Decorated with leaders past and present

The streets of Dubai have grown increasingly red, green, white and black over the last month.  Every morning when I go out on my dog walk I see more flags, decorations and lights.  This culminated in massive celebrations on 2nd December to mark the 40th anniversary of the United Arab Emirates and National Day was commemorated in a plethora of events.  This included a welcome home for the challengers of Gulf for Good’s Cycle the Seven Emirates adventure.  They covered 400km in five days in aid of a children’s charity in Ajman.

Cycle the 7 Emirates on the home stretch

I took the dogs down to the beach road and watched the beginning of the procession of cars until I noticed that Hazel was shivering in fear.   She obviously doesn’t like silly string being squirted at her!

Direct hit

Returning with youngest daughter, we laughed, waved and ducked for about an hour, finally wandering home via some beautifully lit houses.  The sound of the beeping horns carried on way after midnight.

Happy 40th anniversary U.A.E.

More pics here….

A year ago, I was still on a high from walking part of the Lebanon Mountain Trail with Gulf for Good.  My new levels of fitness made me run up steep slopes and desperate to rack up the kilometres across the English countryside – which I did in Gloucestershire, including the Haresfield Beacon, on the Isle of Islay and in Devon and Cornwall.   This July, my first whole day back in England after a year, I was sluggish from the effects of sitting at my desk for hours on end, confined by 40 c and high humidity that summer in Dubai brings (when my dogs refuse to walk and I descend in a downward spiral of lethargy), exacerbated by a seven hour flight on inactivity.  The results from my first 10km run in January were a distant memory.

I hauled my boots out of the cupboard, my sister dusted off our favourite walking book (which we are nerdishly ticking off) and we were driving off into glorious sunshine and the glorious Gloucestershire countryside.  The trees through Cranham cast beautiful dappled shadows on the road, the Cotswold stone of Painswick houses was golden, the views across the fields shimmering. Taking a left as we entered Stroud we climbed the narrow road to Slad – famed for being the birthplace and former home of author Laurie Lee.

I went to his home once as a hanger-on at a teenage party given by his daughter Jessie.  My alcohol fuelled memories are very hazy but I seem to remember he was wearing a white suit that Peter Wingate would have been proud of and was just as inebriated as we were.  The superficial youth that I was failed to grasp the privilege of meeting a living legend and I sloped off.  This lounge lizard image is at odds with the innocent youth of Cider With Rosie where motorised vehicles had yet to arrive in the area and a visitor from Gloucester was a rare occasion.

Parking at the top of Steanbridge lane (which is anonymous as the sign has gone) and walking down to the start of the footpath took us away from civilisation pretty quickly.  Past a pond, over a stile and we were soon walking through shady trees while enjoying views of sunlit fields.  It wasn’t too hard to imagine this unchanged for nearly 100 years.

This four hour walk of 7 miles has some steepish slopes to climb at points as it takes you round the entire Slad Valley, barely seeing a house, road or another person throughout the walk.  There were stiles, meadows, a pond, a lake,  a slippery near-stream of a path, lanes deep in leaves, clay pigeon shooting stands, a junk yard and lots of stone walls.

Going through one bit of woodland, heard some violent and indignant squeaking coming from the undergrowth.  I stayed still and hope to catch a glimpse of the squabbling rodents but they sensed my presence and were quiet.  In the next field a bird of prey circled way above the trees on the thermals.

This landscape inspired some of Laurie Lee’s writing:

“But the mole sleeps, and the hedgehog lies curled in a womb of leaves, the bean and the wheat-seed hug their germs in the earth and the stream moves under the ice.”

This is not a walk with lots of peering into cottage windows (although there are a few jewels).  It’s a path through a valley frozen in time with view after view – whether the silhouette of a tree or a splendid line of washing.

The love-hate feeling of climbing another steep incline, calves stretching, heart pounding, lungs gasping, was the best way to catapult me into the feel-good zone.  I like Dubai, but I love England.

My favourite walks are reasonably challenging, circular and end at a pub. This walk delivered all including The Woolpack in Slad  which had local ales and views out over the valley.

End of beach hike in a sandstorm.

There were many rejects before I plumped on Walking on Sunshine.  Sadly ‘Best foot forward’ and ‘Pereginations’ were already taken.  Walking in Sunshine is what I do most of the year and Walking on Sunshine is exactly how it feels when I am striding across a hill, wind in my hair, looking out on a fantastic view.

You may be hearing the Katrina and the Waves song in your head as you read those words but not me.  It’s the Eddy Grant version that takes me back to the 80′s (or even the Rockers Revenge remix).  Katrina was just too squeaky clean for my liking (and a bit annoying).

Handpainting with children in the Shatila refugee camp

I first started sharing my thoughts here with a very fixed purpose in mind – training, fund-raising for and documenting a challenge for charity along part of the Lebanon Mountain Eco Trail.  It’s just over a year since I returned from that trip and I loved it, particularly hiking through the beautiful countryside.  It was a fantastic experience, life-changing in a quiet way and among other things it made me want to keep writing about my passion for walking.

Mostly I just walk my two dogs – Border terriers called Hazel and Rosie – in my neighbourhood in Dubai.  It’s thinking time for me and as an inveterate nosey person I like the pace that enables me to peek into open gates, stare up at mosque towers and observe the varied inhabitants out on the streets (sometimes with a camera).

On my morning walk

Dubai is a vibrant and energetic city but I do miss energetic walking in the countryside so much sometimes it aches.  I’m lucky enough to escape to Europe over the scorching summer with a few other trips near and far too.  This is the place to share my favourite journeys, a few thoughts and observations…all from a pedestrian viewpoint whether at home or away.

