My grandmother died on Monday morning. I sat with her for the last few hours, and she eventually just seemed to let go. She died holding my hand and that of my brother, listening to us talk to her. She was ready, I think. She'd seen the people she wanted to see, and she'd had as much discomfort as she could deal with.
I have to think of something to say at the wake on Saturday. There are so many things to say about her. She was somebody really special; she had so much love and patience and hope. She always thought the best of people, and she had a hard time seeing that the degree of goodness and selflessness she exhibited every day was extraordinary. But it was. As I said in a previous post, if everybody was just a little bit more like her, the world would be a much happier place.
I feel sad, and numb, and, in a way, happy for her, that she didn't have to put up with too much pain for too long at the end. I know it meant a lot to her to have the people she loved around her these last few weeks, and I also take some comfort in the fact that she saw me get married and my brother become a father. The most recent memories she'll have of her family are of a time where, as a whole, we've been happier than in a long long time, and that's something.
She gave me so much: a good example to follow, a place to live when I needed it, a home full of happy memories, an ear and a kind word whenever I saw her... she made--makes--me want to be a better person. I'm glad I was able to repay some of her kindness by making her happy and proud of her grandson.
Goodbye, Helen. You'll be sorely missed.
Wednesday, 4 August 2010
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
Homecoming
I was looking forward to coming home to my Grandmother's house. I've lived here before. With the family home long gone and every Christmas I can remember spent here, this place feels more like home than anywhere else, and living with Helen again was lined up as a nice way to come back to the country. I was going to cook for her and look after her, play games of scrabble, watch her favourite programmes with her.
And now I'm back here, rudely early, feeding her yoghurts and fluids, emptying her commode, watching her begin to fade away. The six hour kink on my body clock and lack of sleep is making this seem more like a bad dream than it otherwise might, but I'm not sure it needs any help.
You have all the time in the world. You have plans that don't need scheduling in; you can do them in the Autumn, or at Xmas, or next year, or whenever the fancy takes you. And then everything shrinks down to one room and maybe two months if you're lucky, and a reduced capacity to do anything, and suddenly all these places you were going to swim to recede as you fight just to tread water. Fight to keep a smile because how the hell are you going to persuade her not to be depressed if you are yourself?
I keep thinking, if they hadn't got the initial diagnosis wrong, I could have spent some real time here with her in her full pomp, before she started to get ill, before she slept so much and started to get so confused. And of course there are all those thoughts about times I could have been here and wasn't over the last few years, but there would be some of those, whatever.
There's nothing for it but the stiff upper lip. Make her comfortable. Make her smile. Try and enjoy the time there is as much as possible. There's nothing else to be done. I know this, but it doesn't make it much easier.
I feel selfish thinking about how I'm feeling... how she's feeling is surely the issue. But I feel adrift. I have no work, and now the travels are on hiatus. I'm back here trying to connect with her and finding it hard, and finding that my Brother and Dad have most of the actual care covered. And I feel robbed. There was so much time, so many things to look forward to with her. Me living here again for a few months was going to mean a lot to her.
It means a lot to her, though, having me, and Dad and my Brother and Sister, back here now. So we do and be what we can, I guess.
I can't think of a way to end this, or anything else to say.
And now I'm back here, rudely early, feeding her yoghurts and fluids, emptying her commode, watching her begin to fade away. The six hour kink on my body clock and lack of sleep is making this seem more like a bad dream than it otherwise might, but I'm not sure it needs any help.
You have all the time in the world. You have plans that don't need scheduling in; you can do them in the Autumn, or at Xmas, or next year, or whenever the fancy takes you. And then everything shrinks down to one room and maybe two months if you're lucky, and a reduced capacity to do anything, and suddenly all these places you were going to swim to recede as you fight just to tread water. Fight to keep a smile because how the hell are you going to persuade her not to be depressed if you are yourself?
