finding Myanmar I

“The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” (Lao Tzu)

How to begin to describe the trip of a lifetime?

Everything about it would be a challenge …. the place, the people, the food, the language, the climate … but that was the point.  Life for her was, these days, all about finding out about herself by being brave enough to do extraordinary things that she never dreamed she would be able to do, and pushing the outer limits of her comfort zone. Travelling in Europe, often little more than a 2 hour flight from home, had once felt so adventurous, but now she knew that she would probably find enough that was reassuringly familiar … a comfortable safety net wrapped around her travel plans.

So how far to push that comfort zone, how far to step out of Europe?  Well, South East Asia would do it!

Not one to follow the crowd, Thailand, beautiful though it looked, did not appeal.  It’s poorer neighbour, Myanmar, did. A nation whose people would still be curious about seeing Westerners wandering its streets – how amazing in this day and age, where everything seems so accessible, to have the privilege to visit a country still tentatively learning the huge impact that tourism would have on the very essence of its being.

As is often the way when we plan a trip abroad, it seems that suddenly that very place is appearing everywhere in the news. Is it that many of us are so absorbed in the mundanities of our everyday lives, that we are aware but somehow not aware of events in the world around us until they threaten to impact on our own.  How ridiculous that she had read everything from “The Glass Palace”, chonicling Myanmar’s chequered history since the reign and enforced exile of King Thibaw, to the diaries of Aung San Suu Kyi, yet, until she turned on the news a few weeks before their departure and watched in horror the footage from the Rakhine state, she had not registered the ethnic cleansing that had been happening there for years.  Not something you find in the tourist brochures, that’s for sure.

So the decision had to be made – to go or not to go.  Advice was sought, both official from government sources, and unofficial from friends of friends who had travelled there before, or who lived in South East Asia themselves. Safety was always a concern, though in troubled times, security can be far better and in a way, one feels safer for it.  What played on her mind was the political situation and if she still felt comfortable visiting a country in such turmoil.  It was not an easy decision, but in the end, it came down to the hope that, by going anyway, her visit might in some small way make a meaningful impact on the lives of the some of the people she would meet along the way.

And so, as temperatures in the UK started winter’s downward spiral , she and a friend headed to the airport with suitcases packed with sun hats, mosquito repellent and summer shorts. She’d never been on a flight so long that she somehow mislaid Sunday afternoon, on a plane so large that she had to go upstairs to find her seat ….

The adventure was about to begin ….





finding Him

How was your day, today, my love?

Was the train on time?
Did your meetings all go well?
Did you work your lunch, or take the time, to look
out of the window at that bluest of blue sky we had today
and wonder if I’d seen it too?
And are you seeing friends tonight?
Or snugging in
with season four, a beer and take away?

My day?

The same …
the train, the meetings all went well, the lunch, the bluest of blue sky,
the friends, the snugging in …
and yes, I did, take time to wonder about you.

I know,
it’s strange
… you haven’t met me yet, don’t even know my name.
Our ordinary days go by, our lives evolve,
our paths wind on their way.

But know that, on just one of your so ordinary days
You will look up and see me there and wonder
is it her?
The one who I’ve been waiting for?

And I will feel the same.

Don’t rush, my love.
That day will come and if the time is right,
There’ll be no need to shout, and wave to stand out from the crowd.
Our paths will cross
And I will know you are the one
And you will know it too.

And there will be no more so ordinary days …
… and you will know for sure that when you see the bluest of blue sky

… that I have seen it too.






finding Lisbon


Latterly known as the new Barcelona, she stepped from arrivals into Lisbon’s midday heat with eager anticipation, and as her taxi wound its way down into its sprawling suburbs, she wondered if it could possibly live up to that kind of reputation.

Choosing Airbnb was a deliberate attempt to be less of a tourist and more of a local, so home was a tiny apartment in a residential area just east of the Lisbon’s oldest district of Alfama, right on top of a hill.

The hills!  She had been warned about the hills, but these were some serious upward climbs!

Though hills, of course, mean stunning vistas. See from above, Lisbon’s faded beauty is picture postcard, terracotta roofs on careworn tile-clad buildings tumbling towards the sparkling Tagus, famous for sending intrepid explorers out into the big blue. The waterfront, to the east, already redeveloped and achingly cool. Centre stage, the long dining tables in Mercado da Ribeira, the converted food market now revitalised by Time Out, the place to lunch. A noisy, buzzing, anything-you-fancy eating experience, sitting in the middle of the historic food stalls, where market traders have sold local produce since the late 1800s.

