360 Days of Adventure...continues

Chennai

butterfly-freed — Mon, 15 Aug 2016 01:21:00 GMT

Long before we actually reach Chennai settlements have become more tightly knit until forming a town, which somehow becomes a city scarcely separated by the airport. It seems inconceivable that there is space for runways and terminal buildings, but suddenly there it is! Within moments of pulling up outside Domestic Departures Veronica is offloaded to begin her next adventures from Delhi, while the driver is keen not to exceed the free ten minute drop off allocation. Air conditioning (if available) costs extra so while he pulls over for a chat, the temperature in the car is steadily rising. Eventually we are on the move again as he knowledgeably negotiates the chaos on the roads. The city begins to take on a more city shape as motor showrooms, high-rise buildings and even a metro system appears.

Green Park hotel is located beside a large shopping mall and directly next to the Vijaya Hospital. The thought 'shop til you drop' springs to mind! Reception are unable to find my booking extension for tonight and I find myself feeling uptight for the first time since I arrived. Actually I feel like someone who fell asleep in the country and five sticky hours later has somehow woken up in a big city! Soon enough I am in a large room that feels like an extravagant guilty pleasure, although lacking the simple charm of the one I have left behind. There is a reasonable sized pool outside, although the token four loungers imply I may be in the minority of listing a pool as prerequisite in my hotel choice.

Whenever I feel overwhelmed whlie travelling I find it helpful to do something that feels familiar. The Bali Spa offers the perfect solution as I absorb myself in the brochures, opting for a very reasonably-priced leg and foot massage. It turns out to better than any I had in Bali, much to the delight of my Indonesian therapist. Perhaps a facial tomorrow? Well, for £10 it's difficult to argue against!

Sunday breakfast is a long one, spent in the delightful company of a friend of a friend. She is combining a visit to family with business in Chennai from her home in Bangalore. We find ourselves absorbed in conversation that could easily have stretched far longer into the day. Wherever you are in the world you find people who want to push their boundaries in a desire to see more, to get out and experience life - sometimes referred to as the 'black sheep' of their family for defying convention and they are usually the sort of people I like most!

The Vijaya shopping mall is crowded, noisy and international: sari shops to M&S; Indian eateries alongside Italian and branded fast food chain outlets; and my favourite being locally inspired paintings alongside a portrait of Bear Grylls! Downstairs there is a huge Spar supermarket where I find the Tata Gold Tea (recommended for chai masala), halwa, sweet khoua (which I sample and like very much), lassi served by the cup, alongside household goods and a butchery area which I avoid completely. The smells in the cleaning section are overpowering so I escape to aisles where large tubs of spices, lentils and rice can be scooped up like a sort of pic n mix counter. When I'm finally done, I allow myself to be lead into the cafe opposite with the promise of an iced mocha coffee, which is every bit the treat it promised to be.

Back at the hotel my bags are scanned and I pass through the metal detector which sounds again, although no action is taken as I am wished good day by the security staff. The buffet supper is a delight and its not hard to understand why I haven't missed meat or western-style food. When Ashok Tree start their Ayurvedic cookery classes, I will make a plan to return! By 7.30pm I'm finishing off with a masala chai, while waiting staff hover around the almost empty restaurant waiting for the evening rush.

The swimming pool is deserted apart from a few pigeons and two crows who make no secret of their displeasure at my intrusion into their rather opulent water source and who spend considerable time leting me know this. Otherwise I have the pool to myself apart from a couple of spectators half-hidden behind twitching curtains! I'm glad I chose the costume and not my bikini, for as international as the hotel purports to be, I am the only western female here. I am resigned that I shall return from India with a healthy glow on my face and arms, the rest having remained respectfully covered.

August 15th marks India's 70th Independence Day and fireworks have punctuated the constant hum of city traffic for most of the night. A letter from the manger has invited guests to attend the flag hoisting ceremony. By 8.30am a sizeable assortment of staff, appropriately festooned with patriotic flags and sunshades, along with a handful of guests are gathered outside. I feel conspicuous as the sole representarice of the bygone era, but a flag is thrust into my hand and I'm made welcome. After the flag has been raised and staff have paraded a pre-determined course to a well-known marching tune that somehow seems reminiscent of the past, the manager personally hands out a small tri-colour sweet to everyone present, while a photographer captures the occasion.

Breakfast is again South Indian coffee, a fruit platter with the totally indulgent addition of three gulab jamun-a kind of sponge ball soaked in syrup. As a small penance I go back to the pool to fight out ownership with the crows, who remain almost as vocal despite the small piece of cake i have brought them as a peace offering.

My last stop is a conveniently located airport hotel before my early morning departure tomorrow. A few remaining hours to contemplate my amazing time in Tamil Nadu, South India.

Pondicherry

butterfly-freed — Fri, 12 Aug 2016 23:20:00 GMT

It's only about 110kms to Puducherry (formerly known as Pondicherry) but as most of the road from Tiruvannamalai is not highway, it takes around three hours. From the main Chennai road, the toll national highway is a pleasure. I muse whether NH66 could be India's answer to Route 66, but find there is nothing to suggest it could earn a similar iconic status.

Puducherry, formerly known as Pondicherry, was a French colony in days gone by and still receives substantial funding from the French government, particularly for education. I'm not going to profess any sort of understanding of Indian politics, but being part of one of seven Union territories which are controlled by central government, rather than one of the 28 states, along with an impressive tourist website, our hopes were quite high. I'm not sure what we expected to find, but the ex colonial charm seems more like a once well-laid garden that has been left to fend for itself so that it becomes consumed by nature and returned to its untamed state, with only a few landmarks remaining. Street names retain their curious charm of being both in French and Tamil.

The longer-than-anticipated drive means we have just under five hours here. We start at the temple, although the long queues in the intense midday heat make the decision not to go inside an easy one. The hawkers and beggars are an indication of its tourist status, and as we head towards the famous 1.5km Promenade Beach, it's French that the few foreigners are speaking. Hopes of paddling in the Bay of Bengal are thwarted by the rocky embankment built to keep people out of the sea, or perhaps to keep the sea from encroaching onto pristine sands that line the promenade. The best we can hope for is a little spray as waves intermittently pound in protest of their confinement.

A huge statue sheltering Gandhi stands close to Le Cafe, situated (famously) on the edge of the beach, although the wall and iron railings that enclose it, mean ones feet are not quite 'practically in the sand' as been suggested. However, the drinks are tasty and cold and mostly there's a breeze too. As the reviews suggest, the food is passable, just. It's a good place to relax and look out to sea.

We stop at the Tourist Office to pick up a map and find ourselves chatting to the man there. He is impressed by the flower garlands we are wearing in our hair which Malar made for us. These are measured in muura, which is roughly 1.5 feet long, but usually measured on the lower arm. A woman selling these can expect to earn 10 rupees per muura so if you want a bargain, look for a lady with long arms!

We decide to visit the churches as this route will show us a fair section of the town. We follow the promenade south towards the port and train station hoping to find traces of this elusive colonialism. Some buildings, particularly their colour, are reminiscent of a Mediterranean heritage, but as you navigate your pedestrian safety between the stench of under (or alongside) pavement sewerage or the mayhem on the edge of the road, any delusion is short-lived. This is definitely India! I ponder the thoughts of the French tourists.

The Notre Dame des Anges, the imposing Sacred Heart Church, followed by the Immaculate Conception Cathedral along with schools attached, quaint little hotels and official French offices that almost disappear amongst neighbouring buildings all make for wonderful photo opportunities, in a scene that paints a picture of concession and practicality more than of quaint charm. It's difficult to sum up possibly because they don't necessarily make easy bedfellows.

Bharathi Park is a pleasant green spot close to our final stop which is a small workshop where women are making handicrafts from paper that are then sold in the shop next door. Out of all our purchases, it is the carrier bag which draws most interest when we get back to Ashok Tree. The Hindu Times has been reworked to produce a slightly glossy, reusable bag, that not only holds your souvenirs, but reminds you of events making recent news. Genius! There are beaches for swimming and the famous social experiment known as Auroville but we have run out of time. Perhaps another time, if I happen to be passing.

