Fun day at La Manga.

Colladus Beach and now once again, as I love it, sun kissed and wave sound blessed. The vicious Easter Bank Holiday storms have now thankfully passed over.

Yesterday, Easter Monday, was still a dull day so a good day to join my friends and local residents Mark & Naomi for a day out at Sinnods Bar fund raising event for the local cats protection league with the La Manga locals. (Jo Taylor via fc/bk if wanting to know more). This turned out to be a very different day to my normal solo lifestyle where I am rarely involved in local community activities. Hey! But what a fun day it was. Raffles, tombola, bingo, kareoky & delicious chilli con carne en mass. Simba, Mark & Naomi's aging labrador came too and became a kareoky star by barking almost at all the right parts for 'Who let the dogs out' by 'The Baha Men. It was hilarious. I'm afraid there was no duet with Tanya. She was, as she did all day, determinedly walking the floor hoovering for left overs and getting strokes from everyone.

I won a prize too. A lovely, and I will here gender neutralize said prize, unisex silvery grey leather bag which became our 'go to' storage facility in particular for the star prize won by a delighted Naomi herself. This was a voucher inviting a full meal out for two at a high reputation Italian restaurant already a top priority on Naomi's list of planned nights out.

Classic Highlight of the day though had to be both Mark, whose birthday it was, and Naomi, unbeknown to each other, bidding against each other to successfully secure a beautifully made and decorated chocolate Easter cake. The single candle (no clues there) was, with ceremony blown out by Mark and gorgeous looking cake was soon being carved up & distributed to all. A welcome dessert course after the Chilli Con Carne even for the two sisters on their high bar stools who happened to be the esteemed Easter cake creators, makers and decorators. Excellent cake it was too.

Boy were Tanya and I tired when we finally arrived back at Rap3 tucked up in the dark safe and sound by the beach.

Easter Storm

"Will you look at that Tanya: a puddle of seawater where we normally park. We're virtually at sea level and in this storm, even though the wind has died down, I'm not sure we're gonna stay here overnight. Only wants one of those huge storm waves to breach the outer rocks and we'd be sitting in a tidal race!"

 WOW! Sure is impressive to watch though through my little rain spattered side window perched as I am, in my meditation spot where I see these huge rolling, menacing grey storm driven waves breaking and foaming their way toward me only to be split, divided and rendered impotent by the magic of rocky reef and angled sandy beach. Needless to say this is not a silent, benign or still meditation. I feel, as its Easter Sunday, this is more akin to being in touch with powerful forces that can and do rise up anytime, again and again. Magnaminous forces of immense power who reincarnate at will reminding us continually, that, particularly like the vast Oceans, I and all other, are never still, never completely or securely level, never far away from unceasing change.

Yes, this is Colladus Beach, La Manga strip, on Easter Sunday 2019; and a very different beach from the normally benign and sun-kissed one I am more familiar with. I'm at present parked a few metres further back from my normal spot on a slightly raised gravel area up against the rusting railings and crumbling wall of the 'forever been for sale' posh looking villa. The rain is sounding on the roof and the wind is gently rocking 'Rap3' around. Better though than yesterday as I drove up the strip and the vicious storm winds were nearly knocking 'Rap3' across the carriageway. We stayed further down the strip last night tucked under a conveniant wall on the kinder and sheltered Lee side of the strip. A pleasant night it was too with a lovely long walk around the area and the marina earlier and before the rain set back in.

An added colouration to the experience is knowing the UK is enjoying a beautiful warm and sunny Easter. I'm not grumbling though. In fact it is the opposite as the sole reason I've travelled all this way South is so I can command the inclement weather to be here in Spain. This in order good old UK can for once enjoy and relax in benign weather. No, no, please, don't even attempt to thank me (big BIG lol here.) I've already enjoyed beautiful sunshine as per my previous blog. This is the least I can do for you all especially as it is so needed after all the Brexit stress/angst.

"Phew! That was a big one". It reached and breached the beach rise and refilled the large puddle of my normal parking spot. Got a feeling this storm is maybe still on the rise. I shan't move yet but will move back to my sheltered spot under the wall before dark. I don't fancy being here, in the dark, as the winds and seas rise to the ultimate climaxic cacophony of a gleefully screaming mature storm.

HAPPY EASTER EVERYONE.

Snorkelling plus an anniversary

"Done it, finally done it". I said stumbling back up the beach while pulling off goggles and snorkel. I flopped down next to bronzed bodied Alia who was also here on the exquisite 'Caletta' beach down its steep path from the village of 'Maro'. I love this beach with its alternative, non commercial and clothes optional feel. But today I loved the fact I'd finally managed a snorkelling swim in the still quite cool crystal clear Mediterranean water.

I had managed a very short swim yesterday at the 'Fina del mundo' beach (End of the world) which is equally remote but even more difficult to access down a very long and steep scrambly path. Poor Tanya had to be carried some of the way down and most of the way back up; not an easy task on a steep cliff hugging loose gravel slippery path in very hot sun. Her back legs are definitely starting to loose strength on steep climbs but on the level or gentle slopes she does just fine. None the less that first very short swim was the encouragement I needed for today. Alia had mentioned she was going to 'Caletta' and she is a good swimmer so I felt further emboldened to have another go but this time with snorkel. Plus, as its a longer, but less risky/difficult walk I did it the even longer way, by road using my e bike with Tanya in her green bucket. She was a lot happier and quite at ease tackling the final flight of steps once e bike was safely secured at the small parking area.

Nobody took a blind bit of notice either as this blaringly obvious 'unbronzed and scarred' body toddled across the beach and into/out of the water. Mind you there were not that many takers of the pleasure of swimming in the still, according to Spanish temperature sensing, freezing water. But no matter. I was delighted and despite my body being a lot thinner than previous the body temperature sensing worked as normal which was something I'd been nervous about. Would my body react OK to the initial cold or would it seize up possibly shocking me into a seizure or something? Well I've now proved post op body is going to do no such thing. Get the shoulders under water as quickly as possible, six or seven seconds of shock as blood is moved rapidly away from the skin and then within another ten seconds or so total acclimatisation to the water temperature. Such a good feeling. I have not pushed it though. I know I am not as fit as I was plus I am thinner and considerably lighter than I have ever been. Ten to twelve minutes was enough to enable a feeling of encroaching overall coldness but not enough to have me, and my old, thin, very white and scarred body, crawling up the beach shivering and hyperthermic which, would not be a pretty or acceptable spectacle for the mix of bronzed new age beach dwellers or the more adventurous and liberated young and old holidaymakers dotting the beach in various stages of bronzed nakedness. "Yes; I had better spare them all that horrific image". I thought to myself as I floated serenely among the rocks in the gentle swell following shoals of medium sized stripey fish.

I was tired, somewhat sunburned, but pleased as Tanya and I made our way back up the steps. Such a relief as e bike made easy going of the steep rough track through the terraced Avocado and Nispora fruit orchards and finally the tarmac'd, but still steep, road back to Maro. Just a short hop then to the secluded, ocean view wild spot I was parked in and sharing with Alia and, nearly my age, new ager Bernard from Germany.

A great day that ended with Tanya and I accompanying Lena and her three large doggy's back to her cliff hugging cottage where she sliced off an 'Alo Vera' leaf for me to apply its healing balm to some rather crimson bits of my anatomy. One day I'll remember to put that stronger sun cream in my beach rucksack.
.........

"yes; it is always difficult to find just the right spot in a 'Carthosis' affected back such as yours. But here we go I think this will be an ideal spot."

