It’s been 4 1/2 days, and we haven’t stopped. The trip culminating today with a climb on the Great Wall of China – as we made it to tower 23 there were cheers and smiles all round, even exchanged by strangers. Such a feeling of satisfaction and achievement. It was breathtaking – in both senses of the word.
I have travelled a lot, and this experience rates amongst the best for me so far.
We have arrived and embarked on our first eating out attempt today.
We were doing well thinking we ordered chicken. But when it got to our table, I suspected we had ordered intestines. I’m ok with food, but not offal!
This gallery contains 13 photos.
On the weekend of the 2nd of December, my partner Denis, my dog Kahlua, and Den’s kids – Chelsea and Mason, and myself hit the road for the 8 hour drive to Kalgoorlie. It was the kids first trip to … Continue reading
I left Kalgoorlie 24 years ago, but it’s amazing how much like home it still feels to me.
The Old House, 24 years later - Hard to believe it's still standing
It’s a pleasant realisation, as I sit here reminiscing about the weekend spent revisiting my roots, catching up with family, and sharing the experience (and the 8 hour drive each way) with my partner Denis, his 2 kids, and my dog Kahlua.
So much to see on the one, long road to Kalgoorlie...
[In case you don't know, Kalgoorlie is a large goldfields town, famed for its gold rush history, infamous Hay Street, old buildings, interesting characters, pubs, present day gold mining (of course) and red dirt.
Mining in Kalgoorlie
(I tell you now, it took us years after having left Kalgoorlie to get rid of the layers of red dirt over everything!).]
Why is it a pleasant realisation?
After two weekends in a row spent away – the first at the coastal town of Yallingup, 4 hours from Perth, and the second, 8 hours away in Kalgoorlie – it becomes so much more apparent to me that I love this country, especially for its diversity – the people, the cultures and its landscape. [Seriously, I never thought I would ever appreciate the red dirt and intensity of the bush...especially being a pale, red-head with freckles who can burn after 10 minutes in the Aussie sun!]
Deep down, I think I am a country girl at heart.
You can take the girl out of the country...
Do you still have a connection with where you lived when you were younger?
Today’s guest post in ‘The Beauty of Difference’ series is from Samantha Bangayan, a Canadian freelance-writer, editor, translator and creator the blog ‘What Little Things’.
“All differences in this world are of degree, and not of kind, because oneness is the secret of everything.”
– Swami Vivekananda
I have always felt different. I think we all do at times.
My parents moved to Canada when I was only 6 months old. Like typical immigrants, our household became a mesh of generations and cultures: Chinese (blood), Filipino (birth), and Canadian (environment).
A First Taste Of Canada, Photo by Samantha Bangayan
Though I was an immigrant baby growing up amidst the immigrant community of Vancouver, I never seemed to fit snugly into a group. Some immigrants were highly conservative while others were too liberal for me. My parents added an extra layer of complexity as they were a rather odd, inexplicable mix of both extremities. I have never found the right balance among my values: respect for elders, community responsibilities, familial honor, independence, autonomy, and freedom.
Maybe that’s what encouraged me to travel – to force myself to stop running around in circles and instead, find the openness to learn more about others and myself.
A First Taste Of Japan - Photo by SamanthaBangayan
I was surprised by how the same we all are. My Thai dorm-mate in Japan pondered the meaning of life with me. The American who has lived for four years here in Peru has a family member with a developmental disorder too and misses him just the same.
A First Taste Of Peru - Photo by Samantha Bangayan
What I’m growing to realize is that there will always be moments that we feel different from each other no matter how similar we are in ethnicity, education, culture, or any other facet. But this never has to result in barriers because there is also always something we can find in common with another even if just as human beings.
I imagine humans on different pages of a book that can be read left-to-right (like how you’re reading this right now) but also right-to-left (such as in Arabic, Hebrew, Chinese, and Japanese). There is no beginning or end, no positive or negative poles, and we move through the pages, back-and-forth, writing our stories in life’s big book as we learn, grow, and develop.
An event may put us on the same page as someone we originally thought to be so different from us. Similarities and differences remain. That’s what makes us individuals. It’s what makes each of us so unique.
If you would like to be a part of ‘The Beauty of Difference’ series, please contact me at janine.ripper@gmail.com.
I would love to share your story.
One of my main goals for 2011 was to put my health first, and to not go through another year constantly stressed, with recurrent colds, stomach upsets and endless fatigue.
If you have followed me at all this year, you would know that I tanked so badly at it, it’s not funny.
BUT
I must give myself some credit for noticing the error of my ways before 2011 ticked over to 2012 – and a few months early at that!
Quitting the old job, going part-time in the new job, eating better, seeing a naturopath, commencing light exercise, pushing back on…everything…Sure I went a bit too hard with the whole ‘changing my life thing’ to start with, but I do now believe that I am heading towards a more balanced life.
Which brings me to last weekend, where I took some time out. On Friday I drove to Yallingup, a coastal town about 4 hours south of Perth, to spend a long weekend with some of my family, notably my sister-in-law Rachel, and my beautiful nieces Charlotte – 3 – and Emily – 8 months.
Yallingup beach
I had the best time hitting the road by myself, allowing the country and ocean air to successfully rid my brain of its cobwebs.
It was wonderful eating great food and spending some quality time with my sister, brother and their friends.