The trip back is equally long, although now due to pedestrian traffic. It's Saturday night and the towns en-route are crowded with families loitering or shopping in the brightly lit shops, or browsing carts laden with anything from flower garlands, or fruits, to shiny pots and pans. It is noisy here, as is everywhere we've seen that is not reserved for worship or meditation! We had hoped to get back before sunset, but it has been dark for quite some time before we drive through the gates of the retreat to the ever-warm welcome. In darkness, as in daylight, the view from the car is always considerably less stressful from the side window!

India, Ramblings and Etiquette

butterfly-freed — Tue, 9 Aug 2016 16:00:00 GMT

One evening not long after we arrived we ventured out for a stroll down the road. We hadn't got very far when we were invited to a nearby house. A light day bed frame was hastily produced and we were invited to sit outside and converse with the women of the house. A mother and her two daughters and grandmother who lives in a room next door produced a bowl of monkey nuts for us. Conversation was limited to the girls' school book English, but with some waving of hands and much smiling and nodding of heads, we spent an enjoyable moment in the warmth of local hospitality.

Every travel guide advises you to avoid food that has been handled, as far as possible, but none then really suggest how to avoid offending a host who has generously peeled your fruit or shelled nuts for you. I find myself hoping that my hearty mix of probiotics will prove effective. We have sampled various herbal teas, chewed on leaves Govondan picks for us and, best of all, indulged in the Indian sweets I requested.

The warm cloudy days pass by quite quickly while the hotter clear sky days seem to stretch out in a languid, hazy swelter. With no exhausting itinerary to follow, we are free to go out when we want, help in the school, observe and learn about cultural nuances or simply put the hammocks to good use to process everything we are experiencing. Of course an Ayurvedic massage is always a welcome diversion from our 'hectic schedule' of conversations, meals and relaxation. The therapist seems to know exactly which areas need working on, and we gratefully submit to her expertise. Trying to write or re-size and upload photos after this proves futile and instead I allow the cool breeze to softly rock my favourite string hammock.

Yoga with the children has become a daily occurrence that I'm getting used to and enjoying. Years of dance training mask my complete ineptitude so that while some poses are manageable only in their most basic form, the children have not yet collapsed with laughter.

Wednesday we venture into town again, remarking that the route seems so much shorter as our surroundings become more familiar. We stop at the Shantimalai Women's handicraft centre which provides a fair wage to local women trained in handicrafts which are then sold here and around the world. I have put aside my shopping to collect later as we are about to walk half way up a mountain and any extra weight an unnecessary encumbrance. We stop at the German Bakery for a quick lunch although it is only serving limited food options during its refurbishment.

The road opposite the temple is quite steep and narrow with steps roughly cut into it. The tuk tuk driver has left us as at the bottom of the road waving his hand vaguely to indicate we go straight up, and keep going. Small stalls soon give way to small dwellings and the customary rubbish pile. We decline the offer of a guide and his promised short cut who has attached himself to us. The Mango Tree cave is closed until late afternoon but we stop to watch some birds greedily devouring the rice offerings that have been left outside. They eye us suspiciously as if we might, at any moment, challenge them for this prize meal. Instead, having caught our breath, we continue to the Virupakshi cave where Sri Ramana Maharshi spent almost seventeen years of his life, in almost complete silence! This concept alone has me baffled, although we respectfully follow the directive to do the same while we are there. The cave is small and dark, if slightly claustrophobic but strangely actually does seem to resonate the sound 'AUM'. A colour photograph shows an older man who radiates wisdom, kindness and compassion. I am drawn to read up more about him when we get back and it's a fascinating story.

Slightly later than planned on Sunday morning we set off in search of an ashram we have seen signposted nearby. We reassure Pankaj and Govondan several times that we will be fine and walk towards and then through the village. The chances of going unnoticed are precisely zero and we are greeted by several children we know, and many more that we don't as we wander along in the heat, trying to look like we know exactly where we're going. Even the dogs seem to know that we don't fit in here and bark at our intrusion. Foolishly I forgot to apply sunscreen and some days later my shoulders are still paying the price!

Greenland Ashram is thoughtfully located on Enlightenment Road. We have found the road to enlightenment tucked away in a beautiful but extremely remote area of Tamil Nadu! Sadly the gates are locked and the place, lovely as it looks, seems deserted -probably an accurate reflection of our state of readiness! All is not lost however, as soon the man responsible for security appears and welcomes us to his gatehouse. He kindly gives us a tour of the temple where we have our second experience of vibhuti. I wonder idly whether anyone can distribute this sacred ash as he demands we open our mouth so he can throw some in there too. Knowing its composition now, it's hard not to flinch! Photos are taken and a promise to print and send these to him is extracted before we set off back to The Ashok Tree. An interesting, if somewhat surreal, experience. After this exertion we're relieved that another massage is the only thing on the agenda this afternoon.

Perhaps we'll be really lucky and there'll be no 'programme' blaring music, chanting and news through the loud speaker up the road.

Discoveries continue: Tiru'(v)anna'malai - translates to Sir/Lord'Shiva'mountain.

In and around the Retreat

butterfly-freed — Sun, 7 Aug 2016 15:30:00 GMT

On the days we don't go out, we spend time with the children, teaching a little as well as playing. There is always something going on. The builders have finished the fourth classroom and the toilets are almost complete, amongst several other projects in progress. It's quite an education to watch work in progress here. Rudimentary scaffolding is constructed from wooden poles tied with rope, dishes of sand are carried by the women labourers on their head. It's all pretty basic but steady work certainly gets the job done.

One afternoon was spent hair-plaiting, while learning about each other's different customs and traditions. A jar which contains oil and some long thin while strands, known as vetti root (vetiver), is produced and applied to the hair before plaiting. It is mainly used for medicinal purposes for treating fever, internal parasites and poisonous stings. In this case it simply stops the oil sticking to the hair. It is also a great opportunity to learn some of the Tamil language, much to the amusement of everyone within earshot. I have a list of about twenty useful words which, importantly, are not to difficult to say. The word 'wanakam' (my phonetic version) is a greeting which instigates an immediately positive response from most people. It is a simple greeting which seems to imply that you are speaking to someone as an equal, on a respectful level. The initial look of surprise is invariably followed by a broad grin, and the greeting returned, with hands held together in a prayer-like position and a nod of the head. Nandree is thank you, while nandrew is good - simple words, but ones which go a long way! We now find adults address us as 'auntie', rather than 'mam' - the children, who grow ever more mischievous as we become familiar faces, continue to chant 'mam' in unison.

Another time we try henna hand painting. The mixture of pulverised leaves makes a thick green paste and dries a startling orange, rather than the reddish/brown mixture which comes in a cone to enable decorative designs. The only means of application is a small stick or fingers. I opt for the stick and am not too unhappy with the results. I am surprised to learn that henna has several medicinal uses including reducing heat in the body rather than being purely for decoration purposes.

The cows graze the grass in the centre of the compound. As I have come expect, this serves more than one purpose. Firstly the cows are getting fed, but also keeping the grass shorter reduces the likelihood of snakes. After hearing that a rather large venomous one was seen on the compound periphery a couple of days ago, this seems like a great idea. The two young calves are being held on their tethers and learning to respond to being guided. In the kitchen a large vat of milk collected and boiled this morning is used for cooking, tea and coffee. There is enough for everyone, and whatever there is, is shared around. Even the building crew do not have to bring lunch with them as they are fed here.

On the first and second day of every month, elderly people from the local area with no relatives to care for them come here and are given rice, dhall (lentils), cooking oil and curry powder that will last them for 10-14 days. This new initiative goes some way to give them a means to support their incredibly thin frames. I find the whole thing incredibly moving, not just the sharing of the food, but the gesture of care for those who are no longer able to care for themselves. There is no financial support given to The Ashok Tree foundation to provide this and everything they offer here is all funded by donations and fund raising initiatives, see http://www.ashoktree.com. The school provides completely free education, including uniform and stationery, the clinic treats and monitors the children's health and that of the local community, there is a new project in progress which will provide housing for some of the homeless and of course there is all the local employment that this small community has created. The kindness and generosity is undeniably genuine and the people here reflect this.

