Travelling alone

Why on earth would a partially sighted person want to travel alone? Or even to go on holidays with a bunch of strangers who have probably never had experience of a person with visual impairment? The answer is complicated, but it has a lot to do with independence. One of the things that's most difficult for me to deal with is having to rely on other people for lifts and so on. Just going to visit another member of my family involves figuring out a train to catch that suits both me and them in terms of timing, arranging for one of them to come and pick me up from the station, and the same on the way back. If I'm going to an event, I can only leave at a time that's suitable to not only me but them too. As for going on holiday, it's not straightforward when you're single and you don't drive, as unless you're in a city where there's plenty of public transport, or you can walk everywhere, you're entirely reliant on someone else for everything you do each day. A holiday for me is about freedom to do whatever I want with no one to answer to, because my hectic schedule means I rarely get the chance to do that normally. Of course, if you're going on holiday as part of a couple, or with one or more close friends, it's a bit different. But if you're travelling with couples, you always feel in the way, no matter how nice they are, you know that secretly they're going to want some time to themselves without you.

For me, travelling alone is a chance to get away from everything and everyone, and be whoever and whateve I want to be for a week or two. I can put on a whole different personality and no one will know it's not my usual self. I often experiment with differernt persona - something I learnt on my first big solo trip in my late teens when I spent 6 months in New Zealand, travelling alone. At the time I was very shy, but someone told me that no one out there would know me, so they'd have no preconceptions and I could adopt a whole new personality every day if I wanted. It worked and I became much bolder knowing that I wasn't going to bump into anyone I knew (although I did actually bump into an old schoolfriend in a youth hostel in Queenstown, and I also met someone who had been taught maths by my dad). I still use this technique now. I hate eating alone in restaurants as I feel self-conscious and a bit Norman no-mates, so when I'm travelling for work and have to eat out, I pretend to be either a food critic (I even sometimes make notes while I eat, although I'm actually just writing my blog, or doing some work), or an incredibly famous person in disguise, trying not to be recognised.

But what I like best about travelling is actually talking to no one at all, and just revelling in the atmosphere. Even not seeing anyone for days on end doesn't faze me, though that's pretty rare unless you trek alone in a super remote area, which isn't terribly wise. I don't care particularly about ticking off the various tourist sites on my list - what I care about is capturing the essence of the place I'm in. The sounds, the smells and the atmosphere are more important than looking at some pretty buildings. I can look at pictures of the place on the internet. And the odd scary experience of getting lost makes it all the more interesting. In retrospect, though not usually at the time.

Abiding memories of Toubkal - the smell of mule

43 degrees the forecast said
And on the map the sun was red
Now while I like the sun a lot
I'm not quite sure about blistering hot
As I contemplated what to wear
I wondered if I'd need that thermal layer
Although I felt a bit of a prat
I packed the gloves and the woolly hat
 As we stepped off the plane we were hit by the sun
Would trekking in this weather really be fun?

On the first day of walking my fears were confirmed
As the merciless sun on our pale faces burned
After the first ascent my calves were screaming
And the sweat down the middle of my back was streaming
But graduallyu the day became a little less tiring
And soon we were sat in the campsite relaxing
Though perversely the mules became more and more skittish
As we sat down to tea and biscuits - how British!
It was rather unnerving with them poking their nose in our tent
I think they were responsible for the pole that got bent
For some weird reason there wasn't a spare
So Kerri and I ended up having to share
But it turned out that sharing a tent was quite cool
Since there'd be two of us to fight an inquisitive mule!

The second night's camp had a panoramic view
Although the clifftop location entailed a precarious loo
But the howling wind caused more tents to rip
And the noise prevented us getting a decent night's kip

But let's return for a moment to the loo situation
Since it is after all a British obsession.
The toilet tent was a hole in the ground
With an intricate structure of rocks all around
Unfortunately the hole was rather petite
Which made it hard to pee without splashing your feet!

Hassan is a man who doesn't do chat
But leave your bag in the open and it's a sure bet that
He'll have spotted the misdemeanour with his eagle eyes
And unleash a torrent of angry cries.
Now as we neared the end of the week
I became sure that Hassan has a malevolent streak
He made up a story that the clocks would go back
And made us reset our watches before hitting the sack
So we got up at five instead of at six
It turned out he was up to his devilish tricks
For it wasn't the end of the summer season
He'd made us all get up early for absolutely no reason!

