Go, go, go. Stop.

March 15, 2017March 14, 2017 | Mairead

(The Atlantic Ocean at Furadouro)

When I was last talking to you we were in the campsite with the Tubes… and the computer could not be fixed… Well, Monica rang on Friday and said it was ready… she didn’t elaborate so we weren’t sure if it was actually working. But Denis was not deterred, he was ready to take it back no matter what condition… I think this could possibly be a form of unconditional love…? for an inanimate object?

(Furadouro again)

So off we dashed to Porto. We had planned on parking outside the city at a camper parking place (and getting a bus into the Porto.) When we arrived the camper park was full so we had to drive all the way to the computer repair shop in the middle of the city. The biggest problem about driving in any city is finding a spot big enough to park. The next biggest problem is – driving in a city. Fortunately, it is only a problem for me and as I am not actually driving I kept my eyes mostly closed.

(Cute houses in Furadouro)

And would you believe when we arrived there was a line of huge parking spaces right outside! We realised they were short-term parking and very expensive (so no one wanted to use them – which was very lucky for us) when we were leaving which was much too late to pay… luck upon luck.

(The convent/monastery at Tomar)

The computer was fixed! Monica was thrilled to see us go, she had begun to recognise Denis’ phone number when he rang and even at a distance I could hear the dread in her voice when she picked up the phone and said, “Hello Denis”. So we could finally leave the area of Porto and we had no idea where to go, Monica suggested south along the coast so as it was sunny that’s what we did. We arrived at the seaside town of Furadouro. I loved this place, for some reason it reminded me of a film set or a Disney park…

(Frescos in the monastery at Tomar)

On Saturday morning we moved further south to a small town with a camper car park beside roundabout. On Sunday morning we moved on to the town of Tomar, I had been there and loved it when I was on my camino walk. Up on the hill above the town are the ruins of an old monastery and convent that were in some way connected with the Templar knights. We spent a few hours here and moved on to the town of Fatima and then onto another small town to stay at the Fire Station where there was a small camper car park.

(Huge outdoor area in front of the church at Fatima)

We are now in a very nice municipal campsite beside the town of Alcacér do Sal. There’s a lot of birdsong and a supermarket just up the road. There’s a castle in the town so I’m happy to settle down here for a few days and wander towards the castle tomorrow.

(Our view today… those white blotches are birds who fly into that field and for some reason remain close to the sheep)

Step 11. Make time for rest, Mairead.

Hello again, Fear!

February 21, 2017 | Mairead

(The Portuguese town of Chaves)

We have arrived in Portugal! It only took seven days! Yep, I know a lot, right? Last time we talked I’d stopped talking to Fear. Remember? Well it only lasted 24 hours. Here’s what happened…

(The walk by the river. Can you see the path ahead tunnels through the rock?)

It was a beautiful evening in Entrago so I went for a walk on a pretty path beside the river, the birds were singing, the water was gushing and the sun was shining. I took some pictures for you and then went back to the car park for a dinner of cold pizza and salad. Yum (not really.)

(The gushing river)

It was very cold next morning when we left, about 2ºC there was even hard frost on the bicycle seats. I was a little concerned that we might have to travel back the road we drove in but no… no, we took a different, far more scary road. Something I hadn’t considered when I thought it might be nice to have a look at the Picos – their altitude! To get a good look you really have to go up and into them… and then some day soon you have to come back up out of them again…

(That’s us in the car park in Entrago with the snow covered mountains in the background)

Remember last post when I said we could see hundreds of mountains from the car park and some far away mountains had snow on them? Well, it turned out they were not far enough away. We drove to, over and beyond the mountains with the snow on them. Oh yes and I was back talking to Fear.

(That’s snow… This is a nice wide road, I couldn’t get my hands to stop shaking long enough to take a picture of the not nice narrow road)

Anyways, he told me to blame Denis… And I did. Up on top of one of those mountains with the snow lined roads I asked (out loud and in a very shrill tone) Who’s idea was it to visit the Picos, anyway? Of course everyone knows that I meant: This is completely your fault, Denis! Everyone… except Denis, it seems. As happy as a pig in muck he says, it was you but now is not a good time to be assigning blame, can you clear the condensation from the window I’m finding it hard to see.

