Proudly Australian?

At some point in India, I started to wonder if local people were proud of the same things about their place, culture or heritage that visitors were interested. I asked a few people directly, what they were proud of. This is quite a tough question I think, but I had some great conversations with three Swedish girls in India. On that occasion they were prepared to be quite critical about Sweden. My sheer enthusiasm for certain aspects of Swedish culture won them over though, and they agreed of some things to be proud of.

Later, but still while in Asia, I had a go at writing down the things that came to mind when I thought of being proud of Australia and its people. This list is just what came to mind, and I haven’t included all the hyperlinks of explanations, nor ranked it in any particular order.

• TISM – a funny band that anonymously produces catchy tunes with biting and intelligent social commentary in the lyrics.
• Permaculture – young David Holmgren and Bill Mollison created this design system that I think is the purest expression of the sustainability concepts put into practice.
• Kevin Rudd, speaking Mandarin – I think we are part of Asia, that we need to engage with that region, and this one guy’s linguistic abilities are a real asset in that regard.
• Landcare (and Coastcare) – a quite amazing voluntary initiative that is a practical demonstration of Australians interest in conserving their landscape. I am not up to date with the latest evolution of Landcare, but the core intent and engagement of local people is truly world-class.
• Our farmers – the ones I have met are full of wisdom, and love the land. Sometimes they are misled, incentives pull them in directions that were unsustainable, but always their hearts have been in the right place I think. We are still (globally) an agricultural society, and these few thousand men and women and their knowledge are quite, quite important.
• Our biodiversity – we have so many strange, dangerous, and niche plants, animals, insects and primitive life-forms. Even dry patches of scrub on the West Coast can contain more species per hectare than most tropical forests.
• Aboriginal culture and arts – tens of thousands of years of isolation have been the context for the evolution of a culture that is, arguably, the most sustainable on earth and deserves more attention (especially from me).
• ABC, SBS, Radio National, and RTR. I still used these public of non-profit media sources while in the UK and found much of what they did to be far superior than anything I found there. Especially ‘Big Ideas’, ‘Background Briefing’ and ‘The Night Air’
• The Natural Advantage of Nations – some young engineers thought something needed to be done about sustainability, so created a book, resource and network that was truly world-leading.
• Little Creatures, Coopers and Cascade Green – good beers, all with their own eco / local advantages. Expensive, but I don’t drink much.
• Vegemite, marmite and the other of this ilk – sure, it is a great savoury spread. But it was also a great example of the power of using competitions to come up with creative ways to re-use a resource. In this case, a competition to find a use for waste yeast from beer making. Vegemite resulted, and somehow (perhaps this was the true genius) was marketed in a way that people actually ate the stuff?!
• Somervillle eco-village and GreenEdge projects – the best thinking and analysis I have seen on how to replicate and scale eco-villages that are economically sustainable.
• Dialogue with the City and related Citizen engagement initiatives – at the time, Allanah McTiernan and co.’s efforts to pilot new levels and methods of engaging citizens in conversations about stuff that matters was world-leading. I have told so many people about this, and still value the experience I gained through participating.
• Some people – Les Hiddens (Bush Tucker Man), Peter Garrett (Midnight Oil / ALP), Fiona Stanley (child and indigenous health), Tim Flannery (climate change, and everything brilliant he did prior to that), Peter Singer (ethicist).
• Red, desert dirt – does anyone else have anything like this, or so much of it?
• Greenspeed – recumbent trikes ; )

…

What are you proud of about your nation?

Sumatra, Java and Bali – Indonesia

For such a large and diverse country, I did it no justice whatsoever. Since doing some planning in China, I knew I would have to rush through Indonesia to make Sydney in time (it was going to take me at least 5 days to get from Darwin to Sydney). I tried various things to squeeze a few more days in Indo, at the very least to see some volcanoes, forest and go surfing, and here is what resulted.

In between boarding the boat towards Sumatra on the morning of the 16^th, and midnight on the 22^nd of January (nearly 168 hours), I spent all but about 24 hours sitting on my bum on some form of transport.

