open diary with links to lebian ebooks

2/4/2010

As with many of the things in my life this didn't work out quite as planned, as it involved for me a very early start, and it took a little while for me to realise that (as it seems almost normal now) the gods were smiling on me again. I certainly didn't feel that way at 6:30 am when the alarm went off, it was pitch black and spitting with rain, and I had to get to the airport on my motorcycle, and stay looking presentable, as I was going to meet my new lawyer. So silently cursing my ex house buddy who had left our truck in a completely unusable state, (I swear something falls off when he gets in it), I donned my leathers and boots, packed skirt and nice boots in the saddle bags and set off. It was really foggy especially going over the mountain at around 3000ft, but as I dropped down towards the airport the light improved and the drizzle stopped. A dash to the ladiesroom saw me changed into something slightly less in your face than black riding leathers. I checked in and went straight through security as there was only about twenty minutes before the plane was due to depart but it wasn't until I had cleared security that I realised the plane had not yet arrived, and I had needlessly foregone the coffee I had promised myself when I set out. We eventually left, about twenty five minutes late, which put my 9am appointment with the lawyer at risk, luckily when we landed there were plenty of taxis, and even more luckily I picked a gem who was to be my lifesaver for most of the day, I showed him the address I had, and he took me there, quickly, and helped me look for the address, but had to drop me as the traffic was heavy and it was a narrow street. The number I had been given was conspicuous by its absence, but I was rescued by a couple of ladies, one of whom took me to her shop, checked the address, but all she could give me was a general direction and a street name, I headed off in the direction indicated but found nothing resembling the Avenida, she had described, so I headed down to the seafront in search of assistance, I tried the security guide in a hypermarket, but the language difficulties were too great so she directed me to the nearest taxi rank, where to my delight my taxi driver from the airport was waiting. I explained the problem and got in much to the annoyance of the other cabbies as he wasnt at the head of the queue, but he just shrugged, he said "The Avenida is very big, you know don't have a number", when I confirmed that he said "OK I know a lawyer up there they will probably know" so we went there, by now I was at least an hour late, and a girl directed us to the correct address. When we arrived at a block of very anonymous looking small offices things looked even less promising, but after walking three quarters of the way round we finally found it, I thanked him profusely and tipped him well, certainly one of the most charming and helpful taxi drivers I have met, and entered full of apologies. The receptionist smiled, and showed me straight in to the lawyer who waved aside my explanation and said that it was of no matter. He listened carefully as I explained my problems as far as I could, and then suggested how we might proceed and I left feeling more confident than I had arrived, although conscious that the problem would take a while to resolve. I was then faced with the problem of how to fill the remaining eight hours until my return flight, as usual in the Azores the solution lay in coffee, which I had at one of the many little places over looking the harbour and marina, the sun playing comfortably on my back. Since the previous night I had resolved to acquire a new laptop, I needed to get to the big retail outlet that is know as Parque Atlantico, so I walked round the corner and back to the taxi rank where I had been earlier, and there again was my guardian angel, full of concern that the lawyer had treated me well, as we drove up I had a brainwave, well for me it was, and asked him if he could show me some of the rest of the island, and how much would it cost, the price of forty euros for a two and a half hour tour didn't seem unreasonable so he agreed to pick me up when I had finished shopping. I then made my way through the maze of shops and levels, only to find the shop I was wanting was about twenty yards from where I had entered the building, I started browsing laptops, until I was totally confused and asked for assistance, I was given a very small youth who smelled very strongly of aftershave, and had spiked gelled hair, but was pleasant enough, and set up a laptop for me to try, or rather for him to try to convert to English. While he was doing so, I had a further look round and on my way back saw the mini laptops that I rather fancied, apologising I asked him which was the best option, and he pointed out one with an extended battery life which was ideal for me while travelling, so we started again, and here I was lucky, the store manager came to our