Solo Travel: Paphos, Cyprus

Cat in Cyprus

I am an hour early to the airport for my return flight. A small child is screaming ‘MOMMY MOMMY NOOOO NOOOOOO’ as if being held hostage for the inevitable return home. Any broodiness I had five minutes earlier is seeping away. And I am met once again with relief. This isn’t a blog about having children. Or not having children. I am attempting to once again meet myself half way and stop procrastinating and start writing again. This website has been an empty shell of its former youth driven naive self*. As the decaying process has begun, fear consumes my thoughts. This could potentially be the youngest I will ever look and be again. Unless I get plastic surgery obviously. And I get it! I do, I do… getting older is a privilege. And this wasn’t mean to be a blog about the shallow corners of my mind either. But, whoever says getting older is easy well… really? Well aren’t you lucky then! 

*what am I talking about… I’m still naive…

Too Much by girl in red

It has been far too long since I boarded a plane and been on a ‘holiday’. Perhaps maybe around… 7 years. There was, in fairness to myself a misdiagnosed hip crumble in there and a global pandemic in amongst some other life events. And on a random meeting with a young woman who turned out to be a huge dog lover I now had the escape ticket I needed. I know when depression might be kicking in. Because the sentence ‘but… what is the point?’ starts to radiate through my mind. Winter rain lashing at the windows, gloomy skies and the cold faces of living in central London can become.. too much for anyone. Except of course maybe, sadists, psychopaths and the extremely affluent. As of which there are many. And they’re not exactly very community spirited either. So an exit plan is probably the best plan. Maybe… the only plan… (have I set the scene?).

So I decide to get the fck outta London town, and leave my surrogate dog baby behind before I start dressing him in little outfits and move towards some sun. 

Cue: Solo travel to Cyprus. 

Ok. So I could of done a bit more research in all honesty, but I’m the sort of person that doesn’t have much patience. I either have to ‘do it now now now’ or not at all. This lifestyle got me through my 20s. Every weekend was a festival, not much planning, not much thinking, just… go go go go and don’t stop. 

‘Do you ever.. not want to book a holiday? Because you get too excited? And you can’t wait and the build up is too much so you just.. you just don’t do it…’. I question my friendly neighbour. 

‘Yes’.. she replies. ‘I prefer spontaneity’… ‘but… sometimes that can feel like it’s far too soon as well’. 

We chuckle with each other about this limbo state of mind. Yet deep down I suspect there’s an annoyance at it too. 

So, after scrolling for far too long and not really knowing where to look for last minute holidays (I’ve never actually found anything on lastminute.com have you?) boredom hits. Life just seemed easier when the internet was more of a novelty. Now it’s a soul sucker. Hours drawn out by instagram scrolling, internet shopping and well. Everything seems to be on the internet. There doesn’t seem to be any avoiding it. 

So after too many hours of scrolling and review reading I decide to ‘just do it’. 

Memory interlude: I remember when Nike were so cool at school. I actually bought my first pair of Nike trainers the other week. The one’s with platforms. This isn’t sponsored by Nike. I wouldn’t mind though. That would be good. 

So Paphos then. Why not. I’m at a crossroads. I ponder whether a place like Ayia Napa might be too much. Am I now over the hill for the whole clubbing/pub scene? However, the alternative is that I may have indeed just booked myself into a retirement home and that wasn’t quite my intention either. However eligible and charming Alan (and attractive), recently widowed and early 70s is. 

I’ve come to realise there are a few things I do not enjoy about solo travelling. One of them being the al a carte part of the dining experience. When the rest of the hotel stayers are eating at a table with their family or their mates (those retired people have so many friends), having a male model looking waiter hovering around your table waiting to take your plate. Well. It can feel like all eyes are on you. 

‘Hey, why don’t you take a photo it will last longer’… 

I was actually invited to the bowling green the following morning but didn’t realise it was a serious invite. I now regret this decision. I should have gone. 

