I am at my last caring job, back where it all began, in Swanley, Kent. It seems fitting that my caring experience started and ended here. I remember arriving in January; cold, petrified and bewildered. And rightfully so, it was awful. I have now returned feeling those same emotions because I knew what was in store for me, 18 days of hellish moments and unhappy people. I am lucky though that my outlook has shifted somewhat. That was my first caring job and I was worried that all my bookings would be that bad. This is my last caring job (for, hopefully, a very long time) and I know it cannot get any worse.
The weather is surprisingly good. Once again, the Wimbledon Championships haven't needed to use their 2 billion pound roof because of rain (touch wood) and people, generally, are in a happier mood. I have exactly 27 days left in England. Not much time when one subtracts my working days. I did not think I would be sad about leaving, but I am. I realise this is the "end of an era", my gap year has come to an end. It is now time to grow up, to hit the real world, to leave the raucousness of young life behind me. Well, maybe not quite yet. We shall have to see. Most of all, now that I have tasted a bit of travel, I am so hungry for more. I am hoping to get to Ireland to visit family friends from Durban days in Cork and then head over to Dublin for a day of sightseeing and Guinness drinking with an old Rhodes friend (feel like I have to go to Dublin and sample the true Guinness after my one-week stint with the Guinness family at Biddesden House in Andover in April; 36 wooden floors to polish, etc). And then my travels will be over.
I watched Ghana play an amazing World Cup match last night, and I like the rest of the world except, I think, the Uruguan nation, was desperately urging them on. The commentators on ITV 1 here in Britain didn't even pretend to be neutral, everyone was dreaming of an African win. It would have been amazing...but then Idiot Extraordinaire Suarez had to devastate us all. He should be suspended and heavily fined for putting an end to what could have been a dreamlike finish. I hope he had plenty of security last night.
It has been such an up and down year. I look forward to being in the same place for a couple of months and seeing some familiar faces on a daily basis. Most of all, I long to feel South African again, and even though I have missed the World Cup, there seems to much positivity over there. I hope it will continue for some time to come.
Fra
Things I will miss about England:
The five days of glorious weather after a forever of Winter;
The postal system;
Perhaps the public transport (ok, definitely the public transport);
Easy access to Europe (if you're not on a South African passport or already have a Schengen Visa);
The great British friends I have made;
And the South Africans I would probably never have met and have grown to love;
144 Florence Road and the memories;
Wimbledon Broadway;
Walkabout (never thought I'd say this! Damn!);
Walking past the All England Club (the home of the Wimbledon Championships);
Being just a number (in other words, whoever you want to be at any given time);
The West End, so close but yet so far;
Covent Garden;
Pre-packaged everything;
Argos;
Savannahs and Snoggys;
Waterstones;
Hyde Park;
the walking everywhere you go;
The pubs (one on every corner). Always a pub...
Thursday 15 July 2010
Thursday 1 July 2010
My Whirlwind trip of Europe - 2 to 31 May
Hallo, Gutentag, Ciao, Bonjourno, Salut!
Greetings to all of you from a little place called Copthorne. No, wait...greetings from a very busy road in the middle of nowhere near a little place called Copthorne near a town called Crawley wherein lies a garage, one little shop, an ATM and a pub, of course. Always a pub. Once again, I find myself in the land of little reception, no internet and a grumpy elderly woman.
BUT, I am willing to do much more housework and cooking of three-course meals and smelly dog walking after my May month. I took off 28 days from caring and went off by myself on the trip of a lifetime. I made a whole bunch of new friends in the 18 days of my Contiki tour, had many a good 'jol' and saw some spellbinding, dreamlike, movie-making, life-changing places. I could not be more grateful for the experience truly.
After the 18 days of sleep deprivation, constant rain (it rained every day), illness (Contiki cough) and pure delirium, I made my way to Gatwick airport in a huge flurry only for my flight to be delayed for an hour. I was off to Geneva to visit Mom's life-long friend and former tennis partner, Lucille Rijs, and her family at their lovely home on the French/Swiss border. I have been trying to make this trip for some time but getting a visa was a nightmare and then volcanic eruptions and various non-refundable cancelled tickets meant I was only able to squeeze the trip in just after my Contiki tour. The Rijs' are based in Chens-sur-Leman, France but Jan works in Geneva, Switzerland.
It is amazing how easily we moved from one country to the other. The Rijs' really spoilt me; I caught up on much-needed sleep, saw some beautiful places, had a weird but wonderful night out with Lara, Jean and Chantelle in Geneva and even spoke some good French. Well, 'good' may be taking it a step too far...but at least I spoke. The lake is quite spectacular, especially when the weather is good. The weather was very kind to me after the 18 days of rain as the sun shone all six days of my stay. Lucille even dragged me off to the tennis courts...twice. I played poorly but thoroughly enjoyed it and I am looking forward to hitting the courts on my return to SA in just under two months time.
On the 27th May, I made my last pitstop (with cousin Garyth Turner) to Erlangen, Germnay, to Franconian territory and the site of 'Berg', a local beer festival. And what a surprise, a different London airport, another delay. And we ended up missing our connecting flight in Munich. Fortunately, we could hop on a train to Nuremberg where Robs Clarkson picked us up. Nicknamed 'Berg' because the two-week festival happens on a little mountain, the event is VERY local and a well-kept secret. Garyth and I must have been one of three tourists there (all in all). We stayed with Clarksons, cousins of our cousins (make sense?) in the little village of Dechsendorf, only a short busride from the Berg. Let me remind you that I am now at Day 25 of 28 and the body is feeling it somewhat. Garyth has been dutifully working and behaving in London but the look on his face as we arrive at the festival is one of fear and knowing of what is to come. We had a glorious time with Robs, Andrew and the family (and the locals). Again, no sleep or rest from the party. We did not understand anyone, no one understodd us but we left with many a friend and the beer was SUPERB!
