No room at the Inn!

And how careful was I the other night meeting Andreis for a pre-arranged supper with his family? I went out with virtually no money and nothing of value, and it was an unnecessary caution. He turned up as promised, took me to his Chica’s family home and had a great meal, con carne, with the whole family. It was lovely and almost made me ashamed of any suspicion. OK, so the fact he’d served 6yrs for armed robbery did enhance my paranoia; but hey, caste the first stone and all that! They lived in a large but very rudimentary home, bare breeze block walls not even reaching the ceiling. But it was spacious, with all the amenities needed, and they were tight knit and obviously making the most of things. I was open and honest about my doubts, he was sincere about not wanting to scrounge off me. I didn’t care about buying a few beers for him, just wouldn’t tolerate being hustled; which I was careful not to accuse him of. We spoke of matters closer to the heart and formed closer bonds, I even admitted my own legal infractions and consequential incarceration. That isn’t something I’ve done often, so I was opening up. Actually turns out to be a good understanding between us. To be honest, my own opinions of tourists isn’t that different from the locals. If they’re that friggin’ blind and stupid then do they really deserve anything else but being taken advantage of? Wouldn’t the world be a fine place if this wasn’t necessary, if the huge cultural differences and financial imbalances didn’t make it an unavoidable reality. Isn’t it only redistribution of wealth? Until it’s my wealth their trying to redistribute, I’ll decide how that pans out, no-one else! Typical hypercrit eh?

So, about the pros and cons of Cuba. The medical system is free, a big plus, especially in a third world country, which to be absolutely honest Cuba is. There is a catch here though, which I agree with entirely! If you earn above a certain amount you must pay for it, so for the wealthier members of society it isn’t free. For folk like Federico (the new patron, who’s a lawyer) some of the cost must be meet by them. Of course they are not too happy about that, so slag off the Castros and the system over that. In my mind so they fucking should, Viva La Revolution! Isn’t always the same, those who have more are the ones who complain most. It sticks in the craw! A woman I got talking to had a really hard labour and ended up with an emergency caesarean, her daughter has asthmatic problems and has needed some emergency treatment a number of times. For her the free medicine has been a massive help, how can we question that. Screw the more wealthy, screw the professional classes, why should they deserve more than anyone else? Because they have had better opportunities? Surely not. More often they work fewer hours for lots more money, sorry folks I really can’t agree with the imbalances which dominate our world. Hey, I’ve even given money to a few people who I’ve judged might actually be poor and needy. One guy with buggered legs, there’s a surprise hey; I think not!

Education is another biggy! Where in the world does the population not benefit from education? Originating in a country that used to offer free higher education to all, who had the mental capacity for it, I’m all in favour of maximising the educational potential of the general population. If university students came from wealthier homes their contribution towards study increased, otherwise fees and maintenance were sponsored by the government. OK, the system of calculating financial means had it’s problems, but now students leave owing the equivalent of a mortgage and spend years paying back the huge debt. Great for Wales, they’ve bucked the system and grant fee-less places for students coming from, and going to universities in, Wales! Where-ever you go will be found a social class which does not appreciate the benefits of education, from observations it would appear that in itself is a product of a defunct society. Without social pressures to eat and provide shelter who would not improve the possible outcome of their lives, at least not with an official positive attitude and credible financial inducements. So Cuba isn’t perfect here, there are a lot of poverty stricken people who obviously do not value education. Unfortunately there is not enough money in the coffers to provide for all, tourism brings in a lot but to get it off the ground free enterprise had to be initiated to some extent. And there lays the problem, profit for the wealthy investors, piss poor wages for the workers. So even in Cuba, one of the last bastions of socialism, the rich get richer whilst the poor scrounge what they can.

I’m still trying to come to grips with losing Cai and almost becoming a quadriplegic. There’s little recognition of the body I inhabit, few thoughts that remind me of the person I once thought I knew so well. My current journey is one of rediscovery; who is this person who has twice risen from the ashes? What value can there be for life, a life that is beyond previous imagination? Losing Cai seemed the end of all ends, losing my mobility could easily have been the final straw. Instead it gave me renewed strength to fight back, a stubborn refusal to give in to hands of fate. I was determined to remain in control! Now even simple decisions prove a burden, it’s easier to allow whatever to happen to me. Is it really necessary to create a whole new persona? The physical and emotional aspects of my old life are totally different, obviously, otherwise it wouldn’t be a new life, DOH!

Another wonder is the extent of reconstruction in progress. UNESCO have ploughed huge amounts of money into the project of restoring Cuba’s historical heritage. I doubt if the tide will ever be significantly turned, many public buildings are ringed by scaffolding, even vast numbers of tenement buildings are earmarked for restoration. Meanwhile the city crumbles! Buildings with nary an intact wall are still lived in, blackened ruins hiding hardy residents, the gradual disintegration of 400 yr old slums now speedens towards its final resting place, as piles of rubble encroaching onto the sidewalk. The antiquity of the city adds to the vibe, but it can surely never regain the majesty it must once have displayed. Spending hours wandering the old city, I’m under no illusion as to the extent of degradation. Whole edifices shored up by huge timbers, defying the laws of gravity, even they give the impression of originating from the Kings of Spain’s navy. I find it enthralling, yet appalling! Look beneath centuries of grim and the slums show a rare quality, one of perseverance. Combined with a plethora of vehicles half a century old you’re left feeling you’ve entered a forgotten world which is struggling to catch up with itself, let alone the rest of the world!