I just thought I’d put a few waymarkers up about the terrain and the direction I’m heading so you can decide whether you want to stay and come along with me or say farewell.

My sister with walk book in hand

It was the Gulf for Good 10th anniversary party last week and I started to think seriously about doing another challenge in 2012.  So the trials and tribulations of getting fit enough and what I find when we get there is definitely on the cards.  With the region undergoing so many changes due to the ‘Arab Spring’ I might look back on some previous trips too.  Plus I’m itching to try out some more walks from my sister’s book as well as my favourite lonely and dramatic routes on Dartmoor this summer.

I won’t be bombarding you with posts but if you’d like to hear from me more often and have an interest in food, I blog over at My Custard Pie too.

Thank you for coming this far – massive and heartfelt thanks to everyone who has read, subscribed, commented and given the most amazing encouragement over the past year and a half.  You got me up a few hills I can tell you, as well as over that 10km finish line.

The running track after the sun has risen

When I opened my front door at 5.30 this morning it felt like I was stepping into a kitchen where a Christmas pudding had been steaming for several hours. It was pitch black and I could see some stars twinkling overhead. In the short time it took to walk to the running track the stars had vanished but I was thankful that it was still dark so no-one could see my rather pathetic attempts at running. However figures appeared in the distance and I realised I was not alone. I set off on the track which was gleaming with moisture from the humidity.  I was determined to do four laps this time although this seemed a very daunting task.

The birth of this blog

Rewinding for a moment, to why I set up this blog.  It was because I took on a challenge, well two actually; to become fit enough to successfully hike for five days along the Lebanon Mountain Trail and to raise a considerable amount for children’s charities.  I succeeded in both with the support of many, many people including my fellow challengers, friends, family and sponsors, Gulf for Good and the readers of this blog.  When you know that you are accountable to even one reader it acts as a spur, to keep going, to not give up.

Finding a time-efficient, inexpensive way to keep fit

The rewards for completing these challenges were many fold and I have documented the incredible privilege of visiting the charities in Lebanon.  On a personal front, the increased fitness really made a difference to how I looked and felt.  I had much more energy and was a lot happier. I managed to keep this fitness throughout my two months in the UK through a lot of hiking and walks and was determined to find a way that fitted into my busy schedule back in Dubai.

Taking my first steps into RUNNING

Barely out of a walk in the 3km Dubai Marathon 2007

I have NEVER been a runner.  I look aghast at people who tell me, ‘you start to forget about running and go into a zone’.  I simply don’t believe this will ever happen to me.  I don’t think I ever ran a cross-country trail at school  and I didn’t manage to run non stop in the 3km fun run of the Dubai Marathon a few years ago even though my eight year old daughter did.  However, there I was at the beginning of September at the start of the running track with my two daughters at 6 in the morning to see if I could run all the way round once.  I surprised myself and, after a rest in the middle, did it twice. I still didn’t like it though.

Yes you can do it

It was then I realised I needed a goal if this was to continue and after a few more sessions of managing two laps (in high humidity and temperature) I wondered about setting myself the target of entering the 10km in the Dubai Marathon in January.  I raised this as a question to my friends via Facebook and there was an overwhelming deluge of comments ‘of course you can Sally.’ It was really touching, and there was no turning back.

So there I was, taking baby steps in my training, gradually increasing what I did, starting to believe I could do it and then disaster struck or rather strep throat struck and I was stopped in my tracks for almost two weeks without training.  It was as though my batteries had run out.  I hadn’t even run 3 km yet and the leap to 10km seemed insurmountable if starting from scratch all over again.

How ‘Bangs and a bun’ got me going again with ‘Blood, sweat and tears’

Then I happened upon some inspiration.  I read the account of Muireann’s bid to run a half marathon, someone who had all the same feelings and issues as I did but succeeded.  It was like the Hallelujah chorus was playing all of a sudden.  I set my alarm for 5.30am and had an early night. And guess what, the next day I did four laps for the first time, which I think is equivalent to just over 3 km.  This is probably the most I have ever run without stopping in my life.

Will you be my virtual coach?

So here I am again, asking you to come along with me through the trials and tribulations of my training. Could you be there every painful step of the way of my 10k attempt?  I hope you will, because knowing you’re there gives me a huge incentive not to let you down (and not to slope off when the going gets tough). Would that be OK?

Supporters (for the elite Ethiopians)

Part Two:

I wrote this far too late after the Dubai Marathon to publish on its own, so here’s the ending of this story.

21.01.11. Emotions overwhelmed me as the crowd started to move forward towards the start of the 10km in the Dubai Marathon 2011.  I was apprehensive, feeling a bit hemmed in and claustraphobic – the start area had been chaotic – but I took a deep breath and was very calm.  The music switched to We are family by Sister Sledge and my lower lip wobbled.  My sister was ulitmately responsible for making me believe that I could actually run this distance and our special song made me feel very sentimental.  I resisted the urge to get caught up in the general charge and broke into a very gentle pace, happy to let people overtake me (although some set off at a walk!).

I plugged my headphones in my ears – I’d saved the podcast of the Archers Omnibus edition specially – and settled in to try to achieve my goal.  This was to run all the way without stopping for my first ever 10km race, hopefully without any serious injury or lasting pain.

There have been a few milestones along the way to get me to this point.  Where did it all start?

Enjoying the Qaddisha valley path

May 2010 – Training for and completing a five day trek in on the Lebanon mountain trail.  I loved the extra level of fitness I’d achieved and the confidence that achieving this physical challenge gave me.

Hearing that my sister, who like me, eschewed running like a contagious tropical disease, had run 10km in the Great Northern Run.  If she could do it, I could do it….possibly?

