The Long Journey Home

Changi International Airport, Singapore

The long journey home gives a traveler time to reflect, to conceptualise their experiences and what it may mean. My journey home will take over 24 hours which is a blessing in a way. Because it gives me time to reflect not only on my recent travels, but 2011 as a whole.

2011 was a year of discovery and growth for me. 2011 transformed my way of seeing the world and my place in it. I remember back twelve months ago. Checking in my bags at Sydney International Airport. I was about to embark on a journey that was so foreign to me. I was possessed by fear and questioned whether I would even make it on the plane. But I did make it onto that aeroplane, then another, and another.  

During 2011 I dived from the sky and under the sea. I travelled from the heart of Africa to the soul of Indochina. From the slums of India to the Himalayas of Nepal. From fields of gold in Indonesia to the villages of the South Pacific. I have laughed and I have wept. I have embraced both beauty and tragedy. I am learning that everybody has a story and a way of viewing the world. I have been inspired, and made many friends. I have supported children to walk and talk and had lots of fun along the way. But I know deep inside that my jourey has just begun

A Perfect Day in Nepal

Ghatghai, Nepal

The snow capped Himalayas paint the horizon. Birds of every colour flock together, hoping to catch unsuspecting fish. Crocodiles sun bathe on the banks of the river. A rhino saunters closer, so he can enjoy the green pastures. It is a beautiful afternoon in Nepal. As the sun sets, shades of orange and cherry illuminate the sky above and the water below. To the east the snow capped mountains shine like precious jewels. Village children pause their play to wave and say hello.  Soon the sun is replaced by the moon and a million shining stars. It has been a perfect day in Nepal

The City of the Dead and the Burning of the Corpses

Varanassi, India

Some call Varanasi the city of the dead.

In India, Varanasi is considered sacred. Hindi people come from far and wide to participate in ceremony, bathe and burn their dead. I am on a small boat that is slowly making its way up the Ganges to take part in a Hindu ceremony. On the river bank beside me they are cremating their dead in a mass Hindi funeral. This is done in open fires for everybody to see. Over 200 bodies are burnt in these fires each day. The flames burn 24 hours a day, seven days a week. The dead are burnt according to their class. Those in the highest class are burnt with the most expensive wood. In the Hindu religion it is believed that if someone is burnt in Varanasi on the ghat (bank) of the Ganges their souls will go directly to swarg (paradise) and be relieved of the torment that is (reincarnation) moksha.

The flames illuminate the darkness, which sends a shiver shooting down my spine. The sounds of chanting and music can be heard in the distance. I am given candles to lay into the Ganges. I am told to make a wish. I place my candles in the river one by one and watch them float elloquently beside the boat, then sail into the distance. I am not sure what to wish for?

Since being in India I have developed a deeper appreciation of how lucky I am. I did not know what to wish for because I already have everything I need.

Christmas on the Ganges

The River Ganges, India

I have spent Christmas day sailing on the Ganges in India. My day started early as the sleeper train came to an abrupt halt. I wrapped a blanket around my cold bones and peered outside. It was still dark. After a delay I was alighting the train at Alanbad station. I was then shuffled into a vehicle that would take us on a two hour journey to the Ganges. We stopped for breakfast and it wasn't till then that I remembered it was Christmas day. As India is a Hindu country they do not celebrate Christmas. Just like any other day it is a fight for survival for many Indians. 

A short while later we are making our way through villages. Dirt covered children pump water from wells, carry heavy loads and tend to live stock. I think of Christmas day in Australia. Across the ocean children are tearing open their presents, flooded with momentary happiness. 

Finally after 18 hours of travelling we arrive at the Ganges. I hop aboard a small sailing boat with my new friends. Soon we are enjoying an Indian banquet as life (and death) on the Ganges floats by. I spend the remainder of the day relaxing as the motion of the vessel hypnotises me in and out of sleep. The sun sets as we arrive at a sand bank that has been selected to be our home for the night. We pitch our tents and a camp fire is lit. Christmas evening is spent around the camp fire drinking Chai and eating scrumptious food. We reflect on our journey so far and all that we have seen. I fall asleep to the sounds of the Ganges and the howling of wild dogs. Another day in India.

Merry Christmas to all from India.

Culture Shock

Delhi, India ~ Agra, India

I would not describe culture shock as sudden alarm, disgust or surprise. It is more like a creeping discontentment, or melancholy. An empty feeling in your chest. The word shock is misleading. You expect that if you are in shock it will be dramatic, something you can easily identify. You don't realise it can sneak through a window without you noticing.

