Seagulls and relationship success - Relationship choices 2

In my last post I talked about our evolution of mind over biological urges and relationship choices. The choice to stay together.
Seagulls have a biological urge to be in a monogamous long term relationship. I'm not sure how much of their tiny brain decides which partner they pick, but I'm sure it makes sense to them at the time.

However, like humans, not all relationships last. Sometimes you bicker too much or cant agree where to make your nest, or he never finds his share of the chips. So what do you do when society, your biology and your mind are telling you to try to make it work, when it just isn't?

Seagulls have a 25% divorce rate.

Numerous psychologists use this research to help people accept that divorce is OK. That you tried but it just wouldn't work, and that's OK.

I'm of the belief that relationship success is not dependant on how it ends, or lack of an ending.

Is a marriage where both parties are unhappy, but stay together successful? I think not.

A relationship that is/was happy, filled with treasured memories and learnings is a successful one. If it ends because it had stopped fitting that criteria, despite all attempts, then kudos to you for being honest. If you managed to get through the breakup without throwing objects at each other or hiring a lawyer and you still remain friends, even greater kudos to both of you!

Divorce is common and becoming more so. It is accepted in society, even though those undergoing a divorce can often struggle to accept it. I hope I never have to find out what a divorce is like. If seagulls can accept that they need to get a divorce, do so and happily move on to find a successful relationship, then maybe there is hope for all of us, and our souls...

Relationship choices 1

After living in a small space with Adam for almost three months, I was starting to wonder if Schopenhauer was correct with his will-to-live theory.

Are we attracted to someone that genetically makes the best children, for the sake of the human race, despite whether it is possible to raise children or even cohabit with that person? Adam and I are very similar in regards to personality. We have the same sense of humour, the same bluntness, the same predisposition to being offended at offhand comments and unfortunately the same ability to often make offhand comments. (E.g. When I first read this part to Adam he took offence.) However, when you look objectively at us as humans, we are well suited to make children. We are both reasonably smart, athletic but also complement each other. He has a normal shaped nose to my crooked one, I have small ears to his big, I have good flexibility where he does not, he has good balance and coordination where I do not. The romantic dominates life because “what is decided is nothing less than the composition of the next generation, the existence and special constitution of the human race in times to come.” (De Botton quoting Schopenhauer ) I.e. People are attracted to other people that will make "normal" children.

There are a few things missing from this theory. If I am to assume that I am biologically attracted to Adam in order to ensure the sound composition of the next generation, then wouldn’t it make sense that if we haven’t had children yet, we are unable to and thus, our biological senses should be telling us to find another mate? What about those that do not wish to have children? What about homosexuals that physically cannot? We have evolved to give higher meaning to our relationships than biological urges and decided who to love, how to love and whether we want to have children.
Somewhere along the evolutionary line we developed conscious choice.

To me this is beauty of marriage. The choice that two people make individually to be committed to each other and to make it work, especially when living in cramped spaces or with high stress. It is the choice to say together, not because of biology or society, but because we want too.

Guatemalan Shanty towns

We were cramped but we were all onboard and we were off.
Guatemalan van transport leaves much to be desired. Such as circulation in my legs... 9 adults, 9 backpacks, 10 day bags, 1 child and 2 surfboards all crammed into one minivan. Thankfully we only had 2 hours from Guatemala city to Antigua.

I watched the city roll past. Mercedes dealers and high rise apartments melted into fast food chains and mega malls, which then turned to slums and shanty towns.

I've always been fascinated by these communities. Walls of tin, branches, signs, car doors, bonnets, plastic tarps (anything they can get their hands on) are all held together with wire and rope, propped up against the next and so on to create a community. Smoke and steam wafting out from fires between the alleys.
I pictured the mothers that would have been cooking rice and beans on these small fires. Using the ingredients sparingly to feed their extended family. Perhaps when good fortune smiled on the family they would add a small amount of chicken or egg...

The town was perched delicately on the edge of a ravine. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live like that in this arid climate. Temperatures reach over 30 degrees consistently throughout the year. During the wet season monsoon rains drench the city daily, which would run torrents down through the ravine. And at night it would get surprisingly cold. Living in a tin shack would be almost unbearable... if you knew anything else to compare it too.

I remember as a child, our home was without air conditioning. During a hot Australian summer, when temps would reach 40 degrees, we would go swim at the beach or the pool. My friends would exclaim, "how do you live without air conditioning! I couldn't do it."
I still haven't ever had an air conditioner. It is not something that I view as essential. Perhaps because I don't know what I'm missing, or maybe I'm just a stubborn environmentalist.

The comparison between living in a tin shack in the tropics and the home that I grew up in is stark. It makes me want to share my childhood with these kids, to swap my life for theirs to give them a brief experience of my good fortune.... But would showing them what they're missing out on, changing their perspective, make it harder for them to enjoy their life? If I lived in a mansion for a week would it make me less appreciative of my current lifestyle? It did with Homer when he house sat for Mr Burns....

