Warning: Life Change Due Any Day!

It's the end of an era. Fernando Torres aka 'El Niño' has retired from Spanish football.  If it hadn't been for his goal in the 2008 Eurocup Final, my husband and I might never have met. (You can read Shop Girl Diaries for the full story!) That was a decade ago and Torres is 34, and so am I, and a lot is about to change for me too.

I'm nine days away from my due date, which is the 30th May. A family poll has bets ranging from the 26th May to the 7th June. The doctor says the baby is big, and big babies sometimes arrive early. He also says first babies often come late... so it's anyone's guess! I'm still writing my Pregnancy Diaries and imagine frantically dictating the end while I'm having contractions. Unrealistic?  

I'm not nervous about the birth. I've been physically and mentally preparing for months. I'm grateful to my cousin's wife, Georgie, for introducing me to Marie Mongan's Hypnobirthing book early on; the birthing affirmations really have done wonders for my confidence. I've also, better late than never, started reading another great book on Birth Skills by Juju Sundin and Sarah Murdoch. I hope more and more women get to discover these books and their empowering attitudes, and we can start removing all the fear associated with birth. But I'll keep all these thoughts for my pregnancy diaries.  

Nothing like a baby on the way to speed up the writing. I completed a full-length first draft of my fifth novel a couple of weeks ago. As much as I want to start editing it, I need to let it rest so I can see clearly what needs to be done. I suppose leaving it rest won't be hard with a newborn baby. Still, I'd like to get it done by the end of the year. The same goes for the pregnancy diaries.  

We moved home a couple of weeks ago. Thankfully just to another flat in the same block, so it wasn't too bad. Surprisingly, at eight months pregnant, I found I had enough energy to wheel a suitcase back and forward up and down a corridor all day for a week.  I also had a great workout cleaning the flat we left behind. It did wonders for my sleeping.

The new flat has a little room for baby and an office for me. It's the best office I've ever had. It's full of light and leads onto a terrace. I've turned it to face the window since taking this picture on Instagram! I foresee a lot of happy writing being done here, perhaps with a sleeping baby at my side... Am I being completely unrealistic? Ha, we'll see.

My husband gifted me a beautiful wooden board with all my book covers printed on it to decorate the office. You might not recognise the new covers. 

That's the other news of the month. I finally got my publishing rights back and am free to relaunch #PleaseRetweet and The Temp.  I've given The Temp its original quirky Wattpad name of SprayPainted Bananas. I hope, by taking back control, I'll be able to give my books a fresh chance of success. After all, The Hen Party seems to be selling well, so a huge thank you to everyone who has bought it!

New baby, new office, new books, new home - but mostly new baby. I still don't know how dramatically my life will change, but I think...  finally... after 38 weeks and five days, I'm beginning to feel ready.

Plot Twist: The Unexpected Nature of Living

I'm flying to Barcelona tomorrow for an unexpected family reunion in hospital. After my brother's horrendous 9 hour surgery in March last year I thought that would be the end of it and we could put it all behind us. 

But during a checkup a couple of weeks ago they discovered sarcoma in his liver. I couldn't believe it. It was a shock to everyone. The old terror crept back into my chest. 

The good news is this time it's all moving much quicker. They will be doing radiotherapy on it tomorrow. Apparently he'll be able to feel the burning. Hopefully it will only require one session. He's being really upbeat and brave about it which puts the rest of us a little more at ease.

When I moved from London to Mallorca I was sure I'd see my brother more often but I didn't expect it would be because of illness. After this is all over I plan to visit him more often and to hang out with him far away from the hospital!

I had my own little shock this morning when the gynecologist declared it was time to consider inseminación artificial. If he'd been speaking English, I guess he would have said IVF. I was sure he must have misunderstood me and my life. I had certainly not planned to have any such thing. I was to have a baby easily and naturally with my wonderful husband as simple as that, thank you very much.

