Blue Zones: Healthy Ageing ……….. Myth or Legend?

Would you like to live to 100 and have a healthy life?

With diets, cosmetics, medical research and pharmaceutical industries hell bent on prolonging quality lives, the broad response seems to be a resounding ” Yes!”

Some years ago, I came across the Blue Zones research which began in 2004…..that’s 20 years ago now. I recently revisited the work of Dan Buettner, CEO of Blue Zones LLC via a Netflix series called ” Live to 100: Secrets of the Blue Zones.” Buettner was one of the people researching Blue Zones. Before him Gianni Pes and others were doing similar research in Sicily. But let’s recap…….

What are so- called Blue Zones?

In 2004 a Danish twin study concluded that how long we live relies 20% on our genetics and 80% on our lifestyle. That’s a very significant conclusion, because it means lifestyle and therefore our health can be changed and improved dramatically to give us a longer, better quality life.

Dan Buettner asked the question..Where in the world are there  people living to 100 or more? He gathered a team of scientists and they discovered pockets- whole communities where there was a remarkably high  concentration of centenarians. These areas were called ” Blue Zones.”

Where are the Blue Zones in the world?

Buettner and his team identified these Blue Zones- areas with an unusually high concentration of people over 100 years old.

Ogliastra Region of Sardinia

Nicoya peninsula of Costa Rica

Ikaria, Greece

Okinawa, Japan

Lorna Linda, California

Which lifestyle factors contribute to greater life expectancy in the Blue Zones?

Dan Buettner and his team identified the “Power Nine” life-style factors.

  1. Move Naturally

Centenarians living in these communities moved as part of their daily lives. They grew vegetables, chopped wood, were gardeners, walked everywhere,  played games with great grandchildren. Moving was part of life not a gym membership!

Image with thanks Laura Garcia

2. Purpose

In Okinawa it’s known as  Ikigai. Nicoyans talk about Plan de Vida. Essentially purpose is about why we wake up every morning. What gives meaning to our lives?  This idea is not new. Viktor Frankl, the Austrian psychiatrist and holocaust survivor, wrote extensively about the importance of purpose for mental health.

3. Downshift

Taking moments each day to sit in peace. Okinawans remember their ancestors. Adventists in Lorna Linda, California took time out to pray.  Ikarians take a nap in the heat of the day. Sardinians do a happy hour where they meet others to chat and drink a glass of  wine

4. Eat to the 80% Rule

Okinawans practice Harahachi Bu. Before meals they say a Confucian mantra which translated means, eat only until you are 80% full.  Portion control is culturally defined!

5. Plant Based Diet

All the communities ate largely plant based diets- vegetables, fruit, grains. Seventh Day Adventists are vegetarian. Other communities ate meat about 5 times a month.

6. Wine at 5pm

Good news…. except for Adventists, all centenarians in the study drank 1-2 glasses of wine a day…but as a social engagement with friends and with food. No binge drinking here!

Image with thanks Nashua Volquez- Young

7. Belong

Older people in  Blue Zone areas had some connection around community. Centenarians belonged to the community around them. Often it was a faith based community. Or womens’ work groups around weaving, cooking. There was a community rather than an individual focus.

8. Loved One’s First

Keeping aged parents nearby as part of the family and in – home care were identified as important.  Longevity was negatively impacted by later years spent in care facilities. If you want to live long, don’t go into institutional care.

9. Find the Right Tribe

Centenarians hung out with health- conscious people! They lived in communities of people who ate well and moved their bodies.

Do Blue Zones still have something to teach us?

As with most movements that are 20 years old,  there are critics of the Blue Zone research and conclusions. Saul Newman of ANU and now Oxford University has been vocal about the Blue Zone research as being “ rife with fraud, error and logical inconsistency.” (I hope he has a good lawyer! ) He points to Okinawa having high rates of obesity, depression and alcohol consumption.

Without dissecting Dan Buettner’s research methodology from 20 years ago, its interesting to see how many of these principles are in practice today.

Jamie Oliver and many others promote a Mediterranean Diet as a healthy way to eat. Michael Mosley talks about time -regulated eating (TRE) and fasting akin to the 80% rule of the Blue Zones.

Vegetarianism has been up-branded as plant based eating and cookbooks abound in plant based food. Eleven Madison Park is a Michelin hatted restaurant in New York. Chef Daniel Humm  redesigned the menu and restaurant in 2011 to be completely plant based. Fears that the restaurant would lose its Michelin status as a plant based rather than traditional French restaurant were ungrounded. It has won a swag of awards including 3 Michelin stars.

Since the world’s Covid experience there has been a dramatic rethink around mental health, loneliness, working from home, and greater home -based aged care. We are rediscovering the need for purpose, belonging and community. Communal gardens, a rework of the old British allotment system are on the increase, to promote social connection and exercise… as well as good quality food.

Have the Blue Zones research taught us anything about ageing well? Apparently Yes! I’d encourage you to have a look at the Netflix series. It’s fascinating and necessary information for living a Good Life…..at any age!

Words by Nora Vitins. Images sourced from Pexel with thanks

 

 

 

 

 

12 January 2024 | Living Well

Dylan Thomas & A Welsh Dream

” Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” 

A mantra for older age. A Funeral eulogy favourite. Dylan Thomas’s famous poem suddenly came to life  last October when  I visited his writing studio at Laugharne in Carmathen, Wales. What a beautiful location to become inspired! His writing shed hugs the banks of the river Taf and the writer and poet penned his beautiful words in that serene location  from 1949-1953. The writing shed was his workspace. He lived in another lovely little cottage in town called the Boathouse. Thomas’s play Under Milk Wood is said to be inspired by this town.

Laugharne is such a pretty town with its soft, pastel coloured cottages, Georgian townhouses, bird loving estuary, its castle and winding, hilly streets. Another town where I hit the real estate pages to search for unloved, inexpensive cottages just waiting for me to renovate…Alas…..

Dylan Thomas’s Writing Shed

We used to holiday in Wales when I was a child. I have memories of the soft, layered harmony  of the local Welsh male choir rehearsing on a summer’s evening at the small stone village church. The church door was open and at age seven, I stood outside mesmerized by the beauty of their voices.

Wales is a country of extraordinary rugged beauty, a hardy mining and farming heritage and a nationalism that is only now starting to emerge with confidence. The Welsh language is widely spoken and taught in schools. I’d stop in a tiny village bakery and the owner would slip seamlessly from Welsh to English when serving me…clearly a tourist because they knew everyone in the village!

We stayed in Aberystwith, which looked tired and unloved. ” Not gentrified is it?” announced one of the fellow travelers on the tour. Of what I saw of Welsh towns they are not gentrified. Time has stood still. The mines have closed long ago and tourism, agriculture, gas and renewable energy are the main earners. But 21% of the population lives below the poverty line. There are pretty villages and towns like Tenby with sandy beaches and pretty  coloured cottages that hug the coastline. The beauty of Wales lies in its rugged coastlines and the magnificent Snowdonia National Park.

