The General Post Office (GPO) on what is now O'Connell Street in central Dublin has a very special place in Irish history. On Easter Monday 1916 it was one of many sites occupied by Irish nationalist volunteers  seeking to overthrow British rule and establish a republic.  The building was duly occupied by a small  but very important band of rebels from the Headquarters Battalion of the Dublin republican volunteers, it was from here they would  control the fight and make their stand. The band included five members of the volunteers military council, in due course they were executed. 

You know exactly when and where you started smoking, who you were with,  and why you did it. The characters and motivation that got you into it are gone but the habit is still with you years and years later. You are probably one of the many smokers who paradoxically hate smoking. Your daily life is punctuated by brief periods of habitual smoke inhalation, each lungful carrying with it a twinge of conscience. Perhaps you maintain a fiction that each pack of cigarettes you buy will be your last.  Does all this all sound very familiar? No matter how many you smoke a day you need to understand you can get off them, you really can.

Reflecting on life from a height of 37,000 feet, sipping a glass of Chardonnay wine, watching the good Earth's colour, mood and rugged terrain change is a miracle and blessing I cherish every time I fly, and this time was no different. Looking out with wonder along the distant horizon to a fabulous pale blue and orange red sunset. Marvelling at the starry dark blue vastness of space above.  Watching the Sun's last rays play on wispy cloudtops floating serenely far below; brilliant white turning pale yellow then to a rich dark red fading though shades of bluish grey into the dusk.  Like no other place between heaven and earth here was peace, perspective, and time to think.

As the sandy wastes of Western China, the Gobi, Khazakstan gave way to the the endless forests of Siberia, thoughts about the road trip to the land of my ancestors came to mind. 

 

At the age of eighteen, just before the outbreak of the second world war, my father left his village home in the Ukraine to study agronomy at a  Moscow agricultural institute.  He was doing well and spoke with pride about his achievements, about his hopes and dreams for the future he might have had.  But it was not to be.  Despite the non-aggression pact signed by Hitler and Stalin in 1939 a nervous Soviet military knew full well war was coming; On June 22 1941 the Germans launched operation Barbarossa against the Soviet Union with 4,500,000 axis soldiers on a front from the Baltic to the Black Sea. Twenty million souls were to be torn from their bodies by the time the Nazis were beaten back, kilometre by bloody kilometre, and defeated.   Father and thousands like him were conscripted from universities and colleges, he was trained as a junior officer then sent to fight on the north west front.  Starvation and survival were to become his two constant companions in the midst of a savage, brutal, inhuman war. 

The blue-grey slate roof,  solid red brick walls and chimney pot of our Victorian terraced house cast its patient gaze over my childhood and youth for sixteen years.  It was fixed in its place amongst a long row of identical two up, two down workers houses stretching out of sight around the bend in Willowbrook road.  In 1957 it was the place of my birth;  my home, my happy, sad, turbulent and tragic home.  After the death of my father in 2005 this house in which he had spent almost forty years of his life was packed, cleared and made ready for sale to the highest bidder; just like that. The times and memories of our lives  in this place were not for sale. They stay with me, they always will.

 

Ere the wanderer returns, whole and happy
Should it ever be so
And if she leaves a place a little wappy
Just smile and let her go

As the distance grows from whence she came
To home it will close
In deed, in thought, part will remain
Upon the travelled road

Dave, a real estate agent, was just talking me through a "tasting session" a while back with a friend on his property near Ashburton in the days when he used to brew his own beer. He meticulously and lovingly described the equipment, methods, and technique for his "experimental" approach to beer design; It was half the fun.  As for the outcome, well,  each batch was an adventure.  A broad grin and a glint in his eye shone through as he spoke of the time he and a contractor finished up work for the day.  In a gesture of convivial blokeship Dave offered to share a few bottles of home brew, an offer enthusiasticaly accepted and with no further ado tasting commenced.

"I didn't wake up for two hours and when I did I couldn't move my arms. It was strong stuff."

Ever wondered what the land around Edoras from the film Lord of the Rings looks like in real life. Click on read more to find out.

After unloading Stephanie and her world onto the pavement, we hugged and said our goodbyes with big smiles, and promises to keep in touch. Watching in the rear-view mirror as her figure grew smaller and smaller, then disappear round a corner into Cathedral Square in Christchurch, I had to smile.  She was towing a purple tartan suitcase, wearing a funky polka dot backback, with a pair of fifties retro sunglasses perched on her nose. Her confident stride and endless good humour taking her to 'base'; a young travelers hostel in the heart of the city. Then she was gone, to her future, a little bit of my heart went with her.

In the evening traffic jam out of Christchurch and on the way back to Mayfield, my home. I reflected on conversations we'd had during her "pit stop" at my place on her travels across the length and breadth of New Zealand. She was heading north after spending time in Fiordland, Queenstown and Te Anau on the trip of a lifetime. She arrived on a big green 'Kiwi' bus, looking just a little tired and a little cold as I picked her up from the bus stop on a wet grey Canterbury day. There was a big grin and a "Magic" when she saw the log burner going full blaze, you could see her start to unwind, needing motionless calm and warmth to recharge.