A gummy grin wrapped in a Sari

I was in a rural village in India standing amongst a sea of colorful Saris listening to the chanting of a Hindu priest. Our local guide had took us to his temple for prayer and it was fantastic sharing in the local custom. I stood in silence, hands pressed together in front of me, listening to the chanting that was rising up around me. I looked next to me and caught the eye of a little old lady. She looked close to 100! She turned to me and smiled. She had no teeth and gave me this nice gummy grin. I smiled back and she slowly walked over. Her back was hunched and she leant on her walking stick with every step. She was so tiny and so frail, wrapped up in her lime green sequined sari. She stopped in front of me, took my hand and just stood smiling at me, holding my hand.

We often talk about “The gap between us” – meaning the gap of wealth/options/education. But there is another gap between us. I have never seen my Nanna smile as genuinely as this old lady smiled at me. She looked content. She did not ask me for anything, she did not seem to want anything except to share the prayer with me. The gap between our societies is vast but not just in wealth. Wealth doesn’t make you happy and this is blatantly apparent standing in this Temple. This old lady was happy, simply happy.

Occasionally she looked from me to the priest at the front praying, still smiling that big gummy grin. As the Priest concluded the ceremony she patted my hand with her free one, said “Namaste” and shuffled back to the group she was originally standing with.

I stood smiling with a similar less gummy grin, yet close to tears, feeling like I’d had a spiritual experience that had nothing to do with Shiva. 

Family Christmas traditions - the good and the bad

Being part of a family is both fantastic and difficult. Not because it is hard to become part of a family, you can often be included in the outer throng of several families whether you like it or not, but because the idiosyncrasies and traditions that make a family the organism that it is, are both difficult to stand and fantastic.

Every family will have their traditions, some that are chosen, some that are not. Most revolve around the holidays. My family has a tradition of having a live native tree for Christmas, (we’re very proud that it isn’t a plastic pine one) and no fault to my Mum, but some years it is decorated before Christmas, some years it isn’t. Every Christmas after presents and breakfast we all go down to the beach for a swim, a surf and a sunbake under the hot Australian sun. The beaches are empty, the water is warm and clear and there are smiles and laughs all around.
Unfortunately we also have a tradition that by midnight on Christmas at least half of the family will have cried. The latter we don’t choose, but it happens nevertheless – We’re an emotional family.

Last Christmas I spent it abroad with my extended family. Although I Skyped my family (yes, they were sitting around a sparsely decorated gumtree crying intermittently,) it didn’t feel like Christmas. It should have - The pine tree was decorated with lights and tinsel, it was snowing lightly outside, the kids were showing off their gifts from Santa and the adults were full of fantastic food and Christmas cheer. My sister-in-law had even bought candles scented with mint and cinnamon so it even SMELT like Christmas. It was like being in a Christmas card. It was fantastic family fun, we went carolling and built snowmen in the yard, but without the chirp of cicadas and the smell of eucalyptus it didn’t feel like Christmas, except for one thing.

My extended family opened their arms and welcomed me into their home. They included me in their family Christmas traditions and although different to my own, being part of the inner workings of a family felt a lot like Christmas.  

Behind kohl lined eyes

As we wandered into the rural Indian town of Orchha we came across an old man with a little boy on his grandpas shoulders. The boy was around three years old and as we walked past him he sheepishly peeked glances at our group of girls. He wore nice new clothing from head to toe, including clean sandals and combed hair. In complete contrast his grandfather was wearing rags and barefoot. His hair was white and his skin looked like tanned leather. He was missing most of his teeth. The boy was shy but when I smiled at him and waved, he outstretched his little hand towards me. I walked over and held it; he started smiling at me and shook my hand as hard as he could, giggling. His grandfather smiled and took the wriggling boy off his shoulders. Immediately he ran around our group of girls smiling for pictures and hurriedly looking at the camera screens to see his reflection. His eyes, that were outlined in kohl for protection against evil spirits, were full of excitement. This was making his day!

Our group had moved on so unfortunately we had to go. The boy started to get upset and in his angst, started asking for something from us – food, money, anything really. His grandpa, who has been standing off to the side, ushered some soft words to him. He stopped asking immediately and walked back to his grandpa. And just like every other 3 year old in the world, he started sulking, but only a little. My heart went out to him and not just because these adorable kids are making me clucky, but because he seemed to be such a sweet little boy, with such a caring grandpa, who obviously gave him everything he could. I had a banana in my bag and because giving fruit to children seems a legitimately nice thing to do, I gave it to the little boy. His face lit up, his sweet brown eyes smiling out from the black kohl. I couldn’t imagine any western children being half as happy over a banana.
As I walked off to rejoin our group I looked back. He was back on his grandpas shoulders smiling and hastily scoffing his banana.

