Travel | vickygoestravelling

November 25, 2013
by vickyunwin 10 Comments

in which I ponder living with cancer

I had thought about changing the title of this blog since I have decided to hijack it to share my latest excitements. But then I thought, this is a journey, not in the traditional sense, but one that will chart my travelling from illness to health, from fear to confidence, and from anxiety to a state of mental well-being.

This inspiration came thanks to Mark G, who alerted me to a BBC World Service programme on the Rhetoric of Cancer, presented by a prostate survivor (like Ross) Andrew Graystone. In it he questions the use of all this aggressive and belligerent military terminology: after all, our tumours are a part of us – better to embrace them, stop being a victim and learn how to live with it.

So this blog is going to be more about how I come to terms with my cancer, as I did with Louise’s death, the ups and downs, uncertainties and anxieties but, above all, how I will live with it until the journey ends with my physical and mental wholeness.

About to tuck into Black Pepper Crab on Saturday night

One of the great lessons I learned from Louise’s death is the benefit of sharing grief and troubles. My immediate Facebook entry the day she died produced such a fountain of love and support that it really helped pull us through the most terrible time of our lives.That’s why as soon as I heard the ominous word ‘tumour’ I decided, stranded as I am in Singapore, to share again and with as much honesty as I can bear. It has paid dividends…so many wonderful warm and loving messages (less of the beating and fighting now please!), and offers of help of all kinds. I feel embraced and enfolded in an aura of love and unconditional support. Thank you dear friends.

The other main reason for this blog is to keep all you lovely people updated so I don’t have to endlessly repeat myself.

So here goes:

I have had my dark night of the soul – described in the last blog – where I allocated my prized possessions to my dearest friends; where I made a bucket list of ‘Things to do and see before I die’. But now I find I have taken back my belongings and converted that list into another trip to Mana Pools next August, a diving holiday on a fabulous boat in Raja Ampat and a three week trip to Burma. Not bad for someone staring death in the face a few days ago! Reflecting my Carpe Diem mentality, I have always believed in having things to look forward to.

We have now decided that I will be treated at the Marsden. By amazing coincidence Dr Fi was at a conference of early diagnosis cancer specialists on the day she got my text, and a quick survey of the assembled docs pointed to the Marsden, the main reason being the Marsden’s multidisciplinary team approach, so it’s a one-stop shop of excellence. Thanks to another extraordinary coincidence, one of the Marsden surgeons Prof Khong has recommended, Meirion Thomas, is not only a soft tissue sarcoma expert but he also specialises in saving legs…and just happens to be a very good friend of chum Pen. So that’s easy then.

The next dilemma has been whether to go NHS or private: you see the same people whichever route you choose. However, new NHS regs mean that every step of the way is dictated by a referral process, which can take up to 2 weeks…even my GP (who nearly fell off her chair when I rang her, the sarcoma is so rare) agreed that to go private has to be the best option. Someone who does not have insurance can benefit from my place in the queue.

Prof Khong has wanted me to stay here for a couple of weeks to decrease the possibility of a DVT on the flight back, and to give the wound a chance to heal. So our flights are all booked back on 10 December, with my Marsden appointment on 11th. The leg is still painful, wrapped in a huge bandage, which I haven’t dared to take off yet. I think the wound isn’t so bad, it’s just the tumour pressing on the nerves again.

My lovely leg, a single stitch and very little bruising, about 4 inches long…

But in one of those heart-in-your-mouth moments that I suspect is only the first of many, this morning I hear that Prof Thomas would like me to come back asap. Of course, this immediately makes me feel very anxious…I had been reassured that the cancer would not spread in two weeks, so I am left wondering what is so urgent. I know that my sarcoma is very rare but we won’t know exactly what sort it is, and therefore how best to treat it, until Wednesday, when the histology comes in. As someone said, ‘Trust you Vix to have the rarest form of cancer. You always do things in style’. And another complimented me on being a ‘rare bird’. Indeed.

So trot back to see Prof Khong, who unbandages me and all looks good, albeit the cut rather longer than I had imagined. He agrees that so long as I take the anti-clotting jabs in my tum (self inflicted!) and wear these lovely stockings – see photo – I can go as soon as the results are in and the slides ready. So now booked to leave on Saturday 30, arriving Sunday 1 December. Are you ready London?

My sexy stockings that I have to wear until I start my treatments…

He says that many of these sarcomas don’t respond to radiotherapy and there’s a 50% chance that they may operate immediately. Forewarned is forearmed. I’m ready for anything….

Meanwhile, we have a dear friend, JP, from Barbados staying. We have been out to some delicious meals, albeit me on a stick and not able to walk more than a few yards. And tonight I’m cooking one of my famous Thai Green Curries. But what the hell – a girl’s gotta have fun!

Ross and JP at Indochine last night

November 20, 2013
by vickyunwin 12 Comments

in which I get some bad news

When our lovely daughter Louise died, aged 21, I really felt I didn’t want to go on living. But, gradually, through the love and support of my husband Ross, son Tommy and my fabulous friends, I came to an understanding with life, and realised that I could re-discover my old zest for it.

Since Louise died we have travelled the world – from Bhutan, where we erected prayer flags in her memory, to Kerala, Zimbabwe, Kenya (where we interred her ashes with those of her grandparents), Switzerland to ski and walk in the mountains, and then a move to Singapore with Ross, where we have been capitalising on the delights of the Far East: India, Malaysia, the Philippines, China and Indonesia. All in 9 months!

Suddenly all this recovery is catapulted into outer space. Yesterday I was diagnosed with a soft tissue sarcoma of the calf, and here I am today in hospital having had a biopsy and a PET scan, waiting to hear the prognosis. Our 30^th anniversary dream diving holiday to Wakatobi in Sulawesi cancelled – we should be there right now!

* * *

The tumor began as a suspected hematoma in the calf, which would not go away: I had a couple of weeks of ultrasound and massage, with lots of stretching but it seemed to get increasingly painful. By Monday this week, I was beginning to have difficulty walking without limping, so decided to go back to the GP. Suddenly I was being rushed to a vascular surgeon, having an MRI, followed by a consultation with an orthopedic surgeon and, finally, today into hospital to have a PET scan and biopsy.

