New experiences in Strong Wind

It's an early start for us. Out of the house by seven in the morning for the long drive to a parking lot close by Glasgow airport we then leap on a bus for the short ride to the terminal. We each carry a rucksack which has been carefully stuffed with the appropriate clothes we'll need for a week's stay on the island of Fuerteventura (Strong Wind), which is located about sixty miles off the coast of Africa. The temperature in Scotland as we leave is eight degrees. When we land we expect twenty one degrees. This is hard to imagine, which made packing something of a challenge for us. We dug out shorts and tee shirts, sunglasses and hats and these things were crammed into the bottom of our bags. Would we need more than this? Might we go for walk up into the mountains where the air is cooler? The choice of clothes for the journey itself was also quite difficult - nothing too heavy but it must keep us warm enough until we are safely on the plane. Scarves and gloves can be left behind in the car park for when we return.

Once on the plane we started to relax a bit and then four hours after takeoff we are landing on the island and are met at the airport by Peter and Liz, a couple who made this place their home many years ago. Peter is Kate's brother and we made a late decision to visit them but given that their tiny apartment cannot accommodate us we had to find somewhere else to stay, a short walk away, we hope. Not knowing the place at all it is difficult to know the distance from one place to another but it turns out ok.

First impressions...

This is a very dry climate compared to our West of Scotland home. The vegetation, what there is of it, fascinates us - small and spiky comes to mind - but as ever we are keen to explore and after a first visit to the beach the second morning sees us walking uphill to checkout the bare mountain top visible from behind our apartment. We soon discover that this is not like a walk in the country at home. Here the dry air sucks the moisture from our bodies without us realising it although there is a fresh wind which keeps us from overheating. But we walk alone. This place is full of tourists yet nobody else seems to feel the urge to explore on foot like we do, which we find strange.

To say that Fuerteventura is a popular holiday destination is something of an understatement. Tourism, mostly people from Europe, is the island's main source of income. Where we are staying, Caleta de Fuste, is a tightly packed sprawl of apartments, all clearly built at the same time to a single design concept and managed by just a few holiday companies.

Then starting beyond the town's boundaries in every direction is a dry, arid landscape where it is a struggle to see anything growing. The crumbly volcanic rocks are scattered about everywhere as far as the eye can see with not a tree nor even a shrub in sight. On closer inspection, however, during our first hill walk, we did notice clumps of dried bushes in the landscape which we can imagine could come into leaf in the rare event of rain falling upon them.

And then there were these round things planted along the roadside, sort of living traffic bollards and certainly something to discourage pedestrians from crossing the road. These things might seem suitable for the climate here but nevertheless they are fed by their own piped water supply which seems to get switched on at night. The arid landscape beyond the holiday apartments we would describe as 'desert'.

Despite all this though we did make it to the high point as we intended and by doing this we claimed for ourselves the view across the island to the Atlantic Ocean beyond. Somewhere beyond that horizon lies Mexico, an interesting thought.

Just two days in and a daily visit to our complex's swimming pool is already a ritual. The water is quite cool, some would say cold, but the heat from the sun as we emerge from the water makes it survivable, just. Then came the big surprise, rain, barely enough to wet the ground but sufficient to render the tiled walkways around our apartment lethally slippy. With an annual rainfall of barely 100mm this was a rare experience and we were even treated to a small rainbow before the clouds blew away.

Without a clear plan our days began to slip by with little excitement. I am sure most of our fellow tourists (up to four thousand an hour coming into and out of the airport with a plane every ten minutes flying directly over our apartment on the way in to land, starting at seven in the morning and finishing at ten in the evening) would be going on island tours of one sort or another or else slopping on the sunscreen and grabbing a recliner on one of the beaches. But this is not our thing.

We like to observe from a distance and speculate upon the cries of pain those around us are inflicting upon themselves by over exposure to such a powerful sun. There are some three thousand hours of sunshine here each year.

The short flight has taken us to a different world, far away from our home life, and it is the big differences that fascinate us the most. Perhaps the biggest surprise, however, was something we only discovered when we went for our first meal at the communal eating place - restaurant/canteen - provided for our apartment complex. We had signed up and paid for an 'inclusive' holiday, not realising what this word meant until we walked inside and it dawned on us that we were getting three meals a day there at no extra cost. The vast choice of food on display in the self service facility completely blew us away. It immediately took away the need to go anywhere where we would have to pay for our food. Ok it was noisy sitting down with so many enthusiastic eaters and their families but then you can't have everything can you.

