A Cautionary Tale

We took an overnight train to Agra – economy 2^nd sleeper, which means you get three tiers of bunks, and the aisles are busy with food and drink sellers going up and down, and cries of “pani water pani water”, “chai chai chaieeee”, “samosa samosa samosa”. We snatched a few winks of sleep in the gently rocking carriage, and arrived early in the morning to the bustling station.

We had decided to buy our tickets on to Dehradun while we were there, but as the general allowance of tickets had run out (as per usual), we had to wait for the 'tatkal' tickets, which you pay a bit more for. There was a girl managing the line and letting everyone know what was going on. For a while we were able to keep track of who was where in the line, but in the hour before the tickets came available we had to go back and keep our place in the line.

I stood there, people elbowing, packed together (even though there was so much space behind us!), with a short stand-in by Jasmine K after they got some breakfast, until finally we got our tickets, wedged ourselves into a tuk-tuk, and headed for our hostel. We got there, he asked for our passports, I started digging through my bag, and then with a mild puzzlement dug through it again, and then carefully took out everything and put it back.. with a growing sense of alarm I did the same again, ad checked my other bag. By this time the others had realised something was up: I had lost my passport.

Back to the tuk-tuk driver (who was hanging about cos he was still trying to sell us a tour), and back we flew the way we came. We had stopped on the way to take a picture of the Taj Mahal, and I remembered my bag being quite full and juggling things when I fished out my camera, so I thought maybe my passport bag had fallen out there. If it had, there was perhaps one chance in a million that it would still be there. Jasmine and I went up and down the road to no avail. Next stop: the train station. Off we sped, my mind running over all the possibilities and courses of action, trying to work out how bad the worst scenario was going to be.

I went into the ticket room, looked around, and was directed to go ask the station manager. On the way out I saw, mud-stained, crumpled, in a pile of rubbish, my passport packet. My heart just dropped. It was empty.

I continued miserably to the office, and told the manager my story. He nodded, told me to sit down and asked my name. “Jasmin” I said.

He went over to the cupboard, opened it, and handed me my passport. I nearly cried with relief. Thanked him roundly, and left. He said that the sweeping lady had handed it in. I had had a cash card, and US and Thai baht adding to about AU$75. I imagine either someone took it, or it somehow dropped out of my bag when I was in that crazy ticket line.. and whoever took it for some reason just made off with the money and not the passport – even though the passport is worth soo much more on the black market. Crazy. I couldn't believe it.

So yeah, keep being careful with your passports, ok?

Life on the Sunny Side..

When we were in Varanasi, we had a guy jump into our taxi on the way from the airport, who then led us to our guesthouse. We bumped into him a few times after that during the week – he would hang out near a stall that did the best mango shakes in the city (or so they say. Despite our limited experience, we were happy to agree).

Anyway, this small, dapper little man was named Sunny. He showed us around a couple of times, winding through the cobblestoned alleys of the Old City, pointing out 'cheap and best' restaurant places, sighing heavily if he thought we had been ripped off by someone.. The first time or two we were obviously a bit skeptical of him.. Georgie, with a mix of anxiety and annoyance, burst out asking what he expected of us.. He seemed a little surprised, and simply said that he didn't have any expectation, and that he thought that friendship was more important than money.. Which is of course a little unusual for a self-proclaimed tour guide, but which, in the safety of a group of people, I was happy to accept.

On our second-last day we bumped into him again and he helped us find a good pharmacy and then another good restaurant.. anyway one thing led to another and he ended up inviting us to come and eat at his home the next day and meet his mother! Ok, we said. What could go wrong?

Anyway, after a whole series of adventures the next morning trying to find the River Ashram – which is a story in itself (we trekked along the whole length of the ghats, circled temples, went all the way to a cricket stadium, stopped at a 'bread of life' cafe for food, almost gave up but then a random guy in the cafe ended up knowing it and leading us there.. and it was a beautiful oasis of flowers and rugged old arched walls and interesting, people-loving folks..). So yes, then we met up with Sunny and a Chilean friend he'd made the day before, he hailed a few cycle-rickshaws, and we headed to the other side of town.

While we were waiting for lunch (which was delicious puffy fried puris, vegies and sambal) he told us all about his recent trip to France. He had met this french couple a few years ago, and they became best buddies – he called the woman his french mama. Then last year they organised everything for him to be able to come and visit them in France. He showed us photo after photo of his time there, and it was so beautiful. You could just see the joy shining in his eyes.. We'd ask him what he thought of this or that over there, and it was always “too much, I liked it too much!”

