Harleston Christmas Day Parkrun

We had been invited to our eldest daughter and partner’s renovated home for Christmas Day dinner. We were pretty keen to add the festive double of Christmas Day and New Year’s Day to our Parkrun records. As it happens Harleston Magpies is the closest one to where Sarah, Aneurin and, of course, Bella, the black labrador, live. It is with much regret that we were informed of Holkham’s cancellation of its New Year’s Day event, so we never achieved the festive double this time around. Still, there is always next year! Let’s not wish our lives away, though.

We stayed at the Dove Inn in nearby Alburgh. This was a little bit of a weird experience as we were the only people using the guest rooms and the venue was closed from three o’clock on Christmas Eve afternoon.

Christmas Day: we rose, drew back the curtains and looked out on what can only be described as a gruesome day. It was one of those days that the weather app describes as dry but seems to drizzle or mizzle all day long. This was to be my last run in the 60 – 64 age category, two days later I turned 65 and went up to the next age group. I know, I hear you all say, never, he doesn’t look 65 to me. Bless you all! I do wonder which one of us is visually impaired? I cannot take part in these events without the terrific army of VI Guides, often referenced in these pages, and this day was no exception. It was the turn of the incredible wonder woman, Lucy Morran, rhymes with sporran, to draw the short straw.

The turnout was terrific, these festive events are pretty thin on the ground so 136 runners braved the elements, Harleston usually entertains around 70 participants. A couple of months back saw my wife, Jane, on a shopping trip to Norwich. One item obtained was a pair of trail shoes, supposedly waterproof. Within about fifty metres of the start my feet were soaked through to the skin. To be fair to the shoes, it wasn’t the water coming through the walls, but flooding in from the top. Lucy had a propensity of going off-piste, where the grass was long and sodden. It was probably the only way to pass the very few who were slower than us, I mean me!

The first couple of laps went by without too much of a hitch, but by the third, and final one, I was struggling to breathe. I had never experienced this before and wondered what to blame. The obvious contenders were allergic reactions to the damp conditions or Father Christmas’s beard. You never know what little mites might be nesting in there. I now think it was an early onset virus of some sort, there’s a lot of it about you know; when isn’t there? I missed the next one, my scheduled maiden foray into the 65 – 69 category, thanks to all the usual things: sore throat, runny nose, cough, pained ears and all that sort of thing. Please forgive me if you were anywhere near me and are now suffering; sorry Lucy! Honest, I didn’t know at the get go!

Usually when I rock up to Parkrun, I find that I am the only blind, visually impaired, person in attendance, and many run directors and organisers say that I am the first blind person they have welcomed onto their course. Imagine my joy then, when like London buses, there was not only one other blind person taking part but two. What an absolute privilege it was to meet Sarah Wilby and Eve Riches who were taking part with their fabulous VI Guides. It was a real pleasure to meet you ladies and, by the way, you bear no resemblance to London buses that I know of. You know what I mean, though.

Come on all you other people in the VI community, get out there and take part in Parkrun, it offers us an enormous sense of wellbeing and the chance to feel slightly fitter as well. And, to all you brilliant runners, how about you go and take the VI Guiding Course, and give us the chance of doing this incredible free event. I know Harleston Magpies are hoping to attract enough interest to hold their own course in the New Year. I am sure that if you contact them through their email address, harlestonmagpies@parkrun.com, they will be happy to update you.

Arriving in Dubai

I think we will spend three or four episodes in Dubai before I start raiding old journals and create new memories in East Asia.

The journey from Ko Tao ran smoothly. I have to say, though, it was knackering. The ferry left on time although the obtaining of tickets seemed a little left-field. I am sure that could be made much simpler. Not quite sure why one cannot obtain tickets online or the day before so there isn’t an indignant rush on the morning. The ferry itself, unlike on the journey out, felt fresh and clean. Testosterone and Oestrogen had obviously been spent. The whole experience was much calmer than the outward journey. As I mentioned previously, Samui Airport is a delight. We sat with our coffee under the shade of outdoor umbrellas almost able to touch the wings of the jets as they hurtled along the adjacent runway taking their loads of, in the main, backpackers off to their next destinations. Fabulous!

