The warm climate, and familiar language has afforded ultralightweight travel as pilgrims before me have used to take travel deeper. Leaving behind those precious peices of duffel that makes travel so easy forces one to rely on others, and allows an ease of movement and spontaneity that alows wonderful coincidences to occur.
Soon after typing my last blog entry, I boarded a multicoloured bus from Byron to Nimbin. Back in UK I had heard of the place as a setring for a festival celebrating the dawning of the age of Aquarious (It was not just a song), where many alternative types never left and experimented with new ways of living in beautiful surroundings supported by their clandestine horticultural ventures. Though now sadly overrun by smack and acid casualties.
I decided to check the place out for myself, to see if it deserved its grim reputation, The coach was filled with gap-year students, the amosphere felt similar to a school trip. I was reminded of the couch tours "straights" make to see the self defined "freaks" of Haight Ashbury intersection of San Fran in the late sixties. The hippies of the time responded by holding up mirrors.
The choice of hostels was the YHA with pool, and the more alternative Rainbow retreat. I chose the former, interested to see what the relatively straight crew there would make of the town compared with my experience of talking with locals. My accommodation was a tipi, very comfortable in the rain, and the pool was bracing, the people were hard work. Though judging by the faces of the people back on the coach were either unused to the effects of the herb, or overwhelmed by the whole experience.
I spend the afternoon in a cafe chatting with the locals who were a very friendly down to earth bunch. They were upset by the young crowd openly offering marijuana for sale, and yes there were a few smackheads, but no more than one would see in any town centre. The locals enjoyed the local herb, unperturbed by the CCTV recently installed in the highstreet, which seems to have done nothing but get peoples backs up. MJ is still illegal here, and broken trees are testament to the helicopter raids. I find it hard to believe anybody really cares about it anymore. Its main effect being procrastination, and enhancing the experience of the present moment at the expense of dulling of everyday unstoned experience.
I was sat in the YHA internet cafe, with all my kit beside me in the side pouch off my pack. A lady walked in asking if she could put up a sign asking for woofers (willing workers on organic farms), these are people who work on farms in exchange for food and lodging. This was was something I had done at Auroville in Pondicherry, India and something I was keen to try again. The manager of the YHA responded in negative terms, though he did not use the phrase loco parentis, that was basically his gist. Clearly I had to get out of here.
Vicki asked me what experience I had, and when I was convenient, I was ready to go straightaway, and hopped in the car. As we chatted there were so many things that did not need to explain, always nice to meet people who are on ones wavelength. Her place was a huge one roomed roundhouse, with decking around the outside, fed with from a beautiful waterfall, solar power and surrounded by fruit trees, palms and plants on a community owned site.
I was given the use of a very comfortable caravan to sleep in, and made to feel very welcome. Our many cups of green tea I began to feel re-inspired. Permaculture is an approach to creating sustainable human habitats a great passion of mine, and a philosophy I often borrow from in bushcraft teaching. It had always been my intention to visit permaculture places, as the philosophy came from these parts.
In the few days I have been here, I have met an architect who is travelling to crystal waters permaculture village, and Robyn Francis of Djalumbang Permaculture Centre, on of my heroes, whos work I had read way back when I was a eco-greenhorn at stewardwod.org in Exeter the summer after graduation desparate to do something other than IT. Ironic really, as I have been fixing computer problems, and cooking here!
Lots of things to update you with, but the light is fading fast, I hope to clear some more ground. A jumping ant bit me yesterday, which is not playing fair, I'd always thought of them as 2 D creatures. The swelling has gone down, so I'm going to myself useful.
Take care all
Friday, February 20, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Austrailia
"Procrastination ends tomorrow" laughed the drunk American observing my bulging Bergen.
I really was not in the mood, my pack contains all I need for myself and for another to spend an impromptu night out under the stars, or mountain trek. So long as I use everything I am carrying I do not really mind the weight. The spare clothes, headtorch and various odds and sods have really helped others out, and made many new experiences possible.
The customs in Aus are notoriously strict, and as usual I was patted down and questioned. The only time thishas not happeded in recent years was travelling with Andy - so the moral is travel with someone more dodgy than yoursef ;)
I was questestioned about the blades in my pack, but after confirming they were not double edged or martial arts equiment I was allowed in.
The friendliness of Aussies was confirmed as soon as I got in. I was able to stash my pack, and get free internet. I received an email from Mel, who had surfed my couch back in Swansea. She very kindly let me stay in her space room, gave me a key and a spare bike to ride into town!
Back in Swansea, she had described the design of her unusal house, the 19th century clapboard and post lightweight house had been divided into separate living spaces with a common hallway and garage underneath. The spaces may be joined by opening and closing of doors.