I saw Wales with a small group tour but somehow the magic always seemed to happen when I spent time wandering on my own. With two free hours  in the town of Harlech I wandered in the rain and mist through the cobbled streets and into the bakery where I met a local woman, Lowri. As we huddled under the awning clutching our saffron buns and bread, it turned out she is the local real estate agent in Harlech and surrounding towns. We got chatting about renovation and the next minute I was standing in her tiny cottage, by the large stone Inglenook  fireplace talking real estate! Over a cup of tea Lowri showed me some of the cottages she had sold to “out-of-towners.”  Oh my heart starting beating fast. For $A280k I could buy a beautiful 2 bedroom stone cottage with views of Harlech  castle- sure it needed renovating. Sure it had no damp course so it was perpetually damp and musty but that could be fixed with a little money. All those TV renovation programs flooded my brain…………

We spent a lovely warm hour by the fire, drinking tea and laughing about renovation follies we had made. A spaniel snored lazily in the warmth, the rain tapped the tiny windows but the thick stone walls made me feel invincible…. Raising my hood against the wind, as I left Lowri’s cosy cottage I was certain that I’d be back to look at real estate…Just one more little reno. of a tiny Welsh cottage. Maybe with a writer’s room like Dylan Thomas. Maybe I’d get inspired to write…Maybe………!

Tenby Beach

Rejoining our little tour we headed to Tenby and I walked the beach thinking about the feasibility of relocating to Wales and another real estate adventure. What seemed so real, exciting and possible became overlayed with doubts and  the impracticality of relocating back to the UK. The serious adult voice listed all the risks and pitfalls of a daring adventure such as this. At 74? You’re mad! On your own? You’re nuts! Another renovation? You’re an addict!

Inspired by Dylan Thomas and Lowri from the tiny stone cottage in Harlech, I came home to scour real estate pages for cottages in Wales. I haven’t bought one yet but I’m still “Burning and raving in my older age.”

Thank you Dylan Thomas for that reminder!

Words and Images by Nora Vitins

 

8 January 2024 | Life-Style

Maestro- The Life, Loves and Music of Leonard Bernstein

One of the joys of summer holidays is doing a catch-up of all the films and content available on streaming services. Nothing like escaping the heat, choc-top in hand and being transported to another world for two hours.

Let’s side-step. Do you know about Leonard Bernstein? He featured prominently in my life at the age of  eleven. I was a below average, day dreaming student at Arthur Mee Secondary Girls’ School in Nottinghamshire, UK. Our music teacher Mrs Land was ferocious. Think Rottweiler. The music room was her castle and you entered knowing there was only one voice there that mattered. Along the walls of this narrow room with its wooden desks, ink wells, metronomes and music stands, were a series of photographs. Leonard Bernstein looked down on me sitting in my desk from his  11 x 20 Photo frame.  As my mind wandered during class and Mrs Land’s voice became a hum, Leonard Bernstein spoke loudly. His piercing eyes, large nose and the intensity of his stare told me this was a man who knew stuff, lived on the edge and had secrets! Fast forward……. me at 74, sitting in the Nova Cinema in Australia, still with this image of Bernstein active in my memory bank.

I really like the actors Bradley Cooper and Carey Mulligan so seeing the film  Maestro was top of my “must see” film list. Cooper has written, produced, directed and acted in Maestro, a biopic about the life of composer and conductor Leonard Bernstein. Even the critics of Rotten Tomatoes write ” Maestro is a towering and fearless love story between Leonard Bernstein and Felicia Montealegre Cohn.”

Maestro demands an  intense engagement from the audience. This is not a film that let’s you sit back and munch popcorn while the story lazily unfolds. It’s set in the 1940’s and spans 30 years. Bernstein has a clipped, breathy, nasal accent that at times is hard to navigate. Carey Mulligan, as his Cuban wife also speaks in  an airy, melodic voice that demands attention. The film is a story about Bernstein’s passions for music, men and the woman he loves. It’s a biopic of his rise as a composer, teacher and musician. A complex man… a man of his time and the wife who supports his talent and his ego.

It’s a good film. There’s a lot going on while the story is essentially fairly straight-forward. The film starts in black and white and then changes to a limited colour palette. There’s the 8 minute scene of Cooper conducting his masterpiece. There are fabulous scenes of New York arts set parties in the 1970’s.  Carey Mulligan  shines in this role and her nuanced performance is a counterpoint to the exuberance of Cooper and his prosthetic nose.

At times it all too much and with a good story worth telling and fine actors Cooper shows he’s still leaning as a director….sometimes.. less is more… I wonder what Mrs Land, the music teacher, would make of her hero as portrayed in Maestro? 

Maestro is screening in cinemas and also available on Netflix.

| Arts

Check Out U3A!

“People with strong connections to family and friends have a 50% greater chance of outliving those with fewer social ties. Friends can strengthen our immune system, help us recover more quickly from illness, sharpen our memory and even help us live longer.”

So writes Bonnie Vengrow,  a New York based journalist  in her article  The Importance of Friends as you Age.” Based on her research on the medical impact of being socially connected, its a no brainer that you need people in your life to combat the potential loneliness of growing older.

As 2023 draws to a close, it’s a good time to think about the changes you can make to widen your friendship circle and embrace new interests. I’ve just moved from living in a country town for 14 years to an apartment, 8kms from Melbourne. I know no-one in the area where I live and getting connected is important. So I checked out University of the Third Age or U3A in this area.

University of the Third Age is a worldwide movement to provide learning and engagement opportunities for retired members of the community- people in their “Third Age.” U3A started in France in 1973 under the guidance of Professor Pierre Vallas. The movement spread to the UK where in 2020 membership of U3A was in the region of 450,000 seniors.

In Australia U3A began in 1984 and has grown to about 250 independent organisations with over 100,000 members offering courses and memberships at very low cost to people who are reaching retirement or are fully retired. While it is called a “University”  don’t imagine lectures, entry requirements , exams,  and formal qualifications. Anyone can join and participate, volunteer and make friends as well as learning new skills and keeping your mind active.

My local U3A has approximately 800 members and runs around 120 different courses each year plus a Saturday seminar program. Remember each U3A is different so check out the one closest to you.

But let’s take U3A Port Phillip as an example. Here are some questions you might be asking…..

How much does it cost?

Membership at U3A Port Phillip costs $40 a year and you can then sign up for the classes of your choice. Other U3a’s may have a different fee structure. Some have a minor fee for classes but the aim of the University of the Third Age is to provide learning and opportunities to connect at minimal fees.

A quick google shows that here in Melbourne U3A’s charge between $30-$65 membership fees. If you compare that fee structure to say The Council of Adult Education fees where a one day painting course costs $240, there’s no doubt U3A delivers low cost learning.

