Why some places resonate more than others...
Best thing about India: prescription medicines (without a prescription) for just a couple of pence! Best thing about Goa: endless beaches and warm sea New favourite treat: chick-pea flour, honey & cardamon balls What I am loving: open-air yoga surrounded by nature What I am over: power cuts and any form of dal What I am missing: friendship
3 SMALL KIDS, 2 CRAZY ADULTS, 1 YEAR TO TRAVEL THE WORLD
POST 15: 7th May 2017, Goa, India.
In my 20s, just before I went to India for the first time, I was told by an old-hand that it was impossible to visit without being changed in some way. (Or kissed by a prince). They were right on both accounts. India - the chaos, the colour, the noise and its people - activated what was lying dormant inside. (The kiss was a bonus). A friend posited more recently that India works you. It massages and manipulates your soul so that you emerge the other end a more spiritually-condensed version of yourself. I think this is also true. Indeed, it's probably why I feel uncomfortable.
Our first three weeks in southern India were jam-packed with incredible sights, novel experiences, exotic tastes and warm people. And despite being tourists, we felt very much at home. But oddly, the opposite now seems to be the case: we are no longer tourists but don't feel any more settled. In fact, I feel quite isolated. Firstly, because Goans seem a lot more guarded than other southern Indians - no spontaneous smiles here - and secondly, because despite living amongst a welcoming but close-knit group of expats - they refer to South Goa as a village - we are naturally (as six-week drop-ins), viewed as being on the outside. And I am jealous. I want to be on the inside! After 8 months on the road with no social network apart from my own family, I am starting to crave the nurturing that friendships provide.
Photo caption: just a few of our local beaches
Feeling ill at ease is also a result of the draining emotional transition I am forced to make every time we settle in one place. Because 'exploring' and 'living' require two very different kinds of psyche: during the former, I inevitably put up an invisible barrier between my little inner circle and the rest of the world. As the responsible adult, I create a sort of a safety bubble which allows us to be open but not too open, to relax but not to let go completely. We become totally self-sufficient emotionally: we must be our own entertainment and support system. Which isn't easy. So I am proud of how, when travelling, I seem to take hardships in my stride. In fact, I even try my best to make every new place we stay in feel cosy, neat, familiar and safe, even if it's for just one night. Low points endured heroically include cracked sinks held together (badly) with masking tape; holes in walls; cockroaches, ants and scorpions in our rooms; monkeys and snakes outside them; nowhere to unpack or put any of our stuff; interrupted sleep (howling dogs, trains, power cuts and parties); 41 degree heat with no air-con, as well as dirt and dust just about everywhere.
Photo caption: cows are absolutely everywhere (top left); my open-air yoga shala (top right); the kids in front of their new school (bottom left); boho-chic retail (bottom right)
In a way, travelling is easy - you are free to do whatever you want to do, whenever you want to do it. Chores are outsourced (laundry, cooking, cleaning) and there is the constant thrill of being 'entertained'. But the flip side is that this also demands a continually high input of adrenaline, and requires endless planning ahead and sorting out of logistics. This is even more the case if you have three small children under 7 that still need chaperoning in every physical, emotional and mental way possible. So forget any head space of your own: your thoughts, feelings and needs get pushed to the bottom of the pile. They are repressed until further notice. There is no time or room to give them the attention they deserve. And this has repercussions.
Photo caption: Goa is actually much greener than I had imagined. And it's not even rainy season yet!
'Living' somewhere on the other hand, demands a different approach. It may seem like the easier option, when you're jaded and exhausted by being on the road, but it can actually be even more stressful. There are just as many logistics to sort out – where to live? how to school the kids? how to get about? where to find provisions? And the responsibility that comes with each decision is even greater, because the consequences are long-term rather than temporary. When we decide to settle in one place, my tough exterior slowly melts and I suddenly remember that I am actually a princess! I realise that I was only able to put up with the hardships because there was the prospect of comfort in sight and now I absolutely must be surrounded by a degree of beauty in order to feel calm, happy and secure. Plus those emotional needs I shelved earlier finally come up to the surface for air. It can feel like a lot to deal with all at once.
