Forest Fire

I was extremely pleased to attend the Sustainable Development training course. It is not often that one describes a place as a home away from home as memorable experiences tend to be brief. Though we may entertain the possibility of repeating the venture, we are hastened along the arduous path of life until our experience is but a memory. That may hold true for most of our encounters, but a brief stay at the Asha Centre is enough to forge a lifetime’s relationship with what is not, a reflection of an idea, nor a project, but a way of life. Zerbanoo Gifford's vision is exactly that- a way of life; the culmination of a lifetime’s work to promote that vision of peace, harmony and understanding, set amongst the most idyllic gardens in the serene Forest of Dean. I truly felt at home as with my new friends, we lived together, dined together, danced together and the ‘real’ world seemed a distant blur. Where fires blazed and stories told and song and dance gave melody to the forest’s whisper. Where we truly understood the essence of what it means to live.

(Written for the Asha Centre's website, October 2011)

Horse and Fries

The joy of travel cannot be felt without sampling the local cuisine. ‘To know a country, one must eat a country’ said the great Keith Floyd, and for a man who is a hero to your writer, I certainly had every intention to let Brussels indulge me. Now it would be an unfair judgement to state that I’ve experienced all that Belgium has to offer, and as a student, on a student budget, I did not set my sights on Brussels’ haute cuisine. So with the obligatory reading comes what? Moules-Frites, Waffles, and lots of beer; hardly imaginative and not enough to excite this particular palate. It is however much more than that. The steaming bucket of Moules (mussels) is a sensation to any seafood lover, though the frites (fries) on the side are rather dull. Which is every reason why you must dash over to one of the city’s countless ‘friteries’ and gawp at the vast array of condiments. I think I counted fifteen or more in total, some with exotic names such as Samurai, Brazil and Oriental. My lament for the absence of vinegar steadily evaporated as I stood spoilt in saucy indulgence. A quick peruse of the supermarket shelves and I deftly grab the cured horse meat and the baby octopuses. Delicious, washed down with beer brought from the ‘250 Beers’ store. I kid you not- 250 varieties. The apple beer was remarkably exquisite.

The highlight? Chez Leon on the famous Rue de Bouchers, pricey but settled at the behest and invitation of my School. As I nervously contemplated whether to locate the lobster, I was drawn to two magic words that (quite literally) evoked a raw urge- steak tartar. Forgive the cliché but I’d been haunted by this dish. To eat or not to eat, that is the question? Whether it is nobler to settle for something ordinary, or suffer the slings and arrows of something outrageous. Raw meat may be an anathema to some, but it was good; I approved as did Nat Copsey, as did the wary young lady who sat to my left initially distraught at what I was about to devour.

So eat the moules, eat the frites, and by God lose your conscience at the chocolate store. But let Brussels bring out the adventurer in you too.

Epiphany

'...I thus reflected on the concept of awe and feeling. To be in a state of awe that has been induced by drink is no state of awe at all. If you intoxicate yourself and dance to the beats ringing through your ears, you are nothing but drugged, intoxicated with a temporary self-induced anti-depressant. The experience of true awe is induced by the subconscious; for the briefest of moments, in a moment of freedom to experience, savour, and be mesmerised without the need of any drug...

As I stepped into the small shop, dripping with the raindrops that had so suddenly engulfed me, I drew in the fine fragrance in the air. I do not speak of conventional fragrance, but rather the smell of the most delightful collection of cheeses, olives and cakes I had ever seen. Charged with the negative ions that the rain had brought with it, I felt (for the briefest of moments) an absolute feeling of serenity. This was not a bakery store, nor a franchised outlet, but an Aladdin's Cave brimming with honesty and passion.

The sight of fine foods was complimented by two beautiful fair skinned young maidens, clad in fine black cotton shirts, sleeves rolled up and light fringes gently caressing their brow. Their appearance though modest, had not been accentuated by layers of make-up and jewellery; they were fair and with the most enticing of smiles, black cotton shirts, rolled up sleeves, very modern, yet carrying a timeless chic and sophistication. To add to this, the strings of Howard Shore's score from Lord of the Rings gently echoed through the premises, and I was in perpetual peace, full of awe and tranquility, an experience I knew that I would savour for a very long time...'

Journal excerpt, dated 8th May 2005, Norwich