Flippin' cold in Frankfurt and made it back to Mainz

Mainz has changed a lot...don't remember this restaurant 

but I finally found my old cafe

my spot in the sun ... the hot chocolate I remember

Mainz old town

beautiful music drew me into this church

Christmas markets stalls being constructed

modern Mainz 

along the Rhine

elegant old buildings

Frankfurt main train station

central business district

My flight from Doha goes to Frankfurt and I intend to take a train to Zurich to catch up with a friend from Hong Kong.

Just a 2 minute walk from the Central Train Station (South exit) is the Hotel Excelsior http://www.hotelexcelsior-frankfurt.de/en/ a really good place to base yourself while in Frankfurt.

Although my single room is small, and not well heated, the hotel is more than good value, with a substantial good quality buffet breakfast, free internet (that works) free local phone calls and free mini bar and snacks in the lobby, and the staff are welcoming and helpful.

Mainz, a city on the Rhine about 25 mins by train from Frankfurt and the place where Johannes Gutenberg created the word’s first printing press in 1440, is a place I want to return to. I often stayed there when I worked for QANTAS. Although I never did try the famous “pigs knuckles” which most of the crew enjoyed, I did find the only place in Mainz old town where you could sit even on a winter’s day and find a bit of sunshine (if there was any).

I had discovered this café on my first trip, and it became a favourite place to escape the cold, with a book and a hot chocolate (Italian style, dark, thick, not very sweet, with a dollop of fresh cream).

So after checking in, and having a shower and nap after flying overnight from Doha, I catch the train to Mainz in search of that little café.

It’s been years since I have been here and when I get off the train nothing looks familiar. I pop into a hotel and get a map and make my way towards the river where I can orientate myself, but very little seems the same. In a big square workmen are putting together the wooden structures that will soon become a Christmas market full of colour and atmosphere, with the smell of fresh pastries and fried onion in the air and the sounds of people laughing and having fun.

I wander around for a while and stumble across the old part of the city, its cobblestone streets lined with elegant shops, but I can’t find the café I am looking for.

I am just about to give up, when I enter a sunny square look up to see tables and chairs outside a small café. It is the one I used to come to.

And my little seat with the sunlight streaming through the window is waiting for me, and as I dip my spoon into the cup and bring the hot sweetness to my mouth it is the same taste I remember and in that moment all is right with my world.

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Frankfurt is a big city, with long, wide avenues, a busy financial centre and a great sprawl of shopping areas dominated by the Zeil.

It is also situated along the river Main whose banks are lined with walkways and cycle paths and cruise boats some doubling as floating restaurants.

  

In the local guide I have found a place that has salsa dancing and I am keen to check it out. It is located on the other side of the river near Frankensteiner Platz in Grobe Ritter gasse. I intend to go the first night but by 5pm it is so dark and cold and my energy is low, that I decide to have an early night instead.

The next morning, I am up early and feeling better so I go for a long walk and by chance end up in the same area late in the afternoon. It is still early so most of the places are closed, but it is clearly a popular spot to go out with lots of small eateries and pubs along a series of cobblestone laneways.

I find the venue but it is closed so I ask Melanie, a local, if it will be open later and she says it depends, but invites me to go to her small pub (kleine Holle at Klappergasse 3 Sachsenhausen Frankfurt) if it isn’t to try some honey wine, a local specialty. She recommends a small Thai place for something light to eat, and so I spend a lovely evening, eating Thai food, then having a drink in a funky Jazz café run by a handsome Croatian man and having a honey wine in a themed pub with Melanie and her two children Felix and Stephanie (These two kids- 7 and 9 years old- adopt me, in spite of the language difficulties and I end up gluing and pasting with one and playing a weird card game with another)

Melanie is a warm earth mother type who opened the pub two years ago and caters to students and others wanting cheap, home cooked food and a place to relax and tap into their creative sides.

When I leave, with still warm baked bread (a parting gift) in my hand, I am feeling very blessed and in spite of the cold and dark, it is not very late, so I decide to walk back to the hotel.

The lights of the city guide me back along the river, and I pass joggers and lovers and dog walkers enjoying the night.

