Letter from Israel ( November 2013)

             The heavily decorated section of the security wall, right of Bethlehem, West Bank 

Since August I had few nostalgic days around my old stomping ground, Cornwall and also found my self walking on ‘the not so cobble paved streets’ of Yorkshire in early November. However this letter is from Israel a place I had planed to visit in 2002 (the year my husband passed away) and finally had time and money to make a very expensive journey in November 2013.

 What a journey it was! All the way to Jesus’ stomping ground where my husband would loved to have been but I had to settle with the second best to keep me company, his memory! The journey was only for seven days and seven nights however I came home with head full of new experience with lots of questions unanswered. The tour guide, an Israeli Palestinian Arab knew his subject and the history of three major religions of his country (Judaism, Christianity and Islam) were brought to life every day as I travelled with a group of 15 from the West. The guide followed the Pilgrimage route starting from Tel Aviv and quickly moved on to the old port of Jaffa and then on to Druze village for a home cooked lunch with a Druze family (followers of interesting philosophy!).

 

 

We travelled to see Roman ruins of Caesarea, then to Akko, Nazareth, Safed city of spiritualists and artists. Travelling dangerously and avoiding the minefields on the way, we stopped at Golan Heights (disputed area) for photo snaps of Syria which looked green and pleasant from the border but still undergoing a bloody war somewhere beyond the border line. Another short stop at Jordan River for a holy dip (for few but not for me) and then off to Tiberias for the night. Boat ride in the Sea of Galilee reminded me of lots of loaves, fish and walking on water miracles by Christ. Living dangerously again and travelling on the almost deserted Jordan Valley Road to Masada and then to the Dead Sea to watch people floating! (Having spent money on mud packs I discovered later that the Dead Sea is fast losing its lustre due to the removal of mud for beauty products… sad, sad,  sad……). For desperately needed pee stop (W.C. in Israel) the driver had to make big U turn and introduce the group to the deserted Palestinian town of Jericho, the oldest continuously inhabited place on earth.

 

A visit to Holocaust Museum, reminded me of black and white world war movies at home. A visit to Bethlehem where the Star was born and the Palestinian refugee camp behind the gigantic Security Wall separating the West Bank (where Banksy and others made their Graffiti marks) were all very short but emotional. The final day in East Jerusalem was spent exploring the inside of the Old Jerusalem Wall: the Temple Mount (highly contested land mark on the planet and has its’ own security check where Christians are not allowed in.. sad.. sad.. sad), Wailing Wall (open to all), The Church of Holy Sepulchre (where Christians meet from all over the world) and the rest of The Holy, Holy, Holy sights…all well protected by CCTV systems. Israel being the world leader in CCTV system I was well protected ?

 

Would I go again or better still recommend the trip to my friends? Not really and here are some of my reasons. Israel has some of the most stringent security polices in the world and I should really feel safe, I did not! When boarding the plane from Amsterdam, I had to answer some silly questions such as “do I know any body in Israel” (yes I did have 2 friends in Israel but did not confess, what would happen to me if I said Yes, I shall never know?) and “why am I going there anyway” (I thought that was pretty obvious?). Once I landed at the airport in Tel-Aviv at 2 am, I was interrogated again with same questions; luck was on my side I escaped a full interrogation in a little room! (Some of my fellow travellers did not). So the start of the journey was a bit unpleasant but it did not get better as I and the rest were reminded all the time by the guide to be ready for any questions about our travels at various Israeli check-points. When we were on the road to the Palestinian town of Jericho we stopped at a road sign and were encouraged to take photos (see below) and our guide pointed out that the road was not safe for the tourists like us, he was not joking!! (Kidnapping immediately came to my mind!).

 

You would think that the Israel would be glad to get rid of you once you had finished your holiday and spent your well earned money to help the economy, but the answer is “NO”. They make sure you go through some more check points leading to the Tel-Aviv airport and once you are at the airport (which looked pretty deserted Friday afternoon, who in the right mind wants to go on holiday to Israel anyway?) you end up having to answer more stupid questions such as "what is your father’s name, what is your mother’s name what is your sibling’s names etc…".and if you are unlucky your luggage is opened and each item is examined by young kids with plastic gloves who are employed to do their national service at the air port. Luck was on my side again, I escaped another Spanish inquisition and luggage examination which was taking place out in the open area of the air port for everybody to watch! (How embarrassing, imagine all my dirty laundry out for public display ……)   

 Israel is very fussy about who is allowed into their well protected Fort Knox heavily guarded country. If I had a passport with entry stamp from Islamic country such as Saudi Arabia or Bangladesh the chances are that I would have been sent home. Again luck was on my side; my 10 years passport was renewed, just before my travel to Israel (my old passport carried lots of Bangladeshi visa entries). On arrival at Tel-Aviv airport I was given Entry Permit (a little paper slip) and at the point of leaving the country, I was given an Exit Permit (another paper slip) thus avoiding stamping the tourist passport like mine. This is to ensure that I and other tourists like me can travel to any Islamic country without being turned away by them, such as Bangladesh. (I guess?).  

