The evening of Friday 15 August was an absurdly funny one.    The occasion – dinner at mum’s to celebrate her partner Peter’s name day.

According to the Greek Orthodox tradition when someone is named after a saint or martyr that day becomes their “name day”.  This happens on most days and is celebrated with a feast fit for a King………. and the entire King’s army………and the King’s enemies and the enemy’s army.

My curious nature led me to this ask the question.  What the blazes is a ‘name day’ ? For that matter what does MY name day mean –St Katherine’s Day.

History tells us that Katherine of Alexandria, a smart and beautiful women (and no, I am not making this up) declared to her parents that she would only marry someone who surpassed her in everything, such that “His beauty was more radiant than the shining of the sun, His wisdom governed all creation, His riches were spread throughout all the world.”

Katherine was obviously a smart lady when it came to the dating world.  She wanted the best of everything - looks, wealth and intelligence.  Being named after Katherine isn’t so bad so far…. But then a horrible twist…..
Katherine visited her contemporary Roman Emperor Maxentius who was a persecutor of Christians to try and convince him of the error of his ways.  The Emperor didn’t take to kindly to Katherine’s convictions so he ordered her imprisonment and she was ultimately condemned to death on the breaking wheel – an instrument of torture.

So let me get this right, I am named after a woman who was tortured on some sort of giant wheel by a maniacal roman emperor who had a problem with smart women and the Greeks decided this was worth celebrating?  And I thought the Emperor was crazy!………. well now that I am satisfied with the outcome of my name day research let me get back on track regarding the absurd evening.

I was reluctant to go to this name day dinner.  Mum had been experiencing some computer problems that she wanted my partner Julian to look at so we thought we would pop in just to say hello, fix the computer and do a quick exit stage left.

I should have known it wasn’t going to be that easy.  We turned up at mum’s to be greeted by a group of her  friends that I didn’t know.  If you have read my other blog, The baby down pour, you would know how I feel about attending ‘rituals’ such as weddings, christening and baby showers.

Just to bring some complexity into the evening, Julian is on an elimination diet due to a suspected food allergy.  This means he is on a very strict diet which allows for no deviation. It’s bad enough when you are on a diet and going to a function but when that function is Greek it’s unacceptable – it will be talked about for many years.  You are forever a leper in the eyes of the Greeks.

When I saw that mum had put on an extravagant spread on I knew there was no quick exit to be had.  I took mum aside and explained that Julian couldn’t eat anything.  ‘What about ‘salad, I have prepared a nice salad just for Julian, its got rocket, parsley and lettuce’, she asked. ‘No’ mum, Julian can’t have rocket.’ ‘What about tuna?’  ‘No mum, no tuna!’

This was going to be awkward.

I am convinced mum has some sort of obsessive compulsive question disorder as she asked me if I wanted something from every dish, ‘’would you like some olive bread?  Or how about a slice of split-vienna?’  I eyed the 20 varieties of bread in disbelief; no doubt my mother had covered all bases.

One of my mum’s friends offered me some wine - lambrusco from a casket, hmmm how charming.  I declined politely even though I was tempted to explain about the abomination of lambrusco.

The barbeque was working at full capacity, every type of animal and its organs were on offer,  fish, pork, shrimp, beef, liver, Cypriot sausage. I refer to the Greek BBQ as cancer on a stick – the meat isn’t ready until it’s black.  I read somewhere that the Greek diet is one of the healthiest, whoever said this were obviously vegetarian.

My mum continued firing off “would you like questions”- ‘would you like some feta? It’s been marinated with oregano and olive oil, what about some grass?’  Now let me explain for all of you non-Greek folk. I am referring to leafy green boiled vegetables (not of the illegal type).  They are quite bitter and often served with lemon juice and olive oil.

Poor Julian, I could see him out of the corner of my eye, drooling over my Cypriot sausage and marinated feta.  Then, more “would you like questions continue” – ‘How about I prepare Julian an iceberg lettuce salad?  Just lettuce, he can eat lettuce cant he?’ Then the explosion from me, ‘mum, Julian will EAT AT HOME, and stop asking me if I want this and that, I can see what is on the table, I can SEE and if I want something I will just help myself!’

The guests fell silent, unusual for Greeks but I knew I had gone too far.  A few glasses of lambrusco down the hatch might not be such a bad idea right now; instead I stuff a big chunk of Cypriot sausage in my mouth.

Slowly I devoured my plate of Greek-all sorts.  There is magic at work at a Greek feast, your plate is never empty, somehow it always refills itself.  It’s a miracle. ‘Come on eat, you’re too skinny’, exclaimed one of the guests, ‘you are a growing girl you need to eat’.  Um hello, I am a 5 7” 35 year old women, I am not sure which direction he thinks I need to grow.

By this time Julian is so hungry he’s monosyllabic.  A childhood memory pops into my head unexpectedly. When I was a child and I used to get bored visiting family friends, I would kick my mum under the table to hint that I wanted to leave without attracting attention.  I thought it was a clever and subtle tactic but I was wrong.  Everyone knew I was kicking my mum under the table.  Julian gave me a look that was equivalent to a kick from under the table but no one saw it expect for the ginger cat from next door that had come to scope out any leftovers.  Judging by the size of Mr Ginger’s waistline, he quite enjoyed his visits here and I suspected Mr Ginger would never kick anyone under the table.

On the way home as I carefully balanced a big plate full of food on my knees, I reflected upon the evening.  Are Greeks really celebrating a name day or is just an excuse to eat more food and drink bad wine.

The first of the families had arrived at the settlement camp 10 days ago, the young girl had been exploring the unfamiliar terrain and unusual rock formations, noticing the strange dull brown dirt and the green hues of sparse low lying plant life.  What an odd planet.  She had spied a small cave a few days ago and was reluctant to investigate it but like all young children eventually the temptation of the unknown grew too strong and she could no longer resist.  Scientists from her home planet had established that there was no life here other than ground cover plants that the advanced missions had seeded, and certainly no alien life. The popular media had called it the dead planet with good reason.  The girl slowly walked into the cave, confident that no cyclops alien monster would appear.

It took a while for her eyes to adjust to the dark, it smelt dry and dusty not at all like the caves back on her home planet which smelt damp. She looked at the walls and wondered how they formed; she guessed the scientists would soon undertake geological research to find out more about the rock formations. Disappointed, but not surprised at discovering nothing, the girl imagined herself stumbling upon some green slimy alien creature and how famous she would be, the girl who found alien life on the dead planet.  But after seeing nothing that moved, she decided it was time to head back to camp when a smooth part of wall caught her attention. Standing out amongst the rest of the uneven surface there was a faint outline of some kind of shape.  The girl traced the outline of the shape with her finger – it was almost a triangle. Knowing what her mother would say if she came home covered in dirt she used the bottom corner of her jacket to wipe away the dust revealing some kind of symbols inside the triangle.  Was this the green alien or at least the home of the green alien she had hoped she might find?

Over the last 10 years the young girl had had watched her planet die, the last of the fossil fuels had been used, world-wide war, mass carnage, extinction of animal and plant species.  The breakdown of the society was so rapid that it was hard to believe that billions of years of evolution could be undone in decades.

There had been warnings of a planetary energy crisis but no one had listened, alternative energy including nuclear fusion, solar power and hot air travel were all considered but by the time people actually realized that the colour of their couch was not a priority it was too late for any action.

100 years ago scientists had researched a planet over 50 million miles away that if seeded with plant life and given an atmosphere, life would survive and maybe in time even flourish.  Teraforming had been surprisingly easy, the planet had responded well to all efforts to make it livable, a process further hastened by the concerted efforts of a very frightened population.