Rap and Hip-hop reach the streets of Havana, not quite with the severity of American Ghettoes, but the signs are emerging. As a few youths lurch down the middle of the road, one proudly leading with his Pit-bull cross, NINA shaved into its flanks. Gangster Rap finds its mark in Cuba. Throughout the rest of the city no signs of swaggering youths have been seen, but ghettoes are special places. No openly friendly advances, no happy hustles, not even curious interest. The open streets are used for ferocious games of football, with little in the way of happy participation the ball is kicked with as much force as possible, oblivious to passersby. I moved accommodation to one of the most run down areas to be seen in the city, suspicion can be seen in most people’s eyes, distrust of the unfamiliar. There seems little clearly shown hostility, but people are guarded, helpful if approached, yet short and to the point. A nod in the required direction, a wave of the arm for indication, yet no more than required, no extra information on offer. My immediate feelings are uncertainty, why have I chosen this area, did I have my eyes closed when coming to view this apartment? Probably, desperate for more space and privacy I jumped at the chance.It was not the hub of tourist Havana, off the main roads there is no sign of other tourists. Isn’t this what seeing the real life of a foreign place is all about? Of typical Latino layout the whole of Havana is on a grid system, on first contact each street looks no different than its neighbour. Once over the initial sense of disorientation it isn’t so bad to navigate, all you need is a basic sense of direction. Unlike the main tourist area there is room for vehicles and people to share the roads. Being Cuba there is a distinct lack of vehicles in comparison to most countries, it isn’t devoid of them by any means, the main highways around the city sport a constant stream of smoke belching monsters. Between the common thoroughfares in this part cars are as often parked up on blocks. The most common form of transport lining the road are Bici-taxis. Those wonderful variations of bicycle, frame adapted to hold heavier duty, double rear wheels, generally with a couple of old plastic school chairs for two passengers, covered by a ratty canopy. They’re illegal to take tourists in, and few do, I’ve been in a few and only seen one other tourist in one; well, my bigotry keeps telling me white skin denotes a tourist.

At last I arrived at Maria La Gorda (literally Maria the fatso), renowned for its excellent diving. So the story goes Maria was stranded by pirates on the coast here and had to make ends meet by prostitution, so an honourable Cuban eh? Having meet the waitress here I think she must be a direct descendant, the quantities are correct, but I didn’t ask her name. It was the smile and wink she gave as she popped my cork, and I do mean for my bottle of wine! Yeah well, I think I’ll give that a miss. Whatever, Fat Maria’s legacy has done me no favours, on reaching the resort there was no room at the Inn. Not for long enough to make it worthwhile anyway. I so very nearly turned straight around and returned to Pinar del Rio, that was too defeatist though. The receptionist promised to do what she could, I can’t see the point, there is no way I want to leave my Christmas accommodation to chance. Not in such a hit and miss way, not hanging around each day to see if there might be space once expected guests have booked in. Two nights is the lot then, my decision has been made, for better or for worse. Ever onwards; with only a little back tracking to get to Vinales; otherwise it’s across the sea to Jamaica and I don’t really want to go there. Spanish lessons and horse riding is the hope, with a deeper desire to keep writing.

The drive from Pinar del Rio was over 100km and took well over an hour, I could see why the cost seemed so high. The journey was a really nice one, albeit hot. Rural Cuba seems the place for me, how could I have thought it would have been different. A profusion of well tended fields sporting a variety of crops, I recognised rice, maize and beans. From prior research this is known to be tobacco country, having no idea of the type of plant there was no way I could identify the crop itself. This is a rustic part of Cuba, many ox driven carts were in use and ploughs seemed their forte rather than that of tractors. Horses were everywhere, most in good robust health with the occasional example of a poorly kept beast left grazing on barren soil. Generally, they seem well cared for, respected and adept at providing both personal transport and a means of income. A fairly common form of cart were trailers fitted with canopies and bench seats, sitting as many as 20 or more people. With such fierce heat it was little wonder to see some bathed in sweat, still giving it their best without complaint. It was a far cry from the tourist traps to be found in Havana, they faced relatively easy lives in comparison. It wasn’t all fun and games there either; one night as I crossed a turning point at the roadside a driver came into the area much too fast and nearly fucked up. He had to turn too sharp, the horses hooves couldn’t fine the purchase on the tarmac and it was sliding sideways, almost losing it with me in the way. I didn’t know which way to go; to the curb meant the risk of it going over and taking me with it, back out into the road being knocked down when it recovered, if it did. I got the distinct impression the driver had been giving it loads to show off to his mate in the carriage, borne out by their rather inebriated behaviour. A similar situation to a guy at home putting his foot down with a mate, howling with laughter and nearly coming to grief by losing control.

How strange, writing the date in English doesn’t look right; I must be going mad! In another Casa now, in Vinales, a really quiet, tranquil town in the western most province of Cuba. It’s little more than a village, hardly bigger than Tregarth. The hustle appears directly proportional to the size, basically there is none; only those arriving by bus are greeted by a mass of Casa owners vying for custom. They form an impenetrable wall waving placards or simple hand written plaques displaying the names of their Villas, in the same way the Thai’s bombard new arrivals as the disembark. Walk down the street with a pack or travel case and hopeful patrons hail you from their porches, trying to entice you to stay with them. I think they are all comparable, some make a good job of promoting themselves, all will offer to show an alternative if you don’t want a place with them. English is widely spoken here, a prominent selling point at many places, as is any mention in the Lonely Planet guide. Take your pick, you’ll not be too disappointed. The food is delightful and plentiful, what more can a man ask for? I went straight to the pick of the guide book, true to form they were booked but showed an alternative across the road. Not wanting to be hustled into anywhere else I insisted on looking elsewhere first, it was much the same without being separate to the owner’s home. Explaining my preference for the first place I was asked which other one, it was her niece’s home. I returned chuckling to myself, Vinales is indeed a small place!