(We stopped at a layby at the bottom of the mountains… we found frost covered orange peel)

Holy Jeepers, he can’t see! I set to the job of clearing the window with enthusiasm. And then I could see. I saw this magnificent place and I remembered that Fear makes me mean and shrill and cross and stops me seeing the magnificence all around me. I stopped talking to him. Fear, I mean, I stopped talking to Fear, not Denis. I’m talking to Denis.

Step 3. Repeat Step 2, Mairead.

Crossing Over to the Other Side

September 28, 2016 | Mairead

(Path around the lake beside the aires at St-Amand-Montrond)

It’s September, the sun is shining, I am sitting in McDonalds drinking coffee and sharing their lovely wifi and their lovely electricity. We’re back in France! We crossed over on Saturday night and it was some cross over! I had got used to the kind of crossing I like – calm, no waves, gentle lulling to sleep when you lie down. We’ve been on lots of ferries in the past five years and they’ve all been like that. (Mind you there was one about five years and two months ago that was rough so I suppose it was time.) Anyways, fifteen hours in it became calm, so all ended well and we docked in Cherbourg to sunshine and blue skies.

(There were quotes inside the door of every toilet at the first campsite… any idea what it says?)

From Cherbourg we drove south over the Loire river and spent our first two nights at a lakeside campsite between Orleans and Bourges. It was a quiet site with a handful of fishermen around a pretty lake. We chose this site in the usual way: pick a general area, look up one of the campsite books and pick one with facilities we want. Electricity and toilets are essential. If there’s a shop nearby that’s a nice bonus. If there’s a neighbourhood restaurant – triumph! This campsite had the basics and was close to a town so we figured the shop and the restaurant were very likely. We usually find this process works.

(Huge cathedral in Bourges)

This time we’re trying something new… we bought a book called Escapades in a Camping-Car. (Camping-Car is what the French call camper vans and motorhomes.) The book consists of 5 to 17 day circuits around nineteen areas in France. It shows interesting places to visit and campsites where you can stay. It also shows free stops, aires. Aires are places you can park overnight, not a campsite and usually there’s no electricity or toilets… but it’s free! The book is great with only one tiny problem – it’s in French. But on the plus side our French reading is improving.

(Pretty house in Bourges)

Yesterday morning we left our lakeside campsite at 8.30am and drove to the town of Bourges, where we parked in an aire. It’s often hard to find parking when we visit a town due to our size and we usually use a supermarket car park but this was better. From there we walked fifteen minutes into the town for a coffee. I also found a wool shop as I am knitting cheerful bunting on this trip and I was in danger of running out! Denis took the opportunity to get some mobile wifi from the Orange shop (we will get free updates if I mention them more than once in each blog… and a free t-shirt for every third mention, so watch for that!) They were very friendly in the Orange shop 😉

(While I was buying what I love – knitting yarn, Denis was buying what he loves – blue cheese!)

Actually, it’s something we are noticing this year…. the French are very friendly. Little things that make us believe the French really do love the Irish – thank you lovely Irish football supporters! We were in the petrol station buying the Camping-Car book when a French man, overhearing us talk as he walked into the shop, asked (in English) if we were Irish, he noticed we had left the petrol cover open on our car and wanted to tell us. Ok we didn’t have a car but still…. wasn’t that nice? And then in Bourges at the tourist office, where I went to locate the wool shop, the lady asked where we were from and beamed from ear to ear saying “ah Irlande!” Ok, not big things but last year in the tourist office in Carcassonne when I said I was from Ireland they said absolutely nothing… nothing. Silence. So I’m taking this as a win.

(Look! Even McDonalds love us!)

After coffee we moved an hour south of Bourges to St-Amand-Montrond… and another free parking spot. It’s beside a pretty lake, there are toilets and it’s a five-minute walk to a hypermarket and a McDonalds. And it’s free… We will be moving to a campsite tomorrow because we need electricity to charge the computer and phone batteries and a hot shower would be nice!

From McDonalds, nowhere near an Orange shop (there’s my free t-shirt…) Mairead.

