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The UR and BBC Clubs January 28, 2012

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I’m a life-time member of two clubs.

Both clubs were formed over a bottle or two of bubbly  a year apart. Both clubs have membership based on fledgling friendships and shared desires. And both clubs provide a support system to encourage change, striving and seeking by each of its members for the term of its natural life.

Members of the first club -  BBC Club - strive to live in Canada – with big brown bears, lots of hair-raising adventures and new frontiers. The U R (Up-Rooting) Club strives to establish immediate change in order to establish right foundations. There is, however no specific geographic location for the UR Club, other than China, for one of the members.

Both clubs have provided an ideal environment to develop these new friendships. Simply because the members share a secret and as a result a sacred trust.

 The club idea (resurrected from childhood)  reminds me of when I was the lone member of my pirate/bucaneering club. Or the time I founded the lost boys club (non-gender specific) in the playground at school. I was, of course, a just-in-time member of my neighbour’s cowboy club. I was also one of the three core members and linguistics experts of my sisters’ club (whose membership excluded our younger brother by way of a special language).

Those club activities were  conducted amidst sworn secrecy over enormous and fearless dreams.  And although these new adult club meetings are primarily social events that provide a good reason to have a drink they also have a veil of secrecy over them. As if we don’t want people to know of our plans, our wishes, our dreams.

Although we have “honorary members” we limit the membership lest the reason for their establishment gets watered down. And instead of mentoring or coaching each other to meet our private aims and ambitions, they turn into a social event comprising reasonably OK people who wouldn’t laugh at the idea of being in a club.

I’m about to re-ignite my membershp of the BBC club. Since we parted I’m happy to say all four members have changed their lives in some significant way. Are any of us closer to our dream destination as a result of those changes? Who can say? We’ve certainly moved off the bar stools (aka starting blocks) simply because we encouraged each other to do so.

Reflecting on a life December 23, 2011

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I lost my darling brother in law a couple of weeks ago.

He died with supreme grace and bravery with his children holding him and his wife by his side.For a man who never did anything in a hurry he seemed to die with alacrity. 
As an impatient seeker, yearning for peace and wellness but on the journey very hard on himself.  

 He found peace when listening to his kids talk about their lives. He found it body surfing and swimming. He found it camping in the bush and he found it in his work.

As a healer and masseur he spent a good number of his 57 years helping and touching others. He healed their bruised, stressed and misshapen bodies. When his liver and kidneys started to fail he was trying to figure out the lesson that brought with it. 

A student of Chinese medicine he saw the body as a landscape and often made the connection connection between internal and external environment. 

I painted in the bush with him 2 weeks before he died. Despite the pain he felt in his bent and vulnerable body he scrambled over rocks to find the perfect spot to view and draw the valley below. 

I liked to talk with him about what he could see and how he worked. And nearly always he answered in a language better used to describe physiology. He saw organisms everywhere, describing shapes with vascular, skeletal and muscular metaphors.

I’m trying to paint that way now – in an organic way. As I do it brings me closer to understanding the great gift of life. No matter how short or long it is. How we spend it will be how we leave it.

He left his life because of a terminal  illness but with an interminable wellness of spirit. Bright, brilliant and gilded by love.

House on the hill October 13, 2011

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A new tag finally!

When I blog I usually find the tagging one of those automatic things.  Clearly because I’m stuck in a pattern of writing, no matter how exploratory I think I’m being in chosing my topics.

Like most bloggers, I’m usualy compelled to write a post on one of my favourite topics: growth,  change, job seeking, spirituality, teaching etc. This post though, is a first of  its kind (for me of course) for it bears the proud tag of  “house hunting”. 

Unlike changing jobs,  changing your home is a significant heart investment. On some level we search for the concept of “home” even if it’s a short term rental, a house swap, long term lease, investment property, or sea change. We want the space to welcome us home at the end of the day and be there for us on the lazy weekend mornings for coffee and newspapers in bed.

Sure there’s the same issue of emotional-versus-rational-decision-making, and there’s the all encompassing criteria of how much you can afford. I’d say clarity on budget is the first of the lessons you need to learn.

I’m also fast learning these associated lessons:

Who do we believe? What decision making criteria do we use?

Is it that “we can see ourselves living there”, or that you “separate the head and heart” or that you rank it out of ten as to how much you want it and how disappointed you’d be if you didn’t get it?

