I posted some time ago about my house hunting in Brazil (House hunting in Brazil) and my paranoia about getting legal title when most properties did not appear to have any. I have a friend who bought a piece of land (two adjacent plots) 10 years ago with the intention of building a house, which would also serve as a language school, as at the time she was renting and not making enough to finance the construction as well.
To cut a long story short she was away for 6 years trying to raise enough money teaching in Europe to finish the construction - having only completed the foundations and the ground floor walls, no roof, before she left. Due to a change in circumstances she is now planning to sell the property, but like most here does not have title deeds (escritura), though she does have a legal document, which is a "Promesa de compra e venda" - Promise of sale and purchase. These are drawn up before final registration, and are legally binding between the two parties - the seller promises to transfer ownership of the property when the buyer finishes paying for it. Often land purchases are made in instalments, not necessarily with a legal mortgage but simply (ir)regular payments made by the buyer to the seller, so this document means the buyer retains title until payment is made in full, but guarantees that he transfers title upon completion! The process could take years.
The problem my friend is having is that this "promise" was made 10 years ago, and while still legally binding - and she paid in full at the time! - the land where she is was never zoned for residential building, and still, apparently, has not been formally scheduled as such by the local authorities. She went to the local land registry and was told that they cannot register her title, but that she could sell on the land - with another "promise" document, and the original vendor would still be liable to register the title in the new buyer's name, when and if registration become possible. It turns out that she, too, did not buy from the original seller (who was himself a lawyer!), but from the person he sold the plot to originally!
People here have an in-built distrust of the legal profession, so much of the legal processes are done at a "cartorio" (registry office), rather than using solicitors. When someone passes away often they die intestate (no will) so there is then a battle between the heirs - large families so could be several sons/daughters and even ex-wives/partners - and they will all try and lay claim to any land, often selling off plots rapidly to raise money. Two or three children sometimes sell the same plot, leaving future problems for the buyers, or the oldest child (or a brother/spouse/etc.) may come along later and claim that they were the real heir! All of these could be avoided by using solicitors, having a will, and so on - but without this "protection" it makes for years of litigation!
The land is officially in an Environmental Protection Area, so should never be zoned for residential, but there are around 100 houses in the area, most, if not all, without proper legal title - and some are large multi-bedroomed guest houses. Others are paying local council taxes, and have electric and water supplies, but IBAMA (Brazil's environment agency) is not happy that the council are allowing this construction to occur, and may, if they get government backing, take action against the "land" owners, though they have been trying for years. It is more than likely that they will have to back down and allow the council to zone it as residential, and then permit registration of title, but this could still take some years.
Everyone goes along believing that the system will eventually prevail and they are safe buying property on these "promises", and that they can register proper title at some later, unspecified date, which is something that I could never do!
Circumstances made me move to Brazil in 2009, and I spent 6 months of the year there, and the remaining time in Peru, until 2020 when the Covid hit, trapping me in Peru for 14 months, before I managed to return to the UK, where I now reside permanently. I see the world through slightly rose-tinted glasses, but maybe because I have been fortunate in not suffering too many hardships along the way, and maintaining an optimistic, but realistic outlook on life.
Wednesday 18 December 2019
Sunday 15 December 2019
Having a house-guest stay with you!
I have lived alone now for at least 15 years - my choice - and really enjoy the freedom it allows me. I can eat when I want, go to bed when I want (I am now retired), wander round the house in as little clothing as I want (not overlooked!!), and basically do exactly what I want, when I want! The past 10 years I have had someone stay here before 3 times - the first was my daughter and husband-to-be, visiting Brazil for the first time, and we only came to my house after doing some travelling round Brazil (Pantanal, Iguazu waterfall, etc.) and had shared accommodation in some places along the way, and they were only here for two or three days before having to return to the UK. The second was a friend who was leaving Brazil for 2 years, intending to return, and who left a lot of her belongings in my house - that was only for one night before I took her to the bus station to start her journey back to Europe. The third was my second cousin (daughter of my cousin), who I had not met before, but she was travelling the world and stayed a couple of nights. All 3 of these were uneventful, and quite enjoyable.
The friend who left the belongings is back - 6 years after she left - to sort her affairs out for a final time. We have known each other for over 10 years, and are good friends - she used to have permanent residence (though lost it because she was out of the country too long for medical reasons), and we had discussed ways she could help me get mine, even the suggestion of a "marriage of convenience", which we were seriously considering once she came back (within the 2 year limit, so that option is no longer available), so we are really good friends.
If I go and stay with anyone I follow their rules, or at least their routine - so if breakfast is at 07.00, then I am up at 06.50, unless they are happy for me to make my own (though personally I would not want to upset their routine), lunch at 12.30, then I am there helping, and dinner at 19.00, likewise. It is the third day, and there is a week to go, and my friend has been appearing after 08.30 (currently 09.00 and no sign of her!), and eventually eating breakfast around 09.30, so is not hungry by my lunchtime, and has been going out to meet other friends here she hasn't seen for years (and prospective property purchasers) in the evening, so out when I have my dinner. The last two nights she has returned after midnight, too! She told me yesterday she preferred a large meal at lunchtime as I eat too early, so she would be hungry again by midnight!
The reason she has been away so long is for her health, and she is suffering in the heat here after Europe, so prefers to do anything in the evening, not the heat of the day, but spends the day either sorting through the things she left here, or "resting" because of her health! But most of the time it is complaining about the heat, or how she cannot do the things she used to take for granted, or about how difficult it is proving to sell her property - people only want half the land, or to finance the purchase (paying her directly in instalments, not through a mortgage).
One way I could get permanent residence here is through marriage, but the past few days have taught me that after 15 years alone (not lonely, I hasten to add) I do not want to share my living space with anyone else, and am counting down the days till I get my "castle" back to myself!
The friend who left the belongings is back - 6 years after she left - to sort her affairs out for a final time. We have known each other for over 10 years, and are good friends - she used to have permanent residence (though lost it because she was out of the country too long for medical reasons), and we had discussed ways she could help me get mine, even the suggestion of a "marriage of convenience", which we were seriously considering once she came back (within the 2 year limit, so that option is no longer available), so we are really good friends.
If I go and stay with anyone I follow their rules, or at least their routine - so if breakfast is at 07.00, then I am up at 06.50, unless they are happy for me to make my own (though personally I would not want to upset their routine), lunch at 12.30, then I am there helping, and dinner at 19.00, likewise. It is the third day, and there is a week to go, and my friend has been appearing after 08.30 (currently 09.00 and no sign of her!), and eventually eating breakfast around 09.30, so is not hungry by my lunchtime, and has been going out to meet other friends here she hasn't seen for years (and prospective property purchasers) in the evening, so out when I have my dinner. The last two nights she has returned after midnight, too! She told me yesterday she preferred a large meal at lunchtime as I eat too early, so she would be hungry again by midnight!
The reason she has been away so long is for her health, and she is suffering in the heat here after Europe, so prefers to do anything in the evening, not the heat of the day, but spends the day either sorting through the things she left here, or "resting" because of her health! But most of the time it is complaining about the heat, or how she cannot do the things she used to take for granted, or about how difficult it is proving to sell her property - people only want half the land, or to finance the purchase (paying her directly in instalments, not through a mortgage).
One way I could get permanent residence here is through marriage, but the past few days have taught me that after 15 years alone (not lonely, I hasten to add) I do not want to share my living space with anyone else, and am counting down the days till I get my "castle" back to myself!
Saturday 23 November 2019
Blatant dishonesty
Just after I woke a couple of days ago I heard very loud talking in the street outside, and went to the window to see what was going on. A neighbour, from about a block away, was talking to another at the corner. He is naturally very loud so I could hear every word clearly, though had not heard the start of the conversation.
He owns a large guest house down the street, and on occasion coach-loads of tourists come to stay, though sometimes the coaches refuse to drive down the steep street so the guests have to walk down the hill. The gist of the conversation was that he had not yet erected a signboard outside as if he did he would have to start paying Council Tax on the guest house, but currently was only paying a nominal amount as a residence (Council Tax is very low here on domestic premises). He was complaining loudly about the tax rates, and was going to avoid them as long as he could.
I went down past his building today and he was outside and we started talking about a plot of cleared land opposite, which I though was going to be turned into another residence, but he said that he, and other neighbours, had cleared this to make a "leisure area" near the river, and allow for additional parking/turning (no doubt for the coaches, which have to reverse back uphill at present!). He invited me in (we are acquaintances) and he showed me round. Currently there are 18 en-suite rooms, with plans for more, and a large swimming pool almost completed, and he has a superb view over our small river.
He proudly told me that he didn't advertise much locally to keep "under the radar", but relied on external tour companies to bring guests to him. He also works as a local tour guide so has contacts with tour agencies outside the region. As well as not paying local taxes, he is not registered as a local business so pays no income tax either! This also means he is not covered by any health and safety measures, and I would also bet that he has no public liability insurance!
One of his neighbours is the Secretary for Tourism, working for the local government, and obviously is aware of the situation regarding non-payment of any taxation, but he also runs a local restaurant so benefits from this influx of tourism, and, in his opinion, any additional tourism is great for the town, so turns a blind eye.
What was ironic was that the guest house owner was complaining that he was having to fund some of the work to build the "leisure area", along with other neighbours, as the local council wasn't interested - appearing to ignore the fact that perhaps the council did not have sufficient funds if he, and others, were avoiding paying all their taxes!
I have always prided myself on my own honesty, have never, and would never, steal anything, cannot even walk out of a shop if I have been undercharged, or over-changed, would never try and evade my taxes (local or income), even if I felt they were too high (though I would protest through legal channels if I felt I was being treated unfairly in any way), and always try and be fair and honest in all my dealings, so seeing someone doing this so blatantly, and seeming so proud of the fact, really leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
He owns a large guest house down the street, and on occasion coach-loads of tourists come to stay, though sometimes the coaches refuse to drive down the steep street so the guests have to walk down the hill. The gist of the conversation was that he had not yet erected a signboard outside as if he did he would have to start paying Council Tax on the guest house, but currently was only paying a nominal amount as a residence (Council Tax is very low here on domestic premises). He was complaining loudly about the tax rates, and was going to avoid them as long as he could.
I went down past his building today and he was outside and we started talking about a plot of cleared land opposite, which I though was going to be turned into another residence, but he said that he, and other neighbours, had cleared this to make a "leisure area" near the river, and allow for additional parking/turning (no doubt for the coaches, which have to reverse back uphill at present!). He invited me in (we are acquaintances) and he showed me round. Currently there are 18 en-suite rooms, with plans for more, and a large swimming pool almost completed, and he has a superb view over our small river.
He proudly told me that he didn't advertise much locally to keep "under the radar", but relied on external tour companies to bring guests to him. He also works as a local tour guide so has contacts with tour agencies outside the region. As well as not paying local taxes, he is not registered as a local business so pays no income tax either! This also means he is not covered by any health and safety measures, and I would also bet that he has no public liability insurance!
One of his neighbours is the Secretary for Tourism, working for the local government, and obviously is aware of the situation regarding non-payment of any taxation, but he also runs a local restaurant so benefits from this influx of tourism, and, in his opinion, any additional tourism is great for the town, so turns a blind eye.
What was ironic was that the guest house owner was complaining that he was having to fund some of the work to build the "leisure area", along with other neighbours, as the local council wasn't interested - appearing to ignore the fact that perhaps the council did not have sufficient funds if he, and others, were avoiding paying all their taxes!
I have always prided myself on my own honesty, have never, and would never, steal anything, cannot even walk out of a shop if I have been undercharged, or over-changed, would never try and evade my taxes (local or income), even if I felt they were too high (though I would protest through legal channels if I felt I was being treated unfairly in any way), and always try and be fair and honest in all my dealings, so seeing someone doing this so blatantly, and seeming so proud of the fact, really leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
Sunday 6 October 2019
Boating in Norfolk - Part 4
We had a transit van we used for deliveries from our grocery store/bakery and this was great for bringing all the gear to the boat. We took the inflatable tender and engine home, and also a large fuel can which we filled on the way to the boat each time - once back in Africa we had run out of fuel on the Zambezi so took no chances now!
The bike, in the photo, was only used when we had more than three of us heading to the boat - 3-person bench seat in the front of the transit.
So the following weekend everything was in place for our first proper fishing adventure - the boat was in good nick, fuel filled, bait collected (we drove past a tackle shop on the way where we could buy lug-worms, the favoured bait along this stretch of coast), and my nephew dosed with anti-seasickness pills. The weather forecast was for good conditions so we were looking forwards to our trip.
Sunday morning was clear with no mist, and little wind so we motored across Breydon Water, through Great Yarmouth harbour, and out into the North Sea again! Bearing in mind how our first trip had finished with engine problems we decided that we wouldn't go very far this time, so dropped our anchor a hundred metres or so away from the shipping lane, and soon had our lines in. I had traded our beach-casting gear in at the tackle shop for boat fishing tackle, and Dad and I had identical Shakespeare rods, with Penn multiplier reels and 35 pound test line, with lighter tackle for Paulo, who was about 12 at the time.