Titanic without the bad ending...

He was taking it easy, trying not to scare me. “Go ahead,” I told him. I had ridden before and was used to the thrill. I wanted to see what he could do. I wanted to see the difference between my clunky, clumsy skills and a professional. Even through the helmet I could tell he was smiling. “OK, but tap me if it’s too fast and remember to just lean with me.” He looked me over, “and above all, stay on the bike. Don’t bail on me.” I rolled my eyes, I wasn’t a first time rider, I knew how to lean into corners, how to watch where I wanted the bike to go and what to do when I thought I was going to crash. I wrapped my arms around his waist, “C’mon Ads, show me what you got!” He pulled out onto the winding road. As he opened the throttle he popped the front wheel. I loved the feel of pure acceleration and with the luggage rack behind me and Ads in front, I felt safe. He left the throttle open as the bike landed heavily and we sped towards the first corner. He dropped a few gears at the last second and lined up for the corner. I felt the bike lean smoothly into the apex with such a fluid motion that felt essentially weightless. I could see past Adam to the winding narrow road ahead. Our heads aligned, horizontal with the road. We moved in unison and the bike righted itself before dipping to the opposite side, our helmets frozen as we rounded the hairpin corner. It felt almost similar to dancing.

The feeling of freedom and pure simple pleasure swept over me. The speedo rose and the angle of the bike dipped closer to the ground. Riding a bike at speed requires little actual movement as you steer with your weight. It can often feel like you’re being guided by the bike. As a pillion passenger you can quite easily steer the bike when travelling at speed, which means if you don’t lean or lean the wrong way, the driver must compensate or crash. It takes trust between both people to ride at speed on winding roads.

I had loosened my grip on Adam and looked over the cliff out to the valley of bushland below, blue with haze from the Eucalyptus. It was a beautiful view.
I felt relaxed and centred as I turned back to concentrate on the road. I took a deep breath and lifted my arms out to the side, outstretched. As we rounded the next corner it felt like we were flying. My hands came within inches of the ground and my heart rate rose. I dug my boots into the footpegs and squeezed my knees into Adams hips. The bike righted and dipped into a hairpin. Kate Winslet eat your heart out! Leonardo just stood on a boat with you, my man has control of 170 horsepower!

Adam glanced back, saw my arms out and did a double take. He shook his head and hit the throttle for the next set of corners. The force of the wind caused me to lean into him but I didn’t dare fold my wings in, I was loving it too much! The road opened up and we slowed down slightly. Adam straightened up and after a few moments of hesitation he stretched his arms out sideways and held my hands. We zoomed along towards me the next corner, our hands touching, held out like wings and the bike gradually slowing. We lent into the corner together like a twin wing plane. The bike dipped, rounded and we were through. “Look Mum, no hands!” Adam shouted. We laughed as he broke our grip to twist the throttle open, pulling my other hand into him, wrapping my arm around him. He squeezed my hand and turned to me, I could see the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiled in his helmet. These are the moments that life is made of, that will always give you a sweet smile when you think of them. 

Gluttony and Poverty

Two things scare me about going to rural Nepal to volunteer

The first is trivial and I feel guilty for even thinking about it: My diet.
I’m not a fussy easy. I will eat almost anything put in front of me (whether I’m hungry or not.) But I cannot help but worry about the amount of food that I will be given and if it will be enough to keep me healthy. Don’t get me wrong. I am volunteering with a wonderful company that have guaranteed to keep us well fed and safe. Yet I have this internal anxiety to stockpile food throughout my luggage. Maybe it’s hearing about the hundreds of people that were recently stranded in the region due to bad weather or maybe it’s worrying that my iron levels are already low due to my new vegetarian diet.
Side note: The butchers in Asia will turn anyone vegetarian. There is something shocking about seeing half a buffalo being cut up on a wooden board in the street with flies covering the carcass. It doesn’t make you want to order a steak.
I remember trying to do the 40hr famine when I was in primary school (a fundraising event where you cannot eat and can only drink water for 40hrs.) I couldn’t do it! I would always sneak food or justify soup as a liquid. Even as an adult I have very little power over my eating habits. A great example of this would be the mega-death-meal.  Aptly named as we were convinced it would take at least a day off our life expectancy. My flatmates and I would gorge ourselves on our KFC meal of a zinger burger, large fries, large soft drink, potato and gravy, 2 pieces original recipe and a full-sized zinger wrap to finish it off. The other favourite would be the 2ft subway challenge. Gluttony at its finest.
I can only hope that living on good, healthy food for a month will aid my eating habits for years to come.

