My last post was pretty damn dark, but cathartic and necessary I feel to set some things straight. Its been a while, now I'm away again in India, studying a couple of IT courses, ready to face the big bad world again. I thought I'd have a sort of round up of the connections and happy coincidences that came my way, the good bits that made it all worthwhile :) here goes:
When deciding to go away, a good six months before, it felt like dark times were ahead. I spent a lot of time in meetings on issues of sustainability with concerned people:- Welsh Assembly members, Climate Change groups, University of Glamorgan and others working towards a Sustainability Collage of the Valleys while completing my studies at the Centre for Alternative Technology. Fuel, food and airline prices were shooting through the roof. The FTSE was falling by hundreds of points daily and gold was being bought up at ridiculous prices. My housemate feared that if petrol prices continued to rise as expected it would not be economic to get to work, even in his fuel efficient little Peugeot.
Personally the time of wandering and traveling was coming to a close, I wanted to settle in one place, and move towards build a resilient home using the design knowledge from CAT, but with no strong commitments and round the world tickets still bucking the trend of short haul price increases I could not resist having a last look see.
Round The World tickets come in a number of flavours, but usually mean you have to travel in one direction around the world, set dates of departure and the limit of a year. I did not like the idea of being tied to a route, and would have preferred to buy single tickets, but that is too expensive, some countries like Australia need proof of onward travel, and maddeningly its often cheaper to buy a return than one-way. There is usually the option to alter flight times cheaply and alter routes at greater expense.
Wireless networks, social networking sites and initiatives like Couch Surfing, Liftshare and Craigslist had reached a level of general awareness, even if few people outside the traveler or young urbanite used them. This to me suggested a new way to travel, I would vagabond about making use of these resources, my own skills of computer fixing, cookery, yoga and massage and see where it would take me. The route was set, but in between I'd no fixed plans, to be open to whatever presented itself, live cheaply, and never book accommodation in advance.
When like a pool game, life seems to offer no obvious shot, there is something to be said for cannoning the ball as hard as you can, so long as you can avoid snookering yourself. Its a gamble, but sometimes you get a feeling that the shot will come off - and saving a few scrapes it did. In nine months of drinking tap water, eating the weirdest things, wandering through dodgy areas, sleeping where I choose - the worst I suffered was culture shock, a sore throat and occasional hiraeth.
Back in Swansea I could not help thinking of Bob Dylan's Hard Rain falling as I recalled some of the many encountered on the trail.
I'd met women and men lost after the break up of marriages, putting on a brave face.
A drunk woman injecting food into the stomach of her cleft pelleted child.
Talked with a stabber, and the stabbed.
A psychiatric nurse who talked of angels.
Advocates of drugs, growers and campaigners against.
Been questioned accusingly by Daoists and Muslims on the same day
Cycled, driven cars, trucks and vans, sailed, motorcycled, hitched, walked long distances in the sun and rain, turned down lifts and been glad of them.
Slept in jungles and forests, palatial and grubby hotel rooms, sofas, floors, beside paths and fires on countless beaches.
Cooked meals in well stocked kitchens, on television and on discrete fires in the hearths of abandoned houses.
Met men with families in the past, or past family making age smoking their lives away in Asian fleapits.
People traumatized seeking solace in expensive therapies.
Met women and children for sale
Men who loved bought women, some worked out after all.
Sites of genocide and gazed upon confounding complex architecture.
Met up with friends from other travels, friends from home, and when people said to look me up if I was in their country I actually did!
Niels Bohr, the great Danish physicist of the Manhattan project said the "The opposite of a trivial truth is false, the opposite of a great truth is also true" and so it seemed with the people I met, as soon as I entertained a prejudice its counter example would present itself within at most a day. I cannot in good heart make any sweeping statements - The travelers view is at best through a cracked looking glass.
As jarring as this may seem I also experienced incredible generosity and truly baffling life affirming coincidences, in every county I visited, I met someone connected with home.
Cambodia - I traveled with my former housemate, and met an outdoor education teacher who knew the staff from the University of Glamorgan. I met an Aberystwyth Graduate who had lived in the same Student Village house I had lived in two years after me!
Vietnam - traveled with a guy from Humboldt State
Malaysia - caught up with my Humboldt pal
Australia - stayed my first night with a CouchSurfer who had stayed with me in Swansea, caught a ride with her fella to Byron Bay, found work on an organic farm. Her architect knew CAT and was visiting Crystal Waters from Brisbane where I'd left my rucksac with my couch surfing pal. The lady whose farm I was staying at was travelling up to Brisbane on just the right day. Visited old family friends in Bundaberg.
I met a lady into partner yoga and permaculture online, and stayed with her, and met some of my heroes. Caught up with two travel buddy from Cambodia, bumped into someone from Nimbin in Melbourne.
Stayed with a colleague in Newcastle, dinned with the director of Celtic Studies, and met someone lovely.
New Zealand - Travelled with the lovely person, visited an old Uni friend, a guy who had been camping in my same spot in Three Cliffs Bay, found an antique shop selling a few items, but significantly the same wedgewood, doulton figures and a soapdish I knew from my grandmothers. A bookshop with five titles on display my authors I had met!
Cook Islands - stayed at a tiny resort, met a guy whose parents lived at Southgate Gower, and frequently wandered the Three Cliffs. Met a lady who invited me to stay at her cabin in the wilds.
US West Coast - Met up with friends from CAT in San Francisco, Stayed in the same hostel in the same bed, quite by chance.
Stayed in the Cabin near lake Tahoe, the girls uncle had met my ex in California through his work.
Stayed in a the room in the same hostel in Portland.
Caught up with friends made two years previously for a wild week of jeeping, sturgeon fishing and target practice in the woods.
In Canada, met up and stayed with the family of a guy I met in Cambodia. Most baffling of all was hitching outside of Merrit, Canada's Country Music Capitol. I had slept in the spare room of a couple who had arrived there after hitching also. After a long and boring walk in the sun I was picket Peter, who had worked not 5 minutes walk from my house in Romsey, new the same landlord, quoted the Autobiography of a Supertramp, a book which has been following me around like a shadow and many other coincidences you would not believe if I told you :)
I met a dear friend in Indiana, an old friend from Swansea flew out to meet me in New York. In New York He and I met Janelle to see a gig, we had met in Cambodia and again in Brisbane, with many stories to share.
