Famille

Before I leave Scotland, I just want to say how much I loved Edinburgh, again...I have to say, I was feeling morose in Iceland and even a little in Shrewsbury but it was in Edinburgh that I really feel like I turned a corner, emotionally and mentally.

It may have been the whiskey or Ben Nevis or Arthur's Seat or something else.  All I know is that when I stepped foot in the city, I felt my spirits lift and the forgotten, dusty organ of my heart felt like it fluttered awake for the first time in months.

I was more than a little sad to leave.

Anyway, it took about 10 hours on the bus to get to London, so it was dark when I saw Annabel.  Annabel is an old friend of about nine years.  She is fun, lively, and energetic...the world is her oyster.  She just got back from a two week trip to Spain and is enjoying her life in London thoroughly.  We started the night, as typical, at a pub where it all started off fine and then disintegrated into a girl fight over the Irish bartender (honestly I wasn't that keen really, but Annabel has a mad right hook.  I have the pictures to prove it).

The Highlands

We catch up, gossip and enjoy the night and then it was off to Paris to meet Mum.  I was a little sad, although excited because the part of my trip where I travel alone was over.  I have really enjoyed the past month catching up with friends and now its time to meet with family.

My mother, for those of you who might be unaware,  is a Frenchie.  She has lived in the states a long, long, long time but here is her home.   We catch up in Gard de Nord and she has arranged for a lovely hotel right across from the train station.  The neighbourhood is a colourful mixture with a motorcycle gang out front of the hotel that the police have to break up later that evening.

Before the real pain started on Ben Nevis

Mom spoke a lot of French to me as a little girl and I feel very fortunate to have spent a great deal of time there in my youth.  Paris is, as always, a busy place with street hustlers and tourist operators.  It can be frustrating sometimes when you speak French to someone and they answer you back in English.  The thing about France is that it can be intimidating, just like any place that you visit where you don't speak the language.  I understand about 30-40 percent of what is being said right but I still feel left out sometimes.

The language feels so familiar; like when you are dreaming.  It takes me a little while to feel confident enough to start speaking but I give it a go.  My aunties and grandparents are very understanding, as I slowly butcher their language.

Eddy, Mae, Christine, Eric, Sarah and Me...the survivors of Ben Nevis

We walk around the place and visit some of the best sites in Paris, but not too many.  The Louvre is shut on Tuesdays, which is a bit of shame.  Generally, we talk to each other about life, adventure and hair styles.

France will always be about my childhood; I remember long summer days sitting in my grandmother's garden, walking in the Jura foothills, eating Comte (cheese yum!) and visiting castles.  I connect with the countryside rather than in Paris because I have discovered that I don't like big cities as much as I thought I did.  And besides, Paris isn't really France, its too cosmopolitan, its almost its own nation.

In Paris, we meet up with my cousin Lucille; I have a LOT of cousins.  My mother has seven sisters, a brother and one half sister.  I think, all up, I have about 40 odd first cousins...so far almost 100 people are on this planet that are directly from Meme and Pepe (my grandparents).  Its a huge, beautiful, colourful family and the nice thing is that I always seem to have a place to stay anywhere in France or Switzerland or the U.S.

Lucille (who just celebrated her 20th birthday), Mom and me head out for a meal. Its okay but the dessert was a real showstopper.  Mom wanted to try the Grand Mariner crepes; we thought they would be flambéed so to burn of the alcohol. Mom, a pretty strict Mormon, waited only to find a warmed cup of the alcohol.  Assuming it had been boiled, she poured the stuff generously over our crepes.  It had not boiled...it was full on, alcohol and all Mariner...Mom looked fairly unconcerned as she said "Hey, whatever happens in Paris, stays in Paris..."

We get up and walk around the neighbourhood, going for our daily chocolate croissant (a Mom comfort food) and then head off to take the train to Auxerre, where my grandparents and two of my aunties live.  Mom takes me to the HUGE designer store that is called Le Gallerie Layfette...it has an entire FLOOR of shoes.  Its horrible for me, like taking a priest to a strip club.  I can't take one pair of any of these works of art with me to the Solomons....

It is wonderful to see my grandparents again; I honestly thought three years ago was the last time I would see them in this life.  They are older; Pepe doesn't do much anymore and Meme's has short term memory loss, but she is still active and happy.  