I'm not going to jump to conclusions. There are tests to be had and anything could happen in the months ahead. I tell you what though, to anyone planning to have kids in the next few years, I recommend swapping the pill for an alternative contraceptive. It can take over a year to flush it out of your system. I wish I'd known that!

I think it helps to know what you want in life. I think it helps to have goals and dreams. But sometimes your plot will dole out a twist you didn't see coming and what matters is how you deal with it. Luckily, I feel I'm a stronger character than I was a few years ago. I'm determined to call on all the little lessons I've learned over the years to help me take on whatever comes my way. Thank you for letting me share them.

You have to have emptiness before you can be filled. 

You have to exhale before you can inhale - 

Tom Yeomans, spiritual director

When my world lost its colour...

Back in January I wrote Can't Blog - 10 Reasons Why. Reason No 6 was that a friend was very sick. But the truth is, it wasn't 'a friend', it was my brother, and although I gave only two lines to that excuse, it felt like it should have been in Capitals, Bold and in 72 font.

I have observed Facebook friends sharing news of ill loved ones, but it felt wrong to do that. It wasn't my news to make public. I'm only blogging about this now, because my brother gave me his permission, and because, as a blogger, I feel I won't be able to move on unless I do.

It began months ago, in Summer, with a pain in his testicle. My brother went to see different doctors, some told him it was normal, others admitted they didn't have a clue and to go somewhere else. He was subjected to every type of test and scan, but no one could give him a straight answer. It seemed he had a tumour somewhere blocking the flow of blood. He was young, it was bound to be benign, the doctor said. They gave him a list of possibilities of what it could be and told him not to google them or he would be scared to death. The worst case scenario was Sarcoma. The doctor assured him it couldn't possibly be that.

Early in January, we found out it was the worst case scenario. Not only was it a malign tumour, it was also extremely rare and in a complicated position. When I heard my brother had cancer, the world lost its colour.

The question was: Would they be able to operate on him?

He was made to wait for what seemed an eternity for an answer. Communication with the hospital was awful. They would call him in only to deliver paperwork, like a courier. It was because the original hospital where he'd had all his tests couldn't cope with such a complex operation and he'd had to do them all over again. There are only 4000 cases in America a year of this kind of tumour. Incredibly, my brother managed to carry on as normal, running his business,  continuing to make everyone laugh with his brilliant social media videos. How he got on with his life is a testimony to how resilient my brother is.

The tumour couldn't be treated by chemo or radiotherapy.

If they couldn't operate, then what?

An appointment with the surgeon was finally set. I flew in to Barcelona and went with my Dad and my brother to hear his verdict. To remove the tumour, they would need to remove a kidney, his vena cava and put a prosthetic aorta. It was a very complicated operation, one that was done less than once a year in Spain. They were only suggesting it because he was young.  There wasn't an alternative.

After getting that news, there was no communication from the hospital for ten days. This was because they were busy assembling a team of the best surgeons and deciding how to operate. The wait was excruciating. The fear grew until it was crushing my chest and I couldn't breathe. How he didn't go mad, I don't know. Two weeks later, a date was set for the operation. 

On Thursday my brother underwent 9 hours of surgery. I spent the day with my parents, his girlfriend, and two of his close friends hoping and praying he would make it through. There were four different surgeons working on him. It was an emotional day. My Dad, who doesn't drink much, needed a glass of wine with his breakfast. We all did. When they wheeled him out of the operation theatre, we felt we could start to breathe.  

In the evening, my parents were allowed to see him in the emergency ward. While his girlfriend, Nicola, loyal friend, Joan, and I were able to see him through a window. We didn't expect him to be conscious. His eyes flickered open and he said: Sorry if I don't get up. 

It was incredible. That's my brother! I thought, making a joke after major surgery! Of course he was drugged up, and after that, there were days when speaking was too painful.

I'm happy to report he is recovering well, and his remaining kidney is working. Now he just needs his digestive system to kick into gear so he can start eating and drinking again.