The second is the major one. Guilt caused by ‘the gap between us.’

Why should they live in poverty when I don’t? I have spoken about this before and right now and it is a concept that I cannot get my head around. I know life is not fair but there is a difference between ‘not fair’ and mind boggling UNFAIR. I am not narcissistic enough to say that I deserve the privileged life that I have and these other people do not. Why am I able to eat 2ft of meatball sub in one sitting when others go hungry?

Right now across the world people are protesting against the 1%. The 1% of the population that controls a ridiculous amount of the world’s wealth. I wholeheartedly agree with these protests and have signed the London petition, but within the 99% there is a huge percentage of the world that lives below the poverty line. As part of the 99% I feel that it is my duty to give and help those with a lower quality of life and I hope that the 1% feel the same way.
I’d like to define the cliché ‘living below the poverty line’ and what that means on a day to day basis in Nepal. Living below the poverty line literally means living hand to mouth. The definition of the poverty line is earning enough to buy 2200 calories of food a day plus some basic non-food items; it sits at around $1 a day. Living below this line simply means that some days you go hungry, some you don’t. If the crops don’t grow or you don’t sell anything, you go hungry. If there is another expense, you go hungry. As soon as your children are old enough they work to support the family. If you are sick, you either still go to work, or you go hungry. There are no doctors visits, there are no savings.
They are the 25% of Nepal... and they make me look like the 1%. 

So I’m off into the Himalayas, a big thank you again to all those that helped me get here and wish me luck!!

Poo

Travelling through India makes you appreciate a working septic system. Not because I am overly fussy on having a clean western loo to use but because when you're living in a first world country you can often forget just how big of a problem waste control really is. There are 1.7 billion people in India and everyone of them will poo everyday. That’s a LOT of shit. And when you’re living in poverty in a crowded city, privacy is a luxury many cannot afford.  In fact, if I had a dollar for every time I saw someone shtting by the side of the road I could pay for this entire trip.

The old saying "don’t shit where you eat" can apply to many situations, but when taken literally it is a golden rule. It also applies to where you drink and wash, but unfortunately this is also a luxury for many. I’m not sure if it is a lack of education or a lack of other options, but people will often go down to the waters edge to do their daily business, the same river or pond where they will bathe. The same river that seeps into the groundwater that feeds the well where they collect their drinking water.

In cities it is much worse. The combination of  crowded streets and open drains that doubles as a sewerage system creates a pungent aroma that attracts pigs, chickens, cows, dogs and goats, most of which eat the faeces, some of which end up on dinner plates. That which isn’t eaten is left to be stood in or flushed into the local river to be bathed in. It’s not hard to see how disease is rife. A proper system for waste disposal is not only wonderful to live with, it makes the biggest difference to the health of the population than any other development.

As a side note: Walk away from all water sources and bury it please...

I have subsequently developed a deeper appreciation for three things: proper waste control, my education that allows me to determine what not to eat/drink and antiseptic hand gel. So for all of you living in a first world country, make sure to hug your toilet on the 19th for world toilet day. 
http://toiletday.org/?s=waterforpeople

Hazel eyes

Sweat was making my skirt stick to my legs and my head pounded as another horn pierced through the air. I grabbed the metal bar in front of me to steady myself as I was jolted off the seat of the tuktuk. We were making out way through the crowded streets of Varanasi, the driver utilising his horn as much as possible and often resorting to shaking his fist. Trucks. cars, tuktuks, bicycles, kids, cows, dogs, goats and masses of people swarmed the street, each with a different destination, each trying to make their own way through the hoards. I imagined it would look similar to a swirling river from above.

