Life in a Tin Can

Bertha

 

My little two-berth caravan is a bolt hole.  A place to retreat to when times are tough or just to be away from the television, instant Internet access and 'phone connection and from the never ending housework and 'things to do' list.

 

 

Bertha is 20 years old.  She looks a little sad next to her more modern larger neighbours with their satellite dishes, awnings and barbecue equipment.  But appearance doesn't matter when the pleasure is priority.

 

 

Inside this little tin can, cosiness hugs me like a teddy bear.  It is a little home and reminds me of playing 'house' as a child.  It has a little kitchen sink and cooker, storage units to keep board games, radio, books, crafting equipment and other essentials.  Her rear end houses a toilet and shower, wardrobe and shelves.  The seats at the front double up as two single beds or, one double bed if I feel so inclined to unravel the base and make it up.  It's easier for getting out in the night to use the singles and a sleeping bag.

 

Plugging into the on-site electrics means I can be warm in winter and food can be kept cool in the fridge whatever the temperature outside.  I have been her owner for the last five years.  She was towed by the seller to Beehive Farm Woodlands Lakes, South Derbyshire where she sits for an annual storage fee.  Other caravans come and go for the weekend or longer being towed by their owners from near or far.  The field Bertha resides in is a no-children area, a separate field is allocated to families, so it is quieter for us oldies without little ones around.  Bertha is next to the short walk to the Lakes.  Hubby thinks this is paradise as he is a keen fisherman in the dry weather.  Whilst he pursues his hobby I erect the caravan table and write, make cards, sew knit or weather permitting relax on a sun-lounger with a good novel to read in the sunshine.  I recently made new curtains for Bertha, do you like them?

Everyone on-site is friendly and occasionally there is a party in the social room.  The staff at the Beehive Farm are helpful and a delight to chat to on each visit.  Caravans, camper vans, tents and pod campers are all well catered for with use of shower blocks, pan washing facilities, an animal petting farm, woodland walks, 3 fishing lakes, blackberry picking (when in season - a lost pastime) and nearby a café for an all day breakfast or coffee and cake.  Just a little walk away in the village is a pub, general store and fish and chip shop.  A little further away is a Chinese take-away who will deliver your meal to the caravan site.

 

 It has become quite a neat ritual sorting out what to take and when the car is loaded with a cool box of food stuffs and bags of clean towels, tea towels, pillow cases and suitable clothes, off we set leaving behind town life.  Instead of looking out on our garden and neighbouring houses across the road we can gaze on the greenery of trees and bushes and a big expanse of sky.  Instead of town wear, campers seem to wear shorts all year round; and instead of being worried and busy everyone is happy and relaxed.

 

Near to Beehive Farm Woodlands Lakes is Rosliston Forestry Centre, a garden centre, Swadlincote and Burton on Trent town centres and Barton Marina so there is always somewhere to visit at our leisure.

 

Barton Marina

 
One of the Lakes at Beehive Woodland Farm

 Rosliston Village Baby peacocks

                                                                                                        at Beehive Woodlands Farm

Rosliston Forestry Centre - on a forest walk

 

 



 Life at the Beehive Farm gives me rest and refreshment and reconnects me to nature.  The resident farm tame rabbits skip about and sometimes chase their wilder relatives.  I have often watched the huge white tame rabbit try to befriend his smaller brown cousin but they never quite connect.  Watching the farm peacocks strut about learning the ropes from their parents and seeing them grow has been lovely.  They walk between the caravans, hop onto benches, squawk and open their fan tails. 

 

Overhead the Canadian geese honk as they fly by in their 'V' formation and at night and owl can be heard hooting.  The noise of the sheep and cows in nearby fields is so much nicer than hearing neighbours drills or lawn mowers.  It is a nice change to see a wider variety of birds too.

