Bubbles

Living life in bubbles. We all live in our bubbles, to an extent. I've been a little outside mine on this trip, but its an adventure, and my choice.

Most of us create some kind of space around us where the edges are very defined and familiar. We make patterns in home and work and relationships which are cyclicle - routines we like, that mostly we have chosen and developed. Even when a thing occurs that upsets the apple cart, enough stability exists elsewhere in the bubble to help us recover. Although we give them a bad name, bubbles can be helpful.

La Casa Del Buen Trato is a brilliant, necessary bubble. I visited on Friday and Saturday (that horrible night bus over the Andes with vomiting children and a giant snoring man) to make some photographs for them, and here my photography work really began.

La Casa del Buen Trato - The Home of Good Treatment - sits peacefully in the mountains, away over the peaks of the Andes north east of Lima. A huge contrast from the dusty, hectic streets of town, it really is a place of peace and rest, and safety. This is a shelter where women come to flee domestic violence, seeking solace with their kids. There are teenage mums who fell pregnant through rape and incest who need support raising their kids and also space to be kids. And there are a number of kids of all ages who have been abused and need protection. It is the only shelter of its kind in Peru.

There are a few female staff whom the children call 'mamita' - an affectionate term for mother. They are strong women, no joke. There is a great tenderness between the women and girls, comfort in identifying with each other, sometimes in hushed conversation but often silently and with no need for explanation.

The staff say that despite the robbing of life that has happened to these people, when they see the children laugh and play, that is the glint of life they are fighting for and it gives them strength to carry on their work.

This is a safe, necessary bubble.

I saw a couple of times a mamita sitting quietly with a girl in the garden, struck with the openness and gentleness of the place that these talks are able to happen so freely. No one interrupts, no one points, everyone understands. Everyone needs this.

At one point, I stood in the fierce altitude sun listening to the eerie noise the warm wind made rushing through pine trees high up there. All is being blown clean, a powerful force at work up there in a spectacular location with rich blue skys and pumped up white clouds.

This is a righteous bubble - the home of good treat - sitting on a high hillside, quietly and privately revolutionary. And it shines too, as all good bubbles do.


{Today's Soundtrack: Scott Matthews - Myself Again}

First Movement

[Later that evening, a walk with Fiorella and Neri]

Turns out Megaphone Man was not harking independence after all, but revving up for 'Festival de Danzas' in the huge yet empty town square. Panpipes a-go go!

We stood in a tight, jigsaw fit of bodies around a makeshift arena while kids of all shapes, sizes and rhythm contributed traditional, regional peruvian equivalents of jazz hands. What do we have? Glee, or country dancing, and I felt sad as I always do that our own traditional song and dance is so lifeless by contrast to most other places I've travelled. The stiff geography teacher saw to that, ensuring this dance was not, and never would be, a party, and spoiled many a wedding for me since. This, however was pure joy: colour, glisten, ruffles and weaves, drums and strings and pipes, and I watched the little faces of these kids as they proudly danced in beautiful dresses, jumped and tapped and wiggled the stories and folklore of their country region by region.

Freddo the 'Inca Fotografica' dipped around with his beat up old Pentax 35mm film camera; stewards held back the pressing crown, 'por favor, por favor', and in our comfortable, cosy fit we all swayed along with infectious rhythms, beaming - luminoso. We left, but the man with the megaphone was still going when I woke in our hotel room at 4.30am.

The overture turned out to be its prophetic self.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.7

Overtures

[Pisco, 4 hrs drive S of Lima, in a garden]

Cacophony of birdsong in late afternoon, quick fluttering of their little beating wings - like an overly surprised heart - as they fly back and forth over this garden. A soft rustle - plastic bag caught in pale pink geraniums, then a cockerel experimenting with unusual (for him) times of day.

Loud radio amplified off bare brick and plaster, one man's enthusiastic spanish commentary, echoing so he is heard one, two, three times slightly out of sync; the sandy slice and slop of a builder making a wall on buildings that never seem to be finished. A child's hooting toy, nearer, then further, and a man talking on the phone in spanish, leaning out over his balcony because presumably the TV is too loud in his hotel room. Another radio, and another, one playing music rather like a caberet show on a cruise liner and their echoing sounds all coagulate; careful shuffle of a man in flip flops carrying a bag of potatoes. Band saw, car alarm, pigeon, plastering. That man's commentary went, now returns, perhaps not a radio after all but someone driving around leaning out of his car window with a megaphone.

The dusty walls play tricks with sound.

One of the birds is wolf-whistling, and maybe this connects beating wings to beating hearts again; 'Alright my bird?' as we say in Bristol. Yes, alright thanks.

