Fuck Control... Free your soul.
A measure of peace all of us seek, and only a few of us find.
My paper diary (I'm old-fashioned that way) fills every page with exciting plans for travel, culture, art, and restaurants, and my heart is rich with a wide variety of wonderful global friends. Still, I am only human, like any other. There are numerous moments where I wonder what this struggle of being all about is anyway?! What happened to all the principles of humanity? Why don't people smile or at least not walk with a stern look on their faces? Has life become a game of survival in a jungle we now call cities?
Keep calm and go on...
The world can be gloomy if I begin looking at it with a hopeless attitude of seeing only the wrong and suffering. Is it then selfish to create an environment of joy around myself, warm with people I have connected with, with no importance made on their age, sex, or what they do for a living but only because their level of emotional intelligence has touched my soul? Oh, I am no angel. But I feel them all around me, particularly my parking angel, who always finds me a spot next to where I am heading. I ain't kidding you!
Now that is off my chest, let me tell you what I have learned best recently. Amongst the words which keep creeping up in my mind are:
Be impeccable with your words
Do unto others what you would have done unto you
And if it is the change I am after, what adjustments are necessary to create the life I crave?
Lying is for cowards; the truth has no fear of questions, and it takes guts to be loyal. These points came up in a conversation at dinner with Barton. He asked me to join him, Lucia, and his lovely two sisters, Ciara, whom I had met previously, and Hana, at a pub on Portobello Road for a drink. As I got to the pub, divided into sections, there was no sign of them, and my calls would not go through to Berton's phone; messages failed, too. Plan B, go shopping at the shiny vegetable market as they were getting ready to close, in the chill of a November evening, already fallen upon us by 16:00 hour, all lit up by light bulbs hanging above the carts. The lady vendor with a sweet attitude (somewhat rare coming from market merchants) was filling up the carrier bags for me when, by pure chance, she mentioned all iPhones experiencing no service on Portobello road all day, which made it clear why Berton's phone would get cut off. Now, loaded with blue bags filled with fresh groceries, I returned once again to the pub and, this time, saw my friend's side face. And these are magic moments; getting messages from random people or answers.
I joined the group of four for a glass of bubbly, and they asked me to return to Lucia's for dinner. While the girls were cracking and putting together a delicious meal, Berton and I chatted. The anecdotes were coming from all corners, and as of his wise, witty phrases, here was one based on having choices:
'Luck is based on the meeting of opportunity and preparation'.
He added:
"I met this wonderfully witty lady in Ireland, and this was her quote... 'Behind every good man, there's a woman, and behind that woman, there's his wife!' It sounded cruel, but it is a reality in so many lives."
"Tell me about it!" I said, raising my brows.
In September, I returned from Tuscany on a Thursday and caught a flight the next day to Ibiza, joining Heidi and Sharif at Marc's restaurant after midnight with my heavy luggage at hand, packed for ten days. From Saturday to Monday, we spent the days lunching at Coco Beach Club one day, Cipriani's for dinner and on their last day, we went to Cotton Club Beach, which was absolutely delightful. They helped me book a car with Goldcar, then left after lunch to catch their flight back to London while I went for a swim and lay on the beach below the restaurant before sunset. The most soothing connection with my dad in the heavens above occurs when I swim in the clear water, far at sea. It may be a one-sided chat, but it sure feels good.
On Sunday, before my hosts left, Chicky offered to pick me up with her lovely sister Nona at the apartment and drove us to their flat in Ibiza, facing the Mediterranean Sea. Lunch was a family affair with Chicky's son Enrik, her husband who prepared the finger-lickin' good paella and her friend Engel, who used to live on the island in the eighties and was now attending a yoga retreat there. The paella was made to perfection with the catch of the day. Enrik, who has decided on his future as a DJ, enchanted us with some cool tunes, and after lunch, before leaving, we three ladies spent time doing what we women do best; talking. It was one of those afternoons, deep in a conversation of hope, love and nurturing, while the sun shone through the clouds onto the sea and into the living room where life felt so terribly rich. I even managed a shopping trip; I got feather collars and cufflinks from a selection at 'Kity is Making Magic'.
