I’ve been thinking a lot about place and how it can be so important to some people and others can just live where they are and get on with things. I am not one of the latter and it probably seems ridiculous to anyone who knows me that I ever thought I was. I’ve got to keep moving.
I do have big ideas about having a small plot of land on which to grow food without chemicals and whatever other crap we dice with when we shop at supermarkets. And I’d also love to have a house just so that I could have somewhere suitable to cook and to work. I love reading things by 21 year olds who say they are free by living a location independent lifestyle without owning anything and travelling indefinitely, because I thought that too, when I was 21. But, I can tell you that after a few decades of travel you kind of want more than a kitchen space the size of a small chopping board to encourage you to prep real food rather than subsist on takeaways. And anyway, I like food. I write about it.
But, back to place. If I had this house and land, where would it be? For years I thought it would be New Zealand. And, I do like New Zealand, don’t get me wrong. But it is very hard to live here. The houses are full of damp and work is hard to come by. Unhealthy and stressful. Because I spent my childhood moving round the United States, sometimes I think, well maybe I could just go there. I do have family there. Houses are cheap now if you can get work to pay the mortgage and the general cost of living is low. But it’s not that easy, mentally. To go back, I mean. And what about Japan? I love it there, but life can also be difficult not to mention the fact that borne of my own experience is a fear of earthquakes (And, yes, I recognise how ridiculously fortunate I am to get to choose based on this fear). My beloved Thailand? Malaysia? India? Somewhere in Europe? No, I doubt that.
So, to someone like me who has never felt rooted to the ground, it seems like I could just keep looking for that mythical land where things are perfect, well… better. But, do I just keep looking forever? And, even so, the idea of committing to one place for.ev.er. is just scary as hell. I don’t think it’s going to matter where it is. I guess if I could find a good place that also provided enough income for me to keep travelling, maybe…just maybe, I could be content with being tethered to a mortgage.
Where am I going with all this? Dunno. I’m just feeling fed up with the rain leaking into my house and clearing damp off the walls and not being able to utilise the wasted space in my house because it is rented. It’s just a great big, get it off my chest, gripe, I guess. I want to do something. Something.
I’ve travelled to visit family and to move my life to a new country. I’ve travelled to build houses or present at conferences. And, I’ve travelled just for the sake of it. Travel to see what there is to see. But I’ve never travelled with such purpose before. Packing involved thinking ahead to what one person could carry in case the other one had occupied arms. It involved guessing what sized clothes I need to bring for a person of whom I had no idea how big he’d got. Does he need shoes?
Bangkok! We can get everything there. No worries.
Now that I am sitting in a taxi all of those preparatory thoughts fall behind. Driving through the big posh areas of Sukhumvit and Silom with all the trendy girls with nail polish and tourists taking photos of giant golden spirit houses only to enter the old towns in the West of the city. It’s like slipping into a comfortable blanket. People are doing normal things like bathing children in buckets, disassembling jackfruit and pounding som tam. The other Bangkok is fun, but I love this Bangkok. I feel comfortable and at home here and we usually stay out here in old teak houses cooled only by fans and sips of nam manao. But not this time because this time we are travelling with purpose. We’ve rented an “aparthotel” in Lumpini with a swimming pool downstairs and a kitchen and cot in the room. We wanted all three of us to be comfortable.
The taxi driver, my husband and I team up as we enter the narrow sois and try to spot the tiny, handpainted, sign for the orphanage. There it is! I tell him, “We can walk from here, kaaa” “No problem”, he says, “I can take you there”, and we finally stop at the end of the driveway. My husband told me in the taxi that he felt nervous, but I hadn’t felt that until now. Looking at old Bangkok calmed me, but now we have stopped moving and all I can hear is a bird and some clinking dishes as someone in the neighbourhood is washing up. We have to straighten our legs, stand on them, and go and meet our son.
I almost catch a glimpse of children playing as the director warmly greets us and takes us to her office. We are offered a drink and a biscuit as we talk about so much in so little time. We want to know what his routine has been so that we can keep that comfort going for him. She shows us a stack of photos and other little things and puts it all in a giant folder for us. 20 months of life summed up in a tiny parcel that we will carry home. We ask a million other questions and are happy that we have written down the answers because we already know that we are not taking anything in any more. It’s time to go and she wants us to leave quickly so that the children don’t confuse us with the volunteers who come and go. Our son has been prepped to know that we are forever…if forever is and understandable concept to an under two.
