Tag Archives: lost

The sea is our home

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Sailing voyages are completely different to anything else… perhaps with the exception of space travel.

We see the world from a new perspective. Surrounded by blue, I’m enjoying the wide open seas and broad horizons. When land emerges, the coast isn’t a beach or a sea front or even a harbour. It’s a line on the horizon. As we come closer we bob past tiny houses in a variety of colours clustering round a hilltop, the trees and bushes appearing like a miniature railway set.

Then eventually we step ashore and everything comes into perspective again. The houses zoom into focus and begin to assume normal proportions, the roads and streets emerge and we breathe in the smell of land.

Yesterday we braved the heat to call in on some of the family holidaying nearby. Following instructions we trudged up a narrow track from the harbour. I inhaled the scent of pine needles and enjoyed the sweet aroma of jasmine as we passed a garden.

Looking for a padlocked gate, we wound our way up an increasingly steep path, eventually coming to a dead end at a gate into a large house. We must have gone wrong… of course there was no phone signal to call and check. We were sure we were close and started to call out, before retracing our steps. Getting lost has been a favourite pastime of mine, but this time it wasn’t long before I heard a shout from lower down the track.

“You’ve gone too far!”

With a guide to follow we began a steep climb up the hillside, through the “unlocked” gate, plodding up a line of steps reaching as far as we could see.

“There’s a pool at the top,” our son encouraged us, as drops of sweat raced down my cheeks like rain.

“It’s not much further… honestly!”

I paused on one of the many terraces lined with olive trees – it was beautiful. Behind us I glimpsed the shimmering blue of the sea twinkling between the trees.

At the top the view was spectacular and there was iced coffee to enjoy. Through the gaps in the trees we looked down on a lone Pura Vida, bobbing happily in the bay. Perhaps she was enjoying the space from her passengers!

The climb up was worth its weight in gold, as we enjoyed a refreshing swim and great company in the setting of an authentic Italian villa, complete with a long table on the terrace overlooking the sea. It was strange to be on land for so long, but before we had time to get used to it, we were back on board ready for the next leg of the journey.

Departure was slightly delayed by a little engine trouble. A few hours was spent rolling in the bay, while oil was pumped out and then replaced… I’ll spare the technical details!

So, late afternoon we waved goodbye to familiar faces and the hillside villa to move around the next headline in search of a quiet bay, where we hoped for a peaceful night.

For now our world is on the sea again. Land, towns and villages seem like alien places. The sea and the waves are our windows and our garden. The wind is our road taking us on to the next destination and it’s our comfortable place.

Lost in Venice?

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I’d be hopeless in Race Across the World… much as I love the idea of charging from city to city on public transport with only a map and some cash, I don’t think I’d last long without my phone and google maps!

A few nights ago in Venice it was our faithful guide through the network of streets on the north of the city, which would lead us back to our boat.

We’d enjoyed a day of meanderings, jumping on and off boats ferrying us up and around the grand canal. When we tired of browsing or became too hot, we collapsed in cafes and finally ended up at a canal side restaurant enjoying good food topped off with a few glasses of lemoncello.

After leaving the restaurant, the hunt for an ice cream delayed us slightly and we realised there wasn’t that much time to find our way to the “boat stop” for the 5.2 that would take us ‘home’ to where the catamaran was moored on an island across from the city.

If you’re going to get lost, Venice is the place to be. Around each corner there’s a new delight to greet you or yet another ancient bridge to step over. Impossibly narrow streets open up into secret piazzas with buzzing cafes and towering churches bumping up against shuttered windows and balconies hung with washing.

Finding it hard to hold an ice cream and follow the blue dot on the map up the right street (maybe partly related to the extra glass of lemoncello), I handed navigation over to the “first mate” who marched ahead at speed holding my phone.

It’s easy to get distracted in Venice, looking at Murano glass trinkets, strangely painted masks and that hat I was sure would suit me… Stumbling up another bridge, I spotted a gondolier in a striped top and obligatory boater pushing off from the side and almost colliding with another gondola. There were shouts and laughter and bit of splashing. It looked a pleasant way to explore Venice at night – if a bit busy.

