April 2011 – Tallinn
Just names but for me places of wonder.
And a vivid pictorial memory each.
But I now add another.
But it is not a wonder of the world.
But more a wonder of nature.
I love the seaside.
The waves hushed rhythmic sucking at the shore.
The smell of seaweed.
The cries of the gulls.
The feel of warm scrunching sand between your toes.
Today I walked along a beach
The soft sand under my feet.
Fir trees all along the shore, stretching for miles.
It was cool.
Not shirtsleeves. But not overcoat cold.
But it was quiet.
No waves washed the beach
And the sea was frozen
A mass of ice.
Creaking, cracking and scraping
With a distant view of old Tallinn
It was a wonder to behold.
August 2011 - Trans Siberian Express
Hours spent looking out of a window
As the view goes by so fast
But slow are the changes noticed…
When all you can see are trees.
Onion domed churches in the distance
Pretty wooden chalets, Russian homes
With bright colours and yet simple, poor
Folks living lives that we try to imagine
And then again, trees.
Sometimes.
Industrial towns, chimneys, concrete blocks of homes,
Then more dry, dusty streets and people.
Then trees.
Occasionally a lake
Or a bridge over a river
And we are all jumping up to take a photo.
Then just trees.
The train stops at a strange name
And you queue to get off
Just to stretch in surroundings that are different
From just trees.
The cabin is small for four
The seats hard, uncomfortable.
The swaying and gentle lurching
Looking out of the window again?
Just trees.
So there’s a book and a chat and sleep.
Some music, a snack but not real food…
And tea, no alcohol.
The train makes steady, steady, steady, progress.
But all you can see are trees.
August 2011 - Russia
At the very inception, apprehension of this tour
I had preconceptions and misconceptions
About Russia
I thought communism and anti-fascism and militarism and fear.
I’d heard of the alcoholism. Vodka.
The socialism and the Marxism.
And the Russian people are stern, dark and stoic..
But there is a genuine friendship behind the sternness.
And such vivid colours in the front of the dark
And gentle laughter at it all
Amid the stoicism.
I like Russia
When the sky around you is different
And the sun shines on unrecognised views.
When people talk and you can’t understand
And even a smile will not break barriers.
When buildings and the people are wonderfully unusual and exotic and strange.
And walking down a street
And simply catching a bus or a train
Becomes a new challenge.
There is a constant
There is a firm reliability
And it does not change at all.
You.
You are the same.
It doesn’t matter how far you travel.
How many miles you cover and how different your surroundings are.
You are still you.
And the solid familiarity of where you call home will remain the same.
China/Korea – August 2011
I do not need reminding
Of what is important in life.
But travel does that to you.
For four weeks. And now alone again.
And I must write
That is important. A little. Is what I write.
But the things I miss are not little.
I know.
I miss my family.
And get low and disheartened.
When contact is not easy.
I miss my home.
And my familiar surrounding things.
And I realise
That there is more that is important
And probably the most.
Because it is my future
My future happiness.
Is my friendship with Wendy.
My love.
Inshallah.
And I kiss my heart, and my St Michael and my cross.
And I hope for a safe return.
And some time for us together.
I hate flying
It is so unnatural.
In a giant cigar-tube with wings.
Filled with high-octane explosive.
Travelling faster than we should.
Higher than we could breathe.
It scares me…
Taking off.
Landing.
Turbulence.
But, oh the view…
The spectacle.
The magnificence of being above the world and above the clouds.
But it does not make up for.
That inner pressure on my poor little ears.
Amtrak train – somewhere in North America – Sept 2011
I'm seriously afraid that life can be so contradictory.
That fate can play games.
But perhaps I have been around sport
And gambling and chance
Too long.
When your horse falls at the last when in the lead.
Or the winning goal hits the crossbar.
Or your competitor flukes a hole-in-one.
I have almost at finger touch.
Something I have wanted so much for 16 years.
And a chance of happiness
That I have only dreamed about and that I had given up on.
But life is shit.
Isn’t it?
And I can’t help worry.
Hey, it’s what I do.
That life can be so contradictory
And in the end,
Something will go wrong
And I won’t collect..
My little share of happiness
Tonight I will sleep in the top bunk.
And the untidy sheets will slip and move
About on the plastic mattress.
And I will listen to strange night noises made
By up to 7 strangers.
It is, just a little, dirty and nasty
This hostel.
Tonight’s dinner was a tin of soup, a slice of bread. A cinnamon cake. And a flask of tea.
Eaten next to a pool table being played.
And American trash TV on show.
And a young lady; I do not know who, spreadeagled out on a chair
Tomorrow night I will sleep on a 737 – 700.
In my seat.
And no sheets. And no plastic mattress.
And I will not sleep much at all.
And my clock will say 2.45am when
I will have to get up.
At least I will get fed. Airline food.
And here’s the stark contrast.
The next day.
I will sleep next to my warm, cosy, tender, delicious, love.
And I will have had a soothing bath and I will be clean.
And then not clean.
And she will have made a salad, perhaps there’s a quiche or mini-bhaji’s…
Me picking at tender morsels.. olives, cheese.
And a bottle of wine.
And I will appreciate the banquet. You bet.
Even more because of the first two.
I just need to be able to stay awake…
