A grandmother, a rusty old key, a missing suitcase and the winding lanes and souqs of Marrakech

I am not quite sure what brought me to Marrakech. But somehow, there I was, two nights before Christmas, in a peaceful haven in the the midst of the old medina, sipping mint tea and lamenting the loss of my belongings.


Escaping the dark and cold of the Scottish winter had been undeniably attractive. Over the previous weeks, I had been harbouring a nasty seasonal lurgey which was refusing to shift, and the thought of a day which provided a full three hours more of daylight than the short days and long nights of Scotland’s winter was irresistible. Add to that mix, a friend who owns a magical riad in the city and a short haul journey it seems that a decision was made without my even knowing it. Christmas in Marrakech. A healing, creative time of retreat and restoration. Indeed, impossible to resist.


It was only that morning that I had closed the door behind me in Scotland a good three hours before sunrise to head to the airport. The snow capped high Atlas mountains were already turning a deep shade of pink from the sun low in the sky, when I landed much later that day in Morocco. I was eager for this break, and keen to become acquainted with Marrakech and settle in the Riad which would be my home for the coming days.

Immigration was smooth, and I waited patiently for my familiar suitcase at the carousel so that I could step into the Morrocan air and meet a new country. I became less patient as grandmother’s suitcase failed to appear. The minutes ticked past until eventually the carousel emptied. I was alone at the belt, and clearly would remain so as grandmother’s suitcase was nowhere to be seen. As I reported my missing belongings, I found it rather concerning that the baggage handlers were not able to clarify what had happened to the case and there was no indication in the system of where on earth, quite literally, it might be.

Reluctantly, with the “lost baggage” paperwork completed, I moved through into the arrivals halls and out to the night air and the transport to the riad. The Marrakech air was cool, but not cold and I looked out of the window as we drove through the streets, with curiosity for what the daylight sights would be like, while trying to stifle an underlying irritation and concern. My suitcase contained important and less important belongings – in addition to the usual clothes and toiletries I had Christmas gifts, some mince pies and items for my friend, cough and cold remedies for the lingering lurgey and a precious notebook amongst other random bits and pieces.

After a drive of around half an hour, latterly alongside the old wall of the medina, we turned into the medina itself and its narrow streets. It was only a few moments before the car stopped, and the driver opened my door. I stepped into the immediate bustle of the lanes of the old town, and my little backpack and heavy winter jacket were bundled into a handcart and the driver waved me off as the handcart and its owner trundled off into the lanes. I had to weave around people, past stalls and avoid donkeys as I tried to make sure that I kept sight of my handcart and remaining worldly goods as they continued through the lane towards a mystery destination. We soon turned into a quieter, small lane and round another couple of corners before stopping at a door, the handcart porter rattling on the door knocker. A few moments later, the door opened, my belongings handed to me and I was ushered into another world. I was immediately in the courtyard of an exquisite riad, which was welcoming me with twinkling lights, candles, large wooden doors, rose petals, the aroma of mint tea and exotic promise. I had arrived.


My plan had been to spend a few days replenishing my health and then take a few ventures out of town – to the coast, the mountains to see more of the country as well as soak in the creative atmosphere of the riad and spend time writing and reflecting. But I found that when I arrived, I did not want to venture far. This was partly because I was more exhausted and weakened than I had realised and partly because the food was so fresh and delicious that it was easier to stay close to the riad. And on a practical level, it was also because I had to spend quite a bit of time trekking out to the airport to try and locate the suitcase, heading to the new town to buy some essentials as I had only the clothes I was standing in when I arrived and filling in forms and sending never ending messages about the lost case.

Once it became apparent that the case had no intention of coming to Marrakech and was intent on enjoying itself on its own private holiday, I found myself settling into a gentle routine. Sunrise was fairly late, which meant that breakfast also started gently. Outside my room, in the courtyard the birds would let me know when sunrise was on its way, and when I opened my tall wooden door a little tray of tea would be waiting for me.




Soon afterwards, I would venture to the rooftop, where the sun would now be warming the terrace and encouraging the bougainvillea to bloom and where my breakfast was being prepared. This was a leisurely process, for me at least as I would feast on finely chopped seasonal fruits – strawberries, apricots, raspberries, figs, oranges and walnuts nestling on fresh yogurt. This would be followed by a Moroccan treat of a lightly spiced tomato, pepper and egg tajine (shakh-shukh), chopped avocado, omelette, or other delight. This whole process should not be rushed and could last until lunchtime as I read, reflected, chatted with and watched the bird families and slipped between shaded and sunny spots sporting a practical straw hat to protect my head and face from the sun.