I hurried down the other side of the bridge just in time to see the navigator turning the corner into a narrow alleyway…

“Are you sure this this the way?” I shouted after him, but he was hunched over the phone striding forwards and my words sunk into the walls beside us.

Running to catch up, with my ice cream trickling down my hand, I finally got nearer. Up above, I could only just glimpse the night sky between the towering houses hemming us in. As we turned down the tiniest alleyway where I could put out my arms and touch the walls on either side, I hoped google had it hand and there were no Venetian bandits ready to pounce. I clutched my bag a little tighter.

Earlier, before we had resorted to google maps, the phone’s compass was in use to help us head north… but it wasn’t Dartmoor and google maps, although sometimes a bit slow to catch up with our pace, turned out to be the best option. We had to double back a few times as the blue dot jumped suddenly to another location, but finally, after the darkest, narrowest passageway swallowed us up, there was light ahead and the sound of boats chugging and water splashing.

We reached the cafe-lined quay, only to discover our 10pm boat had ‘sailed’, so there would be time for yet another coffee while we waited.

When the boat did arrive an hour later, we asked them to stop at Certosa island (a request stop only!) and hoped the driver remembered, and that we’d pronounced it correctly. Speeding round the edge of Venice at night turned out to be quite exhilarating. We bumped up against the jetty for the A&E of Venice hospital – where speed boat ambulances waited in line!

Little boats raced beside us on the inky black water and sometimes suddenly cut in front only just missing our bows. With the wind rushing past us and waves splashing below in the dark it felt like an appropriate end to our sailing journey. And the next night after visiting some local islands we did it all again. There were a few less delays through the network of passageways, but we still managed to miss the 10pm boat!

Who’s afraid of alligators?

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An alligator encounter was on my mind when I set out on a canoe expedition on my second day in Florida.

Having been assured by the man handing out the life vests and paddles, that they were unlikely to bother us “as long as we didn’t go feeding them”, we set out down the river fairly confidently. The same man had told us that we wouldn’t need a map, as there was no chance of getting lost in the river… If his tips about navigation turned out to be as accurate as his alligator advice, we were in trouble!

My colleague and I had decided to take in the natural beauty of a riverside location before the start of a week of meetings. Paddling out on the tranquil, if rather brown looking river, seemed like the perfect way to get over jetlag and soak up the sights and sounds of Florida’s wildlife.

Apart from alligators, we’d been told we might see dolphins and manatees, so our eyes were peeled. I hadn’t done my homework on manatees and kept calling them Manta Rays. To be honest, I really wasn’t quite sure what I was looking for, even if the water had been clear.

Paddling gently didn’t seem to require much effort as we glided with the outgoing tide leaving the lawns and riverside houses behind, the river widened out and the banks were filled with overhanging trees and thick roots mining their way into the shadowy water.

We’d set out first thing to avoid the midday heat and intended to spend a leisurely hour or two on the river. After spotting a few dolphins fishing just ahead of us, we also spend time looking at various big birds perched on trees beside the water. A couple of pink and white ones turned out to be spoonbills and we were certain we saw some kind of white headed eagle, there were also herons and egrets. It was very peaceful, with hardly any other boats in sight.

After less than an hour, we enjoyed a break from the sun under the shade of a road bridge, where we decided to turn back. We’d been paddling back upstream for some time, when we both thought the journey back seemed to be taking longer – surely we should be starting to see houses and lawns running down to the water again by now? The sun was getting stronger and our water supplies lower, I tugged my hat down and was thankful I’d put on sunscreen.

“I don’t remember this bit, do you?”

Something was wrong. We realised we must have taken a wrong turn and spotted a different stretch of water just across another bank. We wondered if it was the main river. We definitely hadn’t been this way before. We’d been out more than two hours at this point and decided to pull up the canoe – alligators or not – and see if we could work out where we were, even if it involved dragging the canoe across to the right part of the river. There were no boats about and no houses… no one to ask. So, we did the normal thing and got out a phone to check on google maps for our location. What a relief we’d taken a phone for photos!

