Easter basket but just the right age for a new outfit. Thankfully, there’s  still time to get that Easter dress after all. Why start breaking with tradition now. No point.

Here, however, at the mention of new frock at Easter,  people are surprised, pleasantly I hope. While many of them are off to the continent or somewhere to soak up some sun as there is not much here, others are planning Easter feasts with family and friends at home or at a restaurant of choice.

After all they have four days to celebrate. Not only is Good Friday an official holiday but so is Easter Monday. That means lots of opportunities to make Easter memories for sure and eats lots of eggs, albeit chocolate ones.

I’ll have one of those thank you very much, but it has to be the dark chocolate ganache from La Maison du Chocolat, sold during the Easter period only, although this year they’ve mixed dark and milk chocolate, just about ruining it for me. Hence, one dark chocolate egg left. But chocolate is not what Easter is all about anyhow, is it?

Truly it is about rebirth and renewal and making ever so sweet memories with family and friends.

 

 

 

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Expat Goes North for Castle Scouting

Britain is known for its stupendous castles, the world over. From Windsor to Warwick Castle, such fortresses are still home to modern day royals, their kinsfolks and the likes. Thankfully, however, they make certain areas available to the rest of us at different times of the year.

Reflecting back to the late 90s when I first came to live in England, I made castle hopping, including a few palaces, a pastime of sorts. Not only was it great fun but also it was a rich historical expedition, if you will.

In those days, even if we did dine at Amberley Castle in Sussex quite often, I still couldn’t help wonder what it would be like to live in a castle, at least for a day or two. Fast forward to this past weekend and Paul and I flew to Northumberland to find out just that. Planning well in advance for a festive event in 2016, we made Langley Castle our home for the weekend. Well, sort of anyhow.

It so happens that we stayed in a more modern castle view room on the grounds of Langley with a view to reconnoitre the facility for our upcoming event. Not a problem at all because many castles have become seasoned hoteliers.

Langley is one of several of Britain’s castles that has done so, and like it, many castles have rooms available within the castle and extension rooms on the grounds, too.

So off to the grounds we went, admiring two extraordinary peacocks with coats fit for a king, and three or more attractive peahens. From this vantage point, we got a pretty good impression of the castle, even dinning there and admiring its 14th century décor, but when the manager gave us a guided tour, we were more than impressed, as we viewed the well appointment rooms in the castle, including those where events are held.

Has the scouting ended? Who is to say? Also, we did check out nearby Otterburn Castle. In meantime, we made a stop at Hadrian’s Wall, where we would surely do more than stop if we do celebrate in this area. And before returning to the airport in Newcastle on Sunday, we visited Alnwick Castle and Gardens.Splendid but it does not offer boarding. In fact, it wasn’t offering anything when we were there but the tourist season kicks off soon, if it already hasn’t.

And I am jolly glad it has with this inclement weather lingering around. Castle hopping might just be the thing to do.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A Good Story: Whose Is It Anyhow?

I love a good story–reading and hearing one and writing one, too. Hence, my vocation. Yet finding the right topic isn’t always the easiest of tasks and not because there isn’t enough to write about. I’d say it is quite the opposite.

Nowadays my own life is filled with enthralling stories, but the question I find myself facing more often than not is: Do I have the right to tell this story?

Most times I listen to my gut, my moral compass for a final call but admittedly, the answer is not always simple, not only from a professional point of view but also from a personal one, too.

Personal stories are entangled, the best and the worst of them. Thus, the dilemma: Whose Story Is it Anyhow? 

This month’s Huff Post blog looks at the question of story ownership from a broad view, if you will. Still, I would love to know your take on it. Do comment here or directly on the Huff Post.

 

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Expat Takes Off On Flying Holiday

Make no mistake about it I love airplanes. Without them, I would be grounded, likely in the US, instead of the UK. Let’s say I owe my expatriate experience in many ways to the airline industry. I never took to the waters, if you will.