Now while Hassan doesn't tend to say much as a rule
He has a dry sense of humour, so don't let him fool
You into thinking he can't come up with a joke
Just ask what to say to a female goat
And I don't want to know what was going on in his head
When he decided to frogmarch poor Alwyn to bed!

Now I can't finish my tale without mentioning the food
For meals cooked on a mountain it was pretty damn good
We had couscous and pasta, with carrots galore
Porridge and doughnuts and plenty more
But after walking all day we were easy to please
Not least with the highlight of fish, chips and peas!

The week was soon over, it went far too fast
But we packed in some good times and memories to last
The banter was plentiful, showers were few
But who cares if they're smelly with such a great view
Of the mountains by day and the stars out at night
The Mt Toubkal trek was an utter delight.

Altitude or dehydration?

For some reason I started this post months ago on the subject of getting ill during the Inca Trail trip, and never finished it. So here it is...

After a bowl of soup for dinner and a largely sleepless night, after the Dead Womans Pass day, I woke up on Boxing Day feeling better but terribly dehydrated. We had no fresh water available except what was carried by the porters, and I hadn't thought to replenish my water bottle the previous night. With blood sugars around the 25 mark most of the night (extremely high) I changed my infusion set and refilled my pump with fresh insulin, assuming that was the cause. In fact, it was more likely to have been the impact on my body of being so ill, and the dehydration of course made it worse. However after tea and eggs for breakfast I felt fit and well, and had no problems during the day's walking, arriving as one of the first at the campsite that evening. A couple of hours later, I realised my blood sugar was low, and took some glucose, then went into the dining tent with some of the others for a cup of tea. I suddenly felt desperately tired, and could barely move my arms and legs. Some time later, I realised someone was shaking me, and asking if I was all right. Feeling terribly groggy, I swallowed a couple of glucose tablets, thinking my blood sugar was still low. Juan was summoned and he came over and made me check my blood sugar. To my surprise it was 8, but still groggy, I just assumed my body had been a bit slow in feeling better. Halfway through dinner a little later, I felt everything go black. Juan and Wilson managed to get me outside to breathe some air, and when again I was barely conscious and couldn't speak, they gave me alcohol to breathe until I was semi-conscious, and then managed - somehow - to carry me up the most treacherous rocky path (in total darkness) that you can imagine, to my tent! Now shivering uncontrollably, they brought me tea and sat with me until I felt better. All I wanted to do was sleep. This was clearly a worrying turn of events because I'd been fine during the day, and we were now at much lower altitude than the previous day! No one could work out what was the problem - my blood sugar levels were fine by now, it shouldn't be the altitude any more, and although I was struggling to breathe, it wasn't asthma-related. Finally they left me, after filling two of my water bottles with hot water to put in my sleeping bag (it was an extremely cold night). I barely slept that night either, and nor did Juan, as he came to check on me in the night not once but 5 times! It rained solidly all night, and I felt so guilty that he was having to get up and check on me. At one point, I was struggling to breathe, and he sat with me for a long time, again clearly worried. Oddly, I was quite calm all this time - I didn't even have the energy to be worried. It was a long night, but again, by the morning I felt much better. Over the next couple of days I had moments when I felt terribly dizzy and faint and was frogmarched to a doctor when we got to Aguas Calientes, the first town we came to at the end of the trail. He diagnosed severe dehydration, aggravated by my having eaten virtually nothing for the last 3 days, and prescribed rest, lots of fluid, rehydration salts and plenty of food (especially rice). He would have liked to admit me to hospital but I was determined to be fit for the second part of my trip, the Amazon rainforest. Given that it was 3 hours by boat and another hour by car from any kind of doctor, he was sceptical about my fitness to do this trip in 2 days' time but arranged for another doctor to see me before I left for the jungle and to decide whether I would be allowed to go. I followed his advice to the letter and was finally deemed fit and well!

The long and short of it was that it was decided later that all my problems had been caused by dehydration, caused by a combination of altitude, the stomach bug and high blood sugars. Lesson learnt!

Little bundle of trouble

Adventure travel is, unsurprisingly, a cathartic experience for many, and especially for those who have more problems to overcome than most. But what about the guides and leaders? Those who follow me on Twitter or Facebook will hardly fail to have noticed my excitement at meeting Ben Fogle at a talk he gave at the Royal Geographical Society last night on the topic of adventure travel. Now I really don't go in for celebrity adulation. I used to work for a world famous singer and have met dozens of celebrities from all walks of life. But I couldn't care less about autographs and, having a terrible sense of facial recognition which is actually nothing to do with my sight loss (I scored 1/20 on the official famous faces test recently), I wouldn't even notice if I sat next to a celebrity on the train. But I do have a few heroes, as mentioned in my Inspiration post, and Ben Fogle is one of them. 