Nevertheless, thank goodness for the trams. The famous number 28, clattering through the maze of the narrow cobbled streets of Alfama, inching past parked cars and oblivious tourists, was not for the faint-hearted, but far kinder on the feet and the lungs!  On the other side of town, the “hill” problem is overcome via the Gloria funicular or the slightly bizarre neo-gothic styled Elevador de Santa Justa, rising from the Baixa district to the top of Barrio Alto in seconds, so the views are the only thing to take the breath away!

Lisbon’s hills leave a lasting impression, that’s for sure.

As does the food. In any country, there are certain things that never taste as good as when they are eaten there … in Portugal, it’s sardines. Silver slithers of deliciousness sizzling on market stalls, best enjoyed simply with a fist of crusty bread to soak up all the oil. And of course the famous “nata”, a delicious custard tart, buttery flaky pastry, custard just slightly wobbly, and a dusting of cinnamon.  She could have developed a seriously unhealthy addiction – may be climbing the hills was a good idea after all!

She found herself addicted too to the heart-breakingly beautiful fado music that flowed through the open windows of tiny airless bars in Alfama, as the sun sunk low on those early Summer days.  Fado, from the Latin fatum, and the source of the English word for fate …. so profoundly melancholic, it haunted her still.

They say you have to love yourself before you can be loved. It felt as if Lisbon was just waking up to its potential, quietly hiding away its faded beauty like a secret treasure, still wondering if it could hold its place in the hearts of the tourist droves starting to wander there. She left Lisbon, unsure where this fascinating city sat in her heart, but may be that was because she too was still learning to love herself. She wondered if she had given it enough of a chance to show her all it had to offer …. or perhaps it just wasn’t ready to yet.



finding Positive Solitude



“Claim your space. Draw a circle of light around it. Push back against the dark. Don’t just survive. Celebrate.”

(Charles Frazier)


She had never heard the expression “positive solitude” until a few days before, but it described perfectly the place she was on her journey.  

When she left her marriage, she knew loneliness would be her achilles heel, so had, of necessity, taught herself to embrace solitude.  The thought of a day on her own still had the capacity to leave a dull thud in her stomach and an uneasiness which she couldn’t quite put her finger on.  But, for the most part, she could get through a day alone, in fact, more than get through….

She found that keeping busy, or at the very least, having a plan, was the key.  Yes, of course, those plans very often displayed all the symptoms of running away, to escape the day-to-day, to break the routine where the silence of no early morning message from him would break her heart again and again. And sometimes, those plans were the end result of anger and defiance standing firm together in a “sod it, I don’t need anyone” kind of way.  Of course, in an ideal world, she would have given anything to be with someone who loved her, simple as that. But there is a difference between wanting and needing.  It took all her strength, but it was that anger, disappointment and hurt that gave her the momentum finally to step out into the world and say “bring it on”.

Holidaying alone, of course, was something else altogether, though she found that fear, when you are brave enough to look it in the eye, has nowhere to go.  

Florence was her first solo trip.  Alone, she spoke less, noticed more … and those moments when it would have been so wonderful, later, to say “Do you remember when …?”, sat in her memory bank alone.  More than anything, she came home with a sense of achievement that made her spirits sour, and still the memory of speeding through the Tuscan hills on a Vespa, that life-affirming rush, that freedom of spirit, left her grinning from ear to ear.

And so to Lisbon. A last minute, need to get on with my life, kind of booking … without any preconceived notions of what to expect.  A deliberate attempt not to be too touristy, to step out of her comfort zone a little further than before. 

And so, she sat typing this story, in a sun dappled courtyard just east of Alfama, the hilly artisan quarter of the town.  A local resident, Jose, popped his head out of his window and offered to put on his favourite fado music to keep her company.  Hauntingly beautiful voices, mending all those lost dreams in a soothing wave of melodies floating through the lemon trees, the delicate blues of heady agapanthus and lavender, across the white washed terrace outside her tiny apartment. For all Lisbon had to offer, she would remember most the magic of that moment. It was perfect.

She realised how far she had come.  So terrified before of even being alone, here she was, in a foreign land without a single soul to turn to. For her, this was being brave beyond her wildest imagination, and she knew she would be fine.  That’s quite a journey!


finding Mykonos

It was certainly a bit of a Thelma and Louise moment.  It was probably the pink helmets that did it.

Three days in to their spring break in Mykonos, it became clear that the only way to reach the tiny unspoilt bay on the other side of the island, was to hire some wheels. Whilst a car was the sensible option for two ladies of a certain age, quad bikes looked infinitely more exciting.  And so it was that they edged their way out into the morning traffic, with nothing but a rudimentary map and a vague sense of direction to guide their way.

They had happened upon Mykonos purely because the right travel deal came up at the right time.  Its reputation as a party island preceded it. Party girls they were not … but pictures of the unassuming family-run hotel just outside Mykonos town, low-rise, white-washed and draped in vibrant bougainvillea, lured them to this tiny dot of a Greek island.

