Tab's Examined Life

Where are you now?

2010-06-03T12:33:00.000-07:00

Our first stop after leaving Heartland Mesa in New Mexico was White Sands National Park: a beautiful place made up of miles upon miles of blindingly white sand and dotted with a few scraggly bushes. After a couple of hours wandering through the desert, we hopped in the van to head to the next tourist destination: Carlsbad Caverns.

Carlsbad Caverns, located in eastern New Mexico turned out to be an excellent place to spend a hot day. Below the ground the slight humidity lent our parched skin a bit of relief from the arid New Mexico weather. In addition to cooler temperatures and damp air, the caverns provided interesting viewing: formations that ranged in appearance from a group of gnomes preparing to take over the world above to delicate icicles clinging to cathedral ceilings.

We did our first overnight trek of the trip that night. We hiked a couple of miles in and camped next to Enchanted Rock. At this point we are in Texas where the air is so thick and warm it feels like breathing in a bath. Feels just like Brissie in the summer!

From Enchanted Rock we drove to our next farm: Munkebo Farm outside of Austin, Texas. Our days here were spent with LOTS of ducks, a male goose who fancied himself a female duck (seriously!), four other "woofers" (Meg, Heath, Beck, and Sean), the owner, Germaine, her boyfriend, Ivan, and his brother, Milo, horses, a donkey, dogs, cats and cows.

We dug cacti, shoveled manure, dug new garden beds and planted herbs and veggies. Our accessories instead of fancy handbags and shoes were a shovel and a water bottle. Our afternoons were typically spent relaxing our work sore muscles and laughing. I laughed harder over the week and a half we spent at Munkebo than I have in years. Along with sore shoulders, arms and backs we all ended up with aching tummies and cheeks from near constant merriment. We were fed really well and when it came time to leave, we'd developed an attachment to the people and the place, though not so much ducks.

Next stop: Surfside Beach, near Galveston, Texas. It'd been a year since either Rohan or I had taken a dip in the sea and we both felt it was well overdue. Though the beaches of Texas aren't as clean (we had some folks next to us leave an empty 24 pack of beer, cans included and the packaging from their dinner lying on the beach) those in Aus, the water was warm and the sun was shining, woo hoo!

New Orleans, Louisiana was our next destination, where we stayed with our good friends Mark and Mary. We got our own room there, our own bathroom and Mark and Mary treated us very well. I discovered my new favorite food: boiled crawfish coupled with daiquiris. If you should be running short on time, you can get your daiquiri at the drive thru or to go. We could've stayed in Nawlins forever, but before either one of us developed a serious drinking problem, we thought it best to keep on keeping on.

We arrived in Tennessee a couple of days ago. We'll be going to Bonnaroo (a massive music festival) in a couple of days, but before that we're heading into the Smoky Mountains for a two night hike. Keep an eye out for updates! Hope everyone is well.

Heartland Mesa

2010-05-04T15:25:00.000-07:00

Turtle Back Mountain

In the desert of New Mexico on the Rio Grande sits a mesa (flat tableland with steep edges). The landscape at first quick glance appears desolate. A longer slower look yields sights of life thriving. Flame red like a lit candle, firecracker cacti bloom. Under the delicate leaves of the Mesquite Bush in spring a blue tailed lizard takes refuge from the heat and predators. Over and between the gusts of dry wind the sharp tweets and cooing of local larks, swallows, finches and mourning doves can be heard. Mountains with names like Turtle Back and Caballo (pronounced Ca-bai-yo) fill the horizons.

Rohan and a blooming cactus

Welcome to Heartland Mesa. Current residents: people (including Rohan and me until today), donkeys, dogs, goats and chickens, scores of wild birds, lizards, snakes, rabbits, hares and a few coyote. On either side of the 40 acres we’ve been staying on sits BLM land (public land).

Horned Lizard

Early on in our stay I bonded with Lil’ Ezy (named after the owner of Heartland due to his stubbornness, or so I’ve been told). One morning I got up and walked over to Rohan at the goats’ pen. He gave me a hug to chase away the night’s bad dream. Lil’ Ezy must’ve sensed how I was feeling because he walked up behind me and gently rested his head against my back. Such a lovely way to begin the day!

Lil' Ezy

To welcome us to the farm Ezy prepared us a desert style barbeque. In a deep pit mesquite wood was burnt down to coals. Goat’s ribs (born and raised on the farm) prepared by Tim from Mississippi were placed in a turkey baking dish, wrapped in wet pillow shams (Ezy’s wife’s) and placed in the pit atop the coals. After putting iron and wood sheeting over the top a mini front loader (see photo) was used to cover the hole. Five hours later the most tender, savory goat I could imagine was unearthed and eaten with campfire roasted potatoes. The goat we ate gave its life to a very good cause.

The boys digging up dinner

Every day the goats, chickens and donkeys need to be fed and watered. Sometimes we do a bit of pottering in the garden, planting squash or beans or beets. A few days ago we started milking the goats. Before we could milk the goats we had to move their kids away from their moms. What a noisy affair that was! First thing every morning and then last thing in the evening the goats climb up on that milking bench to be filled up with grain while one of us coax milk out of teats. Apart from sore wrists, the only drawback is the cheesy goat’s milk smell that just doesn’t seem to wash off.

Milking! If you look closely you can actually see the milk.

Two nights ago the major event of our stay at the Mesa happened. Rohan was over by the goats’ pen (he spent a lot of time there. . .) brushing his teeth and saying goodnight to the goats. I heard him come running back to the car. “I think one of the goats is about to give birth!”

I put down my book and rushed out of bed. The pained bleating combined with moaning led me to believe that yes indeed, Sophie the goat was in labor. Ro ran to get Caroline, the long term “Woofer” (World Wide Opportunity on Organic Farms. It's how we found the Mesa.) at the farm to come see what was happening. For about forty-five very intense minutes we followed the goat’s contractions. With only one hoof and the head hanging out of her, she was getting tired. It was decided that a bit of help was called for. So, I reached in, grabbed the kid’s front legs and with Sophie’s contractions pulled out the baby goat. Sophie immediately proved to be a good mom, helping to clean the baby up and softly carrying on a conversation with her new bub. We couldn’t get the kid to eat, but we went to bed figuring that she’d sort it out. It was such an amazing experience to watch this little life emerge.

Maya resting near her new neighbors.

The kid’s first day (as the midwife for the birth, I got to name her: Maya Twiggy is what I came up with) was a bit touch and go. By midday she hadn’t eaten anything and was weak as can be. We milked mom and fed the baby by bottle, which is not as easy as it may sound. Maya needed to be taught how to suck, but she finally got the hang of it. Each feeding was like the first though, having to teach her anew each time. When we went to bed I was feeling a bit anxious, wondering if the little one was gonna make it through the night.

Sophie, Maya and I

I awoke early this morning and went to straight to visit Sophie and Maya to see how they were coping. Before I went to the trouble of milking Sophie for Maya’s morning feed I thought I would try to introduce her to the teat again. Miracle of all miracles, she sucked and filled her little belly right before my eyes! Looks like little Maya’s gonna be alright.

Sophie, Maya and I

Today we’re back on the road again. The Mesa proved to be a difficult place to say goodbye to (though after cleaning out the kilos of sand in our van, neither one of us are going to miss the dust and wind!). Both Ro and I found ourselves quite attached to the people and the animals. There’s still a big country ahead of us yet to cross and if we want to make it before the end of the year, we have got to keep some momentum. We’re going to Los Cruces tonight and then continuing east. Stay tuned, more soon!

The fate of my Crocs after an hour in a 60 mph wind storm.

Taken by: Sandy Drayton

Sunset at the Mesa.

Taken by: Rohan Smith

Turning 30 and the Grand Canyon

2010-04-20T13:55:00.000-07:00

Hooray! I have made it to 30 years of age! To celebrate we went out to dinner and had a few drinks in Payson, Arizona. A bit of advice to people who may be passing through: don't look for a big night out in Payson; I just don't think it's got the goods. I'm going to be celebrating my 30th over the coming months as we meet up with friends along the way. So, if I'm coming to a town near you, be ready!

We'd picked up our friend Rosita the day before my birthday and the day after we drove to the Grand Canyon. The next morning we were up bright and early and heading out for a hike. With three litres of water, sandwiches and snacks stowed away in our backpacks we were on the trail by 8:00. The morning was chilly, but the sun was shining.

We chose to descend on the Bright Angel trail. By the time we got to Indian Garden, four and a half miles down, my calves were already complaining. Too bad for me because we weren't even a third of the way through our 15 mile hike.

About five miles in we moved onto the East Tonto trail. This trail was relatively flat, lined by scratchy little shrubs and cacti. We got to see both Prickly Pears and Claret Cup cacti in bloom. The blossoms are only open for a couple of days a year, so I felt pretty lucky. Bright reds and pinks stood out against the relatively colorless ground.

Along the Tonto trail we came upon an oasis. Even way down in the dry canyon, frogs have found a way to make a life for themselves.

Walking along and watching my feet to ensure I didn't trip over rocks, it was easy to forget where in the world I was. Each time we paused for a rest or I stopped watching my boots the grandeur was overwhelming. Soaring canyon walls and deep valleys were all around. At certain points one misstep could send you plummeting to your death.

Plummet to our death we did not. After 11 hours of hiking we hauled ourselves up the last hill of the Kaibab trail just before dark and onto an awaiting bus. We all made it, but it was llllooonnnggg haul. Had we known it was going to be so long, perhaps we would've chosen a different route. As with so many of our travel experiences, it's something I'm glad to have done, but I'm not sure I'd do it again.

From the Grand Canyon we dropped Rosita off at the airport. Last night was a bit lonely without her. She sure did make a good travelling companion.

Our next stop is Apache National Forest on the Arizona/New Mexico border. Then to Truth or Consequences, New Mexico where we'll be "wwoofing" at our first farm! More to come soon!

Another Perspective

2010-04-13T11:14:00.001-07:00

For those of you interested in a different perspective on Rohan and my travels, check out his blog: http://xploreyourworld.wordpress.com/. We're going to try very hard to avoid overlap on photos and opinions.

This morning's visitor to our campground.

On the Road Again

2010-04-10T13:45:00.000-07:00

As I write I can hear the running water of Beaver Creek. We are in Coconino National Forest in Arizona, also known and the Red Rock Area - quite an apt name. Ever which way we turn there is a towering steeple of, well, red rock. And this update comes neither from a dirty little internet cafe or a McDonald's parking lot, but from our campground. Bless those modern conveniences!

Lake Isabella

We left Paradise and did a massive drive on our first day. We went through Kern Canyon and had it been warmer, we may have stayed there for a night, but it was freezing, quite literally. Instead we pushed on through and after 13 hours of driving we arrived in Death Valley National Park. Our first day in Death Valley we played super tourists. We went to the salt flats at Bad Lands (lowest place in the world at 292 feet below sea level), took Artist's Drive and walked around Zabrinskie Point. The wetness of the salt flats surprised me. It felt kind of like walking on snow, though the salt crystals don't melt. Instead when they get between sandals and feet it feels like walking on broken glass (must've been what Annie Lennox was talking about. . .).

Bad Lands Salt Flats

Because it's spring time, wildflowers are everywhere. Yellow, pink and purple color the landscape. We were lucky enough to see a bit of wild life. Four burros, a coyote and a herd of Big Horn Sheep crossed our path.

Desert Flowers

Death Valley is enormous and there's so much to see! Unfortunately this desolate wasteland, miles from nowhere is not an original place to visit. Vista points were shared with heaps of other tourists, peaceful walks left us sandwiched between noisy kids and campgrounds were wall-to-wall RVs running noisy generators. Ugh!

Mesquite Dunes

Artist's Palette

The sheer number of people in Death Valley finally spurred us on to our next stop, Mojave National Preserve. Here there were a lot less people. The dry desert is covered with a variety of different cacti and drought hardy bushes, with cute little bunny rabbits hopping between them. Unfortunately neither Death Valley nor Mojave had a shower available, so after five days without we decided we simply must get clean.

Barrel Cactus, Mojave

That brings us to now. Last night I showered and after five days without felt close to bliss afterwards. It's the simple things, really.

Our current campground is near Sedona and we heard rumors of a farmers' market there tomorrow. It won't be the same as waking up late and strolling two blocks down the street (ahhh, Chico), but I'm excited about the chance to chat with some local farmers and pick up some fresh, seasonal fruit and veg.

Sedona, Steeple Rock

A Dash of Magic

2010-02-06T15:50:00.000-08:00

Some of my favorite shots from my travels.

Boudhanath, Nepal

Hampi, India

Franz Josef Glacier, New Zealand

Lang Tang, Nepal

Darling River, Australia

Jodhpur, India

Cathedral Bay, New Zealand

Rajasthan, India

Lake Tekapo, New Zealand

Chico, USA

More to come soon, our next adventure is just around the corner!

San Felipe, Baja California

2010-01-10T16:20:00.000-08:00

So, yes, I've been electronically quiet lately. After nearly a year without full-time work, I have returned to the reality of it. I'm a preschool teacher these days and despite the challenging nature of the job, I'm enjoying the experience. That said, after a day with the kiddies, I'm absolutely knackered! As a result, little writing is happening.

It is the break from working life that seems to inspire me to share. Our trip to Mexico just after Christmas was a well timed respite from my new job. And the idea was to escape the grey, gloomy winter and get some sunshine. Five years in Brisbane has spoiled me for cold weather.

We started the drive on Boxing Day. Much of the daylight was spent driving through the farmland of central California. Fruit and nut trees, mandarin, orange and lemon groves, row crops and a seemingly endless stretch of freeway carried us to the Mojave Desert.

Even in the dark, the landscape change was evident. The Sierra Nevada now lay to our west and the warmth and water of the coast left on the other side of them. We spent our first night in La Quinta, arriving hours after dark. Exhausted, we fell into the van at a campground located on Lake Cahuilla. The view when we woke up in the morning made the day long drive worth the effort.

We got up early and made a run for the border. Breakfast was a couple of tacos de carnitas at a Mexican restaurant so authentic no one spoke English. We did not dilly dally and found ourselves at the border early in the day. The crossing was uneventful: passports casually glanced at and then we were through. Not even a stamp!

Once in Mexico the streets narrowed and the signs switched to solely the Spanish language and the metric system. We followed the signs through Mexicali to San Felipe. Once out of the city proper, after some farms, the land seemed to give over to miles of desolate sand.

J. Maarten Troot's "Lost in China" on cd continued to entertain as we arrived into San Felipe. To our left aqua waters lapped at white sand beaches and the sun shone down as if upon salvation itself. I could already smell the salt and feel the warmth on my skin as the cold of the last few months drained away.

Unfortunately, by the time we'd set up camp, clouds had emerged from seemingly nowhere and taken over the sky. Any idea of warmth I had was snapped up and carried away by gale force winds. The sparkly water had turned to a grey, roiling mess. Still, we'd arrived at the beach. In Mexico!

Our campsite was pretty cool. We parked our van next to a palapa that overlooked the ocean. When it was sunny, a camping spot right on the ocean seemed ideal. With the weather turn, our spot meant cold wind, cold air, cold. The next day and a half of crummy weather we spent wondering why we'd bothered to drive two days, meanwhile stuffing ourselves with cheap tacos and Tecate.

Oh right, cheap Mexican food and Tecate! Not to mention the fact that because San Felipe is a fishing village, fresh fish can be yours for few pesos. That's reason enough to drive two days, isn't it?! The morning that we awoke to bright sunshine and its warmth, we decided that yes, it was a brilliant idea to drive all that way. It is glorious here!

Because we came during the off season, the town was fairly quiet. A few vendors wandered up and down the boardwalk hawking silver, trinkets from Peru and masks from Oaxaca, fisherman chatted up gringos with the hopes that they would pay to go out on the sea and many of the main bars were closed for the winter. This didn't hurt my feelings. Who wants to spend time in Mexico in a bar called "Rockadiles"?! Sounds too gringo for this gringa.