Just a couple of days left now so we decided to take a bus ride. With no particular aim in mind we chose Rosario, a town just along the coast from where we are staying and on leaving the bus we immediately felt the culture shock again.

This was a smallish but bustling city and also a commercial port with a colossal cruise ship dominating the horizon. Another world shouted at us from the rows of cabins as we imagined the impact the arrival was having upon Rosario, possibly the whole island. Thousands of fresh faced tourists (German in this case), each one spending money from the moment they disembark but having little or no connection with the resident population. Then suddenly after a set period of time the enormous ship carries them away again and the tourist funded world shrinks to nothing. Why should this feel strange to us when cruise ships go all over the world all the time? We don't have a clear answer to this other than to say that seeing one close up made us think harder about the way of life that goes with it and how little it appeals to us.

One thing we could not help but notice about the tourists near where we were staying was that they exposed far more skin than we were accustomed to seeing and much of this was covered in tattoos of one sort or another. Human bodies come in all shapes and sizes but so many of those staying locally had body shapes that seemed to defy the limits of practicality and even survivability.

Then another experience we stumbled into was when we visited a nearby street market, this one apparently being run by Africans selling largely branded goods that would have breached copyright laws in most countries. The table full of Rolex watches might have been worth thousands had they actually been genuine.

Soon enough the holiday came to an end and we were back on the plane wondering how we were going to cope with the transition from a sweaty twenty three degrees to the minus two we'd be facing when we escaped from the airport terminal in Glasgow. Well wrapped up against the cold we eventually set off on the late night drive home and soon realised we had missed seeing trees around us more than we realised and we couldn't wait to get out amongst them again.

Unncessary work

The house we now live in is on the side of a hill and just beyond our garden's rear fence there is dense vegetation. Beyond this the land eventually rises to a bare summit of rock and heather but the lower slopes are thickly covered in vegetation, most of which is either gorse or rhodies, as we call them. (Rhododendron Ponticum.) Neither of these plants are native to Scotland but they grow tall and retain their leaves all year round, preventing light from reaching the ground beneath them. The effect of this is that nothing grows in their shade and the soil there remains damp, acid and barren of life. The rhodies have flexible branches which rise up until they find the light where they sprout a mass of their dark green leaves. And should those growing stems bend downwards so as to touch the ground then they are capable of sprouting roots which allow them to spread outwards from their parent tree until they cover the whole landscape. These characteristics make them unpopular here and there are many projects underway aimed at removing them from the landscape although this is not an easy task due to their invasive nature.

Having cut back some of these antisocial plants which were threatening to overflow our back fence I thought it might be nice to go a little further and create a pathway through them which would allow us to walk up the hill to the summit.

At the start one has to cross a small burn (stream) so naturally a bridge of some sort was needed. A couple of washing-line poles seemed to do the job, although these require a good sense of balance to negotiate safely, hence the safety rope hanging from a tree. Immediately beyond this the path plunges into darkness beneath a rhododendron canopy and the ground here is a permanently waterlogged slope - wearing anything less than wellington boots will result in wet feet. I felt it might be possible to open up this section by hacking back some of the rhodie stems to let some light in. I might stress here that this is not our land. We think it is part of the estate owned by the local laird but it is completely unmanaged and we are unlikely to be challenged for cutting back a few of these invasive plants. There are deer and sheep that roam the hillside (which explains the lack of new tree growth higher up) but it is certainly not land that is farmed nor cared for in any way.

So here is my new project, totally unnecessary and physically demanding but rewarding in many ways too as I am simply doing what many would approve of and if money were available others might be doing instead. After donning the appropriate protective clothing I manoeuvre myself carefully across the washing-line poles carrying my small battery-powered chain saw and I set to work. The rhodie stems are quite slim but the very first cut highlights the problem I am facing. The cut tree stem merely hangs there, suspended high above on the leafy canopy about ten metres (thirty feet) above. It takes an immense amount of pulling and shaking to bring just one stem down to ground level, at which point I am faced with dealing with a long twisting piece of wood in the confined, mud filled space which is still shaded by the remaining tree cover. One thing I discover quite early on is how strong the growing rhododendron wood is. Any attempt to snap the branch is impossible as the wood has flexible sinews which simply bend without breaking. I decide to try to pull these long cut stems out of the forest cover so I can deal with them in our back garden. This requires every ounce of my strength but I finally have them in a place where I can cut the wood into short pieces which, when dry, will ultimately become fuel for our wood stove. The first morning's effort created a small area allowing a beam of sunlight to reach the ground for the first time in many years.

