Mmmm.
Breakfast on the beach.
Like breakfast in bed.
Only better."
Thursday, 3 March 2011
The ant theory
A long time ago, I lay in a hammock with Hamish, our great mate Caspar hanging next to us and we watched an army of ants march through our hut, over our belongings and out the other side. A few minutes later, we heard the people in the hut next door screaming and leaping around. The ants had continued their journey into their backpacks and instead of waiting for them to come out and carry on with their mission, they had disturbed them by frantically emptying the contents of their bags. The ants, under threat, had attacked mercilessly and our German neighbours were covered in angry red bites.
Leaving them to go about their business, they brought us no harm.
I met a lady the other day who lives here. For six long lovely months over winter, she exchanges her little cottage in Hampshire for a positively palatial pad in Goa, complete with large grounds, swimming pool and staff. They are often visited by snakes. Her gardener or nightwatchman alerts her, letting her know if it is harmful (more often than not this means deadly!). If it is a particularly venomous type, they call in the Snake Man, otherwise they just keep an eye on it so they know where it goes and wait for it to leave.
Same same as they say in India.
I've applied this concept to my rat issue and it works. We make sure there's no food, and now they come and go then leave us in peace. So even with their scratching presence, I can sleep. And, as if in answer to my acceptance of them, the squeaking seems to have stopped.
Leaving them to go about their business, they brought us no harm.
I met a lady the other day who lives here. For six long lovely months over winter, she exchanges her little cottage in Hampshire for a positively palatial pad in Goa, complete with large grounds, swimming pool and staff. They are often visited by snakes. Her gardener or nightwatchman alerts her, letting her know if it is harmful (more often than not this means deadly!). If it is a particularly venomous type, they call in the Snake Man, otherwise they just keep an eye on it so they know where it goes and wait for it to leave.
Same same as they say in India.
I've applied this concept to my rat issue and it works. We make sure there's no food, and now they come and go then leave us in peace. So even with their scratching presence, I can sleep. And, as if in answer to my acceptance of them, the squeaking seems to have stopped.
Monday, 28 February 2011
Rats in paradise
Urgh. Last night was awful. Freya was feeling fragile yesterday for the first time in this whole trip. She'd burnt herself on her face and shoulders from being in the sea so much. And then she had an unpleasant run in with a flying fish that had caught, in a horribly flappy panic, in her bikini top, when they'd collided in a big wave.
Funny that my hardcore little traveller should have her wobble at the beach. Absolutely nothing has phased her till now, but she's struggling with the whole mozzy thing. The thought of a bug landing on her when she's asleep and sucking her blood, has really got to her. And it's not like she's never seen them before.
As a consequence of her fragility she slept with Martha and me, leaving Hamish to sleep with Gus. Fine. Until sometime in the darkness when I was woken by the sound of a creature in the hut, rustling through our stuff. I willed it to be on of the skinny cats from the restaurant next door, but I knew in my heart it was far more sinister.
The squeaking gave it away, confirming my worst suspicions.
Rats! In my hut, right next to me, knocking things onto the floor, stealing our sweets (what were we thinking having food in here?!) and frightening me half to death. Spiders I can handle, even snakes aren't so bad, but rats... My mind was racing, full of all the rat horror stories I'd ever heard (James Herbert has a big part in this phobia). Then I remembered the night one fell through the roof of our Mexican hut, candying on me as I slept in a hammock. I thought about my friend Peter getting bitten by one on the nose as he slept on a boat last summer.
Hideous. And no Hamish to protect me. Instead, I was the protector of my two girls, especially my eldest who'd had such a tricky day. Somehow I had to find the courage, with a thudding heart, to get out of bed, turn o the lights and shoo them away.
I had visions of the night my friend Fay and I returned to our hut in Ko Samui. We had turned on the light and a crowd of cockroaches, who'd been hanging out on our bed, scattered in all directions.
Would it be like that? How many rats had gatecrashed my party? Had the squeaking been a mother saying,"Hey kids, I've got some snacks," as she'd scrambled down the rush matting.
Or was it a more terrifying call, "Oi! Over here everyone! Come and check out this place!"
Thankfully my footsteps were enough and how ever many there were (I think really it was just one, she says optimistically) had disappeared before I hit the light switch.