The young girl’s family had joined the first migration group comprised of mainly scientists, researchers and those with enough money to pay for an early escape.   Once the families had settled and infrastructures were in place the plan was to transfer more and more people to the new planet before their home became superheated and unlivable.

Following the girls discovery in the cave, researchers and historians came in large numbers to study the mysterious symbol that the young girl had discovered. It seemed to all that the dead planet hadn’t always been dead, at some point creatures with bodies, languages, symbols and lives much like their own had existed here long ago. They too had damaged their planet, and been forced to leave to survive. They had called this planet Earth and had fled for the girl’s home planet, a place called Mars, now their ancestors had returned home without realising it was home. How many times had they destroyed their home planet, left for another, and then returned many millennia later and made this discovery? Once? Twice, or always?

As a child I remember we always had a container of neapolitan ice-cream in the freezer.  There was always a thin strip of chocolate on one side, a thin strip of strawberry on the other and the thickest strip in the middle – vanilla.

The vanilla ice-cream was always left behind – a lump in the middle looking so very pathetic and isolated I remember making a pact with my friends, let’s never become like adults; adults are boring they always like vanilla ice-cream….

It’s true, one moment adults are wearing bell bottom jeans the next minute they are wearing beige or if you want to pretend beige is an interesting colour you may refer to it as ‘ecru’.

As I grew older I forgot about my childhood pact and my taste buds grew accustomed to the taste of vanilla.  I was introduced to the Greek vanilla spoon dessert – a small nugget of sweet dense vanilla eaten while being dunked in water translated in English this dessert is called the ‘submarine’.

Vanilla is uninspiring and safe, you know this as a child but as you grow your life becomes submerged just like the Greek vanilla dessert- the ‘submarine’.

The source of all things vanilla - Eros versus Thanatos

Psychology can provide a useful insight into the source of a vanilla life.

In Freudian psychology, humans are pulled by two opposing forces. Eros, the Greek God of love, who represents energy, richness and the desire to create life.  Eros drives our goals, creativity and challenges our boundaries.  In corner two we have Thanatos the Greek God of death who is the founder of negativity, resistance and all things vanilla. Eros battles against the destructive forces of Thanatos, and Thanatos battles against the creativity and energy of Eros.

As children we embrace our inner Eros and can’t see or feel the destructive forces of Thanatos. But as we get older Thanatos takes a greater hold on our lives and we stop making progress and cease embracing challenge.  Somehow, slowly, ever so slowly while we weren’t looking we become more and more conservative.  Why?

We learn from a young age that boundaries exist – the older we get the more boundaries there seem to be. You can’t do this, you can’t do that, and you certainly can’t do the other. Do we increasingly define our lives by boundaries?

Perhaps we are too busy worrying about our weaknesses and failings rather than focusing on developing our strengths?

Maybe we just feel content and safe within our vanilla boundaries – why risk failure or damaging our mature and secure sense of selves by challenging ourselves?

Let’s explore the vanilla concept with an example.

A well known middle aged runner ‘Victoralias’ intends to run sustained 3 minute kms.  (10 kilometers in half an hour) Over a year ago Victoralias posted a thread titled how long to run sustained 3 minute km on a popular running Australian forum which caused a scandal.

Take the following comments for example:

“I think Victoralias is doing great, and I wish I had his ability.  But if I had his ability I would be satisfied in my personal improvements, and would not feel the need to state outlandish goals to all and sundry. Humility generates respect.”

And this:

“I wish him well but reality and his performances tells me that he is setting himself up for failure….  I also think that people can be over supportive and are contributing to his sense of under-performing, when realistically he is actually doing well for a 40+ year of limited distance running”

“I just hope he is not one of these people who never really achieves anything because he always sets unrealistic goals.”

Notice how some people tend to pad out their negativity with insincere well-meaning comments but you can easily read between the lines.

Then we move onto the more aggressive comments:

“ if you can’t ‘bring it……then ’sit-down shut-up and get back in your box’.”

Comments like this suggest that:

1. people get angry when they hear about goals that they perceive to be unrealistic or overly aspirational- they consider it a sign of arrogance (or commonly known in some countries as Tall Poppy Syndrome)
2. people  generally don’t like the idea of others achieving something exceptional
3. people should be satisfied with their personal achievements when they reach a certain level that is perceived to be ‘acceptable’.

By now you might be asking what this has to do with a vanilla life, neapolitan ice-cream and beige -or ‘ecru’.  Well here is my theory.

These comments represent the barriers and negative forces that you would expect from your old friend Thanatos - they impose and perpetuate self limiting thoughts.  Boundaries are described by using words like ‘unrealistic goals’ or ‘failure’.  Remember it’s safe to stay within our limits – you can’t possibly do this can you? - Why do we always like to tell people they can’t do things!    It’s almost always the first thing we think about isn’t it?

I am not suggesting for one moment that we should all set truly unrealistic goals like teaching a dog how to speak Russian, French and German and certainly don’t believe that the answer lies within the absurdity of ‘The Secret’.

We should not kill someone else’s spirit or passion just because we think it’s not technically within the ‘vanilla’ mind set.   So what if people are over-inspirational.  Where would we be today if it wasn’t for people that pushed the boundaries?  Isn’t it those boundary pushing beliefs that make successful people get out of bed each morning?

Should we stop exploring or challenging ourselves with the near impossible?  What would happen if we didn’t push ourselves?  Should we become boring and predictable and go with the mindset that ‘humility generates respect’?    Or should we respectfully challenge the status quo instead?

Here is the vanilla test – how do you score?

1. When you go to a restaurant do you tend to eat what you have previously eaten?
2. Would you be prepared to appear in public dressed as the opposite sex?
3. Would you give up your hobbies, passions or goals when you get married?
4. Are you suspicious of people from other races, cultures or sexual preferences?
5. When was the last time you challenged yourself or did something that terrified you?
6. Who is the better film maker Steven Spielberg or Stanley Kubrick?
7. Don’t read any further if you do not know who Stanley Kubrick is.
8. Would you rather be an unacknowledged genius (Van Gough) or rich and famous talentless celebrity? (Paris Hilton).
9. Would you prefer to live in a 1930s Art Deco house or a modern housing estate?
10. Who do you prefer Superman or Batman?
11. Do you have a standard panoramic photograph of a waterfall, landscape, seascape or cityscape on your wall?
12. Please please stop reading now if you have one of these panoramic photographs with a cliché phrase under it.
13. Who killed JFK- the CIA, Lee Harvey Oswald or aliens for the planet Zerkton?

Fresh from Africa and thirsty for more travel, we took our next opportunity to travel during the Easter break – destination Thailand.  Julian booked some cheap airfares with Jetstar and Brunei Airways including stopovers in Brisbane then Brunei and the same on the return trip home. Sounded like a good plan at the time.

Julian always plans our holidays, he thrives on organising and scheduling so you can imagine my surprise when we turned up at the wrong airport….

Our Jetstar flight was due to leave Melbourne at 9.30pm so off we drove to Melbourne airport with passports, tickets, luggage and that all important excited holiday feeling.  Hindsight is a wonderful thing; all the signs were there now that I look back:

• sign number one – empty bus from long term parking to terminal
• sign number two - empty terminal

A Jetstar employee approached us at the terminal and asked where we were going.  Thailand idiot, where do you think we are going? I thought to myself.  Instead I responded, ‘Melbourne to Brisbane, are we the only ones travelling?’  ‘Um’, replied Jetstar Matt, ‘your plane is actually leaving from Avalon airport in Geelong.  But it’s OK; you are not the first ones to do this, oh and by the way you won’t make your flight, it’s too late.’

Jetstar Matt’s was clearly joking.  I was looking around for Ashton Kutcher and hidden cameras.  Unfortunately there was no one around to say Punkd, or Smile you’re on candid camera. Instead Jetstar Matt checked our tickets as though that would help the situation.  Julian and I were stunned silent and couldn’t really think straight.  We toyed with the idea of trying to rush out to Avalon airport but then figured there was probably no point.  I wasn’t too keen on being one of those late people running like crazy to catch a flight.