 

'A Theme from A Summers Place' by Percy Faith is playing on the radio and it takes me back to Bournemouth 1960 where my parents took me on a family caravan holiday.  We visited Bournemouth swimming pool where there was a show of clowns doing tricks from diving boards and a team of synchronised swimmers dancing in the water to this tune.  May be my happy memory is why I like life in an old tin can so much.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 





 



 

 

 



 



Crafting Review - Kraftiz, S.Derbys

Kraftiz is a pearl in an oystershell.  It is a place that you may come across by accident - a craft shop within the grounds of Rosliston Forestry Centre on the road between Rosliston village, near Swadlincote, South Derbyshire and Burton on Trent, Staffordshire.

                                                                        Rosliston Village
                              
                                                       Rosliston Forestry Centre

Kraftiz is a treasure trove of delight to anyone who loves cutting and pasting, painting, stamping, decoupage, die cutting, scrapbooking etc.

I and my 'crafty' friends have been going to Kraftiz for 3 years now, three or four times a year.  We sit around the table and Julie Plummer, the owner, makes us very welcome.  She supplies refreshments and bits of coloured card, various punches, glue and tapes, in addition to the packs of card kits we purchase.  On each visit we 'oooooh' and 'ahhhh' at the decorative papers, toppers and embellishments that tumble out of our packs and at the pre-made samples of cards that Julie, or an assistant, has made.

We natter the morning away, laughing like school girls over mistakes we make, teasing one another or about our forgetful memories like "where's my scissors" when they are under our noses (well we are all of a certain age you know).

Being at Kraftiz we are like Loose Women.  We forget our ailments and any other of life's difficulties and concentrate on our creativity; you can't give headspace to worries and anxieties when you are making beautiful cards.

Depending on how quick we are feeling we make between one to six cards each in the four or five hours we are there.  Here are some we made earlier.-



When we have a lunch break some of us pop to the Forestry Centre's café and purchase lovely homemade pasties or perhaps in summer sit outside on benches watching the children on climbing frames whilst we eat ice-cream.  It is a fab place for families with many attractions see www.roslistonforestrycentre.co.uk . It is a popular place for cyclists to take a break and dog walkers can exercise and refresh their pets too.

We return to browse the Kraftiz shop's extensive stock buying craft products for any projects we are working on at home, or for a gift for a friend or simply because we can't resist a packet of coloured buttons, a new length of ribbon or a stencil, die cut or tool to aid our crafting.

Whether you are new to crafting or an expert, Julie welcomes all visitors to Kraftiz with a smile, a listening ear and a helping hand.

As an individual I give Kraftiz a 5* review but as a group we would want to award Julie a GOLD MEDAL.  Do visit if ever you are within a 10 mile radius - why not make a day of it like we do?
Use this link to see a short video of our group's visit on Saturday 9th July 2016 - http://www.facebook.com/sueflint13/videos/10155031711862729/?l=7384875074560174148
Here's the Kraftiz website so you can contact www.kraftiz.co.uk or follow Kraftiz on Facebook.

Book Review - Sunshine over Wildflower Cottage

+Kim Nash recommended Milly Johnson's novels to me and when Milly's latest one appeared on Facebook or Twitter, its delightful cover drew me to it and I ordered it from Amazon in paperback.  I began to read it over and above the ones waiting to be read piled up on a bedside table.

As always, I am a slow reader.  I like to savour the story and get to know the characters.  I like to see how different people write and form the tales they are telling.

Milly uses delightful descriptions that flavour the mind and this book, in particular, gets to the sense of smell too - often lacking or hardly noticeable in other novels I read.

It was totally intriguing, gripping and cleverly plotted.  She painted a picture so vivid that I began to read quicker and quicker towards the end.  The story portrays the weakness and strength of women, the greed of wealth and the desperation of keeping something more precious than money and status.  There was a divine way of truth, love and friendship weaved throughout which read as though it were a true story.

If you like country life, rescue pets, nice smells and interesting relationships you will love this novel.  In each chapter there is love, tragedy, suspense, power struggles, friendships and even a spiritual element of the afterlife.

Well done Milly Johnson.  I give a 5* review on Amazon.  Ps.  I loved the mop bucket.

