Why I've been away all June part II: Paris

20-06-2015

I woke up at 6.30 am to the sound of the sea breeze. For a moment my disorientated self thought I was in Desaru, but then I remembered that it was my phone alarm. As I ate my morning oatmeal, I read a lovely lovely long text from Nat reminding me to never be someone else, because it wastes the person I am. No wonder she is so beautiful there must be rays of sunshine beaming out of her!

My journey:

Inverness international airport - Luton - long bus ride - St Pancras - Eurostar - Metro - Hotel

Wuthering heights Wutheringheights SleepWutheringheights StrawberriesPretzelSleep Wutheringheights

We decided to meet the Wongs, so we took a long walk to Shakespeare and Company. I thought it was a bar until we got there and I realised it is the quaintest bookstore and basically my brain transposed into architecture. 

Along the way we saw many street artists: twisting wire into jewellery, doing portraiture, painting landscapes or selling roses.

At Shakespeare and Company, the walls are lined with books of every shape and size. Outside, there are two second hand book carts, and chalk written descriptions of the man who owned the shop, who is a self proclaimed Don Quixote and romantic and to whom Russian authors are more familiar than his neighbours and who is spending his life in search of his love interest who is a fictional character in a book. It reminded me of 'The history of love' by Nicole Krauss.

Inside, the books continued, with ladders to reach them (I almost knocked one over...typical) There are cubby holes and mirrors plastered with '_______was here' notes stuck on with band aids and chewing gum, and there was a typewriter, a real live white cat, and a piano which a girl was playing.

Written on one wall was a quote that was wormed it's way into one of my favourites:

The wongs brought us to their real French living quarters - a tiny door on a street that opens up to a court yard and houses that sit on top of rickety wooden spiral staircases. Emily and I laughed ourselves silly in her room because she DIDN'T BRING A DRESS and she accidentally bumped me on the head and all this doesn't make sense on paper but I could laugh with her for centuries.

On the way home, we stopped to see a large group of Spanish tourists dancing to a busker's music. Others joined in and I was content to watch, and send thumbs up to the grinning old man beside me. He spoke French and no English, and I spoke English and no French, but through the haze of his cigarette smoke his eyes were kind and congenial and he made us understand that he was from an island south of France, and we told him we were from Singapore, and he put his hand on his heart and pointed to himself, and put his hand on his heart again.

21-06-2015

I woke up in  a cloud - this bed is just heaven. We went to the Musee D'Orsay today, meandering around the ground floor sculptures before getting to the paintings. Hannah explained that the painting of Olympia, a sort of parody of the famous painting of Venus , except it was a painting of a prostitute not a goddess. "When our artists give us Venuses, they correct nature, they lie. Édouard Manet asked himself why lie, why not tell the truth; he introduced us to Olympia, this fille of our time, whom you meet on the sidewalks" -  Émile Zola.

Hannah and I went up to see the Impressionists then - focusing of course on Monet. The beautiful beautiful light and movement. I loved in particular the painting of his wife and son walking through poppy fields. I imagined them walking together, Monet striding ahead. and then turning back to call to his wife and child, and seeing them glide through the bright red flowers, the golden sun kissing the petals, her hair, his cheeks, and Monet's heart feeling so full, so, so content, so uplifted with love that it spilled out in a painting, rushed hurried strokes to capture that moment.

I also loved his painting of the bridge - I imagined him finding that secret spot as a young man, finding solace in it as he untwisted and navigated the vagaries of life, and then bringing his lover there - their first kiss on it's bank, another secret to it's treasure of secrets,and later, bringing his new born child to wade in it's shallows, feet pattering across the bridge, and finally, in his old age, at it's banks, painting the haven that had been part of his life's every season. (all this is fictionalised - I later found out that he planted the garden later in life)

Later, when I revisited the impressionist gallery with Emily, we listened to Dustin O Halloran to provide audio serenity and compliment the paintings before us - I highly recommend it...music for each gallery!

We met at 12 'o clock for lunch, but there was no sign of Hannah, so we split up to see the other galleries.

Emily and I continued on to the the Post-impressionists, including Van Gogh. His paintings all seemed to have a surreal, melty quality to them, as if he saw the world through omnipresent heatwaves.