I spend the night over at my Aunt Mireille's place.  She makes me a lovely meal of tapas and cheese (I love LOVE french cheese) and chocolates from Becescon (my mother's home town).  It feels good to be in France with the family again.  It feels right.  

Its on odd thing, having two parents from totally different cultures.  And you can look at the pros and cons from a variety of angles.  One the face of things, you couldn't get more different than the cultures of France and the U.S. However, they both share one important passion: liberty or freedom.  And the French loves anyone who rebels against the English anyway...

Back to my point; I never felt very settled in the U.S., even as a child...not to say I felt any better in France but I related to the lifestyle, the desire to enjoy life in its simplest moments.  The French make an art form out of living well and its something I've always appreciated about my family.

Knowing you have a big, large loving family in France is truly a blessing.  So is the cheese...  

Ben Nevis-Mountain of Terror!!!

I want to say that I rocked.  That I was a tramping (hiking) superstar and that I summited Ben Nevis and slapped in the face.  I want to say there were no tears, there were no moment self complete self defeat...gentle readers, that would be a lie.  Did I climb Ben Nevis: Yes.  Was it pretty?: No.

Due to my exhaustion, I have invited my good friend Eddy to be my guest blogger...here he goes:

So, to escape from her incessant nagging, I’ve finally agreed to be a guest writer on the gnarly action packed epic that is Stilettos in the Solomons (abbreviated to SS by its dedicated readers). I’m Eddy, I live in Edinburgh, and it is my flat that Sara has been inhabiting for the past week, I’ve been busy all week though so she’s mainly been entertaining herself, though I did have a couple of days off, and Sara mentioned she’d like to climb Ben Nevis...

Did Sara mention how we met? I think she did, I was working on a farm in New Zealand. It was a peaceful farm, a tranquil farm. I was a shepherd. The grass was green, in the morning the birds sang in the trees... Well, I digress. That all changed...

Anyways, Ben Nevis is Britain’s highest mountain, at 1344 meters, and it rises dramatically from beside Loch Linnhe. It’s one of the busiest mountains in Scotland, mountaineers love it because of it’s dramatic north face, whilst it’s popular amongst tourists too because an easier path zig zags it’s way up the western slopes. The path is called the Pony Trail because it was originally built to service a meteorological observatory on the summit. The observatory was manned from 1883 to 1904 and its ruins are still up there. The Pony Trail is a long tedious slog and it’s always packed with tourists. A more interesting route climbs Carn Mor Dearg, a mountain to the north east of The Ben, walking along it’s summit you’re rewarded with views of the famous north face. It’s a longer walk and there’s not much of  path. Once you make it to the top of that first peak there’s a perilous scramble along a knife edge ridge onto Ben Nevis itself, then a quick steep slope covered in boulders takes you to the top. It’s longer and tougher than the Pony Trail, but the route rewards those up for the adventure; or those tricked into it, I suppose.

Ha, I just remembered the car! Did Sara mention the car? We bought a car together, on the farm, a 1979 Ford Cortina. It ran ok, but it was showing its age. It burnt oil almost as much as it burnt petrol and you’d have to keep topping up the radiator too. Funny story; Sara didn’t know how where to put the oil or the water, she went of on holiday with the car and when she came back and I drove into Christchurch the engine blew up! Ha ha, funny days...

Nine years ago, don’t the years fly. Where was I. Oh yes, so we decided to take the exciting adventure route, rather than the easier boring pony route. Some friends of mine from Edinburgh joined us and we left the car park at 9 and trekked up through the forest onto the hillside. Walking up across the grass and the heather, finding our own path. It took us a couple of hours to reach the stony hillside and then a while more along the ridge to the first summit. The wind was blowing a gale by now so we stopped for lunch before taking on the knife edged arrete on to The Ben itself. Along the ridge was hard going, it’s a steep drop of several hundred meters on either side and you have to pick you’re way carefully. Sara seemed quite nervous by then, and tired, it had been a long climb on to Carn Mor Dearg.  (I thought I was going to die, people!  DIE!!! In that moment I cried like a baby, wished that Antony was there because he was also my hero, talking me down any  mountain.  But, I realised he was gone forever and I only had two chooses, dear reader.  Hit Eddy or climb the mountain.  I did just that...)

That ridge line is good fun, I’m still convinced Sara secretly loved it. It did her good, like the learning experience of stripping out and fitting a new 2 litre engine to a 1979 Ford Cortina. Not that that has anything to do with anything.