The last 36 hours have been very dark indeed. Reading up on Soft Tissue Sarcomas (STS) of the calf was hardly comforting: not only is it extremely rare, but also the treatments include chemo, radiotherapy and excisions, sometimes all three, and often two of the above. Then there’s no guarantee that the excision will not affect your nerve, and you might be unlucky enough to lose your leg; at best your calf muscle will probably be damaged.

But the worst scenario is that it could have spread to the soft issues of the lung, liver and pancreas. In that case it is usually terminal.

Last night I could not sleep, hardly surprising really. ‘Why me?’ As Louise would have said, ‘Its not my fault’. What have we done to deserve all this bad luck: the deaths in close succession of my mother, Louise, and then father, with Ross’s prostate cancer in-between? He at least is now clear. I have never believed in God and I certainly would not be tempted to do so now!

At 3 am I am sitting on my lounger overlooking our softly-lit pool, all calming turquoise and gently fading pinky/mauve lights, the palms gently rustling in the breeze, and breathing in the scented tropical air. Out of nowhere a big storm rolls in, forked lightening and soft rain. I begin to think how much I love my life, my husband, son and friends, and I am not ready to go just yet. So much travelling to do, so much laughter and joy to be had…but later in the darkness of the bedroom as I toss and turn and remember my maxim, Carpe Diem, I can see that elusive day flitting away from me like a will o the wisp, tantalisingly out of reach.

* * *

The worst moment today was when I was recalled to the PET scan: ‘We think we have seen something on your pancreas and liver and need to re-check it’.

As I lie in the tomb-like scan, tears roll down my cheeks, my whole body trying not to convulse – you have to keep very still – silently shouting out, I don’t want to die!

And maybe my time has not yet come: the radiologist confirms that while there was indeed ‘hot spot’ ie tumor in the calf, what they had thought were shadows on the other internal organs turn out to be my gut. Phew!

But we are not out of the woods yet; the precise nature of my tumor has to be diagnosed and treatments agreed. I will come back to England for those, at least 6-7 weeks of horridness. I will probably lose my calf muscle – no more mountain walks – but should be able to ski again in due course. These are small but meaningful mercies if one can at least continue to live.

November 14, 2013
by vickyunwin 2 Comments

in which I rub shoulders with Prince Charles and go back to school in Mumbai’s red light district

The birthday boy at Mumbai Gateway

Arriving back in Mumbai this time feels like the welcome embrace of a dear friend. To start with, there’s Mehtab to meet us at the airport, despite the late hour, and we’re staying with Cindy and Guy, whose flat in Bandra is now more like a museum filled with objets from the Chor Bazaar.

Diwali flowers at Cindy and Guy’s flat

First things first, though: its Ross’s birthday on Saturday, so we take him on a whirlwind tour of Mumbai. First stop the Gateway to India, where we are mobbed by kids all dying to be photographed. We take Guy and Cindy’s Christmas card shot for them (here’s a sneak preview).

Christmas card for Mr and Mrs Thomas

Posing rather against her will…

While brandishing my iPhone, an annoying German man quips, ‘Ach, I see you don’t like your phone’. Seeing me looking very puzzled, he continues, ‘It will be stolen if you don’t put it away’. Stunned by Mr Busybody all I can muster is Smartass, as loudly as I can. For the record, I have had absolutely no trouble on the streets of Mumbai, despite wandering around the Chor (Thieves) Bazaar with £250 of Rupees in my handbag!

Fresh fruit stall at the Bombay Gateway

: Bustling crowds at the Gateway

It’s a holiday atmosphere, the weekend sandwiched between Diwali and Muhurram (Hindu and Muslim New Year respectively). The crowds are vibrant and surging, massive balloons pepper the maidan, all manner of children’s toys and trinkets are laid out on the ground, and food stalls are doing a roaring trade. Overcome with all this busy-ness, we repair to the cool bar of the Taj, showing Ross the memorial to the terrorist attack on the way.

Cindy with her British High Commission deep throat in the Taj foyer

But what is this? Big excitement, Prince Charles is also in town and staying right here! Cindy bumps into a mate who’s on the consular staff and he tips us off to a photo opportunity in 20 minutes when HRH leaves the hotel…we are the only people here apart from security, but my photos unfortunately are not that good (the downside of only using an iPhone for this blog!).

Aha – here is HRH at last

This is as close as we get – but its pretty close although he dashes past us on the wrong side of the flower arrangement!

No visit is complete without scouring the Chor Bazaar. Our haul includes two heads: a 3-headed Vishnu from Karnataka, ‘600 years old’ – yeah right, Ifram; a serene Buddha from Uttar Pradesh and a lovely bronze bull, cast using the lost-wax technique.

Our new three-headed Vishnu

Cindy and her new billy goat friend

Stripping a car down to its component parts in Chor Bazaar

Sunday we become wannabee watchers at the Four Seasons brunch – the Veuve flows freely and we certainly get our money’s worth. Delicious assorted Asian cuisine too.

Cindy before we had several bottles of Veuve Cliquot…

The highlight of the trip is, undoubtedly, becoming Cindy’s teaching assistant for her weekly session at a charity in the red light district, providing a safe haven and educational stimulus to the daughters of prostitutes. We spend all morning preparing our two sets of activities, one for little ones 6-12; and the other, the over 13s. Cindy has come up with a basic mobile for the younger group, so we cut, colour, stick and decorate our prototypes; and a much more elaborate photo frame, made out of ice lolly sticks, for the older girls.

Doing our prep…

We arrive in the heart of the brothel area, passing several ladies getting ready for their evening. A woman will be kidnapped or trafficked, held in a half-way house, gang-raped and taught in her job until subservient, and then sold to a brothel in Mumbai, owned by a man but run by a former prostitute. For two years she will not be allowed out, but kept in a cage; later she gets some freedom, by which time she has nowhere to go.

Cindy getting down to work, kids looking on with rapt attention

The average age of a working girl in Mumbai is 14; she earns R20 (20p) per John and probably sees 20 a day. She has to pay for everything – bed, food, laundry, water, using the loo…not to mention her purchase fee, so she can never repay and be free. HIV is rife, as is glue sniffing and drug taking. Many have children: birth control would seem an obvious ‘investment’ for the owners of the girls, but it seems that unprotected sex, despite the unwanted results, adds a premium…Interesting that Ifram, the Chor Bazaar shop owner said, ‘You should tell those girls to have safe sex…all this disease is no good’. To which we replied: ‘But it’s the guys who want the unsafe sex….’. He just waggled his head in that very Indian way.

