Farewell, Restlessfeet

I thought the first link below would provide a fitting farewell to our dear, dear friend and fellow blipper Restlessfeet/Helen (she never posted a blip but followed us and some of our followers) who a few weeks ago entered a hospice in Perth, Australia and left us on 28th September. Today was her memorial gathering, bringing together folk from all over the world on Zoom.

Dd was asked to read two lovely colour-related poems (see her blip) and I was asked to read an extract  entitled 'A Walk Through Cairo At Dusk' from my book on Egypt to evoke for people who have never been the vibrancy of the place and how it energised Helen who had a strong connection with Cairo over many, long years - see below.

The search in blip, 'Helen by me', produced a great crop of shots but there are more Helen’s in my life than Restlessfeet and, so, some shots don’t relate to her . . . she's the only one with orange hair, though!   

There are, also, some shots that didn’t pop up in the search which I have linked to below.

The blip in Belem market in northern Brazil with the Saltire, as part of a Blip campaign, is rather special to me - perhaps Helen's first appearance on Blip - as is the other extra taken from a boat on the Amazon.

We did also meet up in Cairo, not for nothing did we call ourselves 'The Big River People'.  So much ground covered by Helen's restless feet. I would add Restless mind as well, she was so inquisitive, inventive, and insightful.  All done with a twinkle in her eye and ready laugh. 

And what joy to have created with her, along the way, so many 'Eureka' moments by sending each other surprising and delightful gifts from around the globe.

Perhaps, the blip that best captures all of Helen's vitality is her thrilling Flamenco pose in her startling turquoise dress taken on the roof of La Pedrera in Barcelona designed by Gaudi - see second page of the blip search, if you are interested.

It's very hard to say farewell to someone so dear and so vivacious as Helen was in life.  Her fortitude in these recent times has shown us all how to go when the time comes.

Her final toast read out today was 'To life!'  Few have been so fully realised than that of Helen.  

Fare well, Helen, wherever you venture to now.

Link to the flamenco pose
https://www.blipfoto.com/entry/2071756060955247980

Link to main blip collection of Helen blips
https://www.blipfoto.com/search/entries?q=Helen+by+me

Link to Saltire blip
https://www.blipfoto.com/entry/1686485

Link to the Amazon blip
https://www.blipfoto.com/entry/1705651

The extract I read from my book:

16 November 2013: A Walk in Cairo at Dusk

It’s one of those walks that you know you’ll remember for a long time. Your path serpentines through a world that’s not yours and every step brings impacts that assail all of your senses at once . . . flashes of fuchsia, the wail of the call to prayer, the pungency of rabbit cages, the cool brush of cotton galabeyas against your leg, and the piquancy of spicy chicken liver.

Although the way is narrow and winding and crowded, there are a number of highways that operate simultaneously, each with express deliveries in progress. There’s the ground-level highway where porters rush cotton bales to their destination and threaten to skin your ankles with their trollies’ sharp edges. At chest height, another highway is reserved for silver trays full of glasses of hot sweet tea or cool sugar-cane juice that pitch dangerously as their bearers strive to keep their cargos on board. The head-level highway is for trellises, piled with rondals of bread or marrow-shaped sponges, which career along and threaten to poke your eye out.

You walk past the colourful stalls of bra vendors, tahini sellers, juice pressers, cheese makers, fishmongers, bakers and butchers. The tent-makers pull reams of patterned cloth through their sewing machines, which chatter like old women. Fez-makers form their trademark red-felt hats on the brass moulds of their heavy presses positioned over blazing fires in the cast-iron ovens below.

You’re greeted with ‘Welcome to Egypt!’, ‘Hi! Come in!’ and ‘Where’re you from?’ An old man, blind in one eye, won’t take no for an answer as he leads you by the hand into an ancient mosque. He indicates for you to slip your shoes off at the threshold and wraps your wife in a prayer shawl to cover her head. His hands point out all the things he wants you to look at from the carpets to the carvings in the ceiling overhead and then cup, conveniently, for a five-pound note to be dropped into them.

Rising above the hubbub of shouting and shooing and tooting and clucking, magnificent minaret after minaret stand sentinel in silence, somehow giving you reassurance and confidence for the way ahead, as they have done for so many for so long.