A bumpy start

The little Laotian lady & J's injured arm

Our first meal by the riverside

The tables seem to have turned concerning a number of things. 1) I started off travelling with 1 girl and 1 boy.. crazy J. came a long and the female vibes just kept coming. Now, I'm one girl in a group of 10 lads. "It's like a fucking Forest down south, can I borrow your razor?", "RUGBY TIME!", "Beer, beer, beer!". I exaggerate slightly because they're all genuine and wouldn't hurt a fly but it's a funny turn of events. 2) We left Vietnam expecting calm and tranquil. I've picked up a tummy bug (sticking to a vegetarian diet for once) and on one of our slowest motorbike excursions so far, we skidded on a dirt road and managed to land ourselves in the hospital for the second time in an hour. The doctor looked happy as our money bags jingled in regret. I sat on the ledge watching J. on the bed nearest to me and a little boy on the one furthest away, both being stitched up. I sat there with a few cuts and bruises, tears streaming down my face as I swelled with the pain of J's arm, and the little boys foot on the other side of the room. The little boy had his eyes squeezed tight as they ruthlessly clamped down his legs to stop him from squirming. I attempted to distract J. from his pain by talking to him about home, mum and dad and his best mates back in Aus. choking on my own tears didn't seem to help the situation. I held my thumbs up and strained a smile to the little boy on the other side of the room to keep his spirits up, but mine weren't in full functioning order either so the attempt was in vain. The nurse came around and squirted some white alcoholic solution on my cuts and bruises and after a quick job (that turned out to be infected only days later), the doctor wished us good luck, put on his jacket and walked out. I turned to the window behind me to see the other boys waiting patiently, rolling around in wheelchairs, it made me grin. I just didn't understand where all this bad karma was coming from. Only hours before I'd been lying here having a blood test to check whether I had malaria or not (thankfully it's just food poisoning) and wanting to just be cradled and looked after..Lying in a hospital bed is never fun, i could just think of how only weeks earlier I'd been lying in one in KL, hospital environments are just so unnatural. The smell, the equipment, the people, the energy. Thankfully the blood test came back negative for malaria, and while the doctor attempted to convince me to have various stomach scans that would cost a ridiculous sum of money, I payed what I owed and left with a sigh of relief that it was only food poisoning and I wouldn't have to admit defeat and fly home in a few days time.  It was only until later that we saw it as a sign that R&R was in need. A few days of no drinking or doing, just settling for a little. It was ironic that on our day of recovery i watched the clip my mum had sent me a few weeks earlier, that was so appropriate for the situation (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lx-AtPKWf9k&feature=share&list=UU1KIUp4PNCyIwCPTq1hYzWQ). One of the best things I got from it, besides a lifted spirit, was reaching enlightenment is like learning how to surf in a sea of waves. The waves can be both good and bad, sometimes you catch a great one and ride it for a while, and other times you tumble under the surface. You can't convince yourself you're always in a happy place because it's cruel to deny the dark side of the yin-yang. It bought me to the thought of intuition.. Just before the crash happened I was holding onto the back of the bike, imagining a scene in which we'd skid around a dirt corner and topple over, brushing off the thought with a shake of my head. Only minutes later did it actually occur and I was suddenly lying ontop of J. our wheel spinning and a dust cloud settling over us. I rolled over with a bruised knee and the boys all pulled up, gaping at the scene. J. pulled his sleeve up to reveal a deep gash, more were to be found on his hip and grazes in various other parts. We groggily drove back to the hospital, the thought of biking through the rest of the country losing all appeal.

Me and 'Mama'

The bus ride earlier wasn't fun either, sitting on bags of hard rice as we rocked side to side, the number of passengers increasing constantly and the number of goods (whether it be chickens, cabbages or potatoes, they just kept on coming). The pangs in my stomach would come and go in waves and I attempted to breathe into them and continue discussion with the boys or nod off to sleep against the hard glass window.. neither of them really working as good methods of distraction. We arrived and got into a tuk-tuk to get to the strip of guesthouses that we hopped between before settling on first one we'd seen. 4 in one room, 3 in another.. a few valium later I was passed out and in a happy place, the pain temporarily gone for the time being..
Laos had started with a bang and now we were at a crash. We'd began in a little border-town village that was tranquil and cheap, exactly what we needed. We stayed at a little guesthouse on the edge of the Mekong and after a swim with the locals, we checked out the town to take a few snaps and get a feel for where we now were. Passing an internet cafe with huddles of boys playing 'WOW' and 'Runescape' - it's funny how no matter what country you're in, the universal habits stay the same. At our guesthouse every night, there was a huge 'family dinner' for everyone staying there. Unlimited vegetarian food piled on plates that you helped yourself to, a long with unlimited shots of their local rice wine, that they continuously filled up during the meal. When the staff had gone to bed, they curiously placed 2 full bottles on our table, and left the fridge full of beer, unlocked (not smart when there's a group of drunk tourists stumbling around). We conversed with our new french friends, a drunk mix of languages spanning the room while we slurred words about a trek we were all set to do early the next morning (which of course never ended up happening, given that we were breathing rice wine till well into the afternoon). After a few days there and enough shots of rice wine we moved on to the next town, checking we hadn't left anything behind this time.

As we sat and ate our meals, Jack turned around to brush away a 'mosquito' that he heard in his ear. Only to realize it was another of the little old Laotian women wearing traditional dress and chewing beatle nut, making their funny 'shh shh shh' noises and trying to sell us 'bracelets'. After a few 'no no's' they opened their little bags to reveal huge bags of weed and little packets of opium. They'd go as far as to stuff it under your T-Shirt to get you to buy their (disappointing) products. I laughed as they tried to convince Jn. (a policeman in training) to buy their class A drugs.. but a few poppy fumes did help lighten the pain, only in Laos. We later bumped into our french friends from the first town, who'd made the trek the next morning, and spent the evening discussing picking clementines in Corsica  the next move on my agenda when I return to Europe. We all groggily got into bed, talking about aliens, the supernatural and how crazy the concept of wiki-leaks was, before drifting into a deep and beautiful slumber.