Concentration….

The charity is a tiny two-story room, filled with the sound of piping voices and girlish laughter. Namaste Teeecher! greets us as we arrive. Upstairs we squat on the floor in a room where you can’t even stand up, and the girls crowd around, eagerly grabbing the ‘ones we made earlier,’ while we try and explain what to do. English is rudimentary, but the gist is communicated through other helpers.

I never knew I could still cut and colour…

Cindy has warned me that all the glitter and sparkles will be in hot demand, and indeed it’s fascinating to see little strips of diamanté bobbles being secreted under toes! Nothing has prepared me for these delightful girls, all clean and brightly dressed, polite until their enthusiasm erupts into avaricious hoarding of crayons and sparkles – a little fight breaks out in one corner, scissors are banned so we have a lot of work to do!

Photo frames made by the older girls

But the overriding take-away is of enthusiasm and attention to detail: the concentration of the colouring in, the precision of choosing the sticker that’s just right, applying the flowers and glitter to the frames, all punctuated by the high-pitched screeching of Teeecher! Teeecher! to get our attention. Every finished item has to be admired and photographed, until honour and pride are satisfied.

Very proud little girl

As we leave we are accosted by a Nepalese prostitute, with a small Buddha-like baby, shaven-head with a big red bhindi. The Nepalese are at the bottom of the pecking order, and she is off her head: staggering about, exhorting us to take her baby, while smiling beatifically. It’s a sad reminder of the reality of the streets.

The red light area as we leave our teaching session

Taking photos is frowned on and mine are checked…this is in case the girls can be identified in the schools they attend. The stigma of their origins would put an end to any hopes of betterment. So the majority of the shots make it impossible to identify individual girls and I have kept the charity’s name secret. If anyone wants to donate or volunteer, contact me privately and I will put you in touch.

Chorty Billie almost too grown up to play with mice..

Master Dizzy Rascal Thomas, check those eyes….

So the four days pass quickly; Cindy’s street cat – you might remember her from the last blog – Chorty Billie (meaning little cat) has now become a sleek madam; she has been joined by another little chap, Dizzy ‘Rascal’ Thomas, who is equally naughty and has one blue and one green eye!

Mumbai remains an enigma of a city: so much poverty, but so much energy, activity and striving for betterment, even if only to survive the life on the streets. And humour. Where else can you drive past a street vendor twice in 15 minutes and have a conversation in sign language, explaining why you’re going round in circles? It’s a complete juxtaposition to Singapore and a reminder, as we watch the devastation of the Philippines (the island we dived on in August, Malapasqua has been devastated), that SE Asia is a continent of many cultures, faces and diversity.

Off to the mosque in Chor Bazaar

: The Bell Temple in Bandra

: Detail of the bells

: Bell Temple

: Posing kids, they simply love it!

: Guy sitting it out at Ifram’s shop…

: Old man feeding the goats

: Denim/indigo dying shop

: Goats will eat anything

: Cindy feeding her dogs

: Street people receiving a free meal courtesy of benefactors

: The middle class take their Sunday morning exercise while the poor wash their clothes

: trousers laid out to dry…what commercial business has its stuff washed in THIS water???

: Cindy and Ross in the Bollywood Walk of Fame

: Ross with a new mentor

: Cutting into the biryani – its encased in pastry

: unwrapping the perfect biryani

: Chorty showing off

: A fine cow takes to the centre of the road…

: Madame la vache takes centre stage

: Queuing up at the vet for DIzzy’s first jabs

: we are queuing outside…

: Roadside stall with lovely fresh veg – until we saw a dog pee on them!

: TEEEECHER!!!

: Colouring in…

: Master Dizzy nThomas

: Ross, Cindy and Guy at Bombay Gateway

: A rat in Chor Bazaar – alive! we saw loads of dead ones too

: Little and large

: The older girls concentrating on their picture frames

November 6, 2013
by vickyunwin Leave a comment

in which I morph from domestic goddess into hostess with the mostest

Delicious cake – fir for a goddess

In this post we welcome old friends to stay in our new apartment and celebrate my birthday…

After almost 9 months here on and off, we feel we can show people round, and at least know where to go to eat! Ross was away in Basel for the first few days, so we enjoyed the vibrancy of the Naitonal Orchid Garden in sunshine; followed by a delicious lunch in the nearby restaurant, only to be interrupted by massive thunderstorm. Poor old Mr and Mrs B had forgotten their umbrellas so got very wet indeed!

Mr and Mrs B enjoying the Orchid Garden

Mrs B and Mrs C trying to merge with the flora…

Dodging showers and trying to find taxis seemed to be the biggest challenges of this visit; nevertheless we areyet again stunned by the Gardens on the Bay; lunch in one of the Supertrees affords a sumptuous view. Not as good as the viewing platform at Marina Bay Sands which had to be done despite black clouds all around.

on the walkway between the Supertrees

Economics grads posing for a team photo

Chinatown is also a must-see in SIngapore, poking round the tat stalls nevertheless affords good bargains while, at the higher end, the intricacies of a specialist tea shop delight. Here Clare bought a dead ringer for the Hare with the Amber Eyes teapot…My more prosaic larger elephant teapot is perfect for more than two people! Thanks Clare!

These are Chinese zodiac teapots

My birthday teapot!

It has to be done, that famous Singapore Sling. So off to Raffles with some of Mr B’s visiting friends – far too sweet for me and, I gather, all pre-made so a bit of a production line. But the Long Bar is a fun place, even if rather full or tourists, like us! Afterwards to a real find, specialist Peranakan/Straits Malay restaurant, Blue Ginger, where we let the waiter do the ordering and we eat greedily and with gusto.

The girls enjoying the Slings

Clare and me in the ancient hallway of Raffles

Yummy crab

Mr and Mrs B tucking in…

And so the the birthday: preceding night dinner we feast on chilli crab at Jumbo Seafoods in Boat Quay; then Sunday lunch at one of our favourites, Din Tai Fung, the Taiwanese dumpling house (not as good as the original one in Taipei, but still yummy); and then 20 or so new-found friends, plus one or two older ones from university days, for drinks. As it was Diwali, I ordered samosas, bhajis and pakoras, promptly delivered by Omar Shariff (I wish it was really he, that would have been the best birthday present ever!), and Mr and Mrs B made a few blinis, while Lucie G brought a delicious cake! (see picture up top)

But not all play, dear readers: Mr B had lots of meetings and went out clad in a suit, much to our amusement; while Mrs B, aka Clare Cooper of Art First, and I had a Board meeting and strategy summit on my sofa while I rested my leg on a hot water bottle.