I am mindful that eight months have passed since I set off on my mid life gap year and I have covered many air, train, car, bus, ship and foot miles in that time, but perhaps the greatest distance I have travelled has been within myself.

fabulous cheap Thai meal 

interesting theme pub

sunset 

enjoyed a walk along the river

Photos of Doha and story of the little chicken

New developments everywhere. Reminds me a bit of Shenzhen 

modern city...yes it's affectionately known as the condom

colourful old style new souk

demolishing and development

art work in the souk

it's a quiet day 

so time to relax and read the paper

and listen to the birds

hotel right in the souk

Islamic Cultural Centre

from the souk across to the city

lunch in the souk, almost impossible to reduce your carb intake here

people watching camels

heaps of construction 

no place is immune

entrance to the cultural centre

amazing architecture

no room in my luggage, but you can pick up a bargain

I am always interested in the small things that have a profound impact. A word, a quote, a conversation, a chance meeting, a story, an aha moment born as often from despair as from joy …that deeply and completely changes the way you view the world and in many ways proves to be the thing that drives you consciously or subconsciously from then on to bring you pain or help you reach your potential.

When I met with professor A, he told me about one of those things, something my Mum said to him 25 years ago, that served to inspire him and keep him focused during difficult times.

Another friend told me the following story. He heard it when he was just a small child. Even just remembering the song that went along with it, changes his sometimes angry face completely. As he hums the tune to the song, his energy is transformed. He is the small boy again, happy, dreaming of a time, when just like the little chicken, he will travel the world, learning new songs…

And the amazing thing…is that he already has

To all the little chickens out there who know they are and even those who don’t…  

Once upon a time, there was a little chicken who lived with his friends in a coop. Every day the farmer would give them some food and every day the little chickens and his friends would sing a song, and everything was good, and went on the same way day after day.

One day the little chicken disappeared. No-one knew where he had gone. The farmer looked for him briefly, but then gave up, assuming he had been taken by a fox. His friends were sad for a while, but soon they took comfort in the things they knew, the familiar things like the good food and good song they sang together and they were happy.

The little chicken in the meantime was travelling the world. Sometimes he was scared but mostly he was having fun, meeting new and interesting people, having adventures, eating different food and learning new songs.

Time passed, and the little chicken grew older, but he didn’t feel old because was fit and strong from all the walking he was doing, and he was having fun but he did miss his family and friends.

So one day he decided to go home.

As he came around the corner where his old coop was he was confused. He didn’t recognise anyone. All the chickens there were old and they didn’t seem to have any energy and he didn’t even recognise the song they were singing. But when he continued listening, he found himself humming along. It was the same song after all, but they were just singing it very slowly.

My friend told me that this song has helped him to achieve his dreams of travelling the world learning new things.

But there is a sadness in this story as well, and he didn’t tell me the ending, and I purposely didn’t ask.

My sense is that the little chicken felt a bit torn.

On the one hand he loved the freedom and excitement of travelling and learning new songs and he was afraid that “returning home” would mean losing that freedom and perhaps even the words to all his new songs.

On the other, “the coop” was his family home, the place with all his memories and his history and his connections to his past. He loved his land, and his fellow chickens and even his slow song.

Perhaps he is destined to be unhappy, unable to have the best of both worlds, or maybe not…

I wonder if he could write a new ending, one where he doesn’t have to choose. Perhaps he could have his cake and eat it too??

I have a picture of a little chicken, in an older wiser chicken’s body…

Still smiling when he hears that song

Still feeling strong and having adventures

Still learning new songs

Sometimes you can feel the way you want…even when you are not in the place you expected to be…

Thank you to all the little and big chickens I have met for sharing your stories and songs  with me.

  

It's all about friendship...

For a few weeks it's been all about me (relaxing near the river Serio)

The Captain of the Swiss Airbus A319 makes a PA to advise we have started our descent, we are overflying the Swiss Alps and the weather in Zurich is cloudy and 2 degrees! It is a seamless transit to my next flight to Cairo and as I come through the crowded arrivals area my eyes scan the faces looking for my old friend.

The last few weeks have been all about me…noticing the thoughts, sensations and actions (the energetic state) that I am in at any given time. Noticing what happens when I stop fighting with myself, and just how many battles have been going on “inside” me for so long.

I have discovered the value of just noticing and accepting what is….without trying to change it and mysteriously, a bit like having to highlight text before being able to delete it, naming and highlighting those parts of me I don’t like, those yukky bits I easily see in others but don’t recognise in myself, those things about myself that I perhaps even reject outright, those thoughts, feelings, sensations and things I do that I have felt ashamed of, felt guilty about, tried to hide, repress, distract myself from, cope with, soldier on with, swallow, ignore, lie about, am afraid of, deny or even hold up as a strength but which in some way blocks me, stops me from being as happy as I could be…

Simply acknowledging these things, voicing them, saying these unspeakable things to myself (that I am already thinking anyway) seems to render them impotent, they have less energy or hold over me, they diminish and sometimes even disappear altogether.

But these last few weeks have also been about friendship; Reconnecting with old friends, making new ones, seeing old ones in a different way or perhaps even recognising them hidden in another role.

and I haven’t been so much visiting a place, but visiting a person or people there.

I have not been a tourist, but a temporary resident, shopping, walking with and sitting with locals, seeing a place from the perspective of its citizens and each time I have been welcomed into someone’s home, village, town, city of country, or heart I have automatically been welcomed into their life, becoming part of their history and experience.

I returned briefly to the place Mum called home, and this time I went for myself, to see my friends there, to offer friendship and support but not be attached to the outcome.

There's already snow on Mum's beloved mountains

In the last week I have travelled from Florence to Rome and then to Cairo via Zurich and to Doha via Abu Dhabi. Next, I will travel to Zurich via Frankfurt, each time to see a friend.

I met Professor “A” 25 years ago. At the time he and his brother were students. They were on holidays with their parents, both accomplished professionals. “A” was the first Muslim I have ever really known and as a result of that connection I have been less willing to jump to conclusions or accept blanket statements about any group.

He had a gentle but profound faith (which I did not share) in a set of principles and a religion which I later learned he did not just mindlessly adopt or absorb but he rigorously studied, questioned and compared with every other major religion until he finally decided it was right for him and he consciously chose it for himself, and what I love about this, is that it is not just something he theorises about. He deeply and sincerely seeks to live by these principles each day.

He is now a world renowned surgeon and academic and his brother is equally talented. Their wives are intelligent professionals and mothers and A’s daughter has inherited the family DNA, for intelligence and high achievement, being talented in sciences and arts, and yet for all their success and achievements, they remain humble, devout but very open human beings who of course flawed and absolutely fabulous and I am glad that we are friends!     

                             ___________________________________

I’m sitting in the lobby of the Grand Mercure Hotel in Doha. I had no intention of coming here. In fact I was hoping to meet my Aussie-Egyptian friend Hazem in Cairo or somewhere else, but he’s working here and I wanted to see him and so I made it happen.

Doha is the capital of Qatar, a tiny thumb shaped spit of sand on the Gulf which (according to the International Herald Tribune that I was reading on the plane) is a country that inspires equal parts irritation and admiration given its political influence in the region.

It is sandwiched on the Saudi side of the Gulf between Saudi Arabia and Iran and hosts a sprawling American air base.

It has the world’s highest growth rate and highest per capita income, which is evident when you see the massive construction sites that operate 24 hours a day and read about the billion dollar projects that are being undertaken.  http://www.qatarfoundation.com.qa/

Although I see all the positives and admire the vision and achievements of its architects (I was privileged to speak with one of the key players in its development) it is not a place that attracts me.

Perhaps it is simply still very ‘young” but to me everything seems new and flashy, a place of excesses that caters to the super rich but it hasn’t yet developed its own identity and soul (although I can see signs that it is trying to)

There is a huge expat population here, both in skilled and semi skilled workers with most of the people I spoke to, simply there to make money (not difficult when there is a 0% tax rate).

That said, I did enjoy wandering around Souq Waqif (which is a new souq built on the site and in the style of an old souq) and as well as shops selling carpets, perfumes and souvenirs and interesting areas selling fish and birds, there are upmarket cafes restaurants, most offering shisha.

I spent a pleasant few hours having a particularly good tabouleh salad and fresh fish fingers with a just-squeezed mango juice while reading a book, listening to Arab music and people watching. It was so hot that I couldn’t leave without trying 2 scoops of haagen dazs icecream. Just as well as I got lost walking back to my hotel and needed the extra sustenance! 

The cultural centre (Katara) whose entrance is lined with paintings of carpets is also worth a visit, as is driving along the Corniche area and seeing the city’s skyline.

But I was here to see my friend, and that’s what made this place special for me. Hazem was a perfect host (within the limits of the cultural constraints).  We could not hug or act affectionately in public and I had to dress like an Amish aunt (poor Hazem had to bring me back to the hotel once to change or I would not have been allowed in to the restaurant (and I was dressed in what I thought was acceptable garb)

He took me for a wonderful bike ride along the Corniche on his Ducati and I got to hang out with his friends. We ate in a traditional Egyptian restaurant, smoked grape Shisha (well technically I didn’t as perhaps a psychological aversion to inhaling tobacco after all these years of being a non smoker prevented me from doing it right!http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/8214097.stm This article I read later confirmed my suspicion that it is not as harmless as it looks) but I do love the smell of Shisha and strangely it does not leave a bad smell on your clothes like normal cigarette smoking.


 I spent a wonderful morning with Hazem and two of his work mates having a traditional breakfast of foul (bean) and hummus dip, fresh Lebanese bread and falafel with sweet black tea and later talking about serious and fun things over a coffee and shish.  

                   __________________________________________________

I walk into the Costa coffee café and wait for Hazem while he orders and pays for our coffees (I thought Italians were bad, but Arabs can be worse for not letting friends pay) and a man with a gentle face dressed in a thawb, a long, usually white, dress with a collar which is like a European shirt but extends down to the feet, seems to be waving to me. I look behind me, but he smiles and talks to me directly.

“I saw you at the airport”, he says, “Remember?” and indeed I do. He was  the kind stranger who helped me and another English lady waiting in the queue for immigration formalities. He gives me his card, (“Call me if you need anything. I’m always here if you want to catch up”) He is a Syrian who has a training institute in Doha and (he’s either a medical doctor or has a PHD) introduces me to the distinguished looking gentleman sitting next to him, as the next potential President of Somalia. Mmm… the people you cross paths with when you travel!

                   ________________________________________________

Sitting in the lobby of the Grand Mercure Hotel http://www.mercure.com/gb/hotel-0546-mercure-grand-hotel-doha-city-centre/index.shtml waiting for the hotel shuttle which will take me to the airport for a 1.15am flight to Frankfurt, and I am only vaguely aware of what is going on around me as I am busy on my computer.

I look up occasionally and smile at the young woman sitting across from me. When I need to go to the toilet I ask her to mind my stuff. She smiles shyly on my return and asks me where I am from. We continue a limited conversation between my typing and her interaction with her family group. I become aware that some other friends of theirs are sitting nearby, and move so they can talk together and although I am apart I actually feel part of that little group. When they leave some time later they give me their contact details and invite me to Iran. ‘You are always welcome in our home” they tell me, and true to their word follow up the invitation formally with an email.

Hi.thanks for your mail Mrs monica

we happening for recognise you and we hope to see you next time.

If you don't come to iran you should send visa for us because we are miss you.

Thanks regards.

I read the lines a few times with varying reaction, and then I settle for the one that feels most right. I am so lucky for my life exactly as it is. Amen.

traffic in down town Cairo

good to be here again

It is a time of radical political change. At the University of Cairo the mood is excited as elections are held for position of Dean for the first time. 

a local Mosque

Painfully Pricey Puntarelle in Rome

The very expensive Puntarelle (nothing like the original)

My favourite destination when I worked for QANTAS was undoubtedly Roma. It was a seriously “senior” trip and most of the mainly older male flight attendants who managed to get it allocated on their roster on a regular basis had at least 20 years service behind them. As a very junior staff member I would have had no chance, but being an Italian “language” speaker meant that I occasionally got to go there if a regular crew member was sick.

Those trips were heaven for me, even though the Italian passengers were often very difficult; most were frustrated at having to sit still or go without a cigarette for such a long time.

As soon as we reached our hotel at the Sheraton Eur, just a 20 minute bus ride from Fiumicino Airport, I would have a shower and catch the first shuttle into town that dropped us off near Piazza Venezia, (affectionately known as the Wedding Cake) regardless of the fact that I would have worked all night. I was simply much too excited to be in Italy to be able to sleep!

From there I would go to Enzo’s, a local coffee shop for a wonderful and inexpensive coffee and then walk through the Jewish area for a Kosher Pizza (the best in Rome).

As I strolled through Rome’s ancient streets smelling the delicious aromas, hearing animated, gesticulating locals go about their day and stopping for something to eat, people watching and absorbing the sights, sounds, tastes, smells and energy of this amazing place I would pinch myself, incredulous that I was being paid to be here.

Since then, no matter how many times I return to this city, usually just for a day or two, I always find something new to experience. From the time I reach the airport and smell the surprisingly good coffee on offer, to the time I leave again, I feel like I am at home. She is a city that is comfortable in her own skin, sometimes a little uncouth and rude, sometimes elegant, but always energetic, she accommodates her millions of visitors each year with the ease of a mother balancing one child on her lap while attending to the needs of another. I feel I can rest against her ample bosom for a while and never stay long enough to feel like I don’t want to return.

Once, with one of those senior crews I walked to a restaurant near our hotel and had a local delicacy known as Puntarelle. This celery like vegetable is seasonal and only found in Rome. It is freshly picked and sliced and put into icy water where its sweet, fibrous flesh becomes crisp and curls up. Then it is tossed in a bowl and dressed with a delicious fresh liquid paste of olive oil, fresh garlic and anchovies. I remember the taste exactly! Served with a glass of local wine and still warm crusty rustic bread, it is one of my favourite “eating” memories.

     

Usually when I stay in Rome on my own, I find a bed and breakfast or budget hotel in the city centre or around Termini, (the main train station) but this time I stay near the airport as my flight leaves so early in the morning. As I check into the hotel (a cold hotel chain in the airport environs miles from anywhere) I have puntarelle on my mind. Since that original time, I have not managed to eat them again, as they are only available for a couple of months when it’s cold and I have usually been in Rome when it is warm or hot. This time however I am hoping to get lucky and a call to Lo Convento http://www.ristoranteloconvento.com/come

 (somehow I remember the name of the restaurant) confirms their availability. I am so excited that I can almost taste their crisp fresh saltiness.   

I ask at reception about how to get there and public transport is not accessible. I baulk at paying a 50 euro round trip fare which I am quoted but decide it’s a treat I have been craving for so long that it is worth it.

I decide to catch the free airport shuttle to get me a little closer, hoping it will reduce the cost. All the time, my memory of how good those puntarelle tasted overcome any objections to spending such a lot of money.

The bus driver confirms that the taxi should be about 25 euro each way and I decide to stop being stingy and just enjoy the experience. When I get into Maximillan’s taxi at the airport he turns on his meter and we start to chat. He seems bemused that I am so taken by this local dish. It is dark and I can’t work out where I am and the trip is taking longer than I thought.

How much further? I ask. “About 15 minutes” he says, and I feel a bit sick as I see the meter is already at 22 euro. It will be about 40 euro each way! I ask him to stop and there’s a whole conversation and call to the restaurant to confirm it is the right one. It is! A number of options flash through my mind, including turning around and going back and paying about 40 euro just to do that. In the end I go. I eat a very bad bean soup that tastes like baked beans and the puntarelle when it comes is unappetizing and watery, although I do my best to eat it mindfully (and at least it is fresh).

I drink only half of my red wine glass, and leave a small tip for the young waiter who had offered to drive me home after his shift- a kind offer I would have taken up if I didn’t have a 3.30am get up.

I call Maximillian (who I find out has been waiting in the car park somehow sensing a return fare) and he feels sorry for me. He tells me I am a nice (albeit crazy) lady! At least you’ll have a story to tell, I say trying to wring any amount of value out of the experience. (I have already run through a list of things I could have spent the money on that I would not have felt bad about and pretend that I have; an expensive haircut, a present for a friend, a workshop in something interesting, a “good cause” a train trip, a theatre ticket,  accommodation, a musical performance, dancing, a very good restaurant   and then I remind myself that there’s no price too high to pay for a good experience…so as I keep finding out…Everything changes…including the cost of taxis and chefs...That’s just life!  

                   ___________________________________________

It is a hideous wake up call at 3.30am and I am slow getting into the shower. My flight to Cairo via Zurich is at 6.40am.

At the airport, the shops are closed and the few early morning travellers are half asleep and in need of a coffee. I’m standing in the queue waiting for the café express to open at 5.15am. I need a fix, my body having become accustomed in the last few weeks to the unhealthy but delicious Italian habit of a morning cappuccino with a crème brioche. 

Franco is a middle aged Italian businessman, impeccably dressed with a well cut suit and a colourful scarf thrown casually around his neck, who is standing at the counter next to me. He strikes up a conversation and when he finds out that I am travelling for a year he is incredulous and a wistful look crosses his face.

“I am envious” he says. “I travel all the time for work and one day I would love to just disappear, keep travelling, just never come back from a business trip”. He tells me he has recently discovered Merengue and would love to go to South America to dance. “I left my heart in Columbia years ago”, he tells me, and his face has that faraway look again.

We chat for a while and then I say goodbye. He hands me his business card and asks that I stay in touch.

“That’s what I love about travel” he says…”you meet interesting people”

“Thanks”, I say not promising anything. I have a “sliding door” moment, thinking about all the people I have met so far, and how many I won’t actually ever stay in touch with and what would have happened if I did.

                  

landed at Zurich

the Alps are below the clouds

Family and Friends in Florence...

Worth seeing and paying extra to skip the queue (extra cost is a donation to art restoration)

Florence in the early morning

view from a nearby hill

Ponte vecchio

street art

old and new friends

Florence is my youngest sister’s favourite city.

She lived there once and I think she’d like to again. I have been there twice, briefly just on day trips, and I’m ashamed to say that other than a fabulous leather market, Ponte Vecchio and THAT statue of David, I don’t remember much about those previous trips.

My dearest Swedish friend Helena has never been there and when we try to pick a place in Italy that we can meet for a long overdue catch-up, Florence somehow goes to the top of the list.

Unbeknown to me, my brother and his long term partner have flown to Italy and have colluded with Helena to surprise me there.

Surprise visits have been a kind of family tradition, as I and all my siblings have lived away from “home” (Australia) at various times. We have restricted this practice amongst ourselves now as poor Dad (86) gets anxious when we turn up unannounced as he hasn’t got anything ready for us to eat!!! Dad’s cooking is that perfect blend of art, fresh produce and passion and I simply have not met a better intuitive cook.  

The “surprise” becomes a saga, as technically I surprise my brother turning up unannounced in Mum’s mountain town again a few days earlier and then he surprises me (a whole lot of people were roped into this exercise) and then we two surprise Helena, who doesn’t know the surprisors have been sprung!    

Our weekend in Florence could not have been more special. Well maybe, it could have, especially if the hot chocolate I ordered had turned out as promised, the thick, pudding-like, delicious dark kind that I dosed on daily in Sicily and was seriously missing, but otherwise it was really a weekend to remember. 

The hotel Helena and I stayed in was fabulously Florentine in flavour. The bedroom was enormous and, with sky high ceilings adorned in frescoes, as was the breakfast room ceiling, with its huge windows. Rich red drapes and luxurious furnishings and fittings contributed to an elegant and classy atmosphere.

The customer service was unbelievably good, with the staff’s can-do attitude and extra attention contributing to the positive experience. It was in a perfect location, a 5 minute walk from the train station and walking distance to all the attractions including the Duomo, Uffizi museum and Ponte Vecchio.

The weather though cold, was sunny, the food (most often recommended by a local) was sensational and the time there was relaxing and enjoyable. We walked along the Arno and to a look-out with a view of the city, we wandered the cobblestone streets and soaked in the city through all of our senses, we window shopped, sat in century old cafes having cappuccinos and saw the sun rise over the rooftops. We spent a few slow hours searching the Uffizi for just one painting with a smiling woman or one sculpture where men’s genitals were not shrivelled up.

Seriously, we decided that everyone should visit the Uffizi to improve their self esteem. Most men could probably compare quite favourably and feel good about themselves, and most women would feel less worried about their fleshy bits!

Somehow everything flowed and there were a series of happy coincidences and experiences.

One lovely coincidence was meeting Anna again. She is a young Kiwi who calls Melbourne home and is travelling around the world for 6 months documenting her tapping experience. www.tappingaroundtheworld.com

Anna has left a good job and comfortable life to make this “tapping thing” accessible to young people. I helped her get on a train to Bologna from Venice not expecting to see her again. A week later, she just happens to be standing in the queue in front of us at the Uffizi in Florence, and she joined us later for a great night of Aperol spritzers and dinner at La Rotonda.

By far the best moment for me (apart from some private moments of reflection and sharing) was when I found Suliman, the brother of Manal, the young Jordanian woman I met in Petra.

This incident touched me, a bit like an earlier trip to Morocco where Dave and I had met a family living in a cave in the Atlas mountains who welcomed us and shared the little that they had with us.

When we returned to Hong Kong we made up a parcel which included some binoculars for the old gentle man who had so warmly welcomed us into his cave and we sent it to the family care of our Berber guide.

It was nearly a year later when I saw an email in my inbox that caught my attention from Morocco. I almost deleted it as I did not know the sender (an America) but something about its title intrigued me and when I opened it I saw a photo of the old man, in his cave with the open parcel and his new binoculars in hand!

A kind American tourist had passed on a photo to show me the parcel had reached its destination, and in that kind gesture had reconnected me to that wonderful experience again.

With this end in mind, I set off with Helena in Florence determined to find this person to deliver the photos I had taken of his family as I had promised.

The only information I had, apart from the photos, was that he had a souvenir shop in the “main street of Florence”, that he had married an Italian woman and that he was Jordanian.  

I took a guess that his shop would be a stall in one of the tourist markets but I did not know which one. The first few people I asked did not know of any Jordanian stall owners and just shook their heads, but as I kept showing the photo to shop owners I was referred from person to person, the kind people from Bangladesh, India and Africa looking into the faces of the smiling family and clearly wanting to help. Eventually, someone suggested a man called Mustafa who it was said knew everyone and a lovely young man accompanied us to another small market and to Mustafa. A few hurried sentences were exchanged between the men and then Mustafa nodded and said yes he could help, if the man was a short Bedouin man who had married an Italian woman, he had a stall just around the corner.

I was so excited when the same young man agreed to take us directly to Suliman, who looked at the photos in my hand and shyly said “That is my family”. In that moment, I felt really good.

There are many, many moments that I will remember that I enjoyed in Florence, and best of all I leave this beautiful city with just the glimpse of an idea about what I will do next year when I get back. It’s just a possibility, but it’s a start.

Out and about in Florence

Have dinner at La Rotunda http://www.larotondacecconi.it/ which serves delicious food and enjoy an aperitif in the funky bar around the corner that is part of the same round building.

Other options for authentic inexpensive meals are

Trattoria Za Za in Piazza del mercato centrale  26r www.trattoriazaza.it

or Rosso pomodoro in the same piazza.

I would highly recommend the Paris Hotel www.parishotel.it

The frescoes in the breakfast room, elegant staircases, enormous rooms, ventral position and capable and helpful staff helped make our stay memorable.   

A good place for lunch nearby with the locals is Rosso Giglio  www.ristorantegigliorosso.com

If you want to people watch over a coffee or aperitif then the best place is Gilli café in piazza della republica and for an indoor alternative try  Rivoire Pasticceria in Piazza della signoria.

Although we didn’t get a chance to try it Restaurante Aviazione in Viale Malta 4 in the Campo di Marte area a little bit out of the centre was highly recommended by a local.

Buon appetito! and arrivederci

Mon x