BLOGetc

Talk to anyone who’s travelled along the road from Marrakech to Essaouira and they’ll mention goats in trees. Dotted across the landscape between Marrakech, Essaouira and Agadir are thousands of squat yet mighty argan trees (argania spinosa) with twisted, gnarled trucks, its spiny branches often climbed by adventurous goats in search of a nibble of the olive-sized argan fruit. It’s quite a sight to see and one that ever fails to bring a smile to whoever notices. Argan oil products are becoming increasingly popular in the UK yet Berber women have been cultivating argan for centuries. During a recent trip to Essaouira, Morocco, I wanted to find out more about how argan was extracted and what qualities it has. I visited Afous Argan, an argan oil cooperative 20km from Essaouira on the Route de Marrakech in the Commune Ounagham, which employs only women to produce and sell cosmetics and foods made from locally sourced argan nuts.  What I noticed from watching the Berb...

Returning to Athens has been bittersweet. As much as I love this city, it has been hard to return without my sister, where we had our best times together. Holding back the tears I smiled thinking of her reaction as I sped into central Athens, with a driver who seemed more interested in learning my life story than driving with due care.  In equal horror and admiration I nervously eyed the abandoned steering wheel as he drove cigarette in one hand, mobile phone in the other; simultaneously placating his irate mistress, while madly gesticulating at the congested road ahead. Relating in detail the woes of modern Greece in broken English I couldn’t help but silently applaud his multi-tasking capabilities and unflagging optimism.  Athens in the winter is a lack back affair; the restaurants are much quieter, shop opening hours are limited, the pace of life is generally more subdued, but once the sun makes an appearance, the Greeks descend the streets to walk their daily ...

I hadn’t imagined a cat purring in my lap as I kicked back 8 metres up an oak tree in the French natural park of Le Perche. With our 6-year old tucked up in bed humming ‘wisha wisha wisha’ to herself, my husband and I had sneaked onto the terrace to road-test the local cider. Out of the darkness sprung the domaine’s resident tomcat vaulting over our balcony. He’d brought us a beheaded moving-in present. It’s fair to say that as a family we all have a somewhat unhealthy addiction to technology. Our parenting skills are easily distracted by ‘what’s happening on Twitter’ while our kid is addicted to all things Toca Boca. Was it possible to holiday somewhere without electricity and enjoy it? It was time to hide our beloved gadgets and go ‘back-to-nature’. Cabanes de la Grande Noë has six treehouses of varying heights and design, each carefully spaced out over a private estate, which has been in the same family for six centuries. It’s a real family affair; Agnès takes care...

It’s a rare treat to feel completely at home in a B&B. We knew we’d hit on a gem when we arrived at L'épicerie du Pape; 5 minutes into arrival our inimitable host François had cracked open a bottle of the local cider and had a map out marking all the local hotspots. Before we knew it, Alethea was taking a dip in the vintage bathtub, and we were kicking back in the deck chairs outside our ‘Kabane du Pape', with our new companion Ernestine, the attentive black labrador. Located in a small, picturesque village Vascoeuil, in the Haute-Normandie region of France, L'épicerie du Pape is a beautiful former grocer’s shop/café that has been lovingly converted into a guesthouse, full of eclectic junkshop and fleamarket finds; in every nook you find a well-curated selection of antiques and curios; there’s a subtle mixing of styles, patterns and colours, that emphasises the beauty of objects that have seen a bit of life. Our accommodation for 2 nights was in a cosy...

I can’t believe a year has passed since my sister died and I have written so little. In many ways it still feels raw, like only yesterday that I said goodbye but having had so much to sort out regarding my sister’s estate has also helped the time to pass and I’m healing slowly. I’ve joined a creative writing group, The Real Mildred, and although I’m finding it hard to dig deep, I’m finding the writing process to be strangely cathartic.  I was pleased when Emma’s friend, David Sarton of Weald Design   got in touch to say that he has been commissioned to design a Summer Garden at RHS Hampton Court Flower Show in Emma’s memory. The woodland retreat garden felt like a fitting tribute reflecting Emma’s talent as a horticultural photographer and as founding member of the Professional Garden Photographers Association. Throughout the show, the garden became an informal meeting place for Emma’s friends, garden photographers and family; a place for reflection, rest and a celebrati...

A link to an obituary I helped to put together for my sister, Emma. http://www.epuk.org/News/1013/emma-peios-1972-2012

Recurrent insomnia. I’m awake again at 4am, wide awake yet not wanting to be this alert, forcing me to think and process all the dark thoughts going round and round my head. Remembering the shock on my daughter Alethea’s face when she saw me at my most broken. The look of fear on Alaila’s face when she barely recognised her skeletal mother. Children too young to understand, wanting to protect them, not feeling strong enough to give anything back. I am numb. My smiles are forced. I don’t feel like writing or doing yoga. Both are too painful. All around me I see people caught up in meaningless chat on Twitter, posting endless selfies on Facebook and raving about the latest food fad. Once a social media whore, the curiosity for news – good or bad – has simply evaporated. Signing off.