July 2010 – Lots of hikes across the English countryside including one mad moment where I ran across a field in hiking boots with a rucksack.

Early September 2010 – Running not once, but twice round a jogging track (0.6 km each circuit) in high temperatures and humidity.  Started a training diary on the advice of encouraging friends on Facebook.

Friday 15th October 2010 – First time running round Safa Park 3.4 km.  Woo hoo!

Sunday 31st October – Picked up the training plan a friend gave me early on which I had almost binned.  It started from a point that at the time seemed unattainable, 4km.  This gave me a structure, a purpose and a goal every time.

Sunday 7th November – Did 8 circuits round and round and round the running track.  Finally understood why people said I needed to vary my route!  Thought about heading out on the road.

Tuesday 16th November Ran about 5.5km on the roads and rather enjoyed it.  I’m a nosey person and I like to look into people’s gardens and investigate new streets.  Running meant I went to new areas and saw many more things than when walking my dogs.

New trainers

Ran even further – I was on a high, on a roll, I ruled the world.  I knew I could do it!

Huge work-load, Christmas and illness drove me to rock-bottom with no energy.  I didn’t run for over three weeks.

Wednesday 12th January -  Major panic that I wasn’t prepared plus nagging pain in my hip lead to investment in super-duper new shoes (Nike air-max) .  Felt like I was walking on air but could I run?

Thursday 13th January – Friends urged me to join them for three circuits of Safa Park.  What did I have to lose?  I arrived with my heart in my brand new trainers and drove home 1 1/2 hours later, elated, knowing that, save unexpected disasters, I could do it.

With my medal

Friday 21st January 2011 – Here I was, actually taking part in the Standard Chartered Dubai Marathon 10km, time chip tied professionally into my laces, joining the throng.  My pace was very steady, had great words of encouragement from Safa Park buddy Jen at about 7 km, and kept going.  I kept being leap-frogged by people who would run for sections then stop panting to recover and walk.  This wasn’t my strategy.  As we got near the turning to Media City the streets were lined with cheering people.  I had loads of energy and started to run, stretching out my legs, a huge smile on my face.  Coming in over the finish line was a blur, the Ethiopian fans a block of colour and motion in the stands, the railings lined with photographers.

Random things I learned:

• Have a plan and try to stick to it
• Share your goal – making it public helps
• The support from friends and family on Facebook, Twitter and ‘real life’ is what kept me going. People are so generous.
• A good pair of shoes matters
• Acheiving your goal is a wonderful feeling.

We drove towards Port Charlotte and took a right turn which led us to part of the island called The Oa.  A narrow road snaked on and on eventually ending in a small car park with information from the RSPB to look out for golden eagles, otters and corncrakes among other things.  The path was well signposted towards the monument taking us through a nature reserve of wild flowers and past a field of Highland cattle (more of them later).  The gravel path ended, there were wooden platforms to negotiate sections of boggy land but wellies were the best choice of footwear (my husband was wearing sandals and had an up close and personal experience of a mud bath).  The monument was built to commerate the sinking of an American troop ship that sank in 1918 towered ahead; how on earth they managed to build it in such a remote spot is mind boggling.

It was a visual feast for the eyes with the black cliffs meeting the deep blue sea dramatically.  The day was so clear that you could easily see over to Portnahaven in one direction and Northern Ireland in another.  The path continued along the coast through the heather that was just coming into bloom.  As you turn to start walking inland you can see a waterfall – more drama.

Mounting a stile we entered a field full of Highland cattle with their fluffy calves, right across the path.  Coincidentally we had had a long conversation about people we knew who had been attacked badly by cows (including my Aunt who nearly died) and agreed that the most dangerous situation is when they are protecting their calves.  My husband was very protective of our own offspring and suggested we turn back; I, however, urged us to go forward as I’ve encountered Highland cattle and calves many times on Dartmooor.  They look menacing with their long horns but seem incredibly docile.  We edged nearer and saw a lone hiker coming the other way; laughably we must have all had the same thought as we slowed to a stop…let them go first.  I had realised quite early on that one of the beasts was a bull (it’s quite obvious).  We stuck together and walked through unscathed – the hiker picked his way gingerly on the other side.

We rounded a farmhouse, struck out on the lane and we soon back at the car park.  I think it was about 3 miles of breath-taking beauty.  I hope my photos can do it justice.

View of topography point with Severn estuary and Wales in the distance

On the Cotswold Way towards the Haresfield Beacon

I’ve been struggling to find a regime that will fit into my life and keep my fitness levels somewhere near those attained for my Lebanon challenge.  I really felt the benefits – more energy, a better shape – but with a new job and the temperatures soaring in Dubai it’s not been easy.  I need something that’s a bit more intensive than walking and doesn’t involve a drive to the gym.

Running has always been a bit of a swear word to me but when my sister who has never done any running in her life completed 10 km recently some thoughts were seeded that I never imagined would ever enter my brain.  Still in England on my hols, I accompanied said sister on 5 km yesterday – she jogged, I walked (albeit at a very swift pace) and I ran for a short section too.  I hate running but I also hate walking up steep hills but have learned to love them in a masochistic way.  I mentioned these dark thoughts via Facebook to my super-fit Lebanon trek buddy Karen and she started sending motivational messages immediately.

