Stop, Ground, Breathe...

Today I woke up in a BAD mood.⠀ It started when I realised that I still hadn't got rid of my sore throat and flu-like symptoms which meant I'd have to forgo yet another day of my usual exercises (stationary mama = bad mood mama). As the morning progressed and I snapped more frequently and with increasing irritation at family members, I could feel that my hormones were on the rampage (day 21 = bullshit radar is on full volume / minimum tolerance settings). I then discovered that the vastly expensive Xmas tree that arrived yesterday is covered in mud, totally lopsided and won’t stand up straight. And to top it all off, I spent most of the morning trying - and failing - to get my head around social media marketing. All of which left me in a bit of a tizz...

Luckily however, (for those around me), I’m now quite good at observing my emotions. So I knew that I did actually have a CHOICE about whether to continue down the road to overwhelm or whether to take quick remedial action.

And since it was too early for wine and I was too ill to go to yoga, I tried to channel my inner mindfulness guru instead:

i) I sat down on the floor (the nearer you can get to the earth the quicker you can 'ground')⠀ ii) I felt the support and solidity of the floor, and how it had 'got me'⠀ iii) I breathed: long, deep, slow, belly breaths⠀ iv) I said out loud, 3 times, along with my out breaths: “I feel supported” (3 is a sacred number and it’s always worth faking it until you make it)⠀ v) I looked outside at the trees: always there, strong but flexible, neither overwhelmed nor anxious, just alive ⠀ vi) I smiled (see above re faking it to make it)⠀ ⠀

And I felt better!

Because I had become present: aware of my body and its surroundings rather than letting my inner bully/depressive/neurotic run the show. ⠀ ⠀

I’ve also been staring at this photo, taken of our local beach this time last year when we lived in Koh Samui for a month. It reminds me that we CAN create our own reality and that anything is possible if you are bold enough: we dared to take our kids out of school, to take our jobs on the road, to pack up our house and exit the matrix, all in order to find our true selves on a year-long travel adventure. And we're back. And it worked.

So if any of you are also feeling a bit pants, try doing something that brings you into the now: stop, sit, ground, breathe, affirm and connect to Nature.

And remember, I’m there alongside you...⠀

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Flying bananas, dancing transvestites and a holy elephant - welcome to southern India!

Highlight of Southern India: Hampi     Best thing about Kerala/Tamil Nadu: the warmth of the people     Biggest frustration: not being able to order plainly cooked food     Biggest bugbear: the ineffectiveness of local laundry services – the kids are looking more and more like street children     New skill acquired: eating very spicy food     Family 'broken sunglasses' tally: 12     Food I am now sick of: basmati rice     Activity I miss the most: going for a run

3 SMALL KIDS, 2 CRAZY ADULTS, 1 YEAR TO TRAVEL THE WORLD

POST 14: 27th April 2017, Goa, India.  

So after four months of a gorgeously tropical but nonetheless predictable daily routine in Bali, we got back on the adventure train, renewed and 're-birthed' (in true Ubud fashion), and flew to Kochi in Kerala. With nothing but a four-night booking in a homestay and no idea where to go next, we prepped ourselves for a culture shock.

Photo caption: Asian fruit stalls are always so much nicer to look at than the ones at home (top left); street vendors on the sea-front promenade. Selling food. Of course (top right); chilling out in the cool, breezy park (bottom left); Kochi's sea-front promenade (bottom right). 

I have travelled to India five times in my youth (to Delhi, Ranthambore, Jodhpur and Jaipur in the north, as well as to Mumbai and Hyderabad in the middle) but never to its southern states. And during each of these trips I enjoyed the cosseting that comes with being either a wedding guest or an ambassador for a global brand (the uber-luxurious Amanresorts or ABN AMRO bank). So visiting again almost exactly nine years later to the day, this time with three kids under seven in tow and no security blanket to ease our potential pain, made me pretty apprehensive.

