I'm leaving - on a jet-plane

I tell you, this Israel trip could not have come at a better time.  I need to be outside my head for a while, I really do.  I need a change of scene.  I’m like some old cranky computer that needs a major reboot.  I suppose it’s running away really.  But then again, I’m going to one of the spiritual homes of Kabbalah, how exciting is that? 

My brother introduced me to Kabbalah when I was in my early twenties.  I spent a year in the US, part of it writing a novel (but let’s not dwell on that, eh? I literally wince at the memory of it – yeah, that bad).  But the house was on Cape Ann, on top of a cliff overlooking the sea.  I can still feel the warmth of the sun, still see the diamond-glinting on waves as dawn broke. 

My body clock was still on UK time so I woke early every day and sat with a mug of coffee on my balcony just drinking in the sound of the gulls and the sight of the occasional small boat, pulling up lobster pots.  It was heaven – a supremely happy time of extreme simplicity.  I had just what I could fit into my small case.  When I wasn’t writing, I prowled through my brother’s books and his record collection.  I developed a love of Bach and early church music and started studying Kabbalah. 

Here, at last, it seemed, was a map, a glyph of life, the universe, everything.  You could take every religion, mythology, every item of faith, every aspect of creation, science and spirituality, magic and mathematics, and find a place for them on the Tree of Life.  It was like a multi-dimensional labyrinth, a glass bead game – both an intellectual challenge and a song to the heart.  I fell hook, line and sinker – and it remains the basis of my spirituality to this day. 

Anyhow, this wasn’t supposed to be a rant or a sermon.  I must also say that I don’t belong to any groups and I don’t tie bits of string round my wrist or drink overpriced water endorsed by Madonna – and I’m truly saddened that people are profiting from what should be a totally free resource.  But hey…ain’t it ever thus?

So.  Anyhow. Israel. I’m flying out on Monday – and I just can’t wait.  My brazen attempt at getting new clothes via blogging failed dismally.  However, I took advantage of the sales and have cobbled together a sort of wardrobe (mainly in tones of black, it has to be said).  I am packing my bruised and battered soul and heading for the sun.  It will be good for me to be with people; to have some light-heartedness and hopefully some inspiration.  I know how lucky I am to have such an opportunity.  Many people just have to battle on in the stranglehold of everyday life.  So it’s a huge grateful thank-you to Kinetis for inviting me. 

I’d love to be able to tell you our itinerary but they’re being all mysterious about it… Apparently my plea for desert and camels is being taken into consideration…But really, who cares?  We’re staying in a hotel a few minutes from the beach in Tel Aviv – and, by heck, what a beach!

Above all I’m really looking forward to meeting my fellow travellers – the UK bloggers Rosie and Sally – and Spanish bloggers Monica and Eva.  I took Spanish A level (and got a flipping A grade too) but, alas, the years have sucked it out of me.  Never mind – when the spirit is willing, the communication will follow. 

We're also meeting up with the lovely Susie...I love her blog and suspect she's a bit of a kindred spirit...

Stop press:  Oh my.  You remember how I put out a pitiful plea to Figleaves?  Which – after some initial flirtation on Twitter - they stoically ignored, of course.  Well… my bestest baddest friend (she of the flat in London and the Saudi sheiks and the ayurvedic rib-bruising massages) only went and sent me a care package from the place… and I now possess a swimsuit that shows off WAY too much cleavage and a seriously posh bra and knickers set… So, if I get caught in cross-fire or am mown down by a runaway Segway at least I’ll be showing a flash of purple lace as they cart me into an ambulance…

Ras Mbisi - go for it!

Sometimes you have to let the winds of Fate blow you, like dandelion seeds.  Sometimes Fate gives you no choice – it knows where you’re going. I’m a great believer in trying to live lightly; trying to get with the Tao; practicing wu wei. My mother always said that if you push things too hard, you can force them to happen, but at a price.  You can exert your will but it may backfire.  It’s the difference between Magic and Mysticism (if you want to be esoteric about it).

But sometimes… Maybe.  If you know – if you really know – what you want (and that it is the right thing), then maybe you have to fight, to give it all you’ve got.  What do you think?  I do admire people who get this idea, this vision, and then just pursue it, hell for leather.  Like Michelle.  