The shanty towns melted away as we wearily wound up the soft hills of the countryside and over to Antigua.

Things travelling has taught me

This is a list of "Things travelling has taught me" that I wrote on my way home from Paris last year:

• I look like an Aussie
• I can tell which way is NSEW at any time
• My pronunciation is woeful, I’m blaming the Aussie accent for this
• Naturally, I’m not a big eater, no cravings when entertained
• I can really appreciate things like beautiful architecture that I have never had an interest in
• Siestas are awesome and essential
• I can deal with anything that happens
• Freedom isn’t too hard to find, just stop looking and go
• Jet lag really sucks
• Your loved ones is what matters most
• Your family will always be there – so don’t worry about missing them
• Most of what you worry about doesn’t make any sense, won’t happen or will be easier than you think - a coward dies a thousand deaths
• The world is both bigger and smaller than you think
• The earth is an amazing place
• You can always find ‘culture twins’ – people who look like friends back home, but are Italian or Spanish
• European sun isn’t fierce – go the ozone layer!
• Clothes you feel good in are best for every occasion
• Put everything back in its place (5S) especially with important documents (it saved you freaking out about it!)
• You can make friends everywhere you go
• Drinking in excess, smoking, eating bad food, no sleep and changing time zones will lead to poor health.
• Airports suck –it doesn’t matter how nice the architecture is, or if the walls are made of gold, I just want a padded seat I can lie down on! (Middle east take note!!)
• The actions of past generations should be remembered and learnt from - both good and bad.
• You will only regret what you didn’t do, and wish you had of.
• It’s really easy to forget which country you’re in and what language you’re supposed to be speaking.
• Poverty is more real than you think
• Be grateful of everything you have
• The Italians are right, doing nothing can be an artform

“Travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living.” – Miriam Beard

A lunch in Paris

I wandered into the back streets of Paris to find a true French restaurant. Not a touristy version. By the time I found one (that wasn't full of Americans) I was starving.
‘Bonjour, parley voou Inglash?’ My French had marginally improved since I had arrived, but my Australian accent made it sound woeful even to my ears. The matron smiled and replied ‘Oui, would you like to see a menu?’ I smiled, finally a friendly Parisian. ‘Oui!’ I said a little too excited. Unfortunately the menu was in French. I could read enough to guess what I was ordering, but not everything. The hostess saw my struggling and was happy to translate. I ordered a cappuccino, roast duck and a salad. Like I said, I was starving! I took a seat at the front of the restaurant. Most cafes and restaurants in Paris have rows of wicker seats facing the street where people can sit, eat, gossip and watch the world go by. I sat and watched the rain fall down from the candy stripped awning and on to the street. I couldn’t help think that it was all so romantic.
I removed my map from my bag and started thinking about my return to my hostel. I had three hours until my airport pick up was due. I had seen a large amount of Paris in the last 2 days and I wasn't sure what I wanted to see next.

A man behind me asked if I needed help with directions and introduced himself as Pierre. Strange how he didn't even try to speak French to me...

He was in his late thirties with olive skin and think black hair. Although he was a Parisian, he had worked in New York and had a delightful French American accent when he spoke English. He told me about living in Paris and we discussed the celebrations happening around the city for Bastille's day.
My lunch arrived and the conversation halted while I ate. Perhaps a little rude, but French food deserves your full attention. Delicious is an understatement.
The duck fell off the bone and was extremely succulent, yet not at all greasy. The roast potato had a crisp outer with an inner consistency of creamy mashed potato and hint of rosemary. The salad was fresh with an amazingly tangy cream dressing. Even the cappuccino was incredible. I ate until I couldn’t put another bite in my mouth for fear that it would all come out. My eyes begged me to stuff more of it in and I was contemplating staying at the café until I was hungry again.
Pierre interrupted my thoughts of gluttony with a suggestion that we visit an art gallery not far from the restaurant. An elderly Parisian lady sitting in the row in front of me commented that it was a beautiful art gallery and, in a way that only the French can, told me I absolutely had to go! Pierre offered to take me there. Although I would have loved to go, I declined as I had something else I wanted to do in Paris, that definitely couldn’t involve Pierre. Buy French underwear! And besides, after Spain, London and Italy, I was kind of at the end of my art gallery limit.
My stomach bulging and my appetite sated I said my Adieus and waddled off along the cobblestone streets of Paris.

FAQ and free chicken

$570 to go before I'm off to Nepal!!

Sounds fun, Why are you going there?

To help inspirational young women achieve their dreams of becoming educated! (And to see the sights!)

How? Are you a teacher now?

Nope, by building somewhere for them to live near their school, so they don't have to sleep on the floor of a saloon. But I will be sharing any/all of my skills including knitting, how to win at hungry hungry hippos and maybe some electrical stuff.