Photo caption: living in India in Victorian times wasn't easy despite what we might think. A quick visit to the largest church in Ooty confirmed this with lots of plaques for women and men in their 20s and early 30s who had died of fever. This particular lady had already had 7 children by the time she was 30. Ouch (top left); always waiting for food (top right); buffalo road block (bottom left); personalised trucks (bottom right).

And yet the first thing that struck us about Keralan life was just how easy it was. Everyone spoke English! Signs were readable! Streets and restaurants were clean and tidy! And, to the kids’ delight, there was finally a whole range of breads on offer instead of just the usual rice suspects. Here, unlike Bali, there were no stray animals to be wary of nor beggars to hound us. The regional government seems to run a very tight ship: no-one has more than two children (as advised), there is no prostitution, all strays are sterilised and the population is 100% educated (hence the lack of begging).

Kochi was a haven of quiet and calm compared to a typical north Indian city - almost Mediterranean in its outlook. Shopkeepers were super honest and the locals went out of their way to make sure we were happy. For example, when going ‘off menu’ and trying to order some plain, ‘green’ vegetables instead of the usual potato, carrot and cauliflower mix, instead of telling me that this wasn't available, the enterprising young waiter hopped on his scooter and went to buy me some from the local market. On his return, he then explained to his chef how to make them into a Thai 'green' curry. By the time I had realised how lost in translation my request had become, I was too embarrassed to say anything. It was delicious!

Photo caption: Jew town - which surrounds the oldest active synagogue in the Commonwealth (top left & bottom right); excerpts from a book - I never did find out which but I did get quite hooked - that are found on walls dotted all around Kochi - I never did find out why (top right); incense shop (bottom left).

So having left India until the last leg of our trip because I was worried it would be too much of a culture and hygiene shock for the kids any time before then, Southern India in fact turned out to be one of the easiest places to travel around. Hiring a driver to take us (and our mountain of luggage) from Kochi to our final destination in Goa definitely helped. But even our tentative foray into public transport was made memorable by the welcoming nature of our fellow train passengers, their generosity with their food and the spontaneous entertainment provided by our female conductor who kept bursting into song.

Photo caption: Alleppey backwater cruise: Captain Raphael (top left); local houses (top right & bottom left); a typical Keralan house boat (bottom right).

After three days spent exploring Kochi and one sailing the backwaters of Alleppey (slightly underwhelming), we set off on a road trip towards Goa. It took 15 days, with stops in the hill station of Udhagamandalamhere (for some countryside), Mysore (for some city) and Hampi (for some temples).

Check out our progress here!

India is LARGE and most roads are either in bad condition, mere dust tracks or too narrow to drive along at a decent speed. Thus getting from one place to another usually took at least 8 hours of pure misbehaving torture from the kids and lots of screaming from us. So by the time we got to Goa, our proud driver, Greesh (who announced that driving for 16 hours straight is mere peanuts for a Keralan), was well and truly initiated into the worst aspects of our family dynamic. Thankfully, he seemed to take it in his stride. (Indians are pretty relaxed).

Photo caption: long distance driving with kids sorely tests your patience. Having exhausted all possible entertainment options at this stage, I am pictured here (above bottom) resorting to a family air-guitar competition. We would try to leave around 8.30 in the morning to get to our next destination at around 6pm. Our one allocated pit-stop would be at a road side cafe (example above top) which, despite looking very grotty from the outside, usually produced amazing food. We even inadvertently once ate a plate of crudites (more lost-in-translation ordering) with no adverse effects. Word of advice: always travel with your own bar of soap (some restaurants have water but not all have soap) and never look at where they wash up. This alone will make you ill.

Udhagamandalamhere was our first proper stop after a very picturesque but uncomfortable journey on the Nilgiri Mountain Railway. Not surprisingly, this town is more popularly known as Ooty, or 'Snooty Ooty', after the colonials that used to summer here. We stayed in the perfect, period, Rudyard Kipling-esque Lymond House with only three bedrooms, a lounge with a working fireplace and to complete the picture, a beautiful vintage car parked out front.