Why him as opposed to any other adventurer? I'm not sure really. Something about him has always fascinated me and filled me with admiration. No more so than the Extreme Dreams TV series where he led groups of ordinary but troubled souls to do amazing things. Some had mental issues, some had physical ones. Some made it to the end of the challenge, some didn't. I asked him how he felt about these trips, and the people he met on them, and his reply was candid and heartfelt. As an experience, it was tough to be responsible for people with such disabilities or problems, but incredibly mentally rewarding to be responsible for changing their lives. He said he was still in touch with many of them today. But I got the impression that he would not have chosen some of them to go on the trip, and indeed that it was not the right thing either for them or for the rest of the group. Clearly some of them were picked for TV, and because failure and conflict make interesting watching. It also makes the trip seem tougher, and thus more rewarding for those who succeed, if others fail. 

In his book The Accidental Adventurer (which I can highly recommend as a thought-provoking as well as interesting book about his various exploits), he writes poignantly about the harrowing experience - both for him and her - of the lady on one of the Extreme Dreams trips who was struggling to come to terms with the death of her husband. She couldn't bring herself to tell the others that he had even died, and talked about him as if he were still alive. You can sense his bitterness towards the production team who insisted that the topic be raised, and who threatened to raise it themselves if he would not. So he was forced to confront her, and actually it not only made good TV, but also probably helped her in the long run. Maybe she needed that push. I know how she felt, I've kept things like that bottled up until someone has finally forced me to open up, and I've always been glad they pushed me, though I've never had to do it on TV! But you can sense that it affected Ben deeply. What makes good TV is definitely not his top priority.

 And therein lies the sign of a great leader (though I'm pretty sure Ben is too modest to admit that he is one). As Juan, my Peruvian guide on the Inca trail said, "A good leader should not just be a guide, but a true friend also." I couldn't agree more.

 There's something about adventure travel, and for me mountains, that can bring a great unburdening of the soul. A mental as well as a physical release. Maybe it's the wide open spaces, the proximity to nature, the dislocation from the humdrum of daily life, or just being with total strangers, but I've often found myself not only reflecting on life, but opening up to others on such trips. I suspect it's not uncommon for guides to have to deal with this. They meet a lot of people, they witness all sorts of events, and they are usually slow to judge. For me, it stems also from a need to assuage the guilt I feel at putting an extra burden on them due to my disabilities and health problems. In particular, my lack of sight means that, even if surreptitiously, a guide will usually watch out for me far more than for other people. Not that I want them to particularly, but it goes with the territory, and I've had to get used to that. Possibly the fact that I often have to reveal quite personal things to the guide, who after all is there to ensure my safety, brings us that little bit closer.

Just writing this post has a somewhat cathartic effect. Thinking back on previous trips and wondering about future trips and how the guides will react to the challenges of having me as a group member brings a lump to my throat and a tear to my eye. Obviously hayfever. But seriously,  I'd love to go on just one trip without all this extra mental burden to those around me. I hope that my guide on Kili will at least get something positive out of the experience of meeting me, to offset in some way the increased burden I put on them, even if it's just the satisfaction of getting me to the top (there is absolutely no doubt that I will make it, unless I actually succumb to serious altitude sickness). I was mortified when Jose, the guide on my recent trip to Spain, called me his "little bundle of trouble" when we kissed goodbye at the airport. I'm sure he meant it kindly, but I still can't help wondering.

Mussels, mosques and Muslims

Things I learnt on my trip to Istanbul last week.

Salted chickpeas are never going to taste like anything other than sawdust. And oddly, they never taste salty either.

Places that look interesting on a map almost inevitably turn out not to be. Usually they turn into either dead ends or industrial areas, where workmen eye you up with a mixture of suspicion and admiration, especially if you're blonde, female, wearing anything less than full Muslim-approved attire, below the age of 60, and on your own. Maps also never show how steep a hill is (and you can guarantee that the most interesting places are at the top or bottom of a steep hill.

If you don't have a corkscrew, all the bottles of wine in the shop will only have corks. And you can't tell this until you get the bottle home and remove the foil. Why do travellers' phrasebooks never have the translation for "is this bottle a screw cap or does it have a real cork?"