My favourite episode was when they were travelling out to the border with Switzerland, and the train stopped at a station where he saw his first snow. He and the guy jumped off the train to take a couple of photos of him in it, and the next thing they knew the train, and the french mama, were chugging off into the distance without him!! Oh dear. “I'll never forget that day, and that town, where I miss my train..” he says.

He told us that some of his rich relatives were jealous of him, because he has just his little house with his mother - and they have so much - but they have never been outside India, and it would be near impossible for them to get the visa to go to Europe, like he did. And so Sunny, just through his friendships, had been given all this..

“You know,” he says, “some people are hungry for money, but I am hungry for love.” And as funny as that sounds, you can see where his valuing of relationships took him!

Fishing Trip – Karen Style

While visiting Sangkla Buri we were helping to lay a concrete floor for house extensions, digging a pit for sewerage, and beginning to build another toilet. One afternoon we took a break from our labours and went on a fishing trip. But this wasn't just any fishing trip. We set off, a few of us piled into the cab and the rest in the back of the ute. We stopped off at a friend's place and collected some nets, bamboo poles, and a crinkle-faced little old lady.

Off we drove, winding round bumpy, overgrown country tracks, hunting for a good fishing spot. The first place we got out was too deep for net-dragging, but a couple of the guys still gave it a go. A few other boys were dispatched with sacks to gather cow pats for the garden, as people often grazed their cows or buffalo on the fertile river flats.

We headed to a new spot, leaving two of the guys to walk. Apparently they said not to wait, but I saw them running and shouting after the ute as we drove off so I'm not so sure.. ;)

At the next place the old lady and Dee's sister in law teamed up with one of the nets, and a few other guys teamed up as well. Blair took off with his own net, hurling it hopefully into the river from place to place, then pulling it back up again.

We girls followed a couple more kids across the river to gather edible flowers and leaves from the trees there. We filled a couple of sacks and then two of the boys seized them from us and dragged them back across. A couple of other kids went around the banks and submerged trees to check for big black river snails. Apparently all the children love them – the adults not so much..

Eventually all the troops were rounded up and the catches displayed. Each of the guys had caught a few little silver ones, but the toothless granny triumphed, scooping out 10 or 15 one by one from a mysterious fold in her sarong. She then settled herself in the tray of the ute, a whisked out a fat handmade cigarette and a lighter from her headscarf, not a bit damp!

On the way home we also gathered some long green bamboo poles of a particular variety that was good for making bamboo sticky rice. So there we were – packed into the back, with fish, bamboo, cow dung, leafy greens, and many happy muddy people.

The Business of Baking

Soon after we arrived in Bangkok to stay with our Karen friends (who are part of the displaced/refugee subculture from Burma), Dee ascertained that I could bake. She led us to a large, oil-stained, cockroach-infested box containing a small portable oven which she had bought a couple of years ago. She had made a couple of attempts at baking, but after a series of failures gave up and the box was adopted by the kitchen's less-than-savoury inhabitants.

We were set to work. Cake number 1: Banana. There were no cake tins, so we improvised by cooking in the trays that came with the oven – wide, flat cakes. Banana cake – a double mix – was baked and eaten in record time. Spurred on by this initial success, Dee gave us a new mission.

It was decided that we would bake cakes for church on Sunday, in case it was someone's birthday – two cakes, this time with icing. So on Saturday we baked pineapple cake and butter cake (double mixes each, naturally). Dee and Pipi eyed off the sticky, golden, sweet-smelling pineapple cake (and stole a sneaky corner nibble) only for a short while before deciding that we definitely didn't need both for church and so we should probably eat one today. This attempt evoked even stronger approval.. except for the fact that not everyone got two pieces (there are about 25 people living in the house).

The next day Dee enquired in the service as to whether it was anyone's birthday. It wasn't, so we had unbirthday cake instead.

The next week, Dee decided that we would share the wonders of cake with the children at Sangkla Buri. Christoph packed the oven up in its box, we packed the ute, and away we went. We arrived in Sangkla that evening to discover that Christoph had packed the oven but forgotten to actually put it in the car. Oops. No cake for the kids this time.