At some point in the afternoon, I would prepare myself to head out to the souqs and the outside. This world outside of the riad was in complete contrast to the tranquillity of the riad. I soon learned my way through the little lanes to the main souqs, only a few minutes away.

But once I reached the maze of the covered souqs, the landscape would shift and change. Left would become right, straight would become windy and twisted and I would find myself in a completely different place to where I thought I was or planned to be. Lane after lane of little shops selling pointed baboush slippers, lanterns and candle holders, exotic fabrics, nomadic and traditional jewellery, metal signs with your profession painted onto them, carpets and more carpets, spices, tortoises, Manchester United football tops, leather goods and all manner of imaginable wares each in its own little Ali Baba’s cave with a smiling, welcoming merchant.


When I would eventually emerge onto a wider lane, it was never where I intended to appear or thought I was, and the mystery of where I wanted to head to would appear, requiring to be solved.


It was in one of these magical little lanes on Christmas Day that I happened upon a tiny shop with a jumble of objects under a glass topped shelf. I spotted a rusty old key and asked the shopkeeper if I could look at it. As he reached into the case, through a little curtain, he drew out a few old keys and invited me to rummage and look for more. There were all manner of random objects, including keys and I scrambled around to see what I could find. I ended up with a selection of very rusty old keys, and began haggling with the owner without looking too keen to own what was essentially a worthless piece of metal. We finally agreed on a price for one of the old keys, and I had my Christmas present to myself. This key was symbolic, and had been an image which I was drawn to a couple of months earlier while on the mindfulness and writing retreat. That key embodies a great deal – hope and promise of a future, unlocking thoughts of optimism and hope, releasing those negative thoughts and feelings which I have found difficult to shed and locking them in the past in order to move forward. The shopkeeper hid any puzzlement he might have had about my interest in such a strange object, but given he had them in his tiny shop there must have been some idea that one day an eccentric grandmother would come along and be taken with his keys.

As the days passed, the daily routine established itself comfortably and I felt my strength return. The lurgey was finally easing, without doubt thanks to the rest, warmth, healing environment and wholesome fresh food.



As we crossed from the old year into the new, I realised that I would soon need to gather my strange assortment of new belongings, buy a little bag for them, and prepare to return to Scotland. The break had been incredibly gentle, and provided a chance to truly disengage with the stresses and intensity of the previous months, although it would have been nice not to have been caught up in the worry about grandmother’s suitcase and its wellbeing.


My return to Scotland saw me in a far healthier state, both physically and emotionally and when I close my eyes I can imagine myself back in the riad, sipping tea and reading, or wandering through the souqs in the lengthening shadows of the later afternoon.


And I remember how, no matter how many times I became lost, and wandered through these lanes seeking to find my way again, I would pass many familiar shops. The merchants would call out to me, remembering my meanderings of another afternoon and try to tempt me to buy their lamps, their spices or pottery. However, I never did happen upon the little shop with the keys again. I still have the key though, so I know it did exist. At least it did on the very day that I was seeking a sign of hope and optimism.


Seasonal reflections of Glasgow and Glaswegians

We are reminded that lie is fragile, precarious and precious especially in the past few days. I have lived in many places in my life, and the most years I have spent in one spot happens to be Glasgow.

Glasgow is city of extraordinary people.  A city of humour which makes my sides ache, quips and comments in the everyday chatter which are insightful and so often wickedly funny.  A city of rich diversity and resilience.  A city of culture and kultyer. A city of unique fabrications and real wits such as Rab C Nesbitt, Rikki Fulton and his Reverend I M Jolly, and Billy Connolly.

I heart Glasgow.

It is a cruel and random tragedy which strikes the city and its people days before Christmas, in the heart of the festivities. A city which is one of the most “alive” I have ever lived in.

Now the Christmas lights have been switched off and the flags flying at half mast.  Candles have replaced the lights and flowers cover the area which had been designated “Glasgow loves Christmas” with events, shopping and festive Fun in the heart of the city.  Now the people of Glasgow are holding each other close and digging deep into their resilience.

glasgowNo matter where we are in the world, whether or not we celebrate Christmas, we must remember to hold our loved ones close.

