The Journey Begins

It’s been a long time between drinks since I posted the first blog for outsidetheframe and in retrospect the idea of posting stories whilst still living in Australia was not what I wanted this blog to be about. Unfortunately through my own naivety and events out of my control, (which I will not go through here), I decided to take a rain check and wait until I had all my travel details complete. 

With this done, and the cancelation of my first itinerary I have decide that my first port of call will be the Phillipines and the Island of Palawan.  Already I am finding the prospect of meeting locals tantalising, especially with apps such as Couchsurfing and online booking apps for accomodation and flights.  Gone are the days where you land in an unknown location and freak out because you have no idea where to stay or what to do.  It blows my mind in todays connected world how incredibly easy it is to meet locals before even arriving.  I suppose I won’t know if this is a benefit or not until I spend time away.  I do wonder if it takes that whole mystery out of travelling?  In some ways I am glad I have had the experience of travelling to many places in the world without connectivity.  In a sense even travel guides and blogs, with their recommendations create some sort of homogenous world, like being on a tour bus, no thinking required or the hard yakka of making an effort.  Now don’t get me wrong, I am 30 years older since I last travelled with a backpack and without an itinerary. Physically and mentally I will enjoy the idea of not having to walk km after km looking for a place to stay and having to use sign and body language to communicate. Also the purpose of this trip is not to be on the move every 2-3 days but to stay put a little longer. I do have the luxury of time. 

How it will work

I have no intentions of writing a travel blog that plots my journey about my experiences and taking photos of exotic places, like a to do list. (although I will update with  instagram) There are plenty of blogs out there that do this. The sole purpose will be to document other peoples stories, both locals and other outsiders who view the world without rose coloured glasses and have their story to tell.

Blog, Vlog, Instagram, FB Group, Twitter account and Podcast.  Seems extreme but each social media platform will show a daily snapshot, a bi-weekly update, a monthly vlog about people I meet and places I get know.  I will also create a podcast for women who travel solo. (This will take some time to organise)  I will need feedback as I need to develop my skills and knowledge. Please don’t just click the like button.  I am a teacher and I need feedback. (thankfully I wont have to worry about data or spending countless hours justifying my existence) I would also like people to use this in an educational sense, for teachers to use me to enhance their curriculum (I have the ability of Skype and periscope) and students to plot a journey and develop their critiquing and questioning skills.  Even if you aren’t a teacher maybe you have contacts that you think would be great to hear about.  Let me know, I don’t just talk Madonna and Collingwood.

My intentions are not recreational but also with an eye to develop my production and story telling skills.  The purpose of this is to hopefully and successfully apply for Filmmakers without borders, a non for profit organisation that grants filmmakers, students and teachers to work with a local community for a year.  I will attach a link so you can see what this organisation does.  If not successful I will continue to travel with the idea of also supplementing  my funds with teaching internationally.  Of course with an open itinerary anything could happen, as long as I keep my ears open and my mouth shut, (at times a difficult skill)

There you have it, so with all this in mind, I leave on the 23rd October.  I am already looking fwd to meeting Jonathan.  See you soon, Outside the frame.

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton

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Cambodia – along the Mekong, part 1 (Stung Treng)

“Cambodians life is centred on family, faith and food, an existence that has stayed the same for centuries. Families stick together, solve problems collectively, listen to the wisdom of the elders and pool resources. The extended family comes together during times of trouble and times of joy, celebrating festivals and successes, mourning deaths and disappointments. Whether the Cambodian house is big or small, there will be a lot of people living inside.”

After I read this paragraph from lonely planet I really wanted to spend some time with a family or with a local community. I wasn’t sure how to go about it. Apart from some areas like Siem Reap, Phom Phen and the Kampot region information is hard to come by and impossible to confirm. This was apparent when I decided to explore the northern region of Cambodia. I wanted to visit the mountain regions, to visit the Mekong and also stay in a beautiful environment. I had had enough of cities and large groups of tourists who congregate. I was thinking that the further north/northwest I could travel the chance of gaining a unique view from people who live far away from the hustle and bustle would be a great learning experience. So rather than go west to the islands of Thailand I went north-east. This route is also a favourite route for those wanting to head to 4000 islands and to travel further north in Laos.