 That was the last thing I remember hearing before drifting into an aneasthetic coma for over five hours as two skilled surgeons removed my cancer affected Oesophagus. Today, April 19, is my first anniversary of that momentous day. No wonder I've been feeling a bit comumbulated.

I find it quite difficult to get my head around these sort of 'life altering' events, of which cancer was just the latest of several that have deeply altered and affected my journey upon this planet. Things outwardly carry on as normal but the rucksack of 'baggage ' takes on a slightly different weight and feel with every new event. That subtle shift affects 'normal' so that it is a different normal in every way. Different actions, different thoughts, different dreams, food and different people crossing your path.

There is nobody crossing my path tonight however: A contemplative reflection upon my more than good fortune is required so I am wild parked in a remote location with blue sea and steeply rising hills filling my Moho's doorway. Waves crashing against the ancient coral limestone cliffs with high pitched birdsong form the soundscape. It is Good Friday but an unusually cool and dull one for this Murcia area of Spain so the Bank Holiday crowds of exuberant Spaniards seem to have stayed away, probably in the popular touristy bits of this beautiful wild and largely agricultural coastline.

Yes: a good place to reflect upon this last year's Surreal journey. A journey where death was firmly on the script sheet as it always is once the big C word is mentioned. A journey of twists and turns, of despair and strong love and support and one of convincing and accepting that  Moho life was over. Yet here I am, a mere 365 days on looking out from my Moho door, and hardly daring to believe that what I am seeing is real. Meanwhile Tanya snores gently on her bed after having eaten a good dinner. Guess I'm a very lucky guy.

Thank you all for all of that love and support along the way. It seems to have helped.

Turnaround & Birthday

Ah: that's good. It's starting to brighten up now. As I turn my head and look out the front windscreen the snowcapped 'Sierra Nevada' glistens in sun but nearer, through my passenger seat window I watch as a jet takes off from 'Santa Fe' Airport under squidgeons of dull grey clouds.
I'm wild parked amid the olive trees and their accompanying dumps of litter at the well known and used, by the Punk and new age group, 'Sante fe' hot springs. I was warned about the litter before I came here but it isn't as bad as I thought and is certainly no worse than I have experienced elsewhere in Spain.
What is 'underwhelming' are the hot springs themselves. The water is about 38°C and very nice too. But over use and recent rain have rendered access and entry to the three small ponds more akin to a mud bath experience. No matter; the young with tattoos, piercings and crazy hairstyles are here in their tents and converted vans/lorries with smiles, songs and weird smelling puffs of smoke drifting up from the Reed beds as you walk by. All seem perfectly OK with the place c/w mud just as it is so who am I to judge. I may just take another paddle thru the mud myself later for a dip in that deliciously warm water bubbling up from Mother earth's depths.
........
'Benalmadena Pueblo' Buddhist Stupa and accompanying 'Grotto de Virgin' (or Mother Earth) have become the turning point for my journey this year. For me, as I've mentioned before, the place has become a regular stopover and a powerful spiritual destination. I required a few days of quiet contemplation in order to decide whether to continue my journey westwards or to stop/turn around and meander slowly Eastwards and Northwards backtracking my journey so far. The answer duly came and, via a lovely beachside free camp and evening shopping spree at popular tourist destination 'Torremolinas', Tanya and I found ourselves settling in to a stunning little wild spot just East of the village of 'Maro' in the 'Nerja' area. The area is again one that is firmly on my favourites list.
It was by accident though that I came across this little hidden gem of a wild spot. I have in the past parked up in the 'Maro' village main car park. This time as I pulled in Mr Guardia Civil (police) were there thoroughly going over both the occupants of, and, their assorted converted lorries and vans. I saw them all driving away later. Needless to say I did a quick turnaround before they spotted me and headed off about one kilometre down the gorgeous N340 and hey presto, an even better, and well hidden, wildspot. Especially when you have an e bike which makes the ride to either Maro or Nerja effortless despite the steep hills.
Meeting me there was Meichele, a fellow sole moho'er on her first trip out with her large and very luxorious classic 'Silver Mint' moho. She, like me, belongs to the Facebook group MWWWM. (Mad Widows & Widowers With Moho's) A good group of like minded idiots. Meichele was looking for a spot near 'Alumenicar' where she was collecting a rescue dog as travelling companion. It did not all go quite according to plan but sure enough Dillon, a black medium sized, and very intelligent, doggy of mixed heritage arrived a few days later. Meichele, a highly capable lady, then moved on Eastward to meet up with other group members and eventually a house renovation paying job she has organised with a previous employer. Safe travels M & D.
..........
Last year my seventieth birthday was firmly cancelled due to my cancer condition. But how to celebrate my seventy first and my new found, free of cancer, health and wellbeing? Well Gaia via the good old Maro, spring fed Valley, complete with its stunning scenery, and mix of local agriculture and 'alternative' dwellers supplied the answer.
Alia lived in her van just below me and hails from Cornwall but is of Swiss origin. She was at one time the only 'fisherwoman' at a small Cornish fishing village. She now, like me, lives in her van and splits time here, in Maro with walking in the Pyrenees. She is good friends with Lena, a Danish lady who finances herself by being the Spanish speaking Copenhagen tourist guide during the hot Spanish summer. Winter though finds her and doggy's living in her cliff hugging, end of the dirt road from my wild camping spot, tiny cottage with palm trees producing real live organic bananas.
As an aside both these ladies give generously of their time supporting Lenka who lives a little further along the cliff edge, only accessible by foot, in a tiny shack in the middle of a precarious cliff clinging Bamboo Grove. Lenka has terminal cancer.
But to continue. Alia and Lena were delighted to accept my offer of a free Thai cuisine evening meal out at the local 'Burriana Beach' to celebrate my good fortune in reaching this ripe old age with compromised body and highly suspect sanity. The evening was a great success with excellent food, wonderful service, and stimulating conversation/company with two lady's who really appreciated my evening of Birthday luxury and celebration.
I got pressies too. Organic fruit and veg from Lena. Home made Almond Dates from Alia and 'Ferrero Rocher' from Meichele. Truly a Birthday to remember.

People & Bridges.

It's the people you meet who make up a big part of this motorhoming life. For me there is genuine value in meeting a diverse range of fellow travellers, sharing stories and then moving on. Sometimes a contact is kept but for most a cheery wave with "I'll see you sometime then", suffices.

This evening it was 'Scotty' a keen cyclist & Kite surfer and former mechanic who has kept his well used/loved 25yr old modified Swift Kontiki moho ticking along nicely.

Earlier I bumped into Polish born UK citizen plus wife in their superbly converted 7.5ton Daf truck complete with hydraulic fold down tailgate/veranda, accessed no less, by double glazed sliding door. Very swish. He had done all the work himself and was now heading back to the UK to earn some more money as an HGV driver. They are parked just across from me, hidden as I am among bamboo groves on a rare bit of un-developed beach just west of 'Almerimar'.

This, apart from the tourist developed coastal strip, is plastic land; where a large proportion of your fresh veggies come from. Mile upon square mile of plastic greenhouses/growing sheds full of every green, red, orange & purple vegetable you can think of. It is plastic plastic everywhere. And this is what it is all grown in. The plastic wrapping you buy it in is just the tail end of your veggies birth to death relationship with plastic. As I top a rise and see the extent of the glistening plastic ocean in every direction my mind boggles and has difficulty processing the image. The sensation is I'm driving my moho in the middle of a vast undulating ocean but here I actually am, on a narrow gorge like road flanked either side by tall colourlessly beige plastic growing sheds which incidentally, are full of workers, mostly African, who also haphazardly walk or cycle along the road in and out of the various smaller narrower roads equally straight, equally long and equally flanked by huge plastic growing sheds. Then you meet a large lorry! I draw so close in to the side my wing mirror is pushed hard up against the flexible plastic side of a growing shed. Lorry thunders by, hardly slowing, with only millimetres clearance. Phew!

