The Hills Are Alive - A Holiday Offline

                          "The hills are alive with the Sound of Music
                           My heart wants to sing every song it hears"

This opening number from The Sound Of Music is a particular favourite in our family. 

My son was in grade l , when we bought this CD. Every afternoon, he would return from school, listen to this song and switch off just before the nuns made their entry. Once, a close friend borrowed the CD. My son would gently remind us to bring it back but as tends to happen in our busy lives, we fail to estimate the joy from little things for our dear ones. Anyways, there came a day when our friend hailed us out on the road, rolled down the glass of his car and thrust the CD into our car. The next day, my son sat down to watch the song, opened the CD cover, only to find it was empty! The five year old mentioned very solemnly to my husband that evening, "Papa, Bappa Uncle liked the movie so much, that he kept the CD for himself". There was wise understanding in his eyes. After all who could resist the warm story of love, family and endurance and those very hummable, foot-tapping numbers.

My boy is a young adult, today and my daughter is married. After many years, the five of us decided to take a break in the hills. The place was Wales but the rolling hills were just like in the movie. "Are you sure you can do it, Mama?". My daughter asked me this question for the third or fourth time before going ahead with the bookings. The concern was Cwmwr Uchaf (rough Welsh translation being farmhouse at the top) where we had booked ourselves had no internet connectivity - poor signal, no wifi. The children keep teasing me about my tweeting and instagram. This also entailed being cut-off from contact with the office. I decided to ignore that funny feeling in the pit of my stomach and endorsed the plan.

glow across the hills

We took the long winding road up and arrived at our cottage a little past seven in the evening. Daylight stays long in August and there were still a couple of hours before the hills got engulfed in the dark. There was this mild glow across the hills and alternating hues of green and gold. The sheep had done their grazing for the day and some were hanging around the fence, observing us lazily. The only sound you could hear for miles was an occasional bleat or moo.

We dropped our bags and went for a short stroll. My husband stayed back to prepare dinner. We had this fully furnished cottage with all amenities to ourselves - just that. No more souls around. Later that evening, we explored the house, figuring out what to do for the next five days. 

The weekend, my son-in-law's parents joined us. There was a grand barbecue planned for the evening and they arrived with a variety of marinated meats. Also, lots of Perroni. The day was spent in intermittent walks, setting up the barbecue pit, lazily chatting as we sat overlooking the hills and doing some good justice to the Perroni. While the sun went down at 10 pm and we all went indoors, we were still not sleepy. The children pulled out a scrabble board (the place had a wide selection of books and board games. Also, a baby piano, which I insisted on pounding industriously with two fingers much to the irritation of others). The moment took us back many years (count lost) when carrom and scrabble used to be our foursome evening engagement. 

The evening was nippy, offering us a good excuse to light the fireplace. I will always remember that family evening, huddled around the fireplace, chatting, playing. The warm glow about us, for sure, didn't have to do with just the fire.

Ploughman's platter

The next day was Monday. Ah-ha, the weekend was over! Back in India, office was well into midday while I was just waking up. My son-in-law's parents were driving back into a new working week. I must admit to a vague discomfort and feeling of being cut-off. Maybe, honestly, some anxiety and moments of boredom. We decided to just stay back in the cottage and laze. There was a good bit of leftovers from the previous barbecue and little reason to cook. My daughter, always innovating, laid out a Ploughman's platter which would have done any star rated pub proud! 

In the evening, my son and I sat up till way past midnight. We chatted about uni, his room mates, his course and career options, my work and our common bonding point - exercise and fitness. He has been helping me manage my diabetes and between teasing and gently chiding, manages to keep me on track. A chat, which for a year had happened only on Skype. What was special (and very different from Skype) was not the moments we engaged in active conversation but more the silence in between. The sense of being close to someone you love. Letting the mind flit gently over the many subjects you want to discuss. Picking and dropping these, basis our mutual interest to pursue further. Time stood still. We were in no hurry to finish the conversation and retired at a certain point, knowing there would be more time the next day.

Tuesday morning was a little more difficult. I waited impatiently for the family to get ready. We were doing a day visit to Hay-on-Wye, a quaint book village. This was to be another really long drive. My immediate interest was to take a peek at my mailbox and get up-to-speed with happenings back in the office. That evening, as we drove back, a quietness engulfed all of us. Not of a peaceful kind but a little impatience to get back to the cottage and some bickering as the cramped feeling inside the car began to drag down our mood. Just at that moment, we took a certain turn in the hills and noticed the sun going down behind a cottage. We still had a couple of hours drive ahead of us but I insisted we stop to take a few pictures. We piled out of the car, stretched and watched in silence as the sky took on varied hues. The sun was setting on another day and our hearts filled with a sense of peace and the need to treasure these moments of togetherness.

I write here, not a day to day travelogue. It was necessary to give a little backdrop before I get back to my purpose. To share with you that feeling, being "offline". What is a holiday if you are not posting pictures on Facebook and checking out the "likes". The kind of holiday that we are getting increasingly used to. The next few days, for me, settled into a routine of one visit a day to the nearest town, where I could access the internet, while the family picked up the provisions for the day. I connected on video call with my colleagues, handled some urgent mail and then returned to a device-less day.

rainbow

We shared many sunsets for the rest of our holiday. We noticed that the sheep in Scotland have black faces, spotted two Llamas (unexpectedly in a farmhouse we drove by) and came within hand shaking distance of yaks. We picked up fleece and sat by little brooks with our toes dipped in icy cold water. We stopped by lakes and lochs and saw purple heather covered hills. Scrabble and carrom, preparing beautiful meals, long walks and standing by in awe to watch a full arch of a rainbow - touching the Earth at both ends! Of course, we returned to full connectivity for the rest of the trip but I noticed that I had comfortably settled down to the new routine of "connecting" two to three times, daily. 

I have been back for nearly three weeks now. In the evenings, I browse through some lovely photographs and have been posting a thing or two. My exercise and reading has settled into a better disciplined routine. There is greater consciousness about the quality of engagement on social media, with a shift from opinions to knowledge developing feeds. There is actually a physical change as I am carrying my phone, itself, a lot less. What used to be in my hand or pocket, is today waiting for me on a desk or cabinet. 

Capturing the spirit of the English countryside and taking a little liberty with one of my favourite poems, I would say :

                       For the present, when on my couch I lie, 

                        In vacant or in pensive mood, 

                        There is more that fills the inward eye 

                         And less do I seek out my phone.