We didn't want to hold back our boys so for the day they went Kayaking while we rested and recovered.. before booking our tickets for the 'long boat' to Luang Prabang, our next stop. I'd been 2 years ago so was interested to see how different it'd be without the family, nice restaurants and no budget. We'd lost one of our boys N. who'd just finished his national service in the Israeli army and had a limited travel period so had to move faster than us, hence the group had shrunk again, (which did make it slightly easier to keep track of everyone.) We'd missed check-out time again, and were waved off by a hard-faced woman who was running the guesthouse (but I could understand as a single woman running a guesthouse you'd have to be on the ball the whole time, especially when people don't follow instructions, we couldn't exactly expect a friendly response).While on the bus, going up a fairly steep hill, we suddenly came to a halt as the engine stopped working and we narrowly escaped a crash with a local truck full of people. We began rolling backwards before the driver cleverly started the bus in reverse and we continued on, sighing in relief that this wasn't the end of our journey (for the second time). I'd stopped taking all the pills i'd been prescribed, my tummy ache was easing (ironically) and my mood was lighter. J. and I played word association games and laughed non-stop as the rest of the crew nodded off to their music.We had a quick toilet-break before the 7 hour boat ride, seeing the sign 'pay for toilet' annoying everyone. I hate it when they expect you to pay for something that's so basic and necessary. So everyone turned the corner and went in the bushes behind the facility.. almost expecting to see 'pay money' signs behind the bushes.

Coffee and Cigs

The long-boat was great fun. We motored along slowly, watching locals wash rice by the sides of the Mekong  pink water buffalo lapping water on the rocks and little boys frolicking by the sand as the older men stood behind them patiently with fishing lines. We read books, snoozed, jammed with guitars and harmonica's, sketched and talked. The time flew by and we were soon at the next town, that bordered Thailand 'Houeiai', where we stayed at 'BAP' guesthouse that was recommended in lonely planet. The woman running the guesthouse told us to call her 'mama', and was adamant that if we left we weren't allowed to come back. 'That's not fair mama' I said, 'no no you no say that's not fair, you go you no come back!' She made us laugh and obviously knew how to run a business. We played a new Spanish card game that night 'Escola', had some Lao tea and fresh mango while watching the sun set behind the red hills in Thailand (that was only 100m away across the Mekong). We then moved on to 'Pakbeng', the next town, before we caught the second-half of our long-boat journey to LP. A man stood where we arrived, with a sign saying 'BuonMey guesthouse' and shouting 'Bone me! Bone me!' that made us all giggle childishly. On the back of the sign was crossed out 'happy shakes, opium shakes, happy pancakes, opium pancakes' and that made us laugh even harder. We followed him up to his guesthouses, he'd sold it well, an odd character, completely ADD and switching between mocking English accents, to telling everyone to 'shut-up!' to giggling hysterically. I couldn't keep up. A group of others followed him as well  they'd pre-booked and weren't impressed with the steep walk up the hill, not what they'd read in the description when they were promised a 'free-ride to the guesthouse'. His excuse being 'oh the bus was late'. He claimed his name was 'Marco Polo' and we soon realized, like his name, his pitch was a scam as well  The rooms were dingy, the hot water didn't work, the extra bed never came, the happy shakes weren't happy enough and half the items on the menu were 'unavailable'. We still fell asleep happy that night, discussing childhood memories of 'Clifford the big red dog, spot, smurfs, Baba the elephant, Postman Pat' and so many more that bought fond smiles to our faces. Jn. smiling more than he had been 20 minutes ago when he'd discovered the giant spider in the corner of our bathroom (his one weakness besides heights).

Our make-shift meals on the boatride

We were awoken for the second half of the long-boat journey earlier than we'd have liked, with a bang on the door from 'Marco Polo', "GET UP! BOAT LEAVING!" We quickly ordered our fried rice, fruits and snacks to take on the boat, trying to avoid the extortionate rates that they tried to charge us. The first day we'd made make-shift meals of sticky rice, cans of tuna, soup from pot noodles.. borrowing bowls and cutlery off of our new Lao friends sitting in front of us, that were more than happy to practice their English as we tried to slip in a few words of Laotian. On the boat I thought back on all the people we'd met so far and how many had left their mark.. one in particular eliciting a furrowed brow .. the man we'd met in Nha Trang, Vietnam. He was 57 and had been in the British army, working as a sniper for the last 22 years. I remember talking to him over buckets of alcohol, crying as I watched the pain in his face as he told us about his best friend dying in his arms, the children he'd seen shot by their parents, the missions he'd had to be on and the amount of people he'd had to kill. The shadow loomed over him but rays of light still shined. The one most harrowing story he told me was of the brothel he'd had to break into. The men running it would sexually abuse girls from the ages of 7 - 20 before killing them and roasting their heads on spits, he'd killed each man involved and told us this with shaking hands and salty tears. J. and I couldn't imagine the pain he'd been through, and felt lucky to live so free of so much trauma and death, inspired by his strength we felt like that was the most we'd gained from any conversation at 'Why Not Bar' so far..

The boat ride passed faster than the previous one, I closed my eyes and 'a minute' later, we were already in in L.P, the French colonial buildings greeting us on arrival - I love this town, a world heritage site with no loud traffic, noisy rude people or big buses. We Followed our friends advice and trekked with other groups of backpackers to 'Spicy Lao', the hostel everyone was staying at. The adventures of which will be saved for the next post..

Recipe of the day: Laotian prawn curry

http://anhsfoodblog.com/2007/01/coconut-love-laotian-prawn-curry.html/

The monster in the closet

Most people live their lives in a seemingly monotonous way, we have our routines and schedules - society shapes what we do whether it's attending school, sitting in an office or handing out fliers. Of course there's leeway and space for choice but ultimately it's all pre-determined unless we decide to fly completely off the tracks and disregard the laws that have been created for us, resulting in being given a label like 'insane', of course there are institutions for that 'condition' as well. The point of this rant is that when life throws things at you that are out of the blue, that bump you out of auto-pilot mode and cause you to actively change course or process whatever card you've been dealt, it makes us more alive again.