Nearly home…

March 29, 2016March 28, 2016 | Mairead

(Over and under the Millau Bridge)

Ah the journey is nearly over… we are getting closer and closer to Cherbourg and our boat home on Wednesday. We were in Spain the last time I wrote, in pouring rain and although the rain is pouring again we had a week of sunshine. We have started travelling in one hour segments off the toll roads and it was a little disconcerting to begin with but I’m glad we did. We have been in some beautiful places… We decided to go over the Millau Bridge and then under the Millau Bridge on our way to a campsite. The road over it is very wide… the roads under it are not and some of them say No Camping Cars…

(Fog filled campsite in the valley of the Tarn river. There is a hill directly behind the house in the picture)

Finally we reached our campsite on the side of a hill in a village called Saint-Rome-de-Tarn (Midi-Pyrénées). The reception was at the top of the hill and three hairpin bends later we were at our pitch. There would be no climbing back up on foot if we needed anything. We didn’t need anything. And the toilets? They were magnificent! The showers also! Next morning I took the photo above while wondering how we would navigate out in the fog.

(Rising above the fog filled valley)

But I needn’t have worried, there was fog all along the valley but as we drove higher the sun broke through. We stopped to get a picture above the clouds. It’s funny to think that a village up there would be in sunshine with a respectable 9º while twenty minutes down at the river it was 2º.

(Surprise! Chateau!)

We were heading to a camping car overnight parking in the village of Montsalvy (Auvergne) but with twenty minutes to go there was a diversion. No problem, Molly was on hand to find a way… Unfortunately, Molly thinks we are a little smaller that we actually are and tried to send us on paths we might have been hard pushed to fit on walking side by side. We rejected many of them but eventually we took one and had a bit of a mystery tour.

(Can you make out the white van on the road?)

An hour later we stopped at a lay-by on the side of the road to have lunch and took the photo above. It was glorious, cold but sunny so we bundled up and had lunch at the stone picnic table.

(Lunch on top of the mountain. Reward for surviving!)

We set off again full of smiles. Then the road got narrower. We entered at least five villages where we weren’t sure if we could squeeze between the houses, let alone what would happen if we met another car. There were no other cars. There was a tractor. When I saw it coming I covered my eyes! But they must make them brave around here because even though he was on the steep drop side he drove up on the kerb and was gone before I remembered to breathe. Viva les français!

(Each camper space had a hardstanding, hedge of privacy (!) a grassy area and a picnic table!)

We left the day foggy campsite at 9am and sometime in the afternoon we finally arrived at Montsalvy our home for the night. Because it’s winter (I think that’s what the sign said) there would be no electricity, no water and no toilets, but it was completely free and very pretty.

(I got very excited when I saw this shop. They sell craft paper! No, they office supplies!)

I woke in the middle of the night and thinking it might be morning looked out the window. There was a full moon and all the trees were silhouettes. No pictures but I took one the next morning. In black and white it’s a close-ish proximity to what I saw during the night. Minus the moon. This is like a magic place.

(The view from our bedroom window at the free overnight spot)

I will remember this day for a very long time, Mairead.

Making peace with embarrassment

February 25, 2016February 24, 2016 | Mairead

(Palm tree trunk)

We’re still in Luz so I’m getting comfortable here, starting to feel right at home… which means some of my old habits are popping up. (By the way, I’m working away happily on my book so that’s probably why I keep thinking of habits and beliefs.)

(Lagos, old town)

So… one of my habits is, I see something I want to do but just before I do it, I think, “nooo, I would look stupid, much too embarrassing to do that!” Then afterwards when I don’t do it I feel a bit miserable for not doing it. A bit of a misery cycle. This habit is masking a couple of beliefs. The one that stops me doing the thing I want to do: What other people think of me is important and it needs to be positive. And the one that makes me feel miserable when I don’t do it: Trying new things is really good for my health. A bit of a self-judgemental cycle.

(Like blue sky)

At the same time I have returned to meditation, fifteen minutes every morning. And there’s something useful in the meditation practice that can help me untangle the misery and self-judgemental cycles. It’s about noticing whatever it is you’re feeling, just noticing, not thinking, just noticing… in your body. Not in your head, in your body. (Over emphasising might be a habit too?)