On the weekend, back in Bangkok, we made double pineapple cake, double potato bake – people kept coming into the kitchen for this one, and seeing the cheese melting on top, enquired hopefully “pizza?”. “not pizza, potato”, we said. I don't think it really cleared things up much. We rounded off the weekend with a batch of butterscotch pudding. It was practically inhaled by the crew.

The next week we took the oven to make cake for the kids at Plang Ha. We were almost there when Blair suddenly realised that no one had remembered to put the trays in! He had seen them sitting there, and told someone else to do it but they had also forgotten.. Dee was so unimpressed, it was quite funny. Usually she's far too busy laughing to ever be annoyed, but cake is a very serious business. Dee didn't want to disappoint the kids, so we improvised. We took a break from house-building, bought some semi-flat-bottomed metal bowls from the village store, and balanced them on a wire BBQ rack, which was balanced on a ceramic bowl between the elements. 6 vaguely dome-shaped pineapple cakes later, I think we managed to fill everyone.

Our final baking adventure was on the Sunday afternoon. Dee asked if we wanted to bless the people of Ratchaburi, where we were heading that night. How can you say no to that?!?! She summoned some support, and I wrote a ridiculous shopping list and whizzed away on the motorbike with Blair. We came back, juggling 30 eggs, 30 bananas, several bags of sugar and flour, and a huge tub of butter.

Next Christoph with his superior mixing powers was summoned. With Dee supervising, and Georgie, Christoph and I adding and mixing, we powered 4 double-sized cakes through in record time. Then we balanced them on laps in the cab and the back of the ute for the 1 ½ hour ride. Once there, after the service, they fed us a ridiculously large dinner, and we fed them cake. Everyone was satisfied.

In which we avoid being eaten by dragons and other general adventuring..

Well, I have been thinking I should probably update you on the vietnam happenings.. I think I left you with the creative restaurant tout in Nha Trang. We'll skip over Mui Ne briefly - there we hung out with some dutch girls and crazy brits, and took a jeep ride out to the sand dunes and fairy springs. Our driver decided his little lime green vehicle was king of the road, and his blaring horns let everyone know it! Halfway through he also decided that it was the party jeep, and belted out some pounding dance beats from the sub woofer located under Georgie's seat...

We explored and ate and snorkelled our way through Nha Trang, and then took off up into the mountains, where we discovered farms of flowers, strawberries, a delightful waterfall to play in, a silk factory, and other interesting things. 

Also this fellow:

I'm glad to report that none of us were eaten, but he did give us a start! the freakish fellow was several metres high and looped his way all around the garden in front of a pagoda - ostensibly to protect the Buddha within.

We also discovered the 'Crazy House'. It's kind of difficult to explain, but it really was like a (not quite finished) wonderland (of the Alice variety). We ran all over, in and around it for a good hour or two!

Then it was off back to Ho Chi Minh City. We did however sneak in a quick trip down to the Mekong Delta as well, based in the sleepy little town of Ben Tre (Vietnam, quiet?! yeah truly, more or less ;)). We took a boat trip around some of the river and canals, which was muddy and pretty and a different picture again of a village-y part of Vietnamese life. Everyone was industriously plying their little trades, but in a way that also makes you feel like they have all the time in the world.

How about spending a night on this little vessel?!

We slurped our final Pho, trundled back to Saigon, and away.. 

We've been staying with friends in Thailand a few days now. We've predominantly been cooking and eating, with a fair bit of singing and playing with wild but undeniably cute kids as well..

Off to Sangkla Buri tomorrow to visit more children!

A night in the life of a restaurant tout..

A couple of nights ago we discovered a mini-restaurant or stall in the midst of a night market in Nha Trang. It boasted a vast, pretty cheap menu - and all cooked in a kitchen about the size of a small trailer - with at least 7 people squashed in there. What we found most entertaining, however, was the tout - the dude at the front of the restaurant attempting to entice potential customers into the sitting down, eating and paying variety..

So, as a restaurant tout:

You begin the night hopeful, focused, committed to your task, dressed to impress. You smile, nod, beckon, gesture, flourish the menu, guide people in. 

Gradually the first few crops of people come through, the restaurant fills up, you swell with confidence.

The night builds, the dinner peak arrives, people are open and eager and easy to convince. The tables remain filled. You relax a little, maybe sit awhile. Maybe even sneak a bite to eat yourself. 

