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 February 2009 15 years sober! Accidentally trek in Andes! Himself breaks his toe! BEFORE the Andes! Hola amigos, and here we are in February, the start of Spring, at least it is in Ireland. Himself, who is NOT Irish, says it isn't Spring yet and looking out the window this morning, with the world covered in snow, I can see his point. (Little story about Himself not being Irish. Luka (nephew 7) who lives in the Czech Republic, but whose Daddy (my brother Niall) comes from the Republic of Ireland and whose Mammy (Ljiljana) comes from Serbia, was appalled to discover that Himself was not, as he'd suspected, for the last 7 years, from Ireland. "But," he protested, "But, what republic DO you come from?" Is that funny? Or is that just one of those stories that you think is supercute simply because you know the adorable child who said it? If so, my humblest apologies. All the same though... what republic DO you come from? Well! How we laughed! And you should have seen his little face... Okay, sorry, alright.) Yes, well, lookit, I went to Chile with Himself. I'm terribly sorry I haven't mentioned this before now but in view of the world economy having gone into meltdown, we were in several minds about going at all. The thing is it was booked over a year ago, before everything had gone really horrible and please forgive me for any pain I'm causing by telling you about this. I really mean this. I know people who have lost their jobs and there's plenty more like them and it seems so insensitive to have gone on a holiday when life has got so hard for so many people, but like I said, it was booked a long time ago and almost entirely paid for, so in the end we said we'd go. Do you mind if I tell you about it? If you do, just don't read it. But for those who'd like to read it, just bear in mind that this downturn won't last forever and it might give you ideas for when things get good again. It all began because I have a 'thing' about Easter Island. A combination of 'things.' The hundreds of massive carved stone heads dotted about the place, it being the most remote inhabited island on the planet etc.  people to go to remote, rough places and now and then he comes to see me, with his Wanderlust in his hand, trying to get me enthused about some faraway undeveloped place and in the old days I used to say, "Does it have shops? Does it have a Prada outlet? Well, does it? No? That's right, no. So be off with you and take your ridiculous magazine with you." And he'd slink off, head bowed, good and chastised. But I'm different now and I haven't a clue when the change happened, except that it has and I'm now open to 'activity' holidays, well in a way. I still don't let getting my hair wet, but I'll walk. Oh yes. Even in hideously unattractive 'technical' clothing. Up hills and things. So I graciously granted him a go in the Atacama desert and off we went. First to Easter Island.  Which was everything I'd expected and more. The stone heads were EVERYWHERE, there are nearly 900 of them and they're thrun all over the place and the island (Lost has started again, I digress, but saying 'the island' just plunged me into me. I am still keeping the faith with it, but I suspect I'm the only one.) Anyway, the island, made out of volcanoes is so free from modern-day ugliness. There is only one town and hardly any other buildings and there are no powerlines or rubbish and even though it's in the middle of the Pacific, it reminded me of County Clare. Except it was warm. And there ends the comparison. The population is 4500 and they all know each other and all do about 13 different jobs, - we met a fisherman who is an air hostess on Lan Chile - there are 6000 semi-wild horses and the people are a mix of god knows how many races because colonisers kept coming along and interfering with them but there's a very strong Polynesian strain and as a result they are INCREDIBLY goodlooking. The first person we met at the airport was a girl called Tammy and you should have seen her, the almond shaped eyes and the radiant skin and shiny long hair. But the gas thing is that, even better-looking than the girls, are the men. Mother of God. It's hard to describe them without sounding like a lecherous old woman. Right. They're big. Like, tall and very muscular and big-chested and with beautiful Polynesian style tattooes and they'll take their shirt off at the drop of a hat. Tanned and brown-eyed (mostly) but the best bit, the very best bit of all, is their hair. Long and lustrous and thick and flowy but never in a girly way. I would KILL to have hair like theirs. And they're great men for 'items of flair', like feathery yokes in their hair or shell necklaces or sharks tooth bracelets, you know yourself. But mostly stuff in their hair. I get the impression that these young men (every one of them looked like they were 22 but surely they can't ALL be) have the time of their lives with the visiting girl tourists. We had one 'guide' who went haring up the side of a volcano, on the trail of 2 blondey girls, leaving me and Himself for dust. When we finally caught up with him, he waved us vaguely in the direction of the petroglyphs and the other archeological wonders we were after hiking up the side of a volcano to see and he glommed on to the blonde girlies and after Himself and myself did our best to figure things out, we went back to your man who had the nerve, yes the bloody nerve, to ask us for a pen! (To get the blonde girlies phone numbers, of course.) Perhaps it's unkind of me to shop your man, but in fairness, he