(Blue water, blue boat, blue jacket, blue hat)

So… I’m practicing meditation on my embarrassment. Each day (since Monday) I do one thing that I know would cause me to feel embarrassed and I notice what that’s like. In. My. Body. Monday morning I went to the outdoor gym! I had been looking at the equipment since last Wednesday when we arrived, thinking that looks like fun! Then the misery/self-judgemental cycle began, so I didn’t dare.

(Boat for sale…)

But on Monday morning I got into my baggy pants and approached the gym area. Slowly. Giving me time to notice the embarrassment and I noticed it… but it was a bit different. Too late to turn back I arrived at the area and there’s another camper doing gym things (and doing them really well) smiling and saying hello. Having a lot of embarrassing thoughts now but remembering just in time to NOTICE IN MY BODY I squeak out, Hi, which one of these is good for a beginner?

(Cobblestones)

She is really friendly, Dutch or German I think and delighted to point me towards a swing-swong kind of thing and I start swinging and it is fun. So much so that I try a stand-up-rowing machine thing next but that’s a bit harder. Just as I start to feel stupid and think this is too hard I remember to NOTICE IN MY BODY and I slow down and it’s ok. Feeling embarrassed is actually ok… the thing that’s upsetting is the thinking about being embarrassed, the thinking about the people watching, the thinking about the people who are good at this fun thing.

(Rocks and sea at Luz… doesn’t it look like Greystones? Or does everything remind us of Ireland?)

Sooo, I’m stand-up-rowing with a smile on my face and a hello for all the people walking by and my new Dutch or German friend says, the hardest thing is to stop yourself competing with other people, just do your best. Well, wasn’t that lovely? I feel quite emotional all of a sudden. I’m rowing away and I’m thinking this embarrassment thing isn’t so bad. Then a group of six toned Swedish women jog past and I wave and nearly fall off my stand-up-rowing machine.

There should be a health warning on these machines, Mairead.

Where the firemen go for coffee….

February 12, 2016February 11, 2016 | Mairead

(Unusual house in Castro Verde. It was the talk of the town in the 1900’s because of the creative use of the latest building material – cement)

It’s been raining here for a couple of days. I can see the birds digging for worms in the damp grass. They seem very excited – a feast. After being stuck inside all day yesterday I was excited myself to get out of Ruby this afternoon. I put on my coat and went on a photo walk. We’re in a town called Castro Verde, about an hour from Beja. Because of this town I have learned two more Portuguese words: Castro means castle and Verde means green. I can tell you it came in very handy when I was asking for green tea (tea is Chá, like they say in Cork!)

(I love the streetscapes in Portuguese towns but I can’t seem to reproduce what I see in a photo)

There’s lots of art in the environment pieces around the town and as I was taking photos of one I saw the fire station… One day when we were out walking in Beja we passed a cafe and I was just about to step inside when I noticed the name Cafe de Bombeiro. We thought Bombeiro meant Fire Station and sure enough the cafe was part of the fire station. So we didn’t go in… says I, must be for the firemen. But then today I spotted another Cafe de Bombeiro – in a fire station too. Why are there cafes at the Fire Stations and do I have to be a Fireman to go in?

(See the flowering tree?)

I thought about the firemen for a while but then the rain came back and I went back to Ruby. Via the supermarket. It’s always interesting to look at the unusual food on the shelves and in the fridges. I’ve been looking for something for a week now and each new supermarket I go into I search it out. I’m searching for Milton, the stuff you use to sterilise babies’ bottles. It’s a mild bleach and I was using it to keep the grey water tank (washing up water) smelling lovely. The bottle was nearly empty when we left and now it’s all gone, so I’ve been searching. Today, as usual, I started looking in the baby section but then I went to the cleaning section where I spotted the toilet bleach products and that’s when I wondered…

(This area is the bread basket of Portugal – this is one of the art in the environment pieces)

Why did I put bleach in my babies’ bottles? Of course everyone did it. It was recommended. I got free samples. Hmm… It’s funny what we don’t notice about the things we do every day, the things we use every day, the things we see every day. Standing in this Portuguese supermarket the effort to make sense of the words and the products and the aisles has shaken my beliefs. A cafe full of fireman might be just what I need.

Portugal is making me doubt my reality, Mairead.