Photo caption: Lymond house in Ooty (top & bottom left); me wearing all of my warmest clothes at once when temperatures dropped to 9 degrees inside at night (bottom right). Never can I be accused of showing only my best sides.  

But at a whopping 2,300 metres above sea level, Ooty’s description as a 'hill station' is slightly misleading and the fireplace was put to good daily use when temperatures dropped to a chilly 9 degrees in the evening. (To put this into context, the Alpine ski resort of Meribel is located at only 1,400m asl and the highest inhabited town in the Alps is at 2,100m.) The altitude meant we got seriously chapped lips and two days of splitting headaches but on the plus side, I hardly saw the kids when we were in the hotel as they were so happy to have a huge wrap-around garden and swing to themselves in which they could play all day in less than scorching temperatures for once.

Photo caption: Scenes from our five hour journey on the 'toy train' from Mettupalayam to Ooty. Our carriage for 6 which took 11 of us (top left); a hilltop train station (top right); mountain vistas (bottom left); pee break (bottom right).

Here, we continued to encounter warm, friendly and accommodating people. One in particular went the extra mile by arranging the return of Xanthe’s beloved toy rabbit (without whom she has never slept), who had been left a two-hour drive away in our former hotel. It still makes me smile to think of the solo adventure he must have undertaken to be reunited with us - a trip to the bus station from the hotel, a two-hour plus ride on the bus to Ooty (accompanied by whom?) and then a lift from the station up to the hotel. And the cost of his return by “courier escort” which took less than half a day to get to us? A whopping 60p!

Photo caption: the queue at Ooty station when we arrived (top left); the locomotive was at the back of the train rather than at the front and pushed the carriages up the mountain (top right); lush vistas of verdant tea plantations and mountain springs (bottom left); SQUASHED! (bottom right). 

In contrast, I didn’t love our self-catering 'coconut grove' accommodation in Mysore. Never trust a venue on Airbnb that doesn’t show a picture of the bedroom (they have added them since). The city itself however was definitely as grand as it is hyped to be: huge, wide boulevards, immense public office buildings and large, leafy town squares. I loved the almost fairy-tale architectural blend of colonial Victorian and Mugal styles in which these imposing public buildings were built. The jewel(s) in the crown were the former maharaja’s palace and the separate palace (now a luxury hotel) he had built exclusively for his guests, replete with essential helipad. (Because one soon finds that just the one palace simply isn’t roomy enough to accommodate one’s guests.)

Photo caption: Mysore's Devaraja market - the stalls extend far beyond those inside the building (top left); Mysore Palace (top right); the view from the top of Chamundi Hill, 1001 steps high! (bottom left); some of the wares on offer in Devaraja market (bottom right)

As is so often the case, the highlights of our stay were not so much the sights but the experiences we had whilst there: an early taste of monsoon season with an evening rain storm of such epic, scary proportions that it definitely would have been described as a hurricane in the UK (another reason not to stay in amongst a coconut grove); receiving a family blessing at the Chamundeshwari temple (Chamunda - the "fearsome aspect of the Divine Mother" - has been the patron goddess of the city of Mysore ever since she slayed the demon that was threatening its destruction); buying oils from a 12 year old wheeler-and-dealer at the incredible Devaraja market; and my Ayurvedic massage which has to be the most unusual treatment I have ever received.