Relaxing into her couch it was wonderful to be in a home after countless hotel, bunk houses, jungles, beaches and park benches. Her house is bear Southbank, which is uncanilly like its London namesake, though their ferris wheel is smaller, and the women an even greater hazard to cyclists. I was had a moment rembemering how many people I had met, and places I had got to know since I stood on the London Bridge the day before my flight to Hong Kong.
Sycling back I passed through the Westend, a hippy area in the process of "Boutiquification" - my new word for the process as hippy places turn into hangout for the too cool for school kids and yuppies. The area of wide boulevards and arts cafes reminded my of Hawthorne area of downtown Portland, Oregon.
After the first few days readjusting to the familiar sights and smells, I have the luxiry of travelling super light, carrying not much more than the clothes on my back, phone, notebook, wallet, towel and poncho.
Mel's boyfriend Bret gave me a lift to Surfers Paradise where I felt very free as I was tumbled in the waves, bit the high rise and loud bars send me seeking quieter spots. I arrived in Byron bay later that evening, the first clear skies giving a perfect view of the milky way, and my ceiling for the night. Sleeping out always makes me feel free - there is something of the gypsy in all us worth their salt.
This second stage of travel, now back in the West is very different. Asia afforded cheap accomodation and constant novelty. This stage is about putting the lessons remembered from the road into practice, and learning new skills to support my bushcraft teaching.
I continue to be overwhelmed my the offers of places to stay, and the positivity towards life. Thankyou so much everyone!
I really was not in the mood, my pack contains all I need for myself and for another to spend an impromptu night out under the stars, or mountain trek. So long as I use everything I am carrying I do not really mind the weight. The spare clothes, headtorch and various odds and sods have really helped others out, and made many new experiences possible.
The customs in Aus are notoriously strict, and as usual I was patted down and questioned. The only time thishas not happeded in recent years was travelling with Andy - so the moral is travel with someone more dodgy than yoursef ;)
I was questestioned about the blades in my pack, but after confirming they were not double edged or martial arts equiment I was allowed in.
The friendliness of Aussies was confirmed as soon as I got in. I was able to stash my pack, and get free internet. I received an email from Mel, who had surfed my couch back in Swansea. She very kindly let me stay in her space room, gave me a key and a spare bike to ride into town!
Back in Swansea, she had described the design of her unusal house, the 19th century clapboard and post lightweight house had been divided into separate living spaces with a common hallway and garage underneath. The spaces may be joined by opening and closing of doors.
Relaxing into her couch it was wonderful to be in a home after countless hotel, bunk houses, jungles, beaches and park benches. Her house is bear Southbank, which is uncanilly like its London namesake, though their ferris wheel is smaller, and the women an even greater hazard to cyclists. I was had a moment rembemering how many people I had met, and places I had got to know since I stood on the London Bridge the day before my flight to Hong Kong.
Sycling back I passed through the Westend, a hippy area in the process of "Boutiquification" - my new word for the process as hippy places turn into hangout for the too cool for school kids and yuppies. The area of wide boulevards and arts cafes reminded my of Hawthorne area of downtown Portland, Oregon.
After the first few days readjusting to the familiar sights and smells, I have the luxiry of travelling super light, carrying not much more than the clothes on my back, phone, notebook, wallet, towel and poncho.
Mel's boyfriend Bret gave me a lift to Surfers Paradise where I felt very free as I was tumbled in the waves, bit the high rise and loud bars send me seeking quieter spots. I arrived in Byron bay later that evening, the first clear skies giving a perfect view of the milky way, and my ceiling for the night. Sleeping out always makes me feel free - there is something of the gypsy in all us worth their salt.
This second stage of travel, now back in the West is very different. Asia afforded cheap accomodation and constant novelty. This stage is about putting the lessons remembered from the road into practice, and learning new skills to support my bushcraft teaching.
I continue to be overwhelmed my the offers of places to stay, and the positivity towards life. Thankyou so much everyone!
Friday, February 6, 2009
Rant: A taste of home makes me feel ill
I have just left an expat divers bar after hot pizza and cold beer, in these parts found more frequently the other way round. A treat after chicken and fried rice, or fried chicken and rice for most meals. I am badly craving salad and fruit smoothies! The table was set there, as all over Malaysia with fork and spoon only.
Finding good healthy food here is difficult with Kedai Kopis a national institution. These are typically Indian run Formica tabled cafes, filled by men smoking and nursing Nescafes sweetened with condensed milk and sugar. Such a shame that instant coffee has such a following, given the number of countries nearby that have a long history of producing great brews. I am reminded of the traditional Bracci, or Welsh - Italian cafe, where Benny Grannies raise frothy coffees to their prickly lips with Parkinsonian grips.
Here at least, the humble Indian roti has been raised to another level, the oily flat bread may be found stuffed with bananas, pineapple, coconut, chicken or veggies. Tea Madras is the closest thing to the the Indian Masala chai, being served in half pint mugs rather than the familiar shot glasses.
