Discovering the rebel Emirate


There is good in this world and then there is bad, there is joy and there is hope but then sadly there is heartache and despair. The UAE has recently experienced the latter; 45 soldiers have fallen in combat and it is now the responsibility of the country, it’s people and it’s residents to ensure their lives were not sacrificed in vain.
Forever the deaths of these men will remain a scar on the country’s history but over time the wounds will heal and good will come from the tragedy. The men will become a symbol of vigilance, of courage and the pride of the nation. Their faces will bring honour to families and will create bravery and patriotism for the growing generations. The families who have experienced loss may never truly recover but they will be comforted by a country that stands beside them, not only in their grief or retribution but as an entity, facing the future together not as an individual.
A country that has inspired so many people from all walks of life, giving them the opportunity to be able to live their dreams and reach their goals does not deserve such heartbreak. The men should not have fallen but war is a frightening concept and one that always results in devastation. They fought, they tried, but evil overtook the good.
The UAE is different to almost any other community, nationals are in the minority and the population is so small, any death of military personnel in combat is bound to create an emotional outpour amongst all societies, but it is the way the UAE has handled the tragedy is outstanding.
The country stopped, the prayers began, and people of prominence have taken notice. The mourning period will end and life will return to normal for the majority but not for those individually affected. Yet, they will never be forgotten they will be celebrated for what they have done and they will make a mark in history that cannot be changed. They are heroes whose sole aim was to protect people, to honour Islam and to make their people proud. They have achieved all of it and although my heart breaks, in death they will create so much good that will encourage a nation for many generations to come.

Competition Time: Win a Culinary Master Class at Mummy’s Favourite Hotel!

Lizzie the Explorer has found Samurai treasure and can offer one lucky reader the chance to become a Japanese ninja at an UMI Master Class at Waldorf Astoria, RAK.

To win simply share this post and click ‘like’ on Lizzie the Explorer Facebook page!

When I grow up I would quite like to be a ninja, for a start I look great in black, I enjoy the art of surprise and with 4 small boys I already have lightening fast reflexes. So when I got a phone call to attend a Master Class at my favourite hotel I obviously ninja kicked the air in excitement, and then of course fell down in a heap on the floor as I realize I am not quite as spritely as I once was.

So on said day of the Master Class, I placed the offspring in the Kids Club, leaving them with the sufficient amount of chocolate croissants, apple juice and crisps (granted, not mummy of the year type snacks but never mind) and instructed them to have fun, which of course with the abundance of new toys, movies and friends they were sure too, and I headed off to UMI.

Being child free on a Friday afternoon had never happened to me before and it was strangely liberating, I took the escalator and not the lift, I walked quickly and efficiently, not weighed down by 3 bags, a double pushchair and a random child swinging off my neck and I even had the freedom to make a phone call without sounding like I had tourettes. It was a very nice feeling!

For those of you that have not had the privilege of visiting UMI, it really is a stunning restaurant – modern, contemporary and cool, far too cool for a mummy that usually favours joggers and an old t shirt that are coated in a range of food stuffs and baby bodily fluids, but I was clean, I was composed and I was ready to get my culinary head on!

Surrounded by some very sensible ‘media’ people who were very focused on the job in hand (where as I was trying rather unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle at how silly everyone looked in their chefs hats) we were introduced to Executive Chef, Rudolf Segers who was overseeing the class and then to Smaurai warrior Japanese Chef Yukitake Kitade, who brandished his knives like a sword, gliding them through the air with elegant precision (impressive but also a teeny bit scary)!


He spoke powerfully and passionately. He showed us the skills required for sushi making, explained how he chooses the ingredients, how to get the finest cuts of meats, he showcased his teppanyaki skills and he explained the cultures and traditions of Japan. Not only was it desperately interesting but also I left having learnt so much – and with a very full tummy!!

We are very spoilt in the UAE with fine dining restaurants, but the Master Classes at the Waldorf are a very special opportunity to get an insight into some of the behind the scenes action. For anyone with a love of food, for creating new dishes and for learning new facts I would definitely suggest giving it a go and then your family can benefit from new home dining options, although I don’t suggest employing the help of 4 little people to make sushi as I did – rice is actually quite difficult to remove from a ceiling fan. Or if you simply prefer to have a cozy meal then UMI is a fabulous location to unwind and devour the UAE’s best Japanese fare!