I met Michelle on Twitter (yes, another one) – thanks to Sam Baker (who, incidentally, always goes for it 100% - check out her new book).  Anyhow, here’s an abbreviated version of Michelle’s story – of how she gave up life in cold boring Ramsgate and bought a beach in Tanzania!

It all started in 2005 on a cold winter’s day.  The rain was lashing down and Michelle was idly browsing the web while her two young daughters watched TV.  She stumbled upon a website called my-beach.com, listing beaches and properties for sale around Tanzania and within a few clicks, she had started hatching a plan.  By the time her husband Jon came home from work, the idea for Ras Mbisi, an eco-lodge on a stretch of pristine sand, had formed.

With a feeling of wild impetuousness, they booked a flight to Dar es Salaam and they found “their” beach.  ‘It was love at first sight,’ recalls Michelle.  ‘We just looked at each other and said, “God, it’s gorgeous.”  There was pure white sand – that actually squeaked when you walked on it.  Clear blue sea and no neighbours for miles either way.’  It may have been beautiful but there was no accommodation other than ‘a subsiding, bat, rat and hornet-infested pit’ of a house.  If they wanted to make a go of it, they would have to start from scratch.

They sold up their house and hawked nearly all their worldly belongings.  Money was going to be incredibly tight and so everything that wasn’t totally essential, had to go.  Jon even auctioned his vast LP collection on eBay. ‘The proceeds bought us a Land Rover,’ he says ruefully. 

They left the UK on a rainy August afternoon in 2006 and arrived in Tanzania to bright morning sunshine. ‘We just ran to the sea and plunged in,’ says Michelle.  ‘The girls were so excited – it was a huge adventure.’  But reality quickly kicked in.  The house on the beach was uninhabitable and for three months the Vickers had to rent a run-down cottage 18 kilometres away down a pot-holed road while they rebuilt it. 

They dug their own bore hole (and learned how to use the various pumps required), constructed a solar system and built a biomass gasifier (running on waste) to power the Lodge as there is no mains power in this part of the island.  They employed over forty local people to build the lodge (which is all made from sustainable cocowood from the plantations that back onto the beach).  Most of them were then retrained as cooks, waiters and gardeners for the Lodge.  Digging and planting a large vegetable garden was a must as part of Michelle’s dream was to provide the most delicious, fresh, seasonal food possible.  Everything had to be local and eco-friendly – even the soap is made locally from virgin coconut oil.

To cut a very long story very short, Jon and Michelle finally saw their vision become reality: nine open-tented thatched bandas (simple yet sophisticated rooms with balconies and ensuite bathrooms) sitting just metres from the beach, looking out over the aquamarine water.  They are cleverly planned to benefit from the cooling sea breeze as does the restaurant and raised sundowner bar which overlooks both the beach and the swimming pool. 

Food is cooked simply using a combination of traditional Swahili recipes with Middle Eastern and Asian flavours (reflecting the old trade routes).  The menu changes daily, depending on what the local fishermen catch or what Michelle and Jon have found at market.  Vegetables often come from their own garden and your breakfast egg will have been laid by one of the Vickers’ own pampered hens. Fresh fruit literally falls from the trees and, given the Lodge backs onto a coconut plantation, it’s small surprise that the exotic nut features heavily.

When guests aren’t eating, they can be as active or leisurely as they desire.  You could swim with the Whale sharks or watch the Humpbacks make their way past during their biannual migration.  Or visit one of the uninhabited offshore islands for a fish barbecue and snorkel one of the many reefs. 

Michelle’s next project is to add a small spa offering a simple menu of massages and scrubs, based around the local coconut oil.  No overegged ‘rituals’ or gimmicks – just good bodywork to relax guests into ‘swahili time’.  There are still so many things I want to do but it all takes time,’ says Michelle.  ‘We’ve learnt to walk; running comes next.’

Fancy a serious chillout break? It's actually damn good value: check it out.   www.mafiaislandtz.com  Or read the blog (with delicious recipes and more pics). I tell you, I am SO going there when funds allow. 

NOTE TO EDITORS: This is a much abbreviated version of a longer lifestyle feature I wrote.  If any mags or papers fancy the whole thing (2K words), let me know.

