Letting the light back in

We held our breath for such a long time here in Ireland. We waited, we hoped, some prayed, others took to soul searching. Some took the approach of positive outlook while others grumbled and were ready to take the pain, again. Whatever the outlook you can never be sure until the moment has truly and finally arrived. What is that I hear your curious minds asking. Well, summer of course!

Evening summer sun -
it has to go to come back!

It all started about a month ago really - around the last time I wrote to update on the floral developments in the Holly Cottage garden. At that time - about four weeks ago, a lifetime in some ways - I was embarking on a bit of a tour of Ireland. There was Mayo for wonderful wilderness and Dublin for trashing out EU policy for Biodiversity, and then Cork to catch a plane off this rich and green island. That second week in May was cold and wet in Mayo, with torrential showers mixed with hard winds. I was dressed to the last in winter wet gear. It was great though - you can't beat a trip to Westport and lingering looks across Clew Bay in the morning light. But, yes, it still felt like the wintery summers of the last four years. Then a skip, hop and a jump to the capital and it seemed like the residents there were starting to warm up - people eating on the street and not shying from buying and wearing summer t-shirts and sandals. It was looking good. I spent two days in the regal Dublin Castle with a gang of heads from all over Europe - it seems strange to be setting research targets for biodiversity conservation and restoration inside a cold and regal building - not a butterfly or wildflower in sight - but I guess needs must?

My kind of motorway ;)

That was when we abandoned ship in the bid to find summer elsewhere. After tucking Holly in with two new friends - a cantankerous chihuahua and a less threatening looking King Charles, we boarded a cheap flight in Cork and set off for the foothills of the Spanish Pyrenees. After a worryingly wet first day in Girona for the festival of flowers, we were quickly reminded of how summer used to be in Ireland. The hedgerows near our rented house on the back roads half an hour from anywhere were filled with poppies and borage, wild grasses and plantains, and butterflies frolicked in the quiet back roads and tracks that criss-cross the Catalan Hills. It brought me back to childhood days when it was time to bring the hay in and the only shelter from the heat of the Irish summer was behind three bales stacked in wig-wam style and thirst was quenched by bottles of orange flavoured water out of mi-wadi bottles. Now that was summer ;) More on the wonders of the Catalan countryside and coastline for another day but let me give you a flavour of what happened on our return...

Well, summer happened! For the last two weeks morning begins at 4.30am when the darkness in the room begins to lift and the birds outside in the hedges and gardens and across the road in Charleville Estate provide us with a cacophony of dawn chorus - deafening in ways, but rivalling any Vivaldi piece on summer. From about 5am onwards, we are blessed with blue skies and early twenties in temperatures up until at least 11pm at night. And we have the longest day yet to come! There's no more heavy fleece getting into the car to go for work, no more socks (happy feet!), no more bracing the wind at the morning walk in Lough Boora and the promise of food cooked outside on the BBQ every evening, nicely charred and wonderfully flavoured and appetising with the taste of the summer evening outdoors. 

And all that glorious light is reaching every part of us that has been covered in darkness and cold for the longest winter in a long time. And we might even forget the difficult cold and damp days, and the struggle to keep our heads up and spirits lifted. The light has a way of doing that, it brings us back to ourselves and everything is illuminated. A time for revelation. There is of course a time for the dark of course - and I welcome that too, but everything in balance! 

The garden is coming on in leaps and bounds everyday - early spuds are flowering, broad beans are scaling lofty heights and packed with flowers, peas are looking a lot greener than last year's sickly yellow, tomatoes are tucked into their cosy growbags, cucumbers are trailing, basil and herbs are packing flavour and aroma in every corner, rocket has..well, rocketed, and lavenders are providing a sweet hang-out for bees and all sorts of things creepy crawly. The strawberries are not quite there yet but we will definitely have to make some room amongst the bags of frozen broccoli to preserve their sweetness for the year ahead. There's talk of a polytunnel to help bring things forward a bit next year, but we'll have to see....

Lilac dreams

And what about Holly? Well, true to form - having recovered from the shock at being dictated to for a week by a dog the size of her head (the chihuahua) - she is just basking in the glory of the summer heat and taking every moment as it comes. We still get to walk in the cool green of the Charleville woods every evening until late, and the bluebells and wild garlic are still packing a punch in the colour and fragrance departments. Long may it linger!