I've travelled through these 'plastic plains' twice now purely for the gobsmackingly other world experience. Suffice to say I encountered no other moho'er until I emerged onto the manicured touristy coastal strip. The sad bit is, well; lets just say that as well as the usual plastic litter detritus surrounding my little spot here among the bamboo groves there is also a large fly tip load of old/used growing shed plastic netting and sheeting. Dumped, illegally and 25metres from waves breaking upon the beach. If you go inland a bit its even worse, its unavoidable and everywhere. Steve has a sad face.

Recently I was at 'Colladus beach'. A favourite place of mine right at the tip of the narrow, 19k 'La Manga' strip. This year a difference though. I was there with company. My good friends Win & Lenny in their Rapido Moho. The weather was superb, so was Wins cooking, such a treat. I think 'Colladus beach' is now firmly on their favourite list too. A really relaxing few days. While there I also caught up with my Irish friends Mark & Naomi who were telling me of their relief at, fingers crossed & touch wood, finally being able within the next couple of weeks to move into their swanky new (and very very big) house/Riverside villa, c/w boat.

Earlier, and while travelling with Win & Lenny we met Manny, a determined 29yr old female German student who was travelling solo in her hastily converted X theatre production make up van. I think there was a mixture of relationship end and recent loss of well loved grandmother behind her brave adventure. As she proudly showed us her self modified van she poignantly explained how she had adapted and incorporated various pieces of her grandmothers furniture. We concluded she was also a little low on funds and food as our invite for her to join us for a meal was very quickly and eagerly accepted. She ate an awful lot that evening did Manny.

For Tanya it is the same, meeting other dogs I mean, which we are always doing. It was quite special while travelling with Win & Lenny and their Shitzu, Buster, to see the pair of them following each other in and out of our two vans with, I have to add, Tanya at times doing her usual and taking over Busters travelling bed.

Well. Congratulations Steve: you got that curried chicken and veg Paella spot on. And what about that big square of Mercradona's (Spanish s/mkt) special choc chip cake with cream on top.

"Am I eating OK?" Richard asked when I phoned him earlier.

Let's put it this way. I've got a job to move just now what with the Paella and cake but I'm going to have to shortly as there is a pile of washing up to do. Incidentally; I hav'nt weighed myself since I left Salisbury but I think not much has changed as the new trousers and new belt holes are still quite happily accommodating my new post cancer body shape.

Two retired brothers (Twins I think) plus their Jaguar and caravan parked up behind me tonight. Nice guys who've been travelling all over Europe for many years both in Moho's and now caravans. Unusual though to get a caravan wild camping. Tuggers, as they are called, normally inhabit campsites only. It's nice though to have their company, even though we all very much keep ourselves to ourselves, here at this lovely spot just off the fantastic N340 coastal road to Malaga.

Where we are parked is one of the loops of old N340 that have been left when they re-did the road. There are lots of them, many giving lovely scenic wild camping spots. Especially now the A7 'Route Mediterranian' takes most of the traffic. On this mornings doggy walk we stood on one of the the original narrow bridges across a deep gorge. As I looked up there was the next generation of road and bridge, slightly wider but more modern in that it could accommodate two narrow lanes of traffic. Then to my right and a little further down the gorge was steeply curving bridge number 3 on its concrete stilts and consisting of two wide traffic lanes. That's todays N340.

But towering above all and rumbling away as traffic rolls across it is Bridge number 4. The concrete stilts are enormous and take traffic straight from one mountainside tunnel to another. No following the contours for the ultra modern dual carriageway A7 'Route Mediterranian' it is just tunnel, viaduct, tunnel, viaduct all the way.  I prefer the slower, stunningly scenic cliff hugging, N340 but having also travelled on the A7 I give it five stars too as an engineering wonder with also, when not in a tunnel, fantastic views. Four generations of road three of which are still in regular use. That's the EU.

Dali emotion & Piggies.

I don't do much emotion these days. Especially after my cancer op and subsequent loss of my Vagas nerve. I cannot find, and have not thoroughly or extensively searched for, any evidence or research into 'Vegas nerve/emotional affect' but I do know it has affected in some way the delicate balance of head plus gut emotions that made up the totality of what I previously experienced as a full 'emotional response'.
So what happened tonight as Tanya and I took our evening stroll surprised me somewhat.
I'm in 'Port Lligat' just above 'Cadaques'. The moon was high and bright and bestowing one of its magical vistas over the bay which happens to be the same bay as depicted by Salvador Dali in his famous tantalisingly seductive painting of his wife looking out of the keyhole shaped window of his house. I was on the quiet lane directly above that house and its famous window, now a Salvador Dali museum and popular tourist attraction. Yes the vista was stunning but the tears welling up were directly connected to Kate, my deceased wife, and the very special time we spent here many years ago when love was on fire and neuronal pathways were created and laid down in their thousands.
The area and town of 'Cadaques' is sensuously and stunningly beautiful which is why I regularly make the trip here. The place seduces me everytime. Tonight though was different, powerful, and emotionally intoxicating. I was caught unaware but pleasurably affected with accompanying tinge of sadness giving bite to the overall emotional mix. Meditatively I was motivated to then walk for another hour as slowly, the fact I had received a treasured gift, sank in and connected. Tanya seemed to sense the moment too as she energetically accompanied me bathed as we were in the powerful moonlight.
In fact I was surprised at her 15 year old doggy energy as over the last two days, of gorgeous weather we have partaken of two long E bike on and off road expoditions around the area and out to 'Cap d Creus' and the lighthouse. These 'expoditions' by their very nature, also involve a lot of doggy walking.
We found a beautiful and totally wild cove out of the cool breeze but in full sun. Off came the clothes for first sunbathe of the year. I will add here that such an occurrence will this year be limited to such isolated spots. My rake thin 70 yrs old new body shape adorned still with prominent operation scars is not a site for public display. But the sunshine and crystal clear blue Med water is once again pressing my snorkeling buttons. I think a visit to Decathlon is a good plan with  wet suit purchase possibly being the way to 'fatten me up' plus hide my all too obvious NHS signature scars.
Tanya, while at our secluded cove, disgraced herself. I was quietly meditating & just enjoying the warm sun & occasional cool breezes touching my body when it went quiet. Very 'Tanya's not around quiet' . Called her. Nothing. Clothes on and retraced our steps back to track and E bike. Nothing. Walked back down and listened. Nothing. Climbed out on a rocky promontory from where I had a good view of the cove area.
"Aha, I see you."
Clamber back down, scramble round the tide line, getting wet feet in the process, and dragged her off the carcass of a well rotted, with accompanying aroma, seal. She got her mouth and beard well washed out with salt water for that little escapade.
However; I don't think the abrupt ending of her 'rotten seal' bliss was quite as traumatic as the run in she had with the three resident wild piggys back where we were wild camped in a large flat public area at the top of 'Port Lligatt' village. She was quietly pootling around outside when she came face to face with 'the piggy gang'. Piggies United Ltd quickly determined Tanya was not one of them and gave chase. But Tanya was also quick off the mark, did a screeching turn around and while still accelerating entered Rap3 through her open door with one mighty leap coming to a crumpled and crashing halt against the bottom of the fridge. No matter. A quick shake and flap of her ears and from her new and safe haven position she glared at piggy threesome who, undaunted, hung around just outside until boredom set in and off they wandered in search of more fun. Tanya was a tad more wary after that incident. She still wandered freely in and out of Rap3 but quickly retreated to her safe haven at any sighting or smelling of 'the piggy gang'.
Tanya and I plus new friend Lou from Hebden Bridge sadly said bye bye to the piggies this morning as we moved off on our separate journeys. Thank you once again 'Cadaques'. To me you are a very special place. I will be back.

