Time

On September 1, 2014December 4, 2014 By Conversations with StrangersIn Food and drinks, Travel/vacationsLeave a comment

It goes by so fast. ‘The only way you can slow it down is to travel’ a friend of mine used to say.

The Northern Belle pulled into the station. Heads and hands of the steward and his crew poked out of the windows cheerily waving and wishing us ‘Good Morning!’ Like a scene from a movie, or something that sits in the recesses of your mind – so familiar but you’ve never actually seen it in the flesh.

A red carpet paved the way to our sumptuously upholstered carriage. Plush seats took the weight off our legs as we settled in for the duration admiring the decor of this lovely old 1930’s Pullman train.

A pear bellini at 9am reminded us that we were on a ‘special’ train journey – one that would take us to Lake Windermere with some fine dining on the side.

The morning wore on as we all got to know each other in advance of E’s imminent wedding. The champagne flowed with the chat becoming more hilarious so that by the time we boarded the coach to The Lakes we were in flying form.

We journeyed further into the pine woods surrounding Windemere as our ‘compere’ gave us a running commentary: “If you want to spend a penny in Bowness, it’ll cost you 40p. If you can wait until Lakeside it’s 20p. Better still if you can ‘ang on ’til you get back to train – it’s free!”

Silence reigned on the coach. I tried to nod off but it was impossible. “‘On left ‘ere you ‘ave one of the largest garden centres in Cumbria”. E glanced at me quizzically. “What about The Lakes, E? Do you think we’re going to hear how they were formed?” “I’m not sure, S” he replied, closing his eyes.

We heard how someone in the Beatrix Potter Museum had been a ‘treasurer’ but we weren’t sure what of, or if indeed those skills had been transferred to his new role: ’Showing people Beatrix Potter’s little animals.’

The boat cruise was a highlight – wind and sun on our faces as we stood at the bow taking in grand skies, green islands and small yachts winging their way across the water gaily.

Dinner back on the train cemented a harmonious jolly day with confidences exchanged and personalities shared in a way only real time spent together allows.

An evening with Jérôme

On August 25, 2014March 30, 2015 By Conversations with StrangersIn Ibiza, People you may have heard ofLeave a comment

We arrived at the after party. Jérôme had invited me. I’d looked my hostess in the eye at the gig prior – a glance that said: ‘Is he okay this guy?’ “Oh yes, you should go S, it’ll be fun” she’d replied.

Our jeep ride to post-performance shenanigans had us chatting away about everything from the West of Ireland to my photographic attempts for Conversations with strangers. “Get one of these for a start” Jérôme told me, pointing to his holster-like belt which contained a small camera not dissimilar to mine.

On arriving at a fabled hotel in the countryside, I recognised I was indeed walking in with the photographer of the island as Jérôme continued to fill me in on his work: “I take all the photos of the artists that perform at Ibiza Rocks.” “Gosh, really?” I said. “Yes, and perhaps you’ve seen my book – portraits of the people that live here – it’s called ‘Ibiza People?’”

He showed me a pic of the book cover on his phone. “Oh, you know I think I have seen it in various places.” “Probably” he went on. “And, all the smart villas – they have my photographs.”

A commotion at the entrance to reception interrupted our chat. Suitcases and their accompanying guests appeared with the excitement of arriving finally at a holiday destination. “Sophie, Soph, can you bring that bag here, I need my passport!” Soph appeared, out of breath wearing a hat, short backless dress and flip flops. “Here you go darling.” Then, seeing us – and specifically my handsome companion: “Hello, hello, who are you? Do we know you? Have we met before?!” “I am a photographer. My name is Jérôme Ferrière – perhaps you have heard of me?” “Ahhhh! Enchanté, enchanté! Bonsoir!”

Before I knew it Jérôme was hastening to his jeep to fetch a couple of his books. “Wait for me, I’ll be back” he called over his shoulder. Minutes later we were all flicking through it. “Oh, mais c’est magnifique, ça!” exclaimed Sophie. “Oui, oui, c’est vrai. Ooh la la!”

Two book sales down, we headed inside and I got a guided tour of his arresting portraits adorning practically everywhere you looked.

We stopped at a large black and white photograph of Nile Rogers. “Let’s have a selfie with Nile, Jérôme, but I think you’d better take it” I said, opening my handbag to search for my camera.

Freshly squeezed

On August 21, 2014December 4, 2014 By Conversations with StrangersIn Ibiza, Life, Travel/vacations1 Comment

There were too many options. Too many sources of stimulation. Despite a very active preceding day cycling from one end of Ibiza to the other and a very late night I was up again early – keen to carpe diem at Can Du.

Waking in a sleeping house, I quietly closed the kitchen door behind me. The bag of oranges awaited. This was after all one of the reasons I’d chosen to stay here – a delightful picture of several sliced with a tall glass of their juice on the website had looked so appetising, so appealing.

Through the fly screen I could see a few drops of rain. I reached inside the cupboard brought out the electric juicer and plugged it in. The oranges were soft and succumbed easily to being sliced open, juice running out of them onto the chopping board. I placed a half on the plastic fountain and pressed down.

The door opened. T walked in and immediately came over to check on progress. “There doesn’t seem to be much in this orange” I said. “That’s because you’re not using the correct method. I’ve been juicing for three years – let me show you how.”