There's still work to do here (apart from the day job of course) - cabbages and sprouts to be transplanted and sunflowers to be re-housed, a spot of weeding (just discovered the back saving attributes of a hoe!) and of course everything to be enjoyed. More to come on our Catalan adventures and a few nuggets of wonder from Mayo and a day in Kerry where luck crossed my path in the shape of Rua the leprechaun...there's magic in Kerry you know! In the meantime, have a great weekend and be sure to soak it all up - word is there's rain on Monday, but just enough to refresh the daisies and down the dust ;)

Something from the archives - A Mercantour Adventure

This is a short review article I wrote on returning from a most memorable holiday in the Mercantour National Park in the South of France. I am posting it after finding my picture still in the weblink for it!!! It is such a wonderful place and the photos make you excited for summer - exactly what we need on a cold and wet January night..

Despite the bumpy and stony shoreline, the beach in Nice looked inviting. I had just landed that morning on the (too) early flight from a wet and windy Dublin, where summer seems to have decided to take a year out! I grabbed ‘une grande bouteille d’eau’ and hit the beach to catch up on some much needed sleep.

Mercantour Marvel

Where was I going? Well, let me take you back to a dark and dreary day in the office in January. I was just clearing my desk when a curious e-mail arrived from Amelia at ResponsibleTravel to say I had won a walking holiday in the Mercantour National Park. The park nestles on the French Alps, just an hour from Nice. Not only that, I was to have three days guided walking with Mel of Space Between, a travel company run by Mel Jones and Liz Lord. Disregarding the e-mail as a hoax, I ignored it. A couple of days later another e-mail arrived wondering if I was actually going to claim my free holiday – yes, it was true, yes it was free, and I humbly accepted and arranged my voyage for the last week in June.

June arrived and there was Liz e-mailing me to find out when I was arriving. The holiday couldn’t have come at a better time for me: usual stuff - work stress, and lack of sunlight. From the moment I was picked up by Liz that Saturday evening, which was bathed in a wonderful warm summer sunshine, until the following Saturday morning, I felt that I had arrived at a home from home. The ground-floor of Mel and Liz’s traditional style house has been converted into a self-catering gîte (Mel and Liz live upstairs and they also have a B&B attached on the upper floor) and this was to be my place for the week. The view from my own private terrace every morning was southward and the sun warmed my toes as I breakfasted gazing down the Vesubie valley.

I spent three days with Mel and Liz walking, but there are also clearly marked walking routes within easy access of the gîte. I spent two days strolling through the local pine forested valleys, exploring hidden streams and old homesteads that seem to have been absorbed and naturalised by the pines and sweet chestnuts. It was a good way to wind down and get into the pace of life in the French rural countryside.

On Monday, Mel led the way and we walked through La Madone de la Fenestre. This valley formed the major salt route that existed between the French coast and the Italian towns on the far side of the Alps. The Templar monastery at our starting point screamed of a rich heritage and endless stories of perilous journeys through the snow covered alpine passes with salt-laden donkeys. Enough of the past: the present day valley is spectacular. We steadily climbed up through the valley, encountering a rich array of wildlife - gentians, wonderful orchids, delicate saxifrages and an overwhelming array of pink azalea abounded, set against a rich, verdant landscape with larches creeping up to their limit on the steep alpine slopes. We passed through a picturesque hanging valley, where I had my first marmotte and chamois (antelope-like creatures) sightings, along with alpine chough, alpine accentor, wheatear and definitely the biggest frogs I’ve ever seen swimming in the ice cold glacial lakes. We ate lunch overlooking La Gordolasque valley, at a height of 2400m. That day finished with a gentle saunter back down through another valley, following the path of an idyllic cold water stream.

Crossing from France to Italy - lunch first!

Next day, Mel, Liz and I headed out for a more challenging walk. We walked for about 12 hours, moving from 1600m to 3000m, up through pine forest, up though alpine meadows and even further up (‘where are we going Mel?’ ‘Up, Up Up!’ – probably best not to ask!); onto the rocky mountain tops and ridges that mark the border with Italy. And so I ate half of my camembert sandwich in Italy and half in France. The views were spectacular, but the summit was only a taster for what lay around the corner in the Cougourde valley. We began the descent marvelling at the high views, and then into the valleys where wonderful orchids lined the grassy slopes alongside wild chives and gentians. The Cougourde Refuge was a vision in a lush green valley, embedded with jewel like flowers and sprinkled by crystal clear streams and waterfalls.

Next day I was exhausted, and chose a gentle walk between Belvedere and Berthemont des Bains to give my weary legs a chance to recover. I took my time, stopping now and then to perch on a rock between the shady pines and soak in the green valley vistas, or just to wonder at how naturally-slow time seemed to pass in this peaceful world.