Monument to the end of the siege of Gloucester

But back to my true love – walking.  Sis and I thought we’d do another of the routes in the Pathfinder Cotswold Walks book (walk 18) and drove a couple of junctions down the M5 southbound from Cheltenham.  These guides are great but I’ll supplement the directions when I think it will be useful.  To get to the start of the walk you take an immediate left hand turn from the Stroud road once you’ve left the motorway slip road (from junction 12) which is brown signposted Beacon Inn.  Continue to the village of Haresfield, go over a railway bridge and turn right by the village school then left to take you up a steep, narrow and winding road to Haresfield Beacon which ends in a National Trust car park at Shortwood.  The day wasn’t extremely clear but we struck off diagonally right across the fields to reach the impressive bronze topograph viewpoint and were rewarded by really spectacular views across the river Severn extending to Sugar Loaf Mountain in Wales.   Almost doubling back and following a wooded path to reach Iron Age earth works it was fantastic to walk along the ridge of these ancient fortifications to the triangulation point and Beacon for more great views.  Doubling back again we reached the edge of a field to glimpse, through the wooded perimeter, a farmer herding calves by shaking a bag of cow nuts in front of them.

Entering the field - next stile a short run across to the right of the farmhouse

Crossing the road and enjoying more soft earth paths through deep woods we eventually reached a stone memorial commemorating the end of the siege of Gloucester by Royalist forces in 1643 and then an old well with an interesting inscription.  On the next section of the Cotswold Way, watch out for the turning sharply right up through the woods.  We missed it and had to double back – it’s at the end of the drive by the field which has a small camp with a sort of yurt complete with chimney and washing line.

Alpacas in the Cotswolds

The path upwards was the steepest section but short and we were soon sitting on a felled tree trunk eating bananas for energy.  Crossing the road and stile we entered a large field and headed for the right of the farmhouse in the distance.  My sister began to run – she wore trainers – not to be outdone I did too despite the hiking boots and rucksack with 2 litres of water in it.  The more I ran the more determined I became to reach the stile, Karen’s comments keeping me going.  Gasping and wheezing as I reached the stile, I burst out laughing to see the creatures in the field on the other side of the road. They were alpacas and they stretched their long necks up and looked inquiringly as if to say ‘what on earth are you doing?’  What indeed.

Beautiful woods made up a lot of the walk

Don’t be tempted to take the first entry into Standish Woods.  Continue down the road by Park Bungalow.  I think this route through the woods is called the Robber’s Road.  We left the woods by the 2000 steps waymarker (no sign of the conifer stands that are mentioned in the guide) and walked down the road into the village of Randwick to the Vine Tree Inn for a very good half of Bob ale (they are a CAMRA pub) while sitting in the garden admiring the view over Stroud and Painswick.

Retracing our steps and taking the path opposite the red phone box, past a beautiful mare and foal, we re-entered the beautiful woods which made up the rest of our walk.  The last bit was described as steep but it was actually a long and gentle climb taking us back to the car park.  We took a left hand detour when leaving the village of Haresfield to look at the Beacon Inn which is an old Victorian railway pub and looked inviting…for next time.  It was an invigorating and rewarding hike of 7 miles or 11.25 kilometres and took us about 3 hours 15 minutes (including our stop at the pub) which I would strongly recommend. Running in hiking boots entirely optional!

Guiting Woods

A view from the edge of the woods

This is a fabulous walk which we discovered last year after visiting the Cotswold Farm Park near Guiting Power.  There are many famous Cotswold villages like the Slaughters, Broadway and Bourton-on-the-Water but the honey coloured stone cottages and tranquil feel of Guiting Power make it one of the prettiest to me.  My Uncle first saw my Aunt on stage in a pantomime in the village hall; they celebrate their ruby wedding this year.  After a surfeit of baby animal stroking, we (me, my daughters and my sister) started by parking in Critchford Lane by the sheep pens and walking down a track to the right of the stunning Manor House. The view across to this very desirable residence with sheep grazing on the common land in front of it mustn’t have changed for hundreds of years.  The track takes you steeply upwards through a line of trees dotted with rabbit holes but you are soon deeply into Guiting Woods following the path of the Warden’s Way (a 14 mile trail).  The dry weather meant that it was easy-going but it’s probably very muddy a lot of the time.  At the far edge of the wood we left the Warden’s Way taking a left turn steeply back up through the trees (we had no map and my daughter cleverly remembered the way).  A bit of a pant and a puff upwards and we were soon back on a broad path.  At a stone post we left the dark woods for a red earth track by the edge of cornfields – the change is dramatic.  The views across the fields are the epitome of the Cotswold countryside and we eventually joined the drive of the Manor House.  Two riders saluted us on our way but apart from a couple of dog walkers at the start, we saw no one else.  This route took us one and a half hours at a reasonably swift pace.  We drove back through the village stopping at the pretty Hollow Bottom pub for a drink.  We sat at tables outside in the early evening sunshine looking at the view of a glorious meadow.

Saul junction and Frampton on Severn

An unrestored section of the canal near Saul

We needed a walk for all the family; stretching enough for the keen hikers but not too demanding for older members of the party.  A flat walk along a canal path with a great tea shop at the end near Frampton on Severn fitted the bill.  We covered the five-mile circular trail in two hours.  We started at Saul junction, followed a canal path, crossed a bridge and admired the neat gardens along the road to Frampton. There were duck eggs for sale with an honesty box.  We crossed the beautiful village green, went through the lych gate and fields by the church, crossing back over the hand turned bridge onto the canal path with views across the broad flood plains to the Severn estuary.  We ended the walk at the Stables cafe where we had bacon and egg rolls, homemade cake and cups of tea while watching the ducks and swans with their cygnets on the water.  You could take this at an easier pace or add on other sections of the canal path for a longer walk (or cycle).  Slimbridge Wetlands Centre is very near and worth a visit.