And certainly I owe my visits to the US to see family and friends to planes, not to mention holidays abroad. And I am not the only one indebted to the industry; the tourism industry must be, too.

In 2013, the UK had more than 31 million visitors with London leading the way with 16.8 million of them, an increase of 1.3 million from 2012, when the Olympics were held here.

The rise was the highest recorded number of overseas visitors since records began in 1961.

Presumably, many of these visitors arrived via airplane, though the Eurostar, ships and coaches provide other travel options. But if you are in a hurry, flying is the fastest route. And I almost always am.

Admittedly, however, I find the preparation for flying rather tedious. I do understand it and wouldn’t have it any other way for safety. Still I long for the nonchalant preparation of throwing things in a bag or two willy-nilly and taking off.

Last weekend, Paul and I did just that, joining our English family at a Center Parcs village, sort of a vacation park, which offers short breaks year-around. How very interesting we found it.

Though marketed for families with children, Center Parcs offers something for everyone from outdoor activities such as walking and cycling to indoor sports including swimming and playing tennis and squash. Also, the facility has a spa, plenty of restaurants and a few shops. The accommodation is not bad either. 

Honestly, it’s not a holiday destination that we would take without family but with them, it measured up. I’ll take their Aqua Sana Spa over the chilly rain any day. And most importantly, there was no commotion about packing and travelling. So, I did throw in two bags after all, one for each day.

The next stop, however, calls for flying, with only one-bag to carry on. Argh! Considering that the trip is tomorrow, I’d better get sorting. Otherwise, I’ll be grounded. And I do like flying.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Expat Exercises for Re-entry to Life in London

Years ago when I worked for Habitat for Humanity International, re-entry was a phrase often used of the International Partners, staff returning from a work trip abroad. It stands to reason that after being away from a country, one needs to re-adapt to the culture, etc.

An expat of nearly twenty years, I can attest to that. Casually, I often use the word re-entry when returning to the US, even sometimes stopping over for a night or two in a city of choice, before joining friends and/or family for a good down home visit.

Only on this last visit, however, somewhat made in haste, even if it did last over two weeks, I didn’t have time to think about adjusting to time zones, water, food, language and so on. I hit the ground running, literally and didn’t stop rushing around until after I returned to the UK.

It was then that I began to think of re-entry, if you will. Suddenly, my body was no longer tolerant of the few hours of sleep I got each night, the paces that I put it through daily or the inappropriate food I lived on, including honeybuns and coffee cake, most days.

This past Monday, the cinnamon brioche, the English honeybun I teased to a friend, did not cut the cake. Suddenly, I am gluten intolerant again. Furthermore, I acutely understand the value of daily exercise again – something I didn’t bother with at all in the US.

Yet this morning while exercising, even if it was challenging, I felt a freedom that I hadn’t felt it more than two weeks. That is when it occurred to me that exercise was somehow freeing. And I quietly said to my personal trainer, Judit Ressinka, that if only I could get her to the US to do at least one session with each of my sisters, I felt certain that they too could experience the freedom that I was experiencing.

Judit felt that I was on to something. Though exercise is often associated with alleviating physical stress, it also has the power to alleviate mental turmoil, too. When going through a particularly stressful time, I pointed out, we are trapped in a small world, which drives us, and keeps us on a bumpy road.

Exercise, Judit agreed, makes for a smoother ride, if you will. It has a way of getting the blood and oxygen flowing, properly and harmoniously.

Of course, one session won’t cut the cake, any more than my cinnamon brioche did, but a consistent programme will make a big difference in how the body endures.

Even I am truant from time to time like the two weeks in the US, no doubt the rigorous programme of training once per week with Judit and running three times, sees me through arduous times.

Now back to re-entry. What’s for supper?

 

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Thin Line Between Sanity and Insanity

There is thin line between sanity and insanity. Big statement, eh? But one worth investigating nowadays, as life personally and publicly gets more dramatic and stressful. More debates than ever are cropping up over the difference between moral and immoral, right thinking and wrong thinking and right and wrong.

