25-26th of July
Airports are no man’s lands, you are between countries, continents, they are a world within a world. My favorite still is the Heathrow. Every single time I traveled from Kuwait to Hungary and back, flew via Heathrow. No, I am not crazy. Yes, I did flew all the way up. It wasn’t on my way, could have used Frankfurt, Rome, but I preferred this airport. A place where I could stock up on English magazines with all their pages intact, not blackened out, like they do it in Kuwait. Inappropriate photos, pictures ( like ladies wearing bikinis or less) are either torn out of a magazine or covered with black ink. Books, Cadbury chocolates, cookies were also on my list of must buys. Still love the perfumed air of the duty free shops, mingling with scents and sometimes smells of the passengers, enjoy watching people rushing by while sipping my cappuccino, with Mish, ideally reading his book.
Got to the Gran Canaria airport way too early, luckily the Binter airline doesn’t stick to the 2 hours before departure boarding routine. Had plenty of time to have my Starbucks coffee (bliss), shop around for mags, bought loads of interior design magazines, small jars of their sauces and that Gran Canarian cookery book I’ve been leafing through earlier.
Uneventful flight, little shaky landing. I was home. Again. They stopped us at the customs, a first one, scanned our bags, then opened them. I really hate it when strangers are going through my possessions, especially when bras and panties are involved. He gave up quickly, had to close it, zip it for me, being one handed.
No matter how many times I see it, am still struck by the beauty of this island. The deep blue ocean on the left, the mountains on the right, us in the taxi, with a driver who knows that Palheiro village is down, by the old Airport road, no need to go up to the gates of Palheiro golf. 15 minutes, that’s all it took to arrive. The first time we came to see this house in December, it had a funny, moldy smell. Honestly thought that they haven’t been to it for months. Now I know. It can be so humid up here, you must have the windows open a lot, otherwise it gets damp and smelly.
Windows, doors were opened, curtains were flying in the gentle breeze, and a cat was sitting on the chez lounge, lazily licking herself.
Voila, a cat. Why am I not surprised? Nice, grey kitty cat , with a flea collar around her neck, must have an owner. Later Emilia told us that she lives 2 houses away from us, she was wondering around and they adopted her. Mish played with her, dragging the peonza string in front of her, fed her with turkey. Since then she is pretty much in an out of the house. We call her Tibo ( comes from Tibouchina, that gorgeous purple flower ).
Used to have a cat, called Joshua. It’s a boy’s name, but she was a girl, our baby. We got her in 1994. She died a few years ago. Exactly when, I don’t know. Ex never told me. Left Kuwait in 2006. Kept asking about her, missed her so much, he always said “She is fine..” I knew that cats don’t live to be 20 or more, so in the end he admitted it. Since then we always seem to have cats for days, they come and go, appear from the middle of nowhere and disappear the same way.
As I followed “our cat for the day” down the stairs into the garden, noticed wisterias and Bougainvilleas newly planted next to the wall of the house. Can’t wait for them to grow and cover the entire wall, and the pergola above the terrace. Checked on our new Tibouchinas. If it was up to me, I would take up all those tiles and turn it all into a garden, even the lawn. Miss gardening, getting my hands dirty, miss feeling the soil between my hands. At times, to the total embarrassment of my son, I start pulling out weeds wherever I am , do that a lot at the hotel by the lake. Must be in close touch with Mother Nature, need to be grounded. Here I resorted to hugging trees. There is a particularly huge sycamore tree right next to the Almirante restaurant in Funchal, makes me feel safe. The upside of not digging in the garden is clean pink nails, though the pink part I think it’s mostly due to the amount of Omega-3 consumed regularly in the form of seafood. Perfect diet. Since we overdid it with seafood, at night we tried out a beef dish, cooked on the stone. Realized it’s fun. Ex likes preparing his dish likes this, had fun doing it myself, adding loads of garlic to it. Nobody to kiss after all. Was delicious served with rice and black beans.
To reduce the damage done to my waist line, I walk whenever I can. I particularly like it just before sunset, the lights are amazing (important for my pictures), it is really quiet, and peaceful. The African Lilies lining the road leading to the hotel are quickly fading, the leaves of Virginia creepers are various colors of red, July is almost over.
Counting the days till we leave. One part of me is really missing the garden, home, the surroundings and some people that are very dear to me, the other part of me was almost crying on the way home at night. The thought of leaving saddens me, how long can I stay away? Madeira cast a magical spell on me. Somebody please help me!