On Thursday we headed south and starting from the pretty village of Utelle, climbed to the hilltop of La Madone d’Utelle. Here the hillsides are lined with evergreen oak, wild strawberries, lavender, and an array of wonderful Mediterranean flowers – very different from the Alpine species that we had encountered just an hour north of us in the Boreon. The church on the summit has a wonderful atmosphere and we bought honey from the local nuns (straight from the bee’s bum!) and a beer in the next town of Lantosque.

I spent my last day in the Boreon – morning time at the wolf sanctuary and afternoon climbing a small mountain (big by Irish standards at 2500m!). The Alpha wolf sanctuary is an initiative to mend the rift between local farmers and those concerned with conservation and re-introduction of the native wolf, largely through education and a captive wolf breeding programme. As I looked into the eyes of the wolves, I could feel a certain primeval excitement at being so close to such wonderful and beautiful creatures. After a rustic lunch of local cheese and bread by the river, I headed up again and my last afternoon in the Alps was rewarded with more spectacular views and more heady alpine scented meadows. I was reluctant to make the descent as I knew it would be my last view of this wonderland.

Sleeping wolf - counting sheep perhaps?

Liz and Mel cooked that night and we shared our meal with a German couple, who had spent the previous 8 days walking across the Alps. Did I forget to mention that Liz is an amazing cook? Well, we feasted on wonderful beef stew with subtle wine and orange flavours, local salads, courgette and spuds, raspberries and redcurrants, cheese and more cheese, topped off with bottles of red wine and a taste of the local liqueur, Genepy. Despite language and cultural diversity, we spent a wonderful evening laughing and sharing our Mercantour experiences.

Next morning I bid a fond farewell to Mel and Liz, the cats and my new refuge on the edge of the Mercantour Park. The buzz of Nice was a shock to the system: a direct contrast to the music of the alpine countryside – the bee-loud glades and heavy cow-bells with heady lavender scents by day, owls and cricket chirping at night.

Highlights: wine and philosophy on the terrace (‘c’est la providence!’); the owls hooting from the forest; the warm scent of pines; the alpine meadow psychedelic floral displays; the alpine air; the endless skies; the views from the top; the winter snow clinging on at edge of slowly warming corrie lakes; the circling alpine choughs; the magic of the Cougourde valley; the iconic blue of the gentians; and the warm hospitality and friendship of Mel and Liz; definitely a Space Between experience, brushed with alpine magic.

June 2007

Breath-taking beauty - worth 10 hours walking!!

What's Another Year?

Journey's End 2012 -
try to keep within the speed limit!

It's the night before the page is turned and lifted on the 2013 calendar. The year we called 2012 is done and dusted, and while it can be a drag to dwell on what is passed - it's good to reflect on the highs and lows, and the lessons learned along the way. Maybe even the lessons ignored that we - inevitably - will face again once we are better able to take them on board. 

The year started fairly quiet for the folk of Holly cottage. The day job always kicks into extra high gear in early January and the delights of budgets and five year plans always seem to crush any pleasures save for the thrill of a lie in at the weekend, a bit of digging in the garden in winter sunshine and maybe even a trip to the cinema. I took the plunge last January and signed myself up for a creative writing course under the tutelage of Adam Wyeth - a poet based in West Cork and part of the Creative writing Ink initiative set up by Olive O'Brien. It was a great way to spend the dark winter nights - lots of weekly assignments and critique of my own writings. Plenty of lessons learned there and plenty to make the winter nights more meaningful that switching the tv on - highly recommended even you are only half interested in writing. It definitely revealed some of the cliches and pitfalls of writing creatively and thereby failing miserably. 

By March we had almost everything planted in the Holly Cottage garden - early spuds were in and onion sets were in the ground. Beans were sprouted and getting ready for the outdoors. By Easter time we had carrots, parsnips, beetroot, peas, beans, salads and seedlings in the greenhouse for tomato, cucumber, broccoli and brussels sprouts. It was all going great and we even had a week of summer in April. That was until the rain fell. From once it started to fall - it seems to me that time stood still in the garden from April to July - nothing seemed to advance or grow - except for the thriving slug population of course. It was a difficult summer, especially after three not so good ones before it. Worrying trend indeed. 

