Spain: Seville to Almeria to Pueblo Laguna

Friday, December 21-Saturday, December 22, 2007

Seville (English), Sevillha (Portuguese) Sevilla (Spanish) was a delightful city with incredible architecture. If I hadn’t had to keep my entire luggage with me, I would have explored the city for a couple of hours before I had to leave for Almeria.

By this time the rain had petered out, though there was still the occasional spotting, but nothing like what was going on in Portugal. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been able to get any photographs of the changing landscape through the rivulets of rain down my bus window. I did manage to see groves of oranges and the occasional one of lemons, and I what I thought might be olives.

With now being in Spain, and because I couldn’t do it before in Portugal, I had to purchase my bus ticket to continue on, hoping there was space for me. No problem as it was, so with ticket in hand, I then tried phoning my new ‘time share’ place to see how to get there. I was no longer in a tourist friendly place, so I had a few funny stabs at buying a phone card and trying to use the payphone when there was no English to go by at all. Eventually I managed with the help of a lovely young man, who didn’t speak much English, but understood what I was trying to do. All this, only to discover that there was not a connection from Almería to Vera Beach by bus until the following morning, so I would only be able to go as far as Almeria that day.

Seeing as how I’d left Portugal a day earlier than planned (I was paid up with my time share until Saturday morning, but there were no buses then, so I had to leave Friday morning), and I didn’t know until I got to Spain that I couldn’t get the bus to my resort until Sat morning, I was left without a place to stay on Friday night. I suspected this might happen, so decided not to worry about it, as I knew I’d find something. If not, I could potentially curl up in the bus station and wait it out.

I wondered around the block in Seville, dragging my luggage with me, and found a little place to eat some late lunch….There seemed to be plenty of people eating there, but the food wasn’t that great in the end, though at least they weren’t serving pigeon like I’d experienced at one place in Egypt.

As I returned to the bus station, I saw a down-on-his-luck guy curled up against the outside wall of the bus depot. He had a long scraggily beard, worn clothes and a worn look about him…it gave me a bit of a start when I suddenly thought about my plan of waiting overnight at the bus depot if I needed to. I decided that wasn’t going to be me after all and was determined to find a hotel or hostel.

I needn’t have worried, as when I arrived in Almería I was directed across the street from the bus station to the NH Hotel. From the outside it looked fairly expensive, but I thought I’d ask and if it was reasonable I’d stay, otherwise, I’d ask for their recommendations and then hop in a taxi and find a decent place. The NH Hotel turned out to be cheaper to stay than our regular hotels in Saskatchewan, and I grabbed a room.

Thank heavens the room was modern and really nice and warm. And I was able to have a lovely soak in a hot tub of water, because when I went to drag out my pj’s, they were wet. The outer layers of my clothes in my suitcase had been soaked by the rain. I quickly spread everything out on the furniture, knobs, hooks, etc., including my damp papers and books so that they would dry by morning. Luckily, I had a dry nightgown that escaped the rain, because it was tucked in the middle of my clothes in my suitcase. I had a lovely sleep in a very comfortable bed—the best bed I’d had since leaving Cyprus. The ones in Egypt were like lying on bricks, and the one in Portugal too ‘saggy.’ There was also plenty of warm water and lots of toilet paper…a commodity for sure when travelling, even in Portugal and Spain, particularly in public places.

My only worry at the hotel was that I didn’t have a clock in the room and would miss my bus the next morning. (My personal alarm clock gave up the ghost and I couldn’t figure out how to set the new I’d been given as a gift to the time change I was now in.) The reception staff seemed to think it odd that I needed to know what time it was until I needed a wake up call, which they would easily do. In the end they told me to call down to them any time I needed to know the time….I found this hilarious and didn’t do it, because I discovered the time on the TV display if I turned the set on by hand instead of with the remote. So when I woke in the middle of the night or near morning, I was able to see what time it was and roll over and go back to sleep.

Everything went like clockwork in the morning and I managed to catch my bus to Vera (I’d bought the ticket the night before, after arriving in Almería around 10 pm.). This time it was daylight and the sun was shining, so I was able to take a few photos along the way.