Uncle P I found you on google!

Today I received an incredibly daunting whatssap from my dad before our weekly skype chat (scheduled due to time difference): 'I have some bad news.' It's interesting how at those moments you suddenly understand the difference between thinking with your heart and your head. I felt like I was being gripped and my bodily response was 'all signals alert' as I sat at my computer with a furrowed brow, slowly pressing down the green 'answer call' button with shaking fingers to engage in a conversation that I knew would leave me in tears. 

My uncle Patrick Sandeman passed away today, the family had been wondering who would tell me before I saw it across the news on TV. He always lived on the edge hence his passion in skydiving. A few hours ago a fluke collision occurred between himself and another skydiver causing him to die on impact, hopefully in a moment of complete exhilaration and excitement after having had three amazing kids, a loving marriage and a successful career. My thoughts and tears today go out to them all. 

The conversation I had with my family over skype was an hour of no ego, all defences down. The importance of all the small things that we'd quibble about or discuss, the little worries like money or what time I was getting to bed every night lost their significance and everyone just sat shaking their heads, with red puffy eyes and wet cheeks. The image sounds depressing but it was really a moment of understanding and awakening.

My uncle :)
http://uk.news.yahoo.com/tribute-skydiving-plunge-victim-053009777.html

I don't like the idea that life requires certain ups and downs to appreciate things or to keep yourself in check. One rarely pays full appreciation to life until they experience the pain of dealing with a death, the feeling of love isn't appreciated until the pain of heartbreak has been felt and a great night out isn't enjoyed unless there are a few bad ones to compare it to. But having those episodes and moments that we don't ask for or expect, or have planned out in our leather-back diaries, those episodes keep us alive and aware.

I woke up this morning moaning about the cuts on my back that stung when the water hit them in the shower. That was the worst thing going on in my life at that moment, but now it doesn't seem to matter and is at the bottom of my worry list-- Unfortunately today the monster in the closet made the children scream and not laugh but the family's unifying and the pillars are forming for those most deeply affected, to support them through this time of tragedy.


Tea of the day: Vanilla-earl grey (the tea for sadness)
http://www.teamotionstea.com/blog/?page_id=20

Creamfields

2 of the stages before the rain

I think it's fair to say without exagerrating, that the last few days have been the craziest of my life. Spontinaity is a really important part of living, and one that I strive to gain more of, being someone who's OCD is planning and organizing every minute of my time just for that comfortable feeling of knowing what's happening next. But the thing is, when a plan goes wrong, you're either left flustered having to handle an unexpected turn, disappointed that things didn't work out how they should have, or pleasantly surprised with the new outcome. The latter doesn't seem to happen too often, so I tend to end up disappointed or constantly buzzed in a heated attempt to follow my plan through. Spontinaity allows for no future thought or image - change excites humans, it's part of our nature to look for new and exciting things giving us that rush of adrenaline to feed off of. This weekend was like a tropical adrenaline storm, it just kept going with a force that didn't stop.

While the mud was shallow

Running around London day after day was getting tiring, and an email from a friend that I'd met once on a crazy night in KL, offering me an all expenses paid for ticket to 'Creamfields' (the biggest druggy techno-house-trance festival in England) caused my light bulb to ping straight away. I accepted on a whim, sorted out my shifts with the excuse of 'my cousin's last minute weekend wedding in Scotland' and picked up sleeping bags off a friend. Within a few days, a familiar face arrived at the door looking bedraggled after a 12 hour flight from Malaysia. The familiarity of having someone around that had shared the same life as me, was so relieving. It was so nice not feeling alienated or stuck behind a culture barrier. We spent three days in London, cooking, chatting, bunning and food shopping.

Taken by 'Example' during his show :)

The day of the festival finally arrived, we'd planned to have a full nights sleep before our adventure began but being the teenagers that we are, our heads hit the pillow at about 3am, giving us a good long 3 hours of rest before the alarm shrilled. Jumping out of bed in a state of pure dillusion, we showered, changed and grabbed our countless bags, dragging them down the pavement to the tube station at 6.30am. It's funny how easy it is to take a wrong turn when you're tired, and how much it affects your journey -- by the time we got to the station to catch our 7.30am train, it was 11.00am and 3 trains had since passed. In-between buying coffee to keep our eyes open, and conversing with his other two friends who had also missed their train, we managed to figure out that we could catch the next train at 11.30 and still get there on time. Luckily, unlike our friends, we didn't have to pay any extra costs for our mistake - we did however get moved back from first class to third, cramped up with our sleeping bags and boxes of rice-cakes in the corner of 'carriage F' - oh well.

We get to Creamfields, all we see are rolling hills, and hundreds of people with welly's and bags looking bright, colourful and ready for an amazing time. We could already hear the beats of Calvin Harris and David Guetta in the background, only serving to raise the anxiety levels to storm through the queue's and get to where we needed to be. We ran into a few road-blocks on the way to our destination but managed to get around them somehow (I tell you, having boobs in this day and age makes life so much easier). We amazingly got through the police checks, sniffer dogs and ID men without having ID or sober suitcases on us, and we made our way up the muddy path towards the campsites. We were in luxury camping, meaning hot showers, 'nice loos', set-up tents, airbeds and a short walk to the main arena's. It took us an hour to realize none of us had any sense of direction, and 2.5 hours later we had trudged through knee-high mud with our bags, having explored every campsite, arena and food-stall until we finally reached the tangerine fields - luxury camping. We walked passed funky heart shaped huts with wooden floors and beds (1k for a weekend) and sighed. Our 2 bedroom tent wasn't too shabby though, we lit up and lay down after our tedious journey, thankful to have finally arrived, at 6pm.