 Of course – because of the money – we have to remain rational. We also have to figure out (like any investment) how much we can afford to lose. We also have to figure out how to get out of it – if our life were to change significantly.

But when all is said and done, I think most of us walk into a house and “feel”. We feel some energy there. It could be the energy of fantasing, the energy of imagination, the energy of trepidation, exploration and excitement. But house hunting and home hunting is definitely a “feel your way” exercise.

If you have the luxury of not rushing and you can stay detached,  - and you have the finances sorted, the cut and thrust of offer, counter offer is  quite fun. I’m having fun with a house on a hill.. let’s see though, whether my concept of fun is the same fun for the agent and the owner. mmmmmm

Ode to Drummoyne September 1, 2011

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I”m sitting on an inflatable mattress in the middle of my empty unit, looking at the river outside and saying goodbye.

After 20 years in the one place it’s time to uproot.

It’s surprisingly easy to do I guess because I’ve been preparing for this moment for the last 6 years – ever since Bloke died.

What I’ve learnt about the moving process:

I will miss the view, the sounds, the light, the view,  the feelings, the neighbours, the smells, frescoes, renovating, decorating phases - with apologies to French provincial, Moghul art and William Morris. I’ll miss the Saturday morning cleaning , the sunday paper boy whistle at 9.30, and sharing the space with those I love.

As soon as I walked into the space I knew it was mine – It has the spirit of my mother(s) in its bone. It has the heart of my husband in its walls. And has been a blissful chapter in my life.

Letter 6 from Indochina – Hoi An June 25, 2011

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Hoi An is on the coast of Vietnam about a half an hours drive from Danang.  It has an ancient old town in its heart, closed to cars, draped with silks, colors of all sorts, lanterns of all shapes, paintings, food smells, and souvenirs.

The fact that the town is closed to cars, enables you to wander through the narrow streets and alleys competing only with motorbikes and cycles. Many people cycle as the town is very narrow and easy to negotiate. There is none of the crazy traffic here.

Well catered for tourists, the town is famous for its tailors and its history. Tickets allow you into prayer houses, community houses, assembly halls, shops and museums are now all accommodated in ancient houses.

The house interiors are black ebony wood, with inner courtyards and upper floors enhanced by both Japanese and Chinese architectural elements such as 3 tiered rafters representing the major lines of the hand across 5 pillars representing the 5 elements of wood, fire, water, metal and earth or curved roofs representing the back of the turtle. Open Wood doorways framed with decorative peonies, open to stone courtyards, with altars or  fountains with carved painted sculptures behind.  And high above this cool peaceful retreat, the orange  brick roof tiles resemble the scales of a dragon on restful watch.

This town was, like Venice,  an important trading town, these houses and bridges date  from the 17th century their tourist visitors now hosted by 8th generation members of the same families.

My first night in such a place, now a river restaurant, was bliss,  sipping a glass of french red, eating Cao Lau – the famous dish from Hoi An – rice noodle with pork and croutons in a fragrant broth and white flower (Rice dumpling stuffed with shrimp) . Outside, as the night came on, giant-sized colourful   animal lanterns of  phoenix, turtle, dog, lion and cat, came to life to dance on the river.

On either side of the river, colourful fishing or ferry boats painted with 2 eyes at the bow were safely moored. Trees, shop fronts and bridges were laced with lanterns. Street vendors cooking dish after dish of banh canh or com ga. Hoi An is like a fairy land, a land of myth, rich with history, a land of stories.

The next days were filled with culinary delights such as duck with banana flower salad,  Com ga -chicken rice and seafood – clams, bbq scallops whose shell was the size of a child’s face,  squid stuffed with pork, grilled or braised, leather jacket cooked in lemongrass and wrapped in banana leave.

I had clothing made for between $10-$25 a piece completed within a 24 hour time frame. I hear nothing but delighted customers marvelling at how accommodating the tailors are. I then visited Cham Island to snorkle over colourful coral, and pray at a 300 year old pagoda and seek my fortune by shaking sticks… I still have the fortune (written in Vientnamese! the future, alas will remain a mystery) and one blissful morning was spent swimming on the quiet local beach of Ba An. I got there on bicycle past the bright green rice lotus flower fields.

