Deepest Devon (or, The Mysterious Invisible Puffins)

On Friday morning I hit the road for a visit in Deepest Devon, to see my Zen-like Friend and take a trip to Lundy Island, a tiny spit of land off the coast, famous for its views, deer, feral goats, ponies, and birds, including puffins – more on that later.

I left pretty early, and a good thing too, since I managed to take a wrong turn almost immediately. But I managed to reorient myself and trundled on down south, singing at the top of my lungs and watching the scenery get greener and more interesting. I decided to ignore the satnav in favour of a more circuitous, scenic route. So I got off the motorway near Bristol and then headed for Minehead, and Lynton, and then cut away from the coast (so blue!) and into Exmoor via Porlock (so steep!). I was thrilled to see the ponies, most of them with foals alongside, and the view was just astounding. I stopped at one point to try and get a picture, but it was impossible to capture.

I eventually managed to find Woolacombe, which is where we were camping, and sat in the sun reading while I waited for my friend to arrive. After he got there we had a much needed cup of tea and then we were off. We headed on a short walk down the road, where I met my first stile (Sidenote: Stiles are not made for short people, with short legs, and a complete lack of grace). There were some funky sheep, who stared at us with blind panic in their sheepy eyes, but there were also more ponies! And some paragliders! And a sparrowhawk! And ponies!

 Ponies!

Years ago, my family travelled around the UK in a camper as part of a holiday. Apparantly I have been to nearly all the places I visited this past weekend before, I just don't remember any of it. Probably because I was reading my way through a Five Find Outers and Dog book, but that's neither here nor there. Anyway, I did remember the ponies, and it was lovely to see them again in their scruffy glory.

I also got my first sighting of Lundy, where we were heading on Saturday, which filled me with glee.

We then headed back and went down the town of Woolacombe, sourced some lunch in the shape of pasties (I thought they were called tiddyoggies when in Devon, but apparantly not), and then trekked up the hill to Mortehoe, which was very rugged and cool. We spent ages spotting some oystercatchers, which are about as cute as you get in the bird world, and I got to turn down that page in my birdbook, which is always satisfying. 

Mortehoe

And then it was dinner in a jampacked Croyde, and my first glimpse of Saunton Sands, which was as beautiful as any of the beaches at home, just about half the size. We stopped on a cliff road overlooking the beach, and it instantly became my favourite spot.

We had a little time for stargazing (red, red moon) but we had to be up at o dark thirty to catch the ferry to Lundy.

Woke up the next morning to rain, of course. It was a weirdly cold, warm, misty, windy, rainy, drizzly, freaky kind of day. It was very atmospheric and I loved Lundy like that, but it would be super to see it in the sunshine. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

A short essay on puffins: there's all this hype about how Lundy is a puffin haven. It's on all the brochures, and all the tickets, and on the websites and everything. Until we got to the booking office to board and my friend read a different poster that said that ACTUALLY there are only three pairs of puffins on the whole island, so ACTUALLY we would be pretty lucky to spot any of them (we didn't, as it happened).

PA is displeased with false advertising ("I don't act for cameras!")

But we didn't let the false advertising get us down, and after agreeing to lie but how we had spotted a puffin even though we hadn't (it was THIS big! And it had RAZOR teeth!), we boarded the ferry. And got very, very wet. We had the Guardian with us and decided to sacrifice the money, sport and jobs sections for something dry to sit on. Eventually we headed upstairs and I found the perfect spot to lean against the railing and rock backwards and forwards as we went through the rough water. It was so cold and blowy, but it felt energising. And then out of nowhere some small dolphins appeared and they began playing alongside the ferry. For ages they were jumping through the surf and the wash, and we could see them cruising along under the water. They looked so happy, I guess, and carefree. It was almost as if we had an escort.