Why perfect holidays don't involve men

‘We need fairy lights,’ said Jools firmly.
We were having a summit meeting at the Bonkers House to discuss our forthcoming camping trip to Croyde in North Devon.
‘Fairy lights?’ I said weakly, pouring out more wine and breaking into another packet of hula hoops (Adrian away so low on shopping).
‘Absolutely. And parasols and pretty bowls. I’m thinking pink and orange as our theme. Have you got a pink flowery tablecloth?’
‘As a matter of fact, yes.’
‘Good. Bring that. And that silvery tray with the tea lights on it. Don’t suppose you’ve got bunting?’
‘Er, no.’
‘Shame.’

Last time I went camping I was sixteen and madly in love with some nerd called Peter. A crowd of us went to the Yorkshire Dales and it was mighty minimal. Everything had to fit in or on or dangling from our rucksacks (including the tents). It rained the whole time and we spent the entire week trying to persuade the local landlords that we really were eighteen in order to get into the pub and get warm. I developed chilblains, flu and a taste for Theakstons Old Peculiar. I never did get off with Peter which, in retrospect, is probably a very good thing.

‘Help,’ I wailed to my friend Rachel later on the phone. ‘I think camping has changed since I last went. They said I need blow-up beds – and chairs – and fairy lights.’
‘I’ve got all that – come and get ‘em.’

So the next day James and I picked up Adrian from Tiverton Parkway (en route home from the Great British Beer Festival and surprisingly not as slaughtered as usual) and headed over to Rachel’s. I wish I could be as calm as Rachel (and she’s not even taking the happy pills). She was in the middle of supper, with three children AND guests but was she fazed? Not remotely. She plonked a glass of wine in my hand, sent James off to see the new piglets and went to rummage in the barn.
‘Do you need three mattresses?’
‘Nope, just two.’
‘What? Ron’s not going?’ She always calls Adrian Ron. Don’t ask.
‘Don’t be silly. He’s allergic to camping.’
He insists, of course, that he’s not. It’s just that, were he to camp, it would be deeply macho, halfway up a mountain, battling the elements camping. Modern camping is, he insists, too consumerist, too suburban, too middle-class, too irritatingly smug. I suggest this might be projection and he has the grace to look sheepish.

Anyhow, we left Rachel’s loaded with ‘essential’ gear – camping chairs, tables, solar powered lanterns and fairy lights, strap-on head torches, glo-sticks….
‘We seriously need all this?’
‘Absolutely.’

We departed Dulverton in convoy with the Killers blaring out. Four middle-aged women, two teenage girls and two ten year-old boys.
‘Rick doesn’t believe we’ll get the tents up,’ said Tracey.
‘Oh don’t be so ridiculous,’ said Jools.
It took an hour to pitch two huge tents (with a few breaks for tea and brownies) and then another hour to embellish our campsite to Jools’ satisfaction. Fairy lights festooned the wind-breaks, pink raffia parasols kept out the sun, the jugs and bowls and glasses were all perfectly colour-coordinated. And, yup, the sun was shining.

Someone handed me a glass of wine. Ah but this was fun. This wasn’t the tough hard trudge I remembered.

We wandered down to the beach and the waves were huge. We set up our pop-up tent and everyone (bar Tracey and I who felt we ought to look after base camp) plunged into the sea with body boards and surfboards.
As the sun sunk lower, the waves came in. A sense of warm satisfaction broke over me.
‘Time for sundowners,’ said Jools, dripping happily. And we cracked open another bottle.

A barbecue back at the campsite plus a huge jug of Pimms. The sun set red and rich over the sea and, as the moon rose huge and full over the hills, the fairy lights twinkled into action.

It was perfect. Just perfect. In fact, so perfect that it was worrisome. What was it? Ah yes. Nobody had moaned. Nobody had disagreed. Nobody had demanded we do things differently or ‘my way’.
‘What a fabulous day,’ said Maggie with a sigh.
‘So peaceful,’ said Tracey.
‘Why is that?’ I asked, still puzzled.
‘You really haven't figured it out?' said Jools.

'No men,’ said Maggie.

