Posts filed under 'Friends and family'
March 15th, 2009
A mild Edinburgh day – I was able to wash the windows today without freezing to death – has made me realise that Spring is finally here. And yet is seems the last three months have flown by. My last post was in December and it seems I’ve had no time whatever to do any of the routine things that I would expect. The SpiderWriting SEO blog was last updated in August, the Dunnett blog in November; people I care about I’ve hardly been in touch with. What is it about Winter that seems to soak up the available hours? In some ways I feel as if I’ve hibernated since returning from Madeira and yet in other ways I’ve never stopped dashing about solving problems.
Madeiran review
The week I spent in that delightfully mild climate was a ideal rest that was badly needed. I’d intended to do some walking in the highland areas using the astonishing range of Levadas – the irrigation channels that bring the water from the cloud-covered hills to the farming areas and villages of the coast. In the event I found the whole atmosphere of the island so relaxed that I just leant back and enjoyed the unaccustomed lack of stress. I can see why so many people from stressed out Britain love this island so much. Nearly everyone from the UK that I spoke to was on at least their 8th visit and some had made arrangements to retire there. With an average temperature of between 18 and 24 degrees all year round it’s an ideal environment for anyone who can’t take the extremes of heat that are liable to be found in Spain or the Mediterranean. If I didn’t have my eyes on retiring to Slovenia I might well consider it.
I was particularly looking forward to the food and wine, and it didn’t disappoint. The seafood in particular was excellent and the restaurants wonderfully friendly. The Madeiran and Portuguese wine went down very well indeed – quite different from my normal preferences but matching the food very well.
Sadly the friend I referred to in the last posting succumbed to the cancer she’d fought for so long in the early hours of New Years Day. It made a sombre start to the year, the only blessing being that she was no longer suffering. The only other downer of the week was the return home. The plane we were due to be on had apparently been in an accident with a ground vehicle and a new plane had to be summoned. A long delay meant that instead of arriving in Glasgow at tea-time I only just got back in time to get the last train back to Edinburgh at 11.30pm. Not the return I’d hoped for.
By the time I’d become re-accustomed to the freezing Scottish conditions I had realised how empty the flat seemed without my flatmate, particularly when it proved impossible for her to come back for our friend’s funeral. In fact it she has still not returned but is due back next week. In the meantime I’ve been knocking the flat into shape – styling it to my own preferences while keeping an eye on what she might prefer. It still needs some painting in the living room and that will have to be done now that the light is improving but
it’s a lot more like a home than it was. Though she’s only back for a short time I’m hoping it’ll meet with her approval.
December 30th, 2008
Am starting this blog entry on the way to Glasgow for the flight to Madeira. I’m greatly looking forward to it but in other ways I’m leaving with a heavy heart.
We’ve only been in the new flat for three weeks but already it has become home, a place I’m delighted to be and where I can relax in a way I haven’t been able to do for a long time. My flatmate is also away, but for her it’s three and a half weeks of new experiences and hard work, and a lot of uncertainty, with the possibility that she will be away for 4 weeks out of every 6 for some time. She was hyper for the last few days, yet still looking after me before herself. She is looking forward as she always does but hates to leave her new home so soon. I pray she’ll be ok and be back safe and sound; the flat will be very empty without her.
I’m also going away at a time when a friend is seriously ill and I fear for her and for her husband. I wish I could be there for them but have to remember to look after myself, and this holiday is badly needed. Thankfully they have many other good friends to support them.
So, what will Madeira be like I wonder? From the guidebooks it seems much more green than Malta was last year, and that has to be good. Here’s hoping for a comfortable hotel, good food, good light and no storms. And the odd bottle of Madeiran wine should be interesting too!
December 18th, 2008
It’s been an eventful couple of weeks to put it mildly. A move of house, a change of habit, perhaps even a change of lifestyle. A second and this time final separation to end a marriage of 26 years. A chance to live a little again after 3 years of virtual hibernation in a work-centred existence.
It all happened a bit suddenly in the end. Only a couple of weeks after the idea was first mooted, payments rushed through, keys collected, and van organised, we were moving vast quantities of stuff out of my new flatmate’s old place and rather less out of mine. My not-quite as youthful as they were muscles complaining bitterly the next morning. Though ostensibly a furnished flat there were various things missing that were deemed essential by my new companion and we spent a tidy sum in the second-hand shops rectifying the omissions. Of course that meant endless rearrangements once we’d finally squeezed it all in. A massive shop on Sunday morning while we still had the van and then a dash across town to return it. Such was our state of exhaustion that we both slept for 4 hours in the afternoon before attacking the furniture arrangements one last time to get the place the way we wanted.
Routines are now altered, a different time to wake up, a different kitchen, a longer trip to a different railway station to go to work. Initially it was hard to break the automatic return to the old marital home, especially when so much of my books and music is still there for now until I can arrange storage. But already that life has gone, replaced by a more relaxed evening environment and a new style of cooking which my flatmate insists on doing for me. She’s been a revelation and a delight, and has really made our place into a home in a very short time. I can’t thank her enough for suggesting the move and her energy in making it happen. If the next year is as good as the first two weeks then it’ll be a very good move indeed.