It was however, a bit of a shock to realise we were a long way off course, down a parallel tributary and long way from where lunch was being served with the rest of our team!

The way back felt hard. The wind was against us, the tide was ebbing out and the heat had intensified. I wasn’t thinking alligators, I was just thinking, “Please let’s find the right route back!” 

We spotted a huge cross in the distance which we’d seen before and began heading towards it, only for it to disappear again. Distracted by dolphins, birds and boats speeding down parallel waterways, we continued to flounder and decided it was time to stick rigidly to google maps, checking every turn, so that we wouldn’t end up spending the night on the river. (Where are the RNLI when you need them?)

We were tiring too after more than three hours paddling in over 30 degrees. Steering became a bit of a problem and after being directed down yet another dead-end tributary by a couple sunbathing in their boat, our patience was beginning to fray. The canoe ploughed into more mangrove branches than I care to admit and at one point we had to shuffle through the shallows because we were too tired to get out and lift the canoe.

When we eventually turned the corner and saw the other canoes pulled up on the grass it was a huge relief to make land after more than four hours on the river. Thankfully there was a swimming pool to cool off in and plenty of astounded colleagues to hear our story and shake their heads… There seemed to be one common denominator in recent expedition errors and getting lost and that was me!

We heard a news report later that same day, about how a woman’s torso had been found in the mouth of an alligator not far from where we’d been paddling. That felt a little close for comfort.

A week or so later, I had second thoughts about borrowing paddleboards offered by the bed and breakfast place. They had wanted us to sign a disclaimer and said, “Be aware – the waters are murky, and you are not at the top of the food chain!” 

I did eventually spot a little alligator down in the Everglades – safely viewed from the seat of an airboat. That was quite enough alligators for one trip!

Lost in the jungle – just for an afternoon

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How hard can it be walking down a hill for a few hours? Well throw in a jungle, 37 degree heat and a lack of signs and it turns out to be quite difficult…

Last month I found myself staying for a few nights in Penang – a small island off Malaysia. It was meant to be a mini break with a colleague, which we had tagged onto the back of a week of work meetings in Kuala Lumpur. We had both decided it would be nice to take some time to explore a little of Malaysia and take some time to relax.

The word ‘relax’ didn’t fit too well into the first morning. Due to the extreme heat, we decided to pick up a ‘grab’ (Asian uber) at 7am and head to the historic George Town before the temperatures overtook us. We enjoyed meandering round the streets filled with murals that reminded me of Banksy and enjoyed photographing a huge variety of doors and ornate buildings, along with a stroll through the ramshackle market stalls on the jetties.

As the heat started to crank up we caught another grab to the foot of Penang Hill and bought tickets for the funicular railway which would take us to the top. The plan was to enjoy the shade of the trees and cooler air higher up as well as the views and the wildlife. 

The journey on the train was a little longer than I had envisaged – after all this was just a hill. And as it rose higher through the trees we could see paths and steps descending below. I wondered how long it would take us to walk down.

After enjoying lunch Malaysian-style with the vista of George town spread out below, slightly obscured by the clouds, we started to look for the start of the path down. The monkeys chattering overhead distracted us for a while and we eventually had to ask a passing man in running gear and trainers if he knew the way down the ‘hill’.

“You walking?” he asked. We nodded enthusiastically. He was looking at our feet – both displaying less than sturdy sandals.

“You can go that way, but probably the jeep track is best.” And he pointed at our shoes… or lack of them.

My colleague, Annette, is from New Zealand and didn’t fancy a track used by cars.

“How bad can it be?” she said. And so we followed the path down.

The jungle lined trail zig zagged down the hillside and we were encouraged by meeting other hikers coming up. They gave us breathless greetings and carried on in their trainers and walking poles. We continued to slither a bit in sandals.

There were some intersections at various points without any signs, we followed our noses, which took us to someone’s house. So, we trailed back up the hill, breathing heavily as sweat began to drip down our faces. We didn’t want to make any more navigation errors in this heat. But half an hour later we found ourselves back at a gateway, with images of guard dogs on the entrance.