The crowd <3

We cleaned ourselves up (wet wipes ftw), got into festival gear and set out to join the crowds. The moment the magic kicked in everything went in fast forward, I felt like I was walking on an airport escalator, zooming through crowds and music -- the world spun out of control and the lights and colours carried us to a state of bliss. Nothing can really compare to live music, huge top quality speakers, the buzz of the crowd and the passion for the music, it went on till sunrise through the pouring rain and freezing gales. People's bones were literally aching due to the cold; body heat and dancing was frostbites only alternative.

Above and Beyond

Waking up in the morning all you could hear were mutters of 'is it cancelled? It's flooded. No Dedmau5. Everyone's leaving'. We poked our heads into the ongoing rain to ask what was going on -- sure enough, nature had got its own on technology and the sound equipment was all completely under-water. An intoxicated girl had fallen face-first into the mud and drowned, a man had shot someone in the head with his rifle, and about 20,000 people were all making their way towards the exit doors. Chaos.

Silent disco

Those of us who decided to stay, breathed in the opportunity with a smile. 80% of people leaving meant: Free food, free tents, free beds, sleeping bags, mats and chairs. We managed to move into a huge tent, we each had our own room, bed, (packeted) food supply and dry area - it was heaven. The clouds moved on and the sun came out at the same time as bikini's, shorts and glasses did -- the rest of the day was spent in a blazed wave, lying on mattresses in the sun.
By night, the mood had shifted. The vibe was so intense, this was the night everyone was planning on going wild. Substances, music, people, colours, everything was out in the open. The next few hours were like the first night, times a million. Hundreds of us raving on hills in the middle of nowhere. Everyone's eyes equally wide as we soaked in the atmosphere - we each met about 50 new people, heard a million new stories and tried a million new things. There was nothing to lose, no one cared what they looked like or sounded like, it was all about the love. The sun rose for the last time and we all sat huddled up, holding hands for body-warmth in the biggest tent we could find, still moving to the music. We packed in a half-daze and caught the last bus to the little town of 'Warrington' with a new group of friends we'd met the night before.

The rain took over.

We all walked into civilization together, feeling the cold-hard stares as people awed at our muddy, bedraggled and homeless appearances. From nature to cement, shops, and warmth - it felt so strange. Mothers directed their children away from us and we just stared in awe at how clean everything looked. We soon found heaven; the waitresses at Nando's hurried us in in a motherly manner, taking our bags off and sitting us down at their two biggest tables. We ate in a comfortable silence appreciating the hot food and the warm room.

We sat outside and rolled a  last celebratory joint. It made the realization that we'd missed three trains, again, less-stressful. We eventually sauntered over to the train station - this time, our seats had been degraded from first class to the carriage in which we sat squashed up on the floor with about 15 bags around us. At that point, nothing mattered, and we lay back on whatever was behind us, and fell asleep. London was a trip to return to - Carnival had just finished and it was feathers and glitter galore.. we walked through the craziness and finally got to what we'd been waiting for - a warm shower and a dry bed.

I've had a day to recover and my eyes still can't see straight. Post-festival-blues has hit and I'm wondering why there isn't a legal cure for this? The pharmaceutical industry are focusing on the wrong crowd.. The light at the end of the tunnel is seeing the photo's from the disposables that we bought with us (and magically managed to bring back!) if only life could be one big festival - Thank you Creamfields! You were a trip ;)



Recipe of the day: Daal and rice (This food saved me at the festival - an extortionate price of 5 pounds, but so worth the result)

http://www.indianfoodforever.com/bachelor-cooking/simple-dal.html

Through the looking glass

 It's always interesting having a few days of country living - with a slightly luxurious edge. On one hand it's fantastic being able to catch up with relatives, skimming over the years events and future plans over a delicious lunch. A few days ago I fed into the English spirit with a typical tea party, canope's of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, glazed sausages and salmon bites; just to add a touch of class we took our pick of Pimms, wine, rosé or elderflower cordial. All the ladies were in flowery dresses and hats - for when the sun decided to momentarily peep out. And the men all had their black suits and funky ties on, their shoes newly polished and looking rather suave. Unfortunately, my 11 cousins (all of whom are a range of ages, me being in the middle) somehow escaped having to socialize and make small talk with mysterious adults all afternoon. So i pranced around looking jolly and entertaining the old folk. At first I dreaded the thought - and found myself repeating the same lackadaisical words to the first few people I spoke to, with a smile of course. But I decided I didn't particularly want to waste my time not making an effort - and I began speaking to one lady who was about 75 years old, called Linda.

1930 - Frida Kahlo 

1940 - Lennon

Linda indirectly opened my eyes to my ignorance towards 'the elders'. Our family calender hangs by the side of the fridge, on which we have a scheduled date every year to see the rellies, somehow it always feels like a slightly laborious task, especially when you're younger. The traditional view towards children was that they should be 'seen and not heard', correct table manners were always expected, and a sweet smile in return for a sugary pudding. Then it was off to bed early while the adults had their 'time' mingling downstairs. Growing up is a funny thing; one of the major facets that makes me feel 'adult' is when others treat you like one, when the intellect within conversations is that much higher, when you're responsible for slightly more than not losing your lunch money, and when adults talk to you with purpose instead of condescendingly patting you on the head. But seeing grandparents, who will always view you as their little grandchild, somehow takes away from the ability to truly learn who they are. Or perhaps it's just laziness on my part in not trying to really find out about their intriguing past.

1950 - Munroe

1960 - Hurston

What fascinates me, is that these people have lived such long lives, to think of the experience I feel I've had in only 18 years is already eye opening. But multiply that by 4 and your perspective widens considerably. Oh the stories Linda began to tell me, none of which made me yawn. The incredible people she'd met, and places she'd lived, her casual reference to historical events like World War 2 and what she'd been doing during that time. It was funny hearing first hand accounts about events that I'd learnt about at school and in textbooks. The swinging 60's and flower-power 70's - I heard about it all; as the Pimms and wine continued to flow, everyone's voices became slightly louder, and their stories raunchier. Being a wallflower was the best role to have played in that scenario.