Soon I was catching Flounder, some nice ones to about 3 pounds, and Dad and Paulo, on the opposite side of the boat were catching ... nothing! Dad and I even swapped places and though he did manage to catch one, I still ended up with 9 to his one! Identical tackle, identical bait, and line dropped no more than 3 metres apart!
While we were fishing we noticed some commotion in the harbour entrance about half a mile away, and a couple of tugs and rig support vessels appeared towing an oil rig out of the harbour. We were well off the shipping lane, but they seemed to be slowly heading straight towards us, giving us cause for concern. It appeared that they may simply be manoeuvring to turn the rig, though they were edging closer and closer to us, and some other small boats fishing the area, but had not yet made any signal to us of their intentions. Eventually we decided to use our discretion and raised the anchor to move further South out of the way, but, unfortunately, the fish stopped biting in the new spot so we headed home. The journey home was uneventful and back home Mum cooked us the Flounder for dinner!
That actually turned out to be our last North Sea fishing trip! We tried again on several occasions, but the mist was too thick most of the time - on one day we could not even start across Breydon Water as we couldn't see the navigation marker posts - and on another occasion we reached the harbour mouth and a large swell was coming in. We decided that once past the opening it might be OK so made a run at it, but the waves were much taller than the boat and did not seem to be much better beyond. The problem then was how to turn round and get back in!! The wave frequency was short, and we knew that we had to turn in the trough between waves, and get our prow headed back into the harbour in that short space, since being hit broadside by a wave would possibly have swamped us! Dad trusted me with the helm and we continued meeting the waves head on while waiting and hoping that we would see an opportunity to spin round - we had the power and speed, but needed enough room to make the manoeuvre. It took about 10 waves before we decided to make a run for it, and as soon as we crested one wave I revved the engine and put us in a tight turn - it worked!! We were "surfing" down a wave back towards the harbour entrance keeping our speed just right so we didn't "catch" the preceding wave, and using throttle and rudder to keep ourselves straight, when Dad said "don't look back", which, of course, I did! The wave was almost breaking over the stern of the boat! However I had learnt enough by then not to panic, but to keep my speed and direction, and soon we entered the calmer waters of the harbour. It was an incredible experience, gave us a lot of confidence in both our ability, and, especially, that of the Petite Promesse, but we decided that we didn't want to repeat that particular experiment again.
The day I used the bike (as well as Dad driving the Transit van) my girlfriend, later to be my wife, had been staying with us, so the three of them (Dad, Paulo and Ali) had travelled in the van, and I followed on the bike. When we arrived at the marina Dad discovered he had left the gate keys, which also had the ignition key!) back at home, so I turned round and raced back to collect them. Now I am not normally a speedy rider, but Sunday morning and a desire to get out on the water (we were supposed to be back home for lunch which Mum was preparing) meant I did go somewhat faster than usual and the normal 40 minute journey in the van, took me less than 40 minutes - there and back! They had the boat ready for action by the time I got back and we went and pottered around Breydon Water for a while, before mooring up again. I mentioned before that we moored stern on to the pontoon, so had to pull the boat back, using the stretch of the nylon rope, to get close enough to step onto the pontoon. Ali wanted to get ashore so Paulo pulled the rope to get the stern close, and she started stepping across, but paused halfway - one foot in the boat the other on the pontoon, and Paulo could not hold the boat for long! The inevitable happened! Splash! Ali was in the water! The boat had a short ladder at the rear and she started climbing up, but the weight of wet clothing made this difficult - and I am afraid that both Dad and I were unable to help - we were in hysterics! Eventually we did manage to get her out, but had no dry clothing for her, though I did have a lightweight cagoule and over-trousers for my bike, so she put these on and wasn't too cold. Ali was not happy at us all laughing instead of helping, and said that Mum would be more sympathetic, though we told he it was unlikely, so I followed the van home and waited for Ali to knock on the door (we didn't take house keys with us) first - Mum opened the door, took one look at the bedraggled Ali, and burst out laughing too!! It didn't do any harm to our relationship, though, and we did eventually get married!
We kept the boat for a few months after that, and did some boating on Breydon Water, but the weather prevented us from venturing out to sea again, and shortly after that pressure of work and family meant we decided to sell the boat. It had been great fun while it lasted.
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| Our transit van, and in front my Honda 650 bike. |
So the following weekend everything was in place for our first proper fishing adventure - the boat was in good nick, fuel filled, bait collected (we drove past a tackle shop on the way where we could buy lug-worms, the favoured bait along this stretch of coast), and my nephew dosed with anti-seasickness pills. The weather forecast was for good conditions so we were looking forwards to our trip.
Sunday morning was clear with no mist, and little wind so we motored across Breydon Water, through Great Yarmouth harbour, and out into the North Sea again! Bearing in mind how our first trip had finished with engine problems we decided that we wouldn't go very far this time, so dropped our anchor a hundred metres or so away from the shipping lane, and soon had our lines in. I had traded our beach-casting gear in at the tackle shop for boat fishing tackle, and Dad and I had identical Shakespeare rods, with Penn multiplier reels and 35 pound test line, with lighter tackle for Paulo, who was about 12 at the time.
Soon I was catching Flounder, some nice ones to about 3 pounds, and Dad and Paulo, on the opposite side of the boat were catching ... nothing! Dad and I even swapped places and though he did manage to catch one, I still ended up with 9 to his one! Identical tackle, identical bait, and line dropped no more than 3 metres apart!
While we were fishing we noticed some commotion in the harbour entrance about half a mile away, and a couple of tugs and rig support vessels appeared towing an oil rig out of the harbour. We were well off the shipping lane, but they seemed to be slowly heading straight towards us, giving us cause for concern. It appeared that they may simply be manoeuvring to turn the rig, though they were edging closer and closer to us, and some other small boats fishing the area, but had not yet made any signal to us of their intentions. Eventually we decided to use our discretion and raised the anchor to move further South out of the way, but, unfortunately, the fish stopped biting in the new spot so we headed home. The journey home was uneventful and back home Mum cooked us the Flounder for dinner!
That actually turned out to be our last North Sea fishing trip! We tried again on several occasions, but the mist was too thick most of the time - on one day we could not even start across Breydon Water as we couldn't see the navigation marker posts - and on another occasion we reached the harbour mouth and a large swell was coming in. We decided that once past the opening it might be OK so made a run at it, but the waves were much taller than the boat and did not seem to be much better beyond. The problem then was how to turn round and get back in!! The wave frequency was short, and we knew that we had to turn in the trough between waves, and get our prow headed back into the harbour in that short space, since being hit broadside by a wave would possibly have swamped us! Dad trusted me with the helm and we continued meeting the waves head on while waiting and hoping that we would see an opportunity to spin round - we had the power and speed, but needed enough room to make the manoeuvre. It took about 10 waves before we decided to make a run for it, and as soon as we crested one wave I revved the engine and put us in a tight turn - it worked!! We were "surfing" down a wave back towards the harbour entrance keeping our speed just right so we didn't "catch" the preceding wave, and using throttle and rudder to keep ourselves straight, when Dad said "don't look back", which, of course, I did! The wave was almost breaking over the stern of the boat! However I had learnt enough by then not to panic, but to keep my speed and direction, and soon we entered the calmer waters of the harbour. It was an incredible experience, gave us a lot of confidence in both our ability, and, especially, that of the Petite Promesse, but we decided that we didn't want to repeat that particular experiment again.
The day I used the bike (as well as Dad driving the Transit van) my girlfriend, later to be my wife, had been staying with us, so the three of them (Dad, Paulo and Ali) had travelled in the van, and I followed on the bike. When we arrived at the marina Dad discovered he had left the gate keys, which also had the ignition key!) back at home, so I turned round and raced back to collect them. Now I am not normally a speedy rider, but Sunday morning and a desire to get out on the water (we were supposed to be back home for lunch which Mum was preparing) meant I did go somewhat faster than usual and the normal 40 minute journey in the van, took me less than 40 minutes - there and back! They had the boat ready for action by the time I got back and we went and pottered around Breydon Water for a while, before mooring up again. I mentioned before that we moored stern on to the pontoon, so had to pull the boat back, using the stretch of the nylon rope, to get close enough to step onto the pontoon. Ali wanted to get ashore so Paulo pulled the rope to get the stern close, and she started stepping across, but paused halfway - one foot in the boat the other on the pontoon, and Paulo could not hold the boat for long! The inevitable happened! Splash! Ali was in the water! The boat had a short ladder at the rear and she started climbing up, but the weight of wet clothing made this difficult - and I am afraid that both Dad and I were unable to help - we were in hysterics! Eventually we did manage to get her out, but had no dry clothing for her, though I did have a lightweight cagoule and over-trousers for my bike, so she put these on and wasn't too cold. Ali was not happy at us all laughing instead of helping, and said that Mum would be more sympathetic, though we told he it was unlikely, so I followed the van home and waited for Ali to knock on the door (we didn't take house keys with us) first - Mum opened the door, took one look at the bedraggled Ali, and burst out laughing too!! It didn't do any harm to our relationship, though, and we did eventually get married!
We kept the boat for a few months after that, and did some boating on Breydon Water, but the weather prevented us from venturing out to sea again, and shortly after that pressure of work and family meant we decided to sell the boat. It had been great fun while it lasted.
Tuesday 13 August 2019
Boating in Norfolk - Part 3
The following Saturday I collected the new filter, some fuel line and fittings, and the flaring tool (which he showed me how to use) from the boat builder's yard and we headed to the marina in our transit van. We arrived pretty late so didn't get much done other than heating up a prepared meal (made by my Mum) and settled down for some sleep - my Dad in the deck area, and my nephew and I in the cabin. It was a little chilly on the water, and my Dad snores loudly, so I didn't get much sleep!
Bacon and eggs for breakfast and then I got to work on the fuel line. My Dad was an accountant, and I started out as an auditor, so we didn't have much of a mechanical background - Dad was keen on DIY, as I was, though, so we had some level of manual dexterity and between us a good deal of intelligence! This was also years before the internet and "How to" videos, or online instruction manuals, but we had purchased a "How to maintain your boast" guide, which proved invaluable.We cut out the offending bottleneck in the fuel line - there was a lot of debris that had collected again where the pipe narrowed - and replaced it with pipe and filter all the same diameter. The flaring tool did its job, and pretty soon we had replaced a section of the fuel pipe, and headed out for a test run.
The boat had come with an inflatable tender with a small outboard, so we took that with us - just in case!
With one of us watching the fuel line for any signs of leaks, and the other steering we soon reached Breydon Water and cranked up the power. All was fine - the pick-up was better, and she accelerated smoothly. We did a thorough test, speeding up, then slowing down, turning sharply, crossing our wake to get the fuel tank shaken up so any debris would enter the fuel line, and she passed with flying colours.
On the way back to the marina we did notice some steam coming from the engine compartment, and found a small water leak next to the water pump, dripping onto the exhaust. Back moored up at the marina I removed the water pump and found that the gasket was shot - I had once replaced a water pump on my car, and had seen a friend, who was a good amateur car mechanic, make a new cylinder head gasket, so during the week I went to a local marine chandlers and bought the necessary parts.
Making a new gasket was actually a lot easier than I had thought it would be, and this repair was also fully tested the following weekend. Although I am still very much a duffer when it comes to engines of any sort I do have the confidence to give it a go, and to know when to call in the experts! A lot of things on these older engines is common sense rather than technical know-how!
There followed a period of very misty weather, so much so that we couldn't get out to sea - one day we were just messing around on Breydon Water and a very thick mist blew in, so we had to very gingerly crawl back to the marina and moor up! Another occasion we were heading back into the marina when it suddenly got very windy, making steering extremely difficult. To get to our stern-on mooring we had to head forwards past the pontoons, then reverse and turn to line up to our particular spot. We had to abort our first attempt due to the wind, and as we were about to start the second attempt, lining up to head forwards, the wind started blowing a gale, and despite throwing the engine into reverse we were blown into the bank, lined with metal pilings! Fortunately we hit above the waterline, but the end of one piling gouged a six-inch long scrape, about an inch deep, in the fibreglass! We had to wait for the wind to subside before we could finally moor and inspect the damage.
During the week it was back to the chandlers for a fibreglass repair kit - resin for the gouge, and matting for the surface - and some paint, and a visit to the library to read up on fibreglass repairs! Next weekend we had to ask if we could use a different mooring, an on-line one, so we could get at the damaged hull. Our stern mooring was no good - with the bow out there was no way we could get at the damaged part, and even if we moored nose-in we were still unable to reach the bit that needed repairing. On-line was still tricky - we had to lean out to reach the repair, and, even with the stern out a bit to bring the bow in closer, it was still uncomfortable working on it. The gouge was so deep we had to build it up in layers, allowing each one to dry before the next application, so it took several hours until we were satisfied with the finish, and it was barely noticeable that there had been any damage!
We decided that the following Sunday, weather permitting, we would head out to sea again to fish!
