playa butihondo photo at hellocanaryislands

Down the dusty slope to the long sweep of
gold sand and the beach café’s garlic gambas
and Pablo’s distinctively rich dark brown
coffee where the chief scent of the morning

is of suncream and warmed skin and quiet
conversation is accompanied by
out-of-control symphonies of wind-blown
wires thrashing the masts of a rainbow of

sailboards – and yes – we come here every year
to tell again of the turquoise and the
turtles and shyly aware faithfulness
to-a-fault to these times and to these hot

prawns and coffee like this and even to
the same sun oil and quieting stilling
soothing murmur of the ocean of love
and abiding in hearts and souls that know

one another so well that the shoreline
paddling and the holding hands and the light
and the deep and the sad and the funny
conversation and affectionate and

glad recollection will carry us both –
after our falling into the deepest
of deep sleeps – unto shoreline and sunshine
of our universal eternity

Robert’s good counsel

Barcelona – click once / twice (or pinch) to enlarge

‘Sorry, I’m a bit pushed for time today,’ I said to my friend Robert twenty years or so ago. ‘I’ve got to think of something to say to a large assembly of the Women’s Institute tonight. Their invitation asks me to speak on ‘any subject that takes your fancy’ and I’ve come a bit unstuck.’ ‘Nonsense!’ said Robert (and RSC will know exactly who he is!) – ‘just go and tell them about one or two things that really light up your life.’

So for an hour and a half or so I told a large gathering of women my story about what it had been like to live and study for a month on the very edge of Bethlehem, wandering into Jerusalem in the early mornings to buy my daily newspaper, about the colours of the souks, the sounds of the calls to prayer, the scent and the sound of olive groves, of sunrise, and of sunsets over the Judaean desert, of ancient history, and of contemporary youths singing together in groups outside, in late evening warmth, eating ice cream.

Many further such invitations followed. ‘You speak with stars in your eyes and in the telling’ one kind soul told me after an evening during which I’d thought I’d wittered on too much. How often, since, I have thought of Robert’s ‘tell them about one or two things that really light up your life.’ How very often since then I have noticed the things that light up my life. And though aware that tonight you won’t be able to hear me, I can nevertheless show you – as quickly or as slowly as you decide – some such recent lights in Barcelona, Cataluñya, España … with stars – and gratitude – in my heart x


Natación ( pero no en Río )

We’re off to meet up with cousins for supper tonight – about sixty miles away from home. We’ve set off more than an hour before we’d normally expect to because, hot on the heels of Thursday’s UK heatwave, we think it perfectly possible we may need to swim for at least part of the journey down the motorway. Ah, but it will be a good dinner 😉

Time travel

We had tea this afternoon in a Quaker Meeting House built by its own tiny hamlet community three hundred and fourteen years ago. Pretty much unchanged, and the distraction of coffee and an enormous slice of chocolate cake notwithstanding, it’s the kind of place where one is quickly lost in daydreaming reverie. Who were these people? What did they look like, sound like, work at? What did they wear and how did they conduct themselves? And not for the first time in this place I wished for the transport convenience of Dr Who’s Tardis to rocket me there and back between this afternoon and July of 1702. In the real world we heard wind in our wheels again as we cycled back up the hill and home. But I shall dream on …

Watermelon way

Cycling along twenty-five miles of spectacular coastline we celebrated the ease with which it’s possible to enjoy blissful days in Croatia. Great food, coffee and ice cream, warm sun and sea, international mix and ready friendliness. Gorgeous natural beauty – and roadside fruit stalls that sell huge bunches of fabulous grapes and thirst quenching slices of fresh-cut watermelon. What a way to spend a day!

Olive groves

A friend wrote, just before we left for Croatia, “please greet the olive groves for me. I dream about them”. We do too. And on this warm first evening’s return the Adriatic is royal blue and turquoise, just feet away from the deep orange-red soil and the loud chorus of cicadas in the olive trees. Just a couple of hours in we’ve already enjoyed wonderful bread and olive oil, and the cherry strudel that is just one amongst so many good reasons for coming back here. The bells of the sixth century basilica are sounding just outside our window and many dozens of swallows are circling the spire. The Poreč Festival of Life is in full swing. There’s music in the ancient streets and peaceful strollers of all ages and many nationalities are delighted by Paddington Bear’s antics at a perfectly fabulous outdoor cinema. This is a vision of something good and right and wholesome. I’m immeasurably thankful for it.


The cool corridors of Bishop Euphrasius’ glorious sixth century basilica complex in Poreč are welcome relief from the heat of the day.

The bishop lived here from the sixth to the twentieth centuries informs a notice at the door. But not any more. A 1500 year old tradition has come to an end and I wondered why. And then went on to ponder this UNESCO world heritage site’s place in the scheme of 4.2 billion years.

Time … like an ever flowing stream. Yes, indeed, welcome relief from the hot-house whys and wherefores of our twenty-first century day.


Imagine a beautifully maintained boat ferrying you across a turquoise sea, on a warm early July morning, from a stunningly beautiful city that’s a UNESCO world heritage site, to a gorgeous little island named after St Nicholas, and swimming there under a deep blue sky. Sounds like Zen doesn’t it? Meditation.

I think I’ll swim tomorrow as well!

Dobrodošli u Hrvatsku

The wind in my wheels has brought me to Croatia for the first time, and after only a few hours I’m hoping it won’t be the last. I’ve heard “Dobrodošli u Hrvatsku” – “Welcome to Croatia” more times than I can count, and what I’ve seen of the Istrian peninsula and of the ancient city of Poreč thus far is unimaginably beautiful. Warm and friendly people, fabulous ice cream wherever one turns, and the good fortune of having unknowingly walked into a four day Mediterranean Folk Festival (YouTube) – Zlatna Sopela. Talk about pinching oneself!

Moji Sni

Čudili se, što još hrvatski znadem, premda sam već toliko godina od kuće. — Pa kako to, da nisi zaboravio?

— A kako bili?! Ako i ne govorim hrvatski, to ipak hrvatski snivam, — a snivam vrlo testo …

Bog zna, hoće li se ti moji hrvatski sni ikad obistiniti!?

My dreams

They were surprised that I still know Croatian though now so many years absent from my native land. — How is it that you didn’t forget?

— How could I? Though I don’t converse in Croatian, yet I dream in Croatian, — and I dream very often …

God knows whether these Croatian dreams will ever become reality.

Fran Mažuranić