It didn't end there. It went on all night. I could clearly hear when the squeaking went down below (our hut is on stilts) and when, horribly, it returned. I left the bathroom light on, casting patterns through the woven rush, so at least I could see if they came close.
For ammunition, I had some face cream, deodorant and a bottle of moisturiser to lob at them if they came into sight.
Just before Dawn I heard the sounds of a neighbour sweeping the sand with a reed brush, signalling the imminent tart of the day. I breathed a sigh of relief that my nightmare in Paradise was almost over. Until tonight at least!
Funny that my hardcore little traveller should have her wobble at the beach. Absolutely nothing has phased her till now, but she's struggling with the whole mozzy thing. The thought of a bug landing on her when she's asleep and sucking her blood, has really got to her. And it's not like she's never seen them before.
As a consequence of her fragility she slept with Martha and me, leaving Hamish to sleep with Gus. Fine. Until sometime in the darkness when I was woken by the sound of a creature in the hut, rustling through our stuff. I willed it to be on of the skinny cats from the restaurant next door, but I knew in my heart it was far more sinister.
The squeaking gave it away, confirming my worst suspicions.
Rats! In my hut, right next to me, knocking things onto the floor, stealing our sweets (what were we thinking having food in here?!) and frightening me half to death. Spiders I can handle, even snakes aren't so bad, but rats... My mind was racing, full of all the rat horror stories I'd ever heard (James Herbert has a big part in this phobia). Then I remembered the night one fell through the roof of our Mexican hut, candying on me as I slept in a hammock. I thought about my friend Peter getting bitten by one on the nose as he slept on a boat last summer.
Hideous. And no Hamish to protect me. Instead, I was the protector of my two girls, especially my eldest who'd had such a tricky day. Somehow I had to find the courage, with a thudding heart, to get out of bed, turn o the lights and shoo them away.
I had visions of the night my friend Fay and I returned to our hut in Ko Samui. We had turned on the light and a crowd of cockroaches, who'd been hanging out on our bed, scattered in all directions.
Would it be like that? How many rats had gatecrashed my party? Had the squeaking been a mother saying,"Hey kids, I've got some snacks," as she'd scrambled down the rush matting.
Or was it a more terrifying call, "Oi! Over here everyone! Come and check out this place!"
Thankfully my footsteps were enough and how ever many there were (I think really it was just one, she says optimistically) had disappeared before I hit the light switch.
It didn't end there. It went on all night. I could clearly hear when the squeaking went down below (our hut is on stilts) and when, horribly, it returned. I left the bathroom light on, casting patterns through the woven rush, so at least I could see if they came close.
For ammunition, I had some face cream, deodorant and a bottle of moisturiser to lob at them if they came into sight.
Just before Dawn I heard the sounds of a neighbour sweeping the sand with a reed brush, signalling the imminent tart of the day. I breathed a sigh of relief that my nightmare in Paradise was almost over. Until tonight at least!
The Beach
I am so completely peaceful and happy and utterly blissed out just being here.
It's all I dreamed of. My whole body is relaxed. My mind is still and my heart is smiling.
It's all I dreamed of. My whole body is relaxed. My mind is still and my heart is smiling.
The Train to Delhi
We're back in India! I feel like we've been somewhere else for a month!
As the pink ball of sun broke through the dawn sky, we lay in bed on our sleeper train watching the world go by. We've seen buffalo for the first time in weeks, bullock carts and peacocks, piles of poo drying in the sun and women carrying water on their heads in metals matkas.
We've just done another overnight train ride. Everyone was gorgeous and mellow after waking up. Now the kids are monkeying around, making us SO glad we didn't get on that 30 hour train to Goa! Fergus is like a caged animal.
I was sad to say goodbye to McLeod, but of course, I was ready to go. In hindsight, I'd have left a week earlier, but then we wouldn't have achieved so much at school. If I'd been there without the kids, I could have done in it in a much shorter time. It was a fascinating experience for all of us and I did feel quite emotional saying farewell to them all, but for me, it put the adventure of travelling on hold. I'm so much happier now we're on the move again.
One thing is certain, there's no way we can wait another decade to do this again.
The kids keep talking about their gap year. For them, it's as expected a part of life as losing your milk teeth. Before we set off, I worried that they'd react against this experience and only ever want to go on a package holiday. But no. It's had the opposite effect. We have successfully introduced them to the joys of living in another culture.
