NORMAL LIFE: Madeira (Part 1)

Sunday, 22nd April

Breakfast on the hotel veranda was lovely – while a breeze swarmed around those nibbling on their cereals and sandwiches, the sun shone brightly while, looking towards the south, cruise liners, tugboats, tankers and yachts dotted the South Atlantic. To the west, you could see the furthest parts of the island dipped in what remained of the morning’s haze.

Breakfast is a bargain at €4 (£2.60), the offering consisting of warm scrambled eggs, sausages, a selection of breads with cold ham and cheese together with cereals, yoghurt and fruits.

We decided to while away some of the morning, taking some sun before heading into town on one of the many buses bound for Funchal. The bus groaned, transport its passengers down the slopping Avenida do Infante onto the lush Avenida Arriaga, before dropping us off at the Avenida do Mar. Nearby, we passed the Beatles Boat, now moored on the beach in concrete and serving as a novelty restaurant to fans of the Fab Four.

We walked along the Avenida do Mar, admiring the cruise liners that were moored in the harbour. Eventually, we reached the Madeira Cable Car station only to be told that the toboggans were not working on Sunday. What a shame, I thought. We decided against taking the cable car up to Monte, instead opting for a walk through Zona Velha, Funchal’s Old Town, the first part of Madeira to be settled.

Everywhere you went, there were people. Apparently, the Flower Festival Parade would take place at 4pm. Tourists, locals, families on holiday and relatives gathered for what is considered to be one of Madeira’s highlights. On our wonder through the Old Town, we passed the miniscule Chapel of Corpo Santo, built in 1559 by local people to provide help for destitute sailors and fishermen. Further on, navigating along the narrow alley of Rua Dom Carlos I, we reached the façade of Santo Maria Maior, dating from 1803 which replaced an earlier chapel which had been built in thanks for Madeira’s salvation from the plague.

We made our way back into town, ambling back along the backstreet, Rua Dom Carlos I. Upon passing the Santa Luzia canal, we reached Avenida Arriaga via Rua de Sé, which translates to Cathedral Place. Here stands an imposing yet unpretentious Cathedral, built between 1493 and 1517, after King Manual I granted Little Lisbon city status. Nearby, stands the statue of João Gonçalves Zarco, XXX. Further down the road lies the Jardim De São Francisco, an area of dense greenery, replete with plentiful benches in shaded areas and fountains casting a dehumidifying effect.

By this time, it had just passed 3pm and, soon, the parade would begin so we thought it wise to take a position along the route of the parade now that people were gathering in their hundreds and thousands. I left Bree there briefly, to return with cooling ice creams. Bree was thankful, but it was yet another full hour before the parade finally started to make an appearance up the other end of Avenue Arriaga, having already made its way westward along Avenida do Mar and wound it’s way around the roundabout of Praça do Infante to return eastward towards us.

Despite what turned out to be a two hour wait in the end, it was worth it. As with most parades, different groups represented different groups, each of which were choreographed to that sections music. There were children as young as three dressed in cute little costumes, dancing as best as they could to the delight of the thousands of visitors. Young girls and boys showed of their costumes, which were laced with fresh flowers to denote the official arrival of Spring. Later, young couples, dressed in smart ballroom-dancing-style costumes wowed the audience, who clapped happily along with the beat of the music which ranged from what I can only describe as traditional Madeiran folk music, to the solitary voice of a Madeiran girl who sand beautifully to the playing of popular music such as We Are The World and Celebration. It was truly a festival of colour.

The moment the parade ended, people set of like a pack of animals foraging the Serengeti, all in search of transport to get back to their accommodations. We managed to flag down a taxi and we were gratefully whisked away by a driver who was honking his horn angrily at a tourist driving very slowly on the one-lane road ahead. ‘Timo es dinero’ (time is money), I said, to which the taxi drive nodded ferociously.