Photo caption: having received a red bindi from inside the temple (symbolising divine sight), we each received a physical blessing from the goddess Chamunda in the form of a wrist band, tied several times in an intricate fashion as the holy man recited a mantra (top left); a cow on a busy Mysore street (top right); drinking fresh sugar cane juice (bottom left); buying essential oils - geranium and jasmine - inside Devaraja market (bottom right)

It started innocuously enough with a Hindu prayer, after which came a foot scrub administered by one masseuse, during which warm oil was poured into my ears to clean them and then all over my hair and scalp to moisturise them, by another. They then joined forces to administer a vigorous, four-handed “synchronised” (their speciality) massage, which covered very nearly every single inch of my body. (The Indians may seem prudish in daily life but when it comes to wellness, not at all.) It ended with a steam in a Victorian-looking wooden contraption into which you had to climb in order to sit on what looked like a church pew. The lid of this box then closed around your neck to leave only your head exposed whilst you were slowly cooked. I had to ask them to turn it down twice. Afterwards, I was given two mystery tablets to take with my supper in order to “cleanse” my gut (where the toxins amalgamate after an Ayurvedic treatment).

Photo caption: some of Hampi's amazing monuments including a stone chariot (bottom left). 

I was also blown away, in a different way, by our final destination of Hampi. Not knowing beforehand that it was a UNESCO World Heritage Site, nor anything else about it for that matter, we were amazed to find that it is only a tiny village located actually in amongst the ruins themselves.

The site is remarkable not only because most of its historic buildings are so well-restored but also because of the unusual geographical landscape in which it is located: towering temples and majestic palaces rise up out of a palm tree-dotted, desert-like terrain that is broken up by piles of vast boulders, seemingly strewn in every direction. And yet unlike so many other globally-renowned architectural sites, this one was almost deserted! All of which made exploring so magical – you could really feel the ancient energy of the place, despite the daily, 41-degree heat.

Photo caption: temple detail (top left); a pregnant monkey stealing the contents of our bin - I'd filled it with rotten figs: with no fridge nor air con and 41 degree heat, none of our fruit collection survived. She had a feast (top right); river view - where Lakshmi the elephant took her daily morning bath - we never did manage to catch her on time (bottom left); Hampi temple (bottom right)  

Even more amazing was the fact that a two-day, Hindu festival was planned during our stay. We had no idea what this would entail but as it coincided this year with the full moon, it drew hoards of Indian pilgrims from villages far and wide, who either walked for miles carrying their luggage on their head or came by tractor load to witness it. And just as their ancestors would have done before them many centuries ago, they set up temporary homes in, on and under the temples, using them to hang their washing on, to set up shop in or to aid in the display of their wares.

Photo caption: Hampi temple (top left); joining the throngs of pilgrims (top right); bathing in the river to cleanse before the full moon/festival (bottom left); locals squatting in the temples (bottom right).

Indeed, from one day to the next, a little auxiliary town seemed to spring up out of nowhere to accommodate the visitors: shops selling all sorts of clothes, toys, religious paraphernalia, fruit and of course, Indian sweets. There were skills on offer too: hair shavers (it is auspicious to shave your head before being cleansed in the river prior to the festival), shoe shiners, pop-up eateries and even a lone entrepreneur with his mobile, bright blue set of bathroom scales.

As in Myanmar, we discovered that being white with three small kids - two of which are blonde - made us just as much a draw as the festivities themselves. I was constantly being asked if all three were mine (?) and we were never without our little band of followers. These would either just stare at us or try to touch one of the children - I think they thought it brought good luck. Given the number of ‘selfies’ we posed for, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that the kids are the new Asian Facebook sensation.

Photo caption: Lakshmi the elephant dispensing blessings in the crowd (top left); dancing transvestites accompanied by male drummers and male dancers carrying huge metal poles covered in bells which they threw up and down - heavy duty work! (top right); the crowds waiting for the festival to start - every available roof top was used - even if it was thousands of years old! (bottom left); the chariot moving towards and past us to great cheering (bottom right)

Indians do not do things by halves and the festival itself was a proper extravaganza! The spectacle included a towering, decorated, wooden chariot - the centrepiece and focus of the ceremony as it was dragged by hand from one end of the town to the other - a holy elephant collecting cash and dispensing blessings as it wandered amongst the crowd, flying bananas tied up with bougainvillea (the auspicious aim was to throw them actually into the moving chariot), dancing transvestites, flaming torches, hypnotic drumming and an ecstatic, cheering crowd of thousands.