First, a ferry, then bus, then 60+ hours on the bus to the ‘cultural capital’ of Yogyakarta, then 11 hours on the bus the next day to Bromo. Arriving in the evening, not sleeping, then leaving at 4am to watch the sun-not-rise over a volcano in the mist. At 8am I walked down off the volcano and back into a jeep, then bus, then an expensive 3km in a 4WD, then ferry (Java to Bali), then bus, then shared but relatively luxurious taxi for the final 19km into Kuta.

I was, at times during this journey, quite pissed off. It was hot, humid (it’s summer here) crowded, people were continuously trying to steal my stuff, or sell me rubbish, or rip me off (and sometimes succeeding). I’m not exaggerating about the proliferation of dishonourable people – and have missing sunglasses, a shirt, money and a few good stories as a result. My saving grace through all this was that I always asked to choose my seat in advance – for the 60 hour trip this was the difference between having my knees around my neck, or stretching out across the stairwell while sitting, then sprawling across the back seat to sleep.

Pekanburu to Yogyakarta gang with goats

The view for 60+ hours

And, at times, I was really happy. As in life always, whenever I wanted to be somewhere else, I was usually not happy. And, if I thought everyone was trying to steal stuff, then it is so easy to notice all kinds of things that reinforce this perception, and so the opposite. I was happy when I loaned out all my clothes to other cold people in the bus, then unhappy 24 hours when one of them had left and taken my shirt with him, and another was hiding my jacket hoping I would forget it. I was happy when guys with guitars or girls with karaoke machines would get on and sing for money, but not happy when the girl expected me to give her ‘money, money, money’. [I'm destined to be sad if my mood swings so much in relation to external circumstances, aren't I!?]

I must mention some of the transport. It’s worth saying that you will pay more for an A/C vehicle, but I suspect not get one, or one in which the A/C is not working. I am fine with heat and humidity actually, but not when I am expecting the A/C to work. The ferry was great. Superficially, if you squinted, it looked like a quality ferry that would do the crossing to Rottnest from Perth. Open your eyes and you start to see the rust, and patchy repairs to the hull. Step onboard and you see the odd welds, and realise that what looks like metal (e.g. hull) is actually all fibreglass. Sit inside, and you learn that fibreglass is pretty bloody thin as the whole wall of the boat flexes inwards a foot when docking against the jetty. I never used to understand how these Indonesian ferries just ’sank’, now I know.

The food along this whole journey was OK. But only when I tended to explore other options apart from the one the driver was directing us in to. The designated stops on the local buses were ok, but on one with only fellow tourists the driver directed us to a place that was literally ten times as expensive as the little local place 30m around the corner.

Anyway, rushing through Indo like this was not really going to give it a good chance to impress me. Nor was I going to many destinations (I.e. bus stations) that are set up to impress. Some things did, however, leave a positive impression:

• great street food in Yogyakarta, including a breakfast that competes with my yoghurt/banana/many grain/muesli/porridge in Kolkata for the best meal so far

• being entertained (and bemused) by the shadow puppet show and distracted gossiping puppeteers and musicians at the Sonobudoyo Museum, Yogyakarta

• the run-down but still cool ‘kraton’ (palace), then Buddhist monuments (Borabudur) in Yogyakarta and hanging out with two great Indonesian guys, both with amazing stories (one is like the winner of Indonesian idol, the other has been lifted out of poverty and it at Univeristy thanks to the generosity of a Dutch woman)

• stumbling upon an amazing (funeral?) ceremony at the southern end of Kuta beach amongst the heart of sunburnt tourists

• wondrous Balinese architecture, even on new-ish hotels,

• beautiful and handsome Balinese, with women sporting an attractive combination of bright saris and fitted tops

• totally awesome tailor in Kuta who impeccably re-created two pairs of my favourite pants/trousers, but in a way that means I can wear them to more formal meetings

• enjoying moments of genuine friendliness (heart-warming), adoration (weird) and laughter (the universal language) in between the hassles and nastiness

• early, early morning worshipping and locals doing their thing  everywhere before it all gets busy, smoky and nasty

My last couple of paragraphs can be devoted to Kuta.

I arrived late, found somewhere expensive, slept, looked around, then found somewhere cheaper. I then went to the beach! I had heard it was beautiful, and with very consistent waves – perfect for relaxing, but also getting back into my surfing. But being Dec/Jan the winds are blowing the wrong way, which is not so bad for the waves, but awful for pollution. I surfed several times, but in a thick soup of plastic, rotting fish, and all kinds of things that made my eyes water and make my skin crawl, even now. It was really awful, but I still got some alright waves.