My brother Luke and I
It was relaxing spending a girly night with my sister-in-law watching ‘chick flicks’.
It was absolutely joyous just being with my nieces, especially little Charlotte who has succeeded in stealing my heart.
My niece Charlotte and I
And it was satisfying spending time with my man (who joined us a day later) and my camera (I took 140 photos in the first day).
I thoroughly enjoyed the time out from my day-to-day life, from chores, from the internet (I even managed to go internet and computer-less throughout the entire weekend), from my brain and stress…I even managed to get a healthy dose of Vitamin D!
Sun, surf and sand - Yalingup
I vow to myself to do this more from now. Lucky for me there’s another road trip planned this coming weekend! On Friday Denis and I hit the road, on a 7 hour drive to Kalgoorlie with his 2 kiddies and our dog. From breathtaking beaches one weekend to the striking vastness of a mining town. It is with this thought that I realise I really do love this country after all.
The long country road to Kalgoorlie
I have incredibly itchy feet at the moment – and it’s been building for a while. I mean, I haven’t been overseas at all this year! Unbelievable!
Yes, it could be worse, but seeing that travel is my number #1 passion, I’m suffering from a bit of travel blues (those that have travelled would know exactly what I’m talking about).
This will probably make things worse, but today I am going to share with you some of my favourite travel pics.
Hawaii
Sacre Coeur, Paris
Singapore Botanic Gardens
Lalepa Island, Vanuatu
As she stepped from the bus she felt the warmth on her face. She looked up, eyes closed, to bask in the feeling.
At that moment she felt nervous…excited…scared…free.
She was jolted back to reality by the honk of a horn as the bus drove away, covering her and her suitcase in a plume of dust and smoke.
She coughed and smiled. Not even that could dampen her spirits…which was a change as before she left, she was becoming increasingly agitated by everything…even the sounds of people chewing food in the office.
It had been a long time since she had felt so unencumbered. It was like the shackles had been removed from her life.
She looked down the road for the last signs of the bus…a smoke trail tapering off into the distance.
This was it.
She reached down and grabbed the suitcase handle, thankful to have opted for one on wheels…and set off up the quaint path in front of her.
She had wanted this for so long. What had taken her so long?
There was no point on dwelling on what might have been, about what experiences had been missed…there was the present…and that’s all that mattered.
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Today’s stunning post in ‘The Beauty of Difference’ series comes to you from Marie Loerzel. Maria is an American living and travelling in Morocco for 2 years with her husband and 4 children. She writes humorous tales of the trials, tribulations and adventures of raising kids in a foreign land at Rock The Kasbah.
Please do check out Marie’s blog – it is inspirational, but I do warn that it may cause a recurrence of the travel bug.
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She is waiting for us. Her face is seasoned with wrinkles from years of the unforgiving Moroccan sun. A powder blue djellaba drapes over her sturdy body. She offers no formalities when she pulls out her needle. She simply points at its destination and I nod in approval. She she readies her instrument and I see it, the stain.
The paste is thick and the times she’s mixed the henna, untold. But the stain it has made on her hands details the story. When she was a young, girls went to school until age 11. By that time she’d learned all a Moroccan girl needed to know. A woman’s education began at home. That’s where they learned their craft, from the generations of women who came before them. Tradition was their tutelage.
Henna, Photo by Marie Nikodem Loerzel
Her back crouched as her deft and nimble hands festooned my daughter’s arm. Flowers and leaves bloom from her syringe. Her art is effortless and organic. My oldest daughter, age 10, sits transfixed. In another time she might have been her apprentice, destined to be marked by what society has chosen for her. Instead, she’s a customer and henna is a evanescent beauty that she will try on like a party dress.
Henna Hands, Photo by Marie Nikodem Loerzel
When the henna woman is finished, I give her a donation. She is too humble to put a price on her work. She accepts it with a silent grace. The paste must sit on the skin untouched for up to two hours. The longer the henna penetrates, the deeper the color and the longer the tatoo will remain. My daughter must be mindful not to smear the delicate design. As it dries her skin begins to itch and the henna delivers a subtle sting. She flakes it off anxiously, happy to see that some of the orange arabesque remains, however faint.
Ember Hands, Photo by Marie Nikodem Loerzel
I wonder what the henna woman dreamed of when she was 10. Did she want to be a dentist or a veterinarian? If she had the choice, would she have chosen to be the henna woman? As I look at my two girls who have the world before them I can’t help but think. What will they choose? Who will they become? I’m grateful to the generations of women who have come before who laid the foundation for my daughters to live their life unstained by society’s expectations of who or what they can be.
If you would like to help girls in the remote High Atlas Mountains of Morocco get an education please visit: http://www.educationforallmorocco.org/
Today I am sharing a memory. The photo is a bit old-looking, as it has been scanned in from an actual printed photo (those were the days!).
This was taken in 2001, at the start of my 1st-ever trip to Europe. In fact, I had only ever left Australia to go to Singapore (5 hour flight from Perth), so this trip was HUGE and was what I had dreamt about for years.
My friends Nigel, Karina and I had just checked in to a hostel in Milan – of which we were to find out was run by a wanna-be drill-seargent (that’s a whole other tale). On finding our way to the subway, like rabbits in a spot-light, we arose from the subway tunnel to be greeted by this.
Duomo, Milan, Italy
The photo doesn’t do it justice. To this day, nothing compares. The memory still takes my breath away.