When I started to speak to the passengers on the bus from Siem Reap I quickly realised I was the only one who was getting off the bus at Stung Treng and very few had even heard of Kratie. When I arrived I knew I was in a completely different world than the one I had just left. (Siem Reap has become the Archaeologist version of Disneyland)  There wasn’t any drivers waiting at the steps of the bus ready to drag me to their waiting Tuk Tuks. Normally I am surrounded by hoards of drivers screaming in unison wanting to take me and my money. I was also miffed because now I had to lug my bags 650 meters, my walking gait at the time made the a hunchback look like a catwalk model. As I limped  towards my hotel I past the market, it reminded me of places I visited 30 years ago in Africa, overripe fruit, withering veggies and meat that was unrecognisable. I did learn however that many indigenous people kill wild animals because it is seen as valuable food source. This practice is highly policed today and only a few months before I arrived a massive police presence was enforced for anyone selling wild animals. Someone obviously didn’t agree and the market was set on fire. No wonder the place was a mess. When I arrived at my hotel the management were bemused that I would be staying for 3 nights. I found this a little unnerving but I took it on. When I enquired about visiting the surrounding area I was greeted with a puzzled look.  There was the odd organised trip but the price was ridiculous and you needed more than 3 people. The later an impossibility to organise. So with 3 days already booked I decided to make my own travel plans and hire a push bike and forget about trying to organise a visit to more remote regions.  But first I wanted to check out the place and find a spot to watch the sun set along the river.  In my imagination, I could picture sitting on the banks with a beverage and enjoying the serenity of it all.

Stung Treng is a border town, a place to refuel and restock and a place you never see promoted in the travel brochures, my perfect town. As I strolled along the broken boulevard along the Meekong I felt like ET. I was a novelty and at times there seemed to be a million eyes peering at me. However by making eye contact, a warm smile and a wave often eased their fears or curiosity. It was the children who really broke the ice, they would walk with me and ask the only english they knew; What is your name and where are you from? My knowledge of language is appalling so when I attempted to respond I was often met with hysterical laughter. They would also ride their bikes ahead of me, showing the way or challenging me to a race, most just wanted a smile and some sort of recognition. The walk was just stunning, as the sun was setting behind the river, it was a pity that the romance of it was lost when I tried to find a place to sit and take it all in. I eventually found a viewing area next to an industrial dump site, the wedding party also enjoyed the photo opportunity. The walk back was a little further than I had intended and somehow I ended up taking an unfamiliar stroll through the back streets rather than along the river. I could feel the staring eyes watching me as I passed, for a moment I felt I was a character in the Village of the dammed, white eyes popping up behind bushes like fire flies.  It was no surprise as the sun was setting and as the full moon was rising, I felt like calling home.

The bike ride along the Mekong was one of highlights of my time in Cambodia. Like usual where I imagined I could ride compared to my ability was way out of whack. I knew the road along the river was flat so in my mind riding for 20-25 kms one way was doable. Yup, Nup. Sure if I managed to think about the seat before I left I am sure I could have managed a longer ride but riding a male bike with a hard seat did not sit so comfortably. There was also, unbeknown to me the destruction of the land with very few areas that had tree cover, the sun was scorching making a romantic leisurely ride more a race for shade. Additionally, although I had a mountain bike I hadn’t thought about the numerous bridges that were not made for motor or bike riding. Anyway with all of this my journey along this remote road was incredible. There wasn’t a time where people would stand along the road for meet and greet. Local shop owners were happy to refresh my thirsty palette and introduce me to their family and friends. Riding along the empty road at times was peaceful. There was a sense of just me and the river. The only noise was the distant putt putt sound of the motor boats. However that never lasted too long thanks to the Cambodians love of karaoke that filled the air. I love Karaoke but the Cambodians just go that extra mile. I noticed this when I was resting opposite a convenience store, come bar, come family house. Like usual they offered me some food and water and I sat on the rivers edge enjoying the tranquility of it all. That suddenly changed when a group of people showed up including children and women with food. They pulled out the speaker, grabbed the mike and proceed to sing Cambodias top 10 hits. They were so invested in it, a time for family and friends to share each others company rather than working in the hot sun for hours on end. They all knew that later in the day they would be working in the fields again but for a few hours they could forget. I just wish they had the lyrics to a Madonna song, Like a Prayer came to mind. Luckily for them they didn’t.

When I decided to return to Stung Treng I realised I had taken the wrong turn and was riding in a deforested area for 2-3 km’s. The heat was unbearable, I was loosing energy and my backside was screaming so with nothing else to gain I turned around. Now I don’t know what changed when I turned around but all of a sudden my mind started to deteriorate. Rather than enjoying a leisurely ride back I started to wish that I hadn’t ridden as far as had. I couldn’t sit on the seat anymore and I nearly rode the 25km’s back standing on the pedals. My legs were on auto pilot and every bump was agony. I could hear the children calling at me but I couldn’t lift my head, I couldn’t even wave my arm, I just wanted to get back. I do think the last 5 km were the worst, that awful feeling you have when you are just in reach but the ending is still so far away.  By this stage even if I could, I couldn’t even get off the bike, my butt was like a coconut. When I did return I literally fell in my room and for the next few days my lumpy bum certainly paid the price. However when going over my journey and looking at some of the film and photographs I took, the pain was just a result of an amazing trip. Sometimes you have to push yourself to find the greatest reward.

