Comalapa International Airport is now officially called Monseñor Óscar Arnulfo Romero International Airport. Flying into it can take you on a huge turn out and over the sea to approach the runway in the correct direction. The airport staff are lovely and take their job very seriously.
Leaving from the Airport to fly home was an experience not easily forgotten. Perhaps it was just a bad day for everyone.
Our son got us there on time and saw us safely through check-in where they take your bags to the hold. This involves a 'bags and feet' search. Why one needs to take off one's shoes remains a mystery, especially since it happened frequently on this exit trip. One's toes remain the same length throughout, nothing changes.
So. We had at least two more 'bags and feet' searches before we arrived at the scanners. Even though we had confessed all our airport sins at this point, they did not like either my husband's green book bag or the camera case. The airport was really crowded and my husband likes notebooks with wire spiral bindings. He packs these into every pocket and then pats all his pockets to find them at each search.
We snorkelled off to the regurgitating table where the lady with the glove went through everything, finding the used stick of shaving soap the most suspicious item of all. On the suggestion that she break it in half, she finally satisfied herself be confiscating his penknife, parting him from a lifelong companion, almost.
Having exhausted us emotionally, we snorkelled some more, this time to the duty free area where we bought body cream. Having always wanted to buy something from thr duty free area, it is no longer a desire. It was not a good idea. One can only reach the duty free once one's main luggage has been dispatched leaving hand luggage as thr only permissable item.
The next stop was the gate check-in. More regurgitating and more husband's feet checks. (They seemed not to ne concerned by my feet).
My guy though was thrown off balance by the duty free. He read and re-read the receipt, but try as he might, it kept saying the same thing. An English speaking guard joined us. The issue was that the cream could not be taken onto the plane in the hand luggage. Can anyone see the oddness of this?
There was more to come. The seating area in Gate 9 is cordoned off with a rope. Got that? With a rope, singular. Those inside the rope area must not talk to those outside the rope area, so a guard with a walkie talkie informs you.
If you leave the rope area to go to the toilet or buy a drink, you have to be body searched to get back in. The two of us shared a coke which meant I was body searched to get out and having had my share, was body searrched to get back in. Same with my husband but while he was outside the rope area, they
began boarding our flight. I was with the luggage so my husband made his way back first going through two more regurgitating of body but not feet. This time the searcher did not like my husband's eye drops or the two tiny inoffensive underarms. (What do they do with this confiscated stuff?)
Why did we share the coke? Mostly to help pass the time.
Next, the intercom wishfully asked for my husband's upstairs presence. We never found out why because the security guard told us to ignore it and board the plane to leave the airport, which we did though slightly lighter than our arrival.
No doubt there are good reasons behind all airport security though.
Wednesday, 3 August 2016
Tuesday, 2 August 2016
Retirement
There are those one hears about who suffer from a compulsion to be up and doing, activated by the calendar and clock to be earning money, even if they don't in fact need it, by effort and application from pay day to pay day.
My feeling for such folk is one of wondering admiration but I cannot imagine myself among their number. Effort and application are worth attributes, certainly. But my feeling is that if one has put them into operation for forty years or more in the business of getting married, raising a family, purchasing perhaps one's own dwelling, laying by, if circumstances permit, for the future, then, by the end of three-score years and five, retirement is a wonderfully thing.
Retirement, that is, if you received a pension that covers the necessary cost of living. if you have the goof fortune to live in a country that accords benefits such as health care, local bust travel, and others that transfer the burdens of life's basic essentials from you back to the broader shoulders of Government, then there seems to me to be no valid reason to keep working.
To help the children get on to their feet, perhaps? A fine and worthy sentiment, but do they really need your help? The quicker they learn how to live within their means, the happier they will be. If you pension is adequate for your own reasonable comfort and security, you can always put by each month to treat your offspring and their families to treats according to your ability.
No, I see no problem, ethical or practical, to hinder the enjoyment of one's 'declining years' as they are so insensitively sometimes termed. Of course, in the nature of things, general circumstances may change, causing conditions to arise that affect the normal course of life, in which case you, as a grandparent, will wish to assist those affected to the limit of your ability.