Another thing about this #solotravelling business is that there can be a lot of ‘sitting with oneself’. Either sitting watching the waves or just wandering about discovering. I did attempt to sit by the pool and read a book but I have a sense of urgency in life that never seems to go away. Is that a London after effect I ponder? 

Another thing about travelling alone as a female is being propositioned by men. But it’s never the kind of guy who wants to order you a taxi, buy you flowers, take you fine dining etc. It’s the man who wants you to first purchase a tour with the company he works for. Meet you after hours down some dark alley or something. And then tries to get you to buy him a kebab. Or some crack. 

Well. That’s been my experience thus far anyway.  

The waters of the Mediterranean are captivating. Sitting watching the waves at night a storm in the distance lights up the sky and its fiery redness flashes behind the clouds.

Cyprus is not far from the conflict happening in the Gaza strip. I google whether you’d be able to see the effects of what is happening in the sky since Cyprus is approximately 250 miles from Palestine. Someone else has also asked the question on reddit. I feel a little less ignorant I suppose. It feels wrong somehow to enjoy such beauty in the world when there is so much suffering. And the world seems to get smaller the older I get. 

Scarily sad times. I’m not sure anything I write [here] will relay how awful and disturbing the events happening in this evolving strange world we live in are.

So much to learn and so much to do. A female lone traveller sits on a table nearby eating her dinner alone. Absorbed in her phone. She looks up briefly and we smile at each other. 

And begrudgingly back to London I go. 

Flying over the Swiss Alps!

Thankfully I had a Monzo card hidden in my drawer which helped me track payments abroad. I booked my flight separately with Easyjet, and the hotel – via the Booking app. The hotel – the Constantinou Bros Athena Hotel was clean, and the staff were all amazingly friendly. Cyprus is certainly a great destination to visit in warmer weather. However, I felt I’d covered most of Paphos in a few days. If you’re good at relaxing then it’s definitely a great location to just sit. Outdoor heated pools would be a nice touch. I got a bus from the airport which was 2 euros. The taxis’ are 30 euros. It’s not that hard to travel about via bus and bike which are cheap. I was recommended Staysure as a health insurance company. Twenty something me would totally have forgotten this part of the trip, however, 40 something me knows that the moment I don’t have travel insurance I’ll probably break a leg. With health conditions many companies were far too expensive. Thankfully staysure covered me despite having AS.

Until next time.

Much love, BeckiB Xx

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REVIEW: ‘LOVE YOGA BUM’ TURKEY

REVIEW: ‘LOVE YOGA BUM’ TURKEY


“I would never die for my beliefs because I might be wrong.” Bertrand Russell 

When I booked myself in for a week at a Yoga Retreat in Turkey – I didn’t think too much about it. I wanted some hot weather and it sounded like a healthy way to spend a week. I assumed several things might come with a trip of this type…‘away from temptation…out of trouble… lose a bit of weight…meet like minded people’. I had practiced yoga for over a year a while back and for some reason stopped – so this seemed a great way to get back into it. So. Yoga Retreat… no brainer really?

I arrived exhausted yet, excited to Suleyman’s Gardens, Turkey, a beautiful family run farm on the coastline where I was assigned a simple wood cabin with a comfortable bed. All one needs really.

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Scouring the weekly timetable I saw yoga was to begin at 7.30am for an hour and a half. We would then reconvene at 6pm that evening for more yoga. There were huge spaces in the day to do with what we wanted. A feeling of fear washed over me as I realised the long blank hours and the fact that we were in the middle of nowhere. ‘Oh god.. what if it’s really boring..’ was my feeling of dread.

“Boredom is therefore a vital problem for the moralist, since at least half the sins of mankind are caused by the fear of it.” Bertrand Russell, The Conquest of Happiness

I took myself off to the beach and flicked to the chapter “Boredom and Excitement” of the book I’d taken ‘The Conquest of Happiness by Bertrand Russell’

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“Ok”. I thought… feeling less afraid.