I left Spain and my brother yesterday, as I needed to be in Colombia. It broke my heart to go, and on my first flight I seriously considered grabbing the arm of the sleeping man beside me and balling into his shoulder. I know he is in brilliant hands. One of the positive things that have come out of this is I've spent lots of time with his new girlfriend, who I feel like I've known forever. My brother is so loved.

I know my brother will get through this. He is strong and determined. The fear of losing him was the worst feeling of my life. Since we were little, I've always looked up to him. He is the funniest guy I know and a brilliant, creative and loving man. I'm so proud to be his sister. Without him, the world really would have lost its sparkle.

All my love Oriol 'Oli' Benet. I love you! Now, hurry up and get better! You have lots of wonderful adventures ahead of you!

Version en Español - gracias a Nuria Perez

Cuando mi mundo perdió su color

En enero escribí “no puedo blogear- las 10 razones porqué”. La razón número 6 es que un tenía un amigo muy enfermo. Pero la verdad es que no se trataba de un amigo, si no se mi hermano, y aunque solo le di dos líneas a esa excusa, sentía que tenía que ponerlo en mayúsculas y letra de 72 en negrita.

He visto a amigos de Facebook compartiendo noticias sobre seres queridos que están enfermos, pero me sabía mal hacer eso. No eran mis noticias que hacer públicas. Solo lo estoy escribiendo ahora porque mi hermano me ha dado permiso, y porque como bloger, no veía que pudiera seguir adelante hasta que no lo hiciera.

Todo empezó meses atrás, en verano, con un dolor en un testículo. Mi hermano fue a ver a diferentes médicos, algunos le dijeron que era normal, otros le dijeron que sencillamente no tenía ni idea, y lo enviaban a otro. Lo sometieron a todo tipo de scans y tests, pero nadie le podía dar una respuesta directa. Parecía que tenía un tumor en algún sitio obstruyendo el riego sanguíneo. Era joven y tenía que ser benigno, dijo el doctor. Le dieron una lista de posibles causas y le dijeron que sobre todo no las buscara en google, porque se podría asustar. El peor de los casos era Sarcoma. Y el doctor le aseguró que no podía ser eso.

A principios de Enero, descubrimos que se trataba del peor de los casos. No solo se trataba de un tumor maligno, además era uno extremadamente raro y en muy mal sitio. Cuando descubrí que mi hermano tenía cáncer, mi mundo perdió su color.

La gran pregunta era: ¿Podrán operarle?

Le hicieron esperar una eternidad para darle una respuesta. La comunicación con el hospital era horrible. Podían llamarle solo para llevar unos papeles, como un mensajero. El motivo es que el hospital donde le hicieron los tests en un principio no podía lidiar con una operación tan compleja, y tuvieron que realizárselos todos otra vez. Solo hay 4000 al año de este tipo de tumor. Increíblemente mi hermano consiguió seguir con su vida normal, llevando su negocio, y continuó haciendo reír a todo el mundo con sus brillantes videos en las redes sociales. Cómo siguió con su vida, solo demuestra lo resistente que es mi hermano.

El tumor no podía ser tratado ni con quimio ni con radioterapia.

Y si no se podía operar, ¿entonces qué?

Por fin se programó una visita con el cirujano. Volé a Barcelona y fui con mi padre y mi hermano a escuchar el veredicto. Para quitar el tumor, tenían que extirpar un riñón, la vena cava y poner una prótesis en la aorta. Era una cirugía muy difícil, una que solo se había hecho una vez en España. Solo lo sugerían porque era joven. No había otra alternativa.

Después de esto, no hubo noticias del hospital durante 10 días. El motivo es que estaban ocupados montando un equipo de los mejores cirujanos y decidiendo como operar. La espera fue horrible. El miedo que crecía en mi interior me comprimía el pecho y no me dejaba respirar. Como no se volvió loco, no lo sé. Dos semanas después marcaron una fecha para la operación.