1970 - Presley

1980 - Jackson

In a series I used to follow, 'One Giant Leap' (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gla2IgD52eU) that features two guys who travel around the world interviewing the most fascinating people on all of the most 'deep and meaningful' subjects that exist today: Love, death, age, sex, music etc. and inbetween the interesting speeches there's an eclectic combination of music from various cultures, all synthesized into one amazing tune. Portuguese singers over Indian drummers alongside a melodic tune on a korean flute with some brilliant American guitarist - you get the picture. But one of the episodes on 'age' interviews a lot of older people; you journey through their take on getting old, and the changes that occur around them as a result. I remember one lady talking about how she couldn't look at herself in the mirror because she couldn't accept her 'ugly' wrinkles, while another was full of acceptance and viewed ageing as a sign of beauty. A discussion took place regarding people's reactions and attitudes towards them, how they're suddenly 'outcast' in society and placed in various homes to make others lives easier. (Hobbes's theory on how humans are ultimately selfish creatures and do everything for their own personal gain rings true in this case). The only people they can really relate to or talk to without being spoken to in a fairly condescending manner, or looked at sympathetically are other people of their age. At lunch today someone mentioned their best friend having passed away earlier that week, and though there was sadness in their eyes, they stated the fact with ease, as it had almost become normal to hear that another of their friends had gone. Can you
imagine that? Everyone dropping like flies and not knowing when your turn will be..

1990 - Dhal

2000 - Swayze

One of the biggest concepts I struggle with is imagining my grandparents in their youth, as the image I see them as is 'sweet old grandma who cooks amazing food and grandpa who dosses and reads the newspaper'. I'd never picture them clubbing, getting completely smashed or dancing stark naked on bars in feather boas - but today, I learnt, their youth was far wilder than many people's I know today. It's not too hard to imagine considering they grew up in a world of psychedelic music accompanied by abundant hallucinogenics.

2010 - Obama

This is the peak of my youth, of many of ours, but to think about the drastic changes that occur as we age, slotting us into different roles. We're confronted with examples of old age that people almost conform to as they reach it, the clothes, the lifestyle, the house. But hearing stories and experiences of the years that led up to it, from such an open and interesting perspective, really gets the mind going - let's just hope the rumours concerning the colossal damage that will 'wipe out'  the human race in 2012, doesn't happen, so we can experience whatever lies beyond this peak.







 Recipe of the day: Pesto chicken with roasted tomato's 
http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/10416/creamy-pesto-chicken-with-roasted-tomatoes

The philosophical mind

'Vintage thought'

I understand the saying 'curiosity killed the cat' and 'ignorance is bliss' but we've got to where we are because of curiosity and change - that's evolution isn't it? So I allowed my mind to look into that unknown place and ask those unanswerable questions. While lying on my turquoise sarong on the white sand beach today, slightly blazed and delirious from a spliff and a few swigs of cider, I soaked in the philosophical conversation that my mum and her great friend were having. Some of it was airy fairy 'we just exist, we have to make the most of now and enjoy the 'wow' moment of realizing that this is everything'. But then I started getting into it, think of the idea that some philosophies of life (yogic or buddhist especially) are about detachment from our material possessions, letting go of such strong emotional connections with people and enjoying them purely for what they are (so objectively). Yet if one's enlightened, everything around you shouldn't seem a distraction or something to get away from, as everything around us is what shapes our reality, hence it should be embraced and accepted, we need to live a subjective life to truly be present. I think of enlightenment as a pyramid... similar to Maslow's hierarchy of human needs - enlightenment can't be reached until all the other layers have been completed/ met. But the needs on Maslow's hierarchy revolve a lot around what our society deems to be the most important aspects, money, security, love etc. and of course I agree to a certain extent, but when someone reaches pure acceptance, where the light and the dark (yin and yang, good and evil, whatever you want to call it) are balanced within your perception and understanding of the world, your reality lifts to a higher vibrational frequency and everything 'makes sense'. That's what I believe anyway, if you can understand my thought train.

S. with her dogs

So that's one philosophical thought - 'oh the meaning of life', I give you permission to roll your eyes, but bear with me. I rolled over onto my other side, just to ensure I didn't end up looking like a piece of bread at the end of a loaf: brown on one side and white on the other. I gazed at the expansive blue sky that just seemed so ethereal and never-ending. I couldn't imagine that only a week ago clouds had littered this view, and now there was absolutely nothing. It made me feel so insignificant and vulnerable under such a wide-spread sheet of aqua. So I'd pondered about life, now I pondered about death. When do we disappear?
My brother has this slight obsession with fame, or people associated with fame. Anything famous has top priority and I'm sure one day I'll turn on the TV, or whatever new technology exists, and he'll be on it rocking away with shaggy hair on his guitar. But I don't totally understand the desire of fame unless it's just an accessory to success after pursuing your dream career. It brings so many toxins with it and envelops you into a tough world that's hard to not conform to. Just look at British TV today - Made in Chelsea, The only way is Essex, Geordie shore, The Kardashians, we're all obsessed with watching other 'famous' people's lives instead of entertaining ourselves with our own- isn't that weird? But anyway, back to my point, so while I think being famous has so many downfalls, it does ensure that your name lives on in some way - whether it's on TV, through records or CD's, in documents or books, or even on google. Having your name out there means that when you do eventually die - your name won't only live through the people you knew until they eventually die and your stories stop being told. Your legacy gets read about or listened to or watched. So for that (slightly morbid) reason I understand the pull that celeb-dome has.

I woke up a bit with a splash in the ice-cold waters, managing to stay in for longer than 5 minutes until my lungs felt as though they were going to collapse and hypothermia was fast approaching. A slight exaggeration I admit, but something has to be said for the freezing british seas and their drastic impact on the human body.. it's my last day with my mum before she leaves our lovely cottage to go and spend a few days in London with family and friends. I'll see her next at Christmas, and the impact of really 'leaving the nest' is hitting me as I can see it happen before my eyes. And because I've almost developed a 'script' that I recite when asked 'so what are you planning on doing on your gap year?' constantly repeating something always brings with it a sense of normality.