A truck had stopped ahead due to a stubborn bull blocking the road and traffic was cramming through a bottleneck. We stopped and the driver resorted to fist shaking. I looked out at the women passing through the crowds all adorned in colourful saris wrapped elegantly around their slender frames. As I searched through the crowds a set of eyes immediately cause my gaze. They were a creamy deep hazel colour, the same deep as milk chocolate, surrounded by skin of a slightly darker shade. She was dressed in a black burqua complete with a veil that allowed only for a slit for her eyes. She stared directly at me and we held eye contact. It wasn’t meancing, mearly curiosity that extended both ways.

My first thought was “We are from different worlds” and in many ways it is true. You would be hard pressed to find two women of similar ages that have such different lives. She would be lucky to finish high school; her parents would chose her husband and he would choose where they lived, if she worked, when they have children and how many they would have. She would give birth without medical care or pain relief and could expect at least one of her children to die before they reached adulthood. She would sleep on the floor and eat after her family, if there was enough food. Religion would be embedded in every aspect of her life and she would be persecuted by the majority of the Indian population because of it.
But the major difference between us that I saw is choice. I can choose to live how I want, where I want, with whom I want. I have choices, she does not.

But as I stared into those deep eyes I realised I was wrong. We are not from “different worlds,” we are 3 metres apart. This is the same world and we are both young women. She will care for her children the same way I will, she will feel the same pain when she is ill, she will cry the same way and she will have the same hopes, dreams and wishes as I do. When I made a wish into the Ganges I bet it wasn’t too far off what she would have made if she were sitting next to me. After all, we all want to be happy.

The driver had managed to find an alley barely wide enough and he punched the accelerator, lurching the tuktuk forwards. I smiled at the woman in the black burqua and as she slowly disappeared from view and even though our perspectives were from different worlds, I wished her all the happiness in her world and mine. 

Bob Marley

Bob Marley's music is an international language. 


His music has survived several generations and spread across the entire world. Every country I have been to there has been Bob Marley playing at some point.  And why not? The laid back tunes fit the hostel demographic perfectly. They're about enjoying life, accepting others and generally being happy. Who could have a problem with that? 


One of my favourite songs is 'Three Little Birds' 
The lyrics tell a story of him waking up and three little birds on his doorstep are singing to him. The birds sing to him "Don't worry 'bout a thing, 'Cause every little thing [is] gonna be all right." 


Like all of his songs it's open for interpretation. Some would say he forgot to mention his morning joint that causes the birds to speak directly to him. But I prefer to interpret it as how we should all see the world. Wake up, the sun is shining, it's a beautiful day and everything is going to be all right. Happy days! Imagine if the whole word thought like that. Imagine if every morning three little birds reassured you, how different would your day be with a carefree, optimistic attitude?

Religion and Cos

I am not a religious person.

Before we start, if you are, and easily offended, it is probably best that you click "next blog" and read about a Mormon mother of two from America..

Don't get me wrong, I like the idea of religion - the history, culture and traditions. Experiencing it first hand, whether it be a Mosque in Egypt, a Temple in Cambodia or the Vatican in Rome are all amazing.
But I simply don't have the faith to believe in a God, several deities or that there is anything at all after my last breath. Apparently "God hath dealt to every man the measure of faith", so maybe I missed out due to my feminism?


I was baptised Catholic and some of my extended family are Catholic, Buddist or Christian, but my upbringing wasn't religious by any means. My mother gave me a bible when I was in primary school and I did read it, but I also read the chronicals of Narnia. We went bush walking instead of Church on Sundays and instead of religious writings on the back of the bathroom door, we had a list of endangered frogs.
Charles Darwin was mentioned in our home more often than Jesus and the two don't get along very well.

I like the idea that we all have a fate that is determined by a higher power, but it sounds like a copout to me. I believe in education, the laws of physics and making your own fate. I am in control of my own destiny as much as anyone else is. Hard work and planning will get you where you want to be, not praying.

So what if I'm wrong? In scripture I was told that I would burn in hell for the rest of eternity if I didn't accept Jesus into my heart... But I'd have to believe in Hell for that to be a real threat.

Ultimately we are all free to believe what we choose to believe. The real problem comes when people try to force their beliefs on others. My favourite opinion of tolerance to other religious views comes from the Dalai Lama. "It's like going to a restaurant - we can all sit down at one table and order different dishes, but nobody argues about it." Wouldn't that be nice?