Emergency Evacuation

"Uho!" thinks me. This is a very pleasant stroll with my nephews wife and toddler Maeve, and it was also a very pleasant meal we had all shared with her husband during his French two hour lunch break.

"But: right now, like instant, I am going to have to head back to the restaurant, kinda super sharpish, and use their facilities".

This, thankfully was accomplished without an embarrassing incident, but unfortunately heralded the onset of a full ten days of intermittent serious emergency Evacuations before eventually normality returned. I say it was the crab soup 'wot done for me' , but who knows. No one else was affected so I suspect, especially as it took so long to correct itself, it was a combination of the said 'crab soup' plus my 'different' post Oesophagael cancer innards. These 'different innards' are proving to be somewhat erratic and not as robust as my previous set up; a perfectly standard 1948  Lichfield maternity hospital model. They just don't make things like they used to any more!
..........
The 10 days of 'jippy tum' were not all doom and gloom as I did manage three days away near 'Giens' on the 'Hyeres' peninsula where warm sunshine made for a very pleasant stay. I'd originally gone to 'St-Mandrier-sur-mer' where there was a small Moho Aire. Parking/camping overnight around this 'Cote-de-Azur' area is very difficult & nigh on impossible during the holiday season. At 'St-Mandrier' I squeezed into the last remaining space & settled in for the night only to be disturbed by a knock on the door from fellow Moho'er Chris & his two gentle and well mannered lady Lurchers Bella & Bethan. A lovely evening was had swopping different tales of each of our experiences both of us being that rare combination of retired single male travelling mainly fultime with canine companionship.
Chris was also more familiar with the area and well versed in the dark art of finding wild or free spots to park up in this Moho unfriendly area. Turns out he runs the database of wild/free moho parking spots for the well known, and well used, www.wildcamping.co.uk of which I have been a fully paid up member for several years.
Hence our decision to move round to 'Giens' the next day & a perfectly acceptable layby next to the 'Salins' complete with their resident pink Flamingos. I, and Tanya, thoroughly enjoyed our three days of sharing time and doggy walks with Chris and his gorgeous canine ladies.
My 'intimacy' with the little white room in the back corner of Rap3 was by this time becoming manageable although I was starting to register an unease at continually having to tighten my belt on my recently purchased smaller waistline trousers. I didn't dare weigh myself and stayed firmly in a kind of denial trust that when ready, my body would re-appetise and regain the lost weight.
I headed back, after our time together, to 'Puyricard' and my tight spot next to my Nephew & family's house. There I stayed and enjoyed even more family as my younger sister and hubby joined us for a few days of 'Grandchild Maeve' time.
I'm also happy to report the 're-appetising and regaining of weight' is now underway but the depletion of wallet is now of concern as I just cannot keep out of the local Boulangerie/Patisserie. Those 'Tartes-de-Pomme' are going to do a crab soup on me in a minute if I do not re-establish some semblance of willpower over my unruly gluttonous pastry greed.
Plus, I've also fallen in love with over fired Baguettes.
Woe is me.... there is only one way out.... Get over that border and into Spain. Well I'm on my way. SW of 'Montpellier' tonight & possibly Spain tomorrow. No, I'll have one more day in France because if I remember correctly there is that Artisan Boulangerie in 'Port Vendres' and they do the most delic...........!

2019. Here we go again.

Ugh! I thought as I dragged Tanya from her warm bed & headed out to 'Saltdean' playing field for a very early morning dark cold and wet walk. The early rise and doggy toilet walk was a necessity as the Newhaven to Dieppe ferry would see Tanya back in her warm bed for a few more hours.

"Aww. Your Tanya is a really old doggy isn't she". Said the ferry check in lady as she scanned both our passports.

Bump, bump, bump as we entered the large yellow DFDS ferry up the severely corrugated metal ramps. At least there was no cramming us in like sardines on this trip. The car / motorhome deck was not even a quarter full. I'm sat in the restaurant at present and although it isn't quite the 'Marie Celeste' it is certainly the emptiest ferry I've been on.
About an hour to go till we fetch Dieppe and the sky is brightening with no rain. Looks like we may have a pleasant drive ahead to start off our slow meander South.

'Routot' a small Normandie village, of no special significance, is where I've settled for the night. On a level car park outside what, at one time, was the Mairi and opposite the large Norman Church with its hourly bells. You get used to 'the bells' here in France. I escape them more on my return trip when country/wood areas are drier and more suitable for true 'wild' camping. For now though, I'll forgo the cold wet & muddy fields and tracks for some level tarmac albeit it comes with bells. At least I know the correct time.
.........
'Chateuroux' tonight after a pleasant days driving across  expansive agricultural plains. I am always awed by the sheer size of France and its vast interior criss crossed as it is with silky smooth and Roman straight roads. There is a nerd in me who loves nothing more than cruising sedately along these gorgeous roads while surveying the terrain from a comfy, warm and 'high up' seat.
This year there is an added bonus in the form of the 80k speed limit on all 'non dual carriageway' roads recently introduced by the Macron government. 80k (50mph)is a very pleasant speed to wander the 'D' roads of rural France. This year everyone else is doing the same speed and apart from the odd 'sod this new Macron law' renegade it seems most drivers are towing the line and sticking to the speed limit. All in all it gives a very pleasant relaxed driving experience.
The only Downside is that many villages & hamlets have also reduced their speed limits from 50k (30mph) to 30k (20mph) which, in many cases, is emphasised by hefty speed humps. If the 'Gillet Jaune' protestors do not get government to change the speed limits back to what they were it will be interesting to watch the statistics on RTA deaths to see if indeed it reduces them. Personally I would like to see the same limits introduced in the UK. Not only in respect of reducing accidents but also as an environmental enhancer. Simply put, less speed means less fuel used.

What is not quite so pleasant is the bitter cold. Our early morning walk around 'Bonneval' this morning noted that several parts of the historic moat surrounding the town had a thin crust of ice on. Brrrr! Good job my van is warm & cosy.
Ken and Joyce enjoyed some of that cosyness last night. The leisure battery in their Moho was flat so I invited them round to watch 'Les Miserable' on my TV. Yes. My TV. I actually got it working as we were still just within range for my satellite dish to pick up UK TV. We all had a very pleasant and very late evening. I'm going to miss the last episode though as I will definitely be too far South by next Sunday.
Right I'm off for a shower. A nice hot campsite shower in a heated shower block. I'm in a campsite as I missed the free Aire and couldn't be bothered to go back to find it. So I parted with €16.00 in exchange for electric hook up (saves gas) & of course the previously mentioned hot shower. Plus Chatearoux seems a very nice place & Tanya thoroughly approved of the lakeside walk with all its accompanying doggy sniffs. She may be getting old, and going blind, and just now got a bit of a limp, but she still loves her sniffy walks.

Brrrr.... it's still damm cold out there!

Nb. No piccy's as am having probs publishing/uploading.

Pages of the sea + chips.

Beverly,, Yorkshire and here it was happening to me again.

