My week in Wales

Friday, 20 September, 2019

Wales is beautiful…well, Pembrokeshire is. I’ve not seen that much of Wales – bits and pieces and some of it so long ago that I no longer remember the details.

Pembrokeshire is in southwest Wales in that sticky-outy part of the coast where, if you look up to the sky, there are planes travelling from and to North America. In fact, when I cross the Atlantic from Toronto, I’m aware that I’m probably flying over Emma’s town as we reach the coastline.

The trouble is – look away you country folk – Pembrokeshire is rural, dotted with little villages and towns, and it’s wasted on me. Somehow the gene that makes people sigh with relief when they reach the countryside and drink in all that greenery and smell that fresh air skipped me.

Give me the urban life.

But there were five days, more or less, in Wales. Precisely in Goodwick (in Welsh, Wdig) a small coastal town that is twinned with Fishguard (in Welsh, Abergwaun, meaning “Mouth of the River Gwaun”) . There are about 5,000 people living in Fishguard and Goodwick – yes, it’s that small. Emma’s little part of Goodwick is called Stop-and-Call. Confused yet? The photos below show the view from Stop-and-Call, 330 feet from the centre of the town. You can see that you’re high above the harbour.

View of the countryside from Stop-and-Call
View of the countryside from Stop-and-Call
View of Fishguard Harbour from Stop-and-Call
View of Fishguard Harbour from Stop-and-Call

Most my time at Stop-and-Call was spent sitting with Emma in her bedroom. Since she’s become less mobile, she’s set up the space with an armchair she can sleep in, a work space, and a small area with a microwave and bar fridge. She goes downstairs when she’s going out. Emma has carers and her son, Sam, helps out. Most of the time it’s Julie, who lives a short walk away. There seems to be a regular routine to all this but Emma says that, after years of yearning for time alone, she spends hours by herself now. She misses London, where she once owned a flat off Brick Lane. I used to love visiting her there.

Emma’s husband, Colin, has been living in a rest home for some time now. He has’end-stage’ MS and so there’s also a complex routine for him, which is shared by Julie and another carer, also called Emma. A lot of Emma’s time is taken up with advocating for Colin and for herself and her family. It’s interesting to see the choreography of it all.

After a quiet but chatty day spent with Emma in her room on Tuesday, we made plans to get out on Wednesday to a spa hotel called The Cliff on the edge of Cardigan. We were promised a stunning view so why not. Elaborate plans were made for the drive – Sam’s friend, Dave, drove us there along many narrow, hedge-lined road, country highways with all the attendant farm vehicles intruding briefly, and through the lovely little towns of Newport and Cardigan – two places I’d consider going back to should I be in Pembrokeshire again.

The Cliff hotel was at the very edge of the Irish Sea. We ate lunch in the sun on the patio, Emma with her wheelchair umbrella. I chose a pasta with local cockles but regretted my choice. It was heavily sauced and this completely swamped the flavour of the cockles, and it was heaped with some crisp, crumbled bacon, which I pushed aside after a couple of tastes. So much for my food review. Well, not quite… Krish and I strolled down to the edge of the cliff to look at the sea, where I took a couple of photos. Then we walked back to have dessert on another bit of the patio that had more comfortable chairs. A deconstructed cheesecake to share…hmm. Three ice cream scoops of under-flavoured dense cream cheese, some biscuit crumbs, a slice of dried orange and some (I thought bitter) blood orange sploshes on the plate. Awful!

(P.S. we preferred the view from Goodwick!)

The view from the grounds of The Cliff

The view from the grounds of The Cliff
The view from the grounds of The Cliff
Pasta with local cockles
Pasta with local cockles
The dreaded deconstructed cheesecake
The dreaded deconstructed cheesecake

Continue reading “My week in Wales”

We go to Wales – arriving

Monday, 16, 17 September, 2019

Getting ready for a trip – well, one seems to blur into another – I get this strange pit of stomach feeling, like someone has died. And I wouldn’t say excitement – but certainly anticipation or hope. I love the destination part of travelling but am not so good at the actual journey.