Here in Delhi the Bahá'í House of Worship or Lotus temple (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lotus_Temple) provides a place for people of all religions to pray, meditate or just contemplate the meaning of life. Muslins next to Buddhists next to Christians next to Hindus, all next to Cos. No one religion is allowed to dominate with sermons and all that is allowed is chanting or singing. And to top it off, it kinda looks like the opera house. Sounds good to me. 

Off to India and Nepal

Right now I'm flying to India.
I'm leaving behind my life in England and probably never returning. I'm glad that I came. That I worked and lived in another country. It allowed me to make some wonderful friends and see some wonderful places throughout Europe. Ads and I have barely had a weekend to rest, but definitely had some amazing adventures.
But I am happy to be going home. I miss the surf, sun and sand and I honestly think the quality of life is better in Australia than anywhere else in the world, (but as a true blue Aussie I'm pretty biased!)

The next stop is India. I'm travelling from Delhi overland to Kathmandu where I'll then join a charity, Edge of Seven, to build a secondary school in Phuleli, Nepal. http://www.edgeofseven.org/Volunteer.html In a nut shell we're building a boarding school to help girls get an education. The girl effect will then change the whole village and help many people escape poverty. Woohoo!
I am so excited about the project and so grateful to those who helped me get to Nepal. Thankyou!

I've nervous to be travelling on my own and leaving Adam behind in England. He's meeting me in Australia, hopefully for Xmas/New Years. I will miss him dearly.
I can't wait to see everyone back in Aus again and have a proper Australian xmas, (Mum's cooking a roast!) not to mention the beautiful Australian beaches.

I'll try to do the occasional blog updates as I travel, and the usual posts should come out every Friday as usual, so you won't miss me too much!

Wish me luck!
xo

Shadows in the surf

Although it had predicted to be onshore today, the light winds meant the sea was glassy smooth. 2ft waves peaked and rolled across the beach. Perfection! I slapped on my shortie and a ton of sunscreen, the water was clear and the sun was fierce. I paddled out among the other surfers. Only 4 guys were out, probably due to the onshore forecast. One of my great loves of surfing is floating among the waves. There is something so serene about being a buoy in the water, floating where the currents take you, feeling the surge of the swell as it passes beneath you. I looked back at the land and saw people rushing about. Driving kids to soccer games, going to work, shopping or some other inane task. As I bobbed about the swell, I drifted into my daydreaming, zen state. Which to be fair, is probably why my surfing is not what it should be – too much zen, not enough actual surfing. Out here it was as if you could hit the pause button. No phone, no watch, no interruptions. 

Just then a dark shadow passed underneath my board. FARK!!!! A high pitched squeal emerged from my mouth as I sat frozen on my board. I don’t have anything against sharks, but there is no way I’m going to be fish food! What do I do? Paddle furiously or stay still? What did they do in Jaws?
I turned to the beach, deciding to desperately remove myself from the water. Immediately a shape came out of the water in front of me. This was it, it was all over!!
Then it savagely blew spray into my face… Hangon, spray?
Woah! It was a dolphin. The bastard scared the crap out of me!


As I regained my composure I discovered it was a pod of around seven. They were playing among the waves, just like me. I forgot the waves and watched them swirl through the water, spiraling together, flicking their tails as they shot through the surface, showing me their pale underbelly. I made eye contact with a young dolphin, his eyes were sparkling with excitement and mischievousness. It was as if he was saying, “Check this out.” A set wave came through and they claimed it as their own. They rode in the wave, twisting along the unbroken section, inches from breaking the surface. The young dolphin powered through the face of the wave, shooting a good 2 meters through the air and giving a playful call as he did so.

If you’ve ever gotten close to a wild dolphin, it’s a magical experience. They are graceful, playful and mesmerizing. But at the same time, these are wild animals. They are solid creatures weighing up to 200kg  of solid muscle.
As they skimmed through the water, their thick tails barely moved. I paddled closer and thought about the comparison between their movements in the water and mine. The power that must be in that tail is remarkable, one accidental knock and I’d be unconscious!
In comparison by arms felt slow and sluggish as they pushed through the water causing a wash behind me. A dolphin behind me blew out and took a breath of air, I turned and saw nothing, no wake, just still water. The two dolphins wrestling next to me pushed up towards the surface, one shot out of the water, its silver gleaming body close enough for me to touch it. Then with a flick of its tail and a lot of water sent my way, they were off.

Death and all his friends

I'm comfortable with the thought of death. Comfortable and accepting that I will someday die.

That being said, I don't want to die and in the event of a zombie apocalypse I'll be armed to the teeth and fighting for all hell.