 

 Security aside,  which was unnerving, I felt that the whole of The Holy land is made to look like one big theme park and in return for few New Israeli shekels the tourists are encouraged to take photos. As a non believer of religions on show I felt uncomfortable taking photos of sacred places where prayers were said (I came home with 500 photos… shame, shame, shame on me). Believe it or not, in the Land of Milk and Honey, water is like gold dust. Israel buys its bottled water from abroad and it is cheaper to drink water from a plastic bottle. There are massive big bottle banks every where. One water expert I met at the airport pointed out that Israel will run out of water by 2020 and some experts have forecasted the next world war, if it takes place, will be over water, scary!

 

We all know that the tiny state of The Holy Land has been trying to find peace for over 60 years. There is a Peace Centre in the heart of Bethlehem, near the Nativity Churches and people come from all over the world, including some from my city of Coventry (Coventry is a city of Peace and Reconciliation) to spread the Message of Peace. The final message I brought back with me is the writing I found on the side wall of the Peace Centre:   

 

 This year Kenya was celebrating 50 years of Independence and fifty years ago I and my family were kicked out of Kenya and we landed in England with our British passports and found new home. My British upbringing spiced up with Indian and African background gave me freedom to travel with my passport and experience through my own eyes the wonders of this magical planet I live in. I hope the similar freedom will reach the home of one young Palestinian student I met in Bethlehem and many more like her. She told me she was studying English at Bethlehem University and she told me she wanted to travel……...........she told me …………….

 

 

Finally, I feel I have now reached the end of fifty years of my travel blog. I have written approx. 65000 words and so far received approx.3000 page reviews from across the world!! I like to thank all the comments (made privately) by family and my friends… with that in mind I might just start another blog:  “travellingwithabuspass.com”, so watch this space?

Post card from Great Shoddesden ( Hampshire) August 2013

Farm in Great Shoddesden

The visits to beautiful Great Shoddesden for my annual pilgrimage, a retreat to the country side are a pleasant distraction for me from the city life. Since my last visit in September 2012 the country side surrounding my place of stay had not changed at all and I guess the country side rarely show any dramatic changes in its landscape over a short period of time. However this time in  August I was pleased that  the barren farm land which  I could see from my bedroom window last year  was  full of beautiful yellow fields ready for harvest. I got there just in time with my camera for photos as the combine harvester was waiting in the wings to do its job.

 The county of Hampshire is popular place where The Ministry of Defence (MOD) has their bases at place like Andover and Tidworth and great deal of army training is carried out in and around the county. Tidworth, the town not very from Great Shoddesden has a small convenience store run by the Nepalese for the Ghurkha people serving in the army. Every time I visit this incredibly beautiful county with its thatched roof cottages and ever green fields, I often feel out of place as I have never bumped into any one from ethic background. My visits to Great Shoddesden always remind me that this green and pleasant land is “for ever England”, for the true blue English breed! I cannot see our Government, ever sending any asylum seekers or the refugees to places around Hampshire. After my few days of stay in Great Shoddesden, I am always pleased to be homeward bound; being “sent to Coventry” is in fact a joy for me to hear because I live in Coventry amongst people from different ethnic back grounds, recently large number of refugees and asylum seekers.

 The scenic route from Great Shoddesden through Dorset to sea side resort of Poole leads to the Island of Brownsea, which is managed by National Trust. The Brownsea Island is rich in wildlife and has been made famous by Lord Baden-Powell who started the scouts and guides movement over a century ago and it has spread world wide. Driving back from Poole via Sandbank away from busy sea side resort of Bournemouth was worth the visit to the lovely little village of Great Shoddesden.       

 P.S. I have brought myself up date with writing my blog sooner then I thought I would and I  have until April 2014 to complete what I started, that is my fifty years in England, using travel theme and my 7000 photographs to help me write this blog. Though I am slowing down and enjoying my life walking to the end of my garden ( take note those who think I am never at home) I have few more trips on mind and hope I shall be able to make them to take me to the end of my blog period. I will continue to write this blog at Xmas time, perhaps on Xmas day, that would a novel way to avoid the festive day? So do look out for this space, for some more of my traveller's tale after the festive season is over!

 

 

Post card from London, July 2013

Camden Market in Camden Town, London

London, beautiful city of London, the great capital of England was my home for a short time and I visit the city almost every year to watch the crowd, visit art galleries and meet old friends. This year because I have been writing this blog since May and remembering my past and getting very emotional writing about it, I had this sudden desire to visit my old haunts, yet again, this time with a camera in tow. So off I went for three days adventure down the memory lane. Starting with a walk from St Margaret’s station to my old flat, in St. Margaret’s (Twickenham). No answer from the knock on my old flat number 4, instead I had a chat with the couple in the big house below my old flat, took pictures of them for memories, because memories are made of photos. I then walked to the Richmond Lock and stood at the bridge thinking about all the private letters (38) I sunk to the bottom of river Thames, with a brick in a plastic bag, polluting the river with my anger! Memories are made in writing too! Caught a train from Richmond to Kew where I lived in No. 28 Cambridge cottage, within walking distance from the botanical Kew Gardens. Then the garden’s entry fee was one whole penny! Now it is £16/£14. I then caught a red London bus number 65 all the way to Ealing leading to Madeley Road where I shacked up in a bedsit for few weeks without the landlord’s knowledge! Memories are made of lots of odd bits and pieces!