This trip, we have explored three countries (Myanmar, Laos and India) and lived in four (Greece, Thailand, Bali and India) and each time, the transition from one to the other has left me feeling frustrated, anxious and confused. Frustrated because I naively expect some kind of respite as soon as we stop moving (which always takes longer than I would like), anxiety over whether we chose the right place to stay (what if we got it wrong? should we find elsewhere? how long do we give this place before deciding?) and then confusion because I am forced to sit - powerless - in the unknown. (Which, as an organising, controlling, perfectionist Virgo, is tough).
Photo caption: Goan architecture (top and bottom left); our temple house (bottom right)
Being abroad is a bit like being inside a snow globe: when you are on the road, the snow gets all stirred up and when you stop in one place, it takes time for it to settle. And the most important thing I need to remember, is that until it does, it is as though I am wearing blinkers. It is impossible to see properly nor appreciate what is unique and special in the new.
The problem is, I did forget this fourth time round and was temporarily blinded when we arrived by what Goa was not: unlike Thailand and Bali's relatively good-value luxury villas, rental stock here is limited and basic; private transport for hire is non-existent, shabby or unreliable (cars are decrepid and the tyre on our first scooter burst whilst driving to the garage to fix a puncture on our second) and supermarkets are grotty and basic. It has taken a while to get used to this.
Photo caption: Saturday is market day when the streets are flooded with lots of fresh fish and fruit and veg (top); the school-run doesn't get much better than this (bottom)
But now that we have been here for 3 weeks, I am finally beginning to see the beauty inherent in this particular corner of the world: the school the children are in is small, friendly and welcoming; the beaches nearby are deserted, clean and the water is warm; I have re-instated my regular yoga practise and once again, I have time to myself to meditate and process things. Hurrah!
Unfortunately however, there is one thing that the adjustment period won't change. We arrived in off-season. Which is something I was aware of but seriously underestimated. I thought it meant low season - less tourists, a bit of daily rain and cheaper prices. I was wrong. Actually, it means that everyone leaves (locals and expats) and that everything closes. The school is dwindling in size by the day; most of the beach restaurants and cafes have already shut; yoga classes are winding up and local stores are disappearing alongside the diminishing tourist dollar. Then there is the weather: May is the hottest and most humid month of the year (oops) and June brings monsoon. Not just a daily rainstorm that clears the air but a torrential onslaught that tears down all impermanent structures and makes your clothes to go mouldy. Because this is India after all. And everything is extreme here.
Photo caption: drying chillies (top left); our local beach shack restaurant (top right): turtle hatchery (bottom left); colourful Goan houses (bottom right)
So, whilst we originally thought we would stay until the first week of July, we have decided to move on earlier. Which is fine. Because even though I can now see the attractions of Goa and I appreciate its own, special charm, I don't think it truly resonates with me. Probably because it is too much like me.
Whereas Ubud is supposed to be governed by feminine shakti energy, which felt nurturing, supportive and loving, Goa is supposed to be ruled by masculine shiva consciousness which is about activating the feminine energy - giving it direction, form and content - and about getting things done. And I don't need any more pushing. I am just learning to allow. My still dominant masculine energy wants to receive and surrender, to be softened and not tamed. So my friend was right: India does work you, just not in the way I need right now...
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On connecting...
Yesterday’s yoga class was about staying connected. It was my first proper Yin class as opposed to a restorative one, and jeez, was it tough! We started by sitting on our knees with our toes bent back underneath us. I have only ever done this once before in a pregnancy yoga class designed to help you “get used to” the agony that is labour. In actual fact, whilst it may be a technique that works to great effect in Thailand where it originated, it did nothing of the sort for me. It is a pose with which I do not wish to get more acquainted. The following one - pigeon (or sleeping swan as our Aussie teacher called it, held for over 5 minutes each side in order to help us “melt into it”) - was not to be taken lightly either. My contorted body resembled neither that of a pigeon nor a swan, sleeping or awake. As a distraction from the pain, I focused on the theme for the class and the reason behind this particular series of asanas: that the increasingly common sense of emptiness we are all prone to feeling (which is encouraged by our consumerist, capitalist societies - after all, you will only buy yet more stuff if you think you 'need' it to feel whole), is the result of a disconnect with our earth element.