After the ridge you’re about 300m below the summit of Ben Nevis, and all that’s left to do is scale the 45° boulder field to the top. Once you’ve had a bit of practise, leaping from boulder to boulder is good fun and you can fairly fly your way to the summit. You want to save a bit of energy for this part though, or you’ll be crawling slowly on your hands and knees. Ask Sara.  (I have no shame...I did crawl on my hands and knees).

But we made it! It was 5pm and the summit was beautiful. It’s wide and flat on the top, covered in the ruins from the old observatory. The clouds had cleared and we could see up the Great Glen to Loch Lochy, and down Loch Linnhe to the sea. Then across to the mountains around Glen Coe. And there was the slightest dusting of snow. We took a photo and headed of, only 4 hours down the pony trail and we’d be done. 4 hours. We’d be down by 9.  (I hate tramping in the dark...but mostly at that point, I just hated Eddy)

P.S. In other news, I came home from work today to find Sara drinking whiskey in bed with my flat mate. (Hey, I can explain, it was perfectly innocent...we were watching a movie!) See, I told you she’d been entertaining herself.

Ole Reekie

The Hall of Heads

I bum around Edinburgh for the next couple of days.  One day, I spent only 3.50 pounds, going to all the free museums of the city.  One particular favorite was the National Museum that had Botticellis, Raphaels, and a Da Vinci.  There were two round stairwell rooms filled with busts (I like to call it the Hall of Heads).  But my favorite painting was one done by a Scottish artist.  It was of the highlands...the way the light played on the canvas was beautiful and I really connected with the painting (it was done by Peter Graham, called Wandering states).

The beautiful Jessica

I met up with my pal Jessica and we did a whiskey tour.  The Scottish Whiskey experience is actually pretty good value.  It starts of in a barrel ride, which is pretty simple and it explains the INCREDIBLY complicated process of making scotch whiskey.

We try a variety of whiskey and I'm surprised to find that I like the whiskeys from Isley best.

 This feels so right; me being a member of the Scotch Whiskey Appreciation Society

Those whiskeys are incredibly smokey and rich flavored.  I've never been much of a whiskey drinker but it just wins me over. With a nice whiskey you can sit, relax and enjoy without drinking too much.

Next, Jessica and I eat some haggis (surprisingly tasty; must have been changed for the tourists) and then we went on the literary pub crawl. This was really fun; we were presented with two sides of Edinburgh: the historic, classic side and the seedy, evil underbelly.  Most of the writers here had some sort of nefarious reputation and usually spent quite a lot of time in pubs, gentlemen clubs (settle down, thats not what it meant back then...well...usually), and in secret societies.

At the end, I can't decide which side of Edinburgh I appreciate more.  Edinburgh is certainly has a dark, shady past and lots of bad shit went down here (I found out more about that on the Ghost Walk...but more on that later).

After the pub tour, we go tango dancing.  As I watch the dancers, I feel a little regret.  My very nice former  boyfriend Scott (Hi Scott, you made into my blog!) was taking tango lessons and I never danced with him.  It looks amazing; I wish I had now.  Seeing the sensuality, the closeness and the passion of the dance is inspiring.  The couples separate; most aren't together at all.

I talk with some people...the one thing I love about traveling is that you learn so much about other peoples lives and possibilities.  The world feels open and opportunities exist everywhere for different lives, different paths.

The next day, I explore Edinburgh castle.  It has your typical castle type things; a long history of mystery, murder, war and romance.  My favorite place is St. Margaret's Catherdral.  Its the oldest building on the site (built around 1200s) and its so small and quiet.  Most people just poke their heads in and the find something more interesting.  But I sit and think about Margaret and her life.  She was a woman destined to be a nun but was convinced by Malcolm, then almost 40, to marry him.  She did and became queen of Scotland.  Apparently, she was an amazing queen and she helped the people of Scotland by increasing the education, access to health care and generally help creating a more civil society.

She died pretty young, in her 50s.  Her husband had died in battle and it was reported that she died of a broken heart, so deep and abiding was her love.

I walk down the Royal Mile; perhaps the most touristy place in all of Scotland.  I love the shop names: Thistle do nicely is a personal favorite.

Spooky vaults....BOO!