So click like on Facebook and share the post to join me in Ninja training!

The Master Classes will be available once per month for each of the following themes:

Arabic Confidential – 15th September

The Art of Sushi, Sashimi & Tempura – 19th October

Grill Master Class – 18th November

Pastry International – 10th December

Secrets of Teppanyaki – 11th January

Modern American Cuisine – 2nd of February

Going out in my pajamas; a trip to Saqr Hospital

Last Thursday was a bad day, a particularly trying day, one of the worst days ever. Ok, I wasn’t attacked by a pack of wild dogs, I didn’t smash my car and nor did a swarm of locusts descend on my house but I was very much looking forward to closing my laptop, putting the offspring to bed and collapsing in a pile in the corner of the sofa and writing off the day.

6 o clock came and it was time for the offspring to have a quick hose down and snuggle down in bed. Offspring number 3 was the first to fall into a deep sleep, closely followed by offspring numbers 2 and 1 respectively, but there was something agitating number 4. He was stood up at the side of his cot, whining, shaking his head and looking a little ‘green’. I approached with caution, expecting to see an exploded nappy waiting for me that was going to require the radioactive waste team to remove, but no that was all fine. So I sat down next to him, talking to him and trying to soothe him. He gave a small grin then proceeded with exorcist style precision to projectile vomit all over me. It was at that point I had the sneaking suspicion that my evening was not going to pan out as I had planned. He continued to be quite ill for the next couple of hours until I managed to get hold of a phone number of a local doctor, who instructed me to drive to a pharmacy and then phone him back so that he could talk directly to the pharmacist to ensure I got the drugs I needed. Brilliant, 15 minutes after administering said drugs he was fast asleep.

Usually I am not one to panic, I don’t rush to the doctors with every sneeze or spot or graze but at 2am the following morning when my baby woke choking in his sleep and not having the strength to hold his own head up I was in the car within the minute. Foot firmly on the accelerator I was heading in the direction of RAK City. About 15 minutes into the journey and numerous stops to make sure he was ok it occurred to me I had no idea where I was heading to. Frantically searching through my contact list I finally found someone who I thought may be awake, after a few Google searches whilst driving at 7 million miles an hour I ended up at Saqr Hospital.

I walked into the reception area and up to the admission desk, where I was asked for his health card or Emirates ID, I pointed out I wasn’t even wearing shoes so the chance of me remembering my purse was unlikely – that was no problem. He then vomited over me once again – within 30 seconds I was stood in front of the pediatrician and her nurse. Offspring number 4 was weighed, his chest listened to, his reflexes checked and given a general once over before giving him an injection (which I have to say he took with the best British stiff upper lip) to stop the vomiting, a drug to bring down the fever that had developed and a small drink of dioralyte to prevent any further dehydration.

After they monitored him for 20minutes I was handed 2 big bottles of dioralyte and some spare paracetomol if required and was sent on my way.

With 4 young boys I have had experiences with Emergency departments on many occasions, in many countries and on different continents and none have been as efficient as Saqr hospital. The staff were exceptionally kind and everything happened with a smile on their face. The hospital walls may not have been painted with gold, but the standard of service was superb. I would have no question in visiting Saqr Hospital again with any of my brood.

The following morning he was tired, a little miserable and didn’t want to eat anything; which is ok as he is built like a tank and has more fat rolls than a Shar Pei puppy, but the most importing thing is, the hospital had been fast acting and administered the treatment that made him better.  One very impressed Mummy!!

No we’re not lost; I just temporarily don’t know where we are. A trip to Khatt Springs and the heart of the red desert

So another Saturday and another chance to bung my offspring into the car to venture off to previously unexplored areas; offspring numbers 3 and 4 have been a little under the weather so the idea of buckling them up and giving them the chance to sleep (and not vomit on me) was a welcome one. The 2 big offspring had their bird encyclopedia, their notebook, their animal stickers and the all important explorer binoculars ready and waiting to find ‘nature’ (I only just realized what a geek I am but that’s beside the point).

Today was a little different though as we were joined by a new explorer who in the short time she has been in RAK has not had chance to see any of the historical sites and tourist attractions (disclaimer: the offspring and I always welcome new explorers however, due to the feral nature of my children it is advised before entering my vehicle (which is quite frankly a travelling skip) that you check with your doctor that your tetanus is up to date and a short course of antibiotics is advised a few days before the exploration is due to take place). So medical checks in place we met up with our fellow new explorer and headed off for Khatt Springs.