Sometimes I don’t understand the negotiation – not really. In my world, though having a different opinion about evolution is one’s prerogative, but having a different opinion about whether to operate outside of any parameters, morals, laws is not debatable, is it? It is all unnecessarily stressful, if you ask me.

In a conversation with a friend recently, we wondered if there is a decline in healthy, transparent, living, if you will, or if in our ageing we are simply paying more attention to what has always been.

Regardless, it all leads back to the state of one’s mental and emotional well-being. Are we personally and publicly paying enough attention to mind matters, making way for healthier living. Do we understand that a healthy mind is the key to healthy living? And that leading a highly stressful life can lead to dire consequences?

In this month’s Huffington Post blog, I suggest that it is time to get educated on the matter and put our learning into action, starting at home, if you will. But not so fast; hardwired myths and stigmas are blocking the way. What can we do to clear the roadblocks?

See what I have to say about it on the Huff Post. In the meantime, here is a quote for thought.

‘The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four Americans is suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of your three best friends. If they’re okay, then it’s you.’ 

Rita Mae Brown, author and social activist

 

 

 

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A Quick 999 To Detox the Mind

Still early into the New Year, there is still much talk about detoxing the body, with very little said about ridding the mind of toxins, though I read a brilliant piece on the subject a week or so ago.

In the meantime, I got on with life, if you will, coping with day to day stresses of living in a major city—transportation strikes, road works, crowds all over the place, temperamental weather and so on–and took on some of the tips, until one afternoon after dealing with an intense family matter, I found myself in a toxic state that had risen overnight, seemingly.

It was more than a black cloud hanging over my head; it had shrouded me.

Anyhow, certainly, the situation hadn’t risen overnight. Such situations, if you will, rarely do. But with my head pounding intensely, I somehow knew that a painkiller would not do the trick, nor would the usual nap. The night before, I hadn’t slept much at all, for over thinking.

It was too late to refrain from caffeine, as in the lovely piece mentioned above, and with a major dental surgery coming up the next day, I needed a panacea and I needed it fast, so here is what I did:

1) Wrote it all down, sort of a dump, if you will, but I kept trying to edit and censor my thoughts. 

2) Thus, I called a trusted friend who would tell me the truth and not necessarily what I wanted to hear.  Note it wasn’t a rant or a finger pointing phone call but a call for a fresh perspective, even if I didn’t agree with it.

Though I felt better for the call, I couldn’t stop my mind from nattering and my head from hurting, so here is the biggie: 

3) I decided to shut off my computer, my Ipad, the mobile data on my phone and avoid the Internet for 24-hours. Making this decision brought a kind of sweeping relief!

Having done without all of my devices during a three-day retreat last year, I knew the benefits of letting them go.

4) I climbed into bed in the middle of the day, against the advice of many experts, and tried to settle my mind for a sleep. Of course, the nattering and needling refuse to subside.

5) So here is where my imagination came in to replace the chatter. First I counted backwards from 10 to 1. I have no idea why but it worked to focus the mind. After I got through this for a number of times, I allowed myself to think constructively about the matter. Which bits had solvable, practical solutions? I flagged them and committed to working on them later.

6) The rest, I let it go, if you will. That wasn’t easy I might add, as like many people, I subconsciously try to control the outcome of dilemmas. But the sooner I realised in the heat of the moment that being controlling was futile in this instance, and in most, the sooner I drifted off to sleep. 

That night, I continued with the moratorium on the Internet and after a few breathing exercising, I went off to sleep for a good night’s rest.

The next morning, I woke up ready for the surgery and as we drove through the financial district of London, aka the City, I quietly admired it. There, mind detoxed. But make no mistake about it; a short-term detox such as this acted more like a plaster than it did anything else.

It was not the panacea I had hoped for but let’s face it any body part can use a band-aid when bruised. The mind is no exception.

 

 

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Outdated Language Tackled in Short Story

While misuse of words and phrases as related to race can happen intentionally, it can also happen unintentionally, likely the case with our modern day Sherlock. Nevertheless, Benedict Cumberbatch’s faux pas opens the door to a topic that is often considered irrelevant nowadays.