I get onto one of the famed ghost walks and boy, was it worth it.  Our host, an actor and history student, tells us horrible and gruesome tales of mis-hangings, torture, murder and debauchery that took place in old Edinburgh. We travel down into the Vaults; apparently this is the most haunted place in Scotland.  Personally, I don't get much ghostly activity but it was still well worth it.  At the end of the tour, we are taken into a room, offered some drink and then told more ghost stories.  It was a good use of eight pounds; I learned a great deal about Edinburgh and apparently, all the stories are true.

My heart really warms to old Edinburgh (or old Reekie as it is known by) and I find I'm lighter and happier than I have been in months.  Maybe its the whiskey, maybe the tango, maybe the ghosts, I have no idea.  But I feel clearer and more confident in my ability to travel as a single woman.  I'm surprised that I never feel lonely; I'm pretty happy to keep my own company and get lost in the city and in my own thoughts.

Me surviving Ben Nevis...barely.

Next, the epic climbing of Ben Nevis; hopefully I survive the experience.

CHOOSE SARA'S ADVENTURE!!!

Before I begin with this entry, Eddy would like everyone to know that not only is he a super awesome guy, he is also ruggedly handsome. Ehem....

Okay, back to the blog.  It's time to choose Sara's adventure!  I'm going to conquer (like how confident I am when I say that) Ben Nevis, Britain's highest peak.  Afterwards, I can either visit Glencoe, the home of my ancestors and commune with them OR hang out in Lock Ness with Nessy (grrrrrr....sorry, I know that's a pathetic monster sound but it's all I got).

YOU CHOOSE!  Just pop a comment down below or put a comment of my FB OR email me...I'll tally the votes before we leave on Wednesday.

P.S. Other suggestions like hanging out with ninjas, picking up sailors or trying my luck as a "working girl" will not be considered.

Dead guys

When I got my master's degree, my brother Christopher handed me a book and said,
"All graduate students should have a basic understanding of philosophy...this is a good start."
The book was Sophie's World, written by Jostein Gardner.

At first, I was a bit insulted; of course I had studied philosophy in my course work.  I had a basic understanding of the classical philosophers and had studied a few modern ones as well.  But I thought, he did have a point, it had been ages since I had read anything for just pure pleasure.

So I read the book.  Honestly, some people don't like it BUT if you want a good crash course in philosophy, Chris was right (thanks Chris, you're a rock star!).  It was a good start.

I was really interested in David Hume, who featured in the book and he was born right here in Edinburgh.  His work spanned many topics but I loved that he questioned the absolutism of science and that logic cannot be removed from human emotion, nor can morality.  And that human belief is stronger than logic.  Oh and soooo much more...he inspired generations of economists, philosophers, scientist, psychologists, historians and hobbyist intellectuals.

I saw his grave today and I let out a little "eeeee!" when I saw it.

Another grave I saw was Adam Smith.  Now, I'm not as much of a fan of Adam Smith (I think he work has occasionally been taken to the extreme and out of context) but he still shaped the world we know today.  Bonus: him and Hume were homies.  Word. (that was for Katie Dzombar, by the way).  So much has come from here, it blows my mind and these guys inspire my poor atrophied mind, sick on the junk food of the internet, gossip magazines and television, to learn more.

Edinburgh is such an amazing city, it literally takes my breathe away.  This history, the buildings, the beauty.  I walked up all around Holyrood Park, climbing up Whinny Hill, the Dasses and Crow Hill (was going to do Arthur's Seat but I had no water or food and I just was feeling a bit tired at that point.  Will do it tomorrow).

I was walking on the Dasses, a large ridge looking over the city.  A falcon soared up in the air with a group of sparrows.  As they danced and glided in the wind, I honestly was so over come with emotion, I almost burst into tears.  Their beauty, grace and ease was so magnificent; with the beautiful city as a back drop and the sun poking confidently out of the clouds, I thought I had never seen anything so lovely.

After walking down off the hills, I walked passed Holyrood Castle.  The roads were cordoned off...I ordered some soup at a small cafe and sat outside.  As I was eating, a parade of horses and riders (what is it with this trip in parades?  First dogs in Iceland, now horses) passed by.  The riders were in full regalia. I asked the owner of the cafe what was going on.  He shrugged and said, "Must've killed another poor wee fox.  Wankers."  Clearly, he was not much of a royalist.