Mr and Mrs B posing in front of the canapes they expertly assembled!

Don’t laugh, you hear me right – I have a large haemotoma on my calf which means I can’t walk or stand for long. A challenge for Monday’s induction meeting at the Tanglin Club which involved a lot of standing about…and even more of a challenge for next weekend’s visit to Mumbai, for our diving in Sulawesi the following week…and the ski season. Painful physio and ultrasound on the menu to try and get my leg back…

I will keep you updated!

: lovely orchids en masse

: Little India prepares for Diwali

: Underneath the yellow orchid bower…

: Cleaning my copper tray with tamarind. Result!. #domesticgoddess

: Sublime cod at Blue Ginger

: Outside the Hindu temple on Diwali

: Auspicious Diwali patterns in yoghurt

: Yum Cha dumplings…

: In the Cloud Forest dome

: DOt know what this is but its gorgeous!

: Celadon tea-ware

: Marina Bay Sands in background

: Fly-eating plants in the Cloud Forest

: A happy Family poses in the Cloud Forest

: A bunch of kids atop Marina Bay Sands

: The domestic goddess/hostess with the mostest surveys her Diwali feast…

October 22, 2013
by vickyunwin 4 Comments

in which I resume my duties as a domestic goddess

My return to Singapore was somewhat eventful after two months away. First of all my bag got lost, to reappear several hours later, but what a pain! (Now possessor of several thousand airmails to add to my new Malaysian Airlines Enrich loyalty account.)

Secondly, a nagging calf pain over the preceding two weeks had morphed itself in my mind into DVT, and my first day back was spent at the docs and at the hospital having ultrasound scans. Good news: not DVT; bad news: a haemotoma (bleeding clot in muscle) which would require 4-6 weeks rest. Good news: let off gym antics; bad news: swimming not so good either. Oi vey.

So what to do as accompanying spouse than to cook husband delicious meals, especially as he was due to desert me for a couple of weeks?

We started with crispy skin cod with hot, sour and sweet sauce (Thailand), served with stir friend garlic and ginger greens,

Roasted hot, sweet, and sour fish

then went on to slow cooked pork with ginger, chilli and sweet soy sauce (kecap manis) from Indonesia, again with more yummy greens, this time my favourite kailan, a local kind of broccoli but much sweeter.

slow cooked pork

Another night we had spicy grilled chicken with lemon grass, but the finest achievement was my tofu and mushroom miso soup (home-made stock OF COURSE) that I made for myself to keep me company while watching an episode of an Arne Dahl Swedish thriller. Who needs a husband with the complete first season to chomp through?

Mmmm-miso

Before husband left, we headed for a local garden centre, in brilliant sunshine. By the time the bus stopped we were in the midst of a minor tropical storm with no umbrella. Queen Victoria was not amused. Choosing plants in the pouring rain is hard, but we are pleased with the result. The garden centre chaps came yesterday and planted everything up in situ; an hour later our irrigation system arrived, orderd online, cash on delivery. Singapore is wonderful!

Bougainvillea, hibiscus, heliconium, ginger, orchid and lantan

I also managed to persuade him to part with more money – this time for a reclining chair (to rest my leg obvs) and a heavy teak carved pole from Indonesia to drape a luxurious piece of cloth, as a wall hanging for the bedroom. Latter yet to be acquired (more money to be spent!). No pics as they arrive on Thursday!

In between all this joint expenditure I have been a busy little bee on my own, arranging for more fabric to be mounted and framed for the guest room, and testing the efficacy of the Singapore bus system.

Talking of framing, just before we left London, the wife of a dear friend, Clare Morton, presented us with this mind-blowing collage of Louise, which includes ephemera from her life, for instance photos from the funeral sheet, the words to Cabaret, little in-jokes on being a vegetarian, fashion and all her foibles, plus cut-outs from the Marathon Kebab House menu and so on. It is simply stunning (all on the back of an old door) and this photo does not do it justice.

Clare’s stunning tribute to Louise

Where was I? Oh yes: in hot pursuit of an Indian visa – yes again,dear reader, our patience is being sorely tried by bureaucracy – the system has changed since three months ago, necessitating a huge bus trip to Little India, where appropriately enough the recently outsourced visa service resides, but not before I had schlepped down to the High Commission, where apart form anything else, I got chatted up by another despairing Brit!

But the upshot is that I have nailed these buses and am merrily riding round Singapore for $1 or less per trip. Very satisfying as I try to convince husband that I am not a spendthrift. (note to Janet: some hope!)

Now we eagerly await our first visitors: Mr Tubby who comes on Monday and then the Mr & Mrs JBs, who arrive on Wednesday for 6 days. Many culinary and artistic pleasures await…

Mirror image – bougainvillea, lantana, hibiscus, heliconium, ginger, orchid and also a little chilli plant

October 8, 2013
by vickyunwin 5 Comments

in which we go to Lamu and narrowly miss the Wesgate siege

Lamu sea-front – unchanged for centuries

Week 2 of Unwin Tours finds 11 survivors arriving in Nairobi on the second day of the Westgate siege. Nairobi airport, despite great anxieties after the fire that destroyed the arrivals hall, is a doddle and we are soon ensconced in the Country Lodge. Decided to miss out on a planned curry in Westlands, the area of the siege. It seems everyone has the same idea, the hotel restaurant is packed with people not daring to venture out.

Still a fishing port

Another day, another small plane. This time we are fleeced for excess baggage but we are so relieved to be out of Nairobi we don’t care and cough up.

I have been going to Lamu since I was eight: my mother had a long love affair with the island and I was dragged off there at every opportunity during my school holidays, kicking and screaming. What eight-year old wants to visit anywhere which has no electricity, no proper loos, no cars and is so backward, not even coke has arrived? It was so hot we used to sleep on mosquito-infested roofs and bring our own food – tea with condensed milk and that old East African picnic favourite, tinned Plumrose liver pate!

