It’s been a funny week! My flight to Egypt is booked for Tuesday. I’ve had one final week and a packed one it has been. It’s been a week of managing nerves.
I love listening to comedians talk about their experiences of getting into comedy. It’s never a smooth road, they fail A LOT and they are honest about it – which a lot of performers aren’t. My favourites are Elis James and John Robins Gig diaries – you can find them on YouTube. They’re failures when starting outweigh the successes and it’s so funny.
Sunday night was Cabaret Lab. I performed there in November (only my second live performance ever!) so I felt more comfortable going in. It takes me 2 x 2 hour sessions to learn a song without precision choreography. I did a drum solo, whacked the hair extensions in and wore the best costume I have in the UK. It was great – I was exhausted by the end but it went really well and I left feeling like I’m starting to get the hang of performing dance. And feedback was great.
Friday morning I had a meeting with the Bloomsbury Festival director to throw around initial ideas for the one woman show. And I am so excited! I submitted an Arts Council application the same day and went to see the potential venue today. I can’t say much about right now, but if it all pulls off, it should be a cracker!
This is a slightly unusual post, but 2022 started with a bang (quite literally).
….
Yesterday, 10th Jan 2023, I was at the hospital. I felt tears welling up as I lay on the hospital bed.
“Are you ok?” they asked. “I’m good,” I squealed, as I felt the pain surge through my pelvis.
This has become a familiar situation for me. Gynaecological appointments always take an excruciatingly long time.
….
Throughout 2021, I’d had lots of odds symptoms: excessive bloating, bleeding at irregular times, constipation, constant pain. In September, I’d finished my two-year teaching contract and went to work as part of the animation team in a hotel; thinking this is a nice, fun job for six months. A good place to make the move back into the performance world.
I collapsed within three weeks. I was home a week later and in A + E.
It turned out I had an endometrioma (ovarian cyst filled with blood) on my right ovary. It was stuck to my bowel. My left ovary was stuck to the fossa. My tubes were twisted, my uterus retroverted and adhesions all over my pelvis. Surgery took about three hours. And as it turns out, my cervix curves off to one side.
I was genuinely terrified I wouldn’t dance again. And at a minimum, I wouldn’t be able to teach and travel again. I thought, I’ve got too many projects and ideas to be ill and stuck at home. And also, vainly, I didn’t want scars across my stomach, not when I was just about to start wearing bedlahs.
I rushed back to Cairo, which on reflection was a massively bad idea. But I did manage to improve my balance, fitness and ability fairly fast. I was offered 6 dance jobs (without much effort on my part) and I couldn’t take them. As much as I wanted to, I knew I’d crash and burn badly. Managing pain is ok when you’ve been in a career for a while, but starting out, you need huge amounts of energy and resilience, which I didn’t have at that moment.
What is frustrating is I am a go-getter. Without my pelvic problems, I am a naturally very positive and chilled person. Most of my mood changes come from my hormone fluctuations, fatigue and pelvic pain. I need a bucket of coffee in the morning to get me going.
It’s also hard to explain it to people. Everyone assumes that post surgery, everything is fine. But I have a period every month and I have to take huge amounts of self-care to ensure I can manage my day-to-day life. And I’m terrified of dating. It’s a lot to ask of someone.
It always feels ironic that I belly dance. I’ve had to accept that over the course of one month, my stomach can go from being tight and toned with precise movements to hugely bloated and it isn’t anything to worry about. That sometimes I can do certain movements and sometimes I can’t. And that I need regular rest. The fatigue can at times feel overwhelming. I’ve had to accept that I have regular pain and that despite my best efforts and constantly trying different medicine and holistic techniques, I will end up in hospital again before the menopause.
I’ve also had to accept I can’t have children (please don’t try and convince me it’s still possible). The thing is, I’ve spent 15 years working with young people, and I’m really good with kids, but I never wanted my own children. I’ve always wondered if that was my body acknowledging that it isn’t possible. Of course, in modern Britain, lots of people don’t have children. But it’s having the choice taken away from you and the consequential feeling of being lost. Knowing how to create a role for yourself in society and understanding where you can share all the love that would have been poured into them. I can feel the tears come up as I write that.