I keep thinking, if they hadn't got the initial diagnosis wrong, I could have spent some real time here with her in her full pomp, before she started to get ill, before she slept so much and started to get so confused. And of course there are all those thoughts about times I could have been here and wasn't over the last few years, but there would be some of those, whatever.
There's nothing for it but the stiff upper lip. Make her comfortable. Make her smile. Try and enjoy the time there is as much as possible. There's nothing else to be done. I know this, but it doesn't make it much easier.
I feel selfish thinking about how I'm feeling... how she's feeling is surely the issue. But I feel adrift. I have no work, and now the travels are on hiatus. I'm back here trying to connect with her and finding it hard, and finding that my Brother and Dad have most of the actual care covered. And I feel robbed. There was so much time, so many things to look forward to with her. Me living here again for a few months was going to mean a lot to her.
It means a lot to her, though, having me, and Dad and my Brother and Sister, back here now. So we do and be what we can, I guess.
I can't think of a way to end this, or anything else to say.
Wednesday, 2 June 2010
Five Things You Notice About Iran
1: The Friendliness
From before we got into the country, on a train surrounded by Iranians returning home from Turkey, through every city and every bus since we've been here, the thing that shines through about Iranians is how much they like to welcome people to their country. They take their hospitality very seriously; we've been invited to stay with or eat with or have tea with more people than I can remember. We took three different people or families up on their offers to have dinner and stay with them, and we were really pleased that we did. They came up with delicious veggie pie and were incredibly gracious and thoughtful hosts, and we had some really interesting conversations about politics, life in England and in Iran, life in general, religion, food, football...
Then there's the random experiences: being dragged into a school to be a living show-and-tell; being guided around a stepped hillside villages by a group of schoolgirls with no English, fiercely protective of 'their tourists' when some guides tried to 'poach' us, being asked every philosophical question short of the meaning of life over tea whilst looking out over Imam Square, singing a duet of Bryan Adams' 'Everything I Do...' from a balconey with a guy we met five minutes earlier, incredibly civilised conversations in immaculate gardens surrounding a poet's imposing tomb, translating magazine articles for an elderly gentleman scholar of English to his eternal gratitude
2: The Roads
I've not driven in this country (thank God!), but I've been driven by taxi drivers and some of our hosts, and it's worrying like watching someone next to you play Gran Turismo, but with the knowledge that there will be no 'Start New Game' option. Especially as you often have no seatbelt, and the car you're in is often seemingly held together with duck tape. Lanes? Braking distance? Right of way? These are alien concepts; drivers weave their way at high speed from left to right , the seeming golden rule to never slow down unless they absolutely have to. I thought Indian roads were crazy. The only thing scarier than the first time you are driven in Iran is the first time you have to cross a road in Iran. You first of all stand there for ten minutes waiting for a gap, before you realise that the only way across is to do what the locals are doing and just step out. Amazingly, the car that was flying at full speed towards the space you just stepped into (usually) slows down, and you can cross that lane, with only about five more to go...
3: The Art and the Architecture
These two blend into one, as the venerable mosques and palaces are themselves works of art. The Imam Mosque in Esfahan, for example, redefines awesome, and is the most impressive building I've seen bar perhaps only the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona. Giant archways vault above you at each side of the massive main courtyard, and behind each is a beautiful dome, seemingly floating above the huge spaces they cover. Actually, they're held in place by simple yet amazing feats of mathematics and engineering (look up 'squinch' if you're interested), which were pioneered in Persia. And every surface is covered in the most exquisite blue tilework. Everywhere from mosques to palaces to pavements, beauty is played out in geometry, intersecting lines and flowing script. What is often dismissed in the West as the best that a culture barred from iconography could manage is, when I look at it, a careful mirror of nature; engaging, thought provoking, and awe-inspiring.