I was particularly fascinated by huge flat-roofed greenhouses along both sides of the highway.

They went for kilometre after kilometre, in fact many kilometres, maybe even 30 or 40 kms. I couldn’t really see what was in them, but they stretched what seemed like forever throughout the valley we were going through. I imagine they were grape vines, as the fruit groves didn’t seem to be covered. I must ask someone.

Once I arrived at the Vera bus station, I hopped into a taxi as I was told to do by the Vera Beach Club. Ironically, the bus ride from Almería to Vera was only 7.90 Euros and the taxi ride was 10 Euros from Vera to the Vera Beach Club—the taxi driver drove me back 8 miles to a place I’d already passed while on the bus. Had I known, I could have had the bus drop me off at a particular spot and walked the three or four blocks to the resort….such is life, particularly when you can’t speak the language and ask directions properly!

(If you can find Garrucha on the map on the coast and can see the red line going north, about where it ends is where I'm staying.)

At any rate, I’m staying in another lovely place, so far so good, though they wanted an arm and a leg for meals in their restaurant for the week, which included Christmas dinner of several choices that didn’t really appeal to me-not really traditional in Spain either as far as I could tell. I chose to wait before committing and I’m glad I did.

I wondered around and sussed out my environment again and discovered an ‘English pub’ three blocks away that serves great food and inexpensive prices. My lunch was so big; I don’t think I’ll need supper.

I got chatting to a woman (the waitress) from northern England who has been living here for the past eight months and a man (a customer) from England who lives up the coast, where he’s been for the past five years, since his retirement. They were both friendly and helpful.

The environment was very friendly and they have an Internet connection where I can take my laptop too. (The hotel also has Internet, but is more expensive though I will use it once in a while, I suppose.)

I expect I will be popping into the ‘pub’ for quite a few of my meals over the next week, at least when I’m not cooking for myself. I haven’t found a grocery store yet, but I haven’t ventured very far yet, nor have I asked.

The place I’m staying in is nicely equipped, though I don’t see any heat sources. Luckily, the temperature here is much warmer than in Portugal. I have a balcony from my living room and from my bedroom, and the place is spacious.

The time is 7 hours difference from Regina time. I am in room number 84 which is on the second floor of one of the units at the Vera Beach Club Resort.

There is great security here, in that they have locked gates to get into the property. A pain to carry the key to go in and out, but good to know we are a bit safer.

I can work on my laptop at the kitchen table and look out on some lovely gardened areas.

I love the tiled steps on the older buildings that are found fairly frequently.

It’s quite amazing to see Poinsettias planted in the ground as part of the flower beds.

They seem to be a darker red than the ones we have at home, but maybe it’s just my imagination.

I was particularly taken with the shaped trees that were wrapped like presents…they come in all shapes and sizes.

I've booked myself into an English pub for a traditional turkey Christmas dinner. It's a place called Roly's Too, (pictured here), which is about three blocks straight down the street from my resort.

The food choices at the resort where I was staying was unispired, but I will be going there in the evening to watch some Flamenco dancing.

Carvoeiro, Portugal

December 15-22, 2007

The week in Carvoeiro (near Faro) went by rather quickly, but it was one where I spent some time indoors catching up on all my blogs to date, reflecting on the places I’d already been, and finishing my online Teaching Adults English course. I also had a chance to do a little laundry the first say I arrived and did a little exploring locally.

For some reason I had lost my drive for venturing too far in Portugal. I’m sure there were wonderful historic places to visit, like the city of Silves, examples of medieval fishing villages, evidence of pirates and other places of historic interest. I did consider going on little excursions in the area, but they mostly consisted of either trips to sea the coast and caves, a place to see a Moorish castle and the homes of the three Fatima children, or trips into Spain. I decided to cool my heels and was glad I had considering what the weather was like.

Although the first day or two were reasonably warm and sunny, the rest of the week turned out to be cloudy, then stormy and rainy. The ‘rain in Spain might fall mainly on the plain,’ but the rain on the south western coast of Portugal comes down in torrents—so hard it’s like standing in the middle of a car wash.