What a laugh - These were being sold at the 'Pigs Nose pub'
"PIGS NOSES, DOGGIE TREATS 20p"

How are you supposed to spend your last day with your mum? Today we've just been enjoying it like any other. Yoga, a great BBQ for lunch (spiced chicken, sausages, burgers, beautiful organic salads, brie, salmon, fresh walnut-date bread, avocado's and tomatoes and lots of sangria), a walk to the beach, a stop-off at the pub where we replenished our sun-struck bodies with fizzy elderflower and scrumpy (local cider) and Devonshire burts-crisps and ice cream. Roast pork and apple for dins, if we can fit any more in! Today's been the philosophical day, passing on the last 'words of wisdom' before I gain independence from my maternal pillar. "Every choice you make is a vote" that was one conversation I held on to - when you choose to buy a certain brand you take on the responsibility of supporting their morals and what they stand for - child labour? Their CSR? Their treatment of animals, produce or farmers? It's all about awareness I guess..

Kids in a sweetshop?

Pasties on the pier

Out of the corner of my eye I can sea the pink and white striped 'Cranches' bag that we got this morning, it's from our traditional sweetshop that has been around ever since I can remember. When you walk in all you see is containers of every sweet you can imagine, old and new. 1p cola bottles, flying saucers, bon bons, maple-walnut fudge, liquorice, sour apples, turkish delight, oh my god it goes on forever. You take your little basket and walk around filling it to your hearts content - despite being 18 years old the concept of 'a child in a sweetshop' still remains. My brother's panic-stricken eyes as he rushed around under time-constraint as we had to get back in our little motor-boat before the tide went down. I pranced around in an orderly manner knowing exactly what I wanted to choose. We asked the shop-keeper who supplied the sweets and he told us about this fantastic sweet factory that had sweets from any era you wanted - different sections for sweets from the 1920's, 30's, 40's etc etc etc. How amazing would that be. About 20 minutes after leaving the shop I had a tooth ache from eating half my bag in a sugary rush of excitement.. We sat on the edge of the dock watching the seagulls and eating a pasty before boating back (just in time) to get the BBQ set up.. sorry about the non-chronological order of my comings and goings but the mind just doesn't work like that.

I'm still lightly buzzing and the golden hue of another summer sunset is casting long shadows behind the tall sail boats that are moored near our cottage, the tide's high and another beautiful evening is about to commence (accompanied by a few glasses of red).

Recipe of the day: Spiced marinated chicken (serve with natural yogurt)
http://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/indian-style-marinated-chicken-10000001215931/

Drink of the day: Sangria (Yummy with fresh mint leaves)

 http://wine.about.com/od/redwines/r/basicSangria.htm)

Cambodia: Day 5 (the day of death)

Ridiculous rules

Today shall be referred to as the day of death. As i write this I sit on a straw Cambodian mats on a raised platform in our guest room at the Bodhi leaf guest house. Opposite resides the S-21 prison in which thousands of detainees were held, questioned, tortured and killed in the most awful and harrowing conditions. This was one of the most fascinating aspects of Cambodia for me before we visited, the talk of the traumatic killing fields was something I’d always wanted to experience; the idea of death is such a foreign concept, it fascinates me hearing stories about what happened to people, of course it shocks the soul that humans just like you or I are capable of subjecting other individuals to such torture.

Khmer Rouge soldiers - look how young they are

The prison chambers were ridiculously small, some rooms contained just a metal bed on which a metal bar that was used for beating the prisoners lay. A cast iron box was there for their excrements (that some were made to ingest) and glass on the windows to try and contain the screams of the prisoners as they were bludgeoned, hacked and lashed. Large wooden boxes lay in other rooms in which paintings on the walls illustrated the story of how the prisoners were to lie in the boxes full of water as electric shocks passed through them continuously but never to the point of death, as that would destroy the massachistic purpose of the Khmer Rouge.

The man responsible - Pol Pot

We learnt that 1000 prisoners were taken their every day, the numbers on each prisoner was to be re-used after they were killed so as not to waste any material. The prison was divided into three buildings, the third of which was untouched, with the mesh and barbed wire still lining any chance for the prisoners to escape through the doors to commit suicide – a far less painful idea than what awaited them. The rooms were divided into tiny sections by wooden or cement walls for each individual prisoner, and walking through the dark corridors sent shivers down my spine as I envisioned the unimaginable pain they must’ve gone through. In the ‘B’ building there were mostly biographies of prisoners or soldiers of the Khmer Rouge. Portrait photographs of Cambodian women, men and children stared out at us with a range of emotions on their faces – from pure shock to hatred to happiness to pain.

One of many prisoners

The individuals weren’t always aware of what they were going to experience before the photographs were taken, while some had their prisoner numbers pinned into their necks, with the rule being that no tear of pain was to be shed otherwise further torture would commence. The soldiers were so young, little girls and boys from the ages of 8 – 19 were everywhere, all wearing their monotonous black uniform and red and white chequered scarves. There were other photographs of victims after their torture, bloated, swollen, skeletal, blood stained, lashed, burnt, the list goes on. Mothers watched their children being smashed against walls, brothers watched their sisters having their heads drilled in and all of them must have heard the screams of their inmates.

One of the cells

 I can only imagine their fear, as they conjured up the next ‘fake’ story to stay alive when they were questioned about what they’d done wrong – these stories included supposedly working for the CIA or KGB, stealing rice or burning down another’s house. When one ran out of these ‘confessions’, they were killed. The goal being to create a sense of guilt and shame in everyone for no valid reason. Every viewer in the prison wore their heart on their faces as they walked around, absorbing the shock of this painful reality that ended a mere 30 years ago.

