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Don’t Buy Ivory

Stone Town streets

Stone Town streets (Photo credit: Berlotti)

Don’t buy ivory. Thats what we were told. None. Therefore, when I walked down the row of shop in Stone Town and entered one selling little souvenirs that were hopefully only made of Malachite. This hope, I was to find out, was ill founded. My young eyes wandered over the rows of items that included little hippos that you could hold in the palm of your hand and tiny cooking pots, hehe.

One could smell the malachite in these places, a wonderful sense. You could also duck into these buildings, made of cool stone, as the name of the city suggests, to escape the heat. Not that that was intolerable. In fact, it was no worse than you might find in the Mediterranean. They had the most lovely vibrant colours in their products as well. Its as though someone had splattered fifty different shades all over the walls and just let it dry.

Hanging in Stone Town

Hanging in Stone Town (Photo credit: Camera, Lights)

I wanted to buy one to bring home to my mother. I came back off that trip to Zanzibar with an entire carry-on bag just full of souvenirs. Everything from silk to kitchen utensils. I casually strode over, with the floor creaking below me, and, with my long reach, plucked one of the pots off the top shelf.

We asked all the time about the materials used to make them. “How much?” I asked the owner, showing him my prospective merchandise.

“18,000 shillings”. I nearly died! That was almost seven pounds. I was going to ask him what the base material was but that high price made me know inside. “Ivory?”, I again queried him. “Yes” was the answer. I promptly put the item back on the shelf.

A bedrock rule of the charity I was with, teaching English in a place called Jambiani on the east coast, was “Do not buy Ivory!”

The charity was African Impact.

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Swimming With Dolphins In Zanzibar

A dolphin leaps out of the water in the Indian...

A dolphin leaps out of the water in the Indian Ocean, off the coast of Zanzibar, Tanzania. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Would you like to swim with dolphins in the Indian Ocean? I can tell you that I certainly enjoyed it when I had the opportunity to do so in July of 2011. It was a truly wondrous feeling! We were taken out about a mile or so beyond the reef and were positioned so that the dolphin pods swam right through our group of small craft.

Its an amazing feeling! Once you’re out there, the boat skipper will say “get ready”. You all sit on one side of the boat. This sounds like a bad idea, and it is but, somehow, the boats manage to stay upright. As the groups appear on the horizon, he’ll yell “go!”. Thats exactly what you do. Into the water then.

What happens next, you’ll never forget. These lovely, intelligent creatures pass right between you and the next man, providing you with the most spiritual experience ever known to man. On their migration route too! I tell you, I came back with the biggest smile on my face. These happy souls show off as though they were in a fun park in the azure of the Indian Ocean.

 

Swimming with dolphins

Swimming with dolphins (Photo credit: Krister462)

 

It was a really special day. It is one that remains in your memory, not because you did something unique, but because you connect with mother nature in a way that is impossible to describe to anyone who hasn’t done it. They have the tamest natures and the happiest smiles on their faces. Smiles all around!

And you can buy a bracelet of a little wooden dolphin off the vendors that are around:)

Skansen, a guide to Stockholm’s 19th century exhibit

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A fully-functioning 19th-century village? Thats what you’ll find in Sweden’s oldest open air museum, formed in 1891. Truly magnificent in both content and scale, it is a must-see for anyone wishing to visit this Bastion of Scandinavia. The Post Office still operates and arts and crafts are taught all year round. 

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Its name is…Skansen!

If you like the smell of timber and architecture of the 19th century then this is the place for you. The sight of people in period costume  of the place and the architecture will leave you breath-taken. The staff are informative and there is an authentic Swedish chef. Ever seen the muppets? He’ll remind you of them. It is truly the heart of 19th century Sweden. The open air cafes are abundant. So is cycling…

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There are places like Helin and Voltaire that serve coffee tea and pastries, the smell of which you’ll never forget, plus more, or there is Skansen terrace, a wonderful open-air venue where you can sit and drink under the sky of a long summer evening. Want to have your own little glass moose? Why not go to the glass-blower and watch him make it before your very eyes?

All the fauna of Sweden are kept here. If you find seals cute and cuddly, a grey one is fed every day at his aquatic enclosure. He looks happy all -day long. The size of the enclosures is large. The animals have plenty of room and are loved by both staff and visitors.

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Its harmony with nature leads you to think of all the dream you dreamt as a child.

Cornwall

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It was a bright June day when we set out for Cornwall. I was excited. It was just my mother and I for the first time in ages! Not only that: I was also headed back to Cornwall again for the first time in six years! 2008 was the year.