I loved the picture of two farm laborers resting in a field of corn, perhaps because of the feeling of relief, or maybe just because of his extensive use of yellow - a favourite colour we share.

By 3 o clock, Emily and I had finished the galleries on naturalism, Nabis, Symbolism, Noveau Art and met Dad, Auntie Rachel and Rebecca at the statue of Atlas and his globe - but still no Hannah! Dad assumed she had gone to meet her Yale NUS friends who were in Paris too, and so after a little while of waiting, we walked out of the museum and through a park where there was a man singing 'Summertime' as the sun came out over the dusty pavement and made the Monet-clouds scintillate. One thing I love about Monet was that his shadows are not monochrome - they are blue, pink, green...multi-hued, multi-purposed, complex. Just like humans, as many as the shades of a palette, and as complex as the nuances of a shadow.

Down the Champs-Elysee next, we heard a wonderful brass band, dressed in bright orange. The players danced as they played, skipping and hopping to the beat and 'warming (us) into joy because (they) had joy'.

We also saw a very charismatic street dance performance, whose members twisted this way and that and moved their bodies in ways I thought impossible!

Finally, finally, with dusty feet, the Arc de Triumphe, where an un-named soldier is buried.

Emily and I tried to take more pictures in the blustery wind, and succeeded after much laughter and hair-over-face.

Still no Hannah!!!

More walking, and then we gave up and took the metro to the Eiffel tower, stopping in a cafe for lunch where we finally got wifi - and Hannah appeared! She had been lost for 6.5 hours apparently, and yet she had also walked to the arc de triumphe!

We climbed the Eiffel tower together, and watched dusk settle over Paris.

22-06-2015

As we walked to the Louvre today, we passed a beggar on the street, asking for money to buy food. Dad had a spare bread roll in his bag which he had saved from breakfast, and so I gave it to the man, who smiled and said 'thank you'. His hands were soft.

Merci. I love how the French use this word for thank you because it sounds like the English word 'mercy' - when God does not give us the suffering or punishment we deserve, and instead gives us angels and blessings to guide us through the rough world. Thank you thank you thank you.

There were queues and queues before the Louvre, and we whiled away time listening to Dad talk about the Mona Lisa and talking to an American lady from Texas who was in the line in front of us. 

The Louvre was too big, too cramped, too noisy, too wallsandwallsofartthatIcouldn'tunderstand for me to enjoy it.

We returned to the hotel for a while as I had a tummy ache, and then went to the Notre Dame. It's architecture is beautiful beautiful. Gothic and mysterious pillars and dark bricks, and the brilliant iridescence of stained glass. But the ultimate best thing was hearing the catholic priest sing, a strong tenor, and the swell of his answering congregation: a stream of faithfulness.

The pool of Holy water was surrounded by this inscription; 'I am the way that finds the traveller.' Interesting paronomasia.

I didn't feel to well so I stayed in while Dad and Hannah went for dinner and finished off Wuthering heights

23-06-2015

We woke early to get to Saint-Chapelle, to see it's beautiful stained glass windows, but we still got caught in a really long queue. Still, it was a blessing in disguise because Dad spotted Arsene Wenger, manager of Arsenal FC, coming out of the Palais du Justice! He called his name and Arsene turned around, and Dad caught him on camera, before he waved back - Dad's highlight of the whole trip apparently, even thought he is a Manchester United fan!

Saint-Chapelle is breath-taking. Every window panelled with stained glass, and although initially it triggers awe simply because of the beauty of the light stricken glass, you soon realise that their beauty is beyond aesthetic - there is a story that weaves every window together, the story of the Bible, from genesis to apocalypse.

Dad returned early to the hotel to check us out, and Hannah and I bought two beautiful croissants and set off the the Luxembourg gardens. It was gloriously sunny, and that packet of flaky, buttery promise in my bag was enough to make any day golden even if the sky were full of the most dismal clouds.

The Luxembourg gardens, though a fair walk away, were beautiful, There were shady tree covered paths leading to bright open spaces filled with flowers and a big pond  with miniature sailing boats skimming it's surface.

Hannah helped a grandfather save his fly-away child's buggy that was almost swept down the stairs by a particularly strong gust of wind.