I find my agoraphobia kicks in. Will I be OK? Will something awful happen? What if I never get there? That’s the worry gene. But then the expectation of something different, what I want to explore, what I want to taste, what will it all feel like? Inevitably, when planning a trip near the time to leave, other places creep into my brain. These are the places I’ve been before and would like to say hello to again, but also the places I’ve not made it to…and then the anticipatory anxiety of will I be OK and what if something awful happens… Gah.

Paddington Station and the great Brunel
Paddington Station and the great Brunel
Sweets before the journey?
Sweets before the journey?

Our journey was very smooth yesterday. We arrived at Swansea on time and quickly. Then it fell apart. The little two-carriage train we transferred to on the next platform couldn’t be used. Somewhere in the muffled Welsh accented announcement the word ‘broken down’ popped in. Instead we had to wait a half hour for another train that would take us to a bus, and then on to our destination. It would add about 90 minutes to our journey.

The replacement train had only one carriage but it smelled better than the first one. These little trains are like toys. They whirr, they are filled with cheery passengers, the guard walks through making small talk to pass along to the driver where people might want to stop. We pass through little villages, see cows in small intimate hollows of fields by the tracks, and then we’re alongside the sea. There’s sand, and inns, and water, and that muddy waste you see when the tide goes out. I can smell meadows, then the sea, and sometimes soil. We’re not in London any more.

We see the sea
We see the sea

When Emma reaches me by phone, I’m on my way to the bus. I’d asked the driver for the washroom. Go in that gate, see, right along to the end, don’t worry, we’ll wait for you. And so they did. Emma lets me know that ‘Colin the taxi’ (not her husband, who has MS and is in a rest home) will meet us when we get to the station.

On the road, meadows and hedges
On the road, meadows and hedges

Another almost 90 minutes on the road, in a school bus brought in for extra duty and driven by a rather elderly man, and headed straight into a large and relentless sun, causing the driver to constantly lower and raise a rickety sun blind as he went. After the first stop he announced that he didn’t know his way to Fishguard station. Not to worry, the lady next to me did so she’d be happy to direct him. We were entertained by the winding road and by two rather spectacular funnel clouds illuminated by the setting sun and looking ominously like twin tornadoes!

By time I could get a clear shot, the two cyclone shapes in the sky had dwindled and were golden in the setting sun
By time I could get a clear shot, the two cyclone shapes in the sky had dwindled and were golden in the setting sun
Finally we saw Fishguard Harbour at the end of our journey
Finally we saw Fishguard Harbour at the end of our journey

Colin the taxi picked us up, along with two other weary travellers and finally we were here, at Emma’s in Goodwick! A delicious dinner, cooked by today’s carer Julie and eaten on trays on our laps in Emma’s bedroom,  listening to her stories of battles with doctors, politicians, and lawyers. She doesn’t leave her room any more but there’s so much going on for her from her armchair that’s taken the place of her bed these days. I feel very lucky.

I’m sitting in Emma’s kitchen. I opened the top of the window, knowing that someone will come down eventually and ask why it’s open. The air is fresh. Outside the road is steep and birds are singing. If I lean out of the window, there’s the harbour – not the best view I’ll see today – but there it is. I havent been here for four or five years. And I made a makeshift breakfast – a cracker, cheese, and half a banana. Opposite is the cottage that Sam, Emma’s older son, lives in. I will see him today and I know what to expect. I’ve known Sam since he was a teenager.

Opposite is Bramble Cottage, where Sam lives with Charlie. We're staying in Emma's - Lavender Cottage
Opposite is Bramble Cottage, where Sam lives with Charlie. We’re staying in Emma’s – Lavender Cottage. This part of the hill is gentler than the next
Beyond Bramble Cottage, just before the road turns and the hill gets serious
Beyond Bramble Cottage, just before the road turns and the hill gets serious

Strangely, there is an oven in the middle of the floor. Hmm. Coming in or out, I’m not sure. Perhaps out since I notice the main oven has stickers on the doors. A new one?