According to traditional Chinese medicine, each of us holds the energy of all five elements within us (wood, earth, fire, metal and water) although one will be more dominant than the others. That of the earth helps us feel grounded and safe. And when it is out of balance, we can feel empty, needy, obsessive, worry unnecessarily about the future as well as suffer from digestive issues. Whilst many of us may unconsciously turn to addictive behaviours or substances in an attempt to numb these uncomfortable feelings, it is only through reconnecting with and rebalancing the earth element that we can reach a longer-lasting sense of calm.
This struck a chord with me because I have recently been feeling pretty empty and needy myself. Unhappy and feeling like I'm missing something, despite living in a gorgeous villa in a stunning setting in a tropical, welcoming and beautiful country. Which has been very frustrating when I know only too well how much there is to be grateful for and happy about. A classic case of shonky earth element.
Usually for me, the most effective way of looking behind what is really going on is to parent my child energy (more about this in my next blog). But when your earth element is out of whack, this becomes tricky because it is precisely this which allows us to inner parent. As the Institute of Classical Five-Element Acupuncture writes "the Earth element grants us the ability to internalize the mother by learning to nourish and care for ourselves".
So instead of doing the deep inner work necessary to make me feel better, I've been relying on the quick fix of other people behaving in a certain way or on my surroundings to be ‘just right’ in order to feel calm. (It's so much easier to blame others or external circumstances, don't you think?) The problem with this is that it does not deliver a quick fix: other people and things can never really be counted on. Selfishly, they tend only to be concerned with themselves. So you end up having to do the work anyway.
Luckily there are also other ways to restore the connection: by practising yoga (and in particular, a form that focuses on opening up the spleen meridian), by communing with Nature, or by doing anything that takes us out of our heads and puts us firmly back into our bodies in this present moment (such as meditation, dance or sport).
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So as a reminder to me to connect to my earth element, and to come back to the 'present' next time I am feeling particularly needy or empty, I retrieved a beautiful stone from the bottom of my rucksack that was pilfered in September from a beach on Ikaria. I have decided to carry it around with me as a sort of talisman. For not only are stones the natural symbol for the earth element but this one in particular probably has its own unique healing power, drawn from its exposure to the transformative “radioenergy” of the thermal springs near which it was found. It is also a lovely yellow which is a reminder of the light within us all. So far so New Age - that's the Bohemian half : )
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Image: Christian Schloe
Time-out Thai style...
Favourite local dish: Thai curry Food I am now sick of: Thai curry Number of pairs of sunglasses that have broken since setting off: 8 Illness tally: dodgy tummies - 2, fevers - 3, mosquito bites - thousands Biggest success story: kids' swimming skills Biggest challenge: initiating homeschooling without causing a fight Thing I miss the most: hot yoga Budget: blown by exactly the same amount for two months in a row. Solution? We upped it.
3 SMALL KIDS, 2 CRAZY ADULTS, 1 YEAR TO TRAVEL THE WORLD
POST 8: 5th November 2016, Mae Nam, Ko Samui, Thailand.
So, the rains we were waiting for? Well, they came. In style. I'm not talking about a little bit of drizzle here and there. The kind that covers you with a glossy sheen. No. Big, fat, oversized globules of liquid that splat on you and soak you from head to toe in around 30 seconds. Thai rainy season is not like some other versions where the heavens dump their load during an hour or so and then blue skies return. Here, when it starts, it doesn't finish. And in our experience so far, lasts for between one to three days. Straight.
Photo caption: the state of the "roads" at this time of year makes for both scary and exhilirating exploration!
Luckily for us, for the first time since we left, we are holed up in a rather flash, two-bedroom pool villa which boasts all the mod cons including drier (so unenvironmentally friendly but nothing else works in this humidity), English cartoons (for emergencies), snazzy air con and super fast wifi. Oh, and a huge communal, jungle-view, infinity pool, as well as a gym. And it just so happens that it is our cheapest accommodation to date. Go figure.
Photo caption: our pimp pool villa acquired through heavy negotiation on Airbnb
What the rains have forced us to do is to chill the &^%$ out. We needed to after 7 weeks hard-core travelling. And we will not regret it with 8 weeks travelling just round the corner. And yet I still find this SO hard to do. At least I have twelve more days here in which to practise. Because Thailand is the perfect place for it. Why? Because that is all anyone seems to do around here. Most shops or businesses have just the one member of staff/owner that spends most of their time lying down or sleeping (in full view of the entrance) until a customer actually walks in. Because they can. There is no shame in 'slacking off' because that is not how it is seen.