Mykonos turned out to be a surprise in every way.

The town itself was a short boat taxi ride across the bay … what a way to arrive! Chugging into the mooring, they got their first glimpse of the iconic paving that winds its way through the narrow streets of the Old Town, inviting them in to explore it’s maze of quirky local bars and high end fashion retailers … this tiny island certainly attracts the money.  Shopping is more about Armani than  trashy souvenirs. Standing proud on the ridge, the time-worn windmills watch the to-ings and fro-ings of this busy harbour, like they have done for centuries past.

The famous party beaches weren’t for them, but the rest of the island remained surprisingly untouched by mass tourism, and the notion of the romantic Greek island idle that Shirley Valentine gave us in the 80s, can still be found in its barren hills, dotted with white-washed rural hamlets and tiny chapels peeping out at every turn.

Giggling with delight at the absurdity of  how they must have looked to the locals, two English woman on a quad bike, pink helmets, old enough to know better,  they jolted their way along the dusty tracks across the island to Fokos, recommended by a friend for its not-to-be-missed taverna.  Just as they arrived,  the locals started to spill in, bearing gifts for the staff on this the first day of opening for the summer season.  They felt they were intruding on a secret party, but were welcomed like long lost friends and beckoned onto the veranda to enjoy their meal lazily sitting in the dappled shade overlooking what can only be described as an island paradise. For the people, for the food, for the place …. it was one of those “do you remember” meals. Total bliss.

Mykonos … one of those places that where time passes so slowly, but a holiday is over so soon.  A definite must-go-back-one-day ….


finding Her Path


“He who is outside his door, already has the hardest part of his journey behind him” (Dutch proverb)

She found herself again on that same bench. It was one of those mornings when Summer isn’t quite ready to let itself fade into Autumn.  

It was one of those days when she woke up, and, despite a good night’s sleep, it felt like being brave was just too hard.  It was sometimes.  With the best will in the world, and despite doing all the right things, some days it really all felt just too hard.  But she did know that one of the right things to do … was to get outside.  

Five minutes from where she lived was the most glorious park that had been within walking distance for the best part of her adult life.  It was the must-go place for firework displays every November, which she’d gone to with her boyfriend, then to be her husband, then the father of her children, who themselves had been thrilled at the ever noisier pyrotechnics.  For the boating lake, always a draw for silly teenage antics, and home to a variety of tail-wiggling ducks and haughty swans, so frighteningly humanised and bloated by the constant availability of crusts from over-zealous toddlers.  For the stunning landscaping, with a clear nod to Capability Brown, it’s perfectly placed trees and gentle hills … hills for screaming down riding out-of-control toboggans speeding to the water’s edge, hills for chasing dogs careering towards the resident geese, hills for pram-pushing a overwrought baby in need of an afternoon nap.  So many memories.

And so, it was almost without thinking, that, on the day she left her marriage, she should find herself there in that park, on that bench.  Back then, so absorbed in the enormity of what had happened, she hardly noticed anything around her.  Passers-by, though curious to see a middle-aged woman sobbing her heart out in the middle of a Sunday afternoon, would have scurried past, best not to interfere.  She could only remember the overwhelming sadness but also sense of relief, like her lungs weren’t big enough, and the total shock and fear, as it dawned on her that she had taken that first irreversible step on her journey.  

The bench was set high up in a dappled grove, tucked away from the activity around the lake.  Today, she could see from her vantage spot, a straggling crocodile of year 8’s, their red and black uniforms appearing then disappearing between the trees as they reluctantly jogged their way around the lake’s perimeter. One athletic boy determined to lap his classmates and show off to the girls, who of course giggled and feigned disinterest.  Life seems to simple when you’re young.  And a lone walker, with a frisky spaniel darting its way between the bushes, determined to catch the waterfowl unawares.  

Back sitting on the bench again, over four years later, she contemplated her journey since that afternoon, and realised how far she had come, and that she had been brave …. and that it was OK sometimes, to feel like she hadn’t the energy to be brave any more.  She sat, closed her eyes, and tried to make sense of it all.  It was at once overwhelming and terrifying all over again, her lungs still did not feel big enough, but for all that, not for a minute, had she looked back and ever thought leaving was the wrong thing to do.

She looked up, and realised for the first time, that the grove was planted with oak trees, growing stronger by the day and standing firm, there at the top of the hill. Oak trees rustling in the crisp morning breeze, heavy with acorns, some already fallen,  starting to spread out new roots, creating new beginnings.  Just like her.  


finding how to Face Your Fears

Funny thing, fear.