As I sat in the yoga den clad in my Primani leggings at 7.30am the following morning the realisation that mayyybe I should have thought about my attire a little more washed over me. As the other women commented on each others fashionable yogi outfits I made a joke about my cheap leggings to a quiet audience. But I had to remember – I wasn’t there for that. I was there for a holiday from my mind. From societal pressures and to do some yoga. But where there are other people it can always be hard to remain centred and to keep with one’s game plan. There will always be comparison, self reflection, opinions, advice, or perhaps some drama of some sorts. To remain unfaltering in a world of conflicting ideas and opinions is perhaps the hardest thing to do.

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Boat trip..a bored fisherman looking for stimulation from.. Facebook? 

And I guess that’s what I learnt on this trip. That my fear of boredom was just that. Fear. The days indeed, magically filled up themselves up.. either with spontaneous walks or exploring on the seashore. I faced my fear of spiders. As I woke up and spotted a very big beast on the wall.  Mosquito netting between us. In my groggy state…. I realised – that maybe… just maybe there wasn’t really anything to be afraid of. So. I went back to sleep.

There is something extremely satisfying about stretching and working out as the sun rises over an amazing horizon, feeding on home grown food.. and swimming in the Mediterranean sea and listening to the wise life stories of others. I could definitely get used to it. But.. could I ever become a real.. yogi? Hmmm. We’ll see.

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I travelled to Turkey with Love Yoga Bum – led by Maudie Johnson… down to earth and approachable, her non rigid approach and desire to have fun shone through.

The #yoga classes were led by Sarah Kekus of website The Health Architect. Sarah delivered an eclectic mix of Ashtanga, Vinyasa Flow and core strengthening work and easily led two hour morning sessions and deceivingly made them appear only an hour long (helped along with her awesome collection of empowering music). I found Sarah to be a strong minded yet sensitive teacher who easily adjusted her teaching to the needs of different skillsets.

A good week with some interesting women, excellent food, beautiful landscapes and some lessons learnt. And the life advice offered up by the retreats’ Conceptual Designer Ian Worrall was second to none.. Suleyman’s Gardens – a very beautiful place to escape to..

Looking forward to my next adventure.

Becki Bx

@ohdearyme

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REVIEW: VIPASSANA MEDITATION CENTRE

REVIEW: VIPASSANA MEDITATION CENTRE


Considering I only lasted only two days at the retreat it didn’t seem fair that I should write a review.. let me introduce Cassandra Mansueto. She and her partner gave me a lift to Hereford from London – (which was a very enjoyable part of the journey). Here is Cassandra’s review of the Dhamma Dipa Vipassana Meditation Centre in Hereford.

The year of 25! Quarter-life crisis! I have strayed from the Garden of Eden; my body has embarked on the primrose path and my soul is at odds with this! I expect my new fixation is the answer: I will float out of this 10-day meditation course, as light as a feather, my tarnished heart very nicely polished. Sometimes, when I walk with my partner in nature, I scream an adaptation of an excerpt from Apocalypto: I AM ALMIGHTY POWERFUL!! THIS IS ­MY LIFE AND I AM NOT AFRAID! After these 10 days, my title in the world will be ‘she who is strong and controls her own mind’.

For the duration of our stay we are to live humble lives as nuns and monks (kind of). All sexy areas (knees and shoulders) to be covered in modest clothing. No communication allowed! Males and females separated! We are served vegetarian meals (well, breakfast and lunch….apologies to my tummy if it thought we were off to an indulgent retreat).

Each day, everyone is greeted by the 4am gong and a two hour meditation (which means only another 8 hours of meditation to go within the day). The technique itself is quite basic in theory, but applying it is something else altogether. During the first few days we are slowly introduced and eased in to the practice of Vipassana, which slowly cultivates our awareness to perform the technique correctly. We all hear the looped message of, ‘Awareness and Equanimity. Anicca, anicca, anicca. . .change, change, change –insert never-ending, possibly Sanskrit tunes from the past-’.