Donkeys are the main form of transport still

Her interest was archaeology and her boyfriend was excavating the ancient Islamic settlements on the coast, which date back to the 9-10 centuries. They were in fact city states which formed part of the lucrative dhow trade from India and the Gulf, carrying Chinese pottery, copper and other oriental goods, in return for limes, copra and mangrove poles, which were needed for building in the Gulf.

The main square by the old fort/prison; Renoir-esque dont you think?

While Manda Island and Pate have declined, although the ruins can still be visited, Lamu town, and now Shela, have thrived and grown. The dhow trade is long gone since the Gulf discovered oil, and tourism is the mainstay, with Shela being a haven for the jet set: Princess Caroline of Monaco had several houses there, and there are some exclusive beach houses where the likes of Euan Macgregor and other A-listers visit.

A typical back street in the old town

When I was a teenager, Lamu became much more attractive: bang on the hippy trail around Africa, visiting now became exciting. Mum now had a house in town, and was part of the expatriate community of eccentrics who made Lamu their home. Of these only one or two now remain but Mama Sheila is still remembered by some of Lamu’s older residents who rush up to greet me when I visit, and no one is more delighted to see me than her old housekeeper, Ali Maulidi.

Dear old Ali Maulidi, so happy to see us all

The tree where I buried Mum, on Manda Toto

So here we are after an absence of about four years: the last visit was to bury Mum’s ashes on Manda Toto, the island where she camped while digging on Manda and was happiest. One of my missions is to reunite my father and Louise with my mother and leave them all together in a peaceful and remote resting place.

Forodhani House

I have rented a house in Shela on the waterfront so we can be part of everyday life while enjoying the benefits of being out of the hot town and near the beach.

The house comes with four staff, and we are thrilled to discover that Amos used to cook for Princess Caroline. The food is consequently quite delicious – seafood in all guises, a fusion of local with a touch of continental sophistication.

Amos and Festus barbeque some amberjack and a snapper caught by Rick

Mmmm

The only downside is that on arrival we discover the single bedroom is no more than a cupboard: no door, no windows, no fan and no room to swing the cat that has nested on the pillow! After what in Swahili we call a ‘matata’, we find another room in an adjacent house where one couple moves quite happily: after all it has an ensuite infinity pool overlooking the sea! Lamu has come a long way since the long drop ‘choo’ of my youth.

The ‘single bedroom’

My bedroom!

the balcony

The pool

Early morning tea, watching the world go by

Dawn from my balcony

Putting the ‘shauri’ behind us quickly – we are here to enjoy ourselves – we soon settle in to island life. The day kicks off at dawn, with the lone fisherman on the pier below the house, who feeds the local cats when he gets lucky; an early morning swim; a breakfast feast of fruit and fresh passion fruit juice; a wander into Lamu town, where little has changed since the 18 century, to the beach, more swimming; delicious lunch – perhaps a little grilled calamari, or white snapper; a siesta; fishing; a little idle shopping in Shela; sundowners – naturally; and dinner – BBQ prawns, a whole fish, or spicy and coconutty Swahili food – fish curry, spinach, lentils, coconut rice, followed by homemade sorbet. What could be better?

Buying the fish in Lamu! Annie, Christine, Diane and Diego

Diego, Christine and Ross on the mashua

We set off in two mashuas for our ashes trip: first a stop to snorkel in the Pate channel; some gentle fishing. The crew grill a big tuna-like fish, marinated in garlic, black pepper, chilli and turmeric, knock up a coleslaw and chapattis and – hey presto – a scrummy lunch! We have brought beer and wine. It IS the simple things that give so much pleasure….

Making lunch!

Voila!

The tide is going out so finding the casurina tree that marks the spot is a little testing, but once found, we jump ashore and dig a little hole and pour in the contents of our two tea caddies that I have nursed round Africa. It feels perfect, though immensely sad. But, as a friend said, so right to leave Louise in the tender care of both her grandparents.

A jasmine corsage, bougainvillaea from teh garden and a sprig of oleander

A jasmine corsage, bougainvillaea from the garden and a sprig of oleander

Afterwards on the beach

Even in paradise, the real world intrudes, and some of our party are anxious about the proximity to Somalia and the El Shabaab terrorists. We are a stone’s throw away from where a French woman and the poor English couple were kidnapped. While I feel at home in Lamu, I realise that others could not feel so secure. So I depute Rick to interrogate the District Commissioner on the status quo. He comes back reassured, though later events in Nairobi of course confirm my sneaking suspicions that the Kenyans are completely out of control. However, I still maintain that Lamu is safe: it is such a small place and the comings and goings are closely monitored, according to the DC.

Mosque door

lovely kids blowing bubbles

Street sign

Traffic jam!

Main square

the Old Boys CLub

Our guide Ali with his family

For me, Lamu has maintained its chaotic charm: noisy, shouting people; little donkeys everywhere (shame about the donkey sanctuary); wide-eyed children playing in the street – Jambo, jambo; heavily veiled women are a new phenomenon, though quite often you see the flash of a smile and, as in all cultures, where you greet and talk to people, the rewards are immediate; men sitting round in the main square passing the time of day. And still only three cars, including the dustcart. The water front has barely changed, with one exception: an awning announcing Pizza and Teppenyaki. Oh dear.

the 13 km beach…

The old man feeding the cats outside our house

Lamu street cats

more cat feeding

Lunch is served

And so like all good things, our time draws to a close. Strongly recommend Forodhani house, but for no more than 5 couples. Thanks to Amos, Francis, Festus and Kosmas, and to Babu British, for looking after us so beautifully. Lamu remains my heaven on earth, along with Mana Pools, both places I will keep re-visiting until I, too, can be laid to rest under the casurina tree on Manda Toto.

Sailing into the sunset

: Feeding time at the zoo!

: Rogue Abdullah Bob with his sweet grand-daughter

: The guardian of our house!

: market

: market

: Ali and I

: Amos and the prawns

: Christine and Annie

: Rick enjoying the early morning

: Rick, Lucille, Christine and Ross

: Ross and Annie about to snorkel

: Breakfast time: Christine, Michael, Carolina and Lucille. T die for!

: Street scene

: The meter reader….

: View from top floor

: Chilling – Diane, Christine and Rick

: Self

: On the terrace

: Chrsitine, me, Tim and ANnie

: Tim and Annie

: the girls!