Already 6pm, the evening had already arrived. Realising I had sustained sunburn, I took a dip in the pool to cool the skin. Later, the true extent of the mornings sunbathing and the afternoons exposure wearing a vest were reveal; you could actually see where my vest had been! Ouch! After a rest, we took the bus back into town and walked on foot to the Old Town once again. We dined at Restauranté Arsénios. A prawn cocktail was followed by a succulent lamb kebab, which I washed down with a bottle of Portuguese wine. Can you believe that a bottle of Madeiran wine would have cost us €30?

As we ate, the restaurant owner’s dog rested beneath our table, seeming to guard the property from unwanted guests. Less than two metres away, a grill cooked out food, the aromas stimulating my hunger. The evening was warm and I ate my meal wearing a short-sleeved shirt. Wonderful! What a wonderful first full day on holiday, I thought, as we took a taxi back to the hotel and I rubbed afternoon into my glowing skin.

Monday, 23rd April

After breakfast, Bree sunbathed while I read my book in the shade; the sunburn was quite significant and further sunbathing would have been quite foolish. Around midday, we took a bus into town, taking the cable car up to Monte. The views were amazing as the cable car passed over the town, the highway and, later, over people’s own backyards. When we arrived at the docking station, I got out my Insight Guide to Madeira and located the Island Walks section. We headed off towards Vale do Paraiso, said to be one of the easiest and most popular Madeiran walks.

At least, I thought we had headed off in the right direction – we walked around the Botanical Gardens before arriving at the impressive 18th Century church, Nossa Senhora do Monte, which sits atop a mound with 74 concrete steps. The church was rebuilt on 1818 after an earthquake caused extensive damage and, more than a century later in 1922, the body of Charles I of Hapsburg would rest here, having died in exile following the dissolution of the Hapsburg Empire. From the forecourt of the church, you can observe the start of Madeira’s famous toboggan run, based on the use of a wicker sledge to transport two passengers down to base.

Realising that we should have in fact turned right at the cable car docking station and not right (although I am glad we did otherwise we would not have seen the church or the toboggans), we headed back and proceeded beyond the docking station. To our left was an ornate, petit chapel, but straight ahead was the verada (meaning old path) we were looking for.

Within minutes, our feet had transported ourselves into a world where only nature existed, accompanied by fellow walkers along the route. You could hear cockerels crowing from distant settlements, while newts scuttled beneath your feet. At one point, on a bridge with a pool of water far below, you could hear the incessant croaking of frogs while, in the bush, butterflies seemingly dances together as if on an journey.

The views were remarkable and, thankfully, the route wasn’t took exposed to the sun. After two hours of walking vervadas which, at some point, hooked up to our first levada, we reached the immaculate Hortensia Gardens which, according to my Insight Guide, is an excellent tea-house set in lushly planted grounds, offering salads, soups and cakes. How could we resist? After finding out was through the maze of footpaths, the house came into view, and we found a table in the shade.

What a relief it was to sit. And even better: our host, Analise, was a South African of Portuguese descent. When I heard her accent, I had to ask where she was from. When she told us she was in South Africa, but had lived in Madeira for four years now, I told her about my trip to South Africa two years ago (see here), which made her feel a bit homesick. Like many non-native Africans, she felt inclined to leave what she believes to be her homeland for safety and work. How her family ended up in South Africa, I didn’t get round to asking, but the scones and tea she bought to us were delicious.

When Analise returned to our table to ask if everything was okay, a chat started up once again. I told Analise that Bree and I had booked a holiday to South Africa (read here) for Christmas, by which time she must have sensed that we were so gay! I sensed, however, that she enjoyed our company; business was slow on this particular day and there’s nothing more engaging for a waitress than to have customers who praise their homeland.