As the night begins to ebb, you redouble your efforts. 

You march to and fro, spout bits of english, vietnamese, russian.

You wave your menu. You wave it some more.

You dart from side to side of the passing crowds. 

You accost someone's girlfriend, earnestly thrusting the menu beneath her face. When that doesn't work, you grab her boyfriend and gesture and speak even more convincingly (you hope). Your voice rises to fever pitch.

You squawk with offended shock when you are refused, once again.

You twirl your menu,  walking into the thoroughfare with it spinning up on one finger. Perhaps if people are impressed enough they will eat here?

You attach yourself to groups and march backwards to stay with them longer.

You sit down for a moment.

You hold your menu on your head so that people can still see it (surely that'll still work!).

You drop the menu.

You light a cigarette.

You march again, singing, whistling, twirling, smoking, laughing, throwing a smile back to your amused onlookers. 

You repeat the above.

..I'm not sure that this guy was the most effective at his job, but he (and the tasty food) certainly kept us enthused enough to return a second night..  :)

Eat Duck Don't Die

We flew into Ho Chi Minh City (which most people still seem to call Saigon - more romantic, no?) just yesterday arvo - how awesomely squiggly is the Mekong just below?!  

 I don't think this is going to be a particularly coherent or informative post, but better than nothing, eh? Especially since I haven't posted anything in almost a year... whoa fourth year + Honours was a nasty brain-sucking beast!!! Yay! Brain has returned! More or less...

ANYWAY, Saigon.
-bikes. everywhere.
-oh and more bikes.
-on the roads.
-on the sides of the roads.
-whizzing up the alleyways behind/beside/around you!

First challenge (actually it's still a challenge, just less scary cos we've done it a few times and haven't died so that means there's more chance that we still won't die? Impeccable logic I think) : crossing the road.

After lots of time hanging out on the side of the road observing and waiting for gaps in the streams of traffic which never seem to arrive, we finally decided that you wait for the cars - but for the bikes? You just start walking. A moderate pace, not too fast, but not too cautious (otherwise you bring the bikes to a complete, perhaps mildly annoyed halt). You stroll bravely across the road, and the bikes (of which there are 15 or 20 to every car that you see) just weave their way around you. Like I say, haven't died yet.

Last night we wandered the city a little bit, watched the light fade over the Saigon canal, and finally hunted down a place where we felt confident enough to order food (it's a while since I've been in a place where I am completely at a loss about what to eat and how to communicate that..). Anyway, we found a place with pictures, and we were convinced by the friendly waiter to order the 'roast chicken'.. We settled ourselves into the little plastic street-side chairs, and looked behind us to see that the roast chicken was actually one of two elongated ducks, hanging in the window...

Interesting. We did think quietly to ourselves about how ironic it would be if we got ill on our very first night away, but we tucked in all the same! Fatty but delicious. Except maybe the brain, we weren't so convinced about that bit.. But we haven't died yet! Yay!

 I have more fun photos from today but I can't get them off my camera at present.. We spent the day wandering the city and entertaining locals/fine-tuning our road-crossing style/eating lots of noodles/discovering all things iced (it's hot!!)/being smoked out by incense in a pagoda/getting just slightly ripped off/finding hilarious exercise equipment in a park (must find a picture of that for you!!) and so forth..

There's still a lot of the colourful Tet (lunar new year) decorations around the place - tinselly trees, yellow flowers, bunting, banners.. There are trees to thin the concrete jungle, gorgeous pot-plant forests in crumbly old apartment balconies, and food! SO much food everywhere. I have no idea what most of it is, but it's great.

Off up the coast tomorrow! Tam biet for now!

J.

Tale of a Saturday Ride

Saturday afternoon on the bike path, and the sun is golden and the trees rush past, and I hear a beep from a passing station wagon and a friend waves heartily.

Cruising through the park three boys in footy shirts kick a ball around. I wonder briefly why one has turned away, then the light catches a liquid arch. Ok.

Turning down a quiet street, a granny watches patient from her tidy porch - the little patchwork world goes by.

As I pass a smallish figtree, I see a man, arms stretched to guard. A small voice cries,
"I can see the whole world from here!"

Another little person waves madly at me from the cosy grasp of mother's arms. Dad smiles,
"Hola".