What an amazingly small world it can be, the thank yous deserve a post all of their own, but I'll not begin at this hour - as I'll be up all night, have school in the morning and do not want to get all misty eyed and sentimental.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Old Swansea town once more....
Its been six strange weeks since I returned to Swansea, almost daily Facebook, emails and texts prod me to finish the damned blog. So here it is up to date apart from the photos which I've been sorting through.
Returning, it can seem that very little has changed, most friends are living in the same places. Reassuringly they prop up the same bars, a few new businesses have opened or relocated. Though I have a few more grey sparkles nobody else seems to have aged appreciably.
A few little people have arrived, some close friends are now engaged. A recent observation from my lovely Aussie friend after a year in London rings true for me also:-
"Its weird how on the surface nothing has changed, but on a slower deeper level, peoples lives have kept moving forward, sometimes it feels like the traveler is the one standing still."
Rediscovering my books, bikes and driving my truck were new and exciting experiences. Thanks to accommodating friends, I continued the couchsurfing theme, sleeping on 3 couches, 2 beds and my hammock in the first week back. I still have a pack with me most of the time, though much smaller. The habit is so hard to break, and I still keep feeling for my wallet as I get up. I was encouraged to wear shoes, rather than the boots I had worn, almost daily for the whole trip. It was not long before I regretted it, as I was soon in the mud again.
I was fortunate to be able to work a few days after returning, it was a youth group in a woodland setting with another instructor, Rik. A gentle reintroduction with perfect weather, good kids and enthusiastic youth workers. I hope they did not notice my slightly shell shocked appearance, it was odd to be in a position of responsibility again after looking out only for myself and traveling partner all this while. Riks many stories shared around the campfire contained people I knew from my sailing youth.
Packing my kit for work was so easy with all the practice of getting comfortable out of doors, choosing items from my inventory of out door kit. At home, no worries about avoiding police or park wardens, bears, mountain lions, poisonous snakes and spiders, not even mosquitos to bother me as I slept.
Cooking at the Welsh Bushcraft gathering at Margam Country Park was a great success with all the good folk of Dryad together in one place. With help from recently roped in volunteers I cooked self smoked trout and mackerel pate with laverbread bannock, spit roast lamb and saws bara lawr, smoked garlic mash, veggies and apple crumble. We made sure everyone spirits held up despite the weather, even in rain over 1100 people came through the gates.
Now the novelty of being back has worn off I took time to reflect on the adventure. For those not familiar with British understatement, taking time to reflect translated as hearing a silent scream of "What the fuck just happened?" looping constantly through my head, wolfing my meals down like I could not get the blood sugar spike quick enough, waking up at 0417 (why that time exactly?) totally alert, and running a resting heart rate of around 120 instead of the usual 60 bpm as I am now.
In all, I visited eleven countries over nine months, the only certainty in my travel plans was knowing I had to be at the airport at the right time to connect with my departing flight. Over the time, I never booked accommodation in advance. For a larger part of the trip, when I woke up, I had no idea where I would be going to sleep, I just trusted that something would work out, be it an overnight bus, a quiet corner of a city park, an abandoned house, a strangers floor, another couchsurfers home, or a hostel. Now I'm in the bedroom I had as a child, and I totally appreciative of my supportive folks, a comfy bed, free of both parasites AND rodents, it is you will appreciate, also a massive comedown and dent to my pride.
It is so true, that if you move back in with your folks, even temporarily, you do revert to being a child. I've felt really embarrassed at the frankly teenage whining my dear mother has had to put up with, which she has, amazingly well. She is such a star, and now as eldest, the head of what was is sadly now a small family.
My cousin Stephen visited for a long weekend shortly after I returned. His sister Mel, chose to end her life during a religious retreat shortly before my departure, after years of mental anguish, which included a frantic burst of independent travel, periods of hospitalisation, and the last time I saw her, a few weeks before, apparent recovery. Nobody really knows what the trigger was, we think about her daily.
During Steve's stay in Swansea visit we walked, swam and cycled together, and shared long conversations, it was such a relief when we finally got to talk in person after exchanging many emails and online conversations while I was away. He had written a blog about his ongoing process of adapting to his loss, a very courageous thing to do - I'm so proud of him.
He and I have grown closer through the experience, I'm sure it will come as a shock to some readers to learn that I lost my own father in similar circumstances during University. At the same time I lost my remaining Grandparents, a few friends and the mother of one of Jon, one of my dearest and oldest friends. Of the crew of four I sailed with during the long academic holidays I was the only one alive by graduation. Unlike my more emotionally aware cousin and friend I kept pretty quiet about it, preferring obsessive exercise, heavy drinking and solitary walks like a veteran of war. How I got my honours I do not know.
Its so true, you really do not know what something like that feels like unless you experience it for yourself. No amount of words can describe what that feeling is like, and I'm glad, because if words had such power, we would be too terrified to open a book.
Just as I listened to Stephen, he listened to me, our very different experiences of family life, about the other side of travel, that I never thought to put on the this blog. He could not understand the disparity between the posts he was reading and what was coming out in our private conversations. He thought I should post something of the real experience, not just the highlights or the good times but the difficult times also.
He felt I needed to spell things out for people. He said that the impression I gave was of being very self assured, and that to people at home I was ostensibly having a great time, he imagined people were probably a bit jealous, and that they felt a bit silly leaving comments, which is why it seemed like so few people were taking an interest.
This was revelation to me! Every post, I hoped, would be responded to with news from home. In an I'll show you mine if you show me yours kinda thing. "Jealous?" I asked incredulously. Don't get me wrong. I'm glad I did it, and I had some real highlights, confounding coincidences, and wonderful people. But a moment please....
How would you expect to feel, going around the world alone trying to bury your fathers ghost?
For the most part if I'm totally honest it was as you would expect - lonely, boring, frustrating, confronting, isolating.... But of course I'm not going to post that on a blog to depress or concern everyone. Least of all my closest family, who were worried for me anyway and had so recently lost one of the other Grandchildren. Do you make holiday movies of rows with your partner? or fill photograph albums with your toddlers tantrums?