Just then James and Jack came hurtling back down the hill and tumbled into camp.
‘I’m faster than you are,’
‘No you’re not. I am.’

'Not.'

Jools raised an eyebrow in an 'I rest my case' sort of way. We smiled indulgently, leant back in our chairs and poured another Pimms.

Reality bites (and no, it's not Asbo)

Back to reality. After a week here…….

I'm back here....

The contrast couldn’t be more extreme really. Having slept for ten hours’ straight something seemed profoundly wrong about being woken up by a child yelling. My bed had shrunk and there was something large and snoring in it. I couldn’t flick a switch and watch CNN on a vast plasma screen. Wrong, just wrong.
Even more wrong was the fact that someone had taken away sun and warmth and replaced it with dull, cold and windy.
Breakfast? Bowl of Morrisons No Added Sugar Muesli and a mug of stewed tea. What happened to Mickey Mouse waffles and maple syrup? Freshly squeezed orange juice? Where is the nice waiter refilling my coffee cup every five minutes? Why aren’t there vast Disney characters with big white hands patting my head?
Sure it’s great to be home and lovely to see my boys. James was ridiculously and rather pathetically pleased with his Disney goodie bag (though mostly impressed with the Mickey Mouse pen and the straw that changes colour when you drink through it and which doubles up as a whistle). ‘Did you buy this, Mum?’
Crosses fingers behind back and blithely lies. ‘Yes, of course, darling.’
‘Where’s the price tag in dollars?’
Eeek.
He looked even more suspicious when he got to the soap, mouth wash and toothbrush. ‘There’s no Mickey on this toothbrush, Mum. Did this come from your room?’
God the child is sussed. ‘Yup. It certainly did.’
Honesty in small matters allows much greater lies to pass unnoticed.

I was given the tenth degree on which rides I’d been on. He got incredibly excited when I told him about the Hell which was Expedition Everest (a rollercoaster type terror experience which make me shake and – yup – cry. Not with joy, let me hasten to add).
‘Show me on Youtube.’
Good plan. So we clicked and watched and, I ask you, what is WRONG with the world that the most seriously frightening thing I’ve ever done looked totally tame.
‘People are screaming.’ I pointed out.
‘Yeah, you do that when you’re on a ride. It’s part of the fun.’
I told them about the shows and the films and the rides and the animals and James was positively fizzing with excitement.
‘When can we go?’
Adrian had the look of someone about to put to death by firing squad.
‘That sounds like the most revolting thing in the entire world. Do you really mean to say that vast Disney characters accost you when you’re EATING?’ He shuddered.
‘Would you go Mummy?’
Would I? If you’d asked me that a week ago, I’d have been firmly with Adrian in the Over My Dead Body stance. Now, I’m not so sure. I’ll admit I was impressed by a lot of it and it wasn’t as plastic as I’d been expecting. Magic Kingdom is a bit too much for me (very crowded and cute on cute) but Animal Kingdom was immaculately done and the water parks were deeply tempting. The shows are top-notch and the fireworks are breathtaking. If you can afford to stay in the deluxe hotels, the accommodation is impressive too (we stayed in the Beach Club Resort which was very relaxed and comfortable). If you want uber-smart the Grand Floridian is your place while I was pretty knocked out by the Lodge at Animal Kingdom). We had some superb food in some top-notch restaurants and much of the merchandising is – and here I worry about myself – very discrete and desirable. So, in a nutshell, yes I would (given the budget to do it top dollar). Not for me, I hasten to add, but for James who would, without a shadow of a doubt, adore every goddamn magical moment.
I say, not for me, but – if you offered me the chance to go back to Disney with my band of bloggers, I’d bite off your hand (actually, I’d be jumping up and down at the thought of a weekend in Croydon with this lot). These women are seriously brilliant. I haven’t laughed so much in years (certainly not since becoming a mother). I won’t go into the in jokes and mad silly things that happened (mainly because I promised I wouldn’t be libellous and this blog is intended for general, not X-rated, consumption) but I would urge you to check out their blogs. Don’t be misled by the grown-up nature of some of their writing – they are all totally certifiably crackers.

Little Mummy
Are we there yet, Mummy?
You’ve got your hands full
Family Affairs
Dulwich Divorcee
English Mum in Ireland