The area of Khatt lies South East of the city of Ras Al Khaimah (thank you Wikipedia) and is well known for its delicious, lush green oasis’ and for its hot sulphur springs. The town is said to have been a battleground between Ras Al Khaimah and Fujairah for many years over ownership, but when I visited today the sleepy village seemed very content and at peace. The Golden Tulip hotel sits grandly on the peak of a hill, but rather than exciting me, it looked more like an ugly blip on an otherwise majestic vista (I can’t comment on the service and quality – but check tripadvisor and it doesn’t sound great) but there were some quaint little getaways that looked almost magical, nestled under the trees, amongst nature and offering the medicinal benefits of the hot, natural springs that have depths of up to 90 feet and temperatures of up to 40 degrees. If you are looking for 5 star quality then these ‘resorts’ would not be for you, but if you are looking for adventure and to create memories then these hideaways looked amazing. So with yet another fail at finding what I ventured out to seek, I turned in the direction of the mountain.

It was at this point that our new explorer started to get excited, I switched the car into 4 wheel drive and began first over a rather gentle path with a very gentle incline, we turned slowly round the bend and climbed a little slope and then were greeted with what can only be described as a ferocious mountain track. I whacked down the accelerator and began the powerful drive up the steep, nearly vertical (well not really, but for dramatic purposes just go with me), rugged, baron mountainside pathway that had significant drops either side and craters that looked to pose the stunning possibility that we at any minute were going to be pounced on by a wild never before seen beast. I continued, I twisted, I teetered; my new explorer had a look of fear on her face. I enquired what was wrong and she pointed at a red barrier that had been placed about 50m ahead of us on the trail where part of the track had fallen away. I told her it would be fine and I would swerve to avoid that particular part of the narrow road, I pointed out it all added to the adventure, she pointed out it would almost certainly lead to death. So although I considered her remark a little over dramatic, with the fact that she was about to wee herself on my passenger seat, it made me put the car into reverse. She whimpered as I slid backwards down the mountainside – she should have been whimpering a heck of a lot more as little did she know that my foot was firmly on the break and even then we were skidding back down, still a little bit out of control even when I placed it in neutral. Eventually we got back down to the bottom and were ready to choose our next destination for the day.

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After some debating and a lot of moaning from the offspring we decided on the area surrounding the camel track – where I plan to take the newbie once the early morning races commence again and highlight one of the regions most prized traditions. So I set the co ordinates in Google map (which I am growing to hate with each adventure) and off we went. Immediately we were taken off road, around the back of derelict buildings, my already ill children were starting to turn a slightly darker shade of green, but we persevered. I’m glad we did, as this is in fact where the nature started to show itself! We saw an abundance of camels (which I know becomes an everyday sight but not to a newbie to the UAE, so I had a very happy new explorer on my hands), a herd of donkeys, several cows, a few wandering goats and most spectacularly an Indian Roller who sat regally at the top of a tree, guarding its nest, grandly showcasing it’s stunning feathers of lilac and turquoise. My boys were impressed – one parenting tick for me today! And then we carried on for what seemed like forever travelling across a terrain similar to what I imagine the surface of the moon to be until we reached a main highway and the sign to the camel track. After spending some time admiring the array of different coloured camels and their beautiful blankets and the really over friendly caretakers, we headed in the direction of home.

At that point Google maps reported that we were 20 minutes away from Al Hamra Mall… 1 hour and 20 minutes later we were stranded amongst 50 trucks in the middle of the red desert with nothing but sand in every direction. Not one to be concerned, and fortunate in the fact I felt safe in the comfort that I had enough food, water and petrol for at least 2 days, (nappies and wipes probably not but that was a future hurdle not an immediate one) but still I felt a little trapped, the sand was beginning to become finer, the tyres were not maintaining enough grip and offspring 1 and 2 were having a full blown punch up in the boot of the car. After finally managing to flag down a couple of said truck drivers who were trying to stifle their amusement as to why 2 blonde girls were wandering around the desert with 4 boys under 7 we were on our way.

I have never been so happy to find myself on the 311, I got excited when my speed hit 120 and I was elated when I reached Emirates roundabout.

Another day, another adventure, another story to tell!