Just a footnote,   (6 months earlier, Stung Treng was ravaged by a major flood caused by a dam wall breaking, killing hundreds and completely inundating the town. this has had a major effect on the morale of the town including townships downstream.  I do make light of my time, but acknowledge the people are suffering and still no sign of compensation.)

Video link

Mekong

 

 

Phu Quoc – when you know you are part of the problem

We all want what we know is not good for us. What we know that might break us in the end, and yet we fly towards it. Always wanting the thing we cannot have.” – Madonna (Crave)

What it is about hotel companies and corrupt governments that believe the idea of building large structures only 15 meters from the water is a great idea. I could only think that when they first built some of these holiday accommodations on Phu Quoc they might have been 100-200 meters away. (I told ya mum you will have a water front property soon) The Russians and Chinese flock here even though they only have a foot of sand to play with. I kept on thinking, why would you want to come to a resort on the beach where the water is grey and looks like it’s nearly run out of oxygen? It was not the first time that I have seen water like this and I am sure it won’t be the last but I did fear for their health and happiness. Certainly the marketers have done a great job selling the dream. Says something about the world we live in. Profit for a few and destroying a way of life and the environment for those who have no voice.

It was not all doom and gloom, the sunset was divine, the bustling street markets selling plenty of food and voices of happy people singing to all hours their favourite Karaoke tune.   When I eventually found the beach where the locals meet, sleep and eat I started to see how, maybe within my life time, Phu Quoc was a beautiful place. However as I strolled along the foreshore it was sad to see the environment totally destroyed thanks to hap hazard rubbish collection and a lack of regulation. The fishermen and their families lived on the shoreline in homes made from any building material they could find. I wondered how on earth could the government allow this to happen? I started to get a picture in my mind that although tourism has a positive effect for a few, for the majority it actually is devastating.

As I continued my walk along the beach towards the main town, (separated by a river from the tourist center) there was a huge pier that I needed to navigate, however it was fenced of. I had hobbled to far to go back so I weaved my way through horrible piles of rubbish and filthy gunky puddles and managed to crawl and rock climb the man made shore breaker. About 100 meters in front of me were domestic buildings and what looked like a thriving village. I didn’t want to arouse the locals but that was impossible. At first I think they were also shocked to see me. I gingerly smiled, feeling like I was intruding in their private business but they were more than happy to show me the right direction. With my hiking/walking stick in hand I disappeared into a maze of laneways. After a short time I had lost my sense of direction so the best thing to do was to roam and observe the people going about their daily life. I stood out like a sore thumb especially with my camera so I decided to put it away, rather than focusing within the frame. I needed to see, hear, feel, smell and taste this world. I’m glad I did. I mean what was I going to take a photo of? I think it was around this time that I started to question the purpose. Because what I was seeing was not right? How can one not be appalled at the millions of people that have been taken advantage of? How can I not question myself?

Before arriving in Vietnam many people spoke about how great the country was. I met those who took advantage of the cheap travel; accommodation, transport and simplistically of life. I met those who took advantage of a party one can have. I met those who can stay long term because it’s cheaper than home. I met those who went for the cultural experience, for whatever that might mean. I met those that went for the food. I met those to experience the beautiful landscape. I met those who want to have a ‘real’ experience. I then met myself.

When I left, I felt empty, betrayed, cheated and angry at myself for being everything that I thought I might not be. The privileged. We come and go and leave a country that is in such bad shape environmentally which we have contributed to. We view through a prism, the market places alive but dead, the beaches and their resorts a fake reality, we take advantage without giving back yet when we leave we speak highly of the time we had. We get home or go somewhere else and thank god we don’t live in Vietnam.

I am glad I went to Phu Quoc, if anything it has reinforced my view of the world and the idea that we must fight for decency, dignity, fairness and making the untouchables accountable. We live on one planet, pity some think it’s all theirs.

So what are some solutions? Maybe with the money we save we could give to local organizations that help the environment, fund educational programs for the people by the people or subsidize community programs to help to regenerate the land we are quite happy to use. Choose resorts that have taken the effort to engage with their employees that help promote education and environment problems. Take the time to engage with the local community you are visiting. Pay a fair price for goods. There are many people who have made goods that are more expensive and the money goes to the local community, not to someone from another country, ie China. Stay at resorts owned by locals rather than multinationals. Book accommodation through their website rather than the big chains. The money goes overseas not to the locals who have no control over their bookings. If you use plastic bottles make sure you use them again. Don’t use a plastic bag to carry what you have bought. Ride a bike rather than a motorcycle, take public transport, it’s hard but u still get to the same place.