Photo caption: one of the "golam" drawn in rice flour powder found in front of villager's houses on the festival day. The floor underneath has been died green with cow dung paste, prized for its anti-bacterial and mood-enhancing properties! (top left); enjoying street food (top right); Hampi temple (bottom left); sweetie heaven! (bottom right)

And all this merry making without a drop of alcohol (it is banned in Hampi for religious reasons) or any other form of drug. Which actually made a big difference to the overall vibe. Despite having three small kids and constantly being surrounded by huge crowds, I never once felt unsafe. Indeed, I felt the safest and most welcome I have ever felt at a festival! Everyone was there to have a good time, and I must have heard the phrase "this is true Indian culture" from those around me at least 5 times. Since we were off to Goa the next day to start the next 12 week chapter of our stay in this incredible country, I took this as a good sign...

To see where we are on a map, click here!

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Living life in the slow lane...

3 SMALL KIDS, 2 CRAZY ADULTS, 1 YEAR TO TRAVEL THE WORLD POST 12: 27th January 2017, Ubud, Bali.   

Ever since I first backpacked around Indonesia as a fledgling 20-year-old, I have secretly wondered if I could live here full time. 21 years later and 8 weeks into our 4-month-long stay, my dream finally seems to have materialised. Leaving for a 2-day visa run to Singapore this week and realising that I really missed the Balinese vibe, only confirmed just what it is (aside from the obvious) that attracted me all those years ago.

It is the speed of life. It is so SLOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWW: here, no-one is ever in a rush; no-one is ever in a frenzy and no-one takes pride in being ‘too busy’ to stop to do something else. People talk meaningfully, they always look you in the eye and everyone’s movements are considered and deliberate. Time doesn’t seem to be measured here in quite the same way as it is in Europe; there is no notion of either ‘on time’ or ‘late’, and group as well as individual schedules are flexible whatever the ‘importance’ of the action being programmed: just as yoga classes, language lessons and even religious ceremonies often start late, pupils and adherents often turn up late. No one is fussed about a few minutes (or hours) here and there because there is no notion of missing out (on the part of the attendees) and there is no concept of disrespect (on the part of the organisers).

Here, timeliness is not a quality to aspire to so it is not considered ‘rude’ not to do so. Indeed, there hardly ever seem to be any grounds for taking offence. The Balinese live in harmony with the flow of life and accept that with flow, naturally comes flexibility.

Photo caption: just one of the hundreds of ceremonies that take place nearly every day throughout Bali but our first as participants. This one was in honour of Saraswati, the goddess of knowledge and wisdom. It was celebrated in temples across the country as well in schools - this one was held for Pelangi school parents, pupils and teachers. Needless to say, it started an hour and a quarter after the 'scheduled' time. 

This is also the case on the roads. There is no sense of possession over lanes and so no resulting outrage from those in the one opposite to your own if you spend too long in ‘theirs’. In fact, here, the act of overtaking takes priority over any other manoeuvre: oncoming traffic slows down to give you more time to complete it and vehicles move to the side in order to make room. Horns are used thoughtfully in warning rather than angrily to sound outrage - if you hear a ‘toot’ it is because the driver behind you is gently informing you to be careful because he is about to overtake.

The Balinese accommodate each other – slowly – and the overwhelming vibe is that of working towards harmonious balance: with one another, with nature and with the gods. Life is lived very much in the present moment. They literally embody the spiritual mantra that not only does everything have its time and place but that everything is perfect as it is. Just observing this being played out around us is calming and nourishing. So bit by bit, we too have followed suit and just as ‘busyness’ is contagious in Europe, ‘slowness’ is as infectious here. There simply isn't any other way to be.