Where are courses held?

Some courses are face to face workshop based learning at local community centres and libraries. Other courses are held via Zoom and instruction is available on how to connect via your ipad, phone or laptop.

How long do courses last?

Some courses run for the full year (February- end of November) because they are skill based such as learning a language. There are also 2 hour seminars, film groups that meet at a local cinema, view a film and chat over coffee after the film. Some U3A’s have trips to the country and regional cities to see art exhibitions.

Who are the tutors for the courses?

Tutors are volunteers who have expertise in the subject offering.  Tutors have to submit a plan of their course for approval by the committee of management. If the course is popular it will be offered again. Often retired business people, artists, academics and qualified exercise professionals will tutor a course.

How do I find my local U3A?

Try googling U3A and the council area where you live or contact your Local council and they’ll let you know.

Can anyone join?

The organisation’s focus is to provide learning for older people- so think over 50’s. There are many people I’ve met in their 80’s who attend classes at U3A.

What sort of courses are offered?

Without listing all 120 courses here’s a sample that U3A Port Phillip offered this year…

Auslan, Yoga at all levels, Languages at all levels including French, Italian, Spanish, Indonesian and Mandarin,  Hyperbaric Oxygen Therapy, Bridge, Creative writing, Critical thinking, Dancing on Fridays, Book Groups, Living to a Ripe Young Age, Lawn Bowls, Fly Fishing, Travel, Majong, Singing, Ukele groups, Friday film online, Why Insects Matter, Fashion,  IT skills, Wine appreciation, Warriors, Queens and Intellectuals, Play Reading, Photobooks, Reiki, Philosophy and Sci-Fi, Dragon Boating- is it for you? and many many more….

and remember… in most cases once you’ve paid your membership, courses are free.

ACT NOW!

It’s enrolment week at most U3A’s around this time of the year so find your local organisation now! Art and exercise classes are very popular and often have wait lists so  it’s a good time to make plans for next year.

U3A provides everyone with a low cost, fun way to keep learning and meet other people, volunteer and have a purposeful, engaged older age…What have you got to lose?

Feature image with thanks Andrea Piacquadio

13 December 2023 | Living Well

Marooned in the Inner Hebrides

Someone once said ” There are 2 seasons in Scotland- June and winter!”

I should have heard this before I set off to the UK in September/ October this year!

I had grand plans. For my 74th birthday I would spend a week in my favourite town in Scotland, Oban. It’s a little fishing town in the Inner Hebrides and the gateway to the islands of Mull, Iona, and Staffa  accessible by ferry. The rail link to Edinburgh and Glasgow makes Oban easily accessible and its a picturesque 3 hour train commute, usually in the company of jolly hikers heading for their weekend “bagging Munro’s.” Before you ask how to cook a Munro… well you don’t…they’re mountains..big ones…. over 1000 metres and there are 282 of them in Scotland. And Jolly Hikers think it’s fun to climb to the summit of them all…. hence ” Bagging Monro’s”

I also had a writers workshop booked on the beautiful island of Iona with its moody skies and spiritual home, The St Columba Benedictine abbey. It was a small  novice writers group of 6-8 women who would drink tea, share stories and learn wise things. Then pop back to the mainland of Oban on the ferry and probably create more stories at the pub that evening. The flat I had booked for the week was a lovely old stone building in the heart of town with views of the water and the big ferries shuffling passengers between the islands.

It was raining when I arrived. To be expected. Autumn in the Inner Hebrides. But I was prepared this trip. Lots of layers of puffer jackets, thermals, hats and scarves and 2 umbrellas and sensible lace up boots. I’m ready.

The walk to the supermarket was a short 20 minutes through town. Past the fish stalls selling today’s catch on the jetty, along the main street with its fabulous bookshop, shops selling gear for those Munro baggers, numerous pubs and fish and chip shops, churches and hotels… and the Oban distillery. Oban is a town of 8,000 people, so all aspects of life are well catered for. The population swells to 24,000 people in tourist season..Phew..glad I didn’t come in August!

Settled into the cosy flat, frig full..nice to cook my own food again… still raining…the wind is picking up too..umbrella pretty useless… golf umbrella to be sourced tomorrow… TV news..more wild weather on the way….not too cold just wet, windy, WILD.

Blown to the supermarket the next morning but nothing will deter my morning ritual….copy of The Times, a few groceries and perhaps a dryout at Roxy’s coffee and tea house with its delicious cheese scones, outstanding coffee and always a friendly chat with locals or the numerous dogs they bring inside to sit by the fire. Still raining….. sheets of it..horizontal rain too….. In the bookshop I noticed the Fiddle and Accordian Club is meeting tonight at the Royal Hotel..I love a Scottish singalong so I’ll be heading there later on….

Lovely fresh fish for dinner. Blown to the Royal Hotel but determination will not stop me. Some roads flooded…… medieval drainage! Boots a bit soggy but bearing up. The F and A club  is seething with feverish excitement. About 100 locals, many clutching bulky accordians or battered fiddle cases. All generations. Whole families. The Master of ceremonies, resplendent in kilt, looks a tad worried about the responsibility of ushering musicians through a packed program and the first act from a neighbouring village hasn’t arrived yet! There’s talk of road closures…

I sit with a lovely couple from Iona. They have lived on the island all their lives, farming the same land his grandfather farmed. Stuart and Fiona grew up together, went to the same school and church. She left the island for a year to work in Edinburgh but came back to marry Stuart. On Iona Fiona says in her clipped matter of fact Scottish way ” We wouldn’t live anywhere else. Why would we? We know everyone on the island, we never lock our doors…its our home given to us by generations before….”

They seem to adopt me for the night and usher cakes, tea and offers of whisky in between a running commentary of all the musicians and their history…” Oh there’s Morag.. you’ll like her.. she’s a fine fiddler..Johnny’s daughter… soon to be married”

Thundering rain on the roof doesn’t dim the sound of fiddlers..” Aye just turn up the amps..”

After a while all the Scottish songs sound the same but all are heart felt renditions and much loved by the audience. One accordianist is outstanding and varies the repertoire a little much to the displeasure of Fiona..” Huh.. he’s doing it again…. such a fine fiddle player too….”

I’m confused and my mind lurches into dark thoughts…. he’s doing what..? Child molesting? Ingesting illegal substances.. ? I ask Fiona for clarification…. ” He always plays those foreign songs! This one’s French I think..Huh and he’s such a fine man too.”

Walking home in the rain that night these words kept coming back to me. I romanticise life on a beautiful island like Iona. The closeness of community and familiarity, stability and the country idyll. But with it comes the intolerance of outsiders..the “foreign” influence, the resistance to change and narrow margins of conformity. I see island life from a different angle…isn’t that the powerful thing about travel?