Staying in McLeod for so long gave them the opportunity to form relationships with people; although on a very basic level, it gave them a very powerful insight. Both Freya and Fergus had a strong desire to go off, independently, and explore or buy things. They felt incredibly safe and secure there. Rightly so. It's probably one of the safest places on Earth.
We're passing through a village as I write. Children are playing on their way to school. Herons are picking their way through the litter in a waterlogged patch of ground. Buffalo and cows are tethered outside almost every square, concrete block that is home to two or three generations of family. Huge fat pigs are snuffling through the garbage piled on the edge of the settlement. Always there's rubbish. India must have looked so different before plastic raised its convenient, ugly head.
Between them, the cows, monkeys, dogs and pigs can dispose of all paper, card and other degradable waste. But the plastic, and the foil wrappers of crisps and snack packets, well they defeat even the hungriest scavenger. And then there's the water bottles. In any place where tourists pass through, we leave this indelible curse.
McLeod was brilliant for having all the water filters, but even so there were the usual piles of discarded bottles. The Clean Up Dharamsala Project is making great efforts to educate people about recycling and disposing of waste properly, but it's tough. They don't have refuse collections like we do. There's no council workers coming to sort the recycling, just volunteers and the odd skip funded by donations. Crazy really. Yet another thing we take for granted at home.
As the pink ball of sun broke through the dawn sky, we lay in bed on our sleeper train watching the world go by. We've seen buffalo for the first time in weeks, bullock carts and peacocks, piles of poo drying in the sun and women carrying water on their heads in metals matkas.
We've just done another overnight train ride. Everyone was gorgeous and mellow after waking up. Now the kids are monkeying around, making us SO glad we didn't get on that 30 hour train to Goa! Fergus is like a caged animal.
I was sad to say goodbye to McLeod, but of course, I was ready to go. In hindsight, I'd have left a week earlier, but then we wouldn't have achieved so much at school. If I'd been there without the kids, I could have done in it in a much shorter time. It was a fascinating experience for all of us and I did feel quite emotional saying farewell to them all, but for me, it put the adventure of travelling on hold. I'm so much happier now we're on the move again.
One thing is certain, there's no way we can wait another decade to do this again.
The kids keep talking about their gap year. For them, it's as expected a part of life as losing your milk teeth. Before we set off, I worried that they'd react against this experience and only ever want to go on a package holiday. But no. It's had the opposite effect. We have successfully introduced them to the joys of living in another culture.
Staying in McLeod for so long gave them the opportunity to form relationships with people; although on a very basic level, it gave them a very powerful insight. Both Freya and Fergus had a strong desire to go off, independently, and explore or buy things. They felt incredibly safe and secure there. Rightly so. It's probably one of the safest places on Earth.
We're passing through a village as I write. Children are playing on their way to school. Herons are picking their way through the litter in a waterlogged patch of ground. Buffalo and cows are tethered outside almost every square, concrete block that is home to two or three generations of family. Huge fat pigs are snuffling through the garbage piled on the edge of the settlement. Always there's rubbish. India must have looked so different before plastic raised its convenient, ugly head.
Between them, the cows, monkeys, dogs and pigs can dispose of all paper, card and other degradable waste. But the plastic, and the foil wrappers of crisps and snack packets, well they defeat even the hungriest scavenger. And then there's the water bottles. In any place where tourists pass through, we leave this indelible curse.
McLeod was brilliant for having all the water filters, but even so there were the usual piles of discarded bottles. The Clean Up Dharamsala Project is making great efforts to educate people about recycling and disposing of waste properly, but it's tough. They don't have refuse collections like we do. There's no council workers coming to sort the recycling, just volunteers and the odd skip funded by donations. Crazy really. Yet another thing we take for granted at home.
Monday, 21 February 2011
The end's in sight...
The end is so close I can almost reach out and touch it. When I close my eyes, I can feel the sand between my toes and hear the the waves lapping the shore.
Yesterday was lovely. We didn't have to go to school in the morning because it was a holiday, so I dashed into town with Freya and Fergus. It was brilliant to be out and about without Martha slowing us down! We bought lots of lovely stuff, making sure we chose each thing from a a different seller to spread our rewards around.