Photo caption: Offerings or "canang sari" epitomise the deliberate slowness of life in Bali. Even the word itself is made up of ca - beautiful and nang - purpose as well as sari (essence). Whilst they range from the simple coconut leaf trays left daily around the house to the fantastically intricate kinds offered up on a full moon or ceremony day, they are always beautifully crafted to combine various elements that each represent a major Hindu god. Flowers (which are a symbol for sincerity and love) each represent a different deity and are placed pointing in a certain direction (white for Iswara which points to the east; red for fiery Brahma which points to the south; yellow for Mahadeva which points to the west and blue or green for cool Vishnu who points to the north). Placed on top is a stick of incense - as it burns the essence of the offering rises up to heaven. They are seen as a kind of selfless act - an offering of money and time made partly in gratitude and partly in appeasement to the potentially 'mischeivous' lower spirits. Equally importantly, the act of making them (always a female task) offers a chance to pause and meditate in communal creativity.  

This slow pace is particularly good for me because my natural inclination is towards the opposite: I speak fast; I react fast; I think fast; I move fast. Going from ‘a’ to ‘b’ was always a self-imposed mini challenge: how many calories could I burn in getting there? How much muscle power could I convert into accelerated motion? How late I could I leave it before setting off for the next destination thereby maximising the time allocated on whatever I was doing before? I often listened to reply instead of to understand; I used to try to fix things in order to move on rather than patiently witnessing their unfolding.

Having previously always lived in capitalist societies, whose mantra, 'time is money', had until now seeped insidiously into my belief system, I always thought that speed was necessary. Not only because I had so much to cram into my ‘tight’ schedule: three small kids to manage, a house and its chores to oversee, a wine events and consultancy business to run, womens' circles to organise, blogs to write, yoga classes to attend, runs to be completed – how else could I possibly fit everything into a day? But also because I secretly loved (and still do) the adrenalin rush that comes with speed, the thrill of acceleration, the whiff of danger it exudes.

Photo caption: family-time Balinese style. 

I thought that working in a frenzied state was not only desirable but laudable. But what I didn’t get and do now, is that acting rushed never does extend time. In fact, it usually does the opposite. And so pushing through instead of surrendering to the flow meant that I never felt that there was enough time, regardless of how fast I completed things. It also meant that I was rarely in the present, distracted instead by the ticking hand of the clock and what was next on my ‘to do’ list.

Here, on the other hand, the time at my disposal feels more spacious. I really can be a human being rather than a human doing. Bali has allowed me to slow down, to be more conscious and as a result, to tune into my intuition, heart and emotions. Now it is they that lead the show rather than my busy, cluttered state of mind.

It definitely helps that we have a weekly masseuse, that I outsource our laundry and ironing, and that there is home help who sweep the floor (yay) and make the beds (double yay – isn’t it so much more relaxing to climb into a neat bed that wasn’t made by yourself)? It also helps that the two eldest kiddies are at school with the youngest at nursery in the SAME venue, which means that for the first time in 7 years, I have one drop off, one pick up and a WHOLE DAY in between to do WHATEVER I WANT. Oh yeah!

Photo caption: Bali's simple, timeless pleasures are food for the soul: the sight of locals tending to their land, atmospheric sunsets, lush paddy fields and exotic beaches. 

But it is more than that. I have changed my attitude: I no longer feel guilty that someone else is doing my washing, nor that I am not the sole provider of entertainment, comfort, instruction and love for my children. Crucially, I no longer feel that it is my duty to do everything and to be everything to everyone just because I am not yet contributing enough financially to feel justified in doing my own thing. Instead, we have realised as a family, that by spending that little bit extra on outsourcing what you can, you get SO MUCH MORE. You get the extra time that would have been spent on chores of course, but you also get space. And from that stems a desire to create that comes from inspiration instead of from a self-inflicted pressure to perform. This then leads to real productivity and true abundance. I hope so anyway. I'm working on it!