There's an oven in the middle of the floor
There’s an oven in the middle of the floor

This place is very cottagey. I can’t help thinking what I would do with it were it mine, although it never will be. I find it interesting how differently we all like to arrange our spaces. I’m not a big fan of the kitchen table being the main socialising area but Emma’s amazing living room was flooded some years ago and it hasn’t recovered. In there, Colin had many years ago put some fantastic carpentry there. No couch sitting for me this week.

The living room window and the view beyond
The living room window and the view beyond

There’s talk of the battles, the family, politics – Brexit of course, and even time for some frivolity – clothes and hair talk. Always welcome. And so to bed. I’ve been awake for a couple of hours now and will spend some time organising my clothing and electronics. Krish packs so I don’t know where most things are. I hope they both sleep for a bit longer. My alone time is more precious than anyone knows.

Toronto is…seeing things differently

Saturday, 1 June, 2019

I shouldn’t find it so hard to write about Toronto. I know it very well, even as it changes. Perhaps it’s the familiarity that stops me in my tracks.

But what is different…in Toronto?

So I’ve been lazy about blogging and perhaps the plan needs to be to see things differently.  There’s always something new and interesting everywhere…if you look for it. I’ll do some catch ups with photos for a while until I get into the groove. There’s likely more to say than I imagine.

It’s a different look around here. The streets have smaller trees but during May, after a hard winter, the rain comes and the sun shines, and things get very lush and fairly wild. This to me is what Toronto in May is. I’m not sure how different this is from anywhere else but it’s certainly not Hackney.

May in Toronto

The architecture in Little Italy and Little Portugal is…well…quaint! It veers between hideous, garish, practical, and pretty. I remarked it’s like a mini Garden District at times….all the verandahs and gingerbreading…the mix of styles could be disconcerting but it flies in the face of a city I’ve often called too homogeneous.  What’s remarkable is how very close to the centre these streets are. Less than a couple of kilometres.

For me, nothing beats London for street art. Toronto likes a lot of script type art (Wikipedia reminds me that the writing style is the true graffiti and everything else is street art) but there are some gems if you keep looking.

There’s a huge foodie scene in Toronto but you have to know where to go. For me, it’s always the simple, hidden gems that I’ll come back for.

Very many years ago I got a temp job on Spadina Avenue at a tailoring factory. At lunch time, everyone stopped work and ate lunch on the factory floor. Someone gave me a taste of their sandwich (bun) one day, when I asked what they were eating. It was amazing. I thought about it for years but could never remember what it was or where to get it.

Then by accident, when my sister was living in Little Italy years later, she took me for a sandwich. And it was the same one! What was it? A ‘hot veal sandwich’ from San Francesco Foods, a tiny Italian grocery store that made sandwiches in the back room for the locals. A pounded veal cutlet is fried, dipped into tomato sauce with added peppers (as hot as you choose) and piled onto a Kaiser bun. And you have a Toronto institution. (You can also choose the eggplant, chicken, meatball, steak, or vegetarian options. For me, it’s always veal.

We once asked an Italian, my friend Esmeralda’s then boyfriend, if he’d ever heard of such a thing. He was horrified – that’s not Italian! No!  But In Toronto, that is Italian.

San Francescio has become a slicker chain and I don’t like their sandwich any more. So this time Krish and I went to nearby California Sandwiches and shared their monstrous sandwich between us. It’s always with a Brio, which is the Toronto version of Chinotto – slightly less bitter, more sweet, but perfect with a spicy meat sandwich.

Little Italy has that distinctive Canadian-Italian touch, with its own community. It even has its own radio station, which has its own enormous annual picnic.  Johnny Lombardi was a pioneer of multicultural broadcasting in Canada and his shadow looms over everything.  And it’s a great place for a time warp. Maybe more about that later.

Johnny Lombardi
Statue of Johnny Lombardi, pretty much the King of Little Italy, for so many years (Amusing touch from Krish in his hand)
Time warp in Little Italy
Time warp in Little Italy

Toronto now has a Toronto sign. Try getting anywhere close to it with all the tourists and photographers, though. It’s in front of New Toronto City Hall (the old one is beside it, across the road);.The new City Hall was built in 1965 and is iconic for the city – also appearing twice in the Star Trek franchise so you may recognise it.