The Vipassana technique, in my opinion is a good one. The method behind the madness is really quite simple and powerful, but on a primal level I want to throw all of my primrose path toys out of the cot and scream, especially during the three daily one hour sessions where all movement is prohibited. Eventually the chanting becomes unbearable to listen to, as is Goenka’s monotone voice, and the incessant talking at the beginning of each meditation.

This must be part of the plan, testing our tempers and ability to be equanimous, after all, Vipassana is ultimately to be applied at all times, throughout our daily lives, forever and ever.

It’s incredible what silence can do to the mind. Many memories resurface of even the most insignificant mistakes, actions and words. I make mental lists of all the people that I need to apologise to, when I do eventually go back home. This is precisely what I shouldn’t be doing. Vipassana teaches the mind to be present and cease all craving and aversion. This is all too sobering for my liking, so I start to entertain myself. During one session, I envision a fire has erupted and in a panic all of us meditators are forced to get up and speed out of the hall, but it’s happened during our ‘Simon says be a statue’ meditation hour and I’ve lost all sensation in my leg, so instead I’m falling all over the place.

There is no shame at this course. On the first day, the ladies’ bathrooms were filled with sounds of plopping jobbies and pee-induced farts. No-one wears make-up. A sense of liberation pervades the air. I take it a step further, being an eco-bunny, washing and hanging my reusable fabric panty liners on the washing line. Have I taken it all too far I wonder? Or will they all gawk in wonder and amazement at how dedicated I am to being a super-being?

By the fifth day, I’ve seen most rules broken, a girl smiling at her boyfriend across the hall and another woman wrapping food in her scarf and hiding it in her room. One evening my roommate makes rustling noises and it sounds like she’s opening a forbidden Wispa-Gold. It then sounds as if she’s disguising the noise of her chewing, by rubbing her hands together as if she is very cold! I refuse to look in her direction for fear of making her feel uncomfortable. I want her to know that she can trust me with her secret, so I myself break a rule in her presence, by writing something down. The next morning I look at her bedside table and realise there was no chocolate, she was actually moulding ear plugs. Paranoia sets in and I start to wonder if I snore.

The highlight of each day is the teacher’s discourse in the evening, recordings of Goenka. He’s got such an amazing warmth and understanding of human nature. A teddy bear of note. . . a Buddah-Bear. What a sense of humour! We all laugh hysterically! Surprisingly, it’s only on day seven that I start suspecting an aura of brainwashing around my head, but after some rumination (again, while I should be meditating), I come to the conclusion that Goenka is telling us to do the same thing over and over again because we simply aren’t following the simple instructions the first 100 times.

 I chastise myself for having a weak mind!

Finally, day 10 arrives. It’s the lowest point that I’ve had, as so much has been brought to the surface. But there’s a surprise for all of us. We come out of meditation that morning and mixed areas have been combined for the males and females. We may talk! I am greeted by my Henry-Bear (boyfriend) and all is right in the world. We are standing under an umbrella in the rain recalling all that we’ve been dying to tell each other. He can’t believe that in one of the chants (quite a catchy one), I don’t hear ‘gay protection’. Believe you me, I hear it in every meditation session for the rest of the day. Upon leaving, we are instructed to meditate each day for an hour in the morning and an hour in the evening and naturally, we all promise each other that we will – insert ominous raised eyebrows-. I don’t leave as spiritually light as I would have liked, but I definitely have dropped a jean’s size!