Bacon and eggs for breakfast and then I got to work on the fuel line. My Dad was an accountant, and I started out as an auditor, so we didn't have much of a mechanical background - Dad was keen on DIY, as I was, though, so we had some level of manual dexterity and between us a good deal of intelligence! This was also years before the internet and "How to" videos, or online instruction manuals, but we had purchased a "How to maintain your boast" guide, which proved invaluable.We cut out the offending bottleneck in the fuel line - there was a lot of debris that had collected again where the pipe narrowed - and replaced it with pipe and filter all the same diameter. The flaring tool did its job, and pretty soon we had replaced a section of the fuel pipe, and headed out for a test run.
The boat had come with an inflatable tender with a small outboard, so we took that with us - just in case!
 |
| Dad and Paulo in the tender - minus the outboard on this occasion |
With one of us watching the fuel line for any signs of leaks, and the other steering we soon reached Breydon Water and cranked up the power. All was fine - the pick-up was better, and she accelerated smoothly. We did a thorough test, speeding up, then slowing down, turning sharply, crossing our wake to get the fuel tank shaken up so any debris would enter the fuel line, and she passed with flying colours.
 |
| Moored on the Bure with a windmill in the distance |
Making a new gasket was actually a lot easier than I had thought it would be, and this repair was also fully tested the following weekend. Although I am still very much a duffer when it comes to engines of any sort I do have the confidence to give it a go, and to know when to call in the experts! A lot of things on these older engines is common sense rather than technical know-how!
There followed a period of very misty weather, so much so that we couldn't get out to sea - one day we were just messing around on Breydon Water and a very thick mist blew in, so we had to very gingerly crawl back to the marina and moor up! Another occasion we were heading back into the marina when it suddenly got very windy, making steering extremely difficult. To get to our stern-on mooring we had to head forwards past the pontoons, then reverse and turn to line up to our particular spot. We had to abort our first attempt due to the wind, and as we were about to start the second attempt, lining up to head forwards, the wind started blowing a gale, and despite throwing the engine into reverse we were blown into the bank, lined with metal pilings! Fortunately we hit above the waterline, but the end of one piling gouged a six-inch long scrape, about an inch deep, in the fibreglass! We had to wait for the wind to subside before we could finally moor and inspect the damage.
During the week it was back to the chandlers for a fibreglass repair kit - resin for the gouge, and matting for the surface - and some paint, and a visit to the library to read up on fibreglass repairs! Next weekend we had to ask if we could use a different mooring, an on-line one, so we could get at the damaged hull. Our stern mooring was no good - with the bow out there was no way we could get at the damaged part, and even if we moored nose-in we were still unable to reach the bit that needed repairing. On-line was still tricky - we had to lean out to reach the repair, and, even with the stern out a bit to bring the bow in closer, it was still uncomfortable working on it. The gouge was so deep we had to build it up in layers, allowing each one to dry before the next application, so it took several hours until we were satisfied with the finish, and it was barely noticeable that there had been any damage!
We decided that the following Sunday, weather permitting, we would head out to sea again to fish!
Wednesday 7 August 2019
Boating in Norfolk - Part 2
Over the following few weeks we concentrated on getting the boat ready - checking all the equipment, familiarising ourselves with the controls, and preparing for our first fishing trip. The North Sea off Great Yarmouth can be quite rough, and morning thick sea mists quite common, and in those pre-internet days, and also before cellphones were widely used, it was not easy to determine if conditions were suitable or safe. Great Yarmouth and Gorleston are cities on opposite sides of the mouth of the River Yare (after which Yarmouth got its name!) and the road to the marina was not that far from Gorleston Pier, where the river mouth was, so we started calling in there to check on sea conditions, rather than risk the hour-plus boat trip through Yarmouth harbour just to find we could not put to sea. Clearly this didn't really work if we checked Saturday evening and then headed out the following morning, but for the first sea trip we only headed to the boat early on Saturday, and as sea conditions looked reasonable we decided to try our first sea voyage!
My nephew was with us, and he had been worrying about being seasick ever since we got the boat, not that he had ever been seasick before as far as we all knew, so he took some Dramamine before we headed out. The trip across Breydon water was uneventful, and then we slowly cruised through Great Yarmouth Harbour, the depth sounder showing we had plenty of clearance, but suddenly pinging loudly showing only about a foot of water below our hull! We immediately stopped the engine to avoid catching the prop, but the sounder had gone back to over 15 feet, and there was no sign that we should have been in shallow water as we were in the main harbour navigation channel. We decided it may have been a submerged log or other obstruction, and continued towards the harbour entrance.
As we turned to port close to the harbour entrance, and got the first effects of the North Sea, my nephew pipes up that he is feeling fine, but then as we passed between the piers at either side and started hitting some small waves, he began to look a little green, and soon was being sick over the side! We asked him if he wanted us to go back, but he said he thought he would be OK, so we gunned the motor and proceeded - and the engine died! The swell in the harbour entrance was moderate, and it is important to keep your nose pointed into the waves, but without power we were helpless, though the engine immediately started again, and was fine idling and at extremely low speed, but as soon as we increased the throttle it died again. By now we had cleared the entrance and managed to get out of the navigation channel, but were not far offshore, and drifting slowly Southwards, so we dropped anchor. Once anchored we checked over the engine - well, neither of us were mechanics, but we checked the obvious things. The fuel tank was full, spark plugs clean, electrics dry, and so on.
The motor fired up with no problem, and ran at idle, and very low revs, but that was not enough to get us back to harbour - every time we increased the revs the engine died, so we would start the engine, pull up the anchor, start moving forwards, then the engine died again so we had to drop anchor again! There was a charter fishing boat not that far away from us, and in the end we hailed it, so he came close to see what the problem was, and agreed to tow us back into the harbour. There were 6 fishermen on board who had paid for a day's fishing, and were not too pleased, but the tow only took about 20 minutes, so they didn't lose too much, though we were left just inside the harbour in private moorings, so could not remain there. The fishing captain was also the owner of a marina in Great Yarmouth, and said that if we were still there when he returned he would come and see us to offer further assistance.
In the quieter waters of the harbour we had another look at the engine, and discovered that the fuel filter (newly fitted) was quite dirty, so cleaned that as best we could, and started the engine up again. Again she fired up first time, and ran fine at idle, but as soon as we gave it some throttle it died again! We decided that we had to try and move from where we were, and with what little power we had we did manage to move further from the harbour entrance, helped by the incoming tide, and found a public mooring near the Haven Bridge. We did not have enough headway to manoeuvre under the bridge, either with the tide, or with the current once the tide changed, so decided to secure the boat and leave it for the night.
I took a taxi back to the marina to collect our Transit van, so we could go home, and Dad and Paulo secured the boat. While I was gone the fishing captain came by - on his way home as he had dropped off his customers and boat, but seen us moored on the opposite side - and offered help. Dad had a long chat with him, explaining how we had recently bought the boat, and had work done by an engineer from Belaugh, who he actually knew and recommended. He said we should contact the engineer and have him look at it, since he knew the engine, having originally fitted it too, and told us he would keep an eye on the boat, though it should be safe there anyway.
Tuesday afternoon we collected the engineer, and Dad and I headed back to Yarmouth in the car this time. The plan was that once the boat was fixed we would take it across Breydon Water to the Marina and Dad would drive to Burgh Castle to collect us. The engineer started off by trying the engine, which of course started first time, so he asked that we cast off the mooring lines and headed into the river - so far so good. He steered towards the bridge, then had to increase the throttle as the current caught us, and ... the engine died! Start up again, throttle - died! On my advice he kept the revs low and managed to get us back on the mooring. So he starts by stripping the carb, and decides it is dirt in there causing the problem, so cleans it out, checks the fuel filter, which had a bit more dirt in it, and tries the engine again. This time he revs up while still moored, and ... it dies again! The engine is getting enough fuel to start and idle, but as soon as you give it throttle there isn't enough fuel getting through - and then he checks the fuel lines, and finds that when the filter was installed the line through it is of narrower diameter than the incoming line, and the reduction in size is causing a bottleneck which has clogged up with debris from the tank! Enough fuel passes to start and idle the engine, but when power is needed the blockage is preventing sufficient fuel to pass! The filter was installed by his company! He cleans out the blockage, and tests the throttle fully, before deciding that the problem is resolved, so we head back under the bridge and towards Breydon water! The rough sea had shaken the tank up causing the debris at the bottom of the tank to pass into the fuel line.
Dad had headed back in the car to meet us and I took the controls across Breydon Water, and soon we were cruising on the plane at around 20 knots, but, while we still had a mechanic on board, I decided to open her up to see what she could do - and got her up to 32 knots! I looked across at the mechanic and he was white-knuckled holding on, but with a grin from ear to ear! When I slowed down again he said he had never been across Breydon Water before, and never travelled that fast in a powered boat, and it was awesome!!
He did, however, advise us to replace the filter with one the same fuel line size as the rest of the system, and offered to source one for us, and would loan us the tools required to fit it ourselves (pipe flaring tool, especially), so that was our next project the following weekend!
My nephew was with us, and he had been worrying about being seasick ever since we got the boat, not that he had ever been seasick before as far as we all knew, so he took some Dramamine before we headed out. The trip across Breydon water was uneventful, and then we slowly cruised through Great Yarmouth Harbour, the depth sounder showing we had plenty of clearance, but suddenly pinging loudly showing only about a foot of water below our hull! We immediately stopped the engine to avoid catching the prop, but the sounder had gone back to over 15 feet, and there was no sign that we should have been in shallow water as we were in the main harbour navigation channel. We decided it may have been a submerged log or other obstruction, and continued towards the harbour entrance.
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| Map showing where the marina is in respect of the open sea |
The motor fired up with no problem, and ran at idle, and very low revs, but that was not enough to get us back to harbour - every time we increased the revs the engine died, so we would start the engine, pull up the anchor, start moving forwards, then the engine died again so we had to drop anchor again! There was a charter fishing boat not that far away from us, and in the end we hailed it, so he came close to see what the problem was, and agreed to tow us back into the harbour. There were 6 fishermen on board who had paid for a day's fishing, and were not too pleased, but the tow only took about 20 minutes, so they didn't lose too much, though we were left just inside the harbour in private moorings, so could not remain there. The fishing captain was also the owner of a marina in Great Yarmouth, and said that if we were still there when he returned he would come and see us to offer further assistance.
In the quieter waters of the harbour we had another look at the engine, and discovered that the fuel filter (newly fitted) was quite dirty, so cleaned that as best we could, and started the engine up again. Again she fired up first time, and ran fine at idle, but as soon as we gave it some throttle it died again! We decided that we had to try and move from where we were, and with what little power we had we did manage to move further from the harbour entrance, helped by the incoming tide, and found a public mooring near the Haven Bridge. We did not have enough headway to manoeuvre under the bridge, either with the tide, or with the current once the tide changed, so decided to secure the boat and leave it for the night.
I took a taxi back to the marina to collect our Transit van, so we could go home, and Dad and Paulo secured the boat. While I was gone the fishing captain came by - on his way home as he had dropped off his customers and boat, but seen us moored on the opposite side - and offered help. Dad had a long chat with him, explaining how we had recently bought the boat, and had work done by an engineer from Belaugh, who he actually knew and recommended. He said we should contact the engineer and have him look at it, since he knew the engine, having originally fitted it too, and told us he would keep an eye on the boat, though it should be safe there anyway.
Tuesday afternoon we collected the engineer, and Dad and I headed back to Yarmouth in the car this time. The plan was that once the boat was fixed we would take it across Breydon Water to the Marina and Dad would drive to Burgh Castle to collect us. The engineer started off by trying the engine, which of course started first time, so he asked that we cast off the mooring lines and headed into the river - so far so good. He steered towards the bridge, then had to increase the throttle as the current caught us, and ... the engine died! Start up again, throttle - died! On my advice he kept the revs low and managed to get us back on the mooring. So he starts by stripping the carb, and decides it is dirt in there causing the problem, so cleans it out, checks the fuel filter, which had a bit more dirt in it, and tries the engine again. This time he revs up while still moored, and ... it dies again! The engine is getting enough fuel to start and idle, but as soon as you give it throttle there isn't enough fuel getting through - and then he checks the fuel lines, and finds that when the filter was installed the line through it is of narrower diameter than the incoming line, and the reduction in size is causing a bottleneck which has clogged up with debris from the tank! Enough fuel passes to start and idle the engine, but when power is needed the blockage is preventing sufficient fuel to pass! The filter was installed by his company! He cleans out the blockage, and tests the throttle fully, before deciding that the problem is resolved, so we head back under the bridge and towards Breydon water! The rough sea had shaken the tank up causing the debris at the bottom of the tank to pass into the fuel line.
Dad had headed back in the car to meet us and I took the controls across Breydon Water, and soon we were cruising on the plane at around 20 knots, but, while we still had a mechanic on board, I decided to open her up to see what she could do - and got her up to 32 knots! I looked across at the mechanic and he was white-knuckled holding on, but with a grin from ear to ear! When I slowed down again he said he had never been across Breydon Water before, and never travelled that fast in a powered boat, and it was awesome!!
