Voices in my head

Today I want to talk about the voices in my head. 

Some of you probably already think I am mad ... those of you who know me. Others may just look at my ravings and wonder. But I know that if I have voices in my head, so do you! I am not alone in this.

And these voices – well sometimes they’re fun companions urging me on to jump in puddles, kick autumn leaves, have another drink, talk to a stranger. But other times they speak in malevolent whispers. Who do you think you are? What made you think you could do that? You’ve got to be kidding, you’re not good enough ... 

Do these sound familiar?

I read a book some time back where the principal character was followed around by an imaginary dog that represented her self-pity. Whenever she was feeling low, or something didn’t go right, she could hear him whining and whimpering. 

Well, I’m putting my dog on notice. No whining and whimpering allowed. There is no place for negative voices in my head. From now on I can do it, I am good enough, and what makes you think you should question me? Haven’t you seen what I’ve achieved?

It’s time for me to focus on why I should, not why I shouldn’t.

Sorry about the dog, but he’s got to change his behaviour, or he’s got to go (I’m hoping he will change because I am rather fond of him).

Globalisation - Love it or hate it ...?

Sometimes I rail against the ‘global society’. When I travel and find myself seeing the same stores everywhere I wonder why the British High Street is replicated in so many places. What’s happened to local flavour, individuality ...?

Of course, when we scratch the surfaces of these places we find that the local flavour is there – it just may take a bit more than the cursory glance we so often give things to find it. Stephen Fry on QI mentioned that most visitors to the Louvre go directly to the Mona Lisa, spend less than three minutes looking at it, then leave the Louvre. The cursory glance – maybe this is all that most modern tourists have time for?

When I travel I like to stay in one spot and take it in, to absorb the flavours and smells. I like to base myself in one small town and sit in cafes, watching the people go about their days, trying to understand what is making the particular place ‘tick’ – I like to scratch beneath the surface.

But I have a confession to make. There are other times when I really welcome the surfaces, the visible global brands.

On moving to Prague, I needed some furniture. I don’t want to spend a fortune on furniture. Money spent on a sofa can be better spent on so many other things in my book. So I turned to Ikea. They make it easy. They are everywhere. We’re all familiar with how the Ikea store works. In Prague there is a regular bus from the nearest metro station that takes you directly to Ikea. Of course the store is so popular it’s always crowded – in fact as I left at lunchtime, there were so many people coming there that they had to control entry at the front door. But at Ikea you know what you’re going to get and that can make it worth dealing with the crowds.

Then there’s coffee. When you’re in a new place and don’t know where the best coffee is, sometimes you’re happy to experiment and get rubbish. But when you’re feet are sore, it’s cold, you’re tired – well then, I have to say it, the pleasure I get from a double espresso in Starbucks really lifts my spirits. It’s the consistency that attracts – knowing that when I order my coffee it will be the same, good coffee I can buy in Dubai, Sydney, London or just about anywhere else in the world.

When I rant and rave about globalisation, when I complain that the main street in each major city replicates every other main street in every other major city, take it with a grain of salt. Like everyone else I like to grab a dose of the familiar to help me through the challenges of a new city, a new country, new people, new work, new language ... I admit it. I like to be able to get a Starbucks espresso. Yet I need to remember I didn’t make these changes to my life for familiarity. I made them so I could experience different things ... so from now on, only one Starbucks a week.

It’s time to find those great, local coffee places ...

More on my move ...

Arrival!

My flight landed early. The way through passport control was fast and efficient. My luggage was amongst some of the first to be unloaded. I breezed through customs.

A wonderful beginning.

I phoned Martin, my real estate agent, who had offered to come and pick me up and drive me to the apartment. He arrived promptly, helped with my luggage and was, as ever, charming and full of useful information about my new home.

After signing everything that needed to be signed and learning how to use the multiple locks, I was alone in my new, very empty home. My top priority was something to sleep on, and something to sleep under. So I harnessed all my courage and found my way to the Metro station, and on to a train with a 24 hour ticket (for some reason I always find train systems a little scary and am amazed each time I try a new one at how easily they can be navigated).

So to Pankrác station – just one stop further out of town. A yoga mat, a duvet, and I was set for the night. I have to say, that after two nights of this uncomfortable arrangement, my white cloud of an IKEA mattress is beckoning.

Of course, I’m still trying to get the hang of the heating controls – but I haven’t really needed the heating. My kitchen cupboards are bare. But I have found the Tesco Express just down the road. My biggest challenge now is finding my way to and from the station. First time was in daylight. No problem. But in the dark (just after 5 pm – short days here now!) everything looked different and I walked and retraced my steps twice before finding my way. I am optimistic that from now on I shouldn’t have any problems.

An update - I've moved to Prague!

Well, after a long absence I have returned to the screen of my blog. A word of explanation for my silence. I've been busy moving. The dream of a 'real' life in Europe is, I trust, going to become my reality. I have moved to Prague, got myself connected, and am embarking on new adventures.

But first, some musings on my final hours in Dubai ...

Last Day in Dubai

As ever, Dubai gave me memorable experiences right until the last moment.

I was reminded of Dubai-Sharjah traffic. I hadn’t been on this road for many years because of the traffic. I had completely forgotten how ghastly it can be. And on my last day I battled with it twice.

Rude taxi drivers – I know most of the taxi drivers are fantastic. But there are the bad ones, and two of my last three taxi rides involved these. First a taxi driver who gets a flat tire, on a road with no other taxis, and who refuses to contact his company and get them to send someone. A second taxi arrives and stops. I ask, hopefully, can you take me? No, of course not. He’s helping the one with the flat tyre. Have these people never heard of customers? Are we not how they make their money? A bit of help would have gone a long way. But none was forthcoming, so my wallet remained firmly shut.

Then there was the ‘moaning’ taxi driver on the way to the airport. The traffic is so bad. These signals cause the bad traffic. A woman who lives over there didn’t pay the fare yesterday. I have visited twice asking for the money but she just tells me to come back. Last time I went she didn’t open the door. (It’s not that these aren’t legitimate moans. The traffic was bad, the woman who didn’t pay her fare unspeakable – but I just want to relax and get to the airport.)

Of course, it’s my last time leaving Dubai and I have excess luggage. 20 kilos of the stuff. Here was a bright point in my leaving. I still had to pay it all but a lovely man took pity on me and I only paid for 14 kilos. Of course, being Emirates, this is still an extortionate amount, but it was all stuff I need.

I look out of my window now and see green, I see uncongested roads. And what’s that I hear? A car horn? No, not a car horn to be heard. I’ve got a lot to do before I truly feel I belong here, and I probably won’t end my days here. But it’s nice to call Prague home.