 The highlight of my trip to London was of course down the memory lane however I added some more photos to my ever increasing file of memories now stored on my computer. A long train ride to  see the Olympic Park was disappointment because I was not allowed in but I was able to take photos of the sculpture Orbit by Anish Kapoor, from the view observation platform situated outside on the road side. Then,  after few tubes ride away I landed myself  near the Tate Modern and over the wobbly bridge ( my brother-in-law had a hand in building it) which gave me a chance to view and photo the newly built skyscraper The Shard. My final resting place after travelling around London’s concert jungle was in Camden Town Market, incredibly vibrant with life and colour. I loved being there, if only for few hours.

Post card from Caldey Island ( Pembrokeshire) April 2013

Caldey Island

Another year and another special date to remind myself that I am getting older. Fifty years ago in 1963, Martin Luther King had a dream for his people; it was also the year when I landed in England with my mum and two sisters to start our new life full of our very own dreams. I followed lots of mine, some of them turned into nightmare, some impossible made possible and most just boring old dreams, sharing day to day dream life with the rest of the human race on this planet. However 24th April 2013 on Caldey island I felt I was all alone on one of my desert Island dreams, it only lasted for a short time though and it was nothing like the desert island Lucy Irvine (writer of her book “Castaway”) went to when she answered the advertisement for “writer seeks wife for a year on a tropical Island….”  

 Caldey Island lies three miles from Tenby harbour and has a population of mere 25 of which 12 are monks. It is a private island owned by Reformed Cistercian Order and is entirely self sufficient. The monks farm the land, milk the cows, start praying for the world peace and the rest from 3.45 am and have set up enterprise schemes such as making perfumes, toiletries and chocolates to sell to the tourist. There is bird life, sea life and lot of woodland kept in pristine condition to get away from the crowd of tourists. The few vehicles allowed on the island are used for transporting goods and people from the jetty. The local boatmen ferry tourists and Islanders to and from the mainland town of Tenby.

 

My short stay in a house next to the lighthouse, up the one and only road in the village will never be repeated again because real dreams come into life only once and I have lived to tell my tale. Furthermore the number of men who wants to become Monks is in decline and the idyllic life I had experienced and those who still live it on the Island will die sooner rather then later; sad but true!

 

 

Post card from Eatbourne ( East Sussex ) 2012

Stormy sea in Brighton

I was in Eastbourne in the summer of 1976 for two weeks workshop set up my employer. The sandy sea, (the English Channel) of Eastbourne was on its best behaviour then and I remember taking lots of evening walks on the beach. Well it was summer time then.  However in December 2012 the sea decided to behave so, so badly, the mighty wind joined in and the rain decided to throw in its towel too that all three nature’s forces became a melting pot for one of the worst winter Eastbourne by the sea had suffered for a long, long time. I was there for three days to witness the whole drama unfold. 

 Eastbourne is not very far from the Beachy Head, another landmark under going through the same treatment, where the trees could not stand straight and if I got any where near the edge of the rolling hill of Beachy Head I would have been blown away to the bottom of the hill in to the sea, I mean the English Channel. The beautiful seaside resort of Brighton down the road was not spared either and few mad people playing Russian roulette with the never ending mighty waves coming in and out at intervals were having fun?

 There was a good side to my stormy experience, the expert say that sea air is good for us human kind and I felt it helped me to get rid of some of  my cob webs I had accumulated for the past eighteen months. During the last 18 months, my two brothers (in the photo below which I used for my first publish blog) had left this beautiful planet of mine. They are being missed by their two sisters and me, always.

Post card from Belfast ( Northern Ireland) Nov. 2012

Europa hotel in Belfast

Life is slowing me down but I found a reason for going abroad again this time to Belfast, not very far but still over the sea to another not so foreign land. The beautiful city of Belfast torn by war was also the place my husband went for his business. Last time I got any where near Belfast was in 1995 when I and my husband caught a train from Dublin to Belfast and stayed inside the Belfast train station to meet my husband’s friend. All throughout the troubled times my husband often use to tell me that he stayed in the most bombed hotel in the world during his business trips: The Europa, five star hotel in Belfast. I went to see The Europa. Though the title has been taken away by a hotel in Beirut (my host in Belfast told me, but Wikipedia disagree), my visit to the hotel and in fact to the rest of the city was very interesting. With a helping hand from my host (5W member) we travelled via the train to the city centre. The train station I was in 1995 had a good face lift but I could not but notice that there were lots of sad looking faces travelling through it. The hotel Europa had been given a face lift too and seemed it never went through any bad times, it was business as usual.