Second night out dancing last night, again the music was excellent. Being too self conscious to try and salsa I took to the side lines, not for long. An extremely hot and horny young lass lead me to the dance floor and preceded to grind her crutch into me, in the most delightful way. Compared to a Dutch guy (meet him earlier) I could at least keep the pace and respond in equal style to the dancing. I felt embarrassed for him, he could not dance at all, barely capable of lifting his feet or moving in any way connected to the music. Not that he cared, his woman had gotten his attention and he was game on, so played the fool rather than continued any attempt to actually dance. Needless to say he left arm in arm with her, happily on their way for a financial transgression. This was certainly not the case for me, after a few tracks of dirty dancing she requested we sleep together, I apologised and declined. It rather took her by surprise and wanted to know why, initially I used the excuse that I had a woman in Havana, “she isn’t here, so what’s the problem?” With little else to say I praised her beauty and claimed to be much too old for her, she couldn’t have been older than twenty. Such temptation is not for the feeble hearted; I must be mad, she was simply gorgeous and if we responded as well in bed together it would have been a night of intense pleasure. And it didn’t stop there, another, then another, and another asked me to dance. I refused all other offers and finally left, alone, fed up with the consistent and persistent hassle. No, “sucky, fucky, fifty bucks,” for me!

And this morning my legs ache like buggery again, quite conclusive really, much as I love a good hip gyrating groove with hot, horny chicks it costs me dearly. At least it was only in my own discomfort, my wallet and morals stayed intact. I didn’t suffer this extent of hassle in the Havana night club, even outside three women were offering me the choice between them. Claims of having a woman didn’t perturb them, even persisting that I was a one woman man meant nothing, concluding with my dismissal. Money is the name of the game here, morals mean nothing, sentiments have no bearing. I’m happy to maintain my stance, there is more to life and love than sticking your dick in someone.

Today Cuba, tomorrow the world!

Doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun? In fact it seems forever since I last wrote my blog, nine months is a long time when filled with constant hard work and physical endurance. My reconstruction surgery went well, the ensuing physio became my whole focus in life. I was desperate to regain full use of my legs and guess I’ve come a long way. The day I first stepped onto the treadmill and managed to run was exhilarating, if painful. A constant battle has been fought with hamstring problems, maybe due to pushing too hard, too often. How could I do anything else? I felt my own physical well being was all I really had in life. So yes, I’ve come a long way! I’d love to say there is still a long way to go, yet must accept being faced with permanent restrictions on my physical abilities. It’s now obvious none of my limbs will ever be the same, I only hope I can still claw back more by not giving up yet.

After a long wait, and numerous reductions in the price, my house has been sold. I’m now a hobo, content to be so and looking forward to life with no responsibilities, no commitments and few ties. I still don’t feel inspired to greatness, still only going through the motions and still wish I could find solace in the lovely people who still stand by my side, offering support and lending me strength when most needed. I’m sorry, I can’t! The gut feeling is that life is meaningless, empty. It isn’t a question of glass half empty or glass half full, I have no frigging glass!

I don’t know why people express admiration for my strength and fortitude. Frequently I doubt their judgement, no-one knows the quagmire of thoughts and feelings encumbering my every day; nor would I wish that on them. I wouldn’t want people to feel the scorn that fills me as they whinge and whine on about the truly petty issues they concern themselves with. I’m not comfortable with these feelings, I don’t welcome them and I don’t act upon them. They enter unbidden and have to be dealt with, otherwise I would become an unbearably cynical bore. It matters that folk wish me so well, that they want to see me obtain some pleasure from life. I can understand how desirable a globe-trotting lifestyle must seem, I’d willingly swap it for my son, but not new limbs! And so I manage to get away for a very welcome break, it is purely holiday, albeit a long one by common standards.

Havana, a seething metropolis, yet reported to be one of the safest cities in Latin America. Whilst the streets are widely pedestrianised thoroughfares there is a dribble of traffic in the narrow roads in the old city, the arterial roads are not that busy. Certainly not when compared with those of Central America, Indonesia, Thailand, India; in fact virtually every other poorer country I’ve been to. I expected to find a host of dilapidated old heaps barely kept running, belching clouds of exhaust smoke. They are certainly to be seen dominating the roads, but Lada’s rule the roost. They are the dominant vehicles in use, seconded by ancient old American Dodges, Chevys, Buicks etc. Most are so old they have no insignia, and I’m not an expert in US vehicles, I can merely identify them as American, full stop. The surprise is the growing number of newer imported vehicles, Toyotas and Peugeots the most common. I blacked out Mercedes passed me today, I assume that was a government official of some sort, or maybe one of the few commercially successful people on the island; there aren’t many!

I’m staying in Havana Viaja, the old city, an enchanting mix of crumbling old colonial buildings with a small number of architecturally brazen new edifices peeking out in between. Many of the old buildings are undergoing renovation, they are gutted and made good rather than torn down and replaced. Scaffolding is a common sight, generally for renovation work rather than new construction. The side streets are narrow, in typical grid formation layout. Initially hard to navigate, it quickly becomes second nature to find your bearings and locate your destination. Random wandering is made easy, the first two excursions saw me hopelessly lost, now it’s all simple and much is recognisable in an instant. The blocks are frequently interspersed with large Plazas and small parks, providing greenery, benches and shade to rest in. It is a tourist hub and Obispo is the main tourist street for cafes and bars. Every bar and cafe seems to boast its own group of musicians, all selling their own CD’s. The quality of music is excellent, not so the CD’s, I’ve bought two and they were both appalling quality. You live and learn, at least I try to; after all, if you’re not learning from life any more what’s the point.