El jueves mi hermano se sometió a una operación de 9 horas. Pasé el día con mis padres, su novia y dos de sus mejores amigos rezando para que saliera de esta. Había cuatro cirujanos trabajando en él. Fue un día muy emocional. Mi padre, que no bebe nunca, necesitó un vaso de vino para desayunar. Todos lo necesitamos. Cuando lo sacaron en camilla del quirófano, todos sentimos que podíamos volver a respirar.

Por la noche mis padres pudieron entrar a verle en la UCI. Mientras que su novia, Nicola, su amigo, Joan, y yo pudimos verle a través de un cristal. NO esperábamos que estuviera consciente. Sus ojos parpadearon y dijo “disculpadme si no me pongo en pie”.

Era increíble. ¡Ese era mi hermano! Solo pensé ¡Haciendo bromas después de salir de quirófano! Por supuesto que estaba medio drogado, después de eso, había días que hablar era demasiado doloroso.

Estoy contenta de anunciar que se está recuperando bien, y que su riñón está funcionando. Ahora solo necesita que se active su aparato digestivo y podrá empezar a comer y a beber otra vez

Dejé España y a mi hermano ayer, ya que tenía que ir a Colombia. Se me rompió el corazón al irme, y en mi primer vuelo estuve considerando seriamente cogerle el brazo al señor dormido de mi lado y acurrucarme en su hombro. Sé que está en manos fantásticas. Una de las cosas positivas de todo esto, es que he podido pasar tiempo con su nueva novia, a quien siento que conozco desde siempre. Mi hermano es muy querido.

Sé que mi hermano saldrá de esta. Es fuerte y determinado. El miedo de perderle fue el peor sentimiento de mi vida. Desde que era pequeña, siempre lo he admirado. Es el tipo más gracioso, creativo y cariñoso que conozco. Estoy tan orgullosa de ser su hermana. Sin él, el mundo habría perdido su chispa.

Todo mi amor para Oriol “Oli” Benet. ¡Te quiero! Ahora, date prisa y ponte bien, que tienes muchas aventuras por vivir.

Death's Lesson is: Live!

Nothing prepares you for the death of a loved one. It's been three weeks since my father-in-law died so unexpectedly and I still don't really believe he's gone.

I'm heading home from Colombia tomorrow. I want to slide under soft sheets and sleep until the New Year. But the universe has made this impossible by presenting me with an innovative writing project which involves deadlines and actual payment. Life it seems, must go on, however unbearable it seems to those grieving. 

My father-in-law's passing has shaken me. He was only 73. My grandfather, who died in February, lived to 91. My grandmother celebrated her 92nd birthday with us in Mallorca a couple of months ago, and laughs like she'll live forever. I always assumed everyone I loved would live at least to their nineties.

In September the four of us, my husband and my parents-in-law, spent a wonderful month together in Spain. In Mallorca we swam in the sea, ate delicious food every day and made up for all the distance that had been separating us. In Jerez we became experts in sherry; in Seville we caught a rare peek of street Flamenco.

Everyone tells us now how happy my father-in-law had been after that trip. He returned home renewed and with a fresh enthusiasm to travel and enjoy life. He told his wife, my brilliant mother-in-law, that she should give up work and that they should spend their next years together having fun.  How cruel it seems. The only comfort is that his death was swift and painless, and he was a healthy man until the end.  

I miss my father-in-law. He was a kind man. A calm man, who didn't fuss or stress. He was curious about life and always learning; interested in what you were doing and supportive. If you didn't know something, he would be straight on Google! 

Like my husband, he always seemed to weave his way through the bureaucracy of daily life without getting flustered or angry. 

Patient. The only thing that threatened his calm was Bogota traffic, but after experiencing Bogota traffic, you would sympathise. He was better at organising a trip than any travel agency. He knew that life was for living and he lived it with a great appetite. All these qualities, he's passed onto my husband, for which I'm so grateful.

I look at my husband now and I want to engrave each moment in eternity.