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| Petite Promesse up on the plane |
He did, however, advise us to replace the filter with one the same fuel line size as the rest of the system, and offered to source one for us, and would loan us the tools required to fit it ourselves (pipe flaring tool, especially), so that was our next project the following weekend!
Monday 5 August 2019
Boating in Norfolk - Part 1
Around 1982, while we still had the family bakery and village grocery store, my Dad decided he would like to buy a boat so we could go fishing. In those far-off days Sunday trading was almost non-existent, and many small shops only opened for a half-day on Wednesday and Saturday, though we traded the full 6 days, but did remain closed on Bank Holidays - again some shops opened for half a day on these, but as we had the bakery we decided that we would remain closed, rather than start work at 04.00 for a half day of trade!
Living on the edge of the Norfolk Broads there were a lot of boat brokerages about, especially in Horning, which was a major sailing centre, so we headed there to see what was available. While in Mozambique we did have a small open speedboat we used for fishing in the Zambezi,
but we felt we wanted something a bit more substantial. The idea was that we would leave home after work (17.30 or so) on Saturday, overnight on the boat, and then motor out to the open sea to fish on Sunday, so it needed living space for at least 4. Before looking for a boat we had researched the best place to moor it - we lived about 20 miles from the nearest coast, and a further 5 miles or so from anywhere a boat could be kept and easily access the sea. We considered the North-east Norfolk coast, but most of the marinas/harbours there were very tidal, so at times cut off from the sea, so in the end had decided on Burgh Castle Marina, close to Great Yarmouth. It meant an 8 mile run to the sea, across Breydon Water (no speed limit) followed by a slow (3 mph) trip through Great Yarmouth harbour, so would take us an hour from the marina to the North Sea.
We found a suitable boat relatively quickly - a 27 foot cruiser, powered by an inboard 1500cc BMC marine petrol engine, which would push it along at around 30 knot top speed! On the test run from the brokerage we were restricted to 8 mph on the River Bure, once clear of the 3 mph limit in the built up area, but the broker opened her up briefly to show what she could do, slowing down as we approached a bend in the river where a river police boat appeared - fortunately we were below the speed limit by then, and the officers knew the broker, too!
We made an offer on the spot, conditional on a survey, which passed apart from a couple of minor, non-structural or mechanical, suggestions. The surveyor said it needed an electrical cut-off switch, better ventilation in the gas tank locker (for the stove and fridge), and a fuel filter - which he installed for us at his yard. We had also decided we needed a depth sounder since we were going offshore in unknown waters (to us) so he installed that as well, but felt at this stage that we would be fishing close inshore so did not worry about a radio (which I think is compulsory nowadays). Petite Promesse came with an inflatable tender with a small outboard, had a cabin with two berths, but room for two more in the rear deck area, which could be closed with an awning (as in the photo above). There was a two-burner stove and small gas fridge, and a cupboard with a Portaloo in it- though the cupboard was so small you could only use it with the door open, or take it into the main cabin for more privacy, so it didn't get uses that much!
Wroxham, considered to be the "capital" of the Broads, was only a few miles from where we lived, and has several chandlers, so we had bough life jackets, boat hook, fenders (I also bough some at a local auction), rope, and other essentials, so by the time the boat was ready we were also fully kitted out!
Mum came along for the journey to Burgh Castle, where we had left our vehicle the day before so we could get home again. We had read up on the "rules of the waterways" and knew that speed limits on the Bure were very low, for bank protection, so were aware that the trip to the marina would take us at least three hours, but as we motored back through Horning there was a sailing regatta taking place - and power gives way to sail. So we had to dodge our way through the tacking yachts, keeping to the right though they were using the whole river, and also maintaining the speed limit of 3 mph at that place. It was extremely challenging, as we had to try and work out where they were going and time our forward progress between their tacks across the river, making sure we didn't go too fast and create a dangerous wash for them as well. More by luck that good fortune we got through without upsetting anyone, and got a nod of approval from the marshals!
We eventually reached Breydon Water, a large expanse of water near Great Yarmouth where three rivers meet - the Bure, we had just travelled along, joined at the North end, and the rivers Waveney and Yare, joining at the Southern end of Breydon Water, near where our marina was. Breydon Water has the "shipping channel" clearly marked as at low water there are vast areas of sticky mud exposed, and rarely a week went by when we didn't see hire boats stranded high and dry, waiting for the next high tide, who had ignored the markers! Breydon Water has no speed limit - so we opened up and crossed it rapidly at around 25 knots, with the Petite Promesse showing her pedigree! Up on the plane the ride was very smooth, and we soon arrived at the marina.
Our mooring was a stern-on one, and that proved to be our next challenge. We had to reverse in past the front mooring post, throw a rope round it that we could slip as we moved backwards, then, being careful not to go in too hard or too far, keep going until someone could jump ashore and tie us up. We had to leave just enough slack so we could pull the boat close enough for everyone to disembark, but not so much that the stern-drive would hit against the dock! The bow line had to be kept taught so as not to allow too much slack at the stern! We did have ball fenders at the rear as well, just in case
Having safely navigated our first trip we decided we needed a few more days familiarising ourselves with the boat before heading out to the open sea!
Living on the edge of the Norfolk Broads there were a lot of boat brokerages about, especially in Horning, which was a major sailing centre, so we headed there to see what was available. While in Mozambique we did have a small open speedboat we used for fishing in the Zambezi,
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| Our boat on the Zambezi, with my Mum and Robbie, the dog! |
We found a suitable boat relatively quickly - a 27 foot cruiser, powered by an inboard 1500cc BMC marine petrol engine, which would push it along at around 30 knot top speed! On the test run from the brokerage we were restricted to 8 mph on the River Bure, once clear of the 3 mph limit in the built up area, but the broker opened her up briefly to show what she could do, slowing down as we approached a bend in the river where a river police boat appeared - fortunately we were below the speed limit by then, and the officers knew the broker, too!
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| Petite Promesse moored at the marina, with my Dad |
Wroxham, considered to be the "capital" of the Broads, was only a few miles from where we lived, and has several chandlers, so we had bough life jackets, boat hook, fenders (I also bough some at a local auction), rope, and other essentials, so by the time the boat was ready we were also fully kitted out!
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| We moored for a coffee break |
Mum came along for the journey to Burgh Castle, where we had left our vehicle the day before so we could get home again. We had read up on the "rules of the waterways" and knew that speed limits on the Bure were very low, for bank protection, so were aware that the trip to the marina would take us at least three hours, but as we motored back through Horning there was a sailing regatta taking place - and power gives way to sail. So we had to dodge our way through the tacking yachts, keeping to the right though they were using the whole river, and also maintaining the speed limit of 3 mph at that place. It was extremely challenging, as we had to try and work out where they were going and time our forward progress between their tacks across the river, making sure we didn't go too fast and create a dangerous wash for them as well. More by luck that good fortune we got through without upsetting anyone, and got a nod of approval from the marshals!
We eventually reached Breydon Water, a large expanse of water near Great Yarmouth where three rivers meet - the Bure, we had just travelled along, joined at the North end, and the rivers Waveney and Yare, joining at the Southern end of Breydon Water, near where our marina was. Breydon Water has the "shipping channel" clearly marked as at low water there are vast areas of sticky mud exposed, and rarely a week went by when we didn't see hire boats stranded high and dry, waiting for the next high tide, who had ignored the markers! Breydon Water has no speed limit - so we opened up and crossed it rapidly at around 25 knots, with the Petite Promesse showing her pedigree! Up on the plane the ride was very smooth, and we soon arrived at the marina.
Our mooring was a stern-on one, and that proved to be our next challenge. We had to reverse in past the front mooring post, throw a rope round it that we could slip as we moved backwards, then, being careful not to go in too hard or too far, keep going until someone could jump ashore and tie us up. We had to leave just enough slack so we could pull the boat close enough for everyone to disembark, but not so much that the stern-drive would hit against the dock! The bow line had to be kept taught so as not to allow too much slack at the stern! We did have ball fenders at the rear as well, just in case
Having safely navigated our first trip we decided we needed a few more days familiarising ourselves with the boat before heading out to the open sea!
Sunday 28 July 2019
My "faith"
I have never considered myself to be very religious - I was born into an Anglican (Church of England) family, and christened, but we were not regular church goers. My Mother was born in Denmark, and, though I am not certain, I think belonged to the Evangelical Lutheran Christian Church (the commonest one in Denmark), but later naturalised as British following her marriage to my Father. I don't think my grandparents, who we lived with until I was about 4, were churchgoers, either, though I am not sure if that was because my grandfather was an invalid (gassed in the Great War) and couldn't get out and about much.
Around 1963 my primary school teacher invited me to join our local church choir, and we had practice on a Thursday, and then sang at the main service on Sunday, as well as at occasional weddings on Saturday - I do not recall my parents ever attending (it was only a short walk from home) and I was not doing it for any spiritual reason.
I do not recall many family "church" occasions growing up, certainly not until we lived in Mozambique in the late 60's and an Anglican vicar used to come to the sugar estate we lived on at Christmas and hold a service in a private home for a small group of ex-pats - Catholicism was the main religion there. I went to boarding school in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) and the Anglican Chapel was a main part of daily life - we had a short morning service every day, singing practice on Saturday, and had to attend either the morning or evening services (but could, of course, attend both if we wanted) on Sunday. Attendance was compulsory, and there was punishment for any who were caught "bunking" off.
I was never "confirmed", not through choice, but the subject never came up and I never enquired into it, and it never concerned me that I couldn't attend communion, as it was not that big a deal for me.
After school I went to university in South Africa and occasionally on a Sunday, with some friends, we would attend a service at the closest Anglican church - not always the same one - but I cannot recall doing it because of any religious fervour, but simply because it seemed acceptable and something to do on a Sunday. Towards the end of my first year there were some demonstrations in Cape Town, resulting in the police charging the demonstrators, and even chasing them into an Anglican church, something they would never have done had it been a Dutch Reformed Church, the principal one of South Africa - and this created a ripple of dissent throughout the country, mainly in the universities, with peaceful protests being held outside the campuses. The government decided to clamp down and imposed a "riotous assemblies" act, making it illegal for more than 3 people to gather in one place! The demonstrators got round this by "marching" to church on Sunday, and the whole tenor of the services became political, with sermons condemning the government. This bothered me and my friends - a lot! We felt that the church had been usurped and was being used as a political, not a spiritual, tool, and we stopped attending. I think it was around this time that I started questioning my faith, and whether I really believed in the church and what it stood for, and whether I even believed in the existence of God.
I had studied Divinity at school, and even have an "O" level in it! We had briefly touched on comparative religions, and it appeared to me that almost all religions were really closely related, in that they all had one supreme deity (or God), though some of the interpretations of the "will of God" varied wildly. I started thinking about the fact that many wars had, in fact, been "Holy" wars, fought over religion and religious beliefs - "My God is better than your God!", when in fact they were one and the same. People were still fighting over religion, fighting over something that represented tolerance, acceptance of others, turning the other cheek. and even loving your fellow men. It suddenly made no sense to me.
I also found it extremely difficult to come to terms with the "heavenly Father", who was supposedly so powerful, as after all he had created this earth we lived on, allowing people to suffer from floods, earthquakes, tempests, and so on - all natural disasters, not man-made, so surely must have been created by "Him"? Many of those who suffered were the poorest souls on earth, living in areas most susceptible to these natural disasters, and the richest nations were able to cope better with these tribulations. Someone I mentioned this to said that they were "sinners" being punished, but that implies that poor people eking out a living, in the only place they can live, in the path of a hurricane must be more evil than those who live in "safe" cities? You are less of a sinner because you can buy a strong house in a city that doesn't suffer natural disasters? I am sorry, but that doesn't sit well with me. Also how can a religion that preaches forgiveness, tolerance, and love, and tells us that God loves us all and will forgive us all, justify so much suffering? Where is the love and forgiveness?
I got married in an Anglican church (my ex-wife was brought up Catholic), and my daughter was christened in a church, and we, as a family, occasionally attended church, usually regularly at Easter and Christmas, but occasionally at other times too - and especially during a period when my daughter attended a group called Praise Kids (sort of an extension of Sunday School) who used to perform at some services. By now the services had become less formal, and were more "happy clappy" with regular shouts of "hallelujah", and this turned me off even more - towards the end of the service we were supposed to mingle in the pews and "hug a friend", which I found uncomfortable. So it was with some relief when she outgrew Praise Kids! We still, as a family, attended Easter and Christmas services, but I always felt it was more out of a sense of moral obligation to the small community we lived in (we lived in that area for almost 30 years - and my ex still lives there).