Memory Lane Post 4 - The Co-op

When I married, I automatically followed in my mother's footsteps by becoming a member of the Co-op and acquiring my own 'dividend' number.  Back in my childhood Mum used her 'divi' number when paying the milkman who left a daily supply of milk in all weathers.  I often fetched the milk in from the doorstep and placed the glass bottle in a cold bucket of water in the garage in summer, and on the cold stone pantry floor in winter (before we had a fridge!).  Sometimes, blue tits would have pecked at the silver foil tops making a hole and having had some of the cream off the top of the milk.

 

In winter the frozen milk would lift the foil lid and the thawed milk never tasted quite as good.  I just loved the cream from the top of the bottle and it was a treat to get this in a glass of milk for supper with two digestive, malted milk or rich tea biscuits.  My brother and I would save the washed foil bottle tops either to make 'flying saucers' with, that we would flick with our fingers and see how far they would fly down the hallway or in the garden, or we would collect them in a shoe box until we had enough to take to school to support 'Guide dogs for the blind' charity.  In his teens my brother had a milk round and had to get up early to go to the depot where he would join the fleet of milk floats going out on the streets.

 

Our local Co-op grocery store was a fair walk away but when we visited our Grandmother the Co-op shop was on the corner of her road.  Mum often told me that she and Dad had had their wedding reception in the Co-op rooms above the store that was near to Gran's house, and I imagined them dancing to the music of the day.

 

In Birmingham town centre the Co-operative Department store was very elegant and on occasion I would go there with the family.  It had lots of wooden and glass counters and there was a smell of bread coming from the Co-op bakery shop next door.  This store has long gone, a shopping mall has replaced it.

 

Tamworth Co-operative Department store is a dominant shop in my home town standing proud near to St Editha's church where the founder, Rev William MacGregor, was the incumbent.  He was previously a curate at St Chad's Church, Hopwas, on the outskirts of the town and where he is now at rest in the churchyard.  This store has managed to stay open through tough times and now offers shop floor space to other retailers too.

 

Over four decades my home has been furnished with all sorts of items and the 'divi' has been very useful over the years.  I have bought many a Christmas or birthday present and cards from this shop, booked holidays in the Co-op Travel Agents and had lunch or coffee with friends in the café on the top floor.  The 'divi' receipts have changed from little pink or yellow strips from the milkman in the 1960's to the ever popular plastic card of today.

 

What's your memories of the Co-op?  Do leave a message below.

Tamworth Literary Festival

 

 

How wonderful it was to have a Literary Festival in my home town.  It was a 'first' and greatly appreciated by all who attended, from near and far.  THANKS to Tina Williams and all the TamLitFest Committee for staging and manning this excellent event.  A series of workshops and talks were held in St George's Chapel, St Editha's Church, Tamworth, Staffordshire and stalls were available in Tamworth Library to meet authors and get signed copies of their books.

 



 

Helena Fairfax led 'How to Write a Great Romance' workshop

 

 

 Julia Ibbotson signing her books

 

 

Rosie Goodwin telling us about her journey to publication

 

 

J A Heron & S J Warner - two fun loving self-published authors

 

The workshops and talks provided inspiration, tips and how to write conflict in romantic story lines.  As lunch time was short I missed meeting Carol E Wyer, humour, romantic comedy writer; the Tamworth Writers Group members and many others.  Apologies for missing Gareth J Wood's workshop too.

 

I came away with handouts and new friends to add to other social media sites.  My notebook has pages of useful information and things to research.

 

Thank you once again TamLitFest - looking forward to future events.

Book Review - Martin Clunes - the biography

by Stafford Hildred and Tim Ewbank

Having read this book I feel like I know this man, having grown up with him in my life via the television.  He is my on-screen brother that I have never met. 

He was so funny in Men Behaving Badly which brought him to fame.  His behaviour, language and relationships, being out of step with my own experience, was at the same time somehow familiar.  In MBB he personified young, carefree, maleness.