If my father-in-law's death has taught me anything, it's that we must live life fully now. Enjoy it. Don't waste it all thinking and planning for the future. Choose experience over possessions! Don't wait until you're retired to embark on the life you dream of. Don't put off what you could be doing today if it's something important to you.  

It seems to me that the lesson of death is to live. To live with all your heart.

Rest in Peace my dear father-in-law

When Moving to Mallorca: Expect Visitors

We didn't have a leaving party when we moved to Mallorca. We didn't want to make a fuss. After all, what if it didn't work out? 

Instead, we just packed up our things and left quietly, promising  to stay in touch, wondering to ourselves how long before we saw our friends and family...

It turns out when you move to a place like Mallorca, people come to visit you!

In four month, we've had 16 visitors. Unlike in pricey old London, we've been able to offer them the spare bedroom, as oppose to the sofa in the living room. The extra space has meant each visit has gone very smoothly, because everyone has had privacy.  My advice on the visitor front is, only say YES if:

1. YOU LIKE THEM

When moving to a beautiful island,  people will inevitably want to take advantage and stay with you to avoid hotel costs.  Be firm. Or if not firm, inventive with your excuses. Only say yes to people you genuinely like, otherwise you'll feel resentful.

2. THEY ARE NOT FUSSY EATERS

You don't want to be traipsing around restaurants for hours because your guest only eats food cooked in avocado oil. If they are going to spend more time picking tomatoes out of their salad than talking to you, think twice about inviting them. The ideal visitor thinks everything is DELICIOSO, like my mother-in-law. Ten points to her.  

3. THEY'LL CHIP IN

Your home isn't a hotel, even though you jokingly call it one. You must pluck up the courage to tell your guest if they take the proverbial wee wee.

I'm not writing from experience, it just seems like common sense. All our visitors have been much-loved, easy-going and generous. 

                 

There have been so many highlights. Having my brother over for 9 whole days was amazing. Getting to know my husband's childhood friend from Colombia via Australia was also special.

                

Only yesterday my mother and father -in-law left after a month's stay in which we popped over to the mainland. In Jerez we breathed in air sweetened with sherry, in Seville we caught a rare glimpse of spontaneous street Flamenco. My own lovely parents, auntie and uncle, and incredibly, my 92 year old Gramma, also came over for a week on the island to coincide with my in-laws visit.    

                

To be honest, I find myself quite bewildered to be suddenly sitting alone in such a quiet flat, which is probably why I'm scribbling this down.   

                

Surely I must be relieved to have some alone time?

                 

Certainly for my writing's sake, I do need to close the hotel for a couple of months. It has been tricky trying to squeeze in a thousand words here and there and it's quite likely I take on the Nanowrimo challenge in November (50,000 words in one month) to make up for it.

It's also been wonderful to have so many visitors, and it makes us feel like we haven't left everyone far behind. In fact, every time I go to the airport to pick someone up or drop them off, and not be leaving myself, it makes Mallorca feel a little bit more like home. 

Goodbye my beloved Grampa...

Dear Grampa

My Mum called me this morning.  All she said was, 'I'm in Wales...' and I just knew. I knew you had left us.

A coal miner, you had black lung, and had been having problems breathing. I'm so glad you weren't in hospital when you closed your eyes for the last time. I'm so glad you were at home. For me, it will always be the warmest, most welcoming home in Wales. I picture you in the armchair near the fire, having an och (kip) and Gramma  on the sofa opposite watching The Voice (Come on the girl from Cwmparc!).

Ninety one years young and dancing two nights a week until a few years ago. Any music would get you and Gramma dancing around the living room. I can hear you laugh now.  A whisky in your hand.  

As I sit here, I'm overwhelmed with grief. Think of the good memories, people say. I only have good memories and they are making me cry; I wanted to go on making more.  

I know  I'm so lucky to have had you as my Grampa. Everyone who knew you is already missing you. You were always so kind and generous. My Mum once told me how she had called you from London when she was young and homesick, and you had just got in the car and driven all the way to bring her home. It was no trouble. You would always go out of your way to help people.