: Annie – in 7th heaven!

: Lunch is served

: waiting for breakfast

: Chrsitine and friends

: sunset cruise

: waiting for news from the DC!

October 3, 2013
by vickyunwin 10 Comments

in which we walk with the elephants in Mana Pools, Zimbabwe

Having a Big Vic (not me, idiot, the ele) moment with Stretch just outside the camp on the first day

Having a Big Vic (not me, idiot, the ele) moment with Stretch and Fi, just outside the camp on the first day

Mana Pools is my idea of heaven. Goliath camp is a collection of seven guest tents, bar, open-air dining room and braai/seating area overlooking the fast-flowing Zambezi. Simply furnished, each tent boasts a flush loo and wood-burning shower.

The camp as seen form the Zambezi – discreet…

A far cry from my earliest memories of camping with my Dad in Tanganyika, where the showers were from buckets and the loo a hole in the ground, or better still, the open air. On one occasion I had just made my post-prandial visit when a pride of 12 lions calmly walked in front of us! In those days, my Dad would build a little fire in the park, and do a great fry up…such memories fuel my great love of the bush, and Mana, a world heritage site where you can walk, seems to approximate my recollection of a carefree childhood more than anywhere else.

our lovely bedroom, bathroom through the flap…

Gladys not too impressed with the visitor outside our tent

This is the fourth time we have stayed in Goliath camp, with living legend tracker and guide Stretch Ferreira, a huge man with a laugh like a hippo and a mane like a lion, who is best known as an elephant whisperer. The Stretch ‘experience’ consists of ‘moments’, as he calls them, up close to elephants and lions, not without some risk and excitement. One such shared moment a couple of years, when we were charged out of nowhere by One Tusk, Stretch says is up there with one of scariest he’s had…I concurr!

Graceful Zebra

The typical day starts with drums at 4.45, tea and porridge by the fire, then a scramble into the landrovers to see what tracks are fresh. Stretch and Reuben, the other guide, noses glued to the roadside, will say things like ‘fresh leopard/lion/wild dog here, only an hour ago,’ and we will disembark, don water bottles and set off for our early morning walk through the bush.

We’re going on a lion hunt – I am looking very purposeful!

On the second morning we were lucky to find the local pride, the Spice Girls and their two litters of young cubs, plus their five adolescent males; the Back Street Boys are absent on a mission. We hear them roar during the night. You never approach a lion in a straight line, so we zig-zag from anthill to anthill until we get close enough to be able to sit and watch them quietly. The next day they kindly stopped by the road for us! ‘Cheap lions’, as Stretch says.

The no 2 Back Street boy with one of his sons and a Spice GIrl

This young guy is going to be impressive

Two watchful Spice GIrls with their litters: two a-piece, a few months in between. They had not eaten for a few days at this stage and were looking thin

I can see you!

our wilderness area coffee spot

On another day, as we sat at Vundu point, a man appeared from nowhere, toting an MK47. ‘Do not be scared’, he said, ‘I am human.’ He was a ranger, part of the anti-poaching squad whose job it is to patrol the park and ‘shoot to kill’. He spoke excellent English and we learned a lot about the career path in National Parks!

Lovely Flo joins us for coffee (Rick left and Ross right)

Coffee and cake under a tree at about 9 am, beside the river, by a pan or in a shady spot. On the second day we had been tracking the wild dogs in the Wilderness area, and as we sat down a tray of bacon and avocado sandwiches arrived as if from a local take away!After brunch we might go for a swim in the Zambezi with a glass of wine; the Zambezi mud is an excellent exfoliator, and if you stay in the shallows the risk from crocs is minimal. Elephants and hippos splash in the distance, the carmine bee-eaters and fish eagles swoop and call to each other, the pied kingfisher hovers and dives.

Feeling chilled! it was 38 C (me, Fi and Rick)

In the late afternoons we set out again, often on foot: searching for buffalo; the elusive Boswell, the old bull who stands on his hind legs to reach the acacias, but who on this trip remained elusive; lions and elephant ‘moments’.

A car load of enthusiasts (Siraaj at the wheel, Diego next to him; 2nd row Tim, Annie, Diane; third row Nick, Jean and Catherine)

Our elephant moment proved to be devastating: we came upon the corpse of an elephant, perhaps only two hours old, being guarded by one of the Backstreet Boys and his girlfriend who were mating. Drawing near, despite the mock charges and snarls of fury from the angry male, we saw that the elephant had been shot clean through the skull. Stretch was incensed, he knew the young bull and could not imagine what had happened. He attributed it at first to one of the many visitors who were on an official game count, and who had been allowed to carry guns much against his better judgment.

the dead elephant bull, the lions have been attacking his innards

Big Vic again…the young bull could have grown up to be a great boy like this given the chance…

We found out later that it had been shot by a guide, who claimed it had charged him. But the story did not hold water and the word was that the guide had panicked and made up – literally – a cock and bull story about the elephant chasing him from behind a tree. There was not a tree in sight of the carcass…

TEam canoeing: Ross, Fi, CHristine,Annie, Reuben (leader) Jean, me, Siraaj

Team canoeing: Ross, Fi, Christine, Annie, Reuben (leader) Diane, me with flowers, Reuben Tom, Siraaj, Richard.

Canoeing and fishing are other afternoon activities. Rick and Diego caught two huge Vundu (catfish), the largest weighing up to 40kgs. They were returned, of course, being protected.

Diego with the first fish he has ever caught! 30kgs or so of Vundu!

Rick delighted with his tiger catch

Rick over the moon with this fella

Each time I visit Mana I return to the spot, an island mid-stream, where we sent [our daughter] Louise’s ashes on a final journey to the Indian Ocean. This time Siraaj, one of the camp guides, had prepared a beautiful driftwood boat, loaded with flame-red combritum and fragrant white caparis blooms. As a small croc slithered into the water, I waded in to launch our bouquet, which bobbed merrily downstream. I thought of all my lost loved ones – Mum, Dad and LouLou – as it caught the current. As we paddled on down the mighty Zambezi, we could see it in the vermillion sunset, like an ancient Viking coracle going to its Valhalla.