We searched for a cafe to get hot chocolate to go with our croissants (we do things properly - no croissants without hot chocolate, not on out last day in Paris!) When we found a cafe, hannah, meaning to get us each cup (i.e 2 cups) ordered, very confidently, 'TROIS hot chocoalte', and before she realised her mistake, the boy had whisked away to prepare THREE cups.

Hannah drank the extra (O happy mistake?) as we unwrapped the crinkly paper of our croissants and ate them overlooking the gardens under God's great blue sky.

We spent so much time watching the almost paradise of the gardens that we had only 10 minutes to get back to the hotel, and so we raced through the streets of Paris, me holding my bag as it thumped against my hip, and taking off my earrings as they swung against my neck.

We got back in time to get to the train station for our ride home. We sat next to a very typically English family, a mother who filed her nails and painted them bright pink, and occasionally said things like 'The Sun gives you four letters (in a crossword) now THAT'S what i call extravagant!'. her husband sat doing the mentioned crossword, her son had a gun earring and put his feet on chairs much to his mother's chagrin, and her brother (?) who told us that they live near Wales but 'keep the Welsh out'.

We were chugging along quite normally, when the train began to slow and eventually stop. We were there for 45 minutes with this series of announcements.

1: There is something on the tracks, which they were trying to identify. (Probably some cows, I thought)

2: There was a demonstration and there would be a delay (So not cows I suppose)

3: The demonstrators had set some things on fire in the channel tunnel (Fire?!)

4: The things were tyres and we were heading back to Paris.

(At this the mother said 'James dear, you said this morning, you said, "This has been a great holiday but too short!" See, be careful  what you wish for!'' The brother (?) said 'Typical French' and we began sliding back)

My journey:

Paris - Calais -London -Paris

There was pandemonium at the train station, everyone was demanding answers to questions and no one had answers but everyone had questions. There was a scramble to book flights and hotels and Dad JUST managed to get an Air France flight back to heathrow the next day - the earliest available flight, with all the budget flights snapped up by those delayed in the station.

We had been the first train turned back.

God is so good, keeping us safe from the protest and finding us a flight home. Thank you Jesus.

Emily and Auntie Rachel are still in Paris and let us stay. God is so good and so sovereign.

Dear Father God,

You hold the whole WORLD in your hands, and see kingdoms, politics, economies, refugees, protestors. You see whole decades, centuries and millenia pass by like falling leaves. You see all and you see me and my family.

Thank you for being such a kind God. A God who does not simply demand offering but who cares for us and shepherds his flock. You knew we would need a home, and you provided one. You knew there would be protestors, and you protected us. You have been so good, and so careful in stitching this day together.

I commit my days, years and every breath to your masterful plan.

Amen.

24-06-2015

Woke in Auntie Rachel's apartment and got ready to find the fourth best croissant in all of Paris, by Anthony Bosson in Le Sentiel. We had to walk quite a way to get there, and by the time we arrived we were so hungry that we ate quite a lot MORE than croissants.

But oh, my, the croissants. Buttery, light and airy, golden brown... hunger satisfied, heart rested, talking to my best friend and hearing the shop assistant issue a sunny 'Bonjour!' to anyone who entered the shop.

Dad, Hannah and I took the Metro to Montmatre - the most romantic place in Paris in my opinion. Cobbled streets, artists painting portraits, colourful poky old shops. We went into the Sacre Crue Basilica and then headed back to catch our flight.

Before we left, we stopped in the St Severin Church, and saw stained glass that looked like a sunset had shattered into a window.

Thank you God.

At Heathrow, we tried to get a car from Thrifty Dollar, but because it was so late, they had only a very small one and a very expensive one left so we returned to the airport in a shuttle-van driven by Mohammad, a really lovely and helpful man. Dad did that thing that always amazes me, where he strikes up amiable conversation with anyone anywhere. Good thing too, because Mohammad told us he only talks to passengers who talk to him first. He was very funny, and also very wise, reminding us:

Don't abuse life.

We managed to get a car from Enterprise, and drove along a salmon and blue sunset towards home. I tried to keep awake to keep Dad talking - and therefore awake as he drove at almost midnight after a long day of travelling, but I fell asleep somewhere along the M11 and woke up to Mum opening the door of 106 Ixworth highstreet.