One night after a beautiful day of sunshine and sun-baking, yep, in bathing suits in winter, we met three Canadians: a geek who reminded me much of my close friend Rob, a musician reminiscent of a moody ex and a Communications Expert who automatically felt like a kindred spirit.

We all had such a good time chatting and drinking together that we agreed to meet the next day, New Years Eve. Many drinks and some fancy-shmancy Mexican food were consumed and we almost made it to midnight together. Unfortunately, the moody musician chucked it and things dispersed from there.

Just after midnight Rohan and I found ourselves sitting on the beach in our chairs, beers in hand recounting the year passed and predicting the year to come. May the ride continue!

Happy New Year to all!

Just another day

2009-11-11T15:42:00.001-08:00

I got up this morning about ten minutes after Rohan left for work. Sleeping in was an option I seriously considered, but I wanted to spend one of my last days of unemployed freedom at the farm.

I had a cup of green tea while reading a chapter in "Lark and Termite" by Jayne Anne Phillips, a book checked out from the library and found through my research into banned books in America. Ate a bowl of muesli with pomegranate and soy milk. Got dressed, watched a bit of a lecture from fora.tv given by Barbara Ehrenreich about positive thinking.

Chris picked me up and together with his three pit bulls, we went to the farm. We caught the goats and tied them up in the overgrown tomato field to eat, poop and be merry. We spent the next part of the morning weeding the lettuce, spinach, cabbage and broccoli and laying out drip line.

Once the lines were laid we planted more cauliflower starts. Wading through the fluffy tilled field was more like walking through snow than dirt. After we got a hundred or so plants in, Chad showed up. The three of us worked together planting about 800 plants: more cauliflower, more broccoli, more lettuce and a few squash. It's incredible how much food can be planted by only three people!

We finished the day off by picking some spinach and pulling up a few carrots, which will be part of tonight's dinner. Not an Incredible, Amazing, Wonderful day, but instead a quietly satisfying one.

Baby Broccoli

Nothing Gold Can Stay

2009-11-09T08:13:00.001-08:00

by: Robert Frost

Nature's first green is gold

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

An Autumn's Afternoon in Chico

2009-11-07T18:19:00.000-08:00

Featured Writer: Rohan Smith

Note from Editor

This month will feature a series of photo essays from my husband, Rohan, as he explores our new town. Today he takes us on a walk through the streets of Chico, California. I hope you enjoy Rohan's essay and tune in later in the month for more!

Rohan

On a beautiful afternoon in our new neighbourhood Tabatha and I take our camera for a walk and observe the change of seasons as reflected in the...

giant trees of green...

streets of yellow...

skies of fire,

...and crimson.

We take a turn into Bidwell Park...

where some of the town's young practice their performance...

or read in the afternoon sun.

Our walk home takes us through neighbourhoods. . .

past beautiful old homes, like this one below built early last century.

And this one; Tab's old rental home. She shared the basement of this house with 3 other girls back in the booze and debauchery days of her late teen years.

And back home.

by: Rohan

What's the season like where you are? What's currently got you stoked? Share your comments by clicking the Comments link below.

The Editor

Yesterday's Harvest

2009-11-05T07:59:00.000-08:00

The smell of the rendering plant marks that we will soon be arriving at the farm. Luckily because of the road location from where we can smell the rotting, decomposing animals, it means the farm won't be stinking today.

As soon as the goats hear us pull up they start bleating to be fed. I hunt down the ax, chop down enough foliage to quiet them for an hour or two and then plan out the the rest of the morning.

While hundreds (literally) of broccoli and cauliflower plants have already been planted, there are still lots to go. Not to mention the lettuce that also need to go in. There aren't any fields completely ready to go yet, so Chris will spend the morning plowing and prepping more space.

Before he can go over the corn fields, the remaining corn needs to harvested and the drip lines and sprinklers pulled out. Looks like that's what I'll be up to.

While wandering through the corn I disturb field mice and sparrows who have been happily feasting. How can things so cute be so destructive? Ear after ear of corn I open has been nibbled bare. I hear the rustle of dried corn stalks blowing in the wind and crunching beneath my feet. I open an ear I've just tugged off the stalk. In it, and others like it, I find kernels colors I didn't know corn came in: brilliant reds and burgundies, iridescent blues, bright oranges streaked with reds and yellows.

If it's not the color of the corn surprising me, it's the extreme heat of a chili, the sweetness of a melon or the tomatoes that continue to be prolific well after their supposed season. Nature and all her bounty is incredible!

By midday the autumn sun is beating down on us. The corn's been harvested, the field stripped of its water lines and the tractor's over-heated. Time to call it a day.

Lake Tahoe

2009-10-01T06:54:00.000-07:00

The van's packed and we're ready to go. We've got the sleeping bags, wood for a fire, clothes to keep us warm and a full tank of petrol to get us there.

We take Hwy 70 through the crispy dry landscape of Yankee Hill and Parkhill. Last year's wildfires are evidenced by the spindly skeletons of trees and the attempting to recover brushes and bushes.

Soon the dry and dead give way to the lush and green. There's an obvious drop in the sweltering temperature as we leave Butte County and enter Plumas. Feather River follows the road, sometimes pooling into what looks like little lakes. Even with the lowered temperatures it's still cooking hot.

"This'd be a great place for a swim. And the road's paved," Rohan says, referring to our recent mis-adventure to Whiskey Flats.

We're hungry though, so we keep driving. We've decided breakfast will be in Quincy, so we push on reading the road signs as we go: 35 miles to Quincy, 24 miles, ten miles and then we pull into town. The streets are lined with stores that have shop-fronts like something out of the 50s. They're clean, with large oaks and junipers to break the monotony of human construction.

We park behind the "old Courthouse", though it looks like it's been recently painted and is as clean as the rest of the town. Breakfast was at the Courthouse Cafe, a smallish place with more American flags lining the walls than seems strictly necessary.

As we climb in elevation out of Quincy the pines, firs and oaks, share space with the thin, white trunked and broad-leafed Quaking Aspens.

Our first view of the famed Lake Tahoe is shrouded by pine trees, but through them we catch glimpses of the deep, sparkly blue. Through the haze of late summer we can see the surrounding mountains.

We pull into the campground, find my parents who are camped next to our family friends, Dick and Di. After setting up camp quickly, we rush off to dinner with friends who have a condo directly lakeside. Fresh cherry tomato salad, pesto pasta, potato salad and green salad were on the menu. As we ate and drank topics around the table included backpacking at 60 years old, teaching in the 90's and mothers/mother-in-laws. The sun sank slowly behind the mountains.

The next morning after copious cups of tea, I went with my parents and Di to the casino. Lake Tahoe spans the California, where gambling is illegal, and Nevada, where gambling is encouraged, border. We hopped over the state line and lost too much money. Should've stayed in California. Rohan did more useful things with his time and went for a bike ride around the lake.

The next morning it was already time to pack up and head back down the road that brought us here. We're back in the life of weekend jaunts, but in area as beautiful as Northern California, these short trips are enough to sustain us.

Movie Premier in SF

2009-09-30T07:17:00.000-07:00

If you're going to be in San Fran tonight (assuming there are still seats available), check out the Chu Brothers movie "The Recess Ends". It premieres at the Victoria Theatre, 2961 16th St. The doors open at 7pm. Entry is FREE, but you must RSVP to therecessends@gmail.com.

Here's a sneak preview (film time 3 mins., 14 secs.)

The Recess Ends: Extended Trailer from B-Rilla on Vimeo. (Found this through David Miller's blog, senior editor at Matador)

For more previews of the movie, check out Vimeo's website.

A moment from "The Innocents Abroad"

2009-09-24T17:30:00.001-07:00

I'm currently reading Mark Twain and this passage has had me laughing for days, so I thought I'd share it:

I never shall want another Turkish lunch. The cooking apparatus was in the little lunch room, near the bazaar, and it was all open to the street. The cook was slovenly, and so was the table, and it had not cloth on it. The fellow took a mass of sausage-meat and coated it round a wire and laid it on a charcoal fire to cook. When it was done, he laid it aside and a dog walked sadly in and nipped it. He smelt it first, and probably recognized the remains of a friend. the cook it away from him and laid it before us. Jack said, "I pass"- he plays euchre sometimes - and we all passed in turn. Then the cook baked a broad, flat, wheaten cake, greased it well with the sausage, and started towards us with it. It dropped in the dirt, and he picked it up and polished it on his breeches, and laid it before us. Jack said, "I pass." We all passed. He put some eggs in a frying pan, and stood pensively prying slabs of meat from between his teeth with a fork. Then he used the fork to turn the eggs with - and brought them along. Jack said, "Pass again." All followed suit. We did not know what to do, and so we ordered a new ration of sausage. The cook got out his wire, apportioned a proper amount of sausage-meat, spat on his hands and fell to work! This time, with one accord, we all passed out. We paid and left. That is all I learned about Turkish lunches. A Turkish lunch is good, no doubt, but it has its little drawbacks.

Have you experienced a meal like this on your travels? Leave your story in the comments area.

Crater Lake: A Photo Essay

2009-09-23T17:33:00.001-07:00

Sunset as we arrive to Crater Lake National Park.

Our cabin the next morning.

The Klamath peoples' legend tells of two Chiefs, Llao of the Below World and Skell of the Above World, pitted in a battle which ended up in the destruction of Llao's home, Mt. Mazama. The battle was witnessed in the eruption of Mt. Mazama and the creation of Crater Lake.

(found on nps.gov)

The landscape is still recovering from the mighty explosion that happened 7,700 years ago. The trees are slowly but surely growing back and reclaiming the pumice desert.

One of the lake's residents.

Only just hanging on: both my niece and the tree.

A parting glimpse.

Bella and Tarra

2009-09-16T15:36:00.001-07:00

(Video time, 2 mins. 44 seconds)
I just love this video. If an dog and an elephant can get along, two animals of different size, color, and species, why can't us humans figure out how to get along with each other? We're really not all that different from each other. Our ideas might differ, but we're all still human.

Why I Moved Home

2009-09-14T10:57:00.000-07:00

Friday night's here and I've got a date with an old friend, her daughter, my husband, a pitcher of micro-brew beer (or two) and a karaoke machine. Who could ask for anything more? The star of the show turns out to be my friend's three year old, Olivia, with her rendition of "Twinkle, Twinkle" and "The ABCs Song". Three moments stand out as my favorites:

1) slow dancing with Olivia to "Tears in Heaven",

2) hearing Olivia tell her mom "You can't sing!" when Mom was trying to help her with the ABC's. Such independence! Definitely a girl after my own heart and

3) being asked to be Olivia's Godmother. I am so honored.

Overall, what a great night.

The next morning, bright and early, the alarm sounds. Ro and I drag ourselves out of bed, get packing, showered, fed and then on our way to Redding to meet my uncle. Only slightly later than we intended, we made it on the road after having a divine breakfast at my friends' cafe, Cafe Coda.

Two hours to Redding, another hour to the beginning of the dirt road, an hour on the dirt road, then a short but steeply uphill climb, and finally we have arrived. My uncle, his girlfriend, Rohan and I made it to our home for the night: the look-out at Hirz Mountain.

Upon arrival and after a hearty lunch, I appreciate all the effort it took to get here; it's a pretty isolated spot. The only noise is the sound of the wind whistling through the canyon and the occasional bird song. If we look one way we see Mt. Lassen and the other Mt. Shasta.

A lazy day followed. Lots of talking, reading, snacking and then it was dinner time. On the menu: garlic cheddar, fresh sourdough bread, heirloom tomato, shitake mushroom and garlic sauce, fresh pasta, roasted garlic and a bottle of California Zinfadel. Not bad for camping! A stunning sunset full of reds, oranges, pinks, purples and blues tops the day off nicely.

Too early for my taste the sun comes streaming in through the windows. Mind you, all the walls of the room are windows, so any hope I may have harbored for rolling over and blocking it out was useless. As I lay there, I watched the sunrise and the hummingbirds zip up to the feeder for their breakfast.

All too soon it's time to pack up and head back down to civilization. Weekend's like this are the reason I moved home: time with old friends, family and the gorgeous Northern Californian environment. Just writing this as a reminder for when the doubts creep in.

Decision Time

2009-09-14T08:23:00.000-07:00

The alarm gently pulls me out of dreamland. Before I get up, I take stock of the day. It's raining, which means no selling fruit and veg at the stand. I could roll over and go back to sleep. But Rohan's up and the guilt of him going to work and me sleeping in gets me out of bed.

I wander out into my parent's kitchen and turn on the kettle. Ever since we returned to the States, we've been living in the house I grew up in. Battles with banks and bureaucracy have kept us from buying a house, so we're still here. My parents, Rohan and I have fallen into a comfortable routine of living together. It won't be this good forever, but for now it works.

I kiss Rohan goodbye and wish him a good day at work. With my cup of tea in hand, I sit down and discuss the world's problems with my mom. Heavy talk for first thing in the morning. Even from our divergent political views we can agree that things are stuffed. We've nearly solved some major issues, but she's gotta go get ready for work, so our waxing lyrical is stopped short.

Out of distractions, I head to my room to start writing. I briefly consider continuing to procrastinate and do some cleaning, but decide against it. Focus, Tabatha, focus!

I briefly glance at my email, find David Miller's blog, take a quick look at Twitter, Facebook, Matador Life and my Matador profile, accept a traveler request, review blog comments and realize I'm still procrastinating. I will do some writing today, I'm determined to concentrate! Today I will finish a chapter of my book and a MatadorU assignment. I will not waste my day searching endlessly for paid writing work while not actually doing any writing.

The decision to stop trying to find travel writing commissions from anybody and everybody is only a recent one. And it came about because of an email I received from an editor two weeks ago.

The day I got the fateful email started out much like today: I got up out of bed, made my tea and sat down in the front of the computer. When I opened the email from the editor, it was with a positive sense of expectation. Up to that point all of our interactions had been congenial.

I had to reread the email twice to believe what it said and one line in particular stood out: “I would hold off writing the [next] piece as at this time, for the level of writing that we are receiving we don't feel that it is worth the $14.” Not worth $14! The $14 isn’t worth the time, effort and agony it took to write these experiences. Truth be told, I didn’t really enjoy that style of writing.

As I sit here thinking about that line and rereading it for the two-hundred and sixty-first time, my decision to stop seeking any and every commission is confirmed. I write for me first. And I don’t necessarily want to do it for a living. I want to teach for a living and write for enjoyment. If the writing pays, great. If it doesn’t, that’s fine too.

I sit here, at this desk over-looking oak, pine and cedar trees, and try to write the kind of stuff I like to read. What I like to read is not the best-kept secret, must-see, exotic, treasure trove, jewel of an oasis that typifies travel writing (words and phrases courtesy of: thetravelersnotebook). I want to read and write something different. As a result of that email I received two weeks ago, I was able to decide what I don’t want to write and therefore focus on what I do want to. Perhaps I should thank that editor for helping me put it in perspective.

Time to Stop Procrastinating

2009-09-14T08:06:00.000-07:00

Hello?! Is there anybody still out there? I wouldn't be surprised if you have all abandoned me. I have been extremely slack about writing over the past few weeks. In part it's procrastination, but it's also the dread of facing the empty computer screen. . .

Today, a rainy day, means I can't go sell fruit and veg at the stand. It's time to stop avoiding writing and just get to it. I've got assignments for MatadorU coming out the wazoo. Stay tuned folks, later today there will be posts to read!

My Saturday: A photo essay

2009-08-30T17:51:00.000-07:00

Oh how we love our new van!

Let's take it to the river. . .

and go for a swim!

The moon's getting up, perhaps we should head home.

BUT the van won't start. . .

A friendly CHP officer shows up to lend a hand (look how dark it's gotten!).

Then 3 1/2 hours after we first contacted Triple AAA, our tow truck showed up. No thanks to Triple AAA though, they were fine to leave us stranded.

Thanks Sinclairs Towing for seeing us safely home!