Photo caption: our homeschooling project: beach manadala (top left); it's never too early to learn how to make a mojito (top right); sampling the tempura prawn at our village 'walking night market' (bottom left); our local, dragon-adorned Chinese temple (bottom right)
And that is part of the beauty of the (unspoilt) Asian way of life: ever-increasing sales and capital growth are not the key factors for success here, just earning enough to supplement your lifestyle/pay for your rent/contribute to the daily shop. So there is no marketing, not many billboards and no pushy sales talk. We, the consumers, are under no outside pressure to buy (this is not the same as 'inside' pressure - there can be a fearsome pitch if you cross the shop threshold) and they are happy with the business they can get.
Photo caption: the coolest and most eccentric jungle bookshop (top); coconuts galore (bottom left); mobile vegetable stall (bottom right)
The problem is, I just don't resonate with Thailand in the way I do with Indonesia. I never have done. Firstly, I'm not a great fan of the type of expat that is drawn to live here permanently. Rather piggishly, I don't feel they portray the best side of British culture and rather selfishly, I don't like being reminded of that when I am abroad. Secondly, there is something I find unsettling about interactions with the locals. In comparison to the Burmese for example, they are exceedingly reserved, they seem to be holding something back, sussing you out and their slightly poker-faced way of dealing with us makes me a little nervous. There must be a reason for this. Because as the Asian chairman of a corporate behemoth once reminded me, there is a reason that Thailand is the only SE Asian country never to have been colonised.
Photo caption: hidden natural jewels lie just beyond the 52km-long ring road (aka tourist 'strip')
That said, I am feeling happier here than I was. Not that my mood on arrival had much to do with where we were, on retrospect. I was so angry with myself for being ungrateful for what surrounded me - the exotic otherness that I so often crave when I am fully ensconced on my parochial hamster wheel back home. But today I had an insight that came to me during my first-time-in-five-weeks-run that put everything in perspective, as so often happens when I go running. And it was this: that as cliched as it sounds, I am who I am. And I shouldn't feel bad for not being anyone else, or for not holding anyone else's opinions or values.
The insight came off the back of realising that I have a short pleasure span. This is not to be confused with attention span - I can be very focused (most would probably say 'intense') and I am one of the most methodical people I know - but I need variety. So whilst this year has been a time to court my bohemian side after nearly 20 years of pandering to the bourgeois, I already feel ready to go home, to reinsert myself into the predictability and routine of the school term, the four seasons, the festive Winter grind that is Halloween, Xmas, Valentine's day and Easter.
Photo caption: and when the sun comes out - we make the most of the beach!
And what dawned on me today is that that is OK. I am not a bad person for wanting a life that is full of both (Asian) adventure travel and a habitual schedule. It is not ungrateful to want more than what you have right now or to want to mix it up from time to time, however good you have it right now. It is just WHO I AM. This came as quite a relief and means I no longer castigate myself every time I see an Instagram shot of a school fireworks display and feel a teensy weensy bit like I am perhaps missing out.
Photo caption: exotic (and HUGE) Thai flora and fauna
It doesn't help that Thailand is definitely quieter than it would usually be at the moment and not just because of rainy season. Their 'beloved' King died just before we got here and mourning is a long drawn out affair which not only involves wearing black for 30 days but also not partaking in any form of celebration be that a fire show or any other type of entertainment. Amazingly (to me), 95% of the population is adhering to this and most of the clothes stalls are now selling only black garments which is quite an odd sight for such a hot country.
Indeed, such is their devotion to the royal family that many businesses on Koh Samui are now closed whilst the owners pilgrimage to Bangkok to 'pay their respects' to their former ruler. From my tentative enquiries with taxi drivers (usually the source of all knowledge), I understand that the official mourning period lasts for one year. I can't help but wonder whether we in the UK will be as conscientious in our 'devotion' when the time comes?
