It's almost time...

It's almost time! The last few days have been spent visiting friends and places, saying our goodbyes, cherishing time together and looking forward to welcoming near and dear ones to the land down under. As the days are slipping away its gradually becoming hours. Hours before we leave this dear country which has been home for many years. But I can't complain, can I? After all I am the perpetual migrant--the one who chooses to play different parts and roles in the rich tapestry of life against a varied   backdrop.
At junctures such as these any migrant such as you and me will pause to think--am I doing the right thing? Will the future be more difficult than the past? Can I cope? Do I have what it takes to take life by its horns and enjoy the ride? Or would weariness cast its unpalling gloom ahead? Would this new life overwhelm the person in me? Will it suck out my verve and vivre?
I'm thinking aloud through this blog for I haven't had a moments space to sit and think earlier. To be honest I just don't feel gloomy. I feel enthusiastic, have a long list of things to do, and a plan! But sometimes I feel that my to do list becomes a barrier for me to enjoy life. I really enjoyed our NFA time while we were waiting for the visa and had nothing to do because there was nothing we could do other than give thanks and praise and enjoy life. Once the visa came through the ugly head of lists has reared!
If there is one thing that I need to teach myself it's to let go and chillax, that's right-- I need to be able to do that and learn how not to put off the feeling of pleasure until my jobs are done. For in migration every list leads to an immediate target or end point which is closely followed by the next set. And it can take months before we feel settled and 'list-less'!
Anyways, forgive me for going off on a tangent, as I warned you I just used the time writing this blog as therapy and self examination time.
Let me make the decision right now to not stress about things that need be done but to live in the moment cherishing and savouring it.

The Migrant Journey - We are officially NFA!

“We are now officially NFA” said dear husband as we were taking the last exit out of Chesterfield.  “What’s NFA?” asked me never having heard that abbreviation before. 

Apparently he was echoing my exact thoughts albeit in abbreviated form! As we left our last home behind I was mulling over the fact that we actually had ‘no fixed abode’ for the foreseeable future. Though we can’t claim the romantic notion of being ‘penniless and fancy free’ we were at long last free – free of a home, free of belonging, free of bills and so on and so forth. Guess this sense of being free of all such things is a quirky notion in itself as most people are in search of these very things!

Anyway it so came to pass that this was our destiny. As with all things inevitable it pays to take life by the horns and live it to the full. First stop Doncaster the very big ‘town’ in Yorkshire that still hasn’t been accorded city status. As opposed to many places in the world, in the UK, city status has to be conferred upon a place rather than be earned by virtue of population or size or facilities.  Note another of the quirks of Her Majesty’s land!

The little big village of Cottingham in the East Riding of Yorkshire is a place that I hold dear in my heart. It was my desire that we revisit her before we leave the shores of this nation. So our second NFA stop was Hull and the East Riding. In Hull we were treated by friends to a very South Indian meal at ‘Swadh’ in Trinity Hotel. ‘Swadh’ being the name of the restaurant.

Following lunch we visited Castle Hill hospital and the village of Cottingham. Hardly anything in the village appeared to have changed, whereas the Hospital has grown by leaps and bounds to being a well accomplished Lady in her own right; a far cry from playing the younger sister to Hull Royal Infirmary at one time.
As does all revisiting—it brought back memories from years gone by—the fun times we had with our lovely bunch of neighbours - the barbeques, the fireworks, the doorpost chats; memories of mum playing badminton with the neighbours kids (most painful as she is now a shadow of her former self since afflicted by Alzheimer’s), the birth of my son, the friendships formed and retained—and so on and so forth.

The drive out of Cottingham was as usual plagued with traffic queuing up so it gave us time to say a long goodbye for we fully know that we may never return.

So from Cottingham our chariot ride took us back to Doncaster in the evening. The next day was a planned night drive to Rotherham which is very much a close neighbour of Donny. Took about half an hour to get there. The chill of the October night was unforgiving within the walls of the church we went to. But nevertheless the presence and love of God that I experienced whilst there kind of made up for it.

Back to Donny from Rotherham after midnight, more work for the website I’m creating in the morning, followed by a long drive down to London in the afternoon. Life sure is eventful for an NFA!

Venice -- there was no one like her.

Dear Venice,
 I’ve been longing to cross your waters ever since that beautiful golden gondola graced my parents drawing room and captured my imagination. You were that romantic city caressed by the criss crossing canals upon whose undulating curves sailed the golden gondolas carrying the most beautiful people.

But unfortunately life goes on and you  never  were a priority in the grand mosaic of life – until recently that is. Once we had decided that we were coming to see you we quickly booked our flights and hotel after a bit of research as usual—but nothing much, nothing like usual. Just ensured through tripadvisor reviews that our hotel was going to be nice, clean and comfortable within a quick walk of San Marco. Once that was sorted we decided to fly by British Airways just for the simplicity of it—no hidden charges and  baggage allowance included in the fare. Expedia expedited the whole process and we had no cause for concern this far.

Once the tix and hotel was booked we just left it at that – myself because I had several other pressing jobs that needed my attention , OH because he usually leaves this sort of thing to me and couldn’t be bothered(anyway I did tell him he would have to check transport options etc as I didn’t have the time to allocate for it).

Anyway our ‘spur of the moment’ kind of trip to see you  took off without much of a hitch—car parked at Gatwick Long stay, bus boarded  to airport, flights taken and finally we landed at Venice Marco POLO.  Now from the airport we needed to figure out how to get to you—I mean the real you—after all airports are seldom within the real location of its name. We figured that our options were either to take a private water taxi for 110 Euros or go by the Alilaguna for 15 Euros a head. Opted for the second. Now we had to figure out how to get to the boat station as we would call it anywhere other than in Venice. We walk out the airport and look around for signs and find none so continued straight ahead. Sensing that all was not right i ask the nearest uniformed person I find if we were on the right path. No we weren’t! We were shown a semi covered walkway that was made to mimic a tunnel or at least a half tunnel leading to the left from when you exit the airport. A brisk 7 -10 minute walk gets us to the boat station. Next we had to figure out which Alilaguna we needed to take as apparently there were three different lines - colour coded into blue, orange and green. Decided that the blue line was the best bet and waited patiently.

Along it came eventually and we boarded uneventfully. Got some good seats and set sail. 
I feel, dear Venice, that the approach to your shores can hardly get any more dramatic than this. Speeding on the freeway of the seas, the wind blowing against your hair and the quite unmistakable scent of the water - it felt most James Bondesque! Bit by bit, slowly but surely, you Queen of the Adriatic sea was revealed to the world.

Almost an hour and a half later we touched down at the San Zaccaria Jolanda pier--a busy bustling pier and surrounds. Tourists milling around, hawkers with makeshift shops selling the usual touristy ware, photographers clicking away joyfully -- we passed them all and peering into a map tried to figure the way to our Hotel. 
We went down your tiny alleyways which were in fact called streets(I've seen wider alleyways), up and down a few bridges bags pushchair and all-- no all in all I cant say it was too easy especially because of the pushchair that we had to carry up and down the steps of all those bridges! And finally we just chanced upon our hotel quite unexectedly! Check in at the Colombina was smooth, staff escorted us to our room and helped with the luggage. No change or smaller denomination Euro notes so porter consequentially received a very large tip from OH.

to be contd