Take time out, alone, dance to your own tune - you never know what life
changes it will bring - in my case I danced right away to another
country.
There is a great song called ’Yes’, which I saw belted out with gusto
by Liza Minnelli in London. The song begins “Life keeps happening, every
day; say ‘Yes‘!” And goes on to point out all the opportunities missed
in our lives when we do not say yes to each opportunity, taking a chance
that the outcome will be a positive one.
My half-century birthday was looming ever nearer when I took a giant
leap and totally changed my lifestyle. As a result I now have more of
that precious commodity, time, and although I occasionally have a
fleeting thought of the significant salary I gave up, and all that it
could buy, I would not swap this life for a king’s ransom. So that was
one YES, one of my biggest to date.
Having time means that one of the things I can now do, at long last,
is go through a massive amount of notes, not really a diary, since most
of them were written over the years during my various holidays. For a
very long time, my one or two holidays each year were the only time I
ever seemed to be able to write anything down. Anything other that ‘to
do’ lists, that is. I have always been in awe of those stockbrokers and
doctors who can finish their busy working day and then come home and
write novels in their spare time. Sometimes, according to one best
selling lady novelist, in the middle of the night at the kitchen table!
Some of my little notes, be they ever so humble, are intriguing to
read now. They positively point out that I was changing and growing
all the time, and now that I am here in this wild part of southern
France, they make so much more sense. I seem to have been on a journey
to this point in my life, even if only my subconscious knew about it.
The ‘yes’ word features again and again.
The following little story is a case in point. Had I not said a
definite ‘yes‘, I would have missed an enchanting day in the company of
a person who, in his own quiet and dignified way sowed the seeds of a
different life being possible. Even if on that particular day, my
resounding ‘yes’ to myself was heard only by a lizard, sitting on a very
hot rock on a Greek island.
When I lived in the splendidly green but very rainy Ireland, I always
spent holidays on Greek or Italian islands or in North Africa, where
it‘s guaranteed sun. I get up very early on holiday, walk a lot and can
usually count on about four or five hours alone each day. There is
something very freeing about being in a different country and doing
something new and daring on your own. It is a wonderful feeling. Not
only can you exist alone, but you can thrive.
On the Greek Island of Rhodes, I stayed a bit outside a tiny resort.
A magnificent setting, but quite unfashionable, absolutely non-trendy
and full of possibilities. The sea to the right, a spectacular mountain
view to the left. It truly was glorious ancient Greece. I don’t swim and
I love walking in the colourful scented countryside, dotted with the
familiar white and blue painted low houses.
After a few days of getting my bearings in the little town, I headed
into the fabulous countryside. Having walked for about an hour I came
across arrows painted in white at intervals of a few yards on the road.
Written under each of the arrows were two words, Mike - Horses.
Intrigued, and Irish - if there‘s horse in the area I will find it - I
followed the arrows along the quiet country road, meeting hardly anyone,
and finding no sign of Mike or the horses. It got very hot indeed, and
most unusual for me, I was not carrying water. I turned back, deciding
to try again tomorrow. I got up earlier the next day and, with water and
sun cream in bag, wearing a big hat and better footwear, set off
determined to find this Mike and his horses.
The next few hours took me through the most beautiful, peaceful and
fragrant countryside. The heat was quite something by ten o’clock, and I
was still following the arrows but finding nothing. I stopped, sat on a
rock, and I admit I did ponder, just for a few minutes, on the folly of
this trip, as I watched a large lizard basking beside me. I thought it
through rationally. Mike hardly lived on the other side of the island if
the arrows started fairly near our tiny resort? But who paints arrows on
public roads? And who was this Mike? I had no mobile phone. I had passed
very few houses during the last half-hour. I was deep in the
countryside. The lizard continued to bask. I drank water and mulled over
the situation a bit more. So, to say yes or no to going on with my
quest?
The yes vote won of course, and eventually, and if I am honest, with
a sense of relief, the arrows pointed me down a small lane. Thrilled
with myself now for not turning back, I came into the most magical
scene. A long, low, rambling dazzling white farmhouse with a dark red
tiled roof stood at the end of the little drive, fields on either side
of it full of heavenly scented small gnarled trees and bushes. Dusty,
resting, farm animals barely raised their heads at my intrusion. The
only sound was the buzzing of insects, the only living things keeping
busy at this time of day.
The area seemed to be covered in a gauzy heat haze. An olive green
and yellow landscape with the bluest sky ever. I had the sense of being
in one of those impressionist paintings where people sort of drift
through fields of flowers in a heat haze. On reaching the house a dark
eyed, slightly built, merry man who turned out to be Mike, appeared and
welcomed me warmly. He professed himself delighted that I had followed
his arrows, alone and with no idea of how far inland from my base his
farm was. Mike had that look, that if you met him on the moon, you would
know he was involved with horses.