 On the ferry and on Lundy

And then we finally got to the island, which rises suddenly from the water. Sheer, sheer cliffs, with that ominous, exciting look that you expect of tiny islands. We had been spotting lots of birds as we came over on the ferry, but the island itself is a bird paradise. We saw shags, Manx shear-waters, cormorants, oyster-catchers, razorbills, and guillemots. It was thrilling really. We glanced briefly at the buildings (a castle, a pub, a church, a lighthouse – all will need to be explored in more depth on another visit) but hellbent on finding our puffin we hit the trails immediately. We basically walked the island along its edges, getting blown to pieces by the wind, getting drenched by the mist. But it was so much fun, and I only twisted both of my ankles twice. And gracelessly clambered over two more stiles. We spotted the deer, ponies and feral goats, we even spotted some seals, but the puffins remained determinedly out of reach. Better luck next time, I guess. Nobody seems to have heard of Lundy much, and I don't know why, because it's an idyll. My friend commented that it was like a retreat. I'd really love to go back and stay there for a few days, and walk every inch of the place,and hopefully see it in some sunshine.

We all boarded again and headed back to Bideford on the mainland, and spent the whole return journey waiting for more dolphins to appear (and eavesdropping on the conversation of the two older women sitting next to us – one was telling the other about how her husband proposed, and her parents weren't happy because he was a soldier, it was quite amusing). We landed and headed back to the campsite.

I was due to leave on Sunday, so we stuck close to home, and took a shorter hike through the surrounding farmland. We stopped to catch our breath and say hello to a little shetland pony called Archie, and took our ease on a bench, and then got so caught up in identifying some house martins and some swallows, we got nicked for trespassing. She was pretty nice about it though, and told us about the other birds she'd spotted, but we did hasten on our way. Up. The. Longest. Hill. Ever. And then when we made it to the top of the hill, I got myself stranded in a massive boggy patch. I was in knee deep, and managed to leave a shoe behind after my friend gave me a heave out of there. I tried not to think too hard about what else was inside the mud, but it smelt fabulous. Sigh. That's me. Always smooth.

Anyway, we headed out shortly after, and got some Rick Stein recommended fish and chips (scampi for me), and watched some kids muck about a skateboarding ramp. We headed down to the beach then so my friend could go surfing. I watched and wandered along the sand and got myself quite homesick, with the smell and the sounds.

And then I got in my car and drove back, feeling satisfied and happy and content and sad all at the same time. I always feel a little flat after going somewhere new, because I always expect myself to be new too. I think it's also that I've been looking forward to this trip for ages, and now I need something new to look forward to. I love this part of being a grown up. It makes it all worthwhile.

Insurance

Him: It's looking nice and sunny for your arrival!

Me: Excellent! We may need to sacrifice a small child to Ra every day this week, just to be on the safe side.

Him: Consider it done.

This moment

I was sitting at my computer at work, editing some courses that need updating. As I was unravelling the XML (stupid farking XML), something caused me to think about a friend, which in turn made me think of Rhodes, and suddenly I had a little vision of my 21-year-old self, walking the streets of Grahamstown, sitting in lectures, and getting merry at Friar Tucks. It seems so impossible that that person was me, but it was me.

It was so long ago, and just an instant ago. And I thought, I existed in that moment. Now I exist in this moment. All I know is that I have a memory of prior moments. A long chain of moments, some of them clear, some of them hazy (and getting hazier by the moment).