I loved the way you would sneak twenty pound notes in our hands and say, don't tell your grandmother! As if she didn't know.  As if she hadn't just snuck a twenty pound note in our hands a minute earlier!

Grampa, you are Christmas; top of the table and never too serious to wear a paper crown. You are holidays in Spain; sitting in a fold up chair by the river. You are walks up the Bwlch leading us to the winberries for Gramma's pie.   

Oh Grampa, if you could see the tissues surrounding my lap top right now, you'd probably tell me not to be so twp! You would want all the family to get together and celebrate you... and we will. It's just going to hurt for a while. But that's because you were so loved.

I love you Grampa and hope you are at peace,

Your granddaughter

Emily 

The World Cup: Is it just about the football?

Spain is losing to Chile by two goals. If they don't win the game, they're out of the World Cup. I'm lying on the floor watching the television screen at an uncomfortable angle. I don't want to watch but part of me thinks I might influence the result if I do.

"It's just football," my rational self tells me.

But it doesn't feel like it.

My parents are watching it with me. My Dad is tense. He was expecting a draw at the worst. It's his fault I'm a Spain fanatic. Every year since the beginning of time, before a World Cup or a European cup, he has always said, "This year they have the dream team," to which I've always replied, "you say that every year and every year they get knocked out." At least that was the reality until 2008.

Ten minutes left to go. Spain still needs to score 3 goals. I feel like I should be crying. I try to muster some tears.

Is this even about football?

Supporting Spain makes me feel connected to the country that my brother and I idealised when we were little. Being a halfling (Spanish father, Welsh mother), means I'll never really be Spanish. I'll never be completely British either. In philosophical moments, I tell myself that all that matters is that I'm a human being and that nationality only serves to separate people when really we are all the same at heart.

Nostalgia then, is that what I'm clinging onto in the dying moments of this game?

Every August we used to leave London and go to heaven. 'Heaven' being a small village in the Catalan Pyrenees. 'Spain' came to mean mountains, rivers, lizards, sunshine, sea... Spain symbolised escape, freedom. When I'm on the tube at rush hour I close my eyes and imagine I'm back in those mountains beside the lake, my toes dipped in the cool water. I want that time back but it has slipped through my fingers. Or has it? Spain hasn't gone anywhere. I really must stop trying to own it.  

The whistle has blown. Spain is out of the World Cup.

A lot of people will be happy. No one likes teams who win all the time. 

Spain is out!
Time to support my husband's team - Vamos Colombia!

At least they've won before. In fact they've been winning for six years. Shouldn't I be thankful for that?

I start to perk up.

How can I be sad? It was thanks to La Roja that I met my husband. We met in a bar moments after the final whistle of the Euro Cup Final 2008 (Spain vs Germany).

If Spain hadn't won, I would have gone straight home. But I didn't. I stayed to celebrate and that's how I met him.

No need for tears after all. Chile deserved the win. Good luck to them! 

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Colombia: Mission Accomplished

The time has arrived for me to try to sum up what an incredible time we've just had in Colombia and persuade you to pack your bags and head off there soon.

 

I'm sitting here daydreaming about the country that ranks third in the world in biodiversity. It has every possible landscape, from glittering Caribbean beaches to lush green hills, deserts, and of course, the staggering Andes mountain range. It's a beautiful place with friendly people, delicious food, diverse music... so if the first thing you think of when I say Colombia is cocaine, then I urge you to think again.

 

To those who never fail to make idiotic drug-related jokes around me when I mention my husband is Colombian, please accept a firm but necessary slap on the cheek and let me redirect you to a suitable airline which will sort out a route to the country that has stolen a piece of my heart.

 

OPERATION COLOMBIA

 

Our Mission in 5 Steps:

 

Step 1 - Makeover

 

Mum showing off new nails!

