Tag Archives: princess

From one Kingdom to another: A tale of Princesses and looking for a wedding in the desert.

When they said over 2 billion people worldwide watched the Royal Wedding they were probably right. In any case 4 of those people were in Bahrain and the hunt to find a place to see the big event was a little stressful. Handsome Husband has a very inferior cable service at present, one that shows horror movies, Arabic music videos and a lot of sport. I feared they would not broadcast the Nuptials and even if they did I could not fathom watching then with an Arabic voice over. I am the only Brit in my family and like many I can remember clearly sitting cross-legged on my Granny’s floor watching Charles and Di tie their knot 30 years ago. I like a bot of pomp and ceremony and no one does it like the British.

We have been living under a proverbial rock here in Kampala with no TV, no newspapers nor magazines and my daughters hardly knew what the wedding was let alone who was getting married, why there was a fuss and who cared. When Trooper pointed to the lady in yellow, once we found a place to watch, and asked “so if she is the Queen does that mean she is William’s grandmother?”, I knew they needed an education.

My sister was attending a large garden party, had even painted her nails pillar box red for the occasion and meanwhile we were in danger of missing the whole thing so I decided to make some calls. Some of the hotels and fancy restaurants were offering a viewing with brunch but at a cost of nearly $100 for 4 we decided to look elsewhere. The British Embassy were diverting all calls to an emergency only number, and while I thought this was an emergency, they might not. Then I called The British Club. Yes they were having an event, a party even and no we could not go. Why ever not? Well we are not members and should we wish to enter we would need to come with a member who could “vouch for our behaviour.” I am not joking. And this after I told them that we were prospective members. Perhaps not now.

Then I called a club called The Dilman. Yes we were welcome to come in and watch, and it would only cost us a day visitors’ fee of $45 for the family. Steep but we were running out of options and the wedding was two hours off.  So we decided to go  and after getting hopelessly lost on the way there, hitting desert at one point and finally asking some police men at a road block, we found it.

You may think me a snob if I describe the clientele, so I won’t. Suffice to say that these were not Brits I had ever met in England. These were the ones who were chargrilled red from too many beers pool side, were overly thrilled to be out of Slough and into Bahrain, were stuffing their faces with fat cakes from the buffet table and let their kids drop food all over the floor. Have I painted a picture? Anyway we saw the wedding, it was sort of surreal to watch it in a large circa 1971 cafeteria on a tiny island in the Gulf with the residents of Eastenders, but watch it we did. And it was fabulous. Really it was. Perfick.

Now Trooper and Princess know all about Princesses and Princes and Balcony kisses and golden carriages. They had visited Westminster Abbey just this past summer and Buckingham Palace and they recognized both. They were most impressed by the tiny bridesmaid and the amazing choir. But they both came to the conclusion that they wouldn’t like to be a princess, one bit. Too many cameras, too many chances for things to go very wrong, too much stress.

But they have started to think about weddings.

My Princess is absolutely going for the horse drawn carriage.

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Confessions of a Princess in Africa

Yet another mini vacation opportunity presents itself. We have a long weekend coming up in June and I cannot wait to get out of Kampala, pick up my camera and find something other than musicals, dead dogs and casinos to write about.  A four day weekend is too short to go to Queen Elizabeth Park and although just perfect for Murchison, having been there quite recently, I am eager to try somewhere new. So we need to look within a 4-5 hour radius of Kampala. Sipi Falls is perfect, but again we have done that. Jinja is best left for a simple weekend break and although a flight to Mombassa could work, it is rather expensive.  There is a place called Lake Mburo and whispers have been made about a trip out there.

But.

I am not a camper, I have said this many times before. I thought that camping on the Delta for New Year’s Eve, under a full moon; totally exposed with the thrill of animals nearby was a highlight of my life as far as experiences goes. But it was an exception, and certainly not the beginning of any love affair between me and a tent.  However we have very good friends who are very serious campers. They have all the kit, including means of cooking and washing and living in the great outdoors unaided by any luxury and they want us to become campers too.

So tell me. Why can’t I just bite the tented bullet and sleep in a tent, feel mucky, eat food cooked and later washed up over a campfire?  If the world is divided into those that camp and those that do not (and in my opinion I see two very distinct groups amongst the people I know) then I am in the latter group and this is not something I can change. You really need to love the experience and while I respect and even admire those that embrace the tenting life, I just don’t get it.  I find it uncomfortable. This goes deeper than it seems and I cannot suddenly slip on a new skin and become something I am not.  Is there any shame in admitting that I am a bit Princess along with my inner Trooper?

One of my friends said, “But it is so comfortable! Just like camping in Canada with on site showers!”

I replied that I had never camped in Canada. With the greatest respect, we come from different worlds.

So we now have a quandary as our 4 day break swiftly approaches and I am being regarded as a stubborn and odd bird. I am looked at despairingly, as a spoilt girl who ought to know and do better.

I must mention that both Princess and Trooper simply adore camping. Perhaps that is the clue. I never once camped as a child and perhaps it is now too late?

Perhaps they can sleep in a tent while I flourish in a Lodge?

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Lovely star

Yesterday Princess turned 10 and the Bloggie nominations were announced.

How was I to know that while I was munching on some Chinese Eggplant with ginger and telling the story of a little girl that was born on an ice cold day 10 years ago, over in cyber space 3limes was enjoying a momentous moment of its own?

This morning I woke up to a piece of most splendid news. 3limes has been nominated for a Bloggie!

Despite the fact that 3limes has now jumped over an ocean and a lot of land to plant itself in Uganda the nomination is in the category of Best Latin American Blog (for all my Trinidad posts). Maybe one day 3limes will be listed under best African Blog but in the meantime….if you are a fan please take a minute and vote.

You can vote each and every day until January 31st.
If you want to step back in time and visit Trinidad have a look here and here and here .

The day is smiling.

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And now introducing Happy Princess.

Princess knows where everything in this house is. Anyone want to know if we have any batteries and how many of them? She’s your girl. Lolly pops I hid after a birthday party? She will be the one to know. She fills this house with cheerful disposition and eagerness to please.

After her traumatic arrival here we have been amazed at her sudden transition back into happy girl. She wakes up smiling and eager to go to school. She rarely complains and is only a bit cross when we do nothing “fun.” She is not keen on boredom. Happy as a cartoon she pops around school smiling and chatting. When she is home she contentedly lies on my white bed and reads. (Or hits her sister.)

Still, we were very surprised when she readily agreed to go on the outdoor education trip. It was due to take place on the shores of Lake Victoria, learning to sail. She was mildly irritated about the sailing part, having been to a really fun sail camp in Trinidad (fun, except for the sailing.)  She wanted the camping bit, the socializing, the camp fire and the chance to be surrounded by people and fun.

Not only was she happy to go, but she turned the whole thing into a whirlwind of excitement, candy shopping and chats about sleeping bags and tents. Lists were drawn up and fierce discussions about tent mates, held. Finally on the day to leave, the morning OF we drop her off at school worried that she might just melt down but off she went with a smile and a wave. I am immensely proud of her transition and eventually happiness here. I think she has really nice friends. That is what it is all about.

You could really be anywhere but if you have a tent full of friends, you’re good.

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