I’m an early riser and it was a little frustrating for me to have to wait until almost 9 am before it became light so I could feel safe walking down to the village, and it was dark again by 6 pm. With the darkness and the rain in abundance, I took a cab a couple of times and found this magnificent restaurant that made a very tasty tuna pâté, which they served with thin slices of bread as a starter, along with sliced carrots and whole olives in some kind of sauce. The first time I ate there, I had a lovely tropical chicken meal, and because it was so good the first time, I went back to the same place on my last day and ordered halibut steak. Of course, I had the tuna pâté again and tried to weasel the recipe from them, but without success.

Tuna and sardines seemed to be the items most commonly on the menus there. Considering Carvoeiro is a fishing village, this is not surprising. I was also served a wonderful fish soup at one place….the ingredients change all the time, depending on the fresh catches of the day. There were tons of different kinds of fish to choose from, but I mostly cooked my own tiny meals in my suite, where I was just as happy.

On one of my ventures out, I found a much better Internet café than the place I’d been using which was actually a couple of computers tucked into the corner of a junky ‘nickel and dime’ store. The new place had some wonderful ‘hot chocolate’, perhaps the best I’ve ever tasted….at least it was sure good on the rainy night I went there.

I did meet a young girl from Brazil, who helped me translate an e-mail message from a school in Spain, and an elderly English couple who were a great deal of fun. Luckily too, a tiny shop at the bottom of the stairs from my set of rooms had some used English books in it. The Donkey Sanctuary Charity Shop had clothes and household things as well, tucked into two tiny rooms. I would by some used books, read them, then donate them back again. I thought about buying some warmer clothes, but didn’t as there wasn’t any room in my luggage for more, and I suspected I would be in a warmer climate again soon.


The main problem with the place I stayed was that it didn’t have any proper heating. Even on the warm days, it was quite cold….two small wall heaters just couldn’t do the big place (one very small one in the bedroom and another to do the entire rest of the place, which was quite big)….as it was, it finally warmed up a little in the suite on the last day that I left. Up until then, I had quilts and blankets piled on top of me, and I wore my socks to bed some nights. The clothing I’d brought was actually quite adequate otherwise. I just put on a long-sleeved t-shirt, a warm pullover and my jacket. I just needed an umbrella and a pair of clothes, though I did just fine.

As I had not pre-booked my travel from Portugal to Spain, I had a little difficulty getting flights on the day I needed (Sat Dec 22), so I ended up buying a bus ticket. Not as simple as it sounds, as it turned out.

First I had to take a taxi from Carvoeiro to Lagoa at 6:30 in the morning. The taxi people wouldn’t let me book the ride the night before, but suggested to call in the morning when I was ready to go. The first problem I had was that the dispatcher in the morning didn’t have a smidgen of English and it took some doing to get him to understand where I was and where I wanted to go. Normally they only take 5 or 10 minutes to arrive, but almost 20 passed and I was beginning to think I wouldn’t get to the bus station on time (and there wasn’t another one for two days).

As per usual on this day, the rain was pounding everything in sight by the time the taxi driver finally arrived. He had no intention of getting out and helping and so I hauled my luggage down the staircase and a few metres across the patio through the puddles in the parking lot and to the waiting taxi. The driver watched me struggle with my luggage until he realized I was getting his back seat wet, and then he got out and opened his trunk and transferred it there.

For me, after being in the deluge of rain for only a couple of minutes, I felt like I’d been dumped out of a washing machine before the spin cycle. I was soaked from head to toe and could feel the dampness all the way through three layers of clothes. It wasn’t until I was safely on the bus and rummaging through my backpack that I realized how wet everything was. All my papers were sodden and the sweater I pulled out of my backpack to change into was wet as well. I ended up hanging my jacket, pullover, sweater, etc. over the bus seats to dry them out, but the bus wasn’t that warm. Of course, my pant legs, socks, shoes, etc. were also soggy, so I was a cool, damp bunny.

After four hours of snatching bits of sleep, reading a little when it became light enough, and turning my damp clothes over, we reached Seville, where I had a three hour wait before I could catch my connection to Almeria.