Finally, I keep on thinking about my own country. Is this what happens when human rights are disregarded? Here we have a country like Vietnam (and many more) where people who are a position of power. They control by means of corruption or through the threat of physical or psychological violence? Yet here we are in Australia thinking we are above all that. Yet are we? We are certainly not trying to hard to reconcile with indigenous Australia as facts and stereotypes are often distorted. We continue to destroy our environment and treat the less fortunate with disdain and blame them for all our woes. We also think by dismantling the basic tenants of human rights that many fought for is some sort of conspiracy that takes away our freedom and opens up our borders to terrorists. More than ever we need to take a good hard look at ourselves, because bit by bit it won’t be immigrants, the poor or indigenous Australians who threaten our so called lucky country but those who have the power to stop anyone who disagrees and challenges their agenda. It happens slowly and history has a habit of repeating itself.

 

Video of Vietnam

 

 

 

 

Apartment 101

Siagon– calm surrounded by chaos.

When you arrive at the airport there is a nervousness you feel as you go through customs, work out money and try to organised transport especially late at night.  You feel somewhat relaxed with the drive towards the city as you look out of the window from the air conditioned car.   You can’t see the hustle and bustle or hear the constant noise.  It’s like you are immune to all its vices.  It’s not until I hop out of the Cab (on one leg) and struggle to gain my breath as the humidity slaps me in the face, that I realise we are going to be in for on one hell of an adventure.  The driver dumps our bags on the driveway in front of what looks like a car depot but it’s the building for our Airbnb. ‘Holly molly’, where the hell do we go. The only clue as to where our room is was via the message we received when we booked the place. No meet and great here.  So with no other choice Jody has to carry not just her own bag but mine as well.  She is a strong lass but I am feeling a tad sorry for her and I’m sure she is thinking, ‘what the hell have I got myself in for’, as she leaves me behind disappearing down through the carpark entrance. Eventually and I mean eventually Jody comes back, she is obviously flustered and didn’t realise there was a code, she has left the bags at the front door.  We need to get there quick smart but I cannot go more than one hop at a time so the journey to the 8th floor was certainly an eventful one, including the issue of the elevator attendant, who knocked of at 11pm and it was way past that time.  So we eventually arrive on the 8th floor, sort out the code and let ourselves in.  The room is just that, with a loft and a small bathroom and a smaller kitchen.  Believe me smaller than the cooker I had when living in the bedsit in London.  However it is clean, quiet and hospitable, except that when we booked the place we didn’t realise that it had a loft and only a double bed.  Luckily with further investigation there was a spare soft mattress and with great effort Jody managed to carry it down the stairs to the ground floor where I would sleep.  After a while we were safe again, just like in the cab oblivious to what is happening 8 floors down.  Although in the back your head you know that in 6 hours when the sun rises you will have to learn on the run (or the hop), how this place ticks.

The apartment was one of at least a hundred on each floor within a vast apartment complex. I loved the short time we stayed mainly because I got to meet the locals who resided on our floor. In the evenings I would sit in the corridor next to a wired window that provided a breeze and a view of the world outside, although a narrow one. This was a time when the kids would take over whilst their parents where having some me time. Running up and down the corridors and the stairs, playing chasey, cops and robbers, dancing and singing you name it.  This would go well into the night. A young girl would often sit with me so I could help her with her English grammar book and she seemed very happy indeed that I would take the time to help and listen.  She would run of and tell her parents the new words she learnt. (can someone tell me why Giraffe is a word you would teach to new english learner)  I am sure they had no idea what words were spoken.  During all this mayhem Grandmothers would also help out mum and dad and push the toddlers on their plastic bikes trying to shove food down their throats. I was happy to help at times, pulling a few funny faces often did the trick. The other aspect of apartment living in Saigon was the community of shops and businesses within the complex. Hairdressers, convenience stores, juice bars etc. also the elevator man who controlled the elevator sitting at desk all day, however he also used his time wisely by knitting.  Mainly kids clothes, the quality amazing.  I often hear from people how they couldn’t live in a apartment complex and I totally get it. However if this is an example about how to live as a community within close quarters then this is the way to do it, oblivious to the rest of the world.