The second effort a week or so later ended in a little more of the dark tunnel being exposed to light so I am encouraged to think that I can eventually make a lighted passage right through the invasive woodland canopy.

With rain stopping play on this project my attention turns towards the part of our garden from which we have now largely removed those horrible blackthorn bushes that I moaned about here before, the ones that grow those lethal spikes. (I did read that blackthorn is a native shrub that probably evolved this way as a deterrent to browsing by the delicate-mouthed grazers present at the time.)

This picture shows the area where the shrubs had taken root and spread. Their roots are still firmly embedded in the bedrock on which our house is largely built but with the growing shrubs now gone we can cut off any new shoots as soon as they sprout, a process we have used elsewhere to kill off unwanted spiky things.

What the shrub removal has revealed is a muddy groove in the rock, long hidden from view, in which water now collects when it rains. More interestingly however, are the two separate drain pipes which emerge from the bottom of the wall above and, leading from under the paved area on the other side of the wall. They were clearly put in place to drain that area. Both of these plastic pipes were totally clogged by blackthorn roots but once these were extracted we found that some water did begin to ooze out into the muddy groove until it formed a small pond. (For want of anything better we have named this the 'Rock Pond'.) Which brings us to the puzzling bit. One of these small plastic pipes disappears under the wall then continues some distance beneath the paved area, something I discovered by inserting a long stick. It was clearly put in place before the pavers were laid, which begs the question, where does it lead from? Could it have been intended to serve as an exit drain for runoff from our conservatory roof? If this were the case then one might expect that after a heavy downpour water would gush out into the Rock Pond. But this doesn't happen. Of course it could be blocked somewhere further in and in any case why should we care. Rainwater always seems to just run away - there are no large puddles anywhere - so other than just my curiosity what would be the benefit in digging up the ground to find some answers? This would be unnecessary work.

City visit

Cities are not really our thing. This might sound strange coming from a couple who have lived most of their lives in or close by large centres of population but after we retired and our lives were no longer constrained by proximity to a work location then our viewpoint shifted somewhat. This is not something we are aware of on an everyday basis but having just returned from a trip to the city of Bristol to visit our son and his wife we find the trip has allowed us to stop and reflect upon the journey and upon the world beyond the sparsely populated West of Scotland where we live.

We made the decision to travel by train on the basis that this would be more relaxing for us than driving as well as being, thanks to our Senior Rail Cards, somewhat less expensive. Of course, catching the bus in order to get to the train station in Glasgow meant an early start, something we are not terribly good at, particularly when the cold and dark has yet to be lifted away at seven in the morning, but we did manage it and thus were able to arrive there comfortably before our midday train departure time. Coffee and a croissant in a station cafe brought us into contact with a man called George with whom we shared much in common, including a love of remote living, a musical background and a love of sailing. Chatting and exchanging personal information like this with strangers is to be expected in the village we now inhabit, a place where a nod or a greeting is made to everyone who passes by, but it can be quite rare in a city environment.

Once boarded on our train we sat and waited for its departure as an announcement informed us that the driver had been taken ill and a replacement had to be found. Trains, of course, cannot simply go faster to make up time, overtaking like cars do on roads, so the delay meant we were stuck behind a slow moving goods train for the next few hours, something that must be quite common as the train manager gave us details on how to claim compensation for the delay. We missed our connecting train in Wolverhampton but the Birmingham area does have a regular service to the West Country so this made little difference in the end. One has to wonder how train operators can make money when even a short delay enables passengers to claim back so much of the fare.

It was dark by the time we rolled into Bristol Temple Meads station and much colder than we had been led to expect from the forecast we had seen earlier that day. Our first night was in a pre-booked room in the local YHA (youth hostel) where we were able to feed ourselves and warm up. The noise from buses and lorries rumbling past our window did seem to ease off in the night but the real fascination for us was the number of cyclists and electric scooter riders crowding the streets and intermingling with pedestrians at crossings or on shared pathways. Bristol is one of very few British cities to have embraced the cycling culture and put in place infrastructure to enable and encourage it. It was the closest we had seen to a Dutch city outside of Holland, the main difference being that in Bristol the cycle lanes do tend to disappear once you are out of the city centre. Nonetheless it was a culture shock for us to spend time walking through the streets of such a busy city yet feel that our role as pedestrians was acknowledged and catered for, allowing us time to cross roads safely when we needed to along with all the cyclists.