4: The Food
Meat Meat Meat. Nine out of ten dishes on menus are kebabs, and most of the others are chicken or fish. Trying to get across the concept of vegetarian here is almost like someone coming to the UK and saying 'I don't breathe oxygen'. In most places the responses follow a certain pattern: a) laughter; b) disbelief -- they couldn't have possibly understood right; c) 'So, chicken, then? Or fish? Or how about this dish -- it only has small pieces of meat in it...'; then usually one of three final responses: d) head shaking -- we can't help you; e) a quite random selection of vegetables piled together, or f) a meat dish is brought anyway.
Some places, actually, are Ok, but they often take some questing to find. When we have found local vegetarian dishes, they've been gorgeous; lovely mixes of aubergine, spices, spinach, beans and other stuff. And in people's homes, they've put together some fantastic stuff. But sometimes we've been grateful for the import of pizza, as many as we've ended up having.
5: The Ripples from the Revolution
The complexity of how this country has been affected by what happened in 1979 can't be understated. It's status as an Islamic Republic and effective theocracy (despite a lower tier of 'elected' government) is unique in the world, and you see it everywhere from the obvious chadors, hejabs, manteaus and occasional burkhas to the masses who turn out for the annual day of (energetic) mourning for the death of Fatima, the daughter of Mohammed, who died over a thousand years ago. Most of the people I've spoken to have been fairly quick to express their disagreement with most of what their government does, and the youth are positively chafing at the bit. With an internet filter, music bans, harsh consequences for inappropriate non-marital behaviour, and of course the clothing issue, they idolize the West (unhealthily so) and reject pretty much everything about the regime. Most are Muslim only nominally, due to pressure from authorities or family, and would jump at the chance to be free. Those that can, get to Italy, Canada, or other places to study, and then don't come back. Some older heads say that the Islamic republic also brings benefits, and that the Shah was not all he was cracked up to be, but 70% of the population are under 30, and it feels as if something will have to give.
My understanding of all this is only very basic, from the conversations I've had, so I'm finding it difficult to generalise, but one thing that may illustrate much of the above and how Iran's relationship with the West works for people here is the conversation I've had again and again, which goes something like this: 'What did I think about Iran before I came, and what do I think now? Do I see that the people are not like the government? Do I see that Iranians are not terrorists and not like the news in the West suggests?' There is a deep concern here that an ancient culture is getting sidelined globally, thought of as second class citizens, because of fights that their government picks. At the same time, there is a fierce pride, and a recognition that Iran should be stronger than it is, and that much of the blame for that lies at the feet of the US and UK. The former US Embassy in Tehran is now a museum known as 'The US Den of Espionage'. It's not helpful, but if you look at the history of the place, you'll see the moniker has a ring of truth. It's all complex, which is why I've probably only captured a fraction of it here. But it definitely makes for a fascinating experience of certainly the most different culture and country I've ever visited.
Photos to follow...
From before we got into the country, on a train surrounded by Iranians returning home from Turkey, through every city and every bus since we've been here, the thing that shines through about Iranians is how much they like to welcome people to their country. They take their hospitality very seriously; we've been invited to stay with or eat with or have tea with more people than I can remember. We took three different people or families up on their offers to have dinner and stay with them, and we were really pleased that we did. They came up with delicious veggie pie and were incredibly gracious and thoughtful hosts, and we had some really interesting conversations about politics, life in England and in Iran, life in general, religion, food, football...