It will be a long wait for enough hush to hear the cactii grow, but someone did think to leave this chair. Finally, I hear my own long sigh through my nose, resting, wondering how this overture will play out in coming days, intrigued that so much noise could be relaxing.


{Today's Soundtrack: yours}

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.7

Peru01 : Funny Vinaigrette

[Yesterday - In Transit]

Here in New York it is around 3pm, though my body thinks it nearly 8. I've so far eaten two very bad meals, watched a terrible film (Paul) and an amazing film (Jane Eyre), sat next to a sweet helpful person, a weird self-help person, a french couple joined at the tongue, and several cute peruvians. Waiting on tarmac to take off for Lima, a baby two rows back is beginning to forget how much it wants to ball all the way to Peru and I'm trying to remember my original motives for making this trip.

*

Waiting at border control in NY I was accosted twice by officials. New Yorkers in uniform always look like they're from CSI, so I then felt like an extra on their film. 'May I see you passport, ma'am?' I think the border staff were bored, and playing games with the girl in the pink scarf.

My flight connection was ridiculously tight - reclaiming baggage and hurling it back at a quiet soul by a hole in the wall, any hole, sprinting with elbows hard at work, humourless security officials scowled more than usual when in panic I reached into the x-ray machine to get my bag out. No dawdling here, not least because as I crashed through check in, a round woman looked up and drawled, "hm, someone's musty." Oh help, I am sorry. That'll be your east coast humidity.

I wonder how it looked, a curly girl pounding marble floors, flying in flip flops with backpack straps fluttering like streamers, but I made it to the gate with time to spare, then the smell of fear sloped off and found someone else to play with.

The whole thing makes me eager to get to Lima, but entertained by this journey, terribly glad I have a small pack of wet wipes to hand.

*

[Today - Hostel in Lima]

Breakfast, in a cellar café that has forgotten how mood lighting can enhance eating pleasure, we work out universal communications that equal coffee and eggs. Trying to remember not to lisp my S's here. Grathias. The few moments before you really get going, you are - frustratingly - your only jet-lagged frame of reference, and then a boy quietly leaves a vinagrette bottle in front of me and walks away. Dipping my finger in and tasting it is the only way to work out that's the coffee, and that tips into there, and those words mean this, and thankfully the sounds up there imply Fiorella's arriving and she will ease me out of this disorientation.

These are the moments before you go out and start discovering, loaded with anticipation, apprehension, wonders and curiousity.

I don't feel at all brave, and yet sitting here with my funny vinaigrette my adventure has tentatively, quietly, already begun.


{Today's Soundtrack: Great Lake Swimmers - Where in the World Are You Now}

Melody, Harmony or Rhythm?

A friend asked me last week, which do you prefer, melody, harmony or rhythm?

Thinking, a few seconds, worried he might be judging my answer, realising he was not trying to catch me out, I braved a thought which was not concluded and suggested 'harmony'. I'm a singer and sometimes feel overwhelmed in the middle of powerful harmonies. He is a drummer and did a grand job of not taking offence. The opposite, in fact. We played around with the idea for a while – individual notes combine to create something much bigger than their sum, a new thing created that didn't exist before. Something happens that you could not have predicted, effects beyond mechanics, resonance striking deep down.

Melody, harmony or rhythm – which of these three could I live without? And what about lyrics? (That was a whole other conversation.)

Rhythm has drive, melody has captivation, harmony is a superpower. Perhaps we are all one or other of the above – some a relentless, driving force to be reckoned with, some a captivating muse, some harmonising in collaboration to make something extraordinary, bigger, not of them but beyond them. In any case, if the conclusion was known before the thought—or sound—was ventured we would have neither rhythm, melody or harmony.

Maybe it doesn't matter which of these ways you make music, just so long as you brave making it. So long as you're in the right company, the thoughts don't need to be concluded before you voice them.


{Today's Soundtrack: Little Dragon - Twice}

Celebrating Small People

Today is a special day. Not that every other day is not special. Perhaps, more, today is about some special people, small people with pure hearts and big hopes. Do we all know little ones like this? 

Just yesterday evening I bumped into two I know, full of hugs and excited about their music lessons, curious about "Why?" (their favourite lens). Off they went with special mummy B, home to look after their hamsters Apollo and Dobbie. Another special small person I know phoned this morning to tell me she won first prize in the school talent contest yesterday. She is 6. It was the Veggie Song. I don't even know the song but I'm still voting for it. And on Saturday, yet another special small person showed me an amazing animation he made of his break-dancing dad, and I was impressed with this 'homework task' that made all of us crease up laughing and chat about ideas, kid and adult alike. That is clever homework. That is how they will feel confident to apply their "Why?" and come up with great plans in this life.