Apparently, a bus stop some 200 metres away would take us back to Funchal so, having said our goodbyes, we dashed in the direction where Analise had pointed out where the bus was. Within fifteen minutes, the bus had arrived. We got ourselves onboard and, on our way back to Funchal, were transported through various villages. As more people go onto the bus, more people seemed to know eachother and they were happy to engage in polite chit-chat; there was a real sense of community up in the hills yet I wondered how does Analise survive on this pretty isolated, relatively remote island, having lived in South Africa most of her life?

By the time we arrived in Funchal, it was already 6pm. From the centre, we caught the Number 4 bus which transported us to a stop across the road from our hotel, but near a supermarket from which I bought some aftersun cream. By 7pm, I was in the ice-cold swimming pool, nursing my redder-than-yesterday arms and hands. Back in the apartment, I then had a red-hot bath and my skin sizzled unforgivingly as if to say it’s your own fault for not putting on the Factor 30 Bree offered! To cool off, I sat on the balcony with a towel around my waist; the breeze was relieving.

After a refreshing Martini Bianco, we were off in search of food. We settled for a set menu in a Chinese restaurant – it was lovely and the best bit was they got the bill wrong; for the two of us, including a bottle of wine, they charged just €29 (£20). We walked back to our hotel room, realising how out of season it was when, during the 1.5km walk back to the hotel, only one establishment appeared to have organised entertainment of some kind. But we didn’t care!

Tuesday, 24th April

After breakfast on the veranda and a brief sunbathing session, we took a bus to Cabo Girao; Winston Churchill used to come here in the good old days to paint the impressive shoreline. Today, we would see this so-called impressive shoreline for ourselves. The bus journey was eventful with the vehicle resembling a tight formulation of three-and-two seats with a very narrow aisle. When we boarded, there were very few seats left so we sat adjacent to one another. I sat next to a very heavy set woman with a beaming smile who took up all of her seat and most of mine. As such, I had one foot on the floor in the aisle to steady myself since I couldn’t get both feet on the floor area in affront of me.

He travelled through undulating hills and were stunned when the driver had apparently hit a road sign and drove on. It was a sudden clunk which stunned everyone. As the driver passed by, however, the passengers continued to engage in their loud chatter, as if nothing had happened. What an experience, Bree said aloud. Near death experience more like, I thought to myself!

When an elderly woman hopped onboard, Bree have up his seat. Such gentlemanly behaviour was well received as the women all around us pointed at him and started up a lively discussion, seeming to curse those who hadn’t offered to give up their seats closer to where the woman had boarded. For some twenty minutes or so, the women ranted, never seeming to pause for air. It was when we arrived at Cabo Girao that the confusion started; my guidebook referred to a new road yet there didn’t seem to be one, at least nowhere near where the bus had dropped us off. It also referred to a car park when, in fact, there were three to choose from.

We finally found the Cabo Girao lookout point, which was nowhere near where the bus had dropped us off. Churchill frequented this area on his many visits to Madeira. At the top of the 580m cliff, the second highest sea cliff in Europe, lizards devoured what was left of a banana skin at my feet. Peering over the cliff itself, you could see the plantations more than half a kilometre down while, out to sea, you sense that you weren’t that far beneath the cloud layer as wisps of clouds moved quickly overhead.

At the nearby café, we asked where the so-called pine trees mentioned in the book were for they apparently signified the start of a Levada walk. He pointed to a brief opening, some ½km away beyond a smattering of recently built apartments. It dawned on me what must have happened: the area has been developed and so the buses had been adjusted accordingly and this must have happened after the publication of the guide I held in my hands.

We made our way along the path, passing the newly built Holiday Property Bond complex; the tarmac of the road was jet black indicating its newness while recently planted shrubs and plants graced the driveway leading up to the reception area. We walked a bit further, finally reaching the start of our Levada Walk, which would take us from Cabo Girao to Câmara de Lobos. To cut a long story short, the walk didn’t resemble what was mentioned in the guide at all. That’s not to say that the walk still wasn’t pleasant; we saw various crops being grown on the expanse of plantations, and this walk provided an opportunity to peer into the backyards of the locals. The walk, however, lacked the closeness with nature as the walk from Monte to Vale do Paraiso had.