A huge pom-pommed, blow-dried poodle trots by, owner in tow. I see a large man with a small dog, and a small lady with a large dog.

Among the rows of lonely boats, a cheery bunch of blokes enliven one craft - a tight rowdy circle, sipping their beers.

Down by the fish shop a mop-haired toddler dances on a grate while dad looks on.

I sit by the pearly water in my own mind as the waves crash and the sun ebbs.
The pebbled stone is warm beneath me.

Coming home two girls are faced away from the road, peering through a fence. One catches my quizzical glance and turns around. Lurching toward me, arms outstretched she intones,
"It's the end of the world", and collapses into giggling.

I laugh back.

Snowfun.

Last week (ok, so this is a little out of date now) I went on a trip to the snow with most of my family. It was a flippin' brilliant time.
We drove to Mt Beauty, where we were staying, on the Monday, craning our necks for glimpses of snowy mountains as we got closer. Was it really true? Could Australian-[small]sized mountains really grow enough snow to go skiing on? To warrant ski-lifts? The anticipation grew.
Arrival, and still barely a suggestion of snow anywhere about. We suspended doubt, and went and sent a local hire place into a flurry of activity, fitting out all 8 of us with gear.
Morning arrives, and we claw our way out of cosy beds, dilly-dally through breakfast and preparing lunch, tumble into the car with gloves, beanies, glasses, goggles, jackets, more jackets crammed in everywhere, and wound our way up the hills. Snowy caps began to emerge. Anticipation budded and shot. We chuckled at parked cars, coated in thick layers of snowy fondant.
We were here!! We purchased our lift passes, donned our skis, and headed up. The slightly more experienced of the crew headed off to tackle the slopes, while the beginners agonised their way through a lesson. Let us free! The freshly powdered snow beckoned.
Finally, we were off.
I snow-ploughed my way down the first few runs, and then gingerly began to get a handle on turning. I got really good at falling over. I wasn't very good at slowing down. But going fast feels so terrifyingly good!

Anyway, a couple of pictures:

Snow Angel!

The Crew

Gorgeous sunshiney day

Sun-setting on snowy slopes

Cheese!

Pete looking pro even while on his behind

Spot of cross-country

Yay!!

It was probably the funnest family holiday ever.

(Despite the fact that I slaughtered my ACL -anterior cruciate ligament - the one in your knee that you need to do the fun stuff.. but that's another story.)
And I can't wait to go again. (If I go before getting surgery, then I don't have to worry about snapping my acl again. Good plan?)

Q: What did the cannibal order for take-away?

In our house we always comment on how the conversation around the dinner table of an evening invariably turns to something mildly or majorly gross.

Bodily functions, more bodily functions, off stuff - squashed stuff - dead stuff... I can't even think what else, but it happens. HOW DOES IT HAPPEN?!

And then last night, I was at a friend's house for dinner and you know what? Grossness invades once again! and hilarity ensues.. (I swear I'm not the common denominator here).

Maybe we actually talk about this sort of stuff all the time, it's just that we only notice it at dinner..

Maybe eating food is actually a kind of gross activity and we're just not aware of it anymore, but it's still subconsciously connected to all the grossness in our memories and sneaks out in our conversation! (ok that's a long shot, I'll grant you that).

Maybe it's just that having everyone around, silly-happy-food-eating spirits bouncing off each other, that happens to be the right ingredients to create unsavoury conversation.

Maybe.
I shall continue to ponder this while dunking my scotch finger and sipping my tea.

And here's a tasty mealtime, from a little while back:

Oh, you want the answer?

 Pizza with everyone on it.

Fixing & Building

I kind of wish I'd posted a bit more during prac. I feel like there was a lot more I could have said about it.. I guess though there's always that trouble of what to say & what to leave out for confidentiality's sake.
Oh well, it's over now anyhow! It was super interesting having a prac in Mental Health. I don't reckon I'd want to work in it though.. or maybe not just that.
But it is what you make of it, as well. I was really inspired by a lady at my prac who spoke about how she used creativity in her rural health job - both creatively tackling problems, but also creative methods with people.. It was encouraging to hear how even though a health job - which can seem so structured and regulated and staid - can be made rich and varied and flexible.

I was also thinking lately about how I want work that isn't so much about trying to 'fix' people, but about helping build beautiful things - lives, families, and communities - and how the change in emphasis and perspective makes such a difference.