The city of Belfast is small, beautiful and had undergone considerable expansion and regeneration around the main Victoria square with lots of interesting architecture to admire. The city main shipping industry well known for building RMS Titanic is now part of history in newly built Titanic Exhibition Centre in the heart of Belfast. The Giant Causeway just outside the city is another extraordinary sight to visit along a deserted rocky coastline. Sadly, Belfast has not shaken off its past and the visitors to this beautiful city and its landscapes are very few. When I was there in November during the start of the festive season (Xmas market and lights etc..)  trouble started in the centre of the town over the use of the British flag and I was lucky to escape the horror which followed my departure from the city. I saw it all unfolding, minute by minute on my TV at home. 

Post card from great Shoddesden ( Hampshire) Sept. 2012

Farmers land in Great Shoddesden

Beautiful, beautiful Hampshire has become my retreat since a friend moved to little village called Great Shoddesden in 2011(I can’t even pronounce the name but I get there somehow). There is also a Little Shoddesden next door to the Great one but I am pleased that I have chance to visit the Great Shoddesden! It is in idyllic surroundings with farm land all around and horses for those who like breeding them! I remember once listening to one of my favourite artist, Grayson Perry who remarked that the artists who paint country side, invariably paint the true picture of the countryside with cars, trucks, farmer’s machineries, and a room with an ugly view. These things are all there as part of the country scene but not shown in beautiful painted picture. This time around I went to Great Shoddesden equipped with a camera and took photos of the good and the very good country side and then not so good and very ugly sights which I am sure we, the city people can not remotely link it with living “the country dream!” In my friend’s cottage if I forget to close the door leading to the outside beautiful country life , the cottage would be invaded by rats, yes there are lots of rats in the countryside too. The country side smell is what town people dream of but I have yet to experience the real country side smell. Whilst I was there I heard a local farmer was asked not to use pig slurry during the time when a wedding party had their guests arriving in the neighbouring country home! 

 Anyway, Hampshire is still one of the most beautiful county in England, farming land, thatched cottages, lots of country pubs still opened for business and horses to show off to the kids, beautiful  city of Salisbury and Winchester not out of reach, New Forest to drive to and the sea life in the quirky places like Bucker’s Head, all can be found with in driving distance from Great Shoddesden.

 

Great place for retreat, I desperately needed it, if only for few days.

Post card from Nesoddtangen ( Norway) April 2012

Nobel Peace Centre in Oslo

Another year and another birthday to remember and celebrate when life around me was falling apart! I shall spare any details and continue to write about my next escape form life itself. I choose a little hideaway near Oslo called Nesoddtangen where one of my friends (white Norwegian) I met in Bangladesh lived with her two boys and a cat who preferred to have her siesta in my bed! The cats of the world, I met many (and could start another blog on my life and cats) seem to love me more then I have any time for them. I often tell my cat lovers of the world, give me a human baby any time, I know what to do with a human baby but have no experience in handling a cat. Anyway, back to my idyllic hideaway (minus the cat) was far removed from the big city, the capital of Norway, Oslo. However Oslo was within reach by a bus and a boat where I went in the mornings and returned back to my base and hung around the house (avoiding the cat), until my host came home after work. The beautiful house overlooked a lake (Norwegians prefer it to be called fjord) and was  surrounded by forest for walks and reindeers, I managed to bump into one reindeer,  much better company then the cat, as it did not follow me around.   

 
Oslo is a beautiful city with beautiful looking people and in the heart of the city is Nobel Peace Centre. Its exhibition on all the Peace Prizes reminded me of the contradiction the mad man Anders Behring Breivik had created for the country when he planted a bomb in the city and shot 77 young people on 22^nd July 2011. From what I experienced during my short stay in Oslo, there certainly was a huge gap between rich whites and poor immigrants. When I crossed an invisible line near the railway station with my friend, I knew I was entering the poor district mostly inhabited by immigrants and refugees from underdeveloped countries. Norway is in the top of the league table in the Western Europe for providing safe haven for the refugees from war torn countries on this planet (not UK!). There is new and old railway station side by side and is becoming a hub for lots of unsavoury dealings. The toilets at the station are equipped with special dark blue lights so that the drug addicts find it impossible to inject needles into their arms! A bit scary to be alone in the loo in Oslo. I was, especially when I paid princely sum of 2 euro to go the loo and could not even see what I was up to!

What did I do on my big day; I went with my friend to see Edvard Munch (the artist who made “scream” popular) Museum and cooked a curry for my host and her family, without mentioning a word! I am getting better at planning and receiving a special treat for my big day!  

Post card from London Xmas 2011

Westfield shopping centre, London

After 2002, the year my husband passed away, I find myself searching for a novel way of avoiding the great Xmas festive season which falls upon me like a ton of bricks; it is there whether I like it or not or whether I am Christian or not! Here is what I had to say to a friend of mine when I went to London for Xmas break in 2011:

24^th Dec. 2011 … I arrived at Marble Arch and headed towards Brick Lane to meet up with a friend who just arrived from Bangladesh, the roads were almost empty and underground bare, a bit scary to be in almost empty underground tube stations!! Brick Lane was full of Bangladeshi life, mostly men and it almost felt like being in Dhaka. When I arrived at my friend’s work place she was mopping the floor and had tears in her eyes. She came from a very wealthy family with servants and wondered how long she will last in England?