All night it rains with a vengeance. I turn on the news…..torrential rain expected and the Scottish understatement of the century.. ” Wild Weather” I hope the Ferries run tomorrow to take me to Iona for my course. So I head to the ferry terminal……… there’s a buzz in town.. roads closed, trains cancelled or delayed.. ” Did ya hear about the McTavishes? Aye landslide they say. Cut all the roads in and out..and him needing medical help and that.…” Sometimes I think I’m an extra in a Saturday night TV program set in a Scottish village.” I check in at the Ferry terminal…. will the ferry run tomorrow?  ” Oh aye she never stops.. we’ll get ya to Iona…ya may have ta swim back though” he says straight faced.

That night there’s news at the pub that roads have been cut and the train from Glasgow and therefore Edinburgh may not run tomorrow. and yes more ” Wild weather!”

I head off early with my clothes barely able to dry out overnight..to take the ferry to Iona for my writers workshop… Five excited women clutching their stories arrive on Iona to be greeted with warm tea and soda bread. (Another participant didn’t make it to the island.)We gather in a small room in the sweetest cottage by the abbey. There are 2 Americans, 2 Canadians and me along with Aysha, the group leader. The wind howls. The rain pours outside the cottage and its hard to hear each other at times. I’m also getting anxious. The rain never eases. It’s angry and fierce and shows no mercy. We’re about to break for lunch when there’s a knock at the door and Ayesha returns to say ” Wild weather” is setting in and while the ferries say they’ll keep running the weather bureau are going to issue  the highest emergency rating…. a  code Red which translates to “possible deaths”

Ok…nice chatting… I’m out of here.. I’m heading to Edinburgh in 2 days.. Birthday tomorrow… see you.all the best…” That was the end of my writing career!

Back in Oban the weather indeed becomes wild. The housekeeper checks in to make sure that I have enough food..it may be a few days ( she’s seen this before) Over the next few days all hell breaks out. I’m  glued to the window looking at the rain lashing the streets, the ocean growling and people hanging on to each other as they duck for doorways and shelter.  The news reports the worst storms in Oban in the last 60 years. Carparks and the supermarket are flooded. No trains run, as the line in under water. There are landslides, lots of  home births, no school, supplies can’t get in and emergency workers and community volunteers do the rounds of older people and those house bound. My week in the flat is extended to 10 days and my daily walk takes in the train station to see if trains are running. Some days even the daily walk is abandoned.

Again my rose tinted view of life in Scotland is challenged by the harsh reality of the weather here. I stop looking for cute cottages in the misty hills as my next home,  I stop imagining my Highland laird waiting to greet me and I abandon half baked fantasies of taking up the fiddle. Drying out my clothes is a priority and getting out of here is an urgent need…

I do make it to Edinburgh as the train slowly weaves its way through the carnage of swollen lochs, trampled trees and upended roads. We change trains, take buses for one section of the journey but we make it back to the big city. Being marooned in Oban wasn’t on my itinerary but feeling the brunt of   Scottish wild weather taught me humility and broke the delusion that we have power over nature. Travels always teaches us what’s important in life.

 

21 November 2023 | Life-Style

Over the Sea to Skye…..

” Perch where the wind comes at you full-force. Let it blow you apart till your feathers fly and you look like hell. Then abandon yourself. The wind is not your enemy, Nothing in life is. Go where the wind takes you- backwards- higher, lower. The wind to carry you forward will find you. when you’re ready. When you can bear it.” Margaret Wheatley

I’ve always love this quote from Margaret Wheatley. Give yourself to the possibility for change. It’s never easy. You’ll look and feel like hell. But in that wind of change there is transformational growth, when you are ready to take that step.

So what does this have to do with a 5 day tour of the Scottish Highlands and the islands of Skye, Mull and Iona? Ah, a tenuous link perhaps but the wind does a large part to play in this tale of two 70 year old friends from Australia who say “Bugger Covid, we haven’t got decades left… we’re going travelling!”

Let me set the scene. It’s day 3 of the tour. Lesley is still on the look-out for Jamie, the superbly handsome, kilted character from the Netflix drama ” Outlander. The closest we get is Nick, our tour guide who is a lovely maybe 30 or late 20’s, super fit and handsome. He does not wear a kilt but we make allowances. He’s terrific, full of stories, knowledgeable, experienced, attentive and passionate about the highlands and the beauty of Scotland. He’s a keen adventurer.

Lesley and I are novice travelling companions… an unlikely combo. Lesley is warm, engaging and a raging extrovert where every person she encounters is an opportunity for conversation. I’m reserved, introverted, spend a lot of time in my head and find hours of people time exhausting. My idea of hell is a cruise. Tours and tour buses are closely related cousins of the cruise hell hole. Boat trips in my narrow world, need to be short, on never a ripple, calm water and with plenty of alcohol to steady the nerves.

So here we are on Day 3.  The minibus seats 16 but there are only 7 of us on this tour, all in our 60’s and 70’s. One person has knee injuries, another has recovered from serious illness and is adventuring again. Lesley and I have been training for this trip and we are confident of our fitness and agility. Every Wednesday, we have been walking the 6 kms of flat ground around Lake Wendouree in Ballarat. We used to have to stop for coffee half way but for past months we have taken our fitness training very seriously…we’re ready for the Highlands and what ever challenges are thrown at us. Bring it on!

We’re told that unfortunately, the weather prediction is for wild weather and choppy seas and our scheduled boat trip to the island of Staffa has been cancelled. We’ll miss seeing the Puffins, those curiously cartoon –  like birds, that live on the island of Staffa. Not a problem- it’s all about safety. But Nick tells us that as we’re on the Isle of Skye, we have to see the magnificent Black Cuillin Mountains and have a bit of a walk. A boat will take us there, we’ll have 3 hours to explore the lochs and mountains, do a bit of walking, take photos,  have the lunch we bought with us and then the boat will pick us up, at 3pm,  after a healthy day in the beautiful Scottish Highlands. (My brain does not generate the question..why is it safe to  go on a boat to the Black Cuillin’s and yet its not safe for a boat to go to Staffa?)

Lesley has on her shiny, black gumboots that she bought in Australia. I tease her about he ” magic boots.” Her raincoat and multiple layers of jumper and thermals keep her warm. I wear my leather boots which match my puffer coat… more city slicker  than well- equipped hiker… did I learn nothing walking the lake in Ballarat?

We arrive at the boat ramp where a caravan serves coffee and sells lobster rolls. as well as oat cakes and other treats. I shove a few  snacks into my handbag. The boat arrives and I look at the wooden, slightly battered, ex fishing boat with some concern. The sea is grumpy and the rain has been gently falling all morning. The skies are moody and dark, The seats on the boat are wooden planks and I listen closely to the safety drill but the Scottish captain’s voice gets lost in the wind. Nick is jolly and I anticipate a gentle walk on a well- defined “granny path,” with many beautiful photo ops and perhaps even a little pub serving whisky by the open fire where we can shelter from the rain and look at the mountains. Nice.