Combritum and caparis on a piece of driftwood

on the island…

launching our tribute, flanked by Reuben and Siraaj

One evening we went and sat by Mochumi pan, sipping chilled white wine while elephants and baboons frolicked in the murky water. Sometimes the cows and calves – the most dangerous of elephants as the mums are extremely aggressive – are a bit close for comfort .

Sundowners await us on return to camp, or by the river bank. Dinner is a delicious braai with Stretch doing the honours, or a civilized sit-down affair round the huge wild mango table. Flo, co–owner of the camp, and now a good friend, has trained the two camp chefs, Richard and Nicholas, well and the food is delicious. Sarah, a delightful Zimbabwean girl, is our hostess and looks after us beautifully

Oo-er – they crept up silently! Michael and Tim think breathing in helps! Ha!

Christine is baboon watching, I am reading my bird book!

Even the tinies like a good wallow and a shower

The carmines nesting in our camp

Sunset at Long Pool….

shy Nyala buck and his lady at the pan

Let’s get serious’…Nick, Jean,Catherine (hidden) Tim and Annie

Stretch looking with disdain at his ‘football team’; l-r – Reuben, Rick, me, Christine, Nick, Diane, Tim, Annie

This visit we had taken over the whole camp and filled it with friends, many of whom were celebrating birthdays. Quite an undertaking planning a trip for 14 people, chartering planes from the hugely efficient Executive Air, booking hotels, pick-ups, restaurants, briefing the team on essentials…and trying to enjoy the holiday as well!

After our wonderful week in Mana, 11 stalwart souls continued on Unwin Tours to Lamu in Kenya, arriving in the day that the Westgate siege started. But that’s for the next blog….

Thanks husband Ross for supplying professional photos – one up from the normal iPhone adornments.

Sunset over the Zambezi…

: A family comes to drink

: The sunset cruise comes for cocktails

: Ah, but we started the Bolly before they arrived!

: Stretch is getting excited!

: Fi and Richard taking the air

: more carmines

: explosions of queleas, swarming

: Just bugger off, wont you?

: Shy bushbuck being bullied by baboons

: those red guys again

: Cute kudu girls

: There’s always one…

September 5, 2013
by vickyunwin 1 Comment

in which we enjoy the mountain air

The glorious Dents di Midi early morning from our apartment

The glorious Dents du Midi early morning from our apartment

This week finds us in Champery to brief our Swiss team for our up-coming trip to Zimbabwe and Kenya. Like the rest of Europe Switzerland has been basking in warm sunshine and the mountains are heavenly – clear blue skies, a hint of morning chill in the air, and a heavy due on the grass. Our tubs have survived the summer and the geraniums and petunias are a blaze of red, pink and purple.

self in walking gear

This goat liked posing!

Saturday finds us venturing into a new area for walking: we drive over to Les Mosses on the other side of the Rhone, near Leysin and Les Diablerets, and choose a steep path which takes us up a steep path for 600m, levelling out at 2000m before dropping down again to the lake and lunch.

The farmhouse

Just before we find the path we come across a traditional farmhouse where a smoking chimney in high summer indicates they are making cheese. Inside the barn nothing has changed for centuries as the friendly farmer boils up his milk in a huge brass cauldron and turns his large alpage. We buy some; it is delicious, fresh, salty and tangy.

This is how you make cheese the traditional way

M le fromage

The views are stunning, and we are surprised to find a herd of Llamas on the trail, my curious admirer a gorgeous chestnut colour with eyelashes to die for.

Fields of wild flowers up at 2000m

All that remains is for the Sunday BBQ on our little garden terrace to brief the team; another gorgeous day, beef satays to show off my Singapore skills and jerk chicken.

The Swiss team of Christine, Diego, Annie, Tim, Nick Diane, Jean, Catherine and Michael debate the merits of malaria prophylaxis over many glasses of the finest reds and we animatedly anticipate our close encounters with elephants and lions in just over two weeks time.

Roll on Mana Pools! The next blog will relate our adventures but won’t be for at least 2-3 weeks as internet will be hard to find!

Briefing for AFrica BBQ - hoe made satay and jerk chicken

Briefing for Africa BBQ – home made satay and jerk chicken

August 28, 2013
by vickyunwin Leave a comment

in which we jump up at Notting Hill Carnival

Our motely crew, Richard and Marion , Chuck and Clare – and the Red Stripe of course!

Shameless selfie!

Hmmm, this seems to be a public – very – lav

It must have been over 10 years since I went to Notting Hill Carnival; and this time we only went as our old friends the Turners who used to invite us every year, have now returned and invited us to lunch! Who can refuse such an offer? (having a decent loo is important and we didn’t want to be reduced to this, above…). We also saw, but were unable to reach, our chum “:judge’ Judy, who spent form 9.30 am till 7pm judging the floats…Hard work in the heat (it was very hot).

watching the parade…not very comfortable!

We had a delicious lunch perched on a roof terrace over looking a quieter street, and then went looking for the floats, armed wiht Red Stripes. Soon a rum Punch beckoned and we managed to do a deal with a measly bar tender who gave us doubles…

Eating amdist the rubbish…

Carnival has really changed though – didn’t hear a single steel band, or Calypso, just the pounding beat of all the sound systems, making all the windows reverberate, as well as my ear drums. There is a pervading smell of weed, and people openly smoking and selling, no-one paying a blind bit of notice. It even overpowers the delicious street food smells – crispy jerk chicken, goat curry, doubles, Jamaican patties, corn on the cob. But the rubbish is quite unbelievable.

Lovely lady

Carnival smiles!

Great float, the first we saw

Sad to say, although we met many friendly people, the Carnival is just too big and I am not keen on getting that close to a million people…it brings back the memory of, many years a go, a guy ‘walkin’ up’ me and eventually I elbowed him in the ribs, only to find myself sprawling on the ground, glasses broken. Ross leapt on him, four guys jumped on Ross….never have I been so glad to see the police! This time we avoided Ladbroke Grove!

So – thanks Marion and Richard for a lovely day, but another time if we want to see anything I think we need to do what we always do for Cropover in Barbados, find a spot, occupy it, and watch the world go by. You see much more and feel less stressed!

Brazliian Capoeira – never seen this before

Time for a doze

Finer feathers on show

Great mural

August 13, 2013
by vickyunwin 1 Comment

in which we dive with thresher sharks and sea horses

Thresher shark in the deep blue

Mabuhay! Welcome to the Philippines…here we are for a five day dive break to see the magnificent thresher sharks on Malapasqua island, which is 4 hours drive and boat away from Cebu City, in turn 3.75 hours from Singapore.