The Palace of the Queen of Sheba: the oldest palace in the UAE

Ok, I’m lying it is not the palace of the Queen of Sheba, nor is it the palace of the Queen Zenobia that is widely reported, but it is a palace and it is believed to be the oldest in the UAE. But possibly 500 years old, built during a Portuguese invasion and not the 3000 years old that the tales tell.

1pm on a Sunday afternoon, in August, in the Middle East is obviously the ideal time to go and find it. Accompanied by a Crazy Cat Lady (who from this point onwards will be referred to as CCL) and offspring number 2 (who is rather annoyingly, rapidly becoming my shadow) we set off to discover the mysteries that surround ‘Sheba’s Palace’.

The ruins of the palace stand at the top of a fairly steep hill that rises sharply from the village of Shamal in RAK (For those of you with knowledge of the geography of Ras Al Khaimah, Shamal is as close I can go to the place where I temporarily lost my mind and can no longer return). Tactfully positioned, as it offers a full view of the coast and the mountains.

Every person you speak to will give a different tale of the palace origins, some claim that it is most definitely 1000s of years old and was the Arabian residence of the Queen of Sheba, but locals of the area know it more commonly as Qasr al Zabba the palace of al Zabba or Queen Zenobia, who was a warrior Queen from the Roman colony of Palmyra, in what is now Syria.

The Queen of Sheba is believed to have been the ruler of the Kingdom of Marid in Yemen in around 1000BC. Although she is mentioned in both the Bible and the Quran, she also exists in legends and tales told in Ethiopia and Eritrea. In the Quran she is referred to as a sun worshipper who ruled an area in the Arabian Peninsular and was converted to Islam. However to date no pre-Islamic artefacts have been found at the site.

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I’m not quite sure what we were expecting but on arrival at the foot of the hill, all 3 of us noted, and made the fairly obvious observation that it was in fact a little warm. Regardless we left the cool air-conditioned environment of the car and navigated our way through a gate and headed for the concrete steps to begin the 200-metre climb. The first few flights of stairs were ok, we felt good, after the second set of stairs we stopped ‘to admire the view’, after the third set we stopped ‘to take some photos’ and then as we turned a corner the deceptive stairs disappeared.

With only goats for company, I started to plan in my head how I would explain to the emergency services where we were located, if one of us was to fall and break a leg. We were so unbelievably organized for our adventure that flip flops were our choice of footwear, and the further we climbed up the hill, over boulders, through the goat graveyard and over spiky unidentifiable vegetation; the notion of having to call the emergency services was rapidly becoming a very realistic possibility.

It was at this point that CCL called it – she was going no further. She did a 180 turn and began her descent, leaving me with a 5-year-old child to continue in earnest and not accept the idea of defeat. So on we went. We climbed, we skid but we persevered and we made it to the peak. From what I could make out, the vista was incredible, lush vegetation in the direction of the ocean and the baron mystery of the mountains in the other. But as I was convinced my eyeballs were indeed melting and stinging from sweat running down my entire body (attractive I know) I cannot 100% confirm the beauty.

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I did however manage to scan the immediate area, and looked down to the smaller peak below us… where the ruins were. Yet another explorer fail. I quickly decided that because I am not a trained archeologist there was little point in getting a closer look, I ticked it off my list of things to discover there and then!

The offspring and I got down to the bottom with relative ease, feeling elated that CCL had not been found half way down hanging upside down from a ledge or some other similar negative fate. She was however discovered (only because I had not thought to give her the car keys) slumped against a goat hut, having shoved a rather large goat out of the way so she could enjoy the shade from the sun.

I recommend going to explore the palace ruins, but I recommend correct footwear, I recommend waiting till the weather is cooler and as you face the mountains, you want the peak on the left!

The day RAK made me sad

I have done nothing but showcase my love of RAK, I adore my life here and I am excited that my children get to spend their days exploring and adventuring. But today I am simply sad and quite frankly I am quite scared.

Yesterday evening I was sat at my kitchen table, writing a piece for my blog on the history of RAK, which reports on the beauty of the Emirate, when I heard an incredible scream. It was not from a human but a donkey.