Why I've been away all June part I: England and Scotland

12-06-2015

The flight has been the smoothest I have ever been on. As the wheels of the plane lifted of the ground and there was that momentary amazement at how different groundedness and flight felt, I couldn't help but remember what Jim Darling wrote 'Everyone is fascinated by flight, and for now airplanes are how we get to experience it. At some point on each flight I've been on, I think about sitting in a chair in the sky, and it seems crazy every time.'

I watched the Imitation Game on the flight, and it made me think about how we judge and yearn to be judged and yet do not accept judgement. Poor Alan Turing. I don't think he ever knew himself or his self worth, for all his proclaimed shows of arrogance and autonomy. He wanted so much to know "Am I a machine,am I a human, am I a war hero,or am I a criminal?" "I'm not the person to answer that." "Then you're of no use to me whatsoever."

We got into Ixworth and drove up the high street just as Tim, Renny and Grandma were walking down it. They stopped and turned around and our car stopped just as they got to it, and we tumbled out into the cold air and their warm hugs. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say, but I would rather no absence at all - my arms around my family, my grandma's warm soap and powder smell, the crunchy gravel that heralds arrival - this is what I love rather than the beauty of the sadness of absence.

We went to Bury for a visit to the bank and the grocer's - trying some of the sweetest British Kent Strawberries on the way. As we drove home, we passed by wooden signs saying things like 'Asparagus for sale', 'Potatoes' and 'Beautiful Flowers'. I'm definitely in England.

Because the sun was absolutely gorgeous that day, we managed to get down to the Pakenham watermill. I peeled off my slip ons and stepped into the cold water. The pond has lots of little water beetles scuttling around on the bed and lovely lush carpets of water grass that feel silky smooth to step on. Cold water on my feet, hot sun above my head, and the slowness of not needing to worry about anything except where to gingerly place my foot next.

Connie and I spotted some tiddlers near the bank and they were so small that Tim could scoop 2 into his palm.

When our feet got too cold, we crept out and lay on the grassy bank. Dad fell asleep and snored a little. I put my arms behind my head and lay back - the sky in England always seems higher and yet more reachable at the same time.

It's still sinking in - here I am.

13-06-2015

Strawberry porridge before Dad and I drove to Cambridge on a drizzly day.

At the park and ride center, I watched a family with mixed children who spoke in Singaporean accents. I wonder how communities first reacted to mixed children in their midst - I remember watching 'Australia' where a half white half aboriginal child was shunned - thank goodness things have changed. People don't welcome things they don't understand, but things that are new aren't bad, just different.

We walked up a hill to Murray Edwards, the college I will be studying in come Autumn this year. It's far away from the hustle and bustle of the city centre, and has beautiful beautiful flowers. We didn't explore too much, because I want October to be a discovery.

On the way back downhill, we stopped into a bicycle shop with an old man, glowed hand black with bicycle oil and a flat cap over wispy white hair and clear blue eyes. He told us about his son who owns the bicycle shop, and how he moved from Bury St Edmunds to Cambridge and has worked with bicycles for 30 years before retiring, although he still helps out now and then in the shop. We were about to leave when he stretched open his T-shirt and showed us a pink scar over his sternum. "Quadruple bypass surgery" he said, and showed us where they had cut the veins from his calved and thighs to replace his heart vessels. His legs are deathly painful and the lines around his mouth looked bitter as he told us 'I don't understand why it happened to me', because he has never smoked, drunk alcohol or eaten junk food, and takes brisk walks every morning.

At dinner time Connie tried to convince us all that Shakespeare was Italian.

14-06-2015

We drove into Bury for church. The Anglican Church we went to was very traditional - hymns from a hymn books, wooden pews under the arches of wooden ceilings and call and response catechisms. I love the phrase they say at the end of most catechisms 'Father son and holy spirit...world without end, Amen.' Eternity and trinity in a sentence, both inseparable, both reasons for existence.

After church we  met a couple who had lived in Penang, and recalled it in its old days when bicycles were the main form of transport and wearing a shirt or vest when cycling was mandated, although 'most were more hole than vest!' according to the man.