I went to the pub last night and met Jon who is enough of a friend to tell me something straight out. We finally got a chance to speak alone and he said a few things that echoed Steve's observations.
Jon felt that I had offended friends at home, and turned people against me by suggesting they lived in a bubble, he conceded it had some truth in it, but added that I was in a traveler's bubble. My bubble was the blog audience of fellow travelers and new friends I had made on the trail. I thought I'd avoided playing the worldly traveler pretty well and was shocked to hear he felt so strongly that way. I truly regret any offence caused.
I have always missed having brothers and sisters, while siblings may get really angry at one another, there will always be a stronger blood connection. I have always envied the security that must come with that. If you get on the wrong side of a clique, you may find yourself entirely alone. My home friends I had thought of as a surrogate family. I feel I give a lot, and maybe unrealistically expect a lot in return.
Specifically I expect people to think I'm a generally a nice bloke, and to be given a bit of leeway considering what I was attempting and what I had experienced . I assumed that the underlying connection was there, but perhaps it wasn't. Looking over the emails I received in response to blog posts, its significant that most were from people who had traveled a lot themselves, relatives or ex-girlfriends.
Jon could not understand why I did not write that I missed my friends and my home town. Well I can only apologise for not posting online in a large font- I thought about you all the time, I had thought that was a given - but I'll say it now
I MISSED YOU !!!!
Every spectacular sunset, I wished someone from home could remember it to recall on overcast days outside the Tav.
How many times in a cafe nursing cold coffee and a dogeared book did I wish I was with the gang in the Uplands Dinner the morning after the night before?
How many bowls of entrail based soups would I swap for a Swansea batch?
Didn't I feel hollow, congratulating school friends on their getting married, buying houses or having children while being the oldest bloke in the hostel, missing my lover, burned out, trying to sleep, with people shagging in the bunk below?
But when people did not respond to posts I made here, send a quick email or the occasional text it was clear I did not have that connection I had always assumed I did, and that really did hurt. Friends I knew would be sending upwards of 10 texts in a typical day, but did not send one my way - I have had that same number for six years and displayed it on my fb profile. I could see wall to wall conversations that people were regularly communicating with one another with even greater frequently as time went on. Like discussing favorite biscuits*
I had been to the site of genocide and interrogation for a paranoid regime, sometimes insanity is collective. I saw people missing faces, dried blood on walls, on ceilings, descriptions of people having their liver eaten while still alive. (When the thought of eating a dead human liver is more acceptable than another option, you know you are somewhere you really oughtn't be) I saw the wooden frame where people were hoisted by their wrists by ropes till they lost consciousness, revived in buckets of shitty water and hoisted again, it was polished smooth! I saw rebar fashioned into shackles thinner than my wrists designed for the ankles of children. I was filled with disgust and pure sympathy, how many people were perpetrators? how many victims? all of them really. Stoned, missing a girl from home, wondering if I should come home early, wondering why she had not responded, then accosted by a child prostitute who made a dive into the room. Out and proud as they come, not the innocent kids I'd naively assumed. In fluent English he threatened to tell the police I had drugs when told him to go away. At the beach, kids with legs blown off by a landmine, what a waste! One nerve calming beer later, a six year old pointed a long firework into a lit candle on the table, and threatened to tell the police I'd felt him up if I did not give him money. I was pretty sure he was bluffing, but who knows here? Could I really be extortable by this kid? What happens if you are seen giving money to that child rather than the one who stepped on the toe-popper, a further set up, more bribes?. Damn that weed was strong. In Cambodia I can well believe you can pay to shoot someone as sport, because the family need the money that badly. I cannot believe I threatened a six year old with a glass. The look in his eyes showed the capacity for such cruelty was in me as well, if only in make believe.
I'd only seen what was now a museum, and had a minor hassle from some street smart kids, but the forces that produced them both were among us, and within us, the atmosphere was so heavy, the pain so deep, it touched me in a way that pushed really primal self preservation buttons. Here I was confronted with unscripted horror, the great unknown, and about to embark on another eight months of it.
Days later, escaping the sun baked insanity outside, to the relative calm of a slow internet connection and noisy air conditioning. I logged in expectantly, at that point, all I hoped to read was a simple hello, simply anything from back home, a few words like how Friday night at the pub went, but nothing! Perhaps I should have just stated my case for milk chocolate hobnobs as best biscuit.
*It wasn't actually biscuits it was something else, I don't want anyone to feel targeted by this.
If anyone feels that reading Steve's blog could in some way help them with a similar tragedy it can be found here www.stevesthoughts.blog.co.uk
Returning, it can seem that very little has changed, most friends are living in the same places. Reassuringly they prop up the same bars, a few new businesses have opened or relocated. Though I have a few more grey sparkles nobody else seems to have aged appreciably.
A few little people have arrived, some close friends are now engaged. A recent observation from my lovely Aussie friend after a year in London rings true for me also:-
"Its weird how on the surface nothing has changed, but on a slower deeper level, peoples lives have kept moving forward, sometimes it feels like the traveler is the one standing still."
Rediscovering my books, bikes and driving my truck were new and exciting experiences. Thanks to accommodating friends, I continued the couchsurfing theme, sleeping on 3 couches, 2 beds and my hammock in the first week back. I still have a pack with me most of the time, though much smaller. The habit is so hard to break, and I still keep feeling for my wallet as I get up. I was encouraged to wear shoes, rather than the boots I had worn, almost daily for the whole trip. It was not long before I regretted it, as I was soon in the mud again.
I was fortunate to be able to work a few days after returning, it was a youth group in a woodland setting with another instructor, Rik. A gentle reintroduction with perfect weather, good kids and enthusiastic youth workers. I hope they did not notice my slightly shell shocked appearance, it was odd to be in a position of responsibility again after looking out only for myself and traveling partner all this while. Riks many stories shared around the campfire contained people I knew from my sailing youth.