During our walk, water was a frequent star as water gushed down the irrigated paths. Strawberries and bananas were being grown here amidst a plentiful assortment of flora, which made for a spectacular display of colour. Somehow, having passed a number of communities where idling dogs were disturbed by our passing by, we ended up in the small town of Câmara de Lobos. Ambling through the town, we bought ice cream and waited for a bus back to Funchal.


Arriving back at our hotel just after 6pm, we dozed, our faces slathered with face packs I had bought on holiday. When we woke, we took steaming hot showers and then dined at the oddly named Granny’s House. Sharing a bottle of Portuguese White, I had a Prawn Cocktail, followed by Cod ‘Granny’s Style’,which was actually just cod with vegetables! For dessert, we ate flambéd pineapple and bananas with a shot of Madeiran wine. Yummy! Back at our hotel, we drank coffee on the balcony, watching a brightly-lit cruise liner leave Funchal, slowly retreating into the distance. Meanwhile, stars twinkled high above as if winking back at two tired guys on Earth.

NORMAL LIFE: Off Somewhere (A Bit) Warmer

Just checked the weather in Madeira - it's 21C. A bit colder than London, but about 10C warmer than Helsinki so can't complain. After perhaps the shittiest week at work in ages and the onset of a middle ear infection (so I am on antibiotics, just typical), I just can't wait to pack my bags and go. Our flight leaves at 10am tomorrow morning so you won't hear from me for the rest of April. Did I hear some sighs of relief from the back there?!

NORMAL LIFE: Confrontation = Bad Guy

I think Brits are very open people - we're not as brash as the Americans nor are we as conservative as the French. We're not perfect, but one characteristic I regard to be rather virtuous is our ability - or rather, willingness - to open hot issues. Let me give you an example:

In my current job, we have a process whereby products can be put on hold for reasons such as quality or safety. The bizarre thing is that literally anybody is able to put products on hold with the most minute amount of data. Such holds impact on revenue, but also on customer satisfaction since those products will no longer be shipped.

Such an issue has arisen with nine of my products, all of which have been put on hold with minimal information combined with alot of speculation. I discussed this in my weekly team meeting to see if they have experienced similar situations during the Hold process. Apparently, they have and they simply said 'that's the system'. Why is it, I asked myself, that Finns simply accept everything? Why won't someone turn round and say: Hey, this process can't continue, it's damaging to our business?

Because I opened the issue, admittedly with a bit of force, I'm the bad guy. Everyone has gone to lunch. Without me. How pathetic!

NORMAL LIFE: Life Is Too Short

Lately, I've been a bit cheerful than usual; with a trip to Madeira just around the corner and having recently celebrated my 30th birthday AND having booked a Christmas holiday in South Africa, I was somewhat taken aback by two bits of bad news.

The first concerned a colleague of mine in the States. She wrote a heart-rending email to us a couple of weeks back, telling us that her Cancer had returned and that she was booked in to have some surgery which would be followed by an even more agressive course of chemotherapy than the first time around.

I felt inclined to respond; she had always been kind to me and, although we rarely saw eachother, I too felt close to her. As I started to formulate my reply, the words of sympathy began to flow. Firstly, I thanked her being so open before telling her my own, albeit less dramatic, story. I explained how, just six years ago, I was still totally deaf, my speech somewhat impaired and how people used to point and laugh at me. Without highlighting my sexuality, I explained what a challenge it was to make my mark, to be seen as willing and able considering what I referred to as the 'other aspects of my life'.

Her response was one of wiseness. She basically blasted those people who may have pointed and laughed at me before describing me as 'very warm, kind, intelligent and handsome'. She went on to say that 'Ultimately, you have to be you, and you need to be proud of that because there's only one you'. I wasn't seeking praise or anything, but what amazed me was that here was a women at deaths door (on her second warning, at least) and, still, she had time to make others feel good about themselves! Extending a hand of friendship, I told her that now was time to fight back and that if she ever needed someone to talk to, I was there for her.