Cranham Woods

A beautiful tree in the wood

My sister admitted that she had often, as a child, gazed from the car window into the mysterious woods that border the road from Cheltenham to Painswick wishing she could explore.  We bought The Cotswolds Walks book by Pathfinder Guides and followed the route 16 via Cooper’s Hill and Buckholt Wood.  Leaving the small car park we entered straight into deeply loamed wooded paths striking up through leafy canopies on a well waymarked path dappled with sunlight.   These would have been edged with bluebells in the Spring.  My sister spotted a long-tailed tit on a beech tree and as we looked closer we spotted more and more, counting at least 12 of these tiny, busy little birds.  We skirted the woods with glimpses of open countryside and eventually entered the village of Cranham, admiring the cottages and vowing to return to visit the Black Horse Inn.  At the edge of Cranham Common we re-entered the woods eventually reaching the hamlet of Cooper’s Hill and the site of the annual cheese-rolling competition. The sheer drop that people hurl themselves down is truly frightening when viewed from the base or the top – we did both (viewing not hurling).  Personally I would rather dance round the maypole. We got very slightly lost right near the end and I realised my new perchant for extreme inclines when I suggested to my sister that we scale the side of a quarry. She declined. This lovely circular walk is perfect for a hot day due to the shady trees and took us just over two hours.

Brimpsfield and Syde

A Cotswold field near Syde

Testing another of the Pathfinder routes we left the A417 on our way back from Cirencester, parked in the village hall car park in Brimpsfield and walked through the village. It was a glorious summer’s evening.  This was a gentler landscape of cottages, lakes, woods and fields covered with sheep – who were fairly unfazed by our company.  We climbed up the only steep section to the village of Syde and then back again as we decided not to visit the church.  As the evening was humid we took a path by Ettington woods when we got to Caudle Green, passing a stream, cows and horses before rejoining the lane in Brimpsfield with plans to return for the rest of the route another day.  The villages were incredibly peaceful and very pretty.  The Old Vicarage in Brimpsfield had me dreaming – but we realised they all lacked something…a pub. Ah well.

With the children in Shatila

It’s over a month since I returned from Lebanon and my life has changed and, at the same time, stayed the same.  The changes include the mind-expansion that always comes from travel.  Any preconceived ideas I had about Lebanon and its people were slowly picked apart during our trip.  The privilege of visiting the Shatila refugee camp in Beirut and the SOS Children’s Village and talking with the people there, affected my view of life in general and my perspective on world events,  for instance the recent stand-off between the ships sending aid to Gaza and the Israeli blockade. From the TV and press coverage of the Emirati group that followed us two weeks later, I know that the charities visit had an enormous impact.

On the fitness front however, I slipped right back into my old ways of sitting at my computer for hours.  The summer heat means my dogs are on strike so we’ve just pottered round the streets.  I managed to do a couple of stair climbs including the vertical marathon for MSF but I felt I was clutching onto the straws of my hard-won fitness and trimmer shape. When Gulf for Good proposed climbing up a jebel (mountain) it seemed like a good idea.  I missed a couple (one due to a small tornado whose effects killed 8 people in Oman) but signed up to hike up Jebel Bouferaj.

Hatta landscape by Paul Wadsworth

It was tough getting up at 3.30am especially as we’d had a Lebanon trek reunion the night (actually a few hours) before.  There weren’t enough hours in the evening to catch up with everyone’s news although we all nattered like mad.  It was a pot-luck supper and the table groaned under the delicious feast.  I crept out of the house in the dark next morning and met the Gulf for Gooders at the petrol station near Dragon Mart, completing the Vaseline foot-coating ritual and tying on my boots in the car park.  I was a bit apprehensive as everyone looked really fit and energetic – most are on the last stages of training with two weeks to go until they climb Mount Kilimanjaro.  Would I slow the group down?   As we headed out on the road to Hatta, the desert started to appear in the early morning light.  I always forget how bleakly beautiful the Hatta mountains are until I get there.  A Paul Wadsworth painting I have on my wall really captures the misty light and the stunted trees.

After a bit of cross-country driving we reached the base of Jebel Bouferaj and set off – it was 6.05 am.  I knew a few of the hikers from previous training and it was really nice to see them again.  The terrain was rough and covered with boulders.  From quite early on we climbed rather than hiked – it was like stairs but doing two at a time with wobbly steps!  I was at the back of the group but not the last – my worries abated that I would not keep up.  The only annoyance were the lazy golden hornets that seemed to follow us up the whole way.  The formidable peak towered above us but we made good progress and finally reached the top in less than two hours.  There was a lovely fresh breeze and we were all cheerful as we posed for summit photos.

Me and fellow climbers at the summit

Some of the group surged on ahead and seemed to descend with relative ease.  I hopped from rock to rock feeling like Sam Gamgee on the Cirith Ungol pass (in Lord of the Rings).  It was a lot more difficult to get down the steep crags, many of the rocks were loose and posed a real hazard to the people below.  Triptta, who had done a lot of climbing before, was brilliant at giving us tips on how to descend and the best route to take.  It was slow progress though and as the sun climbed higher in the sky we were in the full glare.  Eventually we started to see the cars parked in the distance but it looked an awfully long way. The boulders meant that you had to concentrate with every step and the constant jumping down started to make my knees ache and clinging onto rocks made my wrists sore.

We caught up with P who had waited for us – the last straggler group.  Poor Nirvana had put her hand straight onto one of the spiny plants that clung onto the crevices and Vaughan had picked them out and applied a bandage. We rested on the rocks which had now reached the heat of an iron on cool setting.  P and I compared notes as we had both had a less serious encounter with these thorns with a more fleshy part of our anatomy.