Why these girls?

These girls work hard every morning and afternoon in order to afford an education, they cook, clean, grow, sell and live apart from their families all to feed their dreams. Dreams of being doctors, teachers, social workers - of BEING EDUCATED and escaping poverty!

Where are you going again?

Nepal! To the Everest region (you may have heard of it, there's a really big hill just North of there.)

When's all this going down?

November - for a month on my way back to Aus.

So what do I do now?

Donate here: http://www.crowdrise.com/Cos2help/fundraiser/CorinneWallis

Then smile with joy of making the world a better place!

Then print your receipt for the tax man!!

What do I get out of it?

Apart from happiness, satisfaction at helping others and good Karma, you also get a tax deduction and updates of my adventures while I'm volunteering. This exciting string of emails will include photos, real life stories and possibly a description of the rare wild Nepalese chicken. (Attached is a sneak peek.. )

Anything else I should know?

Spots are still open so feel free to come along too! Also included is a free weight loss program called the "2 vegetarian meals and lots of heavy labour everyday" diet. Similar in some ways to the Atkins diet......

No thanks, but can you bring me back a souvenir?

I'll send you a postcard if you're nice!

I want to find out more, but I don't want to read heaps of text... When's the movie coming out?

It's already out! Check out the website for some videos of the project and the people we're helping: http://edgeofseven.org/StoriesVideos.html

Thanks guys!

I wish I had Idle hands...

Idle hands might be the work of the devil but I reckon he might be a better boss to work for than me.

I have worked full time while studying since I was 17, with the exception of the last year. (Which has been filled with travel, sports, adventure and writing two books.) I am currently working full time again to save up money for my next adventure. So I thought now might be a good time to do some more study, (I'm currently doing a masters degree.) Somehow I convinced myself two subjects would be an acceptable work load.

Pfft.

Over the next 4 weeks I have 4 assignments due and a 3 hour exam. I am also working full time, travel a hour each way to work, spend my weekends with my Fiance (who lives in another city) and in my spare time I plan the next stage of my travelling adventures, plan an engagement party and get fit for a volunteering program I signed up for, which requires a high level of fitness..

I was once told by a supervisor, who found me in the gym reading journal articles while listening to how to learn Spanish tapes, that I would have a breakdown by the time I'm 30.

Only 5 years to go until I get to rest!

Zombies are people too

I am a zombie film connoisseur. I have seen many, both on the big screen and TV, of all different types, nationalities, and even been to a zombie film festival. I believe it is a genre all to itself. One that lies somewhere between supernatural and apocalyptic in the horror section. But there is something special about these films.

I believe they reveal something quite unique about the human psyche.

Zombie films are popular because they walk the line that allows for guilt free killing of humans. Zombies are classified as no longer human, void of rights and status. They can and will tear you apart given the chance, so you must attack or be attacked. There is little remorse shown for killing them, even when they were human only moments before. This is quite different from war films for example, where even though the enemy is trying to kill you, they are still humans with family and feelings.

Firstly, there are several types of zombie films: Ultra gore, apocalyptic, comedy and bad. Each of these brings a new depth to the genre.

Ultra gore is often combined with apocalyptic. ‘The hoard’ and ‘the zombie diaries’ both reveal that even in the face of great adversity and a common enemy, people will still attack, kill and plot revenge against each other, even if it means certain death from a hoard of super strong zombies. If the protagonist in the hoard still tries to kill everyone (she isn't a zombie, just hell bent on revenge), then are zombies really so different?

Conversely there are some apocalyptic zombie films, such as the German ‘the siege of the dead’ and the big budget ’28 weeks later’ that demonstrate the heroic self sacrifice for youth and love. Even if it means certain death from an infected raging hoard of zombies or being burnt to death.

Bad zombie films need no explanation. Most of these films fail because they simply don’t allow the audience to connect with the main character, thus no one cares if they get eaten from a hoard of zombies. However, there is the odd exception where the plot is so complex and convoluted, combined with dodgy special effects, that the audience literally have no idea what’s going on, who’s eating who. ‘The city of the living dead ‘ (an old Italian film) is a great example of this. But rest assured, everyone gets eaten by a hovering convoy of zombies.

Zombie comedy is a difficult genre. Most of these films are on the verge of bad. But Fido is a shining light. (And my favourite zombie movie.) Set in a Stepford wives 1950’s town, zombies are tamed with an electronic collar and used as cheap labour, slaves and entertainment. Billy Connelly plays the main character, (how random is that?) a zombie butler befriended by a lonely boy. Fido causes the audience to re-evaluate human rights and equality.

Which brings me to Zombie human rights. These are surely debatable in the courts. Zombies are not in a vegetative state and have previously taken a breath; hence it should legally be murder to kill them. But they are already dead you say? The moment of death hasn’t actually been certified by a doctor, and they are running around, 'the walking dead' even proves marginal brain activity. So I think they would still be classified as living in the courts.