It has the potential to paralyse us, to insist we dismiss other options and go for what is safe, to stop us looking forward, to anaesthetise us from pain, to put the brakes on any ridiculous thoughts we might have of doing something wildly adventurous, to trap us in our comfort zone, to force a “no” from our lips when we should be squealing a “yes”. Tricky little blighter, fear, that’s for sure.

Unfounded or not, fear has different boundaries for each and everyone of us. And those boundaries are dictated by our life experiences, and how, having looked fear in the eye (by choice or not) … we have come out the other side. When we face fear, we reset the boundaries, which in itself is terrifying and utterly exhilarating at the same time.

None of us have any idea how our lives will turn out. But we all have a choice. Either to stay in our comfort zone, taking reassurance in the familiar, knowing that even if something does rock its foundation, in essence we can tuck ourselves back into the safety of its warm embrace and sideline change as best we can.  Or to recognise and embrace an opportunity, open our mind to the possibility that different might even be better, and take meaningful steps to live the life we want to live .

It all comes down to be brave enough to try.

She had discovered that, once looked in the eye, fear has little place to go.  And it was that realisation, more than anything else, that had changed her life.

There was no stopping her now!




finding that Eating Alone Isn’t Funny!


Laughter needs two people.

Laughing alone, tears rolling down her face,

because her book, the one that was meant to make it look

like she hadn’t been stood up

in the restaurant,

that book – well it was

side-splittingly, eye-wateringly hilarious!

And who, in their right mind,  would want to sit

anywhere near the crazy English lady

snorting in the corner!!

finding Florence II

Of course, it wasn’t challenge enough to solo travel for the first time. In a moment of madness, she decided to put something a little crazy in the mix, just to make sure this, for her, was the mother of all challenges!

So she booked a sight seeing tour around the Tuscan hills … on a Vespa!

Sound enough idea for an experienced motorcycle driver who had driven on the wrong side of the road before. She’d done neither the motorcycle or the side … ever!! Crazy or what?

That’s the funny thing about fear. Once she’d looked it in the eye, it had nowhere else to go. She’d realised that only way to find out how to travel alone, was to do it! It was a huge, life-changing life-enhancing decision … the icing on top of the cake that was her new independent grab-every-moment life. Hiring a Vespa? Just the cherry on the icing!

It wasn’t without trepidation however that she presented herself at the allocated time at the hire centre. Ten minutes later, after a quick run through of the essentials (basically how to start and how to stop), she emerged into the madness that is Florence’s mid morning traffic.

In the group of a dozen or so riders, some pillion, she was the only solo woman of a certain age. A object of some curiosity to the youngsters and the couples! She rather liked that … though they did collectively take it upon themselves to keep her in the middle of the pack out of harm’s way. Bless.

They wound their way up and up until Florence disappeared into a valley behind them. Clear of city drivers, with the dusty tracks to themselves, she began to relax, loosen her white knuckle grip on the handlebars and enjoy the Tuscan hills that stretched before them, just like they are in the movies. Cypress trees standing tall and straight on undulating hills, row upon row of vineyards ready to harvest, sprinkled with sun-mellowed terracotta villas.

The locals, intent on their daily tasks, watched bemused as a crazy English woman whizzed through their tiny hamlets, squealing with the freedom of it all.

She couldn’t believe she was actually doing it. She felt like she could fly. And life felt so, so extraordinarily good.

finding Florence I

She caught first sight of the Duomo while she was trundling her luggage along what had now become a rather haphazard route between the station and her hotel. A shock of green and white marble tantalizing her from the end of the street. It, quite literally, stopped her in her tracks.  She was to learn, during the next few days, that Florence has a habit of doing that …

The unpretentious family run hotel situated right at the end of Ponte Vecchio was perfect for a female first time solo traveller. Everything she wanted to see within touching distance, and a friendly face to come back to after a day’s “determined not to miss a thing” sightseeing.

A three night city break, particularly going solo, is more than enough time to get to grips with most cities.  With no-one else to please, she could focus on the things she wanted to see and do …. with the freedom to take, literally, a different path whenever she felt like it. The Florence must do’s – the Uffizi, the Pitti Palace,  the Duomo of course – called to her like presents that are so beautifully wrapped, it goes without saying that what’s inside will be something special.  Botticelli, Michelangelo, Leonardo, Caravaggio … the names just roll of the tongue, all there, conjuring up a veritable cultural feast for the soul. The highlight for her, seeing the towering presence of the David standing tall at the end of the main gallery at the Accademia, took her breath away.  He’s quite something.

What she hadn’t anticipated was that the whole city feels like an architectural extravaganza, the most stunningly buildings at every turn.

But it doesn’t seem to show off about it. Florence waits to be found,  like a serene and beautiful woman, who is quietly confident in her own skin.