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This blog carries a serious health warning: Facebook
You have been warned. It is addictive, causes insomnia and fierce recollections. It will keep you glued to the screen like nothing has done before.
I stumbled upon this disaster area not by chance but by a friend's invitation to have a look at her photos on Facebook. I entered the site with no idea of what to expect, and an hour later I looked up from my computer to realise that I've lost an hour of my life. Since then a few more has gone awol.

The nice part is that I've stumbled upon friends and other skeletons from my past. We reconnect, and the rest is not history (any more).
Well, if you'll excuse me, I've just discovered someone else to meet again.

(And if you've succumbed, look me up under 'Maretha Davel Joubert')

Another day

Another day,another blog. Our planned European trip for 2007 is off, big sigh. First we decided we couldn't do Spain anymore because I want to do the Camino di Santiago the proper way (walking), and then we had to put our plans for a lovely cycle holiday on hold due to a lack of cash.
Moving ate up all pour savings, and we thought we had it planned, sorted and ready to roar, but nope.
DUring winter they keep kids in cans here in Scotland. When we first came here all was quiet on the northern front, and then, one day, late one afternoon, somebody opened a door, and the neighbourhood was filled with the cries and jubilations of playful children. Don't know where they've kept them up to now. Not complaining, few things as life-affirming as kids at play.

Taking a tumble

I had my first prang on the mountain bike, unfortunately on the first time ever on a mountain biking trail. Not that it's put me off mountain biking, in fact...
As I whooshed down Pennel's Vennel, feeling invincible, I was already thinking of ways to describe the experience: almost as good as really great sex? More thrilling than sex? (but not when my husband was involved), incomparable to great sex but on the whole as incandescently exciting? You get my drift. (And my husband is one HECK of a good lover!)
But in order to avoid embarrassing my mom, who is also reading this blog, I'll step away from that metaphor. It was just fantastic.
We were taking some kids from school on an outing for tha day, as part of activity week, to the world-renowned Glentress 'The Hub in the Forest' cycling trail outside Peebles in the marvellous Scottish Borders. click this to go there The site is beautiful and feels remote even though it's only half an hour out of Edinburgh, and I felt great to be there. Scottish kids are like the rest of the population: not given to extravagant emotion without due reason - for example a teacher falling off her bike at great speed. So we were all pleasantly, quietly excited, and I managed a difficult ramp-thingy on the skills loop. Alas, even excellent advice by Dave, one of the mountain biking specialists on the trip ("when going down a steep ramp, lift your bum off the saddle and place it to the back, in order to prevent all the weight from going to the front and handlebars, and you going head-over-heels") did not prevent my fall from grace.
I went down the very easy blue freeride, at a steady pace, in control, keeping the bum behind, and then, suddenly, as I was preparing to fly down a steep incline, a ditch appeared. My bum had taken on a life of its own and I executed a classic 'headlong over your handlebars' move, well known in the annals and inventories of mountain biking, road racing and A&E departments worldwide. As I was gliding through the air, I had a sinking feeling in my gut that I was going down (pun intended) and not in a good way, and all I could think of was....my teeth. I struck the ground with my forehead, smashed my right arm and shoulder again and ended up the wrong way around, with my arm being VERY sore. Again, I felt if my teeth were intact (they were, and so much for vanity), and then gave serious attention to the pain, discomfort and loads of white spots in front of my eyes.

In retrospect, the next bit was vastly funny. The boys who witnessed my smash were hysterically trying to rally adult assistance, and I instructed Kieran to slowly put my arm in the right direction. I am very impressed that I managed to do this with the normal assuring authority in my voice, which we teachers seems blessed with as both default setting and emergency backup. Kieran was great and VERY SLOWLY helped put my arms more-or-less right by the time Malcolm, Dave and the rest arrived. My knights in shining lycra. Let me tell you, when you're feeling like shite just after a nasty crash, there is nothing as reassuring as a person in a Scottish accent telling you what to do, with assuring authority (all teachers), and who continues to laugh at your jokes. I must have been beyond hysterical, because I continued to make the silliest, most awkward jokes for quite some time.
(Malcolm: "Anything else sore or broken?" Me: "My ego". Pffffff!!!)