I rushed back to Egypt in February, two months after surgery and I really shouldn’t have done. And the universe agreed. I was violently sexually assaulted on the street.
For a month, I went into ‘I’m completely fine’ mode. And then I completely shut down after that. I was filled with so much anger. I realised I had to go home and really recover from everything, physically and mentally. And it has done me the world of good.
Something in my mind has changed. I’ve become more resilient. Things that terrified me before, don’t seem as scary. And I’ve put so many boundaries in place.
I’ve also discovered side hustles. I was determined to find activities I can do if I can’t move and have to sit in bed. I can write well. I set up my blog. I did a write your own one woman show course with Jane Postlewaite and completed my first script. It has won the New Wave theatre writing grant to perform at the Bloomsbury Festival 2023 in London. I’m also just about to start stand-up comedy – at least I can perform that, even if I’m in crippling pain. You can still sit on a stage and tell a joke. Jokes can be written anywhere (and it seems for me only between 10pm and 1am).
If I can belly dance, with a pelvic which fluctuates in size and is in near constant physical pain. You can do anything. I really mean it, don’t give up on anything. Step by step. And ignore everyone that criticises you. I’ve realised, so many people don’t like it when other people shine. Keep showing support for them, even when it isn’t returned. Only take advice from people you pay for their mentorship and teaching. You’re paying them for their trusted opinion.
When I get back to Cairo, I will start stretch classes again. I wanted to learn to do the splits and back bends last year. I dance much better and my balance is improved, but I’ve realised it’s actually important for me in terms of keeping my body going. Releasing the pressure on my pelvis. With endo, you have to learn about your body in ways you wouldn’t normally bother with.
If you have, what the NHS would describe as a chronic illness, you are incredibly strong. To get up every day and go to work, socialise, have a family, manage daily tasks. The constant searching for new techniques, the loss of income. It takes so much strength to do that and to keep picking yourself up when you feel you hit rock bottom again.
So, although it feels like déjà vu and I’ve gotta repeat my dance training again. 2023 is my year.
Happy New Year! after a very good rest I’m back online!
I’m a guest writer for Verge magazine this year. Anyone that knows me well, knows I have strong opinions about everything and I look forward to sharing them. It’s an opportunity to share my travel writing to a wider audience, and eventually I’ll add the articles here.
“Hold on tight!” he shouted as the 4×4 reached the tip of the slop. It was a sharp drop down, I closed my eyes and grabbed the handle above my head, wondering what I’d paid for. Only a week ago, I’d been sat comfortably at home searching for something to do next week, when I read about the Full Moon White Desert tour on Facebook. Impending doom wasn’t the idea I’d had in mind. The 4×4 began to slowly tilt forwards till we were 50 degrees, the only sound the crank of the foot being lifted off the break and then we were off. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH,” our screams radiating across the desert, the wind flying across our faces. As the jeep reached the bottom, we all fell about laughing and turned behind us to catch the sight of the other half of the group approaching the edge, about to experience the terror and exhilaration of the drop and drive.
Away from the overcrowded tourist traps of the Rea Sea and the Pyramids lies Egypt’s best kept secret. Nothing compares to waking up to the radiant sunset of the White Desert. The White Desert had been suggested to me by a friend about five years ago, but as normal I ignored their advice. It was by chance one weekend that I discovered this fairly untrekked adventure. As someone who’s lived and worked in Cairo for three years, it seems absurd that this is one of Egypt’s least visited locations. This to me, is the real Egypt.
We left Cairo on Friday morning (the first day of the Egyptian weekend) at 7am. Meeting outside Cilantro in Mohandessin, we took a small minibus to Al Hayz. Located Southeast of Cairo and situated below Siwa, Al Hayz and the surrounding area are populated by Bedouins and governed under Bedouin laws. The pace of life is a stark contrast to the noise, dust and tension to be found in Cairo. Here, life was surprisingly calm and quiet.
We stopped for lunch at a restaurant in the centre of the village, where we encountered another group also enjoying refreshment before they headed off on their big desert adventure. The tour started with a beginners guide to off-roading onto the Black Desert, named after the black volcanic rock, dolerite, which covers the surface of the hills. A short walk, a few pictures and a bit of rock collection were had, before we started the drive into the White Desert.