Picnic Basket's solo outing -
2012 Fungarvan

We managed to make the most of the one very sunny weekend in May - the jeep was loaded and we set off for the bright lights of Dungarvan (also christened Fungarvan after our antics there) in County Waterford. Dog was abandoned to minders so it was a puppy free and adult only weekend. Nice. This part of the country has so much to offer. We hadn't enough time to eat in every restaurant but those we did manage - Merry's and the Indian Ocean restaurant were absolutely superb and we are planning a return to the acclaimed Tannery as soon as the sun pokes it's head out the clouds and we rebuild the travel budget ;) It has a magic all of it's own - very different from the wilds of the west and calmer, yet no less seductive in its own way. We will be back ;)

In June it rained, rained and rained some more. Even in Sweden ;) Getting off the plane in Stockholm for a bit of a work thing I had dressed for sun and long lit Swedish midsummer nights - only to be met by the coldest weather recorded in a Stockholm summer. Hmm. Noticing a trend? When I got back to Ireland it was more of the same. A few days in June in the university city of Bangor (Wales) and a short day in August in Giessen in Germany proved a bit better, but not much. All over Europe and the planet Earth there were unsettling weather trends - the like not experienced before for the time of year and very unexpected. This causes problems. A wider trend then than just for poor ol' wet and soggy Ire-Land. 

Sunset on the Telford Bridge
June in Bangor Wales

And so the summer passed. I do recall that hat and gloves were required while walking the bogs in Mayo in August. And I do remember not being able to wear anything but wellies on our muddy walks through Charleville Castle woods. It was pretty miserable but we made it through - just about. Lots of Irish farmers were to the pin of their collars trying to get crops in those few good days in September and plenty was left in the field to rot. It's sad to watch crops abandoned to the wet and the mud. Something we may have to start planning for in the coming years though as the wet weather in summer seems to be showing every sign of becoming a long term trend. 

We did manage to get some sun on our toes though - remember swimming with the turtles? And all the lovely days and evenings spent hanging with the cousins watching the sunset in Barbados? If I close my eyes and concentrate I am back in Bathsheba treading my toes in the restless Atlantic foam. Home from home indeed. 

That led us to the autumn and lots of kicking of leaves in the autumn clad wood. A trip to Austria was the tonic for a yogini in need of refreshing her teaching skills; and then a December of music recording to flex the creative forces and divert the gaze from the dark and cold outside was another seasonal tonic.    

September in the Nephin Valley Mayo - Nice ;)

Sometimes I wonder how we manage to pack so much into the year - but we all do it. Look back on your own year and a whole gallery of faces and places, conversations - inner and outer - flash by. Sometimes the memory is to the fore - etched forever on the brain, like a tattoo that forms from the strength and intensity of that experience. Like watching the sunrise over the cliffs in Dungarvan that May Sunday morning or the sight of the city lights as I flew (Aerlingus of course - my superpowers not that well developed yet) over Britain in the darkness of November. Things that stay with us, that change us, that mould us. A phrase from an article, a funny picture on Facebook or an inspiring quote from Kahlil Gibran. All contributing to our own evolution. One thing's for sure we are not the same as we were when we started the journey last January 1st. 

And what for 2013? Plenty of hope, plenty of courage and plenty of gratitude for this precious life,  for what has past and what is sure to come. 

Happy New Year !

By the way - check out the youtube clip of Johnny Logan singing What's Another Year - it's a classic! Skip the first minute commentary though...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vccwzuttIQY

Going Back to (Yoga) School

Seeing the mountains for the trees

It’s been five years since I trained to be a yoga teacher. Five years of living, loving, and getting on with the rich and challenging path that my life has taken. But no yoga teaching, not yet ;) Plenty of personal practice but I never had the time to give to a class – too busy with the day job, meeting the love of my life, traveling the world and tending to the needs of a tiny cocker spaniel and her Holly Cottage garden. It’s time to change that, time to add teaching to the mix and give something back (by the way - the more I say I'm going to, the more I'll have to do it!).

As the car approached the Sivananda ashram at the foothills of the Austrian Alps, waves of delight and joy washed over as my eyes reminded my brain of those mountains that had become friend to me during the month long TTC.  Time kicked in reverse as the car pulled up to the door and the events of the last five years melted away from me like the snows that melt away from the mountains that surround the ashram each spring.  I was back at the beginning, again.

Of course the underlying reason for my return was purely academic - to refresh my teaching skills and get ready to start teaching when I got home to Ireland. But something deeper was happening, and would continue to happen during my week there. The magic of the mountains, the magic of the ashram, that healing and nourishment, that feeling of coming home – that retreat from regular living, and the promise of pure uninterrupted yogic living for at least seven days...interesting ;)

Some of the teachers from the TTC (Teacher Training Course) were still there. Their voices were the same but their encouragement was stronger – breathe into it. In that week, I became a noble Scorpion and a determined Locust – something that five years of home practice could never achieve.  