Changing views

It is time for a change of scene again.

I have selected a new image as a background picture, one which brings a set of warming associations.  This brings memories of the adventure I embarked on, visiting Mrauk U at Christmas 2011. Memories of another stepping stone moving forward, regaining confidence and travelling alone to a place I had long wanted to visit.

The story and pictures of this adventure are to be found in a few write-ups, and the overview with all links is all to be found here.

setting off for Mrauk U

I have selected this particular picture, taken as our boat was pulling out of Sittwe shrouded in mist, because I feel it captures the emotion, the mystery and the anticipation of the whole adventure.

Mrauk U adventure – the complete picture

As I have told the story in three  parts, along with photos on the sister blog, I thought it useful to put these together so that it is possible to see the complete picture.

The Story

Part 1 of the Story – Pushing myself to my limits. Journey to Mrauk U

Part 2 of the Story – A Christmas exploring Mrauk U

Part 3 of the Story – A day to remember in the Chin villages


Exploring Mrauk U

Ancient temples of Mrauk U

Remote villages and traditions

Leaving you with another favourite image – a chameleon sitting on the shoulder of Buddha.  Trying to be just like Buddha?

A Christmas Exploring Mrauk U (Part 2 of the adventure)

Christmas Eve

I had arrived in Mrauk U on Christmas Eve in the early afternoon.  After lunch, and trying to make sense of the town map, I set off to start my explorations of the ancient site.  I started off with one of the main temples, which happily was only a few minutes walk from my bedroom!  Already the sun was sinking in the winter sky, and throwing a soft light in through the alcoves, bathing this Buddha in a golden light

Mrauk U is much much quieter than the more accessible and better known Bagan.  However, the quiet was occasionally punctuated by the arrival of one of the ubiquitous “light trucks” which carry so many people.  These were transporting large groups of school students around the temples, and many of them had loud modern music blaring from speakers adding to the air of festivity of these groups.

In the temple I had found a beautiful spot, giving a panoramic view of Mrauk U and sat down to watch the scene peacefully.  Deep in thought, I hadn’t noticed one of these trucks arriving. The first thing I noticed was a stream of school students as they poured through the temple seeping out through the various exits and passageways.  And all making their way towards me.  Within moments I was surrounded by a cheerful, animated and enthusiastic group, asking me my name, where I come from and giggling at my responses.  They were eager to practise their English, but I am not sure how useful it is with my Scottish accent.  We all laughed together and before long they headed back to their van, to make their way to the next temple on their list.  Suddenly it was again very quiet.

Trying to make sense of the map, I used the quiet time also to plot my vague direction of exploration and before long headed off towards another group of temples.  On the way back, with the sun nearing the end of its day’s work in our part of the world, I found a little track up to a vantage point on the top of a small hill.  I scrambled through some scrub, on a dried mud path, very glad that this is not rainy season and arrived at a clearing where I stayed to watch the sun set, the mist form and the evening rituals, activities and tasks taking place before me.

On my way back, I stopped off at a little stall selling coconuts and spent a peaceful interlude, sipping at was to become my daily evening cocktail (coconut water) and watching what was going on around me.

Back at the hotel, after a delicious Rakhine tomatoey fish curry, I tried to phone home to say I had arrived safely and all was well.  The guide book had told me that there are only five phone lines to the town and with over 250 subscribers getting a line out is not easy.  After numerous unsuccessful attempts I headed back to my room, to settle down for the night.  My room was well equipped, and in addition to the hat and glow in the dark stars it had a well stocked fridge (no Andaman beer this time though) and a TV.  However there was only one channel and that was the one which the staff were watching in the dining room!  It switched from Star Movies to ESPN sports and on to Korean soap operas without warning, to my great amusement.  I watched part of “Spy Next Door” before it switched to a football match which gave me a good excuse to read.  The other great surprise which my room held was also revealed to me just before dinner.  I wanted to wash the dust off my feet and turned on the tap in the bathtub, bracing for the usual chill of water.  Within seconds though, the water from the tap was roasting hot to my utter delight as I realised that hot baths would be a further treat of my trip!  How unfortunate that I hadn’t brought any bubble bath with me!!  What a great way to round off a highly adventurous day!  I slept fitfully, as is usual thanks to Tamoxifen, dreaming bizarrely of being unable to find my room in the rain, a strange dream considering this is the middle of dry season.  I was also amused to hear gentle snoring from the room next door.  Until I realised that if I could hear gentle snores, my neighbour would surely be able to hear my not so gentle snores!