Actually the Queen herself is coming for a visit on the 16th!  I think she heard I was in town and wanted to catch up.  Good thing I packed an extra pair of heels in my bag...and a dress...wouldn't want to meet her wearing pants!  Now that would be a scandal...

Evolution

I met Eddy nine years ago today.  I don't usually recall the day I meet people but its hard to forget the day I met Eddy.  I was 23 years old and had just left the U.S.  September 11th happened while I was flying over the Pacific and I was on the last flight to leave for the states from N.Z. for weeks.

I cannot express the anguish I felt as I saw the two towers getting struck, knowing how much fear, grief and upset was in the states.  I could not be there with my family, to provide comfort and in turn be comforted.  The television station, where I had previously worked, called my parents, asking if I could come back to work but my mother had to tell them I had already left.

I felt completely useless and alone in that moment, realising that maybe I had made a terrible mistake.  The reason why I left was because I was working three jobs and going to school for almost a year and I was burned out.  I was in a relationship where I was paying for the livelihood of my boyfriend Brian, who was a nice guy, but ultimately selfish.  He didn't really care that I was burning out, working myself into the ground to put food on his table or pay his bills or help him with school.  Instead, he just resented me, ignored me, pointed out my failings as a person everyday and treated me like crap, pretty much.  The more I tried to help, the most distant he became..so I gave up.

I think he confused me with his mother and in the end he only really cared about his art and his friends; I was just the stupid girlfriend who was killing herself trying to make him happy.  I was ultimately unsuccessful in this because I found out, painfully again recently, you cannot make anyone else happy nor can you give so much of yourself to ensure their love for you.  People either love you or they don't.  No amount of giving, hard work or sacrifice can win the heart of another.

I realised this back then.  So I fled overseas to New Zealand, instead of just breaking up with him, because I needed a change.  I went to stay out on a farm in Waipara, where Eddy was a farm hand.  Eddy was a young kid from Scotland, barely 18 and on his own for the first time.  I took Eddy under my wing, after all I was 23!

Eddy and I became fast friends...we purchased a 1979 Ford Cortina together.  Eddy taught me how to drive a manual on the other side of the road (a real challenge!)  We looked after each other for the seven months I lived on the farm.  I hadn't caught up with Eddy for three years; the skinny shy boy I knew became a marine, went to Afganistan, travelled around the world and decided to go back to University to become a scientist.

I'm really proud of Eddy, he is an awesome guy and its great to see how he had made his life into a great adventure.  Eddy is a pure scientist at heart so he appreciated the rest of my adventure in Shrewsbury.

I did a walking tour about Shrewsbury about the life of Charles Robert Darwin.  Shrewbury is the birth place of Darwin and his family lived there and he spent many of his years there (although he went to the University of Edinburgh, Eddy likes to remind me!).  This was the place he started getting passionate about science.  He loved the geology of Shrewsbury and this is where he left for the Beagle to sail around the world for five years.

When Darwin came back, he thought about getting married to his cousin Emma.  He made two columns, one to marry and one to not marry.  The pros in the marry column were "companion for a lifetime; probably better than a dog".  The cons were: "less money for books" and "lots of time wasted".  He eventually figured out that the column for marry was better and got hitched with Emma.  They had 10 children; two died in infancy, another at age 10.  After the death of his ten year old daughter, Darwin stop attending church services, his faith in god had been destroyed.

On his deathbed, he did not recant his findings about evolution, as some people thought but instead told Emma what a wonderful wife she had been to him and how much he loved her.  He also told her how much he loved his children.  This great man of science last words were not of his own achievements or of self pity for his death but were of love and appreciation for those who had endeavoured to make his life better.  What amazing gifts this man has given us, not only in science but as an example of loving those who are in our lives, to be grateful and kind to them.

Nine years after meeting Eddy for the first time, I feel in some ways that I have repeated a cycle, leaving a similar relationship, where I gave even more of myself, sacrificed so much again to similar results as with Brian.  Realising that the person you have given everything for does not love you or care for you is painful beyond all belief but there is healing.  And life moves on.

I'm travelling around the world again, but this time, I'm not stopping in one place like I did before.  There is another disaster in my home, effecting the people that I love and I cannot help them or comfort them.  It is a very lonely feeling not to be able to help.  So, yeah it does feel like I'm starting from the same place.

I believe we can evolve, we can change and not repeat the mistakes of the past.  We have to adapt, to change and hope that next time we can really find love, support, kindness, charity and forgiveness in our relationships.