A place so full of Western divers is good preparation for my re-immersion into occidental culture.
Hearing familiar accents – mostly British, and meeting people who knew Swansea well enough to know which pubs to avoid no longer feels odd.
As I left, the covers band was getting into full swing, which in typical British fashion means, the volume is set so conversation is impossible, the mind goes blank, and there is nothing to do but drink, smoke and nod ones head appreciatively at the source of the noise.
I realize this makes me sound like an old fart, but then I have always preferred conversation to external entertainment. One of the pleasures of being older is no longer having to pretend I enjoy it anymore. Instead I can sneak back with a like minded friend, and wake up to yoga and market fruit while all around are nursing bad coffees and sore heads.
A large part of my dissatisfaction with life in the UK is the drinking culture, particularly strong in South Wales. Removed from that environment, I became aware of it in a way I had not before. The pub, kebab shop and Full English cafe are such popular institutions. One who is faithfully at the pub most nights is called a regular – not someone with a problem. Now I like a drink occasionally and very occasionally like to drink a lot, but it is the monotonous regularity of the whole thing that bores me to tears. There are plenty of other vices to explore, live a little!
One can join with groups, yoga classes or a surfing crowd but it has not reached that tipping point yet, where life supporting lifestyles become the norm rather than the exception. It seems one becomes part of a subculture if one wants to live a healthy life. Being an independent minded fellow, I will always do my own thing, but back home it can seem an uphill struggle.
It is so sad that the dominant social activities are harmful to ones health, even here amongst the expatiate diver crowd smoking and heavy drinking are very much part of the culture.
Finding good healthy food here is difficult with Kedai Kopis a national institution. These are typically Indian run Formica tabled cafes, filled by men smoking and nursing Nescafes sweetened with condensed milk and sugar. Such a shame that instant coffee has such a following, given the number of countries nearby that have a long history of producing great brews. I am reminded of the traditional Bracci, or Welsh - Italian cafe, where Benny Grannies raise frothy coffees to their prickly lips with Parkinsonian grips.
Here at least, the humble Indian roti has been raised to another level, the oily flat bread may be found stuffed with bananas, pineapple, coconut, chicken or veggies. Tea Madras is the closest thing to the the Indian Masala chai, being served in half pint mugs rather than the familiar shot glasses.
A place so full of Western divers is good preparation for my re-immersion into occidental culture.
Hearing familiar accents – mostly British, and meeting people who knew Swansea well enough to know which pubs to avoid no longer feels odd.
As I left, the covers band was getting into full swing, which in typical British fashion means, the volume is set so conversation is impossible, the mind goes blank, and there is nothing to do but drink, smoke and nod ones head appreciatively at the source of the noise.
I realize this makes me sound like an old fart, but then I have always preferred conversation to external entertainment. One of the pleasures of being older is no longer having to pretend I enjoy it anymore. Instead I can sneak back with a like minded friend, and wake up to yoga and market fruit while all around are nursing bad coffees and sore heads.
A large part of my dissatisfaction with life in the UK is the drinking culture, particularly strong in South Wales. Removed from that environment, I became aware of it in a way I had not before. The pub, kebab shop and Full English cafe are such popular institutions. One who is faithfully at the pub most nights is called a regular – not someone with a problem. Now I like a drink occasionally and very occasionally like to drink a lot, but it is the monotonous regularity of the whole thing that bores me to tears. There are plenty of other vices to explore, live a little!
One can join with groups, yoga classes or a surfing crowd but it has not reached that tipping point yet, where life supporting lifestyles become the norm rather than the exception. It seems one becomes part of a subculture if one wants to live a healthy life. Being an independent minded fellow, I will always do my own thing, but back home it can seem an uphill struggle.
It is so sad that the dominant social activities are harmful to ones health, even here amongst the expatiate diver crowd smoking and heavy drinking are very much part of the culture.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Back from the second jungle adventure
The Kinebetangan river running through Sabah for over 400ks represents a diverse edge in a land otherwise ruined through the intensive growing of oil palms. Row after monotonous row of palms , below hillsides with solitary trees is heartbreaking to see.
The animals, pushed to the fringes of jungle at the waters edge are easily visible from the water. A hastily planned visit to the jungle made me glad of the extra provisions, spare torches, good boots, rain wear I had packed. The lack of a running water and other usual comforts would have been privations, had the company not been so good, and the wildlife so prolific.
Boat rides to see the orangutan, proboscis monkeys, hornbills were followed by treks through leech and mosquito infested jungle. The rain turning the jungle into mud deep enough to come over the tops of wellies. My 5.11 boots and long socks made life so much more pleasant, and worth all the derision of those who travel with flip flops and expect a cosy bed.