That situation changes everything, and it could be argued that his happens so often during a lifetime that an emergency reserve should be factored in to the regular cost of living.
So, just as a general rule then, it still seems to me that those who have served their country and community for most of their adult life, raised a family to the point of being able to fend adequately for themselves, deserve to enjoy their autumn years doing those things they always wanted to but never had the time - or just, with a clear conscience, take things easy. That's the theory anyway. But if you want to keep working in a job, and it's not too much for you - why not?
My feeling for such folk is one of wondering admiration but I cannot imagine myself among their number. Effort and application are worth attributes, certainly. But my feeling is that if one has put them into operation for forty years or more in the business of getting married, raising a family, purchasing perhaps one's own dwelling, laying by, if circumstances permit, for the future, then, by the end of three-score years and five, retirement is a wonderfully thing.
Retirement, that is, if you received a pension that covers the necessary cost of living. if you have the goof fortune to live in a country that accords benefits such as health care, local bust travel, and others that transfer the burdens of life's basic essentials from you back to the broader shoulders of Government, then there seems to me to be no valid reason to keep working.
To help the children get on to their feet, perhaps? A fine and worthy sentiment, but do they really need your help? The quicker they learn how to live within their means, the happier they will be. If you pension is adequate for your own reasonable comfort and security, you can always put by each month to treat your offspring and their families to treats according to your ability.
No, I see no problem, ethical or practical, to hinder the enjoyment of one's 'declining years' as they are so insensitively sometimes termed. Of course, in the nature of things, general circumstances may change, causing conditions to arise that affect the normal course of life, in which case you, as a grandparent, will wish to assist those affected to the limit of your ability.
That situation changes everything, and it could be argued that his happens so often during a lifetime that an emergency reserve should be factored in to the regular cost of living.
So, just as a general rule then, it still seems to me that those who have served their country and community for most of their adult life, raised a family to the point of being able to fend adequately for themselves, deserve to enjoy their autumn years doing those things they always wanted to but never had the time - or just, with a clear conscience, take things easy. That's the theory anyway. But if you want to keep working in a job, and it's not too much for you - why not?
This is the day the Lord has made
It is the third week of September, summer should have been over but instead it is clinging on with bravado, twining its fingers into the wispy sky and smoothing the sunshine into hidden corners, prying into winter's domain.
We went sloe picking. We noticed them on our walks last year. One tree in particular had an abundance of large sloes, well rounded and glistening with the familiar musky covering that picks up the sunshine and turns them a deep-hued purple. We found a recipe online and used them to make slow berry jelly, musical, like sloe belly jelly, though the inference connected to a slow belly is unwarranted.
The jelly turned out well. The apple padding for pectin and bulk, meant that it set perfectly, like one would expect purchased jelly to be. It's tart taste makes it a favourite for people without a very sweet tooth.
This year, the sloes are everywhere. Each tree competing with another to display the prolific crop. We are still picking pailfills, hoping to freeze as many as possible for future use. Traditionally, they are picked after the first frost, which traditionally is supposed to be around now. But summer had different ideas...or is it better to say the Lord Jesus had different ideas?
Our recipe this year has been to use far less apples, just one or two cupt us, pips core and all, for pectin. Surprisingly there is little difference in the taste, but it does make the jelly more authentically 'sloe berry' and not so much 'apple and sloe berry'.
It takes time to pick sloes. Many of the best are out of reach. The physical job of picking them causes one to ponder. Each sloe is picked by hand, much like olives used to be. The community, one supposes, got together and went from orchard to orchard hand-picking the olives, eating, resting and chattering in the warmth as rest times allowed. Communal, productive and caring. No heavy equipment to give the tree hiccups after the determined shake. Does the shaking affect the fruit? Do the olive trees say 'No not again! Last year my roots broke up near the surface and it has taken all year to recover?' Who knows?
And gone too is the community spirit. The young people are left with little means of self support and wander off to the cities looking for a 'better life'. No life in the open air, no enjoying the beauty of the world around them, no bird sounds, no simple meals. Is this really progress?
SLOE BERRY RECIPE
Wash the sloes. You do not need to de-stalk them
Add one or two apples, cut up, core pips and all.
Place in a pot and just cover with water.
Boil until sloes are mushy. Use a potato masher to help this process if necessary. Skim foam off the top.
Allow to cool down enough to handle
Put through a muslin sieve.
Mine looks like this.
Allow to drip overnight. Do not squeeze.
Measure the liquid in litres. Add sugar weight 75% of the liquid measurement.
E.g. 900 ml = 900 x 75/100 = 67500 /100 = 675 grams
Add the sugar to the pot, squeeze in juice of one lemon and bring to the boil.
Turn down heat to medium and allow to boil until a sample of the liquid in a spoon
starts to set. It turns tacky.
Turn off heat.
Pour into prepared jars (sterilized and hot)
(I used clingfilm to cover the jars without lids unil I could get wax to seal them. Then just add a cloth cover sealed with a rubber band. Makes a nice gift for a friend.)
This is the finished product
Monday, 1 August 2016
El Salvador on a personal level
We lived for 3 months in a secure housing area in Santa Tecla, at the bottom of El Boqueron, San Salvador's volcano. What blessings the Lord gives to those that love Him. Now we know why people live in a volcanic area! It is quite spectacular having a soaring mountain as a backdrop to a town sprawled at its feet. What if it erupts though? It has done so before, the last eruption being recorded between June and Novermber 1917.
The slopes of the volcano are being developed for tourism. At various points up the side of it there are restaurants and cafes where paranamic views of San Salvador can be viewed in the valley below. These facilities are aimed at families with young children with activities to keep them busy. Then there is the much much more daunting offer of climbing down into Boqueron's caldera with its high vertical sides to view the pimple which is the cinder cone from the 1917 eruption.
One takes one's hat off to those who conquer this.
On the far side of the mountain lies lonely Coatepeque, not yet drawn into the warm enticing circle of tourism.
We took an easy walk up to the top of the caldera to look down into the hole blasted out by molten rocks. A barrier exists at the top to prevent accidents and stop people falling into the valley below.
Entrepenerial el salvadorans circumvent the authorities to offer for sale water and snacks to puffed out tourists who have not taken along anything remotely resembling a picnic, being unprepared for the physical exertion they experience. One such entrepeneer was perched on a sliver of rock outside the barrier with his wears which he sold all the while in danger of falling into the valley below.
One had to admire such industry and fortitude. He would almost certainly be without education yet this had not crushed his spirit or damned him to a pauper's early death. He was doing what he could with what he had, even if he risked his life to do it. With so many natural resources, why are Governments so miserly with their largess? Are we all so afraid of looking out for ourselves instead
of sharing what we have with others that we are blinded by the fact that G-d's provision is for all, and all should be encouraged to partake?
Another family seated themselves on the bench just outside the barrier on the circular pathway down into the caldera, ready to sell to those who went down and those who returned.
Why do Governments oppress the poor? Yet El Salvador does it less than other places (not many) we have visited. Most media outputs about this country are downputs. We found it and its people delightful, humble, simple and human.
Might this have had something to do with Archbishop Romero who served the poor more than the
rich?
Vendors existed outside the car park selling flowers, hand made jewellery, bulbs and anything else that might produce a sale.
The people were invariably friendly and pleased to see visitors to their country. The poor have a dignity unparalled elsewhere. They do menial jobs without demur, many like the coffee pickers, live on a dollar a day. (Woe to an industry which so exploits the poor. Zimbabwe coffee pickers fare no better).
The slopes of the volcano are being developed for tourism. At various points up the side of it there are restaurants and cafes where paranamic views of San Salvador can be viewed in the valley below. These facilities are aimed at families with young children with activities to keep them busy. Then there is the much much more daunting offer of climbing down into Boqueron's caldera with its high vertical sides to view the pimple which is the cinder cone from the 1917 eruption.
One takes one's hat off to those who conquer this.
On the far side of the mountain lies lonely Coatepeque, not yet drawn into the warm enticing circle of tourism.
We took an easy walk up to the top of the caldera to look down into the hole blasted out by molten rocks. A barrier exists at the top to prevent accidents and stop people falling into the valley below.
Entrepenerial el salvadorans circumvent the authorities to offer for sale water and snacks to puffed out tourists who have not taken along anything remotely resembling a picnic, being unprepared for the physical exertion they experience. One such entrepeneer was perched on a sliver of rock outside the barrier with his wears which he sold all the while in danger of falling into the valley below.
One had to admire such industry and fortitude. He would almost certainly be without education yet this had not crushed his spirit or damned him to a pauper's early death. He was doing what he could with what he had, even if he risked his life to do it. With so many natural resources, why are Governments so miserly with their largess? Are we all so afraid of looking out for ourselves instead
of sharing what we have with others that we are blinded by the fact that G-d's provision is for all, and all should be encouraged to partake?
Another family seated themselves on the bench just outside the barrier on the circular pathway down into the caldera, ready to sell to those who went down and those who returned.
Why do Governments oppress the poor? Yet El Salvador does it less than other places (not many) we have visited. Most media outputs about this country are downputs. We found it and its people delightful, humble, simple and human.
Might this have had something to do with Archbishop Romero who served the poor more than the
rich?
Vendors existed outside the car park selling flowers, hand made jewellery, bulbs and anything else that might produce a sale.
The people were invariably friendly and pleased to see visitors to their country. The poor have a dignity unparalled elsewhere. They do menial jobs without demur, many like the coffee pickers, live on a dollar a day. (Woe to an industry which so exploits the poor. Zimbabwe coffee pickers fare no better).
Riding to raise funds
Our daughter, Carmen and her husband, Reuben undertook a day's cycle, aiming to reach 200 km, last Saturday in order to raise money for Tammy and Rob's (sister and husband) voluntary trip to Zimbabwe to work for a year in Zimbabwe's mental health and education sector. They were joined by cousin Disa on the way back.
Unfortunately, Carmen's bike (new) got stuck in one gear which slowed their progress. The total was 131 km and another 19 was added at the gym on their return in the last 55 minutes.
All of them, except Rob, were born in Zimbabwe and are giving something back - seeding for the future there.
Unfortunately, Carmen's bike (new) got stuck in one gear which slowed their progress. The total was 131 km and another 19 was added at the gym on their return in the last 55 minutes.
All of them, except Rob, were born in Zimbabwe and are giving something back - seeding for the future there.
Friday, 15 July 2016
Halal
Early Christians were regularly admonished not to eat 'food offered to idols'. Here are a few ideas about what this might mean.
Starting with 'halal'. We lived opposite a 'halal' butchery. Having had an unpleasant experience with issues over islam, i became wary of all things connected with it. Knowing what 'kosher' meant, i understood that the killing of meat had to be done in such a way that the blood did not remain in the flesh, it needed to be allowed to bleed out of the animal, because 'the life is in the blood', and as a result, the eating of blood was forbidden.
Halal follows the same general guideline, with one specific difference. At the slaying, the abbatoir worker faces Mecca and offers the animal as a sacrifice to allah, praying over it that allah is the great god etc. This was confirmed by the halal butchery opposite us. This to me, is offering a sacrifice to an idol, for allah is not the Christian God. Food outlets like Pizza Express, Nandos, KFC, Redhot and Subway are pretty much all halal. They don't advertise this though, unless explicitily asked if you ar eating halal meat. This is pretty offensive. One does not expect halal in the West.
Then there is the more specific explanation where the Greek word for 'sacrifices to idols' has been examined by men of learning. One outcome of this is that 'sacrifices to idols' is that which commonly took place in communities at that time, amd still does in some communities today. This is where a meal is partaken in a shrine set up for the dead. The shrine may be large or small, but the theme behind the offering stays the same. Because of the amounts of alcohol consumed at these gatherings, impropriety easily resulted, manifested by sexual immorality among the guests.
There is ofcourse always the option of going vegetarian. That solves the 'halal' issue, but does not solve the 'meal to the dead' issue. El Salvador, for instance, honour their dead with a display of flowers. If you believe, God is a God of the living, and we all live before Him, then graveside vigils are unnecessary.
It is better to aim for the fullness of the Holy Spirit in this life and hope for eternal life, making love your aim now, while you can.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)