July 14th, 2008
I’m writing this on the last day of yet another fabulous holiday in Slovenia. Dad and I reprised our visit of last year, returning to Bohinj and Kobarid. The weather was very much in our favour as we learned that the previous week had seen constant rain and the secret waterfall above Lake Bohinj, which only appears when an underground lake is sufficiently full to overflow, had appeared for only the third time this year. We however arrived to a heatwave which was to continue the whole fortnight, with only the final two days seeing a couple of brief thunderstorms.
My admiration for this country continues to grow, and I seriously wonder if I could move here. Populated by an industrious and charming people, they also seem to have the right idea of pace of life and what is really important. And two of the most important subjects are food and drink, both of which they excel at. Indeed the only fault I can find overall is that they seem to have little concept of a light lunch! It is easy to eat so much that dinner becomes unnecessary, and that would be a crime.
Slovenian food and drink
Their ingredients are sublime: beef and venison that seems to require the lightest of cooking but exudes flavour and succulence, fish that melts on the tongue, mushrooms that can only have been created by forest elves, and soft fruits and berries that explode on the tongue with juices of scarcely describable taste. Parents, if British children won’t eat fruit and veg (and I have to raise my hand as a long time carnivore) then they aren’t being pernickety, they are merely showing good taste – the fruit you get in the UK, often imported out of season from forced cloches in Spain and similar countries, is tasteless and tough compared to the fresh, vibrant selection available in Slovenia. I have never much liked cherries – they are hard poor things in Scotland, here I have them for breakfast and then go out to a fruit stall for more. Sensational is an inadequate word. I seldom liked strawberries which often display a rough texture except in the very best time of year for native Scottish ones; here they melt in the mouth and leave juice stains in the dish.
All this of course still requires a good chef and a good waiter to interpret his creations and blend suggestions of wine and courses. Many Slovene restaurants adept at this, even the smallest simplest establishments produce excellent food, but I feel confident in saying I have been lucky enough to find the best in the Topli Val restaurant in the Hvala Hotel in Kobarid. It has won a number of awards and in my opinion if anywhere ever deserved a Michelin Star then this is it. I can only assume they haven’t visited it. In the space of two weeks – one last year and one this – I have learned more about the blending of tastes, both courses and wines and different ingredients and their effects on each other, than in a lifetime of visiting other restaurants, many of them which I thought very good. All the staff in the hotel are as friendly and attentive as could be wished for with a real personal touch that makes you feel at home; we were remembered despite it being only our second visit and greeted as old friends, but I simply cannot rate the chef and head waiter highly enough – they have delighted and educated us in equal measure. To give only one example for now, Scotland produces excellent scallops and I’ve tasted quite a few fine instances; the scallops I had here were in a different class, cooked in highest quality olive oil and presented with baby tomatoes and black olives in a delicate combination that even included the (usually purely decorative) sprig of rosemary which absorbed just enough heat to exude a perfectly combined additional scent. Heavenly.
Slovenian Wine and Beer
Slovene beer is second only to Czech in my opinion, clear and clean tasting and wonderfully refreshing on a hot day. However it is Slovenian wine which is the real secret and one which I cannot understand is not more widely known and appreciated. Having this year visited one of the best wine growing regions it is easy to see they have ideal conditions, and they certainly make the best of them. Forget the cheap Laski Reisling which was the only one ever really exported in any quantity to the UK; whether the grape is Chardonnay, Pinot, Sauvignon or one of their local varieties, Slovenian wines display a depth of character and smooth variety of flavours that had us both purring in satisfaction. Their cheaper wines are very good, their select wines are simply outstanding. Sadly the only way to get them in Britain was to import them directly, with the consequent postage costs; however there are moves afoot to establish a distributor and if this occurs then perhaps they might at last achieve the recognition they deserve. Either way I’ll be drinking them whenever I have the chance.
October 25th, 2007
I got the news this week that mum won’t be going home any more.
Eight years ago she had a severe stroke and has been paralysed on one side and unable to speak ever since. She was already in poor health and dad had been looking after her for quite a while. She’s now 82, he’s 84. Apart from help getting her up in the morning and putting her to bed at night he gets no other help apart from the occasional period in respite care. For all that time he’s had disturbed nights – up four or five times a night – and like anyone would he’s struggled with lack of sleep. He’s done all the cooking and cleaning and all the other chores of caring for an invalid. Basically it’s been wearing him out, but he’s a man of great integrity and sense of duty so he’s carried on, with little complaint except when at the end of his tether.
After a lot of persuading he finally agreed to let the doctor recommend that mum be assessed for care and this week we got the report to say that she would be kept in the respite hospital until a place could be found in a nursing home.