As we retraced our steps yet again, I told Annette I had seen the pictures of an animal higher up on a tree but, as I wasn’t wearing my glasses, I had thought it was a tiger – which is more worrying a tiger or a guard dog?

The lack of signs and the apparent inaccuracies of the map we’d taken a photo of higher up, were beginning to become frustrating. As we finally began heading on what we thought was the right path, a young man in trainers bounded across to us and asked if we knew the way. We felt confident we’d found the trail at last and he seemed to agree and quickly overtook us. We saw him pause at yet another junction in the path lower down, before turning left. We followed on, which turned out to be a mistake. The path became narrow and steep. But there were ropes built into the trees to hold onto and the trail quickly evolved into a kind of assault course, where we had to descend backwards, holding the ropes and at some points swing ourselves round steep rocky drops to the path below. The sandals were doing their best, but they were only sandals.

We’d been going sometime now and occasionally had glimpses of the train through the trees or heard it rumbling by up above. The climbing ropes eventually joined the proper path we should have taken and there were several more dead ends before we finally came out into a clearing where we could see one of the midway railway stations and the houses and town below seemed a little closer.

It was gone two in the afternoon and the sun was intense. We could hear voices on the other side of the railway and began to fear we were on the wrong path again. A narrow trail led left and right below. Which was the right way? We were very tired and hot. The water was running low and we needed a sign. 

“Oh God, please give us a sign!” I said, and it was a kind of prayer. We stepped towards the path leading directly down and passed under a wooden arch. As we turned to look back, we saw the sign for the Penang Hill Trail directly over our heads. We had found the official path at last.

However, finding the path was just the beginning of a very long walk downhill filled with steps that seemed to go on forever. Our legs were becoming very wobbly, and we started counting to 20 steps and then stopping for a rest, but the mosquitoes soon had us moving on again.

When we finally found our way back we headed for cool drinks in a café and nursed our aching limbs as we waited for a grab to take us back to the apartment. Plans for an evening out on the town were on hold, in favour of a bit of a lie down in a cool room!

Penang ‘Hill’ turned out to be more of an adventure than we had planned and it took some time for our muscles to recover from that afternoon stroll through the Malaysian jungle. 

I am not sure Malaysians use the word ‘hill’ in the same way as us at all – we’re calling it ‘Penang Mountain’ because that’s what it felt like that afternoon.

missing numbers, trains and phones

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“A woman walks into a bar wearing a mask. She goes up to the barman and asks, have you got a phone I could use?” It sounds like the start of a joke, but yesterday this was me, after I found myself very much in need of a stranger’s help.

How have we become so dependent on our mobile phones? It wasn’t so long ago that we went to a phone box to make a call and searched for someone’s number in the paper phone directory hanging on a chain from the shelf… not anymore!

Yesterday afternoon the sun was shining, it had been the end of a lovely day spent with my daughter and her four-month-old baby. We’d walked by the sea, enjoyed holiday story catch-ups and iced coffee. I was smiling as I waved goodbye to them both in the station car park. 

Trotting up the steps I rummaged in my bag for the dreaded face mask and increased my pace as I heard the station announcer and the approach of my train. Mask in place, I unzipped my bag to take out my phone, which also had my tickets on it. The zipped compartment was empty. I stared down at it as the train slid alongside the platform. In my head I could picture the phone plugged in and resting on a radiator in my daughter’s house – my heart sank. The carriage doors were squeaking open and I hesitated. Should I risk getting on the train without a ticket and get my phone another day? I decided against it.

Back in the station car park it began to dawn on me that I had no way of contacting anyone without my phone. My daughter would be on her way back home – a 10 minute drive from the station – but quite a long walk through the New Forest. Glancing down the street I was looking for inspiration and saw people sitting in the sunshine outside a pub with glistening pints in their hands. I hadn’t got a plan, but thought if I could find a phone maybe I’d be able to reach someone.