My landlady here in Peru claims to be a Christian, but not "religious" - she (a qualified psychologist who used to lecture at university) claims there is a difference between being a Christian and being religious, and does not attend a conventional church. Her favourite farewell is "Blessings", and her conversation is sprinkled with references to the favours bestowed upon us by God. She is aware that I consider myself to be an agnostic, and appears to accept this, as I think, secretly, she believes I will convert to a fully fledged believer one day - however she cannot tolerate homosexuality (there was a programme on local TV one day and she harped on about that being a deadly sin for days afterwards!), and will not accept that we evolved from animals, or that the human being is actually part of the "animal" kingdom. I asked her once, when she was going on about the sin of homosexuality, about the Bible's take on tolerance, and the fact that many passages therein are open to different interpretation, and she simply replied that on the subject of homosexuality Christianity was very clear, and it was a mortal sin! I couldn't believe how an intelligent woman could be so closed-minded about many things, and accept the Bible's teachings (at least those that she liked!) as being the absolute truth!
As things stand I have not been to church for approaching 15 years, and the last time I went (to a service in Peterborough Cathedral) it was a memorial service for a friend. I certainly do not consider myself to be an atheist, but rather an agnostic - I find it difficult to accept the existence of anything that is not provable. OK, Christianity - the belief in God and Christ - is a fact, but the existence of God cannot be proved. That is where "faith" comes in - the blind belief that there must be something pulling all our strings, and this is where my faith founders, as I cannot accept that without some sort of concrete evidence, and people telling me "I have seen God" or "God spoke to me" is not enough, at least not for me. My sister once said to me that I must be so afraid of dying if I didn't believe in God, as what did I think would happen to me in the "afterlife" - I laughed, which upset her even more, as I do not believe in that either, and told her that as far as I was concerned when my physical body dies then that is the end of me, and so I was not bothered about any "life after death", which was a contradiction in itself. The existence of a "soul" is another of those nebulous beliefs that cannot be proven, so once I am gone then I am gone forever!
I have no doubt that belief in a supreme being, in a God (whatever denomination or religion he belongs too), does help many people, and gives them comfort, but I have always felt that I do not need that crutch, that I will face the world on my own, and overcome whatever challenges I face (or be overwhelmed by them!), but that I will not blame my failings on any external force - no "Why me, Lord?" for me!
Around 1963 my primary school teacher invited me to join our local church choir, and we had practice on a Thursday, and then sang at the main service on Sunday, as well as at occasional weddings on Saturday - I do not recall my parents ever attending (it was only a short walk from home) and I was not doing it for any spiritual reason.
I do not recall many family "church" occasions growing up, certainly not until we lived in Mozambique in the late 60's and an Anglican vicar used to come to the sugar estate we lived on at Christmas and hold a service in a private home for a small group of ex-pats - Catholicism was the main religion there. I went to boarding school in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) and the Anglican Chapel was a main part of daily life - we had a short morning service every day, singing practice on Saturday, and had to attend either the morning or evening services (but could, of course, attend both if we wanted) on Sunday. Attendance was compulsory, and there was punishment for any who were caught "bunking" off.
I was never "confirmed", not through choice, but the subject never came up and I never enquired into it, and it never concerned me that I couldn't attend communion, as it was not that big a deal for me.
After school I went to university in South Africa and occasionally on a Sunday, with some friends, we would attend a service at the closest Anglican church - not always the same one - but I cannot recall doing it because of any religious fervour, but simply because it seemed acceptable and something to do on a Sunday. Towards the end of my first year there were some demonstrations in Cape Town, resulting in the police charging the demonstrators, and even chasing them into an Anglican church, something they would never have done had it been a Dutch Reformed Church, the principal one of South Africa - and this created a ripple of dissent throughout the country, mainly in the universities, with peaceful protests being held outside the campuses. The government decided to clamp down and imposed a "riotous assemblies" act, making it illegal for more than 3 people to gather in one place! The demonstrators got round this by "marching" to church on Sunday, and the whole tenor of the services became political, with sermons condemning the government. This bothered me and my friends - a lot! We felt that the church had been usurped and was being used as a political, not a spiritual, tool, and we stopped attending. I think it was around this time that I started questioning my faith, and whether I really believed in the church and what it stood for, and whether I even believed in the existence of God.
I had studied Divinity at school, and even have an "O" level in it! We had briefly touched on comparative religions, and it appeared to me that almost all religions were really closely related, in that they all had one supreme deity (or God), though some of the interpretations of the "will of God" varied wildly. I started thinking about the fact that many wars had, in fact, been "Holy" wars, fought over religion and religious beliefs - "My God is better than your God!", when in fact they were one and the same. People were still fighting over religion, fighting over something that represented tolerance, acceptance of others, turning the other cheek. and even loving your fellow men. It suddenly made no sense to me.
I also found it extremely difficult to come to terms with the "heavenly Father", who was supposedly so powerful, as after all he had created this earth we lived on, allowing people to suffer from floods, earthquakes, tempests, and so on - all natural disasters, not man-made, so surely must have been created by "Him"? Many of those who suffered were the poorest souls on earth, living in areas most susceptible to these natural disasters, and the richest nations were able to cope better with these tribulations. Someone I mentioned this to said that they were "sinners" being punished, but that implies that poor people eking out a living, in the only place they can live, in the path of a hurricane must be more evil than those who live in "safe" cities? You are less of a sinner because you can buy a strong house in a city that doesn't suffer natural disasters? I am sorry, but that doesn't sit well with me. Also how can a religion that preaches forgiveness, tolerance, and love, and tells us that God loves us all and will forgive us all, justify so much suffering? Where is the love and forgiveness?
I got married in an Anglican church (my ex-wife was brought up Catholic), and my daughter was christened in a church, and we, as a family, occasionally attended church, usually regularly at Easter and Christmas, but occasionally at other times too - and especially during a period when my daughter attended a group called Praise Kids (sort of an extension of Sunday School) who used to perform at some services. By now the services had become less formal, and were more "happy clappy" with regular shouts of "hallelujah", and this turned me off even more - towards the end of the service we were supposed to mingle in the pews and "hug a friend", which I found uncomfortable. So it was with some relief when she outgrew Praise Kids! We still, as a family, attended Easter and Christmas services, but I always felt it was more out of a sense of moral obligation to the small community we lived in (we lived in that area for almost 30 years - and my ex still lives there).
My landlady here in Peru claims to be a Christian, but not "religious" - she (a qualified psychologist who used to lecture at university) claims there is a difference between being a Christian and being religious, and does not attend a conventional church. Her favourite farewell is "Blessings", and her conversation is sprinkled with references to the favours bestowed upon us by God. She is aware that I consider myself to be an agnostic, and appears to accept this, as I think, secretly, she believes I will convert to a fully fledged believer one day - however she cannot tolerate homosexuality (there was a programme on local TV one day and she harped on about that being a deadly sin for days afterwards!), and will not accept that we evolved from animals, or that the human being is actually part of the "animal" kingdom. I asked her once, when she was going on about the sin of homosexuality, about the Bible's take on tolerance, and the fact that many passages therein are open to different interpretation, and she simply replied that on the subject of homosexuality Christianity was very clear, and it was a mortal sin! I couldn't believe how an intelligent woman could be so closed-minded about many things, and accept the Bible's teachings (at least those that she liked!) as being the absolute truth!
As things stand I have not been to church for approaching 15 years, and the last time I went (to a service in Peterborough Cathedral) it was a memorial service for a friend. I certainly do not consider myself to be an atheist, but rather an agnostic - I find it difficult to accept the existence of anything that is not provable. OK, Christianity - the belief in God and Christ - is a fact, but the existence of God cannot be proved. That is where "faith" comes in - the blind belief that there must be something pulling all our strings, and this is where my faith founders, as I cannot accept that without some sort of concrete evidence, and people telling me "I have seen God" or "God spoke to me" is not enough, at least not for me. My sister once said to me that I must be so afraid of dying if I didn't believe in God, as what did I think would happen to me in the "afterlife" - I laughed, which upset her even more, as I do not believe in that either, and told her that as far as I was concerned when my physical body dies then that is the end of me, and so I was not bothered about any "life after death", which was a contradiction in itself. The existence of a "soul" is another of those nebulous beliefs that cannot be proven, so once I am gone then I am gone forever!
I have no doubt that belief in a supreme being, in a God (whatever denomination or religion he belongs too), does help many people, and gives them comfort, but I have always felt that I do not need that crutch, that I will face the world on my own, and overcome whatever challenges I face (or be overwhelmed by them!), but that I will not blame my failings on any external force - no "Why me, Lord?" for me!
I always tell people who advise me that I must open my heart and accept God that my door is always open, and that if "He" wants to come along and have a chat and a cup of coffee then "He" is most welcome!
Sunday 14 July 2019
The "joys" of apartment living!
In Brazil I own my own house - the emphasis is on "house", as it is a detached property on a 690 sq metre plot, so there is a nice garden buffer between me and my closest neighbours. There is also a street between me and the next house on two sides, and the only other adjacent house is below and to the side, so, although they extended close to the property line, not too close to be a nuisance. It means that life there is reasonably quiet, most of the time.
in Peru, however, where I spend the other 6 months each year, I have to rent. I do have certain requirements from the property I rent, apart from price being a major factor, primarily that it has secure off-road parking for my motorbike, a kitchen with a proper cooker (many rentals here are "holiday" lets so may only have a twin-burner hotplate), and include electricity, water and internet in the price. It also, obviously, must be furnished! As I only stay for 6 months I cannot negotiate my own utility bills, as minimum contracts are usually 12 months, and clearly having my own furniture is not really an option - even though renting an unfurnished place would be cheaper. I do have quite a lot of my own things which I store, along with my bike, with a friend here - kitchen utensils, bedding, towels, and so on - as the supplied equipment with apartments is usually either "old" or inadequate.
The first year I was here I was assisted in finding somewhere by the charity I was volunteering for - in the case of most volunteers the charity sets up the accommodation beforehand, but I was left to look at their selection once I arrived. I also had to make a quick decision on the only place they had found, though I had a couple more lined up myself to look at, as the landlady had someone else interested, and for the most part I am quite happy with my choice. It is only half a block from the beach on a fairly quiet street, and is a small building with only 7 apartments, but with two separate entrances, so only 3 accessed from the same side as mine.
The apartment is one bed-roomed, but quite spacious, with a small kitchen, and a large lounge-dining room and a balcony, plus access to the roof terrace, where the washing lines are. The kitchen was not very well equipped, though did have a full cooker, so I bought some of my own things, like a set of crockery and cutlery, and kitchen knives, and a lot of the general furnishings, provided bedding and towels were pretty old - the pillows were a little musty so I bought some of those too!
Most of the other apartments were occupied by short-term tenants, and though at times a little noisy, that first year was not too bad. At the end of my stay I asked if I could book again for the following year, but the landlady was reluctant to commit so far ahead in case she lost a permanent lease by accepting my booking, so asked if I would confirm closer to my arrival date in 6 months time. However by then the apartment was already taken until a month after my arrival so I had to look elsewhere.
Although there were quite a few online adverts for apartments getting a response from the advertisers was more difficult - with many not responding, and some of the email addresses bouncing back as "unknown" - so in the end I arrived the following March, booked into a hostel for a week and started apartment hunting! As it was just before Easter there was not much available, particularly for the 6 month period I required, but eventually I responded to a large advert outside a new building and they had a brand-new 3 bedroomed apartment available. It was much bigger - and more expensive - that I needed, but was beautifully appointed, if a little further from the beach, so I took it for the full 6 months. The English-speaking landlord gave me a special price based on 6 months occupancy, and a single occupancy rebate, but it was still a lot more than I had paid the previous year. One downside to this apartment was that other apartment in my floor, which was going to be the owner/landlord's apartment, was not yet finished, so there was a lot of construction noise for the next two months!
At the end of my second stay in Peru I started looking for somewhere for the following year - the apartment I was in was great, but really too expensive, so I needed something smaller and cheaper. I looked at two other one-bedroomed apartments nearby, one advertised parking available, but when I asked about it they said the parking was already taken - by their car! The other also advertised parking, but she said is was "on-street" and safe, and also the kitchen was outside the apartment, which was essentially a large bed-sit with a bathroom and balcony, across a hallway and without a door, so easily accessible by the other apartments, though she assured me it was just for "my" apartment! I declined both of these! I contacted the landlady of the apartment I had been in the first year, and she said she could only "guarantee" availability for me if I paid a deposit in advance, which in the end I did.
So year 3 I was back in the same apartment, and found that the crockery I had bought before was almost all broken, the pillows replaced with more musty ones, and I had to replace a few more things. Apart from that I spent another agreeable year in Peru, though the neighbours seemed a little noisier. Year 4 was a similar story - I again had to replace some equipment, as the supplied things were getting more decrepit, and more pillows!! The same goes for year 5 - though two apartments were now taken by long-term foreign tenants, and there was a crazy lady in the apartment below me, who blamed me for any and all noise in the building (I am like a mouse as I am only too conscious that I am sharing a small space with others and try to keep as quiet as possible), and used to harangue me often, despite me trying to convince her that it wasn't me! Eventually the landlady had to evict here as she was fighting and swearing with everyone!