My 'Other' Blog

2009-08-29T15:22:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I've signed up for MatadorU (Matador's travel writing school) and with that, I've been blogging on their site. So far I've written about why I like travel writing and our last night in Kathmandu where there was a riot just outside our hotel. If you're interested in reading more, click this link and read all about it!

Wally Herger and the Town Hall Meeting in Redding

2009-08-29T10:55:00.000-07:00

The debate about public health care rages on in the US (the richest country in the world and still the number one reason for bankruptcy in the country is health care!!!). However, I do not write to declare my views on health care. To address the public's concern over health care folks from the Congress and Senate have been giving 'town hall' style meetings where people from the community can come ask questions and have their concerns addressed. My area is represented by Congressman Wally Herger.

At a meeting in Redding a man named Bert Stead stood up and called himself a "proud right wing terrorist". Now, I'm not going to jump on the bandwagon and condemn this man. Instead, I'm going to post the video and let you all make a decision for yourself. The video is just over two minutes long.

And for a bit more information, here's a news article from Redding.com about the event.

What if the man proclaiming himself 'a proud right wing terrorist' had been of Middle-Eastern descent? Would the people have cheered then? Men have been tortured and held for years in Guantanamo Bay for being suspected of being terrorists, let alone loudly proclaiming they are. A few examples: Maher Arar, Muhammad Faraj Ahmed Bashmilah and countless nameless others. Bert Stead is a white guy and so there's no ensuing investigation, no detention and nor should there be. But Congressman Herger should've corrected him and told him that use of the word terrorist, particularly in today's world, is unacceptable. If Herger failed to say that at the time, which he did, then after the fact he should apologize and attempt to correct his mistake. It's irresponsible on his part and I hope the people who vote for him take it as seriously as I do.

Okay, this is really big

2009-08-19T09:00:00.000-07:00

I have been published on MatadorTrips.com and the response so far has been great! I'm absolutely thrilled with the response (see the comments at the end of the article)!

For those of you who don't know, the Matador Network is the website for travel writing: the world's largest independent travel mag with over 1.8 million views of their website a month. Anyone who has spoken to me in the last couple of months knows how much I've wanted to get published on Matador and now I have been! I am over the moon!

Playing for Change: Peace through Music

2009-08-10T10:22:00.000-07:00

Playing for Change (PFC), an organization aimed at bringing the world together through music, has a documentary that premiers on PBS throughout the month of August.

From PFC:
'Playing for Change is a multimedia movement created to inspire, connect, and bring peace to the world through music. The idea for this project arose from a common belief that music has the power to break down boundaries and overcome distances between people. No matter whether people come from different geographic, political, economic, spiritual or ideological backgrounds, music has the universal power to transcend and unite us as one human race. And with this truth firmly fixed in our minds, we set out to share it with the world.'

The songs are moving, from Stany by Me to War/No More Trouble , the idea inspirational and the artists involved very talented.

Matador is giving away free cds, but you've got to be on Twitter.

Keep an eye on PFC's website www.playingforchange.com

My Best Sunset Shots

2009-08-09T10:23:00.000-07:00

Napa Valley, USA

Koh Chang, Thailand

Gopte, Nepal

Kudle Beach, India

Hervey Bay, Australia

Rebuttal: 'Aussie blokes make the worst husband, study says'

2009-08-05T12:57:00.000-07:00

The Courier Mail posted a story today citing a study saying that Aussie blokes make the worst husbands. Australia ranked as the least egalitarian society out of 12 developed nations. According the story, Aussie men are less likely to help with chores and child care (traditionally seen as women's work).

I have to say from my experience, Aussies make great husbands. My own is a good example, though certainly not the only one. He's tidier than I am and (I hate to admit this, especially in writing that can and will be used against me) probably does more housework than I do. Perhaps it balances out when considered against the fact that I might cook a few more meals, but we both do more of what we care about: him, a clean house, me, good food. I have observed stacks of other Aussie men of our generation that do their best to have egalitarian relationships. I'm thinking in particular about a couple who are good friends of mine, her: Kiwi, him: Aussie, that seem to share life's duties quite evenly. I've never once seen him shy away from a dirty diaper, bath time, the dishes or cooking a meal.

The article recommends a husband from Scandinavia, Great Britain or the US. I prefer to keep my Aussie man, thank you very much.

What do you all think? Americans? Aussies?

Teeming with Life: Half Moon Bay

2009-08-05T11:45:00.001-07:00

As the radio blares KGO Talk Radio, I wonder if I'm going to be able to make it through another hour in the car. My step-dad and mom sit up the front, him driving, her knitting. Beside me sits my 15 year old niece who actually manages to look more distressed by this experience than myself. It wouldn't be so bad except the constant right-wing dribble issuing forth from the speakers, punctuated by ads selling things that no one actually needs.

The further we get inland, the crummier the weather turns. By the time we reach Half Moon Bay the weather has shifted from warm and sunny to downright cold and grey. At least we've arrived.

We grab from the car the provisions we'll need to camp out at our neighbor's second house for the weekend. Once we've settled in, argued over who will take which room and watched half an hour of 'America's Funniest Home Videos' (is this really the best we've got America???), we all don our flip-flops and head to the beach. No one bothered to bring swimmers, this is Northern California and none of us hold any illusions about the chance of a dip in the ocean.

On the walk to the beach I spot some passion fruit flowers. On such a grey day, they're a welcome spot of color.

I know we are nearing the beach not only by my eyes, but my nose also gives it away. The tangy cool air given off by the beaches of north-west coast America is a smell I didn't even know I'd been missing until this moment. I pause, close my eyes and just savor the aroma.

Out of habit once I hit the sand I kick off my flip-flops, despite the chilly temperature and pebbly sand. Somehow this doesn't compare to the soft, white sands of Thailand or Australia. That said, what is that I see just down the way? Lounging on the rocks are a mother and baby sea lion. They allow us to get so close. For half an hour I watch, spellbound by the baby: his sleek, brown body and facial expressions are captivating. And those eyes!

Once the damp cold settles into my bones and the mist has covered my camera lense, I reluctantly head back to the weekend's home.

The next day we make our way to a beach lined with tide pools. My mom used to visit these when she was a kid. She remarks how happy she is to see them still intact all these years later. They are positively teeming with life: sticky sea anemones with small pebbles stuck to their outsides; sea bushes in dusty rose; deep red starfish cling tightly to rocks; seaweed that ranges from scaly, squat and green to long, thin and red; white, segmented coral that resembles delicate bones; muscles growing from every spare crevice; and hermit crabs crawling over and amongst it all.

Today the sun shone for a couple so the sand is warmer. The sun has done nothing to soften it up though, sharp bits of seashell crushed by rolling waves stab my recently pumiced tootsies. Ouch! Inexplicably there are long-stemmed yellow roses randomly strewn about the beach. Perhaps there was a wedding a here yesterday.

Further down the beach, there's a little rocky island, about hundred feet off shore. "Oooo, oooo!" my niece shouts, indicating the rocky outcrop we'd all but overlooked. Amongst the grey skeys, sea and mist, the harbor seals aren't easy to spot, but they're definitely there and look as if they're really enjoying this weather. Crazy sea animals.

I'd forgotten how much life cold water holds within it. I've spent the last five years living in Australia where much of what's alive in the water, you don't want to know about (sharks, jellyfish, blue bottles). It's a surprising treat that while the water is too cold for this little monkey to swim in, a day at the beach is still a lovely experience.

80,000 RYANAIR PASSENGERS WOULD ‘STAND’ FOR A FREE FARE

2009-07-30T17:27:00.000-07:00

66% of 120,000 passengers vote for free standing flights in online poll

Ryanair, the World’s favourite airline, today (22^nd July) announced that over 80,000 (66%) passengers voting in an online poll over the past two weeks said they would stand on short one hour flights if it meant that their fare would be free.

Over 120,000 passengers voted in the poll with 72,000 (60%) agreeing that airline passengers should have a choice of standing on short flights as they already do on buses, trains and underground transport while a minority of 50,000 (42%) said they would stand if they could pay 50% less than seated passengers.

*Question*	Yes	No
If it meant your fare was free would you stand on a one hour flight?	66%	34%
If it meant your fare was half that of a seated passenger would you stand on a one hour flight?	42%	58%
Do you think passengers should have a choice of standing on short flights as they currently do on trains, buses and underground transport?	60%	40%

Ryanair’s Stephen McNamara said:

“Ryanair offers passengers the guaranteed lowest fares and we are pleased that 60% of participants in our online poll agree that people should be given the choice to travel fare free on short flights by standing if they want to. With 120,000 passengers voting and 80,000 saying they would stand on board Ryanair will continue to explore the concept of ‘fare free standing’ flights with Boeing and the relevant aviation authorities in the US and EU”.

Would you be willing to stand for an hour flight? Post a comment and tell us what you think.

2009-07-29T10:50:00.000-07:00

Democracy in Bhutan

Bhutan is a country I have often dreamed of going to. With a measure and preference for Gross National Happiness as opposed to Gross National Product, the country has always piqued my interest and appealed to my idealism. With the introduction of democracy is this all about to change? This short film explores that question.

What do you think? Will democracy help or hinder the 'last Shangri-La'?

First Week Back Home

2009-07-27T10:52:00.001-07:00

Well, I've been home for exactly one week and I've lived to tell about the experience.

Coming home after such a long time away is a bit of a surreal experience. The relationships with old friends and my family have been crammed into two week periods once every year two years for the last 11 years. It is now strange that when I see someone I can take my time. I don't need to feel rushed to hurry and catch up because I won't see them again for an extended period. We can meet for a coffee tomorrow, next week or heck, even next month!

It is also a bit anti-climatic, this moving back home. Traveling for six months and then saying goodbye to Australia, my friends and family there and packing up my life for the past five years was so harried, exciting and stressful (not to mention hoping that my husband, who got out of hospital a mere week before I left, will cope without me around). Then suddenly, hmm, it's all over. I'm here and not going anywhere for a while. I see people and I don't have anything exciting to report. I don't live in Australia, soon I'm going to be looking for a job and a house and settling into that routine. I'm not living out of my backpack and my next big trip isn't planned until sometime next year. Like I said, it all feels like a bit of a comedown.

To balance out the comedown, there are little pleasures, not as story-worthy as world travels, but fulfilling nonetheless: I watched my cousin who I've known since the day he was born dance with his beautiful new wife, I got to share stories with my neighbor who's known me since I was born, I've got to know my oldest niece as a real person and I am gaining a new appreciation of the place where I was raised. For the time being, these little pleasures are going to have to sustain me.

Home Sweet Home

2009-07-22T18:14:00.000-07:00

Well, I've been back in my hometown for the sum total of five days and so far, so good. My niece has been here (she lives in Oregon), so it has been great to spend some time with her. Everything looks to me much the same as it ever has. The houses are still nestled in between large oak and pine trees, old people still drive slowly causing traffic jams and people still chatter incessantly when you go in to buy an ice cream or half a gallon of milk. Downtown Chico is still brimming with independent shops, though there are probably more empty now than I've ever seen. Must be the 'GFC'. So far I haven't really caught up with any old friends, I've been spending lots of time with the family.

I'd really forgotten how friendly people are here and in the States in general. Walking through the airport and killing time during my layover, people smiled at me for no reason and that was in L.A.! That's not to say that they're not friendly in Australia, because they are, but it's a different kind of friendly. Here shopkeepers and clerks tell you all about themselves and want to hear all about you. It's funny, I read an article about a Polish girl visiting Australia and she couldn't believe how open people were there. Imagine what she would think if she visited Northern California! It took me ten minutes to get away from the 7-11 checkout because the girl was so busy talking to me.

It's hotter than Hades here, so we've been spending as much time in the water as possible. Two sets of neighbors have pools. I have decided that I am a big fan of the after-dinner-swim; when you crawl into bed I'm nice and cool and even need to put a blanket over me. Tomorrow I'm going to 'the river' (don't ask me which one because I have got no idea, but I'll get back to you with that one) with my brother and niece. Long sessions spent in cool water is the only sensible thing to do when it's 105 degrees outside (that's 40 degrees Celsius).

V Australia

2009-07-20T12:44:00.000-07:00

To get from Brisbane to Paradise, I flew V Australia. It's a relatively new airline and I just wanted to let you all know what I thought of it: I'm a big, fat fan! We got the fare for half of what we paid to fly to the States last time. The povvo class (economy) seats were about the same as any other airline, but the food was good. For dinner we had fabulous pasta, cheese and crackers, wine, salad and a bread roll and while the pasta was slightly overcooked, it actually tasted good. They kept feeding us throughout the flight, bringing around tasty snacks and water. The movie selection was good and the console was user friendly. They're not paying me for this review, but perhaps they should! I spent the flight sitting next to this lovely woman, Margaret, who is a woman travelling for the first time on her own since having children. I hope she enjoyed the flight as much as I did and that she's having a fabulous time in New York!

Well, now I'm home and it's good to be here. I slept twelve hours last night, but I'm still feeling pretty out of it. I suppose that's the way it's supposed to be. By tomorrow I hope to feel right as rain. The plan today? I'm going to take my niece thrift store shopping, have dinner with the whole fam-damly and go for a late night swim at the neighbor's pool. It's a good day to be me :)

Still in Aus

2009-07-13T18:49:00.000-07:00

Well, my next post was supposed to be my goodbye to Australia. I was going to wax lyrical about how much I'll miss it, how difficult it is to leave my home for the past five years, etc., but life had other things in mind for me. Rohan sent me a text on Friday afternoon as I was heading into the city for my going away party saying 'Standby, I'm at the doctors with what I think is an appendicitis'. What?! He assured me there was nothing I could do for him, to stay out, have a beer and he'd get back to me.

It turns out that it was an appendicitis and that my weekend was to be spent in between the hospital and a friend's house in the city (much closer to the hospital than Wynnum). An operation was declared to be needed at 8:00am Saturday morning, but wasn't actually embarked upon until 9:00pm. Ahh, the public health system. This was my first real experience with the public health system in Australia. So, what do I think of it? The nursing staff are great and it's never too difficult to find one to administer pain killers or change a drip. Doctors are rarer than hens' teeth, which is not great. Ro was in a lot of pain and we were both very anxious on Saturday waiting for him to be operated on. Turns out it's a good thing they got to him when they did, his appendix was very inflamed. They probably shouldn't have left it in him as long as they did, but I guess there were other emergencies on hand.

When we walked out of the hospital (they let him out on Monday afternoon) the bill came to $0. Three nights in the hospital, meals, drinks and an emergency appendectomy and we weren't a penny out of pocket. There is something very comforting about this. No matter who you are, whether you have insurance or not, a high paying job and lots of money or not, you can get top notch emergency care. Everyone kept saying to us how lucky we were not to have this happen when we were in India or Nepal. That's true, but we're also lucky it didn't happen in the States where medical care costs a fortune and medical bills are high on the list of reasons that people go bankrupt. The public health system isn't perfect, but it works and it ensures that everyone has the peace of mind that in an emergency, they are looked after.

Amazing Choir sings 'Africa'

2009-07-09T18:33:00.000-07:00

For the intro, just close your eyes and listen to it rain.

Weekend in Wynnum

2009-07-07T23:10:00.000-07:00

3 July 2009 - 5 July 2009

Rather than pack up and head into the city or another suburb of Brisbane, we invited some of our friends round to Wynnum for the weekend. After all, the inlaws have a brilliant view of the bay and contrary to the beliefs of people who live closer to town, we have all you could really need out here: fish and chips shops, bottlos (places that sell alcohol), grocery stores. What more could you ask for?

So, begrudingly, our faraway friends made the lllloooong journey to Wynnum for a weekend away (it's not really that far, I'm just trying to make them feel better for whinging so much). The usual antics took place: too much drinking, a living room dance party and then too little sleep.

An unusual event took place, however. The sunrise streaming

into the room got us all out of bed really early. The night before there'd been talk of staying up until sunrise, but this did not

actually end up happening. Instead, we got up and watched it. Hmm, maybe we're getting old. . .