I'm enjoying Edinburgh so far; the sun is out (yes the sun does shine in Scotland!!!) and Eddy is a great host. He made me fish last night and we baked an apple and blackberry pie together.  Eddy has always been into home baking; he had a fresh loaf of fruit bread ready this morning for us to eat.

All right, off to take of the city...wish me luck!

Jane Eyre Country

"Gentle reader, may you never feel what I then felt? May your eyes never shed such stormy, scalding, heart-wrung tears as poured from mine.  May you never appeal to Heaven in prayers so hopeless and so agonized as in that hour left my lips; for never may you, like me, dread to be the instrument of evil to what you wholly love."

-Jane Eyre, written by Charlotte Bronte

I love the book Jane Eyre. I used to read it every year without fail, since I was 11 years old until about 28.  There a many reasons why I love the book so much, but one is obviously the setting.  In Shropshire, I have arrived at an old manor, built around the same time the novel was published and I can’t help but feel a bit inspired by the Bronte sisters being here.

For those of you haven’t had the pleasure of reading Jane Eyre, it goes something like this (SPOILER ALERT!).  Jane is raised by mean relatives who don’t really understand her willful and passionate ways.  She is sent off to a boarding school, where she gets very ill but recovers nicely and becomes a teacher.  Jane eventually moves on from the boarding school to take a position as a governess in a large country estate called Thorton Hall.

Her charge, the ward of Mr. Edward Rochester, is a French girl called Adele.  At first Jane is intimidated by Thornton and it’s surely master, Mr. Rochester.  And she keeps hearing and seeing disturbing things, like voices and laughter at night.  Her and Mr. Rochester develop a relationship, despite his surly habits and grumpy deportment.  Eventually the two fall in love, despite her lowly station and after some toing and froing.  They decide to marry. 

The night before they marry, someone sneaks into Jane’s room. tears her wedding veil and lights her bed on fire.

Despite this upset, Jane and Edward continue with the ceremony and literally as they are saying their vows, a man walks in proclaiming that Jane and Edward cannot marry because…dun dun DUN!!!!  Edward is already married.  The crazy happenings at Thornton are due to the fact that he keeps his first wife, the crazy Bertha, locked up in seclusion and occasionally she escapes.

Mr. Rochester cannot marry her but asks her instead to be his mistress, which Jane flatly refuses to do.  Concerned that her love for him is so strong that she may change her mind, she runs out in the middle of the night, getting a carriage to take her, well anywhere.

In her upset, she leaves whatever money she does have on the coach and has to go begging.  Eventually she ends up with St. John and his sisters, who realize she isn’t simply some old beggar.  St. John is a lovely fellow but cold and totally dedicated to the church. 

Jane discovers some good news; St. John and sisters are actually her cousins and that she has been left a huge sum of money by a dead uncle.  Jane is now a wealthy, independent woman.  St. John asks her to come to India with him to be a missionary and be his wife.  Not for love but for service to god.  Jane considers the offer and as she is convincing herself to go, she hears Edward call out her name across the Moors.

Jane turns down St. John immediately and returns to Thorton Hall.  What she finds the burnt out shell of the hall.  She finds Mr. Rochester, injured, unable to see.  She finds out that his wife, Bertha, burnt down Thornton in a rage and killed herself, just after Jane left.  For months, he has been injured and ill and crying out for her.

Jane has returned an independent, whole person, without needing Mr. Rochester and in turn, Mr. Rochester is now free to pursue his life without being weighed down by the estate and first wife.

He is deeply angry at her for leaving and she for him omitting the truth about his wife however, they forgive each other and eventually Mr. Rochester regains his sight enough to see their first son.

The book is inspiring to me on a number of levels.  It’s about an independent woman, who refuses to compromise her values, even in the wake of her own enormous passion.  And she also refuses to live a life without passion, without love (in those days it was quite common to marry without love being present). 

Anyway, enough of Jane. 

Helen was going to stay here with me in Jane Eyre country for three days but she (understandably) had to return early to assist with the earthquake.  When we arrived together in London, we had to catch a train in two hours to go to Shropshire, where her parents are living.  Of course, everything went wrong.  The plane was delayed.  The baggage took ages to come out.  And to top it all of, there was a tube workers strike.  Clearly the universe was against us.