Fishing boats on Malapasqua, storm clouds brewing

The hair-raising drive by local cab, dodging jeepneys (local shared taxis), motor rickshaws heaving with schoolkids, lorries and buses bearing down in all directions as we overtake incessantly and whizz down the wrong side of the road, brings back memories of being a teenager in Manila. In those days Manila was the murder capital of the world, and my Dad, being an unconventional sort of fellow, eschewed living in walled and armed complexes known as villages, instead choosing an old Spanish house in the red light district, Ermita. Closer to work, he said!

Cheeky boys crammed onto the back of a rickshaw

Spoilt 15 year old as I was, bored and neglected by my stepmother, and having no one to hang out with, I had a driver at my disposal to take me to get a tan at the nearby Army and Navy Club – a left-over from the American occupation during the 2^nd World War – where I met my first serious boyfriend Alfred (yes, his real name!) Gonzalez. He was a heroic sort of guy, local DJ and man about town, always dressed to kill. I giggled to myself as I remembered the time we went on a family trip to Legaspi to climb the volcano and Alfred arrived in winkle-picker boots. My father was beside himself! My English accent was in much demand and soon I was making voiceovers for Alfred ‘s radio station: ‘DZeeRJ plays the MOHST music’. I bought my first bootleg album in Manila – Weird Scenes Inside the Goldmine and so began my third love affair – with Jim Morrison. But that’s another story.

Girls enjoying festival in Danao City

The dudes

Jolted from my reverie as the car judders to a standstill and we are surrounded by scores of girls in carnival costumes, and big floats with speakers and dudes in leathers looking cool: we have hit the Ati Ati Ham festival in Danao City: Cebu is renowned for its number of religious festivals. The girls wave delightedly, and even the cool men break into a smile.

The countryside when we see it as we cross the spine of the mountainous Cebu island is lush and volcanic; there are paddies and huge industrial sized cane plantations as we drop down the other side. Churches everywhere, with sponsored posters and walls emblazoned with families’ names, denoting that the Philippines the Church is big business as well as religion.

We finally arrive at the boat jetty after our white knuckle ride along roads of strip development: people sitting on chairs outside makeshift shops, dogs everywhere, little markets in small towns heaving with mangoes, pineapples and crisps, fighting cocks for sale on poles lining the road – and pawnbrokers abound. This is a poor country, but every one is spick and span in clean clothes, even if walking through rubbish and mud. And Catholic, so babies and small children everywhere.

Our beach front deluxe room at the Exotic Island Dive resort, note dive equipment drying

And so to Malapasqua itself, after a bumpy ride in a local fishing boat, narrow-hulled with outriggers on either side. The dive boats share this construction, and prove to be difficult to get in and out of as well as rather unstable in bad weather as we shall discover on our return journey, the morning after the biggest typhoon in the world this year, which devastated parts of main island, Luzon.

View from my room

The dive boats – traditional fishing boats with outriggers

Ross doing his photos – slow but steady wi fi available

The Exotic Island Dive and Beach resort (good dive centre and confortable hotel with OK restaurant, good cocktails and San Mig – all you need really) is set at the end of a strip of white sand, lined with small hotels and restaurants. Seven years ago, there was nothing, and in seven years I reckon the whole place will have been destroyed by dynamiting and over-diving.

Me on the wall at Kalanggaman Islet

The thresher shark diving business is almost industrial in its execution: 4.45 am the first boats leave for the Monad Shoal and you disappear into the plankton-filled gloomy depths where you grab on to a line at 25 meters, like a little row of solders going into battle, and wait for the threshers to come to their cleaning station.

While horrified by the large numbers of people – at least a dozen boats with 20 divers on each – the sharks themselves who had obviously been paid to appear – are breathtakingly beautiful with their long whip like tails which they use to lash their prey into submission. They pass surprisingly close and fix me with a beady eye. I love sharks. Devil rays float by too, also availing themselves of the abluting services.

Pale clown fish with blue-tipped anemones, the prettiest things on the reef

Traditional seahorse, the pygmies, size of finger nail, too small for Ross’s camera, and that’s a first! Failure, I mean!

As for the rest, apart from some good seahorse and frog fish sightings and some lovely coral gardens, it was perfectly pleasant, but some of the dives were simply rubble and new soft corals and anemones struggled to get a grip. Fishes there were none larger than 10 cms – all blasted into extinction – so we became experts in spotting critters: tiny shrimps, crabs, worms and nudibranchs, some no bigger than half a finger nail. Lucky I had my new lenses put into my mask so I could actually see! Not forgetting the sea-snakes as Gato Island is a sanctuary (haha, no guards and plenty of people fishing with impunity in the sanctuary boundaries). Check Ross’s website for proper photos of the fishes http://

bit.ly/1a07QAB

Me getting ashore for out picnic and a welcome loo stop!

So I surmise all the seafood on the menus is imported and frozen. Stick to chicken and pork. We at least saw those, including a whole pig being feasted on at a family picnic on Kalanggaman Islet, where we stopped for a rather poor BBQ lunch in-between dives.

A swim-through on the otherwise devastated-by-dynamite Gato island – yes it’s me again!

Our buddies were truly cosmopolitan though biased towards Singapore as it was the Singapore holidays. Lots of jolly, noisy Chinese; more taciturn Koreans and Japanese; Spaniards, French, American, Swedish, Ozzies, Brits, and even a lone Chilean!

Well, you come all this way to chill in a hammock of course!

Life on the Ocean Wave!

I thought it a long way to come for many; for us a quick flit from Singapore (is 11 hours quick I ask myself?) makes it a worth-while mini break, but after 4 days’ diving I was ready to come back; and in fact due to the typhoon the dives were cancelled the day we left, so we timed it well!

Oh and Mao’s Revenge morphed into Marcos’s Revenge: if sight-seeing with clenched buttocks is hard, then try diving and all those pressure changes. Wah!

Ross on the last morning – the sun is briefly out after the typhoon of the night before; but the waves were big on the way back

Arriving on day one – before Marcos’s Revenge struck!

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vickygoestravelling

my journey to health and well being via exotic destinations

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