Anyway, now I'm back at uni, a prac-less semester this time around, so I'm beginning to think (or freak out!!) a lot more about assignments and lectures and readings and groupwork.. and put the dreaming about the future on hold. *sigh*. 

Life as an appendage

So I've been on prac just over 8 weeks now and there's a lot of stories I haven't told.
I should probably begin by explaining the title.


It was about the second week there and I was sitting in a team meeting that had been agonising its way through several hours and they're having this discussion about whether or not students should be able to sit in on peer supervision sessions or not and who should make the call. They end up deciding that it's up to the individual supervisor, because, as one lady so tactfully put it:
"Students are pretty much just appendages of their supervisor anyway" !!!
The whole room cracked up, and I nearly died of awkward, nervous laughter. My supervisor wasn't there.

An appendage - kind of like the extra foot on this frog?

So anyway, here's some of what I've learnt from my life as an appendage:

1. Appendages sit and smile when appropriate. They try to imitate a sofa when it's not. They don't blush when people are talking about their sex life. They don't cry when they get too involved in someone's story. They don't laugh too loudly. When in doubt or when things get awkward, they look at the worker or at the floor. Because they can't interact, they absorb stuff kind of like a sponge, and reflect on it later. Appendages get really good at reflection.

2. Appendages get quite lonely when they are abandoned two days a week because their supervisor only works part time. In this time if they are lucky they might be taken out to go on a visit. If not they will sit in the office trying to keep busy. They will do odd jobs if they are ever given any, improve their understanding through extensive reading, trawl through databases looking for research for their supervisor's project, stare into space, and drink tea. Appendages like tea.

3. Appendages like getting to sit in with the group. They can actually forget a little bit, for a little while, that they are only appendages, and can chat with the mums, encourage them, smile at the bubs. The mums seem to notice there's a person beneath the appendage facade.

4. Appendages, however, do get to meet interesting people and hear interesting stories and find out about interesting things.

5. Appendages also get to eat cake. And chocolate biscuits. Chocolate biscuits make up for a lot.


To be honest, (not that I wasn't earlier), it has actually been a pretty cool placement and I have learnt a lot overall. It's always a privilege to get a little window into people's lives - whether it's other workers, clients, whatever. The service is a mental health one that helps mums with their bubs, and you hear a lot of hard stories and see some tough stuff, but you know what really stands out? That people are people no matter where they've been or what they're going through or the label that's plastered all over their file. And here the staff are really good at seeing that.

Also, less than two weeks till holidays! I will miss the people, and especially I'll wonder how all the clients end up going, but am pretty excited for freedom.

yay :)

Peace on a Page

I've been reading this book called Wildwood: A Journey through Trees by Roger Deakin, and it is one of the most suprisingly peace-inducing books I have ever read!
The whole book is literally about trees.. stories about forests, birds, fields, streams, cicadas, wood-loving people.. Hard to describe, but it's amazing. Beautiful things, beautiful places. So calmly descriptive; gently reflective. Little forays into an alternate reality with all the time in the world to watch a rook, or bluebells grow. It's funny, even just carrying it around gives a touch of stillness inside. (yes I admit it, I'm weird like that).

Here's a taste-test for you:

"Why do I sleep outdoors? Because of the sound of the random dripping of rain off the maples or ash trees over the roof of the railay wagon, or the hopping of a bird on the wet felt of the roof, or the percussion of a twig against the stell stove-chimney. Out there, I hear the yawn of the wind in the trees along Cowpasture Lane. I feel in touch with the elements in a way I never do indoors.

Sleeping one time in Burgate Wood on the moated island of the old hall, I put my cheek against the loam and the cool ground ivy. When I closed my eyes I saw the iceberg depths of the wood's root-world. Walking there, picking my way through the trees, I had thought of it as perpendicular until I lay down and entered the ground-world. This is the part of a wood that only reveals itself occasionally after a big storm, when the trees have keeled over and the roots are thrown suddenly upright, clutching earth and stones.

How deep do roots go?"


I usually finish prac just before the sun sets, and it's been nice catching glimpses of it as I ride home, the rapidly cooling air whipping at my throat, crunching over red and yellowed leaves, the light drawing shadows long and blushing-colouring the streets and trees. It's nice that autumn comes, even in town - amongst the brick buildings sheafs of powerlines, stretches of grimy bitumen, howling cars. Nice to notice it.