Having small people around is important. They are important. They stop us bigger people forgetting how to let joy out. Kids will be kids whatever their circumstances, and in all their tenderness they also show incredible resilience. We have a lot to learn from them, and so today is celebrated.

Today is International Day of the African Child. 

From Street Action UK website:

The Day of the African Child, celebrated on 16 June commemorates when, in 1976, hundreds of school children were killed in Soweto, South Africa while taking to the streets to march against an inferior education system and the right to be taught in their own language. In 2011, the African Union is celebrating the 21st annual day with a focus on street children. As the children of Soweto inspired a generation to rise up against apartheid in South Africa, we are supporting our partners across Africa in giving children freedom from a life on the streets and the choice of a better future. [read more]

Today, let's celebrate—and remember—special, special small people. 

{Today's Soundtrack: Fleet Foxes - Helplessness Blues}

A Blessing

May love come and get you.

In the secret place,
be friendly and kind
to whoever you find there,
and trust that God has it covered.

When you find yourself empty-handed,
Know the remaining love of God;
Rest take you by one hand,
And Peace by the other,
And lead you to lie down in those
Promised-of green pastures.
Let them show you the way to that
'River of delights'
So you might feast on it.
It is yours to drink from.

I pray you will know
the surrounding, settling and
Soft love that is yours;
Courage - a key for the lock.

No matter how small or crushed it feels,
There is always your heart,
And for this we give thanks.

Grace,
and peace.


{Today's Soundtrack: Welcome Wagon}

Endurance Loving

This summer, I'm travelling to Peru with US charity Venture Expeditions, to work with vulnerable, poverty-stricken communities all over Peru. The plan is to hook up with a project in Lima called Paz Y Esperanza, and I will work with them to document their fantastic work. I'm also running photography workshops with some local kids so as to give them a voice, and hopefully a small foot up out of the desperate injustice that holds them in poverty, able to communicate on another level so they may have their basic needs met.

So far, I have funded the trip myself, but it is an awful lot of money. I still have another £1000 to raise and am looking for sponsorship, and so have committed to doing something totally out of my comfort zone to raise these funds.

(At this point, if you need to read no further, please click this link to Venture Expeditions, select 'Lizzie Everard - Maccu Picchu' from the 'sponsor a participant' drop down list, and follow the prompts to donate. And DO leave a comment so I can thank you!)

However, if you're curious to know more, do read on.

So, outside my comfort zone behaviour, that will be the Endurance Life 'Classic Quarter', just three little weeks away now on June 25th.

"What do you mean, Classic Quarter?" they chorus. 

The Classic Quarter is a brilliant race along a stunning part of the Cornish coastline organised by Endurance Life. 44 miles of cliff-top trail link the UK's most southerly point to the most westerly – Lizard Point to Land's End. It is utterly beautiful, but to run it you have to have rock hard nerves and a screw loose.

My friends James (pictured below) and Andrew (above), built like greyhounds, are running the entire length solo. That will be 44 miles each, up and down near vertical scrambles in places, across white sand on perfect surf beaches, then miles more boggy trail. Convention says will be one of the hottest days of the year. They appear to have more than one screw loose, but they have been practising. JJ here is smiling, yes, but I think he may also be hallucinating at this point of the race:

I—who have also been practising but am not built like a greyhound, rather a well-ripened pear—also appear to have a screw loose because I am running a leg of the race, although in relay, and with excellent team mates Fran and Sonja. For the non-greyhounds among us, running 11 miles (17.5km) on the final leg, the most gruelling stretch, will be  . . . h a r d. This leg has the highest total elevation, steep up and down most of the way. Setting off from Lamorna Cove around 2pm, round past Porthcurno and the Minack Theatre, I hope to finish at Lands End sometime around 4.30pm, give or take. Here's where you come in...

Please, sponsor me for running 11 miles like a dehydrated loon bag on impossible terrain?

I have run a half marathon before, very generously sponsored in aid of Street Children in South Africa. I cannot tell you how much, at times, putting one foot in front of the other relied completely on knowing good money was going to people who needed it. It was one of the most difficult things I have ever done. Now we are ramping it up. Please, dig deep and give generously to this project! 

To sponsor my Classic Quarter run and make the Peru trip happen, please click this link to Venture Expeditions, select 'Lizzie Everard - Maccu Picchu' from the 'sponsor a participant' drop down list, and follow the prompts to donate. And DO leave a comment here so I can follow up and thank you! Venture can itemise who has given what, so I will be able to acknowledge receipt. 