There was nothing we could do so instead of being one of those late crazy people running to catch a flight we were now one of those stupid people that went to the wrong airports and missed their flight. I tried not to take it out on Julian but it wasn’t long before I exploded ‘how could you not check the tickets!’ Blah blah blah, rah rah rah yada yada yada and on I went all the way home.

The thing about Julian is that he never gives up and will always find a solution.   He decided to forge on with the holiday and booked a different flight directly to Bangkok the very next day…..   Problem solved $700 later.  Little did we know that our travel dramas did not end there.

We had 8 days to spend in Thailand and we made the most of it visiting Chiang Mai followed by a few days in Bangkok.

If you asked what I most enjoyed about Thailand I would have to say the coconut ice cream.  I took every opportunity to eat this divine food and the best place to indulge in this was a colourful and charming little restaurant in Bangkok called Harmonique.  The coconut ice cream served with fresh mango was so popular that we had to order it at the start of our meal and put it on hold until dessert.

A taxi driver offered his daily services to us in Chiang Mai, for two days we drove around and explored the city.  It wasn’t long before we realized that our taxi driver received bonus payments for taking us to certain places but we didn’t really care after all everyone has to make a living.  The only thing we didn’t enjoy was the carpet shops and the monkey training school.

By the time I walked into my second carpet shop I knew how the routine was going to go.  A sleazy suited up young guy with shiny black shoes was going to greet me at the door with a cold drink and an offer to take me on Persian treasure tour beyond my wildest dreams.  It would start with silk fabrics and bedspreads, antique ornaments and finally the piece de resistance the magic carpet.   Let me say I am not particularly taken with the idea of spending thousands of dollars on a Persian carpet no matter how much of a fine piece of artistry it is.  Mr Shiny Shoes went to painstaking extremes to sell his carpets, he swirled them in the air and spun them around on the floor so you could see the brilliant colours in different light. Finally he would send the carpet skidding across the wooden floor boards so it would land dramatically assuming this would seal the deal.  The best I could offer was ‘wow your carpets really do look like flying carpets’ or ‘you certainly don’t get this experience at Carpet Court back in Australia.’

Frustrated in not making a sale, he asked, ‘we have many many beautiful things here, is there not something beautiful you would like?’  ‘No’, I replied, ‘I have already bought many beautiful things today.’  ‘What beautiful things have you bought today?’ was his next question.  ‘Well’, I replied ‘I bought um some paintings, yes paintings and some jewellery.’  This wasn’t a total lie - I had bought a bracelet from a market stall for $2.00.

The monkey training school was far worse than the Persian carpet experience.  I had a bad feeling before we entered the place.  I was confronted by couple of glum looking Colobus monkeys staring out of their tiny little prison.

Inside there were about 20 monkeys individual tied up to one little metal stand each unable to move from their concrete floor.  Their only form of play- running around and around their metal pole.  The cheesy music blared out from the speakers indicating a monkey show was about to start.  The entire crowd howled with laughter as the little monkeys were made to do ridiculous and demeaning tricks. I watched the crowd in horror – could they not see that this was clearly violating animal rights?  I was so upset and left a couple of minutes into the show.

Another tourist saw me upset and mentioned the sign stating that the monkeys are taken away every day at 5pm to an open area.  ‘Are you a moron?’ I screamed at him.  Do you believe that every day at 5pm someone comes to take the monkeys away?  And even if they do are we supposed to feel better about what we are seeing here!’

I had been keen to visit the Elephant Nature Foundation but our driver took us to the Elephant camp instead.  I muttered and I mumbled as I watched the elephants painting pictures and spouting water through their trunks.  I apologized to my little elephant friend as I fed him some bananas and cane sugar.

My final animal experience was not a bad one and a much debated one from what I have read – the Tiger Temple in Kanchanburi.  I did not find the temple as bad as what I had expected; it’s hard to explain why, perhaps it was for purely selfish reasons, because patting a tiger was something I always wanted.  I can tell you this much, the environment may be not perfect but it’s a work in progress and the tigers are well looked after.

I wasn’t interested in standing in a line for an hour only to spend a minute patting a tiger so I insisted on getting their early to see if we would have any chance of having some real interaction with them.  This approach worked.  We arrived at 11.30am a couple of hours before the tiger show started.  Five or six young tigers were bought out of the cages to socialize and I was lucky to spend an hour patting and bottle feeding the younger cubs with a handful of other tourists.  I was amazed to see the tigers behaving like my dog, rolling over on their backs demanding a tummy rub.  What can I say about giving a tiger a tummy rub?  It’s much the same as patting a dog except a tiger has sharper claws and larger teeth!

What’s a visit to Thailand without a cooking course?
We put our culinary skills to the test at Smart Cook Thai Cookery School in Chiang Mai. The secret to a good red curry is measured by how sore you arms are.  The more your arms ache after constantly pounding chilies, the better your curry will be. Mac our host was the highlight of the course, not only did she manage to teach us how to make a mean spring roll but she also spiced up our meals with her enthusiasm and sense of humour.

If you recall the beginning of my story I mentioned our travel dramas had not ended.  Our time in Thailand was about to come to an end or so we thought.  We arrived at Bangkok airport with our passports, tickets, luggage and that all important I don’t want to go home feeling.  At least we had a night in Brunei to look forward to. However this was not the case according to the Brunei airways. The airline had cancelled our ticket because we had not checked in on the way to Bangkok so they assumed we were not going to fly return.  Since when did Brunei airways have an ‘assumption’ policy in place?

The upshot - no ticket and no way of getting home.

Julian came to the rescue and excitedly announced that we could spend another night and day in Bangkok and catch a direct flight home tomorrow night…..  Problem solved $700 later.

We decided to make the most of this misfortune and spent our last night at the Royal Orchid Sheraton and the next day Chatuchak market.

I am not really a huge fan of shopping these days but I enjoyed Chatuchak market.  I had to buy a cheap hat and fan and a huge bottle of water in the first 10 minutes but after a while the intense humidity must have triggered some shopping neurons because I was shopping and bargaining with the best of them.  Four hours later I had a big grin on my face when I calculated that I had bought an entire wardrobe for no more than $100.00.

And do you think the run of bad luck ended when we arrived back home?  No of course it didn’t because things happen in threes don’t they?  My luggage arrived but Julian’s didn’t and where were the keys to the car I ask?  Not in Julian’s hand luggage where they should have been, they were in his check in luggage.  The rest of the story involves swearing, phone calls and taxis but things turned out in the end.  The bag was found and arrived 2 days later.

Julian and I both agree that things don’t usually go wrong for us when we travel; we figured it was just our turn this time.

We have already planned our next end of year holiday -South America and even if something does go wrong I am sure Julian will find a solution as always.

You are at work and the phone rings, you pick up the receiver and a business associate says. Hi, how are you?’ and you respond ‘fine thanks, and you?’ Everyone involved in this duplicitous dialogue knows that the health enquiry was disingenuous and so was your response. So why do we do this day in and day out?

Let’s turn to history.

Perhaps in the past death was so common that your friend or neighbour was alive one day, feeling unwell the next and very dead the day after that, perhaps killed by the plague or by a pork chop gone bad.

Or maybe we can blame our pastoral ancestors. Our ancient villages and small towns were home to small populations, where closer community relationships were necessary to perform the most basic tasks like drawing water from the well. We cared because we needed to.

Perhaps, though, it’s something darker, much darker. Maybe we never really cared whether Joe our neighbor was dying of the black plague, perhaps we didn’t care that Edgar the boy next door didn’t quite make it to the farm yesterday, maybe it was a sham then, a sham now and always will be a sham.