Seeing The Sister in the hospital nursery. Seeing a 50 pence coin for the first time. Photos on the first day at school. Camping on empty beaches. Walking on the firing range at school. Getting detention. Getting an A for the first time. Being told to stop breathing, or else, by someone at school. Having my first dance to Please Forgive Me, by Bryan Adams. Getting all my hair cut off and getting contact lenses. Going to see You've Got Mail, over and over again. Singing the Happy Birthday song at Spur, over and over again. Finishing Matric, R500 richer. Sitting in my room in Beit after my parents left, wondering what the hell came next. Being shmoozed by an oily guy with a borrowed guitar. Having The Best Friend rescue me when oily guy dumped me right before my first journ exam. Obsessing over someone I couldn't have. Staring at the ceiling of my first digs, with Siska lying on the bed next to me, silently supportive. Staring at the ceiling for days, wondering if this was it. Sitting in Michael the Therapist's office. Being told over and over again that I have the right to my feelings, that I don't have to feel guilty. Cutting someone off. Falling down the stairs in Friar Tucks. Wishing I had the strength to take myself out of an equation. Driving home from Rhodes for the last time, with all my worldly possessions in a bakkie. Stopping for biltong at Storms River Mouth and remembering four years earlier. Going to Newlands for the first time with The Father, and watching Jacques Kallis score a century. The Mother forcing me to apply for the position at The Southern Cross, even though it was the closing date. Going for the interview and thinking shiiiiiiiiit. Finishing my first day at work, and thinking, so this is it then: working life. Listening to shit loads of illegal music. Eating a lot of sushi. Hurting my back and getting my driver's licence, despite being barely able to walk. Going to see Counting Crows by myself at the Vellodrome and seeing Marissa for the first time in years, and rekindling an old friendship. Saying goodbye to The Mother at the airport. Saying goodbye to The Father at the airport. Having my first Christmas with The Best Friend's family and playing 30 Seconds. Learning Tai Chi. Seeing My Family at Gatwick. Feeling Jamie kicking in utero. Standing at the top of the Eiffel Tower with Rob. Saying goodbye to My Family at Gatwick. Making it all the way to the passport checkpoint before crying and then crying all the way home. Saying goodbye to Siska in her crate. Doing Karaoke in Stardust and laughing my arse off. Meeting a new person, who was there and then was gone. Selling all my books. Putting my hand on a bible and swearing allegiance to Queen and Country. Leaving Cape Town for the last time and feeling a pang of, now what? Kayaking on the lagoon in Maputo. Eating my weight in prawns. Bribing our way over the border. Getting my passport. Phoning The Sister to tell her I'll be arriving the day after tomorrow. Getting a taxi all the way from Heathrow to Reading, because I was that desperate to just get going. Surprising The Mother and The Father. Meeting Jamie for the first time and him holding out his arms for me to pick him up. Waking up with pins and needles, and thinking that's weird. Going for the interview in London and thinking, that's the job. Commuting for hours and hours and hours and hours, through the longest winter of my life. Watching the doctors put electrodes on my feet and trying to get a nerve reaction. Thinking: uh oh. Getting a diagnosis. Being more freaked out than anticipated. Living with a psycho bitch. Seeing Counting Crows and Goo Goo Dolls in Hyde Park. Moving into my own flat. Buying up books to replace the ones I sold. Having The Best Friend visit for a lovely long holiday. Being done, done, done with the magazine. Having consolatory margheritas with Hayley. Getting the Perfect Job. Having the the Perfect Job go under. See The Hellmouth for the first time and think: uh oh. Sit at Retail Company and bang head against desk repeatedly. Doing many, many, many crosswords. Doing the reading at The Sister and The BIL's wedding and making it all the way to the end before losing my composure completely. Still being at Retail Company and slowly losing the will to live. Saying goodbye. Having Jamie tell me: "Auntie Elize, I luff you." Going to see The Lion King, and drinking far too much red wine with Hayley. Watching food porn. Buying a car. Going for the interview at University. Getting the job.

And here I am. In this moment.

Book Meme

Take the nearest book next to you and answer the following questions:

(I really should have done this meme earlier this week, when I was reading something slightly more edifying.)

Title and Author:
True Betrayals by Nora Roberts

Is the book dedicated to anyone? If so, whom?
To Phyllis Grann and Leslie Gelbman

What is the first sentence?
When she pulled the letter from her mailbox, Kelsey had no warning it was from a dead woman.

Turn to page 47. Please share the first sentence of the first full paragraph.
"Miss Naomi's down to the stables."

A very, very long time ago

When I was about four or five, we lived in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere. It wasn’t even in the middle of nowhere, it was on the dim outskirts of nowhere, at the end of a dirt road going to the middle of nowhere.

I couldn’t be further from this place if I tried, but for some odd reason, the smell of Buckinghamshire in May is giving me olfactory nostalgia. There’s this insistent scent of mown grass, daisies, slow moving water, and, perhaps most mystifying of all, pomegranates.