Packing my kit for work was so easy with all the practice of getting comfortable out of doors, choosing items from my inventory of out door kit. At home, no worries about avoiding police or park wardens, bears, mountain lions, poisonous snakes and spiders, not even mosquitos to bother me as I slept.
Cooking at the Welsh Bushcraft gathering at Margam Country Park was a great success with all the good folk of Dryad together in one place. With help from recently roped in volunteers I cooked self smoked trout and mackerel pate with laverbread bannock, spit roast lamb and saws bara lawr, smoked garlic mash, veggies and apple crumble. We made sure everyone spirits held up despite the weather, even in rain over 1100 people came through the gates.
Now the novelty of being back has worn off I took time to reflect on the adventure. For those not familiar with British understatement, taking time to reflect translated as hearing a silent scream of "What the fuck just happened?" looping constantly through my head, wolfing my meals down like I could not get the blood sugar spike quick enough, waking up at 0417 (why that time exactly?) totally alert, and running a resting heart rate of around 120 instead of the usual 60 bpm as I am now.
In all, I visited eleven countries over nine months, the only certainty in my travel plans was knowing I had to be at the airport at the right time to connect with my departing flight. Over the time, I never booked accommodation in advance. For a larger part of the trip, when I woke up, I had no idea where I would be going to sleep, I just trusted that something would work out, be it an overnight bus, a quiet corner of a city park, an abandoned house, a strangers floor, another couchsurfers home, or a hostel. Now I'm in the bedroom I had as a child, and I totally appreciative of my supportive folks, a comfy bed, free of both parasites AND rodents, it is you will appreciate, also a massive comedown and dent to my pride.
It is so true, that if you move back in with your folks, even temporarily, you do revert to being a child. I've felt really embarrassed at the frankly teenage whining my dear mother has had to put up with, which she has, amazingly well. She is such a star, and now as eldest, the head of what was is sadly now a small family.
My cousin Stephen visited for a long weekend shortly after I returned. His sister Mel, chose to end her life during a religious retreat shortly before my departure, after years of mental anguish, which included a frantic burst of independent travel, periods of hospitalisation, and the last time I saw her, a few weeks before, apparent recovery. Nobody really knows what the trigger was, we think about her daily.
During Steve's stay in Swansea visit we walked, swam and cycled together, and shared long conversations, it was such a relief when we finally got to talk in person after exchanging many emails and online conversations while I was away. He had written a blog about his ongoing process of adapting to his loss, a very courageous thing to do - I'm so proud of him.
He and I have grown closer through the experience, I'm sure it will come as a shock to some readers to learn that I lost my own father in similar circumstances during University. At the same time I lost my remaining Grandparents, a few friends and the mother of one of Jon, one of my dearest and oldest friends. Of the crew of four I sailed with during the long academic holidays I was the only one alive by graduation. Unlike my more emotionally aware cousin and friend I kept pretty quiet about it, preferring obsessive exercise, heavy drinking and solitary walks like a veteran of war. How I got my honours I do not know.
Its so true, you really do not know what something like that feels like unless you experience it for yourself. No amount of words can describe what that feeling is like, and I'm glad, because if words had such power, we would be too terrified to open a book.
Just as I listened to Stephen, he listened to me, our very different experiences of family life, about the other side of travel, that I never thought to put on the this blog. He could not understand the disparity between the posts he was reading and what was coming out in our private conversations. He thought I should post something of the real experience, not just the highlights or the good times but the difficult times also.
He felt I needed to spell things out for people. He said that the impression I gave was of being very self assured, and that to people at home I was ostensibly having a great time, he imagined people were probably a bit jealous, and that they felt a bit silly leaving comments, which is why it seemed like so few people were taking an interest.
This was revelation to me! Every post, I hoped, would be responded to with news from home. In an I'll show you mine if you show me yours kinda thing. "Jealous?" I asked incredulously. Don't get me wrong. I'm glad I did it, and I had some real highlights, confounding coincidences, and wonderful people. But a moment please....
How would you expect to feel, going around the world alone trying to bury your fathers ghost?
For the most part if I'm totally honest it was as you would expect - lonely, boring, frustrating, confronting, isolating.... But of course I'm not going to post that on a blog to depress or concern everyone. Least of all my closest family, who were worried for me anyway and had so recently lost one of the other Grandchildren. Do you make holiday movies of rows with your partner? or fill photograph albums with your toddlers tantrums?
I went to the pub last night and met Jon who is enough of a friend to tell me something straight out. We finally got a chance to speak alone and he said a few things that echoed Steve's observations.
Jon felt that I had offended friends at home, and turned people against me by suggesting they lived in a bubble, he conceded it had some truth in it, but added that I was in a traveler's bubble. My bubble was the blog audience of fellow travelers and new friends I had made on the trail. I thought I'd avoided playing the worldly traveler pretty well and was shocked to hear he felt so strongly that way. I truly regret any offence caused.
I have always missed having brothers and sisters, while siblings may get really angry at one another, there will always be a stronger blood connection. I have always envied the security that must come with that. If you get on the wrong side of a clique, you may find yourself entirely alone. My home friends I had thought of as a surrogate family. I feel I give a lot, and maybe unrealistically expect a lot in return.
Specifically I expect people to think I'm a generally a nice bloke, and to be given a bit of leeway considering what I was attempting and what I had experienced . I assumed that the underlying connection was there, but perhaps it wasn't. Looking over the emails I received in response to blog posts, its significant that most were from people who had traveled a lot themselves, relatives or ex-girlfriends.
Jon could not understand why I did not write that I missed my friends and my home town. Well I can only apologise for not posting online in a large font- I thought about you all the time, I had thought that was a given - but I'll say it now
I MISSED YOU !!!!
Every spectacular sunset, I wished someone from home could remember it to recall on overcast days outside the Tav.
How many times in a cafe nursing cold coffee and a dogeared book did I wish I was with the gang in the Uplands Dinner the morning after the night before?
How many bowls of entrail based soups would I swap for a Swansea batch?
Didn't I feel hollow, congratulating school friends on their getting married, buying houses or having children while being the oldest bloke in the hostel, missing my lover, burned out, trying to sleep, with people shagging in the bunk below?