"Tanya: what on earth have I done this time eh?" I said while Flashing blue lights and screaming sirens followed us as we wended our way to a quiet little parking spot where the 'River Hull' meets the 'Beverly Beck' canal. In total five large shiny red fire engines squeezed into the same small space as ourselves. Brown hi viz clad firemen assured me I was not in the way as they ran past and out toward the river meadows to investigate reports of 'a horse in the canal'. Reportedly nothing was found and, as one young fireman put it:

"probably swam further down, found a sand bank and is now back wi is mates munchin grass."

Peace resumed and a quiet night was had before an exploratory trip into town the next day to view the famous 13th century Minster. 'No dogs allowed'. Well that cut that adventure down to size. The town centre proved friendly though and lightened my wallet some as we headed back to Rap3 carrying new jacket, trews and top.

I was slowly working my way south from Scotland and finally, after several failed attempts in previous years, tackling the English East Coast. Redcar, Staithes, Whitby, Fylingdale and Scarborough. All delightful and 'must visit again' destinations. I had to rest up in Redcar's large seafront car park for a few nights as I coped with a cold/flu type virus which this time specialised in efficient mass production of nasal effluent! Never mind, the excellent award winning chippy over the road gave me the comfort food blanket I needed for ultimate survival. I was also able to attend the 100year 1st World war anniversary 'Pages of the sea' event on Redcar's beautiful beach.
Walking among the hundreds of sand silhouette 'unknown' soldiers was particularly poignant plus, when I raised my eyes there in the distance was the stark and sharp outline of the huge, now dead, still & deathly, former British Steel Works.

"We all used to work there, my whole family and me." said the lady next to me as we both carefully agitated the smooth tidal sand to create our own personal 'unknown soldier'. The tide returned and restored smooth order to the memory honoured beach later in the day.

In contrast the stark darkening silhouetted steel works stayed. Such memories as it evoked still fresh, painful and not yet ready to be poppy'd over or 'tidal smoothed'.

A moving day articulated with accurate, precise and moving poetic excellence by Poet Laureate Carol Ann Duffy with her 'Pages of the sea'.

If you've not read it, please do.

Golf ball & Durham

"Ouch! What the hell was that" I said to Tanya as I gingerly rubbed the back of my leg. Something had dealt it a bruising blow and stopped me in my tracks. Tanya and I were enjoying a pre-lunch stroll along the bank of the river Tyne in a pleasant country park on the edge of Hexham. I looked around me and quickly figured out that for the first time in my seventy years of stumbling around this planet I had been struck by a meteorite. Well; as good as. I mean there can't be all that much difference between a golf ball travelling at high velocity and my, so say, fast travelling celestial object. The golf ball, now without its velocity, guiltily rested among the autumn leaves at my feet. The owner was spotted heading my way from the adjacent golf course which was alongside the, 'not effective this time' protective line of trees.
I was not badly hurt, just surprised. A pleasant conversation ensued with a very apologetic golfer who admitted it was also a first for him too, hitting somebody with his golf ball.
Tanya and I walked on and back to Rap3 for some lunch before moving onto Durham and, hopefully, weather permitting, a day or two of exploring and viewing Cathederal etc.

We had left East Kilbride behind a couple of days ago after a great visit & time spent with family and Grandchildren Mia, Aidan, Jenna and Rebecca. My; don't They grow. Always the decision to move on is a difficult one. Restlessness, itchy feet, the urge to move. At 70yrs of age I crazily still get all of those feelings and so it was  'Hawick' (pron - Hoick) in the Scottish Borders that became our first stop. Mainly because it is a motorhome friendly town with some lovely walks in the adjacent parkland and woods. The night was a very wet and windy one and despite being warm and cosy in Rap3 I was unexpectedly and suddenly brought down mentally. The trigger was simply that for some reason my brand new all singing, all dancing smart phone had lost all my personalisations of faithful Mrs Sat Nav. Not so smart after all! You would think I should be used to such things by now and mostly I am. However: I have started to notice 'differences' in my 'ability to cope' with bouts of mental lowness post my Oesophagael surgery earlier this year. So far they do not qualify as severe or serious but they are definitely 'different' . Not helping either was the onset of a sore throat which, if previous experience is anything to go by, will develop into a week of runny nose cold/flu.

So: the remedy please Oh master?

Slow down, take extra care of myself and observe/catch those mischievous, devious and numerous gremlins of the mind early on before they command any semblance of serious symbiotic power.

We did precisely that yesterday by using healthy action at 'Keilder Water'. Out of its comfy hidey-hole within Rap3 came bike plus green Tanya carrying bucket and off we went on the 26mile circumnavigation of the huge man made Northumbrian reservoir cum tourist attraction. OK; so we did not start till half past two in the afternoon which meant there was no way of completing the circuit before darkness. No matter; a respectable 11 miles of 'Tanya E-bike walk expodition' lifted mind, spirit and body gaining also a respectable 'gremlin neutrality'. Another thumbs up too to my Freego folding E Bike. It really has put the pleasure back into our cycling 'expoditions'.
........
Durham was OK. I found good wild camping in a quiet local country park. Quiet that is except it was Bonfire night and the local youngsters turned up with their fireworks, risk taking and showing off in front of the girls. I had to ask them to move their antics a little further away from Rap3 and Tanya at one point but they were a good lot and all wanted a cuddle with Tanya, who, these days, through I presume deafness, is pretty unfazed by fireworks. The black plastic bag came out next morning as I cleaned up after them. A small price to pay for a good evenings entertainment.

The Cathederal was a bit of a let down though. No dispute over it being magnificent and oozing history etc etc. But, unlike Salisbury, Wells and Lincoln. Durham does not allow dogs in. Not even if they are small and cuddly and being carried. Disappointing but hey ho the city centre was nice and the Riverside walks were much more to Tanya's liking anyway.
I enjoyed them too adorned as they were with autumnal russet and gold over still water on a cloudy but lightish day. As I walked with Tanya, pushing our bike, I reflected on our recent visit to Cashel forest on the East Bank of Loch Lomond where Kate's ashes lie. I remembered being up there a year ago and reflecting on the fact it could potentially be my last 'living' visit. My cancer journey was all in front of me back then. The Rowan tree we had planted among the mossy grasses and bilberry bushes seemed to be saying the same thing. It looked decidedly unhealthy and I feared it would not survive the winter. I was right too. My visit this year found a forlorn looking broken stalk poking out above the thick Reed like grass. I peered closer and then gasped. There, buried deep within the protective shelter of those grasses was a very healthy and vigorous leaf adorned new shoot.

"Well what do you know eh Kate. I've returned this year with surprisingly good health after being helped by the deep, protective and curative grasses of family and medical professionals and here I am being welcomed by your tree, also spouting new life from deep within protective grasses".

Nature's own Spiritual synchronisation at its best is what I reckon.

Friends from Spain & Lincoln

Picture it in your mind. Saturday afternoon with a mega sale going on at Ikea Nottingham on virtually all flat packed furniture. I have also been reliably informed Nottingham Ikea parking is seriously limited now the rest of the surrounding large retail shopping complex is fully up and running.

Enter two large Rapido motorhomes. They turn off the access roundabout into this Ikea retail madhouse to find themselves trapped with no way out. All they can do is struggle along with the rest of the very slow stop start flow and try not to get caught up in the increasing irritation as dozens of cars and families trying to park up to access Ikea. I was driver of number one Rapido Motorhome and my heart sank as I swung off that roundabout, hit the solid jam of traffic, and realised there was no escape.