We were to see sights that were both commonplace in modern English culture and those steeped in the ancient mysteries of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.

We were headed to Mullion Cove, where we had spent some time in a holiday cottage after having moved from Canada in May of 2002. We set out early in the day and expected to camp for the whole time we were away. In actual fact, it was too cold and, on the second night, we opted for a travelodge.

However, the first night was spent in a campsite, us having packed a tent in the back of our Subaru. When we got to the cove on the first day, we spent some time wandering around, taking various photos. We got some absolute scorchers as well! It figures, though. My mums a photographer. What a lovely setting.

The rugged coastline and unique culture of this part of the world leaves you with the feeling that it is completely disconnected from the mainland of United KingdomWe spent the evening in a nice pub up on the hill behind the cove.

It was a pleasant place with an outside seating area/garden and there was a lovely breeze coming off the water. The tables were clean and the food was decent. It also had the most pleasant path leading up to it…

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We had a game of dice. Its very similar to Yahtzee, a North American game. We took a walk along the top of the cliffs and sampled the view as the sun set on the western horizon. At this time of day, it is a beautiful and truly spiritual place. 

Our campsite was on top of the hill above the hamlet and was therefore a little breezy. The sleeping in the tent was a little cold, although I didn’t feel this. I was snug a bug in a rug. Also, it was a three-man tent. Thats handy, given that I’m 6 feet 5 inches.

It was about five in the morning and a dull gun-metal sky presided over us. We packed the tent and set out across Cornwall for St Ives. My mum was very kind and gave up some of her day at Naval Air Station Culdrose‘s viewing area, complete with cafeteria. I remember taking a good shot of a Sea King helicopter based there. Good tea too!

Royal Navy Sea King

Royal Navy Sea King (Photo credit: fromthevalleys-)

When we got to St Ives, it was still grey. Not clear like our previous day. The town retained its appearance, however. A rare quality is that this county, and, moreover, St Ives will look good no matter what the weather. In fact, it is probably more beautiful in the mist and fog. It is also home to the Tate St Ives.

Tate St Ives, Cornwall

Tate St Ives, Cornwall (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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What the town is Unique in is its peninsula-style harbour that has twin beaches, a feature that is not replicated anywhere else, to my knowledge. Although the sea gulls will try to steal your ice cream if you’re by the waterfront.

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The smell of the sea mixed with fish and chips…and I mean the authentic English style…would be out of place on any other shore, especially without the accompanying countryside. It really fills the nostrils. It really can not be copied successfully either, although some areas of the world try to sell them with authenticity. It doesn’t ring true!

In the afternoon, we headed for the small town of Mousehole. This is a quaint town typical of any Cornish fishing community. It boasts a lovely harbour area, filled with small boats for rent, and a line of postcard shops with cafes. There is, of course, no shortage of pubs either.

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That was day two over with. We spent that night in a Travelodge, given that my mother had to get some fitful sleep for the drive home the following day. She snored and I had a restless night, having to go for a couple of walks.  But that didn’t bother me because I love my mother very much.

It was on the way home that we stopped off at Port Isaac, where we strode along the cliffs and sampled the village. It is a small fishing village that was very prosperous from the middle ages to the 19th century and vital commodities such as stone, coal, timber and potteries were unloaded here.

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There are also good beaches around. If you want to surf, then the beaches at Perranporth and Newquay offer world-famous beaches and surf that will take your breath away.

I bought a little souvenir from the gift shop present at Tintagel castle. The prices were just about right there. Not too expensive, nor cheap. The item was a little Celtic treskil, or cross.

Legend has it that the castle is the birthplace of King Arthur. And so it slips into place as a site that is set in the most British of tales. And what better place to have it than this bleak and stormy isle!

A romantic, beautiful place, it is set amongst green cliffs and there is little left of the building itself. But that just adds to the scenario. It’s a bit like somebody just took an hourglass and made time stay till throughout the ages. To think of the legend that the place is immersed in just gives me goosebumps.

The castle itself is set amongst the steepest cliffs anywhere could possibly offer with green grass atop them. There is little left of the castle itself, but that only adds to its romantic and magical lore. It lies roughly equidistant between the towns of Padstow and Bude. Also very special places.

And so it came to pass that we plondered slowly home, a six-hour drive, under screaming blue skies and with happy contentment. We had had a joyous break!

Boxer dogs and chairs

English: Three Cliffs Bay on the Gower peninsu...

English: Three Cliffs Bay on the Gower peninsular of South Wales. Photograph taken by Jamie O’Shaughnessy September 5, 2003, released to the public domain. Category:Pictures of Swansea (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The glorious summer of 2003 smiled greatly on the Welsh Gower peninsula when my mother and I decided to camp there with our precious boxer dog Molly, who had been a rescue dog and now awaits us at Rainbow Bridge.