Behind the wire mesh (so prisoners couldn't commit suicide)

One of the babies killed

At the killing fields we were aided by an audio tape, a recording of an individual who had escaped the killing fields and was able to describe the torturous events of every corner of the area, from the grave where 250 individuals were bludgeoned to death to avoid wasting bullets, to the torture chamber, to the tree where babies were smashed against. Mum teared up, as it held more sentimental value to her, and I slid off my pink string bracelet to hang on the fence surrounding the grave as a symbol of peace and sorrow. We listened to recordings of survivors who’d experienced rape, witnessed murder or those that were forced to issue torture to others.

'The magic tree' where babies were whacked against
in front of their mothers before being thrown into a pit

The bones and skulls were stacked high in a memorial stupa for the thousands that had been killed. Pol pot, a sick man that had himself had the priveledge of an education, killed all those with glasses, soft hands, intellectual capabilities or talent, and everyone related to them – he managed, in his (almost) four years as the leader of Cambodia, to murder a quarter of the population – over 2 million individuals. What’s so shocking is that some of the Khmer Rouge leaders are still on trial today, with the thousands of deaths that hang over their heads, charges have still not been decided. A sense of oppression has fallen upon my mother and I today, of betrayal and pain and sadness. Knowing that most people in Cambodia today are probably linked with a victim of this period of Genocide. And while life goes on, the earth continues pushing out bones and clothes of the victims from 30 years ago as a constant reminder that these people existed. I suppose we feel humility at the moment, an appreciation for life and for the circumstances we’re in now. This event is not the only one either, Hitler, Stalin, Mao, Genocide in Ruwanda, North Korea, Libya, the list continues – all events, places and people that demonstrate this sickness, this hunger for power and money at the expense of  innocents. That was during the Piscean age, as we move into the age of aquarius, hopefully this pattern will stop. As I close my eyes i mutter a few words of thanks, to whatever energy surrounds me, and I truly hope that the spirits and souls of all those lost unfairly in the Genocide are freed and at peace.

The killing fields - the grooves in the ground are graves

The Khmer Rouge uniform

Foods ability to console the mind and the body is something to be praised and respected. The meals of the ‘day of death’ shed a bit of light over a very dark day – breakfast not so much, though the guest house we were staying at was charming, the non-functioning AC, constant sound of drilling and poor service and food didn’t give the place a very good rep in our heads. But for lunch we had a delicious clear Taiwanese wanton soup with fresh greens, and for dinner we walked along the sea-front, choosing a French restaurant called ‘bouganvillier’... I walked along to the restaurant with my stomach clenched and my eyes darting to every tuk tuk driver in the area... having scored earlier from our tuk tuk driver, who i’d made the mistake of asking as he knew where we were living – i was quite nervous not knowing whether he was linked to the police, I could imagine returning to our hotel room with five men in uniform ready to tear all my bas apart.. due to the mass corruptness of the police in this country (just a tip, if buying weed, always be wary that the locals could easily be working with the po po which would result in a bit of an unpleasant confrontation and a lot of money) ... I really didn't want the responsibility of ruining our bonding Cambodian holiday – the hurricane of butterflies in my stomach increased in number and i could feel their tiny wings batting everywhere, the constipation from travelling and moving around so much not being of any service to the my nervous state!
A quick skype sesh with my boyfriend only got my heart racing more so as we walked along passed the pubs and restaurants before choosing Bouganvillier, my mind was scattered and my heart was pumping in my stomach. The ambience of the restaurant was odd, we had a group of French and Cambodian people sitting near us eating from the French-Cambodian buffet, waiters floated around in tail coats but no other customers were in the restaurant creating a slightly ghostly vibe.
 We ordered a glass of red wine to share, duck confit for mum and pan fried salmon with ratatouille for me. The wine was great, and the fresh French bread was delicious, but the food could’ve been vamped up just a tad – dry duck and oily salsa verde wasn’t a good look. We had a treat of ice cream at ‘the blue pumpkin’ a few blocks down, I chose chocolate rocky road (with almonds and raisins) and vanilla with brownie in a cup. Mum treated herself with just one scoop of rocky road in a cone. Mmm sitting by the sea with our ice cream, nostalgically running through childhood stories of sneaking lots of ice cream toppings into my cone under the scoop of ice cream so mum could never see. The grass situation turned out to be fine and I had nothing to worry about, but getting rid of the tuk tuk driver allowed me to breath a deep sigh of relief.


Recipe of the day: Grilled Salmon with Ratatouille
http://culinaryarts.about.com/od/fishseafood/r/salmonrata.htm

Cambodia: Day 1

Fresh ginger tea, morning Cambodia

Tour guide Tan

One of the 'Gods' or 'Angels' holding the serpent

Our second mother-daughter bonding experience had begun. As we strolled out of the airport with our wheel-along bags and fake mulberry’s from good ‘ol Hong Kong, i noticed carriage like vehicles, powered by motorbikes. My eyes widened at the thought of riding in one, they almost looked like Cinderella carriages in war-struck Cambodia, it was bizarre but a lovely touch. A man stood with our names on a sign-board, for the first time everything was spelt correctly, a very good sign indeed. To my delight we sat in one of the Cinderella carriages, with the warning of clinging on tightly to any valuable bags due to bag snatchers and the like. We stopped for a local sim card and made our way to our lovely guest house in Siem-Reap called ‘seven candles’, highly recommended! The rooms were basic but did have AC, a small TV, dvd player and lovely service. An entertaining laminated poster within the bathroom read ‘cambodian potty training’ and instructed us to not place any unnatural waste (tissue paper) into the toilet as the drainage system in Cambodia couldn’t deal with it yet. Back to basics. Luckily, my Asian upbringing meant that this kind of thing wasn’t that unusual, and a bum-hose was a daily routine and not an alien device.