Christmas Day

There were few signs of Christmas as I started my day, and after a nice breakfast, I set off to explore more widely.  For the day, I had hired a bicycle so that I could get a bit further.

The day was unusually cloudy, but given how hot it can become in the daytime in dry season, this was perfect weather for cycling!  I had a look at the map, and headed off with little idea of where I was going or what was in store.  I followed a main track initially, and then just kept going, turning left or right along village lanes on the basis of what drew my interest and curiosity. Inevitably, after half an hour of what I thought might be a wide circuitous route, I was clearly very lost!  I was near a monastery so I stopped, parked the bike and sat myself down beside the road on a grassy spot and consulted my map.  The monastery was not marked and there was no other landmark to give me any clue as to where I was. What a glorious feeling! In no hurry to go anywhere, and able to just sit and soak in the sounds and activities around me I was in no hurry to move on.  First I needed clarification of which direction the town was, either continuing on this road, or turning off one of the lanes nearby.  As I looked up I saw three children heading towards me.  As they approached, I realised that one of them was holding what looked like a very angry cat.  This was no ordinary domestic tabby cat though, its ears were differently shaped and although it was the size of a cat, it was clearly a kitten of its species.  It was marked just like a little leopard and my first thought that this was in fact a leopard kitten.  I quickly realised that was not possible, and took some pictures of it so I could find out later what this animal was.

A monk approached, heading towards the monastery and was clearly not expecting to see a strange foreigner parked in the lane and he asked me my country.  Then he asked me if I was a Buddhist.  After my replies, I asked him which direction was the town and he pointed back to where I had come from.  Off he headed to the monastery, and I brushed the dried grass off my trousers and got back on my bike.  I continued to explore the back lanes, asking periodically the direction towards town.  It was nearly 12 o’clock when I started recognising the shops near the hotel and stopped off at a roadside stall for a cold drink.

I took advantage of this time to study the guide book map.  There were only 2 eateries mentioned in the book and I had already eaten in one.  The other was described as being in a teak house and sounded nice so I decided to set off and find it.  Easier said than done.  The map was rather confusing and I found myself repeatedly heading down the same road which was clearly not the right one, but persistently failed to find it!  So I started turning off down different roads, and keeping an eye out for somewhere for my Christmas lunch, preferably the Restaurant cutely named “For You”.  Before long, passing along yet another new road, I caught sight of a little place and saw the name “For You”!  Success!  It was beside a couple of parked buses and small stalls selling bus tickets so was in a rather noisy spot but that didn’t trouble me.  I went in, and was surprised that there was no one else there.  Ready to leave, a woman came up to me and I asked her if they were serving meals.  Of course they were, she smiled, and what would I like?  With no sign of a menu I asked for fish – the Rakhine staple and within minutes it was being served up, piping hot and smelling delicious.  And it was.  Simple, and utterly delicious.

Once I had finished I headed back to the hotel as one of the brakes on the bike had stopped working, leaving the one which was working on the Twang Arm side which was not so easy to use.  I took advantage of the time to consult the guide book again, and look at the maps.  It soon became very clear that the orientation of the map was rather different to the orientation of the actual town and the “For You” listed was nowhere near the bus park!  Another mystery which I resolved to solve at some point!

I the afternoon I headed off in a different direction, aiming to find a group of temples in the north eastern area of Mrauk U, especially seeking to visit a small hill temple called Pi Sei.  Following my nose, and asking directions at every temple on the way I soon found myself carrying the bike along a rough, steep and narrow trail.  It eventually brought me out on a main road, busy with women carrying wood,  bullock carts heading home, children playing, women carrying a variety of goods on their heads, villagers carrying water, young men playing chinlon (like “keepie uppie with a small woven bamboo ball) and monks walking along barefoot.

The road wound its way between a number of little hills, mostly topped with little temples and jungle.  The great thing about cycling is that you are able to cover quite a bit of distance, and pass through areas without feeling as if you are intruding.  The challenge is that there are so many fascinating moments and beautiful sights that you have to keep stopping, balanced at the roadside to take photos!  (I even managed to locate the “For You” restaurant which I had originally been looking for and made a mental note of how to get back there at some point.)