And I remembered the very first time I walked into a yoga class on a dark winter night in the west of Ireland ten years ago - those first introductions to spinal twists and backward bends and the peace that comes with steady pose and concentration.

And I remembered the firm and gentle encouragement of my very first yoga teacher.

Yoga has given me inner strength I didn’t know I had until I was tested, and really tested again. And yet I know that I am so near the beginning.  Some mornings as I head into the world, I am filled with excitement of the prospect of a new day – what it will bring and where it will end.  For at the end of everyday and every experience, we are changed and we are new. And so everyday we begin again, somewhat different yet always new.

And so I am ready to begin, again ;) Student come teacher, come student again. 

http://www.sivananda.at/en/index.html

Reef thinking - tales from Madagascar

Also published in Elephant Journal November 12 2012
http://www.elephantjournal.com/2012/11/reef-thinking-tales-from-madagascar-catherine-wilkie/

For my 30th birthday I booked myself a flight to Madagascar. Too long spent on the bogs and otherwise solid Irish ground. It wasn't for the lemurs I was going, but if I did see one I wasn't going to complain. It was for the coral reefs. 

I flew out from Dublin on a cold December day and landed in a hot and steamy Tulear in the south west of the country. From there, united with a dozen or so other volunteers who had decided to give up a cosy Christmas in the  UK (I was the only Paddy), we travelled for 22 hours in the back of an army truck over the dirt-tracks of Madagascar's outback to get to our base in Andavadoka.

Pirogues moored - Malagasy fishing boats

For six weeks I lived in a beach shack with no door - if there had been a door I'm sure we wouldn't have bothered to close it. We had electricity for a couple of hours every evening. There was no internet, no phone. We got messages transmitted once a week from family by satellite phone. It was more than the locals had, but they were happier than most folk you'd meet in a busy cyber-ridden street in the developed world. This place was a paradise. It was - is - a beautifully quiet and peaceful, and un-interrupted rural corner of Madagascar. 

The research centre is tagged on to the small fishing village of Andavadoka and run by an award winning charity called Blue Ventures. The base was set up initially by a couple of UK guys who were concerned about the degradation of coral reefs globally. They were equally inspired by the pristine coral reefs off the west coast of Madagascar and the need to preserve these exquisite, vulnerable ecosystems before overfishing and pollution could wreak irreversible damage. 

I spent my first week there learning how to dive - perfect buoyancy was required for the work to be done. Further training was necessary in order to carry out the monitoring work on the reef - we each had to learn over 100 species of reef fish, coral, starfish and other reef dwellers that we would encounter. I thought it would be difficult and it was, but it was like learning the species of the Burren as an undergraduate - once you got your eye in on the varieties and colours, the differences became clear and obvious and each species became a new acquaintance, and a new wonder. 

We would wake at 5.30am and the first dive of the day would be out soon after. The mornings were calm, and I never tired of watching the local fishermen set out early in their pirogues - south bound - for the daily fishing. The wind would carry the boats easily home in the afternoon, and for this reason too most of the diving was done in the morning when the Mozambique Channel was kindest. 

The diving was superb. The silence of that underworld and the absolute beauty of the reefs that were literally just a stone's throw from our base camp perched on Coco Beach, hidden from those on land by tropical blue waters - well, it was deeply humbling and truly inspiring. Angelfish, Butterflyfish, Grouper, Parrotfish, Conger Eels, Starfish, Surgeonfish, Goggle-Eyes, Jacks, Barracuda, Anemonefish...all this life supported by a tiny, teeny life form with the ability to create superstructures of great beauty and mystery - coral. 

Mi casa, zebu casa ;)

Since that precious time spent in Madagascar I have only returned to the coral reef twice - once in Cuba and the last time in Barbados. In both places the beauties were to be seen but there was also the worrying presence of coral skeletons and foreboding algae. 

I got to worrying and found that the trend is not good for the Caribbean coral reef. All those small islands with growing populations means more fishing and more nutrient run-off. The likes of Hurricane Sandy and her sisters aren't kind to coral reefs but natural disasters coupled with overfishing, development projects, soil and nutrient run-off do not make for a bright future. Rising temperatures present another gloomy figure on the scene. In the words of Father Jack - feck. 