Now we are both older I love his documentaries about Islands, Horses, Dogs etc.  His voice is dry and soothing.  Recently, whilst watching a programme about Ageing, I recognised his voice as the commentator.  It was as warm as the programme which gave a positive outlook, rather than the normal negative perspective of what old age might entail.  I like to think would know his voice anywhere.

My favourite character is Doc Martin - the quirky Cornish GP who has no people skills, no bedside manner and yet an excellent local GP.  He diagnoses illnesses accurately, sometimes without being asked to and saves children and adults alike from potentially fatal situations.  It is his relationship with Louisa that is of greatest interest to me.  He loves her but they misunderstand each other so much that living together, even for their baby's sake, takes a huge amount of effort and energy.

In one episode Asperger's Syndrome was hinted at but this has not been brought to the fore as a reason for his relationship difficulties and therefore the Doc is portrayed as 'odd', 'funny' and 'different' rather than there being a brain related reason.  Adult diagnosis of AS is not talked about in the media or in social circles, which is a pity as it needs to be more widely accepted.

I was unaware Martin Clunes is a real Doc Martin having been honoured with an honorary degree from Bournemouth University.  He was bestowed a Doctor of Arts for his work in acting.  The book mentions this near to the end, along with his love of VW camper vans - one in particular that he is doing up himself.

I was also unaware of the extensive charity work he does and of his lovely close knit family of three - himself, Phillipa his director wife, and Emily his daughter.  Many of the photographs the book includes show Martin smiling or laughing and the whole book left me with a sense of 'this is one happy chappy - grounded, loyal, caring and very talented'.  His commitment to charity work is admirable and the writers of this biography have done him proud.  A career listing at the end of the book shows how very flexible an actor Martin has been.  A 5-star read.

Memory Lane 3 - Hoola Hoops, Pogo Sticks and Go carts

 

I had a red hoola hoop.  An inexpensive circle of plastic that provided hours and years of fun.  Besides twirling it around my (then) nimble waist seeing how many rotations I could manage, it also transformed into a skipping implement too.  It was used at the school sports day too, laid out on the green grass with several others that we had to jump into, lift over our heads and run on to the next obstacle - a bean bag, egg and spoon or the dreaded sack race to the finishing line. 

 

I was quite envious of my friend having a pogo stick, and as I recall she had a pair of stilts too.  She was a good friend and let me use them too.  We would count our bounces or wooden stilted steps and laugh when we lost our balance and fell off, then start all over again. 

 

Living in a cul-de-sac we would 'play out' for hours during school holidays, after school before teatime (5pm) or before bedtime (7 or 8pm). 

The boys in our little avenue had home made go-carts that they would race along the road or around the pavements.  This one is quite superior to the one a neighbour made from scraps of wood, old pram wheels and his sister's old skipping rope to help 'steer' with or to pull it back to its starting point.  Us girls were 'pushers' but occasionally allowed a go in the steering seat.  The fun ended when one of the boys caught his hand in the spokes of the wheel and bled rather a lot, but I don't think he went to hospital.  Fortunately our play area was flat, I hate to think what might of happened if we took these contraptions to go down a hill. 

 

Memory Lane Post 2 - Corona Pop

When I was a child (half a century ago!) I lived in a house at the bottom of a cul-de-sac and a 'pop man' would park his vehicle outside our house and deliver, to the doorsteps, a weekly supply of fizzy drinks.  I think mother would pre-order three bottles a week and would rotate the flavours so that each week we had a different selection to choose from.  I quite remember the 'ooooh what have we got this time?' when fetching the bottles in off the front doorstep and placing them on the cool stone pantry floor.

I disliked orangeade as much as I disliked Lucozade, the latter purchased separately when one of us were poorly to boost our energy.  That glass bottle came in an orange coloured clear wrapping which I used to look through and see the world as orange coloured; or I would cut it up and stick it in patterns in my scrap book (the original 'cut and paste').  Being a terrible traveller I was often given a glass of Lucozade along with the words of wisdom about it being 'good for you'.  It didn't stop me being sick, in fact it probably prompted it more so.

