Passports at the Ready, Holiday First Phase: Sunshine In Leith !

It’s always the same.  As you prepare to move off – passports and boarding passes in hand, suitcases zipped up - you turn round and survey the results of all the recent hard work: garden trim, house spick and span – and you think it may be nice to stay home and enjoy it in this state!  But no – off we go, snacks in cellophane.  Why is in-flight food such an assault on the olfactory system? The smells emanating from the on-board microwaves certainly do not entice.

Britannia wears a light cloud cover, but the temperatures are comfortable, the cooler, damper atmosphere feels refreshing to us, having faced constant dry heat for so long. We drive up north and, as always, I feel a wee heart flutter as we cross the border into Scotland.

We’re using a GPS and our lady adviser is a stalwart, leading us seamlessly to our destination. So, okay – there is a camera on board, charting your route but here is the riddle: in the case of unpredictable eventualities, how can she respond so efficiently? Is there a recording for every possible alternative route all nicely pre-recorded? How can that be?  Or is there a gigantic GPS control tower with millions of nicely-spoken, unflappable females, watching each driver’s every manoeuvre, responding like slightly tetchy kindergarten teachers whenever an off-course move is made? I am genuinely puzzled by the workings of it. 

                                             

We are staying at furnished accommodation in Leith; off-season we’re paying 89 pounds per night for a 2-bedroom (one en-suite) flat, bathroom and kitchen-cum-lounge cooking equipment, cutlery, crockery, linen, all in - exceptional value for money! We manage to get spectacular views thrown in as well. Prices can quadruple in festival time.

                                

                                                 

 

One highlight there was our visit to the Royal Yacht Britannia. In 1976 I was lucky enough to see her in Montreal as the Queen arrived for the Olympic Games there. I still remember my sense of pride and being in awe as I watched this gleaming, elegant vessel sail into port. Now I was going to see her from the inside. The two extremes impressed me: the grandeur of the dining room where heads of state had attended official functions and the slightly shabby, unassuming simplicity of the royal private quarters.

                                            

 In the summers in Knapdale we would watch this proud vessel cruise up the west coast, carrying the Queen on holiday to Balmoral. On their way, they passed Duart Castle on the Isle of Mull, home to the then Lord and Lady Maclean of Duart.  The Chief of the Clan Maclean, and the Queen’s Lord Chamberlain, would wave welcomes and set off fireworks to honour the royal presence in these waters, and the Britannia and Frigate, going slowly past,   would reciprocate!                                                                                                                                       (Many thanks to Susan Campbell, of Duart, Mull  for offering her first-hand account of this lovely local tradition.)         

It was interesting to see so many photographs of such cruises, the Queen looking relaxed and happy. Apparently on such trips protocol was suspended and the crew-members were addressed on first-name terms, in keeping with the holiday tenor. How petty and tragic that funds were not released to refurbish this great, floating ambassador and that she was decommissioned in 1997.

The other highlight was meeting up with friends, Margaret and Bill, from Aberdeen University days. In keeping with our maritime theme, we reminisced how Margaret and I had celebrated graduating by chartering a yacht with my brother and a friend and sailing round the isles of the Inner Hebrides. Now this yacht had a Ford Poplar stand-by engine which they claimed could blow up after 20 minutes’ use  – so not at all in the Britannia league! There’s a great story of my poor friend feeling quite sea-sick, a feeling which did not abate when she saw, at relatively close quarters, what is the third-largest whirlpool in the world, Corryvrechan.  She remembers Ali grabbing her by the hair and roughly turning her leeward to avoid undesired er …….blow-back!

                                            

 And just as the Proclaimers sang, we did have some beautiful Sunshine in Leith, but an east wind that would freeze your nose off! Here we are enjoying a fine meal at the Lochfyne Restaurant – an appropriate venue as Tarbert, Lochfyne was literally our next port of call.

Surging Sturgeon, The Eton Mess and Westering Home!

I’ve been following the British parliamentary farce – things really have dropped to an unbelievably limbo-level low. Three nights ago, I heard they were bringing back one of Theresa May’s plans. Well, it’s like watching a dog chasing its tail only you don’t expect the dog to know any better!