However, I have lived a fantastic life. I have loved, laughed, learnt, travelled and experienced life to the full. If this is all I get, I've done bloody well.

I am not accepting of death because I believe in heaven or reincarnation or any form of an afterlife. In fact I believe we never experience death. Why? Because in death we no longer have any senses, feelings or anything. Our synapses stop firing and no longer have conscious thought. At the exact moment we die, we cannot perceive, hence why should we fear something that we will never experience.

I am however a believer in physics. I am made of flesh and bones which is made of particles of carbon based matter. When I die these living particles still exist and as matter cannot be destroyed, they will always exist. The essence of me will always exist - in some form.
It is amazing to think that the food that I ate, to grow my body, will someday be reabsorbed into the earth, which will give nutrients to plants to grow food, to be eaten, to then be reabsorbed again.
My consciousness may be gone, but life goes on.

The diamond on my finger was once a carbon based life form, just like me and it still exists here and now.
Maybe I should ask to be buried in a peat marsh so one day I can sparkle too.
Or if you have a spare $6000 why wait? You could be a diamond in 3 months! http://www.phoenix-diamonds.com/process/

Technolology

I am an Engineer, but I wouldn't call myself a technology expert. In fact I don't really like technology.
I have a very good skill of causing everyday electrical things to stop working, much to the amusement of Adam.
I find it impossible to use any sort of touch pad/screen. I cannot seem to get automatic door sensors to operate for me. Buying a train ticket from a machine is painful. My wi-fi will often drop out specifically to my computer, which will then get the blue screen of death.

This is obviously not fantastic with my choice of career, but thankfully this is usually limited to items outside of work. At work I am often called on to fix IT issues and teach others how to use certain programs. Again, Adam finds this very amusing.

As I seem to be behind in the technology game, I find it fascinating when I see other people struggle with basic technology. It reminds me that these everyday items that we take for granted haven't been around too long and many people today did not grow up with these technologies.

A man was struggling to use a vending machine.
A lady at Tesco struggled to scan bar codes at the self-serve checkouts.
A man at work, who uses computers everyday, didn't know what an address (for documents/webpages) was.
An apprentice at work had never sent an email.
An draftsman at work still uses pencil and paper instead of Autocad.

If nothing else it makes me feel better about using a stock standard Nokia phone that barely texts and calls rather than an infernal smart phone. I have spent enough of my life playing snake, I don't need angrybirds too.

But mainly it makes me wonder what life was like before the 80's. I don't ever remember life before computers, I had a mobile in high school and I've always had the internet to do assignments with. It boggles my mind to think how you contacted people before mobile phones and the internet.

What will my kids be like? Having seen a 3 year old more proficient with an iphone than I, it makes me think this is only the beginning. How could you get a management job if you didn't know the Microsoft Office Suite? How do you even apply for a job without an email address? How would you do a university degree without a computer?
The norm is evolving and it is evolve or become extinct, much to my dismay.

Do you know how these are related?

Want an ipad?

Or an Iphone?? 

Why me?

The phrase "Why me?" is synonymous with tragedy, misfortune and loss. But recently I have been thinking it for the opposite reason.

I was born in a country where healthcare is provided to all and freedom is a right. I was born without health issues and have suffered no accidents. I have a loving family, an extensive education, little to no health worries, a large earning potential and no major misfortunes in my life. I have travelled the world, laughed with friends, experienced love and have a wonderful man by my side.
I am a lucky woman.
But why me?
Many people in the world, and indeed in my life, have suffered misfortunes. Some of which are serious health problems that range from genetic to accidental or environmental, all through no fault of their own.

How did I get off unscathed?

In ancient Rome they believed that Fortuna would grant either spoils or ruins dependant solely on her whim and the resultant spin of the wheel of fortune. Larry Emdur was of the same belief.
Some Buddhists believe that your fate is dependant on your past actions, even from a past life. Perhaps I was well behaved?
The Christian religion believe that it is Gods will and he has a plan for us all. Perhaps he has a nice plan for me?

I would ask what I have done to deserve my good fortune and my ability to always land on my feet, but I don't believe that life is fair. Life is Life. Everyone is trying to avoid suffering and find happiness, despite what situation they find themselves in.

Whatever the reason we all will have misfortune throughout our lives. Perhaps it is the optimist in me that glazes over the inconsequential misfortunes in my life (not being rich/famous/stunningly beautiful) or the comparison of mine to 'what could have been' makes them insignificant.