Video Link

Vietnam

 

 

 

American Pie

Making the decision to stay in Pia for two weeks whilst on crutches was the best thing I could do. I paid a little extra to have my own room, with balcony and easy access. The bonus was the room faced a beautiful garden and like Pai itself very peaceful. The owners bent over backwards to make my stay enjoyable. The other bonus was that I was only 5 minutes from cafes and convenience stores. The downside is that when you stay in your own room you often miss the interactions of other people. Not that I really cared as I was struggling with myself after the accident. However that all changed in a flash when a new guest (Jody) booked the room next to mine. We hit it of straight away. We had many things in common at the time. Jody had quit her job as a Research and development chef (geez I hope I got that right Jody?) and she was looking for new options in life. One was not to be controlled by others who could only see the bottom line. I am also sure there were heaps of others reasons, but she wanted to travel and most importantly focus on her online business.

Food is her passion, but not just food per say but the process that goes into each completed dish. I was fascinated by her work and folks if you are wondering about flavor in processed foods well Jody is the inventor of those flavors. She also was a chef in many places including New Orleans and what I love about Jody is her passion and willingness to make a success of her life. Jody was also searching for a place to stay and make a base. She was also traveling solo for the first time. It takes courage to give up everything you know and embark to countries and cultures unfamiliar. So the timing of us meeting up was meant to be. I suppose for Jody meeting me, helped her adjust to the oddbods travelers you meet. Pai is a place where the lost often head to. Pai reminded me of where I was at 30 years ago, without a dime to my name. I understood the many reasons why travelers ended up here. That is the beauty of traveling without an itinerary, everyone is on their own personal journey. Not what society expects you to do or should I say the pressures that modern life makes you feel you should do. The comfort of a job that brings in a wage is also the devil in disguise. Work, make deadlines, and then have a performance review so the boss can get their bonus for all the work you have done. Jody also felt this also.

When time had come to leave Pai and travel to Chang Rai (I had another doctors appointment and my plaster was removed) we were happy to start our journey together. I had spent plenty of time in Chang Rai, so it was like a homecoming. I also had to spend a week staying in one location to rehabilitate and get some confidence back. For Jody she again wanted to investigate the flavors of northern Thailand. This was great because I could share food for a change and we certainly had fun doing so. Jody also for the first time stayed in the hostel for a few days. For Jody this was well out of her comfort zone, however apart from the odd issues with sharing a room, she made the most of a hostel I would rate the best I have ever stayed in. Always good to make good first impressions. I knew that it was going to be hard to follow. So after a week we came to the decision that we would go to Vietnam. For me I don’t think I would have gone on my own, as I was still very limited in my movement. We were both super excited and now when I think about it although it was the beginning of backpacking together it was also the beginning of the end as well.

After 2 weeks we travelled from Saigon to Phnom Penh in Cambodia then went our separate ways. It was nice and also a relief to have a travel buddy especially when I was trying to get back onto my feet. I will always be indebted to her. I also hope I had a positive influence, however sometimes living 24/7 can be a challenge and we were starting to find that we wanted to take a different path. Jody atm is based in Vietnam (update now in Bali after 3 months in Vietnam) and uploads daily posts through Instagram the amazing food safari she is on. Here is her link, please follow and do yourself a food favor. 

Link to:

Video

Thailand to Vietnam

Link to

Wunderlustandrootvegetables

 

 

Lessons learned

My mind was racing a million miles and an hour after returning to the hostel from the hospital. I kept on looking at the X-ray which showed a substantial break of my left foot. I couldn’t see any good news and the doctor in residence said that I might need an operation but wouldn’t know for sure until I saw the specialist the next day.  I was stunned to say the least.  How was I going to tell my family and friends why I was returning to Australia? How was I going to tell my friend in Africa that I would not being visiting her after promising time and time again that I would?  I felt stupid, a failure and embarrassed. I kept on repeating the fall in my mind, over and over again. How the hell could I be so stupid? if only? what if? Why the hell was I rushing around, I didn’t need to? I watched people from the hostel go about their usual stuff, coming back from the market, planning their next journey, even just walking to the loo. I was screaming inside, I tried writing in my diary but looking at the photos from the day before made me angry. In my mind the world was ending. I just want to sleep and wake up from a bad dream.

When I did wake the reality of what had happened was made more real when I looked down at my foot wrapped in a temporary cast.  It took me about 1.5 hours to get dressed and pack a night bag just in case I had to stay overnight in the hospital. The little things were taking forever and I must say at this time I really needed some assistance. It is time like these that traveling on your own really sucks. Sure there was sympathy from other travelers but they were busy with their own life. To be honest I really didn’t want their help or sympathy I just wanted my foot back. At least I still had my mind and luckily a positive disposition. So all I could do was to make arrangements with the hostel to look after my gear, because as far as I knew I would probably be going back to Oz in the next couple of days.