On arrival at my Casa particulares Pueblo gave me a prep talk on the vagaries of Havana, where not to go, who not to trust. He didn’t want me getting into difficult situations, didn’t want to see my stay soured. So within 50 metres of walking down the street I’d stopped and got talking to some guys, accepted a drink of rum and was about to go on my way when Pueblo appeared. Of course he’d seen the exchange and got instantly worried, I’d done everything he’d warned me not to. There was no point arguing the toss, caution should be taken when newly arriving in strange cities. The correct thing to do was apologise and give re-assurance that I would heed his warnings, so I did what was desired of me. I wasn’t being blasé, I had no camera, little money and nothing else worth stealing on me. He made it sound worse than I’d been lead to believe! He only felt responsible for me, which I can sympathise with.

The hustlers (Jineteros, males; and jineteras, females) abound. In fact I’d say it is a common occupation, with a profusion of wannabes! The variety of hustles could be said to extend infinitely, but they are mainly variations of only a few. There are those who merely beg, or should I say openly beg. More common is the approach of friendship, used to hustle you into a bar, to splash your money down their throats and earn them a commission. Their pretext is often to get you a free invitation to a wonderful evening of music, unavailable without their personal invite. Then there are the hard luck stories, which attempt to use your pity to relieve you of money. “Senor, just one peso, it is very little money.” Almost guaranteed to follow offers of a swig of rum will be one of these hustles. Requests for help are wide ranging, and not only from single people. Often accompanied by pleas of wanting no money you’ll be asked to simply buy some much needed supplies. A good one is by a pregnant couple, desperate for baby milk or nappies (I’ve had both). The shopping bill can be very high once succumbed to the scam, apparently the goods are exchanged back for money once you’ve buggered off; yes, the shop keepers are in on it too! It has sorely taxed my energy fending off constant approaches, surely they realise how often a tourist is hassled each day. Each and every time so far I’ve maintained a smile, apologised and politely refused. I haven’t ignored anyone, but have started to say Hola and continue on my way. Straight prostitution is uncommon, you are more likely to be offered an escort, company by some very attractive women. It doesn’t always involve sex, it may only be to cash in on some nice meals or new clothes, it’ll still cost you though. But don’t most relationships? Actually that puts me into the realms of whoredom at times in my life, and I thought I was merely a slut! There are more, probably too many to list, and I tire of even writing of them. Tomorrow will bring more, with luck of a different variety; a change is, after all, as good as a rest.

The history of Cuba is astonishing, many factors can only be marvelled at, and many admired. The Mariel boatlift was one I admire for Castro’s brilliant solution to an internal problem caused by disenfranchised citizens. A number of people stole a bus and crashed through the boundary fence of the Peruvian embassy, once inside they claimed political asylum. Which they were granted! His immediate action was to remove the guards from the embassy gates, a mistake, as thousands flooded the Peruvian compound in a bid to leave Cuba. It didn’t take long before the numbers increased to a 11,000, with the American government offering to take in the asylum seekers. So how did Castro deal with the problem? He made the most of a bad situation, and made it known that any citizens who no longer wished to remain in Cuba could leave, they merely had to go to a coastal pickup point, providing they could be picked up. Lead by Cuban exiles from America a huge flotilla of 1700 boats left to help the fleeing Cubans. 125,000 left successfully, in horrendously overloaded boats, it was a massive rescue operation. America and their resident exiles achieved their aims, or so they thought. Castro emptied out the island’s jails and mental institutions, allowing them to join the asylum seekers, thereby ridding Cuba of thousands of their undesirables. America actually denied asylum to 2700 due to their violent dispositions. This was the basis of the film, “Scarface,” featuring the central character Tony Montana, the psychotic Cocaine dealer from a Cuban jail.

Rationing is still an everyday part of life here! Most foodstuffs are rationed and some are impossible to get with the national Peso, even sanitary towels are rationed. So the local Peso currency allows really cheap living, but only of limited amounts. By using CUC (Convertible Peso’s), which I call tourist money, much more is purchasable and it isn’t rationed. This is the reason locals are so desperate to get hold of CUC, it overcomes many of the endemic shortages. Recent years has seen private enterprise allowed to a limited extent, there are small open air markets permitted now, that work outside the rationing system. Average wages are in the region of $12cuc per month, equivalent to $300 peso nacionales. I get the impression it’s enough to provide the basics to live on, most houses have TVs, few people are dressed in rags, so it can’t be completely prohibitive. What is noticeable is equality of wealth, the enormous differences between rich and poor aren’t evident, unlike the majority of countries, especially 3rd world countries. Bearing that in mind, is it any wonder the local populace put so much effort into relieving tourists of their abundance of wealth.

What an amazingly vivid dream I had last night, about Cai! To be more precise his resurrection; coming back into my life, flesh and blood. It was so vivid I could touch him, feel us physically hugging each other, talk to him, hold a conversation. There was no room for doubt, miracles were possible. I couldn’t have wanted or hoped for more, and would have been content if I never had anything else again. And then it transpired it was a purely personal reality, no-one else shared this enigma, no others could see, hear or even feel his presence. I was dumbfounded, couldn’t believe it at all, what was wrong with everyone? The bottom line was it didn’t matter to me, I was content to be the only one. It didn’t matter that everyone thought I’d lost it, that I was seen as insane. If that were true I could live with my insanity, in fact nothing could entice me to even question it. I’d been re-united with the only thing that truly mattered, why would I risk losing him again by entertaining doubts? Waking didn’t diminish its profound effect, I only wished it had not been just a dream, if I could experience such an occurrence I would happily give up my sanity. I could retire from life, happy and complete once more. If such a re-union were possible I would gladly give up this life! Unfortunately my belief in a conscious afterlife is not strong enough, I must continue making the most of the life I have, and hope that someday I will be proved wrong, that we will indeed be reunited.