Having lost my drivers licence on a German train a while back, I didn’t want to rent a motorbike (which EVERYONE else does), get hurt, then be in trouble with travel insurance. Having no board, I needed to surf wherever they rented boards. Having some meetings and wanting to just relax a bit and catch up on sleep, I didn’t have a whole lot of days to wander to other parts of Bali or Nusa Lombongan. Not being confident about my surfing or paddling, I was reluctant to get a lift to somewhere that the surf guides suggested might be crowded and unrideable.

So Kuta was a bit of a loss for me. I wandered the streets quite a bit, doing chores and checking out temples, different parts of the long strip of development along the beach, and confirming that every single shop sold exactly the same crap as every other. I did get back into the groove or surfing (it’s like riding a bike!), and felt much more aware of my weight, and what the wave was doing than ever before. And, I did get to see Uluwatu the day I was due to leave. I paid the guy from the surf shop to take me out on his motorbike. It looked ok, considering it was the wrong season, and I could have totally handled surfing there! It was a beautiful loooonggg wave, and I enjoyed the ride back into town (read upcoming ’size of reality’ post).

So, that was Indo. I think I will be back, and may be even more likely to learn Indonesian than Mandarin when in Oz. Afterall, it is Australia’s closest neighbour and therefore lowest-carbon overseas travel destination. It really does have the best waves on the planet, in warm water, with great food, beautiful people, amazing landscapes covered by much of the world’s remaining tropical forest, a wondrous range of languages, stunning and wearable art. And a warm friendliness and sense of spiritual reverence (whether Hindu, Muslim or indigenous) that still shines past even the worst rubbish, brazen hookers, sleaziest drunks, most aggressive salespeople and rudest bumper stickers you can find in Kuta.

Singapore, then Batam (Indonesia)

Emerging from the low-key Singapore train station, I headed to what I was told was the nearest source of tourist information. In my mid-trip wisdom I had decided not to purchase the Singapore section of the digital Lonely Planet guide (you buy them in sections). That decision cost me hours and dollars straight away, and much more later. Anyway, I enjoyed the clean and silent bus ride, towards a massive, cold, shopping mall that doubles as the ferry terminal to Batam.

I spent a few hours at the mall, working, wandering and planning until my Singaporean host, Callan, had finished work. Frustratingly everyone at the mall could sell me a ticket to Batam, Indonesia but had no idea how to find out about onward boats from Batam. All I knew is that they go regularly to Dumai, then Pekanburu (central Sumatra) but only once every four days to Jakarta. The Indonesian ferry company I knew of, Pelni, has a bad website (as in, it looks good, and gives you hope, but ultimately has no useful information) and they didn’t answer their phones.

So, I paid $6 (jeepers!) for a mocha chocollito at a smarmy coffee shop, and used their WiFi for a few hours. I then started to feel ill. I attribute it to the mocha thing, because I was irked at having to pay so much for something after months of cheap food and drinks. But, actually, I could also attribute my illness to the awful cheese sandwich on the train from KL, the milky drink in a can I bought at the Singapore train station, or my lunch from the cafeteria in the mall. Or perhaps it was a general allergic reaction to consumerism, on my part and in my surrounds.

The illness put me off food at all for a few days, but I enjoyed hanging out with Callan and his flatmates (all with great musical talent), and experiencing the diversity of Singapore that exceeds that of Georgetown. And, having some good conversations about climate change, sustainability and its relevance to banks and logistics companies.

The rest of Singapore I did not like. It was urban (cities have not been my favourite places this trip), expensive, chock-a-block full of shopping malls supporting a consumerist culture, and I spent far too long trying to get online. I think also, I had realised that getting through Indonesia overland was going to take a long time, that I needed to go fast, and that I was really starting to get excited about going for a surf.

I was, despite Callan’s warm welcome and the chance to relax a bit, thinking of getting on a boat the day after I arrived. Not knowing when the ferry to Jakarta went, I suspected it would be the day before whenever I got to Batam.

I didn’t leave end up leaving Singapore early, but was right about the ferry leaving that day! The following morning I got what I thought was the first ferry across to Batam, but it turns out it was still too late to connect with the boats to Sumatra [another bad decision caused by not buying the Lonely Planet for Singapore].