Travel Reflections from November 10 to December 15, 2007

Upon reflection of my travels thus far, I’ve noted that in Cyprus the things that stood out for me there were the crazy driving and parking, the temperate climate, my first glimpse of the Mediterranean Sea, the wonderful historic and mythical sites and the multitude of different nationalities that have immigrated there. Besides the large influx of Brits, there were many from the eastern European countries and Russia – Bulgaria, Slovakia, Yugoslavia, Poland, etc. I’ll always remember my jaunt to the Turkish side as well, crossing ‘no man’s’ land and seeing the magical castle built as part of the mountain. I will also remember the fact that the champagne in France is mostly made from Cyprus grapes. Above all, I will recall some of the wonderful people I met in Limassol and their invitations to return.

In Egypt, I mostly met travellers from all over the world, and there was a huge portion of Russians visiting. There would be whole tour buses of them and amongst the other tourist they did not have a very good reputation…they were known for being greedy, because they would load up their plates at buffets and then not eat much and for being loud, talkative, obnoxious, and rude with little thought for others. In fact, I shared the same opinion after having a bad experience with one couple.

We were returning from Cairo after a very long day and there was some confusion after landing at the airport as to which bus we were to get on to take us back to our hotels. There were always a ring of tour people standing with signs announcing the tour group, and you were supposed to find yours and then be led back to the bus.
(photo on the Nile)
However, in our case, we didn’t actually know who our tour company was (or that we were to find out before we left- nor were we told—I certainly didn’t know the tour company, because it was my first trip away from Sharm and the names on the buses didn’t reflect the company – they just rented buses from wherever). At any rate, we couldn’t locate our tour leader. (He either arrived late or was standing far behind the others and we didn’t see him….he also wasn’t holding up a sign either. Of course, we didn’t know any of this until the ‘incident’ took place.)

The usual scenario was that once we arrived at destinations they would divide us into buses of particular languages, and I was always on an English-speaking bus (though often with people whose first language was something else like Italian or German or something.) A tour guide for your particular language was on the bus and you had to follow him closely. Usually they held up a stick or sign, or something so you could see them.

Throughout the day you came to recognize a few people from your group as you travelled from place to place. We had to try to keep in our same groups and not get lost, amongst so many other groups that would criss-cross your own. We all would pick out the easily identifiable people in our group, like three tall British lads who towered over the rest of us, or the chubby, older Australian couple, or the young couple with nose piercings and weird clothes, etc.


(photo on the Nile)

Once we returned to the airport, total confusion reigned, because there were tons of people on the flight and many tour companies holding up signs. Sometimes like sheep we continued following other people with whom we’d been touring with, but this was a mistake, as those who were on the tour buses with us once we reached our destination, were not necessarily those on our hotel buses, although a few might be. You had to try to recall who had been on the original bus from the hotels (yeah right this was sixteen hours later). My three tall Brit lads had disappeared to take a taxi back to their hotel as they had to attend some special supper, so I couldn’t count on them any more.

So the rest of us tried to find each other, and as it turned out a few people figured out that we were with Sharm Voyage tours. As it happens there were three Sharm Voyage leaders and buses taking people to different groups of hotels, but the two that we found didn’t know anything about our bus when we enquired. Like lost sheep we kept asking various people where we were to go, and all at once this one feisty Russian guy became very angry and began shouting and demanding to know where we were to go. His wife (holding their young daughter) marched right behind him.

He crashed through the group and pushed me aside – at which point I declared – “Don’t push me!” I though he was going to attack me, but he thought better of it, glared and kept going, grabbing the small, young tour leader by the front of his shirt and shaking him, trying to hit him. Another tour leader stepped forward and pushed the Russian fellow off the first guy. The Russian wife stood yelling at the tour people, and several others came to intervene.

All at once our own tour leader appeared at the back of the crowd and when we noticed him, the Russian fellow calmed down enough to follow along, but never apologized for attacking anyone or causing a ruckus. We were all a little shaken by the incident and gave the Russian couple a wide berth. I prayed I would never see them again and I didn’t, though the wife tied into me as I got off the bus, because I was making arrangements with the tour leader about the trip I was to go on to Petra the following morning (five hours away), and her daughter was tired and she wanted to get back to the hotel. I just got off without saying anything to her….she was bigger than me!