Bye, Bye, Beja

February 8, 2016February 7, 2016 | Mairead

(We left Beja on Saturday morning)

We finally had to leave Beja. It had been eleven days and it was time… to leave the great toilets, the brilliant library, the very convenient supermarkets, the just-up-the-road McDonalds, the interesting churches and chapels, the restaurants, the cafes and the happy man in the museum.

(There are lots of chapels and churches to visit)

One day last week I went off exploring the town and found a little church with a museum and something else – a happy man. I had been to a few of these churches with museums while we’ve been in Beja. There are always very friendly attendants who go to pains to explain in English that if I have any questions, please ask. Generally, I don’t have questions because everything is so different. I am too busy getting my head around what I see to have any.

(This is the one with secrets…)

This attendant was different. He did tell me if I had any questions I should ask and then he said “but, before you start looking could I tell you some things about this church…” Of course! There followed a private tour with a man who loved his work. He told me the church was built in the 14th century. That it used to be a lot bigger. That the garish gold decorations were a later addition. He didn’t actually say garish but I know he meant it! Each of the churches I’d been in had this gold paint covering everything. Well everything except for the 1950’s style statues that you might see in any convent in Ireland.

(… and fake marble)

Hearing that the gold was not the original made my eyes light up because I had noticed when I walked into each of these churches a deep sense of calm, but then I would see the gold paint and wonder how it was possible that such a flashy place could be so calm. The attendant saw that he had caught my attention and pointed to the wall near the door, saying it was marble, or at least that’s what I thought he said. I had noticed the wall, it looked like a painted green marble… was it possible it was really marble? I went over to touch it and he exclaimed, “Noooo, that’s just like the gold. Here, this.” He was pointing at the holy water font, a beautiful simple basin with simple carved lines. It was real, no gold, no green and it was cold, very cold like real marble. Because it was real marble. They had to rip away the fake marble to expose it. Then he said, “We also exposed a secret passage. Would you like to see it?” Yes. Yes, I would!

(…and real marble, behind the fake marble)

He walked over to the altar, grasped two sides of the gold front, something clicked and then he lifted the front away. Inside there were bricks and what looked like a door gap that had been cemented closed. “Oh yes, I see” says I, but he says “Noooo, look over this way” and to the left of the cement door I can see a gap running behind the fake green marble. And I can see tiles, the pretty blue Portuguese tile that you see everywhere here. Again he say “Noooo, they are not tiles, they are frescos! From the 14th century!” O my Goodness, they looked like they were in perfect condition, they had been protected all this time by the horrible green fake marble.

(Anyone educated by nuns will recognise the statue. Under it is the panel that opens to reveal the secret…)

In case you didn’t know, I used to be a tour guide at the Rock of Cashel… There are old, but very badly deteriorated frescos in St. Cormac’s Chapel, a 14th century building on that site. Frescos (from Wikipedia: Fresco is a technique of mural painting executed upon freshly laid, or wet lime plaster) are a big deal! Here in the small church in Beja there are 700 year old frescos in near perfect condition. (I was too stunned to take a picture!)

Sometimes a rough exterior hides a beautiful soul, Mairead.

The Library

February 5, 2016 | Mairead

(I’m at the Library)

So today, on the lookout for a Portuguese venue to rival McDonalds, I’ve come to the library. And I can report that the chairs are comfy, there is indeed wifi and I can sit here for as long as I like! There’s no coffee though… Perfect otherwise.

(Books, books, everywhere)

So I’m in the Municipal Library of Beja surrounded by books that I cannot read! There might be an English language shelf but I’m between the Geography shelf (if Geografia means geography) and the History shelf (Historia?) I am tempted to look for the craft shelf but what if there were some great looking books? It might be too upsetting not to be able to read the descriptions or the instructions. Oh maybe it’ll be worth it, I’m off to look for the craft section….

(Balconies)

You will never guess what I found! No, not a craft section, still haven’t found that! I found a coffee shop! In the library! What a great place.The library is now officially the perfect Portuguese place to write. Or draw. Or drink coffee. Or read. Or search for craft books. Oh there’s a magazine area with even “comfier”seats and I can see a National Geographic and it’s in English.