Johnson and Rees Mogg both exude that superior air of entitlement: Lord Snooty and the Eton Mess!  That’s why I was delighted to learn that Nichola Sturgeon has been honoured with the M100 Media Award by a group of 100 European editors. They state that when they compare Holyrood stability with the Brexit meltdown, she has been seen as ‘the crucial  voice of reason in the debate’ and has taken a ‘responsible and ethic stance against Brexit’.

                 

 

What a worthy winner she is! I have never had leanings towards SNP before, but  she has won me over. As for the Westminster shenanigans, I have both literally and metaphorically switched off.

                        

                                                      

We’re still enjoying our daily swims here and the temperatures are still hovering around 30oC but, like the swallows, we are preparing for the off.  On Monday we travel to Durham, where we’ll meet up with my family and with Angeliki, currently teaching at the University there. Having a Wednesday overnight in Leith, we then go westering home with a song in the air: driving down Loch Fyne to the West Loch Tarbert Hotel. Needless to say I am really looking forward to it. We may also manage a trip to the Klberry Inn – our old home. Our final stop will be with niece, Jen, and husbnd, Mark, in Sheffield to see their new home and, most importantly to meet their 6-month-old son, Callum.

Itching to be oop north and in the Highlands and hope the weather will be kind and clement. No politics, but just a wee message for Nichola: Congratulations and gawn yersel, hen, gawn yersel!!

                                              

Didymoteicho and The Bayezid Mosque.

Whenever possible we like to travel up to Evros, Z’s home area, on 20^th July to celebrate the name day of the Prophet Ilias. Tradition is on the eve of the celebration to collect at the church on the hill, dedicated to him. The devout observe the liturgy, while the not-so-devout meet up in the churchyard and exchange news.

                          

This time I decided to give you some information on the nearby town with the imposing name of Didymoteicho - from didymos: twin and teichos: wall. First recorded in 591-2 AD, the name most likely came from the improved fortification of the city during the reign of Justinian 1^st    (527-565). It is situated on the west banks of the River Evros, very close to the Turkish border. With rich soil and well watered, there is good agricultural land around.

 This area has been inhabited from the Neolithic times and was an important Thracian and Hellenistic town. In the early 2^nd century, the Roman Emperor Trajan built a new city, calling it Plotinopolis after his wife. Pompeia Plotina. The ruins of this ancient city are known as the Kabe, or castle in Turkish; the Komotini Museum houses a solid gold bust of Emperor Septimius Severus found on that site in 1965.

As well as being a fertile plain, the area afforded good transportation: the River Erythropotamus, the River Evros and part of the Via Egnatia which ran from Rome to Konstantinople. In the 12^th century, Crusaders either used the town to replenish their supplies …. or ransacked it. Today the local Hotel Plotini bears witness to the name of yore.

 But the building that fascinates me is the Celebi Sultan Mehmed Mosque, also known as the The Great Mosque or the Bayezid Mosque.

                                          

  It was completed in March 1420 as inscribed above the main entrance. The inscriptions on the side entrance record the following names:

Ivaz ibn Bayezid  - the architect

Dogan Ibn Abdullah – builder (donor)

Seyid Ali – local qadi or judge who oversaw the construction.

 The early 15th century oak roof, in the shape of a 4-sided pyramid, was considered by the A. Bakirtzis, writing on Ottoman architecture in Greece, as, ‘one of the most important wooden monuments in the world.’

                         

                      

 In November 2010, the Central Archaeological Council resumed earlier restoration work, using both national and EU sources of funding. Tragically, on 22nd March 2017, during the course of this work, the mosque caught fire and the entire roof was destroyed.  Currently, the building remains in the same sad state. Let’s hope the restoration work resumes soon as it is much too important a part of the town history to be left to fall into decline.

One thing I love is that when you meet up, after initial greetings, one of the locals is bound to say ‘Allo?’- ‘So, what else (is new)?’  It’s as if you are continuing a previous conversation even though you may not have seen each other for years. Like those twin walls, It simply reinforces our strong, social or familial bonds. And, like the storks, we like to return on a regular basis.   

                                                  

 As we prepare to leave, we exchange one final wish : ‘Tou chronou’ – ‘ Till next year!’

Assessment in Athens, Sadness in Serbia, Pigging out in Podgorica!

I was recently in Athens for assessments – it’s nice to experience the buzz of the capital every now and then, but in the summer heat it’s a thought!