As I thought over this email, I received an call from a former colleague of mine who was ringing to invite me for lunch. I sensed something in her voice that wasn't quite right and when I asked her if anything was wrong, she told me that her father had died just before Easter. Oh dear, I thought to myself.

I met up with her today for lunch and I was amazed at how calm she seemed. Two weeks after her father's death, her worry was her mother who, having been married for more than 35 years, was now suddenly alone. Her mother was planning to move to Helsinki, which was good news, but they needed to wait for the autopsy results to determine the cause of death. "What do you mean?" I asked. She explained that her father was 64 and died in his sleep. He has just retired from a very stressful job and was starting to get used to his new routine as pensioner when he just past away in his sleep.

Blimey, I thought to myself. My father is 63 and, suddenly, I realised that my own parents are actually on borrowed time. I have reached that age now that had pushed my own parents into the danger zone and, admist the stress of everyday life, I just hadn't realised. Nothing like incidents like these two to put your life into perspective, is there?

NORMAL LIFE: Thoughts At 30!

There's not one person in the world who hasn't felt that a special birthday, be it a 30th, 40th, 50th or beyond, has crept up on them suddenly. Reaching thirty, however, has come as no surprise to me. I've been so busy, that it feels somewhat relieving to be thiry.

I do, however, feel somewhat embittered as every other day at work, I'm asked for money to celebrate someone's marriage, somebody's leaving-the-company gift or to celebrate the arrive of a colleague's newborn. It's a constant reminder that I am different to other people; if I were straight, I would probably adapt quite well into this giving and receiving culture, but when it's give, give, give all the time I'm like bloody hell.

On the whole, however, life is good! My health has been really bad this winter, but otherwise I'm fortunate because I have a loving family, some great friends and a partner who adores me! If I were to look back and rate my first thirty years on a scale of 1 to 10, I would probably opt for somewhere between 8 and 9 so I can't complain, can I? I've been fortunate to travel and have been living abroad more than five years already. I'm holding down a decent job, living a far-from-typical life which adds to the sense that I certainly haven't wasted any time. To the contrary, I feel I have lived.

The weekend started already on Friday after work with the thus far unrelated celebrating of a colleague who was leaving the company. At Helsinki University's Botanical Gardens, sixty or so of us gathered to give our colleague a good send off. All was going well until Popeye (read here) began to object to my use of English, especially having lived in Finland for five years. It astonishes me how predictable this kind of verbal abuse is for it occurs at every party I go to. It's got to a stage now where I am actually starting to feel guilty for not speaking Finnish, preferring to speak English.

After my encounter with Popeye, I asked another colleague if she minded speaking English with me. She said she loves speaking English and, despite being a native Finn herself, thinks it's sensless that somebody is foreigners are learning Finnish, pointing out that 'we live in a Global world'! So, on the one hand, I was offended for not speaking Finnish while, on the other hand, I was getting no credit for the fact that I am the only English-speaker in my original class who has managed to get to Level 3 of 6!

Anyway, the evening drew on and I met some wonderful people. Come 10pm, the party at the Botanical Gardens was starting to close down and a group started to make their way to one of the newest nightclubs in the centre of town; I reluctantly entered the establishment since Bree and I had agreed to meet up after 11pm for a pre-birthday celebration. We entered at the nightclub via the lift, which transported us to the Sixth floor of the recently opened Kamppi shopping centre. We arrived at an impressively laid out nightclub, accommodating just a handful of patrons at this early hour. We were guided to two VIP areas, each one seating approximately ten people.

One colleague approached me, asking for €30 (£20); apparently, champagne and a bottle of gin (yuck!) had been ordered for sharing. I was thinking to myself: someone is leaving the company, isn't it a bit offending to consider it a champagne moment? I explained I had no cash with me, but I had a credit card. No problem, he said, just come to the bar with me. First, however, I paid a quick trip to the toilet.