Towards the end of year 5 the landlady informed me that there would not be any parking the following year as she was looking to rent the whole ground floor, including the parking courtyard, to the mini-market next door. Year 5 had been particularly noisy, too, not only the crazy lady below, but also a large group on the ground floor, and the young lady above me made quite a lot of noise (that I was being blamed for by crazy lady!), so I was not too disappointed that I would have to look elsewhere, and, in fact, the landlord from year 2 had a small apartment available, that I booked in advance!
The only "snag" with this apartment is that it was on the 5th floor (we would call it 4th, as the ground floor here is the 1st), and the stairs were a bit of a problem for my advancing years, but it was again very well appointed, though secure parking was a few blocks away, and had great views over the town. Unfortunately it was not going to be available this year, year 7, upon my arrival, and the only thing he had available was a 3 bedroomed apartment in a different building (owned by someone else but managed by him) which I could rent for 6 weeks until he had something smaller available after Easter. It was again going to be on the 5th floor, but was a lot more expensive, too, that I was willing to pay, and I wasn't that keen on moving during my stay, so I started looking elsewhere again.
There was a place I had ridden past often during my stays and I found an online advert for it - it looked nice, even though it was located in a campsite so I thought could be a bit noisy, so I contacted them and booked it for my 7th year stay in Peru. On arrival, however, they showed me to a completely different apartment - the one I had booked was not available, but they had others, which were open-plan bedsits, with a hotplate rather than a cooker, and were totally unacceptable. I had just spent over 30 hours travelling to Peru, including an overnight stay in Lima airport, and found myself without a place to stay! In desperation I called the landlord from the previous year and his wife said they might have something, so I caught a passing taxi and went to his building.
His wife (he was away) showed me another building they were managing, and another 3-bedroomed apartment, again fairly new and very well appointed, but again quite expensive! I could stay there for 2 weeks, but it was booked after that, though they would have an apartment in their building 10 days after that, meaning I needed to find somewhere for the intervening days! This was also a 5th floor apartment, and this year I was struggling even more with the stairs (bad knee, old motorbike injury, and bad ankle), so felt I needed to look for a lower floor solution.
I contacted my landlady from before and she told me "my" old apartment would be available 10 days after I moved out of the one I was in, but that she had something I could stay in until then. So I moved back into the building I had been in 5 times before. The mini-market move hadn't materialised so the parking was also available, and 10 days after moving into a large bedsit I was back in my "old" apartment!
Yet again the equipment was woefully inadequate, and as far as I can tell there is nothing new since my first stay here 7 years ago! So much so that I stored all her kitchen equipment (utensils, crockery, etc.) and am using all of my own, and again had to buy new pillows. She seems to have an endless supply of old, lumpy, musty pillows! The main gate to the parking is damaged too, though I have told her about it, and it is quite difficult to get the up-and-over gate to stay open so I can get the bike in and out! 3 months in and still nothing has been done about that!
This year there are only 2 apartments occupied besides mine, both long-term by young ladies, though both now have boyfriends staying - one above me, and one below me. The young lady below has a dog with her, and until the boyfriend moved in I never heard her - literally I could not tell if she was home or not, and never even heard the door - however now both doors are slammed shut on entry and exit! Similarly the people upstairs - the apartment door is slammed hard, sometimes more than once as they appear to have trouble closing it, on entry/exit, and just this morning (at 07.30) it was slammed 4 times in the space of 5 minutes! It appeared they were taking some things downstairs one flight then going back for more, and each time the door was slammed on entry/exit, which is several times a day! The door to the street is slammed by her too, and occasionally not even shut properly so the lock doesn't catch, leaving the property unsecured! I manage to close both my apartment door and the street door without resorting to slamming them, but then I have always been considerate towards others.
I really like this apartment - it is spacious, in a good location close to the beach where I take my daily walks, and has secure parking for my bike, but I just wish that fellow tenants would show as much consideration to other building users as I do. It is the only downside to living here, especially since I am now using my own belongings in the kitchen!! With only 2 months left this year till I return to Brazil my thoughts are turning to 2020, and whether I try and re-book, or see if I can find something quieter!!
in Peru, however, where I spend the other 6 months each year, I have to rent. I do have certain requirements from the property I rent, apart from price being a major factor, primarily that it has secure off-road parking for my motorbike, a kitchen with a proper cooker (many rentals here are "holiday" lets so may only have a twin-burner hotplate), and include electricity, water and internet in the price. It also, obviously, must be furnished! As I only stay for 6 months I cannot negotiate my own utility bills, as minimum contracts are usually 12 months, and clearly having my own furniture is not really an option - even though renting an unfurnished place would be cheaper. I do have quite a lot of my own things which I store, along with my bike, with a friend here - kitchen utensils, bedding, towels, and so on - as the supplied equipment with apartments is usually either "old" or inadequate.
The first year I was here I was assisted in finding somewhere by the charity I was volunteering for - in the case of most volunteers the charity sets up the accommodation beforehand, but I was left to look at their selection once I arrived. I also had to make a quick decision on the only place they had found, though I had a couple more lined up myself to look at, as the landlady had someone else interested, and for the most part I am quite happy with my choice. It is only half a block from the beach on a fairly quiet street, and is a small building with only 7 apartments, but with two separate entrances, so only 3 accessed from the same side as mine.
The apartment is one bed-roomed, but quite spacious, with a small kitchen, and a large lounge-dining room and a balcony, plus access to the roof terrace, where the washing lines are. The kitchen was not very well equipped, though did have a full cooker, so I bought some of my own things, like a set of crockery and cutlery, and kitchen knives, and a lot of the general furnishings, provided bedding and towels were pretty old - the pillows were a little musty so I bought some of those too!
Most of the other apartments were occupied by short-term tenants, and though at times a little noisy, that first year was not too bad. At the end of my stay I asked if I could book again for the following year, but the landlady was reluctant to commit so far ahead in case she lost a permanent lease by accepting my booking, so asked if I would confirm closer to my arrival date in 6 months time. However by then the apartment was already taken until a month after my arrival so I had to look elsewhere.
Although there were quite a few online adverts for apartments getting a response from the advertisers was more difficult - with many not responding, and some of the email addresses bouncing back as "unknown" - so in the end I arrived the following March, booked into a hostel for a week and started apartment hunting! As it was just before Easter there was not much available, particularly for the 6 month period I required, but eventually I responded to a large advert outside a new building and they had a brand-new 3 bedroomed apartment available. It was much bigger - and more expensive - that I needed, but was beautifully appointed, if a little further from the beach, so I took it for the full 6 months. The English-speaking landlord gave me a special price based on 6 months occupancy, and a single occupancy rebate, but it was still a lot more than I had paid the previous year. One downside to this apartment was that other apartment in my floor, which was going to be the owner/landlord's apartment, was not yet finished, so there was a lot of construction noise for the next two months!
At the end of my second stay in Peru I started looking for somewhere for the following year - the apartment I was in was great, but really too expensive, so I needed something smaller and cheaper. I looked at two other one-bedroomed apartments nearby, one advertised parking available, but when I asked about it they said the parking was already taken - by their car! The other also advertised parking, but she said is was "on-street" and safe, and also the kitchen was outside the apartment, which was essentially a large bed-sit with a bathroom and balcony, across a hallway and without a door, so easily accessible by the other apartments, though she assured me it was just for "my" apartment! I declined both of these! I contacted the landlady of the apartment I had been in the first year, and she said she could only "guarantee" availability for me if I paid a deposit in advance, which in the end I did.
So year 3 I was back in the same apartment, and found that the crockery I had bought before was almost all broken, the pillows replaced with more musty ones, and I had to replace a few more things. Apart from that I spent another agreeable year in Peru, though the neighbours seemed a little noisier. Year 4 was a similar story - I again had to replace some equipment, as the supplied things were getting more decrepit, and more pillows!! The same goes for year 5 - though two apartments were now taken by long-term foreign tenants, and there was a crazy lady in the apartment below me, who blamed me for any and all noise in the building (I am like a mouse as I am only too conscious that I am sharing a small space with others and try to keep as quiet as possible), and used to harangue me often, despite me trying to convince her that it wasn't me! Eventually the landlady had to evict here as she was fighting and swearing with everyone!
Towards the end of year 5 the landlady informed me that there would not be any parking the following year as she was looking to rent the whole ground floor, including the parking courtyard, to the mini-market next door. Year 5 had been particularly noisy, too, not only the crazy lady below, but also a large group on the ground floor, and the young lady above me made quite a lot of noise (that I was being blamed for by crazy lady!), so I was not too disappointed that I would have to look elsewhere, and, in fact, the landlord from year 2 had a small apartment available, that I booked in advance!
The only "snag" with this apartment is that it was on the 5th floor (we would call it 4th, as the ground floor here is the 1st), and the stairs were a bit of a problem for my advancing years, but it was again very well appointed, though secure parking was a few blocks away, and had great views over the town. Unfortunately it was not going to be available this year, year 7, upon my arrival, and the only thing he had available was a 3 bedroomed apartment in a different building (owned by someone else but managed by him) which I could rent for 6 weeks until he had something smaller available after Easter. It was again going to be on the 5th floor, but was a lot more expensive, too, that I was willing to pay, and I wasn't that keen on moving during my stay, so I started looking elsewhere again.
There was a place I had ridden past often during my stays and I found an online advert for it - it looked nice, even though it was located in a campsite so I thought could be a bit noisy, so I contacted them and booked it for my 7th year stay in Peru. On arrival, however, they showed me to a completely different apartment - the one I had booked was not available, but they had others, which were open-plan bedsits, with a hotplate rather than a cooker, and were totally unacceptable. I had just spent over 30 hours travelling to Peru, including an overnight stay in Lima airport, and found myself without a place to stay! In desperation I called the landlord from the previous year and his wife said they might have something, so I caught a passing taxi and went to his building.
His wife (he was away) showed me another building they were managing, and another 3-bedroomed apartment, again fairly new and very well appointed, but again quite expensive! I could stay there for 2 weeks, but it was booked after that, though they would have an apartment in their building 10 days after that, meaning I needed to find somewhere for the intervening days! This was also a 5th floor apartment, and this year I was struggling even more with the stairs (bad knee, old motorbike injury, and bad ankle), so felt I needed to look for a lower floor solution.
I contacted my landlady from before and she told me "my" old apartment would be available 10 days after I moved out of the one I was in, but that she had something I could stay in until then. So I moved back into the building I had been in 5 times before. The mini-market move hadn't materialised so the parking was also available, and 10 days after moving into a large bedsit I was back in my "old" apartment!
Yet again the equipment was woefully inadequate, and as far as I can tell there is nothing new since my first stay here 7 years ago! So much so that I stored all her kitchen equipment (utensils, crockery, etc.) and am using all of my own, and again had to buy new pillows. She seems to have an endless supply of old, lumpy, musty pillows! The main gate to the parking is damaged too, though I have told her about it, and it is quite difficult to get the up-and-over gate to stay open so I can get the bike in and out! 3 months in and still nothing has been done about that!
This year there are only 2 apartments occupied besides mine, both long-term by young ladies, though both now have boyfriends staying - one above me, and one below me. The young lady below has a dog with her, and until the boyfriend moved in I never heard her - literally I could not tell if she was home or not, and never even heard the door - however now both doors are slammed shut on entry and exit! Similarly the people upstairs - the apartment door is slammed hard, sometimes more than once as they appear to have trouble closing it, on entry/exit, and just this morning (at 07.30) it was slammed 4 times in the space of 5 minutes! It appeared they were taking some things downstairs one flight then going back for more, and each time the door was slammed on entry/exit, which is several times a day! The door to the street is slammed by her too, and occasionally not even shut properly so the lock doesn't catch, leaving the property unsecured! I manage to close both my apartment door and the street door without resorting to slamming them, but then I have always been considerate towards others.
I really like this apartment - it is spacious, in a good location close to the beach where I take my daily walks, and has secure parking for my bike, but I just wish that fellow tenants would show as much consideration to other building users as I do. It is the only downside to living here, especially since I am now using my own belongings in the kitchen!! With only 2 months left this year till I return to Brazil my thoughts are turning to 2020, and whether I try and re-book, or see if I can find something quieter!!
Monday 27 May 2019
Home comforts
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| Huanchaco, Peru |
I own my house in Brazil, but do not have permanent residence there so can only stay - as a tourist - for 6 months of the year. The remaining 6 months I stay in a small seaside town in Peru, Huanchaco, where I rent an apartment for the duration of my stay.
The first year here (7 years ago now!) I found a decent, spacious one-bedroomed apartment close to the seafront in a nice location which was well within my budget, so rented that for the 6 months. The apartment has a separate bedroom, small kitchen, and a large sitting/dining room, leading to a good balcony, there is also a laundry area (hand washing sink), and a staircase leading to the shared roof terrace, which has a drying area.
The cooker and fridge were old, but serviceable, as really were all the furnishings, and the provided sheets (one set) and towels (one bath and one hand) were again just "adequate". The kitchen equipment, however, was dismal! One plate, cup, knife, fork, spoon, and so on, and not very good quality.