We talked it over and discovered there were buses straight to Birmingham, not an hour away from her parents.  So instead of waiting two hours to get a bus to Victoria, to take another bus to Euston, to take a train to Shropshire, we decided to hop on the bus. It was the best decision, we (well I did, Helen was exhausted and snoozed almost the whole way there), watched the countryside zoom by.  It was a lovely drive up to Birmingham.

Her parents picked us up and drove us down to Shropshire.  Its an amazing little place, with century old homes.  We role up to Winsley Hall, built in the mid-1800s.  It’s a large, red brick three story building with 14 bedrooms, 9 bathrooms and a whole lot of clutter.

The place was inherited by a couple in the 1970s from a long line of family members.  Essentially, the mother and father frittered all the money away and now the couple no longer has money to take care of the grand home and estate to its fullest.

The couple, June and Wilton, are very kind, good people and for the first time, I see the aristocracy as a gigantic trap rather than a privilege.   These people cannot simply abandon their home; they have to keep it for the next generation.  Nor can they afford to leave it.  So they battle on, trying to keep the mold, dust and rotting infrastructure at bay.  The property, although beautiful, is like a gigantic millstone around their neck.

My hosts are the Reverend David and Revette Allison, Helen’s parents, friends of the owners.  I could not ask for better hosts; they are superb, entertaining and fun.  David is a retired Presbyterian minister, who has a masters from Princeton in theology and Allison is his wonderful wife, the consummate organizer and companion.  They have traveled all over the world, lived in some amazing places and still enjoy and seek each other’s company.  They are completely devoted to each other after 30 plus years of marriage, three children and lots of adventure.  Kind of like my parents.

When we arrive, Helen is packing and rushing about to get all last minute preparations sorted.  Her hair is really dry so I do a hair treatment my mother taught me: eggs and beer in the hair.  It works, however I used hot water to rinse the egg out and it set in Helen’s hair, giving her the wonderful feeling of waking up with an omelet in her auburn strands.  Helen gets the big pieces out but some of the smaller chunks still remain…her hair is pretty shiny though….must remember not to use hot water next time.

We drive Helen to Shrewsbury the next morning to catch the bus and then go walking about.  Shrewsbury is a place that looks like Charles Dickens threw up on…seriously, it was the place they filmed the 1980s version of A Christmas Carol with George C. Scott.  It has beautiful buildings everywhere and you can feel the history surrounding you.

There is a place for modernity though.  The McDonalds was built into a Normand Wall and you can sit downstairs eating a Big Mac whilst contemplating the goings on of ancient Norman pastimes like torturing the Welsh and festivals.

We go on a walking tour which is a little bland.  The guide says his s’s with a whistle and is an old school teacher.  We walk through the small shuts (walkways in between buildings) and look at the more interesting aspects of Shrewbury, mostly famous for being the birth place of Charles Darwin and a border fighting town between the English and Welsh.

At the end of the tour, we have tea with the Mayor Owens.  She seems a lovely lady and we chat for awhile about travelling.  She has long, acrylic fingernails painted red with flowers on the middle nails.  We tour through the old military museum at the castle and her security guard jokingly puts a replica roman helmet on his head. 

We head home and I make the Rev and Revette a meal.   Ever since I went to Iceland, I’ve felt this strong inner peace of just enjoying existence.  I don’t feel pressured to see everything; I feel much more comfortable just sitting and enjoying the surrounding environment. 

The next morning we walk up to the Stiplestones. I glamber on top of the Devil’s seat…it feels great to climb, even a small amount, up the steep rocks.  I enjoy the view from up top; I can see Wales over the hill and a bit of Offa's Dyke, a protective measure that King Offa put in place to separate England from the Welsh.  Its an old structure, built around 800 a.d. but it pretty much still constitutes as the border between Wales and England to this day.

Going into Wales even feels different.  There are red dragons everywhere and it just feels…older.  The buildings feel more utilitarian and less decorative.  We visit the ruins of old Montgomery castle and then sit down for some Welsh Rabbit (essentially cheese on toast with mustard, beer, tomatos and onions). 

We go back to the manor for a rest.  It is green and lush here, overlooking the heather covered moors near the Stiple Stones.  It is a great place to contemplate love, passion, values and interesting journeys we take in life. 

I had no plans to come here; to be honest I haven’t had much planned this whole trip.  But, like Jane, when we commit to a path of love and passion, somehow we just end up exactly where we need to be.