With all the spontaneous diversions it took me rather longer than I realised to get to the northern temples.  The sun was by this time sinking quite rapidly and I did not want to be lost in the dark.  Lost in the daytime is fine but lost in the dark is a bit more scary and a step too far towards more extreme adventure!  So reluctantly I turned back, deciding not to head back through the wooded track, and kept on the main road.  Sure enough it eventually took me to the town and I was soon back at the hotel parting company with my trusty bike!  I wandered round in the dusk to the coconut stall and slowly sipped my coconut cocktail, watching the sky turn various  shades of dark purple thanks to the cloudy sky.  Soon I was back in my room, pouring my second hot bath of the day, before heading to the restaurant for Christmas Dinner of fish curry!

Boxing Day

I had decided to hire a tonga, or pony cart for the day so that I could explore the more distant temples, including the ones I had not reached the day before, and to minimise the “getting lost” time.  I also made arrangements for a visit to the tribal villages for the following day, so that arrangements were in place in plenty of time.

After breakfast, the hotel manager rold me that my chariot was awating, in the form of her father, with his pony and tonga.  I told him which areas I was keen to see and we set off, with me rattling around the back of the tonga.  It was again cloudy and overcast, but dry and not cold.

Firstly we visited the Kothaung and Pi Sei temples and I spent a good bit of time exploring.  Pi Sei is a small, overgrown hilltop shrine with four Buddha figures (facing north, south, east and west) and with a single Buddha figure on the top, visible from afar.

I loved this little temple, and spent quite a while exploring, taking photos, contemplating and enjoying the 360° view.  I enjoyed the solitude and peace, and as I was coming down the hill, I met another tourist on his way up.  That is how busy it was!  We chatted briefly before heading off in different directions.

I spent a marvellous day, ambling through the villages, from temple to temple, climbing and clambering among ruins, walking respectfully and silently barefoot in larger temples, and all the while taking a ridiculous number of photographs.  It was as I clambered up a steep and overgrown path towards a rarely visited hilltop set of temples that I suddenly remembered how much I had been dreading Christmas.

It was almost dark when I returned to the hotel, and parted company with my gentle and kind guides for the day, man and pony.  There was just enough time for me to head round for my daily coconut water.  Outside the temple, beside the coconut stall one of the pickups was parked, music blaring.  Well actually, although I have quite a liberal and broad minded appreciation of music I am not sure that I would actually call it music.  There was a thumping bass, and a screeching voice yelling out expletive after expletive.  And not little mild swearie words, but the Big Naughty ones!! The students on this truck had the same enthusiastic smiles, and youthful exuberance but these were sporting extravagant mohawk and punk style hair styles along with black and purple make up!  It was an innocent and incongruous sight as they piled out of their truck and bounded up the temple steps, the swear words continuing to blast forth from the truck!

It was all part and parcel of everything going around me, which I absorbed along with the delicious nutrients in the coconut water, reflecting on a magical day.

As well as reflecting, I could also feel a nervous flutter as I had made a Big Plan for the following day.  If that went as hoped, I would be visiting remote villages and meeting some very special women.  That account needs its own space and that will be the third and final part of the adventure!

Pushing myself to my limits – journey to Mrauk U (Christmas Adventure Part 1)

I had enjoyed my adventure at Angkor in Cambodia this year enormously and found that it it boosted my post diagnosis confidence enormously. From the wheelchair days transiting Bangkok airport, I was off with a travel bag and exploring on my own. I have to say though, that if I am very honest, a break in Cambodia is perfect for boosting that confidence because it is neither physically nor logistically too challenging. You get on a flight, land in Siem Reap, waltz through immigration handing over your passport and pics in return for a full page visa, and then head out into the daylight catch a tuk tuk to your hotel and get ready to explore. Gentle yet exciting. My adventure to Mrauk U was a much more demanding trip. The journey was more complicated and physically demanding and the area far less touristed. I was travelling alone (through choice). And I was quite nervous about the whole adventure.

On 23 December, I had an afternoon flight to Sittwe. The timing was very welcome as I had been working up until the previous day and this enabled me to spend the morning packing and running out for last minute essentials such as mosquito repellent and loud toe nail varnish!  Finally, I put the last essentials in my bag, switched off the fan, closed my lap top ready to head off line and upcountry for a week.

After check in I had a moment of excitement when I saw that the café in the domestic lounge advertised that was an internet café, but that was short lasted and I learned that there was no internet in fact, but a set of three sleeping computers. It took me a few moments pondering why the café used a picture of a washing machine on its signage. Only to realise that it was actually an aerial picture of a coffee cup!