Its time I gave you a brief introduction to some of the people who have made us so welcome here. They have gone far beyond their remit of simply looking after us and are already beginning to feel more like friends. It's great to have so many sources of information. Pankaj has been left in charge on site while Laxman is away and has tirelessly kept us entertained with great stories, patiently trying to answer our endless questions as best he can. He's originally from the North, so on cultural matters will often consult with Govondan. If it's information on medicinal uses of plants or religious matters then Govondan is likely to have an explanation, although his tendency to mix English and Tamil in the same sentence can mean the answer isn't entirely clear. We have renamed Vijaya 'master chef', much to her delight, and is responsible for consistently cooking up wonderful healthy food. She has also shown her artistic talent seemingly effortlessly creating the rangolI artwork. Indira has an infectious giggle and is the nurse in charge of the clinic, as well as helping Maheswari with massages. In her free time, she is enjoying the colouring books and felt pens that Veronica brought. Malar keeps our rooms clean and has taken to bringing us strings of flowers for our hair that she has deftly woven. As the evening approaches the beautiful scent of jasmine is released every time we move our heads, I think this scent will always remind me of a happy time spent here. Priya recently started in the office and has given us more local cultural insights than any tourist book ever could have done. We have enjoyed long conversations and been grateful for all her translation which has helped include all the ladies in conversation. There are, of course, many others but suffice to say that every single person has made us feel incredibly welcome and their kindness renews ones faith in humankind.

Vibhuti - Cow Dung Initiation

butterfly-freed — Fri, 5 Aug 2016 00:27:00 GMT

The time has come to step outside of what feels comfortable. Life in the retreat is a very sanitised version of what lies outside, but we're pretty comfortable with that. However, We came to see India and are not going to do that unless we get the local bus, or perhaps more wisely a tuk tuk and venture out into Tiru. Our first stop is the Ramana ashram where they are serving hot food to those waiting in a sizeable queue. There are several Westerners, some tourists like us, while others appear to have fully embraced life here, from religion down to the clothing.

The next stop is the Shanti Cafe, which is closed. There is a German and a French bakery but we pass on these. Our tuk tuk deposits us outside the east gate of the Arunachaleshwar Temple, where we will meet again two hours from now. I am feeling completely outside my comfort zone in the midst of all this chaos. It's a word I find I'm using quite liberally here because it so aptly describes how it all appears to me. India seems like some sort of scrabble for life, a fight for survival and still there's this gratitude which I find so humbling. There is also a sense of community for those without the support of family, that is at least very evident in The Ashok Tree community.

Meanwhile, here we are in the midst of it all in the centre of town and our smallest note is a INR500 (roughly £5). Our first task is to find a way to reduce this. By chance we find a supermarket where we buy a few items and are now street-ready! We enter the temple, leaving our shoes at the gate (they are not permitted in our bag). Having just walked through a small vegetable market, I'm starting to see why shoes are considered so dirty-they usually are!

Near the centre of the huge temple complex, there is an elephant who, it seems, is to stand there and bless people by touching their heads, no doubt for a fee! Frankly I would like just to set him free. No photos allowed here, or anywhere else in the temple complex. The ground is hot underfoot, but keeping to the painted pathways is at least slightly cooler than the bare hot stone. We pay INR20 to go inside the main temple, quite unprepared for the 45 minutes queue we find ourselves in, to see something as yet unknown. Inside its dark and dingy, the stone is almost black and smoke stained from the oil lamps burning just inside the entrance. The lighting is dim and small ceiling windows don't produce much light, or air! The stone floor is reasonably cool but the air is warm and stuffy. Industrial sized fans unfortunately do not oscillate so the best spots in the queue is in front of one these. Had there been a means of escape I rather think I would have taken it.

The lady behind me strikes up conversation which normally starts by enquiring which country you are from. Personal space distances here are quite different from what we are used to in England, and having someone so close as to be touching, especially in this heat is an unwelcome space invasion. I buy myself a couple of inches by putting my large should bag between us. Her sister who is visiting from Bangalore moves forward to chat. She is a fascinating well-educated lady who has represented her country on the issue of women's rights at the White House. I am so absorbed in the conversation that I have forgotten the almost claustrophobic feelings I was experiencing earlier. We are the only tourists in here and it probably helps pass the time wondering what we are doing here to pay our respects to Lord Shiva and receive vibhuti. Vibhuti is a whitish powder received into your hand and then either applied to the forehead or stored in carefully folded paper. Govodan later applies this to our foreheads and Priya, later still, explains that it is cow dung which has been heated until it becomes this white dust. I'm not sure I'm enthralled about having cow dung on my forehead, but having spent almost an hour barefoot among hundreds of other bare feet, I suppose a little cow dung isn't going to hurt!

We meet our tuk tuk driver at the appointed hour and are quite relieved to have survived the whole experience. As is often the case, the reality is less scary than the prospect, despite Vero's encounter with a hungry monkey! Even they seem to know we are soft-touch tourists! I'm quite surprised how infrequently we have been approached and asked for money. Perhaps being a less touristy destination, begging is not the common phenomenon here that I have heard it is elsewhere.

Our final stop is back to the shops near the ashram, which are clearly there to meet the tourists needs, but as nothing in town appealed, we'll take our chances there. A sari may be overdoing it somewhat, but the half and halfs (long top with loose trousers) are practical and could be worn separately elsewhere. The salesman speaks excellent English and has, we banter, been to university to study sales. This amuses him as he continues to open more cellophane packages with beautiful scarves, shawls, hand embroidered cotton shirts, pashminas, cushion covers and anything else he can think of to tempt us with, including a huge selection of rugs. The final 'best price' is doubtless over the odds, but it's a price we don't mind paying so once out outfits are bagged, we get back to our patient tuk tuk driver.

Back at the retreat, I'm grateful for a cup of delicious masala chai (tea), freshly-made, along with everything else here.

Life, Lessons and Yoga

butterfly-freed — Wed, 3 Aug 2016 14:36:00 GMT

It's business as usual today following the festivities of yesterday's holiday. School is back in session, and so are the full complement of builders, site workers and the labourers in the adjoining fields berhind us.

Breakfast consists of a tasty quinoa porridge with nuts and served alongside mango, papaya, small monkey bananas and a hearty cup of coffee. I had forgotten how good fresh fruit tastes when it comes off the tree just as it is ripe. The weather this morning is more agreeable and the cool breeze welcome. From the patio we watch the eighty five or so young children starting to arrive for school. The uniform is a purple and white check shirt with shorts for the boys and trousers for the girls. The school currently caters for children from lower grade (reception) to standard two. The female teachers are elegant in turquoise saris with a white trim, while male staff wear a light cotton shirt and trousers.

The school day starts at 9am with prayers followed by yoga and meditation. The yoga studio is still awash from last nights rain and so yoga takes place in the classrooms. The children are focused on their teacher holding poses Veronica and I fear there would be no return from for us. The youngest children are simply learning to connect with their bodies and are enjoying following their teachers instructions. The staff here say that this daily ritual has increased the children's concentration and improved their health. The school sets out to educate children not just in the national curriculum, but also more broadly in community wellbeing through projects like village clean-up, recycling workshops, plant a tree days and getting to know the benefits and uses of local plants. The onsite clinic deals with illness and promotes healthy and hygienic living to both students and their parents.

I am immediately struck by the attention these children give their teachers, whether whilst doing yoga with them, or teaching the curriculum. The yoga, which everyone does to the best of their own ability, means that by the time classes start, everyone is calm and focused. Our presence this morning however has meant that not all eyes were closed quite all of the time as they steal sidelong glances at us observing.

Due to insufficient classroom space, some classes are sharing a room - far from ideal as the enthusiasm in the classes means they can be extremely noisy! As the days go by and we get to know the children better, it is obvious that these children are outgoing, happy and engaged. In the playground they burn off their energy with gusto, delighted to learn new games and rhymes, and all vying for our attention. It is clear that there are very few shrinking violets here!

Children sit on the concrete floor and school bags are used as a desk. The school bags weight almost as much as some of the smaller children! I sit in on Standard II's English lesson which centres on giving instructions. The final section is on how to make a puppet. It just happens that I have brought a few puppet-making kits and so we set about making up the elephant and the lion. The children add the various sticky-back facial features and soon we have two very presentable puppets. Many books are in English and so lessons are taught in a mix of Tamil and English. One of the teachers laments that even after fifteen years of learning English she still struggles, and yet she managed to learn Hindi, writing and all, in about two months. She also tells me that she achieved high accolades in sport at school and I can see that her determined spirit is something the children benefit from. It is a long, noisy teaching day, with the added difficulty two different lessons in one classroom, but there is always time for a smile and they have my full admiration.