On Xmas day the first two people I bumped into, outside my hotel was a tramp (a bit scary!) and a lone man on a bench with his belongings and a radio to keep him company. There was very little sign of life in and around Regent’s Park where I was based which meant I could have the whole park to myself and rediscover my old haunts surroundings the park. The Lord’s Cricket ground, London Zoo, Muslim Mosque and little Catholic Church for the Xmas mass.

Boxing Day the sales started and the underground tubes went on strike too, thus adding to the chaos on the streets of London with rickshaw wallas to help ease the transport problems. I found way to the Covent Garden in the afternoon, enjoying the live street entertainment and two opera singers, thus avoiding sales and shops and spending my hard earned cash. I found myself caught in the traffic jam caused by stabbing of a young black man on Oxford Street, yes London is no longer the way it use to be when we were here many moons ago! In the evening I went to see Mamma Mai at Prince of Wales and the theatre was full of tourists and I wondered if they understood the show.

Boxing Day also included a visit to the London Eye, beautiful views from the air, cruising the Thames gave insight into the history from the river and all this enjoyment with lots of foreigners made me feel very much a tourist. Westfield Shopping complex near the Olympic village and it is the largest in Europe and fun to be there if I had wallet full of money and love retail therapy. I don’t.

Nearly all London for me this time around was full of nostalgia but next time I visit the great city I shall avoid the tourist spots and pretend to be one of the local and avoid Xmas break!   

Letter from Italy.... Pisa, Lucca, Siena and Florence ...2011



Statue of the great man Puccini in Lucca

I finished one year of studying at the local university, from 2010-2011 and not the one to miss any opportunity to travel I went to most of the trips offered to students at reduced rate, visiting: Liverpool, Oxford, Cambridge, Manchester, London, Stafford, Bath, Salisbury and Bournemouth. The trips were mainly for foreign students which suited me and whilst travelling with lots of foreigners who had very little knowledge of which direction they were heading, I befriended a lovely student from Oman, called Aman. She lived with me for the last two months of her stay in England.

 When we were both in Bournemouth, Aman who always wore her head scarf in public, laid flat on the beach with all her clothes on for a photo shoot (an experience she said she will not repeat back home) and wanted more travel adventures before going back to Oman. She asked me to accompany her to Italy and we decided on Pisa, mainly because I have not been there! My fun started when Aman asked another friend of her to accompany us, so instead of sharing a room with Aman, I settled for a room own my own, which suited me because Aman does snore, fairly loudly! An early start, meaning four a.m. to Luton airport was something we were not prepared for with all the road work in Luton town but we got there in time to start checking in our luggage. Aman’s friend (very attractive, very Westernised, without a head cover with mobile phone attached to one ear) who had booked her own flight on the internet failed to pay for additional suitcase which she was carrying and needed to pay hefty fine for her failure. She refused, causing a scene and lovely Aman came to her rescue by allowing all her friends’ excess luggage to be transferred to her own suitcase.

 

The non stop verbal diarrhoea on friend's  mobile phone continued from Coventry and it never left her until she was on the plane and it started again when we landed in Pisa. Aman was kind enough to act as a translator for me as most of the conversations were in Arabic, I was well entertained! We arrived in Pisa for three nights stay and our first day went fairly smoothly. The city of Pisa is fairly small, well organised sight where the leaning tower of Pisa stands, is surrounded by other wonders of Italian architecture; well worth the visit. The following day we boarded a train to Florence. I was there in 1988 when the centre of the city was completely covered with plastic sheets for cleaning the great statues and I was very happy to be there again to spend time admiring the great works of art without any plastic sheets around them, however my two companions had enough after one hour and wanted to head back to Pisa to sort out their next adventure.

 On the 3^rd day, our final day, the girls wanted to go to Rome and Venice but had no idea which directions both cities were facing and how far the cities were from Pisa. They did not consult me about their next move but went straight to the Italian travel agent at the station on our return from Florence. After hours of talking in English to the agent and then in Arabic to each other they realised (to the agent’s relief) that it was mission impossible and they could only visit one place, they decided on Venice. The journey to Venice from Pisa was an early start for them and the arrival time to Venice was late in the evening. When they arrived in Venice late in the evening they spent most their time cruising in the water taxi and then sleeping in one of them, apparently the water taxis go on all night (they said). During the early hours of the following morning they arrived back in Pisa and went to sleep for few hours as they had to be ready in time to catch their fight after lunch time.

Aman’s friend had bought far too many souvenirs to bring back to England. Aman and I had to share some of her luggage so that she does not end up paying for excess baggage. On our return journey home, both girls were so tired of their three days adventure that they both went off of sleep in the plane and then on the coach home.

Whilst the girls were having adventure of their life time going to Venice, I simply caught my train to Siena a beautiful city in the region of Tuscany and then to Lucca the walled city where the great man Puccini was born, both were beautiful places to visit and within a train ride away from Pisa.

The whole experience with the girls started off being fun with young Middle Eastern girls  but soon turned into frustration I could have done without; once bitten twice shy, I cannot see myself falling Eastern charm again!  