Then there's the random experiences: being dragged into a school to be a living show-and-tell; being guided around a stepped hillside villages by a group of schoolgirls with no English, fiercely protective of 'their tourists' when some guides tried to 'poach' us, being asked every philosophical question short of the meaning of life over tea whilst looking out over Imam Square, singing a duet of Bryan Adams' 'Everything I Do...' from a balconey with a guy we met five minutes earlier, incredibly civilised conversations in immaculate gardens surrounding a poet's imposing tomb, translating magazine articles for an elderly gentleman scholar of English to his eternal gratitude
2: The Roads
I've not driven in this country (thank God!), but I've been driven by taxi drivers and some of our hosts, and it's worrying like watching someone next to you play Gran Turismo, but with the knowledge that there will be no 'Start New Game' option. Especially as you often have no seatbelt, and the car you're in is often seemingly held together with duck tape. Lanes? Braking distance? Right of way? These are alien concepts; drivers weave their way at high speed from left to right , the seeming golden rule to never slow down unless they absolutely have to. I thought Indian roads were crazy. The only thing scarier than the first time you are driven in Iran is the first time you have to cross a road in Iran. You first of all stand there for ten minutes waiting for a gap, before you realise that the only way across is to do what the locals are doing and just step out. Amazingly, the car that was flying at full speed towards the space you just stepped into (usually) slows down, and you can cross that lane, with only about five more to go...
3: The Art and the Architecture
These two blend into one, as the venerable mosques and palaces are themselves works of art. The Imam Mosque in Esfahan, for example, redefines awesome, and is the most impressive building I've seen bar perhaps only the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona. Giant archways vault above you at each side of the massive main courtyard, and behind each is a beautiful dome, seemingly floating above the huge spaces they cover. Actually, they're held in place by simple yet amazing feats of mathematics and engineering (look up 'squinch' if you're interested), which were pioneered in Persia. And every surface is covered in the most exquisite blue tilework. Everywhere from mosques to palaces to pavements, beauty is played out in geometry, intersecting lines and flowing script. What is often dismissed in the West as the best that a culture barred from iconography could manage is, when I look at it, a careful mirror of nature; engaging, thought provoking, and awe-inspiring.
4: The Food
Meat Meat Meat. Nine out of ten dishes on menus are kebabs, and most of the others are chicken or fish. Trying to get across the concept of vegetarian here is almost like someone coming to the UK and saying 'I don't breathe oxygen'. In most places the responses follow a certain pattern: a) laughter; b) disbelief -- they couldn't have possibly understood right; c) 'So, chicken, then? Or fish? Or how about this dish -- it only has small pieces of meat in it...'; then usually one of three final responses: d) head shaking -- we can't help you; e) a quite random selection of vegetables piled together, or f) a meat dish is brought anyway.
Some places, actually, are Ok, but they often take some questing to find. When we have found local vegetarian dishes, they've been gorgeous; lovely mixes of aubergine, spices, spinach, beans and other stuff. And in people's homes, they've put together some fantastic stuff. But sometimes we've been grateful for the import of pizza, as many as we've ended up having.
5: The Ripples from the Revolution
The complexity of how this country has been affected by what happened in 1979 can't be understated. It's status as an Islamic Republic and effective theocracy (despite a lower tier of 'elected' government) is unique in the world, and you see it everywhere from the obvious chadors, hejabs, manteaus and occasional burkhas to the masses who turn out for the annual day of (energetic) mourning for the death of Fatima, the daughter of Mohammed, who died over a thousand years ago. Most of the people I've spoken to have been fairly quick to express their disagreement with most of what their government does, and the youth are positively chafing at the bit. With an internet filter, music bans, harsh consequences for inappropriate non-marital behaviour, and of course the clothing issue, they idolize the West (unhealthily so) and reject pretty much everything about the regime. Most are Muslim only nominally, due to pressure from authorities or family, and would jump at the chance to be free. Those that can, get to Italy, Canada, or other places to study, and then don't come back. Some older heads say that the Islamic republic also brings benefits, and that the Shah was not all he was cracked up to be, but 70% of the population are under 30, and it feels as if something will have to give.