As we enter the sala one boy shouts out “Hello!” but they all seem to be moving in a blur as we try to spot the one who is coming home with us. The director jokes that we must identify him before we are allowed to take him home. As we haven’t had a photo since his first birthday this might seem impossible with all these little pairs of eyes looking at us, some children cosying up or showing us toys. But then I see a little boy sitting on the floor as his carer puts on his blue Crocs. He is looking and pointing at us. He knows it’s us and we know it’s him. He walks a little way, hand in hand with the carer, until someone picks him up and puts him in against my body. My mind switches locations and I am picturing those little kiwis we take to give to students in other countries, the ones that clip on to things and don’t let go. He is a limpet with eyes on me, so close. He’s just looking. We expected crying or pushing away but, no, just looking. Someone says “Mama, Mama!” and then points to my husband and says, “Daddy!” and his eyes flit to and fro until the director ushers us out to the taxi.
The taxi affords us a good amount of time to check each other out until he finally starts crying and then changing from one person to another. Holding* a biscuit calmed him but he never took a bite. He liked looking out the window, just like us, but in between spotting interesting things he started to cry more for what was missing. “Kaw thort” I apologise to the taxi drive for the noise. “Mai bpen rai”, no worries, he says back and I think about how lucky we have been with both drivers today. And then it dawns on me that we are about to get out of the taxi, at our hotel, as a family of three.
I have a very good friend whom I knew for a few of the most exciting years of my life. He was just discovering who he was, as we all were in those days, and I love the fact that he is living his true life now. However, I lost touch with this friend quite a few years ago. Many years ago. I’ve always wondered what he was doing and what his life had become. And then about 6 or 7 years ago I managed to get in touch again through a mutual friend. I was so happy because I found out about quite a few nice things that had occurred in his life. Sadly, he was about to leave his job. The email address I had for him was through his work and so I knew he would no longer be using it. He said he would be in touch as soon as he got his own email address set up. This didn’t strike me as odd because I know plenty of people who lead their lives without using the internet on a daily basis. And back then, it wasn’t as common for everyone to have multiple email addresses, Twitter, and Facebook accounts. I just hoped for the best. I never heard from him again.
In our brief email exchange, one of the things he said to me was that the reason he hasn’t been in touch was because he was jealous. I should clarify that this is not an ex-boyfriend. He was apparently jealous of my life. I just think this is amazing. He has made up a scenario based on the few facts he still knows about me that has led him to believe that my life is a fairytale. Yes, I have travelled a lot, but that is not all that happens in my life. I feel a little bit angry, but mostly sad about this. He has no idea about the difficult things I’ve been through. He has just chosen some random ‘facts’ and gleaned the rest, and then used that non-reality as a basis for discontinuing the friendship.
But it makes me think. Do I do this? I must do. It seems quite common. There are certainly people I feel jealousy towards. And, I have to admit, there have been times when I’ve avoided those people because I didn’t feel I had anything more to offer than what they already have. But, eventually you see things. You start to see that the things you are jealous of are only on the very surface of their being. Over time, these things change or fade and you begin to see more of the real person. If you stick with these people, you find out that they are struggling in life just as you are and we all need allies. I wish my friend could see this, but if nothing else he has left me with the ability to weigh up my trivial jealousies before they cause me to lose something that could be really important. Well, at least I try.
Hello December! How is it that December is the quickest month to arrive? I’m already getting my pre-New Year jitters, this weird feeling I have that I was supposed to do something just as the countdown begins on New Year’s Eve. Or, perhaps there was something else I was meant to accomplish. There’s always that! I have been busy though.
Last month I participated in NaNoWriMo which is a month long attempt to write a 50,000 word novel. Well, I knew I couldn’t have a 50,000 word goal in mind while I’m simultaneously writing a textbook and doing my other work on top, but I wanted to see what I could do. My goals were as such:
A) Try writing fiction for the first time
B) Try writing freely, without editing as an experiment to see if it can light a spark in creativity
C) See how far I can go
What I’ve learnt :
A) Yes, I can write fiction (although I won’t know how good it is until somebody reads it, obviously) and I quite enjoy it.
B) Yes, it’s true that more writing breeds more writing!
C) I have realised that I am not a very good free-writer although I have cut down on my urge to constantly edit quite a bit. I didn’t get very far wordcount-wise, but something exciting has happened.
I am keen to write a book. Yes, write a book! I have plotted out chapters and scenes and characters and everything. And, now that I’m into this idea, I want to spend time doing it the best I can which means timetabling book-writing within my normal work day. I guess I’m just not a one-month girl.
So, I’m writing a book…and, possibly another book only this other one is going to be non-fiction. For some reason my muse is making me split my loyalties between fiction and non-fiction. Both projects are about travel (obviously!) and both are from a woman’s perspective since I’m subscribing to the addage ‘Write what you know’. It’ll be a race to see which one reaches the completion line first. My bets are on the non-fiction, but time will tell.
Apart from my mother, Koangirl, and one or two others who aren’t ‘out’ yet about their books I don’t think I know anyone else writing a book at the moment. If you are out there and writing please get in touch and let me know how it is going because I’d love to hear from other people doing this.
Reading Shantiwallah always makes me think how strange it is that Ireland (where I live now) and New Zealand are so far apart, so different historically but yet so similar in some ways.