knows what I do for a living, he knows that I write things about my life, he did a long, long piece for Himself's camera about himself and his hair, do you know what I mean! This is a sign of how bad things were - Himself got annoyed. I am always getting annoyed, but Himself hardly ever does. So when your man asked us if we had a pen, I stared at him stonily but Himself said, with unconvincing bluster, "...er, no. Ah, no! I haven't." And as we made our way back down the mountain, Himself whispered to me, "I actually do have a pen." I whispered back, "I know you do." Himself always has a pen. Himself is an organised person. Which is why I married him. One of the reasons anyway. But all the other guides were delightful, like really. Charming and information and mindful. With lovely hair. If you do ever get the chance to go to Easter Island (or Rapa Nui as the people who live there call it) we stayed in Explora, which I cannot recommend highly enough. Everything about it was wonderful. It looks beautiful, it's all hidden in the landscape and made of wood and natural stuff and there's no excess, but it's so comfortable and the views are stunning and the food is beautiful and again no excess, you get 2 choices for you dinner and that's plenty. The staff are charming beyond belief, very warm, but so efficient. They know everything about your activities, but not in a spooky authoritarian way. Like when me and Himself booked to go to a show, the kitchen staff knew about it and fed us early so we wouldn't be late for the show. Speaking of which, I didn't really want to go because it was described as 'local dancing' so I thought it would be the usual tourist old shite. I mean, could you blame me! We've all been there. And as we bumped down an unpaved boreen and drew up outside a corrugated iron barn, my expectations were in the gutter. Cripes, was I wrong. It was utterly, UTTERLY magnificent. The dancers were absolutely magnificent and they took what they were doing very seriously. Never did I feel that it was a tongue-in-cheek money-making exercise in which they held the likes of me in total contempt. The gas thing was that the first dancer out looked really like Tammy, the stunner who'd met us on our first night. We spent most of the first half going, is-she-or-isn't-she, until Himself positively identified her, based on her tattooes. Normally I would hit Himself a clatter for having paid another woman so much attention, but honestly, she was so beautiful that I didn't blame him. The thing about Explora is that it's all included, so you can have as much Sprite Zero as you like (it doesn't have to be Sprite Zero though, it can be wine or pisco sour or whatever) and I spent some of the most peaceful times of my life just sitting in their open-to-the-elements, bar area, looking out at the sea and the grass and the wild horses and the absence of ugliness. I was very very happy, nearly as happy as the time I overdosed on Emla (see last month.) (Speaking of which I got a letter from a lovely Canadian woman who humbled me and reminded me again that people have died from Emla misuse, or from overheating due to overuse of clingfilm, and I realised that when I thought I was stoned on Emla, I was probably having a near-death experience instead and I have to say it was as nice as people always say it was. I didn't see any long tunnel or a white light, but it was still lovely. Anyway, a warning to us all.) Then on Sunday Jan 18th, our last day - we were only there 4 nights but it felt so much longer - I was 15 years sober. I still can't believe it. How lucky am I. Off to Santiago for a couple of days. We'd been strongly advised that a couple of days in Santiago is a couple of days too long, but bullishly we insisted that we wanted to see the real Chile. Well, how can I put it? It's no Rio de Janiero, is probably the best thing to say. You see, what I hadn't appreciated is that Chile is the most successful economy in the region so they're a right crowd of hard workers. And even though they have the biggest Palestinian population in the world outside of Palestine and a big Serbian community, there was no evidence of a vibrant, melting-pot culture. And the shops were crap. Whatever it is they're making with their successful economy, it isn't shoes. Then! Off to the Atacama desert. For trekking and suchlike. This was Himself's side of the trip so I hadn't paid it much attention, I just thought it would be miles and miles of nothingness, it being the driest place on earth and all that. God, how wrong I was.  Oh God yes, the broken toe! I forgot to tell you. New Year's day, Himself kicked a footstool (accidentally, he's not an angry, foot-stool-kicking type) and next thing was limping all over the place and wouldn't go to the doctor and eventually I had to say, "We're meant to be going climbing mountains in Chile next week, you eejit, go to the effing doctor." So he goes and gets sent for an x-ray and sure enough has a broken toe. But he got strapped up and was okay. Cripes though we're accident prone. So yes, the Atacama. Very high up. Very cold at night. Near the Andes. Every day we went a bit higher (there for 5 days, had to do it slowly in case we got altitude sickness.) On our second last day we were up to 14,000 feet (4300m) and we were about to start our walk and the guide says, "We'll start our trek here.' And I thought, TREK? Good god, am I... trekking? Then I looked around and couldn't see some of the smaller Andes and when I asked Himself about it, he said we were on them. The Andes? I said. And I'm trekking. So does