Up, up and away!

What a lot of anger! Just below the surface, ready, waiting, hoping for an avenue of escape. Am I too far into a rut to vent this anger? Maybe I’m too fed up with the abundance of shite in our world, unwilling to contribute my own share. If the truth be known, I don’t give a damn as to the whys or where-fores, it just is! It stands to reason there will be plenty of anger harboured due to losing Cai, I don’t have a worthy target though. There isn’t anything to focus these destructive feelings on, and isn’t that beneficial? To be faced with a responsible party, to bite into the legal crusade of liability, surely that in itself would consume me. I’ve been looking for direction in my life to lead me away from destructive influences, or feelings; I’d rather not taint myself. Why add to the feelings of contention?

The knack has to be concentrating on whatever brings out the constructive side of me, which is what I’ve been trying to do! OK, so I haven’t been up and raring to go, ready for anything. But I have been getting my arse into gear, ensuring I don’t cop out of regular exercise. Most weeks a couple of visits to both the gym and swimming pool have been managed, it doesn’t matter the aftershock. It may cause my limbs grief, but each week seems to enable me to do a bit more. How I’d love to run, jump, dance about, be daft and get dizzy with the thrill of it: I can’t though, so there’s no point doing my head in about it! It’s purely a matter of knowing my limitations, and constantly pushing them. There is little desire to push myself short term, but I desperately want to recover fully, so I must overcome this lethargy. I WILL NOT SUCCUMN!!!!

So many times in my life I’ve been gagging at the bit, desperate to get out for the weekend, dance my ass off. Recently the thought has been deplorable, I’ve not wanted to face hoards of people. Had a lingering desire to strut my stuff, but not felt too capable. New year felt more like falling around in time to the music, it made for an interesting dance style. So when asked to go out for friends to Hendre Hall I wasn’t keen, I hadn’t been there since Cai’s wake, didn’t know how I’d handle it! I didn’t feel strong, felt too vulnerable, physically and emotionally. Throwing caution to the wind (sounds more like me) I agreed to go. It was seen more as another hurdle to overcome, face my fears, expose myself to situations where I felt vulnerable. Let’s face it, I could always sit quietly and get hammered, whilst the rest lived it up on the dance floor. It’s obvious, writing this, just how far I’ve withdrawn into myself!

Listening to dance music at home, or friend’s, has really got me going. My body was screaming out to boogy, and a slight wobble in time to the music was not enough to satisfy my desires. The music at Hendre was very good, courtesy of Les Patteson, the Orb. I literally danced myself off my feet, nearly fell over and dozed is a corner for the end of the night. Call it primal urge, if you wish, maybe an immature reluctance to grow old and boring; fact is, music does a very good job of stirring up my soul! I live for the joys of life, as if you hadn’t realised, and whatever fills me with joy is likely to be the focus of my attention. Simple things please simple minds! With my knee operation looming I’ve had to keep my mind occupied, and so, at last, I had my first Micro-lite plane flight.

These flexible wing planes have always given me the impression of being little more than flying motorcycles! And I wasn’t wrong! The whole feeling of exposure, freedom and being at one with your machine are there in abundance. The controls are fairly simple, you don’t need a degree to understand the basics and very little space is needed for takeoff and landing. Wow, what a travel tool! The art of banking, climbing and diving are all purely a matter of ‘getting the feeling’ of the controls. It is so interactive, largely emphasised by the exposure. It was breathtaking climbing to 5,000ft and hovering over Snowdon’s peak. Following the Menai Straits was awesome, what a great way to go hunting for large sea creatures; the clarity of water was so good. I could easily imagine catching a glimpse of a Whale shark, or dugongs; any of the harder to find stuff. Not so easy to go diving from, though I’m sure where there’s a will there’s a way!

Perfect timing really, two flights within three days of going back into hospital. I wanted a pleasure flight to dwell on during my recovery, you know, something to look forward to. Trouble was, I returned after the next day for my first lesson. Now, was that predictable or what? Surprisingly, it did take a while to sink in, I hadn’t been overcome with excitement on the first flight. It was excellent, but not wild; mind blowing yes, an adrenalin it wasn’t. It relaxed me, put me into a higher sense of being (ha ha, no pun intended), made me feel so detached from the rest of the world. Only after a few hours did I suddenly realise how awed I’d felt throughout the flight, no wonder I’d been so quiet at the end. It pretty much took my breath away, it was beautiful. So, of course, I had to treat myself to a lesson, see the extent I needed to heal before flying again. All I can say is watch this space!

For seven months I’ve pushed myself, getting as fit as possible before my final operation, the reconstruction of my left knee. By grafting ligament from my hamstring, they have made a replacement for my AC ligament. It did necessitate a few holes drilled through my Tibia and Fibia, to thread the new ligament through. But what’s a few holes between friends? If it gives me the chance to run again, I have no qualms! From the way my legs have been, I was starting to worry whether such things would be possible again. Apparently yes, there should be no reason why not. I find myself almost reluctant to believe it, can it really be true, full use of both legs? Like many an early diagnosis for pregnancy, I’d rather wait a while to make sure, there are still too many variables! Besides, from the pain and awkwardness of using my limbs, there is still a long way before that might be. I’ve managed to keep mostly positive for too long, to give up now; another six months and maybe, just maybe, I could be cruising over the great plains of Africa, taking in elephants, giraffes, wilderbeast.......