Colombians are a glamorous people (none more so than my elegant mother-in-law) and looking good there is inexpensive. On arrival in the capital of Bogotá my Mum, Auntie and I headed straight for one of the many beauty salons for a makeover. A manicure and a blow dry will cost you as little as five pounds, and you'll feel so pleased with the result that you'll obviously tip all the lovely people involved.

I convinced my Mum (easily) and my Auntie (more resistant) to dye their hair and we all had our hands and feet done. It felt brilliant and my Auntie, who arrived grey, and left dyed and highlighted, looked at least ten years younger. Right now, I must share the feelings of the many Colombians living overseas... Seriously, how will I surive without the pampering?

Step 2 - Meat the Family

 

While on our travels, my family met a diverse range of relatives many of which we joined in the eating of meat presented in baskets, on plates and even wrapped up in plantain leaves. Other recurring delights were 'plátano' (sweet plantain) 'patacón' (fried plantain) 'frijoles' (beans) and I must mention the traditional Bogotano soup 'ajiaco', which my husband's grandmother insisted on cooking even though she was in great pain at the time and should have been in hospital being treated for a stomach infection - Thank you!

 

Step 3 -  Say Goodbye to your Comfort Zone

Sancho Panza and Don Quijote

My Dad and Uncle soon earned the nicknames Don Quijote and Sancho Panza respectively, though neither of them had ever ridden a horse or a donkey in their lives. The opportunity to change that came when we reached Valle de Corcora in the Quindío department, where wax palms, the symbol of Colombia, soar up into the skies.
 

 

Neither my Mum nor my Auntie could remember the last time they'd ridden a horse, or were entirely sure they ever had either. I'm proud of all of them for stepping out of their comfort zones! It was a picturesque journey through the valley and there was no trouble as the horses were on automatic and knew exactly where they were headed.

Of course, that wasn't the only time comfort zones were left behind! Did I tell you about the time we were on a raft sailing down a river and a thunder storm broke out?

Rafting down El Rio La Vieja, Quindio 

Step 4 - Shopping Made in Colombia

 

By all means go to Colombia with a half empty suitcase, but don't expect to fill it with clothes as clothes are far more expensive there than in Europe and North America. We mostly shopped at artisanal markets stocked with beautiful handicrafts.

 

These Coffee Pickers wouldn't last long!

We also bought lots of coffee after an interactive tour on a coffee farm, where we donned typical coffee picker outfits and demonstrated to the guide our lack of talent for the job in hand. Sad Fact: Coffee pickers earn less than ten pounds a day, and a third of that is subtracted for their lunch. Support them by buying fair trade Colombian coffee!

 

At one point we were followed by a man selling hats... is it obvious?

 

 Step 5 - Grow as tall as a Wax Palm Tree

 

There were tears at the airport. My in-laws had been the most generous and enthusiastic hosts and we all felt sad to be leaving them. In my last post I said the mission was to bond with our Colombian family and create happy memories, and in that the sense our mission was definitely accomplished.

 

But I think we went far beyond our mission and in our own different ways, personally and collectively, we've all grown through our experience. In fact a little bird tells me my parents have caught the travel bug and are considering visiting my cousin in Nepal next year... Don Quijote on an elephant? Well, I'm sure Cervantes mentioned it somewhere...

Operation Colombia (with ALL the family)

I've just handed in an edited draft of Spray Painted Bananas to my agent and I'm now leaving the country so she can't hand it back!

Destination: Colombia
Mission: To bond with Colombian family and make happy memories.
Participants: Just me. And my Mum. Dad. Auntie. Uncle. Oh and husband, although he's on another flight which will take him on the scenic route. Bad luck husband.

Profile and Travel History:

MUM: A keen walker, she is often found on the Camino de Santiago, Spain. She likes to recall her trip to Morrocco in the 70s. I like to tease her about it.