I let him take over and walked over to the door. The rain was falling heavily now, splashing off the tiles, drenching the clothing hanging on the line.

I turned to watch the Juicer. Hand over the top of the orange with one finger from his other hand pressing down lightly on the dome. “You see, this method gets out every last drop” he said, taking the half off the machine to show me a bare interior.

I tried a couple more and then handed it over to the maestro while I went over to puruse the rain and debated whether I should run out to take the wet washing in.

Ashley arrived. “Good morning. What’s going on here, eh? You two juicing?” We both smiled at him. “Yes, that’s exactly what we’re doing.”

T started to concoct breakfast – some muesli, Greek yogurt, freshly squeezed orange pulp, a few seeds. “Would you like some fresh pineapple in your juice S?” he asked. “I would, please” I replied.

Ashley joined me at the fly screen. “Everything gets so wet here” he said. “Yes, I know, but look, it’s passed now” I replied, feeling the heat suddenly as the sun parted the clouds and made everything clear again.

Whatever the weather

On August 15, 2014December 4, 2014 By Conversations with StrangersIn Life, Sport1 Comment

Walking out of Wimbledon station I contemplated August – the new February. A month when change is afoot and the weather is troublesome enough to unsettle one; not yet Autumn but not quite Summer. A month that is defined primarily by family holidays and cities so quiet you can hear a pin drop.

I took cover hoping for a break in the torrential rain. My phone beeped. It was Foxy: ‘Not coming South the bike ride has closed a lot of roads going to stay local.’

My subdued mood headed out into a brief respite from the downpours and towards the bottom of Wimbledon hill to catch a bus up to the village.

As I rounded the corner I noticed cones everywhere and barricades and, could that be in the distance……yes, yes it was, hundreds of bikes and their riders (www.prudentialridelondon.co.uk) cycling hard through this leafy suburb towards the finish line at The Mall in central London.

My mood lifted by the sight of movement; I watched them whirr past. Brightly coloured ‘uniforms’, one water bottle – sometimes two – perched between legs beneath cross bars. And, wheels. Wheels that looked like they were flat – not round – fancy wheels: Expensive bikes.

I started to climb. Rather them than me I thought, watching as they hurled themselves upwards. The rain dampened no-one’s spirits here. The spectators kept cheering, and the cyclists – in the face of such optimism and support – gritted their collective teeth and pushed on.

“You can do it! It’s the last hill!” someone shouted.

I got to the top and stood with Becky outside a shop to watch the race go past.

Beards were everywhere together with the drive and ambition of a slightly older ‘crew’ keen to capitalise on the youth and associated energy they still have. My pal E, who’s in the know tells me they’re referred to as ‘Mamils’ (middle-aged men in lycra) in cycling circles.

“Gosh, if you were single, Becky, this would be a great place to meet some nice fit men.”

“What would you do though?” she replied, “They’re moving so fast! Would you drop a handkerchief and hope one of them might dismount to retrieve it for you?”

We chuckled away as the riders sped by – some grinned, others were sombre, oblivious to everything but the goal. The occasional one chewed hurriedly on an energy bar. But, all were in a hurry, riding over the crescendo of summer, preparing themselves for a sprint to the finish.

An ode to Betty

On August 8, 2014 By Conversations with StrangersIn Uncategorized1 Comment

After a day at the beach, we hopped into the Ford Transit (AKA Betty) to go home.

“Shall we talk about the tour tomorrow?” T asked. “You want to talk about the tour tomorrow, now? Ashely paused for a moment: “Okay, well let’s talk about it then” he replied.

“Have you had any thoughts about the route?” T asked. “Yeah. I was thinking we could start on that trail north of the island – you know the one – near Cala Xarraca? It’s got downhills, jumps – I think it will be pretty great for the Dutch guys.” “Yeah, that’s a good one” said T, mulling it over.

A few moments later: “But, it’s a bit too bushy in places I think.” “Bushy?” Ashley enquired. “Yeah, I mean it’s gonna be hard for the girl – I don’t think she’ll cope with it that well.”

Silence fell, with the only sound that of Betty gamely traversing the hills and winding roads taking us home.

I pulled open my window and the country side hummed past. Nothing on my mind, just sensations; a cloudless blue day, the anticipation of a minuscule cooling of the evening, gritty sand sticking to my feet and the faintest whisper of a breeze caressing my seawater tangled hair.

It all felt good and even more so at the thought of a cool drink, shower and dinner cooked for me by the boys once we arrived at Can Du.

I sat back on the soft dusty comfort of Betty’s backseat lap, shaking off my flip flops, wiggling my toes, brushing off the warm soles of my feet, and closed my eyes. Voices flitted about me, but day dreams led me to tall sturdy rocks that I bravely jumped off into cool turquoise depths – to resurface into the air, sun on my face, renewed, reinvigorated.

Voices and a slowing of our chariot woke me. “Do you want to go to Lidl – I need to turn here if you do?” Ashley asked. Betty swung her weight around into the hypermarket’s carpark and the cold blue and yellow sign brought me rudely to my senses. “No” said T. “We’ve got everything we need.”

We turned back towards the road again. It appeared a decision had been made about the tour and the conversation turned towards dinner. “Ashley’s making lentil gratin tonight – you up for that, S?” “Wouldn’t miss it for the world” I said.