Now before you leap to any conclusions about me simply being heartless, or not caring about anyone else, I want you to think about your last conversation with a work colleague, or shop assistant. How did it begin? That’s right, you did the old “How are you?” routine and guess what, you couldn’t have cared if they were sick, dying, tired or having a bad day in fact you wouldn’t have even heard the response if they were.

But to get back on track, let’s turn to science for a more modern answer.

Maybe our brains are so slow that we are incapable of actually putting an idea into words without warming up our mouths and voice boxes?

Alternatively we may think that our interaction will go better if we can fool the other person into believing we care about their welfare – of course it’s quite likely they are thinking the same thing.

A more plausible theory might be that like dogs, when humans meet or interact an assessment must be made as to how friendly the other person is. In person this can be assessed quite quickly through smiles and handshakes or in the case of dogs a quick butt sniff. The more cues we have to the friendliness of the person, the quicker this preliminary sniff can be.

We would expect that over the phone where no visual cues are present that it might take longer to make an assessment, usually via a few hollow words of concern - a more protracted telephonic butt sniff.

I decided to do a little test.

Kelly the receptionist from the dental clinic called to confirm my dental appointment. ‘Hi Katherine, this is Kelly from Dr Rouad’s office, how are you today?’ she asked. ‘Well Kelly, funny that you ask’, came the response, ‘I had to wake up quite earlier than usual for a morning meeting so I got dressed in the dark, when I got to work I realized that I was wearing one brown boot and one black boot. This sets the scene for the day, so things got much worse from here and I couldn’t meet an important deadline and now I feel like crap. It’s just been one of those days. Ah I feel so much better now that I have gotten that off my chest Kelly!’ The silence on the other end indicated that Kelly thought I required a psychiatric appointment instead of a dental check.

My point here is that answering honestly to this question can also run the risk of making people uncomfortable. Does the person asking the question really care that you are feeling like crap? Not a chance.

No one on that phone (unless they are your mother) actually cares if you have the flu, are wearing a black boot and a brown boot or dying of botulism. By some mystery of evolution, history or cultural legacy we have become masters of the lie.

It’s either lie, and say you care when you really don’t, or tell the truth and offend. Your choice.

Relaxing beach holidays are boring so when I found out we were spending four days in Zanzibar I wasn’t particularly charged with enthusiasm.   The plan was to spend a couple of days in Stone Town and two days at the North Beach.  Wasting no time, I googled Stone Town and was relieved to find out that the place had an interesting history.

Stown Town did not disappoint.  Exploring the narrow and windy streets can often by a hazardous experience, especially when you have to force yourself against a wall to ensure that you don’t get side swiped by a passing vehicle.  Nevertheless Stown Town was a breath of fresh air filled with exotic food, trinkets, good coffee and the best coconut bread I have ever sampled.

It was a treat walking around the night markets, there were stalls and stalls of  mouthwatering food including an array of kebabs, fish, bread, chocolate and banana pancakes and exotic fruits.  When you travel around Africa you have to learn to drop your hygiene standards, Zanzibar was no exception.  Market sellers were  holding up fish with grotty and slimy hands whilst smoking.  You might prefer to call it multitasking? No matter, you can not expect to wonder around the night market without indulging your taste buds.    The chocolate and banana pancakes are highly recommended but I would watch out for the entrepreneurial sellers.

We decided to try some of the gourmet fish kebabs, the market seller avoided our question of ‘how much’ like the plague.  Instead he  talked about up-sizing our fish kebabs with a coconut drink and fried bananas.  Naturally I was curious and wanted to see where this scenario was going so we  sat down on the finest plastic chairs and tables and watched Mr Entrepreneur fuss around us.    We didn’t actually care about the cost but we thought it would be fun to ask him about the price again and this time he muttered something US$2.00 each.   There were a few more people on our table with confused faces, it seemed that everyone was paying a different price for the same meal.  I am not really sure what he based this criteria on but our $2.00 meal turned into a $10.00 meal and our coconut drink turned into a coke.  The bottle of coke arrived with its top loose so you can appreciate why we gave that one a miss.   I paused before I bit into my fish kebab but soon dismissed my thoughts, what’s a trip to Africa without the expectation of  food poisoning?  Happy to report the kebab was delicious and  there was no hint of food poisoning (on this occasion).

You can ‘feel’ the history when you walk through the streets of Zanzibar, its not hard  imagine the Arabs trading aromatic spices or the great Sultan leading an indulgent life with his harem. Despite years passing  there is an eerie sense of suffering as you tour the hub of the slave market.    You can’t help but wonder how much the slaves suffered in their cramped concrete holding bays.

The carved doors of Stone Town are fascinating, ornately decorated with intricate carvings they stand out amongst the cold stone houses.    I met an interesting character during my wonders through Stone Town - a ginger cat who enjoyed people watching from his prison like window bars.

Don’t expect to get a drink if you are visiting Zanzibar during New Year.  We went to a few bars on New Years Eve, at the first bar we waited half an hour at an empty bar while five staff all working furiously at cutting lemon slices.  At the second bar we waited patiently in line for a drink, after half an hour we turned it into a game to see how long it would take before we were served.  One and half hours later we reached the bar only to be told had they had run out of everything including warm beer. It was only 11pm.  No matter, we were sticking to our no fuss holiday rules.

What can I tell you about my two days on the North Beach in Zanzibar?  Well,  I was really sick on the first day with a high fever and temperature.  Malaria vaguely crossed my mind but I felt much better the next day so that was off the list of possible contagious diseases.   It was time to check out what all the fuss was about, how  nice can a tropical beach really be?  Warm Indian ocean, sinking toes into soft white sand and swimming in the stunning blue water. Who wants to relax  by the beach and do nothing on a holiday?

OK OK I admit, it was wonderful to spend a day on the the North Beach I hope you are you happy now!  However I do have my limits which is why I kept running away from the  women offering me massages.  It was nice to soak up the sun’s rays after roughing it in tents and spider infested A frame thatches.  Our Kilimanjaro climb was looming so it was a good idea to enjoy this while it lasted.

I was also tempted by the offer of seafood and luscious creamy pineapple drinks.  Dining was a real hoot for us.  Every time we ordered something off the menu we were told it wasn’t available.  We learnt very quickly to ask ‘do you have this’ instead of ‘can I please have’.

I could never spend two weeks relaxing on beach but spending a couple of days in North Beach Zanzibar hit the spot.

When we were planning our trip to Africa Julian was keen to climb Mount Kilimanjaro.  I had been exposed to trekking  but no altitude trekking so I was feeling anxious.  My natural hypochondrical instincts led me to google altitude statistics including acute mountain sickness and death rates on Kilimanjaro.  Julian, the more sensible one, directed my research to a more positive study which focused on good tour operators.

Our goal was to make it to the summit- Uhuru peak at 5895m, 5.895 km or 19340.316ft to be precise.

This only meant one thing - choosing a reputable tour company with good stats.  From the four or five routes available we chose the Shira route which allows for extra acclimatisation days and is deserted of any other climbers.  Finally we wanted to ensure the porters were not exploited. So taking this all into account we went with the African Walking Company through ATR (Africa Travel Resources).

Altitude will be a different experience for everyone and there is no way you know how you will react to it until you get up there.  Julian and I trained like maniacs thinking that fitness was going to make a difference.  Ultimately fitness is useful (for mental and physical purposes)  but it certainly has nothing to do with altitude sickness.  Julian is fitter than me and got sick while I got off ASFF (altitude sickness free- fantastic!).  Ironically I was the one worried about altitude sickness.  Altitude sickness does not discriminate between neurotics and fit people!