We came back home to collect Hamish and Martha then we jumped in a taxi and went to school. Even though it was a holiday, the year 8 and 10 classes were there doing revision classes. They have their board exams coming up next month so they are working really hard. We arrived just as their classes were finishing. Hamish set up cricket matches for the boys and Freya and I painted with some of the girls.
As our time comes to a close, I am pleased with the progress I have made. I've got an Eco project well under way. Monika, the science teacher has spent a lot of time with me and I think she understands the importance of environmental education. She will be a good leader and has taken it all on board. Teachers here aren't snowed under with loads of paperwork. They have been following the same curriculum for years, teaching the same lessons year after year. They don't know what it is to plan, assess and evaluate. During their free periods, they sit in the staff room and read the newspaper!
We have painted a fantastic mural on one of the outside walls that was really grotty when we arrived. This means we've left a big visual impact on the place. I've done some great teaching - the kids are like sponges, so keen to learn, though all so spoon fed they have very little creativity. I've shared lots of ideas for good practice with the staff that I have worked with and Sister Jancy. How far she can change this antiquated system is down to her.
Later in the afternoon, she came to collect us and take us to the convent, where we met the Mother Superior and several other nuns. It was pretty crazy. I felt like we were in the 'Sound of Music' except nobody was singing. Martha charmed them all and gave us respite in what was quite a strange, intense yet lovely experience. We all sat very still and very upright as Mother Superior asked us many questions about our lives.
They gave us a very warm welcome and though it felt somewhat awkward to be in such an old fashioned institution, there was an abundance of encouraging smiles from the sisters who all sat listening to us. They explained how their numbers are dwindling as no young blood is joining the sisterhood.
"Perhaps Freya will!" laughed Mother Superior, "That would be very good!"
Freya later told me how weird that moment had been and said, "It's no wonder no young girls want to be nuns. We live in a modern world and they don't,"
They are good people, with good hearts and I'm sure throughout the world they do wonderful, selfless work. But Freya's right in that thought. Their lives are so radically different to anything she has ever known. It's not part of our society. I guess the closest my kids get to this kind of charity is the concept of volunteering.
Freya has completely got the idea that we are lucky and we've come here to make the lives of these children a bit better. Gus can tell you that, but I'm not sure how much he really understands it. To him, the kids are just kids. Same as him.
We had tea at the convent which was delicious! We sat at a long refectory table, with me at the head. We were served by Sister Jancy, which felt a little strange. We had the most scrumptious coconut and lemon pancakes, followed by pakora and sweet coffee.
After we had eaten and the kids had broken the quiet, calm atmosphere with their laughter as they ran through the corridors and played Hide n Seek, we were taken to see the new auditorium they're building at the Sacred Heart School. It's immense, just like you would expect to see in a large secondary school in the UK, but the way it's being built is totally different.
The entire thing has been built by hand. Everything has been carried in on the shoulders of men, or, more likely, on the head of women. It has taken years, but is now near completion.
There is sound proofing on the walls and ceiling, huge arched windows, jagged scaffold poles dotted around precariously and a team of builders - whole families complete with kids - is living in a room under the stage! Their washing was strung on a line that stretched the length of the stage and they pee in the far corner of the hall - that was quite apparent.
A health and safety officer in the UK would have a heart attack. We entered via a concrete staircase with no sides, leading us up to the second floor. There were rocks, holes and rusty scaffold pipes strewn everywhere. The sisters just stepped gracefully over in their floor length robes. You had to see it to believe it.
As we finally shook hands and hugged Mother Superior and Sister Jancy farewell, I was struck by the brilliant opportunities we face almost daily. So much we all now take for granted, like letting the monks in the Internet cafe entertain / be entertained by Martha, as we get on with things.
We came home tired and happy. Hamish went down to town and brought us pizzas which we ate on the bed! We spend so much time talking, eating together, playing games, and watching films together.
Today we're taking a rickshaw to Dharamcot, our neighbouring village, to go to Rajesh's house. We're going to meet the cow whose provided our milk all these weeks.
Whilst I can't wait to get to the beach, I don't want to be so close to the end. We could have easily done this for six months...
Yesterday was lovely. We didn't have to go to school in the morning because it was a holiday, so I dashed into town with Freya and Fergus. It was brilliant to be out and about without Martha slowing us down! We bought lots of lovely stuff, making sure we chose each thing from a a different seller to spread our rewards around.