My understanding of all this is only very basic, from the conversations I've had, so I'm finding it difficult to generalise, but one thing that may illustrate much of the above and how Iran's relationship with the West works for people here is the conversation I've had again and again, which goes something like this: 'What did I think about Iran before I came, and what do I think now? Do I see that the people are not like the government? Do I see that Iranians are not terrorists and not like the news in the West suggests?' There is a deep concern here that an ancient culture is getting sidelined globally, thought of as second class citizens, because of fights that their government picks. At the same time, there is a fierce pride, and a recognition that Iran should be stronger than it is, and that much of the blame for that lies at the feet of the US and UK. The former US Embassy in Tehran is now a museum known as 'The US Den of Espionage'. It's not helpful, but if you look at the history of the place, you'll see the moniker has a ring of truth. It's all complex, which is why I've probably only captured a fraction of it here. But it definitely makes for a fascinating experience of certainly the most different culture and country I've ever visited.
Photos to follow...
Thursday, 13 May 2010
First Report: Turkey
Turkey isn't really that far away from the UK. It's not a seismic shift in culture; I suspect it will be nothing compared to the next stop: Iran. Still, I feel like I've stepped into another world. Maybe it's the otherwordly landscapes we've encountered. Pammukale is a mountainside of shelves of smooth white rock. The sheer amount of pure whıte ın your frame of vıew disorients you; it feels like it should be snow, but the water that runs over it ıs warm, from the hot springs whıch contain the minerals that have created the whiteness. Just as alien are the vistas of Cappadocia, where metres and metres of volcanic ash have eroded to leave 'fairy chimneys' of soft 'tuff', rock which the inhabitants of the region have tunneled into to create their homes, like giant termite mounds.
In more prosaic fashion, it may just be the knowledge that, unlike any other trip I've ever taken, there is the knowledge that the next stop is onwards, as is the one after that and the one after that. 'Home' isn't until October, and maybe that's startıng to sink in. Part of it has to be the cultural differences, the little things, from the weird Turkish keyboard that's driving me crazy right now to the breakfasts of bread, olives, cucumber and tomato; from the language that we're just about getting our tongues around to the endless groups of men drinking tea and playing backgammon. Of course, it's all of these things.
Turkey is such a wonderful place to start our trip, though. There is so much friendliness here. Looking lost the other day in Kayseri resulted in a guy walking us to our bus stop, refusing to allow us to pay for our tickets, and waiting until our bus came so he could make sure we got on it safely. And so much beauty. As well as Pamukkale and Cappadocia, there are the ancient ruins at Hierapolis and Ephesus, which had us wandering round jaws agape. The Fatih mosque here in Kayseri is beautiful - I love the geometric designs and script; mosques to me seem such peaceful, reverent places. The old Roman aqueduct at Selçuk, with storks nesting atop every support and the quiet town nestling below, was beautiful to walk around.
Everyone is happy to talk to us, too. Admittedly, some of them want to sell us carpets, but they're very happy to talk to us about life, politics, being English and being Turkish. We,ve had our difficulties and adventures too - trying to book transport and get food (especıally veggie food) in places where they've no English is always a challenge, and my war aginst mosquitoes from previous trips abroad has resumed. Every time I stand there in my boxer shorts, torch in one hand (so as not to wake Briony with the light), rolled-up newspaper in the other like a harpoon, I understand a little more about Captain Ahab. The maps in our seven-year old Rough Guide are a tad dodgy, too, which has resulted in us wandering merrily with our backpacks into odd parts of town and down train sidings.
The best part of it all, though, is the feeling that this is our honeymoon, and we've earnt it. We,ve worked, and saved, and had donations from all the lovely people who were able to give something as a wedding gift, and it's felt so far away for so long, but now it's here, and we're only two weeks into it, with some of the more intrepid parts still to come. Later today we board the three-day train to Tehran. It seems like a great adventure, and it's only stage two.
Photos:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/brionyandterry/sets/72157624051526070/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/brionyandterry/sets/72157623927152097/
In more prosaic fashion, it may just be the knowledge that, unlike any other trip I've ever taken, there is the knowledge that the next stop is onwards, as is the one after that and the one after that. 'Home' isn't until October, and maybe that's startıng to sink in. Part of it has to be the cultural differences, the little things, from the weird Turkish keyboard that's driving me crazy right now to the breakfasts of bread, olives, cucumber and tomato; from the language that we're just about getting our tongues around to the endless groups of men drinking tea and playing backgammon. Of course, it's all of these things.