I was fond of cherryade (red being my favourite colour to this day in many ways) and I was happy with lime or lemonade.  Dandelion and Burdock was another favourite although it did cause a lot of giggles when the 'burps' occurred afterwards.

There was one occasion where Corona pop stays in my mind.  It was at a neighbour's birthday party.  Andrew lived three doors away and his mum was a 'dinner lady' at school.  At his party she allowed us to 'mix our drinks' - a concept I have never thought of before.  So, into our party glasses went a bit of orangeade, cherryade, lemonade, limeade, cream soda and dandelion and burdock.  It made a fun fizzy party drink.  I think a few of the children were sick later that evening and it taught us the perils of mixing our drinks!

I recall that there was a repayment on the glass bottles returned to the pop man - perhaps three pence (thrupence) or six pence (a tanner).  I also remember when on holiday in Cornwall my brother would collect discarded smaller empty glass bottles of pop (no plastic ones then) and take them to a shop and be given a shilling (a bob) or two, which I thought was very grown up.  He was allowed to wander off down the beach for this activity whereas I was younger and had to be kept in sight.

At the end of the two week holiday my brother and I would buy our parents a 'thank you' present - a box of Cornish fudge for dad and a small bottle of Devon violets perfume or a lace hanky for mum.  Weren't we good kids!  Now I am a grumpy old woman I bemoan that there are no thank yous for Christmas or Birthday gifts or money any more.  No letters written nor even a text message.  How things have changed.

Memory Lane Post 1- I remember when...

 

When this picture appeared on Twitter it immediately evoked a memory and these thoughts followed:

I do remember doing this as a child.  I used an ordinary HB pencil, whatever coins were to hand and a piece of white paper or tracing paper.  It could be done with a wax crayon of any colour; a piece of charcoal or coloured chalk.  I'm not sure if I actually used the triangular wax crayon that I have a vague memory of, used perhaps at school on a trip to a church for brass rubbings.

It was a simple exercise, pointless maybe, but one that passed a bit of time in quiet pleasure, perhaps whilst mother was preparing tea or on a Sunday afternoon in my bedroom.  There were no other distractions or self-play computer games, the saying 'I'm bored' never uttered.  There was always something to do.

Pressing flowers or leaves
Skipping
French skipping
Marbles
Hopscotch
Cats Cradle
Roller skating
Throwing a ball up the wall - one potato, two potato, three potato, four etc.
Reading comics
Reading books
Colouring
Drawing
Painting
Making things
Collecting insects in a jar
Studying butterflies
Playing make-believe
Playing 'Please mister crocodile'
Playing Hide and Seek
Playing Tig - akky one, two, three.
Kite flying
Cricket/French Cricket
Rounders
Jackstones
Listening to the radio
Going to the library
Going Ice Skating
Going to the pictures

The list could continue and I am sure you could add to it in the comments below.  Perhaps if you have young children, grandchildren or young nieces, nephews, great-nieces/nephews you could make a point of showing them some of these activities in order for them not to be lost forever.  Happy Memory Making.

Travel Photos - Fatima,Portugal.

 Fatima, 88 miles north of Lisbon, place of Pilgrimage.

In 1917 three shepherd children saw an apparition of Our Lady (Mary).

The 'visits' happened between 13th May and October that year and the last one, 13th October, 

was witnessed by 60,000 people. 

Next year, 2017, the Pope will visit in honour of

the 100th year anniversary.

Pilgrims walk up to the modern cathedral building, some on their knees in penance, others taking shaped candles to light for healings of body parts or grief. 

The nearby shops are overcrowded with statues, pictures, plaques and other religious keepsakes.

Travel Photos - Lisbon, Portugal

 A coach viewpoint stop, looking down to the sea.

 Arco da Rua Augusta

 Lisbon Cathedral

 

 A replica (smaller version) statue of Christ the Redeemer in Rio de janeiro, taken from the 25th April bridge

 Best mode of transport to see the City.  Don't take the yellow No 28 as this is very crowded and you might not get a seat.  The red tram only takes seated passengers and you can hop on and off anytime.