Soon it is lunchtime and the children relish a nutritious meal that ladies have been busy preparing over a wooden fire. I think of some of my students who complain about school food! We have a fabulous dhal and green leaf soup, rice and a potato and cauliflower dish, followed by masala chai, to which I have become addicted.

After lunch we join in playtime in the playground; singing songs they are familiar with, although differing versions result in some repetition, it is a lot of fun and we're quite disappointed when the bell goes. In compensation, I am grateful for a cold shower.

It has only been 36 hours since we arrived and as yet we do not have Internet, so I have been busy scribbling copious notes in my notebook. I don't want to miss out on the initial impressions which are the strongest as you try to make sense of everything. And there are so many impressions that thoughts are tumbling around in my head and I'm grateful to be writing which helps me to organise my thoughts. The effort of this, and the heat after a wonderful lunch means that the hammocks are definitely going to get used this afternoon! There are eight French guests arriving tonight for the weekend and if I'm going to need to speak French, then a good siesta is much needed.

Circle in a Circle

butterfly-freed — Tue, 2 Aug 2016 14:18:00 GMT

It is already hot and humid by the time we are welcomed into the thoughtfully designed grounds of The Ashok Tree shortly after 9.30am. Looking round the circular layout to our left we see the small school with three operational classrooms at present, and a fourth nearing completion. Beyond that, two small double story buildings each provide eight ensuite guest rooms. Next comes the yoga suite, followed by a cross-shaped shrine complex and finally the kitchen, large covered patio, medical room and the office. Building work is in progress and work is being completed in proportion to the availability of funds. In the centre of all of this are the well-tended gardens including a medicine garden. Further afield there are trees, many of which are palms, swaying against a backdrop of surrounding hills and mountains. The effect is more or less a small circular enclave situated within a larger circular one. Very pleasant, very remote!

Our upstairs rooms are clean, airy and light and it doesn't take long to unpack the limited luggage I have allowed myself. A good proportion of the items I have brought are to leave here and therefore any shopping will not be limited by space! The front balcony faces the most important mountain here, Mt Shiva and I am told that no matter how hot the climate is all around it, the top is always uncannily cold. The rear balcony overlooks farmland and with hills to the side, appears to channel the welcome wind straight through our door and window screens.

I love the clean, practical simplicity of my room, more than I had perhaps dared to hope for, and doubtless luxury by some comparison, but in no way an ostentatious segregation. I'm not entirely sure what I expected to find, here or anywhere else. I think I just presumed that it would be as we found it and any adjustments to deal with that would come from within rather than from without. I am reminded of Kenya, of Thailand and of some place still waiting to be discovered. At this point I cannot hear the rhythm of India and until I do, I accept that I may well be dancing out of step.

We are taken on a tour of the grounds and I'm pleased to recognise papaya, mango and guava trees as well as various herb bushes and lemongrass all growing organically alongside other plants I don't know. Being able to identify a few things does, I have always found, alleviate the strangeness of a totally new place. Pankaj is rather surprised that I'm able to name several herbs, vegetables and dishes in Hindi, thanks to my treasured Indian cookbook.

Sometime after 7pm we go across the gardens to the patio dining area where we are given dosa (not dissimilar to a crepe) served with a pulse soup, coconut chutney and a peanut one too. Thoughtfully, yoghurt is added to ease the foreigners unaccustomed tastebuds! I'm happy that the spiciness is in fact due to meaningful amounts of ginger to help our digestive system. The food is absolutely wonderful and two weeks of Ayurvedic vegetarianism is a happy prospect.

Dark clouds have been steadily gathering since the afternoon and almost certainly there will be rain tonight. Despite the fatigue, by 1am I am fully awake and listening to a storm in full force. Thunder reverberates around the hills and rain thrashes the dry, end-of-summer land. The night noises I had tried to identify earlier - lizards with their unexpected chirruping, crickets humming, and other sounds I did not recognise, are no longer audible as the storm gives us the benefit of a fairly majestic welcome.

After the storm had subsided but still long before daylight the neighbouring goats start bleating, soon followed by cows lowing, not to be outdone the Indian Miner birds squawking noisily. India is not a quiet place, and sleeping with doors and windows open means you are going to get up close and personal to whatever is going on.

Photos: The Ashok Tree, Tiruvannamalai-retreat & school

butterfly-freed — Tue, 2 Aug 2016 01:06:00 GMT

Introduction to India..!

butterfly-freed — Mon, 1 Aug 2016 08:30:00 GMT

The drive from Chennai to Tiruvannamalai (Tiru) takes about three hours which passes in a hazy state of excitement, jet lag and sensory-overload. Tamil Nadu province is full of vivid colours, abject poverty, beautiful green countryside, piles of rotting litter, animals with more road sense than many people, pungent smells with varying degrees of (un)pleasantness, smiling faces and resigned weather-beaten ones set amid the heat and humidity and accompanied by blaring horns, noisy cicadas and the intermittent broadcasting of local music. It is all so much to take in! India's stark realities begin to challenge you as soon as you arrive here, even from the backseat of a taxi.

I am already awed by the gratitude shown in offerings; the thanks for this life, no matter the evident hardship or poverty. Hinduism seems to be a way of life rather than merely a religion. The cow is sacred here and they stand on the roadside impassively watching the road chaos, perhaps aware of their elevated status, they don't seem to flinch at all. Some are foraging in the rubbish heaps and somehow this really brings home the problem of the amount of litter we now generate, here and all around the world. Consumerism and marketing are built on it, but really, do we need so much packaging? In places where there is not an adequate waste-management infrastructure, one is blatantly confronted by the size of this ugly and destructive problem.

We leave the relative peace of the toll road and sometime later arrive in Tiru to find the streets dotted with random processions. Small groups of people are playing musical instruments and holding aloft a decorative artefact as part of an important local festival being held today. Schools are closed and most workers are off enjoying the festivities, which I later learn include being hung up by iron hooks! My sense of adventure stops well short of either the observation of, and certainly participation in, such customs! Stalls line the streets selling anything from fruits to trinkets although I suspect that for the right fee, you could probably buy almost anything.

While Chennai is at sea level, Tiru is higher and the air feels less heavy here. There are five elements in the Hindu religion with one city designated to represent each of them. Tiru represents fire. This is because Mount Shiva is said to be a dormant volcano. A well-attended ten day annual festival held in December is dedicating to keeping it dormant! The surrounding hills hold a magnetic energy and perhaps go some way to account for the large number of temples found in the area.

Around 11kms later we arrive in Paliapattu and, despite the best attention of our driver, the sign to The Ashok Tree is a very welcome sight. Eventually it occurs to me to find my camera. I find myself wondering how or if I will ever make any sense of India in the next three weeks.

Photos: India, Tamil Nadu

butterfly-freed — Mon, 1 Aug 2016 00:34:00 GMT

India Calling

butterfly-freed — Sun, 31 Jul 2016 01:16:00 GMT

I haven't always wanted to go to India and I'm not even sure when I first thought that I did. I think the real desire probably started when I decided not to include it in my 2013 itinerary, both due to cost and that it is never somewhere I relished the idea of going to alone. As is so often the way, you don't really realise how much you want something until you can't have it!

In May I went to the Wellbeing show at London Olympia with a couple of friends. Veronica was particularly excited to visit The Ashok Tree Foundation stand, a project she has been involved in for some years now and who she would finally be going to visit in situ in July. Her enthusiasm, as always, was infectious, and when I said I wanted to come too, she simply replied "so come!" Fortunately she meant it, as it was only a matter of days until my flight and accommodation was booked. And that was it, I too was going to India.

I generally like middle eastern airlines and so, with a good price on offer, I chose Kuwait Airlines. A first for me. A rather tired A340, agonisingly late for my short layover earns them a re-christening to U-Wait Airlines. It seems the not-so-great reviews might have some foundation! By the time a very passable supper was finished and several pleasant exchanges enjoyed with the crew, along with the re-assurance that the connecting flight would wait for us, I found myself warming to them. The hasty change in Kuwait onto a new A330 whose service was efficient, certainly meant that overall I was far more impressed than I expected to be. The e-visa queue consisted of just me at Chennai airport and the wait for the luggage was remarkably short. Customs appears very understated, as though you have the choice of whether or not you wish to declare anything listed on the rudimentary signs dotted around the customs hall.