Pain lets you know you're still alive!

How do you measure the passage of time? What new things you buy, how much deeper into debt you get, how far you are from losing it all? Maybe, if you're lucky,how much money you've made; more likely, how much better you feel, how much more mobile you are, how few tears you've shed! But hey, who-ever said life was easy? Not fuckin' me mate! But does that mean it's not worth living? Only if you've no value in your own life, in your own acheivemnts, in your own pleasure! AND YOU BLOODY WELL SHOULD HAVE!

Alright, let me explain a wee bit here. In the light of a our current, global, economic crisis, we should all be worried about the disintegration of our competant capitalist system. Shocked and horrified that our precious bricks and mortar may not actually make us the richest people on this planet. Poor misguided fools that we are! But is it really that important? Couldn't we just hang on in there, maybe plant some veg to ease our food bill, live within our means? Wow, what a novel idea! But hang on, what about the rich twat who screws it all up? Don't worry about him, the government will sort him out. Probably give him a nice fat pension too! EXCUSE ME, where's my friggin' safety net? Of course I forgot, I'm not in the privileged class, I'm scum, it doesn't really matter if I cop out!

Honestly, it does my head in! What sane person would want to associate themselves with the complete f**k up the world's ruling party are making of things? Who's interest is it in anyway? Only their's! Consider yourselves well and truly shafted folks. But don't worry, they'll print a bit more money so you can kid yourself you're not brasic! Don't worry, the government will save you; though you may end up paying for it for the next three generations. And we actually give these people our support, put that way, who are the stupid ones?

As I wander around my house like a caged lion, I wanna rip someone's head off! I'd love to assasinate the whole ruling class, and every member of the constabulary who believes they're doing it for our own goods. But of course, that might get me into trouble! The authorities might see me as a danger to the public, never suspecting that it was, actually, in the public interest! But on a serious level, I'd love a legitimate target for my anger. And the government make it so easy to assume that position, their actions are deplorable, but it isn't really them my anger is centred on. They just deserve it so much! No, my anger is over my loss, and is focussed on anything breakable, as I feel it.

Anger and grief are so closely interlinked, more often than not anger acting as protector, to the more precarious emotion! Isn't the human mind a gloriouos organ? The depths it will go to preserve itself, the illusions it will weave to ensure a feeling of sanity. But like beauty, sanity is on the eyes of the beholder! Now where do you stand? If normality, in our society, is considered sane; stop the world, I wanna get off!

The Angst takes over, but not for ever!

I've been fighting an ever increasing battle over the handling of my recent accidents, by the police. They have shown an acute prejudice against me, I assume because I ride a motorcycle; probably exacerbated by my own stroppy attitude to authority figures. Despite evidence to the contrary, they have acted upon the other driver's version of events, ignoring mine. With no independant witness' they have decided that I was riding too close to the other vehicle and was, therefore, guilty of careless driving. The very fact they have not taken me to court over this shows clearly they have no evidence, hence only being issued with a warning. (Photo: My Kawasaki (Post accident)- The demise of a fine bike.)

WOW! Wasn't I pissed off then? I went to write this entry before Christmas, and the last paragraph was as far as I got. It set the scene for a really good rant, the only problem being, my heart just wasn't in it. However outraged I felt there seemed little point going off on one. It isn't a question of how strongly I felt, more a point of the futility in venting my anger. What purpose would it serve? Would it achieve anything? None, and no, it would make me feel crap, about myself and everyone else! And life is too short to waste it in such a manner. I'd rather sit back, relax, and have no effect on anything than a bad one on something. That should put the cat among the pidgeons, for my more philosophical friends. (Photo: Yours truly (As Walt Disney's Robin Hood)- New year's eve party at home.)

Christmas can be a very difficult time, emotionally, for many. Is it any wonder I was a touch highly strung on the run run up to yuletide? For sure, it wasn't the first christmas since Cai died; but it was the first at home! I'd only just got rid of my crutches, and walking wasn't easy; even now its a wobbly, dual limping sort of hobble. I couldn't go out into crowded places, it would've been too precarious for me; I couldn't stand for long, or fight my way through crowds. I wasn't fit enough to have any independant transport, so I couldn't get anywhere under my own steam. There really was no alternative, I had to make the most of a quiet time! As always though, my friends and family ensured I wasn't unnecessarily lonely. It was nice and peaceful, there was no stress and I saw a good mix of people. (Photo: Mrs Incredible, Aladin, Minnie mouse and Quasimodo - New year's eve party)

And then came new year! I wanted a party, I wanted to infuse my house with happy, fun vibes. It's felt such a sad, lonely place to be for so long now. On my weekend at home, whilst in hospital, I'd really enjoyed a mate's party. Even in my wheel chair I appreciated listening to the music and having a good dance, despite it being more in my own head than through my body. The hope was that I'd be fit enough to fully appreciate it, and I guess I was. Ok, I stumbled a lot, but it didn't stop me dancing. Mission accomplished? Yeah, I had great fun! The day before I wondered if I might find it too much emotionally, but no, it was fine. The people were last gathered together at Cai's wake, a mix of friends through me and Cai. It was a pleasure to see how well the various social groups inter-mingled. I do enjoy breaking down people's barriers. A good time was had by all, and dawn arrived without us even noticing! (Photo: New year's party, life got blurred)