I am on a train from New Delhi to Agra. The heavy fog that has coated the Indian capital has begun to dissipate. But to be honest I do not like what I see. The poverty assaults your every sense. I now realise poverty has a smell.

I had heard so many stories of India. I knew of the slums, I had been warned of the child beggars. It's the finer details that takes you by surprise. It's the lines of men, women and children defecating along the railway lines. It is the child with old eyes that knows of a life no different.

Delhi

New Delhi, India

I could show you a photo, but it would not do justice to what I have seen.  When you arrive in Delhi you are assaulted by so many different aromas and sounds. Your mind is racing struggling to keep up with the chaos that is India. The roads are bursting with cars, bikes, buses and livestock. There are no obvious traffic laws, just the constant sound off horns, yelling and screeching breaks. The streets are bordered with rubbish; feral dogs, cows and street kids fight over the takings. Everything looks broken and dirty. Even the children have old eyes. There are smells of rotting meat, human excrement, curry, smoke and incense.  The smells are so intoxicating that you can taste it. But among all this ugliness there is color. Sari's of every shade draped over beautiful Hindi women. Bustling Bizarres with hawkers selling foods, clothing and materials that hold more colours than a rainbow.

What an incredible experience

A Singapore Sling, Wicked Witches and a Night at the Zoo

Riverside, Singapore

I am currently in Singapore on a five day stop over on my way to India. I landed in Singapore three nights ago, giddy from the complementary in flight cocktails. Since arriving I have done nothing but eat amazing food, and take in the sights. Singapore is not like any place I have ever travelled to before. It is clean, safe, easy to navigate and the standard of living is high. I plan on enjoying the creature comforts, as I know my next destination will be a complete contrast.

Last night I went on a night safari. There were lions, and tigers and bears (oh my). I sat in an open tram, as we weaved through equatorial Africa, the jungles of Asia and the  Himalayan foothills . There were elephants, rhino's and giraffes and for a second it was like being back in Africa or Indonesia as the animals approached our train. I sat back, relaxed and enjoyed the ride.

Then today I went to the theatre and saw Wicked the musical. The untold story of the Witches of Oz. It was a spectacular performance. I sat on the edge of my seat captivated by the narrative, the music and extravagance.

Actually extravagant is probably the best word I could use to describe Singapore. Since coming hear I have stumbled across play groups that teach three year old children Mandarin, phonics and mathematics. More designer shops than people, and Christmas decorations like no where else. 

Singapore has been an interesting place to visit, but it is India that I have really come to see.

Me Plus Three

Nadi, Fiji

I have always travelled independently. This year I have explored southern Africa, Asia and Indonesia as a lone nomad. I had complete control of my itinerary. I shared the joys and tragedies in written word, for the face sitting in the seat beside me was ever changing.

Now it is me plus three. Me and my friend set off for Fiji a week ago with two children in tow. I have to admit as we raced around the airport with our kids, anxiety sat in the pit of my stomach. I would have to negotiate every decision made. There would be fighting, stress and tears. It turns out that negotiating enhanced the experience. I grew as an individual and as a friend. I actually enjoyed having the faces beside me remain unchanging. I shared the joys, beauty and frustration with my friend and two children. Me plus three; that has a nice ring to it.
 

Bula

Nadi, Fiji 

CRASH

Nusa Lembongan, Indonesia

Today I made the impulsive decision to rent a motorbike.

I figured that on a small island things couldn't go to wrong. Before I begin telling this story I should confess that I do not know how to ride a motorbike.My experience of riding such machines is limited to a small three wheeler Yamaha when I was 8 ( I crashed that too). But I put that to the back of my mind and decided to give it a go anyway. I managed to start the damn thing and take off down the rocky gangway. Within  a minute I glanced at the flashing petrol gauge and realised the bike had no petrol. 'that's fine' I thought "I will take the bike back'. Then I made a discovery. In the short time I had been riding I had managed to get lost. I decided I should ask someone for directions. But I was to make an even worse discovery. I had forgotten where I was staying.

I tried to stay calm. 'The Island is only 2 square kilometers, it can't be too hard to find". But it turned out it was. I bumped in to an Aussie tourist who was friendly enough to join me on my scavenger hunt. All we had to do was turn my bike around and retrace my steps (so to speak). Easy does it, no need to panic. As I was turning the bike around I pulled back to hard on the accelerator. SMASH, I managed to crash the automatic bike that a four year old can drive. I had performed this stunt for half the village to witness. The bike was relatively undamaged, but my pride was shattered. I dusted myself of, not sure whether to laugh or cry.

Then I saw the sign, "Nanuks Bungalows 100m". The damned sign had been there the whole time.