We climb on board the slippery deck and I slide, with the grace of an orangutan into a vacant part of the bench seat. carefully estimating where I have the highest chance of survival when the boat overturns. As we round the cliffs the wind picks up, and the captain tells jolly tales to distract us from the waves that are lashing over the side of the boat. Lesley laughs and chats to the others making jokes. Facing impending death, I shout to Nick ” Did I ever tell you I don’t go on boats smaller than the Britannia?!” The wind catches my words and throws them overboard. As we bounce over the thrashing waves I only have one thought…..don’t vomit.. remember this is supposed to be fun.!

The boat spun around and surged forward to take in a seal colony having a morning get together, with an occasional yoga stretch for the pesky tourists. Photos taken, the boat surged forward again and  we settle into a rhythmic movement of rising with the waves and lurching back as they crash. My face feels wind-burn but mostly an  icy- cold numbness. The scenery is staggeringly beautiful as the theatre of rain, wind and the ballet of clouds plays out before us. The captain announces we are nearly there and I look around for a pier or port to disembark. Nope No pier and certainly no port, just wilderness and ferocious highland weather. The wind is howling and the rain has shifted gear into torrential, as we are helped from the boat on to a ladder clinging to the cliff with ropes as the balustrading. I hang on to the ropes and step gingerly from one rung to the next. I’m shaking. Don’t look down just ahead. My puffer coat seems to have inflated in the wind and I am certain I will be airborn at any moment. The Canadians in our group are seasoned hikers and I hear the wind carry laughter from their midst. I think only of whether I made my will.

As we scramble up the ridge of the mountain- well it was probably a hill…. the wind and rain are unrelenting. It’s every man for himself here. Nick is bringing up the rear as this bunch of people with neuroses and knee replacements scramble to reach the summit. There’s no granny path.. no path at all but shiny, slippery jagged rocks interlaced with boggy, slippery grass that you soon find is actually peat bog. My leather boots sink into the icy wet, boggy ground and dank slime seeps into my socks. I cling to rocks to secure my balance as the wind pushes at my back. There’s a cry ahead of me as one of our party loses her balance and falls. I am frightened but also angry…this was not what I signed up for!  I’d reached my risk in nature threshold. I saw Mary stumble and fall. I said to Nick..OK I’m staying right here. This is silly and too dangerous. If I break an ankle there’ll be real problems and Mary has already fallen over … she’s Ok but shaken..”

Three others decide they too have exhausted their adventurous spirit and we perch on a rock in the wind and try to keep warm. Then I look around.. Where’s Lesley?  What a woman! Magic boots has joined the Canadians and they are continuing the hike further along the ridge. Nick has joined them. So the group becomes 2 tribes.. the intrepid adventurers who incidentally, found more shelter further around the ridge and the group who sat, huddled together surrounded by the Black Cuillin Mountains, the wind and the unrelenting rain. We had 3 hours until the boat returned to pick us up. There was of course no pub and no whisky. That would come later that night. The group of 4 sat is quiet contemplation trying to keep warm. After an hour or so the wind died down and the rain eased a little. We were safe, if wet and weather beaten. We talked quietly, unsure how to make sense of  our experience that day. We started to clamber slowly back down to where the boat would meet us, sliding over rocks but with less wind it felt safer. We took photos but the mood was subdued. The other tribe joined us and they were chatting happily.

As the boat came into sight we scrambled down the rope gang-plank ladder without a second thought. The crew gave us hot tea and biscuits and we made our way home….with feathers flying and looking like hell!  Much whisky was drunk that night in the warmth of a cosy Scottish pub.

And a post-script………

While the day ‘s experience made for a great story I have learned in future to closely check the plans for each day of touring. This was not advertised as an adventure or hiking holiday….. I’m sure the tour company’s insurance would have tripled if this was the case! A young, passionate Scottish adventurer tour guide took a group of people in their 60’s and 70’s in wild weather, for a hike in the Scottish Highlands. There was no plan B or alternatives available. There was no mobile phone reception or Sat phone, no first aid kit, no houses  and no way of getting help if someone had been seriously hurt in the 3 hours we were marooned in the mountains on that part of Skye. We were dressed for a day of touring and ill equipped to deal with wet, wild Scottish weather on a mountainside.  So my friend ask questions and look for tour plans with options catering for all fitness and anxiety levels! 

WORDS AND IMAGES BY NORA VITINS

 

9 June 2022 | Life-Style

Fear of Travel and How to Travel with Fear

On the day Qantas re-opened International flights after 2 years of Covid, I faced a major dilemma. My shower kept blocking up. I could fix it with one of those rubber suction squashy things, but I knew that I should probably call the plumber. Then there’s the dodgy drain-pipe that probably should be replaced at some stage. I looked at the $1800 lounging in a bank account named “Emergencies.” Then I looked at the Qantas site. Return to London via Darwin $1750. Done! Booked… the plumbing can wait.

That was 6 months before I was actually due to make the trip. That gave me 6 months to drive myself nuts imagining every single disaster that would befall this crazy woman heading on a 6 week trip to a Covid infested country like the UK, where even Boris was having parties at Downing street while Britain was under lock-down!! When I told family and friends of my plans to travel in England and Scotland, there were a number of reactions. The knowing look of ” Ok this confirms it. She’s totally mad.” or the ” She’ll come to her senses and cancel.” or a sweet murmur of ” Oh that’s great. I hope all goes well.”

Remember. this was still the time when International Vax Certificates were an idea but nobody could find them online. You also couldn’t travel unless you had a negative PCR test result 72 hours before boarding, And so, with 6 months to spare, my anxiety went into overdrive and I would be sleepless in Seattle- make that Melbourne, for most of the next 6 months. I worried about EVERYTHING… every tiny detail. I checked and rechecked every booking. If there’s a tracking system on the Government’s Smart Traveller website they would have seen a person somewhere in country Victoria (me) checking the site for updates every day, sometimes 4 times a day and regularly at 3am.. the witching hour!

But I knew I had to go overseas. This was so much more than a holiday. It was a way of reconnecting with that part of myself that wants to be in control of my life..to have agency and feel capable of living fully after 2 years of being isolated, lonely, frightened and responding to government directives of how I needed to live these very precious years of my 70’s. I needed to feel agile, capable and happy again.. and all I had was a Qantas ticket and a suitcase full of fear and anxiety when I stood at Melbourne airport, 6 months later.

So what were these fears that I had to make friends with?