Sadly, however, it is relevant, and often owing to ignorance, if nothing else, the word is used inappropriately. That is why it is so important to educate and get educated.

In my short story, ‘The Coloured Girl’, featured in The Seasons, Isabella Chiltern finds out that the word ‘coloured’ is a thing of the past when her son unexpectedly brings his new African American girlfriend to lunch. A subject that often puts us out of our comfort zone, even privately, is aired in a public restaurant in middle England, at least in The Seasons.

In real life, it is often squashed as a thing of the past, at least until it rather innocently rears its head. Heads up; it ‘s modern and relevant.

Adapted as Guess who is coming to lunch,  ‘The Coloured Girl’ was featured in Love Sunday,  the magazine of Sunday People, part of the Trinity Mirror Group, in November, 2014. The Seasons is available now on Amazon and other online bookstores.

 

 

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How Far Back Can You Remember?

Lost childhood memories are often thought of as those traumatic (bad) memories that are repressed, squashed for the mind’s sake.  But there are good childhood experiences, too, that are forgotten.

While many adults can trace an early, feel good memory, back to age three (I can, as written in my latest Huff Post blog), others have no recollection of their childhood, not really.  According to a 2014 Emory University research study, there is a good reason for this.

Freud might have been on to something about childhood amnesia but did he perhaps misunderstand what is behind it? The Emory study suggests it has more to do with the structure of the brain than anything else.

Read the entire story, Whatever Happens to Childhood Memories directly on the Huffington Post. In the meantime,  what is your earliest memory? Do tell, either here on on the Huff Post.

 

 

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Going Forward to the Next Hot Spot

Somewhere along the way I got the idea that Lanzarote was one of Europe’s hot spots. Having spent a long weekend there recently, I must admit I have experienced hotter in more ways than one. Not only was the temperature a lukewarm 64 ˚F, the island wasn’t exactly budding with youthfulness either.

Still, it was hotter there than in the UK, which was about 34 ˚F when I made the comparison. On that note, I stopped wondering why the place attracted so many middle-aged visitors, and got on with enjoying it. After all, Paul and I fit the description technically.

Like the other Canary Islands, Lanzarote has volcanic origins. Located off the coast of Morocco, the island, owned by Spain, does offer some stunning scenery yet also some rough terrain, owing to its volcanic history.

As such we found at least one spot way hotter than others—Timnafaya National Park, where a volcano last erupted in 1824. There is home to Fire Mountains, known as Montañas del Fuego, created between 1730 and 1736 when more than 100 volcanoes, covering more than 50 km², erupted and destroyed this part of the island.

Although the last eruption seems eons ago, the park still has its devastated landscape, if you will, and temperatures only meters underground of 752 to 1112 ˚F.

As we stepped into the area for a fire demonstration, in which the demonstrator puts bushes in a hole, he handed us pebbly sand, if you will. Hot, let me tell you. And then magically, the fire started.

Prior to watching it grow out of nowhere, rather naturally, we had witnessed steam shoot from the ground like a geyser. And then later ate at the restaurant on site, which grills food from the natural heat of the dormant volcanoes.

Fun indeed but not the best food we had on the island. That was at our hotel, which surprisingly treated food intolerances as if they were par for the course. Remarkably each of their restaurants, at least the three we tried, offered gluten free options, as well as vegan and so on.

Certainly a hotter ticket in this area than anywhere else I have been in Europe, even London. Alas, Lanzarote still has a lot to learn about luxury from its fellow Spaniards and other European neighbours.

While it has plenty of Spanish charm, it could use a bit of an update, even the five star hotel we stayed at. Would I go again? Probably not but I might not go to Barcelona again, either, unless someone surprises me, and I absolutely love it there.

The point is the world has so much to offer. Why back track when you can go forward. So what’s the plan for Valentine’s Day? I hear there is a surprise on the horizons. Watch this space.