Nathan Phillips Square (City Hall) and the new Toronto sign

And about the cannabis culture. Now it’s legal, it’s lost its grass (haha) roots. So shiny. I can smell it everywhere. No one mentions it, no one thinks about it. And no one looks intoxicated.

The Hunny Pot
The Hunny Pot Dispensary on Queen Street

Toronto is becoming denser and more populated, thanks to the mega new development everywhere. New condos are squeezed between older condos. I have no idea how this compares to London but it feels worse. The skyline is disappearing, parking lots are gone, small buildings are being razed and replaced by two, three, four towers.

There’s a dichotomy here – ‘During the first quarter of 2019, pre-sale launch activity fell to a 10-year low, price growth slowed, but the number of projects under construction has hit an all-time high.’ So more construction along with less interest. Where will the people come from? But they do come and the (steeply increasing) prices overall reflect that.

Toronto The Good may be good (polite, measured, modest, orderly) but, despite its much quieter pride of place in the world, it’s trying to catch up in other ways than the condo culture and growing population reflects. It’s quietly proud. People like Drake have helped that.

Also helping is sports. This year the NBA team (Canada’s only basketball team) The Raptors have reached the finals and have won their first game. The city, as always, has come alive.

Canadian pride
Canadian pride in a mural
Canadian (Toronto) pride
Canadian (Toronto) pride – reflecting the Raptors win

I’ve been much more conscious of Canadian pride and Toronto community spirit on this visit. People hang together, not standing apart. Perhaps this was always there but right now I do feel it.

I really don’t like to fly

Wednesday, 15 May, 2019

You know those cool dreams where you can fly? It’s never cool for me.  I have no desire to be able to fly, actually fly using my arms, or getting on a plane. That’s me. I first flew in 1967. I was a new Canadian immigrant and I wanted to go back to London. This desire got stronger when my parents announced they were relocating to Los Angeles. I was 20 so I wasn’t going to be allowed in without yet another emigration application. I was just getting used to Toronto, I had a boyfriend, and my heart was still in London.

So I saved money every week for a charter flight. I had never flown before but somehow knew I wouldn’t like it. And I didn’t. There were only narrow-bodied planes in those days, no seatback videos, or tablets or mobile phones, but at least they were jets. I was incredibly relieved to  land and dreaded the flight back. When that day came, we were delayed, only to be told that our plane was out of service and we would be going home on a jet propeller plane, 13 hours of flight. I wanted to leave the airport but I hung in there. The flight was bumpy, very long, and had a refuelling stop in Gander, Newfoundland, which I remember as very foresty and the greenest sight ever from the sky.

I’ve flown a lot since then. I’ve also attended Fear of Flying classes. I cope – sometimes better than other times. Nothing takes away my fear completely. There’s no 100% guarantee of a safe landing no matter how prepared or educated or reassured you may be – and that’s that. And on the 15th of May I was flying to Toronto – an eight hour flight with British Airways (not Air Canada, who had become my lucky charm over the years – they never crash!)

We were all packed for our very expensive flight – prices have pretty much doubled in the past several years – and we felt remarkably calm. I amused myself with watching Krish’s packing. My own carry-on case was considered ‘a mess.’ Well, I felt OK with it.

Krish's packing
Krish’s cases are always neat and tidy, the usual Tetris formation with all clothes neatly into plastic bags. The red item was my last minute addition to spoil the display

My carry-on
My carry-on case of the things that can’t fit anywhere else, trying to emulate The Master but ‘it’s a mess.’

Continue reading “I really don’t like to fly”

Torino to London – Back to the Hack!*

Monday, 5 December, 2018

Things went really smoothly for leaving Turin. The cab showed up exactly as we got downstairs with our luggage, the train came on time, and our seats were great! This time first class felt a lot more like first class. Don’t know what happened the last time.