  1. You’ll Get Covid. It’s everywhere. You’ll get sick and have to isolate in a dingy hotel room somewhere in the UK, away from family and friends. You may even need hospitalisation. You may die!  All possible but none of this happened. I’ve had 4 Covid shots. The last booster was a week before  I left for the UK. I never once got sick; in fact, walking 10-15kms a day made me fit and well and solved the high BP I was having before I left.  I was also careful and wore a mask on the tube, public transport and in lifts . I didn’t go to concerts or stage shows or places where people were tightly packed. I had great health insurance cover if I did get Covid and I stayed in most hotels/ cottages for at least a week to minimize my exposure. In the UK there is very little mention of Covid. People are travelling abroad and London was packed with international tourists. Its summer and Covid is not mentioned in the media. It was not on my radar except in public transport where I was usually the only person wearing a mask!
  2. You’ll run out of money. Prices have gone up 20% in the UK. Everything is super expensive. True. Things are expensive. When you see a GBP sign .. double it for Oz dollars and if you still want the dress, up market hotel, lunch at Fortnum and Mason’s etc then do it. Some days I bought delicious salads and chicken from Marks and Spencer and had a picnic in the park for my main meal. At other times I ate pricey but wonderful food in posh restaurants. In Scotland seafood is wonderful and not expensive. Hotel rooms cost between $A150 – $350 a night. B and B’s are much cheaper. A week in a lovely Yorkshire cottage cost around $700 for the week  and I cooked my own food.  London and Edinburgh are expensive. Country pubs are mostly fabulous and we ate some wonderful fish in Scottish pubs..and not just fish n chips. Generally, food is much better quality and cheaper in the UK than in Australia..there’s also more variety on the shelves too.
  3. The cat will be in a cattery for 6 weeks. She’ll die of heartache and loneliness  She was absolutely fine and looked the picture pf health after 6 weeks of cattery care. However. I nearly had an aneurism when I collected the bill for her 5 star cat resort!  ($860) I think I’ll get a house sitter next time.
  4. If you leave your car in Long term parking at Melbourne airport for 6 weeks it will be a)stolen or b) scratched and damaged or c) the battery will be dead and it won’t start or d) you’ll be declared bankrupt because of the parking fees.  None of the above happened, Parking for 6 weeks was $300 and the car started first time.
  5. You’ll have to spend ages being tested, having vaxx certificates checked and it will be a hassle not a holiday               There was no testing requirement in the UK. I did hear from some travellers who did a cruise along the Danube that they were required to have a PCR test EVERY DAY! So check out the fine detail. Nobody, anywhere checked my vaxx certificate. There were no delays except a 5 hour delay getting the flight out of Melbourne. I took public transport everywhere in the UK.. if trains / subway is late by 15 minutes you can apply for a compensation payment for inconvenience with the transport authority!!  Do you want to know the biggest pain in the whole trip?  The Australian government requires that you complete an online Digital Passenger Declaration before you get a flight home. It’s dreadful. The detail required, scanning documents etc. You need to be tech savvy. They do employ 3 people in smart suits and stony faces to help less tech savvy Qantas customers at Heathrow fill out the dreaded Digital Passenger Declaration. As a general rule allow extra time at the airport..just in case… but I never had a problem with trains, flights, tour buses, Heathrow Express, cabs,  or the underground.

It’s so easy to talk yourself out of an adventure. You might try to fight your fears with logic and reasoning. But fears operate on an emotional level. Sometimes all you can do is stuff the whole darned lot of fears, anxieties and what-if’s into the suitcase along with a few covid test kits (unused), a few masks and some good walking shoes…. book that ticket and get out there….!

7 June 2022 | Living Well

Gordon Ramsay Rocks!

Let me set the scene. Lesley and I returned from a L_O_N_G  5 – day trip through the Scottish Highlands late last night. The days started early and the schedule was strenuous, so we agreed to have a couple of days to ourselves before leaving for Inverness. And it’s raining.. hard.. continual, Edinburgh rain. People shuffle past wrapped in puffer jackets looking grim- so would I be.. this is their summer! They must be feeling very cheated. Porridge and coffee from Pret a Manger equals breakfast and I trudge the streets, not quite knowing what to do with myself today. I shop a little, buy The Times, which I’ve missed in the Highlands and retreat to my apartment. The rain is unrelenting and challenges me to find meaning in today. But I’m low energy. And it’s 3pm. I’m antsy, hungry and I hear my inner voice ……This is not a life fully lived Nora.. Get thee to something interesting...   and that’s when I decide to check in on Gordon Ramsay’s restaurant in St Andrew’s Square.

It’s warm inside and I’m greeted by a young woman in a black tailored suit and white shirt. I’m shown to a lovely seat, central to the restaurant and with enough room to spread out. No white table cloths just black marble tables and tan leather banquettes. The space has the industrial look of exposed pipework on the ceiling, but all painted grey. There’s a long mirrored bar along one wall, a spiral staircase  to the toilets and upstairs dining area.  Mirrors, chrome, high bar tables define the bar area and the dining space wraps around the bar. It feels like a place where you can have a drink and cheese platter or come for dinner or lunch. Smart, definitely not a pub and yes…pricey.   There’s a gentle hum to this place, casual yet special.. Waiters glide… like black – suited swans. Attentive but never intrusive. Their timing is like a good symphony orchestra and it meets my needs, not their routine. Superb service.. warm, friendly, informed professional wait staff. They look the part. They are the part. You’ve got this Gordon Ramsay… you don’t get 7 Michelin stars across your restaurant empire for nothing!

The menu is extensive. A range of steaks and hamburgers, fish and even beef wellington. Three types of fish and also a good range of vegie options like a Superfood Salad which has kale, cucumber, quinoa, grilled corn, avocado puree, orange dressing and spiced nuts. (12.00GBP or about $20.00)

But I’d like fish, which in Scotland has been the freshest, most beautiful food I have eaten. There’s no rush to order and my waiter – who looks like a Tom Ford model, chats with me about the wines. I decide on the roasted cod with crushed potatoes, artichoke, salted capers and red wine and lemon sauce. (22.50GBP or about $40) This is accompanied by a glass of Pinot Grigio, from Alto Adige, Italy. (12.00 GBP or about $20)

I look around. On the next table, pleasantly social distanced, is a young couple with an older woman, his mother. They are Scottish and it’s her birthday, all conducted as a polite, restrained but friendly interchange. There’s no hurry and they are enjoying a slow lunch over a fine bottle of wine.

I look across at a table of Asian tourists who sit with their masks on, looking at their phones. Across from me is a young couple who are excited to be in this restaurant and taste each other’s food in delight. They decide to score the dishes out of 10 and become Masterchef judges for a moment. They’re having great fun.

My fish is delicious and perfectly cooked and the artichoke and potato, complementary. Nothing overwhelms the fish, and the dish has balance and different textures. The wine is simply wonderful. My waiter, let’s call him Tom, checks in gently and then drifts away..” Is everything to your liking madam?” ……. Oh yes Tom Ford…. and I love being called Madam!