Nevertheless, off I go with awesome Aegean and am pleasantly surprised: Attica is under cloud cover and, with a light, fanning breeze, it’s cooler than in Thessaloniki. And if you can spend time by the sea – even better!

                                                        

 The diploma candidates at this centre always have an international flavor – and this group doesn’t disappoint. They come from three different continents and currently teach in Asia, the Middle East and Europe – fascinating!

Each candidate, for assessment in this section of the course, carries out research on a particular area of the English language, either skills – reading, writing, etc. -  or systems – grammar, vocabulary, etc. – and writes an essay on their findings. In the same area, and informed by their research, they design a lesson plan which they execute before a live class. This is where I come in: having received their essay and lesson plan and materials beforehand, I then observe that lesson. Within 48 hours, the teacher has to send via the course tutor an evaluation of their planning and execution to me. After that I am immersed in paperwork, notes, materials, etc., and I have two weeks to complete and upload the reports onto a platform of Cambridge University. I send them all the candidate materials and my grades (Fail, Pass, Merit or Distinction) for the research, then the planning, execution and evaluation together.

There is a Cambridge Moderator who has the final say – she also has the centre materials of candidate essays and observed lessons during the course, so she has a more global perception of their abilities. I must say that we very rarely disagree. We assessors undergo annual standardisation which keeps us on track.

                                                 

 Creativity is not a pretty sight!

I have been assessing since 1987 and have had great experiences - though being ‘accosted’ in a taxi by a course tutor and more or less told what grades to give her candidates was not one of them, and it didn’t work either!!

 Being sent to the island of Corfu and to Cyprus – several times- to assess is no hardship whatsoever – any time! I did miss the chance of heading to St Petersburg but was passed over for someone with a Russian visa – big disappointment!

I was in Serbia, in early spring, just after the Balkan War ended - where a teacher told me how excited they were that greens were now in the market. She assured me that though it had been a horrendous experience, she and her colleagues had gone to work well-dressed and in full make-up. She explained that was one of their survival strategies to keep their spirits up during that Belgrade winter.

 On that same trip – all part of a British Aid project - I visited a state school In Montenegro. These mountain folks seem to grow to a great height – perhaps the effects of the rarified atmosphere.  As I was decanted off the plane along with members of their national basketball team I have never felt so small and insignificant!

The class I observed there was of primary school children: one kept trying to see what I was scribbling down, one turned round every time he answered to check I’d seen him, giggling groups of girl, and boisterous boys jostling each other every time the teacher turned her back- par for the course. Perhaps the most challenging experience in Podgerica was being taken for lunch by the utterly charming headmaster – an absolute Anthony Quinn look-alike – who ordered loads of local specialities for this special guest: me!! L Platters, not plates, were brought to the table and they were heaped with potatoes, vegetables and huge, massive, immense slabs of meat. He was visibly disappointed that I could only make a slight dent in my portion.

 Now I cannot remember whether the currency was in dollars or not, but what I do remember was that the hotel they had booked for me cost an arm and a leg to the point where Cambridge questioned my expenses submission. It was a place that had seen better days, with vast rooms and high ceilings, ‘weathered’ furniture. I guess my basic grouse was with the staff: the carpet was so stained I hesitated to step on it even in slippered feet, the bathroom, well, that was not gleam-clean either. But it was the receptionist who was vying for worst employee of the year award.  He looked at me as if I had been accidentally brought in on the soles of someone’s shoes. To say his attitude was one of disdain was to put it mildly. He watched my every move as if I was about to set up a parlour on his premises to practise the oldest profession right there and then. Next day, he was still at reception and responded to my gay, morning greeting with a gruff grunt. When I asked if a car had come for me, he responded rudely, ‘No, just a car from the Ministry of Education’.  Now that last part, the reference to the vehicle, was expressed with tones of reverence and respect that I did not know he was capable of. Imagine then his surprise as the driver, in uniform, greeted me by name and invited me to join him in the limousine.  Oh such sweet revenge!!

  And I have so many other such tales to tell – another time! Now I have digressed way off my Athenian trip. Before I leave the capital city after my brief stay, I manage to take in time with two favourite lady-buds: lunch with Angie in Artemida and dinner with Marisa in Voula.  Thank you, both, for your delightful company!