Veronica and the taxi driver are due to be waiting for me, her flight having arrived an hour earlier. It comes as rather a shock to walk out of customs straight into the heat of the outdoor arrivals area and throngs of faces, many jostling and calling out offers for taxi services. It is with some relief when I finally spot my name on a board. Just as well Plan B wasn't needed-meet at the airport information desk in the arrivals hall!

By 6.30am it is already getting hot and we have joined the alarming chaos that India calls driving. The horn is to be used to alert everyone to your presence, and more liberally if you are performing a manoeuvre which entails zig-zagging at speed between traffic, regardless of its size, taking up both lanes of the highway. Ostensibly one drives on the left, but beyond that that we can fathom no recognisable rules! Perhaps vehicles do actually have a retractable bonnet and why wouldn't cows be on the road too - it's certainly not for the faint-hearted! Here too then, walking should be undertaken at a most leisurely pace, but driving is all about getting there faster than you thought possible.

As we leave the city streets behind, smaller settlements are dotted all along the road, some are barely more than heaps of straw and coconut fronds. Despite this, the children on their way to school are improbably and yet incredibly well dressed. Many of the girls have adorned their long shiny plaits with flowers or trinkets. It appears that your financial circumstances should not be a reason for not looking your best.

The colours are iridescent and beautiful bright saris, flowers and jewellery complement the women's sun-darkened skin tones. The men tend to be more conservative with a plain shirt and sarong-like cloth tied cleverly to create a cool, airy lower half garment, for which I do not yet have a name.

Our destination is Tiruvannamalai, which being a bit of a tongue twister and sounding nothing like the local version, has already been shortened to Tiramisu, or just Tiru. The road is not a tourist route and signs of hardship would be difficult to miss. I think we get a fairly good overview of rural India as we head towards our home for the next sixteen nights.

Sails, Swells and Souvenirs - a Channel Islands adventure

butterfly-freed — Mon, 18 Jul 2016 22:30:00 GMT

I read somewhere that there is a rivalry between the islands of Guernsey and Jersey. The former being home to ‘old money’, while the latter to the ‘new money’. It would be impossible to make a judgement on this during our short visits, but it is true there are some differences that are quite noticeable.

Jersey and Alderney

We arrived in Jersey long after the sun had set. No cheery harbour master to usher us in and found the port to be rather full. Eventually we tied up alongside another sailing yacht with the designation of CH, Swiss we presumed. A charming Frenchman and professional sailor helped us secure the mooring ropes and springs whilst explaining that CH actually represents Cherbourg and could I not notice his accent was indeed French! Without hesitation he identified mine as being ‘Jane Birkin’, a most notable Englishwomen for having been married to French legend Serge Gainsbourg.

Tuesday morning and the sky was a brilliant blue. Everyone was up early and keen to make the most of the day exploring the island. Fi and I opted for the ‘Petit Trein’ and cycle hire package for just £14.50. After a particularly delicious coffee in the restaurant next to the tourist office, the train took us around the bay to St Aubin. Along the way we learned of the near starvation of the islanders during the later war years, the jubilation of Liberation Day on 9^th May 1945, and the Glass Church commissioned by Lady Trent as a tribute to her late husband. The couple are better known for their chain of chemists throughout the UK.

We collected our bikes in St Aubin and followed the excellent cycle paths towards Corbiere. I hadn’t ridden a bike since Pai and my ungainly deportment was cause for further laughter as I struggled to figure it all out again. So many gears! Corbiere sits on the South Western corner of the island and is home to a tidal causeway leading out to the spectacular lighthouse. Le Braye restaurant large windows have stunning vistas of the brilliant blue sky and turquoise sea. We treated ourselves to a lunch of fresh salmon (without the crab as this is off the menu and will be replaced with, um, more salad perhaps, in answer to our question!). Did I mention there is a definite French overtone here?

After lunch the tide has revealed most of the causeway, enough to make it a challenge and we were definitely up for that! We arrived on the mound at the foot of the lighthouse, jubilant as if we had conquered something more substantial than our own nerves. By the time the first pedestrians arrived, we were ready to continue our journey up to Jersey Pearl – chosen for no other reason than it sounded interesting! Fi is decidedly fitter than I am and whilst the route is not overly arduous, I seemed to be constantly trying to catch-up.

We arrived and very quickly felt somewhat under-dressed for the occasion. Beautiful pearls on display ranged in price up to several thousand pounds. We were subtly directed to the ‘affordable section’ and later somehow found ourselves clambering back onto our bikes, purchases safely stowed in our daypacks! It was a fascinating find and we dub it our ‘because we’re worth it moment’ before wobbling off up the hill and then down back to St Aubin. Pizza was as much as we could muster the energy to cook, and it seemed that pearls may be a little extravagant for the occasion, despite being Ann’s birthday.

The tides dictated that we would have to leave around 1pm, which gave us the morning free. It is worth mentioning that Jersey experiences some of the largest tidal ranges in the world – up to forty foot! I walked half way round the bay to visit the glass church, marvelling that before the airport was built aircraft used to land in the bay.

The great thing about Alderney being our last stop is that it means it’s a shorter journey back to Southampton! It is safe to say that no-one was much looking forward to that. It had been proven to me that being given the helm does indeed reduce the feeling of sea sickness. In my case, I believe that this was because the terror of being in charge of a yacht that is thrashing around on ‘moderate seas’ surpassed anything else I could possibly feel. Steering into and over waves, trying to keep to the designated course as the sea pushes and pulls from underneath – the English Channel is certainly a challenge! The Races around Alderney are no exception and we were fighting time to make it through. The tides are fast and the currents are strong but finally we got around the island and into the channel to enter the harbour. We gave up on our tender and so were reliant on the unusual system of the water taxi to land. There is no fixed mooring as waves can crash over the high sea wall and therefore all boats must moor on a buoy. It doesn’t make for a good night’s sleep!

Dusk in Alderney and everything was closing up for the night! Walking up the hill to St Anne’s we found a Thai restaurant and had a delightful meal there. The manager recounted how he first came from Thailand to help his friend run the restaurant. He found life on this very small island quite difficult and was convinced he would only stay a short while. That was fourteen years ago, and he assured us he is quite settled there now. Alderney proved to be no less picturesque than its neighbours, but with a population of fewer than 2,000 people, it’s not somewhere I could envisage staying long. The weather provided perfect photo opportunities before we returned aboard for yet another cup of tea before we set sail for home.

In the early hours of Friday we tie on the ropes one more time and secure the boat back in the marina. It has been an amazing week in every way. We have seen stunning places, enjoyed fabulous company and made the most of every moment. It is so easy to become embroiled in the every day that sometimes we inadvertently wait for life to happen. This week I feel like I took back control, made the time worthy enough to challenge myself to pick up my blog again and see if I could still write. As much as I love my job, there is something incredibly special about going somewhere different, and then sharing the experience.

Banter, Boats and Bruises: a Channel Islands sailing adventure

butterfly-freed — Sun, 17 Jul 2016 23:00:00 GMT

A wistful sigh escapes as I gaze at photos of sunny islands and sparkling blue seas. The Sailing Meet-up group has my full attention and it’s not long before I have joined, and signed up for a week-long sailing trip to, and around The Channel Islands. The final school bell signals the start of the summer holidays and soon I’m driving to Southampton to meet up with Steve, our skipper, and six others who will form the crew of our 37’ Bavaria sailing yacht, Gemini.

Guernsey and Herm

It was midnight when we finally cast off and headed down The Solent towards the English Channel. The engine smoothly propelled us forward, shore lights cast dappled reflections in the wake of passing vessels and a jovial sense of adventure lingered as we sat on deck getting to know our fellow ‘shipmates’. Eventually sleep refuses to be delayed any longer and I head down to the rather intimate-sized berth beside the engine compartment I had been designated to share with Fi. The monotonous hum of the engine should, I thought, be quite soporific but nonetheless sleep took its time. As the first morning light appeared, our window was closed and thus began a day of intense sea sickness. There is no refuge and no respite so that when it hits you, it is an all-consuming misery! As the diesel fumes and sea swell combined to orchestrate the rearrangement, and finally expulsion, of the previous night’s supper, I was reduced to a state of feeble infirmity. Thrashing through the ‘moderate seas’, we were sailing at such an angle that staying on the bench seat often required more strength than I had, so that on more than one occasion I suddenly found myself on the floor. Hours later I am slightly revived by the magic of a Kwell pill. Alderney appeared and our hopes were lifted, until we sailed straight past heading for Guernsey! Some twenty hours after we left Southampton, it was with considerable relief all round that we gently cruised into the shelter of St Peter Port harbour.