 

Lots of street statues, beggars, hawkers, musicians, dancers.  Loved this lass.

 Sardines, a must have local dish.  Also don't miss the egg custard pastries with a coffee, yum.

 

Travel Writing - The Church and the Beggar

One of the coach trips included a guided tour of Lisbon Cathedral where its architecture was explained to the group by the very knowledgeable and proud guide.  As we entered the doorway of the Cathedral a beggar lady sat baring her scarred face and amputated leg in an iron prosthetic.  It was hard to walk by - I wanted to sit next to her and hear her story, where was she from, what had happened to her, where did she live, why was she begging?  But I guessed she was not an English speaker and I followed dutifully our coach party into the Sanctuary of this magnificent building.

Our guide pointed out the ceiling, its carvings, the pillars, the people commemorated etc etc etc and although I listened I couldn't get the beggar at the door out of my mind.

  Queueing in the midday sun to get into the museum next to the Cathedral.

 

I am Christian but I could not get my head around the expense of such a building, not only in its years of being built, but in the years since, in maintenance and upkeep.  The rich and the poor, the grand, seen by all, and the small, unnoticed individual were side by side.  The phrase 'obscene opulence' rather than praise for the Christians who furbished this place swirls around my brain.  Do they think God wants this, to be revered in gold and for men to spend their time chipping and carving away when the Gospel teachings are ignored?  It raised so many unanswered questions for me.

There were many other beggars and hawkers in Lisbon city centre.  The next day I saw her sat by a shop, she had changed location.  I wished I had not walked by yet again, but instead gone into a patisserie and bought her some food at least.  However, I have experienced the error of giving money to a mother and child begging sometime ago in another country and it was an unpleasant experience of being followed and harassed for more money.  If anyone has pointers as to how to cope with these situations please comment below.

 

 

 



Travel Writing - Pousada Serra da Estrela, Covilha, Portugal

This, our second hotel with Titan Tours, is a converted Sanatorium once used for the treatment and recovery of patients working on the Railways who contracted Tuberculosis.

  The high altitude, 1200 m above sea level, set in a quiet location provided fresh air and a tranquil atmosphere of care.  Originally built in the 1920's over an 8 year period it then served all needy patients in 50 beds available to the National Association of Tuberculosis.  The building later passed ownership to the National Institute for TB Care.  It closed down in 1969 but re-opened in 1974 for 700 returnees from the former Portuguese colonies.

 

In 2011 restoration of the building began by the Pestana Group of Hotels and it opened in 2014 offering 92 rooms which were beautifully furnished, plain simple gardens, an indoor and outdoor pool and spa facilities.

My stay here was one of respite from the on/off coach travelling and sanctuary from the torrential rains, low clouds and fog of May, watering the earth for its long hot summer ahead.  The hotel was clean and fresh, comfortable, very spacious and 'grand'.  It felt a real privilege to be there.

 

The corridors were long and I felt the serene hospital atmosphere through the pictures on the walls of my room.  I imagined the coughs and breathing difficulties of former residents and rather than it being a place of convalescence it felt like a restorative place physically, mentally and spiritually. (Read Blog on Healing Waters and The Gym).  Here I had time to think more clearly, absorb the 'now' and not worry about time schedules other than planned meal times.

 

Some of our travelling companions complained that the food was not up to standard but this was not my experience.  The Mediterranean diet is so much healthier than the British based diet.  The colour and variety both at breakfast and evening meal gave choices for all tastes.  By now I was beginning to weary of the negativity of several of the group and had to avoid being seated with them at meal times.  I would rate this hotel 5 stars out of 5.  A wonderful place in the mountains, a place I would return to, perhaps in better weather days to sit outdoors and bask in the pure air.

 

 

 



 

Travel Writing - Pousada da Castelo de Palmela, Lisbon, Portugal

 

The courtyard/Cloisters by day and by night

The converted Convent, formerly of the Order of Santiago, is adjacent to a Castle built by the Moors in the 12th Century.