  

 

 

Post card from Winchester ( UK) .... 2011

The statue of King Arthur in Winchester 

24^th April 2011, another birthday and another trip to organise, this time to Winchester in lovely county of New Hampshire.

Last year on my birthday I was with beautiful Saba in Bangladesh to see the border of India. In 2006 Saba came to Winchester to study for one year and found lodging with an English family in the city. Whilst she was living there I had made few trips to Winchester to be with her and twice stayed in her room, sharing cold single bed but warm memories of our time together in Bangladesh.

So on 24^th April 2011, I made a special trip to meet the family who looked after Saba and organised a memorial day for her. On my request they let me visit her old tiny bedroom, with old fashioned fireplace on the third floor of the house. My private time in the room alone with Saba’s memories was my final farewell to her.
Easter Sunday also happened to fall on 24^th April 2011 and I joined the family for Russian style Easter celebration with massive big cream cake (nothing else but lots and lots of cream) and family friends. It was such a good feeling to be amongst friends who had no idea what 24^th April meant to me, it was my big day with my thoughts and in control of how I spend the day!

 I must do this more often, that is go away on my birthday where my hosts has no clue as to why I am there with them! Silly idea?    

Letter from New England ( USA) ...Sept. 2010

 White Mountains region

My special year 2010 continued to celebrate my big 60 (I am only young once!) when I booked an expensive guided tour with group from old England (UK) all the way to New England (USA) for ten whole days. Making sure that it was one of the journeys I will not forget, I had door to door service of chauffeur driven car all the way to Heathrow airport and home again. When a very posh car came to collect me and my not very posh rucksack taken care of all the way to the airport, I felt like the Queen of England on a journey to her New World across the pond. I am ashamed to admit that the journey was sheer luxury, sheer indulgence, sheer decadence but I am pleased to say that my husband would have approved of it all with his big heart, I can hear him saying “ you are worth it”!

 This one and only luxury continued all the way to New England, where guides had their own guide books and jokes for my entertainment and when it was too much for me to be listening to a lot of well rehearsed, regurgitated crap, I simply put my ear plugs in and read my own book . Mind you the American guides, all well dressed for the job were very entertaining, like most Americans they could talk and talk a lot! It was such a relaxing experience for me to have somebody else making the decisions for my pleasure and putting things right when they went wrong. I was never short of American company in the bars or out in the streets, all very friendly, polite and welcoming. My accommodations were in quaint country inns and my final stay night was in boutique type of B&B which provided poster bed, cosy in-room fireplace and private whirlpool bathroom.

 

New England (USA) is nothing like the old England (UK) I left behind but the names of the cities and towns kept reminding me of my old England I shall be returning to; I loved the whole experience so much that I wanted it never to stop. Anyway it did stop after 10 days and I must now spent time writing about the places I visited and what they have to offer to all those who live in old England and want to retire or just want to visit a paradise called New England?

 

New England is a region in the north eastern corner of USA consisting of six states of Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, Rhode Island (and Connecticut which I did not visit). There are rivers, forests, mountain ranges, farmland and country side, dramatic coastline and sandy beaches all reached by your own gas guzzling transport. Any public transport is non existence and my two 5W members I met up in a little town called Stowe, said that we, in old England were lucky to have such a good public transport net work for travelling. So for those who love the public transport of old England think twice about retiring to New England? The vast and beautiful landscape founded by earlier English settlers in search of religious freedom,  have over the years been home and inspiration to many literacy giants like Mark Twain, Stephen King and Dan Brown. There are lots of art & craft shops and workshops in most towns and cities I visited all wanting your hard cash, after pondering for days and hours over what not to buy, I finally fell for a hand made patchwork bed cover to bring home. Due to its diverse landscape, New England is also popular with Hollywood film makers and actors alike. The great and the mighty presidents of USA (Bush, Kennedy, and Obama) and lots of very, very wealthy Americans have homes, palaces fit for Royalties and  spend their holidays in New England. So if you do decide to go there, you will not be alone!

 I planned my journey to be in New England for autumn, the season the American call their “fall” when the fall season paints New England's maple trees red . However due to the climate change there were only very few red autumn maple leaves on the trees or on the ground. Friendly people I spoke to were still waiting for some miracle from Obama as the economy of New England was not going up hill! Time will tell if New England continues to retain its beauty for all to enjoy?

 My tour took me to Plymouth, Bath, Lincoln, White Mountains, Cape Cod, Province town, Rhode Island, Newport, Stowe, Vermont, Kennebunkport, Boston, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Vermont.

 

Post card from village of Chalonnes-sur-Loire ( France) 2010

Sculpture in Nantes

After my visit to Bangladesh, I continued to celebrate my special big “60” by visiting some of my old haunts and meeting my old friends:  Cheltenham ( I lived for 9 years) in June, London ( I lived for 4 years) in July, Cornwall ( for old time sake) in August and then to the Loire Valley ( I was with my husband in 1991) in late August. All places I visited from April onwards brought back lots of memories with friends I knew ; however my stay in the village of Chalonnes-sur-Loire with a French family, I hardly knew had added a new experience to my life in France, what might that be?