Hopes: To see a Capybara
Fears:  She has packed all the wrong clothes
 
DAD:  A keen walker, with exceptionally long legs, he is also often on the Camino de Santiago, where he is known to have once lost a shoe. He visited China on business during the 90s, bringing back gifts of faux designer t-shirts, and there is photographic evidence that he has also been to Mexico.  

Hopes: To see Cartagena de Las Indias
Fear: Altitude sickness


Mum, Dad, Auntie on the Camino de Santiago - photo by Uncle

 

AUNTIE: Another regular on the Camino de Santiago. She recently travelled to Nepal to visit her daughter where she did paragliding (RESPECT), rode an elephant and slept in a rat infested hostel. On her return, she discovered she had contracted the travel bug.

Hopes: To Ride a Horse
Fears:  Riding a Horse

 



Adventurous Uncle and Auntie in Nepal

UNCLE: Ditto Camino de Santiago. He always boasts the best equipment for every climate and is the most likely to have researched our upcoming destination. He also journeyed to Nepal to visit said daughter, did paragliding (RESPECT), rode an elephant and slept in a rat infested hostel.

Hopes: To see glorious countryside
Fears: Mosquitoes and getting kidnapped.

 



Amazing Backpacking Days with Rachel Surtees!

As for me, this will be my third trip to Colombia. The first time I went as a backpacker, the second time to meet my future parents-in-law and now as confirmed daughter-in-law bringing four member of the family! What could possibly go wrong?

Hopes: That everyone has a great time!
Fears: Being unable to say 'no' to street hawkers, my Dad talking proudly about the conquistadors... and anyone falling off a horse!  


 

I Married a Foreigner



It began in Wales...



 

When my Mum was young she swore she'd 'never become a teacher' and 'never marry a foreigner'. Before you associate her with UKIP, let me explain. At the time my Mum was studying German. Not only are German words very long but they tend to resemble a line-up of letters in Scrabble when you've been particularly unlucky. The experience completely put her off learning languages and she knew if she married a Brit the chances of needing to learn a foreign tongue was very low.

 

My Mum went on to teach Art and marry my Spanish father. To make matters worse, he was from Catalonia, meaning that my Mum found herself having to learn not just one language, but two.

 

I've been thinking about this story because I've been eating a lot of avocadoes recently. This is the direct effect of being married to a Colombian who doesn't really see the purpose of lettuce.

 

Colombian fritanga - spot the salad!

 

This observation made me think how my diet has changed. I would never have bought plantain before, or cassava, and I love both. When I went travelling I hated arepas, the corn bread eaten so widely in South America, but now, even though I'd still prefer toast and butter any day, I have grown fond of them.

 

Nowadays we make special trips to a newsagent in Camden Town which supplies lots of Colombian goodies. We buy packs of chocolate slabs to melt into 'proper' hot chocolate, and then I turn my nose up as my husband puts a lump of cheese in his.

 

Diet isn't the only thing that has been influenced. As my Mum found when she married my Dad, marrying a foreigner comes with lots of new traditions. Take Christmas, the big day in Colombia is the 24th, in Britain it's the 25th and in Spain there are huge celebrations on 6th January when the King's come with all the presents.

 





Christmas Dinner in Spain



But I don't feel like I've simply adopted a few new traditions, I feel like I've adopted a whole country. When the Colombian BMX rider, Mariana Pajón, won gold in the Olympics I was ecstatic. How I see it, having another country to cheer for, can only be a great thing.

 



Now that people can comment on online newspapers, we can see how afraid of foreigners a lot of people are. Maybe it's the  fear of losing one's identity. Or just plain racism. Either way the prejudice and hate makes me shudder. If we identified with being 'human' before we identified with our nationality, wouldn't the world be a better place?

 

 

That said, I've often pondered what country my future children will identify with, and have even felt sad that my own Spanish/British heritage might be watered down. But that's only when I'm being small-minded, because it doesn't matter where they're from. What matters is that their life is enriched by our different cultures and their minds are opened to new ones. 'Never say never,' they say. Well I'm glad my Mum did.