Life has slowed down a lot since then, I'm expecting to go back into hospital soon for the last operation to reconstruct the ligaments in my left knee. All I can do is keep working my legs, to build up their strength, and wait patiently for the surgeon to become available. At least I seem to have accepted there is little I can do! Or have I? Actually, yes, I have! If I hadn't I'd be pushing harder, I wouldn't be sat around bored so much. So I've lost the strength of mind to keep pushing, my energy levels have been pretty damned low. This is exagerated by the seasonal shite going down, and the length of time I've been recovering from injuries. I'm fed up with it all, the wet and cold weather, which gives me more problems, the period of recuperation, my limitations. I'm well and truly fed up, I've had enough struggle. Happiness comes from our own hearts, it is our own responsibility. It can be hard to maintain without some outside influence though! The knack is to remain grateful, simpley for being alive, whatever your circumstances. (Photo: A likely looking crew of party goers - New year's party)

In all honesty though, it's not good enough for me just to be alive, I need more out of life! I need things to inspire me, I relish change and challenge. The constructive way to look at my most recent setback is that I rose to the challenge, I got back on my feet. Both true, and both far from over. There is still the boring donkey work now, tediously applying myself to my regime of exercises. Great, but it isn't enough! I can't yet train fully, I can't get in the gym and go for it, can't, can't can't.... I think that demonstrates it really, I've been concentrating on what I can't do, rather than on what I can do. Or even better; I should be pushing for what I will be able to do, if I maintain a positive attitude. The rewards will surely reflect the effort put in! Each week, as I push myself further, I walk with more confidence, for longer distances. Hey, I even go for daft walks in howling storms. That was so nice, it feels so long since enjoying a battle with the forces of nature, A shame it's stopped snowing already, it didn't settle enough, I wanted to go out and enjoy it! (Photo: Jamie and Penny - Sleeping off the night before, Port Sunlight, Liverpool)

Wibbly wobbly legs....

No strange coincidence, that each time I mean to start writing my book, it initiates a more pressing urgency to update this blog. It represents my need to update my life, to refresh my mind of where I've been, and where I've got to. Emotionally I'm still in stasis, often it feels only yesterday since I lost Cai; other's it's a whole lifetime away. My accident has forced me to live for today, for myself! Don't ask me why, this is one question I have no answer for! It may well be the most frequent question of my life, the one giving the most dissatisfying answer, but it remains the most evasive. There could never be a satisfying answer as to why Cai had to die, but that is not one I ask myself any more. (Photo: Cai with the world at his finger tips)

Reflection is still a head state which inevitably follows feeling upset, yet I'm still incapable of projecting thoughts into the future. For sure, there are uncountable choices for a future life, there ain't no feeelings of joy though! Thinking of only myself feels empty and devoid of meaning, any value of life seems to be putting my time to good use, for the benefit of others. I'd prefer to have a healthy balance, not forgetting the feel good factor of devoting your life to the well being of others. Of course I need to care for myself first, to make that a possibility. How easy it seems to say screw it all, and sink into my own little world. It would take no effort, do I really care about the world at now right now? Of course I do, in theory at least, not emotionally. Who ever said life was meant to be easy? No bugger I know, everyone agrees, it's neither fair nor a bed of roses. So why the hell do we bother? WHY? Always the same quesstion! Oh, to be blinded by belief, to have sufficient faith to commit your life to an improbable God, to be able to kid oneself there is a point to it all! The head games I can put myself through are unbelievable, maybe it would be easier if I had someone else to blame. God moves in mysterious ways? It's a bloody mystery to me! Hard times are there as a test? I feel I've passed enough friggin' tests; besides, since when has he/she/it deigned to pass any of my challenges. Being one who believes in equality, the onus is no longer on me! (Photo: Cai on Fanfare - Rhoscolyn, Anglesey.)

My hardest thing at present is a focus for the anger, something to release it, a legitimate target. The frustration has been building up and would love to be unleashed! What's the point though? Would it make me feel better? No! Finding myself staring out a window, for how long who knows, can be relaxing, though sedating may be more accurate. It's the times I look at the window and want to hurl something through it, when the frustration, becomes a surge of anger. Which is why I know venting it would achieve nothing, at least nothing positive or constructive. What would be the point? It would only give me reason to dislike my actions, and therefore myself. Hey, what a luxury; being able to spend time analysing life's chaotic ways, and beating yourself up about them! I can benefit by obvious progress, like recognising emotions and realising their usefulness, not reacting but responding. There is no escaping your own mind! Which is why there is no running away from your feelings, deal with them when they occur, hopefully denying them the chance to become yet more baggage. Hmmm, seems obvious reading back over this blog how much time I'm spending with my own thoughts.(Photo: Me climbing 'Breaking the Barrier'. Holyhead Mountain - Anglesey)

A while ago I re-read my journal from touring Scandinavia, it made for interesting reading, was I really that mad? Seen from an everyday perspective, it would appear so! But there again, how aften do we allow ourselves to view our innnermost thoughts with such clarity? It needs time and headspace, at least it does for me! And how often, in our everyday lives, do we allow ourselves such time and space? So many people spend most their time and effort remaining blissfully ignorant. Yeah, I could do with a bit of that at times! The time is ripe to revisit my recorded dribblings, to see the depths to which I plunged, the heights I soared to. I know on all my bike tours there has been some incredible highs, even when grieving for Cai. Maybe by re-living some of them I can brighten my outlook somewhat. (Photo: Cai as Night Crawler - Llaneilion, Anglesey)

A lot of time is being spent at home, alone. Acceptance of this is essential, but doesn't come easy. My legs are becoming more usable all the time, stability and stamina are all that restricts mobility. My wrists and forearms suffer more from the cold, stiffness and muscle fatigue reign supreme. The crutches have gone, I'm now determined to walk on my own two feet. If I get tired I rest, if not I do what I need to. I'm back in my own bedroom, confident of negotiating the stairs. The lounge is a lounge again, not a bed-sitting room. So the mundane aspects of life slowly come back to normal, less effort is required to provide the basic necessities. More of my time is available to spin off into Les's world, self analysis can be heavy going, especially when you're so physically limited. There is little you can do about the less joyous aspects of life, and there I've gone full circle. I have to sort myself out before I contribute much to anything else!