Indeed there are some films which verge on classifying zombies as humans. Zombies share the protagonist role in both ‘Fido' and ‘land of the dead’ where they are merely disabled by death. We feel sorry for them that they are not let into our society due to their disability. We are also taught to respect them as the people they once were in the TV series ‘the walking dead’ and not to find enjoyment in hacking up their bodies with an axe.

Ultimately the question still remains, should a person be treated differently simply because they are slightly disabled by death? Should capital punishment for Zombies be legal?

Assimilating in England

I love Australia, it is the best country in the world by far. Australians are sun loving fringe dwellers and so am I.

That being said, I am currently living in England... The life here is very different, yet very similar.

In Australia my life revolved around being outdoors, doing physical sports and activities. Racing yachts, surfing, motorbikes, going to the beach, scuba diving was just an average weekend. The ocean was central in my life and I would visit it everyday.

Here, the weather doesn't allow for much outdoors time, and most of the towns are either inland or the "beaches" are not anywhere on the Australian scale.. So what to do with my days? Study? Read? Go insane from being indoors? Get hypothermia? (Btw, it's still "summer" here.)

As you can see, I'm not assimilating very well... So I thought I'd write a list of all the good things about England... Here goes...

1. Lots of free museums/ art galleries
2. The countryside is really quite pretty
3. The wildlife is very cute and fluffly... No teeth or venom
4. Jaffa cakes are the bomb
5. Yorkshire pudding should have come across on the first fleet (I'm sure there were many from Yorkshire in chains on that fleet..)
6. Everyone is very polite
7. The public transport is on time, every time
8. No religion in politics
9. No guns
10. Groceries are cheap
11. Policemen wear funny hats and are quite helpful
12. Stacks of wildflowers
13. No urban sprawl, it's either city or country
14. Great weather for growing plants
15. Free paper on the train...
16. You really cant get sunburnt
17. You can visit the Queen...
18. It's close to Europe.. (I'm struggling)
19. Someone will always tell you when you're queueing incorrectly
20. You will always get a receipt

I'm sure as the weather gets worse I'll write the opposite of this list.. But at least for now I'm trying.... Kinda

GFC - Good for Cos

I'd like to start with a rebuttal. I'm not condoning the actions of greedy bankers or justifying the financial incompetence of those who borrow against over inflated equity... BUT...

The GFC has been really good for Cos.

In 2010 I quit my job, sold all of my belongings and started travelling around the world. It was great timing just because of the GFC.

The Australian dollar is higher than ever and less people are holidaying or travelling overseas, which means my savings buys me more, things are cheaper in tourist spots and also less crowded. Cheaper hotels, more flight specials, greater availabilities on tours... I've gotten much more from my savings than expected.

The other major pro is job security. Everyone seems scared for their job security, so there are less people job hunting for casual or contract jobs. Less full time employees are willing to change companies or do contract work. Which means contract work is easier to come by, pays more than full time work and pays higher than usual!

So I earn more when I work and my savings are worth more!

In summary, a global financial crisis is the BEST time to quit your job! What are you waiting for?

Rabbits

There are many things in life that divide opinions. Israel, gay marriage, capital punishment. However there is one that surprises me. Rabbits.

The two main contributing factors to the opinion of rabbits seems to be age and nationality. The English seem to like rabbits, Richard Adams (Watership down) and Beatrix Potter (Peter Rabbit) both based careers on the daily lives of rabbits and convinced many of their kind nature and exciting adventures. They are certainly responsible for my fond thought of the little scamps.
However, if you're Australian, you're taught from an early age that they are a pest, responsible for raising salinity, destroying crops and all but causing the drought. This doesn't stop Potters influence but limits it to children only.

I myself have a complex relationship with Rabbits. I had a rabbit in kindergarten, which scratched my teacher and was ultimately violently killed by our family dog. Reading Watership down and The adventures of Peter Rabbit have both aided the Rabbits cause. However being the Australian girl I am, I have also tried to trap Rabbits and eaten rabbit stew.
Here in England they are without doubt interesting to watch, but they turn jogging into an extreme sport, of which I'm not the best. Nothing like a foot down a rabbit hole to end your jog.

So I am sitting on the (rabbit proof) fence, along side Donnie Darko - though I might add my relationship with rabbits is nowhere as complex...

Pro Rabbits:

• Richard Adams



• Beatrix Potter



• Most English



• My little sisters



• Donnie Darko

Anti Rabits:

• Farmers



• People jogging in grasslands



• Most Australians



• My kindergarten teacher



• Donnie Darko

Simple Joys

For Robert Fulgham it was crayons and climbing trees, for me it's brightly coloured nail polish and singing loudly in my car. Everyone has a simple joy that makes them smile. Something they probably don't openly disclose to their loved ones. Not because its bad, but because the fabric of society is built on the perception that adults don't relish in such things.
But seriously, who doesn't go out of their way to step on the crunchy leaf, or hum a few verses in an empty echoing hallway.
The reader opinion section of the metro paper is always full of "Am I too old to (insert strange habit here)." I think the strangest one was "eat custard and jelly." I was of the opinion that it was suitable for all ages and abilities, hence its prevalence with infants, the elderly and in hospitals. But that's the English for you.