My flight to Sittwe was straightforward and on time. I was amused that the passenger in front of me had among his carry on baggage, a pair of fairy wings. I hadn’t realised that we needed to bring our own wings to fly on this airline!

The flight landed as the sun was sinking in the late afternoon. I booked into the hotel, arranged my early morning transfer to the jetty and then headed out to explore Sittwe town. I managed to get really lost, and eventually had to ask directions to get back to the main street and the hotel. And promptly went right back out again, to find somewhere to eat the famous Rakhine sea food. I managed to get back safely, and despite being tempted by “adventurer lager” in the fridge, I turned in early as I had to be up long before sunrise to catch the early morning boat to Mrauk U.

I did not sleep too well, anxious not to oversleep and miss my boat, and just after 5 am I was getting myself ready to check out and head to the jetty. I had been looking forward to the sunrise journey but the morning was very very misty and dank. Not typical winter season weather at all so still very dark. Speeding through the damp streets on a motorbike tuk tuk I was chilled but soon arrived at the jetty. The boat was waiting, and my first major challenge materialised in the mist in front of me.

I am used to getting on and off boats in Myanmar, and have boarded by a variety of different types of access – from sturdy bridges to flimsy thin planks. I have given up on pride and accept help now if I am not too confident about the access. So catching sight of a narrow pair of planks, slippery in the mist and carrying my travel bag and supplies, I hovered briefly at the edge of the plank before one of the boatmen took pity on me grabbed my hand. Within moments I was safely across and on the boat. Ready for five hours of upriver cruising before I had to worry about how on earth I would get off the boat at the other end!

Our departure was delayed due to the thick mist and we watched as the early morning river activities took place around us, small wooden boats appearing through the mist bringing people from neighbouring villages and returning with goods and fish from the morning market. Figures shrouded in thick shawls and even the occasional soul wearing a Santa Claus hat to protect from the cold damp air.

Eventually, the boat hooted, the boat men leapt into action unravelling the ropes, disconnecting the electric cable from the boat which had lit up the jetty, and removing the planks and we moved away from the Sittwe jetty. I had been on the boat over an hour and finally I was heading somewhere.

As we travelled upriver, the mist slowly lifted, revealing eerie images on the river and along its banks. The broad estuary gradually narrowed as we wove our way inland, along a complicated network of waterways. By lunchtime, there was a distinct change in the atmosphere on board as local passengers started to gather their belongings, and prepared themselves for arrival in Mrauk U. The hilly area in the distance, gradually came closer and soon it was possible to spot a few temples on the hilltops. A crowd was gathered at the jetty, bicycle side car trishaws, bicycles, motorbikes and a few motorcycle tuk tuks and their drivers anxious to transport the passengers to their onward destination.

I had been on the upper deck and the ladder to get there was almost vertical not to mention extremely narrow. So manoeuvring myself, with my travel bags in my good hand and Twang Arm being used to stabilise my steps, I managed to get myself to the exit. Where I was met with a plank which was slightly less narrow, and this time dry, but steep due to the water being high. I dithered for a moment, and again one of the boat staff grabbed my hand and I quickly bounced along the plank and onto the dry land of Mrauk U. I negotiated a trishaw to the hotel and within half an hour was unpacking my bags in a room with stick on “glow in the dark” stars arranged in the Great Bear formation on a deep blue ceiling. The wardrobe had the essentials, a dressing gown, a spare blanket, a hair dryer and a bamboo hat to protect from rain or sun, which ever is prevalent at the time! I quickly settled into the room which was to be my home for the next five nights.

Eager to see the ancient temple city and its surrounds, I picked up my little backpack, hat, guide book and note book and headed off into the town to find some lunch to fortify myself for some serious exploring.  And that story will be in Part 2!

It slipped my mind

Christmas has been an oddly emotional and strange time for me since I was diagnosed. When I first found the lump in September 2009, the first thing which came to my mind was that I would not be alive to see the coming Christmas.  When Christmas 2009 came, not long after in weeks, but after a new lifetime of surgery, treatments, needles, appointments, a whole new vocabulary and learning to live with the cancer mindset, I was incredibly emotional.  I struggled to hold tears in check when carol singers were singing a version of Jingle Bells in Myanmar outside our gate.  I crumbled again last year, when the carollers came into our house and my composure was just to difficult to maintain.

