To purchase a copy

Title: High Up in the Rolling Hills
Author: Peter Finch

Category: Biography, memoir, manifesto, sustainable living
Format: Trade paperback, hardcover, ebook
Publication Date: April, 2013
Pages: 204
Recommended Price: $17.95 softcover, $27.95 hardcover, $9.95 pdf
Trim: 8.5 x 5.5 inches
Available from: iUniverse; Amazon in Canada, United States, United Kingdom, France, Germany, Spain, Italy, Japan, Brazil; Barnes & Noble; Borders; Chapters Indigo in Canada
First Print Run: On demand (with iUniverse on-demand capabilities, there is never an out-of-stock situation)

Sunday, 21 January 2018

Ne Plus Ultra


acme, zenith,

the ne plus ultra

of travels

far and wide;

green-girthed volcanoes,

cobalt-blue waters,

on this magical lake

at the top of the world.

An air clear and pure,

auras, vistas,

recharged by time,

each bright new day

a well-rounded wonder,

sweet natives embracing

bright-eyed travellers,

Buen día, indeed.

Monday, 15 January 2018

How we love to travel...

Motor boat and cayucos (fishing boats), Lake Atitlan, Guatemala, 2018

How we love to travel...

In my youth, I raced around Europe with countless other students, passport, traveller's cheques and InterRail monthly pass tucked into trousers. In thirty days, I would travel from England to Norway, Sweden, all the way down to Greece, back home via Yugoslavia, Italy, and France. Phew, that's a lot of trains, all for $75 or so; $2.50 a day, and just imagine the savings in overnight accommodation if schedules were planned well!

My first trip with the love of my life was a doozy. A long-haul flight with the impeccable Singapore Airlines took us from London to, yes, Singapore, a good, safe landing pad for me, experiencing Asia for the first time. From here, we flew to Bali, staying for a month before travelling overland across Java for another month, ending with two weeks in Malaysia, including a heavenly few days on the island paradise of Tioman.

Now, finally, thirty five years later, we are back to a trip that is two months plus. Instead of a busy itinerary, we now choose to fly to Guatemala, spend a few days in Antigua, then settle into a home away from home right on the jewel that is Lake Atitlan, happily rooted for a full eight weeks. After trips to Chile, Mexico, Costa Rica, Spain, Greece that were usually two to three weeks, we have graduated to longer and more satisfying stays. Last year, our first in Guatemala, was six weeks. Once we moved from hotels to rented houses and rented cars to public buses and collective taxis, everything changed for the better. We shop at local markets for fresh, in-season food, we cook at home, we flit from town to town on day trips, we relax fully, and we save a lot of money on restaurants and accommodation. And I get to plant seeds, growing arugula, lettuce, spinach, mustards, and kale for super salads fresh from the garden.

I chuckle to myself when I see each new harried young traveller, glued to his device, not even taking in where he is in the here and now, too obsessed with his inner world and getting to the next brief stopover. Most stay for a day or two here at Lake Atitlan, which is without question one of the most beautiful places in the world. One needs at least a week to do it justice. Then it is on to continue the Central American tour... Tikal, Belize, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama.... Good for them. What a way to see exotic parts of the world most only dream of. Maybe I envy them their youthful energy as they race off climbing another volcano, diving to view pristine coral reefs, or riding Pacific surf. Instead, it's easy as she goes, all in good time, maybe mañana. Travel can be so life-affirming, given the opportunity it provides to take into our hearts vibrant cultures and exotic locales.

Tuesday, 7 February 2017

Just you and me


Just you and me
midst the birds and the bees,
the lake and its waves,
the peace that we crave,
the morning glory light,
a raptor aflight,
volcanoes frame the scene,
so radiant, serene.

Just you and me,
in this moment, we are free.

Tuesday, 24 May 2016

Forever Young

(Note to self on turning sixty, courtesy of Bob Dylan, with whom I share a birthday; Happy Birthday, Bob)

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
And may your song always be sung

May you stay forever young

Friday, 18 March 2016

Carpe diem

At this very instant (as I write), it is 10.07 am on February 29, a day that only comes around every four years. I find myself on a rooftop terrace in Patzcuaro, Mexico, part of a place we have been fortunate enough to call home for the last month. Tomorrow we head back to Mexico City, thence via Toronto to our permanent home in the Northumberland Hills of OntarioI am determined to hang on to this fleeting moment in time, to sip and savour it like a fine brandy, another treat in this adventure that is life. 