Then I go a bit crazy…. the dessert menu is a bit limited but I would like something, so I decide on the ice-cream trio of salted caramel and raspberry, and  strachiatella ice-cream. The raspberry gelato was delicious and tasted like a bowl of fresh raspberries but the ice-cream was dull and insipid. I imagined creamy, cholesterol challenging, rich, exotic, lush, hand churned from the milk of Scottish Hairy coos….but it was the Weight Watchers version…limp and insipid…. Oh well…(5.50 GBP or about $9.00) I should have had the Single malt whisky cranachan cheesecake with raspberry sorbet…or at least the single malt whisky!

Then the world becomes really interesting. The evening crowd will be descending soon. The office workers catching up for a cocktail..the bankers, fund managers and IT crowd who frequent this area. In walk two barmen for their evening shift… but that is oh such a wrong name for these young Adonis cocktail impressarios. They strut. They don’t walk. They have black pants and crisp white shirts, black braces and shiny metal sleeve bracelets like my father wore to impress in the 1950’s…. remember the old films where these arm bracelets pushed up their sleeves – and emphasized their muscles!  These are serious Bar Gods, here to mix the most exotic cocktails from small batch, bespoke gin palaces and herbs grown in the Outer Hebrides.. all secret recipes of course.  They are serious, committed craftsmen (and part-time models) and when the in-crowd descends they’ll be ready with their heavenly elixir!

But I finish my coffee and pay the bill, plus tip and must leave the warmth of this restaurant with its interesting people. Tom Ford appears to help me on with my coat. ” How often does Gordon Ramsay come up here? ” I ask…” Oh he’s present every day.. but we see him every few months…” says the waiter.

What a great afternoon! I think about what makes this place work and as with most things, its the quality of the staff. Even in this climate where hospitality is struggling to hire staff, Ramsay has managed to attract, train and retain outstanding people. The food was very good but not outstanding, The ambience and service was 5 star.

17 May 2022 | Life-Style

Wandering in Yorkshire

” What will my ventures entail, as I begin on this unknown trail, even through the rain and clouds, nature’s beauty still shines proud. The vivid greens and ice-cold streams is what true beauty means.”  (The Yorkshire Dales by Gemma Alexander)

My obsession with TV programs like All Creatures Great and Small, Escape to the Country, Heartbeat, and Antiques Road Show reached a crescendo during the pandemic when I plotted my escape to this green and pleasant land……. England.  In previous years I had ” dropped in” on Yorkshire to catch up with a dear friend Julia – you’ll know her from the wonderful herbal medicine and wellness articles she has contributed to Viva70 over the years. My previous visits were short, but my interest in Yorkshire grew and I swore to return. And here I am for a whole week nesting in a little stone cottage in Skipton, in a row of terraces snuggling up against each other, five minutes walk to the centre of this market town. Church bells ring as I sit here in my little red kitchen writing this article. The evenings are longer now, and the birds in the little courtyard garden are busy practising their song.

Two doors away is a tiny shop with a bright blue door and a woman who smiles, even though she opens the shop at 6am when the newspapers arrive. The shop is like a small cupboard. It sells milk, papers, a few groceries and sweets that attract schoolkids from the neighbouring grammar school and who swarm through the little blue door at 4pm, when classes are done. It’s my “local” for a daily chat as I collect the paper and a reminder of a smaller village existence, where  friendly banter about the weather creates a warm connection with a stranger.

This little cottage has been my base for the daily adventures Julia has elegantly orchestrated, to show me the Yorkshire Dales, a world she has lived in for the last 20 years. Without her meticulous planning and her generosity of time and spirit, I would never have seen the beauty of the moors and dales. I wouldn’t have eaten cheese scones  and sipped coffee in a sweet little cottage nursery on the outskirts of Grassington where “All Creatures Great and Small” was shot. I wouldn’t have met Sir Rodney, president of the Manor House in Ilkley. I wouldn’t have been awe-struck by the vast open space and big moody skies of the Yorkshire Dales. I wouldn’t have taken 400 photographs. I wouldn’t have marvelled at the bedchamber of Mary Queen of Scots at Bolton Castle and the extraordinary clipped maze and gardens there. And neither would I have seen the opening day of the David Hockney exhibition of 220 images, spanning 90 metres of digital art showing seasons changing in Normandy.

It feels like the wonderful experiences of this week need to settle and find a comfortable chair in my mind, make a strong cup of Yorkshire tea and simply make sense of all the beautiful things I have seen this week, wrapped in the thoughtful and rich conversations Julia and I have had. There was so much to see and assimilate….but some memories have a quality beyond the visual. Some memories evoke all the senses and  rise to the top of a cluttered mind. So what are those thoughts and experiences of Yorkshire that will forever remain memorable?

No TV program can prepare you for the beauty of the Yorkshire countryside, especially in spring. Australians are attuned to vast open spaces. I never thought I would have a similar experience here in the Yorkshire Dales. Six miles from a town of 15,000 people and you are in wild, open farmland, natural rock sculptures crafted by wind and rain and miles of zig zag drystone walls. Small streams rush by while ducks and wild birds splash in the cold mountain water….. the ice-bathing heroes of the natural world!

The air smells of the peaty, moist earth tones that open the lungs and bring energy and life to a weary soul. Earnest hikers, wrapped tight against the drizzle and clutching their walking sticks look at the winding road ahead, then at the clouds. to judge the intensity of the rain that waits for them on their walk. Farmers go about their work unsmiling at their narrow roads littered with tourists. This is their world. They suffer the hard winters, isolation and vagaries of a farming existence. We are the interlopers who come, snap photos, walk a little and we are gone.

Images are snap frozen in my mind. The vivid green of the grass stretches into the bare hillsides of the mountain peaks where no trees exist. The sound of sheep bleating in conversation on the hillside. Mile upon mile of stone walls that some human hands built. And towering, craggy rock formations where the wind whistles and whines..these are among my forever memories of Yorkshire.

The picture book Yorkshire villages, the grand mansions, converted woollen mills and grand public buildings all deserve their own space and many articles will follow. The art, gardens, churches and way of life glimpsed through a tourist lens, I will return to in my mind in the wintery months ahead, back in Melbourne. They are sure to to return as future stories.

Each day Julia, drew back the curtain on yet another wonderful experience of life in Yorkshire. Each day we explored for at least 5 or 6 hours, another part of this extraordinary place….each one unique and special.  We talked, rarely in silence, for 5 – 6 hours each day! We drank fine coffee in an area of the UK known for a Yorkshire brew and ate delicious lunches. Conversations shared. Stories told and dreams imagined.  Yorkshire has been another remarkable chapter in this traveller’s tale.

Words and most of the images by Nora Vitins. Photo of Julia and Nora by the lady in the nursery/ cafe in Grassington!