After I was offered fruit and encouraged to drink lots of water,
although I felt fine, I was given a tour of the outbuildings. He showed
me the horse end of the farm, most impressive, with some really
good-looking horses in great stables, and an amazing amount of old
carriages, but all in tip top condition. What was it all about? I hadn’t
seen any sign for a riding establishment. I still didn’t twig.
Once Mike had established I was Irish and had ridden a fair amount,
he dispensed with what I took to be the school horses and introduced me
to Artimis. He hopped up on another horse and without any discussion
took me out across his land, along tracks winding through stunning lemon
and olive groves. Artimis, a truly noble animal, is a horse I will not
easily forget. There was no doubting his strength, and had he decided to
gallop to the ends of the earth, I would have been no match for him. For
a horse that had only met me and in no time it seemed I was on its back
and out into the countryside, Artimis looked after me like I was a
beginner again. Even when he wanted to canter after Mike, he obeyed my
gentle pull on the reins and slowed down.
The beauty of that day will stay forever in my mind, and if I focus
enough, I imagine I can still get the mixed scent of the lemons and
herbs of the Greek countryside. The freedom, coupled with the danger
admittedly, of riding without a hat brought back memories of my early
days on a Connemara pony in the west of Ireland. Unthinkable now of
course, but they were different days.
Now for the red faced bit of this story. Before I left I was invited
into the main house to meet other members of the family and of course to
refill my water bottle. On the walls of the big living room there were
lots of stunning photographs. People in period clothing were sitting in
carriages, and standing beside various horses. I recognised a face or
two. Surely that was the handsome face of the actor Charles Dance? And
wasn’t that was Ben Kingsley? And Helen Mirren? And others. ‘Ah‘,
laughed Mike, ‘I see you know them!’ ‘Yes, I think so’ I answered, very
puzzled.
My new friend Mike turned out to be something of a celebrity. This
most unassuming man went on to tell me that film crews making movies in
and around the islands always use him, as he has the best collection of
horses and carriages. I should have known this was no ordinary riding
establishment when I didn't see any sign at the gate of course, but at
that stage I was just so thrilled to have found the place. And anyway,
what about the white arrows on the road? Who on earth were they meant
for? I hardly felt I could ask the question now, having arrived
unannounced and being so gallantly taken out for a ride. By the film
world’s favourite supplier of horses and carriages, who very kindly
never even mentioned that it wasn’t a riding school.
Although Mike told me I was the very first Irish person to visit him
he gave me his idea of the island of Ireland as he imagined it. His
view, dreamed up by the very odd television or magazine article, is one
I treasured. Mike, in his peaceful olive groves, said he felt that in
Ireland nearly everyone must own a horse, and almost every family must
have a collie dog for the sheep!
At that time I was working for a frantic Information Technology giant
in the very trendy Pembroke Street area, the heart of Dublin City. I had
a morning wake up time of 6.10, getting home between 6.30 - 7.00 each
evening. The travelling, apart from feeder buses and standing on
freezing railway stations - Dublin has no underground - involved a
Bangladeshi like train journey from the north county Dublin to the
centre of the city and back. The travelling public practically in each
other’s pockets, standing pressed against each other for up to
forty-five minutes. This was particularly nasty on those very wet dark
winter evenings, when large overcoats and dripping umbrellas ensured
steamed up windows, soaking wet feet and me wishing I were taller than 5
foot.
I spoke to Mike about my average day and he looked at me askance,
seemed to indicate that it wasn’t a life worth living and went on to
suggest a slower pace being better for all of us. And to live in the sun
was important also, and most of all in tune with nature. But to me at
that time my life seemed ok. I could afford a holiday in Greece,
couldn’t I? Mike countered this by saying he never felt the need of a
holiday. Ah. No answer to that one.
So my saying ‘yes’ on this occasion and my meeting with Mike perhaps
sparked off something which lead to my eventual changing, even if it
took a few years to do it. Revelling in the utter peace of the magical
Greek countryside made me begin to think that a different, a more simple
way of life was perhaps not out of the question. Finding a beautiful
place well off the beaten tourist track. Having a ride on a horse fit
for a champion. Meeting such a talented and unpretentious man, who told
me he could never live anywhere else but in this exquisite countryside,
was a rare privilege.
It didn’t happen immediately, but I am now out of that city life
forever and living in one of the most remote and under populated areas
of southern France. I am sure that my inner self was working away on
this plan even when I was running on a treadmill. But I had always given
my unconscious mind the greatest go-ahead, by giving it the ‘yes’ word
to work with.