assistance, and in no time had converted the thing to talk English, went through how it worked in detail, and then tried to fix me up with a credit sale, unfortunately my rather peculiar circumstances failed to convince the computer that I was a reliable risk so it was back to veni, vedi,VISA as my fridge magnet would have it. By the time he was convinced I knew what I was doing I only had time for a small ice cream and yet another coffee, before meeting my taxi, who was waiting at the entrance.] We had a great afternoon, despite some heavy cloud at the first real beauty spot two small lakes which you can drive around on narrow unsurfaced roads hedged by azaleas, which in the spring must be lovely but today were heavily cloaked in mist which lay smoking on top of the surface of the water like a scene from a horror movie. The island has a lot of these old volcanic lakes, and we stopped at another where the lower steep slopes are still covered in the natural laurel forest, while above them the less steep land has been planted with Japanese Cedar which thrives on the islands. A little further along overlooking the islands biggest tourist attraction the twin blue and green lakes at Sete Citades which were spread some 1000 feet below us, but only the smaller Lagoa Verde was showing the slightest trace of colour, was a tribute to the folly of man a large modern hotel built at some time in the 1970's and abandoned over twenty years ago because it sits firmly in the cloud layer, but still looks remarkably impressive. Here coincidence struck once more we turned to cross the road to look at the south side of the island and nearly bumped into two friends of mine from the motorcycle club in Santa Maria, Patricia looking as svelte as ever in her skin tight jeans, purple boots and bomber jacket, and her slightly taciturn, or at least more reserved boyfriend who were also on San Miguel for the day, the usual Hispanic double kisses were exchanged before Valeriano my knowledgable cabbie drove us down to the village of Sete Citades. The name derives from the fact that it is the seventh town along the coast from the capital Punta Delgada, although both town and citades which Google translates for me as city view are somwhat overegging as a description for a place with two small bars, one shop and a church, but at least it is not a holiday village but a working one. The first bar the San Nicolau which looked small turned out to have a large well laid out restaurant behind it and a very pleasant owner, whose coffee was even more welcoming. We drove back along the coast through villages with names related to the things that were there, thus Ginetas has warm springs, including one in the sea, which in better weather I would love to try, and Candelaria which produces much of the stone blocks used in the older houses and more up market modern ones, candelaria is a form of volcanic rock, which incidentally makes an excellent hot plate for keeping plates and food warm. We stopped at a couple of whale watching points, whale watching is thriving on San Miguel and these points are used for whale spotting for tourists, where in the past they would have been used to locate whales to kill. Valeriano dropped me back by the shopping complex where I had met him in the morning, still full of advice, and urging me to return in the summer with my motorbike, when he would arrange accomodation for me, a very worthwhile fortyfive euros entertainment, the country roads are certainly worth exploring, and the cervejarias, small coffee bars in each village provide pleasant punctuation marks in the proceedings. Wandering into the shopping centre with no clear idea of how to fill the remaining time I bump into Patricia and her boyfriend again, have coffee with them and in turn am offered a lift back to the airport in their hired car via Parque Atlantico, where I manage to resist the urge to buy clothes in Zara (amazing), but do find a nice set of curtains and matching rug in dark blue for one of the guest rooms, and after a mildly diverting diversion to find fuel for the hire car we arrive back at the airport about twenty minutes before take off time, but this is the Azores, I already have my boarding card, and as usual the plane is slightly late. I now realise that having had my belly button pierced last summer I will inevitably be subjected to the usual body check on every departure, but the girls are usually nice and always polite so it is of little consequence A quick change back to leather biker girl in the airport toilet, some rapid repacking, I always seem to be able to buy just that little bit more than my bikes panniers can carry, and I am winding my way over the mountain to home, where Freya the labrador seems as delighted to see me as she must be to get out and do a poo. So although I missed meeting one friend, I met several more, made at least one useful contact and some progress on the legal issue that has seemed impossible to deal with on Santa Maria, a good day out.