Some of you know that we have a semi lodger called James; a donkey that pops in from time to time for some cheesy pasta with my boys and for a social visit, and as a result I have become quite fond of the local donkey community and smile as I drive past the herd wandering through the desert. But last night I sat at the table, listening in horror to a donkey crying, screaming out in pain and calling desperately for help. To be honest I was initially too scared to run outside into the dark and into the baron landscape, so I waited until there was no noise from either people or cars and I went to find what had happened. Armed only with my phone (I was on the phone to a crazy cat lady who I knew would understand my plight) I set off and quickly spotted a group of donkeys surrounding a rubbish bin. They were scavenging and picking up scraps of food from the floor, but something was different, they were sad.

Then I spotted a donkey in the bin. The body of a dead donkey lying on a heap of rubbish. I climbed into the bin (with the guidance of my crazy cat lady) to check if it was still alive, but sadly it was not. The donkeys dispersed and I went home – I knew there was nothing I could do.

A short time later I heard commotion outside again and a group of boys in their late teens were running around and when I checked the body was gone. My rants and screams to the said boys were either not understood or they simply didn’t care.

Donkeys are living creatures. They cannot be harmed and murdered purely to alleviate boredom. Killing an animal is not a sport, and whilst I will gladly spend my evenings climbing into rubbish bins to check if an animal is alive, there should be no need. I am disgusted that anyone could do what I witnessed last night, and I am disgusted that some people think it is ok.

I still love RAK, but today I am sad about people. There is enough killing in this world without doing it for fun. So please, please lets make this stop.

The epidemic sweeping the UAE

Not until I reached Ras Al Khaimah did I become aware of this startling epidemic that is rife amongst women usually in their late 30s and early 40s. The condition is so serious that it not only affects daily life, it completely overturns any notion of a normal existence. You become paranoid, you become frantic and you can find yourself completely disoriented, quite often found in a local rubbish bin or underneath a stack of crates. It has been known to destroy relationships, to induce heartache and make grown women cry, until they have no more tears to shed.

This epidemic is that of the ‘Crazy Cat Lady’.

(Definition: Woman (generally unmarried or who has a very understanding husband) that finds love in feline friends rather than children). Not an official definition of course, just my understanding J

6 months ago I would not be in the same room as a cat, I hated them, they smell, they scratch and hiss. I now have 5!!!!; 2 permanent, 3 lodgers. When my lodgers leave, chances are I will take more. I am now a member of every cat group in the UAE, I cannot leave the house for work in the mornings without my feline snuggle, I adore receiving images of other peoples cats!? What happened to me…?

RAK has changed me! Gone are my days of Dubai and I too have joined the group ‘Crazy Cat Lady’. Some days (ok most days) I prefer my cats to my children. They love me for who I am, they don’t judge and they don’t have a tantrum in the middle of a shopping center… and for those of you wondering, yes it was me that had to remove my child from Al Hamra Mall on Saturday by dragging him across the car park by his left arm just because I refused to buy him a star wars toy. My cats, Jezebel, and Ninja and the live ins Lilly and her 2 babies are extra work to a working mum of 4, but they are well worth it.

But what or who can be held accountable for this change?

The ladies of RAK are amazing, they do everything; somehow they manage working, taking care of a family and being a ‘crazy cat lady’ all at the same time. They go out at night or first thing in the morning to retrieve an injured animal, they get dirty and scratched to bring an animal to safety and they take them into their home (hiding from hubbie of course) to stop a living thing from suffering. The ladies of RAK (and the UAE) are amazing! But ladies of RAK I hold you responsible for me being late to meetings, to me cleaning litter trays instead of dirty nappies and for me forgetting to feed the offspring when the cats are resting on a full stomach.

But being a ‘crazy cat lady’ is ok! Lets remove the stigma and embrace what wonderful work a few people do. There are a few individuals in RAK who not only excel, they succeed in being incredible human beings. They go beyond what anyone can expect in order to care for animals and that is to be applauded! Special people are few and far between but yet I find them everyday in RAK!

Mummy fail, expat fail, definite explorer fail!! My trip to Sha’am

I wasn’t sure whether to post anything on my trip to Sha’am, as a friend pointed out that the story of my trip makes me sound ‘barking mad’. I don’t know why I did what I did; I must have momentarily lost my mind. The event left my offspring recoiling in their car seats at the sheer, utter madness of my actions. I remember catching a glimpse of their little faces gazing with horror through the car window. Few things make them embarrassed, but I have a feeling this event will be engraved in their memories for some time to come, positioned like a scar on their otherwise pain free childhood.