We got up, walked down along the bay. There we saw many of the things that make living on bay so nice: seagulls, pelicans, men going out fishing, families out sailing. We all fought

over the camera as it was all so picturesque. Instead of rattling on, I'll let the rest of this blog post be told in images.

Wine Tasting in the Hunter Valley

2009-07-03T21:30:00.003-07:00

25 June 2009

Driving from Singleton, New South Wales (NSW), towards the town of Pokolbin, the winter sun warms me in the passenger seat. Rohan and I plan to spend the day in the Hunter Valley, sampling some of the wines on offer there. As Australia’s oldest wine producing region – the first vineyard opened its doors in 1828 – and one of the most scenic, we're looking forward to a day of sampling some of the famous Shiraz and Semillon the area is so well known for.

The first few vineyards we pass show no sign of life. I suppose this must be the time of the year when the growers go on holidays, though I can’t imagine they’re aching to get away from such a beautiful place. As we pass a few more that are shut, we wonder if the day is going to be a bust.

Luckily we chance upon IronBark Hill Viney ard. We pull in and travel down the long driveway that is surrounded on both sides by barren grape vines that are backed up by mighty gum trees. We enter the tasting room – an airy, softly lit, earthy colored room – and are greeted with a friendly ‘hello’ from the unpretentious looking brunette woman behind the counter. The wine starts flowing.

First up is a delightfully tangy Semillon, the wine that the Hunter is best known for. We learn that Semillon is best drunk within the first few years or if your plan is to age it, ensure it’s left for six or more years because from about three to six years old, Semillon goes through a flat period. After that, it is more mature and loses it youthful zest, but is beautiful to drink. If only wine ever hung around our house long enough. . .

We hopped across the road from IronBark to Piggs Peake. Here the greeting wasn’t nearly as friendly. We'd clearly interrupted the man who serves wine, but we stick around anyway and try a Marsanne (mmmm), Verdelho, Shiraz and Vintage Port. Not many places make Vintage Port anymore the owner explains, but here they use an aged brandy and Shiraz grapes. I'm not mad about the port, but perhaps in a few years it'll be good drinking.

At Tempus Two, we enjoyed the view across green hills, billabongs, grape vines and gum trees, complemented by the gurgling fountains and bright sunshine. We sampled some unique wines here: a sparkling blush; light Tempranillo; and a rich Shiraz were my favorites.

At this point in the day, I wouldn't call myself sober. We'd been wine tasting for a couple of hours and I'm more than a few glasses in. Luckily the wineries offer water along with the wine, so that's keeping me from falling over. I know you can swish the wine around your mouth and spit it out, but that seems just plain wasteful.

Our next stop is Drayton Family Wines. Here there are a lot of wines on offer, but the only one worth mentioning is the 1999 Joseph Shiraz made up of hand-picked grapes (as opposed to machine picked) from 60 or 70 year old vines. What a nice drop! Of course at $70 a bottle, it would want to be!

We decided to walk to the next vineyard. Rohan was kind enough to offer to drive (he grudgingly accepts his role as the responsible one), but even he was feeling a bit tipsy, so the hope was that a walk would sober us both up. About a kilometre and a half away we came upon the Mount Pleasant Estate, where we had a few samples of wine and bought a beautiful bottle of Chardonnay.

The sun was sinking low, so we made our way back to our friend's house at Singleton. Such a lovely day though, if you're ever in the area, go have a look and a taste of the Hunter Valley!

Beautiful Blue Mountains

2009-07-03T21:30:00.001-07:00

23 June 2009

I have lived in Australia for over five years and in all that time, I've never seen the Blue Mountains. Every tourist website and many Aussies talk about the lovely mountains and Rohan and I decided to remedy the fact that I had yet to see them.

We set off in the morning, probably not as early as I would've liked to, but we got going before noon, which is a bit of an accomplishment these days (sad, I know). With the croissants Auntie Lay picked up for as breakfast, we headed off on the two and a half hour drive to reach the Blue Mountains. And what a day! The sun was shining, the birds were chirping. Of course the day we leave Sydney, it decides to be sunny!

We stopped off at Wentworld Falls and had a walk around there. We unfortunately didn't have all day, so we just went for a couple of the shorter jaunts, but time permitting, would've loved to have done one of the four or five hour walks. To get the really good views of the falls, one of the longer walks are necessary, as they take you down lower. The short walks leave you on level with the falls, which is good, but I reckon falls are always best looked at from below.

After Wentworth, we went to Leura. From there we stopped off at the Three Sisters. There are several versions of the Legend of the Three Sisters, but the one I liked the best (and the one posted at the site) goes like this (borrowed from www.aussie-info.com):

Long ago in the Blue Mountains there lived three little Aboriginal sisters. They were Meenhi, Wimlah and Gunnedoo, whose Witch Doctor father was called Tyawan.

Only one creature was feared by all – the Bunyip who lived in a deep hole. When Tyawan had to pass the hole, he would leave his daughters safely on the cliff behind a rocky wall. One day, waving goodbye to his daughters, he descended the cliff steps. On top of the cliff a big centipede suddenly appeared and frightened Meehni, who threw a stone at it. The stone rolled over the cliff and crashed into the valley.

Birds, animals and fairies stopped till as the rocks behind the three sisters split open, leaving them on a thin ledge.

The angry Bunyip emerged to see the terrified sisters. In the valley, Tyawan saw the Bunyip close to his daughters, so he pointed his magic bone at the girls and turned them to stone. The Bunyip then chased Tyawan, who found himself trapped, so he changed himself into a Lyre Bird. Everyone was safe, but Tyawan had dropped his magic bone. After the Bunyip had gone, Tyawan searched and searched for his bone – and he is still searching.

The Three Sisters stand silently watching him from their ledge, hoping he will find the bone to turn them back to Aboriginal girls.

As you look at the Three Sisters, you can hear Tyawan – the Lyre Bird – calling his daughters as his search for the lost bone continues.

------

The sun was setting by the time we'd finished looking around the Three Sisters, so Rohan and I hit the road headed for Singleton, just near the Hunter Valley.

Walking around Sydney

2009-06-30T22:58:00.000-07:00

14 June 2009 - 23 June 2009

Rohan and I had to go to Sydney for his interview with US immigration, so we figured that while we were there, we may as well take advantage of being in such a beautiful city! We set out from Ro's aunts' in Rose Bay and walked down to the famous Bondi Beach. What a day! The sun was shining, the birds were chirping and the surf was calm. Beautiful and sunny though it was, it was still cold (it is winter after all) and the only people in the water were surfers rugged up in wetsuits.

From Bondi we walked around Ben Buckler Head, a beautiful sandstone headland just north of the beach. The water was so clear and blue, nearly as blue as the sky overhead. A few puffy white clouds were floating by, the kind of clouds that seem to have been put there merely to awaken the imagination. The views of the craggly, scraggly rocky outcrops of headlands behind us was amazing. Picking our way around the headland was a bit tricky as the tide was up, but with dry feet we made round the other side to Bondi Golf Club. Towering over the golf club is a large phallus shaped building that come to find out later is part of a sewage treatment plant. That said, it still looked interesting, like a light house or something.

We wound our way through some residential streets until we reached Sydney Harbour National Park. It is simply amazing to me that a city as large as Sydney can have so much beauty right at its fingertips. For Sydney there is none of the landlocked, dirty, hustle and bustle of the city. Yes, it has a massive city centre, but the fresh air from the nearby sea keeps it from feeling claustrophobic.

Over the course of the day we walked nearly 20 kilometres and we ended the before-lunch part of the walk at Watson's Bay. Watson's Bay Hotel had a fabulous lunch special (by this time it was well past lunch, but the friendly and obliging folks at the Hotel extended lunch for us): fish and chips and a glass of wine or pint of beer for $12! In Sydney, the infamously expensive city, we got a drink and beautiful fish and chips for cheap. What a deal! As we nibbled on delightfully fresh and crunchy fish, we watched the sun drop behind the headland. Seagulls were stealing nuggets of food from tourists and Honeyeaters were scavenging for left behind morsels. If you're ever in the Sydney area, looking for something to do, have a look at Walking Coastal Sydney; this link provides detailed walking maps, historical points of interest and tips for the walk. There are some really beautiful walks that incorporate city and nature.

It was getting dark by the time we finished 'lunch', so we opted to bus it the rest of the way home.

It's a good thing that we spent our first day in Sydney out and about because the remainder of the week we were there, it rained - and I mean really rained. Rohan and I spent a lot of time reading, eating and relaxing. The day we were scheduled to go to the Hunter Valley, Ro's aunt Lay asked us if we'd like to play tennis. We delayed our leaving for another day and played three hours of tennis (only a little bit of that three hours was spent being rained on). Thanks to Lay and Ian, I have discovered a new sport I love! Now, to get myself a racket. . .

The next morning we headed to the beautiful Blue Mountains.

Back in Brissie

2009-06-30T21:59:00.001-07:00

27 May 2009

So, if I thought arriving in Thailand was good, Brisbane was even better. Sure, the curries are more expensive, as is everything else, but arriving back to the place I've called home for the past five years was comforting. Sure I was a bit skinny from too much trekking and giardia and not enough protein. If you're ever feeling a bit too thin, hang out in Aus, drink some beer and eat some rich food and you'll be cured!

Ro's mum picked us up at the airport and we drove back to their house, where we settled in for a nice meal with a view of Moreton Bay. Both Ro and I were knackered after the flight, which might I mention was delayed. Actually, to be perfectly accurate JetStar cancelled our flight for the second day in a row. Luckily they managed to squeeze us on a Thai Airways flight, so even though we'd only payed for a budget JetStar flight, which might I add doesn't include food, blankets or even water (!!!) we got a Thai Airways flight with inflight entertainment, meals,

blankets, pillows and yes, even water.

We don't have long left on this trip to Australia and I'm trying to make the most of it: a trip to Sydney, daily walks along Moreton Bay, catching up with friends, going out dancing, drinking too much (ouch. . .) I know it won't be enough time to do all the things I want to, but I mustn't worry, we'll be back.

Thailand, Round 2

2009-06-30T21:50:00.000-07:00

14 May 2009 - 26 May 2009
Arriving in Thailand for the second time in six months really made me appreciate my life. To get to land in the tropical paradise and look forward to sun-baking, green curries and Thai hospitality is really a treat. It was particularly refreshing after having come from India and Nepal. Don't get me wrong, the subcontinent is a wonderful place to visit and I was lucky to spend the time there that I did. That said, five months on the subcontinent is just too much for this little monkey's first time. I couldn't believe how clean everywhere looked in Thailand; no rubbish lying around, no cows or their pats littering the road or footpath and there are footpaths (some anyway)!

We flew into Bangkok and stepping out of the airport is similar to stepping into warm bath; the humidity must've been above 90 percent. Still, it's nice to breath clean air and after having spent the last five years in Australia, I don't mind the humidity so much. Our goal was to make it to Ko Chang from Bangkok, but the last bus left an hour before we arrived, so we settled on a trip to Trat for the night. The bus ride to Trat was amazing; the roads in Thailand are so smooth, so paved and the drivers so sane and so quiet!

We arrived in Trat rather late, after 8:00. In India or Nepal this would mean that dinner a
nd drinks were out of the question, but we're not in the subcontinent anymore! In Thailand the world is just warming up at 8:00! So, after a shower we wandered out and got a delicious, spicy fish red curry and pork green curry. Next door to the curry stand was a general store where we got a Chang Draft (not the standard Chang and in my opinion, much nicer). How civilized to be able to eat and drink at the same time without feeling like we're committing a sin! A few more beers saw us to bed rather early.

The next morning we took a taxi to the ferry terminal and from there we headed to Ko Chang. The first beach we headed for was Lonely Beach, but don't let the name fool you. Even in low season the beach is crawling with teenage backpackers on their 'gap year', not exactly our scene. The beach there is amazing, but the bar is hopping until the wee hours of the morning and we generally are not, so we decided quieter beaches were in our future. We rented a motor scooter and scoped out the other beaches on the island. The most appealing with cheap huts right on the beach was Kai Bae, so we made the big move. Our hut on Kai Bae was cheap, isolated and mere seconds from the water. No backpackers or noisy bars here, just an American guy and his Thai wife as neighbors.

I can't say that we did much during those days in Thailand. What does one really need to do when food is so close and the beach even closer?! We did explore the island a bit on a motor scooter and paddled in a kayak over to a close by deserted island. Other than that we did a lot of reading, eating and lying on the beach. Ahh, the lovely last days of holidays.

Pokhara

2009-06-30T21:39:00.000-07:00

1 May 2009 - 10 May 2009

We arrived in Pokhara after a six hour bus ride that was pure comfort when compared with our previous Nepali bus rides. Then the taxi ride through Pokhara's clean, quiet lakeside area showed me a place I knew I was going to like. The beautiful lake is rimmed by mountains, well, hills when compared with the massive Himalayan peaks towering over the town, and it is a stunning place. From the bus station you can see the best view any bus station in the world has to offer.

Our hotel, Hidden Paradise, was set up on a mountain overlooking

Fewa Lake. After trekking and a week in hectic, rioting, demonstrating Kathmandu, I can't say it was easy to talk us into leaving our lovely room, but we managed it a few times. On

several of the days on which we'd planned outings we kept in due to heavy storms that dumped buckets of rain, presented great flashes of lightning and shook the hills with booming thunder. The bright side to this was of course that we didn't have to leave and could instead take some time relax. The storms in Pokhara are incredible and reading that two people were hit by lightening during one of the storms we'd witnessed, our decision to stay in was confirmed as a wise one.

Despite the storms, we did manage to make it out and explore a bit. The lakeside village has stacks of places to eat, cool bars and more shops selling souvenirs than you could poke a stick at, so wandering around was interesting. Pokhara also has English bookstores, so we went a little book mad. During the nine days we stayed there, I read about seven books; having been starved of English books for several weeks I absolutely gorged myself on them!

I wouldn't say that we were keen to leave Pokhara, but our six months on holiday was nearing an end and beaches in Thailand were calling our names, so we bade goodbye to the lovely guys who run Hidden Paradise and set off back to crazy Kathmandu.

Nepal and the Langtang Trek

2009-06-20T17:07:00.001-07:00

7 April 2009 - 30 April 2009

My first impression of Kathmandu was that it doesn't look all that different from India: same looking shops, groups of men milling about aimlessly and the light has a similiar colour. There are differences though: there are more women around and they're not all dressed in the conservative salwar kameez or sari, some are even wearing tight jeans and fitted t-shirts! There are no auto-rickshaws and no cows!

We got a nice room in the Boudanath area (the Tibetan area of Kathmandu) and it's clean with towels and proper bed sheets. Nepal isn't quite as cheap as we were expecting though, taxis and food are expensive when compared to India (most places are). The Bouda area centres around the Boudanath Stupa, an amazing sight to behold.

One night in Boudanath we headed out for dinner rather than enjoying the food offered by our hotel. We came onto the main road and there were Nepali men, protesting down the middle of the road with sticks on fire. The power was out (as it is for a minimum of 16 hours each day), so there were no street lights. The demonstration was because the Nepalis don't feel that the new government is working for the people. They are frustrated because the government keeps saying the right words, but not following through with actions.

After a few days of resting and readying ourselves, we booked the bus and got the trekking permits to head up to the Langtang Region of the Himalaya. We were both excited to get up into the mountains and explore!

We arrived in Thulo Bharku from Kathmandu after a spine shattering, nerve-wracking and patience-trying bus journey that took no fewer than ten hours, with two breakdowns along the way. The bus was driven by two kids whose ages put together probably don't equal mine. Scary stuff! On the bright side, Thulo Bharku is a charming little village, full of bright-eyed and friendly kids. We had dahl baht takari (dahl, rice and veggies), which is fairly standard trekking food and it was good. After the long bus ride we fell into bed pretty early to prepare ourselves for the next day of trekking.