So this year, I felt the first wobbles as we approached Christmas and I saw the carollers outside neighbouring gates.  However, I left Yangon on the 23 December for my Mrauk U adventure and immediately was caught up in the immediate, making plans and exploring.

I arrived in Mrauk U on Christmas Eve and spent the rest of the day exploring on foot and taking a ridiculous amount of photographs.  On Christmas Day I hired a bicyce and expored the nearly villages and temples, getting lost a number of times and having a wonderful time.  I seemed to provide a great source of entertainment, asking for directions and questions, stopping for a cold drink in a roadside stall and returning to my hotel dusty and hungry for Christmas Dinner.


On Boxing Day, I hired a pony and cart to explore the further away temples and minimise the getting lost portion of the activity.  Towards the end of the afternoon, after a day where I saw only three or four other temple tourists the whole day, I was exploring the atmospheric ruins of a temple complex when I remembered.  I suddenly remembered that I had been dreading the approaching Christmas and its memories of not surviving to see Christmas 2009.  I remembered that I had been extremely fragile the previous year.  But something had shifted in my mind which put cancer to the side more than I realised and it completely slipped my mind.

Cancer is still very much in the forefront of my mind, and I am sure it will continue to be.  However, the fact that this memory of being so emotional and connecting it so clearly with Christmas has faded so much shows me clearly that my mind is healing more than I had realised.  For once I am incredibly thankful that I forgot something!

Tinsel and tinternet

I have just over an hour before I head to the airport, to spend a few days out of town over Christmas.  Apparently there is no internet in the place I am going to.  No internet at all.  Hard to imagine when it has become such an integral part of our lives.  So I am not even taking my laptop with me.

There are not so many signs of Christmas here (unsurprisingly) apart from festive lighting on various buildings, Christmas trees on sale in the supermarket and piped Christmas music in a couple of hotels.

I like being able to take the elements which are meaningful to me without the social pressure and commercial aspects of the season.  And without wanting to put a label on my own spirituality I guess that I you could call me a “born again Buddhist” (I found that term irresistible 😉 ), respecting and recognising all faiths.

I don’t want to go into too much detail about my plan here, because the last time I did that Cyclone Giri disrupted that.  However, I can say that I am going to a lesser visited part of the country, to an ancient city of jungle temples, waterways and tribal villages.  I have pens, colouring pencils, a notebook and camera, mosquito repellent, pink toenail varnish and a straw hat.  I also have a packet of festive Jaffa Cakes which my friend brought me.  I plan to spend the days cycling among the temples, reflecting, appreciating and healing.  I expect to have plenty to write about when I am back.  And of course, plenty of photographs to share.

And on the topic of healing, I have good news.  My upper chest is enormously improved.  I still have some residual tenderness but I am back to my usual 800 metre morning swims instead of gentle half hour meanders in the pool.  And this morning, with no need to time watch office hours, I put in a kilometre as the sun rose.  And I can also say that I can see that swimming has a huge impact on my lymphodema.  It was mild, but very painful and in the first few days of returning to swimming Twang Arm was squealing and yelping as I ploughed up and down the pool.  Now I can feel it, but the pain has almost gone and it is much less perceptible.  There is no pool where I am going so I need to keep an eye on it, but it is so good, psychologically as well as physically, to see how quickly a regular swim counteracts Twang Arms tricks.

So I am a much better space now.  I am ready for another adventure, though I will be alert to the effects of adventures on this post chemoed-radiated-scarred and Tamoxifiex body.  And ready for a festive season free of tinsel and tinternet!

I wish you all a special time, whether or not this is a festive season for you, with the things that are important to you.

Leaving you with a sneak preview of where I plan to be……


A very different Christmas to last year!

I have just returned from a wonderful beach break for Christmas, with no access to internet, international phone and for most of the day no electricity!  But with clear blue skies, warm, gentle water and 14 kilometres of silver sands, who needs electricity when you are in a hammock, walking along the beach or in the sea anyway?  Pure bliss!