If anyone is reading this wanting to follow my footsteps, the Pelni boats currently pass though on their way to Jakarta on Wednesdays, from Sekupang on Batam. Or, if you just want to go to Dumai, ask around the different ferry operators from Singapore, and make sure you get the very earliest boat, which should get you to Batam in time to connect to the 7:30am Sumatran ferries. Again, noting that Batam is one hour behind Singapore. Boats, apparently, also go straight to Pekanburu, rather than via Dumai (which is a bus/boat combo). But, I am really not sure. No-one had maps, I was in a bad mood, and seemed to have arrived in a place (Indonesia) where I suspect almost everyone was trying to rip me off. Taxi drivers, as always, but also a kid who tried to charge me to use the free wireless he was stealing from his neighbour.

If you miss those connections, you wil suffer the same fate as me: an expensive taxi ride to town to stay in mid-priced but seedy hotels (which, it seems, all double as brothels). The Lonely Planet is pretty harsh on this place, suggesting it is full of “multinational industrial plant sweatshops, bizarro retirement homes, low-end golf courses and sweaty, doughy business executives getting loose in girlie bars“. All that, and only ten years ago it was a tropical island with no cars and population of 7000. Welcome to the glorious benefits of globalisation, free trade, tax-free zones. This truly is development and progress, Not.

I ended up wandering around looking for a bookshop, after foolishly ignoring the expensive books in Singapore. I had a lot of traveling ahead, and it was not going to be in a mode of transport with powerpoints, airconditioning and a table. No luck with the books, but I did buy some muesli in the supermarket for breakfasts and snackng on the move.  But I did eventually find fast internet. I spent the next long while holed up in a darkened room with dozens of school-age kids killing monsters (them, not me) while drinking cans of Red Bull (still cheap!). I woke the next morning,  opened the museli to find it full of weavils. Not a good start for Indo…

Ok, enough whingeing, click here to learn about the rest of the likely unrepresentative sample of what I experience in Indonesia.

Georgetown (diversity for my birthday) – Malaysia

A short ferry ride across from Butterworth train station is Georgetown on the island of Penang. I won’t recount the history of the place here, but it’s enough to know that it has long been home to a diverse group of settlers. It now has a crumbling colonial feel (courtesy of the British and Dutch), with no sidewalks, and the first place where I have really started to feel the heat sap my energy.

The guidebook talked about its diversity, but I wasn’t prepared for how real it was. While every nation has been rich in its own culture, this was the first one where many of these separate nations were authentically represented. For example, in India there were lots of Indians, China Chinese, but in Georgetown real slices of India, China and Malaysia.

Literally authentic Indian, Chinese communities nestled amongst the Malay. I stood in the middle of my first major intersection, staring left down a street full of vegetarian Indian restaurants advertising with Hindi script. Staring ahead I was looking up a lane of Chinese restaurants, tailors and the like, all advertising in Mandarin. Many of the signs in the rest of town were written in three or more scripts. My lunch in an Indian restaurant revealed further subtelties. Everyone in the restaurant appeared to be Hindu, there was a buddha statue seated at the cashier, a muslim sat eating behind me, and a chinese couple to my right. Happily, later on I also found a good organic bakery, my first in months.

Anyway, it was in the midst of wonder at this diversity when I remembered: this is what London is like. I have become so used to traipsing through coarsely monocultural (though with obviously great local diversity) nations where everyone is of one race, that the diversity I was used to in the UK, Europe or even Australia had become an oddity. The diversity I am used to from London, for example, has actually proven completely inconceivable to many people in the countries I have visited. Other travellers, such as the Chinese-Canadian, or the African-American, or the Bengali-American have shared how perplexing their combination of appearance, ancestry, linguistic skill (or lack of) and nationality has been met with disbelief by the locals.

Pondering this as I walked, I became aware of what a ‘freek’ I must appear. My clothing for these past few days had been selected based on being needing to keep cool, yet also cover myself in a predominately Muslim country. This meant I was wearing I had a Chinese-style long-sleeved shirt with loops and baubles instead of buttons, baggy white cotton trousers from Pakistan, Aussie flip flops, an Indian shoulder bag, and a Thai-made watch (which I bought for my birthday). Together, I don’t think I actually looked good: being ‘fashionable’ was not mentioned on my clothes selection criteria.