As might be expected he’s torn between relief that he doesn’t have to face the daily and nightly grind of constant care, and guilt that he couldn’t do it any more.
As yet we don’t know what it’s likely to cost so that constant worry of the last few years is still to be resolved.
As for me I’m relieved for him, while sorry for the fact that mum is having to leave her home behind. But most of all I’m angry – that someone who fought for his country in some of the worst fighting of the Second World War, sustaining injuries that would dog him for many years and cast a cloud over my own childhood, should be left to cope with such a situation for so long with poor advice and little backup. Our elderly people should be allowed to enjoy their final years without such worries and stresses. They’ve done their bit; fought, worked, brought up children, paid their taxes and their National Insurance, contributed in every way to the economy and the well-being of the country. We should honour them, respect their experience and their knowledge. Instead we treat them like a burden that we’d like to forget about.
A land fit for heroes? Hah!
Maybe we should put the politicians in nursing homes and tell them that’s where they are going when they get voted out. That might change things.
July 12th, 2007
I recently did something that I should have done years ago – went on holiday with my dad. Circumstances have been against us of course – my work (and at one point the lack of it) and his full-time caring for mum who had a severe stroke seven years ago. But thank heavens we managed it before old age (he’s 83) got in the way.
On the rare occasions that he gets respite care he usually goes to Normandy with some veteran friends but it’s not really a holiday due to the various obligations to visit people from the French Resistance and attend commemorative ceremonies. However despite this he insisted that we went somewhere that I wanted to go rather than anywhere he could think of. We went to my beloved Slovenia, and it was also much too long since I’d been there.
I was rather afraid that it might have changed, gone too commercial, or become over developed since they joined the EU and recently adopted the Euro, and I really wanted dad to see the country as I knew it and enjoy the sights so familiar to me because I knew that, being so much alike in many ways, he would love them as much as I do. I needn’t have worried; though their economy is forging ahead the Slovenes are mostly very aware of the value of their wild country areas and the peace and serenity they provide. Only in the international skiing centre of Kranjska Gora did there appear to be some regrettable developments of hotels being turned into casinos. In my favourite area of Lake Bohinj everything was much the same as my last visit 8 years ago.
Having arrived late at night after a tiring journey it was with delight and relief that I took dad down to the bridge on the lake just 2 minutes walk from the hotel and watched him take in the surrounding mountains, the marvellous colours, and most of all the deep sense of peace and harmony that the area enshrines. A man who is not given to superlatives, he was enthusing about the place for the rest of the week and I was wishing we had booked in there for the whole fortnight. Although the weather could have been kinder, the changing appearance of the crystal clear lake as the mists rose and fell, the colours varying from pale pastel, to deep blues and greens gave hints of how wonderful a place it can be throughout the year.
Despite his advanced years he coped with everything I suggested in walking to the many waterfalls and gorges that provide such a varied set of attractions. The wild flowers were at their peak of profusion and we revelled in the colours and scents that washed over our senses. In the evenings we indulged our other sense of taste with the superb foods and wines that I remembered so well. And as we relaxed we talked in a way that we had never had a chance to do at home – of past generations of family members and their stories, and of wartime exploits which had been kept secret in the way that old soldiers often need to do to avoid burdening their loved ones.
We were both sad to leave Bohinj as we got the car-train through the tunnel that cuts out a long trip over the mountains and connects the Bohinjska valley to the roads towards the west. We were heading down to Kobarid in the Socha valley near to the Italian border. I was unsure of what lay in store for us as I had travelled through but not stayed in the area, but we had been promised that our hotel had one of the best restaurants in Slovenia and we weren’t disappointed. Wonderfully fresh produce superbly combined and cooked and matched with marvellous wines had us both purring with appreciation every night. Rich soups of wild mushrooms or the finest tomatoes with local herbs. Melt-in-the-mouth Sea Bass. Steaks which simply parted for the knife and oozed flavour, and soft fruits that exploded in the mouth with luscious tastes.
During the days we explored the area. Kobarid is a small town but has perhaps the finest war museum in the world, commemorating the alpine battle between the Italians and the Austro-Hungarians during World War I. The carnage of this episode was appalling and must have devastated this peaceful agricultural area. There is a massive memorial to the soldiers on a hill overlooking the town and the river with a view right down the the valley. The area is rich in Roman remains with a fort on top of a nearby hill and terraces visible on the road up to the memorial.
However the really impressive trip is to drive up towards the narrow Trenta valley which leads to the Vrsic Pass. Surrounded by mountains which become ever more vertical and with the bright blue-white river ever present at your side you climb at first steadily and then dramatically until you find yourself in an alpine world of breathtaking beauty and inspiring views. Dad called it invigorating and told me he never imagined he would be walking in such mountains at 83.
It was a trip we both badly needed but more importantly it was one that brought us together in a way that exceeded all my hopes. I dearly hope we can do it again while his health remains good enough.