Time for another gripe to Freedom Destinations if I may. Why did you send us all the way back to Singapore for the onward journey to Dubai when Bangkok is much closer to Samui and, in addition, also closer to Dubai. We flew Emirates from Singapore who also fly from Bangkok. It could have taken unnecessary hours off the overall trip. We took off from Samui at 12:25 and, eventually, landed in Dubai at 01:25 the following day, 04:25 Thai time, 16 hours in total, excluding the ferry journey. A bloody long day. Too bloody long! I think we got into bed at just gone three in the morning. Never again! Long legs need to be divided into smaller sets. I will try and be careful next time I book something.

Surprisingly, we were up before dawn, after only four or five hours’ sleep. After a hearty breakfast, incidentally, breakfast was not included with our booking, which surprised the hotel as they certainly offer a bed and breakfast rate, we headed for the beach, for a stroll, not for sunbathing I hasten to add. It was a little bit of a shock. Dubai in winter does not match the temperatures we had, hitherto, been used to. I am not actually sure that, even at nighttime, the temperature dipped below 25° during our sojourn around East Asia, but here, my word, it was just about 14 just after sunrise! Trousers and sweaters were the order of the day to start with. In the direct sun, though, it was most pleasant.

The beach was very active. Water-skiing, parascending, all sorts of floating rides, what appeared to be floating gin palaces, plus a long line of et cetera! We tried to get a closer look at where the boats were dragging, probably not the right term, the parachutists on ropes out to sea. A burly guard, dressed head-to-toe in black blocked our path. “Private,” he barked.

“Okay. Sorry. Just thought we might take a closer look as I don’t see very well.”

“Private.”

We guessed that this was the only word of English that he possessed. Why should he have any more, as tourists we have to accept that we are intruding on his patch, not the other way around.

We turned away and I whispered to Jane, “Hope he perspires so much dressed in black that he sweats his rocks off.” I wasn’t brave enough to say it louder just in case, like the French, he suddenly became fluent in English. I have always found it amusing how the French cannot speak a word of English until you either swear about them or you mention you might offer them a tip. Never mind.

We wandered around looking for the much vaunted archaeological dig at Jumeirah where remains of a ninth century city have been discovered. It irritates me when people say that if you go to Dubai you won’t find anything historical, after all, it houses the famous Museum of the Future. Sure, the new city is modern and, indeed, the United Arab Emirates are, relatively, only a few years old. Despite Dubai’s modernistic approach, though, there are many archaeological digs scattered across southern Arabia and, over the next few years, these will expose thousands of years of settled and nomadic history. Exciting times!

Anyway, we couldn’t find it, although, it has to be said, we didn’t look very hard. Our eyes were getting heavy. The bright feeling of earlier in the day was ebbing away. We found a lovely little spot, almost on top of the beach, where we could relax into local life and let the vibes wash over us. It was called a bar. We found an incredible local beer called Stella Artois. How is it that everywhere you go in the world Stella is always there to greet you. After drinking out of tins, for most of the time, since Singapore even a premium lager tasted good. I’ll be honest here, and admit that I normally avoid lager as if it were a flea-infested rat. It was truly magnificent. Maybe, just maybe, I might step away from Ghost Ship in favour of some premium lagers. I can, sort of, see their attraction on a lovely summer’s day in a beer garden. Sorry, Mr Adnam. The eyes were by now, about three in the arvo, beginning to get heavier and heavier. We retired to the room intending to grab forty winks before stepping out in search of a restaurant. We woke up about midnight. I think that’s what normal mortals call jet-lag? Surprisingly, it didn’t take us very long to drop off again and before we knew it, it was breakfast again.