On the last day I went to Myson the ancient temple town of the Champa people.  Dating back to the 14th Century – the ruins are often compared to Angkor Wat, though for my part much less imposing and of course in greater ruins than Angkor. Myson was further savaged by the Vietnam war, on top of the centuries of decay, this site is gentle, resilient and very much redolent with the honest  stoicism of the Vietnamese.

There’s something bizarre but blatantly honest about the B52 bombs that sit in the tiny museum alongside the Lingam and Yoni and broken statues of Shiva claiming their place in the ruins.

Letter 5 from Indochina June 10, 2011

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Sin Chow from Hanoi

City of splendid honking traffic, motorbikes, cycles, lakes, silks,   footpath living, hot steamy weather and Bun Chau – a pork dish to knock your socks off.

Hanoi is one of those fabulous places that require much longer than the few days tourists afford it.

I’m lucky enough to be here a couple of weeks and so every day I can explore another segment of this noisy, friendly city with its fusion of asian and french style.

Small blue stools that crowd the footpaths mark the cafes and restaurants where Pho, Bun Chau or coffee is served.  French restaurants in old 20’s villas that offer 3 course lunches  for 10 US Dollars. Coffee with sweet condensed milk and ice blocks or ice tea or fresh juices  are sipped in smokey cafes by gorgeous size 4 gucci, prada, D&G clad young people plugging into the ubiquitous wi-fi.  Rows and rows of motorbikes parked in shops, houses, footpaths but never on the road.

It seems too rude to walk on the freshlywashed footpaths because they are so much more than a thoroughfare – they are the dining rooms, creche, shop fronts and parking station, meeting place, kitchen, laundry or fireplace.

Tiny, latern laced alleys are home’s entrance or  restaurants where child-sized blue stools sit under knee high benches.  I’m just over 5 foot – and I find squatting and eating at these street side cafees requires some flexible movement in the hip and knees  so I can’t imagine what it’s like for someone taller.  Luckily my regular foot and leg massages (for $6 are keeping me limber).

Every road is like a river filled with shoals of people and vehicles swimming their way through the endless ceaselss movement from one end of the city to the next. Nothing ever stops. Red lights seem to be, like the lanterns and street signs merely part of the decorative element.

We pedesrians,  have to mix it up on the road, facing it head on, some vainly, and hopefully with raised hands as if to stop its flow momentarily. And it all works.

Each night I catch a motorbike to a language college to help out with English classes. The ride costs about $1.50 – the experience worth a million!. I’m being taught so much. It’s more than fun – it’s humbling and exciting and funny and reassuring that life and people are so damned generous, kind, loving and wonderful. What is it when people take you into their homes on the basis of your smile or your story or your humanity?

I think it’s called Vietnam.

Letter 4 from Indochina – Sapa May 30, 2011

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I’m in Sapa – a highlands area in the North of Vietnam.

I will return to Hanoi on the overnight train, and am looking forward to it. On the trip up a few days ago my 4-berth compartment  companions were one Assie guy and two Japanese retirees, whose addiction to and stories of travel was better than any Lonely Planet I might have read at that time.

The charm of this sojourn in the north of the country just got better and continued from the first wave of local handicraft saleswomen to the treking through villages and countoured sienna and bright green rice fields.

Whether you’re in the town or in villages the same enthusiasm and charm greets you as part of the process of sales. Anywhere from 4 – 8 women and children (each with a big basket filled with their handicraft strapped to their back) pick a target and the following ensues:
 
“What’s your name?
Where are you from?
Are you married?
Have you children?
How old are you?
Will you buy from me?
What about later?”

And there it is - that last clincher – “What about later?” – quite a curly one!

Especially when you’ve spent all day buying in the villages only to return to the hotel to be greeted by the woman you met at 5.30 in the morning – with a vague promise of investing in her handicraft. Now not ony is she showing you a miriad of work but her daughter, her neice her best friend and cousin all at inflated prices, because you didn’t know what the reasonable asking and bartering price was and all because of the word “maybe”.

I was particularly enamoured of the Red Dao people whose characteristic red turban, hat or even baseball cap is enough to charm you. My favourite village was Ta Phin, where the morning was spent wandering around, laughing learning and viewing their beautiful work.