A cafe whose menu shows 20 pizzas, 5 salads, 5 types of pasta and 5 desserts will inevitably only have available 2 types of pizza and one very boring pasta dish (and no salad or dessert).  The waiter will then make up some arbitrary price for your meal, which will cost somewhere between £1 and £3. However, he will insist on giving you a full printed invoice, with your name and address on top, if you ask for a receipt.

 If a road has a sign with its name on (and I challenge you to find more than a couple in the whole of Istanbul), it will bear no relation to the name of the road on the map.



You can never get lost as long as you learn all the names of the mosques, as you're never more than 100 yards from one. However, It's probably easier and quicker to learn to speak Turkish. Don't make the mistake of asking a Turkish person for directions though. None of them have a clue where any large or important building is. Though they can probably direct you to a mosque should you need one.



If there isn't a nearby mosque, there's probably something in the shape of one, like this drinks stand.

Young wealthy Turks somehow all have jobs that only involve them working in the mornings. In the afternoons and evenings, they have time to sit and pose in roadside cafes and bars.

On the other hand, there are not many remaining places in Europe where you can get a decent bottle of wine for £3. And where a bottle of water in a hotel minibar only costs 30p.

Walk up to a man with a big pan of mussels on a street corner, and he will feed you individual stuffed mussels until you beg him to stop. He will then ask you for a ridiculously small amount of money.

Spanish hills

 At 6am on a Sunday morning

Bleary eyed and stifling the yawning
We step aboard an Easyjet plane
For an Exodus walking trip to Spain.

I wonder who my fellow travellers will be
I expect they're thinking the same about me.
We're looking forward to a week of fun
It had better not rain as we need some sun.

We're met at the airport by Jose Miguel
A shy and retiring chap, I can tell.
But it soon becomes clear that the trip will be fine
When he stops after an hour to buy us some wine.

And although Frances was first looking a little dismayed
After stopping for wine, all her fears were allayed
She was worried it would only be her that was drinking
Good God! What on earth was she thinking?

It seems a bottle of wine is the cure for all ills
A panacea  for all those hills.
Ah yes! That brings us to the important part
The subject of mountains - now where do I start?
No rest for the wicked on the tortuous climb
But the pain will be cured by the vistas sublime.

Breakfast is at half past eight
We leave at half past nine.
Don't worry about being punctual though
Juan works on Spanish time.

He calls it a gentle warmup
Just up that hill and a little bit more.
But I think it's his way of punishing us
For so much wine the night before.

We follow our fearless leader, however,
And when the hills we have survived
We're rewarded with elevenses
And soon feel much revived.

There are jokes and banter constantly
It keeps us all relaxed.
Jose Miguel takes it in his stride
When we ask if his chest is waxed.

He puts up with a lot from us
We're relentless throughout the day
But he starts to look a little non-plussed
When we tell him we thought he was gay.

Jose's English is already first class
But we improve it all the time
He learns the term for a very steep hill
"It's a bugger of a climb!"

We have a fine collection of ailments
They affect us all at some stage
There's diabetes and asthma, bad knees and gout
Sore legs, blisters and just plain old age.

Peter and Di are pancreatically challenged
They compete with their blood sugar test
But despite Di's very expensive machine
Peter's results are always the best.

The two guys from Belfast keep us amused
With dancing and singing and jokes
But the best is their photo of Benidorm
In which they proudly display that they're blokes.

 I'll leave you with something to think about
As we part at Alicante airport
If you come with the aim not to make any friends
You'll find it's harder than you thought.

Stark raving bonkers?

Inspired by the adventure that was my Inca Trail trip, I may have lost the plot completely. The day after we finished the Inca Trail, I was chatting to Juan, our guide, about mountain trekking and all the places I wanted to go to. "So are you going to do Kilimanjaro then?" he asked. I was astonished! Of all the people to suggest that, I thought Juan, who nearly had to have me airlifted off the mountain, and who was so worried about my health he had been to check on me 5 times in the night in my tent, would be the last person! But no, it turned out he was serious. "Why not? You said you've always wanted to do it, you love trekking and mountains, and you've got the attitude and determination to make it." Now those who know me will know how much I love a challenge. Oh, and I love East Africa. And especially elephants. So I gradually got to thinking about it, and discussing with friends who'd done it, and friends who hadn't and wished they had, and friends who would never in a million years drag themselves up a mountain willingly. I started idly researching it online, went to an Exodus presentation about it, and somehow ended up deciding to do it in February 2013. So there we go. I've bought the book, started my research, and for the last week have dreamt about it every single night. So I've now started a separate blog for it. Countdown: 11 months to go!