My dad said he's going to ask me in a week's time what I've gleaned from this experience. I've learnt that I make jokes in an emergency, that I cry only when speaking to my husband, and that I am excessively grateful to live in a country where people have a wicked sense of humour.

I ended up in hospital for one night, observation only, my right arm is still sore as I'm typing away (and in a sling, will keep you posted) and my bike is ok. Here is a pick to keep the sympathies flowing:

Sorrie

I'm afraid, my heading is not a spelling mistake, neither is it a heinous Anglicism, it is just exactly the way the Scots would pronounce the word. With a nice 'rrrr' on the r.
I apologise for not writing more often, I am busy settling into a new life.

The trip to Loch Ness was wonderful, amazing, beyond description - it was the innards, cover and stuffing of dreams. I am working on an essay that I'd like to submit somewhere, and over the weekend I will seriously aim to publish a few photos on my blog. To celebrate a fanbulous cycling trip, I've bought a mountain bike. I now have three bicycles:

One for shopping,
One for the mountain,
And one to race on the road.


This is not excess, it is necess.
I am drinking wine again - to celebrate Emma's 7th birthday. Happy birthday, my lovely niece!

PS: I have an article in Afrikaans available on Praag. Follow the link, if you dare...click

Too tired

I am just getting too tired of moving around, of changing countries, jobs, regions...it used to be exciting but now it's becoming too taxing. I am looking forward to some serious settling down here in Fife!
But nevertheless, on our way this weekend for a trip round Loch Ness. On Saturday we'll have to cycle 70k, and I've bought a down sleeping bag for this purpose.
Here is a picture of me getting in the mood:




And of course, I will also be using it in Espagna. Ole. No time for language lessons so far, I have not even started playing the flute again - feel v guilty. The people here still great, must be the nippy, clear air from the mountains.

And here is a picture of my ol' bike with new, snazzy drop-bar handles. I am suddenly cycling much faster!

Anticipation and constipation

What does one call the preparations before the preparations? That is what I am currently busy with, the thing before the real thing.
Equipment for the great pilgrimage:

1. Literature
* General:
Edwin Mullin's The Pilgrimage to Santiago, Tim Moore's Travels with my Donkey
* Travel specific:
Davies and Cole's Walking the Camino de Santiago, The Teach Yourself Spanish language book and cd

2. Information
* Visa: It's going to cost us £101 each to get a Schengen visa, since we are unfortunate enough not to be living close to London in order to cue at the embassy

3. Lack of clarity
* Starting point: Do we fly to France and start at St-Jean-Pied-de-Port, cycling over the epic Pyrenees in order to meditate on endurance and suffering, or do we take the ferry to Bilbao and start in Pamplona or elsewhere in Spain?
* Accommodation: Do we bargain on finding places to stay in the albergues(since we will be doing it "decaf" by cycling rather than walking, we might not be able to find spaces in these hostels, they prefers walkers...) or do we camp the entire way and give in to occasional temptations of comfortable B&Bs?

4. Worries
Who is going to look after my cats!?!

I can just about imagine a Celt fretting over the same things a few thousand years ago. Although one friendly Scot told us the pilgrimage in those days could be likened to today's package tours.

But this is the joy of the journey, the anticipation being as much part of the process as the going itself. Adios!

PS: Please follow the link for a good laugh about a pub and a fart here

The beginnings of a pilgrimage

I have had another long and hard think about this blog. It needs to go somewhere, do something - which is one of the reasons I'm writing it. But now we're settled in Fife, a few things are falling in place, and one of them is our prospective trip to Spain. Ever since I've read Gerard Hughes' In Search of a Way, I've wanted to do the Camino de Santiago. And finally this year, it's going to happen.

We are going to do it decaf, meaning with bicycles, and I guess the journey might not be as spiritual as Gerry's. But isn't everything we do spiritual? I have a feeling every single thing that we think, do, say, or act, resonates somewhere, in some mysterious way. With God, or in God. How, I don't know, and that is also not important.

I seem especially spiritual tonight, possibly due to the wine we've had with supper. Slainte!!

To come back to the point, I want to bog, oops, blog about the preparation for the trip, and then publish a book (in Afrikaans?) about it. I can already imagine the title:
"The journey before the Journey", or
"A pilgrimage in perspective: what to take and what to leave behind"
And so forth.

Good night, and good luck!