A beautiful dusk was settling over Guernsey as we moored up and welcoming strains of music floated down to the marina on the evening breeze. Restaurants and bars filling up with Saturday night revellers were a stark contrast to our rather hard-day-at-sea bedraggled look. Itinerary: shower on shore, supper in a restaurant, sleep without engine running – eclipsed only by our very British disposition whereby tea takes precedence over all three! Our cooker gas had cut out hours ago and it was therefore a tea-less journey - you may need to be English to comprehend the immense satisfaction derived from a good cup of tea!

The morning Guernsey sky was grey and a light drizzle clung to the island. Yesterday’s ideas of bike hire or long coastal walks seem rather less appealing this morning! Undeterred however, everyone set out to make the most of the one full day we had here. I chose to start with a walk through the main town. St Peter Port is a quaint, well-kept place that somehow blends its British heritage with French nuances and a Swiss orderliness to create a charming identity of its own. The emerging sunshine enhanced the informative half hour ride on the tourist ‘Petit Trein’ with possibly the most cheerful driver - ever! There was enough time to queue up and try the wonderful ice-cream before getting the next local bus which travels the perimeter of the island in around ninety minutes. For just £1, it’s an excellent way to see some of the different landscapes: heading out anti-clockwise beautiful sandy beaches which eventually start to give way to rockier ones. Eventually we stopped briefly at the airport, which is conveniently located a mere twenty minutes away from St Peter Port. I am captivated by Guernsey’s charm and could happily stay here much longer.

Supper this evening was our first attempt at on-board cooking and it’s fair to say that in such a confined space; too many cooks are definitely going to get under each other’s feet! As it was, Ann produced a most enjoyable meal. Empty wine bottles collected in the recycling box as stories were exchanged, along with much laughter. For a group of people that did not know each other just a few hours ago, we recognise a similar mindset and find that we get on well.

The well-tended marina facilities were much appreciated: hot showers and proper loos. Fi aptly remarked that not unlike coaches, ‘conveniences’ on the boat are best left for emergencies only!

The morning tides dictated our departure, however there was time to dash off and get take-away coffee before setting off for Herm under heavy skies but with the comfort of a vanilla latte in hand. I was disappointed to need the assistance of another tablet.

The small harbour on Herm proved to be too shallow and we retreated to the calmer Eastern side of the island where we put down the anchor and prepare the tender. The outboard motor stubbornly refused to start and there is no seat in the rather shabby dinghy. It came down to a simple choice of oars, or not going ashore at all. Surprisingly, it was the women who decided they wouldn’t be defeated and Fi turned out to be a competent rower. I took charge of the rope and navigation and soon we had a good system ferrying everyone ashore. It would be a mistake to assume this was a serious business. There was much laughter as we wobbled our way onto the shelf-effect beach, fell over in the water’s edge, and watched helplessly as small waves effortlessly broke over the back of our boat leaving wet patches in undesirable places on our clothing.

The next beach along, the beautiful Shell Beach is a vast expanse of perfect sand, and yet I counted only fourteen people. We walked around the headland and straight into the wind responsible for the ‘moderate seas’. The beaches on this side are beautiful too, although the sand whips them wildly against you.

After lunch it was time to get back to Gemini (due to Steve’s Yorkshire accent, this has, to some considerable amusement, been mistakenly heard as Germany!) and commenced the whole ferrying process again. Julie and Paul, rowing Red Indian-style, worked well together, Dee elegantly clutching her flowers while DH also put in a good show. And then I wanted a go. From the beach they are able to hear our shrieks of laughter as we zig-zagged towards shore or simply went round in circles. It’s even harder to row when you can’t stop laughing. I was later told by those on the beach that my oars resembled windmills. I’m pretty certain the rowing machine I use in the gym has never gone in circles, so I’m not sure what went wrong here! Finally, we were all aboard and preparing to reach Jersey before nightfall.

Photos: The Channel Islands

butterfly-freed — Sun, 17 Jul 2016 14:00:00 GMT

A sailing trip to, and around, The Channel Islands

And so life changes...

butterfly-freed — Sat, 16 Jul 2016 03:49:00 GMT

I have read many blogs about adventures on the road in far flung destinations, but remarkably few about what comes next. The coming home. With 360 days of travel now one year behind me, I thought it time to reflect on my experience of how travelling changed my life.

I left the UK in January 2013 having sold up my business; a busy bar which I had run single-handedly for some years and which had left me totally exhausted. At the time I dont remember feeling particularly nervous or that I was even being all that brave. I had my backpack, a rough itinerary and a desire to go and let story unfold as I reached each destination. I think that's the key. Researching enough to be reasonably prepared, to have some idea of what you might like to see/achieve in a place, without trying to plan each step and then stressing when plans change, which they inevitably do.

Through my adventures I gained a new perspective on life. I took time in Asia to work on healing and discarding emotional baggage I barely acknowledged I was carrying and allowed myself head space to clear out the old and let in the new, whatever that might be. Change is one of the few things we can count on and yet one of the things we often try hardest to resist. Travelling solo teaches you many things, least of which is being able to depend on yourself to deal with whatever life puts in your path. While travelling, every day was an adventure with countless opportunities. I thought I would never be lost for words and the desire to share. Getting back to the UK in January 2014 was more difficult than I had imagined and my initial urge was to say hello to everyone and disappear again. It didn't quite happen like that. When you have sold up pretty much everything you owned and left a job you never actually intended to do, 'coming back' is in fact 'starting again'! The words dried up, the cold damp winter sucked out the enthusiasm of each new morning and here I was, with no idea of what to do.

During the past months many things have happened. I enrolled on a TESOL course and gained a hard-earned Trinity certificate which would enable me to teach English almost anywhere. I now had some sort of qualification, except that to teach abroad, almost everywhere required a degree. Well I didn't have one of those either. Living at home (having left over 25 years ago), not really wanting to be in England but no idea what to do next. The answer came to me in a pub. I was meeting someone for an informal chat about the possibility of working for them at one of their summer schools. I will refer to him as my mentor since that meeting changed my life. A position was offered and suddenly with new found confidence I finished my course passing with flying colours. Next came an offer of a permanent job from a school in SE England working in boarding and also enabing me to put my new qualification to good use and teach English.

Five weeks of intense summer school came as something of a shock after so many chilled out months but affirmed that I was definitely on the right track. My mentor again put faith in me and within two weeks of the job ending, I had applied for, and been accepted, to do a Master's Degree in 'Applied Linguistics and TESOL'. For someone who has spent a lifetime travelling and working to live, the idea of getting a degree seemed like a pipe dream. Now July 2016: I am half way to achieving my MA, and sometimes I still need to pinch myself that this is really happening. My job is fulfilling and rewarding, despite the challenges of settling into fairly strict routines.

A few months ago I did a skydive. I understood this to be an attempt to quell the restlessness that has been gradually building up. My twelve months of travelling did not cure my travel bug, but I am aware that I'm now ready to travel in a different way: to have a home and job to come back to, and to travel with other people. Summer holidays have started, bringing a week's adventure sailing to the Channel Islands and then travelling to India for three weeks.

I wanted to change my life and I did. I shall not step neatly into the grave when the time comes, rather go skidding in yelling that it was one hell of a ride. I will not look back and regret what I might have done, instead I am proud to have gone out and lived, thankful for the family and friends who supported me, no matter they may have thought privately as I set out to follow a dream whose name I didn't even know, whose path remained hidden and whose outcome is still unfolding.

To quote Michael Palin "Once the travel bug bites there is no known antidote, and I know that I shall be happily infected for the rest of my life".