As I have already paid for the flight, if you would like to contribute towards that specifically or to some of the camera equipment I will need, please contact me here. Thank you.

This is going to be the toughest run I've ever done.

On the day itself, please do come and cheer, it is a beautiful part of the world, and if you have an ambulance, bring that too. Land's End is dead easy by car.

{Today's Soundtrack: Golpfrapp - A&E}

Hard Hats

I heard this really interesting comment yesterday on the radio, Rob Lowe talking about being an actor, that if you are not competitive about it you may as well get out of the industry. Somehow that seemed at odds with the sensitive world of the actor. And then I watched 'The Apprentice'. As much as I can't bear the bitchy back-stabbing, I do admire the sheer balls of people who do everything they can to work that conviction that they have what everyone else wants, even if that is a weird product that no one needs.

Is success about selling something no one needs? And is winning about being noticed and picked above everyone else? No, we all know by now that's not true. There are alternatives to making money and having stuff, which I imagine most readers of this blog get. But if you are not bloodthirsty in business and ruthless in self-promotion, how then do you make this alternative project and big dream stuff work, materially speaking? I have a trip switch that flips whenever I'm faced with material competition, I just don't care, and it can be really counterproductive. Where will I find what it takes to dig in and make it work?

Let's reinterpret. Let's say competitiveness is actually strong courage against adversity. And let's appreciate that this conviction to go all out for something necessary you don't yet have—faith—will see you through some really tough moments. It makes sense that these would be qualities you expect to find in successful people, and it's their stories I want to hear – stories of courage, strength, faith in adversity and endurance for the long haul.

I found this picture of when I was making the angels project, and it reminded me that there is another angle on the building of big dreams that does not involve individual competitiveness so much as a willingness to dig in, push through and work damn hard to make a dream become reality. I suppose what it comes down to is the nature of the dream, and whether or not you really believe in it.

If you'll excuse me, I have a hard had to locate.


*nearly got knocked over by a gigantic bee as I stepped out of the house this morning, not as gigantic as these fellas though - lovin' the bees!

{Today's Soundtrack: The Bees - Every Step's A Yes}

Pretty

While we're on the theme of blossom and snowing trees...


{Today's Soundtrack:
Raghu Dixit - No Man Will Ever Love You, Like I Do}

Hello Blossom

In a curious twist of creation which keeps us on our toes and staring up, the trees have been snowing. Dry, bare twigs and branches have exploded with life and heavy boughs fell over our pathways with the weight of their surprising blossom, until they had their drunken fill and the petals let go so as to mimic the best winter could offer and sprinkle small, pale shapes all over the ground.

Life is pushing from inside—the secret place—to get out and grow in the fresh air. It seemed so unlikely, just a few weeks ago when we were cold, frozen and hunched against the frost, but tiny, robust little green things now point forward from high vantage in the trees and shout, "Go!" to anyone willing to listen.

When the trees start snowing it always makes me catch my breath – a reminder of where we have come from and how unbelievably this appears out of nowhere. If Autmun's riot of colour is life's swan-song in the face of Winter, then Spring comes to flip everything we thought we knew upside down. This behaviour is laughter in the face of what, or whoever says, "No, it is not possible."

{Today's Soundtrack: Bethany Dillon Acoustic}

Looking Out

There's a feeling, isn't there, when you're going for something that takes a bit of work, that it is important to settle in to a steady, long haul pace, head bowed and eyes to the path. Nose down, vision pure. Do not, at any cost, deviate from this path, rhythm or posture.

Surely this is like strapping blinkers on yourself though? A paradox, a grand vision sacrificed in order to realise a grand vision? So focussed and intent, so untrusting of the ankles to be strong against rocks and stones, that the next immediate few inches become everything and long sight comes to mean, or matter, very little in this short reach activity.

But is not the reason for the voyage first and foremost that very long sight? Is it not about the vista, the grand scale, the magnitude?

Are the immediate few inches not given their shape by the expansive miles around them?

If we catch ourselves looking at our feet, overly worried about the snags and potholes, we stand to miss the reason we are climbing in the first place.

'He will not let your foot slip against a stone.'

Trust in that promise; look up, and out, and remember why you began your voyage. Surely that will lift you, in a way, 'on wings, like eagles'.


*


My friend Harry and I were listening to Desert Island Discs this morning while we chatted idly about a few things, and this track came on. He - a cellist - described the intention of the piece, and its existing to fill a vast space. It seems very right for today. Listening to it this morning, it's giving me goose bumps.

{Today's Soundtrack: Vaughan Williams - Fantasia on a theme by Thomas Tallis}