But when people did not respond to posts I made here, send a quick email or the occasional text it was clear I did not have that connection I had always assumed I did, and that really did hurt. Friends I knew would be sending upwards of 10 texts in a typical day, but did not send one my way - I have had that same number for six years and displayed it on my fb profile. I could see wall to wall conversations that people were regularly communicating with one another with even greater frequently as time went on. Like discussing favorite biscuits*
I had been to the site of genocide and interrogation for a paranoid regime, sometimes insanity is collective. I saw people missing faces, dried blood on walls, on ceilings, descriptions of people having their liver eaten while still alive. (When the thought of eating a dead human liver is more acceptable than another option, you know you are somewhere you really oughtn't be) I saw the wooden frame where people were hoisted by their wrists by ropes till they lost consciousness, revived in buckets of shitty water and hoisted again, it was polished smooth! I saw rebar fashioned into shackles thinner than my wrists designed for the ankles of children. I was filled with disgust and pure sympathy, how many people were perpetrators? how many victims? all of them really. Stoned, missing a girl from home, wondering if I should come home early, wondering why she had not responded, then accosted by a child prostitute who made a dive into the room. Out and proud as they come, not the innocent kids I'd naively assumed. In fluent English he threatened to tell the police I had drugs when told him to go away. At the beach, kids with legs blown off by a landmine, what a waste! One nerve calming beer later, a six year old pointed a long firework into a lit candle on the table, and threatened to tell the police I'd felt him up if I did not give him money. I was pretty sure he was bluffing, but who knows here? Could I really be extortable by this kid? What happens if you are seen giving money to that child rather than the one who stepped on the toe-popper, a further set up, more bribes?. Damn that weed was strong. In Cambodia I can well believe you can pay to shoot someone as sport, because the family need the money that badly. I cannot believe I threatened a six year old with a glass. The look in his eyes showed the capacity for such cruelty was in me as well, if only in make believe.
I'd only seen what was now a museum, and had a minor hassle from some street smart kids, but the forces that produced them both were among us, and within us, the atmosphere was so heavy, the pain so deep, it touched me in a way that pushed really primal self preservation buttons. Here I was confronted with unscripted horror, the great unknown, and about to embark on another eight months of it.
Days later, escaping the sun baked insanity outside, to the relative calm of a slow internet connection and noisy air conditioning. I logged in expectantly, at that point, all I hoped to read was a simple hello, simply anything from back home, a few words like how Friday night at the pub went, but nothing! Perhaps I should have just stated my case for milk chocolate hobnobs as best biscuit.
*It wasn't actually biscuits it was something else, I don't want anyone to feel targeted by this.
If anyone feels that reading Steve's blog could in some way help them with a similar tragedy it can be found here www.stevesthoughts.blog.co.uk
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
New York
New York is very compact, and felt like a very livable city, nobody drives in New York, there is too much traffic! (Futurama quote) I bought a seven day pass for both busses and subway for $23 dollars, which has to be the biggest bargain in town. Just as well, as the accommodation was the most expensive so far. Hugh did not like the idea of couch surfing or bivouacking in Central Park, which had a certain appeal for me.
Thanks to facebook I learned that my friend Janelle, who I had met in Cambodia, who showed me the sights of Sydney, was now in New York. She was on her second holiday, while I had still me been moving, not knowing where I was staying from one night to the next. The three of us went to a gig, explored Times Square and had a pretty awful meal. It seemed the area of town was devoid of good eating spots at that time, but walking back we realized we were only a few streets away from the mother-lode.
My friend from home had been tee-total for about four years, I had been looking forward to his company especially as I do not drink much anymore. It was a surprise therefore when the pair of us left a lock-in at 5am, drunk as skunks!
By anybody's standards New York is a beautiful city, though there were so many attractions, just wandering around and gawping at the toned and tanned and the architecture was entertainment enough. We both enjoyed Greenwich Village and Little Italy the most, the eating was excellent, but an included 20% service charge seemed excessive. I was glad to be headed to a place where tipping in bars is the exception, rather than the norm, and the glasses are bigger!
Thanks to facebook I learned that my friend Janelle, who I had met in Cambodia, who showed me the sights of Sydney, was now in New York. She was on her second holiday, while I had still me been moving, not knowing where I was staying from one night to the next. The three of us went to a gig, explored Times Square and had a pretty awful meal. It seemed the area of town was devoid of good eating spots at that time, but walking back we realized we were only a few streets away from the mother-lode.
My friend from home had been tee-total for about four years, I had been looking forward to his company especially as I do not drink much anymore. It was a surprise therefore when the pair of us left a lock-in at 5am, drunk as skunks!
By anybody's standards New York is a beautiful city, though there were so many attractions, just wandering around and gawping at the toned and tanned and the architecture was entertainment enough. We both enjoyed Greenwich Village and Little Italy the most, the eating was excellent, but an included 20% service charge seemed excessive. I was glad to be headed to a place where tipping in bars is the exception, rather than the norm, and the glasses are bigger!
Indiana
Peter had driven me all the way to Montreal, from where I was due to fly to Indiana, to meet Michelle. We had been friends since my last US adventure, and regularly emailed from opposite sides of the Atlantic. A fascinating time of correspondence, during which the worlds financial systems came unstuck, the change as the US administration switched to one of hope - and she left the hippy ecotopia of a liberal arts college amongst the giant redwoods of Northern California for Purdue, her highly respected grad school surrounded by endless plains of soybeans and Indian corn.
Taking in the cost of flights vs. bus journeys, and the various people I wanted to see, the cheapest and quickest option was to fly from Montreal though it meant doubling back. I had long hoped to visit the city, the famous Jazz festival was on soon, and I would loved to have caught up with an ex-girlfriend who had returned to her home there.
Besides the University, Indiana is famous for motor racing, farming and religiosity. People looked at me like I was special, in the short bus sense, when I told them of my plans to go there. One friend said to me, if you want to to see real America, then there it is. So far it felt I had only seen the beautiful bits. For many more, this flat land of parking lots, strip malls and monocultures was more representative. The sky seems bigger there, the clouds are fluffy, and the distances vast. This was the suburbia of The End of Suburbia, where every journey began not with a single footstep, but reaching for the keys to a pickup truck.