Lenny and Win, my good friends from Spain were in the 'just purchased' second Rapido. A lovely motorhome by the way of which they were delighted but already stressed out by a long day of purchase which had involved a lengthy phone grilling from fraud prevention as Win attempted to transfer the agreed purchase price over. All that was now behind us. Ahead lay this Ikea nightmare which was meant to be a quick visit for them to pick up bedding for their motorhome as it was impractical for them to have brought it with them on their flight from Spain.

We were never going to be able to park two seven metre motorhomes in the tight car spaces. Especially as cars were littered everywhere where someone thought a car was vacating a space. Win climbed out and headed into the equal chaos inside Ikea to grab some bedding. Meanwhile Lenny and I gingerly edged our way endlessly around the car park moving on another few feet every time we blocked someone in. We were not too popular but we had no choice. Finally Win plus bedding were re installed in Rapido number two. We slowly and carefully eased our way out and away. A huge sigh of relief, a congratulation on having survived the day with two undamaged motorhomes, and a lovely meal cooked by Win in the new 'pre-loved' Motorhome eased all our woes. Our eventful day finally ended as we snuggled down for the night safe and sound at the CCClub 'Teversall' camp site just North of Nottingham. Tanya, bless her was just so pleased when we first arrived and she finally got her walk, a good doggy sniff walk too, at the 'Silverhill'. Country Park just across the road from the campsite.

After the 'Ikea' trauma we treated ourselves to a couple of nights at the campsite before parting company as L & W set off back to Spain & their new 'Motorhoming' life. I meanwhile have resumed my Northward journey with a slight detour Eastwards to Lincoln to visit the Cathedral.

Now is it me or are these 'happenings' travelling the same journey as yours truly? I arrive in Lincoln and duly park in a quiet leafy backroad. I lunch, then in the warm autumn sunshine assemble folding E-bike, pop Tanya into her green 'taxi bucket' and off we set for the town centre. My attention is immediately grabbed by solid car jams, screaming police sirens and multiple blue flashing lights everywhere. As I get closer to the centre the area becomes increasingly deserted and I am finally shouted at and flagged down by the boys/girls in blue.

"Y'cant go that way.... Ooh... lovely dog y'gotta there. It's an incident mate, a suspicious package in the bus station!"

I did, via a circuitous route, eventually find my way to the Cathedral atop its steep hill (Thank you E-bike) to find it only half open as a University Matriculation service was in full swing. Nevertheless it was an enjoyable visit & the city's role in the Cromwellian civil war made for fascinating reading.

A bit more history for you here. The word 'Magna' was added to the famous Carter (charter) after bad boy King John had died. Magna, which means 'great' differentiated it from the later 'Forest Charter' which, in similar vein to the Magna Carter came about to address the greed of the King and his Barons who were forever, and at will, expanding the 'Kings Forest' and in the process making life hell for any citizen within the boundaries. I don't know my history all that well and I've never done any real research but I'll bet the name 'Woodward' (Wood or Forest warden) has strong association with this period in history and in particular these 'boundaries' be they pre or post 'Forest Charter'

And the Cancer? Well all I can say is that I am so lucky/fortunate to be out here once again on the road in my Motorhome. My last Oncology appointment did throw up a minor problem however; and I had to once again endure a few weeks of anxiety and worry before ultrasound scans confirmed, as my Oncologist put it;

'Good, a most satisfactory scan result. Go and get on with your life".

It was just unfortunate how it  coincided with our lovely family holiday in Devon. The anxiety and worry surprised me in the way it affected me. It caught me off my guard and in turn I'm sure it affected those around me too. The family week was good though & I can thoroughly recommend 'River Cottage' Homity pies.... Yummy.

Coming home + other

Coming home, or, at peace with myself, was how I felt this morning as I walked with Tanya among the green and lush fields on the banks of the River Barrow, New Ross just west of Wexford, Ireland. Last night Mrs Sat Nav, guided Rapido3 plus incumbents to a remembered and 'stored as favorites' wild camping spot here on this tiny road next to an old and abandoned farmhouse. The loudest sound heard is gentle munching of cows chewing the cud plus chirping of swallows in delighted insect catching erratic flight.

This was a feeling of wellbeing not experienced for some time as this last year of my life has had its share of what Pema Khandro Rinpoche calls 'dukkha' , or pervasive unsatisfactoriness. As I slowly and leisurely walked with Tanya such feelings evaporated as the green ferns along the bottom of the hedgerow waved gently in the morning breeze and wafted all 'dukkha' aside.

 'Chang chub sem', in Tibet is translated as; "mind of enlightenment held by an awakened mind warrior.”  This morning felt as though my “awakened mind warrior.” had returned after a long absence of holding tightly onto the 'at peace' or, 'at home' part of my mind while other active, cancer fighting mind and body tasks demanded priority. 

Such mind and body priorities are still required as I am not completely there yet. How beautiful though, to have such a friend / warrior return to assist and support me on my ongoing recovery journey. Maybe I'm now 'ready enough'. To explain that I'll take licence and quote again from 'Pema Khandro Rinpoche' (Dec 2017)

'The message of Yeshe Tsogya's extreme circumstances is this: when enlightened intent is relentless and unwavering, then, the profound basis of mind reveals itself to us in all its radiant glory; even though we are sometimes good self, sometimes bad self, and at still other times confused and suffering with our own problems".

You’re Ready Enough.
Believe it.
....................
A couple of days on now and such a pleasant experience / contemplation has reinforced my onward, more normal journey.

Wales & a visit to my Stepdaughter & family in their beautiful family home which is slowly and surely emerging from the dark, damp, and neglected old pub they bravely purchased and are now restoring. My visit was enhanced as my step son and his daughter also visited but also by this year's warm dry weather, not something Tally, Carmarthenshire, is renowned for.

Onward via Ferry to Ireland and yesterday's camping stop at 'Crosshaven Fort' overlooking Cork's magnificent natural deep water harbour. Yesterday was also my first E bike expodition with Tanya to explore Cork City. I have to say it all worked well. We used railway /cycle paths almost to Cork City centre and back again. Along the way I spotted last nights very pleasant camping spot by the river, the new sports stadium, and a lovely park where on our walk this morning we were entertained by a lively Otter.
.............
"Can't camp here tonight" intoned the Killearney Country Park ranger as he informed me I was now banished from one of my favorite overnight spots. He said there was a new sign saying 'no overnight camping' and; "look there's the post hole where it should be".
I never question such actions, especially when I realise said Ranger suspects me of nicking his new sign. I just agree and move on. I do not want to be anywhere where I'm seen as a problem.
As very often is the case come such rare moving on incidents, an alternative spot had been noted earlier in the day. I call it providence; a problem solved before a problem exists. Twenty minutes later we were snug in our little forest meadow out of sight from everyone.
..........
CRUNCH .... BANG!! Right outside 'Beach Box' the holiday shop and launderette my son and wife run in Castlegregory, County Kerry. I'd only arrived five minutes earlier to meet n greet them but then found myself directing /controlling the traffic as the Italian tourists hire car was extricated from its embedded position in the side of my sons car. Half an hour of mayhem ensued on the narrow but busy road before some normality resumed plus two very disgruntled people glued to mobile phones connected firmly to hire car and insurance companies. My sons car suffered surprisingly little damage whereas poor Italian tourist plus wife/partner had to bus it back to their lodgings in Tralee. I don't think they were too happy with their car hire company.

After all the excitement I am now settled in at my sons home and looking forward to helping out  where I can over the next few weeks of busy holiday trade. I have a suspicion my role could well involve spending lots of time looking after one lively five year old grandson Kaden. A real test for my post surgery recovery and recuperation eh!