Photos: Magical Marrakech

butterfly-freed — Mon, 10 Mar 2014 10:38:00 GMT

Arches, Doorways & Spices

butterfly-freed — Mon, 10 Mar 2014 04:08:00 GMT

Technically my one year of travelling is up, however since the original 360 days of adventure was reduced to 348 days, I feel justified that, after an 8 week hiatus back in a damp and grey England, the time has come to complete the original mission. Accompanied by my son, I am adding Morocco to these adventures.

The taxi coughs and splutters its way through the narrow streets that form the maze of Marrakech's Medina, or old town. Stopping outside an unpreposessing facade which is notable as a riad only by the sign above the heavy, studded doorway. The first lesson here is not to judge what may lie behind an unimpressive frontage!

Morroco is quickly revealing itself to be a land of doorways and arches, but it is behind these that its treasures are found - coloured glass, carved wooden furnishings and ornaments, cool mosaic tiled flooring - all permeated by the lingering scent of heavy spices tinged with a mild stench of rotting garbage, hidden from view. At once pleasant and offensive, depending which odour wins out at any given time.

Wandering through the narrow streets, where most street names are written in Arabic makes navigation rather confusing. Noting landmarks and relying on one's inbuilt sense of direction can prove challenging, especially when little shops opening onto the roadsides bombard the senses with a myriad of vibrant colours in cloth, rugs, ornaments, pigments and ceramics, while large sacks of aromatic earthy coloured spices emit their heady perfume and vendors beckon you in to browse, testing your resistance to their persuasive sales patter. Trinkets of silver and brass sparkle in the naked light of the overhead energy-saver bulbs. Wooden carved souvenirs, jewellery inlaid with turquoise and amber, woven baskets and a few gaudy key rings complete the impression of having stepped into a genuine Aladin's cave. We are invited to sit on a carpeted bench where soaps, oils and spices are presented and explained. All that is missing is the flying carpet, but at this point anything seems possible and the appearance of one would not seem untoward.

From the narrow partly-shaded alleys where cars, scooters, bicycles and pedestrians jostle for space, the large market square basks in the full midday sun and provides welcome relief. A sole olive tree stands forlornly among the scattered stalls - some shaded by worn umbrellas, whilst others are left to be embraced by the perfectly blue skies. The warbling sound of a local flute-like instrument alerts us to give wide berth to a nearby spot where two old men sit on a worn carpet shaded by a large, faded umbrella. Beside them are large circular discs about 15cms thick, and under which lie the snakes they purport to 'charm'. More appealing are the monkeys which have been trained to obligingly clamber onto your shoulder as you pass by, inviting a photo opportunity - for a fee!

"Guides" are to be found at every turn and at first it is easy to mistake the offers of help as being genuine hospitality. Some are. Some will tell you that there is no charge but then you find yourself being hustled to 'just have a look at my shop'. Time is something they appear to have in abundance and even after your prolonged leisurely stroll through whatever attraction they have pointed you to, they will still be waiting at the exit - next stop, their shop! I presume this works on some sort of introduction commission as clearly you could not run a shop whilst wandering around the streets guiding tourists.

The Ben Youssef Medesa was the lodging for a centre of learning, specialising in the sciences and theology, that was considered well ahead of its time. Students with the financial means took rooms overlooking a main courtyard decorated in mosaics, arches and with a swimming pool as it's central feature. None of the 132 rooms could be considered large, but some of the smallest ones are little more than the size of a cell, without even that most basic necessity, a window! Today, long after the last students have left, it remains an interesting attraction.

According to some of the locals, no trip to Marrakech is complete without a trip to the tannery. Countless uninvited offers of directions attempt to push us in that direction, even telling us that the museum was closed being a Friday. It was not! I'm not entirely sure what their motivation was, but we did not go there.

Six hours on foot and we have visited the main attractions we had hoped to see today, as well as finding a few extras along the way. Back in the main square and a glass of chilled freshly squeezed orange juice is a welcome distraction from aching feet. Tourism ensure that cafés abound serving both fast western and delicious traditional food. Perhaps the hop on - hop off bus would have been an easier option?!

Against the skyline the snow-capped mountains sit in stark contrast to the flat bustling city where a thin veneer of dust gives everything vaguely static a matt appearance. Dusty green foliage against sandy terracotta walls, no flowers in evidence on this warm March afternoon. Donkeys, their coats matted and dirty, stand resigned to their fate in front of battered carts pulling the livelihoods of their owners. Some of the finer horses find themselves, blinkered against the traffic, pulling carriages of fare-paying tourists. From the weathered old man selling loose cigarettes off the top of a cardboard box, to the veiled lady walking through the souks selling small packs of tissues, each Dirham is hard-earned and each day the cycle of survival begins again.

During our many wanderings through the confusing streets of the Medina we find Kui-Zin, a restaurant whose virtues have been extolled on Trip Advisor, and we head inside for a light supper. The walking has worked up an appetite and the food is so good that we find room for a slice of French-inspired tart, following the incredibly aromatic and delicately flavoured lamb and orange tagine and delicious Moroccan chicken curry. Mint tea completes the meal and we leave feeling comfortably full and extremely pleased with our restaurant choice.

There is an unmistakable stamp of French colonialism here and after Arabic, French is so widely spoken that I am grateful for having a good command of the language. There is an effective transportation infrastructure in place so that getting to Essaouira (our next destination) is straightforward - although not having booked in advance we have four hours to wait for the next bus!

There is a strange feeling that Morocco does not quite belong in Africa. The Africa I know, in the East, Central and the South bears no resemblance to the North, which feels more like it should belong in the Arabian Peninsular. Given the vastness of this continent, it really should come as no surprise that such diversity exists.

Summarising a Year on The Road

butterfly-freed — Tue, 21 Jan 2014 23:49:00 GMT

I'm trying to remember that person who set out to follow her dream over fifty weeks ago. The one who decided that if you were not happy with your life, it made sense to do something about it by getting rid of unwanted encumbrances and make a fresh start, doing something you always wanted to do, but hardly dared quite believe that you might. Why hold on to what does not make you happy, when with a little courage, you can go in search of something that does. The thought of someday regretting missed opportunities far outweighed the fear of stepping out into the unknown!

Once you start to shed the possessions which clutter your life, it becomes easier and you feel a certain freedom, wondering why you ever thought you actually needed so much stuff anyway! After a year living out of my backpack, I know now that you can live quite comfortably with far less than you imagine. Very few clothes that started the journey with me will be returning and the favourites were definitely those with the most flexibility.

Whilst on the subject of useful items, there are some that I have found invaluable. I always travel with a serong at the ready, as replacement clothing, a pillow or a cover. It is also good to keep a scarf handy. The scented hand fan that I bought from a Bangkok pavement stall gained me a few sweaty friends and masked the less-than-appealing smell of toilets on trains and busses. I loved Tiger Balm for soothing aches and relieving mozzie bite itches and tea tree oil as a general antiseptic. The crocheted-style tops from Thailand smartened up an outfit while taking up very little space or creating more body heat. My faithful beach bag which doubled up as my hand luggage for most of the trip before losing its inner lining and pockets was a great asset, although on reflection a more waterproof option would have been prudent. Once my laptop was devoured by ants, I was totally reliant on my iPhone. How did people travel in the days before an App for Everything? With it I booked hotels, transport, found lists of must-sees, wrote my blog and uploaded all my photos not to mention keeping in touch with family and friends. My little black notebook has been filled with useful information and notes which was especially useful when I was unable to write my blog immediately.

If you can feel your backpack (with wheels) filling up already, there is still more to come! A slimline money pouch takes the stress out of losing valuable documents and spare cash and can be well camouflaged. By the time I reached Queensland I had had enough of travel towels and treated myself to a real one. Despite the extra space it took, it was definitely worth it. When I settle somewhere I am going to indulge myself with a massive soft, fluffy bath towel. My travel kettle element allowed me to have tea, coffee or a cup-a- soup anywhere an electric socket was available. Earplugs would definitely have featured had I stayed in more dorms and there are many tales that might point you towards a single-sex dorm if you are interested in getting a decent night’s sleep.

Personally speaking however, my single biggest companion was my blog. Sometimes when it was hard to go out and push myself, I reasoned that staying in was just not newsworthy. At times it can be pretty lonely and sharing my experiences, whether for information, amusement or hopefully inspiration, was definitely a motivating factor. To think I wrote my very first blog almost a year ago, followed by 78 more stories with over 17,000 views to date – a veritable record for posterity! Over the year I have developed a real passion for writing and for sharing my travels. I would like to think that there are many more stories to come.