I have often pondered the line between innocent indulgence and the beginnings of insanity. Is saying hello to staring cattle too far? Or using inappropriate slang for your ethnicity and age? If I want to eat fairy bread or buy children's stationary, because that simple joy makes me smile, is that acceptable? And more importantly who's to judge?

Let he who is without simple joys cast the first stone? Perhaps we should just buy him a box of crayons instead.

Weary arrival at San Juan Del Sur - Nicaragua

We arrived at San Juan Del Sur, on the south west coast of Nicaragua after a long two days of bus travel. Several hours involved a ‘chicken bus,’ an old US school bus which somehow made its way south and is now the local bus. As you may have guessed, the name comes from the way they pack people on to the bus – like chickens. Ironically San Juan Del Sur is only about 4 hours drive from Santa Teresa, stupid us for booking the ticket from San Jose to Managua ahead of time.

The town itself is an old fishing town built on a crescent beach sheltered by hills either side. Fishing boats and yachts are moored across the bay. A giant statute of Christ overlooks the bay from the North hill and in stark contrast a fish processing plant is on the south end of the beach. I couldn’t help but wonder if Christ was there overlooking the fish in their time of need. The fish processing plant was strangely enough donated by the Japanese, boycotting international trade sanctions perhaps?

The town itself has two distinctly polar sides interlaced on the dusty streets. The old simple life of its fishing heritage is apparent; the locals sit on the ground outside hole in the wall shops chatting all day long; dusty faced kids play in the gutters and alleys with balls and toys that look like heirlooms; the milk is delivered via a oxen pulled cart in giant pales; several people ride donkeys and mules instead of cars and the local bicycle repair shop is doing a roaring trade. But the new culture of salt loving holiday makers is overwhelmingly apparent. Vendors stalk the beaches and streets flogging everything from cigarettes to jewellery and ‘antique’ vases. Every fifth building is a hotel, hostel or a tour booking agency and the beach is dappled with American themed restaurants and bars.
That being said, it was a relief from the over touristy version of Jaco and there definitely wasn’t a KFC in sight. The conversion rate was also a lot kinder.

The water was surprisingly cold after the tropical waters of Costa Rica. It felt good to be back in the ocean. The two days travelling had taken it out of me and thoughts of the Australian summer, that I was currently missing, was penetrating my mind. But this wasn’t a British winter, this wasn’t a summer lost to working long days, this was freedom in a warm climate and a completely new experience. The shit side of travelling – the hectic transfers, the stress of deadlines, the sleep deprivation, the public washrooms, the sickness that follows, I could go on but I don’t feel that it’s in my best interest too – all of it reminds me of one of Nietzsche’s theories. The German philosopher believed that positive experiences were not possible without first experiencing negative ones and ‘gardening’ them successfully.

Fortunately I knew from my experience travelling how to deal with travel weariness and homesickness. I had a shower, washed my hair, put on clean clothes and made myself comfortable to read a book and listen to my iPod (cheery songs only.) I’m sure a psychologist would tell me this is simply distraction, but everything always seems better when you’re clean, comfy and entertained. Plus, moods always pass, just ride the bad ones out.

Surfing Santa Teresa, Costa Rica

The beach was beautiful. An absolutely perfect, long white sand strip. Clear blue warm 26 degree water on one side and shady palm trees on the other. The blazing sun beat down and the beach break rolled in consistently.

My surfing swings from unco to decent depending on my mindset. I had been reading Dennis Waitleys, "how to be a winner" and was subsequently primed with full optimism. I stood on the beach, my head full of positive thoughts and a nice 6’4 thruster under my arm. It was ON!

My rented board had “Surf Betty” printed along it, so it got the unfortunate name of “Sweaty Betty.” But despite that she surfed beautifully!
I easily paddled out the rip and almost immediately caught a monster wave, very late. I landed the huge drop with a big backhand carve back up the face of the wave, wooo hooo!

The adrenaline and purity of surfing is something unlike anything else. Riding along a wave comes close to the ‘in the moment’ feel of an orgasm. I rode along side the smooth face of the wave until I was almost at the rocks. I kicked off the top of the wave and scrambled back out to the line up.
Adam was paddling back out and saw the whole thing. “Awesome! That’s the best I’ve ever seen you surf!” He was impressed and I was completely stoked. From that wave alone, the smile would be stuck on my face for the next few days.
But the sun hadn’t set yet, and there were more waves to surf. Me and Sweaty Betty were on! Another wave rolled through, this time it was a right away from the rocks. I turned and the wave lifted me up to my feet, it was a big, smooth face, emptying up ... dam it was good fun!
Our days in Santa Teresa were all the same: Breakfast, surf, lunch, nap, cuddle, surf, dinner and sleep. It was pure Bliss.