Wish me luck....

The Recovery journey

Twelve weeks on from major cancer surgery and I seem to be doing OK. Fingers crossed eh. I am of course talking of the physical. The body. My body. A system now compromised, a lot lighter and lacking in the stamina I enjoyed before my affray with Oesophagael cancer. The system, albeit compromised, is working though and still supporting an awakening mind. I mean, what use is a body if it is not to support a forever developing and awakening mind. Which conveniantly brings me to the questionable psychological nature of my recovery.

"I would not recommend making any major decisions until you are six months post surgery".

This was the good advice I received from my surgeon at our last meeting where he also informed me the Biopsy results on all bits removed from me were good enough for him to announce me as surgically 'cancer free'.

Receiving this news is huge. It is empowering, overwhelming and totally, from my psychological point of view, unexpected and uncontrollable.
I am impulsive by nature and being given another chance at life my impulsive nature soon, with purpose and determination, overruled any good advice from skilled surgeons. I rapidly emptied out my bank balance and welcomed motorhome 'Rapido3' into my life. She is a beauty, a 2015 model with all the bells and whistles I require and she is in pristine condition.

Once again I question my actions in regards to sanity but the decision making was based on good research and good understanding  of my impulsive questionable mental ability. What was going on in my mind was every time I thought seriously about changing my lifestyle and staying in one place my heart sank into a sort of grayish blackness.

"I really would like another few years of my travelling lifestyle so sod it, I've been given another chance at life and I aint about to go and waste it. Let's just go for it"

And I have!
..........

This is my 2nd night out and 'Rapido3', although slightly smaller is coping well. During this 'shakedown' stage I have chosen storage locations for all my stuff on a bit of a; 'well it fits there so that'll have to do' basis. Slowly stuff gets moved around and eventually some sort of order emerges from the muddle. Comfy bed though.

I'm at one of my favorite places tonight. A peaceful and quiet old orchard at the back of one of my previous customers farm. This time my visit has been rocked as my good farmer friends wife has been diagnosed with terminal leukemia.
This on top of another good friend in Scotland who is as we speak in the final grip of a relentless and all consuming cancer.
As an 'at present cancer survivor' this double whammy does not so much bowl me over as make me sad, reflective and spiritually puzzled as to why. Not only why is cancer so prevalent but also why am I a survivor? The thoughts go deep and are existentially challenging. At the end of the day though all I can do is be there with empathic listening.
The 'Tibetan book of living and dying' states it clearly.
"Never underestimate the benefit to others of concentrated listening even if only for a few minutes".

Time to take Tanya for her evening walk and then to clamber into that comfy bed. Life goes on.

Post Oesophagetonomy

Guess I knew it had to happen and sure enough here comes the pain.
Last Friday was when I had my Oesophagetonomy operation. Since then I have enjoyed the all encompassing luxury of an Epidural managing my pain.

"On a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being the worst pain possible what is your pain level sir?"

'Zero' I would blithely reply.

I did not get away with it Scot free though. One ingredient of the Epidural medication mix supported an Allergy I have, of which I was not previously aware, to many of the wound dressings used. This, plus fact my epidural delivery tube loved 'beeping' no matter how I tried to lie down gave rise to some sleepless nights as my skin went on red chilli flavoured allergic fire.

So this mornings removal of Epidural pain relief support was something special. The large dressing sticking all the paraphernalia in place in the middle of my itching back was first removed. Bliss number one. Then lovely nurse massaged a soothing balm into my back. Bliss number two. Finally, due to Epidural being partly a needle in the spine, I was told to lie still, on my back for one hour, within the comforting coolness of the healing balm. Bliss, big bliss number three. In fact big heavenly bliss.

So you see I was having a really good day up to this point. The good time continued too as my sister and hubby called in to see me and I accompanied them on a walk down the hospital corridor dressed in my latest hospital gown fashionably dress accessorised with accompanying five wheel rolling stainless steel drip supporting dangling tubes which protruded from underneath my gown and they were connected to.... mmm! .... another days story maybe?

Oh! I forgot; special for this season too, my nose drain elegantly supported by good old fashioned white surgical gaffer tape. Those coloured nose support tapes are just soooo last year! As I, and my trusty Physio helper returned to the ward I felt the first twinge of real pain in the muscles around my middle which, my trusty surgeon informs me, have taken a real bashing.

Good old NHS though. The new, Morphine pain relief regime was promptly explained to me. You don't even have to go out on the street to buy it down here in Bournemouth. So here's me at seven thirty at night enjoying my fourth 'cup o tea' of the day and reasonably comfortable but now acutely aware of the extent and number of 'surgical slicings' I, or rather, my body have been exposed to.  Coughing, after, I am informed, having my right lung totally collapsed is a new and, let's just say 'different' experience.

Ho Hum and on we go.

A wondering dilemma

My Oncologist spelt it out clearly. He was professional, understanding and, I felt, compassionate toward my dilemma. His phone call to me was in response to my requesting a self funded further CT scan before my major Oesophagael surgery in a few weeks time.

Without medical knowledge I figured it as the only way I was going to know if my cancer tumours had reduced enough for me to make the decision surgery or no surgery. My Oncologist pointed out the danger, of another dose of ingested radiation so soon after my last scan, plus, he stated quite clearly a scan so soon would show little difference thereby leaving me with the same quandary as before alongside the addition of a sizeable credit card bill to boot.  Persuasive evidence.

He was skillfully accurate as he firmly said; 'I have to make my mind up now on the evidence and facts already available' . Hmmmm!

Now; I have never doubted the skill and professionalism of the NHS during my Oesophagal cancer journey. The fact they are offering me a 'curative' option is, in this day and age of cancer complexity and commonality, nothing short of a miracle. My 'curative' NHS surgical option also has a weight of solid evidence available via Internets multiple sources and through personal attendance of survivor groups. A clear, straight forward and powerful lobby.

The downside of this major surgery is merely a compromised body and lifestyle should I be fortunate enough to become a survivor.

So the dilemma, I face is, and I freely admit to it, of my own making. But never the less it is a dilemma that has caused me (and those close to me... Nuff said!) mental lowness, anxiety but most of all frustration.

Being on the edge of huge medical breakthroughs while having on offer 'Clinical Excellence' based on historical evidence is a place cleverly designed to foster such Frustration. You, ie the medical profession, cannot move fast. The mobile phone market, on the other hand, can move fast. Their research is ongoing and live and, as we all know, causes app failure and continuing updating. But it doesn't kill people. That's why the medical world  moves slower and with caution. Clinical Excellence based on historical evidence is there as an NHS discipline because it kills as few of us as possible.

For me, there is no doubt the rise of Genetics, Epigenetics and Gut Biometric science is going to revolutionise medical science and practise over the next decade or so. At present though, and in reference to cancer, such choices come under the heading of 'Alternative'. Exploring and searching for a 'Curative' option down such 'Alternative' pathways has taken me to a place familiar and recognised from my life history. A place where I am pretty good and do on the whole 'try my very best' with usually some success. I do not however; go to a place where total obsession, dedication and precise planning are prerequisite requirements. It just aint me.

What this 'Alternative' research and ongoing practice has given me is greatly increased knowledge and, I believe, a physical body in a much improved cancer fighting/surviving state. What it has not given me is enough solid evidence to enable me to be courageous enough, or to make clear enough judgement, enabling me to say no to the offered curative option of major surgery.