The final highlight of Penang was stumbling across one of the most wondrous stores I have seen this whole trip. It was a Chinese / Buddhist emporium. Spread through three mirror-adorned floors were every imaginable typed of monument, clothing, drum, bell, good-luck charm for the discerning Chinese or Buddhist. There were massive concrete carvings, expensive but well-made monk’s outfits, massive (2 metre) incense sticks, porcelain warriors and all manner of things red and gold, kitschy and classy. I actually got lost in there, and consider myself fortunate to have emerged only having spent a few dollars on a strange holographic representation of an Indian diety.

Bangkok – Thailand

A pleasant overnight train from NongKhai deposited me in Bangkok mid-morning. I was just in-time for the announcement of the twice daily moment of silence and stillness in honour of the king. People I had met along the way had not spoke highly of Bankok, but some shuffling of meetings actually meant I had to spend a couple of days here – much of it on skype or working.

And it was worth it. Khao San must be the most stereotypical backpacker destination on the planet, filled with cheap hostels, hawkers selling sunglasses, beer shirts, and everything else that can be cheaply, shoddily produced or reproduced. My room was still quite cheap, and pleasant with room enough for exercise in the mornings without having to do push-ups in the hostel hallway. And, fresh fruit salad, yoghurt and a scatter of muesli was available on the street – I ended up eating this for 2/3 of my meals!

My first afternoon was spent wandering the city, getting used to the local bus sytem, visiting an interesting American entrepreneur’s stunning collection of traditional Thai houses and art, and searching for distant and now-closed vegetarian restaurants from my guidebook. While I didn’t find the vego restaurant, I did find a beautiful ‘health’ park filled with exercise equipment, a few tai chi classes, and some impressively flexible older men (60 years old, perhaps?) playing ‘hacky sack’ but with a bamboo ball [sorry, I don't know what that game is called].

Jim Thompson's house

The park was also host to several hundred Thai women in leotards doing aerobics amongst the trees and lakes. I didn’t stare, just sort of stumbled through the middle of it. Unfortunately, I did myself a dis-service by then going a few blocks out of my way to stare take a skin-crawling walk down one of the famed streets full of strip bars and fat, old, seedy white men. I could barely bring myself to lift my gaze from the ground – what was I thinking coming here?

Throughout my visit I saw so many white guys with Thai girls, presumably just for the week. The conversation between some young, handsome, well-educated German guys about their relationships with their temporarily-employed ‘girlfriends’ were a bit sickening. I don’t really know everything that goes on, and how it works, but assumed the worst in most of the cases I saw. Which is perhaps not fair…

The following day I set myself a schedule of seeing most the best of the wats and palaces in town. Early morning at the Palace was relatively expensive, but quite phenomenal. Thailand is officially Buddhist, and has a monarch, so when the royals want to honour Buddha and have a nice palace there is no holding back. I actually cannot muster the words to decsribe the amount of gold, jewels, stupas, endless murals adorning the kilometres of interior walls the literally thousands of half-size, full-size and individually-unique buddhas. It was too much really. At some temples I feel reverence, in this case I just felt overwhelmed, and if a pilgrim would be seeking some quiet corner. Which is also great, because there is an abundance of quiet, yet incredible beautiful corners.

The overwhelming nature of this place extended to the size of the big golden buddha, the immaculate palace gardens, the intricate design and finishing of every roof or every building, and the descriptions of the yearly cycle of ceremonies and adjustment of the buddhas clothing to match the seasons. The icing on the cake was the museum, tucked away in one corner. I am not sure how many visitors make it through here – I was feeling exhausted myself from just an hour of sensory overload – but it was worth it. The museum was commissioned by one of the princesses who noticed quite a lot of nice stuff being thrown out during some renovations. And what stuff crystal buddhas, wood artefacts, golden thrones – honestly the museum would probably take pride of place in any other city or temple.

Another stunning Wat and river-boat ride later and I was in the north of the city again. I enjoyed watching a fish feeding frenzy, a short detour through some local markets, a great vegetarian, organic breakfast then haircut from a slightly nervous but ultimately competent hairdresser. Then on to the bus, then train for the long haul to Singapore.

More Bangkok photos are here.