We left Thulo Bharku around 9 am, not off to a roaring start, but early for us. We walked until midday and stopped for lunch in Brabal. The menu here is the same as it is in Thulo Bharku. I had heard that the menus are created by a committee and then all the restaurants in the area are taught how to make the food on the menu and that’s all that served. The owner of today’s restaurant confirmed the committee theory, so it looks like we’ll have the same menu options for the duration of the trek. The options aren’t so bad, though by the end of the trek I might be quite tired of dahl baht!

We started the next day at Landslide Lodge at 1700 metres. The family there seemed in need of money and so to support them and take some pressure off me, we took the oldest son along for the day as our porter. I’m glad we did because it as another day of up, up, up. We got our first glimpses of the snow-capped peaks that we’ll be much closer to tomorrow. It’s amazing how much the landscape has changed as we’ve gone up. We started in the lush riverbed of Langtang River and as we worked our way up the greenery and trees got sparser. After a very long day of walking uphill we finished at Thangsyapu (3,140 metres), where we celebrated my birthday. Nothing like walking up a hill all day to make one feel her age, or perhaps her mother’s age! My birthday cake was a Snickers bar with a candle stuck in it and after such a long day of hiking, I couldn’t have asked for anything better.

Tomorrow we make our way to Kyangin Gompa. By looking at the map it’ll be another day of uphill, with the day finishing at 3,870 metres.

As expected, today’s walk to Kyangin Gompa was uphill, but for the first day on the trek thus far, some of the walk was relatively flat. For the effort of going further uphill, we were rewarded with even better views of the Langtang mountain range.

The people of the Langtang region are called the Tamang people. It is thought that four or five generations ago they migrated to the region from Tibet. They certainly look Tibetan! Along the track today we met an old man who claimed to be Tibetan. He communicated to us that he was selling all of his belongings because he had no money. He offered to sell us his necklace and to help him out, we bought it. When we arrived in Kyangin Gompa we met a man from Holland wearing a necklace much like the one we’d purchased on the track. It turns out he’d met the same Tibetan man with no money who was selling all his belongings. Looks like we both bought the same story and necklace!

The next few days we spent relaxing at Kyangin Gompa and sight seeing from our hotel room. We wandered out and around a bit, but it was quite cold and we were quite tired, so we weren’t game to wander too far. Still, the views were spectacular and well worth the effort of getting there.

The next couple of days were spent walking back down the way we’d come up to connect with the track that would take us to Gosain Kunda, a holy lake at 4,380 metres. Our first stop on the way to Gosain Kunda was Thulo Shryapru, a village reportedly with electricity and internet. Unfortunately when we were there, there wasn’t any electricity and hadn’t been any for days. Clearly no electricity means no internet, so it looked as if I was going to have to wait until we returned to Kathmandu to reconnect with the world.

From Thulo Shryapru (2,250 metres) we looked at the map to learn that we would wind our way up to Shin Gompa next (3,380 metres). All these mountains!

Another grueling day from Thulo Shryapru, walking up over 1.1 kilometres in one day. Because of the time we spent at Kyangin Gompa, the altitude isn’t troubling us too much, but we’re exhausted from so much walking and carrying our belongings on our backs. At Shin Gompa we decided to take another rest day. It’s so lovely and quiet in Shin Gompa, much quieter than much of the track up to now simply because we’re away from the roaring Langtang River. From here we can see the Langtang and Ganesh ranges.

One of the joys of travel for me is the food. You never quite know what you're going to get when you order and that's all part of the adventure. One night in Shin Gompa my husband was looking to order a bit of dessert. The menu said 'apple pancake with double egg' and he was thinking that meant a pancake with eggs blended in. Wasn't he disappointed when his apple pancake came out with two fried eggs on top?! 'What am I supposed to do with this' he wondered. . .

After a rest we made our way to Gosain Kunda.

Gosain Kunda was not to be the highest point of our trek – in order to start the descent back to Kathmandu, we first had to make it over Laurebina Pass, a whopping 3,610 metres. Mistakenly I thought that getting over the pass would be the most challenging part of day. The excitement of having made it so far and so high certainly did put a spring in my step for the first part of the day.

But the spring soon faded on the way down due to the steep drop and aching knees. The descent back into the low(er) lands was grueling, though refreshing at the same time. It was nice to get back down where the landscape of barren boulders has transformed into lush forests, but also nice to get back down to where I could breath!

Our first night on the descent back to civilization was spent at Gopte. I won't say that Gopte topped my list as favorite places: the guest house looked like it was thrown together and might fall apart anytime and the toilet was literally a hole in the ground with a platform built over it. Ewww. We had planned to take a rest day here, but decided that the From there we head even lower to Melamchigaon.

Peace, quiet and the Dalai Lama

2009-06-20T16:29:00.001-07:00

4 March 2009 - 7 April 2009

Well, when I last wrote I was recovering from spending four days looking at a camel's backside and while it was a great adventure and very interesting, I was so glad when it was over. It was one of those experiences that was better to have done rather than be doing it.

Pushkar was our chosen place of recovery because of we'd heard from other travelers what a small, quiet place Pushkar is. To be honest, while it was small, it's absolutely not quiet and as most holy Hindu places in India, it's dirty, crowded and full of cows. As most tourist places in India, it's full of pushy Indians trying desparately to rip tourists off. In hindsight, not a great place to recover, but it did some good points. The guesthouse ownder, Ram, who gave us his house and the other guests at the hotel were a definite plus. It was nice to spend some time sitting around chatting to other foreigners and swapping stories of travel.

One day in Pushkar while I was walking down the street a gypsy woman said hello and dragged me into a chai shop. I'd had so few expereinces with Indian women (they're usually hidden away in their houses) that I didn't resist the opportunity to sit down and chat with one. Knowing I would need an out before I ended up going to this woman's house, adopting her children and bathing her mother, I informed her of a meeting with my husband that I had to leave for in 20 minutes. She immediately grabbed my hand and started to give me a henna tattoo (henna is a plant that is used in India to give temporary tattoos, some of which are absolutely beautiful). I'd been wanting a henna tattoo, so rather than pull my hand away, I let her continue. I watched first with interest and then with horror at what she was doing to my hand. By the time she'd finished, it looked like her henna pen had exploded all over my hand and forearm. Not for me the delicate swrils and flowers of the professionally done tattoo, no, I got the amateurs thick-lined, designed on the fly henna disaster. Thankfully it wasn't permanent and despite what she had done to me, I was feeling generous, so I bought her a chai and gave her 50 rupees (the henna pen costs 5 rupees). She said 'no, chappati flour'. I thought, okay, woman wants food, I can do that. So I let her drag me halfway across town to buy flour. We walked up to a shop and she had an exchange with the shop owner. He went to the back and returned with a bag of flour big enough to make a year's supply of chappati. I asked how much and was informed 150 rupees. I laughed and said 'no way'. She shrugged and said 'okay, you give me 100 rupees'. I gave her the original 50 rupees and walked off, annoyed that my initial generosity wasn't enough and she tried to push for more. You would think that by now I'd have stopped being offended and surprised, but what can I say, I am eternally, naively optimistic about human nature.

Rohan also had an experience with the gypsy women of Pushkar. He was walking down the street and was approached by two made up Gypsy women. He was as surprised as I was to be approached by an Indian woman. One of them took his hand and asked if he wanted 'something'. He took his hand back, politely answered 'no' and walked on. Later he found out that 'something' could've been anyhting from a henna tattoo, to hash or opium, sex. He was lucky to escape with just a handshake.

We left Pushkar and Rajasthan to head north, with the hope of finding cleaner surroundings and quieter airways. On the first train from Ajmer to Delhi I got my shoes repaired. The man wanted to charge me 15 rupees, but he'd offered such a vaulable service I have him 50 rupees and made his day. The train stopped at Jaipur and hawkers got on. One beggar approached Rohan and Ro gave him one rupee (it was the only little money he had on him). The beggar looked horrified. 'One rupee?! No sir, give me ten'. So Rohan took the one rupee back and turned to stare out the window. Even the other Indians around Rohan were a bit surprised, but you should never look a gift horse in the mouth. One rupee isn't a lot of money, but a few more of those and the beggar had a meal. It seemed quite cheeky for him to demand more.

Begging in India is often an organised racket. Poor boys, men, girls and women are organised by a 'pimp' who feeds and houses them and takes their earnings in return. The pimp may maime or disfigure them so they earn more money because of the sympathy a cripple receives. Women give their children cigarette burns to try to get sympathy by showing that their child has wounds and needs medicine and milk. The unwitting tourist gets taken to the pharmacy where they cough up for milk or medicine, which can run anywhere from 200 to 800 rupees. Then when the tourist walks away, the beggar brings back the medicine or milk, the shop gives her 80% of the money and keeps 20% and the milk or medicine for himself and the tourist walks away thinking they've helped save some baby, when all they've really done is further encourage begging. Beggars even fly from Delhi to the norht to take advantage of the tourist season; only the tourists take the bus. What can one do to actually help? Because there's no doubt that there are supremely destitute and wretched people who are genuinely in need. To tell you the truth, I don't know. The moral dilemma of being a 'rich' westerner who actually wants to help without causing more harm is one I continue to struggle with. The sometimes crushing Western guilt is something I think many who travel India (and other nations like it struggle with. But look at me complaining about Western guilt, at least I get a clean roof over my head, clean water to drink and clean food to eat.

After 30 hours of travel we pulled up in Mcleod Ganj, home of the Tibetan Government in exile. It's a beautiful place with the Himalaya serving as the background. The population there is mostly Tibetan, with some Indians and a smattering of expats thrown in the mixture. It was the calmest place we'd been in a while.

On the first morning in Mcleod Ganj I was having some breakfast and asked a monk who was sitting in the cafe where I could register for the upcoming teaching given by the Dalai Lama. He said he was waiting for a friend and then he would show me. We ended up spending the rest of the day with Tashi and Tenzin, two monks who fled Tibet nine years ago in order to receive a Tibetan education, as opposed to an expensive Chinese education or none at all. They escaped Tibet by foot by when Tenzin was 12 and Tashi was 16. At one point, two days walk from the Tibet-India border a blizzard hit. Tenzin's sunglasses had broken and he was rendered snow blind by the blizzard. Tashi held his hand and walked him to the border and to safety. When I was 12 I was worried about wearing the latest fashion and was crushed when I could only get one pair of Guess jeans. The stories of so many of the Tibetan refugees sure do put life into a different perspective.

While we were in Mcleod Ganj, the 50 year anniversary of the Chinese Government invading Tibet was observed. There were peaceful protests and hunger strikes. It is also one of the times of the year that the Dalai Lama gives a teaching on some part of Buddhist scriptures. The teaching is aimed at Buddhist (not like some of the Dalai Lama's speeches given in the West), but even for Rohan and I it was interesting to listen to. The opportunity to see the Dalai Lama's glowing, smiling face was really memorable. Even though he is over 70 years old, his smile and face look like that of a cheeky five year old.

We decided we should explore the surrounds since there were so many mountains around just begging to be climbed. One morning we set off up the mountain towards one of the peaks called Triund. After an hour and a half we reached a tea shop and decided to stop for a cup of chai. It's a good thing we stopped when we did because an almighty storm descended on us. When the rain and hail stopped and we were packing up to get down the mountain before it started again, we saw this very sad donkey. Half of his face was practically rotting off with infection. Both Ro and I felt horrible for the poor thing, but didn't really think there was much we could do for it.

The next morning at breakfast, these people approached us to tell us about an animal welfare clinic in the nearby town of Dharamsala. We told them about the donkey and they said that if Rohan could lead them to it, they'd send up the volunteer vet to have a look at it. Rohan made his way up the mountain after breakfast and found where the donkey lived. He spent the next six days trekking up the mountain with an Englishman we'd met named Jim. Rohan paid for antibiotics, bandages, hydrogen peroxide and anti-septic cream and Jim and he spent five days cleaning the donkeys face and injecting it with antiobiotics. When we left Mcleod the donkey was looking much better, but still needed further treatment, so Jim and Rohan paid the animal clinic to continue treatment and with any luck the donkey will be healthy in no time.

Apart from eating, hanging out with some cool people whom we'd met either in Mcleod or in other parts of India, relaxing and curing donkeys we didn't do much else there. I took on a couple of Tibetan students for a couple weeks of conversational English classes. After a month we reluctantly pulled ourselves away from Mcleod.

First stop after Mcleod as Amritsar, home of the Golden Temple. The Golden Temple is the Sikh Temple, similiar to the Vatican for Catholics. And it is beautiful. It boasts to be made of 750 kilograms of gold and was built five hundred years ago. It's open 24 hours, 365 days a year and is serving free food (suggested donation) all the time. The day we ate there we had rice, dahl, vegetable and paneer curry and some kind of deep fried sweet treats. It was delicious.

Amritsar is 30 kilometres from the only Pakistan-India order entry point. Every day before sunset they have a ceremony where they close the border for the day and lower the countries flags. Neither will lower theirs first, so they have to do it at exactly the same time. Leading up to the flag lowering, there is much pomp and ceremony. It felt like a sports match! Each side is blaring music and attempting to out-do the other side. Pakistan is shouting something to effect of 'Pakistan is the best' and India's shouting something similiar about their country. And there are so many people on the Indian side! Thousands of Indians are sitting around cheering for how great their country is. Some girls got even up and were dancing to show how good India is! Both sides have soldiers who stomp around, glare at each other and attempt to show their superiority. Frankly, they all look a little silly. At the end of it all, the flags are lowered, both sides shake hands with each other and the gates are shut until tomorrow when it will happen all over again. It's a rather odd event, but it's hard not to get sweptup in the excitement of it all.

We celebrated Rohan's birthday in Amritsar with Jim. We had a few beers and some Tandoori Chicken (Sikhs eat meat and since Amritsar is the Sikh capital, we figured we'd be alright).

After a few days in Amritsar, we headed to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. Agra itself is as dirty and foul as any big city, but so many people go there to see the Taj. It is really amazing, but after seeing the Taj, we were out of there.

Next stop, Delhi. Some friends we'd met a couple of times in India and spent lots of time with in Mcleod were also in Delhi, so they reserved us a room and we spent out last night in India there. The room was probably the nicest we'd stayed in, with all the things that probably sound normal to folks back home, but here are deadset luxuries: hot shower, clean room, soap, towels, clean sheets and a television. We scrubbed off the dirt of another long train ride in India (our last for the trip), ordered room service and spent our last night relaxing in style.

So, we made it through three and a half months in India. We're both about ten kilos lighter than the last time we saw many of you because of a variety of stomach bugs we've suffered through. We're tired and we're ready for a break from India, but I have to say that I really did enjoy myself there. It was easily the most difficult place I have travelled, but there are so many bright sparkly moment that stand out from the dark times. I've realised new dark depths of myself that I never really knew existed, but I've also glimpsed a better side that can be kind to people even in the face of stress and adversity. At Indian immigration as we were leaving to go to Kathmandu, the immigration man decided to start a discussion with me about the importance of a positive outlook on life. He said if you look for the good, you'll find it and if you look for the bad, you'll find that too. Then looking meaningfully in my eyes he said 'Madam, you are the kind of person who finds the positive and so I think your life will be happy.' That moment as I was leaving somehow sums up what I like about India.

Well, our next adventure is in Nepal. We're heading up into the mountains for three weeks, so no doubt you'll all hear from me when I get back!

Rajasthan

2009-06-20T04:26:00.001-07:00

17 February 2009 - 3 March 2009

So, we made the train trip north from Mumbai to Jodhpur, Rajasthan. The overnight train was a bit noisier this time around due to some passengers that got on the train around 11:00 pm (we got on around 4:00pm). Despite the fact that everyone's seat numbers are clearly printed on each ticket and the seats are clearly labelled, the most recent arrivals to our car couldn't seem to sort out where they were supposed to be sitting. The arguing and yelling stretched across the car and pulled Ro and I out of a deep slumber. By the time they'd finished arguing we were completely awake and totally annoyed. What did they all do then? Settle quickly into a farting, snoring sleep that successfully prevented us from doing the same.