I still speak fast. And think fast. But I move a bit slower and I feel less rushed inside. Now, rather than letting it annoy me, I enjoy the ‘bonus’ relaxing time that arises if a class starts later than its scheduled time; I travel in a leisurely fashion and leave more time to get to places; I have implemented a daily meditation practise (something I never felt I had the time to fit in before) and I have started to listen more actively. I have also started to breathe slower, to widen my shoulders and to open my chest (and not just in downward dog). And in finally surrendering to time, it now feels like there is so much more of it!

So the travel part of our year-long adventure has temporarily stalled - the kids and I are even learning to speak and write the local language. We have made a conscious decision to get stuck here, to explore living abroad in a slower and more meaningful way than is possible when just passing through. To quote a friend, Bali has become our 'happy place'. And that surely, has to be something worth pausing for….

To see where we are on a map, click here!

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Magnificent Myanmar

3 SMALL KIDS, 2 CRAZY ADULTS, 1 YEAR TO TRAVEL THE WORLD POST 5: 7th October 2016, Bago, Myanmar.  

We are now six weeks into our travel adventure. So what have been our greatest challenges so far? Firstly, trying to avoid losing any more stuff. Our latest loss was our guidebook which was not ideal given there is barely enough internet to find anything online but luckily we got hold of Le Routard instead. Whilst it’s a bit of a pain being the only who can translate it, the French are arguably the superior nation in terms of pickiness over cuisine, so it has been a nice change to frequent restaurants recommended by them and not to be surrounded by the usual Lonely-Planet crew.

Photo caption: sitting Buddha (top left); one of the large temple compounds (top right); an Indian Jones-style complex (bottom left); reclining Buddha (bottom right)

Secondly, I've been desperately trying to instill a sense of hygiene (or rather a fear of lack of hygiene) into the children which is an issue when most restaurants don't offer anywhere to wash your hands, let alone soap. I therefore carry around with me at all times a portable mini pharmacy, oodles of sanitising gel, a soap and antiseptic wipes. Despite my remonstrations, they still love to put their hands in their mouth at any occasion and I have caught them rubbing their mouths and even licking surfaces that are at the right height. Another stumbling block has been the hole-in-the-ground loos. These have taken the kids a while to get used to as they are often very slippy (which means keeping your balance is even harder) and 'flushing' them by hand with a one-handled bucket is an art. Thankfully, they are actually less of a potential germ trap than ‘foreigner loos’ because the kids are less likely to touch things during their visit.

This is all outweighed by the pleasure of being back in South-East Asia: the noises (scooters with up to 6 people riding on one tiny seat, cackling diesel tractor engines tacked onto tuk tuks belching out black fumes); the unusual spice combinations; Asian vegetables; the constant heat; the rainbow-coloured tropical fruits; the elegant traditional costume; the east-meets-west housing;  the lush vegetation; the street markets; the ubiquitous stray and domestic animals (pigs, horses, goats, cows, hens and cats) living cheek by jowl with their human neighbours; the crazy traffic; the bustling markets selling everything from ironmongery to clothes, to dried and (still live) fish to jewellery (the smell of a market is quite something) and the tiny shops found every 5 metres selling strings of individual sachets of creams and shampoos, one plaster and one battery – just enough to supply a micro economy.

Photo caption: street food and street markets

The only thing that bothers me is the apparent lack of respect for the environment. If it seemed bad on Ikaria, here it is colossal. Not one second is wasted on pondering what to do with an empty bottle of water, it is merely thrown out of a window into the roadside vegetation or dropped onto the pavement; villagers think nothing of living right by (and sometimes literally on top of) pools or mounds of rotting debris dotted with hungry pigs and dogs; there are heaps of non-biodegradable plastics clogging up streams, and even markets selling fresh meat, fruit and fish are located right next door to these putrid piles of waste (indeed it is probably created by its stall-keepers). Sadly, I’m not sure it will ever change – there are too many other bigger issues to tackle first (poverty, the rich/poor divide, opium production – Myanmar is the second highest global producer – and lack of family planning, to name but a few) so you just have to accept it as part of life and make sure you at least do your bit.