A convoy of 4×4 vehicles, with a pre-determined order and crammed with supplies and water, are needed even for a one-night trip, accompanied by eccentric driving which leaves one feeling both exhilarated and terrified. But it sure is worth it. Stopping at a peak to look out over the vast desert below, the sand changing colour from mustard to white, a feeling of aliveness creeps over you. The ridiculousness of everyday worries and concerns seems to wash away, with hair a mess and fresh air flooding your lungs.
The views were astounding, our surroundings getting whiter and whiter.
On arrival at our camp location, we sat and watched as the guys unloaded and began cooking. Listening to some of the jokes and comments directed at me, one of my fellow travellers asked if feminism had reached Egypt yet. “Yes,” I replied, “but you have to search for it. Egypt has a history of feminism.” A too great a topic to cover over a bottle of water and cigarette.
Setting up the camp was swiftly followed by the preparation of dinner. A small dining space was erected using traditional khayameya fabric and rugs, with a low-slung table everyone could sit around. Shoes were thrown off, followed by the communal sharing of salad, lamb, bread, a small feast divided between everyone. The sky was already getting dark. A fire started. Everyone sat around, sharing laughter and stories of past travels as koshari tea (named after the popular Egyptian dish ‘koshari,’ but here a mix of loose tea with sugar and herbs in the kettle) brewed. One small glass after another was consumed.
As is always expected at social events in Egypt, a tabla drum appeared from nowhere and entertainment abounded. Singing rapidly descended into dancing, everyone shimmying (or attempting) to the beats of the drum, on the still-hot desert sand, the dry air hanging thick. Having drunk copious amounts of tea and followed by all the dancing, I asked Abdu where I might find a bathroom.
“The desert is your toilet,” Abdu told us laughing, “go anywhere.”
Under the now full moon, the desert was completely illuminated. The towering, white sculptural forms shining with a soft, silvery glow. It wasn’t dark. Not now the moon had arrived. It was glowing, a night-time gallery that we could walk around, exploring the sedimentary rock formations. A good time to contemplate the effect of the full moon on our bodies and minds; how I can never sleep when there is a full moon.
Returning from my ponderous trip to the bathroom, everyone was still laughing about my dancing. We let the fire burn down and headed for our tents.
Emerging bleary eyed from my tent the next morning, I was met by the sun rising up behind huge white formations. The full and magnificent beauty of the White Desert became clear. It was pure white and sculptural, as if an artist had taken time to carve these works for display. It felt like we were in Antarctica or on another planet. The desert as beautiful at night as in day, but with completely different qualities.
Breakfast was flat bread, freshly made in front of our eyes above the fire, soft cheese, halva and tea. Sat on a rug around the table, we shared stories of the night; some people having slept under the stars whilst others walked for hours exploring this almost extra-terrestrial landscape.
After breakfast we headed to the New White Desert.
The New White Desert, discovered slightly later, contains well-known, and rock formations such as the rabbit, in the shape of … a rabbit, which have wire barriers to prevent them becoming eroded by too much human interaction. These formations all look like works of modern art; an open air art gallery in the desert. We also stopped by ‘the chicken,’ and a few comments were made asking for the egg. Whilst taking photos with the rabbit, we enjoyed a little rooftop dancing by our guides.
“Who wants to drive?”
I looked at Abdu. He had to be joking.
He wasn’t. One of my fellow travellers stepped into the driving seat. Whilst all credit for doing a good job on flat terrain, I didn’t feel safe being driven over huge sand dunes. I needn’t have worried, we were soon back to Adbu’s race track driving off sharp drops.
We had one last stop to make before heading back to Al Hayz. Crystal mountain. It’s not quite a mountain, a medium sized hill covered in calcite crystals. After, an additional quick stop by an old roman vineyard, where you can walk amongst hundreds of shards of ceramic pots, we were back at the house in Al Hayz, where we climbed out of our mucky clothes and jumped into the small drop pool, before enjoying one last goodbye lunch.
The White Desert affected me more than any other place in Egypt. It feels magical and reconnecting, almost pagan in my experience. The combination of earth, air and fire. My advice for Egypt – skip the tourist brochure and head straight to Al Hayz.
The last few months, I’ve been in the UK resting and working out my next plans. Self-employment usually involves the continuous hunting for work and opportunities and accepting the work that comes along. In October, I received an offer to go to Chernitvsi, Ukraine to teach for 10 days over the Autumn holidays.
Lots of people were confused as to why I accepted the job, but having done my research Chernitvsi seemed to be in a fairly safe area of Ukraine close to the Romanian border in the Carpathian mountains. Most people tend to think that a war torn country means that every single inch is under attack at that moment, but of course, the reality is very different. Everyone is under the stress of war but whether or not it is directly on your doorstep is unknown from one minute to the next.
The next step was to figure out how to get there. The airspace over Ukraine is closed and therefore the easiest route is to fly to Krakow, Poland and take the bus. The bus took nearly 20 hours, due to lengthy border crossings and Ukraine being the largest country in Europe. You could see how dramatically the landscape and architecture changed, Krakow has a very whimsical quality whilst retaining the ever present look of WW2, whilst Chernitvsi felt greyer, the buildings made of concrete. Central Chernitvsi has an almost picturesque charm, but the ever hanging backdrop remains in your mind. It feels almost beautiful to me.
The camp itself was in the Carpathian mountains. Sunrise and Sunset were incredible. The landscape was very flat, with the sudden peaks. In the winter, the resort transforms into a ski slope. It was absolutely not what I was expecting. The cabins were warm and we, mostly, had hot water and heating. The wifi was less stable, understandably. Everyone was jumpy, whenever we heard a large crash, we’d check outside the doors.
On the road itself, the houses are wood panelled bungalows, small one story homes people have made themselves, self-sufficient, wooden logs piled high, dogs outside, gate posts which look like spear headed missiles. It felt a little like the start of a horror film, a deserted village and a lone woman. As I was walking down the road having this exact thought, I turned to a house with a large iron gate with a huge iron spider and web and lock. It seemed unreal.
I guess, I’d never considered what it would be like in an air raid. You learn about it at Primary school, heard about it from relatives and perhaps go and sit in a corrugated iron shelter at a museum. I didn’t consider what it actually felt like and how regular it is. In the centre of the city, the siren was loud. In the mountains, it was an app with a map that told you where the raid was and with a variety of sounds – the classic siren as well as jolly songs telling everyone to go to the air raid – made for children and families. The shelter was the pizza restaurant, which we would fill almost everyday at some point. We had to be ever ready for leaving our classrooms and heading to the shelter.
Hello everyone and welcome to my new blog. About six years ago I had a blog called the ceramics apprentice, where I charted my journey into ceramics and pottery – I loved it, it was quite niche, but ceramics is expensive and I had to go get a ‘proper’ job. But we’ll slip some pottery into the blog along the way. One of my first activities when I move to a country is to find the potteries and learn some new skills and about the local ceramics industry.
I’m an English teacher, an artist and bellydancer, who frequently runs away to experience different countries and cultures. Right now, I divide most of my time between the UK and Egypt. I’m also in the process of producing my first one woman show ‘How to Run Away,’ which will be performed in 2023 and 2024 initially in London.
My hopes for this blog are to chart my own journeys and activities in a diary form, reflecting on my experiences in different places and learning new creative skills. I will also write travel guides and advice for people who want to see the world, but on a tight budget. Working in the arts, I’ve always worked pretty low paid jobs and I’ve mastered the art of doing a lot for very little, and living the high life on a shoe string, so I hope to share some tips along the way! I’ve also always been about ‘living’ a country, rather than being a ‘touristic spectator.’
I will also keep the diary, because I don’t always go to places I would describe as ‘destinations.’ Sometimes, I go to places that are difficult and challenging – most recently Ukraine, where I worked for two weeks teaching English at a camp. It really was an experience and valuable to share, but, understandably, not somewhere I’d encourage others to go to right now.
after a very good rest I’m back online!
The Bellydancing Backpacker 