With such huge distanced between places I find it hard to imagine a real sense of community. I felt the loss for my friend who had won a scholarship to study here. After a six hour drive to her home, during which we picked up a speeding ticket (Minutes after remarking on the lack of cops! ) I was pleased to see she had found a really nice house she had bought for a song. Her research interests will encourage greater use of biogas in the region. Such technologies and the ideologies that support them are common on the West Coast, but have yet to make an impact in this area of TV dinners and televangelists. It could not possibly be as bad as everyone thought, the university was founded in 1869 but classes did not begin in 1874, Aberystwyth, my own university was founded in 1872.
We explored the National Park with its huge nettles and lost world feel I doubt many believe actually exist in those parts. The nettles were bigger than my hand span. It was wonderful to see my friend, enjoy her cooking, and her enthusiasm for her work and new lifestyle.
Michelle drove me to the airport, I slept on the way, I was sorry it had been such a fleeting visit, and I had not managed to stay conscious for the last of it. I was also excited to see New York, choosing the flight to get me in the Big Apple in the late afternoon. My good friend, Hugh from Swansea was due to join me for the last leg. I was looking forward to getting my bearings before he arrived, but I did not touch down until nearer 23:00. Still carrying out my plan of not booking accommodation in advance I was expecting to sleep at the airport.
Nothing unites like a crisis, and this delay did get the passengers talking, I met a guy who owned an IT training company who had run for elections to the Indian Congress party who showed me youtube videos of his rally attended by 25,000, who asked for my CV.
I sat next to Sebastian, a trombonist and member of a conservatory in the city we chatted for most of the flight about all kinds of things especially I remember listening rapt as he talked about improvisation in composition. When I told him tales of all the generosity I had received, he was as amazed as I had been, and joined the chain of other wonderful folk, by putting me up. He was moving out the next day and I offered to help in return. His housemates (roomies) were nervous about a a stranger staying, so I ended up crashing on Seb's floor on my Thermarest, people like him really do make a difference.
Thankyou all
Taking in the cost of flights vs. bus journeys, and the various people I wanted to see, the cheapest and quickest option was to fly from Montreal though it meant doubling back. I had long hoped to visit the city, the famous Jazz festival was on soon, and I would loved to have caught up with an ex-girlfriend who had returned to her home there.
Besides the University, Indiana is famous for motor racing, farming and religiosity. People looked at me like I was special, in the short bus sense, when I told them of my plans to go there. One friend said to me, if you want to to see real America, then there it is. So far it felt I had only seen the beautiful bits. For many more, this flat land of parking lots, strip malls and monocultures was more representative. The sky seems bigger there, the clouds are fluffy, and the distances vast. This was the suburbia of The End of Suburbia, where every journey began not with a single footstep, but reaching for the keys to a pickup truck.
With such huge distanced between places I find it hard to imagine a real sense of community. I felt the loss for my friend who had won a scholarship to study here. After a six hour drive to her home, during which we picked up a speeding ticket (Minutes after remarking on the lack of cops! ) I was pleased to see she had found a really nice house she had bought for a song. Her research interests will encourage greater use of biogas in the region. Such technologies and the ideologies that support them are common on the West Coast, but have yet to make an impact in this area of TV dinners and televangelists. It could not possibly be as bad as everyone thought, the university was founded in 1869 but classes did not begin in 1874, Aberystwyth, my own university was founded in 1872.
We explored the National Park with its huge nettles and lost world feel I doubt many believe actually exist in those parts. The nettles were bigger than my hand span. It was wonderful to see my friend, enjoy her cooking, and her enthusiasm for her work and new lifestyle.
Michelle drove me to the airport, I slept on the way, I was sorry it had been such a fleeting visit, and I had not managed to stay conscious for the last of it. I was also excited to see New York, choosing the flight to get me in the Big Apple in the late afternoon. My good friend, Hugh from Swansea was due to join me for the last leg. I was looking forward to getting my bearings before he arrived, but I did not touch down until nearer 23:00. Still carrying out my plan of not booking accommodation in advance I was expecting to sleep at the airport.
Nothing unites like a crisis, and this delay did get the passengers talking, I met a guy who owned an IT training company who had run for elections to the Indian Congress party who showed me youtube videos of his rally attended by 25,000, who asked for my CV.
I sat next to Sebastian, a trombonist and member of a conservatory in the city we chatted for most of the flight about all kinds of things especially I remember listening rapt as he talked about improvisation in composition. When I told him tales of all the generosity I had received, he was as amazed as I had been, and joined the chain of other wonderful folk, by putting me up. He was moving out the next day and I offered to help in return. His housemates (roomies) were nervous about a a stranger staying, so I ended up crashing on Seb's floor on my Thermarest, people like him really do make a difference.
Thankyou all
Winnipeg
Was where which I caught up with Justin, a massage therapist I had met in Cambodia. People had wondered why I had wanted to go that town in the middle of North America, I have learned to be selective in whose advice I take. What I call colourful others call sketchy. People had warned me that the place had the highest murder rate in Canada, and was also full of witches!
I had also heard, that the town was a hotbed social activism. Justin had found it very difficult to adjust back into life in Canada after his three month adventure in Cambodia. He loved Bodhi Villa so much he returned to sell his services at that cool riverside chillout spot. Crossing into Thailand the police stole his earnings, and even distributed his duty free cigarettes around the other uniformed thieves.
I talked his ear off from 10 am till 13:30 straight, till he brought me to his place, Oikos is a Greek word for a house run as a family, a housing cooperative, that had been running since the 1970s, the nine housemates were able to share a fantastic space, with plenty of room for instruments including pianos, a drum kit and a huge choice of sofas to crash on. I had a lovely time, saw a puppet show, received massage and reiki at the same time from two different people and many healthy veggie meals.
I had also heard, that the town was a hotbed social activism. Justin had found it very difficult to adjust back into life in Canada after his three month adventure in Cambodia. He loved Bodhi Villa so much he returned to sell his services at that cool riverside chillout spot. Crossing into Thailand the police stole his earnings, and even distributed his duty free cigarettes around the other uniformed thieves.