Beach clean up time in Andavadoka

We have to support the work of groups like Blue Ventures and we have to do what we can to raise awareness of the degradation of these spectacular ecosystems so that we can preserve their exquisiteness now and into the future. The folk at Blue Ventures work closely with the local community - approaching the problem from social, economic and environmental perspectives. More projects like this and more will be achieved. In the meantime, check out your nearest coral reef....

http://blueventures.org/conservation/

http://blog.blueventures.org/category/madagascar/

http://www.iucn.org/about/work/programmes/marine/marine_our_work/coral_reefs_and_climate_change/

Barbados - swimming with the turtles

Bajan local - peace out man ;)

It was the last day of our two week holiday in Barbados. We had been staying for most of that time in the sleepy fishing village of Shermans to the north west of the island. All said, September is the quietest time of the year for tourism in Barbados – hurricane season and all - and given that we were also in one of the quieter parts of the island, we had the luxury of soft, white sand paradise beaches mostly to ourselves and the odd local. That - coupled with traffic free snorkelling with friendly coral reef fishies and occasional turtles - equals relaxation of the highest order. Nothing prepares you though for when you suddenly see a peaceful turtle resting on a reef bed surrounded by industrious blue surgeons – him just sitting there in that silent water-world taking it all in. 

How to scream when your head’s underwater and how to remain as inconspicuous as possible despite your 2ft long fins, mask, snorkel and wildly waving arms and legs? I tried. I failed ;) He spotted us, and he gave us the most non-phased glance with the deepest, darkest, widest eyes as if to say peace out man, what’s the fuss? And with an effortless, graceful gliding movement of elegant flipper, he was gone into the deeper blue where we couldn’t follow. That was just one of the highlights of our trip. We had set out from damp Ireland, after an even damper summer and our bones were in desperate need of drying out under a cloud free sky. I knew nothing of Barbados other than time there would fulfill that need, and as always - to be prepared for the rest that may come!

You can never get tired of tropical beaches, and Barbados has ample supply. We had our own private beach on our doorstep, just down from the luxurious looking Little Good Harbour resort – Google this place, it looks amazing! But there is Accra to the south, Mullins on the mid-west, The Crane – all the tourist hotspots that are well catered for by the full range of star-rated resorts. But hop in a car, and less than half an hour drive from west coast to east coast and you are in the land of the Atlantic. No swimming here – far too dangerous. But surfer’s paradise and the complete opposite of the calm waters of the eastern shore waits.

Sunrise on the east coast...pure Santosha ;)

For me the east is the best – Bathsheba being the main focal point. Here is the west of Ireland but wearing a warmer, softer cloak. No less powerful, no less addictive and no less humbling, but no harsh breeze and water kinder to toes (less chilling), topped off with warm nights better suited for dining al fresco! We spent two nights here in the Scotland District just north of Bathsheba (www.santoshabarbados.com). Santosha is sanskrit for contentment, and Santosha - the place - is a kind of hideaway where the music is the Atlantic roar – more lioness than lion king roar ;) Great place and great therapy for those who spend (dare I say waste) hours in mindless meeting sessions in the day to day businesses of life.

Snugness - sundown view

Bajan food is great – and we mostly ate at home! We had local staples prepared for us on a regular basis by friends and family - Hyacinth’s fish cakes, flying fish and cou-cou, sweet potato and okra; Gran’s curry with sweet plantain, and peas and rice; Derek’s beer can chicken with breadfruit chips; Larry’s 10 day marinated pork; and Denis’s taste sensational saltfish bulgol – yum! The few times we eat out I had the most amazing pieces of marlin and barracuda, deep fried calamari, and red snapper. Not to mention the local Thursday and Friday night food o de pot in Braddys Bar in Shermans and the local rum shack in Moon Town (pronounced Mooon Town). De pot is generally a big one and it rests on an open flame, the food is all fresh from the sea or local fields and all meeting the highest standards of the Bajan palate.  In the shacks you’re hanging with locals – older men playing dominoes and women taking their chances with karaoke. I’ve seen some clips from Moon Town on YouTube but it ain’t nothing like the real thing baby ;) Stars on a Friday night that were cleaning houses and minding children hours before – all becoming their own Bajan version of Otis, Dolly, Patsy, Elvis…fantastic. All helped along of course by rum and coke, rum punch, rum and coconut water, rum and sprite…rum anyone? Oh yeah, and bottles of 7.5% Guinness – which they love out there – brewed in neighboring Trinidad!