 Equipped with very few words of French, (the language I had given up learning!) I went to Chalonnes-sur-Loire with English/ French dictionary to help me over come the language barrier with my hosts whose English was as poor as my French. My five days with them were filled with real French hospitality; I mean real French hospitality, the only problem was that I could not cope with it after my first day with my hosts. I have heard so much about the outdoor, long drawn eating habits of the French excellent cuisine,( the best in the world) serving up to four courses for lunch with wine. I had the “full Monty” day after day and all I wanted was a sandwich and a glass of water for my lunch after my first day of excitement was over. Not so, as far as my hosts were concerned and there were no words I could find in the dictionary to explain my very humble and hospitable hosts that I have been over fed and over drunk with their generosity.

As for the French loo habits, there were no words in my dictionary for me to start a conversation on the subject with my hosts and here I shall not even start writing about it as to what I did not do right visiting the French loo everyday during my stay with my hosts?

Religiously, every day after lunch my hosts took me out, to see and walk the beautiful Loire valley, visit the vineyards, visit the art galleries, the city of Anger, famous for its castle and Nantes famous for garden sculptures. However I often found myself tired, sleepy and not appreciating all the beauty around me and to keep myself awake I kept taking photos, altogether I took 250 photos in 5 days!
For me five days of living my French dream was turning into a bit of nightmare, I couldn’t wait to get home to pick up my English habits, good old chicken tikka masala sandwich plus a glass of beer, can't beat that!

My last letter from Bangladesh.... April 2010



Saba and I on a boat crossing the river to Durgapur

Another year and another birthday, this time my big 60 and I decided to go away to Bangladesh in the hope to be in Durgapur on my birthday. Not a quick and an easy ride to Durgapur which is in the North of Dhaka over looking the border of India, so I gave myself 4 weeks in Bangladesh to make sure I make to Durgapur on 24^th April 2010.

I landed in Dhaka on 9^th April 2010 and there was a party being organised in my honour, provided I (because I have a foreign passport) help my host to buy some hard liquor from local seedy drink den only found behind closed doors. Using me and my passport to buy unlawful drinks did not work, so my host had to rope in an elite, top notch society local lady to help him talk to the gate keeper of the den to open the gates so that we could load a car full of illegal hard stuff. For me waiting for the drink bottles to arrive in an empty room behind the gates was like waiting in a doctor’s surgery, I was nervous, but my host was well relaxed about the whole experience of breaking the law of his own land! The party went well for those who loved the Western life style; there was plenty to drinks, getting easily drunk by mixing drinks, lots of food, music and dance. The elite beautiful Bangladeshi lady with her Bangladeshi toy boy and lots more guests were enjoying themselves in the early hours of the following day whilst I decided to be in bed by ten pm, couldn’t keep up with the night life of the rich and powerful of Bangladesh?

The next few weeks of my stay in my host’s accommodation, in a very posh area of Dhaka I was left alone with his partner. Whilst with her ( the partner)  everyday I had to endure some horror stories of how she had been treated by her ex-husband and why she had to leave her ex and make a new life for herself and her daughter. To make their voices heard, self harming is popular with Bangladeshi women and my host’s partner had lots of scars on her arms as a proof of her unhappy married life.

After two weeks of posh life style, a bedroom and a bathroom of my own, plus lots of room to swing few cats, I moved with my friend Saba, who had a flat in not very posh area of Dhaka and shared 3 bedrooms flat with five other female friends. I slept on the floor in the living room most nights when other rooms were occupied. Most household in Bangladesh have live - in female servant. Within few days of my stay with Saba, I felt that there were too many women making too many demands on the poor female servant whom Saba had hired from her village. Saba eventually found herself getting rid of her servant, (not out of choice) and sending her back to the village life she did not want! Still waiting, hoping and wishing for my journey to begin to Durgapur with Saba, (without her I would be lost) I had to attend her niece’s  wedding , (at a very short notice) who had seen and fancied a boy in her village only few days before her wedding day and wanted to get married to escape unhappy home life. A day after the wedding one of the young female servant who attended the wedding and knew Saba drank bleach to make her voice heard; female and also male servants are not always treated fairly by their employers. Poor Saba had to rescue the young girl from the hospital whilst I stayed back to see what next the life unfolded for women of Bangladesh!

 Finally three days before my birthday, Saba was free of all demands of life thrown upon her whilst I was around and we made our way to Durgapur, stopping in Natrekona to hire a car big enough to drive over huge muddy pot holes. We also collected some more passengers to help us on our journey. We had to hire boats to cross a fast flowing river and finally mounted motor bikes, the only possible way to reach the border of Bangladesh and India outside Durgapur. Not a vey exciting place to be, there is a private Christian school but as planed I made it there on my birthday and  looked  over the barb wire and waved to my beloved India next door.

 I went to Bangladesh for my birthday because I really did not think anybody would remember the time, day or year of my birth, but how wrong I was!! For a whole week from 24^th April, Saba kept reminding everyone of my special day and I was showered with all sorts of presents I could do without and left them behind. The only useful present I cherished was a Jackfruit (in season) which I carried back all the way back to Dhaka and shared with all others in the flat. It was too big to be eaten alone! 