Photo caption: clothes stalls full of monochrome items (top); even a modest village house boasts its own 'memorial shrine' to the King (bottom)
So, all in all, this period of in between-ness has been challenging and rewarding in equal measure. I am learning to chill out (kind of), we are getting used to spending time together as a family without an exploration 'agenda' and we are experiencing a more domestic side of our 'living like locals' goal: one that involves shopping in a sprawling hypermarket every other day as we indulge our (expensive) desires not to eat like locals for every single meal of the day and more excitingly, one that also includes popping to the nearby, local market to try our hand at recreating at home, the curries for which this country is renowned. We haven't quite managed this yet - probably because, with my neophyte enthusiasm for new and unusual ingredients, I am putting them all in together. Which is not the Thai way. Unsurprisingly, specific things go in specific dishes. (I found this out to my embarrassment this morning as I was reprimanded by the market stall holder over my incorrect usage of lemon grass: NOT for curries. Oops.)
Photo caption: curried crab anyone? (left) the curry paste stall in our local market (right)
In twelve days we leave for Laos where we will backpack from the top of this long, thin country right down to the very bottom. Which means twelve more days to practise relaxing, twelve more days to get more into my book about manifesting abundance and twelve more days to action this in real life on my as-yet-unknown, online Money Abundance Challenge run by my new fellow-worldschooling-mum-of-three-travelling-friend, Natalie Jenkins (EFT expert and coach). Oh, and perhaps I'll try the odd £6-an-hour coconut oil massage or two for good measure too...
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Taking the rough with the smooth...
3 SMALL KIDS, 2 CRAZY ADULTS, 1 YEAR TO TRAVEL THE WORLD POST 7: 22th October 2016, Mae Nam, Ko Samui, Thailand.
We were bound to make mistakes at some point. And I guess that point is now. It all started because of the internet. This hardly exists in Myanmar and when it does, it is very, very, VERY slow. The kind of slow which means you absolutely cannot download an image and opening a simple text email takes maybe half an hour. Which is a good thing if you want to be in the now and disconnect from the modern world and all of its distractions. But not so good if you need a reminder that there IS a world out there full of normal people that are not on a year-long travel adventure with three kids under 7. And not so great if you need to research your next destination.
Photo caption: Bagan - temples galore
Our plan was always not to plan. To give ourselves the freedom to do what we fancied when we fancied it. So the only thing that was set in stone when we left the UK was that we would be spending one month in Greece as a warm-up to travelling and then flying on one-way tickets to SE Asia, starting with the still pretty-undiscovered Myanmar. Having initially thought that one month was not long enough for us to do the country justice - it is HUGE - and having considered (naively) how we might overstay our month-long visa, we ended up staying only three weeks.
On the whole, they were a good three weeks and the country gets a big thumbs up: the people are genuine, warm, very sweet and totally trustworthy; the food is delicious; the country is beautiful and apart from the tourist destinations such as Bagan and Lake Inle where there is comparatively more pressure to buy certain things, you are pretty much left to your own devices to enjoy your trip in the way you choose. The accommodation however is very expensive for what you get, and after weeks of living in nice but very standard guesthouses, being ill for 7 days with a fever and suffering burn out after having been such conscientious tourists, we were kind of desperate to leave.
Photo caption: some of the hidden gems inside the temples
Because the problem is, in Myanmar, there was no possibility of us NOT being tourists as the accommodation in our it-has-to-be-basic-because-our-pot-of-money-needs-to-last-a-year price bracket was so basic that chilling out in it was not an option: too small, too dark, too depressing. We did end up paying to spend a couple of hours lying by someone else’s pool but in the end we needed a proper break: from moving around every three days, from sightseeing and from being with the kids 24/7.
We initially thought of Myanmar's only beach destination but since it is super expensive (over US$100 a night per room when we try to spend half of that as we always have to book two) and to get there would also require expensive internal flights, we thought we could go somewhere nearby which would be just as nice beach-wise and offer a better standard of accommodation.
Photo caption: some intricate carvings inside one of the temples in Bagan (left); Buddha's mother and auntie with Buddha himself being born from his mother's hip (right); more Buddhas (bottom)
So with ten minutes spare and a very dodgy internet connection at our disposal (if you sat right next to the router you could get a few minutes in before a) a power cut b) the router failed c) you were eaten alive by mosquitoes) we settled on Thailand: direct flights from Myanmar to Bangkok (where we needed to collect more anti-malarial drugs) then onwards to an island. Any island!