Full Moon Party - Koh Phanang

The Koh Phanang Full Moon Party – The biggest beach party in the world. Not only did we go but we did everything there was to do. Body paint, fisherman pants, drinking spirits from a bucket, dancing in a bikini to rave music under the moon on the beach. 100% crossed off the bucket list.
The party itself is along a 1km stretch of beach with bars, clubs, souvenir stalls and drink stands, all pumping out their own music. Among the crowds you can find wholesome activities such as jump rope with the rope on fire, fire dancing, fire limbo and other such fire activities. Everyone is off their face. Almost everyone is a foreigner, apart from the locals who make full advantage of the tourist dollars.
My favourite memory is looking down from the roof of a two storey building at my amazing boyfriend, my superintendent. He was wearing fisherman pants, (having thrown his board shorts in the bushes earlier that night,) covered in body paint, hair sticking out at all angles, with a full beard and drinking vodka out of a pink bucket. He had embraced it 100%. I turned to sit down at the top of the slide, which would return me to the beach. Whoa, this was higher than I thought. I looked at the ring of flames that encircled the slide and wondered if my dress would catch on fire. It was loosely tied around my waist. Oh well, can’t back out now. I pushed myself forwards and shot down the smooth metal with frightening speed. I let out a scream as I went through the ring of fire and landed heavily on the mattress on the sand. Ooof. I was winded and as the alcohol course through my veins I had a vague appreciation that I wasn’t on fire. Someone was screaming to me to get off the mattress before the next person came through. I scrambled to my feet, struggling for breath and making that horrible wheezing noise that you can’t help but make when you’re winded. I wandered through the crowd, clutching my stomach, back towards where Adam was. “Hmmmuuurrrggghhh” was all I could say when I found him. I felt sick. Real sick.
Full moon party, you’re fucking wicked. I don’t remember much else from that night. I’m told that I spent it passed out next to the pass out area (a fenced off area to dump your friends so people don’t stand on their limp bodies,) occasionally throwing up into the sand. It wasn’t until the next day that I realised that I’d broken my rib, although the pain of the hangover was much, much worse.

Enjoying the journey

Each morning I take the train to work. It takes about an hour, including a 20min walk to the station. I don't mind the journey. The route is actually the historic "may flower" line, which joins the oldest recorded town in Britain to the construction site of the largest offshore wind farm (my office.)
Every morning and afternoon I see the green rolling hills of the English countryside. Rabbits, pheasants, cows, sheep and the odd fox graze and hunt next to the line. The harbour, scattered with yachts is always tranquil. And did I mention the free Metro paper?
But more than the daily gossip or picturesque views is the time I reclaim as my own. I am on a journey to a destination and for that reason my internal task master is quenched. Finally she gives me time to think, to listen to music, gaze at the views or simply ponder the existence of the world.
I enjoy the journey irrelevant of the destination.

How often do we enjoy the journey itself?
Do we relish the journey with study, relationships or a career? Or are we so focused on the destination that the mandatory "travel time" is seen as a nuisance or a waste of time?
It is interesting to think how much of our lives is in a state of flux. If we do not see the journey as an essential part of the process, as essential as the destination itself, and try to block it out, it will surely dim the sweet reward of reaching our destination.

Every exam makes the graduation more of an accomplishment.

Every step of the Inca trail made the views that little bit more incredible.
Every tear between Adam and I makes our smiles that bit sweeter.

Waikiki dreaming

Sitting out on my rental board at Waikiki I searched the sea for swell... and saw nothing. The waves seem to come out of nowhere, I’m not sure if it’s the depth of the water or the fact that the waves are so wide, but it appears that there is no swell until it hits the reef and a sudden 2ft peak is formed. Long before the wave has broken at least four people are paddling for it. Adam joins them. I’m not sure if it’s the wild look in his eyes, the bared teeth, the wildly kicking legs, or a combination but somehow the others know that he wants it more and they pull off the wave. In a graceful swoop he jumps to his feet and steers the board left. The wave still hasn’t broken and for all intents and purposes it is still just swell. As he reaches the middle of the wave a little ball of froth spills over the edge and finally it is a wave. Effortlessly he coasts back towards the unbroken face, rising and falling along the wave until it all but disappears.

The first wave in Hawaii – Woo hoo! Now it’s my turn!
I look around the line-up and instantly recognise three groups.

First group: The locals. Easily identified by bronzed skin and a steely line up face that instantly conveys an impression that you are trespassing and don’t belong. Hawaiians are friendly until you surf their break. Even the guidebook warns that under no circumstances should you ever take a locals wave in Hawaii.