Even though I did not suffer altitude sickness I had my own personal demons to deal with such as the unbearably cold weather.  The cold weather was my enemy and we battled day and night.  In order to minimise altitude symptoms I was drinking between 4-5 litres a day.  I topped this up with a precautionary dose of Diamox on the fourth day so my badder worked overtime.  Instead of toilet stops every 45 minutes I stopped every 20 minutes.  The night was the worst, having to wake up and make my way to the toilet was excruciating, the cold made it painful to breathe.

I used every item of warm clothing I had on me, especially at night.  We  hired our sleeping bags  and I learnt a valuable lesson about sleeping bags not fitted to your body.  They are not nice and cosy like an over-sized doona.  Heat was escaping left right and centre and it was during the night that I found myself jealous that Julian had altitude problems, the high altitude made him extremely sleepy and he would crash as soon as we went to bed and would stay in the same position for the entire night. Thankfully I received a good tip from one of our fellow climbers. I wore less layers during the night (apparently sleeping in too many layers contributes to sweating and thus getting cold) so instead I shoved clothing around my neck to stop the heat escaping from my sleeping bag.   Wrapping my down jacket around my feet also helped and hey presto the nights were now bearable.

At high altitude normal and relatively simple activities become painful and drawn out.  I could have sworn I was rolling up a sheet of  semi-dry cement instead my sleeping bag each morning.  At a couple of campsites our toilets were located on hilly and rocky ground.  It would take no longer than two minutes to reach the toilets from our tent but at high altitude this task compared to running 100 metres at full speed.  By the time I would reach the toilet I would be huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf.

Our guides new best.  On the first day we were shown the snail pace walk that we were expected to keep for the next seven days.  We all thought it was hilarious until we realised that this was they key to acclimatisation and reaching the summit.  This is why the 10 people in our group all reached the summit including Bill, the 67 year old inspiration.

I found it amusing that Stratton, one of our guides was explaining how they use the stretcher that I spied on the side of the path during the second last day of our trip . ‘We use this to carry people to the bottom of the  mountain, then the ambulance comes and takes them to the hospital’,  Stratton explained.  Somehow his words didn’t fit my mental picture.  Remote mountain + Africa + sick does does not equal ambulance or hospital!

Our guides had a warped sense of humour, they enjoyed mind games and  torture.  Often we would ask how far we were from our next camp site and they would say ‘not long to go now’, but they would never give us a straight answer.  ‘Not long to go’ ranged anywhere from 10 minutes to 3 hours.  One day we were so exhausted after a days climbing to higher altitude,  Vivianno who was the best at delivering these forms of torture told us we had 1 hour to go. You can imagine the relief when we saw our welcoming tents a few minutes later!

Every morning our journey started an hour before the porters but it wouldn’t take long before they overtook us.  Here I was walking like a snail with my little macpac weighing no more than 6kg when the porters would fly past us each carrying up to 25 kilos worth of  stuff.  You could tell the newer porters, they had buckets of sweat  pouring down their faces and were forced to carry the awkward stuff.  We thought it would be nice to greet them warmly with ‘Jambo’, the Swahili word for hello.  Their responses were always very friendly but occasionally their eyes didn’t carry the same message,  it was more like, ‘I am carrying your portable toilet on my head and all you can manage  is Jambo!’

Some days were better than others but the worst days were the acclimatisation days.  On the fourth day after walking for hours we reached our campsite at 4200m.  Unfortunately this day was also to include an acclimatisation walk to 4500m.  This wasn’t an attractive option, we were cold, wet and most of us had pounding headaches.  To top it all off it was snowing and windy and all of us collapsed in our tents feeling pretty certain that our guides were going to call the walk off.  No such luck.  Within 30 minutes through the flapping walls of our tents, the voices of your guides could be heard calling us to wake up. This is a snapshot of hell I thought to myself.

As I found out later these acclimatisation walks were nothing compared to the summit ascent but our guides new something we didn’t.  In addition to acclimatisation these walks also prepared us mentally for the challenge ahead.

The Summit Ascent

Feeling nervous and anxious on summit eve,  Julian and I were were keen to film some pre-summit interviews.  Unfortunately I was feeling tired and grumpy because we arrived at base camp quite late in the afternoon and had to sleep early in preparation for a midnight ascent.  The last thing I wanted to do was interview people.  I was cold, tired and nervous but had to feign enthusiasm.  Ah the life of a wanna be journalist.

Miraculously I slept from 6pm until 11pm.  After waking,  I had that not quite right with the world feeling. We all sat in our mess tents, our usually talkative group was strangely quiet. I wondered what people were thinking but I didn’t need to be a mind reader to figure it out.  I psyched myself as I walked out of the tent into the windy and snowy blackness, my headlamp my only friend.  Even though the intense wind chill was penetrating through my 5 top layers and 3 bottom layers I was mesmerized by the light in the distance.   Other groups were a couple of  hours ahead and the mountain was lit up like a Christmas tree with  little beacons of lighting bobbing up and down.  Perhaps it was the altitude but it was beginning to feel a lot like Christmas!

A blizzard hit us and reality hit me.  We were going to have to climb this thing in a blizzard.  I asked one of our guides if this was normal, apparently not- gee great.  Coming from Australia I had never been exposed to much snow and a blizzard was a new concept for me.  It felt like a thousand hot needles were stinging my face as we trudged up that mountain.   I couldn’t even cover my face with my balaclava because my breathing felt restricted in the thin air.  It became worse as we zig-zaged up that mountain, the more we climbed the harder it became to breathe.  The wind knocked me off balance and  I couldn’t get a sense of height, all I knew was that it was really steep. I developed a  creative side walk to try and block some of those stinging needles from hitting my face directly.   On and on we climbed,  hour after hour concentrating on keeping one foot in front of the other.  What a prankster that Mount Kilimanajaro is, it loves to make you think you are nearly there but it only presents you with false ridge lines.

Something happens to the body when faced with extreme physical challenge, your capacity to feel pain is reduced and the body runs on auto pilot as the mind goes somewhere it doesn’t hurt. I must have been in some of sort trance because I remember being hurled back into reality by people singing.  It was our guides, they must have sensed our spirits were frozen in little ice cube holders so they were singing in Swahili.  Listening to people singing in their own language is a stunning , especially when they sing with passion.  This was even more  impressive because these guys could actually carry a tune.  What an experience, trudging up Mount Kilimanjaro at 4am in a blizzard listening to 4 African guides singing.  This experience was even memorable than making it to  Uhuru peak.

There are two main reasons why you begin your ascent at midnight, firstly the weather is supposed to be better earlier, and secondly if you leave early, you can make it to the summit in time to see the sunrise.  We didn’t experience either.  The average group reach Uhuru Peak in 6- 7 hours it took us 9 hours.  Nevertheless the sunrise a couple of hours from the top was still a breathtaking experience, especially in  post-blizzard conditions.  The sky was filled with brilliant orange rays and  we could see the darkness of space through the thin atmosphere.   For a couple of minutes the pain and exhaustion was forgotten.

The spell was broken when our guides told us we had to keep moving because we had an hour to go until we reached the first peak, Stella point.  I could clearly see the top so I thought  the guides were joking  as usual.  I waited for the ‘I am only joking’ but it never came.  That good old prankster Mount Kilimanjaro again.  Although Stella point was in sight it was an illusion, the mountain was at its steepest and the ground below filled with snow so the dragging of the feet continued.

After an enduring eight hour trek we finally reached Stella point at 5685m. Feeling depleted I was adamant that I was not going to continue to Uhuru peak.  Yep this was good enough for me.  Thank god our guides knew that I was going to regret this and after they assessed us we were all told to keep going…. apparently if you are not vomiting, delirious or bleeding from the ears you have to continue.