As I was wheeled into the specialist office, I was sick to the stomach.  He introduced himself and briefly spoke about his family in Australia and his qualifications, in retrospect if there was a perfect doctor he was it, he invested in me and made me feel like I wasn’t alone or vulnerable.  He then bought up the X-ray on his screen. It looked horrible, the bone looked like it was completely broken.  At the same time this was going on I was able to get hold of the medical team in Australia.  After hours of trying to connect they wanted to speak to the doctor whilst being examined.  This is where todays technology and communication has changed. He sent an email copy of the X-ray, going over the X-ray, looking at the different angles and communication with doctors at home. Broken 5th metacarpal, small crack 4th metacarpal. I could hear the medical team in Oz agree. Diagnosis, no operation required bone still attached, plaster cast and complete rest for 4-6 weeks. Did I hear correctly, no operation? OMG. The doctor put me back on the phone to the medical nurse in Australia. She reassured me and explained the course of action. She wished me well and said with appropriate rest and therapy I will be back on my feet. I could feel myself welling up inside. I think I said thank you a hundred times and started blabbering like one does when overcome with unexpected joy.  The journey to the theatre to have the plaster cast fitted was euphoric. I don’t think I ever looked forward to having a plaster cast as much as this. I was even making jokes with nurses who probably didn’t understand why I was so happy. Sure the hard work was in front of me and I would have to rearrange my plans but it beats the hell ending my journey. At least I can ring my family and friends now.  The first call I made was to my mum. Like usual the rock of Gibraltar. In the midsts of disaster, all alone, she was the one that encouraged me to go forth.  I made a pact with myself that day, that I would not again rush around from place to place, I would smell the roses.

Fast fwd 2.5 months. The bad dream is over I am sitting and chatting to a lovely French nurse in Pakse, Laos when we both see a young French girl (Marine) with bandages and horrible wounds struggling to make it to the entrance. Still with her bloody clothes, we help her inside. She looks pale, is shaking and has tears rolling down her face. She tells her story, how she was riding her bike, trying to get back to town (rushing) because the sun was setting and didn’t see the hole in the road. Within a split second she was sprawled across the road, unconscious. The local community must have seen the fall and took her to a medical clinic to bandage her up and stitch her wounds. She spent the night in the village alone. The next morning they put her on a local truck back to Pakse. We are the first people she has spoken to. She is afraid to call her mother and friends, ashamed that she could do something like this. We sit with her for hours and the nurse gives her new bandages, I give her panadol Forte. We help her to her room so she can rest and sleep. For me, flashbacks of how I felt when I had my accident. The hopelessness I felt.

In the morning the nurse had left for Cambodia and I am sitting at the cafe next door having a coffee, Marine gingerly sits next to me. She is still in shock, still felling ashamed and stupid, replaying the incident over and over again. I try and console her, saying that you can’t take back the past, maybe there is a reason why certain events occur, she agrees, maybe she was doing to much and not taking the time to smell the roses.  A young German lad sits with us and he encourages her to go to a hospital and have a doctor look at her wounds. His girlfriend is a pharmacist and would help her with the appropriate medication. I am starting to feel rather under qualified on this journey. I decide to go with her, she needs support and someone to talk to. We speak about life in France, her wonderful job as a fashion designer, her love searching for new materials and the way local women weave and color their fabrics. It gives her a chance to think about other things. Eventually she sees the doctor and goes in to have her wounds checked and re-bandaged. Whilst in the waiting room I notice the state of the hospital. How bloody lucky we are in Oz to pay our taxes so we have a reasonable health system. Eventually Marine returns she looks grey, what the hell. She then starts sobbing, and shows me a photo of the cut under her chin which has 3 stitches. It looks worse than it is and she probably will have a little scar. In between sobs she blurts out “that no man will love her now that she has a scar.” Suddenly I feel like I am in a classroom listening to an emotional 14 year old after breaking up with their boyfriend, thinking their life is doomed. I put my teachers hat on and listen to her fears and I put my arm around her. I retell all the wonderful things she has told me about herself, her purpose of traveling and her hopes for her future. The same things my mum said to me when I was sitting with my plaster cast in Chang Rai.

I don’t know how Marine is traveling but I am sure she will be immersing herself with her love of fashion and traveling the world for the most beautiful fabrics. I do hope the scar is now a story to be told and not of lost love.