I was wary of Russian people after that and soon discovered people from other nationalities who had similar opinions. I’m sure there are wonderful, gentle Russian people about, but they have bad reputations amongst the travellers in Egypt. I also discovered the Americans had reputations for being rude as well in many countries. Even Tina, the woman who owns a five-star complex in England doesn’t like American travellers, because of their aggressive, rude attitudes. People everywhere assured me Canadians are well thought of, though of course, I know we have our negative moments and our unpopular people as well.

I’m very glad to get away from the Egyptian men….not sure if they like the full-bodied look, older women, or that I’m too friendly or perhaps I’m smiling too much, because I’m happy to be out and about seeing the world. Their aggression was way too over done….they are certainly compassionate, romantic and sensitive men, but I couldn’t stand the phoniness. I guess they do it to get more tips, but it worked the opposite on me. There was one persistent man who worked at the Hilton resort where I stayed. He wanted to take me to Turkey for a week at his expense and he insisted on giving me his e-mail address so we could plan it later, though I have no intention of going anywhere with him…he was only 28. So many of the men were so very young, but that didn’t stop 61 year old Tina who was being whined and dined by a 23 year old. Her body was quite trim and slim, and she certainly dressed in a sexy way, though with too many frills. She tanned so much her skin looked like leather and she looked a little haggard to me. Truly, the young waiter from the bar must have wanted a large tip and was likely to get it too.


The strongest memory I will carry of Egypt will be of the friendly people everywhere, but also of the harassing of these same people/vendors and honking taxi drivers, who never left anyone alone like wasps attacking someone who has stirred up their nest.
When I think of Egypt I will also remember the moon on its side and the starlit nights over the desert and the Sinai Mountains, the severe poverty contrasting with the lush tourist places, the smell of the camels, the horrible traffic in Cairo, the heat of the sun during the day, and the magnificent pyramids, temples and other spectacular structures, the Nile River, and the perfume and papyrus shops.

I’d actually had enough of Egypt by the time I’d left and needed a break from all the hustle and bustle. I was happy to be leaving for what I think of as a more ‘civilized’ country.

Flight to Portugal

December 14, 2007 - Egypt to Portugal

I left my hotel in Sharm el Sheikh at 9:30 pm, taking a taxi instead of the hotel shuttle as it was way cheaper 50 EP instead of 85. I spent a couple of hours in the airport in cold air conditioning, which chilled me through and through. We flew out after midnight to Cairo (a half hour late) and I was to have another two hours wait in Cairo, but as we were late, I had to rush. There was no proper link from one air terminal to the other, so I was directed up a non-working escalator (with the help of someone finally as it was long and steep and my luggage weighed too much by this time- I gave him a good tip), out some back door, along the fringes of a parking lot without any proper route or signs, following another family and into the next Terminal. There someone rushed up to me and asked if I was taking the flight to Lisbon. When I answered in the affirmative he told me to hurry as the flight was boarding and I would miss it.

He rushed me into the terminal, past others waiting in line through the security to the ticket counter, and through the next security and then he disappeared when I tried to find my boarding gate…I asked for directions along the way and ran through the crowds worried that I was missing my flight and not wanting to spend the night in the Egyptian airport. I arrived at the gate to find that the loading area was in darkness. I couldn’t understand how I’d missed my flight when it wasn’t supposed to have left for another hour. A security person, who didn’t speak English, emerged from the gate and motioned me to wait.

Then I noticed another young woman standing nearby. I asked first if she spoke English and then if she was also going to Lisbon. She had been rushed the same way, but had been waiting for a half an hour. We continued standing there until the appropriate boarding time, the first in a line-up of people also travelling to Spain. We were then bussed over to the plane.

There weren’t many of us on the flight, so I had a row of three seats to myself and was able to lay down and sleep for a while. The flight was five hours, but they kept the lights on for quite a while after they served us beverages and then woke us up well before landing time to give us breakfast (a wiener with a moulded fried egg, two buns, some jam, cream cheese, and rice pudding). Once we were finished they turned the lights off again and we were able to go off to sleep (well, try anyway), until it was time to land.