It was a totally different Christmas to the one I spent last year in so many ways.  Distinguishing features between the two include:

  • Beach-based, not Bangkok based
  • I was able to choose anything from the menu
  • I was able to taste and enjoy what I ate
  • There no blood tests, appointments, countdown to chemo, groundhog days of other medical distractions
  • I didn’t have to wear a mask to avoid infections
  • There was no need to avoid children, ill people or crowded places
  • There was no sign of Dr Evil in the mirror
  • I had energy!
  • I didn’t need to take my temperature twice daily
  • I did not need to worry unduly about infections
  • I did not need to have multiple daily naps
  • I had no access to internet or phone

Most of all, I had an overwhelming feeling that not only did I survive to see last Christmas, but I am alive and well enough to really enjoy this Christmas.  All in all, I was in a very different place – mentally, physically, emotionally and geographically!  A very different and great deal kinder place.

If you celebrate (and even if you don’t), I do hope your Christmas was as good to you as mine was to me.

Christmas past, Christmas present and Christmas future

I had warned that this was coming.  A Christmas post, rather than Christmas – although of course Christmas is also coming.

I have been living in Asia for over a decade, so Christmas does not have the same prominence as it did when I lived in Scotland.  However, it is still a significant , psychological point in the year.  I did not truly realise this until September of last year, when I discovered the dreaded lump.  As the fear started to take shape, I was certain that if it was indeed cancer, then I would not live to see Christmas last year.  I know that sounds shocking and dramatic, but that is what lodged in my mind.  And although I can sit here and now, in the knowledge that although the nasty lump was in fact two tumours with an attempted break out to neighbouring nodes, I am still here, yet I still have this block in my mind about Christmas.

Last year I came back home to Yangon late in November and stayed until mid December when I had to return to Bangkok for chemo 3.  As more Christmas decorations appeared in Yangon, I found tears at the back of my eyes when I saw them.  Then one evening, outside our gate I heard some music.  I had no idea what it was, as the words were in Myanmar but soon it became clear that the tune was “Jingle Bells”.  This was in fact the Yangon version of Christmas carolling!!  Well everyone thought this was marvellous and went out to listen to the singing at the gate.  Everyone except me.  I sloped off unseen to the bedroom because the tears were pouring down my cheeks.  I cannot adequately explain it, or even understand it but I think it was a complex mix of intense emotion which included relief, fear and the enormity of the cancer diagnosis.  No doubt the fact that I was in a physically drained condition following the surgery and first two chemo sessions contributed to that.

The moment passed, and I kept quiet about it, as I was embarrassed about this display of emotion.  We returned to Bangkok a few days later and to the next chemo and the anonymity of the big city.  And despite the number of sparkly lights, Slade renditions of Christmas hits gone by, Christmas decorations and marketing around the city it didn’t “feel like Christmas”.  The groundhog days took care of most of the Christmas period anyway and in no time it was past and it was New Year and chemo 4 on the doorstep.

And that was that.  Christmas gone for another year, and I was still there to tell the tale.

So this year I was surprised to feel those tears pricking behind my eyes again when the Christmas signs started to appear.  Last week I was heading out for my Saturday evening swim and saw a group of musicians outside a house.  Thinking it must be some festival, I passed by – and then suddenly realised that it was the same Myanmar version of Jingle bells again!!  It was carol singing time again!

The next evening a group of young carollers called round and sang their carols in our living room.  This time I could not slope away and found myself struggling to hide the determined tears.  I tried joining in the singing to stop my voice shaking and to distract my thoughts.  To no avail.  Hubby spotted my trembling bottom lip and it was really difficult to keep it together while they sang the carols.

Now I do want to put this into perspective.  Tears are something I may be good at, but I have found that their appearance has been limited since my breast cancer encounter.  I didn’t cry when I was diagnosed, apart from a wobble when I came out of the consultation.  I didn’t cry when I saw the effects of my mastectomy.  I did have to swallow back tears when I headed to surgery – that was fear!  However, the tears I shed when the last of my hair was shaved off, when the needle came after the final chemo and when I hear Christmas carols were far in excess of the many upsetting and distressing times the cancer beast has brought me.  I don’t pretend to understand it, but this is how it is……

So as we again approach Christmas my emotions seem again to be in a fragile state, but my goodness, physically what a difference a year makes.  This time last year I was in such a different place (as my version of the 12 days of Christmas/chemo demonstrates).

I really do have to count my blessings and recognise how much I have to be thankful for.  This is my second Christmas since diagnosis – not bad considering I believed I wouldn’t last until Christmas last year – that’s Christmas past I guess.  And I  can’t help but struggle with the intensity of the emotion on the brink of Christmas present.  All because every Christmas future from now on is framed in uncertainty.