I knew I was in good company when the entire group of middle aged women laughed delightedly when I told them I was a widow. After checking we had a shared understanding of the concept of death, it occured to me – middle aged women everywhere appreciate the freedom of travelling on your own – without a husband!

Like all people we commiserated over the damage indigo dye and black lacquer does to your nails, and the fact that weather and large families will age a 50-year old no matter what nationality.

 To mark the moment I bought a stone carving of a crane (or Phoenix) atop a steady turtle – representing freedom and old age.

Now with a bag full of exquisite local embroidery and handicrafts,  I’m richer for the experience. I’m also richer for knowing my delightful guide – Zang who taught me so much about the local culture and country – and began nearly every sentence with “Did you know” . Interestingly though he taught me most of all about love.

We were watching a dance show of local tribal culture on Dragon Mountain ( a landscaped park on a mountain in the heart of the town)  and I remarked that one of the exquisite dancers might do well as his new girlfriend. I said this because I’d noticed how mesmerised he was at the time. And we had talked about his finding a girlfriend soon.

 He quietly and steadily remarked that love and beauty comes from the heart, and in the case of these 8 women he would not be able to choose – and so he would rather know them all.

For a 25 year old or a middle aged woman travelling without a husband – not a bad philosophy at all.

Letter 3 from Indochina – One village one temple May 23, 2011

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Sabaidee from  Laos.

I’m writing this from Sala Prabang – a beautiful hotel on the Mekong River in the town of Luang Prabang, in the Peoples Democratic Republic of Laos.

Access to the hotel  Guest  Internet is via a laptop on a small table in the shady open tiled foyer under a ceiling fan. Beneath my bare feet the cool, chipped tile floor has been swept and washed clean, to my left,  the tree shaded cafe across the road, by the river’s edge is now quiet, its patrons enjoying a siesta. To my right,  the muted bricked and tiled courtyard surrounded by bamboo invites me in, and  in the corner of my eye,  sight of a pink bouganvillia blossom and curled thorny branches catching the sunlight.

My fellow house guests are no doubt sleeping, visiting a market, a museum, the Ouk Pa Caves several hours up stream by long boat, or perhaps dabbling in the cool blue green waterfalls 1 hour out of town.

I’ve sensibly allowed myself a number of days in this World Heritage town to do all of the above. The town of Luang Prabang (like Pondicherry in the south of  India) is an artful combination of the local and colonial styles. In this case Laos and French. The buildings of white stone are characterised by blue, green or grey shutters. Each road and alley offers a delight of shop fronts and restaurants, of families cooking streetside or blaring television behind their shopfront, of children selling bracelets and souvenirs of skinny cats and chicken.

Luang Prabang, which takes its name from the Prabang Buddah – characteristically standing upright with his two palms held facing out to calm the oceans – is varied and rich.  Bold dragon tipped white and gold temples, adjacent to cool dark shops full of silks,  and woven fabrics made by hand in the vilages up the river, baskets, silver ware, wooden carvings alternate with cafes full of great coffee and pastries. Restaurants offering local cuisine of fish or meat coconut curries and stews or light soups like watercress and seaweed or sour green vegetable and pork or fish for the grand price of 25,000 to 40,o00 kip (about $3- 5) alternate with local tour companies that charge between $10 to $40 for elephant rides, or mahout training, or slow boat rides or eco hiking trips.

The traffic on these sleepy sun-drenched roads is almost non existent: punctuated every 5 – 6 seconds with a back-packing tourist on foot or on 20,000 kip rented  bicycles, or seated in tuk-tuks - small open sided 2 seaters carrying 6 passengers pulled by motorbike or a van chassis. The locals favour motorbikes- their passsengers carrying umbrellas to protect both themselves and the driver from the searing sun.

At 5.30 this morning I got up early to see the  sight most people associate with Luang Prabang. Dozens of orange robbed buddhist monks from children to old men, walking in single file past their various temples, accepting the offerings from the devoted community. Each monk carries a basket and bowl slung  low on their hip. And as they stop at each person, they accept a handful of cooked rice. It is humbling to watch. I witnessed one small child, no more than 7 years old, clearly with nothing to give except devotion. Head bowed his hands in position of prayer – I think a monk stopped to give some rice to him.

They tell me there is one temple one village in Laos,small or grand, they house these deeply respected monks who are fundamental to the culture and life of Laotian people. It is a profoundly religious and respectful place – that soothes the spirit.