I had read about fellow travellers sending their children to a friendly school on Ko Samui so we settled on that. Job done. Flights booked. Hotel booked within walking distance of the school. Sorted. Before heading out to supper I thought we should probably send another message to the owner of the Thai school just to double check that there was room for the three kids (we hadn’t heard from her in a week) and to tell her that we would be arriving in two days time.
Photo caption: playing football with the locals in one of the temple grounds (top left); With our horse driver and some local kids that lived just next to one of the temples (top); yet more Burmese wanting selfies with our kids. We were stopped at least once every five minutes (bottom)
On checking our mail after supper: disaster! The school had shut down with no notice just the day before! And even worse perhaps, our 30 day visa coincided perfectly with rainy season which, on Ko Samui, starts at the end of October (we arrived on the 21st) and lasts until the beginning of December. So having been very excited about the prospect of chilling out, giving the kids some much needed structure (they have really missed school), some sun, sea and sand time and a chance for Andrew and I to get some work done in order to help pay for our trip, all of a sudden I was dreading it. No school, no beach time, no sun, no chance of any time to ourselves to work or chill out and a very touristy, expensive location.
Photo caption: monks heading out to ask for alms (top left); our horse driver in Bagan was a huge hit with the kids (top right); outside the back gate of the largest temple in Old Bagan (bottom left); Andrew dwarfed by its front gate (bottom right)
So here we are on Ko Samui, a stone’s throw from the school that is no longer in operation, with the other French school shut for two weeks' holiday, the sky is cloudy and it is spitting with rain, there is as much wind now as on a blustery, October day in England and we are staying in a pretty expensive hotel surrounded by expensive beach restaurants on a very small budget. In addition to this, Raphael is suffering from his second tummy bug – he was sucking the bus rails in the airport and just cannot NOT lick things or stop eating with his hands – and to top it all off, he left his beloved monkey (without whom he cannot sleep and without whom he has NEVER been parted) in the hotel in Bangkok. They have assured me that it was put in the ‘express’ post to us here yesterday. My fingers are doubly crossed and in the meantime, we are pretending he never existed. Oh, and did I mention that we spent half of our one day in Bangkok in A & E because Xanthe (unsupervised) stuck a cotton bud so far into her ear that she made it bleed and I was worried she had burst her eardrum? It's all fun and games with three kids under 7.
Photo caption: the full-moon festival of lights which is the start of 9 days holiday in Burma. The main temple (top left); monks at one of the smaller temples (top right); a Burmese comedy performance (bottom left); candle-lit temple (bottom right)
As a result of all this, I am not feeling too great about things. In fact I am feeling pretty crappy. Angry with myself that we didn’t plan our next destination better (even though in my defense, I know this was impossible given our unreliable internet connections), resentful that the school we were planning on visiting shut without announcing this on their website and irritated that the probably once-pretty canal next door to our room is being widened in order to let the imminent rains flow better into the sea (think Caterpillar tractors going all day long).
I am also disappointed in myself for not being better at homeschooling (the two hours I spent on it this morning nearly killed me), annoyed that I am missing chats with my best friend and soul mate with whom I never have more than 10 seconds discourse before we are interrupted by one of the kids, and frustrated that I seem to be craving my home routine so much when all I do in England is moan about the cold and how unfulfilled I feel. Worst of all, I am disappointed in myself for feeling unhappy at all. If I were a Buddhist or perhaps an altogether better version of myself, I would be feeling grateful for my beautiful surroundings, my simple but elegant bungalow which is only 5 minutes walk from the sea, the delicious local food, my flat stomach (hooray!) the 30 degree heat and the fact that my children are happy.
Photo caption: Ko Samui - island life
But I guess that is just part of being a human. Just because we are travelling doesn’t mean that everything will suddenly become awesome and that I will suddenly require less time to myself or less time to chew the cud with Andrew. And just because we are somewhere new and exciting doesn’t mean we won’t feel tired or overwhelmed. Or that I won’t miss home. Because I do. I guess this will make returning even sweeter but for now, I'm just going to try and sit with this feeling. However difficult. This adventure was always going to be a journey. Both an outer and an inner one. And facing difficulties and even harder for me, accepting them, is all part of learning to take the rough with the smooth...
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