It was a relatively easy walk from Stella Point to Uhuru Peak.  I was so grateful that our guides encouraged us to keep going.   People have all sorts of strange experiences on top of Uhuru peak, these vary from person to person.  For me the snow kept changing colour from pink to red to orange.  It could have been the fact that I wasn’t wearing my sunglasses, it could have been  the way the atmosphere filters the light at higher altitude or simply put  perhaps I was just punch-drunk from the altitude.

I have heard rumours that the view from Uhuru peak is spectacular,  but for us visibility was so poor that we couldn’t see beyond 5 metres.  We didn’t care.  We hugged and we danced and we sang as we stood in front of that famous sign.  We  stood where hundreds had stood before and hundreds will stand again.

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I had nothing left in my tank for the trip down.  In some ways it was worse than the climb up.  I wished I was Monkey and had a magic cloud that I could call upon to fly me back down.  Every step was a living nightmare and the mountain was covered with snow for most of the way down so scree running was not an option. Often my eyes were closing so I had to stop and rest every 20 minutes.  3 hours later at base camp you would have thought the nightmare had ended.  Not a chance!

After an hours rest, we had to move onto the next campsite at a lower altitude.  I thought Julian was dead because I couldn’t wake him up and when he woke up he would just fall into a slumber again!  It took three hours to walk to our next campsite but it was very much worth it,  we felt energized at lower altitude.

We calculated that we had been walking for 15 hours since our summit ascent began at midnight.  Not a bad effort!

Isn’t it crazy how we walk for seven nights, climb a mountain in inhospitable conditions just to reach  the summit only to have to come back down again after 10 minutes?   Why do we do these things?   You might think that its simply about climbing a mountain but its so much more than that.  It’s personal journey.  It’s about stripping back all the layers that years of complex western society has wrapped around us - its about being simple.  How often do we feel invigorated and stimulated by a physical and mental challenge?  I know I wasted 35 years of my life, how many have you wasted?

We all need to step things up in life, to push ourselves to grow and develop, so whats the next adventure?

10 top tips for climbing Kilimanjaro

1. The right gear is the difference between being moderately uncomfortable and being extremely uncomfortable.

2.  Don’t be tight,  if you are going to pay for this opportunity you might as well fork out and  pay for a reputable tour operator and extra days for acclimatisation.  Do your research.

3.  If you want to rush to the top of the summit enter a race instead.

4.  Listen to and respect your guides.  Share your snacks with them along the way.

5. If you make it to Stella Point and you are exhausted but not bleeding from you orifices.  KEEP GOING.  The path leading to Uhuru Peak is not steep and relatively easy compared to the last 6-8 hours!

6.  Never leave your extra baggage the porters carry unlocked, unfortunately you can never trust a porter - even  if you are with a reputable company.  Sad fact but true.

7.  In saying that tip your porters well, they have a tough job and a much tougher life than you or me no matter how relative you think this is.

8.  Your porters will fill up your bottles with hot water at night in preparation for the next day.  Stick them in your sleeping bags at night, they make great hot water bottles.

9. Drink lots of water no matter how hard you might find it.  You will often need to stop to let porters go past so its a good time to have a drink.  Remind others to drink as well.

10.  The right attitude will make all the difference, a cliche I know but its an important cliche.  Our head guide always reminded us to think positively.  In the words of Passian our head guide - its a piece of cake!

View the Kilimanjaro Videos by clicking the link:

• Kilimanjaro - Shira Route Toilet Tour
• Kilimanjaro - Karanga Valley Barranco Wall (Kissing Rock)
• Kilimanjaro - Summit Ascent Uhuru Peak
• Kilimanjaro - Porters song & Stretcher Interview
• Kilimanjaro - Shira Route Credits

When I was a kid I wanted to do lots of things when I grew up, some things were not so realistic, I can see that now. How on earth can a little girl who is now a 5.7″ women become a jockey? Well other dreams are realistic and one of my dreams was to travel to the Serengeti.

I was so excited about spending 3 days in the Serengeti that I am sure my partner Julian was thinking about throwing me to a pack of lions.

Our driver Moshi picked us up in a squeaky clean four x four which by the end of the trip became so dirty that I could barely recognise it. On the way to the National Park I visualised all the Serengeti documentaries I had seen and then I started to become anxious. What if the reality didn’t fit with my dream? What if we didn’t see any animals? What if I didn’t see my cliche giraffe eating from an acacia tree? I decided not to set my expectations too high, I had heard that not everyone gets the chance to see the big five named so for their ferociousness- the Leopard, Elephant, Buffalo, Lion and Rhino. Unfortunately my Golden Retriever Gypsy just missed out being one of the big five.

I saw two unexpected things- we passed a couple of Massi (nomadic tribe) and did a double take. Usually the Massi are walking along by the side of road, working in the fields you know the usual nomadic day to day stuff. These two Massi had decided to have a morning break and were ‘going for it’ by the side of the road. I guess Massi aren’t to worried about lions then.

I had expected to see a couple of live animals at least in the first instance, instead our driver slowed the vehicle, in an instant a pungent smell hit our nostrils. It was a dead giraffe with vultures pecking away at its neck and back. For some reason I wasn’t horrified, I realised this was nature, this was life and this was the food chain. I took in all the details … even the splattered white bird droppings on its fallen neck.

The Serengeti heat was intensifying and we poked our heads through the roof of the four x four, I could see miles and miles of Serengeti plains and that’s when I spotted my giraffe eating from an acacia tree. A cliche come true.  (OK its not exactly an acacia tree but close enough!)

As we drove deeper and deeper into the Serengeti my smile widened further than I thought possible. My heart skipped a beat when I heard Moshi say ‘Lions’. There she was perched lazily on her rock looking a little bored, not overly interested in us but at the same time watchful. She was marked with battle scars and flies swarmed around her mouth.  She was beautiful.

On the way to our first camp site a family of baboons were sprinting along (from what?), a large flock of beautiful birds were nesting in trees and then I saw my second cliche- the silhouette of a giraffe eating from an acacia tree at sunset. What magnificent orange hues the mighty Serengeti sunset surrenders to its visitors.

At our campsite we all pitched or tents very close to other tents as if somehow that would provide a sense of comfort in the unfenced campsite. There is nothing like falling asleep to the sound of cackling hyenas and the sound of roaring lions. I have heard that lions are more frightened of humans than we are of them. Still the sign saying ‘Please do not leave the campsite -animals may attack’ did not provide much comfort.

At the next campsite, Julian came into the tent one evening after going to the toilet, casually announcing that he saw an elephant peering at him from behind a bush! That night we heard un-human footsteps outside our tent along with some strange un-human like noises….. in the morning we found that our water bottles we had left outside during the night had been ‘explored’ by whatever unidentified beast was outside. We all took turns to guess what might have been out there and agreed that it would be much more exciting to say that it was a lion.

Another outstanding experience was our ‘interaction’ with an male elephant. A herd of elephants were crossing the ‘road’ so we stopped quite close to them, the baby elephant was the last to cross… all of a sudden we heard a loud trumpet noise coming from our side and we turned around to see big daddy staring us front on with ears flapping furiously… this is elephant for…..Right now, that’s enough move on before I loose my patience! During the plane trip to Africa I read a wonderful book called Whatever you do, Don’t run. There was a great tip about elephants charging. Apparently when an elephant mock charges his trunk is loose but if he serious about charging his trunk is tucked away safely. ‘Moshi’ I cried, ‘the trunk is tucked’, the tunk is trunked (say this over an over and see what comes our of you mouth then!) Moshi had no idea what the word ‘tucked’ or ‘trunked’ meant but he knew the Eli meant business so he put his foot down on the accelerator and off we went. Someone once asked me why I just don’t go to a zoo to see African animals. ‘Are you mad’, I responded ‘I would much rather prefer to be charged by an elephant thanks’.