Second group: Learners. Also easily identified. Often have trouble sitting on their board and will always lie too far back while paddling – this not only increases drag through the water, but gives an impression resembling a turtle trying to mate with a surfboard. Learners are almost as dangerous as locals. They can and will fling their 10ft mal in any direction at anytime for what seems to be no reason. Keep clear!

The third group included me: Tourists who can surf. These are identified by not being part of either group 1 or 2 and looking wary of both groups 1 and 2.

A swell line appeared so I turned and paddled like all hell. A quick look at the approaching swell guaranteed that I’d be on this wave, but first a quick look beside me to see if I was dropping in on anyone. Sure enough a steely faced local chick was paddling for the same wave. She was on the inside with the right of way. Damn. Part of my brain went “Stuff it, it’s your wave!” And sure enough I was then on the wave. A look over my shoulder proved she was too. Our eyes met, her’s said ‘get off my wave,’ mine said ‘oops’ or so I hoped. I cut along the wide face weaving up and down. Magic!

Many people have tried to describe the magic that is surfing. The feeling of gliding along the wave is as close to being in the moment as you can physically be. The balance, the fleeting moments left on the wave, the adrenaline, the feel of the wind, the cool water, the wax beneath your toes and the sun, all combine and almost overload the senses. When it’s all over it leaves you with a massive smile on your face and all your thoughts are honed to ‘I wanna do that again!’
I kicked off the wave and before I could make eye contact with the local chick, I turned back out to the break. A giant smile plastered across my face.

The scariest part of Asia - Food poisioning and safety regulations

Our last few days on Phi Phi didn’t go smoothly. We had lengthened our stay as Adam wanted to do a SCUBA course. I was a seasoned diver and after encouraging him to take a discover scuba dive, he was ready to do the full course. We booked the course and on recommendation from one of the SCUBA instructors, we ate at a nearby ‘hole in the wall’ restaurant. It only took a few hours and Adam was as sick as a dog. Anyone who travels to Asia knows that you’re bound to get sick sooner or later. Yes, you can take precautions, but realistically it’s going to happen anyway. And if you think it’s the same as food poisoning at home, nuh-uh, it’s got another level to it. The lie on the floor of the bathroom hugging the toilet while hoping to die level. The over the counter medication may as well be M&M’s. I spent the next day fetching bland food and water, knowing full well that tomorrow that would be me on the floor.
Three days later and some drugs from the pharmacist, we were able to walk. Unfortunately the drugs had the same side effects as the sickness, so although I would wake up ok, after one of those giant antibiotics, I’d be crippled over in pain and vomiting. The awesome wonders of modern medicine. Adam was feeling better by this stage, although the SCUBA course had gone out the window. We decided to head off to Phuket, mainly because I couldn’t stand being in that room any longer. The move involved a 1 km walk to the wharf and a two hour ferry ride. Adam packed my backpack as I conjured up the mental strength needed for the journey. We were running late for the ferry so I started walking as he fixed up the bill and called a porter. That would have to be one of the longest kilometres of my life. I was hunched over clutching my stomach and my water bottle, while trying to keep my day pack dry from the monsoonal rains. I was taking half steps and Adam soon overtook me. I gave encouragement and told me to meet him at the end of the wharf, he’d get the tickets. I kept going step by step.
At the wharf the porter ditched our bags in the rain and disappeared. Adam was still getting the tickets so I grabbed both 70litre backpacks and my day pack and waddled towards the ferry. When he caught up he took both packs off me and practically threw me onto the boat. Thank god, we’d made it. I promptly went straight to the toilet to throw up. When I made it back to my seat the ferry personnel came around giving everyone plastic bags. “It’s going to be a rough ride.” And true to his word, it was the roughest ferry ride I have ever been in. If I wasn’t embracing death already, I would have been scared shitless. Open ocean yacht racing ain’t got nothing on this! The flat bottomed ferry was banking up to the windows. The thin plastic, Thai made windows... I made a mental note of where the lifejackets were, (opposite end to the exit) and threw up twice more. It was about then that I think I passed out.

Pacaya Volcano - Guatemala

We had planned a sunset Volcano tour on our last night in Antigua and I wasn't sure if it sounded more romantic or adventure. On true Guatemalan time scale, it only took two and a half hours to get picked up and drive the short distance to the bottom of Pacaya Volcano.

After we booked, we heard several things about this tour.
1. The volcano had erupted a few months ago and killed someone. "But don't worry, there hasn’t been as much lava since."
2. There was a significant risk of being “Robbed, Raped, Kidnapped or Murdered,” while climbing the volcano. This was from the guide book, which advised to take security.
3. The guide will try to hurry you up the first steep bit, to try to convince you that you need to hire a horse.
Sure enough, all three came true. There wasn't much lava, we did need security and we were flogged up the hill. Our guide eventually greeted us in very slow Spanish. My basic understanding of Spanish gave me every 3 words or so. Just enough. He carried a pump action shotgun, which I happily saw wasn’t cocked, just loaded. (Guns scare me. I’m sure you’re much more likely to be shot accidentally then on purpose, especially when it's slung over your shoulder and you're on a horse!)