My plane arrived in Lisbon as the hint of daybreak beckoned. In the near dark we circled over the city lit like a jewel-encrusted bodice on a black velvet gown. I already knew I would like this country as the twinkling of the lights beckoned and the sun slowly rose through the rest of my travels to Lagoa.

I had another two hour stint in Lisbon before flying to Faro; however this was mostly taken up with two things. One was a very long bus ride through city streets to the local terminal. At one point of this ride, one of my fellow passengers began laughing and pointing at something. I looked back to see what was causing his merriment and saw a piece of lonely luggage lying on the road miles from anywhere. I chuckled too until I looked a little closer. Was that my suitcase?

I couldn’t get a good enough look at it, but it certainly looked like mine. I thought about what was in it and decided not to worry; it was only a bunch of clothes I eventually wanted to get rid of anyway, and if it didn’t arrive, I could go out and buy some new ones with the money they would give me to replace it.

Finally reaching the next terminal I stood for quite a time in the wrong line-up trying to get my boarding pass (which the Egyptian airport people had not given me). The air carrier person didn’t direct me very well from the information kiosk and I need to go across the terminal to a different place, but I didn’t know this until I’d made my way to the beginning of the line up.

Once I got my boarding pass and my bearings for the gate, I found an ATM and managed to get some Euros so I had some local money. And at least, bathrooms in Portugal were an improvement, though security was almost as tight as in Egypt.

I once again went through several security check points, then to the departure gate for Faro, where we were boarded onto a bus again and bussed almost back to where we had started from to board the plane.

The trip was only 40 minutes long and very beautiful with the sun coming out in full force to shine over the sometimes mountainous terrain. There were lovely patchwork fields and rivers and lakes and then the Mediterranean Sea again. The soil seems reddish and lush after the dryness of the Egyptian sands.

Once we landed I was met by a driver in a van, who taxied me to Lagoa and my resort at Carvoeiro.

First Days in Portugal

December 15, 2007 - Saturday

After checking in to the Monte Carvoeiro Clube, I had a quick lunch at the café connected to the resort – a lovely normal tuna sandwich on ciabata bread. I hadn’t been able to get a sandwich in Egypt except dried up stale ones in the airport. (Food everywhere is another whole topic.)

Although I have only just arrived in Portugal, I already know I will remember it as a calming place with wonderful sea and mountain views, and charming villages, modern and vibrant. I’m sure it will be a place of respite where I will enjoy writing and pottering around. At least the suite where I am staying is perfect for these pastimes.

I have a full suite with living room, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom and balcony. I have laundry facilities (an automatic washing machine and a clothes line on the balcony), full cooking capabilities, and everything handy here, like a grocery store, medical centre, drug store, used and new clothing stores, gift shop, a swimming pool, etc. The air is cooler though and I doubt I will be swimming in the pool here, unless we get some warmer days.

I poked around the hotel to see if I could connect to the Internet (they have a computer in the lobby, but the Internet is slower than frozen molasses) and the electrical supply with my laptop, asked about a post office and Internet café, etc. I was given a map by the reception people.

I explored my immediate surroundings, walking down into the narrow winding streets of the village. The map turned out to be hard to follow (as confirmed by others) and I got lost (only a little). I know where the post office is now, but the Internet Café I was told about didn’t exist. I chatted with people on the street and found my way and another Internet café where I can take my laptop and be connected so I can continue uploading blogs.

The walk back to my hotel from the old market at the bottom of the hill is a beautiful one along a stone wall where I can overlook the Atlantic Ocean and the high cliffs with their swirls of colour and jaggedness that proclaims their elegance and power, thwarting sailing ships over the centuries.

I can just see the sea from my balcony too. The sunset over the Atlantic Ocean in the softest blue and pink pastels I’ve ever seen, like gauzy fairy princess dresses or soft glowing candles melding into the water.