2/8/2010

I believe my girlfriend loves me, but I do not know it, or if I did by then she probably have stopped, this is one problem with being agnostic, faith requires a suspension of belief of which I seem to be quite incapable. I was brought up in a household that was a little unusual, consisting of my grandmother and her sister. My grandmother was ostensibly Christian or at least a regular churchgoer, she pumped the organ and sang in the choir, sent me to Sunday school, more to get me out of the way while my great aunt cooked Sunday lunch I imagine, and eventually I graduated to pumping the organ, my memories are of big stained glass windows featuring saints and battles with improbable names, an ancient yew tree, and Sunday School cards like playing cards. My aunt, as far as I am aware never set foot in church in her life, she was as formidably intellectual as she was talented in the kitchen, and it is my continuing regret that I never knew enough to ask her the questions I would love to ask now, although I think she instilled in me a love of cooking and reading that has lasted a lifetime. Since then I have met a few real Christian saints, none of whom were admired by their peers, and a multitude of charlatans and time servers, by the time boarding school had finished trying to instill Christianity into me by making me attend church every day and three times on Sundays I had had enough, heard enough rubbish and stupid lies. This does not mean I believe in nothing, it is rather that I do not believe in formal religion and ritual, but I certainly do believe there are forces greater than we realize that influence our lives, the problem is I am not sure who they are, or how, or if I wish to propitiate them, that is if they are capable of being propitiated. I have come to the conclusion that I am basically pagan, I certainly subscribe to the concepts of valuing my environment, I certainly can't subscribe to the idea of a paternalistic deity, especially one with such a retinue of misogynists, and the indeterminable hierarchies they create for their own benefit. I think I came closest to experiencing a tangible feeling of something or someone watching over me benignly in Thailand, but perhaps that is because so many Thais live their religion rather than practice it. I feel a real sense of purpose in my kitchen and I am sure that this has real benefits for the food I cook, so perhaps I am indeed a kitchen witch. I have been called a witch or similar on many occasions, not always as a compliment, and usually just because I listen to what people tell me and draw sensible conclusions from them. However I find it very hard to accept much of what is associated with witches perhaps because I see the male influence of people such as Crowley and Gardner as being self interest or self aggrandizement, the agnostic in me I suppose. I have by now learned to accept what I am, if that is as one ex girlfriend of mine described me as being a lapsed agnostic Buddhist with Methodist tendencies, so be it, but rest assured I will not be trying to force these values down your throat. So I continue my life, happy with who I am, relatively unconcerned about what others think of me, still confused by my own emotions no matter how much sense I can make of other peoples, but happy as well that people seem to find me at least mildly amusing and good company. I doubt whether anyone really believes that their lover loves them, or at least loves you as much as you love them, possibly because you can not conceive that anyone so lovely can love you with all your faults. I certainly believe what my girlfriend tells me, I have learned to trust her, but I spend far too much time and energy on trying to interpolate the words, and as she would no doubt tell you making two and two make five, or in my case thirty two . Perhaps this is the curse of the agnostic, to want to believe but being unable to make that leap of faith that allows it. So would I exchange my agnosticism for blind belief, I think not. I value my ability to desire and question far too highly. So while I do accept that at least some of the strange and wonderful things that happen to and around me are the acts of unseen forces, I am not sure that I have any desire to meet these forces face to face, sweet agnostic that I am. Take care my lovely reader, and thank you for your tolerance if you have read this far, I will be back.

