SEASONALLY EXPRESSED XENOPHOBIA

SEASONALLY  EXPRESSED XENOPHOBIA—SEX in 2007

When I was young (I can say that without irony now) I had noble goals—improve US-Soviet relations, end the Cold War, distribute the world’s wealth more equitably.  It would be lovely to now rest on my laurels (my bum being big enough to cover a lot of laurels).  Well, the Cold War did end, though neither the USSR nor US moved in quite the direction I had in mind for them so I am hardly delighted with the outcome.

Now, in my anecdotage, I find my only goal seems to be not to die of boredom, or of anything else.  As I am still inhaling you can see that I am succeeding.  I have concluded that the way to experience a sense of accomplishment is to lower one’s standards.  So still being able to absorb oxygen is thrilling, though a recalcitrant knee which thwarts my hill-walking does make me a whinger from time to time, ungrateful human that I am.

My hypocrisy quotient has increased in the past year which means I have more guilt in which to wallow, a perverse solace for an ex-Catholic.  You take your pleasures where you can.  Along those lines, I just read that sex, while it may not prevent Alzheimer’s, can delay it’s onset, so, for the sake of my children, I need a lover now.  I wonder if my kids will see that this is in their long-term interest and give me a subscription to the Guardian’s SOULMATES for Christmas, or at least a Rampant Rabbit.

So my current life involves a plethora of carbon and a dearth of amorous activity.  My credentials as an avid environmentalist have been swamped by my oil consumption.  To live with such contradictions and remain sane requires skill and fortitude, but what is sanity?  To recap my year will be a tedious list for you; not surprisingly for me it had a larger emotional range. 

My apprehension at travelling alone in China, Viet Nam and Cambodia included getting lost, illness and robbery.  It turned out I was not being paranoid, and coping with the adversity by myself was even worse than I feared.  But my final fear was of coming home in a coffin and I managed to avoid that.  Of course there were dramatic landscapes, lovely Chinese soldiers who took care of me, clever children, fabulous street cuisine, florid temples, oppressed workers to stimulate ire, cons thwarted, cons succumbed to, charming confusions in culture, dogs to eat, bed-bugs to bite, orphans to cuddle, guilt to feel.  Bet you can’t wait to go yourself.

For my birthday I went to Italy.  I climbed Vesuvius on May 4.  Sounds impressive except the bus deposits you less than a mile from the crater’s rim and the view below enervating as only a plume of steam remains as a record of past furies in the cauldron.  On the rim I met a man from Newcastle, Australia who brought me up to date on their rate of coal exports—quite an impressive rate as I recall, in the millions of tonnes.  Then I went to Pompeii, a venue far more dramatic than I imagined.  And finally to Napoli, where, even though it was my birthday, I could find no room at any inn I could afford.  I had offers from two men, but I wanted sleep (I had not yet read that article about Alzheimers).  I seem to stimulate great pity wherever I go.  “What, travelling on your own?  Don’t you have any family or any friends?”  So a room was found for me in a former convent on the edge of Napoli, which only took me three hours of wandering through the metro and empty streets to find.  It was midnight.  There was only one person in the room, a man from Oregon.  “How on earth did you find this place?” I asked.  “I just took a taxi.”  Umm, perhaps taking a taxi might have been a nice birthday present to myself. 

The highlight of the year was discovering my calling—the sea.  Unfortunately too late in life to actually get a paid job, but I can’t wait to sail on the lovely Estelle again next summer.  Check out www.estelle.fi.  A 53-metre cargo ship, built in Germany in 1923, purchased 60 years later by idealistic Finns who laboured for a decade to transform it into a magnificent 3-masted sailing ship to prove to the world that cargo can be transported by wind power.  Run by volunteers so you can do it!  I spent almost a month on board.  Some go for a week, some for five months.  The ship is linked up to Fair Trade events around European ports.  I joined in Newcastle and disembarked in Copenhagen.  Two storms (yes, despite my seafaring roots, I got seasick), doldrums, satin seas, steaming Finns in the sauna, cleaning composting toilets, cooking for 17, hoisting mainsails, going for and aft, that’s sailing for you.

A pal enticed me to Goa, India by sorting out all logistics, including the visa.  She did not want to travel alone, and after the challenge of my three months in China etc. I was thankful to be spoon-fed India for three weeks.  Unfortunately my curiousity led us to a small house for drug addicts and alcoholics and away from our nice hotel and swimming pool (already paid for).  My friend joined in the mad caper with gusto, purchasing art supplies and getting the addicts to embellish their bleak walls with murals.  The director gave the order that we batty women were to have free reign.  Jill used to be head of an inner city London school where 33 languages were spoken so she had credentials.  For two weeks great fun was had by all, until Big Nurse (who turned out to be the Director’s mistress) showed up from the centre in Bangalore, 500 miles away.  She was gorgeous and adamant, took an instant dislike to us, called us manipulative white bitches and ordered us off the premises (the Director was not present).  I make light of it here, but it was quite traumatic for both us and the lads.  By phone later the Director said it was all a terrible mistake, and she’s a sick woman, but we wanted to know why she is in charge of vulnerable people.

However, I will return to India.  It is much easier to negotiate than China because so many speak English (and often better than the English).  There are 3,000 Gods to choose from so I should be able to find one suitably quirky for me.  Plus I love the way animals and people live together in an urban setting.  Cows, pigs, elephants, dogs, cats, rats, monkeys roam the streets and none are eaten.  They have the job of garbage disposal.  Chickens are the unlucky ones, but at least they have free range before they get the chop.  The people are gentle, though not always to each other.

Thank goodness I still have old George, who keeps me somewhat grounded by insisting I stay with him several times a year.  The dry-witted Yorkshireman lives in a breezeblock shed (without electricity but with a piano) in the centre of Wales.  He has no family so I appear inadvertently to have adopted him.  He is 90 on January 24.  A couple of years ago he fell and broke his leg and lay on his cold cement floor (no coal fire lit) for three and a half days before the postman found him and called in a helicopter to whisk him off to hospital.  So, perhaps more than anybody in the world, it is important for George to receive post.  My special request to you is to send him a birthday card:  GEORGE DEROE, DOLGOCH, TREGARON, WALES, UK SY25 6NR.  I would love him to receive 90 cards.  And a lot more visitors!

I am writing this in Brittany, France.  A pal has married the youngest of 10 children and we are staying in the Manor (apparently a step down from a Chateau!) with Mama.  All the children have second homes on the 100-acre property (with lake) and are here for Christmas with the 45 grandchildren who will queue up for their present from Grand-mere.  My friend will play the organ in the church so we will all be at Mass.  I still remember mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.  Bring back the Latin mass I say.  Hey, did you know that in Finland they love languages so much that they do one daily news bulletin in Latin?  Now there’s a country I must visit!