Hesitating at the beer garden entrance, I began to put on my face mask, was I supposed to wear one to go into the pub? A member of the bar staff saw my confusion and asked if she could help. I explained I’d lost my phone and needed to use one – she directed me back to the station where she thought there were phones on the platform. A post work group of men sitting at a nearby table, had heard my dilemma and one of them leaned towards me (in a socially distanced kind of way) and slid his mobile across the table. 

“You can use mine if it helps!”

I felt very relieved. The barmaid disappeared and the three beer drinkers, expressed sympathy about the missing phone which I explained had also contained my train tickets.

“We can’t manage without them,” one of them chipped in.

I stared at the stranger’s phone and realised this was very true. I had the use of a phone, but I didn’t know any of the numbers I wanted to call – they were all in my phone!

It seemed I‘d hit another dead end. 

“What about your husband’s number do you know that?”
I shook my head. “It’s his work phone.” I’d never taken much notice of the numbers.

“Can you google his company?”

No that wasn’t possible either. The army wasn’t good at giving out their numbers … We tried looking up my son in law via his company and sent him a message. No response.

I was on the verge of going back to the station to catch a train back to Lymington. In desperation I searched in my bag for any numbers I might have written down – nothing!

“I know my own number!” I said in exasperation. And seconds later it dawned on me, that was the solution.

I keyed in my own number and all of us listened in while the ringing continued until it went to voicemail. The friendly beer drinkers all took another sip and shook their heads. I wished I’d ordered a pint too – they were making me thirsty.

“It isn’t on silent is it?” the phone owner asked.

“I don’t think so,” I answered.

He pressed the redial and moments later a voice answered. I’d made contact at last!

“You left your phone here, Mum!” said the voice at the other end.

Some hours later I was back on the station platform with my phone heading home a little later than anticipated. 

Things hadn’t gone to plan, but it’s been good to know that ‘Good Samaritans’ still exist and even in this world of pandemics, face masks and social distancing, some kind people are prepared to risk helping a stranger and even lending them their phone. 

It’s also made me think about writing down the odd essential family phone number on a piece of paper and keeping it in my handbag – after all what use are handbags if they can’t offer help in an emergency?

saving date night

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A ‘date night’ had seemed like a good way to put a bad day behind us. Last night we decided to catch a late evening film at the cinema and treat ourselves to a meal out on the way… that was the plan.

This morning I set out on a rainy mission to see if I could redeem something small from what turned out to be a less than perfect date.

We all like a bargain and some more than others. I’ve often heard myself say, “and it was in the sale!” or “and we got 20 per cent off” or even “and it was free!” Somehow these special offers make the product even more attractive to us, we feel we’re getting better value for money, or at least we’re saving while we spend.

Meerkat offers have been giving us the perfect excuse to go to the cinema more often lately with their two for one deal on tickets. There is even a two for one on meals out but finding a restaurant that takes them can be tricky. 

Last night we resigned ourselves to a simple two for one pizza, but decided to try out a new village pub on the way. ‘The Sailors Return’ was a delight, with its stone flagged floors, tables in cosy nooks and very friendly staff. The local brewed cider was also delicious. The evening had started well, despite the rain, and we promised ourselves we’d return with friends for a meal out another night.

Half an hour later, with half price cinema tickets in our hands, we headed into a Pizza Express, where a few weeks earlier I’d enjoyed the two for one deal with great success. We would just have time to eat our pizzas before the start of the film. No need to check if they’d take the discount code – it had worked fine last time! It was therefore slightly annoying when we came to pay and the waitress told us they had stopped being part of that deal just three weeks ago and the pizzas were full price. That wasn’t what we wanted to hear.

Settling into our cinema seats, I was thinking ‘Never mind, at least we’ll enjoy the film’. The recently released version of Jane Austen’s ‘Emma’ had been billed as a “hilarious feel good comedy” by one of its stars Bill Nighy. His comments on the radio had persuaded my date it would be funny and the trailer looked quite quirky also. I confess to laughing throughout the film, but apparently it wasn’t funny at all. The opening credits warned about “natural nudity” but only one of us appreciated the lingering shots of Mr Knightly akka Johnny Flynn, having stripped off his riding gear at the start of the film. It was definitely a step up from Colin Firth as Mr Darcy.