2/16/2010

Whoever said no news is good news, obviously never used the internet, well I know that is so blindingly obvious that it shouldn’t need saying. However we have become so used to instantaneous news, sometimes even almost continuous conversation that any break now causes immediate consternation, which is the situation I find myself in this morning. Five or six years of internet relationships has if anything made me even more susceptible to instant panic, probably because since I started the platforms I use have become so much more reliable. I am not sure that I can say quite the same about the hardware, or maybe it is my use of the software, currently I have a PC which the local computer shop seem to have been unable to fix after nearly five months, a laptop which requires a degree of luck and intuition to circumvent an unwanted security device which I am unable to uninstall, and this mini laptop which I adore, but which does have some limitations. So when my cyber girlfriend of nearly one year’s standing failed to make her appearance last night, panic went into overdrive, our time together recently has been severely limited because she has been working to a series of deadlines, but we have usually at least managed a goodnight cuddle. Now I can think of a hundred, OK, I exaggerate a little, reasons why she might have been unable to be online, from total exhaustion to computer problems, but all I can think of is that she has met with some terrible accident, or has collapsed and is lying helpless beside her computer unable to answer the messages I leave. This would not be a problem if we had an alternative means of communication, by mutual agreement this is a cyber relationship at present, mutual meaning that I have accepted her decision. By this stage of our relationship I am confident that she wants and needs it as much as I do, and that is part of the problem, because she has always warned me of any likely problems. It should be laughable to think that a lack of contact for just over 30 hours could have such a devastating effect, but already I am feeling the familiar symptoms, lack of appetite, an unwillingness to tackle anything but the most basic essentials, I am only writing my diary because of a dire need to communicate with someone somewhere. I know her work patterns, and her inconsistencies, and am certain I will have to wait at least another twelve hours before I hear anything so I must plan my day to ensure those hours are not spent watching the screen of my laptop, but already I am convincing myself that she will not appear, and the horrendous prospect of life without her is hovering like an abyss that I cannot see but am only conscience of its existence, and I feel heartsick, too many lost loved ones, and friends haunt my thoughts, there can be no complacency for me in internet relationships that hang by this intangible thread of a technology I use but fail to understand. I dare not mention my predicament to friends most of whom would find it laughable, so this diary is my only solace.

2/20/2010

My thoughts today are with the people of Madeira, and particularly those who live in Funchal although compared with some recent events this is only a tragedy on a small scale, when you live in a small island community it makes you realise how everyone is affected in some way. I spent a week on Madeira some years ago, and found it a very pleasant island, although not one I would wish to live on permanently. Funchal is perched on the side of a very steep hill so the effect of a mudslide must have been horrific, I remember we had a ride down one of the hills in big wicker basket sledges, which used to be used for sending produce down to the harbour, it was as scary as a roller coaster ride, and I dread to think what the impact of a mudslide would be. We have had similar weather almost continual rain and gales up to hurricane force since before Christmas, everything is saturated, and landslips are common, but luckily so far none have caused more than minor inconvenience. The earth bank behind my garage has started to collapse and it is going to take several days work to move the earth once it is sufficiently dry to work on it, in the meantime each cloudburst brings more mud and water into the garage. But these are minor inconveniences, for a small island the loss of forty three lives, with over one hundred and twenty injured puts an enormous strain on physical and emotional resources, and worse still could have a severe impact on tourism, despite the fact many areas will be unaffected and most services are functioning, in the long run this could be far more damaging than the floods and mudslides themselves. Islands like the Azores and Madeira are always vulnerable not only to natural disasters but to economic ones, if as the saying goes Britain gets influenza if the USA catches a cold, then out here in the Atlantic we get double pneumonia. At present at least Madeira seems to have been spared the strong cold winds that have been such a feature and so damaging here, at least on the sheltered side of the island where Funchal lies. But islanders are by their nature tough and resourceful people and given a modicum of assistance they will recover and the streets of Funchal will flower again, last year at this time we were halfway through six months of drought, which seems laughable now, but nature always balances things out in the end, and hopefully spring will soon be upon us. Oh and on a lighter note and as a postscript to my last entry, my girlfriend duly appeared, the fault lay in her computer as I half suspected, and I was duly admonished for worrying unnecessarily, such is the fate of one who cares deeply, I suppose, and I am sure the next time it happens I will worry just as much.