I am sad but not dismayed or particularly surprised by this conclusion. What I am faced with, as always, is the difficulty in now moving forward with this 'Curative' surgical option while at the same time carrying with me the frustration of never quite knowing whether my 'Alternative' had done enough in conjunction with my chemotherapy, and strict continuation of 'Alternative', to enable my rejuvenated physical systems to deal effectively with the cancer residue.

I will always be left wondering.

El Chorro

This post dated 26/01/2015 is one of my favourites & I mistakenly deleted it. This is it now reinstated from back up. Unfortunately 'Blogger' does not allow me to replace in sequence.
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Quote from the 'Rough Guide' for Spain;

'Fifty kilometres NW of Malaga Garganta del Chorro (gorge of ... ) is an amazing place. An immense five-kilometre long cleft in a vast limestone massif, which has become Andalucia's major centre for rock climbers.'

Well here I am. Perched in a prime spot right above 'El Chorro' the village, complete with train station, and looking straight down the first part of the gorge. I tell you it is worth having to park next to the local bin compound for such a view while tucking into a, made it all myself n it's one of my better ones, chicken curry.

The place, as stated, is a rock climbers, mountain bikers and walkers heaven. Not a hundred metres down the narrow track are two vans full of young Brits here for the climbing. The place is not what you would call Mediterranian warm but then it is January and there is snow on the higher peaks. All OK by me. I'm snug as a bug in Sadie.

Last night I stayed near the Buddhist Stupa at 'Benalmadena Pueblo'. A favourite place of mine where I have a quiet and safe wildcamp spot overlooking the coastline all the way up to Malaga. There is a 'teaching' at the Stupa this coming Sunday which I will attend. So; three days to explore the area before I need to return for the 'teaching'. Healthwise I am not feeling too bad either. Its the Onions, Garlic and Avocado I reckon. (they were all in the curry!) Weather forcast is looking good and 'on the improve' for the next few days therefore a good chance to explore the high hilly Andalucian hinterland.

I set off not bothering with Mrs Sat nav as I was only going to nip back down the N340 coastal road to Fuengirola to a Carrfour supermarket.

Mistake Steve. Big mistake.

Took the wrong turn off did'nt I.

"S'funny Tanya; how come we've ended up down Fuengirola's main, and bloody busy, drag. Ho Hum; concentrate now, Aha! thought so, she's now going to try n reverse into that spot which she aint gonna do cos a large swanky Jag like that aint gonna fit where a battered Ford Fiesta has just pulled out. No good you'se lot behind beepin yer horn at me. We all gotta wait till she of smart Jag importance cottons on. Ahhh; There she goes. She figured it out at last and here we go, all moving again. Hey! Will you look at that Tanya a big parking lot with loadsa motorhomes. Winker on, hang a right and we're in".

We were too. A handy spot to remember. Water available, two minute walk to the beach plus a supermarket just across the road. I thought I would stay the night but after doing my shopping and taking on water I just left. No messin. Turned the key, swung her round and just left.
I wanted the hills not a busy Costa del Sol holiday resort motorhome park.

This time Mrs Sat nav was given full employment in a managerial role. She beautifully guided via smaller roads (read narrow bendy and bumpy) to this lovely spot overlooking 'El Chorro'.
- - - -
This area is stunning but decidely Brit land. On my sightseeing trip around the area today I have met: Glasgow couple gathering up all their gear for a days climbing in the sunshine: X pat Dad on a trip with his children to where his wife's, their Mum's, ashes are scattered: Older English lady now living in France but staying locally to paint: "The light here is so stunning my dear": Retired Irish couple from Dublin up from their apartment in Estepona to view the ruins of 'Bombasta'.

These ruins were further down the hill and were the eigth/ninth century stronghold of a local rebel Muslim turned Christian Bully boy if you like. Todays world is unfortunately still very much affected by similar unsavoury characters. Don't agree with the rules so lets do some killing, raping, plundering, land grabbing and enslaving to scare the shite out of everyone so as we can have it all.

Irish lady was upset as she could not find these ruins. I've found even earlier ruins though. By accident. I happened to be parked for the night right by them. They are a series of sheltered Southerly facing wind and rain carved shallow caves occupied from prehistoric time. I noticed the worn steps carved into the rock leading to some of them.

I enjoyed a wonderful meditation in one of these deep overhangs on a precipitously steep slope. Slipping and falling would have been curtains for sure, but you could see for miles. They were indeed sheltered from the cold wind but caught the considerable warmth of a January afternoon sun. I could see and strongly feel why our earliest ancestors would choose such an attractive spot to settle in.

The ruins still attract too. The local herd of bell ringing sheep seen far below on the opposite side of the valley have left clearly visible hoof marks and wooly body imprints evidencing their regular and recent visits.

I've ended up staying two days/nights in this quiet and peaceful spot. Saturday, that's today, has been busier but most of the sightseeing traffic gaze curiously at Sadie as they pass us by on their way to the Mirador (viewpoint) half a kilometre further on.

Earlier today I grabbed binoculars and we took a short walk to the other side of this mountain top resevoir to watch the Griffin Vultures soaring in the updfafts of the huge gorge. Mesmerising and spectacular. Tanya was fine as these birds are on the lookout for dead carrion.

One of their own was unfortunately and decidedly dead just under a tall aerial tower adorning the peak. So sad to see this recently beautiful and giant master of the air deceased. I chanted a wee mantra and restored soaring wings to his/her spirit. I swear the others knew as eight to ten of them stacked and soared in circles above my head. I could hear them chattering away as I quietly stood there. I moved on and so did they. Unexplainable and enriching.

OPA plus a Wiltshire Pasty.

"Two months ago" I exclaimed.

"yes" he replied. "Two months and four days". 

Sat to my left, a gentleman the same age as myself who, two months before had undergone a major surgical procedure called an 'osophagetonomy'. To my right a fifty four year old guy who had gone thru the same op seven months previous.

This was my first 'Oesophagal (cancer) Patients Association' meeting with about seventy others who had either gone thru the same major surgery or who were spouses/family.

I could not believe these two guys were here, stood up on their own hind legs, supping tea and eating cake so soon after such major surgery . My anxieties, fears and worries about this major surgery, of which I was about to commit, were being laid to rest. Not only by the warmth and openness of these survivors but also by the welcome I received from the Portsmouth Queen Alexandria hospitals Oncology team.

My operation will be at a different Hospital but I was encouraged and warmed (almost to tears I may add) by the skill, openness and acceptance from the QA Consultant surgeon who answered my questions honestly, warmly and with not a shred of any 'us and them' mentality.

I felt a sense of relief and a surge of confidence as I talked it over with my son during the drive back. Even later the Buddhist principle of 'Four abundant abodes' came to mind. Love, compassion, joy and to level it all up, equanimity. Our equanimity at the mornings meeting had been a reminder. A reminder that those attending, all survivors of the surgery and immediate recovery period, were the one third, the fortunate one third. The one third who had made it through.

It was a timely reminder that survival and recovery is not a given or a foregone conclusion. I have to put effort in too. I have to reduce risk by keeping fit, eating well & re-building both my gut biome and my immune system back to 'Fit for purpose' after the devastation caused to both by the deadly cruise missiles of chemotherapy.

So, no nipping into Reeves the baker for one of their delicious Wiltshire pasties or sweet Cinnamon whirls. Oh no no no....! I'm sorry Steveboy, it's continue on with the healthy Mediterranean diet & Probiotic pills.

Shhhh, n don't tell anyone but I did celebrate my relief and joy at having made a solid, surgery decision with the guilt ridden purchase of one small Wiltshire Pasty. I'm sure having just the one won't harm will it ..? Gosh it was good though ....

D'you think one more would be ok?