Pomegranates.

Inexplicable.

The Lego Gasman Cometh

Long December

Spring, originally uploaded by liz_isabella.

"I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself to hold onto these moments as they pass." Counting Crows - Long December

Bridging the gap

Sometimes I wish I was a character in a book that I was reading. It would be so much easier to see, in black and white, what people are thinking. What they see when they look at you. It would be so much easier to live up to other people's expectations if I could see them written down - it would be so much easier to live up to my own expectations then too.

I write so many scenes in my head, and have so many conversations with people there - people I know, and people I've made up. If you know me in life, you've probably featured in something I've dreamed up. I argue with people there, and laugh with them, and tell them I love them, or I hate them, or I admire them, or I never want to speak to them again.

And then I meet them in the here and now, and they're real people, with their own inner lives.

And once again I'm left with the feeling that the older we get, the more like islands we become.

Quietly sealing parts of ourselves off from the outside, lest we lose them forever.

Notes from the peanut gallery

I fully cop to the fact that I'm...well, not a political geek, but a "way things work and seeing these things acted out in front of me" geek. So I've been in my element this last week. First voting, which I love to do, and then watching the results come in, which is always enjoyable, and then seeing the politicians and media handle the hung parliament, which was fascinating.

And in spite, or maybe because of, the coalition - although we don't know all the details yet, and I reserve the right to change my mind later this week - I'm glad I voted for the LibDems. I've been impressed with the way Nick Clegg has handled himself (although I was unimpressed by the fact that they had been having talks with Labour, that didn't sit well).

This has been my first real exposure to an election process here. Shortly after I moved here, Tony Blair resigned and Gordon Brown stepped in. I wasn't working at that point and I watched BBC news as they followed the new cabinet walking up Downing Street. The names were totally unfamiliar, the process was totally unfamiliar. Who were these people? Did I like them? Did I know what they stood for? What came next?

And slowly the names became familiar. Their policies and foibles and fights and tiffs became familiar. And suddenly I know what's going on. Kind of. I'm still only half guessing on a lot of it, and parliamentary politics is complicated, but it's nice to feel a little more a part of the country. It makes it a little more like home.

Which is a little sad in it's own way, because no matter how much I read News24 and the M&G, it's hard to stay on top of what's going on politically in SA. I do try, but I think so much of politics is context. Have I lost my context? That remains to be seen.

It all remains to be seen.

In the long twilight

, originally uploaded by liz_isabella.

Wood blewits

Wood blewits, originally uploaded by liz_isabella.

Hanging on to the light

Every year I'm surprised by the change in light, how the day hangs on until the last possible moment.

An old song, rediscovered

Music from the wildnerness

My Zen-like Friend is off in the wilds of Devon, living the perfect life.

This is my favourite of his recent musical offerings.

You can listen to it here.

I admit it

I was HOPING for a hung parliament, just so I could see what would happen next.

It's like an experiment in parliamentary politics!

Except that the Torys' spending cuts scare me.

And I depend on the NHS quite heavily.

And, um, my job depends quite heavily on HEFCE funding.

And I worry that Nick Clegg won't be strong enough to hold off Cameron strong-arming.

Oh my God! What have I done?!

Random arguments

I was just remembering an ongoing argument we used to have with The Father when we got old enough to make our own sandwiches for school. Well, The Sister used to make sandwiches, I didn't bother. He used to get very het up about how she cut "doorstops" and "how would that look".

I wonder if he even remembers that argument.

Dear Nora Roberts

I don't know about this whole quartet thing. Savour the Moment wasn't bad. I mean, I don't think you could write a crappy book. And I was very excited to read this one, so I guess I am invested in the series. But to be honest, I'm not deep down feeling the characters. I'm curious to see what you're going to do with the last book, and I'll probably read this one again, because you are rereadable. I don't know. I just don't think this was your best.

I've got my eyes peeled for your next standalone though. Search and rescue dogs? Yeah, there's a tearjerker waiting to happen.

Don't you wish things were different?

But then nothing would be the same.