We watched the Super 14 on the Saturday and what a day for South African rugby and for the nation herself. We walked around in our SA rugby jerseys, blowing a vuvuzela and singing the National Anthem. Everyone thought we were nuts, we thought we were the coolest people on earth, if not the proudest. I nearly killed Andrew during the evening though as he would not stop blowing the vuvuzela but he woke up with a swollen upper lip the next day and paid his price.
A year of crappy jobs, weather, crashed computers, ol' grumps and washing one million soiled sheets by hand has been heavily outweighed by life experience, new friendship, unforgettable memories and self belief.
I am so sad that I will miss the World Cup. I watched England arrive in Rustenburg to an unforgettable welcome. I saw Piers Morgan's World Cup special about what it has done for the country, how the singer Nelson Mandela had chosen for the opening ceremony died from meningitis only weeks before realising his dream, I read Desomond Tutu's articles in the international newspapers. Pride, patriotism and pure contentment overwhelms me when I see what can happen, what good there is in the world along with the evil and sadness. So, viva South Africa, viva! May it be the best, most unique World Cup ever.
Greetings to all of you from a little place called Copthorne. No, wait...greetings from a very busy road in the middle of nowhere near a little place called Copthorne near a town called Crawley wherein lies a garage, one little shop, an ATM and a pub, of course. Always a pub. Once again, I find myself in the land of little reception, no internet and a grumpy elderly woman.
BUT, I am willing to do much more housework and cooking of three-course meals and smelly dog walking after my May month. I took off 28 days from caring and went off by myself on the trip of a lifetime. I made a whole bunch of new friends in the 18 days of my Contiki tour, had many a good 'jol' and saw some spellbinding, dreamlike, movie-making, life-changing places. I could not be more grateful for the experience truly.
After the 18 days of sleep deprivation, constant rain (it rained every day), illness (Contiki cough) and pure delirium, I made my way to Gatwick airport in a huge flurry only for my flight to be delayed for an hour. I was off to Geneva to visit Mom's life-long friend and former tennis partner, Lucille Rijs, and her family at their lovely home on the French/Swiss border. I have been trying to make this trip for some time but getting a visa was a nightmare and then volcanic eruptions and various non-refundable cancelled tickets meant I was only able to squeeze the trip in just after my Contiki tour. The Rijs' are based in Chens-sur-Leman, France but Jan works in Geneva, Switzerland.
It is amazing how easily we moved from one country to the other. The Rijs' really spoilt me; I caught up on much-needed sleep, saw some beautiful places, had a weird but wonderful night out with Lara, Jean and Chantelle in Geneva and even spoke some good French. Well, 'good' may be taking it a step too far...but at least I spoke. The lake is quite spectacular, especially when the weather is good. The weather was very kind to me after the 18 days of rain as the sun shone all six days of my stay. Lucille even dragged me off to the tennis courts...twice. I played poorly but thoroughly enjoyed it and I am looking forward to hitting the courts on my return to SA in just under two months time.
On the 27th May, I made my last pitstop (with cousin Garyth Turner) to Erlangen, Germnay, to Franconian territory and the site of 'Berg', a local beer festival. And what a surprise, a different London airport, another delay. And we ended up missing our connecting flight in Munich. Fortunately, we could hop on a train to Nuremberg where Robs Clarkson picked us up. Nicknamed 'Berg' because the two-week festival happens on a little mountain, the event is VERY local and a well-kept secret. Garyth and I must have been one of three tourists there (all in all). We stayed with Clarksons, cousins of our cousins (make sense?) in the little village of Dechsendorf, only a short busride from the Berg. Let me remind you that I am now at Day 25 of 28 and the body is feeling it somewhat. Garyth has been dutifully working and behaving in London but the look on his face as we arrive at the festival is one of fear and knowing of what is to come. We had a glorious time with Robs, Andrew and the family (and the locals). Again, no sleep or rest from the party. We did not understand anyone, no one understodd us but we left with many a friend and the beer was SUPERB!
We watched the Super 14 on the Saturday and what a day for South African rugby and for the nation herself. We walked around in our SA rugby jerseys, blowing a vuvuzela and singing the National Anthem. Everyone thought we were nuts, we thought we were the coolest people on earth, if not the proudest. I nearly killed Andrew during the evening though as he would not stop blowing the vuvuzela but he woke up with a swollen upper lip the next day and paid his price.
A year of crappy jobs, weather, crashed computers, ol' grumps and washing one million soiled sheets by hand has been heavily outweighed by life experience, new friendship, unforgettable memories and self belief.
I am so sad that I will miss the World Cup. I watched England arrive in Rustenburg to an unforgettable welcome. I saw Piers Morgan's World Cup special about what it has done for the country, how the singer Nelson Mandela had chosen for the opening ceremony died from meningitis only weeks before realising his dream, I read Desomond Tutu's articles in the international newspapers. Pride, patriotism and pure contentment overwhelms me when I see what can happen, what good there is in the world along with the evil and sadness. So, viva South Africa, viva! May it be the best, most unique World Cup ever.
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