I decided that I needed to buy what I required, so made a trip to the local supermarket and stocked up with a set of cutlery, a set of crockery, a set of glassware, storage containers, some kitchen utensils, a kitchen knife set, and a few extra odds and ends (tea towels and the like!) - they were from the supermarket's economy range so not that expensive, but did make the apartment feel more like home!
Over the course of my stay I also bought some new pillows (the provided ones were lumpy and smelled a little musty), another set of towels, and a sheet set, as well as a new frying pan! I had met a lovely Peruvian family while here, who as well as two of their own children were fostering 6 others, and got to know them all very well, and as my departure approached I asked if I could leave some belongings with the, and would collect them on my return. (I did pay them a small storage fee, which helped them enormously, but they were glad to help) I packed up some of the new things I had bought, but did leave the crockery, the pillows and the frying pan in the apartment.
The following year the apartment was not available until a month after I arrived so I managed to find a different one. This was a brand new building, and I was the first tenant in that apartment - which was three-bedroomed, so much too big (and expensive!) for me on my own - which was beautifully appointed! The furnishings were top quality, included two 48" flat screen TV's (one in the lounge and the other in the master bedroom), and the kitchen items brand new and more than adequate - and included a rice cooker, liquidiser and microwave. The only downside was that the rent was almost double what I had paid the previous year, and ate into my savings.
At the end of my stay I went to see the previous landlady to see if the first apartment would be available the following year, and she hummed and harred and said she could not guarantee it that far ahead in case she got a long-term tenancy offer, but if I cared to pay a deposit now she would ensure it was available - so that is what I did.
Upon my return I was surprised to find that almost all the crockery I had left had disappeared - she said it had been broken by intervening tenants - and the pillows were also gone, with lumpy ones back in their place! The frying pan was also battered out of shape, so utterly unusable! So once I had reclaimed my belongings from my friends here so could see what I needed it was another trip to the supermarket - more pillows, glasses, mugs, frying pan and a kettle, as the handle was falling off the one supplied! I also bought some cushions - the first year I was there I was impressed by the number of cushions scattered around the living room seating, but this time there were just two lumpy ones, so I bought 4 more!
The plug for the laundry sink had also vanished, and despite my and her efforts we could not find a suitable replacement (it was a non-standard sized brass one!), so I bought some large bowls to place in the sink and do my washing.
At the end of that stay I again had to pay a deposit to guarantee it was available the following year, and yet again on my return many of the things I had left had disappeared or were damaged - bowls for laundry, pillows (more lumpy ones had materialised!), frying pan, crockery numbers had diminished again, glassware, mugs. She told me that the other tenants had broken things, but that as there were still "sufficient" for a single tenant she did not replace anything! This time I bought a better quality frying pan, and this one got added to my stored items, and not left behind!
It was a similar situation the following year as well, and, of course, things like the cooker and fridge were also in a poorer state of repair every time I returned! You may ask why I kept returning to this apartment, but it was a matter of convenience, as the location was ideal, there was secure parking for my motorbike, the price was reasonable (though the rent did go up every year!), and I had looked around and not been able to find anything else that ticked all the boxes!
As the end of my 4th stay in the apartment, and 5th in Peru, the landlady told me that there may not be any parking the following year as she was looking to let the whole ground floor as a grocery shop! I was as much concerned about noise as losing the parking, so decided to look elsewhere for the following year. The landlord I had stayed with during year 2 had built a few more small apartments so I went to see him, and provisionally booked with him, though the apartment I really wanted was unavailable, but could become free, so we left it like that.
Once back in Brazil I started worrying that if I didn't make a firm booking I could find myself without a place to stay, so booked a different small one-bedroomed apartment with him. Fortunately, though, shortly after that the preferred apartment, on the top floor, became available so I swapped to that one. Again the apartments were beautifully finished and appointed, and had access to a washing machine, but the 5 flights of stairs were a challenge to me at my advancing age, especially on arrival/departure carrying luggage, and with the weekly shopping!
At the end of year 6 I asked about availability for the next year, and unfortunately he already had nothing until 6 weeks after my arrival (there were by now 4 long-term tenants in the building), but offered me a 3 bed-roomed apartment in a building nearby he was managing for a friend for the interim. I was not enamoured with the idea of having to move, and also the rental, albeit only for 6 weeks, was very high, so I said I would think about it and get back to him, however two weeks later he emailed me the large apartment was no longer available!
I did manage to find and book another smaller apartment with someone else, but upon my arrival was shown something totally different to the one advertised, and totally unsuitable, so was at my wits end - especially after over 30 hours travel with no sleep! I called the previous landlord out of desperation, and he did have another (3 bedroomed!) apartment available (another he was managing!), but only for 3 weeks, but should have something else available in his own building after that, but that might also be 3 bedrooms! I was once more on the 5th floor, and this year was struggling much more with the stairs, so again reverted to calling my old landlady - the grocery shop idea hadn't materialised and she had been messaging me to see if I still needed somewhere. "My" apartment would only be available in 10 days, but she did have a bedsit that I could have in the meanwhile, so I took that.
Once again the lumpy pillows were back, and this time the pots and pans in the kitchen were in a poor state, so again it was a trip to the supermarket! The bowls I had previously bought for the laundry area were gone, and still no plug, so I decided this year to take my stuff to a laundry for cleaning rather than buy more bowls and buckets! The bathroom and kitchen, though, had waste bins that were so tiny (and damaged in the case of the bathroom) so I replaced them as well, and bought a set of saucepans, including a kettle, and even a draining board, and chopping boards - as well as, of course, more pillows!
Upon arrival all the provided cutlery and kitchen utensils go into a plastic bag, where they remain until I leave, and this time the pots and pans joined them too - so basically the only "supplied" things I am using this year are plates, everything else (mugs, glasses, cereal bowls, cutlery, kitchen knives, kitchen utensils, and all the pots and pans) is mine! Wear and tear on her things is minimal when I am here - I still have my own sheets and towels, which I alternate with hers when they are being washed - and I don't even use the supplied TV as I use the internet for my entertainment (in fact she removes the TV if I am not going to use it!!) - I must be the perfect tenant (I even pay the rent early if she is here a day or so before the due date to save her making a special trip out!), as I even do small repairs myself (in the past I have replaced a broken light switch - was broken when I arrived - and a leaky toilet valve!), but I treat this place as my "home away from home" and do like to maintain certain standards of comfort while I am here!
Thursday 25 April 2019
Being ill abroad
One of my biggest worries about living outside the UK, where healthcare is free through the NHS (OK, you have already paid for it in a lifetime of taxes!), though sometimes slow, is getting seriously ill. Many prescription-only medicines in the UK are available "over the counter" with little or no control in both Brazil and Peru, and pharmacists can pretty much hand out whatever they like! Simple painkillers, like Paracetamol, which in the UK you can but a pack of 16 for around £0.25 cost about £0.20 for 2, so I tend to stock up on these whenever I visit the UK.
When I first started living in Brazil I purchased "Backpackers" travel insurance, mainly because you could take out an 18 month policy whereas most others were short-term, and it covered emergency medical treatment, and even repatriation for serious injuries. I renewed a couple of times, but this was actually against the policy terms, and knowing that they would check were I to make a big claim, and refuse if I contravened these terms I eventually let it lapse (I was supposed to only take it out in the UK as well before travel!). I also looked into an overseas healthcare plan - but for over-60's these were astronomical, and would have cost almost as much as my total annual income. The cheapest one I found, but still not realistically affordable, was linked only to hospitals in the Sao Paulo area in Brazil, over 2000 miles from where I was living! So I decided to take my chances and return to the UK should I need to - bearing in mind that minor procedures would be a lot cheaper locally in Brazil or Peru than the cost of the airfare home!
I have been lucky - despite riding a motorbike out here, and having done some light walking in the Andes and in Brazil, I have remained injury free. That is, until this year! My annual trip between Brazil and Peru involves 3 flights each way, and carrying cabin luggage (laptop back-pack) and hand luggage between planes, often what seem to be ridiculously long and unnecessary distances, can be tiring, even with wheels on the holdall I use. Often by the time I reach my destination my arm and shoulder muscles are aching and take a few days to recover.
This year was no different, but exacerbated by the fact that the accommodation I had booked 5 months previously in Peru was not available, and the alternatives offered woefully inadequate. So after over 30 hours with no sleep I was on the street outside wondering what to do next! I knew of a restaurant nearby that had a couple of rooms, so started heading for there, now also lugging my heavy wheeled suitcase behind me, but then decided to call a previous landlord (who I also now consider a friend as I have known him for 6 years) to see if he had anything available. His wife answered as he was away (he works part-time as purser on a cruise liner!!) and she said they could probably help temporarily, so I should head there - and then I had to carry my bags up a further three flights of stairs! There was an apartment close by that they were managing, and that would be available from the following day, if I would like to look at it - it was having some maintenance done. We left my bags and walked round, and I decided to take it, though it was only going to be available for 3 weeks - so we went back to collect my bags, down three flights, up the road and then up the 5 flights to the new apartment - they were going to continue working and clean the place while I got some much needed sleep!!
By this time my shoulder and arm were hurting a lot, but I still put this down to the muscle strain of luggage carrying - and over the next few days it eased a little, but I had to shop for groceries and carry them up, so was not giving the aching muscles time to recover fully. After 2 weeks my shoulder in particular was hurting all the time, and one morning I reached back to rub the area ... and discovered a lump, about half the size of a tennis ball, on my shoulder-blade! Other than knowing it shouldn't be there I had no idea what t could be, so immediately went to the local health centre, where I had to wait almost three hours to see a doctor!
She examined my shoulder and suggested it was a muscular strain, but that the joint was inflamed, so prescribed pain killers and anti-inflammatory drugs, and said to return in 5 days if it was no better. The pain subsided considerably, but the lump was no different, so after 5 days I returned, but saw a different doctor this time, who sent me for an x-ray and an ultrasound. In Peru many auxiliary services like these are provided by private organisations, not the main health centres or hospitals, so I had to go to 2 different places, and then return later in the day for the results - both of which were inconclusive. I took these back to the same doctor, and he sent me for a tomography scan (at one of the places I had been to the day before), and I took the results back to him. The report said I appeared to have a "soft mass" on my shoulder-blade, and he said that the health centre could not really do any more as he felt I needed a biopsy so he referred me to a general surgeon at a local hospital.
This surgeon said he thought it was probably a cancerous tumour, but that the shoulder was a secondary location, so I needed a full tomography (chest, abdomen and pelvis) and referred me to an oncologist (with the results) at a private clinic! It was starting to get expensive with all these tests and consultation fees, and the oncologist suggested (since I didn't have insurance) that should cancer and chemotherapy be required that I should consider returning to the UK for the treatment there. I explained that it would cost me around £600 for the airfare alone so unless treatment was going to be more expensive, my best option would be to remain in Peru. The oncologist then referred me to a Traumatologist, as the scans were still "inconclusive" and she felt the "mass" was hard and possibly bony!
The Traumatologist also though the lump was bone, or possibly cartilage, and that a biopsy was needed (Hmm, where had I heard that before? Oh, yes, at the health centre before the second round of expensive tests and consults), so referred me to an endocrinologist and requested a load of blood tests first. I took them to her and my blood sugars were too high to risk the biopsy so was put on a course of pills to try and bring that down, and then, of course, more blood tests! They were still too high, so now am on more pills to bring it down (as well as my cholesterol!) and have two weeks before the next tests!
So far it has cost me more than the price of a ticket back to the UK, and I am still no closer to knowing what the problem is, and still have a large, occasionally painful, lump on my shoulder-blade - the lump isn't painful, but local muscles are. It is looking increasingly unlikely that it is cancerous, or malignant, but still needs dealing with - for me the sooner the better!
When I first started living in Brazil I purchased "Backpackers" travel insurance, mainly because you could take out an 18 month policy whereas most others were short-term, and it covered emergency medical treatment, and even repatriation for serious injuries. I renewed a couple of times, but this was actually against the policy terms, and knowing that they would check were I to make a big claim, and refuse if I contravened these terms I eventually let it lapse (I was supposed to only take it out in the UK as well before travel!). I also looked into an overseas healthcare plan - but for over-60's these were astronomical, and would have cost almost as much as my total annual income. The cheapest one I found, but still not realistically affordable, was linked only to hospitals in the Sao Paulo area in Brazil, over 2000 miles from where I was living! So I decided to take my chances and return to the UK should I need to - bearing in mind that minor procedures would be a lot cheaper locally in Brazil or Peru than the cost of the airfare home!
I have been lucky - despite riding a motorbike out here, and having done some light walking in the Andes and in Brazil, I have remained injury free. That is, until this year! My annual trip between Brazil and Peru involves 3 flights each way, and carrying cabin luggage (laptop back-pack) and hand luggage between planes, often what seem to be ridiculously long and unnecessary distances, can be tiring, even with wheels on the holdall I use. Often by the time I reach my destination my arm and shoulder muscles are aching and take a few days to recover.