 

 

An education from Past to present

After returning to Bangkok to collect my over weight backpack, I chose a route that would take me to northern Thailand then over the border to Laos. I really wanted to catch the overnight train to Chang Mai however the 2nd class sleepers where booked out for the next few days and I really didn’t want to spend anymore time in Bangkok.  So I took a nine hour bus to Sukhothai instead.  There was of course a bonus, I needed to learn a little about Thailand’s history and the Sukhothai historical park seemed just the place.  Its literal meaning the dawn of happiness’, the capital of the first independent Thai Kingdom in the 13th and 14th centuries.  The park comprises the ruins of royal palaces, Buddhist temples, the city gates, walls, moats and the water dyke control system of ancient Sukhothai.  This would surely help me because of my lack of Asian history.  I spent two days at the site.  Although not as mind blowing as Machu Picu, set up in the Andean mountains, or as vast as the Egyptian Pyramids, the Sukhothai site is still a work in progress so to speak.  Beautifully manicured areas and amazing ruins still being excavated and processed.  Actually the place is so big you really need a push bike to see it all and in retrospect I wish I had done exactly that.  However on one day I walked around the main site and the next I spent strolling around other ruins but most of the day I spent in the museum and it was here that I learnt more than I ever could imagined.  I am often in awe of the people who help reconstruct ancient sites.  I do wonder however why these places always make the ancient life look so idyllic.  Like “let’s make the world great again”.  If u know what I mean.  I also wonder who controls the narrative, as many large artefacts have been recreated.  But maybe that’s just me digging deeper than I should.  Religion and past empires are often shown in some glorified way, so we in the present feel some sense of gratitude.  Don’t get me wrong, The ability to design, then construct such monuments and the array of intricate features from such a long time ago is mind blowing.  I am still not educated enough to understand everything to do with buddhism however here is a link for further information about  the various Sukhothai monuments and features.  I’d rather not try.

Apart from visiting the ruins I decided to get a little more aquatinted with the local area. What a way to do this by riding a bike for a day.  We rode around the lane ways of Sukhothai, meeting local market owners and learning about the use of various foods.  We then road through the farmland a combination of rice fields, tobacco and a range of other vegetables and fruits.  The scorching sun made the ride at times unbearable, I don’t know how the farmers and their workers face up to it day in day out.  If somehow wearing their wide brimmed hats with cloth draped down their neck and back, gives them some sort of relief.  To think that is also meant to be the colder months.  At times we would pull over under the shade of tree just long enough so our sweat would cool us down, then back on the bike pedalling at a decent speed.  I suppose what kept me going was the music the played along our journey.  Every 100  meters or so a loud speaker hung from an electrical pole and sounds of traditional Thai flutes lulled me into a time gone past.  Although I have never been to Thailand in a time gone past.  You could hear it from the rice fields from quite a distance and without me asking I am sure it is a way to help the farmers work in the hot sun.  It certainly helped me continue to pedal.  We eventually made it back onto a main road and 5 km’s further to a house owned by a friend of the tour guide.  It was the first time I had been into a locals house and we weren’t there for a tour, but for lunch.  We must have looked like cooked lobsters as I peeled myself of the seat.  I even had problems trying to organise my thoughts and missed the opportunity to have a hose down.  Not to worry, before I had time to say sà wàt dee I was whisked away and given a towel, a foot bath, herbal tea, fresh water and enough food that I couldn’t lift my leg over the bicycle seat for the ride back.  This was more than I hoped for, especially when we met the rest of the relatives.  After we had finished our lunch we were introduced to the family and excitedly introduced to a young boy.  At first I wasn’t so sure why this boy was special, even though he was very cute.  However before long I realised what all the fuss was about.  I kept on hearing boy girl, boy girl, for a second I thought there was going to be a show with boy girls parading around like in Phuket.  Then to my surprise they were pushing the young boy towards me.  He was fully made up and I was a little envious of his eyebrows.  I was then told that they were very fortunate that their family, a large one at that have a boy girl.  They were very excited for me to meet their special child that all the kids performed a song for us and of course guess who had the staring role.  Not only did he have the starring role but a very spoilt child to boot.  He seemed to have the best of everything, the first and last of everything also.  I was fascinated not because they had a boy girl but maybe because they are revered in similar ways to that of the Fa’afafine’s, who are men raised as girls and identify with that gender in Samoa.  I did notice the night before during the market festival, many boy girls also performing.  They weren’t seen as odd or even left out, the complete opposite.  For a second I wondered why I was so intrigued that there were so many boy girls.  Should I be curious? I was told there were many families all over Thailand that have Boy girls and unlike many countries they were proud and saw themselves are privledged to have a boy girl in their family.  Unlike some of the stories I have heard about the Fa’afafine’s where abuse is often common.  However I must note, was he lucky he had a great family because I am sure just like the Fa’afafine there would also be disturbing stories.  However with this only one experience to go on and the belief that boy girls in Thailand are treated with honour, I was pleased to see an inclusive system of respect.  Finally, as I write this I am wondering why I am writing to you about boy girls, why would you care?  Well one reason is that in our society we often see gender differences as an affliction as a curse, arguing over semantics like what toilet should they go to.  How refreshing it is to travel to a country that doesn’t seem to have this affliction.  Oh and how we could learn so much about how to treat a small group of beautiful people who just want to live their lives like everyone else.