There is another side to elephants than furious ear flapping and being ‘trunked’. We saw another herd of elephants munching on some tree bark. Moshi turned the jeep off, it was incredibly peaceful and all we could here was the sound of these wonderful ancient beasts munching on their tree bark.

The animals were most active in the the Ngorongoro Crater. Zebra’s were frolicking and rolling around on their backs, hundreds of flamingos lining the water and transforming it into a pink shimmering sheet, lions walking stealthy towards a drinking hole and two elephants twisting their trunks around each other in play. We spotted two black rhino (thank god for the binoculars) and witnessed a kill courtesy of Mr Jackal and Mrs Flamingo.

I noticed the Wilderbeest and Zebra were hanging around together at the water hole and thought it was odd. Moshi explained that this is for protection . A zebra will go for a drink and make a certain noise to advise his fellow Zebras that all is well on the predator front. The Wilderbeest recognise this noise and is reassures them its safe. What a team!

I was torn between feelings of sadness and amazement at our next encounter. Moshi spotted three lionesses in the distance by the time we reached them two vehicles were there. We could see in the distance that the lionesses were trying to make their way to a drinking hole. Unfortunately our vehicles were blocking their path. By the time the lionesses reached us there were 24 vehicles blocking their path. I could sense the lionesses were pretty calm about the whole blockade, they would walk, casually stop to check things out and maneuver there way until the were forced to weave in and out between the vehicles. The lionesses were so close to our vehicle, Moshi had been able to somehow precisely line up our vehicle at the point where they needed to cross before all the other 20 vehicles arrived. If I had stretched my arm out I would have been able to touch them. Was this normal for the lionesses? Where they used to weaving around vehicles? I couldn’t be sure.

We were very lucky to see a Leopard, unlike lazy lions, leopards are hard to ’spot’ in the Serengeti (oh I do enjoy puns) and if spotted they usually don’t like to hang around for long. The first time we saw one I only got to see the tip of its tail while its was slinking away in the long grass, the next day though we were rewarded for an entire 10 seconds when our driver got wind that a leopard was nearby. He put his foot down on the accelerator, dust flying all around us until we reached the tree where the leopard was been dozing. As soon as we arrived the leopard bolted down the tree, I had my binoculars so I was able to see him whilst Julian took three quick snaps of the leopard descending from the tree before his spots disappeared into the long grass again.

I love taking photos however the more I travel the better I have learnt to appreciate the moment rather than capturing that moment on film.  Sometimes we get so carried away with taking that perfect shot that we forget to experience what is front of us.  Breathe the moment don’t freeze the moment.

For 3 days in the Serengeti I actually thought of nothing except for the thrill of animal spotting. It’s one of those rare moments in life when you feel totally free and there is not a problem in the world. Travelling in a jeep for hours and hours, is a bumpy and uncomfortable experience , not to mention you get really really dusty and internally bruised but you don’t care because you have the Serengeti wind in your hair and you feel privileged to have been allowed entry into this mighty animal kingdom.

Roaming through Johannesburg, Zambia, Malawi, Tanzania and Zanzibar was a clarifying experience. You can Google to your hearts content, or talk to other people who have travelled through Africa but at the end of the day your experience will be truly unique - your little piece of meaning and magic to remember. No amount of pictures you have in an album can ever capture this magic.

Six years ago you couldn’t get me to travel anywhere without western standard luxuries. Yep I was one of ‘those’ gals who wouldn’t dare go without a shower, hairdryer or clean clothing for a day. Age and travelling have two things in common- they are both great clarifies. The older you get the more you are prepared to let go of the superficial things in life. The more you travel the more ridiculous these superficial things seem.

So lets rewind the clock a few years to explain how I got to this point. When I met Julian my partner we both wanted to travel. Julian was more adventurous than I was but he slowly worked his plan.  Initially he planned relatively safe holiday destinations, first came New Zealand with an introduction to hiking at the Milford Track.  I guess it was my naivety that made me agreeable but somehow he talked me into quad biking and white water rafting. After a near death experience involving me, a quad and a wheelie (good movie title) I decided that holidays were much more exciting when there was an element of adventure and danger.  After spending 7 days walking the Overland Track in Tasmania and experiencing car sized possums trying to break into my tent at night, I was now prepared to take on the next adventure- destination Africa 2007/2008.

Q. How do you know you are in Africa?

A. When you see baboons on the road instead of kangaroos.

Q.  How do you really really know you are in Africa?

A.  When you see a sign that says “Do things the right way and not the corrupt way”.

The three most memorable moments for me during my trip in Africa in no particular order. Getting dusty driving through the Serengeti Plains, reaching the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro in a blizzard and nearly going to prison in Malawi on Christmas day. I will speak about my Serengeti and Kilimanjaro adventures in a different post but the experience of thinking you are going to prison in Malawi goes something like this.

Mr Malawi Official

We stopped at the Malawi border to have our passports stamped. We were told to take off our sunglasses and hats and behave.  There was tension in the air as everyone lined up and waited. I had that same feeling as I usually do when I line up at the airport to get my bags checked at security; its guilt and I don’t have anything to feel guilty about!  Mr Malawi Official wearing his red beret eyeballed me looked down at my passport and eyeballed me again. He continued with this strategy for a while. He was clearly enjoying his power trip and warming into his role as he explained that according to our passport, we should have left Zambia a day before. Word of advice, don’t start your sentence with ‘Woopsie’. Julian and I tried to explain that it wasn’t our fault but it was like trying to convince a devil worshiper that god is great. Mr Malawi Official was clearly up for best actor as he explained how serious this offence was and threw the word ‘prison’ in his sentence for good measure. I was torn between a couple of way outs. Bribery was the first option. I had witnessed first hand that African Officials don’t actually care about money as much as magazines. If you carry a copy of Cleo, Women’s Weekly or TV week, a magazine is a worth its weight in gold.  (I guess they are not familiar with the corrupt sign). Secondly I thought about putting on the water works, but figured that my acting skills would never fool Mr Malawi Official. After some further consideration, Mr Malawi Official decided that he was going to let us off.  His reason was that it was ho ho ho Christmas but I wondered if he couldn’t be bothered with the paperwork.

The Feathered Ball

Exciting things seemed to happen at borders.  During our stop at the Tanzania border I noticed a child was holding something small and feathery.  Being the curious gal I am, I got a little closer to get a better look and saw that the child was holding a dead bird. At first I thought he was trying to sell the bird for money but then I realised he was doing this for his own amusement. He was trying to either entertain or scare off tourists. I watched as he threw the little dead body up in the air catching it in one hand over and over again like he was throwing a ball. I wondered how he had killed his little feathered ball.

The Mooning

During one of our nights in Livingstone we took a cruise on the Zambezi.  A group of teenage tourists were on the boat.  We expected to see wildlife but we didn’t expect to see it in human form.  The group of tourists were drunk and loud.  At first it didn’t bother me, let them have fun and all.  Then I started to feel uncomfortable when the staff on the boat began to serve some snacks consisting of stale bread and stale chips.  They were doing their best to provide an entertaining and peaceful cruise on the mighty Zambezi and the rowdy behaviour was making them uncomfortable. The drunks were turning up the noise levels than I realised why I felt uncomfortable.  It was actually disrespectful to the African people.  The final straw came when the boat was docking and the group decided to moon in front of crowds of people waiting for the next cruise.  I was appalled and embarrassed.   Perhaps there is a time and a place for mooning but it should be left behind in your own country (pardon the pun).  This was clearly disrespectful to local culture.

The little Malawi Boy

I am going to be honest about how I felt when I walked through a village in Malawi. The first thing that hit me was an intense smell, sort of like a cross between sewerage and rotting meat, the smell was overpowering and made me dry-retch. I was soon confronted by the sight of dirty snotty nosed and sick children.