Turkey is such a wonderful place to start our trip, though. There is so much friendliness here. Looking lost the other day in Kayseri resulted in a guy walking us to our bus stop, refusing to allow us to pay for our tickets, and waiting until our bus came so he could make sure we got on it safely. And so much beauty. As well as Pamukkale and Cappadocia, there are the ancient ruins at Hierapolis and Ephesus, which had us wandering round jaws agape. The Fatih mosque here in Kayseri is beautiful - I love the geometric designs and script; mosques to me seem such peaceful, reverent places. The old Roman aqueduct at Selçuk, with storks nesting atop every support and the quiet town nestling below, was beautiful to walk around.
Everyone is happy to talk to us, too. Admittedly, some of them want to sell us carpets, but they're very happy to talk to us about life, politics, being English and being Turkish. We,ve had our difficulties and adventures too - trying to book transport and get food (especıally veggie food) in places where they've no English is always a challenge, and my war aginst mosquitoes from previous trips abroad has resumed. Every time I stand there in my boxer shorts, torch in one hand (so as not to wake Briony with the light), rolled-up newspaper in the other like a harpoon, I understand a little more about Captain Ahab. The maps in our seven-year old Rough Guide are a tad dodgy, too, which has resulted in us wandering merrily with our backpacks into odd parts of town and down train sidings.
The best part of it all, though, is the feeling that this is our honeymoon, and we've earnt it. We,ve worked, and saved, and had donations from all the lovely people who were able to give something as a wedding gift, and it's felt so far away for so long, but now it's here, and we're only two weeks into it, with some of the more intrepid parts still to come. Later today we board the three-day train to Tehran. It seems like a great adventure, and it's only stage two.
Photos:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/brionyandterry/sets/72157624051526070/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/brionyandterry/sets/72157623927152097/
Monday, 26 April 2010
Life in Boxes
So, my life is in boxes in storage; I now have access to the thirty-five litres deemed most indispensable, which is going to be my snail-shell on my back from now until October.
We fly on Friday. Izmir is the first stop, and I'm really looking forward to seeing Ephesus and the south-west coastline of Turkey, as well as Cappadocia and the fairy chimneys. A train will take us from there into Iran, where we've hopefully a family or two lined up to stay with; that really sounds like the best way to do it. From thence, India: Delhi, some of the tiger parks, Ladakh in the mountains of the north, and Kerala in the South -- some volunteering in there somewhere, and some meditation retreat type time. Then a bit of travelling through Southeast Asia to Cambodia and Angkor Watt, before making our way across Australia from Perth to Sydney...
Squee! Very excited now.
We fly on Friday. Izmir is the first stop, and I'm really looking forward to seeing Ephesus and the south-west coastline of Turkey, as well as Cappadocia and the fairy chimneys. A train will take us from there into Iran, where we've hopefully a family or two lined up to stay with; that really sounds like the best way to do it. From thence, India: Delhi, some of the tiger parks, Ladakh in the mountains of the north, and Kerala in the South -- some volunteering in there somewhere, and some meditation retreat type time. Then a bit of travelling through Southeast Asia to Cambodia and Angkor Watt, before making our way across Australia from Perth to Sydney...
Squee! Very excited now.
Monday, 5 April 2010
Two more stories...
Two new published stories.
Danse Macabre have published The Face of God:
http://dansemacabre.art.officelive.com/TheFaceOfGod.aspx
The Battered Suitcase have published Abandonment:
http://www.vagabondagepress.com/00301/V2I4SS1.html
Danse Macabre have published The Face of God:
http://dansemacabre.art.officelive.com/TheFaceOfGod.aspx
The Battered Suitcase have published Abandonment:
http://www.vagabondagepress.com/00301/V2I4SS1.html
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