I could continue to write about the bike journey as we cycled at a slower pace along the river.  Riding past rickety homes held up by whimsy poles to protect the houses from the rising water when the river floods, old men repairing their equipment sitting under large trees and women crouched down lighting small coal fires in pots ready to cook dinner.  I could also write about the fisherman we met catching small fish by net as his wife drank a bottle of rice whiskey and danced a better version of my bogan dance.  Or the fun we had at the bar we went to, sipping a Mojito and listening to 1970’s hits like Bonney M.  This was all in a days work and more than I could learn ever from a text book, a newspaper, a documentary or a you tube video.

Road to somewhere

The bus journey to Sangkhlaburi was nothing special but I wasn’t expecting a ride through the Himalayan mountains.  I did not read much about this area as I only chose to come his far because I made an error when booking my room in Thong Pha Phum and I had 3 days to kill.  In a way though the unexpected is the most enjoyable.  It’s like going to a movie without reading the reviews and being pleasantly surprised.  Thais visit Sangkhlaburi and the surrounding area for weekend trips and I met very few international visitors.  The hotel I stayed at was remarkable, not just because of the price but the location.  It is not often you stay in your own room for hostel prices right on the lakes edge.  The bonus, you could watch the sun set behind the hillside with a large Wat standing proudly on top.  It’s gold facade shinning brighter than street lights as the sun set behind.   The other unexpected bonus was that a group of photography enthusiasts from Bangkok had booked the weekend away with a photography instructor learning how to take photos at night.  I just happened to be setting up my gear when the instructor started chatting to me.  After a while he invited me to join their group.  At first I was a little hesitant because I am sure the group had paid handsomely for the weekend away, however they all seemed to want me to come along.  They of course had the most amazing camera equipment compared to my kit, however its not the size that matters, it how you handle your equipment.  At first I thought we were going to learn the basics about how to use aperture and shutter speeds at night, something I love to tinker with.  However as I soon found out this course was not just some ordinary photography course, the main aim was we were learning to create light painting, (photo trails) painted by fire using steel wool, sparklers, torchlight and glow sticks.  Sens-bloody-sational, I had always wanted to learn how to do this.  I know I had tried this activity with students once in the dark room with glow sticks and with limited success.  However this was on another level.  I actually think (looking at my photos) I was pretty successful.  I know a teacher who now has some of my technical notes, I just don’t recommend using steel wool in the dark room, but hey you can blame it on me!!

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Since Sangkhlaburi is so close to the Myanmar border there were many different groups of people who inhabit this part of the world.  There are many Burmese that live in the area, most escaping the regime, including Karen and Mon. These marginalised people lost their land when the government flooded the area over 30 years ago to build a dam. They lost their livelihood and their land; sound familiar.  Many of the people today live in houses on the lake.  One of the main attractions is the longest wooden bridge in Thailand that you have to cross to get to the other side. Of course there is a new bridge for transport which has now opened up the area for more mundane reasons, like logging and tourist shops selling traditional garments.  I spent a day roaming the streets and taking a boat ride around the lake.  There are Orphanages, mainly housing refugees (none were on their way to Australia) and I met a young girl who has returned for the 2nd time to work with the children.  She helped me learn about some of the issues that the kids face within and outside of the orphanages. There were also various NGO agencies trying to educate the Thais about the work that they do.  I believe that once they complete primary school many children have to leave and fend for themselves, without offical documents or an identity.  Some make their way to Bangkok hoping to earn money however unfortunately most end up with scrupulous men or get caught by police and sent back to Myanmar. Sadly, the Karen’s and Mon’s have become beggars for tourists, children sit on their own or with other children and beg to paint your face or perform.  There is a support network at least, with various community groups making a concerted effort to assist, although I think the government really just gives them lip service.  The weekend I was there like many weekends in Thailand the market area became a place to showcase music and dance and a place to speak about the issues with the Karen, Mon and the Burmese.  I started to feel a pang of guilt that maybe I should stay here and help out.  However after doing months of research back in Australia about volunteering unless you have specific skills, short term volunteering is often a hinderance rather than a cure, so I donated some money and bought plenty of food the kids had made.  I am sure when I feel I can really make a difference I will spend more than a couple of weeks to volunteer.  Teaching english is really not what they need, more a sense of belonging and that someone cares and I needed to get to Thong Pha Phum, in a sense my journey had just begun.