As I stood their doing my business, all these thoughts were going through my: isn't is just downright cheeky to ask me to pay €30 at a colleague's leaving party? Without any disrespect, she isn't even a friend of mine! After all the charity I have given these last few months for new babies, people's marriages and people leaving the company, I decided to take a stand.

What I did was this: I left the toilet and rejoined my colleagues, but at the same time I pretended to suddenly recognise someone in the crowd of people. I pointed my finger towards the non-existent friend, heading towards the exit at the same time. Checking to see that no-one had noticed, I just collected my jacket and did a runner! About thirty minutes later, having told this story to countless people already in a gay bar, I got a text message from my colleague (the one who was leaving), asking where I was. I felt a bit guilty, but explained how I had been seduced in the toilets! It was our mutual birthdays and she just wanted to wish me happy birthday - this did nothing to ease my guilt.

Perhaps I was wrong to leave like that, but I just couldn't understanding the willingness of these people to dish out €30/head. It was bizarre, watching them all fiddle with their wallets and purses for the sake of a glass of champagne and some gin! How pathetic! Furthermore, I have never bought into the superficiality of the whole VIP thing.

This hadn't set a good start to the evening for, in the gay bar where Bree and I downed celebratory drinks for my birthday, something else was going on. Earlier this year, I had embarked on what I called 'ditching season', a period of time whereby I had assessed the relationships I had with people and done away with the energy suckers and users I seem to be very effective at attracting! One of them happened to be Joshua.

Joshua was in the bar - I noticed him - and his two croney's - a couple of times who, prior to the split, were in regular contact with me also. As the three of them made their way around the bar, they deliberately ignored me and this only further enhanced the decision I had made to stop talking to them in the first place. Offer them free alcohol or invite them to a party and they'll be my friends again, we joked!

It was turning out to be a hell of an evening - first there was Popeye verbally abusing me for not speaking Finnish, then there was an attempt by another colleague to extract €30 from me for drinks I did not want and now I was being ignored by three people who, this time last year, were good friends of mine. Despite all this, I actually felt good about the situation: these were all examples where I had actually stood up for myself. Beside me was Bree and that was all that mattered!

We got home about 3am - Bree had warned me that we needed to be up and out of the house by 10am for his 'surprise'. My headed span as I tried to sleep, the negative elements of the evening fast becoming yet another memory that would remain in the chapter titled 'first 30 years of my life'.

When I woke up the next morning, Bree rose from the bed and raised the blinds, the blue sky blinding my still-tired, slightly hungover eyes. I got out of bed and headed for the kitchen, to be greeted with hot coffee and cake, and a pile of cards and yet-to-be-opened presents! I opened my cards one by one and was particular touched by the one sent by my Grandmother; we are not particularly close, but the message in her card somewhat said it all as if though she knew me quite deeply. It read:-

You truly are a lovely Grandson who deserves
All the love and happiness that this birthday can bring
It isn't really surprising that such a bright little boy
Has grown into someone to love and feel so proud of
You have always been special and that's something
That will never change.

These words really hit some buttons, my eyes filling with water. Somehow, I managed to fight the deluge; firstly, there was the reference to the 'little boy'. To this day, despite the magical restoration of my hearing, I often feel like that little deaf boy that felt like he wasn't being listened to, who used to spend all of his free time playing on his own. I took the reference to the fact that I am 'special' and 'that's something that will never change' to mean that my Grandmother was expressing her suspicion that I am gay. I somehow sense that my Grandmother chose this card very carefully as if to say that everything was okay.