Whatever the case I have lived well and lived happily for 25 years. And for that I am grateful and content.

The creation of a backpacker

Ahh backpackers. The only demographic to be described by how they carry their belongings since the carpet bagger.

We are an interesting bunch. We come from different countries, backgrounds, religions, financial situations, social status and occupations. Yet once you're a backpacker, nothing that you used to do or be, matters anymore. In fact it seems to be an unwelcome juxtaposition of the real world to our new found freedom. Nothing to kill a conversation like finding out the chick wearing fisherman pants, teaching you slacklining is a strategic risk analyst.

Once you have traded your business cards for a one way ticket, a slow transition starts.

Some try to keep their old ways longer than others but even the most stylish backpackers eventually relent.

“There are no foreign lands. It is the traveler only who is foreign.” – Robert Louis Stevenson

Firstly your wardrobe shrinks. Clothes that do not have multiple purposes are left behind in hostel rooms. Items with multiple purposes, such as a scarf/sarong/bandana, become essential items. Also common are zip off pants/shorts, soft shell jackets, fleeces, hiking boots.

Even the lightest feather weights a thousand tons on a long journey.

Cleanliness starts to become a sliding scale. The amount of times you can wear an item of clothing before it is deemed dirty all depends on a sniff test. Worn your jeans for the last 20 days? Yes.. Do they smell? Nope. Then they're clean!
How often you need to wash is also a sliding scale. Have you showered this week? No. Have you been for a swim? Yes. Was it fresh water? No. Were you in there for quite a while? Yes. Then you're clean!

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness.” – Mark Twain

You stop taking the little things for granted. Seemingly trivial things can literally make your day:

• When a towel is included in a hostel
• When the pillow has a case on it
• When there is toilet paper and it's a sit down toilet! (Double bonus!)
• Having the remote and choosing what to watch on TV
• When no one ate your food
• When you see your bag coming off the plane

“No one realizes how beautiful it is to travel until he comes home and rests his head on his old, familiar pillow.” – Lin Yutang

Souvenirs change from 1ft carved statues to something very small and cheap. When you have to carry all of your belongings with you, everywhere you go, that carved Inca drum just doesn't seem like a great souvenir. Bracelets, postcards, arm bands and clothing (often to replace the dirty ones or the ones left behind) are the best purchases.

“Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.” – Cesare Pavese

I think the biggest change is the skill of observation. Learning to sit back and watch the world, to think about life and where you're priorities lie. To effectively smell the roses before moving on to the next adventure.

"A traveler without observation is a bird without wings.” – Moslih Eddin Saadi

Barbra

I met an inspirational lady the other day.
I was walking down to Tesco, randomly smiling at strangers (as I do,) and a lady walking her dog stopped to ask me for directions to the local Buddhist centre. Having only lived in here a short while, I only knew a few places in town. Surprisingly, the Buddhist centre was one of them.
As I led her down a side street we started talking. It turns out we were both interested in the meditation classes that the Buddhist centre gave on a Wednesday night. I hadn't managed to get there yet as I was usually too tired (i.e. lazy ) from work and it went quite late. Barbara had two bus rides to get to and from the Buddhist centre but had managed to go several times. She encouraged me to go check it out. It turns out she was dropping by today to enquire about volunteering her skills in remedial massage to anyone who might need it. I have always wanted to learn massage and I have often enquired about volunteering. However, similar to the meditation, it was something I had yet to accomplish.

Barbara asked me about myself and where I was from. Perhaps because a stranger was leading her down an alley, or perhaps because she was nice, she always managed to turned the conversation back to me. Wanting to know more about where I was from, what I did for work and why I was in England. "To see the world," was my reply. She always seem genuinely interested in what I was saying.

We reached our destination and I gave her dog a pat, a beautiful black Labrador cross, he wasn't even a year old and had that excited puppy demeanour.
I felt guilty that I was off to Tesco to buy takeaway dinner and beer, while she was staying till after dark in a town far from home to volunteer her skills to people that she hadn't met yet. I said my goodbyes and genuinely said that I hoped I would see her again. She said she might run into me at the meditation classes. I started walking back down the alley, deep in my thoughts and my perception altered.

I turned back to watch her walk through the door, her cane lightly tapping the ground and her dog excitedly pulling her along. Did I mention she was blind?