After leaving the cinema as quickly as possible, the drive home was not cheerful. The rain had soaked into our jackets and not only had we been robbed by top price pizzas, the film had turned out to be one of the dullest he’d ever seen and the seats weren’t even comfortable for sleeping! I felt the opposite, but that didn’t really help. And there was something else bothering me…

Before leaving the house that night I’d snatched up a favourite Cossack style faux fur headband without putting it on. Somewhere between getting in the car, the pub and the cinema it had disappeared. I was fairly sure I hadn’t had it going to the cinema and I was really hoping I would find it in the car in the morning. That night I didn’t mention the missing item. I feared it could prove the final screw in the coffin for date night.

This morning I drove through the wind and rain and twisting lanes to ‘The Sailor’s Return’ carpark. Climbing out I spent several minutes chasing our military car pass down the road, eventually fishing it out from a hedge. I scoured the beer garden and car park and nearby gardens, trying to be inconspicuous in a yellow waterproof. There was no sign of the sodden headband. My last hope was the pub, which looked shut. A dog was barking inside as I approached and the landlady pulled him away from the door shaking her head. It really was a longshot that anyone might have picked it up in the dark and the rain and handed it into the pub. But I moved closer and calling through the wind I asked if anyone had handed in a head band, making a circle round my head with my hand and feeling a bit silly.

“A furry one? Hang on,” she said.

A minute later she opened the door and handing it over apologised that it was still a bit damp, although she’d put it on the radiator to dry. How kind – I love that pub even more today!

All was not lost and it was a happy ending to the date night disaster for me. After all that would now save me the cost of a new headband.

lost and now found

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You know that awful feeling when you get off a train or a bus and realise, as it shunts out of the station or pulls into the distance, that you’ve left your bag/wallet/diary/top secret files/jacket on the shelf above the seat? We’ve all done it. That was exactly the kind of feeling I had last week.

Something was missing. I’d been telling myself they were in a box in a wardrobe for sometime. Then after a thorough search of all the boxes in the house, (because there are still some lurking filled with things that belong in an attic or a cellar) I had to admit what I was looking for was not in the house. As I lay in bed that night, I suddenly realised where they must be… the garage or one of the outside stores, of course. The next day it was raining so I put off the search until it stopped. The garage proved only to be hiding wetsuits, golf clubs and boxes of other ‘stuff’ – not what I was looking for. The outside stores also failed to deliver. There was still one other place to look and later that evening I persuaded someone to help me explore another room of stacked furniture where I assumed the missing boxes must be. After half an hour it was obviously a hopeless cause. I returned home heavy-hearted and offended by the twinkling lights on a neighbour’s Christmas tree…

Somewhere between Nottingham, Cyprus and Thorny Island two boxes of Christmas decorations had disappeared and that meant no olive wood crib scene, no wooden centre piece with candles and no pretty baubles and snagged stockings hanging over the fireplace. I felt so sad I almost wished I had left something important on a train instead.

There was still one small crumb of hope. Setting aside the possibility that they had been thrown out with the rubbish, I wondered if they were in someone’s attic. Strange idea perhaps, but we had left a few bits and pieces in the attics of family and friends… and there was a list. A list I had carefully made with items in the roof. If I could find the list and spot ‘Christmas stuff’ written down, there may be hope yet. But where was the list? Another hour or two of searching through papers and boxes and files delivered another big fat nothing. We were living with the uncertainty that the boxes might be up in Nottingham, but we had no evidence and no list to assure us. A few days later I rifled through another stack of papers on the desk and flicked through an old notebook. There was the list – written in fairly illegible scrawl – but it was the list and amazingly, ‘Christmas stuff’ was the fifth item on the second page! Hallelujah!

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I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the boxes had eventually been found at the back of the roof and I was more than happy to help unload them from the car yesterday after they had been picked up en route. Now Christmas can come and I can ice the cake and scrape crumbling mince pies out of their tins without that sinking feeling that something isn’t right because I’ve left my decorations on a train. I know ‘Christmas starts with Christ’ – but it also kind of begins with decorations… if that’s not too heretical?