The island of Barbados is surprisingly small, and surprisingly highly populated – keep your eyes open as Richard Branson’s plane drops you in. The west and south is well built up, slowly but surely spreading to the northern reaches. The east remains beautifully calm. We only met the best of people. There’s so much more to Barbados than beaches and resorts - if that’s all you need you’ll be more than satisfied. I would suggest - for a richer experience - get out of the resort and get moving with the locals, and say hello to the turtles for me :)  

We stayed in a beach house called Snugness in Shermans - available to rent. Check it out at:

http://www.bajanservices.com/index.php?RootSection=59&Section=60&PType=R&PID=1274

Shades of the Caribbean - roti-licious ;)

One regret of mine since coming back from Barbados...well, all those days and only three rotis? ;) Let me explain...

We are back in Ireland a week, and in that time we've had complete downpours two days, mixed with hanging drizzle another three and then the two days of glorious autumn sunshine that were Friday and Saturday. I spent as much of that glorious sunshine in the garden...what's to do? Well, there was digging of the pitiful crop of late spuds (Golden Wonders that we didn't protect from the omnipotent blight), the clearing out of the greenhouse and the general cutting back of weedy species and rogue raspberries. It was mostly a solo run as Number 1 gardener was away working for the man, but time passed easy in the sunshine and there was always the anticipation of his return ;)

Flash forward and it's Sunday evening and a week apart beckons. I'm heading for the wild west and he's for the south. What else to do but pretend we are back in Barbados and try to re-create roti? Again, for the Irish folk, and basically any non-Caribbean...

This is what making a roti should look like ;) can't wait!

Roti is the word for a type of unleavened bread, similar to what we call a wrap - but very different - that is served with curry in most Caribbean countries. I only tasted this comforting yet divine pleasure in Barbados. while it's origin is Indian. The pastry of flour, oil and water is wafer thin, delicate and crumbly and is worn draped perfectly, nay - huggingly - around the curry interior. This of course can be made to your own taste (curry makers and lovers will know that curry manufacture needs a whole post of its own). Sometimes this soft, flaky roti is filled with split peas or lentils, sometimes it is plain. Can this Caribbean delight be created in the Holly Cottage kitchen? We'll see ;) The curry is on the fire and the man is making the dough...more for the next post.

I wish I was....in Bathsheba (think air to Carrickfergus)

Meantime, after tidying up the straggling tomato plants, I was musing on the bounty of green tomatoes. And so, on this Sunday evening we have a huge pot of green tomato chutney chow chow simmering away on the Stanley range - the perfect accompaniment for cheese, burgers, hot dogs (don't tell the tomato chilli jam...sssh!) Take 2.5kg of

green tomatoes (you won't buy them in the shops so talk nicely to a gardener who is stuck for time and ideas!), 0.5kg onion, 500g brown sugar, 250g dried fruit (we used the only dried fruit we had - dates, apricots, cranberries and raisins mixed), 1 litre of malt vinegar, 2 teasp salt and 3 teasp ground black pepper. Start by melting the sugar in the vinegar, bring to a steady boil, add the dried fruit, bring back to the boil and then add the chopped tomatoes and onion, salt and pepper.....and basically you are where we are ;) Apparently the longer it is left to simmer the better. By bed time I expect that we will be potting this green elixir into sterilised jars, and adding them to the store of beetroot relish and tomato chilli jam - and all the other 24lbs of strawberry jam in the front room (we need to build on at this stage!).

Hmm...I need to lose a few pounds ;)

Smiley green tomato..."I have a purpose in life ;)"

And so, the full stop to another week. Fingers crossed for the roti lovers of Ireland and more to come next weekend.Have a great week y'all..mine is set to be marked by torrential rain and wet days in the west of Ireland - how bad? Great to be alive ;)

Sunday storm a'raging in Barbados

The wind is whipping up a rage and the rain has been pouring all through the night. No, it's not Ireland :) This smaller island is tucked away just shy of the scalp of Venezuela. Barbados is a Caribbean beauty that has always evoked for me those stereotypical images of tall palms and warm green waters, with sunshine a constant. So why has the rain followed us from lovely Ireland?

Barbados is not immune to the odd heavy shower...not unusual at all, and necessary to get all those sugar cane plants sugaring! The island has been spared a hurricane since 1956 but does get a light bruising from those raging beasts that batter her other more northern island neighbours. Barbados sits at the bottom of a chain of small islands - Grenadines, St. Lucia, St. Vincent....smaller cousins of northerly Jamaica, Haiti, Cuba. This escape for the urbanites of Europe and North America and home to thousands of native Bajans, is surprisingly densely populated on the west and southern coasts but beautifully rural on the east coast. The east has shades of Mayo's lonely beaches with surfers' dream waves. We drove from Speightstown on the west, over the hills into the 'Scotland district' to find tree lined hills and the Atlantic Ocean. We stopped for a swim just north of Bathsheba, alone save for a hardy rasta fisherman who wasn't catching much. The fishing season has been bad here this year - none of the usual bounty of flying fish. When I hear local folk talking about unusual patterns in weather, new species of seaweed turning up on beaches, changes in fish stocks.....well, I guess I get a foreboding of changes that may come. Everything changes - change is the signature tune of the universe. Stephen Hawking says that intelligence is the ability to adapt to change. I just wonder if the change comes too fast, there may be a lot of us left behind. 