Anyway, we drank the coffee and I ate the remainder of my slice of cake, packed an overnight bag and we were on our way. Two hours later, we pulled into the car park of the five-star Naatali Spa Hotel. We checked in just before 1pm, just minutes before a 45-minute full body massage Bree had pre-booked; it was heaven! Afterwards, we checked into our luxurious room at the Sunborn Yacht Hotel where, totally exhausted from the massage, we collapsed into bed. We napped for a couple of hours, waking up just in time for our second treatment: a face peel! At first, I thought Bree was taking the piss. I'm only 30!

An hour later, having fell asleep during the fifteen minute relaxation period, my face having been scrubbed, peeled and masked, I felt like a new man. We made our way back to the hotel room in our bathrobes, ready to pop the cork from a bottle of Moet we had left on ice. Yummy! I felt myself getting a bit woozy so we laid off the booze, choosing instead to go to the Paradise Pool, taking a sauna and enjoying the sun's unusually bright rays in the outdoor section of the pool. It was just wonderful!

Back in the hotel room, it was nearly 6pm and, finishing off the remaining Champagne, we showered and prepared for dinner. Life onboard the 'boat' (which is in fact artificial and therefore has no engine) was very quiet so we crossed the jetty and headed towards the main building. There, we were disappointed to find that the Thai restaurant was fully booked so we settled instead for a Ranch-style dinner, tucking into Steak and Pork Ribs.

During the dinner, we actually settled into a very serious discussion, which was kicked off with Bree's question: how does it feel to be 30? Sharing some of my frustrations about life in general and how powerless I feel in certain situations, I deduced that there's three things I need to work on: my general confidence in the workplace; controlling my anger/temper; and learning to ignore unimportant things. All three of these issues stem, I believe, from the fact that I am a foreigner trying to make a mark in a foreign environment and that I face daily challenges that someone in their home country might not face.

After the dinner, we went for a walk and it finally hit me just how silent the place was; it was truly a place for relaxation, a place for reflection and indulging in life's pleasures. Having foregone dessert, we headed to a bar onboard the 'boat' and order Irish Coffees before slumping into bed; at just 10pm, I guess I was starting to show my age!

We woke up the next morning bright and early, the weather a carbon copy of that from the day before! It was exceptional for an April weekend in Finland to have such wonderful weather with temperatures reaching 19ºC. After breakfast, there was another treatment: a 90-minute foot treatment. Having bathed my feet in warm water first, the young girl proceeded to remove hard skin from my feet before working on my toenails. Afterwards, she used a mask to stimulate my feet before letting them be for fifteen minutes. Again, I fell asleep and, when the young girl returned and started to unwrapped my feel (which had been wrapped up in warm towels), it felt like my feet weren't mine!

Shortly after our treatments ended, it was time to check out. I couldn't believe it; it was an anticlimax that would mar the rest of the day for it marked the beginning of the end of a milestone birthday. We checked out, but crept back in to use the pool and jacuzzi one last time. Bree enjoyed it so much that, once again, he fell into one of his I'm-so-relaxed modes where everything he said was somewhat slurred!

When we finally left and ss the Sunborn Yacht Hotel faded into the distance, it was time to look forward. I sometimes refer to those in their thirties as being in the 'Decade of Responsibility' because people in their thirties usually start to make some pretty big decisions. I started to wonder: what's in store for me?

NORMAL LIFE: South Africa For Christmas

The day of our fifth anniversary bought about some reminiscing, and travelling seems to be something we have done consistently and very well. But Bree has decided to stretch the boundaries, bored with the usual Europe destinations and hops to the United States.

After several days of searching online, we decided to opt for Christmas in South Africa. From December 14th through to New Years Eve, we will enjoy the delights of Cape Town and it's Vineyards and beaches before heading north to visit some Game Parks. I can't wait!

I'm just glad that we won't be going through the usual motions with Christmas and New Year this year; we narrowly escaped New Year by choosing flights that land back in Helsinki at 11am on New Years Day. This was worth doing becase the flights turned out to be about £400 cheaper!