The convent refectory is now a dining room and features a preaching place overlooking the diners below.

It stands on a hilltop setting with breathtaking panoramic views and is 40 kms from Lisbon.

The view of the village of Palmela below is beautiful - tree tops, red tiled house tops, white walled buildings and the winding cobbled narrow streets greeting us visitors as warmly as the late afternoon sunshine.

 

In the hotel courtyard were wicker chairs upon white marbled slabs surrounded by the arches that made up the cloisters, once open to the elements but now with glass doors and windows with a celtic cross print on each.  I imagine dour faced black habited nuns walking softly from cell to chapel, arms folded and in silent contemplation after their morning duties.  Compline would be said, Psalms sang and Holy Orders observed.

 

Brass bowls on wooden stands perhaps once used for Holy water now contain sand for smokers to snub out their cigarettes before entering the building.  If the hotel bedrooms had once been cells they were very spacious and peaceful places.  The huge windows had dark wooden shutters to close out the weather or darkness of night when the twinkling of streetlights and homes below glowed like stars beyond the reach of nuns.  Were they a closed order I wonder?  The internet tells me the Order of Santiago was founded in 1502 and had several convents throughout Portugal and Spain.  The Order still exists under protection of the Spanish crown, but, it would seem, like many religious Orders, their numbers have vastly diminished.

 

The hotel was a sanctuary to us travellers/holiday makers - a place to rest awhile after a long journey from England.  It offered drinks and food to refresh us, had huge beds with soft white quilts and pillows to rest us and local staff to serve us as valued guests.  From here we explored Lisbon city and then onwards to Covilha, Fatima and into Spain.

 

It comes to you highly recommended by myself.  The only missing thing was tea and coffee making facilities in the rooms, as with all other hotels visited.  I will rate this place 4 stars of 5.



 

Heaven on Earth

Day 5 of an 11 day tour of Portugal and Spain.

Location : Pousada Serra da Estrela (Historic Hotel, Portugal) (a separate blog will tell you more about this hotel)

I sink into the empty pool, alone for a short while.  "Ahhhh," I sigh.  It is a 'coming home' moment.  A contentment beyond describable words.

The water is a very comfortable 30 degrees and I glide through the waters experiencing a release of tension that causes my emotions to overflow as tears.  A cry from deep within my soul, not of sadness but of shear joy.  This is my 'happy' place, in the warmth of the blue waters.  Is it a reminiscence of being in my mother's womb - safe, loved, alive without life?

I sit on the steps within the pool, press a button and bubbles arise - a Jacuzzi.  A neck and shoulder jet spray activated next washes away stresses and anxieties of travelling.  I swim, I float, I enjoy the sensation of water all over my body, holding me, supporting me, loving me.

Somehow the water changes me from entering it to emerging from it.  I am different afterwards, lighter, happier, cleaner, calmer.  Relaxed, refreshed.

And then, as if that wasn't a treat enough, I have a massage.  I was given an individually wrapped pair of paper panties (new experience but remember they were fashionable for a short while in the 1960's).  I de-robe and lay on the couch, cover myself with the sheet and put my face on the towelled opening at the head of the massage table. 

The obligatory music is playing and the masseur enters the room.  She tells me  she will start with a 'welcome' touch and uncovers my feet (another new experience).  I try not to laugh out loud whilst she lightly touches the souls of my feet and then puts some 'scrub' on a few dry parts of my heels, covers them with hot flannels and presses my soles.  Lovely.

After the back, neck and shoulder massage I am sat in a relaxation room, given a complementary cup of soothing herbal tea and left to take as long as I like to re-enter the hotel.  Lying back on the sunbed I listen to the piped tinkle music and birdsong and think of family and friends back home.  I let tears flow for them and hope it washes away their pains and troubles.  For a brief moment and in silence I talk to loved ones gone from this world.  It is though I am on a higher spiritual ground.

I open my eyes, wipe away the tears and drink the warming herbal tea.  I am back in the world and ready to move on.