We had recently got her and she was a delightful dog…except for the incident where she was almost drowned by a swan! That happened after she went into the water and chased one.

Anyway, we spent the night in a two-person-one-dog tent. Molly decided that she wasn’t going to lie down despite our asks and we eventually decided not to argue with her.

I can still remember her silhouette against the evening sky, sitting bolt upright with her ears perked. She looked like a vulture ready to swoop on its prey.

That same evening that we spent in the tent, I had been sitting in at an outside table belonging to a cafeteria when my mother said she was going to get our dinner.

O.k. I thought. Now, I’m not thick, but I thought that a chair, even it was just flimsy plastic, could hold down a boxer dog so I could have my drink.

Therefore, I put the chair leg through the loop-handle on her lead and sat down again. As I began to enjoy my drink, I found out I was wrong. One moment, I was upright and drinking away. The next, I was on my back lying on concrete.

She had seen a dog and destroyed my thin barrier instantly  The man with the dog, however, picked up her lead and, after greeting her new-found canine friend, she sat.

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As we were headed back to the tent that night, we saw a three-legged plastic chair lying on the scrap-heap.

Whatever you do, don’t shut up!

Snow in Calgary meant an hour and forty-five minute delay. The later the flight, the easier it would be for me to sleep. It would be at ten-fifteen p.m. now. I casually accepted my boarding pass and headed to the gate where I chatted to a nice English lady. I was headed home to the UK after a five-month stint in British Columbia.

Vancouver International Airport

Vancouver International Airport (Photo credit: Scott Beale)

And so our mount arrived. Air Transat still operate Airbus 310. Old crates. Still, there was plenty of legroom and the passenger next to me was pleasant. She had an English accent, was fluent in French and was a Canadian citizen. I spoke with her for the brief hoop to Calgary, a stop before setting out for London.

A we departed Calgary, I got a stark reminder of why the prairies are so avoided in Canadian lore. Because they are flat as a pancake. The aircraft seemed to roll on forever. Eventually, we got airborne. Supper wasn’t served at this late hour, just snacks.

Now it was time for that aforementioned sleep. Just one problem, the two guys in the aisle seats next to us. They wouldn’t shut up! Yak-yak-yak. Eventually, I drifted off. At least they were far enough away that I could do so. Not so for my companion.

I woke up when we were over Newfoundland and things were beginning to get light again. They were still yakking away. Four hours later? Still Yakkin’ over the Celtic Sea. Sigh. Well, at least we were almost home.

Coming in low over London now, I watched the traffic on the M4. To me, it reminded me of blood running through an artery, like some grand scientist co-relation theory.

After passing through customs, my fellow passenger spoke her thoughts about our two pests!

Foul-up in Turin

EasyJet A319 Tailfins

EasyJet A319 Tailfins (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Early May. Gorgeous! Especially if you are travelling to the Italian Riviera when you are only seventeen years old. I was headed for San Remo, having just touched down in Turin. That went fairly smoothly. No trouble at customs.

I landed at 12:05 and had to catch a train to San Remo at 14:05 from the main station. Ample time, or so I thought.

I made my way, dutifully, to the airports rail link where I asked the station manager when the next train would come. He informed me that it would be only a few minutes.

It was now about 12:30 and I had to wait for another 30 minutes, I don’t recall exactly how long.

The point is that, when I caught the train, It was 13:00. Time was still sufficient. I got off the train around 13:20 and onto the bus, asking the driver, who had poor English, to drop me off at the main train station.

Torino Stazione Porta Nuova

Torino Stazione Porta Nuova (Photo credit: Michael Tinkler)

He forgot and, when he stopped at his terminus, it was 13:50. I was now alarmed.

After about 5 minutes of him chatting and me gesturing, he passed me some paper. I wrote “Treno 14:05 San Remo”.

Suddenly understanding, he asked any of the passengers, for some reason still loitering, if they could speak English.

Two young schoolgirls came forward and we rushed to the train station.

It was too late. I got there just in time to see my train leaving the platform. Now what? Call my father and ask him what to do.

So I bought a drink from a stall and used the change in a payphone. I called him and we agreed that the best thing for me to do was catch a train to Savona and, from there, to San Remo.

This happened, the Savona train leaving Turin at 16:05. Two hours behind schedule. I eventually caught the San Remo train, being delayed by two more hours. Lesson learned! Leave AT LEAST three hours between the plane landing and the train leaving the station!