Mum and I

A Lingum in a Yoni

 It was 8:30am so we munched on apples and muesli bars and then head off with another Cinderella carriage (i later learnt that they are called  motor-roteks, the Cambodian version of a tuk tuk), a tour guide and lots of water to sight-see and appreciate the lovely temples of Angkor. The first day we completed ‘the grand circuit’ – as we hadn’t seen any of them before, they were fascinating, the stories related to the elaborate detail on every inch of the temples was so interesting – and not dissimilar from what i remember acting out from 1^st – 3^rd grade when I attended the British school of new Dheli. The hindu gods Brahma, Shiva, Vishnu, Laxmi and Hannuman. Shiva the destroyer, Vishnu the sustainer of life and Brahma the creator. Laxmi the goddess of wealth and prosperity and all the other wives and women who served as the feminine energy to balance out the overpowering sense of masculinity.

 The animal symbolism was also interesting, there were many serpents, especially at the entrance of the temples, on our left, stone statues of the gods held the strong serpent body and on the right, just as yin and yang has light and dark, the devils held up the other snake body of the snake. The head of the serpent, or Naga, rose to a higher level and the tails twined to symbolize the churning of the sea of milk, the elixir of life, evoking immortality for the divine. Square Yoni’s (meaning the female vagina) lay everywhere, with Lingums (round stones) in their centres. Due to vandalism, greed and war, many of the lingums had been taken and many of the heads of Buddha’s or stone statues had also been cut off.

Hand-like almost

Without a guide, all of the picture stories that smothered the stone would not have been nearly as interesting. Some of the stories were gruesome, i remember the picture of Krishna standing strong and mighty, with pyramids of servants below him. When i asked what this meant we were told the story. Krishna had been brought up by his uncle, and led to believe that he was an only child and therefore the rightful king, with servants surrounding him left and right. Many of the servants were in fact his siblings but his uncle kept this from him, when Krishna found out he stormed towards his uncle in rage and tore his body in two. The violence within these stories was revealingly apparent. We visited the crematorium where bodies used to be burnt, face down mind you as if they were face up the nerves would cause the body to sit up, and due to lack of understanding the ancients must have thought the individuals spirit was coming back – a somewhat scary thought! We learnt about the tradition that still continues today, following ones cremation. The ashes are cleansed in king coconut water (seven king coconuts to be precise!) and everyone must drink a small amount of this water in order to feel connected to the deceased relative – not a tradition i’d feel comfortable taking part in but an interesting one nevertheless.

Amazing tree

It struck me how linked hunduism and Buddhism were on these temple walls, the hindu positioning of the Buddha sitting in meditation with his knees up and hands in prayer position against the sternum, was transformed into the Buddhist positioning of legs down and hands resting on his knees. Vishnu was said to be reincarnated into the Buddha, hence Buddhism (Theravada Buddhism, the country’s current religion) stemmed directly from Hinduism. I think all religions merge really. Due to the ongoing movement and constant energy that KL required, my body could take no more and my streaming nose, not dissimilar to a water hose, was proof of that. It began to get unbearable and my head floated in a fog as our guide continued describing the interesting stories on the temple walls.

I love that food can lift ones spirits, Khmer food is absolutely delicious. Very similar to Thai food but without the chilli, for lunch we ate a lemongrass, pork and mushroom soup with rice and basil chicken. The portions are meant to be shared so we were able to order these two dishes and still have plenty left over, another holiday of eating? I think so.

Buddha carving, notice the aura

For dinner we continued the Khmer trend, we bumped along to pub street in our motor-rotek and ate ‘spicy’ (this wouldn’t even be spicy for a western palette) baby bamboo soup and minced pork omelette with rice and crunchy raw veg. At bed time we watched the killing fields, a DVD we’d brought earlier that day, just to gain a richer understanding of what we would later be seeing in real life. Emotions rose high and my empathy towards Cambodians for what their country and people had gone through increased significantly. I went to sleep with a box of tissues and vitamin C within arm’s length.






Recipe of the day: Minced pork omelette with rice
http://www.thairecipevideos.com/content/view/60/130/

Hong Kong: Fourth and final day

My Grandma and Grandpa (urn on the right)

Placing fresh flowers and water in the urn

On our last day in Hong Kong, we paid respect to the ancients, visiting my great grandmothers grave in ‘Aberdeen’, the graveyard didn’t have an inch between gravestones or memorial plaques. My great grandfather and her were both on the same square tile with their photo’s and dates on number ‘175’, and both of their ashes mixed in the same urn. We poured in fresh water and places a fresh flower in the urn. My great uncle Hansen (who’s job i found fascinating, from working as a photographer in advertising to calming down individuals hours before they died allowing them to complete the process peacefully without fear or pain – a job inspired by his increasing Buddhist faith) and great aunty Genie, one of the most graceful women i’ve had the privilege of meeting – took us to a lovely vegetarian restaurant close by (in which they don’t serve onions or garlic as these are believed by the Chinese to be stimulating foods that disrupt the mind during meditation). Corn soup and sweet and sour mushrooms and veg was enjoyed to the fullest.

Hansen's parents gave

Our last vege meal

We began winding down as we took our time packing our suitcases and venturing off to the airport island where our old friend lived. We drove passed more beaches and beautiful trees, greeted by our friend infront of a small Chinese cafe we were lead up an obscure path to her sweet apartment, when the shutters opened a slice of the sea could be seen. As I silently inhaled on a small spliff I saw mum glanced at the flight times and the previously relaxed state was turned to panic as we realized we’d got the flight times mixed up and had to leave to the airport straight away. The next few hours weren’t relaxed persay but we made our flight, waving off Hong Kong and our newfound connection the our family, friends and a new land. Mannerisms like washing all of your eating utensils before a meal in hot water, or saying ‘mm-goi-sei-lei’ meaning ‘thank-you very much’ have now been proudly ingrained into us and a new layer of understanding was upon us as the plain descended into a familiar city of bright lights and mamak, Kuala Lumpur.


Recipe of the day: Clear peanut soup with spare ribs
http://www.smokywok.com/2009/11/chinese-peanut-soup-with-spareribs.html