Life has been full so far, there is little reason to doubt the future on this score. Many of the best times were shared with Cai! While he will never be by my side to share more adventures, he will be in my heart though. And this must suffice, we were lucky to share so much! Really, luck has nothing to do with it; we made it what it was. Whilst the depth of my loss doesn't lessen, the frequency does, at least, vary. (Photo: Me as Errol Brown, from Hot Chocolate - Tregarth)

A far cry from independance......

Eleven weeks in hospital has been tough going, there's been a fair share of soul searching, but little dwelling on the past. I may have made a bit of a mess of myself, but right from the start I was determined to recover, without too much delay! Wallowing in sorrow wasn't going to get me anywhere, besides, the nursing staff generally have enough on their hands without needing to run around for me all the time. And so developed a stubborn determination to be Mr Independant! Trying, with great effort, but trying constantly. I had to be like that, I had to struggle, manage to do the simplest of things for myself. Each miniscule task, painstakingly overcome, was a minor triumph. Considering I had to be spoon fed initiallly there was a lot of room for improvement, there was no point in looking back, forward was the only way. Though reflecion on my initial level of incapacity has helped remind me of progress. (Photo's: TURKEY - Mountain pass; towards the Kakar mountains. Rock dwellings; Goreme, Cappadocia. [below] 2 beasts of burden; Nemrut Dagli, ).

The first weeks may have been the toughest in many respects, but my determination was fresh. I was told to look towards Easter for anywhere near full recovery, even now that seems ages away; yet I've come so far! Hey, two months ago I was ecstatic because I managed to wipe my own arse (fanny for US friends. For UK folks, no I haven't had a sex change). And now? I'm up and about on crutches, supposedly using my wheelchair when tired; at least I did while still in hospital. I've persisted with crutches only since getting home three days ago! Today (Saturday) was the first day I've woken and not felt a deep ache in my knees. Not to worry though, it allowed me to be more aware of how much my wrists and fore arms ache. Aah, poor me!! (Photo's [One above and two below]: NORWAY - Jutenheim Pass; on a Guzzi V50. Trondeim; Waterfront propoerties. Lufuten Islands; mid-night sun.)

How many times have I had to relate what injuries I sustained, and how I got them? OK, it involved all my limbs, it happened on my tour bike! Too many details to waste my time writing about them here, catch up with me some day, I'll tell you all the gorey details! In hospital patients give their diagnosis as a means of introducing themselves, even vying for pole position, just who should be pitied most? For the last few weeks I've withdrawn out of this tradition, content to lay flat out, exercising my limbs. At first it felt somehow good to exchange medical conditions, it was the norm, but there is only so much of other people's suffering you can take! It takes energy to heal, as the weeks passed I found I had less for other people, I had to serve my own needs first. What little I had would often be spent leaving the ward, wheeling myself about hospital in search of some head space; the chapel proved peaceful, little chance of being disturbed there.

Other patients could make or break my day in hospital; a constant, good humoured, banter proved uplifting, a real pleasure. But even then it could turn sour, all it took was for one person to introduce a disruptive attitude and the mood could plummet. On more than one occasion did I have to bear witness to this. It intensifies the dynamics of normal life, and you can't just avoid it, you're stuck there, embroiled in the turmoil of others. An exceptional patient was one who would take responsibility for themselves, not thrust it on the various staff. Ok, I concede, the staff are there to care for your clinical welfare; but dammit, not your whole life. It is your own fault if injuries worsen through lack of exercise, or attempting the wrong actions. Suffer the consequences, don't blame your carers! (Photo's [two above & one below]: AMERICAS - Approaching the Glacier fields; Canada. Cliff Dwellings; Mesa Verde, Colorado. Giant cactii; Baja Desert, Mexico).

Laying in an agonised heap by the roadside is not an experience that ever needs repeating, it can have a profound effect on one's outlook of life. It was instantly obviousd I wouldn't be walking away from this one for a while. Once the extent of injuries became apparent my mind went into a whirl, how the hell was I gonna tackle this one? With time, effort and patience was the only answer. Long haul or not, it was up to me to recover and get back to a semblance of fitness. It brought the fight back out of me! I'd about given up on bothering about anything, life post accident meant only one thing, recovering. At last I had to think about my own wellbeing, as the central focus in life; not a guilt ridden claim, spoken but never achieved. This has given me the reason to continue, to accept my life is worth living for myself, not dependant on the affection of others to feel complete. No need to shun that affection, it can be the nicest thing in the world. If you live for that alone you have no life of your own, which is fine if that's what you want! I need to take responsibility for my own life, not hand it over to other people. And I mean emotionally and physically!

All the photos shown above have been taken while touring on two wheels. I don't ride to provide a target for other road users, I ride for the thrill and adventure. Generally, if I take care and treat my bike well, it will do the same for me. But not always, there are few gaurantees in life!