that mean, I'm... trekking in the Andes? And yes, it turned out that I was. The oddest bloody thing, if you ask me, amigos. I don't know when I turned into a trekking in the Andes person, but it appears that I have. Just goes to show. Anyway, it was great and now we're back and Himself is organising photos and little films to show you it all, and once again my apologies for any insensitivity. I was in 2 minds about whether to mention it at all but then I wouldn't have had anything to write about this month. So this coming weekend I go to Harvey's Point in Donegal to partake in the creative writing course and on Saturday night, there will be a dinner and I'll do a bit of a show and even if you couldn't care less about creative writing, you're more than welcome to come along to the dinner (I believe it's 39 Yoyos for the slap-up spread and wine and me.) Also, on February 25th, To Russia With Love, the charity that I'm patron of is having a fundraising evening at the National Concert Hall, hosted by Gay Byrne. There will be a load of brilliant people performing and being interviewed and I'll be there too. So will you come? It'll be a great evening, like an old-style Late Late show, and it's in a great cause. Tickets here. What else. Caitríona and Sean are coming home next weekend from New York, I can't wait. And the following weekend, Rita-Anne and Jimmy are going away and Himself and I will be minding Dylan!!!!!!! You should see him, he's nearly 8 months old and such a little yummer. So that's all my news I think. There's a new mascara out my Clinique and it's bloody fantastic. It's got a lovely curvy brush for excellent shaping and it doesn't flake, smudge or budge all day long. In fact, you need to wash your eyelashes with warm water to get shot of it. I can't remember what it's called though, Christ alive, my memory is so banjaxed. Sorry, I just had to go and look for it. It's called High impact curling mascara and it's top-notch. Finally, and this may not be something you're interested in at all, and if so my apologies, but there's a charity in Dublin called Trust. It was set up and is run by this beautiful, warm, loving woman called Alice Leahy and what is does, is connect with the homeless community in Dublin, not by offering housing (it doesn't have the funds for that) but small, vital day-to-day things like clean socks, a friendly face, a cup of tea. There are regular clinics with people like chiropodists and I've always been so touched by their loving, compassionate, non-judgemental philosophy. They describe themselves as 'a befriending, social and health service for people who are homeless.' Anyway, I read a lengthier description of their philosophy and I was so moved, do you mind if I include it. I'll put it after the end, so you don't have to read it, if you don't want. So yes, January. All over now. Spring is here, despite the snow and February is only 28 days. Before we know it, it'll be March! I hope January wasn't too unbearable for you and I'll be in touch soon. Lots of love Marian 'The philosophy of Trust is based on 2 central principles: The recognition of every individual's rights to be treated as an autonomous and unique human being; The need to restore the dignity of individuals whom society has labelled deviant and undesirable. The last Professor James McCormick wrote. 'The nature of homelessness. The word homeless sounds self-explanatory but in relation to people who either sleep rough or use hostels and night shelters, homelessness is merely a symptom of a more deep-seated set of problems. For this reason, the solution is more complex and difficult than the provision of housing. If these problems have any common factor it has to do with a failure to become or remain, a part of the wider community. People who are homeless have often rejected the conventional values of society or have themselves been rejected. It is not surprising that many have been in prison or mental hospitals or both. In a society which is intolerant, imprisonment or admission to a mental hospital is the usual response. In the view of most people, these' unfortunates' are failures, failures who are largely to blame for their own misfortunes, failures whose very existence is an embarrassment and shame. The reality is of course different. Once set on a downward path (often as a result of thing over which they had no control) such people may readily enter a spiral which ensures they become more and more distanced from their fellow citizens and have less and less in common with those who have loving families, houses and regular income. They have little reason to trust others, who treat them with disdain. They have little to look forward to and little to remember with pleasure. It is not suprising that there are no simple solutions to their problems. The provision of a flat does not solve their difficulty. What is needed, perhaps is often a slow and often different process, which has as its main objective the restoration of a sense of personal worth. That is why the philosophy of Trust centres, not on the important medical, nursing and social service which it provides but upon the restoration of human dignity to those whom the rest of the world appears to despise. This takes time, patience and a realisation that rewards may be meagre and delayed. Nonetheless, the rewards are real and although primarily valuable to the individual, are also valuable to the community, in that the work of Trust makes a contribution to keeping people out of institutions. |
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Photo © Neil Cooper