Craggy points of the jebel

In common with most of the remaining group, I was starting to tire and was eager to finish the climb.  The Kili challengers all asked me why I was doing this voluntarily!  My knees were feeling the stress, but that was manageable with some positive thinking.  I gave myself some small goals, “only a few more steps to that pointy rock, now get to that spiky plant.” Gary the group leader was waiting for us in the distance.  I focussed on getting there as quickly as possible.  The temperature had risen dramatically and there was no shade in the barren landscape.  My arms felt like they were being slowly baked and I felt I was doing a good impression of my Le Cruset casserole.   I was worried by the nausea that was creeping up on me, the jelly like feeling in my legs, the spinning feeling in my head and that I had started to shiver, goose-bumps rising and falling on my flesh.  “Just a few more steps” became my mantra but when I reached Gary I realised that the heat was affecting me badly as I blubbed a pathetic reply, tears falling unbidden, in response to his innocuous question “all ok?”!  Nirvana and Vaughan came level with me and took charge – I’m not good at accepting help but I had no energy to resist.  They fed me some gel, took my backpack from me and were exceptionally kind.  Nirvana walked with me and I asked her if she was able to talk to me.  I got through childbirth with distraction techniques and I suddenly realised this would help.  Her account of her life got me down the final section and it was with immense relief we reached the cars.

At the bottom looking back through the shimmering heat

Someone – sorry I can’t remember who – let us sit in their car with the a/c running.  The human body is very resilient and as soon as I was in the shade I started to recover, but it’s also vulnerable and it was a sharp realisation of how extremes can quickly have a very negative effect (looking back, I know I was slightly delirious).  I had worn a hat all the time, worn high factor sunscreen, drank water and eaten dried fruit but the high temperature (43 C) was too much.   One by one the last climbers appeared and we were soon all chatting away on our drive back to Dubai.  We all stopped at a tiny shop for drinks.  Our group of sweaty, tired, dust-covered group crammed into the space which was the size of a large cupboard gratefully raiding the fridge overlooked by the smiling shop-keeper.

I really admire the two groups that are doing the Mount Kilimanjaro trip – I don’t envy the challenge they face.  The Jebel Bouferaj experience was enough for me, without the effects of altitude.  I’m glad I joined the Gulf for Good team for the climb for the group camaraderie, mutual support and the sense of achievement.  My fitness regime will be given a boost as in two weeks time I’ll be immersed in the English countryside for some glorious hiking – my favourite terrain.  Mountains are rather nice viewed from a distance.

You couldn't really miss this one.

I can’t believe our trek is over and I’m really not ready to leave Lebanon yet.  I join everyone on the street level terrace for our final breakfast.  Karen and Lamisse are packed for an earlier departure, Joseph and Mustapha have already left, Gemma meeting us later;  just a week ago I was struggling to remember names now they all seem like old friends.  Everyone I’ve met through Gulf for Good has been the same; although different in outlook and interests, the common-denominator is that all have been motivated by doing something for the good of others – a cliché I know – but it means that there is a ‘niceness’ for want of a better word, about every individual; they are kind, warm people.

We loaded the bags on the bus for the last time and set off out of Beirut.  The streets were manic as ever with cars forming six lanes where there should be three then trying to barge into a two lane carriageway.  It was a long, slow journey mainly through small towns, which became less and less prosperous-looking the further we got from Beirut.  The scenery changed to a huge, flat plateau of green, the Bekaa valley – there were lots of brown signs pointing at side roads to ancient and holy sites.  It would have been pretty, but was trumped by the memory of yesterday’s incomparable views.  The election posters were prevalent in this area too and we passed one image that was hard to miss of a man with a tank.  Maybe Gordon Brown would have done better if he’d adopted this tactic.  There was a mix-up with the itinerary.  We arrived in Baalbek, visited the largest stone in the world (the Hajar el Hibla – the stone of the pregnant woman which is supposed to effect a woman’s fecundity if she touches it) and were given a coffee by Abdul Nabi Al-Afi whose life’s work has been to discover it, excavate it from a rubbish dump and save it from being re-engulfed by garbage, but then we were whisked back onto the bus to go to the SOS Children’s Village.

Some of the children from the kindergarten

Susie holding a new orphaned baby

One of the house mothers, and her adopted children, who welcomed us to her home

The bus was overheating so we limped through the increasingly poor-looking villages and then found the country lane leading to the charity.  Neat red-tiled rooves could be spotted behind immaculate green vineyards.  The SOS Children’s Village was possibly the neatest, cleanest and most finished place we had seen in Lebanon.  We entered an oasis of calm with a warm greeting from the staff and urged to enter the Kindergarten building a.s.a.p. as the children were waiting.  These tiny tots put on a little display in every classroom we entered.  The children in the French and English rooms wore a picture of a fruit on their heads and shouted out the name with great enthusiasm, “Je suis un pamplemousse!”  In the Arabic class there was another particularly confident little girl Zeinab who stood out (note – always a girl) and she went into the puppet theatre and delivered loud, precise instructions from it then led the class in actions.  One little boy had crashed out and was fast asleep – it had all been too much.  We were then welcomed into the garden where tables and chairs were laid out with pretty table-cloths and decorated with flowers.  Some more children emerged and did a little dance to Arabic music.  One girl was not very happy about doing it and after some gentle encouragement was scooped up into the arms of one of the ‘house mothers’.  The house mothers had also made the amazing spread that was laid out under a pagoda and we gratefully loaded our plates.  Sitting under the shade of the trees, with the children milling in and out, getting to know the people at the SOS Children’s Village while tasting some of the most delicious food we’d eaten was an immense pleasure.  SOS Children’s Villages are an Austrian concept and the founding principle is to give orphaned children a family environment.  Eight children live with a house mother in their own building.  Looking at these clean, well-fed, decently clothed children in this fantastic environment it’s easy to think all is well with the world.  Then you listen to the stories.  One happy, little boy was found when he was about 10 months old, living in the car of a street trader with a man who may or may not have been his father.  The child could only crawl with his arms as the muscles of his legs had not been able to develop.  The turbulent recent past that has affected Lebanon has resulted in orphaned children, but so too have economics and social mores.  A tiny baby (who rewarded Susie’s cuddles with a spew of milk down her top) was one of the many children abandoned by their mothers at birth, possibly for fear of violent reprisals if they are unmarried.  Children are brought up in the religion of their birth parents, “but what if you don’t know it?” we asked.  Then the area that they were found dictates it; the Christian and Muslim areas were quite apparent on our travels through Lebanon.