We looked into the St. Edmundsbury Cathedral after that, and were waylaid at the entrance by a lady who very enthusiastically told us all about her cats and how she had advertised for her second husband in the newspaper (!!!)

We stopped by Rougham to give some flowers to Grandad, and then headed home to pack for Scotland.

15-06-2015

We flew from Luton to Inverness - hurtling through the departure hall because it was the FINAL CALL and there was no way we were going to miss Auntie Sheila's cooking.

At No. 5 Drumashie Road we met Auntie Sheila who greeted us with her customary 'Treasures! How lovely to see you! Oh, bless you!" She made her delicious shepherd's pie (I ate the equally heavenly mashed potato off the top instead of the meat part) and in her lounge she had a copy of a Hello! magazine that featured the royal family and Prince George's first official public appearance. Enamored with the royal family but unwilling to read sensationalist news and gutter gossip, she had carefully flagged the pages that included the royal family's story with 'start' and 'stop'.

I tried to teach Connie Sun Salutations in the garden, before we drove to the cottage, stopping on the way to get groceries that included a HEAP of fruit and lots of spinach!

16-06-2015

The weather is gloomy - 52% chance of rain, and so fishing for the boys and the Culloden Museum and shopping was our final plan after  quite a lot of discussing. As we got ready, Tim and Renny played some sort of fame that required them to drape duvets over themselves and lie at inconvenient places in the hallways of the small Victorian cottage. Auntie Sarah stepped on them at one point, and, to their protestations of life threatening injury and agonising pain, shouted over the banisters "Now you know what the Jacobites on Culloden moor felt like!" And then stretched our in front of the window and greeted the sun.

The museum is one of my favourites, because this is a battle that has always fascinated me (I wrote about in for a Sec 1 geography and history assignment) as a sort of last stand of highland tribal warfare. The Jacobite story was on one wall, and the Government side on the other - converging at points in middle panels, and with 'interviews' with highlanders of the time. Despite being a mostly visual/verbal  exhibition, the increasing suspense of the battle built palpably as the tide turned against the initially unstoppable Jacobites as poor planning under Bonny Prince Charlie crumbled against the renewed and regimented leadership of the Duke of Cumberland and the Jacobites were worn down, physically, mentally and emotionally.

The battle came to a head in the simulation room, where you stood surrounded by 4 wall length screens playing the Culloden moor battle - literally in the middle of the battle, as the Jacobites, tired and spiritually defeated by hunger and an exhausting night march, are massacred by the well-strategised government troops.

Later, when Hannah and I were shopping in Inverness town's charity shops, we came across a busker strumming a guitar and singing in a voice that swelled over the streets like a wave. He was singing an Oasis song, and was joined by a very enthusiastic group of middle-aged women who sang and swayed and cheered and waved their arms and he just smiled and kept on singing.

On the way home, we stopped at ALDI for groceries and had a very VERY quick cashier, who zinged everything through the till so quickly that Hannah and I had trouble putting everything in bags fast enough. When he had finished everything, he looked at us struggling to catch up, gave a wicked grin and chuckled 'I've won!'

That night, around the dinner table we listened to Grandma and Auntie Sheila telling us about how they would giggle together in their Brethren church (where women were not allowed to speak?!) when a pastor announced that the ladies ministry was on a bus off to Burnham (burn - 'em) nd how Grandma would call Granddad as a young girl from a pay phone because she couldn't do her math homework and he was a math genius, and yet she would put down the phone with no clearer understanding of how to solve her math problem.

It was incredibly windy as Grandma and Auntie Sheila headed home, I saw a little potted plant that looked like a miniature pine tree being battered by the storm, and I thought of God's birds eye view during a hurricane or tycoon, and how He not only sees but feels all - how terrible and yet how majestic...I would have a sensory overload.

Tim and Renny wrapped in their duvets against the blue purple grey sky and ferocious wind. A big group hug, and then we skittered back into the warm.

17-06-2015

We all woke up quite late - the sun was already creeping around the corners of the blinds as I slipped my socked feet on to the floor and padded to the kitchen to make my every day bowl of porridge oats (except in Scotland it's spelt porage oats) We left the house to walk on Culloden Moor, but I stayed in the cafe with Auntie Sheila since she has difficulty walking and the lumpy, pot-holed moor would be a battle by itself for her feet.