I said my farewell to Saba on the 6^th May 2010 and that was the last time I saw her. On 17^th December 2010, my friend Saba who was young, beautiful  and had everything to live for, could not cope with dreaded thing called life and she hanged herself on a foreign soil , thousands of miles away from her family and her closest friends.

Post card from Prague ( former Czech Republic) December 2009

Modern building amongst the old in Prague

Prague, beautiful Prague is the capital of Czech Republic and it is popular tourist destination for all sorts; I was there for three nights to see the Xmas lights and found lots more to see, however Prague’s beautiful reputation is being eroded by the flight full of lager drinkers  from UK (mostly out for stag nights, my nephew was one of them) and I guess from the rest of Europe ( Prague is twinned with 40 cities around the world mostly from Europe) because Prague can provide cheap beer and the rest for easy money?

Prague’s centre was completed destroyed during the 2^nd World war and nothing was done to restore its beauty until the collapse of Communism 1989 and after my visit I can see why it is listed as one of the World Heritage Sites. The city is full of incredibly wonderful buildings, every corner I turned to there was a beautiful building to admire and take picture of, new modern buildings were merged into the old Gothic styles or Renaissance style; there was so much to see on the streets of Prague that I had no time to visit any art galleries or museums, plenty of them around too!

 Prague is also famous for old fashioned coffee houses and I agreed to meet up with a friend (5W member) living in Prague for coffee. I was a bit disappointed when she asked me to meet at the coffee place run by M&S; yes there is M&S department store too for those who like to drink very expensive cup of coffee!     

Letter from The Death Valley of California ... April 2009

Reaching the Earth's Lowest point in Death Valley

Death Valley is a desert valley located in Eastern California situated within the Mojave Desert, it is the lowest, hottest and driest area in North America, 3000 sq miles. The valley is surrounded by mountains while the surface is mostly flat and devoid of plants.

When I first heard of the “Death Valley” in sunny California I had vision of a barren vast landscape where people died from all sorts illness, creatures and aliens from out of space. Not the one to walk away from an offer of a journey to the valley, I quickly accepted an invite from a friend who had been there. However, for me reaching the death Valley itself was a bit of a disappointment because there were lots of tourists like me, (probably not wondering around with same thoughts as mine) but they were there in truck full and so were the hotels to accommodate them and so were the typical American type of tourist centres with gift shops to make sure all those visitors go home with a fridge magnet or two!!

 

There are 300 people who live and work in the valley. There are different versions of how the valley got its name and here is one story from Google search engine. “Long before it was established as a national park in 1934 the Death Valley received its name from a group of hikers who used the valley as a shortcut to gold in California. One person died of dehydration and one of the hiker who lived to tell his tales was quoted as saying “goodbye, Death Valley”. The name stuck and since becoming a National Park people who go there are better prepared and thus there are few reported deaths, approximately six every year. So people do die, but not from creatures from out of space or dreaded illness like malaria!

 

For me the most adventurous part of my journey to Death Valley was the whole American style experience of travelling for 14 days by car from Vancouver ( approx. 1000 miles to the valley from Vancouver). My two hosts did the hard work of driving everyday, covering long and sometimes lonely roads whilst I became the back seat driver with a camera. It was the most scenic journey I had ever experienced in my life in such a short space of time. Our inland journey from state of Oregon (USA) started with miles and miles of flat land of tulip farms; we moved on to the mountainous region where it snowed making it difficult for our onward journey; we went through acres and acres of farm land where we got lost and we had a chance to climb the sand dunes. We went through vast region where the Indians and Cowboys roamed the land, which looked desert like with extraordinary hills of numerous earthy colours. The scenic route was very unpredictable and so was the weather; there were days when it was cold (minus 2 degree) with snow on the ground and there were days when we suffered heat waves, there was rain and lots of rain and there were days when the strong wind made the driving dangerous on isolated roads.

Our return journey from the Death Valley to Vancouver was all along the coast, through the Californian vineyards and the Redwood forest and lots of sea views every few miles. Throughout the journey my camera did not stop clicking, I took 300 photos in 14 days!! Each night we stopped in a motel (three in one room, cheaper) and the following morning after breakfast we moved on to the next port of call and for 14 days we stayed in 12 different motels, stopping in quirky, small towns off the beaten tracks which I have never heard of but felt very much at home with the American style friendly welcome we received each time. (For my own records I made a note of each place we stopped whilst travelling to and from the Death Valley.. Biggs, Bend, Alluras, Bishop, Beatty, Calico, Fresno, Petaluma, Fortuna, Bandon, Palackmas, Portland also passing through San Francisco and Island Whidbey back to Vancouver).

 

On 23^rd April 2009, Shakespeare's birthday we were in town of Bishop, just when I thought the world had gone to sleep with out knowing my date of birth the following day (24th April) I woke up in the middle of the night to find the bath tub full of balloons and the following morning the land full of snow outside and fairy cakes with candles inside; unforgettable 59^th birthday treat! I should go away more often on my birthdays?