We all wanted to know more about the house mothers.  Obviously a long-continuity of care is ideal, but some do leave to get married or for other reasons.  However many stay for a long time as the pressure on brides to be perfect exclude many from entering the married state – a small deformity for instance, or even just getting past marriageable age.  It must be hard to bring up eight children but the camaraderie of the women, their gentleness, warmth and close relationship to the children and the almost idyllic village setting must make this a good choice for many.

A collage showing the names of all the children and their mothers

We visited the houses and the women were proud to welcome us as guests in their homes.  These children whose lives could have turned out so differently are truly blessed.  It would be easy to look at the pristine SOS Children’s Village and conclude that other charities need the money more.

Certainly it was miles away from the crumbling slums of the refugee camp in Beirut.  However, this charity is using the money so well to create a model that would be enviable in any country let alone one where the people (especially children) have seen so much conflict.  It deserves to be supported so it can extend this fantastic care to more children.  The charity looks after them through to adult hood, helping them with education and putting them together with sponsors to help them set up in business.  Often the children grow up and give back by joining the staff.  We visited the two new houses that our money would furnish and planted some trees. Ehab brought a tiny cedar sapling he had bought at The Cedars.  The school bus drew up and the older children got down carrying their school bags on their bags and all dispersed going into their individual homes – it was an everyday scene but the ordinariness of it was poignant.

Ehab planting his cedar sapling with audience

We chatted with some of the teachers for a while then it was time for us to go.  Charbel had taken the bus for a quick check at a local garage and it sounded much better as we drove back to Baalbek, through towns with signs solely in Arabic and pictures of Muslim clerics adorning the streets.  Many of the group were keen to get back home and felt that we had done what we had come to do by visiting the charities and successfully completing our trek.  I was pleased that we were able to squeeze in a quick visit to the Roman ruins as I’ve grown to love them since being in the Middle East and had been told many times that the ones at Baalbek were unmissable.  The catalyst for this interest was Jerash in Jordan which had me captivated by its scale and grandeur.  This inspired me to drive into the desert in Syria to the remote and beautiful Palmyra. A privileged visit to Libya in 2009 took in Sabratha (and the extraordinary museum of mosaics), Leptis Magna and Villa Celine (which is closed to the general public and we explored by torchlight).  Baalbek is the largest Roman site dedicated to religious worship originally founded by the Phoenecians in the 1st Millenium BC when they built a temple dedicated to the God Baal.

Views of Baalbek

As we arrived quite late in the afternoon the lowering sunlight on the stones was particularly beautiful and we were practically the only visitors.  There were lots of little stalls on the approach road and a man asked if we would like to buy a Hezbollah t-shirt or cap (how many tourists actually say yes?).  I think the beauty of the place and the unaccustomed inactivity of sitting down for most of the day had an effect on Susie and me and we went into overdrive eager to see as much as we could as quickly as possible, scaling the steps up into the central area as if we were following Chamoun up a slope.  It’s not a large site but the restoration seems well done and the assembled parts demonstrate very clearly the intricacies of the carvings and the elegance that was dedicated to praising pagan gods and then the Christian one – the Temple of Jupiter took over 120 years to complete.  As always when admiring the achievements of the Romans I reminded myself that it was all built with slave labour and the human cost of this beauty would have been in lives.  It was soon time to go and as we walked back to the bus a man approached us trying to sell worry beads.  When I politely refused he dug into his pocket and brought out a handful of real Roman coins.  I was quite taken backm “they should be in a museum”.  He looked at me wryly and shrugged, “no jobs madam.”  We walked on but it’s an awful dilemma.  Secretly I would love to have a Roman coin and the money would help support the man and his family.  We took the road back to Beirut and said goodbye to Chamoun when we reached his village.  He had helped us, through his unconventional approach and love of the countryside, to witness a really different perspective.  I felt we were honoured to have had him as our guide.

At the edge of the Palestinian camp near the airport

We passed another Palestinian refugee camp of appalling decrepitude near the airport.  I looked into the tiny alleyways and imagined all the lives being played out there.  We found a nice restaurant in the airport and I had an excellent roast beef sandwich – the food in Lebanon had been fresh and delicious but none of us wanted to eat humous for a while!  Meeting up at the departure gate Ehab and Iman showed us their purchases of fruit and vegetables from Goodies in duty-free.  Where else in the world could you buy cherries inside the airport?  Joseph, who is an expert shopper, had found some interesting books and I doubled back to by a copy of a Million Steps by Hana El-Hieri which documents her exploration of the entire Lebanon Mountain Trail. It has some beautiful photography of the trail (to supplement over 900 photographs that I had taken during the week) and one of the guides featured in the book is our own Chamoun (he’s also in pictures of the book signing on their Facebook page).  Joseph and Mustapha are planning to follow in their footsteps.  The book is a great momento of a rewarding, educational, eye-opening, challenging  and life-enhancing trip.Click to view slideshow.

PS A great article published in Emirates Business where Ehab, Naghma and Mustapha express their feelings about visiting the charities.