I talked his ear off from 10 am till 13:30 straight, till he brought me to his place, Oikos is a Greek word for a house run as a family, a housing cooperative, that had been running since the 1970s, the nine housemates were able to share a fantastic space, with plenty of room for instruments including pianos, a drum kit and a huge choice of sofas to crash on. I had a lovely time, saw a puppet show, received massage and reiki at the same time from two different people and many healthy veggie meals.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Hitching across Canada....
Following the advice from the Craigslist guy, I caught a bus to the last stop at the edge of town the next morning, where a lady with bags overflowing with groceries gave me a bunch of bananas, grapes, an apple, and even cut me a chunk from her huge block of Tillamook cheese. She said she had children who had gone traveling, who had always been looked after on the road, and thought she would pay it forward. Over and over on this trip I have experienced such random acts of kindness. I was proud to tell the tale of my folks picking up hitchhikers in Tescos in Swansea, they brought them back to the house, to pitch their tent in the back garden, and served them a great meal which included crumbed monkfish and crab claws.
Hitching is illegal on the main highways in Canada, positioning is critical, but more accepted here than in the US. It is the same case between NZ and Austrailia. In the UK I have often picked up hitch hikers, many of whom have been service men. Probably because they are unafraid, used to mucking in with strangers, and often find themselves in different locations without transport, on not much money.
Hitching is always an adventure, and touch wood, all my experiences have been good. The last time I attempted to hitch in the UK was from Hillend Campsite in Llangenith back to the town centre. I had a punnet of strawberries, and held them prominently instead of the universal thumb sign. This was on a busy, summer day, where traffic was at a crawl or stopped giving plenty of time for folk to make a judgement call. Friends! Though I have a beard, and often wear stained trousers, I am hardly a scary looking character.
I was eventually picked up by someone I knew who was able to drop me in Gorseinon. Now on a bus route I was able to get into town, but no bugger would stop as I walked along eating the strawberries – they were big Gower ones too! The filthy looks you get, especially from that same demographic who complain about how things were better in their day, and decry the youth of today. To whom I say:-
"You were young then and you are the generation that raised them, how dare you write off the young as hooligans? Your prejudice and fearfulness is every bit as much of the problem as their perceived aggression."
I really believe the stranger danger message drummed into us has kids has helped make the UK one of the most fearful places I have ever been
Interestingly the people who have showed such genorosity and trust, by inviting me into their homes and giving rides do not generally live with televisions. Perhaps this is why they are less fearful, or maybe they are a select goup who really enjoy conversation. Of the many couches I have surfed on this trip, only a handful had sets, and of those we only watched selectively. Almost all however had internet connections, large book collections and cooked very well.
I want to be picked up by the sort of people who pick up hitch hikers. They are generally nice folk, who have hitchhiked themselves, they know what its like to walk with a heavy pack in the sun, while huge air conditioned trucks pass with just one person in them, for hour after hour.
Thankfully Canada is a country known for its niceness, it is the only country I decided to visit because of the good experiences I have had with their stock. Four rides in quick succession got me to Merritt, Canada's Country music capitol. Thankfully I arrived just after the festival, and stretched out on a log by the river to snooze. I could not imagine much luck hitching onward from this ghost town in darkness, and was waiting for the few people around to depart before setting up my shelter.
A young couple approached, realising I was a hitchhiker – they had also arrived at the town by hitchhiking but had decided to stay. We swam in the river, which was refreshing, the wide, empty concrete streets shimmered in heat even now, as dusk was approaching.
Mark and his girlfriend invited me to stay with them, a very interesting chap – he and a friend had discovered dinosaur footprints in his home town of Tumbler Ridge, causing a media storm. The ex-mining town, only on the bones of its arse was now thriving.
We shared an enjoyable time, a meal of moose steak, ate the truffles then sang along to The Lion King and played with his tarantula.
Once again, I had met friendly people, who took me in, and looked after me. I would have enjoyed taking up their offer to go rock jumping, but time was pressing, I still had a lot of country to cover.
Getting out of Merrit was easy enough, but once outside the town, the traffic slowed right down. Hitching on highway 1 was illegal, but 1a – the older, and quieter road was ok. I watched a constant steam on the first, but only a few every ten minutes or so bypassed me. Many of the vehicles had couples, who rarely stop, cars full of camping gear with no space, and trade vehicles who are often not allowed to offer rides.
As I was cursing humanity for their lack of trust, and wastefulness a Volvo pulled into the layby. I used to have one, in conversation we found out we had both had to replace the headlamp. A lot of the early stages of conversation, is unconciously establishing whether we are from the same tribe. It was not long therefore that I discovered he had worked at a vineyard no more than 5 mins from a house I lived in, and frequented the same pubs. Over the next few hours other coincidences kept popping up.
Peter, the driver had a wealth of stories, gathered over 40 years of travel as a road surveyor and other jobs. Originally from Scotland, he had lived and worked in Austrailia, NZ, Canada, USA, been arrested in Argentina in the 1970s as an extemist, and had a lucky escape. He had lived in India with barely more than a loin cloth and bedding roll. It was a pleasure to sit back and hear his tales, rather than telling my own.
A self described christian-romantic-existentialist he was on a nostalgic jour
ney across the country. We watched the scenery unfold as we discussed Walt Whitman, road construction, the Beat poets, his experiences with shamans and of course existentialism.We broke our journey in a wood, where he brought out a salmon risotto and a beer, I unrolled my bivi bag and blanket, while he made up his usual bed in the back of the big volvo. Every sound I imagined to be a grizzly or mountian lion, but managed to sleep well, feeling refreshed and waking early as I always do, when I sleep outside.
Spoiled rotten in Seattle, Vancouver and Victoria
Washington had been a blast, with so 
many experiences to file away, I was content to muse over as I rode the Amtrack North to Seattle. On a long warm evening I met up with Natalia, a friend from Humboldt who had moved to study her Masters in Physical Therapy. She took me to her lectures to the gym and for dinner and easy conversation. What a contrast to the previous weeks excesses. We spent an enjoyable time sharing photographs and healthy meals.