Our arrival into Jodhpur saw us accompanied by another well meaning, bossy Indian who was determined to tell us where to go and how to get there. We shook him off and found the man from the hotel we'd booked holding a sign with 'Rohan' written on it. Is there a more comforting sight after on overnight train in India? If there is, I can't rightly think of it. This man put us in a rickshaw and told us to pay the driver 40 Rs upon arrival. We'd been told the pick-up was free and we shared this with our man. With no argument he said 'okay' and sent us on our way. Another 40 Rs saved!

When we'd booked the hotel we'd asked for an inexpensive room. The 650 Rs we were quoted seemed a bit expensive, but it was the cheapest we'd been able to find through research and we wanted somewhere to go after an overnight train ride. Upon arrival there and after a rest we got up and headed out to search out somewhere a bit more budget friendly. We found a good place for 200 Rs and decided we'd move there. When checking out the next day they asked us where we were headed. They pushed us until we told them the hotel we were going to. We told them we'd found a room twice as big, quieter and for half the price, with a view of Mehrangarh Fort from our window. They informed us that they had cheaper rooms they could move us to. Hmm, would've been nice to know about those cheaper rooms from the get go. We decided to go with the hotel that was giving a fair price first up, not only when threatened with losing business. If you're ever in Jodhpur, may I recommened Achar Newas? The rooms are spacious and cheap and the view is spectacular. The people who run the place don't speak enough English to pester you with sales pitches or invasive questioning, yet are kind and pleasant to deal with.

Jodhpur is a spectacular city. It is also referred to as the Blue City because the houses are washed in paint that has indigo in it - this is supposed to keep the buildings cool and act as an insect repellent. It certainly does make the place pretty to look at!

One of the major attractions of Jodhpur is the Mehrangarh Fort. We made our way through the back alleys to try and find it. The fort itself is pretty amazing, particularly a royal room devoted to sensual pleasure with a ceiling carved of gold. The view from the ramparts was pretty spectacular. The hand carved marble screens within the palace were impressive; they were used so women could see what was happening in the court without being exposed to the lustful gaze of men. There was an idol in the museum women prayed to for long life for their husbands. This isn't as selfless as it might sound: the practise of sati (a woman throwing herself on her husband's burning funeral pyre, thereby burning to death and joining her husband in the afterlife) was not uncommon practise. After all, what is a woman's life worth without her husband's dirty underwear to wash?! Sati still happens in rural villages, mostly in Rajasthan.

While sati is no longer widely practised, women seem to have a far inferior role in much of Indian society, though there are laws attempting to reverse this. In the north, most women cover their heads with dupattas and many cover their faces as well. Predominantly boys are favoured for education, food, and sometimes even life, as female infanticide still happens, mainly in the rural areas. On the streets, men are far more prevalent and visible; they greatly outnumber the number of women. Women dress quite conservatively everywhere bar the big cities and even there they dress extremely tamely when compared to the west (a really daring outfit might include fitted jeans and a loosely fitted t-shirt, oh the immodesty!). Like I mentioned, there are a whole slew of laws attempting to change the status and rights of women, but with a civilisation as old as India's, change is slow to come.

We were meandering through the streets of Jodhpur when a man pulled up on a motorcycle and stopped in front of us. 'Be careful around here. You are in much danger. People here attack you. This your problem.' Then he drove away. This news might have been exceptionally unsettling except that Indians are always warning us against them: 'People from (insert city, state, geographical locality, etc.) will cheat you'. This said by a person from a city or state you've just come from and where undoubtedly we'd either been cheated in or there's been attempted cheating.

Not long after our warning, this crazy little man popped out of his house with an exuberant 'Hello!'. He invited us in for tea and since his whole family was there inviting us in, we felt fairly safe. He proceeded to feed us tea, entertain us, and send us on our way.

Jodhpur is a lovely city. The scenery looks so Indian, so much what I pictured India would look like. There's an incredible temple we climbed up ladder after ladder to get to because it's perched on top of a massive rock. The view from in between the rocks holding the temple up is pretty special. Jodhpur has palaces, a fort, a clock tower that the market gathers around, where camels and elephants are seen along with cars and rickshaws.

From Jodhpur we bussed or way to Ossian, a small village about an hour and a half away. As with much of our trip, we knew little to nothing about where were going and when the bus dropped us in the middle of this po-dunk village where no one seemed to speak any English or be the slightest bit interested in helping us, we were wondering if this time we'd stuffed up. Luckily, a priest from one of the local temples showed us to the tourist guest house. The very helpful man at Ossian Guest House, who also runs the town's Jain Temple gave us a room and sold us a three-day camel trek, heading towards Pushkar, our next destination.

So, we found ourselves packing up the next morning and heading out into the desert in the back of a camel cart.

For lunch we stopped at a hut and lunched with some desert men. Once we'd finished lunch the men got out some mystery herb, mixed it with water, filtered the water and insisted we drink it. Not knowing if we were going to get high or diarrhoea (or both), we drank it so as not to offend. It didn't appear to have any immediate effects.

Our next stop was for afternoon tea, where we were served and drank tea with camel's milk in it. We also witnessed our camel man, Dunshing, drink milk fresh from a camel's udder. After we'd packed up and headed off from afternoon tea and after about thirty metres, the camel man pulled over, hopped out, hid behind the cart we were sitting in and did his 'business' so to speak (and I'm not talking about a pee. . .), with us fully in ear shot.

Our camel was a rather randy fellow - here's a look at his mating call.

We set up camp for the night and broke our non-drinking fast by sharing a bottle of Old Monk rum with Dunshing. We were hoping the rum would help us sleep in the too-small camel cart, but for me unfortunately the rum was of no assistance. Getting up in the morning after having frozen and tossed and turned all night, we peeked out from beneath our blankets to see that we had an audience. In good humour we shared our fruit with the family who'd so patiently waited for us to get up so they could watch our every move.

Speaking of audiences, every where we went on the trek we had observers. Every house we went by, every village, every shop , temple or school. Some wanted to chat, others wanted 'one pen', some wanted photos and yet others just wanted to have a really good, solid stare with no interaction. Both Rohan and I were generous with our conversation and provision of entertainment. The constant audience gets tiresome, but getting annoyed or ignoring them is more tiresome and only makes us feel worse. So, I generally say 'hello' and even attempt interaction, even though that provides untold amusement and is met by children and adults alike falling into helpless giggles. On the bright side, I've never been so effortlessly funny in my life!

On day two of the camel trek we stopped for lunch with Dunshing's aunt. There were were subjected to yet another round of 'Gather Round and Stare'. At one point I found myself with three women, one child and five men all sitting on the floor in front of me, as if I were their grade school teacher or something. I wasn't talking, I was just sitting, but let me assure you, it was fascinating! One of my 'pupils', the leering 18 year old one, was somehow nominated to make the rest of the journey with us as our cook and our interpreter (Dunshing speaks a sum total of about 15 words of English; still more than my Hindi or Rajasthani). Unfortunately our new joiner neither spoke English or knew how to cook. His one talent seemed to be leering at me, so neither Ro nor I was thrilled about this boy joining us. Fortunately after an or so he hopped off the cart with no explanation and walked off into the desert. Good riddance!

Night two of the camel trek we settled in with some more Old Monk. Rohan must've consumed a bit too much of the ole' rum because when he attempted to stand up and head to bed, he fell over and landed smack bang on his dirty dinner plate. The next morning he didn't remember going to bed or asking repeatedly for the torch and water, even though he had both in his possession. He did however remember being pulled out his drunken sleep by a Hindi festival in the middle of the desert that started at 12:30. He doesn't remember how late it went because he fell back asleep, but unfortunately I didn't have the same luxury and laid awake until well after the festival finished (3:00am!!!).

The next morning saw us facing our typical studio audience. From the moment our heads popped out of our sleeping bags until the moment we were packed up and ready to go we had a minimum of eight eyes on us. Somehow word always seems to get around that there are foreigners camping and packing their bags, so our audience would grow. The point of camping and trekking was to get away from it all, but by removing four walls and a lockable door, we'd placed ourselves smack-bang in the middle of it. And as a woman, I'm such a novelty out there! You don't see many women around, certainly not in the village centres and absolutely not wandering further than the well from home. On the third morning camel man shared with our audience the fact that I was drinking alcohol the night before and the audience (all men) were visibly shocked. One man was so shocked, yet managed to ask 'You. . . drinking. . .?', as if that could quite possibly be the most preposterous thing he'd ever heard. 'Yes', I admitted, feeling slightly chagrined despite myself. After my shameful confession, I attempted to justify my behaviour by explaining that where I come from, both men and women drink. I would love to have been able to explain that women are treated almost the same as men (yes, there still is sexism in the west, but now's not the time to go into it. After being in India for over two months, I am so appreciative of my freedom in the West) - we can wear, drink and eat whatever we want to. We can go wherever, whenever we want. We can choose to remain unmarried and we don't necessarily have to have children, whether married or not. But how does one explain this to a group of men who speak no English? And even if there was no language barrier, how does one overcome the cultural differences and understanding? Women's lib has hardly touched India and it's yet to be seen in rural Rajasthan. What a strange creature I must be to them.

By the final day of the camel trek I'd resorted to covering my face an attempt to reduce the staring. I can't say it worked. In fact it just made them stare harder and longer to try to figure out what my face looked like. What does it say about the men of a place when women can't even show their faces. . .

The final day saw us making our way to Bawari, where we'd planned to take the bus the rest of the way to Pushkar. There was a town meeting called to discuss, argue and shout about the best way for us to get to Pushkar. We ended up taking the bus route that looked shortest on the map. What should've been a three or four bus trip ended up taking seven, dusty, hot hours over back 'roads'. We arrived in Pushkar so shattered and so tired, but the place we checked into had hot shots and seemed quiet enough. We were both planning on eating some dinner and hitting the hay early.

As we sat down to order dinner, some drums started up next door. And not your teenager practising for her or his rock band, this was some seriously loud and committed drumming coming from directly next door. We asked the hotel man what was going on. He explained that wedding preparations that had been going on for the past four days had finally come together for the last and final night before the wedding. Both Rohan and I were desperate for some sleep and the celebrations were expected to shake the local area (including our hotel room just next door) until two or three in the morning. Thankfully we looked so desperate that the hotel man offered us his house to sleep in for the night. The house turned out to be quiet and dark and provided us with one of the best night's sleep we've had since being in India.

We leave Pushkar tomorrow to head north to Himachal Pradesh. Another overnight train will see us arriving in Dharmasala, where the Dalai Llama is supposed to be giving a teaching on 11 March. We're both quite excited about getting north where it's supposed to be cleaner and a bit more chilled out than where we've been.

Namaste

2009-06-20T03:01:00.001-07:00

2 February 2009 - 16 February 2009

We made the journey from Hampi to Yoga Vidya Dham Ashram in Nashik and by the time the 36 hour journey was over, we needed the entire 10 days of yoga and relaxation just to recover! We took a boat, bus, rickshaw, train, rickshaw, train, rickshaw and taxi to get there. Between the two train rides, we had eight hours at a train station in Mumbai, from 5:00am until 1:00pm. Killing eight hours after having spent the previous night sleeping on a train is never what I can a good time and doing this at a Mumbai train station is my new definition of hell on Earth. First off, it's dark and there are rats. Then you notice all the people and the dogs sleeping at and around the station. You take a closer look at the tracks and notice that people have chosen to ignore the sign in the train toilet that says 'Please do not use toilet whilst the train is stopped at stations' (the toilet is a mere hole in the bottom of the train, though at least it comes with a door and a hand sink. . .). Then you're sitting at the station and someone starts screaming 'Police, police, police'. The police come along with their bamboo sticks, give some guy a good whack and then drag him off. And as if all this wasn't enough, you walk outside, past a man just standing there amongst the hustle and bustle. There's something not quite right about this man. Is his hand down his pants?! Why yes, yes it is. Is he. . .?! In the train station, with all these people around, is he really. . .?! Yes, yes he is. Hmm, okay, keep walking.

We found our way to an internet cafe to kill time and escape the train station. It wasn't open when we arrived so we loitered out the front. While we were waiting, this old woman approached us: 'What are you doing?' she demanded. 'We're waiting for the internet cafe to open' was our answer. 'Come to my house, take tea' she says and quickly scurries away. We looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders and hurriedly grabbed our rucksacks and followed this little old Indian woman. She arrived at her apartment building, ushered us in and sat us down. Her grandsom sat and chatted with us while Grandma made us tea. Mom got out of the shower and got the surprise of two filthy foreigners (we were covered in dust and India from the overnight train) sitting in her living room, drinking her tea. She took it very well and insisted that we eat breakfast. She made us dosas (a food similiar to crepes). They then took our photo, we took theirs and we all carried on with our respective days.

Finally we made it to Nashik, to the main office of the yoga ashram. From there we piled into a taxi with five women from the ashram who'd just finished their 30 day yoga teacher training course. They were hyped up on their first cups of tea in a month and overly excited about a Bollywood film they'd just seen. They put on some Bollywood music, cranked it up full blast and proceeded to talk and laugh over the music for the entire 40 minute taxi ride to ashram. Luckily once we arrived at the ashram, both peace and dinner were waiting for us. So, life in the ashram. The rules include getting up at 6:00am, doing yoga for an hour and a half twice a day, meditating, chanting and eating healthy food. No drinking, smoking, drugs, meat, sex, talking during meals, caffeine, chocolate, chilli, television or internet and only about an hour or two a day to yourself. The food is all very fresh and quite tasty once we adjusted to the lack of chilli, pepper, cheese and spice (and for me who puts Tabasco or chilli sauce on everything that holds still long enough, this took some getting used to). The yoga, chanting and meditation has left me feeling quite strong and refreshed. The chanting was great, but I have to admit, on the first Saturday night we were there when we chanted a particular mantra 108 times and then danced around the hall chanting, I did think to myself, 'Wow, if the people back home could see, they would be a bit worried about me. . .'. Overall, after 10 days of eating clean, healthy food, doing yoga, spending my spare time sleeping, reading, writing or walking around enjoying the scenery, I feel really good. The peace and quiet and settling down was wonderful!

Life in ashram was pretty close to ideal, after the initial settling in and detoxing from caffeine, sugar, etc. When we first arrived there was a group of people who had just finished 30 days and were in really high spirits. They didn't fit the 'yoga wanker' stereotype - you the know the ones who carry on about chakras and the healing power of purple in an attempt to loard it over you how very enlightened they are. The people who were there when we arrived were all really down to Earth and friendly. We spent a few days with them and then the next batch of people showed up. A fair few of them were yoga princesses, wearing carefully selected 'yoga outfits' complete with flowing scarves and perfectly matched jewelled bindis (the thing Indians place on their foreheads). These princesses pray before they eat with their hands hovering over their food, thanking the plants for sharing their energy. This practice is to help them develop their compassion. Meanwhile, they ignore the crying stray kitten that has chosen the ashram as home who just wants a bit of food. Don't get me wrong, the idea of giving thanks is great and so is the idea of developing compassion, but on kitten ignoring princesses the whole thing comes across as an act to show everyone at the ashram how 'enlightened' they are.

So, we finished 10 days at the ashram and we're both feeling all the better for it. Has it changed our lives in some miraculous way? I don't think so, but it has helped strengthen my resolve to take better care of myself. Did I achieve inner peace? No, but perhaps I got a glimpse of it and some hints on how to reduce stress and remain calm; skills I know will come in handy, particularly over the next few months of traveling!

As a matter of fact, those skills have already come in handy since leaving the ashram. We left and headed to Mumbai where we have a train north to Rajasthan. To get from Nashik to Mumbai we took a passenger train. It wasn't as mad as we'd expected, but what should have been a three hours journey took five and a half hours because the train stopped at every station along the way and in some places that weren't even stations. It was alright though, we met a very nice guy who chatted with us a good portion of the way. When the train pulled into our station he got off with us and ensured we were safely settled into our hotel room before he headed off to start work (he works for an American call centre collecting debt - some of you back home have maybe spoken to him:)

The next day we headed to Borivali, an area closer to the train station that will take us to Rajasthan. After going from hotel to hotel, each one assuring us they were full even though the wall behind them had numerous room keys on it (I suspect that since the Mumbai attacks they don't want foreigners staying there. The hotel the night before had to ring the owner to obtain permission for foreigners to stay), we found an over-priced but nice, clean place to spend the night.