We share a few great passions. Parties and sport probably head the list with rugby at the top. As I write the southern hemisphere teams are touring our little islands and once again showing us how it’s done. Sigh.
Unfortunately we don’t see as much of the women’s teams. The Women’s Rugby World Cup was played in August over in England. New Zealand won in a thrilling final against England, taking the cup by just three points in the end. They’re nicknamed the Black Ferns – a lovely name for an amazing team.
It’s amazing how quickly you can make friends through sport when you’re travelling. That common passion crosses barriers of language and culture in an instant. I’ve lived in many countries over the last 15 years and most of my friends are women I met through training or watching sport together.
Maybe it’s because there are fewer women than men around sports that we remember and watch out for each other? Whatever the reason I couldn’t imagine life without the passion sports brings or without the friends we make. And thanks to technology, we can all watch the same games from different continents and still gossip about the hot male players
Niamh Griffin is a freelance journalist living in Ireland. Her blog ‘Women with Balls’ is a celebration of women doing sport and loving it!
Really? Are China and Vietnam hard to get to? While I’m not dissing the article I read recently about 10 Difficult-to-Visit Places and How to Get There on Boots n All (I thought it well-researched and written), I have to say I was shocked that it’s necessary to have such an article in some regards. Of course there are issues in visiting certain countries that make it difficult or unethical as discussed towards that end of the article, but a visa requirement? And I think the writer is correct. I think some people do need to be told how to get into a country that requires a visa. At some point, people seem to have forgotten how to do this. When did this happen? What has happened to travellers that they find a country too difficult to visit if it needs a visa? I thought applying for visas and dealing with bureauracy was all a part of travel.
I’m wondering. Is this something to do with everyone wanting everything instantly? Have we become so used to being able to get the latest news, gossip, and flight bookings not only on our computers, but also in our pockets, within seconds. Is this what it means to be ‘connected’? Are we so addicted to the wire that we can’t unplug for anything that takes longer than a few seconds to achieve? If it can’t be done on an iPhone, does that mean it can’t be done? Can we not even take a trip down to an embassy, or fill in a form to post in order to apply for a visa to a country that welcomes visitors such as Vietnam or China?
Or is that not it at all? Are we just soft? Can we not travel to anyplace that does not roll out the red carpet and pick us up from our houses in a fancy shuttle? Can we not go anywhere that doesn’t have a nice tour to join or a certain standard of accommodation?
What does travel mean? Has the meaning changed? What do you think of when you think of travelling? Where do you picture yourself and how do you see yourself moving from place to place?
P.S. Sorry about the grumpiness and I know we are not all softies!
So, the main reason I wanted to come back from Asia was because I missed the wide-open spaces of Aotearoa. I also missed seeing green and having enough room in my flat to swing a cat. Here comes the irony. I‘ve only recently moved out of a small, city apartment that was surrounded by concrete and noisy neighbours. I’ve also been made to think about the last time I went out of the city because a friend, who visited from England, 1 year ago, sent an email entitled “Has it really been a whole year?”.
It seems that the only time we make it out of the city is if we have guests to entertain. Why? Isn’t this why we came back to New Zealand…to be in New Zealand? Après epiphany, Mr. P and I decided that, since he’s being forced to take the holiday he’s been saving up, that we’d take off and do a bit of a road trip.
We’re headed south. Our original plan was to spend the week in the Tongariro National park skiing on the volcanoes, but when we found out how much they add on to accommodation prices for the ski season have thought again. We still plan to go skiing mid-week when we can get a cheap pass that includes a free lesson. I need it, he doesn’t. But first, we’re going to set off Saturday morning and try to get all the way to Napier. We’ve never been there and we were joking that it’s going to be a bit of a busman’s holiday since it’s the most art deco-ed town in NZ. But that’s not why we’re going. We’re going because we need a road trip. We need to get out of the city. We need to get far away from work, looking for work, and all the other stresses of everyday life. Most of all, we need to go to New Zealand. Don’t get me wrong, I L.O.V.E. love Auckland. It’s, in my opinion one of the best places to live in the world, but we need to get out and frolic in the rolling hills, so to speak.
I reckon we should pretend to be backpackers. We can shove all the needed accoutrements into our long-neglected packs, fill the station wagon with pasta, teabags, low temperature sleeping bags, and tramping gear, and take off. Zip off trouser/shorts and English optional.
rating: 5 of 5 stars I love, love, love this book! I got it from the library and I fear that I will soon be paying overdue fees as I can’t bear to part with it. So far I’ve made a palow that was absolutely delicious, and I’ve got my eye on many more recipes. I am fascinated with Central Asia and I really loved the travelogue/ anthropological viewpoint of the book. Plus the author has filled it with delicious stories and quotes from Rumi. I agree with the other poster who said she’d spent more time reading it than cooking!