Four months later and I’m onto my next fad, Feminism (read ‘Eat my Heart Out’ and ‘How to Be a Woman’!!) but I’m still feeling the effects of this donation based course and know that I want to keep Vipassana part of my life. I just haven’t been disciplined enough to follow through with the prescribed meditation sessions, which I know would alter my whole reality. Goenka claims less sleep is needed, one is more efficient and you will ultimately live in line with karma. Changes are occurring in my life on a subtle level. Most nights I have a ritual of meditating after a hot shower. There is a lot more awareness in my thoughts and speech and best of all, I’m letting go of every bad memory as it occurs, forgiving myself immediately, so that I never have to be burdened by it again, until I can live in line with karma and have a clean slate. I also intend on going back and I encourage any person who wishes for a better life, to embark on this journey.

Cassandra Mansueto Xx

Would you like to write an article for ohDearyme? Get in touch at beckiburrows@gmail.com

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ART: Städel Museum

ART: Städel Museum


Anish-Kapoor-Green-Shadow-2011

Anish Kapoor, Green Shadow 2011

With a press invite to the Städel Museum – one of the oldest and most renowned museums in Germany, I decided to leave the small ‘healing’ town of Bad Ems Germany and jumped on the train to Frankfurt changing at Koblenz. My experience of German spas, whilst certainly interesting  – I found to be more traumatising than relaxing:

“She is wearing her swimming costume! GET IT OFF!! GET IT OFF.. ” a hundred naked old people are stomping towards me.. the sauna is hot and the chants are getting stronger.. louder. I wake up. Time to make like a tree…..

The museum holds almost a complete overview of 700 years of European art history. And I assumed that I would find the contemporary section more appealing (none of that old boring history stuff). However, I found myself completely and totally absorbed in the Old Masters section. Perhaps it’s the stage of life that I’m in right now – but as I read about the ‘Ideal to Individuality’ stages of art I realized. Most artists of their time are under the illusion that whatever they do is revolutionary. Which quite rightly it could be! And actually competitiveness is nothing new. Artists such as Michelangelo, Raphael and Leonardo competed against each other to attain perfection and ‘ideal beauty’ in their work… always trying to surpass each other. And that was teh 15th Century.

As I headed from from the Old Masters down to the Contemporary section, I found myself wondering whether over the decades we might have lost something along the way. I wonder what the Michelangelo’s over the centuries might think of the current state of the art world. The increasing popularity of Banksy, X Factor, Tracy Emin, Vice Magazine, JLS….

Narcissus-at-the-Fountain-xx-Giovanni-Antonio-Boltraffio

This is a picture of Narcissus at the Fountain, 1510. A man who fell in love with his unattainable image in the water and died of grief. The tale is where we derived the word Narcissist – excessive self love.

And so I left the museum. Perhaps a little more at ease. Comforted by the fact that revolutions, disease, disaster, pain, anger, love, control, happiness, temptation. Well. Its nothing new. And the world has survived. I suppose I’m just a little bit unsure as to where we’re at. I wonder. What will our era be defined as?

A really thought provoking museum with an excellent delivery of art – unassuming of one’s artistic background – I definitely recommend visiting the Städel, Frankurt.

Becki Bx

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Charlie Sheen #TigerBloodIntern – Round 3

Charlie Sheen #TigerBloodIntern – Round 3


Hey! Guess what people!? I’m through to round 3 for Charlie Sheen’s Tigerblood Internship… where the prize is to go work with him for the summer…. there’s no guessing how many people have made it through to the third round.. it could be thousands. Or it could be millions. So with a tight deadline looming – I thought I would rise to the challenge and try and create a #winning video. But I couldn’t do it alone. Luckily after some heavy linkedin networking last month I met a bright and capable Cameraman called James Littmann who ventured out into the great wilderness of London to help me film.

The brief was to keep the video under 2 minutes – be serious, professional and tackle one of three questions. I have tackled number 3: How would you advise a candidate running for public office to leverage social media in his or her campaign for election?

And so along with a lot of kind people on the streets of London this is what we came up with..ps – I am terribly sorry about some of the audio – it seems my microphone is on it’s last legs.. and also…sorry for my Queen impression.

Please share this with your friends! And vote for Becki!

Over and out Becki Bx

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