We thought something nice to do in Mumbai would be to go to Sanjay National Park to have a look around some caves we'd read about located within. We got to the admission gate and inquired about a bus to take us the seven kilometres to the caves. The government employee behind the counter informed us that there is no bus and rickshaws aren't allowed in the park. We shrugged and walked off to stroll around the park. We got about two metres from the front gate and a man walked up to us offering us a tourist taxi to the caves for 850 rupees (the bus costs 20 rupees). We laughed at him and said 'no way' and kept walking. Another Indian man approached us and told us he'd lead us to the bus. What?! But we were just told by the government employee at the admission desk that there is no bus??? Ahh, the government employee and the tourist taxi driver are in cahoots. Of course.

We got the bus to the caves, with only about twenty or thirty minutes until the caves closed. The price to get in was 20 times more expensive for foreigners than Indians. We asked if we could have reduced rate since there was only 20 minutes until the caves closed. The government employee behind this particular admission desk assured us that there was no way they could bend the rules. Rohan and I were quite annoyed at this point about how we were being treated as tourists, so we had a good whinge to the bus driver. He walked up the gate, negotiated with the man behind the counter and got us in for 100 rupees for both of us (half the price). What they did was issue us two Indian tickets and split the difference between themselves. So much for not being about to break the rules. . . We spent 20 minutes viewing the caves, which were pretty amazing. It would have been nice to have more time, but oh well.

After the caves we had some dinner and wandered around the night markets of Mumbai. The sheer number of people in the Mumbai area just baffles the mind.

Next stop, Rajasthan!

Incredible India

2009-06-20T02:33:00.001-07:00

25 January 2009 - 2 February 2009

Last time I wrote was from Go Karna. The week in a comfortable roomat Kudle Beach was a nice break from traveling. It as nice to unpack our clothes, toiletries and bits and bobs, put them in a place and not pack them up the following morning. The beach was nice and the restaurants served good food (though avoid the salads - I got food poisoning again and this was by far the worst case yet. Not to worry though, I've learned two lessons from my forays in food land India: 1) when food poisoning strikes, STOP eating and 2) stick to what your mind knows is safe, not what your nose or eyes says might be good. I am now finally curbing my natural love for ALL food (all food, excepting beets) and confining my enjoyment of food to cooked, vegetarian foo - as I said in I would before leaving Aus, before cravings for kebabs or salad led me astray). It was nice to settle down in one place for a week, especially a place as nice and relaxing as Go Karna. I love to travel, but sometimes a rest is necessary.

We left Go Karna to make our way to Hampi. We took a rickshaw (please note when I say rickshaw, I mean an auto-rickshaw, not the bicycle rickshaw, which doesn't settle well with me) and a local bus to Ankola, a po-dunk Indian village, that to put it nicely, is a bit of a hole. We rented a room for a couple of hours to store our bags while we waited for our bus. After killing three hours playing celebrities, we headed back to our room to brush our teeth, wash our faces and ready ourselves for the overnight bus to Hampi. We flipped on the light to our room, walked in and a rat the size of Penny (for those of you who don't know Penny, she is our cat who is currently enjoying a holiday at Rancho Relaxo chez Sam Durham) went scurrying from the bed, where one can only assume it was resting quite comfortably nestled in my beautiful, hand-woven cotton scarf (now currently being disinfected). Thank God (or Ganesha, Allah, Jesus, pick a deity) we didn't have to spend the night there!

We had booked our bus ticket on an overnight 'sleeper bus' but when we got on the bus, there was some confusion about whether we'd booked the sleeper or seats, whether there was one or two of us, whether we were together or not and where our bags should be stored. Perhaps we were the first people to ever get an overnight bus. . . Anyway, we settled into our beds and faded in and out of consciousness for the eight hours to Hampi. At one point in the middle of the night we pulled over for a toilet break. I disembarked the bus and foolishly expected something along the lines of an Aussie or American 'rest stop.' I suppose where we were could be called a rest stop, but it looked an awful lot like someone's front yard. The boys just went wherever (as boys are luckily enough to be able to do) and the girls walked into this poor person's yards, behind their front gate for cover and did their business there. What else is a girl to do? Demand a toilet, hand sink, paper towels and anti-bacterial soap? Good luck!

At around 8:00am we pulled into Hampi, quite disoriented, having spent the night not exactly sleeping, but not entirely awake either. We stumbled off the bus, sure we wanted to head to the other side of the river to find a guest house, but not sure where the river was. We asked a rickshaw driver to take us there and he quoted 50 rupees each. As we didn't know how far the river was and because the bus quite frequently drops you miles away from where you want to go, we said okay. We drove about five hundred metres and the river came into sight. Two hundred metres more and the rickshaw stopped and the driver indicated for us to get out. This ride is worth about 10 rupees, not the quoted 100, and had we known how close the river was, we would've walked. When we got out, I handed him 20 rupees, which is still twice what he should've gotten. He started yelling and waving his arms at me and was very angry. What I should've done is told him if he's not happy with the 20 rupees, we could consult the police and see what they think is fair. This is not, however, what I did. Rohan said, 'Give him 50 rupees and he'll go away' and so I did and he did.

We walked down the stairs to the river, looked to the right and saw an elephant being led to the river for a bath. It turns out every sunrise and sunset the elephants from one of the temples are led to the river to be bathed. We then waded knee deep through the river to get into a boat that took us to the other side, where we found a bungalow, ate some breakfast and then passed out for a few hours. When we got up and strayed as far as the cafe ten metres away, there was a family of monkeys just down the hill from us. Between the view of temples, ruins, the river, monkeys and the rocks, we really felt like we were in INDIA.

Rohan really felt like he was in India. He had that special feeling that everyone gets in India; the special feeling that has already disabled me twice and has now struck Ro down once. Whether it was the long overnight bus ride or something he ate or both, he was not a well boy.

In addition to the monkeys hanging out near the cafe (and on our roof. . .), the wildlife of Hampi had more surprises in store for us! We were taking it easy so Rohan could recover, so we spent most of the first full day in Hampi hanging out at the cafe. I'd had several cups of tea and a bottle of water, so I went to our bungalow to use the toilet. I opened the door to our toilet and what should I find? I truly believe a picture speaks a thousands words, so here is what I found. Clearly I need to find another toilet.

We weren't sure what to do with our visitor or what kind of snake it was. We assumed it was a poisonous one, because the toad didn't appear to be crushed like a python might do. Turns out we were correct, it was a poisonous snake, a King Cobra. 75% of King Cobra bites result in death. We knew if we told the people who run the bungalows about the snake, they would kill it. We left it for an hour and it continued to swallow the toad. Then one of the guys from the cafe moved the pitcher that had been front of it. This pleased the snake none too much. It removed its mouth from the toad and very agitatedly moved and hid in the corner of the bathroom, coiled under the toilet. We left it there, hoping it would find its own way out. About an hour later we went back to check the bathroom and see if it'd left. Rohan cautiously looked around and with a stick lifted the lid of the toilet, where the very upset cobra was coiled. This is when we decided it was time to tell someone, so I got one of the Nepali waiters. He walked into our bathroom, quite calmly confirmed that yes, it was a cobra (we of course had figured this out because of the flared neck), got the 'snake stick', gave it one solid whack and that was the end of the snake. Neither Rohan nor I were happy about the snake being killed, but it also wasn't a desirable option to have an angry cobra roaming around the neighbourhood. To say the least, we now search our room thoroughly when we enter it.

The next day we took it fairly easy. One of the great things about Hampi is that it is so beautiful and so full of temples and incredible scenery, that you don't have to go far or do much to enjoy yourself. At sunset I climbed up to the monkey temple. What a view! The next day we wandered through some ruins of a now dead city that was built in 1534. It felt like something out of Indiana Jones, with secret tunnels and caves included!

Tomorrow we will make a move north. We'll leave Hampi at 8:00am tomorrow and arrive at our destination the following day at 3:00pm (assuming there are no delays). We'll take a boat, rickshaw, bus, train and then probably another rickshaw or bus to get there. Once we arrive, we'll check into a yoga ashram for 10 days - no drinking, smoking or meat allowed. We will rise at 5:30am every day and spend the days meditating and doing yoga. There is no talking during meal times and we're required to attend all yoga and lecture sessions. It should be interesting!

Happy New Year

2009-06-18T19:37:00.001-07:00

25 December 2008 - 6 January 2009

Happy New Year! I know I can speak for many of you when I say that it is good to see the other side of 2008. It was a tough year, but 2009 is upon us and with it, all the fresh opportunity offered up by a new year. As for new years' resolutions? Well, this year I'm working on 'inner peace'. Some of you may wonder about the likelihood or perhaps sanity of attempting to cultivate inner peace in the noisiest country in the world. I reckon if I don't work on it, I just might go mad :) If I can cultivate it here, I'll be set anywhere else in the world I go. An Indian, Deepak, I was speaking to said 'in the West you work on alleviating noise on the outside. In India, we work on alleviating noise on the inside' (perhaps that's because the reality of ridding India of outside noise is an impossibility, still, it's a nice sentiment).

Such an interesting place India, full of contrasts. For example, the rich and the poor. A labourer can be expected to work a 12 hour day shovelling rocks and gravel in the boiling heat for 60 rupees a day (about $1.25 USD). That would hardly be enough for him to feed himself, let alone for him to feed a family, pay rent, buy firewood or gas or any of the other basic necessities. The man who is paying him, of course he makes plenty, but still only pays the labourer pittance.

More contrasts: you have the smells of jasmine, cardamom and sandalwood competing with vomit, urine and faeces (and frequently losing the battle); the beautiful surrounds (ocean front, tea fields, etc) covered with rubbish. The list could go on.

We were in Munnar for about a week. After the cities of Ernakulum and Bangalore, both Rohan and I were seeking somewhere a bit more peaceful. As we rode the bus into Munnar, with it's rolling green hills and mountains, tea fields and rivers, we thought we'd found heaven. Christmas and New Years are busy times in India for tourism (westerners and Indians alike) and we were lucky to get a quaint little cottage in the hills. Unfortunately we could only stay one night - this might help explain why. We moved to Old Munnar, where I was struck down with the cold Rohan had been battling with since we arrived in India. It was the worst cold or sickness I have had since I was a kid, complete with fever, oozy ear infection, sore throat and coughing. Fortunately it's nearly better, though I still can't hear properly.

Despite the cold, the week in Munnar was good. The surrounds were beautiful and with the tea fields all around, there were stacks of places to go wandering around. One day we were out walking through the hills and we saw a temple up a hill. Temples are EVERYWHERE, but they are all different, so we walked to it. It bordered a few small houses, so we headed towards them. Down the path there were two women who were watching a small snake. They beat the snake to death (none of Gandhi's non-violence there) and then wanted us to photograph the. They then invited us into their home for tea . The owner of the house wanted to show off her television, so she turned it on and found the only English speaking show: WWF Smackdown! A bit of a surreal moment, sitting in a small house (comparable to a small studio apartment) in the tea fields of southern India with three old ladies watching Smackdown!

After Munnar we moved south to Kumily. We expected Kumily to be a small, quiet village bordering Periyar National Park. Unbeknownst to us, a massive number of bare-footed, sarong wearing, shirtless pilgrims had recently alighted on Kumily.

Kumily was very nice, but we got out the map of India and looked how far north we are hoping to head (Jaisalmur) and decided we should move on (if you're interested, look on google maps and see how far it is from Kumily to Jaisalmur), so we took yet another hair-raising, horn-honking bus trip with a suicidal bus driver - this time to Allepy. The main attraction in Allepy is the backwaters and the house boats . The house boat was beautiful and very relaxing.

After Allepy we took a train to Cochin, which is a bit of 'not India'; it's clean, it's quiet and it's not crowded. A few days here and I'm ready to get back out into India! Unfortunately, that is proving difficult as the trains are fully booked and the website to book the next available train hasn't been working the last couple of days. Oh well, we'll get moving soon.

The Journey Continues

2009-06-18T19:34:00.001-07:00

7 January 2009 - 24 January 2009
In our haste to get moving from Cochin we booked and paid for a bus to Mangalore on the advice from a fellow traveler that it was a six hour bus ride. Perhaps we should've known that if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is. Upon arriving at the bus station we were informed that it was a 12 hour bus ride, arriving at 6:30 in the morning. Thankfully the 12 hours wasn't too bad, despite the road that wasn't always paved (though it is the main highway running up the west coast) and when it was paved, it still had pot holes big enough to lose a cow in. We arrived in Mangalore after a nearly sleepless night and caught the bus straight to Moodbidri, a place known for it's 1,000 pillared Jain temple. We found a room, conked out for a few hours and when we woke up, we decided to head out to find this famous temple.

Moodbidri is a sweet little village. Because of its lack of tourists, the people are kind and genuinely interested in foreigners, instead of pretending interest as a way to siphon off as many rupees as possible from the (perceived) unending well of the Western wallet. Every temple we went into (which was a considerable number) a kind soul would self-nominate to be our guide. At the 1,000 pillared Jain temple a tiny little old man with false teeth and glasses showed us the uniquely carved pillars and in basic English explained the numerous gods and goddesses depicted. At the Devi temple (the goddess to whom you may pray for anything) our self-selected guide was a pudgy man with one wandering eye. He explained Devi to us, as well as the rituals of accepting offerings from the temple (a plate of smashed rice mixed with coconut and sugar and a cup of boiled, sweetened buttermilk to be taken at the temple after the devotional work of praying, dancing and chanting and a take away package to be eaten the next day of bananas, half a coconut, puffed rice and red coloured powder to be placed on one's third eye after praying). Our Devi guide then insisted we come to his house, meet his beautiful daughter and eat some chick pea curry dinner, which we happily did.

I don't know if it was the seemingly auspicious chicken kebab (auspicious, or so I thought, because I'd been craving a kebab) or what, but our first night in Moodbidri I was wrenched from peaceful slumber by the contents of my guts staging a mass exodus. The exodus was to continue throughout the next day, but I wasn't to be deterred from heading to Kodyadka, a nearly town with a Lakshmi (Goddess of wealth) temple. The bus ride there helped raise my awareness of just how many people are in India. The 40 minutes ride was spent crushed between sari clad old women telling me to 'watch my person', a throng of Indian men and a Catholic nun. At the temple, in addition to another guide, this time a shirtless man with a grey afro and Coke-bottle glasses, we were also given a free feed (which didn't help my tummy), allowed to gaze at a massive statue of Hanuman (61 feet!!!) and watched a very talented elephant. Despite my being unwell, the elephant alone made the visit well worth it.

The next day, fortified with antibiotics and a lassi, we caught the bus to Udupi, one of the Tulu seven centres of salvation and home to a very famous Krishna temple. Upon arrival and after checking into our room, we headed out and wandered around the Krishna temple, then caught the bus to Malpe Beach. At the beach, Rohan was lucky enough to go for a swim. I suppose I could have joined him, but with a cast of thousands of curious, pervy and staring Indian men, I decided Malpe Beach wasn't ready for my string bikini. The few women at the beach were wading in the water up to their knees, but not a salwar kameez or sari was hiked up, just left to get wet rather than expose the oh-so-sexy ankles or calves. When Ro finishd his swim, we had a couple of beers (the luxury of this must be understood within the context that in Kerala, drinking is a sinful thing, only to be done quickly in bars with blacked out windows, on filthy tables and closed-in private booths, leaving one feeling like she's really rubbing elbows with the dirty underbelly of society). After a couple of beers, we walked down the beach and w atched the sunset, then met a Danish guy motorcycling around India for four weeks. We chatted with him, shared dinner and a bit of his Jagermeister. Before we knew it, it was 11:00 and Rohan and I gathered ourselves together to make the 9 kilometres back to Udupi and our hotel. What we'd lost sight of was that in the India we've seen thus far, everything shuts up and closes down after 10:00pm. Unfortunately this includes all forms of transport apart from privately owned and operated vehicles, of which there are few in a small beach town. While the romance of sleeping on the beach was appealing, the reality of mangey packs of dogs and the potential of getting mugged made the situation somewhat less that ideal. Fortunately as we were discussing our options, our saviours pulled up in the form of two guys riding motorcycles headed for Udupi. A moonlit, pleasantly warm, flower scented, palm tree lined motorcycle saw us safely delivered to the doorstep of our hotel.