 

 

 

 

 

 

6 May 2022 | Life-Style

A Weekend In London

” Great things never come from comfort zones.” is one of those quotes that drop out of the air when I want to justify spending a lot of money or doing something wild! Well in London, solo travelling at the age of 72, the wild may have toned down a bit, but the spending of money is a fine art that I have mastered. Britain is heading for 9% inflation this year but the media still seems to be stuck on- Did Boris throw parties during London’s  Covid lockdown and what is the definition of a party?! If people bring their own wine is that a party?……..But I digress…..

I paid $11 for a cup of coffee last weekend – admittedly in the poshest part of London, so lesson 1 from this trip is – travel ain’t cheap but the memories created are priceless…. another cliche to steer me through!

When, in a few weeks time, I’m sitting in my home in Daylesford in mid-winter watching the mists roll in, I’ll remember last weekend in London for it was magical!

St Paul’s Cathedral

On Saturday I set off to the Tate Modern which is one of my favourite galleries.  I’ve mastered the spaghetti – like underground “tube” and worked out how to get to St Paul’s, which is close to the gallery. The only people wearing masks on the train were clearly tourists. There were a few sleepy workers gloomily heading off to do their shift. The doors opened and in stepped a flurry of young people dressed like Ralph Lauren models heading to a race meeting or wedding- all fascinators, heels and pretty dresses. It’s 16 degrees…. summer temperatures for Brits. Men in their pastel linen jackets and brightly coloured pants..Like Michael Portillo on those railway travel programs.. British men really dress like he does! The energy in the train carriage lifted with their excitement. The train whooshed along the lines, came to a screeching stop and like feathers released to the wind they were gone.

I emerged from the tube station just as the sun shone on the huge dome of St Paul’s. I’ve seen it before. I’ve seen photos of it. St Paul’s is a photograph imprinted on  our minds. A cultural icon for us Brit. kids. But there’s something about it’s scale that creates awe and wonder and on this gentle day it was magical.

I  asked an older man with a peaked cap for directions and out came a lovely cockney accent.. ” well Darlin’ it’s like this…”  Close my eyes and I’d be talking to Michael Caine… As I walked over the Millennium bridge I thought about how lovely this  “Darlin’ “made me feel. There was no sleeze just a genuine kindness.. I hope we never  lose this in a world of political correctness.

As I walked up to the gallery I saw this sign..so very British!

Tate Modern is an old power station. Its scale is massive. I didn’t have a clue what was showing, but I was ecstatic when I saw “Surrealism Beyond Borders.” I hadn’t booked and my phone wouldn’t scan the code so they sent this old lady to the desk. There was one ticket left for the exhibition that day and it was starting in 10 minutes time.. Ok this is beyond lucky!

The exhibition was outstanding. Magritte, Picasso but also Surrealist painters from Mozambique and Asia. It was beautifully curated so you could understand the development of the surrealist movement in different cultures. Room after room of amazing canvases, photographs and film clips of the artists and their lives. Breath – taking, powerful, funny, puzzling, rich, and sometimes emotionally demanding of the viewer. I was in heaven.. what a collection! I’ll write an article looking at the exhibition once I’m at home.. on one of those misty winter days.

Tate Modern

I sailed back over the Millennium Bridge and saw a rather elegant looking restaurant near the tube station. Haz is an upmarket Turkish restaurant with white linen tablecloths, elegant interiors and attentive waiters… time for a treat! The meal was sensational. Little dishes of dips, lamb, salads, breads, chicken and grain salad with flavours of mint, pomegranite, lemon and garlic. I tried a light Turkish wine which was sensational.

A few tables away from me a business lunch was taking place. 40 something men in smart casual, met other 40 something men with US accents. The four sat down to lunch and oiled the conversation with a couple of bottles of wine. This time I was an observer of this Saturday  lunch where  business relationships were massaged as the basis for deals to be made during the week. There was a moment of reminiscence. I know this place. Leaving your families on a Saturday because American partners or potential clients were in town. I remember the corporate lunches and schmoozing- most of it tedious. Some of it fun..but it was work, just work and I loved the fact that I could observe the well -worn script play out in front of me, while I could simply watch, and in my own bubble, enjoy this wonderful meal.  The bill was $90 which wasn’t that bad given I had eaten for England!

The next day, Sunday I decided to go to church! I love choirs and big beautiful churches with all the rich stained glass windows. I shook the creases out of my one good jacket that I had bought to London and headed off to Sloane Square where there is a beautiful Arts and Crafts style church with a service at 11am. It’s a sung Eucharist which sounded Ok, not being familiar with the term Eucharist but ” sung” sounded good. Things started to go wrong when a number of Rolls- Royces pulled up outside the church and disgorged designer -clad children and their parents. Among the throng was a baby swathed in a mammoth Christening gown so it looked like an embalmed mummy. The throng sat at the front of the church and air kissed as more of the family gathered for the Christening.

Other signs that this was a bad idea soon followed. The golden robes of the clergy in procession looked grand until one of them swung the sensor containing pungent incense over the congregation. Whenever there was an Amen- and there were a lot of them, the  incense created a thick fog that left me gasping for air.. a little too much incense perhaps.. he didn’t read the bottle! Then there was the fact that everything was sung… pages and pages of standing up, kneeling down, gasping for air and singing. A gym membership would be less painful. The text also made it clear that we were all sinners and needed forgiveness ,which was a bit rich given the amount of exercise we were doing in difficult circumstances.

After an hour of this it was time for the baby to be named. Godparents and parents gathered at the altar and then did a circuit of the church to the font at the back and then back to the  front bit again. The child had a name so long that it felt like another hour for it to be baptised.  The poor little thing gave out a gut wrenching scream as the water soaked into the the acres of lace it wore. Among the baby’s names, which included Henrietta, Charlotte, Mary etc… right at the end of the names list, just as the vicar was scrambling for air was another name…. this baby with 5 traditional names was also called…..Scout!!!! 5 names plus Scout Fitzgibbon – Henry… Scout!!!! It must have been the incense but I burst out laughing… all a bit 4 Weddings and a Funeral for me!! The man in front of me turned and glared and I decided it was time to leave… I feined a coughing fit and everyone was happy to see me leave the church. Outside the chauffeurs huddled, chatting in the spring sunshine. The Ferraris in Sloan Square roared aggressively as they competed for parking space and I decided I needed a strong coffee. That’s when I found myself paying $11 for a single origin, free trade, left side of the hill coffee.

As I looked at the monied madness around me I just smiled at the church experience I’d just had. I smiled at the fact that I have enough to be able to come here to London and pay $11 for a coffee. I smiled that without any planning, these crazy adventures seem to fall at my feet. I smiled that I am fit and well enough to be here and that when I’m ready, I’ll go back to another country I love, Australia.

Words and images by Nora Vitins

28 April 2022 | Life-Style