NORMAL LIFE: You Know You’ve Learnt Something When…

… you are on the tram and you are finally able to translate a sentence (well, in this case, a two-word statement) after five and a half years! Not only are you able to translate it, you able to rationalise how it was translated.

In the case of the above photo, Lippuja kuljettajalta, means 'tickets from the driver'. While the translation has always been helpfully provided in Swedish, English and German, my confusion stemmed from the fact that, until now, words that ended in -ja were, so I thought, related to occupations (e.g. ajaja = driver, siivoaja = cleaner, valvoja = supervisor, johtaja = director).

In this current Finnish course (level 3 of 6), however, I have learnt that words ending in -ja can also be plurals. For example, lippuja means tickets, karhuja means bears, while kirkkoja means churches and tyttöja means girls. Note for diary: -ja = occupations and plurals.

This was the least of it. In this course, we have also learnt many different plural systems, konditionaali, imperitiivi, intransiiverbi and passiivi. One thing is for sure: by learning another language, you learnt alot about your own language.

NORMAL LIFE: Apparently, I'm Self Centred!

Apparently, because I have no desire to get married, no desire to have children and therefore have probably more disposable income than most people my age, I am 'selfish and self-centred'; this was one colleague's assessment.

If this is true, isn't it self centred of everyone else that, when a new baby arrives or if someone get married, that self centred single people like myself are left footing the bill laden with gifts? Mother's day, Father's Day, Wedding Day, the days of new arrivals.

I think there should be a day for celebrating individuality, in recognition of those people who are brave enough to go it alone; I know several people who might even be deemed too smart to be married. Isn't it wrong, after all, that most people are pressured into marriage, or at least cohabit, for financial reasons?

I am in a relationship (and could be considered unofficially married after five years together next week!), but as far as society is concerned, I am unattached. Due to the private nature of my relationship among folks at large, why should I keep giving when I haved actually been in a relationship longer than most of them?!

NORMAL LIFE: T - 39 Days & Counting (Eurovision)

All the plans for Finland's hosting of this year's Eurovision Song Contest are finaly coming through (read official press release here). The most exciting development is, to compensate for the ridiculously small capacity of 8,000 seats at the Hartwall Arena, the City will relay all the goings-on to squares in the City so that 'domestic and foreign tourists alike can enjoy the contest atmosphere'.

Special events will be taking place in the city’s squares, streets, restaurants, clubs, museums, sauna baths, shops and galleries during May 2-13, 2007 with the main events being at the EuroVillage in Narinkkatori Square and Senate Square. I can't tell you how great it feels to be part of something that always seemed to be out of our grasp in the UK. It is so exciting in fact that I could wet my pants!

The Semi finals will be on Thursday May 10th and the finals will be on Saturday May 12th. On Friday 11th, the eve of the Finals, the Helsinki Fête will invite choirs, bands, dance bands and other performers to take over the inner city streets and squares and spread out an atmosphere of vernal musical festivities. The number of countries participating in the 52nd Eurovision Song Contest is the largest ever at 42. Come to Finland, there has never been a better time!

Afterthough: I hope the weather isn't the same as during the World Athletic Championships in August 2005 when nearly 3cms of rain fell in a two hour period (read here and here).

NORMAL LIFE: Hong Kong What?

I was patiently waiting for my doctor when I unreasonably suspected him of being on a coffee break; I had only been waiting five minutes, after all. As I thought of coffee breaks, an incent that was tucked away deeply in the recesses of my mind suddenly unscrambled, reminding me of an embarrassing chat some four years ago.

'Thing', my Chinese colleague, and I were studying Finnish at the same time and, in the office one day, she asked me a question to which I replied "Hong Kong what..?" She looked at a third colleague in the room somewhat stunned before erupting in laughter. Apparently, she had asked me if it was time for a break (Onko nyt tauko?) in Finnish.

Looking back, it is hilarious and this incident made me realise that, when it comes to languages, it pays to make mistakes. In fact, I must get on with studying my Monikko Genetiivi (Genitive plurals).