No matter where we've gone in India (apart from where we are now and Cochin), we seem to have celebrity status. Be in a touristy place or not, we get stared at, giggled about and questioned incessantly. This has advantages in that we are well taken care of by people (even when we don't necessarily want to be) and treated kindly, but as with every wilver lining, there's a cloud: we answer the same 20 questions between 10-20 times a day, everything we do in public, be that washing our hands, drinking water, eating or even breathing, is closely scrutinised and anonymity is an impossibility. To combat this cloud, Rohan and I have come up wit a brilliant idea (currently under patent) that no foreigner in Asia should be without: the Foreigner's Collector Card. It's like a business card crossed with an auto-graphed photo. This way, those who stare have something to gaze at long after the foreigner has gone, those who have questions may get all the info they desire and those who wish to be photographed with the foreigner will be directed to a URL where they can photo-shop themselves into a photo. The biographical information will include such items as the foreigners good name, marital status, likes and dislikes. It can be altered to suit the Asian country you are traveling to, but along with passport, money, antibiotics and camera, you should leave home without them.

After Udupi we headed to Kollur, a small pilgrim village with a temple devoted to Ganesh (the patron god of scholars, writers and thieves, the one with the elephant head). We checked into our 60 rupee room and readied ourselves to go trekking the next morning. At 7:30 the alarm went off and hopped on a bus to take us to the beginning of the trek up Kondachadri mountain. The trek was beautiful, quiet and quite strenuous. 5 hours later we got to the end of the trek, to the guest house we were assured there was no need to pre-book for because they have plenty of rooms, only to find they were full. We could pay 250 rupees for a small room with a concrete floor for a bed, we could hike back down the way we'd just come up or we could hope some nice Indian family would make room for us in their already over-crowded Jeep. The latter option seemed preferable, but hindsight reveals the reality of that choice: cramming Rohan, myself and our packs in with 8 adults and 3 children. In this way, we headed down what could loosely be described as a road, made up in equal parts of boulders and pot holes, with one side bordered by mountain and the other by a sheer drop of never fewer than 100 metres. Add in hairpin turns, pilgrim jeeps approaching from the opposite direction and a maniac driver hellbent on scaring the life out of the foreigners and one may understand by both Ro and I were wishing we'd just walked down ourselves. All the meanwhile, the Indian family, seven adults and three children (the driver was the only one remaining awake) fell into a deep and restful slumber.

Decided we were ready for some beach relaxation, we took three buses, two auto-rickshaws and a 20 minute walk to reach Paradise Beach, Go Karna. It's a small beach within a cove, surrounded by rock cliffs. There are a handful of hippy tourists, beach huts to accommodate them and restaurants to feed them. As nice as it is, the huts all had shared walls (and by walls I mean woven together palm leaves) with rooms on either side, so instead of having a charming little beach hut all to yourself, you're sharing a room separated by a leaf curtain with eight or so people, all sneezing, burping and snoring away. The price was right, 80 rupees, by to really relax we felt a little more privacy was in order.

We made the move to Kudle Beach, to a place that while it costs a fair bit more, offers luxuries we haven't gotten to enjoy since Australia: four solid walls, towels, a shower and a toilet of our very own, a fan, lights and an extra luxury - a view fo the ocean from our pillow. To walk to the ocean is merely a few dozen steps and even at night with the doors and windows shut, we can hear the gentle rolling of the waves. It's the most relaxing place we've been in since Thailand and an amazing haven in such a busy country. India has everything.

Mother India

2009-06-18T19:27:00.001-07:00

21 December 2008 - 24 December 2008

We left quiet, peaceful Koh Lanta, Thailand (though it wasn't so quite our last night) and made it to India! We flew into Bangalore and landed quite late at night after a very long day of travelling and hanging out in Singapore. Singapore was a nice break from 'Asia' - toilets that actually smell good or at worst neutral and provided hand soap and paper towels, clean streets, orderly traffic, good food and safe drinking water - a pleasant reprieve before touching down in India.

Once we'd landed in Bangalore, we took a hair raising taxi drive (it's not real, it's not real became a little mantra I was repeating in my head) and reached our hotel at 12:30am. We were both starving and in need of some alcoholic refreshment, so we naively stepped out of hotel expecting to find a bar that served beer and some sort of delicious Indian fare. Instead what we found were dark and nearly deserted streets with only a few dodgy characters wandering around. Before leaving the hotel we were told there was a restaurant open until 1:00 am. We bumbled our way to this restaurant through sinister looking streets until we came to the restaurant which came with about five to ten unsavoury characters hanging out the front. We asked if they served beer and they quite aggressively attempted to put us in a taxi with an axe-murderer looking fellow who would take us to a shop that they told us wasn't open, but we could still get beer there. We declined the kindly offer, took our shattered, nerve-wracked selves back down the sinister streets to our hotel with only bottled water to show for our efforts (at least we had that!). Somehow we'd expected a bit more of a Bollywood welcome to India, as opposed to the horror/thriller movie one we got. I can't speak for Rohan, but I was beginning to have some doubts about three months in India.

But never fear dear readers, because our Bollywood welcome was just waiting until morning for us (Bollywood minus the singing, but keeping the bad moustaches and beautiful saris!). After conking out for the night we awoke to a whole new world, filled with people (lots and lots of them), honking cars, auto-rickshaws, buses and trucks, colour and hustle and bustle. We had breakfast (rice and curry and tea - oh! the tea here is just beautiful!) for about $.80 USD, found ourselves an auto-rickshaw driver and went out to explore. We asked the driver to take us to the markets and he assured us he would, but first we needed to stop by his 'brother's shop'. Five 'government shops' (selling extremely expensive rugs, trinkets, jewellery, saris and shawls. For taking us to these shops he collects coupons which somehow benefit him) and three hours later we finally managed to shake the driver and get to the markets. And what markets they were! About a million people, auto-rickshaws and stalls selling everyone imaginable, all bustling about in so little space. We found all the things we needed (charger for the camera, clippers for our heads and tailor made salwar kameezs for $18 USD each).

India is exhausting and overwhelming! The constant traffic, hoards of people, beeping horns, stares from everyone and every third person (in Bangalore) trying to sell you something you don't want at prices you wouldn't pay in the West tends to wear one out.

The next day we set out with the address of the tailor who was making the salwar kameezs for me and we attempted to make our way back there. We found an auto-rickshaw driver who wanted to charge us three times what we'd paid to get home from the markets the day before. That should've been a sign that we weren't necessarily headed where we thought we were. He dropped us off somewhere that didn't look like where we wanted to be, but that said it didn't necessarily look unlike it either. From there we spent three hours wandering around completely lost. We asked person after person where the address we had written down was located - one person would point left and say '4 kilometres that way', so we'd follow that. After walking 4 or so kilometres, we'd stop and ask someone else where the address on the piece of paper was and they'd point back the way we'd come and say '6 kilometres that way'. Arrrgghhh! Eventually we ended up here, which was certainly not where we wanted to be. Finally we asked someone and this is the only someone we'd asked all day who actually knew where the address was. It turned out that all day we'd be NO WHERE near it! We jumped in another auto-rickshaw, who once we were moving asked us if we wanted to go to some shops (same scam we'd wasted three hours on yesterday), we vehemently said 'NO' and I demanded he pull over the rickshaw. I had thoroughly lost my patience by this point. He wouldn't pull over, but clearly got the message that going to the shops was out of the question and from there on he was quite nice, pointing out the sights along the way and getting us there safely. All of this for a few tailored shirts and pants!

That night we were out looking for some dinner. A beggar girl approached me and asked for money. I said I would buy her food and she happily agreed (usually they won't take food, only money). It wasn't immediately apparent where we could get her some food, so we asked her where we could find some. She took us to KFC! Rohan and I laughed, but I took her inside and bought her 300 rupees worth of KFC (please note, dear reader, that our dinner cost 40 rupees); not to mention the moral implications of taking a beggar child to a multi-national corporation for a dinner of dubious nutritional content. The security guard approached me while we were in KFC to share that our dear little beggar girl was a regular at KFC! So, once again, we'd been hood-winked; I have a feeling this will be an ongoing theme in India.

On Christmas Eve we got a train to Kerala. The train experience was quite mild, particularly when compared to my expectations. It was actually quite nice, though 12 hours long, but fortunately we'd booked sleeper class, so we spent most of it sleeping.

And Kerala is so beautiful! And the people here are so nice and everyone of them isn't out to fleece us! In fact, some of them just want to say 'hello' and find out where we are from. This is in opposition to Bangalore where we had one, and I'm not exaggerating, conversation that wasn't someone trying to sell us something or take our money. I have a feeling we're going to like it much more here.

Klong Jack Relaxation

2009-06-18T19:14:00.001-07:00

4 December 2008 - 20 December 2008

We are still staying on Ko Lanta at Sun Moon Bungalows. At this point we kinda feel like one of the family here; it's going to be very difficult to leave this place! I now understand the people who come to Thailand and never return home!

Sun Moon Bungalows are a two minute walk from Klong Jack beach, a quiet stretch of sand that never seems to have more than six people on it at a time. There are a few restaurants, some basic beach huts and a bar or two and that's about it. Heaven!

Life here is pretty quiet (apart from all the sounds which I'll come to); the 'village' consists of two shops selling very basic dry good, a travel agent (every village needs one!), an elephant trekking outfit and a mosque.

Now, to come to the sounds of Klong Jack: Elephants trumpeting, the mosque's call to prayer at a minimum of before sun rise (Rohan's favourite) and after sunset (some days it calls more often, but I have as yet been able to discern a pattern), the cicadas shrills and Gibbons (monkeys) calls just before sunset and the first bird to sing before sunrise - ahh, peace.

Before Matt headed off to have his own Thailand adventures, we had a joke going about monkeys attacking us. Well, low and behold we got chased by macaques (monkeys) yesterday on our motor scooter! To be fair, we'd pulled over to get a closer look at them and we broke the number one rule : NEVER make eye contact! One hissed at us and the other chased us, but we sped away on our mechanised bicycle to safety.

Other exciting happenings on Klong Jack - elephant riding in the jungle, playing Jenga (language warning accompanies this vid), Muay Thai (Thai kick-boxing that Rohan, Jim (a Thai guy), his girlfriend and I went along to. It was mostly young kids from the ages of 8 -15 Thai boxing. Certainly not my cup of tea, watching kids beat each other up, but a 'Thailand experience' nonetheless. I find it interesting out of a country so filled with happy-go-lucky, peace loving Buddhists emerged Muay Thai. . .) and volunteering at the animal shelter on Lanta Island. This island is mostly Muslim and generally Muslims dislike and are afraid of dogs, so one can imagine the fate that would befall them without this shelter. It's run by an American woman and there are about 20-25 dogs living there. They have come to her in a variety of ways and are in various states of disrepair (bum legs, missing tails, bad stomachs, etc.) but at the shelter they are fed, exercised, bathed and generally looked after. While Rohan and I were there we walked a few dogs and bathed a few others. If anyone would like more information about the shelter or would like to donate time, money, food, leashes, whatever, here's the url: http://www.lantaanimalwelfare.com/.

Thailand Adventures Thus Far

2009-06-18T18:20:00.001-07:00

26 November 2008 - 3 December 2008

Rohan and I arrived in Thailand 26 November and stepped out of the plane into a fairly calm atmosphere; clearing customs included walking past a customs officer asleep in his chair. To be fair, it was nine o'clock at night :) The crazy taxi ride I was warned about included climbing into a brand new Toyota Hatchback driven by a very shy, mild mannered Thai guy who drove quite reasonably.

Our taxi dropped us off at our hotel in Karon Beach, Phuket. We quickly dropped our bags, hosed off the plane grease (ewww) and headed out to see what the town had to offer. We wandered around and ate whatever food the street vendors were offering. We had some chicken and other bits and pieces. Mmmm, Thai food.

Our friend Matt joined us the next day and we moved to Phuket Town. Phuket Town was a far cry from the touristy resort atmosphere of Karon Beach. There it was far more 'Thai' with a smattering of backpackers. Here's a link to a video of the room we stayed in there. Quality! While in Phuket Town we rented mopeds for 150 baht a day ($5.50 USD) and went to the Big Buddha of Phuket. Wow! It was massive and covered in marble. For 300 baht you could buy a piece of marble, write your name on it and then it would be added to big Buddha and bring you good luck. As we are on a strict budget, we chose not to get closer to Buddha in that particular way, but it was quite a sight to behold. I was wearing a tank top so upon entering the temple I was offered a pashmina to cover up with. As the pashmina was orange and I am sporting the new 'do', I was getting some curious looks - is she or isn't she a monk?

From Phuket Town we headed to the pier to catch a ferry to Phi Phi Island. This was not an original idea and we were on the ferry with a whole bunch of tourists, German, French, American, Aussies, the list goes on. For those of you who have seen the movie 'The Beach', much of it was filmed at or around Phi Phi. It is postcard picturesque, with white sand, aqua water, hills and mountains jumping directly out of the ocean. We managed to find a fairly cheap, very basic beach hut that was a mere one minute walk to the beach.. As nice as Phi Phi was, it was still full of tourists, which has it pluses and minuses. Upsides: night life and access to basic amenities. Downsides: stacks of people everywhere and because we weren't off the beaten track, the people are 'tourists' (clean, made-up people who 'do' a place ('I've done Thailand') and think culture is something you can photograph or purchase) as opposed to 'travelers'. Phi Phi was beautiful and there are some highlights from our couple of days spent there: hiking around the island with a couple of new people we met, drinking buckets (the kind you build a sand castle with full of cheap rum and the mixer of your choice) and watching fire spinners, jumping through a burning heart of fire and lying on the beach watching the sun set over the cliffs.

The decision was reached that Matt, Rohan and I would move on from Phi Phi to Ko Lanta in search of cheaper living and quieter beaches where Thai people actually live (rather than just being there to service the tourists). So, we landed on Ko Lanta, bartered for a 300 baht taxi ride that would take us to the south of the island where rumour had it, it was quieter. The taxi ride was going well until we passed a moped that the taxi driver beeped at. We then pulled over and dude on the moped hopped into the front seat of the pick-up truck (or ute for the Aussies in the audience). None of us reckoned that this meant anything good and we all had versions of how this might play out running through our heads. We got to a small village, not the one we were hoping to go to, taxi driver pulled over at a very pricey resort and told us that we could either a) stay at this resort or b) pay him an additional 200 baht to take us to where he'd originally agreed to take us for 300 baht. Rather than argue, we hopped out of the taxi, parted with our 300 baht, put on our backpacks and headed off to make our own way to Klong Jack. As it turned out, luck was with us and we met a travel agent who told us about cheap bungalows at Klong Jack and got us a taxi there.

We arrived at Lanta Sun Moon Bungalows, which is where we are currently staying. I will write more soon about Sun Moon and Ko Lanta, but internet is expensive here and so I need to stop the story there for the time being.

Okay, now I've done it. . .

2009-06-16T00:49:00.001-07:00

Well, I knew this day would come and I can't say I fought it, it's more that I steadily avoided it. Until now. I suppose it would've been better to do this whilst on the road and traveling, but I didn't have reliable internet access, nor could I afford to spend the time in the internet cafe that a 'blog' would've required. Anyway, here it is.