This year was no different, but exacerbated by the fact that the accommodation I had booked 5 months previously in Peru was not available, and the alternatives offered woefully inadequate. So after over 30 hours with no sleep I was on the street outside wondering what to do next! I knew of a restaurant nearby that had a couple of rooms, so started heading for there, now also lugging my heavy wheeled suitcase behind me, but then decided to call a previous landlord (who I also now consider a friend as I have known him for 6 years) to see if he had anything available. His wife answered as he was away (he works part-time as purser on a cruise liner!!) and she said they could probably help temporarily, so I should head there - and then I had to carry my bags up a further three flights of stairs! There was an apartment close by that they were managing, and that would be available from the following day, if I would like to look at it - it was having some maintenance done. We left my bags and walked round, and I decided to take it, though it was only going to be available for 3 weeks - so we went back to collect my bags, down three flights, up the road and then up the 5 flights to the new apartment - they were going to continue working and clean the place while I got some much needed sleep!!
By this time my shoulder and arm were hurting a lot, but I still put this down to the muscle strain of luggage carrying - and over the next few days it eased a little, but I had to shop for groceries and carry them up, so was not giving the aching muscles time to recover fully. After 2 weeks my shoulder in particular was hurting all the time, and one morning I reached back to rub the area ... and discovered a lump, about half the size of a tennis ball, on my shoulder-blade! Other than knowing it shouldn't be there I had no idea what t could be, so immediately went to the local health centre, where I had to wait almost three hours to see a doctor!
She examined my shoulder and suggested it was a muscular strain, but that the joint was inflamed, so prescribed pain killers and anti-inflammatory drugs, and said to return in 5 days if it was no better. The pain subsided considerably, but the lump was no different, so after 5 days I returned, but saw a different doctor this time, who sent me for an x-ray and an ultrasound. In Peru many auxiliary services like these are provided by private organisations, not the main health centres or hospitals, so I had to go to 2 different places, and then return later in the day for the results - both of which were inconclusive. I took these back to the same doctor, and he sent me for a tomography scan (at one of the places I had been to the day before), and I took the results back to him. The report said I appeared to have a "soft mass" on my shoulder-blade, and he said that the health centre could not really do any more as he felt I needed a biopsy so he referred me to a general surgeon at a local hospital.
This surgeon said he thought it was probably a cancerous tumour, but that the shoulder was a secondary location, so I needed a full tomography (chest, abdomen and pelvis) and referred me to an oncologist (with the results) at a private clinic! It was starting to get expensive with all these tests and consultation fees, and the oncologist suggested (since I didn't have insurance) that should cancer and chemotherapy be required that I should consider returning to the UK for the treatment there. I explained that it would cost me around £600 for the airfare alone so unless treatment was going to be more expensive, my best option would be to remain in Peru. The oncologist then referred me to a Traumatologist, as the scans were still "inconclusive" and she felt the "mass" was hard and possibly bony!
The Traumatologist also though the lump was bone, or possibly cartilage, and that a biopsy was needed (Hmm, where had I heard that before? Oh, yes, at the health centre before the second round of expensive tests and consults), so referred me to an endocrinologist and requested a load of blood tests first. I took them to her and my blood sugars were too high to risk the biopsy so was put on a course of pills to try and bring that down, and then, of course, more blood tests! They were still too high, so now am on more pills to bring it down (as well as my cholesterol!) and have two weeks before the next tests!
So far it has cost me more than the price of a ticket back to the UK, and I am still no closer to knowing what the problem is, and still have a large, occasionally painful, lump on my shoulder-blade - the lump isn't painful, but local muscles are. It is looking increasingly unlikely that it is cancerous, or malignant, but still needs dealing with - for me the sooner the better!
Sunday 10 February 2019
Heading home from school
At the moment we are experiencing a long spell of very hot (lows of 27C, and highs of 33C - indoors!), and very dry weather here in Brazil, and it is making sleeping very uncomfortable. I have table fans, but no air-conditioning as the normal method of house construction here is not really suitable for AC - single skin walls, no insulation in the loft space - which would make it very expensive to run, and most of the cool air would dissipate without really being effective.
It reminded me of a trip home from boarding school in Rhodesia to our home in Mozambique, and the most unpleasant night I have ever spent. I used to travel by plane from the sugar estate on the banks of the Zambezi River to Beira, and then catch a train to Rhodesia - the total journey taking around 21 hours, and occurring three times a year (three school terms), but was quite an adventure! On occasion my parents would time a holiday and collect me from school by car, and we would then drive back, usually after spending a few days on holiday as a family first. On this occasion, however, we were going straight back to Mozambique.
I had invited a school-friend to come and spend some time with me - he lived in Ethiopia at the time, where his father was a banker, and his trip home used to take close to three days! My father had a soft-top Toyota Land Cruiser at the time, and though not the most comfortable of vehicles, especially in the back which had hard benches with thin cushions, and no padded backrests, it did have a 4 litre straight 6 petrol engine and ate up the miles (and the fuel!), though the off-road tyres were a little noisy on the tarmac.
Of course, back then there were also no seat-belts in such a vehicle, but on the tarred sections, with towels and a blanket to lean on, the journey was comfortable enough. It was decided we would make the trip in two stages - the first 450 kms, crossing the Rhodesia/Mozambique border and then on to Beira, and then the following day we would tackle the dirt.
The first day was uneventful - the Land Cruiser hummed along up and down the hills and valleys without missing a beat, and the border crossing was routine, taking almost no time. We had stopped for lunch in Umtali, where the Rhodesia border was, and continued on towards Beira. Dad was getting a little tired after about 7 hours driving so it was decided that instead of going through to Beira for the night, and then back-tracking the 40 kms to where the turning to home was, that we would look for a hotel and spend the night closer to the turning. In a small town called Dondo, very close to the start of the dirt road, we spotted a likely looking place and pulled in.
We booked two rooms, one for Mum and Dad, and one for Pete and I (two single beds), and after a pleasant meal in their restaurant, settled down for the night, planning an early start at first light. The place was more like a truck-stop motel, with the rooms in blocks of four in separate buildings, and very basic. They had bathrooms with showers, but no fans or air-conditioning - and it was very hot! There was one small window, but keeping that open just filled the room with mosquitoes, and though we had spray the relief was temporary so we decided to keep the window closed!
Sleep was fleeting, as the heat was so oppressive, and Pete and I spent the night taking cold (well, lukewarm, as the water was not that cold) showers and then lying on a towel to allow evaporation to cool us down a little. It gave us a little relief, but we got very little sleep, and eventually at about 03.30 we decided to go for a walk rather than stay in the room. It was cooler outside, and there was also a slight breeze, so we just wandered around for a short while, before heading back. As we passed my parents' room we noticed their light was on, so tapped on the door - they too had not got much sleep due to the heat, so we decided to leave then and continue the journey home.
The Land Cruiser is built for dirt roads, and handled everything the road threw at it. Much of this road is just two deep ruts that all traffic follows, and a previous trip in a car was extremely unpleasant, however the impressive ground clearance of the Toyota meant that even when we had to move aside when we met oncoming traffic, it was no big deal. What was a big deal, though, was that it was really uncomfortable in the back! The makeshift blanket backrests wouldn't stay in place as we bounced along no matter how hard we tried to brace against the bumps. Added to this the soft-top was no protection from the dust, and it was being sucked in through the rear flap, even when closed, and coating everything!
About halfway along the dirt we stopped for a break, at a small place called Inhaminga, and we must have been quite a sight as we climbed out completely covered in dust! We had a bit to eat and then pressed on, though it was decided that at Chupanga, where we met the Zambezi, we would complete the final 50 kms of the journey by railcar since we were all suffering the effects of sleep deprivation, dust inhalation and sore backs from the bouncing!
At Chupanga we had a short delay while waiting for the railcar - they are operated by the sugar company my Dad worked for - and went for a wander round. We discovered the grave of Mary Moffat, wife of explorer David Livingstone, who had come out to join him but died from Malaria.
The railcar arrived and we loaded up the Land Cruiser and set off again. It was only around 50 kms to Marromeu, on the South bank of the Zambezi, where we would make to crossing, and I was lucky enough to get the front seat alongside the driver so had beautiful fresh air in my face, and a great view of the journey. I looked back at one stage to say something to the others and was alarmed to see the Land Cruiser swaying vigorously from side to side on the flat-bed, but the driver assured me this was normal and no cause for concern! At Marromeu we had to take another form of transport to cross the river - paddle steamer!
The sugar estate used low-draught paddle steamers, with barges attached either side, to transport the sugar from Luabo, our home and the Northern plantations of the sugar estate, to Marromeu and the rail-head that then took them to Beira for distribution - and these paddle steamers were, in fact, the most common form of freight transport too. There was space between the holds for a vehicle, and it was here that the Land Cruiser was loaded - though driving aboard on flimsy-looking planks was always nerve wracking!
The trip down and across river, with the current, takes under an hour, and soon we were in Luabo and heading home, after a trip that took the best part of two days, but was also an incredible adventure!
It reminded me of a trip home from boarding school in Rhodesia to our home in Mozambique, and the most unpleasant night I have ever spent. I used to travel by plane from the sugar estate on the banks of the Zambezi River to Beira, and then catch a train to Rhodesia - the total journey taking around 21 hours, and occurring three times a year (three school terms), but was quite an adventure! On occasion my parents would time a holiday and collect me from school by car, and we would then drive back, usually after spending a few days on holiday as a family first. On this occasion, however, we were going straight back to Mozambique.
I had invited a school-friend to come and spend some time with me - he lived in Ethiopia at the time, where his father was a banker, and his trip home used to take close to three days! My father had a soft-top Toyota Land Cruiser at the time, and though not the most comfortable of vehicles, especially in the back which had hard benches with thin cushions, and no padded backrests, it did have a 4 litre straight 6 petrol engine and ate up the miles (and the fuel!), though the off-road tyres were a little noisy on the tarmac.
 |
| Land Cruiser, with doors removed for use on the sugar estate |
The first day was uneventful - the Land Cruiser hummed along up and down the hills and valleys without missing a beat, and the border crossing was routine, taking almost no time. We had stopped for lunch in Umtali, where the Rhodesia border was, and continued on towards Beira. Dad was getting a little tired after about 7 hours driving so it was decided that instead of going through to Beira for the night, and then back-tracking the 40 kms to where the turning to home was, that we would look for a hotel and spend the night closer to the turning. In a small town called Dondo, very close to the start of the dirt road, we spotted a likely looking place and pulled in.
We booked two rooms, one for Mum and Dad, and one for Pete and I (two single beds), and after a pleasant meal in their restaurant, settled down for the night, planning an early start at first light. The place was more like a truck-stop motel, with the rooms in blocks of four in separate buildings, and very basic. They had bathrooms with showers, but no fans or air-conditioning - and it was very hot! There was one small window, but keeping that open just filled the room with mosquitoes, and though we had spray the relief was temporary so we decided to keep the window closed!
Sleep was fleeting, as the heat was so oppressive, and Pete and I spent the night taking cold (well, lukewarm, as the water was not that cold) showers and then lying on a towel to allow evaporation to cool us down a little. It gave us a little relief, but we got very little sleep, and eventually at about 03.30 we decided to go for a walk rather than stay in the room. It was cooler outside, and there was also a slight breeze, so we just wandered around for a short while, before heading back. As we passed my parents' room we noticed their light was on, so tapped on the door - they too had not got much sleep due to the heat, so we decided to leave then and continue the journey home.
The Land Cruiser is built for dirt roads, and handled everything the road threw at it. Much of this road is just two deep ruts that all traffic follows, and a previous trip in a car was extremely unpleasant, however the impressive ground clearance of the Toyota meant that even when we had to move aside when we met oncoming traffic, it was no big deal. What was a big deal, though, was that it was really uncomfortable in the back! The makeshift blanket backrests wouldn't stay in place as we bounced along no matter how hard we tried to brace against the bumps. Added to this the soft-top was no protection from the dust, and it was being sucked in through the rear flap, even when closed, and coating everything!
About halfway along the dirt we stopped for a break, at a small place called Inhaminga, and we must have been quite a sight as we climbed out completely covered in dust! We had a bit to eat and then pressed on, though it was decided that at Chupanga, where we met the Zambezi, we would complete the final 50 kms of the journey by railcar since we were all suffering the effects of sleep deprivation, dust inhalation and sore backs from the bouncing!
 |
| Railcar - a large flatbed was attacked to carry the Land Cruiser |
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| Gravestone of Mary Moffat, wife of David Livingstone, at Chupanga |
The sugar estate used low-draught paddle steamers, with barges attached either side, to transport the sugar from Luabo, our home and the Northern plantations of the sugar estate, to Marromeu and the rail-head that then took them to Beira for distribution - and these paddle steamers were, in fact, the most common form of freight transport too. There was space between the holds for a vehicle, and it was here that the Land Cruiser was loaded - though driving aboard on flimsy-looking planks was always nerve wracking!
 |
| One of the paddle steamers belonging to the sugar estate - the Land Cruiser was loaded onto one of the barges. |
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