Tomorrow – I dare say I’ll wander around seeing something new, the turn of the river I didn’t see, a bridge that I can cross over, a new shop front, the faces of children, or their grandmothers in the shade watching over baskets of drying chilli or bananas. And over coffee –  deep and rich – I will watch,  gobsmacked,  the skill of the tiny fishing  boatmen who defy the rapidly flowing Mekong each day to cross this bronzed artery of the area.

Letters from Indochina – Week 2 May 19, 2011

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By the second week of my travels through Indochina (Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia) I   arrived at Siem Reap- gateway to the  famous Angkor Watt

Travellers  had warned me that I’d have enough temples to last a lifetime. I must say by the 2nd day I was pulling back from  the steep mountainous climbs and in search of an excellent masseur. I’d seen the fabulous Ta Prohm (aka Temple of Doom in Hollywood speak) which is frozen in time and much as it was discovered in the 19th century thanks to the silk cotton and strangler fig trees that interwine with the temple structure.  I came face to face with the  fabulous Bayon temple from the 13th century, and it’s towers of large faces – too numerous to count, and climbed steep (and I mean steep narrow)  steps to the summit of Banteay Samre.

Weather is great, hot, humid and relaxing – in tune with the quiet jungles around the ancient temples, and an obvious explanation for the sleeping Tuk Tuk Drivers. A Tuk-Tuk  (my favourite form of travel) is a little 4 seater van pulled by a motorbike, in which you are shaded from the hot sun and get the benefit of a breeze and noises and smells as you drive around the temples.

I’ve balanced my diary to do shopping (lacquered painting, black onyx, soapstone carvings and silk purses) and I’ve eaten delightful Khmer faire – Fish Amok, Khmer chicken curry, pork chillie on eggplant and beef and long bean cooked with garlic and oyster sauce by a chef who studied in Paris.

My attempt to see Angkor Watt (the 12th century temple) at sunrise was stymied by a huge downfall of rain that lasted 5 hours (this being the rainy season). Being of western and lazy mind I went back to bed after asking  the driver to come back at mid-day so. My new plan was to end the day with a sunset viewing instead. For this viewing I chose Banteay Samre (along with hundreds of others). Apparently at high season up to 2,000 can crowd the summit.  I now understand why these monks wear such splendid orange. My sister Gab would be in heaven here (such is her devotion to orange)!

I was delighted to hear that a little monsoonal downpour didn’t put off hundreds of orange clad Buddhist monks (rumours have the figure at 700) who gathered at Angkor Watt temple on my cancelled date – 18 May a day laden with lunar and religious significance. On this day they acknowledge the birth and enlightenment and reaching Nirvana of and by the Buddha. I hope I got a bit of the magic whilst I slept!

Well now, bags full, one more sunset to view tonight – I have a picture book full of great memories and images of my tiny taste of Cambodia.

Lea Heoy!

It’s all about the food May 16, 2011

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The food is all about you in Ho Chi Minh City Vietnam.

In fact everywhere you look – you can discover another delightful flavour, spice, fresh herb, new shake, coffee, drink. So do yourself a favour and walk about  – take a motorbike ride, ask your hotel, or if you’re luck enough to have local friends – get them to take you about.

Don’t be like those tourists I met who ate lunch in the same cafe for 6 days – exploring their menu for sure – but missing the magical atmosphere that celebrates the local cuisine.

Whilst staying in Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam I was lucky enough to hang out with two local friends who introduced me to some of the delights of southern Vietnamese Cuisine.

Two great restaurants for pancakes that I tried were:

A cafe society

HCMC is a real cafe society with plenty of fabulous cafes.  Each one is unique, like an oasis hidden from the bustle of motorbike filled well-lit streets.

The moment you enter you are either transported to you to a jungle, or a lake or a city filled with fairy lights, lanterns, silent ponds and creeks, flowing waterfalls. Live music and singers in some, whilst others have the hum of conversation. Every one boasts a great menu of fabulous tea, shakes, coffees, cocktails and food.  I was delighted to discover with local friends were:

Be prepared for lots of sweetness in the South and more spicy salty food in the North (though I’ve yet to validate and enjoy that – as I head off towards Hanoi after Cambodia and Laos).

The food really is all about you and HCMC is all about that food!