Anyway, it's a family day today. So, rain - go your way to Cuba! Cars are being loaded now with Gran's homemade curry, seasoned pork, bottles of delicious coconut water and maybe even more sweet rum ;) The Bajans know how to cook and in the time we've been here I've tasted local delicacies like pudding and souse, roti, pickled breadfruit....recipes to follow, I need to let it all sink in first! 

A restful Sunday to all ;)

Cuba

Local transport - 1950s style

The last week has me thinking about Cuba..maybe it's our impending return to the Caribbean, or maybe it's the fact that it's been a year since our bare feet felt the soft sands of Cuba's beaches. Travel can mean different things to people of course - for some it's more about 'doing' the country and checking off a list, for others it's about exploring a new place, new climate and the mindset of a nation's people. And trying to realise the difference; for it often takes longer to understand the difference. When I first mentioned to friends that we were thinking of going to Cuba, I was generally greeted by the repeated comment that we should go before Castro dies and everything changes...before Cuba succumbs to the (inevitable?) pressure of westernisation? - both the economic and social pressure. I wonder did people say that about Ireland before our own surrender to McDs and our very own westernisation?

Tobacco country: Vinales

I have been thinking a lot about the people and the places that we encountered along the way. We met several Cubans, but we rarely got into any level of conversation other than chat about the weather, our journey or our home. No heavy chats about the Castro regime or how things have been and might become. Speaking with other visitors to Cuba and reading books around the topic, the consensus is that the Cuban people just don't talk about it...certainly not to curious outsiders who want to be able to share the truth with the coffee club when they get back to warm Irish homes - far from that 'idealistic socialist regime nation' - "it won't, can't last". Maybe it is on its last legs, and sure - every country must change as the mindsets of its people changes, or risk tyranny. But it sure is beautiful.

Very cool Trinidad ;)

We only traveled a short time about the place, staying in various Casas Particulares of diverse standards - all clean, all welcoming, but some more basic than others. In the bigger towns there were a lot of small apartments dissected out of grand palacios to make homes for maybe twenty families today where pre-revolution there was one. There was something about those families though - seemingly squeezed into the size of a modern Irish kitchen. They were connected, and they were - are - community. Too naive to muse on how they must be so happy and content, but there was a certain magic there.

Sweet sugarcane, yummy juice!

The food outside of the government run places was great - again it varied between Casas Particulares and Paladares. But we eat fresh lobster - best ever, fresh fish, pork, chicken....and real vegetables, like the ones growing in a pesticide free zone outside our window. And we eat a lot! I am still carrying the memory of those massive dinners and feasts of mango and omelette breakfasts, though the coffee was not so reliable. I was also reminded by my traveling companion that everything was served up with wedges of lime on the side - not complaining! I started the same thing when we got home for a while - very tasty ;) And the rest of course can be used wisely with the sweet rum...mmm

Local transport on right; tourists to the left..
spot the difference?

Highlights were trekking on horses through the countryside outside of Trinidad in the province of Sancti Spiritus; the fabulous people we stayed with and of course - the much slower pace of life. The tourist buses were on time, air conditioned and even with poor Spanish we managed to communicate well. Again, the world of the tourist is not that of the Cuban people and we were reminded a few times when we spotted the non-tourist transport. Less glamorous and very rudimentary air conditioning!

Cuba is a place of contradictions, explore it for yourself and draw your own conclusions. I loved it - the lush green valleys of Vinales; the red earth under our feet; the heavy rain showers when we had to shelter with our horses in thatch sheds; the over-feeding by our Casa Particulares hosts; the blatant adoration of Che Guevara; the slow, slow pace; the hens who ruled the back roads; the clear blue waters of the Caribbean and the biggest avocados (straight from the tree) and sweetest bananas ever tasted.

Cuba is a place that has stayed to the fore of my mind in the year since we left it's shores. If you want to read more, Dervla Murphy's fantastic book The Island that Dared: Journeys in Cuba is an excellent companion.