Hero with a Thousand Faces..

I can't remember who wrote the book, but Gil based the creative writing night stuff on Carl Jung's work on archetypes, and the book Hero with a Thousand Faces. Ah, here we go: written by James Campbell, a "seminal work in comparative mythology".

Above is a diagram showing a format for "the hero's journey" which Gil took us through. It's by a dude called Vogler who based his diagram/thinking on Campbell's one (shown below). I stole them both from here (the dude writing about them isn't so keen on the idea, but I like it..). Basically the deal Campbell's on about is that most stories that "work" (and the broad scheme of myths & mythologies) have a hero that is shoved out of his ordinary world and into an adventure! He is challenged and learns stuff and changes along the way.. and ends up back in the ordinary world but with the tools to redeem it.. I don't think it's necessarily the only way to have a good story, but it does seem to work, and crop up quite a bit! And it's cool.. I guess, in the simplest form it ties in with what we were all taught about stories and plot in school - setting, complication, resolution etc..

Anyway, whichever way you look at it, stories are cool, and myths are awesome. I wanna read more myths! Anyone got a favourit one??

Place Sketch

One of the exercises from the creative writing night Gil ran for FEAST. Pretty crappy effort here but twas fun!!

Hey! Food! The succulent scent of stale mouldering coffee grinds, spicy souring milk, buttery sugar-crusted muffins.. There's a chip! Mm, salt. Crispy smooth. Rich and biting whiff of... possum! Wheeeeeeeee! Tracking down the cobbled path, sunshine glinting off the garbage, skirting leaf-littered puddles.
Another whiff! A tree, rough-stripped bark offering bleached white limbs. Lost it.Wait - a dull roar - claws tapping on cold concrete, through swinging doors, a rowdy room. Babbling confusion of tiered pale faces, avalanche of sweat and spice and sickening sweetness. Humans! Time to play! Leap the steps, lick salty knees.
The rumble ebbs, silence descends. No one looking, no one touching.
Woman down the front glares, face pointed, bears down...
I turn and frisk away.

How to Wash a Tractor (and turn into a mud monster) in Four Easy Steps

1. Using some sort of pressurised hose, blow the dust out of the cab. Whirlwind created - cough, splutter and thank your lucky stars you're not asthmatic. Dust settles in cab again. Repeat.

2. Hose down tractor. Be sure to choose a nice bit of un-grassed dirt to wash the tractor on, and don't bother about finding a fitting to go on the end of the hose. This way you can splatter water all over yourself as well as the tractor, and turn the ground into mud which can splatter up your legs (as well as sludgifying the dust which had already settled on your person).

3. Wash down the windows. With soap. And a towel. The soap bubbles run down your arms really smoothly, and the streaks of lather make a nice addition to your costume.

4. Spray more water, everywhere, just to finish things off with a bang. Also should have mentioned earlier: don't bother wearing gumboots - joggers soak up the muddy water so effectively.


BUT FINALLY, the Question we all want an answer to?!: HOW did I grow up on a farm and not learn to drive a tractor?!??

Inconceivable.

One of these days this must be remedied.

Days in the sun..

So lots of cool stuff has been happening lately.
I had a birthday - which in itself is not actually very exciting, but I did feel very loved - man, all these sweet people in my world!
I slept in, had delicious midday breakfast, got FREE bubble milk tea, and went to a trivia fundraiser thing and won a sports kit - soccer ball, frisbee, bat and stumps!! Winning things is fun, I think it's the first time I've ever won anything in a raffle!

The next day I made lanterns and pie, and had a party. That was great. The lanterns actually worked, and only one of them caught itself on fire - and that wasn't till near the end!! hehe. I wish I had more photos of the night -  it looked so pretty; all these golden glowing prisms, flickering candles and torches, surrounded by the shadowy nightforest..

On Sunday I biked into town with a couple of friends and we went to the people's coal port blockade. I'd never been before, so thought I'd check it out. The whole coal thing is a pretty tricky issue, but I am becoming more & more convinced that there must just be better ways of living and making money.. The coal dust sucks, the country being dug up and wrecked sucks, let alone stuffing the atmosphere.. hmm.
Also it was a gorgeous day, and paddling around the port in the sparkling water was just sub-lime.

Sweet pic by Em's friend Pas

Lastly we had community gathering, I went to dinner with excellent soccer buddies, and then the uni week was back on!