I was an emotional wreck and felt heart broken and repulsed at the same time. Bare-foot and dirty children were fighting to hold my hand and I was worried about catching something. I know it sounds horrible but that was my initial response. We always fear the unknown. I never really knew what that meant until I was exposed to the unknown. I mentally slapped myself and then looked down to see this beautiful little African boy looking up at me with big malaria diseased eyes. I instantly fell in love with my little Malawi boy. He couldn’t speak a word of English but it didn’t matter because all he wanted to do was hold my hand and look up at me every so often with his shy smile and big brown eyes. He held my hand and with his other he clutched his prized possession - my plastic water bottle. Would he live past 30? It would be unlikely in Malawi.

The Crocodile and the Chicks

One day we had a bit of chuckle, Julian and I took a tour on the Zambezi River in an old tin dinghy through crocodile and hippo infested waters. Our guide explained that crocodiles were located every 100 meters. I looked down at my life jacket and wondered why I was wearing it. If our rusty dingy sank I was in no danger of death by drowning. I would be killed by a hungry croc or an territorial hippo instead! To prove my point we stopped near a tree as I admired a flock of birds. I followed the guides finger as he pointed to the water. Two little snouts and eyes were peaking just above the surface. The crocs were patiently waiting for a chick to fall into the water. An opportune moment!

Mr Smooth

What’s a trip to Africa without the touts. It’s nothing in particularly until you meet a character who calls himself Mr Smooth. Mr Smooth was by far my favourite tout. Prior to my trip in Africa I had boned up on the literature that advised against tourists giving money or pens because it encourages people to beg.

I found this to be quite true but I was not prepared for being asked for my shoes or the shirt off my back! Mr Smooth was  true to his name impressing me with his knowledge of Australia, he knew more about Australian politics than I did and was able to rattle off a list of Prime Ministers since 1966. I could see Julian in the background smirking at my naivety. Mr Smooth obviously made every efforts to learn about all countries not just Australia in the hope he would eventually score a pair of shoes.

African people are very shy, I found it really hard to get hard to get to know the real African. I wondered about the people that were friendly, were they genuinely friendly or were they being friendly in order to get a shirt or a pair of shoes? Africans perceive tourists as being rich, why wouldn’t they after all we visited a hospital in Malawi that had equipment from the 1960s and a school that had New Zealand hand me down books from the 1950s.

Three Growling Jacks

There are lots of rabid dogs in Africa and I was a little nervous because that was one booster I decided not to bother with. Its hard for me to stay away from animals so I was relieved to find that at each campsite there was one rabid free camp dog.   At one particular camp site, three Jack Russles literally owned and ran the place. They were the friendliest little creatures and sat on our laps as we sat and watched the stars one night.  The silence was broken when one of the little jacks growled, the other two followed lead and then there were off barking and growling into the night.   We thought they had spotted a possum, oops wrong country, lets say a monkey.  We were mistaken, they had spotted the care taker and this tense relationship played out like circus act.  The jacks began to pull at the care taker’s trousers, one jack at one leg, two at the other growling as seriously as a jack could. We could hear the care taker  (mostly likely swearing) yelling at the dogs and trying to desperately  kick them off.  We called them back and they immediately returned, wagging tails, smiley faces, jumping on our laps as if nothing had happened.   We found out later that care taker turnover  at this campsite was high.

The Fishing Dogs

This brings me to dog story number 2.   At Kande Beach in Malawi there were a couple of campsite dogs playing around on the beach one evening.   I noticed them slip into the water so naturally I thought they were going for an evening dip but things didn’t look quite right  when they started a frenzied nose diving session.  I was puzzled by this behaviour until Julian pointed out that they were catching their dinner.  My dog’s dinner comes in a bowl so I watched fascinated by this state of affairs.  One paddled the other one nose dived, they took it turns and so it continued.  I wish I could tell you that they caught a couple of fine fish but unfortunately the dogs gave up…. after an hour.

No matter where you are in the world - your mum will always find you.

Prior to leaving Africa I did what all good daughters do for their neurotic and anxious mothers, I gave her a detailed itinerary.  When the riots in Kenya broke out Julian and I were not exposed to any immediate danger because we had planned to make our last stop in Tanzania.  If my mum had bothered to read the itinerary she would have known this but of course she became as frenzied as the nose diving pooches at Kande beach.    We had been travelling on an overland truck and during the long days of travel the only way that our tour guides could communicate  was by noting passing through the front cabin hatch.  I was dozing when it happened.  A note was being  passed from person to person until it reached me.  A light tap on the shoulder and there it was, a note under my nose which read.  “Katherine, you need to phone your mum at next possible place.  She’s phoned our central office and is worried about the Kenya thing - Wants to know if you are still alive”. Good old mums - they always find a way!

I fell in love with Africa for all sorts of unusual reasons. Call me nuts but I loved spending nights in small bamboo huts infested with lizards and spiders. I loved going to the post office and seeing chickens running around in front of the door. I even loved being hassled by touts, yes its all true!

Africa was indeed an intensely eye opening adventure. I experienced a small piece of life in Africa and it will remain with me forever. Once you get the spirit of Africa into your blood in never leaves you.

I was preparing for a light hearted post about my travel and film making adventures but something else came up and I am compelled to write about it.

I consider myself a pretty social and good natured person, however I a feel trapped when invited to traditional rituals including weddings, christenings, baby showers - you name it, I usually despise it.

There are a number of reasons for this, firstly my precious weekend has been imposed on, secondly I feel an obligation to conform and attend these rituals, finally I struggle when it comes to conversing with group of people I have nothing in common with. You know the conversion is doomed when someone starts talking about the weather.

I attended the baby shower of a cousin’s friend. I guess it was doomed to fail because I am not a mum or planning on being a mum so I have nothing in common with women that are at this stage of their lives.

I started to feel strange when people arrived and I failed to engage in any conversation. People I once knew felt like complete strangers to me. I stood in a circle with three women, two obviously pregnant, the other had no sign of a bump (lets call her ‘No Sign’).  I could sense that a classic Seinfeld moment was looming.  The two women were comparing stomachs when No Sign patted the two distended stomachs then began to pat her own stomach.  Naturally I assumed she was pregnant and said, ‘Ah do we have three expectant mums here?’.  The three women instantly shot me a look of distaste, No Sign looked mortified as the expected Seinfeld moment unfolded before me.  I wanted to desperately explain to No Sign that she didn’t look pregnant but that I assumed she was because she was patting her stomach.  But sometimes in life for some reason it’s just better to walk away with the Seinfeld moment intact.

Gradually I melted into my chair staring at my shoes and praying for a natural disaster to strike. I barely spoke two words for the entire four hours and when I did it was only in forced and faked responses (usually about the weather).

Slowly I started to become invisible to others, no one spoke to me because I am sure they sensed that I was having a social melt down.

I over heard the grandmother to be ask if the presents should be opened now or should they serve cake and tea first. For god’s sakes, open the presents NOW open them NOW so I can leave soon after. Thank god my mind control skills worked because the presents were opened first.

Whilst everyone went goo goo and gaa gaa over baby teethers and baby jump suits I kept sneaking glances at the clock wondering how this compared to Chinese water torture.

Finally the last of the wrapping paper was whisked away, my opportunity presented itself so I made my move to the door swiftly and executed it beautifully like a skillful ninja.

On the drive home I felt shattered. Usually I can blend in when I attend a ritual but not today.

Perhaps this is time when the mum to be and I will no longer keep in touch because are at different roads. Maybe I should decline future invites to such rituals. Ah but I know myself to well and my personality is just not that way inclined! One thing is clear, when you are not completing the same passage of rites as your friends, then its time to find a new tribe.