Loving objects

Use things, not people. Love people, not things.

It's an old adage but when you don't have many possessions and everything around you is so foreign, it is easy to become irrationally attached to objects.

I was sitting on a chicken bus in Nicaragua when I realised I loved my engagement ring. I mean I am truly in love with it. I sat sparkling it in the sun, creating rainbows on the seat in front of me, reminiscent of discovering prisms in primary school. It made me smile.

The middle aged local who was jammed on the seat next to me looked at me strangely. He looked like the average Nicaraguan farmer. I smiled back.

I am aware that wearing thousands of dollars worth of diamonds in central America isn't the best idea. Not only because of the risk of theft, but because its bad taste. In a country where rebel groups roam the dense jungle and a substantial amount of the population lives below the poverty line, showing wealth seems both rude and stupid.

However, I was there and it was on my finger, so I usually wore it covered (poorly I might add) with electrical tape.

I was in love with the ring because it was something I had coveted for a long time. It represented love or specifically being loved. It was also absolutely beautiful.
I looked over at Ads. Yes, I loved him too, but the ring was shiny and new and so uncomplicated, perfect even.

Did I love this rock more than Adam? The realisation that my attachment had grown shocked me considerably. I spent too much of my day worrying about the ring, about what I would do if I was robbed. I checked it was still there constantly and refused to leave it unattended.

I decided to utilise the superhero conundrum.... I'll explain.

Hypothesise that on a cliff (you can use a bridge, building or volcano if you prefer...) to your right is Adam, dangling off the edge, barely holding on by his fingers. He needs your help or he will plunge to his death. On your left is the ring (the only one in existence,) precariously balancing, about to be lost forever. At the exact same moment they both fall. You can only save one, (unless you're a superhero in a movie. E.g. Spiderman, Batman, Superman, Neo...) WHICH DO YOU CHOOSE??!!!

Of course Adam is chosen 100/100 times. The love for an object can be great, but when compared on the same scale as a human, it is insignificant.

Interestingly I asked Adam the same question, replacing the ring with the only Ducati streetfighter in the world... He asked if I could pull myself up or grab onto the bike...

The faces of my morning

Every morning on my walk to the train station I pass several commuters going the other way.

I'm not sure if it is my small town heritage, but when I first started passing them I would say hi. This was greeted with either a) awkward sideways glances, b) completely ignoring me or c) a vague smile that somehow conveyed, 'are you going to mug me?' I have not once got a "good morning" back, and subsequently I no longer try.

My favourite daily fellow commuter is a portly middle aged Englishman who looks increasingly stressed out as he walks towards me, he physically turns his head away from me, while looking towards to sky, so it is absolutely impossible to meet his eye..

I think it's important to note here that I'm not the mugging type, nor do I look like it. I also live in a relatively small English town, not a large crime filled city.

So why are we so afraid of talking to or even acknowledging each other? In large cities the close proximity to hundreds of people in the daily commute has created a culture where we treat each other like inanimate, potentially dangerous objects. Ignore and avoid eye contact at all costs. I often smile when I catch random commuters eyes or try to start conversations, such as "I like your ..." or "Where are you off to today?" The later is often greeted with the vague mugger smile..

I found this concept exceedingly difficult on the New York subway. Everyone seemed so interesting. I would smile or say hi, which would be greeted with a "what choo looking at?" or the universal mugger smile. My friend from New York advised that I was probably going to get mugged/beaten/abused if I didn't stop talking to strangers. I can't help it, they're just a friend I haven't met yet!

The only exception to the rule that is other people who are "not from here." (A well known phrase to any immigrant.) As a person also not from here, we seem to be able to connect about not being from here and other subjects such as where we are from and where we are going next.

As I'm sitting on public transport, staring at random strangers as though I'm going to mug them, I wonder how many of these people use social media, such as blogs like this, to send their personal private thoughts out into the ether. Why are we able to talk to random strangers and share our opinions through a keyboard, but not face-to-face?

Perhaps this video will shed some light on this...

http://youtu.be/tTN9We8unmU 

Through social media we are able to share thoughts about everything without social prejudice or etiquette. There are lots of these type of videos out there, and they all illustrate the same point. Computers have an off button for a reason.

So when you next see a stranger and make eye contact, smile, say hello, acknowledge them for the person that they are, but remember ... it's not twitter, use the brain to mouth filter..

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?