Whilst we were in the Emirate we booked two excursions. The first one was a personal tour of the city, new and old. It was conducted by a Russian expat, named Vladimir; no, not that one, this one was very nice.

We did many things during this trip and I am sure, like many of you, we always try and put our experiences into a top five or ten. This day, undoubtedly, would rank in the top five. Apologies to any of our Ukrainian friends for fraternising with the enemy.

I remember veterans of the Second World War stating in conversations, even with me as a youngster who had never lived through the tumult of war, that the only good German was a dead one. I am sure many will say that, under the circumstances, their views were valid. I wonder, though, if they ever really believed it to be the truth? If we took the same view today I suppose we could now attach that label to Russians. It would be a statement that would be so wide of the mark that most modern-day thinkers would consider it, at best, ludicrous or, at worst, outrageous. I am not sure it is right to subscribe to the theory that every subject of an unhinged dictator such as Hitler should be tarred with the same brush. Grandad Ham, on his farm in Great Wigborough, would be allocated several German prisoners of war to help on the farm. They grew close to many of them as they really weren’t much more than boys. I don’t see fields of graves in Wigborough like we saw at Kanchanaburi. So, just maybe, that stereotypical view is, at least understandable, if not acceptable. Vladimir is a good Russian and, indeed, extremely brave. He had no real idea who we were in the back of his car listening to him slam the actions of a deluded madman, Putin. He said that if anyone in the west was of the opinion that Russia was within her rights to rain a war down on an innocent country they should visit the former Soviet autocracy. He was absolutely sure it was in a bid to hide the real difficulties at home. In his mind, there was only one person in the whole wide world who can be blamed for the world’s instability and you don’t need to look further than the Kremlin to find him. Brave words.

Anyway, I digress. He showed us all the modern landmarks of the city, which so far we have only read about or seen on TV. Up close and personal they were, in the main, impressive. What an incredible feature The Palm is. A piece of land reclaimed from the sea, under the direction of a Dutch engineer. Why is it that whenever we learn about land recovered from the sea there is always a Dutchman at the heart of it? Next to the 21st century modernity are some incredible attractions that go back nearly a couple of hundred years. Around the Dubai Creek we discovered a glorious old fashioned souk. You could just about obtain anything you wanted here but, to me, the highlights were the spice, fresh produce and jewellery quarters. Obviously, one had to try and ignore the pestering marketeers trying to foist their wares upon you. Walking with a white cane in that situation is a bit of a boon for I can, literally, turn a blind eye. In fact, I don’t actually even have to turn! The other senses came into play bigtime. The aroma of the fresh spices, the taste of the fruit, the feel of the gem encrusted precious metals, and the sound of a bygone time; accompanied by the incongruous sound of phones pinging. It was truly magical.

As mentioned, we took in the Museum of the Future, a glorious old fort constructed from sea mud bricks, complete with shells and fish skeletons.

We took a diversion to the royal palace. When I say “to the royal palace” I mean within about 500 metres or so of it. As far as my eyes are concerned I might as well have been viewing it from Mars. One foolish chap, or brave, I’m not sure which, thought he would take a closer peek; perhaps he intended getting right up to the railings and peering through, like you can at Buckingham Palace. Oh no you don’t sunshine! There was an over protective police patrol watching the approach. An angry pomp on the horn was enough to persuade the miscreant not to go any further. I would imagine a few days or weeks or months in the Dubai clink ought not be considered if you already have a hotel room. Perhaps it might have turned out worse, as a bellyful of lead is not a delightful prospect either!

We also took in, and learned about, some of the incredible buildings, of which there are plenty. Can anyone tell me if there is a city in the world to match Dubai’s variation in architecture?

Next time, we shall take a trip out into the Sharjah desert for an encounter with a belly dancer, who bore an uncanny resemblance to someone we knew! Am I brave enough to divulge who?