Enjoying the journey

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

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

Every exam makes the graduation more of an accomplishment.

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

 

July2011

Guatemalan Shanty towns

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 August 2011

Good bye Timor

As soon as the door closed the tears started. Big fat droplets during the safety brief merged into hiccups and sobs as we taxied down the runway. It was official, I was leaving Timor Leste.

I was crying for the same reason I cried when I left Australia 6 months ago, bound for Timor. I loved my life here and would miss my friends dearly. The irony wasn’t lost on me, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

I was also crying because there is so much more I could be doing to make the world a fairer place. It’s not fair that I can get on a plane and fly away to a “privileged life”. What gives me that right?
My mother was always careful to be completely fair between my brother and I. She would spend equal amounts on our Christmas presents, we would receive equal amounts of pocket-money and we would get equal scoops of ice-cream. I took that philosophy on-board. When I feed seagulls at the beach, I tear the chips into little pieces and throw them all at once, so every seagull gets a chip! But the world isn’t like that. Not everyone gets a chip. Perhaps my mother would have better prepared me for the realities of life by beating me with a stick while feeding my brother ice-cream.

The jets drowned out my sobs as I watched the little island I called home get smaller and smaller beneath me.

July 2015

10 tips for riding a motorcycle in Dili, Timor Leste

1. Dili has road rules, they just aren’t written down anywhere. Well, they do have a national highway code, but these are completely irrelevant.. Take the time to get to know the traffic and learn when you have right of way and when you do not.

2. Beeping is a vital, albeit complex communication method. My interpretation: 1 beep: “Oi” or for those non-Australians “Hello, just letting you know I am here”. It can also mean “Hey look a Malae!” (foreigner) 2 beeps: “Watch it!” Or “Hey look a Malae!” Continuous beep: “If you don’t change directions one of us are going to die” or “Hey check out this awesome horn I have that stays on for an extended period of time, look it’s now playing a little song, isn’t it great?”

3. Always assume everyone’s brake lights are out. That way you’ll get a pleasant surprise rather than having to clean your underwear.

4. You are only entitled to the space you’re currently taking up. It isn’t “your lane” and you cannot move left or right as you please. In Australia they teach you to move across your lane to give ‘a buffer’ between you and potential traffic moving into or across your lane. You don’t have this option here. Your lane will be taken up by other scooters, cars, oncoming traffic, dogs, goats, children, chickens and many, many potholes.

5. Feel free to indicate as much or as little as you like, no one cares. People will often overtake you on the right, while you’re indicating right and slowing down to turn.. If you have a passenger get them to put their hand out (like you’re on a bicycle) to stop people from doing this.

6. Don’t think that the police, ambulances or government cars won’t run you over. If the sirens are on, get the hell out of the way.

7. Never drive to the left of a mikrolet (the local public transport). They frequently stop to let people in or out.
8. If you want to go straight after stopping at a set of lights, keep to the far right of the lane (right side of the cars), not the middle. If you’re on the other side of the road that’s perfectly acceptable.

9. There are rules that you must obey. I’m not sure why but if you break them people on the street will stop and yell at you.. These include: – Not going past the invisible white line when stopped at traffic lights. Not stopping is OK, but if you do stop it has to be behind the lights. – Going the wrong way down a one way street. Driving on the footpath is OK, but not the wrong way on the road. This is incredibly frustrating as Dili is a maze of one way streets.

10. Whoever drives on the white line in the middle of the road wins! Extra points if you cause oncoming traffic to serve. All car drivers believe this, but the taxis are definitely winning.

June 2015

I will miss this place

I’m doing 80 on my motorbike down beach road. The sun is rising over my shoulder. The air is cool, the suns rays are warm and my little scooter is purring away under me. A smile crosses my face. I’m on my way to work, a frustratingly wonderful job that I love.

I will miss this place.

I won’t miss the ants, or the insane drivers; but I will miss the weather, the adventures, the food, and most of all the people. Locals whose perseverance and positive attitude is something everyone, everywhere should aspire to; fellow humanitarian volunteers who share my views on the world (what if we all helped each other? Imagine what we could achieve?!); both of which have taught me life lessons and who I hope will always remain my friends.
Only a few weeks left until I leave. This has been the most wonderful journey and I am so grateful to my past self to have the gumption to go through with the decision to leave my comfy life in Australia, and go to Timor. It has only been 6 months, but this will experience stay with me forever more.

July 2015

Fluid Freedom

Flying away, away from my family, my friends, my partner and my comfortable life. As the distance grows, the hours pass by and the white culture that is my own disappears to something more exotic, a sense of calm grows over me. The stresses of suburbia, the pressures of how things should be, of expectations and assumptions; they give way to something else. I’m the exception here, the sore thumb, the one who doesn’t quite fit in… who never will, and it’s liberating. There is no conformity to abide to as I just cannot, it simply isn’t possible. My personality changes between my own, their assumption of how a ‘westerner’ should be, and their own culture. I can move between places, change my accent, my story, chose how much to say, what to withhold, or simply not say anything and glide by undetected, unnoticed, watching from afar.

I’m still tarred by my own brush, but here the black doesn’t seem as thick. The ‘shoulds’ aren’t as loud and its much easier to say ‘when I get home’. Funny that the ones you love, those in your most treasured memories are also those that cause the most stress, the most hurt and the greatest pressure to conform.