We started up the side of the volcano at a cracking pace. The ground was sand and ash which made plodding the only pace possible. Eventually most people got onto horses, but being the stubborn people we are, Ads and I plodded on. It was reminiscent of our Inca Trail pace on the first day. Before too long we were all alone. Our guide with the shotgun was nowhere to be seen and it was eerily quiet. I couldn't help but think of the many warnings of violent muggings. After all, this was central America and it was almost dark.
Thankfully the group waited for us and we continued along the dusty path. We reached the top of the first hill where the sandy ground gave way to a hard river of solid volcanic rock. The 15m wide river wound its way up the volcano to the peak.
A few months ago this volcano erupted killing a photographer and creating this massive river of now solid rock. It was surreal imagining this river as glowing red lava. It was blatant that the volcano was still active. The ground was ridiculously hot, we could actually toast marshmallows over the deep crevasses. I did so with glee!
When we reached the top we sat on the side of the volcano, under the smoking top and watched the sun set. This was the romantic bit. It was beautiful and surreal. The heat and the massive scale that was not only the volcano, but the remains of the lava river.
The stars came out as we descended. They’ve always made me feel the infinite nature of the universe but the volcano was something else. Millions of years ago this volcano would have been here, erupting as she pleases. The power, the heat and the huge scale of the frozen river, it was like sitting in the jaws of a lion. You hoped it was tame and having a good day.

At the base of the volcano kids begged for our food, torches, money and anything else we had. “Can I have Pringley?” a boy who was barely 7 begged Adam. “No.” “Only one?” “No.” ”How about 2 or 3?” We both laughed and I rolled my eyes. I wondered how many times the boy had said those lines. Whether they had lost meaning and were simply a script that he rolled out every night to the next lot of plump western tourists. I disliked being lumped in with the hoards of westerners that visited a country for a few days, went on the mandatory tours and stayed at western resorts, not bothering to look beneath the surface or learn the language. I wanted to wander through the slums, talk to the locals and find out what was important in their life. I suppose we did that to some extent in Nicaragua. But it was but a brief glimpse into an obviously well off family and the conversations had limited depth with the language barrier.

But what else could we do with our financial and time constrictions? Enrol in a charity work program, like the English schools in Costa Rica? Why should they learn English? So they can use comical lines to get an extra pringle out of tourists? I hated the overwhelming fact that tourism and travel is destroying local cultures. I wanted this boy’s Mother to tell him to ‘stop annoying the tourists, come home and eat your vegetables.’ I just hoped he had a Mother and vegetables at home.

My fading sight

I got my first set of prescription glasses this week. It made me ponder about our sense of the world around us and the aging process....

Our perception of the world around us and indeed of ourselves, is severely limited by our sensory receptors. If my sight fades to blurry, then my world is no longer as sharp as it was before. The joy that I get from reading is reduced, as is my patience with study. However, if a sense is altogether removed, the interpretation of our world is altered. Eg. If we cannot smell, the temptation of freshly baked bread ceases to exist.

Our exeroception, sight, taste, hearing, touch, smell, is our only contact with the world around us. Indeed the inanimate objects in our life only exist through our perception, as George Berkeley said, "to be is to be perceived.” If we cannot hear, a tree falling in the woods makes no sound. If we never perceive the tree in any way, does it even exist, let alone fall? If the interpretation of my senses tells me that a person is a hat, for all intents and purposes that person is a hat to me.

I suppose the same is true about the animate objects in my life. Take a sea anemone as an example. If I stand watching it, it goes about it’s life, oblivious to my presence. If I touch it, my sudden unexpected existence causes it to quickly withdraw. If it doesn't sense me, I do not exist.

On a higher level, Adams perception of me is built only on his interpretation of the stimuli from his senses. The majority of which are thankfully favorable. It has been said that our senses fade as we ourselves fade, to ease the aging process. Perhaps our eyes fade as the wrinkles deepen and our hearing fades as the stories repeat... If we are lucky, our memories replace the first hand sensory information. If our memory fades with our senses, does our world cease to exist?


http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/An_Essay_Towards_a_New_Theory_of_Vision
Oliver Slacks, (1985) The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Other Clinical Tales

Random Thoughts from Cos

Hi! Cos here!
I thought I'd finally contribute to writing a blog, however my writing is quite different to our travel blog ( www.adamandcorinne.blogspot.com ) so I thought I'd start my own!

It will be random extracts from my book (in progress) which is mainly about
- Travel
- Philosophy
- Relationships

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Cheers,
Cos