(There are lots of places to sit in Beja)

Some students just came into the coffee shop, two guys and a girl. I don’t actually know if they’re students…. but they do seem to be working on something together and the girl just took out what looks like a text-book. She has green hair. In the magazine area there’s an older man taking notes as he reads a newspaper, maybe he’s writing to the editor. He’s really concentrating, maybe he’s writing to someone else, an old girlfriend, an estranged daughter a friend he met in the army. It seems like he’s finding it a really hard letter to write. Oh hang on it’s a crossword…

(Narrow streets, where pedestrians squeeze into doorways when they hear a car)

Now there’s a lady collecting a huge hard backed book from the librarian. By huge I mean it’s about three feet by two feet. I‘m trying to sneak a peek but she keeps catching me so I look away. She’s taking pictures of some of the pages with her phone… it might be very old newspapers. The colour of the pages is the same colour as newspaper left out in the sun. Or painted with coffee… as you do!

It’s all happening in the library, Mairead.

Shuush! We’ve found a McDonalds! 2 of 2

February 2, 2016February 1, 2016 | Mairead

So to continue from yesterday’s post… So if I realise the doing of a craft makes the difference how come here in Portugal I’m not doing any crafting?

(The street names are tiles)

Most people I know who love to create sometimes stop creating. For no good reason and lots of good reasons: They’re too busy. They’re too tired. They don’t know what they want to create. They don’t realise they have stopped. Whatever the reason the longer they stop the harder it seems to get started again. But starting again has it’s own momentum. Once you’ve started again some kind of creative magic energy kicks in and it’s like you never stopped.

(Ceiling of corridor at convent)

A bit like when I meet my friend, Helena. I have known Helena a long time, we went to the same school and were best friends from the age of twelve. She lived in the country and had to take the bus home so we would say goodbye after school and not be able to see or talk to each other until nine the next day. There were no mobile phones, the one phone in the house was in the hall so everyone could hear what we were saying… so we invented an early version of Facebook and used to write letters to each other each day. (Ok so it was nothing like Facebook, maybe it was like iMessage or.. never mind I’m just trying to say it was hard back then!)

(Clock on…)

I think that’s why I love to write, writing was a way to communicate my best and worst times without judgement, with encouragement. In school writing essays was very difficult for me, so much so my mother used to write them for me! I always had trouble with spelling and stopping to consider the correct way to spell something would mess with my flow and make the whole thing so frustrating. but in those letters I would write my best guess at a spelling and write (spelling!) after my attempt and Helena always seemed to recognise the words. Each morning we’d pass each other our letters and head into our first class reading.

(…Clock tower)

Anyway, time passed, I got married she was one of my bridesmaids and then she went to Australia. She met a lovely man, Henry and had four children. We wrote infrequently. It’s a long way to Australia, I’ve never been but Helena comes home regularly. There’s a lot of people in her Irish family so we don’t always get a chance to meet but we met last year.

(Tiles on the outside of a house)

On a cold and wet July Monday in the Horse and Jockey Hotel we hugged and squealed our “oh my God you look so good”s. Henry found something to do and we set to chat. And it was like we had never been apart, so comfortable and warm. So easy and familiar. How did we ever stop the writing? When Henry arrived back after an hour Helena sent him off again, after the second hour he just sat down nearby and read a newspaper.

(And more tiles)

I know why I stopped writing to Helena. I had started to think it had to be a big production. A long and perfectly structured letter with news about everything and details about the things that had happened. A letter that would take hours to write and never be quite perfect enough…. Doesn’t that sound like what starting a new project feels like? It does to me. Now I email Helena whenever I see something that reminds me of her or when I’m doing something I think she will enjoy. The emails are short, they usually take about two minutes but if I find myself rambling on I don’’t worry because I know Helena won’t mind my imperfect email. She never stopped being encouraging and non-judgemental.

(My small imperfect start…)

So if there’s something you’ve loved doing (creative or not) and you’ve stopped, can we encourage each other to make a little start? It doesn’t have to be a big project. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t have to take a long time. It could be as quick as it takes to write a two-line email and if we start to ramble that’ll be fine too. There’s no judgement, only encouragement.

Just like Helena, Mairead.

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