This trip is the first I have really been aware of the tourist trail. I have become used to bumping into people first met in other towns along a fairly well trodden path. This does of course have its ups and downs.
This time by a happy coincidence two British nurses and a cycle touring Canadian, Kevin and I had already met found themselves in the same place. We enjoyed the time in away from the city, much revived by getting soaped up under the rain.
The girls left with the first boat around 6 am, we fellas slept in being ready to leave by 9. In that endearing Asian way, people here prefer to lie and have you happy than tell the truth and disappoint. We finally left at for Sipidan at 14:30, being told “soon”, “maybe five minutes“ for around 4 hours. Calculating the average time, we worked out we had been given assurances the of the buses imminent arrival for two hours before it could possibly have left.
Travel may seem action packed, and it is at times, but more often there is hanging around waiting for transport that never arrives. It is the ability to smile through it that develops character. That said, I will be relieved to be back in a Western country where people are not afraid to tell the truth, or that they simply don't know.
Imagine how bad we smelt after four days in the jungle, in already dirty clothes, with no running water, in rain, then blistering sun, and my nearly thirty kilos of pack. A hotel room with warm showers, a crisp cotton sheets was much appreciated. My system clearly recoiled at such luxury, as I began that winter cold I had been missing.
Without surprise we bumped into the nurses, and planned a days diving for the following day. So much better not to plan. On the occasions I have tried to force things they never work out, but the day did perfectly. Diving with a cold is not generally advised, but thanks to daily breathwork I felt confident to stay oxygenated well enough. The three dives rewarded us with views of huge green turtles, nudibranks, trigger fish, pipe fish and a huge horned starfish.
The last couple of nights were spent on a floating island, a fifteen minute boatride from the mainland. This would have been the idea place to r+r, but for being blasted by torrential rainstorms and lightning which had us sheltering under tables. Spirits were rained however by the arrival of a huge creamcake to celebrate Lizzies thirtieth birthday. Not chocolate as ordered, but covered in cream, pinapple and cherries.
Back on terra firma, I am about to begin another solo adventure, wonder who I will meet next?
The animals, pushed to the fringes of jungle at the waters edge are easily visible from the water. A hastily planned visit to the jungle made me glad of the extra provisions, spare torches, good boots, rain wear I had packed. The lack of a running water and other usual comforts would have been privations, had the company not been so good, and the wildlife so prolific.
Boat rides to see the orangutan, proboscis monkeys, hornbills were followed by treks through leech and mosquito infested jungle. The rain turning the jungle into mud deep enough to come over the tops of wellies. My 5.11 boots and long socks made life so much more pleasant, and worth all the derision of those who travel with flip flops and expect a cosy bed.
This trip is the first I have really been aware of the tourist trail. I have become used to bumping into people first met in other towns along a fairly well trodden path. This does of course have its ups and downs.
This time by a happy coincidence two British nurses and a cycle touring Canadian, Kevin and I had already met found themselves in the same place. We enjoyed the time in away from the city, much revived by getting soaped up under the rain.
The girls left with the first boat around 6 am, we fellas slept in being ready to leave by 9. In that endearing Asian way, people here prefer to lie and have you happy than tell the truth and disappoint. We finally left at for Sipidan at 14:30, being told “soon”, “maybe five minutes“ for around 4 hours. Calculating the average time, we worked out we had been given assurances the of the buses imminent arrival for two hours before it could possibly have left.
Travel may seem action packed, and it is at times, but more often there is hanging around waiting for transport that never arrives. It is the ability to smile through it that develops character. That said, I will be relieved to be back in a Western country where people are not afraid to tell the truth, or that they simply don't know.
Imagine how bad we smelt after four days in the jungle, in already dirty clothes, with no running water, in rain, then blistering sun, and my nearly thirty kilos of pack. A hotel room with warm showers, a crisp cotton sheets was much appreciated. My system clearly recoiled at such luxury, as I began that winter cold I had been missing.
Without surprise we bumped into the nurses, and planned a days diving for the following day. So much better not to plan. On the occasions I have tried to force things they never work out, but the day did perfectly. Diving with a cold is not generally advised, but thanks to daily breathwork I felt confident to stay oxygenated well enough. The three dives rewarded us with views of huge green turtles, nudibranks, trigger fish, pipe fish and a huge horned starfish.
The last couple of nights were spent on a floating island, a fifteen minute boatride from the mainland. This would have been the idea place to r+r, but for being blasted by torrential rainstorms and lightning which had us sheltering under tables. Spirits were rained however by the arrival of a huge creamcake to celebrate Lizzies thirtieth birthday. Not chocolate as ordered, but covered in cream, pinapple and cherries.
Back on terra firma, I am about to begin another solo adventure, wonder who I will meet next?
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
Posts
