Sugar Factory

We were wandering high up into the mountains of the Henri Pittier National Park, north Venezuela, with our guide, Pedro,through the forests away from the Caribbean. The path was littered with farm houses and shacks (my thought was "how do they get their cars up here?", until my brain clicked in).

Of course all transport is on foot or by burro.

This one was employed bringing sugar cane from clearings in the forest. Once a small patch of the forest is roughly cleared, the new light can nourish sugar cane, maize or plantains, all crops that die off once harvested. Eventually it grows back and so sustains itself. Family groups or cooperatives then harvest the crops, and where possible, process them themselves, such as this place.
An ancient Lister diesel engine powers a crude crusher, where the liquid juice is seperated from the cane.


The liquid runs down to a vat where it is boiled, the furnace being heated by the dried waste cane.

Once the heating process is complete the sugar is ladled off where it takes various forms: some to be sold at the roadside,
some exchanged and some to be consumed on the premises.


Needlesstosay, this is work for men and boys: women and girls are invisible, so once they have walked for supplies, nurtured and cleaned the younger children, cleaned the shack and washed the clothes, and done the cooking, and probably done their share in the fields, they can go to the local hairdresser, to have their hair straightened (planchado de cabello), if heritage hasn't provided you with fashionable straight hair.And thus avoid the view of forreners while working just as hard

Malingeria

All my blood tests are negative (in a good way), my liver function is fine (M spluttered down the phone when I told her that), I dont have Malaria, Swine Flu, Hepatitis A, or Dengue Fever. I am not yellow.
None of this explains the crippling daily headache and ringing in my ears, (or the nausea and vomiting, or the general tiredness, lack of strength and weight loss), so the good doctor gave me some extra strong painkiller (which are also used for arthritis, pain relief after minor surgery, and may prevent Alzheimers, according to Wikipedia). And she signed me off for a week. I told my employer I have Malingeria, which seemed to work.
Now for the daily stool samples.

Cheese

It is coming up to the 40th Anniversary of the first moon landing. According to the Guardian, NASA were casting around for some suitable words for Armstrong/Aldrin to say as they set foot on the surface (it would have been Buzz Aldrin first if the cockpit layout was different: he was the lunar module commander and therefore had precedence).
Among other celebrities they sounded out, Bob Hope suggested "I'll be damned, it's made of cheese".
Now that would have been good!

Blame

I suppose one of the few things for which I can consider myself blame-free (and possibly this applies to men in general)is tissues in the washing. Certainly when I emptied the machine tonight, hung out the washing, and felt free to comment on the bits of tissue stuck all over the darks, I was not subject to any adverse reaction, or counter-argument, and was even allowed a little whisky, which was brought down by herself from Scotland, only yesterday.
I am even allowed a little tolerance of my possible tropical lurgy. Last husband she had she had no sympathy at all when he had what turned out to be pneumonia. So that's a good sign, too.

The East Neuk

We went up to stay with M's brother in the East Neuk of Fife. Well not with them exactly but M hired a cottage
and I hired a car to get us from Glasgow Airport. Top marque, as you can see.
It cost twice as much as I expected and we hardly used it (except for picking up her dad from Cupar station and for me returning it to Glasgow Airport, to save the £35 it would have cost to return it to Edinburgh Airport, from where, bizarrely, I had booked my return flight. It went like a rocket, though). I had to catch bus/train/bus back to Edinburgh, which must have saved all of £10.
Lots of walks along the coast, to Pittenween

and Elie,

from our base in St Monans, where sadly boatbuilding is at an end. A local man is single-handedly dismantling Millers boatyard and presumably sending the scrap to China.
It is quite bizarre to be sitting outside at 1130pm with the sky still bright. A different country indeed.
Sadly I am now back in the south struggling with a possible tropical virus, while M and her dad, brother, nephew and sis in law are enjoying the northern summer.

My Own Attempt To Destroy The Planet

13 flights in 2 months, and I can confirm that all airport terminals are the same, inside and out (with the honourable exceptions of Exeter and Puerto Ayacucho (Vz) which are largely single storey). So that is Heathrow, Lisbon, Caracas, Lima, Cuzco, Glasgow, Edinburgh and Manchester. Could be anywhere. Same architect, same shops (well, mostly), same inside and out. And as for a 3 hour stopover in Manchester between Edinburgh and Exeter: simply bad planning. Oh and the queues at Lima airport do make it stand out.
Time for some carbon offsetting

Dad and Dover

Overlooking Dover Harbour from the White Cliffs was probably my dad's favourite spot. He could watch the constant flow of ferries plying across the Channel to Calais Zeebrugge Ostend etc. And if you walk a bit you can see the castle and along the white cliffs.
Dover itself is the armpit of the world imho (I base this opinion on spending an evening there once waiting to catch a 1am ferry).
Therefore it was appropriate to have a family gathering on the first anniversary of his premature passing to celebrate his life and spread the rest of his ashes to the four winds. Bizarrely, mother chose to store and transport the ashes in a huge tin of SMA baby formula, with a sticker marked "porridge" on it. Dont ask me why.I said my bit, as did mother, sisters and niecefriend. The whole thing was positive, especially for my mother, who has taken a while to come to terms with the loss of her husband of 50 years, and to cope with the things he would have dealt with, but she is getting through it. My dad wont be forgotten in a hurry but her life goes on (she has even sold her car and bought a new one, and found a new male friend). He is there for her every day, and the same for me. There were plenty of tears but we all got through it. I have certainly grown up a lot since a year ago. I dont think here is the right place to express the profundity of feeling felt there, even if I could express it, but there is an empty place in my heart.
Then we had a picnic, drank dad's favourite wine and went our various ways. But not before Badger got in on the act. . And here is a badger's eye view.