Nong Khai – Thailand

This town is the end of the rail line that runs all the way through north-eastern Thailand and into Bangkok. Since Vientiene I had been traveling with an interesting American guy of Indian heritage, Sam. He was somewhat similar to me in our interest in not getting ripped off, and so walked from the train station in to town. Walking along the riverfront, we can across the truly lovely Mut Mee hostel. The hostel is beautiful, with great food, though a step up in cost from Laos. Tasteful, well-designed, well-informed staff and a delightful view and you could really get sucked in to hanging around here for a few days – making this your base for lazily exploring the surrounding areas. After a long walk in with Sam, we found this place for breakfast, and I stayed to finish some emails while he wandered to the markets.

By the end of the day, I came to conclude that the hostel may have been the only nice thing in town, thought I did not get the chance to explore some of the natural beauty and interesting sculptural parks that lay just a bicycle ride away.

A stroll along the gentrified foreshore was worth it for a lonely but impressive buddha-topped stupa. The rest of that walk was dominated by markets which were the most crap-filled I have come across yet. Just absolute rubbish – plastic, camouflaged, pastel-coloured, fake wood crap. It really disturbed me as I presumably had entered the parts of SE Asia where any trace of the cultural influence on what you can buy is getting pretty hard to discern. But still, relative to Australia, a veritable cultural treasure trove perhaps?

Luang Prabang (don’t but a beer shirt here, please) – Laos

Truly a beautiful place, with a serene atmosphere. Apparently it was peak season, but even then it felt like there was really no-one around compared to all the other touristy towns I have been in. My mood was helped a lot by getting in my morning exercise and meditation, then getting up early to wander the main street and see the incredibly photogenic old town and wats (temples), then on to the river, and vegetable gardens. And later on to the markets etc. The combination of French colonial and buddhist-inspired Laos architecture set amongst a spacious and tuk-tuk free town centre was quite enchanting.

In the evening I climbed atop the hill in the centre of town to watch the sun set with other sun-worshipping tourists (many of them Australian). I say sun-worshipping because it was remarkably similar to a religious ceremony. Dozens of people, crowded closely, holding and staring at objects above their head, then drawing the object down to look closely at it. I wasn’t the only one who thought it was funny, or thought it even funnier when most people left before the sunset actually started to get really good.

A delicious evening meal at the night markets, good nights sleep, meditation and exercise then indulgent (expensive) bowl of muesli and yoghurt for breakfast followed. The muesli was a bit disappointing, so I stopped at a street stall for a local omelette, which once again proved the locals eat where they do for good reasons. The real highlight of this day was exploring the two cultural exhibitions which should have really been my first port of call. One, led by a French couple who seem to be driving much of the town’s sustainable development (and who own one of the fancier bars and bookshop), was an amazing example of how to educate tourists and ensure they have a great time. It contained exhibits and advice on everything from local customs, to food, to how to choose products that are really made in pre-industrial Laos (not factories in China, or Thailand). The second cultural exhibit (an ethnology museum) contained more costumes of local minority people, and was actually useful in helping me understand some of what I saw in southern Yunnan,  in Yuangyang.

Actually, the main thing I remember after perusing both exhibits was wanting to scream at some of the younger,  Australian males in the night-time souvenir markets “don’t buy that fucking beer shirt you ignorant f*&@wit“. Beer shirts are not made in Laos, even if the beer is, and are such a crap choice of memorobilia from a place with such an incredible diversity of crafts, ethnicities, history and natural beauty. Seriously, a bloody disgrace.

I had booked a massage (very popular for tourists here) at the local Red Cross (proceeds to charity), which was nice, but didn’t quitte hit the spot (I’d been hanging out for one for months!), then headed to catch the bus towards Thailand.

Yuanyang (Delirious) – China

Yuanyang in SW Yunnan is an amazing place, a hilltop town increasingly famous for its picturesque rice paddies extending out across the steep valleys. Even more exciting is that more than 88% of the area’s population are ethnic minorities including the Hani, Yi, Dai, Miao, Yao and Zhuang. Those two factors, and the fact that it seemed relatively remote, mean I planned to stay there for four days to finish some work, hang-out, meditate and enjoy the views and culture.