A measure of peace all of us seek, and only a few of us find.
My paper diary (I'm old-fashioned that way) fills every page with exciting plans for travel, culture, art, and restaurants, and my heart is rich with a wide variety of wonderful global friends. Still, I am only human, like any other. There are numerous moments where I wonder what this struggle of being all about is anyway?! What happened to all the principles of humanity? Why don't people smile or at least not walk with a stern look on their faces? Has life become a game of survival in a jungle we now call cities?
Keep calm and go on...
The world can be gloomy if I begin looking at it with a hopeless attitude of seeing only the wrong and suffering. Is it then selfish to create an environment of joy around myself, warm with people I have connected with, with no importance made on their age, sex, or what they do for a living but only because their level of emotional intelligence has touched my soul? Oh, I am no angel. But I feel them all around me, particularly my parking angel, who always finds me a spot next to where I am heading. I ain't kidding you!
Now that is off my chest, let me tell you what I have learned best recently. Amongst the words which keep creeping up in my mind are:
Be impeccable with your words
Do unto others what you would have done unto you
And if it is the change I am after, what adjustments are necessary to create the life I crave?
Lying is for cowards; the truth has no fear of questions, and it takes guts to be loyal. These points came up in a conversation at dinner with Barton. He asked me to join him, Lucia, and his lovely two sisters, Ciara, whom I had met previously, and Hana, at a pub on Portobello Road for a drink. As I got to the pub, divided into sections, there was no sign of them, and my calls would not go through to Berton's phone; messages failed, too. Plan B, go shopping at the shiny vegetable market as they were getting ready to close, in the chill of a November evening, already fallen upon us by 16:00 hour, all lit up by light bulbs hanging above the carts. The lady vendor with a sweet attitude (somewhat rare coming from market merchants) was filling up the carrier bags for me when, by pure chance, she mentioned all iPhones experiencing no service on Portobello road all day, which made it clear why Berton's phone would get cut off. Now, loaded with blue bags filled with fresh groceries, I returned once again to the pub and, this time, saw my friend's side face. And these are magic moments; getting messages from random people or answers.
I joined the group of four for a glass of bubbly, and they asked me to return to Lucia's for dinner. While the girls were cracking and putting together a delicious meal, Berton and I chatted. The anecdotes were coming from all corners, and as of his wise, witty phrases, here was one based on having choices:
'Luck is based on the meeting of opportunity and preparation'.
He added:
"I met this wonderfully witty lady in Ireland, and this was her quote... 'Behind every good man, there's a woman, and behind that woman, there's his wife!' It sounded cruel, but it is a reality in so many lives."
"Tell me about it!" I said, raising my brows.
In September, I returned from Tuscany on a Thursday and caught a flight the next day to Ibiza, joining Heidi and Sharif at Marc's restaurant after midnight with my heavy luggage at hand, packed for ten days. From Saturday to Monday, we spent the days lunching at Coco Beach Club one day, Cipriani's for dinner and on their last day, we went to Cotton Club Beach, which was absolutely delightful. They helped me book a car with Goldcar, then left after lunch to catch their flight back to London while I went for a swim and lay on the beach below the restaurant before sunset. The most soothing connection with my dad in the heavens above occurs when I swim in the clear water, far at sea. It may be a one-sided chat, but it sure feels good.
On Sunday, before my hosts left, Chicky offered to pick me up with her lovely sister Nona at the apartment and drove us to their flat in Ibiza, facing the Mediterranean Sea. Lunch was a family affair with Chicky's son Enrik, her husband who prepared the finger-lickin' good paella and her friend Engel, who used to live on the island in the eighties and was now attending a yoga retreat there. The paella was made to perfection with the catch of the day. Enrik, who has decided on his future as a DJ, enchanted us with some cool tunes, and after lunch, before leaving, we three ladies spent time doing what we women do best; talking. It was one of those afternoons, deep in a conversation of hope, love and nurturing, while the sun shone through the clouds onto the sea and into the living room where life felt so terribly rich. I even managed a shopping trip; I got feather collars and cufflinks from a selection at 'Kity is Making Magic'.
 |
| Coco Beach restaurant |
 |
| Cotton Club Beach |
 |
| Sunset on |
On Monday evening, after my hosts left, just before the sunset, I left Cotton Club Beach with a white La Perla beach dress on, splits to under my armpits on each side, bikini under, flip flops and beach bag by taxi, heading to the Goldcar nearby Ibiza airport. After a short queue, the lady behind the tall desk asked for my passport! I only had my driving license on me. Without noticing my outfit, looking at other passengers having just landed in jackets and dark attire standing further aback, she asked:
"Where are you coming from without a passport?"
I stood back and, pointing at my sundress, replied:
"The beach!"
She mentioned they are open all night, so I could go back even at 2:00am, and it must have been about 9:00pm then. Oh, dear! I taxied my way back to the apartment to come across a text from Aida saying she and her husband Sohi were aboard a yacht in the marina and that I should join them before heading to DC10, a long-standing club for their closing party. Of course, I did not get to the marina on time, but I managed to get to DC10 just as their friend began DJing in one of the rooms there. Now, when I say room, there are two warehouse-like areas plus the vast smoking outdoors, filled with people, and I mean at total capacity. The pungent aroma of weed made my knees tremble at the thought of going through the thousands of people there to find my friends, but determination is the key.
I managed to get through the sweaty, sardined crowd, so I asked a girl who looked more level-headed than most. Shelly confirmed I was in the correct room, so I got to almost the front of the arena, only to realise The Martinez Brothers were playing. I remember them only because they were DJaying in Fabric a few weeks before, and I had the pleasure of meeting them briefly. So, out again through the masses and headed to the next area, the Lebanese lady DJ was on stage alright and there I got a glimpse of friendly faces. Aida had organised my way in and a VIP band, another lovely face was that of Cadi with whom we had connected in Puglia. I was introduced to their friends, and a spectacular evening of fun, music, and laughter dragged right into the early morning hours. We all returned to their boat at the marina, and there were more chats with great music before I cab back to the flat.
I laid the day on the balcony, listening to chilled music; it was only 5:00pm, and I went to pick up the car again. I waited an hour and a half before being told at Goldcar that I had not picked up the car; hence, they cancelled my order, which was all paid for! There was no use getting worked up on holiday, besides my new friend Engel offered to pick me up at the airport and drive me to her peaceful yoga retreat for a vegetarian dinner. She also dropped me back home later, almost across the island and took up my offer of staying over for the night. Another miraculous rescue!
On the morning of the first of October, Chicky arrived with her sister, a well-known beauty therapist on the island, carrying a massage bed for treatment by the hands of yet another angel. In the evening, I joined the birthday crowd. My original reason for visiting the island was a local restaurant called Clandestino. Afterwards, we walkedey's Club, which I ace originating from Manchester in Ibiza! After a great night at DC10, neither the music nor the crowd got me too inspired to dance. The feeling was mutual, and we returned to the surreal villa where the group stayed. As the taxi took me back in the early morning hours, I noted that their residence could not have been further away on the opposite side of the island from where I was residing; one was on the west, and the other was on the east by the sea. Thank goodness the distance only takes 45 minutes on average.
By the third day, I had lost all hope of success with the Goldcar rental and booked another from Europcar to pick up in Santa Eulalia. Finally, I settled into a black Polo and drove to the other side of the island to find the villa on a dirt road I had only left hours before. There were no cameras on the bendy roads of Ibiza, and I took full advantage of that. Sadly, as I got close to the area, trying to fish out directions from various sources of friends staying at the villa, the battery on my phone died on me! There I was, hungry, lost and in need of emptying all the water I had drunk, with no address or phone. But there was the car, and as a matter of caution, I spotted a beach club called Calla Bassa CBBC. I passed it twice while looking for a vacation home. So, plan B was next; I drove there, got a bed on the beach, ordered lunch, watched the crowd, swam and listened to the music on speakers. Brilliant!
After a restful night, I woke up at 7:00am and entered the compound. I very much looked forward to the meditations in the morning, with the view of the blue sea, the sky and the green vegetation in between. After a spot of furniture orders in the interior design shops, I joined Iris, whom I had met several times at Fabric, residing parts of the year on her island home, with other international girlfriends at the Cala St Vincente, we ate at a local fish restaurant and lay afterwards on the beach, chatting. When I mentioned having picked up a hitchhiker in the form of a young man on my way there, Iris simply implied:
"Of course you did, Haldita!"
That evening was the big birthday party back at the villa, so I drove back to my place of solitary confinement (haha). It was so late by the time I got ready when I received a text from Cadi, offering to pick me up as he felt my distress of having to find the villa again, in fear of getting lost again at that time of night. God always sends someone wonderful to my rescue; I have no worries.
"Where are you coming from without a passport?"
I stood back and, pointing at my sundress, replied:
"The beach!"
She mentioned they are open all night, so I could go back even at 2:00am, and it must have been about 9:00pm then. Oh, dear! I taxied my way back to the apartment to come across a text from Aida saying she and her husband Sohi were aboard a yacht in the marina and that I should join them before heading to DC10, a long-standing club for their closing party. Of course, I did not get to the marina on time, but I managed to get to DC10 just as their friend began DJing in one of the rooms there. Now, when I say room, there are two warehouse-like areas plus the vast smoking outdoors, filled with people, and I mean at total capacity. The pungent aroma of weed made my knees tremble at the thought of going through the thousands of people there to find my friends, but determination is the key.
I managed to get through the sweaty, sardined crowd, so I asked a girl who looked more level-headed than most. Shelly confirmed I was in the correct room, so I got to almost the front of the arena, only to realise The Martinez Brothers were playing. I remember them only because they were DJaying in Fabric a few weeks before, and I had the pleasure of meeting them briefly. So, out again through the masses and headed to the next area, the Lebanese lady DJ was on stage alright and there I got a glimpse of friendly faces. Aida had organised my way in and a VIP band, another lovely face was that of Cadi with whom we had connected in Puglia. I was introduced to their friends, and a spectacular evening of fun, music, and laughter dragged right into the early morning hours. We all returned to their boat at the marina, and there were more chats with great music before I cab back to the flat.
I laid the day on the balcony, listening to chilled music; it was only 5:00pm, and I went to pick up the car again. I waited an hour and a half before being told at Goldcar that I had not picked up the car; hence, they cancelled my order, which was all paid for! There was no use getting worked up on holiday, besides my new friend Engel offered to pick me up at the airport and drive me to her peaceful yoga retreat for a vegetarian dinner. She also dropped me back home later, almost across the island and took up my offer of staying over for the night. Another miraculous rescue!
On the morning of the first of October, Chicky arrived with her sister, a well-known beauty therapist on the island, carrying a massage bed for treatment by the hands of yet another angel. In the evening, I joined the birthday crowd. My original reason for visiting the island was a local restaurant called Clandestino. Afterwards, we walkedey's Club, which I ace originating from Manchester in Ibiza! After a great night at DC10, neither the music nor the crowd got me too inspired to dance. The feeling was mutual, and we returned to the surreal villa where the group stayed. As the taxi took me back in the early morning hours, I noted that their residence could not have been further away on the opposite side of the island from where I was residing; one was on the west, and the other was on the east by the sea. Thank goodness the distance only takes 45 minutes on average.
 |
| Ibiza villas |
By the third day, I had lost all hope of success with the Goldcar rental and booked another from Europcar to pick up in Santa Eulalia. Finally, I settled into a black Polo and drove to the other side of the island to find the villa on a dirt road I had only left hours before. There were no cameras on the bendy roads of Ibiza, and I took full advantage of that. Sadly, as I got close to the area, trying to fish out directions from various sources of friends staying at the villa, the battery on my phone died on me! There I was, hungry, lost and in need of emptying all the water I had drunk, with no address or phone. But there was the car, and as a matter of caution, I spotted a beach club called Calla Bassa CBBC. I passed it twice while looking for a vacation home. So, plan B was next; I drove there, got a bed on the beach, ordered lunch, watched the crowd, swam and listened to the music on speakers. Brilliant!
After a restful night, I woke up at 7:00am and entered the compound. I very much looked forward to the meditations in the morning, with the view of the blue sea, the sky and the green vegetation in between. After a spot of furniture orders in the interior design shops, I joined Iris, whom I had met several times at Fabric, residing parts of the year on her island home, with other international girlfriends at the Cala St Vincente, we ate at a local fish restaurant and lay afterwards on the beach, chatting. When I mentioned having picked up a hitchhiker in the form of a young man on my way there, Iris simply implied:
"Of course you did, Haldita!"
That evening was the big birthday party back at the villa, so I drove back to my place of solitary confinement (haha). It was so late by the time I got ready when I received a text from Cadi, offering to pick me up as he felt my distress of having to find the villa again, in fear of getting lost again at that time of night. God always sends someone wonderful to my rescue; I have no worries.
The birthday girl that evening was Randa, whom I had made contact with some five years ago in Bahrain but had first met in London about twenty-five years before that. She was surrounded by her husband, a wonderful couple, and other friends joining them to celebrate from different parts of the world, all charming. Awesome DJs were playing all night long, back to back, and I danced under the sky, lighting up from darkness as the hours passed in a flash. Occasional chatter occasionally, getting acquainted with most of the people at the party. Saturday was a day of rest back at my haven, making a tuna salad and counting my blessings yet one more time.
On Sunday, Engle informed me of a spiritual festival, Atzaro, in the middle of nowhere. The GPS in Ibiza does not work at the best of times, but I somehow managed to find my way (somehow) to the fiesta. The place was created as one would imagine the heavens above would be, full of beautiful people, smiling, chanting, and chatting while they strolled gently around the green grounds and lay on comfortable beds spread all over. The rain stopped just as I got out of the car and went to Atzaro to meet up with Engle.
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| Entrance to Atzaro |
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| Girls making flower headbands |
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| Oh yes, Chéri! |
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| Tranquillity |
 |
| Chanting |
 |
| DJs |
As we walked around, taking in all the magic the moments unveiled, Engel came across a young man with exquisite beauty, deep blue eyes you could barely look into, and a certain jeunesse that oozed warmth and love. Talking to this twenty-one-year-old was a delight, as was the simple philosophy of living a happy life he had gathered through his youthful journey. After an enchanting afternoon in high spirits, the evening fell fast, and Randa asked us to join them at the Beach Club closing party later that evening. We managed to park and find our crowd at a table. We danced the night away one more time, till closing time and again, made our way to their unreal villa, with heads of elephants sculpted on the wall in black and white, and that is only one of the bizarre features which made you feel as though you were on fantasy island; if you are old enough to remember the series that is!
This fabulous holiday ended with dinner at Nassau Beach Club and the remainder of the party on our last night.
If plans do not work out as they were meant to at any time, there are always other options to consider; it was not meant to be. And if anyone lets you down, look around. Others will always lend you a hand and offer their friendship if you only let them.
I thank my hosts, Heidi and Sharif, who generously welcomed me at their lovely holiday home and left me there for the rest of my stay.
This fabulous holiday ended with dinner at Nassau Beach Club and the remainder of the party on our last night.
If plans do not work out as they were meant to at any time, there are always other options to consider; it was not meant to be. And if anyone lets you down, look around. Others will always lend you a hand and offer their friendship if you only let them.
I thank my hosts, Heidi and Sharif, who generously welcomed me at their lovely holiday home and left me there for the rest of my stay.
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