The offspring and I headed out on one of our little adventures early on Friday morning to the Galilah area of Sha’am. I have been told that Galilah is home to a number of hidden treasures that keep the secrets of RAKs lesser-known history. I drove… and I drove… and I drove but the places I was searching for did not want to be found. I meandered through the winding back streets of the town, along the stunning coast roads where the ships are lined up to make their crossing, we played on the shore, searching in earnest for the crabs that were so quick to dart away when spotted, we climbed up the mountain paths to take in the stunning beauty of the surprisingly green vista, but still could not find where I was looking for. As google maps was being absolutely no use again, we decided to head home…

As we approached the main highway, I spotted a group of local men, in sparkling white kanduras stood by the side of the road chatting away – not aware how the next 5 minutes of their life was going to degenerate into complete lunacy. So I pulled the car over and very politely said hello and explained where I was looking for. They of course had no clue what I was talking about; they even suggested that I would only find it in Oman and not in RAK. When I showed them documented evidence on my phone in both English and Arabic, they thought I had lost my mind and I quite rapidly became referred to as ‘crazy little girl’.

So, I said thank you and never mind and headed back to the car, when one of the men shouted to me to return, this was his big mistake… he asked, ‘why do you have a gun on your shirt?’. And for some reason, I have no clue why but I began the following explanation. The offending t-shirt is in fact a Guns and Roses tribute shirt that I bought when I was 16, from Primark in the UK and it cost about four pounds. It didn’t stop there, I also went onto to explain that I really think, now being 28 and a married mother of 4 that it is not really appropriate that I should be wearing such a t-shirt and it was probably time that I grow up and start to dress more age appropriate. And it didn’t even stop there… For further clarification and to the horror of all those concerned I opened youtube and began playing ‘Sweet Child of Mine’ just to make sure that they fully understood what I was trying to explain.

When it dawned on me that they thought I had quickly developed into a complete lunatic and had lived up to the name ‘crazy little girl’ I made my exit.

If I ever build up the courage to return (which will not be for quite some time) I will resume my search for pieces of the past.

On a Ghost Hunt at RAK’s Haunted Palace

It may seem that I have some sort of strange obsession with the supernatural, but I really don’t, it simply appears that a large proportion of Ras Al Khaimah happens to be haunted. After my endless wanderings around the Haunted Village some would consider that I would have had enough exposure to the dreaded Jinn but no, so today I went to find more.

Ras Al Khaimah’s Haunted Palace perches grandly on a hilltop in the center of the desert, the vista is plain and baron and even from the rooftop of the palace the views are less than mediocre. The location is definitely not palatial, but for whatever reason 25 years ago the Al- Qasimi Palace was built for an astonishing Dhs 500 million.

Today, the palace is completely empty and slowly falling into a state of disrepair. The tales of ghostly dealings have been rife since the family left vowing never to return, shortly after the building was completed. It is reported that at night, visions of children appear at the windows and explore the grounds. This is why so few people dare to enter….

The approach to the palace is just off the main road, where you are met with large bolted gates that stand between the road and the great, sweeping driveway that cascades down the hillside. The building itself is an astonishing piece of architecture and design but the years of neglect are very evident. Broken balustrades, smashed windows and an inch thick layer of sand and dust coats every hidden crevice. Grand, roll top furniture is stacked and piled, rotting sadly in the sunlight and chests remain full to the brim with textbooks, oil guides and papers; a sign that the property was once inhabited.

The décor is most definitely unique and one theory of the palace’s supernatural nature is that the Moroccan artists that were responsible for the paintings filled the walls with black magic almost like a curse for not being properly compensated on time. The artwork that adorns almost every wall throughout is bold, brash and depicts the zodiac and people with disjointed limbs and piercing eyes that seem to follow you across the room, ensuring that you exit.

The house is not a friendly one, at no point did I feel afraid, but there was a funny feeling of needing to leave.

After winding down the narrow staircase you arrive at the basement where the stories really come to life. The large blood red ‘Goooo’ on the wall and the faded caricature of the skeleton are a little unnerving but could quite easily be the handy work of a talented 5 year old and most definitely not a supernatural demon.

It was a pleasant adventure and a remarkable place to experience and sad that in time the walls will crumble, the pillars will break and yet another piece of history will fade away. But I have definitely been more afraid witnessing my offspring having a tantrum in the middle of Carrefour (which was this afternoons terrifying experience), but still don’t ask me to return after the sun sets as the answer would be a resounding no.

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