The Phoenician tomb and burial chamber from 750 BC

I woke before 6am once again, this time to church bells, and tried to switch off the internal monologue that was still berating me from not doing the extra walk.  I resolved to learn from it and not to be as cautious about my physical abilities in the future.  I read a bit of Khalil Gibran to prepare for the museum visit today and then got up and dressed and began the ritual  ‘putting on of the boots’ one last time.

Shrines are everywhere in the Qaddisha Valley (known as Valley of Saints or Holy Valley)

This involved putting a small Compeed plaster (the best type – trust me) on my little toe to protect my single, tiny blister, slathering a large layer of Vaseline (petroleum jelly) all over my foot and in between my toes, smoothing Bodyglide on my ankles and then (a clever tip from Jo) plunging my sticky hand into my sock, wiping all the Vaseline off inside it and then smoothing the sock over my foot.  Foot inserted in boot, laces tied, I was ready to go once more, refreshed and full of energy with not a trace of the lassitude that infected me yesterday (apart from a residual heaviness in my heart for opportunities lost and that it was our last day of trekking).  Iman and Ehab had risen early, followed the church bells and sat in at the back of mass, soaking in the atmosphere and watching children go into pray before school.

Thanks to all my supporters including Rexona

We arrived at the Khalil Gibran Museum, a pretty former monastery and waited for its 9am opening – it was soon apparent that this was not going to happen.  A quick call revealed that it was still on off-season opening and we could choose to stay or walk on.  No prizes for guessing what I did this time!  I joined the walking group for a fairly steep climb up the hill.  It wasn’t the most interesting of surroundings except for a Phoenician tomb shaped like a Chimnea but the views straight down the valley were ‘awesome’.  I mentioned to Chamoun that I regretted not joining the group yesterday.  He explained that there was a very dangerous bit where you had to cling to the rock and he didn’t want to take anyone whose muscles were tired for safety reasons.  I felt happier now I understood why he didn’t encourage me one way or the other.

Carved dead cedars by artist Roudy Rahmeh

We reached the Cedars, Lebanon’s oldest ski resort, dotted with wooden chalet-style buildings and headed towards the central souvenir stalls – our first retail-therapy all trip.  The group that had stayed to visit the museum arrived on the bus and we compared purchases.  I bought some little cedar boxes with brass fittings which I felt a twinge of guilt about when we entered the cedar reserve where only a clutch of old trees remain (some with lopped branches) due to the almost complete deforestation of the Cedar of Lebanon.  Sarcophagi in ancient Egypt were often made of cedar wood that came from Lebanon shipped via Byblos.  Some of the cedars in the reserve are over 1000 years old.  There is a long-term programme to replant the cedar forests and eco-warrior Chamoun showed us an area the next day where he had planted over 4000 trees.  One dead tree had been carved into striking depictions of Christ – a group of  Christians from Asia were reading out loud from the Bible in Chinese and praying below it.  We soon struck out into open countryside on our route on the opposite side of the valley of Bcharre towards Hasroun.  You could spot the Gulf for Good governors a mile off as they were wearing sequined cowboys hats they’d just bought.  The mountains flanking us on the left, bare and grey with patches of residual snow, seemed tantalisingly close especially as it was another warm day.  Our group had all got on very well including the Red Cross volunteers, Rani and Michel.  Rani told me about his pentathlons which involved swimming, cycling from Byblos to The Cedars, archery and a run up one of the mountains we could see (can’t remember the fifth sport!).  They were like supermen.

A horse-drawn plough in action

We found a shady tree near a stream for lunch and then did our final stretches with Karen, a really invaluable part of the trek; it was so peaceful and zen-like.  Our path took us by fields and orchards and we waved to men at work.  We saw a horse-drawn plough in action, the animal in sleek relief against the mountains and blue sky.  Chamoun flagged down a stripped-bare VW Beetle (we saw quite a few in the town) that appeared on a track and we clambered on for a photo.  There was a holiday spirit and lots of chatting and laughter.  We passed goats crowded in a stable, a lone, black and white cow with a pretty face and neat crops in rich, red soil.  Wild flowers were everywhere.  Farmers diverted the many gushing streams (from the molten snow and springs in the mountains) by making a  temporary mud dam so it poured onto the land.

The snow seemed so close and so tempting to us on the hot lower slopes

I walked on my own for a bit, relishing my surroundings, conscious that these were the last few hours of this amazing trek.

The descent was long and slow taking us into the pretty, old town of Hasroun – shrines at every junction. The views over to Bcharre were fabulous in the late afternoon light; villagers were sitting outside working, a group of men took time out from sorting seed potatoes to greet us. We had walked about 20 km.  We posed for photos with the Gulf for Good sign to the amusement of passersby including a young couple in a Mini with a Union Jack on the roof.  The bus took us round snaking roads looking down on valley after valley of mesmerizing beauty with magnificent rock formations and soon we were parallel to the coast and passing Tripoli and Byblos as the sun set over the sea.   Mustapha and Joseph urged us to stop at a special bakery for kaak (or handbag bread as my friend Sally calls it due to its shape) – it was slightly sweet, salty and absolutely delicious.

The end of our trek - marking our achievements

We sadly bade farewell to Michel and Rani and drove into central Beirut, passing the Hariri mosque lit up at night with its enormous blue dome.  It was a subdued party that assembled for supper in a lack-lustre restaurant.  Several of the group had already rushed off to meet up with friends and the younger crew were planning to make the most of their last night.  It was great to see some Lebanese friends who dropped by to see me.  It is seemingly impossible to order small quantities of food in Lebanon and as the waiters brought dish after dish once more, no one had the appetite to appreciate it.  The exhilaration of completing our physical challenge successfully had abated – we were sad our journey was almost at an end.  If someone had offered me the chance to do it all again right then, I would have jumped at the chance. Click to view slideshow.