While the views were great on the first afternoon, the rest of the time it was quite cold, and the whole area was covered in a thick, thick mist. Seriously, you could hardly see 5m in front of you. But what I could see was great – every woman emerging from the mist on the road or in the markets was wearing some amazing hand-sewn costume that was both practical and beautiful. The fog was a blessing forgetting work done, though not for getting my clothes to dry out.

Below is a brief description of my experience on the last day in Yuanyang….

After being locked in my cell-like accomodation, I walk to the filthy, permanently wet toilet area then on to the slick streets. Emerging from Chen family’s guest house, my spirits lift slightly as the fog has cleared a bit to give nearly a full 20m of visibility! Sunshine too is reaching through, meaning there is a bit of warmth in the air. Even some patches of road are dry – something I haven’t seen for days.

With a few more steps I realise I am slightly delirious, probably attributable to releasing myself from the stage pattern of the last few days. I start quietly but insanely giggling with joy as I pass more of the beautiful and intricately adorned Hani women. I walk past one, standing slightly apart from a huddle of 5. Just as I look and admire the stitching and colour on her clothes, she makes a loud guttural noise, gathers a huge wad of phlegm and spits it out into the street.

How simply wonderful and divine!!!

This juxtaposition keeps me giggling for a good 10 minutes more… I wander in and through the markets full of fresh vegetables and freshly slaughtered domestic animals (goose, pigs, dogs) then on to my hot bun lady. Everyday I have been here I have stopped to get some steamed buns. Some with sweat or vegetable filling, some plain (although you can choose from five different types of flour, including one mixed with red beans) and all for 0.5 yuan: about 10 Australian cents.

But, I think I really need something substantial for dinner. It is, after all, nearly 17:30: in half an hour all the street restaurants will be closed and dinner will be over. I choose my vegetables as the man heats sauces and broth in a clay pot over a jet-like flame of gas. As I sit to eat, and consider adding a whole tablespoon more of MSG, just to be ‘crazy’. Instead, I realise what the dish really lacks a bit of fire. No chilli was added to this bowl, the owner probably presuming I can’t take it. Well, I add about ¼ teaspoon of the chilli mix. Somehow, that miniscule amount of chilli manages to turn every mouthful of nearly 1.5L of soup, noodles and vegetables into a eye-watering test of my mouth’s ability to handle heat.

Fantastic!!!!

I continue laughing. Additionally rejoicing in the fact that almost every meal, every ingredient used here (MSG excepted) was probably grown or harvested within 5km (including the water), and if picked or chopped, the earliest it would have been done was yesterday. I find this totally amazing. And, even the fact that I find this amazing is the tragedy of modern food systems in ‘developed’ nations.

After dinner, I spend the night in the local eco-tourism visitor centre, the best of its sort I have come across so far http://www.yuanyangwindow.com/. I spend most of the time emailing off the work I have just completed, and researching some more links and people to meet up with on the rest of my travels, especially in Australia. And, I  then decide it feels the right time to leave Yuanyang.

The next morning I have meditated, packed, and am out the door by 6.30. A few more moments of joy and laughter borne of cultural and linguistic misunderstandings and I am on the bus towards Lunchun. Having not listened to much music this trip, and still being in a deliriously happy mood, I turn on my MP3 player. The first song that thumps out is a ‘Ministry of Sound’ uplifting house tune who’s sole line (repeated endlessly) is ‘I’ve got so much love to give’. I really do, did at that moment, have ’so much love to give’ for the world, and my experience in it.

And then more minority women with beautiful hands – shaped by oil, sun, work and care for craft and children – hopped on the bus and started gossiping in a beautiful, tonal yet utterly unintelligible language. Oh, and carrying an insanely large sweet, iced birthday cake in a bright pink box. GOD! What joy there is in ‘not knowing’ – about the box, the language, or whether the bus driver will avoid driving off a cliff in the heavy mist. The beauty of not knowing, resting safe in the knowledge that you have no idea whatsoever what is going on. For everything I don’t understand, I want to know and am curious, but also hilariously aware of the incomprehensibility of it all.

Wonderful!!!!

So beautiful I started to cry. Cry at the beauty, love, joy that is always available in every moment if only I could be bothered to look. I celebrated my joy by coaxing a large glob of phlem out of the back of my throat and spitting it out the window of the bus. I felt so proud – another step taken towards being truly Chinese.

Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful.