Brighton abundance day

A happy outing to an apple orchard in Brighton with Mr Handsome and the Polish fairy at Stamner Park's annual abundance day. The day was filled with apple crumble, children pressing juice, a wander through the quiet woods and permaculture sites, tasting some of the 30 apple varieties found just in Sussex, spying pretty country cottages, tree climbing for the best fruit, and story telling in the orchard. And if in doubt with what to do with all those extra apples, cut them into round slices and dehydrate them for a snack later. Nothing more rewarding than seeing where one's food comes from, and sharing it with friends.

Shambala mandala

Festivals are a big deal in the UK. You cannot really say you have had a summer unless you have roughed it with a pair of wellies and some camping gear in some green field in the countryside for the weekend and come back disheveled and needing a scrub down. Shambala was a cacophony of glitter, secret gardens, swamp creatures, pyrotechnic dragons and glowing tulips. You could go for a communal yoga session or charlston class in the morning, head for a permaculture gathering or art workshop in the afternoon, watch a movie or a band or go on fun-fair rides in the evening. I came across fire-spitting horses, shaman rituals, gypsy caravans, friendly Polish faeries, cowboys and indians, glow-in-the-dark earthworm costumes, burning effigies and unicorns. The odd disgusting campsite did however spoil the mood (British festival goers are notorious for leaving everything behind at festivals, these organisers had some scruples however and had a recycling scheme in place, but still could not motivate everyone to clean after themselves), a seeming normality for first-world folk to throw things away after one weekend-use. Nothing like this atrocity though. Mental note: NEVER go to Reading Festival. EVER.

Cloud Cuckoo Land Festival 2013

My first foray into British festivals. And of course it rained. And I believed the weather forecasts that said 'sunny all week'. So wearing the same singular jersey for 4 days and slip slide navigation though mud without wellies was challenging, but be that as it may Cloud Cuckoo Land brought a collection of people together that resonated close to my own heart. Environmental activists, yurt makers, artists, singing faeries, smiling bubble makers, fracking opposers, shining faces, permaculture experts, recyclers, wild-haired children doing what they should be doing- playing outdoors, capitalist protesters and hoola hoopers. There were interesting talks about food waste (all food for staff was provided by the People's Kitchen who use diverted food from landfill - all delicious, all vegetarian), off the grid living (all the talks were powered by bicycle peddling), laughter and conventional yoga, rum imported on a sailboat (the greenest way to ship goods), eager participants making jewelry out of trash and being accosted by the glitter pixies. I volunteered with Upcycling, a non-profit that helps segregate all the rubbish accumulated during the festival. It was at times disheartening seeing what people throw away, and how carelessly they do it. Must be a first world thing. Came across men's ties still in their packaging, full sets of edible eggs in their cartons, tents, cans of unopened alcohol, clothes, cosmetics, fruit, shoes, toys, inflatable pool rings to name a few. So so much waste, most of it unsorted, and nowhere to put it but in the ground. Be that as it may, the spirit of this festival was worth the teeth chattering at night, and the mud-stained sneakers in the morning. Who needs mainstream festivals anyway?

A little bit of peace and quiet

London can be busy a busy place needless to say, so earlier in the year (April in fact! That's how behind I am on posting), I decided to go to Gloucester. The cathedral there is again another wonder, cathedrals never cease to impress me. This one in particular is where the first two Harry Potter movies were filmed (Wheee! Inner dork alert), the stained glass window there was at a stage the largest in Europe (its size makes up an entire tennis court) and apparently shows one of the earliest recordings of golf being played.

From there I had the lucky chance to go on a 10-day silent vipassana meditation retreat, learning the ancient technique of meditation taught in India more than 2500 years ago as a "universal remedy for universal ills". Wandering the grounds in silence, noticing the spring flowers change and grow every morning in the woodlands on the retreat grounds did more than a sermon could have done methinks.

When the course was over and everyone dispersed back to reality, I held back to walk in the Hereford countryside. I stumbled upon a peculiar car graveyard that had succumbed to nature. Armed tanks, vintage trucks and cars no longer of use had been discarded in this strange section close to the retreat. It gave me satisfaction to see how they had surrendered to nature, becoming more beautiful in their acceptance of their fate. And with that acceptance of letting things be, I returned back to London with a little bit of Goenka's and nature's teachings.

And the rivers run through it

My oh my, how time does fly. Some many places have been seen and so little time to share them. A while back I was able to visit Scotland for a wee while, overlapping with a long overdue reunion with friends that I met while walking the Camino de Santiago a few years back. A weekend wash-out in true Scottish style, we attempted to climb Glencoe but the winds were too fierce up at the top, so we ended up doing a shorter walk through woodlands and inbetween soft winding rivers. A fellow mountaineer pointed out dwarf trees that grow in patchy mosaics in high altitudes. These mini birches find it hard to grow against the wind and cold of these bleak windswept mountains, and I found the idea of stunted trees in such a wet climate somewhat fascinating.

I was lucky enough to spot Loch Ness, stare at snow-spattered mountain tops and moss over every surface. Old abandoned castles draped in ivy, and quiet plains with not a soul walking on them. I came across a soft-spoken man, with even softer-spoken eyes who told me about the living architecture he had just built out of willow. It turns out he was a MacDougall son, whose estate I was wandering on. He was worried the willow would rot from all the rain they had been given, and can be found just behind Dunollie Castle, on land his family clan has owned for over a thousand years. It overlooks Oban, a sleepy seaside town, where days were quiet and nights even quieter. A brisk walk west of the town, you can catch a ferry across to Kerrera, an island also owned by the Macdougalls, and walk to see Gylen castle. Stop off at Kerrera Tea Garden just by the castle for some soup to warm up if you ever walk there, you will most likely need to dry off at some point. 

You walk alone, past grazing pastures and wonder what residents do on such a lonely island. It was lambing season, and all you could see were little white shadows following their mothers. A women who offered me a lift said that they were coming up to 9 months and would be taken from their mothers soon. I was relieved I would not be around to hear their mothers wail for them to come back to them. In Scotland's harsh yet beautiful vistas lay its sadness. Such a beautiful landscape changed irrevocably to feed man's hunger, coming across no native wildlife, only animals to eat.

Forest Farm Peace Garden

Coming from a country with wide open spaces and fresh air, a need arises from time to time to seek out places where you can breath a little. It's a luxury to have a garden in London, and in my search to reconnect with the soil, I came across a community garden called the Forest Farm Peace Garden in Hainault. I wanted to get my fingers dirty again, plant, weed, learn about plant species and how to forage. I've discovered how to make charcoal sticks, how to drum (at the World Music Day event held today in fact), I've tasted soup made from stinging nettles, a weed delicious and high in minerals. I've seen a cob oven been built from scratch from natural materials, found out that you can eat rhubarb stems but not the leaves, but they can be used as a fertilizer tea. I've discovered that you can stick a willow branch into the ground and it will grow, and you can make seed pots out of newspaper. Every week, on wednesdays and fridays, is a chance to feel like you are in the countryside and away from the city. A chance to unravel, have a chat with like-minded folk, grow food from seed, get away from the laptop, and breath some fresh air again.

Finally, some snow!

Snow finally arrived! Many a snowball was thrown around Hampstead Heath (that looked magically quiet until reaching Parliament Hill, the place to go apparently with your snow sled and sproglet kids in tow), many off-shaped snowmen were spotted, and much oggling was done on a walk to Audley End (that impressive manor-looking place close to Cambridge). Nothing quite like walking over abandoned rail tracks covered in snow, and following a quietly-trickling river to an English heritage site.

Canals, cheese and cycles

And a kak load of that I got with the Christmas visit to Amsterdam and the surrounds recently. Such much of cheese. And canals. And bicycles. Every. Where. You. Look. My lovely friend Little Miss Gerbil was sweet enough to loan out her flat in the lovely Spaarndammer area of the dam, with yummy Moroccan bakeries and veggie/vegan restaurants in the area (one being Zaal 100). She left us 2 trusty bicycles to explore with (this is usual apparently for Hollanders to have more than one bike..!), and off we went. The dam pretty much looks as it was since my last visit many moons ago, with streetart, millions of bicycles, Rembrandt masterpieces still as breathtaking as ever, with a few new additions of romantic couples dancing to street buskers, pesto cheese, even more design studios, and a lovely light show across the city added to it over Christmas.

Cycling away from the city is super easy (once you manage to find your way out of Amsterdam that is). The Dutch are amazing that way, they have clearly marked out cycle routes linking their cities together, so really, you could explore the whole country on a bicycle. So off we went towards Marken, a little island to the north east of Amsterdam, as well as Monnickendam,Volendam and Edam (because I have an obsession with cheese and it felt fitting to go there). Like so many of Holland's lovely towns, Edam has authentic 17th century architecture, gables, squares, bridges and monuments, old streets and quiet canals, one can easily imagine what it was like centuries ago. Big on shipbuilding there too. I'd recommend stopping off at the local pubs and having a chat with locals. Dutch people are nice that way.We met a man warming up on gluwein, who just caught a fish for his supper.

A 15 minute train ride to the left of Amsterdam is Haarlem, tulip bulb-growing district for centuries bearing the nickname Bloemenstad (flower city) and owner of De Adriaan, one of the many windmills we were to see! Yes we even went to Zaanse Schans, the somewhat Disneyland of windmills. Some of them are still in working order too, the ultimate environmentally-friendly factory, some still saw wood and press oil. We met one of the workers of the mill at a little granny's place along the windmill stretch, selling gluwein for €1, the best bargain we had found to date. He mentioned that the moment the mills 'retire' they rot, so it's best to keep them working.

And to top it all off, we were invited to a Christmas lunch by a pair of little Miss Gerbil's friends, where I met the prettiest snow leopard named Lux. Yes, total strangers invited us over for Christmas. That's how awesome Dutch people are.