We came back home to collect Hamish and Martha then we jumped in a taxi and went to school. Even though it was a holiday, the year 8 and 10 classes were there doing revision classes. They have their board exams coming up next month so they are working really hard. We arrived just as their classes were finishing. Hamish set up cricket matches for the boys and Freya and I painted with some of the girls.
As our time comes to a close, I am pleased with the progress I have made. I've got an Eco project well under way. Monika, the science teacher has spent a lot of time with me and I think she understands the importance of environmental education. She will be a good leader and has taken it all on board. Teachers here aren't snowed under with loads of paperwork. They have been following the same curriculum for years, teaching the same lessons year after year. They don't know what it is to plan, assess and evaluate. During their free periods, they sit in the staff room and read the newspaper!
We have painted a fantastic mural on one of the outside walls that was really grotty when we arrived. This means we've left a big visual impact on the place. I've done some great teaching - the kids are like sponges, so keen to learn, though all so spoon fed they have very little creativity. I've shared lots of ideas for good practice with the staff that I have worked with and Sister Jancy. How far she can change this antiquated system is down to her.
Later in the afternoon, she came to collect us and take us to the convent, where we met the Mother Superior and several other nuns. It was pretty crazy. I felt like we were in the 'Sound of Music' except nobody was singing. Martha charmed them all and gave us respite in what was quite a strange, intense yet lovely experience. We all sat very still and very upright as Mother Superior asked us many questions about our lives.
They gave us a very warm welcome and though it felt somewhat awkward to be in such an old fashioned institution, there was an abundance of encouraging smiles from the sisters who all sat listening to us. They explained how their numbers are dwindling as no young blood is joining the sisterhood.
"Perhaps Freya will!" laughed Mother Superior, "That would be very good!"
Freya later told me how weird that moment had been and said, "It's no wonder no young girls want to be nuns. We live in a modern world and they don't,"
They are good people, with good hearts and I'm sure throughout the world they do wonderful, selfless work. But Freya's right in that thought. Their lives are so radically different to anything she has ever known. It's not part of our society. I guess the closest my kids get to this kind of charity is the concept of volunteering.
Freya has completely got the idea that we are lucky and we've come here to make the lives of these children a bit better. Gus can tell you that, but I'm not sure how much he really understands it. To him, the kids are just kids. Same as him.
We had tea at the convent which was delicious! We sat at a long refectory table, with me at the head. We were served by Sister Jancy, which felt a little strange. We had the most scrumptious coconut and lemon pancakes, followed by pakora and sweet coffee.
After we had eaten and the kids had broken the quiet, calm atmosphere with their laughter as they ran through the corridors and played Hide n Seek, we were taken to see the new auditorium they're building at the Sacred Heart School. It's immense, just like you would expect to see in a large secondary school in the UK, but the way it's being built is totally different.
The entire thing has been built by hand. Everything has been carried in on the shoulders of men, or, more likely, on the head of women. It has taken years, but is now near completion.
There is sound proofing on the walls and ceiling, huge arched windows, jagged scaffold poles dotted around precariously and a team of builders - whole families complete with kids - is living in a room under the stage! Their washing was strung on a line that stretched the length of the stage and they pee in the far corner of the hall - that was quite apparent.
A health and safety officer in the UK would have a heart attack. We entered via a concrete staircase with no sides, leading us up to the second floor. There were rocks, holes and rusty scaffold pipes strewn everywhere. The sisters just stepped gracefully over in their floor length robes. You had to see it to believe it.
As we finally shook hands and hugged Mother Superior and Sister Jancy farewell, I was struck by the brilliant opportunities we face almost daily. So much we all now take for granted, like letting the monks in the Internet cafe entertain / be entertained by Martha, as we get on with things.
We came home tired and happy. Hamish went down to town and brought us pizzas which we ate on the bed! We spend so much time talking, eating together, playing games, and watching films together.
Today we're taking a rickshaw to Dharamcot, our neighbouring village, to go to Rajesh's house. We're going to meet the cow whose provided our milk all these weeks.
Whilst I can't wait to get to the beach, I don't want to be so close to the end. We could have easily done this for six months...
Sunday, 13 February 2011
The kids' blog
For those of you with kids, you might find it interesting to show them the blog that Freya and Fergus are writing. Here's the link:
Http://freyaandfergus.blogspot.com/
Http://freyaandfergus.blogspot.com/
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