The Year 2008 in Words & Pictures

Disclaimer: This synopsis expresses personal views which are not necessarily those of others bearing the Meier-Klodt name. Certain persons have been omitted, in accordance with their wishes, and as such, the word "I" may figure prominently.

I generally make a point of reviewing the events of the previous year or years before embarking on a new synopsis and am always rather astounded at the seamless fluidity of my past output. I had to cringe, however, at my temporary lapse into platitudes last year, i.e., "... motivationally meaningful...". Apologies! Feeling far from inspired as I settle down to thread together the events that shaped the year 2008 for me, and bullied by the realisation that there have already been several attempts to take me up on my procrastinated promise of a reward for patience, I fear that, in this case, unburdening my conscience in haste will put an end to any future amazement. But as additional postponement will only sour further a nascent 2009, let us begin our now familiar stroll down Memory Lane.

When our paths forked at the end of 2008, departure for a maiden visit to Morocco was imminent. Sardinia-Mediterranean-Winter. That was last year. Chattering of teeth, knocking of knees � indoors and after nightfall, at least. Morocco-Mediterranean-Winter. Morocco-Mediterranean-Winter. Morocco-Mediterranean-Winter. The dots slowly connect to form a picture spelling something very much like COLD. In an obstinate case of deeply-entrenched denial, yet another destination with the potential for illness-inducing, under-heated accommodation had been chosen. This potential was met. But I won't dwell on that...

Leaving behind a leaden Berlin sky, the journey started in Nador, a non-descript provincial town bordering the Spanish exclave of Mellia, in the north-east of Morocco. Nador was never intended to be more than a launch pad for the trip, and it fulfilled this purpose functionally. From there, the journey wound its way south and westward through arid, rolling hills and coniferous thickets by chewing gum-encrusted bus to Fez. One of Morocco's former imperial capitals, the fortified medina that characterizes old Fez is a labyrinth of narrow, winding lanes, sheltering innumerable architectural gems in the form of ancient palaces, medersas and riads behind inscrutably high, windowless walls. In the maze of mainly pedestrian streets, stall upon stall crammed high with glass, metal and wood wares, fragrant fruit and pungent spices, and of course, vibrantly coloured leather goods, manufactured locally in picturesque, if noxiously odoriferous tanneries, line the way. The highlight here was our accommodation, a painstakingly restored riad on the edge of the medina, replete with exquisite tiles, sumptuous furnishings and tadelakt every inch worthy of the name La Perle de la Medina. The curtain rose on 2008 all but unmarked in the old section of Fez, where not so much as a firecracker was set off publicly in its honour.

Meknes, Rabat, Casablanca, Marrakesh and the Ourika Valley completed the tour; Meknes being remarkable for its French Riviera style charm in the new city, and El Hedine Square, the serenity and unhurried pace of the medina, and the Bou Inania Medersa in the old; Rabat, for its imperial majesty and a successful marriage of old and new (as well as the incontestably worst hotel I have ever chanced upon), Casa, for the magnificently monumental Hassan V Mosque, standing sentry over the Atlantic; Marrakesh, the Red City, for a vibrancy and villainy unmatched in the other locations visited; and the Ourika Valley for some of the most breath-taking scenery I saw in Morocco. All four cities are reached rather comfortably by scheduled, punctual trains.
Marrakesh, coming at the tail end of the visit and comprising half of it, cast a pall on the whole experience; the hectic haranguing of merchants of every ilk and an all-pervasive Ali Baba mentality robbed me of an otherwise pleasant first impression of Morocco.

It was a year of change, upheaval and disencumbrances: travel was accordingly uncharacteristically limited to several visits to Paris and London, and one to Prague, until the very end of the year.

At the end January, I discontinued my two-year association, as network coordinator event manager and newsletter editor, with the intercultural training network with which I had worked to devote more time to personal endeavours; soon thereafter, I resigned as vice-chair of the Friends of Nelson Mandela School Parents' Association, but continued active volunteerism until the close of the school year. In March, I took my first steps into the field of project management, beginning an assignment that involved remodelling and furnishing an apartment in Berlin's Sony Center that I completed in early November. News of a transfer to London came in March, scuttling my plans for a relaxed solo getaway and turning my previously planned trip to the city in April into an preliminary pre-assignment school & housing reconnoitre. May was taken up with exams � the IB for Jared, and entrance tests for Kyra. As spring warmed into summer, last opportunities to visit were seized by various friends, and then the farewell carousel spun its lugubrious course, scattering friends and colleagues to points near and far.

Despite an early decision to make north-west London home, with attendant selection of schools and initiation of entrance procedures, three intense days of property viewings yielded a gem in the shadow on Westminster Cathedral, which so completely matched my colour preferences and existing furniture that it simply could not be turned down. Faced with the quandary of starting the school search anew or an interminable commute to Hampstead, Serendipity, in the form of Hill House International Junior School, stepped in at the zero hour - a mere 20 minutes' walk from the apartment in Ashley Gardens. Kyra was immediately offered a place, without so much as an assessment, and schooling worries were summarily laid to rest. With its military-style rigour, distinctive uniform and commitment to educating the whole child � daily sport, weekly music and drama lessons complement a challenging academic programme- Hill House has proven a true godsend.
Kyra made the transition quite well, and despite regular protests of Berlin being the better city, Skype and flat-rate telephony have greatly eased the pain of parting with pals.

Jared has started 9 months of national service, working with handicapped people of diverse ability in a Berlin institution, while awaiting his IB results and contemplating his next step. He continues to be passionate about music, and performs with his and other bands at small venues in Berlin and elsewhere. We visit each other regularly, he is coping quite admirably on his own and I am taking familial fragmentation rather stoically.

SMOOTH Moves entered its seventh year, with both the expatriation and repatriation workshops enjoying good levels of participation. It was however ironic that due to the last minute choice of Hill House, which re-opened a week earlier than many other London schools, I was helping others adjust to life in Berlin and not home to welcome Kyra on her first day of school. The actual move in August went exceedingly well, with Beijing's spectacular Olympics an awe-inspiring backdrop. It looked as if we had always lived at Ashley Gardens within a week; friends and family in the city contributed enormously to the feeling of being at home. Those here and elsewhere kept me buoyed during the dark days of the summer and fall when health concerns and deeply shattering personal matters threatened to overwhelm me.

Culture and Education brought us here, and London can unabashedly be called a city of the former. From museums to music, art to fashion and theatre, London is a true delight and being centrally located allows ready and spontaneous access to some of the best the world has to offer.

The year ended with an 18-day trip to Ghana, the choice of airline resulting in a second landing in Casablanca within the space of a year. It was the first opportunity to truly relax all year, albeit briefly. During the time there, peaceful run-off presidential elections were held. The restraint witnessed while awaiting official results from the electoral commissioner was remarkable; Ghanaians of all political colour did themselves proud.

With no grandiose resolutions for 2009 other than to remain true to myself, do good, and better what I can, I wish you a year of fulfilled aspirations and inspired endeavour.

Same time next year,then?

As ever,
Gladys

Here are a few photos from the year just past.

Return to my homepage.