One of these days I shall do a really nice and together-ish post - for now, hope you enjoyed the random happenings!

Playdoh and Prostitutes

So today in class we had 6 hours of group presentations. Yes, you read it correctly - 6 HOURS. And a total of one break, not included in the 6 HOURS. bleerrrrrrrrrrgggghhh.
To be honest, it could have been worse! People did make an effort to make things interesting - we got to play with playdoh (create-your-own public art!), we were bribed with chocolate (always a winner), we heard about the Newcastle Lockout (only 3 times), the legalised prostitution debate (interesting..), disability policy, Cessnock & Tidy Towns, Place-making in Newcastle, and more..
I managed (just) to stay awake for all of it, and got a letter written into the bargain.

Here's one of the playdoh artworks:

We did the Pasha Bulka for ours - Alyssa's amazing ship and my tiny starfish-like people were pretty incredible! But as there's no photographic evidence, you'll just have to take my word for it..

Multiple Methods of Freezing, or - Stories from Guilin, China

The first very excellent way to freeze is to arrive at 4:30am.

Apparently it was about 3 degrees, but I could have sworn it was below zero! Pitch-black and we stumbled off the bus bleary-eyed, hoping we hadn't forgotten anything, fighting our way through the committed gaggle of taxi drivers and hotel emissaries who homed straight in on us tourists. We had thought we were going to arrive about an hour later, which had seemed much more palatable at the time.. nevertheless, we strode off down the street, attempting to look like we knew where we were going.
We found a little eating house, and charged in hopefully. The owner was about to close (he had been open all night) but graciously extended his hours just for us. We ordered a mountain of food (including the most delicious frog porridge you could ever imagine - frog, I know right?!!) and slowly munched our way through, gradually warming from the inside out. Freeze beaten! At least for the moment..

Another very excellent way to freeze is to go on a raft trip. We had bussed our way down to the little touristy town of Yangshuo - surrounded by those towering rocky peaks the Guilin area is famous for - and as a raft is just the best way to view those peaks, well, a raft it was going to be. We ended up with a raft-woman ( I think her husband was at lunch!), climbed into her little roofed vehicle, and off we went. On the way down the winding river we were too entranced by the soaring landscape to much notice the cold. Helen made friends with the raft lady  and she stopped at the farthest point of our journey so that we could get off and take pictures. She really got into the photographer role, directing us around - face here, face there, even getting Jasmine to pretend to pole the raft by herself!
The only drawback was that on the way back an icy breeze blew up, and having no new scenery to distract us we merely sat shivering pitifully, sitting on our hands to keep them from solidifying into meaty iceblocks.

A final very effective way is to go bike-riding. Now riding in winter is really not so bad for the core of the body, but those poor extremities, like arms and hands and feet and face - they do not appreciate this. Pedalling along, swapping hands from pockets to handlebars (I am not quite coordinated enough to ride completely hands-free, sadly), face numbly expressionless. But you know what? It was a beautiful ride - cruising down the road with those postcard peaks rising on both sides, passing roadside stalls, over bridges, visiting a lurid-lit 'Dragon Cave' and a hilariously awful 'Native culture experience', and just riding on, watching the mist swirl. So worth it.

Finally - hot ginger tea. It makes everything better. That is all.

Favourite Thailand Times

..in no particular order.

-Watching tiny baby Piccolo, Dee's latest addition to the family, pulling tiny baby faces.

-Riding an elephant through the jungle, and then rafting down a gorgeous misty little river afterwards.

-Our last night at Sankla children's home: Games with the kids, communal outdoor hotpot (big steaming pots of broth over fires, in which we cooked meats and vegies and noodles), watching the kids play with glowsticks, singalong by a bonfire.

-Completing a nice long chunk of fence.

-Visiting a family Dee was helping out during the flooding, and unexpectedly being treated to a lovely Thai feast.

-Singing and sharing in the evenings at Dee's house.

-Helping with the big Sunday cookup, kitchen humming with activity, mortar and pestle beating away..

-Dee's amazing, varied, endlessly trumpeting laugh (no reason required).

-eating.(and more: eating.)

-Crazy scootering around Samed Island (I didn't die, or kill anyone, so it's all good.)

-Watching the gorgeous Mocha dance.

You may have figured this was a kinda different Thailand trip to many!