At this very instant, dogs are barking, cars and trucks are rumbling along the cobblestone street below, cocks are still crowing, a megaphone is trumpeting gas delivery, birds are twittering in the trees, voices in animated conversation from passers-by rise and fade, the dance studio is blaring out Arabic rhythms. The sky above my head is cloudless, the sun is bright and burns my northern skin. The town is humming with activity and street markets are in full tilt. The distant lake and girdle of gentle mountains are hazy and soft. I have slept soundly, breakfasted well. My time here has been liberally sprinkled with happy moments; it will linger long in the memory. A Patzcuaro portfolio derived from snapshots of many moments will stock my bank of souvenirs.

At this very instant, many millions of people are occupied doing many millions of things in millions of places around the world, all special and particular and meaningful to each person. Repetition and drudgery, hardship and boredom, pain and brutality may be involved, making the joyful, exuberant moments all the more special when they come around. I wish everybody instants in the sun like this one for me when the fresh, pure air cleanses and wipes away layers of emotional and physical grime and opens up new vistas. Tomorrow, new instants beckon as the reality of routine confronts us. It will be raining or snowing, or overcast. 

Seize the moment. Carpe diem.

Monday, 7 March 2016

Magic hour, Patzcuaro

(Written ten years ago during our first visit to Patzcuaro, one which Gundi called our best holiday ever. Ten years later, we are just returned from our second visit - a full month this time - probably an even more rewarding stay! This pueblo magico has lost none of its charm and has barely changed in the intervening decade. How many places around the world can make this claim?)

 A magical hour in a magical place. Early Sunday evening, in the Plaza Vasco de Quiroga, Patzcuaro, Michoacan, Mexico, the Americas.

The lights along the six portales of the palisaded rectangle are all of a diffused yellow, as if a thousand candles have just been lit. The six centuries-old leafy ash trees are fluttering in the light breeze, the birds are all atwitter in the high branches, and dark is newly descended. The central circular pool in the park, guarded by Don Vasco, is placid and mirrors the lighted scene above, while coy young lovers tangle, forming a ring around its rim. Whole families are out de paseo, dressed in their Sunday best, reveling in the fresh early Spring air. Toy ponies transport wide-eyed toddlers in a lap of the pathways; exuberant little girls with flowing black hair, red and pink dresses, long white socks, and shiny black shoes skip, scooter and bicycle by, and a tiny year and a half-old boy hoots with delight as he plays peek-a-boo around the massive girth of a limed-white tree trunk. His mother happily passes him over to a complete stranger so that she can share in the joy and wonder of being that innocent age. Cars trundle in slow-motion over the cobble-stoned streets, some emanating a deep boom-box bass beat. The atmosphere is gentle, sweet, beguiling as natives and visitors mingle, embracing the warmth of sharing this time together, at leisure and in peace.

Restaurants serve food, bars purvey drinks, artists show their landscape paintings, artisans display their crafts, vendors peddle clothing and toys, ice creams and pastries. Most is locally produced. In the adjacent mercado, they are just shutting up shop for the day. The array of colorful fresh produce is staggering – papayas, mangoes, guayabas, pineapples, melons, bananas, coconuts, strawberries, blackberries, apples, oranges, limes, lemons, tomatoes, avocadoes, potatoes, onions, herbs of all kinds, cauliflowers, cabbages, beans, corn, beets, carrots, meats, fish, you name it…. At the food stands, mamas and papas and their niños huddle around hot pots of steaming stews; tortillas are warmed as a base for sauces and fillings. Smells and sounds pepper the air, and colour suffuses the scene.

We enter a patio courtyard sanctuary decked with bright table-cloths and take a seat to survey the panoramic mural of the Mansion de los Sueños, the mansion of dreams. The mural is a delightful tableau of local campesinos and townfolk, out wandering and picnicking midst the mountain- and lake-scape that snuggles up to the town. Glowing belles are serenaded by elegant troubadours as fresh fruit laps at their feet. Isla Janitzio glistens as the jewel in the crown of the lake. We drink tequila with limon and savour fresh trout, soaking up the music and the starlit night air.