I’ve changed currency and languages again and my way of thinking and understanding has been altered yet again too. Where I had to come to terms with spending what seemed like a large amount of 35 Egyptian Pounds on a hamburger, I now have to go to refrain from thinking that 3 Euros for a tuna sandwich is really cheap. One can easily become miserly when the number seems higher and be extravagant when it is lower, yet they might both be similar in Canadian dollars.

The nuances in the Portuguese language are quite different from the inflections of Arabic, so one listens in a different way. Luckily Portuguese is similar to Spanish in many cases and I can understand some of what is being said to me, though my faltering Mexican Spanish words and phrases are different yet again.

I spent the rest of the late afternoon and evening making myself at home, doing some hand laundry, shopping for food for supper and watching a little TV. I can get a few British and a couple of American channels here, so can watch shows I’m a little familiar with, even though they are a season behind North America (just as they were in Egypt). (At least I’m not watching old Gunsmoke episodes, like I had to in Cyprus where I stayed.) I still don’t get any Canadian news, so have no idea what’s going on in my home part of the world. Perhaps someone will let me know if something significant happens, like if Regina still exists…..

The time difference from Canada is less here, only six hours as opposed to the eight in Cyprus and Egypt. This makes it a little easier to make phone calls if necessary. For the most part, I will be staying put in and around my suite, writing, finishing my online course, relaxing, etc. so probably won’t post any blogs for a few days, unless something noteworthy happens or occurs to me…..

Personal Reflections

Sunday, December 16, 2007

The time is going very quickly for me as I travel…sometimes I lose track of what date or day it really is and I have no context of what it’s like in Saskatchewan. I vaguely hear about a very cold temperature back home and quickly dismiss it before it sinks in, grateful to be in warmer temperatures myself, but not wishing to remember the cold winter others are still facing.

I’ve seen so very much in the last month that it is sometimes overwhelming, but I keep writing my blog to try and capture as much as I can about an environment so that I can remember it all later….and of course, I am happy to share my experiences with others who care to read of my personal journey.

I’m being totally selfish—no not selfish, but doing things just for myself—and it’s a strange thing after being/feeling so responsible for my son and others, my house, the bills, maintenance, and my job, etc., for so many years, All I have to worry about now is what I’m going to do and see each day and basic survival needs like where am I staying and what/where am I going to eat and what will it cost. (A part of me still worries about my son and I’m sure I always will, after all I am a mother still, and happy to be, but that worry is changing too to something else though I can’t describe it yet. After all he’s grown up now and can take care of himself....I don’t need to be there to help him with everything, but rather be a sounding board and offer guidance when I am asked….I must remember this…being away from him is very good for me and for him too, I hope.)

I’ve planned the accommodation part of my journey until the end of December, so I’m fine there, though I must think of what I am doing after Spain. I may stay longer in Spain as it’s one of those places I’ve always wanted to go and I’ve always wanted to have a Spanish villa. Though I want to see Italy and Greece too, and all the other countries in Europe as well. My passport pages are not filled up with stamps yet…..

I can start teaching in China at the beginning of March, but must confirm this soon, and then I must decide what to do for January and February, if I accept that teaching position. Perhaps I will continue touring Europe and then be ready to do Asia when I get to China. I’m not feeling ready to be committed to something yet, especially so far in the future, but the job in China is a great opportunity and only for three months to start, though it can continue for longer, I believe. I am grateful to have been chosen to go there and for the experience it will give me.

There are still a few loose ends that I am tying up from home that are linked to my documentary making and books, but those are quickly disappearing too, as I have to decline invitations for readings and screenings for special occasions that will be taking place at the beginning of 2008. It’s only with a twinge of regret that I decline as I am so far removed from that life now. The invitations are still a great honour, but I can’t go backwards to the same thing I was doing before I left….it’s time for me to move on to other things. Besides I’m thousands of miles away and not likely to return for a while yet.

I am making some kind of transition from my old life into a new one, though I’m still not sure what shape that will take yet. I’m still so thrilled at being able to travel and see countries that I’ve only dreamed of seeing. It hasn’t totally sunk in yet that I don’t have a job or home to come back to anymore, though of course, I know I can always come back to Regina/Saskatchewan/Canada and find both again any time.