Everyone should, at some point in their life, travel by themselves; free from assumptions and expectations, to somewhere completely different, away from your own culture, your own kin and your own predispositions. Venture away from everyone and everything, into yourself and discover the calm within.

April 2015

Another day in Dili

I’m enjoying my life here in Dili, the strange intricacies of living here are starting to become normal. You get used to things being a little odd and resolving problems which you never thought could actually be a problem.

Today I went to a second hand clothes market, these markets are really the only place in Timor to buy ‘Western sized’ clothes. The market is makeshift huts or shacks, with bamboo or pieces of wood for racks. All of the clothes are second hand and most of them left behind by people just like me. I was after a pair of shorts and found the only pair that looked like it might fit my ample booty, and a few T-shirts. Off to the change room: a bedsheet covering a very small corner of the hut.

 

Midday, under a tin roof, in a shack with rice sacks for walls, it was well over 30 degrees. I was wrestling to pull a tshirt over my now sweating body, without punching a hole through the wall with my elbow. I got it on and although it was quite dark and there wasn’t a mirror, I thought it seemed to fit OK… and then the itching started. I lifted up the shirt to find hundreds of little dots on my stomach. Ants. It would appear the tshirt had been full of ants.
The little red ants were biting angrily, everywhere they could, and spreading quickly. I started smushing them while trying to take the shirt off and without falling out of the mini change-room. A very bizarre dance ensued, along with quite a bit of swearing and a lot of sweat..
This hardly even happens at Myer..

I’m not comfortable unless I’m uncomfortable

I had a fantastic weekend pushing myself out of my comfort zone.

I snorkelled where crocodiles have been seen, I got air on a motocross jump and I free climbed a rock face.

Anyone who knows me, knows I’m a little clumsy. It has often been suggested that I should put bubble wrap on my furniture edges so I’ll stop bruising myself. In short, coordination is not my strength.

 

So why then do I push myself to do things that may result in death if my clumsiness prevails?

When George Mallory was asked why he wanted to climb Everest he said “because it’s there” … and that is a factor. (“Wow, look at that jump, I should bring my bike here!”) But for me, its because I want to know that I can do it.

 

The fear lets me know I’m on the edge of my skill set (if not totally beyond) but that’s not a good reason to stop. We have so many limitations placed on us we don’t need more from ourselves. How do you learn and grow as a person if you don’t challenge yourself, push yourself further each time?

 

For me, bravery isn’t about feeling no fear, it’s being scared shitless and doing it anyway. It’s jumping into the black water for a night dive, choosing to go down the double black diamond ski-run over the green, letting go of the plane or pushing yourself deeper when your lungs are screaming for air. When you are in control of whether you live or die, that’s when you discover who you are and what your really capable of.
And besides, it’s bloody good fun!

 

 

“What we get from this adventure is just sheer joy. And joy is, after all, the end of life. We do not live to eat and make money. We eat and make money to be able to enjoy life. That is what life means and what life is for.”  – George Mallory

 

Karaoke Sabbath

Today is the Sabbath. Timor Leste has population that is 98% Catholic, so Sundays are quite an event. Everyone goes to Mass, even my neighbour who was up singing karaoke until 4am.
I often wonder how they convince so many people go, perhaps it’s the social/community aspect or good old Catholic guilt. I’m not sure but I do plan to go along one Sunday. I was baptised Catholic, however that’s where my religious upbringing ended. If the mosque is open to all surely I can attend Mass with an out of date baptism.

For the time being, Sunday means the streets are quiet and bare. Slow scooter trips along beach road and a long brunch is the perfect way to spend the morning. No school kids playing, little traffic and best of all, no karaoke! Bring on the lazy Sundays!

Timor Leste – Where’s that again?

There it is

An overview:

It’s been almost two weeks since I arrived in Dili. In many ways it is not what I was expecting. Dili is quite developed; it has a shopping plaza, movie theatre, numerous restaurants, frequent city events such as carnivals and horse racing; countless embassy’s and a wide variety of bars providing a decent night life. If you’re willing to pay through the nose, you can get it in Dili. The streets are relatively clean, beggars are few and far between and even the street vendors seem happy. It would be easy to live here, watching the sunset with a cocktail each evening behind a razor-wire fence in an expat bubble.

However beneath this veneer Timor Leste is clearly a developing country. The tap water is undrinkable, electrical supply disruptions are common, bureaucracy is extensive (and often self conflicting) and high unemployment (approx. 20%) is shown through the large number of people ‘hanging out’ around town – no doubt leading to boredom, poverty and crime. But it’s a city, policed and presented like any other. I’m told that in the districts, away from Dili’s expat economic injection, the real poverty is blatant. About 40% of Timor Leste lives below the poverty line, in a nut shell, this buzzword means you can’t afford food for everyone in your family every day. It is debilitating and often inherited.

The districts of Timor Leste

Timor Leste is the fourth newest country in the world and subsequently quite vulnerable, especially with most of their revenue coming from oil/gas and negotiations of ocean borders are ongoing. However the young population (60% is under 25) is resiliently providing a GDP growth rate of 8% (top ten in the world). Timor is developing and quickly.

So two weeks in Timor so far. I’ve found somewhere to live, a motorbike and done a week of Tetum classes. I’ve met some really nice people over here – people who are willing to put their life on hold to do something amazing for people they’ve never met – and the locals seem friendly, welcoming and resilient.

Stay tuned for details…