Bristol has another claim to fame too. It is a world filled with graffiti, sometimes massive artworks covering the sides of houses visible from the road or rail network. These spray painted offerings come in all shapes and sizes and it seems that this acceptance of the imaginative and artful has led to other everyday strangeness, artworks that I simply cannot imagine being acceptable anywhere else. It is, however, a busy city, full of students and working people who all seemed to be focussed upon going about their business with no time for social pausing or reflection. We felt like outsiders in this environment, one where simply navigating to the correct bus stop for the short ride to our son's house seemed like a major exercise. Sadly our Scottish bus passes were of no use to us in Bristol (doh!) but a quick tap of a bank card on the machine beside the driver had us on our way and thankfully we soon found ourselves greeting a rather timid Toby the cat and drinking tea in our son's living room.

This was only to be a short visit but we were delighted to be taken on a visit to Tintern Abbey just across the border in Wales, a place with an amazing history that documents so many of the changes in British life over the centuries. Henry VIII was so upset by the wealth of monastic life reflected at the abbey that he forced it to close, ripping out and selling off all the massive decorative windows and also the lead flashings on the roof, this causing the structure of the massive building to deteriorate rapidly. Local people made good use of some of the stone before vegetation took over and the ivy covered ruin became a tourist attraction in its own right, tourists arriving by boat along the nearby River Wye from where all that remained of the abbey could be seen in all its glory. In recent times the vegetation has been cut back and the present day ruins are being preserved as best they can with an eye to maintaining the draw of the place for visitors. The height of what remains of the structure is still impressive although the tall unsupported walls do appear somewhat unstable.

What the city of Bristol did provide for us was the opportunity to shop in a place where there is something we do not always have at home.... choice. My main aim was to buy a new pair of shoes, ones that I could try on to ensure they fit my feet comfortably, but when we first started walking through the city the streets were lined with places to eat rather than places selling shoes. It was also almost empty of people, no doubt a symptom of the work-related timetable which must operate in most cities, so asking for the location of the nearest shoe shop would have been difficult. Finally though, we hit lucky and turned into a wide pedestrian avenue with an endless supply of shoe shops just waiting for us. All through this city walkabout we were being passed by cyclists and electric scooter riders who weaved in and out all around us, coming from all directions but not once causing us any fear or concern. So often one hears about conflict between cyclists and pedestrians (to say nothing about conflict between cyclists and car drivers) whereas in reality with sensible tolerance on both sides they can exist together. All it takes is for one to have some awareness of the likelihood of a cyclist passing by and similarly an awareness by the rider of how pedestrians might suddenly change direction. Neither has a right of way - it is all about shared space.

I have commented before about how modern technologies have changed our world. We notice the minor changes to things we see around us and, rather than just taking them for granted, we might speculate on how the differences could impact our own way of living. This time, having spent many hours travelling on public transport systems, it was the way that both buses and the trains now cater for mobile phone charging that struck us. Each bus seat had a charging port on the back for the passenger behind to use and the trains had the same, together with a power socket for the laptop. Both buses and trains gave continuous position updates on a large monitor coupled with tannoy announcements of the next stop. Then whilst the buses clearly still accept cash payments we saw nobody using this, everyone being happy with a quick tap on a card reader. This saves time and also avoids the need for conversation with the driver. If we ignored these technological changes then we would have to carry cash with us together with bundles of street guides or maps to avoid getting off at the wrong stop. But we don't and just like everyone else we have our cards and phones handy for when they are needed.

So what can we take away from our short city visit? Oh, I should point out that the train home was delayed as well but fortunately we didn't miss our last bus home at the end of the day. So perhaps this illustrates the limitations of the modern technology we experienced. No amount of fancy electronics overcomes the practical stuff - driver illness or leaves on the line. In hindsight I think we would admit to feeling uncomfortable, somewhat out of place, perhaps a little scared by the unfamiliarity of the city world we had experienced. There were good things - the bike lanes and the scooters - and I am sure we could adapt if we had to live in a city again but given the choice we feel the world we now live in is more relaxed and is a better representation of how our human species should live.