I rode the greyhound from Seattle, uneventful save that one Sikh guy was peeing with the door open. One lady shouted out, you are not in India now, and threatened to punch him! If she had been there, she would not be shocked, and think twice about abusing members of an ancient warrior caste.
Vancouver has been described as Vansterdam for its excellent BC Bud, and liberal views. I wondered what the laws on entheogenic plants was, and entered a head shop. I got talking to one of the staff, who offered me some truffle chocolates. She made them herself and suggested I drop by if I wanted to buy any. Her apartment was again televisonless and stacked with books, plants and art. We drank many cups of tea as we shared photographs. A little later, bowls were filled with salmon chowder, caught by a friend. Later a fresh leafy salad and homemade cake emerged.
I was so well looked after, once again warm-hearted folk had invited me in, and made me feel totally welcome. What a run of good fortune, this had been my experience the whole distance as I traveled up the West Coast. By the evening I had accepted the housemates invitation to stay for the upcoming Salmon BBQ, an annual event to raise money for the fire fighters. The organization of this event at the farmers market fell to my host - who made up the sofa bed. Described as an interesting anti-cultural experience, I was taken to watch the Ultimate Fighting Contest by her boyfriend. I could not believe what I was really watching these pituitary retards beat their skulls together, stirring the crowd to near frenzy. I went to yet another party, then returned to the house. The preparations kept my hosts up late, nobody got more than a few hours sleep.
Despite the early start, we remained in good humor, the BBQ being a huge success. The Salmon tasted even better for the anticipation, and shifting heavy tables.
The girl's flat had was in a big pink 1980s apartment complex, with a pool, floating on my back, letting the strains evapourate I felt especially lucky. This was my first experience of Canadian hospitality, what a treasure these folks are.
I searched Craigslist for a ride across Canada, one offer sounded promising, 58 hours straight driving in a van with a guy and his dog, from Vancouver to the East coast.
Before leaving I decided to visit Mark and his family in Victoria, standing inline I one of the passengers offered me a ride to the ferry terminal, what a friendly place. Mark, and his daughter Kate were staying in the same accommodation in Cambodia before picking up their motorcycles to rode through Vietnam. I stayed for dinner during which Kate shared tales of Indian bus journeys which included peeing in a zip lock bag, when the driver refused to stop. She told a chilling tale of a stalker, which is sadly not the first one I have heard. Such a luxury to sleep in a real bed, for the first time in weeks, then spent the next day at the Royal museum. A fine lunch by the sea with Mark's wife, then dinner in town before we rode on his Harley Davidson to reach the ferry.
The ferry operated a reduced schedule, I had been lucky to catch the last ferry. I was a bit nervous as I had not yet managed to contact the man with the dog. I stocked up on food for the journey, and bought some exotic fruits to share with the girls who had not only put me up on their sofa, but even made me breakfast in bed with a pot of tea! Eventually the guy rang to apologize that his vehicle could not make it, but gave me lots of hitch hiking tips.
many experiences to file away, I was content to muse over as I rode the Amtrack North to Seattle. On a long warm evening I met up with Natalia, a friend from Humboldt who had moved to study her Masters in Physical Therapy. She took me to her lectures to the gym and for dinner and easy conversation. What a contrast to the previous weeks excesses. We spent an enjoyable time sharing photographs and healthy meals.I rode the greyhound from Seattle, uneventful save that one Sikh guy was peeing with the door open. One lady shouted out, you are not in India now, and threatened to punch him! If she had been there, she would not be shocked, and think twice about abusing members of an ancient warrior caste.
Vancouver has been described as Vansterdam for its excellent BC Bud, and liberal views. I wondered what the laws on entheogenic plants was, and entered a head shop. I got talking to one of the staff, who offered me some truffle chocolates. She made them herself and suggested I drop by if I wanted to buy any. Her apartment was again televisonless and stacked with books, plants and art. We drank many cups of tea as we shared photographs. A little later, bowls were filled with salmon chowder, caught by a friend. Later a fresh leafy salad and homemade cake emerged.
I was so well looked after, once again warm-hearted folk had invited me in, and made me feel totally welcome. What a run of good fortune, this had been my experience the whole distance as I traveled up the West Coast. By the evening I had accepted the housemates invitation to stay for the upcoming Salmon BBQ, an annual event to raise money for the fire fighters. The organization of this event at the farmers market fell to my host - who made up the sofa bed. Described as an interesting anti-cultural experience, I was taken to watch the Ultimate Fighting Contest by her boyfriend. I could not believe what I was really watching these pituitary retards beat their skulls together, stirring the crowd to near frenzy. I went to yet another party, then returned to the house. The preparations kept my hosts up late, nobody got more than a few hours sleep.
Despite the early start, we remained in good humor, the BBQ being a huge success. The Salmon tasted even better for the anticipation, and shifting heavy tables.
The girl's flat had was in a big pink 1980s apartment complex, with a pool, floating on my back, letting the strains evapourate I felt especially lucky. This was my first experience of Canadian hospitality, what a treasure these folks are.
I searched Craigslist for a ride across Canada, one offer sounded promising, 58 hours straight driving in a van with a guy and his dog, from Vancouver to the East coast.
Before leaving I decided to visit Mark and his family in Victoria, standing inline I one of the passengers offered me a ride to the ferry terminal, what a friendly place. Mark, and his daughter Kate were staying in the same accommodation in Cambodia before picking up their motorcycles to rode through Vietnam. I stayed for dinner during which Kate shared tales of Indian bus journeys which included peeing in a zip lock bag, when the driver refused to stop. She told a chilling tale of a stalker, which is sadly not the first one I have heard. Such a luxury to sleep in a real bed, for the first time in weeks, then spent the next day at the Royal museum. A fine lunch by the sea with Mark's wife, then dinner in town before we rode on his Harley Davidson to reach the ferry.
The ferry operated a reduced schedule, I had been lucky to catch the last ferry. I was a bit nervous as I had not yet managed to contact the man with the dog. I stocked up on food for the journey, and bought some exotic fruits to share with the girls who had not only put me up on their sofa, but even made me breakfast in bed with a pot of tea! Eventually the guy rang to apologize that his vehicle could not make it, but gave me lots of hitch hiking tips.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
Posts