Over a warm bowl of lentil soup and a bottle of lavender lemonade we talked about everything from honey, to Psalm 27 (we share our favourite Psalm), to the colour lavender, and C.S Lewis.

Auntie Sheila has the most comforting habit of punctuating her conversation with gratitude. She either thanks the listener for a kind opinion or suggestion, or the Lord for his steadfast love and faithfulness. Sometimes I wonder, if I peer into her light blue eyes long enough, if I'll see an angel shining back at me.

We headed back into the blustery wind to get back to the car and then home for lunch, before we headed to Kath and Sandy's for tea - and were greeted by a huge hug from either of them and a kiss from Sandy.

After that, we drove to Tomatin, listening to 'Ain't got no' by Nina Simone.

'I ain't got no home, ain't got no shoes
Ain't got no money, ain't got no class
Ain't got no skirts, ain't got no sweater
Ain't got no perfume, ain't got no bed
Ain't got no mind

And what have I got?
Why am I alive anyway?
Yeah, what have I got
Nobody can take away?

Got my hair, got my head
Got my brains, got my ears
Got my eyes, got my nose
Got my mouth, I got my smile

I've got the life
And I'm gonna keep it
I've got the life
And nobody's gonna take it away
I've got the life'

I loved it - such a simple message but it seemed so necessary. We have ourselves and our great and loving God who MADE our selves, and honestly, what more do we need? A life of simplicity, a small happy love-filled life is really completely fulfilled. I look at Auntie Sheila - she hasn't got much: no husband or children, just a small house, but her heart is so so big, and her love for God is so full that it leaks out of her as love and gentleness and kindness that cultivates warmth and beauty and blossoms souls where ever she goes.


I have myself, and what I have I offer to God, and he multiplies my heart so that it overflows, transforming from the shriveled human heart turned in on itself and it's selfish desires into a divine heart, capable of loving and caring beyond myself to the world and its people and creation. This is life.

We also heard another song, which was basically poetry, about how you are the centre of your world and I am the centre of mine and when we fellowship we form a beautiful cosmos - our stars and asteroids and meteors and comets clashing and mingling and crashing into a symphony of space. It reminded me of building a republic of heaven on earth. I imagine lovers of God as little sparks, stars, in the darkness of the earth - and slowly, slowly, lights reach out to each other across the darkness, and shooting stars cross oceans to set other places ablaze, and the whole world becomes a beautiful webbed constellation - a republic of heaven on earth.

When we got to Tomatin, we played football and I watched Tim dance a ballet with the ball. After we stopped, I joined grandma, who had found a little patch of sunshine and was leaning against a wall and lapping it up. We inhaled some sun - a precious treasure in the midst of 14 degree weather, when we got into a conversation with a couple of boys who had cycled down to play in the park.

The oldest boy, 14, did most of the talking while a younger boy of about 5 hid behind him and another boy stayed shyly in the background.

He told us that the school that John Macdougall (an ancient ancestor of mine) taught in has been knocked down and changed into an activity centre. He also explained that the best fishing spots (for my brother's benefit) were down the hill, at which point the 5 year old piped up 'I've been down the hill!'

'DO you like fishing?' Dad asked

The little boy looked up and said intensely, 'I HATE fishing.'


They also taught us a little Gaelic (which they learn in school from 9 or 10 years old)

Ciamar a tha thu (c-heem-a-ra-ha-oo) = Hello how are you? (to one person)

Tha gu math (hagu-ma) = I'm well

Mar sin leibh (martian - leave) = Goodbye (to many people)

We headed into the park with them, and curled up on the big swinging basket, and swung ourselves high up despite the gale that was beginning. I put my legs up high and felt almost like I was floating.

Subsequently it got too cold, the boy left us saying 'It's freezing!' and we all headed home.

Auntie Sarah decided to drive over the mountain pass, and so we took a long route, and saw white bob tail rabbits with the tails flashing against the purple heather as they rain, black and white sheep grazing the highlands, some with shaggy half shorn coats, a couple of pheasant and a herd of majestic deer, startled and wary, cantering away as our car stopped - their brown coats dappled in perfect synchrony with the dark greens browns and red-mustards of the hills.