Photo caption: rotting waste (top left); tuk tuk (top right); wearing the ubiquitous, unisex, Burmese sunscreen which is also make-up (bottom left); a Burmese feast (bottom right)

Despite this, what has struck me the most since arriving is not how different we are, but how similar. The kids here all love eating sweets, playing tag and watching TV, the men talk about football and the women sit and gossip together and all are exasperated after having had their kids forced on them for the school holidays. Which makes me so pleased we didn’t pre-arrange our visit with a tour company out of a fear of the unknown because travelling couldn't have been easier! We have been going where we fancy when we fancy and relying on the expertise of our hotel reception to book transport to our next destination. Taxis or motorbike-powered tuktuks are used to visit local sights and we are doing without guides (and more recently guidebooks), preferring instead to drink in the energy and feel of a place rather than take loads of facts on board during the visit only for them to evaporate a couple of hours later. Apparently it's also the correct thing to do, as it means our relative wealth is distributed more evenly on the ground rather funnelled into just a handful of (mainly western) companies.

Photo caption: a street carnival (top left); street scene with temples and monks (top right); novice monks posing for a photo (bottom left); domestic animals wandering the streets for food (bottom right)

Budget-wise, we are on track so far which is a bonus given how relatively expensive Myanmar is. Hotel rooms are around 40US$ each, which is much more than you would pay in a neighbouring country for the same quality, and there are entrance fees for tourists to all the major religious sites. Food however is very good-value (our average spend for one meal is about £7) and it really is delicious! That said, it has been hard to find outlets that serve proper Burmese fare as opposed to Chinese dishes. This is apparently because the former requires the use of a lot of different spices and takes a long time to prepare.

As a result, we have only eaten truly authentically twice – once in a restaurant picked by our driver in Yangon for the day, and once in the home of the founder of the orphanage we visited in Bago. Highlights are: a fermented bean, pomelo, fish sauce, peanut and chilli pickle; another pickle of sour, fermented green tea leaves; smashed butter beans topped with crispy fried onion; sweetcorn puree; a delicate herb soup which is taken alongside a meal; a caramel-flavoured fudge made from the sap of a palm tree and eggplant curry (made with tomato, garlic, ginger and marsala). What is unusual for Asia, is that there is no soy sauce. Instead you get fish sauce with raw garlic and hot green chilli marinating in it. There is also only a sparse use of coconut milk here. This is reserved for the dried-fish-based curry only, which is their national breakfast dish. Despite my love of Asia, I have not yet felt local enough to try first thing in the morning.

Photo caption: playing with the locals in the park (top left); our home from home in Yangon (top right); street scenes in the capital (bottom)

Are we missing home at all after six weeks on the road? Yes, a little. I miss quiet, undisturbed time to myself; not living out of a backpack; eating the food I really want to eat when I fancy it; immersing myself in nature and my yoga practise. I’ve even thought wistfully about wearing skinny jeans and boots...

Hopefully we will get some more ‘me-time’ and the children will enjoy more of a regular structure to their days when we are able to enroll them in school. Because it feels like we all need a bit of a break. Staying three nights somewhere and packing each of the days in between with sightseeing feels too fast. Five nights is more manageable. But travelling for a year means that our accommodation is in the budget category and this makes chilling out so much harder with no private outdoor space available or pool. So our next destination needs to be a beach one. It's time for some rest and recuperation (and a bit of homeschooling of course)...

Photo caption: another street, another golden temple (top left); sarong stall (top right); praying with the locals in the most auspicious spot of the temple (bottom left); what is left of a colonial past (bottom right)

To see where we are on a map, click here!

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