Porta Susa - waiting for the platform announcement
Porta Susa – waiting for the platform announcement
From the platform, Porta Susa
From the platform, Porta Susa
Half a sandwich and a chocolate on the train. The menu had a lot but I ordered only a sparkling water
Half a sandwich and a chocolate on the train. The menu had a lot but I ordered only a sparkling water

Anyway, the seats were comfy and we had our first forward facing seats of all our bookings (all requested that way but none except this delivered) Toilet is still disgusting. I think they must use a septic tank method. Not sure. Even the plugs were accessible and working. I watched two movies and then my battery died. Both fluffy and forgettable.

Oh and the scenery was gorgeous. Low and higher mountains (the Alps) usually draped with clouds at several levels, and snow covered (see the videos at the bottom). None of my photos do it justice, with the reflecting train lights etc. I thought, as I sat on that train, if I couldn’t have a sea or river view, I’d choose mountains.

I loved how the clouds floated across the mountains like they were draped
I loved how the clouds floated across the mountains like they were draped
Not much water but this big lake
Not much water but this big lake
And the scenery kept delivering
And the scenery kept delivering

Paris was another story. Arrival was on time and it was looking good until we tried to get down to the RER level so that we could get to Gare du Nord. The down escalator was broken. I suppose they opted to keep the only working one as the up, and I get that but when you have two heavy suitcases and a carry on, even down is a real challenge.

First I, then Krish, tried to find an elevator – no luck. It was a long way down with a landing in the middle. No choice but for Krish to bring each large case down in turn, me carrying the not-so-light carry on plus my CPAP and bags. Once down there we then had to get into the metro for the RER and again, there was no working escalator and no elevator anywhere. This time Krish had to bring each case down three levels. How the very elderly or disabled would manage it I have no idea. Never anyone around to ask questions of either. This seems common all over Italy and France, no station staff…

On the Paris RER - Krish waited with the cases on the platform level car
On the Paris RER – Krish (off camera) waited with the cases on the platform level car

After that, all went well. Krish and I took turns popping out of the station to look around. I didn’t go far. I thought about crossing the road and venturing further but the traffic was terrifying and the area around the station isn’t inviting.  Instead I found a Five Guys and got some Cajun fries – 3.50 for a small one. It was nice to have something hot and spicy after two months of under-seasoned food. We also had a messy but satisfying cherry clafouti for our evening Eurostar snack.

Paris, Gare du Nord
Paris, Gare du Nord
Outside the station, a familiar view by now
Outside the station, a familiar view by now
Rainy and dark in Paris too
Rainy and dark in Paris too
Cajun fries at Five Boys
Cajun fries at Five Boys
Two tiny children had fun rolling their family suitcase along at the Eurostar waiting area
Two small children had fun rolling their family suitcase along at the Eurostar waiting area

Paris still wins no prizes with me. They cleaned the station up but the streets around it still smelled like a toilet. So we waited for the Eurostar train and then had a swift journey towards London in the dark.

At St Pancras I ordered a mini cab and we had another swift and pleasant ride to Hackney.

Always weird to come home after being away, staying in somewhat more luxurious places. Still, it looked tidy and familiar – bigger than I remembered – and very cold! On with the heat, cup of tea and some soup and sausage rolls (that I picked up at M&S at the station) and eventually to bed.

Sunday we unpacked. Everything is out of the cases but the bits and pieces aren’t all put away yet. That will take some Krish Tetris skill since the cupboard looks quite full already and a food order on its way this morning from Ocado. We had booked to go for Sunday roast but Krish asked if we could put it off. Instead I got a little steak pie (for one but split between us) and some cole slaw for lunch and we got some Indian food that was dinner and then lunch yesterday.

Some reflections are in order. I love Hackney. Krish says he misses the view of Superga and the Alps (when we could see them) and the market and the people. And, of course, I do too really. But then there are so many things that are good about here. The light is different, and the weather, the people, the transport, the language, the attitudes, the food, the architecture… but I sense a lot of freedom and opportunity. And I suppose that’s what brings the Italians to countries like this anyway. Italy again next year? Who knows but for now, this picture says it.

* Krish said I should coin this. I’m sure someone already has!