Breath taking.

18-06-2015

Dad Mum and I drove into Avimore today, ready to climb in the cairngorm area. The trek began on a gentle slope - through pine trees and yellow gorse, heavily wooded area. As we got higher up, it got more sparse - the trees thinned and got more gnarly (granny pines, the visitor centre called them), and it got more windy and so we pulled our hoods around our ears.

As I walked I had a strange vision of myself as seen from an altitude - we were just three little dots crawling up the purple brown mountain side, even though it felt like a struggle and effort to us, from the eye of the heavens we were just three humans in a universal struggle, our physical breathlessness nothing in a world gasping to survive past its sin. 

Some rocks were covered in the most beautiful lichen: red, purple, green grey, black, blue and yellow. My breath was making the inside of my hood damp.

As we neared the summit, the mist descended on as, as well as a biting wing, a mist so thick we could no longer see the green flames of the pines from the bay of the mountain, or loch morlich either. We sat in a little rock enclave, a hollow cairn built by hands before us. A few other climbers shared the space with us - they were much better prepared, wrapped in fleeces and multiple layers, with visors and climbing sticks and small gas burners to warm up mugs of coffee and tea. One man told us he had been waiting 63 years to take off his jacket on a mountain summit but it has always been far too cold!

The climb down was very steep and slippery, with loose rocks in places. We made it down and the weather began to seem more summer like as the wind abated.

The meadows surrounding us were covered with purpley heather and the little white tufts of cloud grass that Mum and I called ploofs.

We went past the green loch as well with emerald water, grey granite walls and scots pines rearing up and down the granite cliff and around the loch.

In the visitors centre I had a delicious bowl of leek and potato soup, and was so blessed by the cafe lady who, finding out I couldn't eat the pea and HAM soup that was the soup for that day, inquired in the kitchen for a vegetarian option and came back with leek and potato. It was so kind of her!

We went to a mountain gear shop in Avimore to get Mum some new shoes because hers fell apart after that hike. We were helped by a man who had come all the way from New Zealand (Nelson, South Island). Curious about how he had made it all the way to Scotland, we asked and found out that he was in the midst of travelling the world! He hasn't seen his parent for three years because he sold everything he has in his life - his house, car, EVERYTHING, quit his job and jumped on an aeroplane. I guess that in the pursuit of true treasure, losing everything is gain. It's something like how God calls us to die to ourselves, to leave behind earthly treasures, where moth and rust destroy, and thieves can break in and steal, and strive for our heavenly treasure - being eternally in his presence, true peace, joy and love. The man's favourite countries are Columbia and Burma (!!!) His passion for travelling was so evident, it sparkled through his eyes and the yearning in his voice and the way his arms went slack with pleasure when talking about the things he's seen. Seeing people talk about things they are truly passionate in a way that isn't contrived, pre-meditated or edited is such a joy. Praise just pours off them like a stream - it is infectious and I even began making travel plans myself!

Another guys in the shop told us about how he used to travel from London to Singapore in the 1970s, and bribe the customs officials who were not supposed to let him in because at that time Singapore discouraged long hair, which he has.

19-06-2015

As we walked on another country hike in Tomintoul (not so intense today because it was a flat land hike!) Auntie Sarah showed us lichen and air fern and told us to walk on the grass and feel nature beneath our feet. I really do believe Auntie Sarah is in love with the world because she is such a habitually joyful person, who sees the beauty in everything bold and small in nature and in people.

Further into the walk, we found a little sandy beach by a river with the cleanest water - you could see the bottom all across the river. Hannah and I sat on the bank and dipped our feet in - ice cold. We paddled for a while until our feel couldn't stand it and then we dusted the sand off our feet and put our socks back on and kept walking.

Back at home, we played 'I went on holiday and bought a ...' Grandma chose 'a Google' for 'G', saying 'I don't know how to use it but I'll bring it!' and for 'O', Tim chose 'Osama Bin Laden' and Auntie and Grandma had the GREATEST difficulty remembering that, Grandma called him 'Osmund Bin Laden' and Auntie said 'Ogawa Balunga'!!!

Auntie blessed us with two warm apple pies and a prayer for the flight to Paris tomorrow, and we had warmer hugs goodbye.