How do I begin to describe what I have learned? The person that left, to the person that returned. Broken pieces, fragmented shards of a life - held together in little more than a paper bag have, over time and through experiences, been joined and stuck together in a mosaic which reflects a unique individuality and represents a lifetime lived this far. Through all of this, and strengthened by the cement of true friendship, I feel I have found a validation of self that I did not have before. There was no real defining moment, rather a series of events, realisations and then the processing of them.

Taking time out to travel, whether it is as a gap year, a career break, or simply because there is a whole wide world out there bursting with adventures, challenges, exotic cultures and foods, friends you have yet to meet, a plethora of individual experiences await. How we deal with even the same situations will give a uniqueness to everyone’s trip. I felt sad for some of the gap students who opted to travel on highly organised tours which, in reality, are little more than a slightly more grown up school trip with the addition of copious amounts of alcohol. I wonder whether one day they might regret the opportunities that passed them by in the haze of partying.

Travelling for a year is actually not that long. I think there is a misconception that it is like going on an annual two-week all-inclusive holiday for an entire year. In reality I have spent many, many hours planning ahead, booking up trips and accommodation as well as actually getting from place to place before getting to explore it. I have travelled largely without a specific itinerary, allowing myself to go wherever I was drawn to. My trip has been predominantly about the journey, although I have appreciated some longer stops which allowed me to focus on the destination.

Inevitably we are changed by our experiences by the time we return. I have noticed that blogs generally stop as we 'go back to reality.' I strongly dislike hearing that phrase! We each make our own reality and whether that is struggling through a perhaps relatively mundane life, or pushing out boundaries and doing new and exciting things does not make a life any less real. It is largely a state of mind and life does not have to be a struggle.

During the 348 days I was away I visited 10 countries (6 of which were new destinations for me), took 24 flights on 8 different airlines covering around 70,000 air kilometres, countless more by road, rail and sea, slept in 86 different beds, learned snippets of 3 different languages, had 4 haircuts in 4 countries – with differing results, wrote 77 blogs and took thousands of photos. There was no clear favourite destination as each had its own merits but if I had to choose one place to do again, it would probably be South Africa, if only for the sheer diversity of all it has to offer.

Looking back on it all, there is nothing I would change and it is with certainty I can justifiably state that butterflies are always at their best when free!

Sunset on SE Asia

butterfly-freed — Fri, 10 Jan 2014 23:02:00 GMT

Six months ago I arrived in Bangkok to a culture for which I had no yardstick, no previous point of reference and for which I was unprepared. Arriving in The Land of Smiles to find none, and in fact finding more a feeling of hostility towards 'just another tourist'. Doubtless the impact would have been greatly softened were I not travelling solo.

Looking back at my floundering attempts to find my feet in those early days, I realise that at some point it got me down to the point where I seriously wondered how I would cope with the six months that were looming ahead of me. It seemed like a challenge that I had set outside of the perimeters of my capability. In fact it was only when I booked a month out to go to Perth that I began to feel it was more manageable. As the days passed in Pai I began to understand customs and snippets of the language as well as making friends, I almost began to regret my planning my escape route. They say you should be careful what you wish for and suddenly the option of flying anywhere was taken away by the arrival of two DVT blood clots in my lower leg. When the hospital cautioned me that they could be a symptom of an underlying cancer, I don't think I have ever felt so alone and bewildered as I did that morning in Bangkok. Shock eventually begins to wear off and then it is time to dig deep and force your brain to function clearly. The cyber support of a few close friends was an enormous strength and the kindness of strangers were rays of sunshine in some very cloudy times. It proved to be the start of a journey of healing and, as I trusted I would be guided to the right places, my journey took me to Penang for acupuncture and dietary supplements that lead to the disappearance of the clots and then into Bali where further acupuncture and spiritual healing allowed me to make profound changes from the inside out.

By the time I reached Cambodia, I felt I had focused on myself for long enough. If it is your inner empathy you are searching for then Cambodia will more than show you its depth. I have never been so deeply moved by the plight of one country. Arriving in Vietnam I was really shocked by the contrast between two neighbouring countries. A matter of miles separate Phnom Penh from Ho Chi Min City, and yet they are worlds apart. Two countries with their respective troubled pasts - how differently they have moved forward to the present day.

The aromas of Asia have really grown on me - from the incences to the fragrant foods and perfumed plants. Less pleasant are the traffic fumes and this is why it is so common to see face masks in use. There is a general level of courtesy and respect here that is lacking in so many countries these days. Standards of English varey widely but it is impossible to be affronted when addressed as sir instead of madam, particularly when the greeting comes with a broad smile. It seems to me that personal safety is as good as it gets anywhere, perhaps better. I have walked a good many miles on my own and never once felt unsafe.

It is difficult to determine whether it is a case of vanity or self-respect that keeps the locals with one eye in the mirror. I'm not sure why it is that Western women (and I wholly include myself here) dress in the comfortable hippie/Asia pants with a strappy T-shirt - so prevalent that it is almost like a uniform - with minimal make-up and time spent preening, while their Asian sisters wear Western clothes and usually look immaculate, perhaps in the hope of finding their own Pretty Woman type story ending. Certainly it is unlikely that a single Western woman is going to have her choice of Western men over here!

There are two things which I never quite manage to come to terms with here. Firstly, the pace at which people amble along, which is at complete odds with my somewhat determined marching style. And the tea! Aromatic water which seems even more pitiful following the copious amounts of the full-bodied Kenyan tea I unashamedly indulged in whilst there. Lipton Yellow and non dairy creamer - a definite non-starter for me.

My final flight before the journey back to the UK heads into a fiery sunset as Air Asia takes me Westward from the hectic, glittering sprawling city below me that is Ho Chi Min to the city that never sleeps, Bangkok. One night in Bangkok and tomorrow I will return to the UK, to start another chapter in my life. Not for one moment do I regret emptying my life of everything - coasting along trying to be someone I was not and living a life which did not suit me. I return to a fresh start, filled with a confidence that the achievements and adventures of a year on the road has brought me. Perhaps what I have done is not for everyone, but I will return with a real sense of identity, a pocketful of wonderful memories and not one single regret. To all the amazing people who have travelled with me, physically or in spirit, thank you for sharing the trip of a lifetime.

And so, a final supper in Bangkok, shared with a friend and a glass of wine to toast over fifty weeks of travelling. I barely manage two hours sleep and all too soon I am in the taxi joining Bangkok's morning rush hour. In reality, it is always rush hour here. The fourteen hour flight, extended by strong head winds, is pretty unremarkable in spite of the entertainment system crashing repeatedly despite the BA crew's best efforts to reboot the system.

The only emotion I can identify in this state of nothingness is inevitability. It was inevitable that this particular journey would end and I would return. What remains a mystery is the direction that life will take from here. I had perhaps expected some sort of 'Eureka moment' along the way. A friend said to me before I left that one should never look for a big pot of gold while travelling, instead enjoy the many small pots that will come your way. Sound advice indeed.

Destination Kenya

butterfly-freed — Mon, 6 Jan 2014 07:10:00 GMT

After months of hot, humid weather, the evening and early morning chill of Nairobi is quite a surprise. Sitting on the terrace of my friend's home in the suburb of Langata, I have had to find an extra top to keep warm. The morning sun is steadily climbing up behind the trees that are home to birds and rock hyrax (an injured one of which has become a casual family pet). It occurs to me that I am going to need some seriously warm clothing for when I return to the UK next week.

Driving through Nairobi I barely recognise a thing - the odd landmark dwarfed by bigger, newer ones. The Kenyatta Conference Centre, which has always been a defining feature of the Nairobi skyline, has recently had Samsung banners wrapped around its top. Quite frankly it looks dreadful and it's not hard to see why it caused an uproar. Come on Samsung you have the funds to at least make it look aesthetically pleasing! Our old murram road has been tarmacked and our little house with its guest cottage replaced by a huge house. The roads, while generally in much better condition, are crammed creating the notorious traffic jams. An affluent middle class is emerging, changing consumerism with its ever higher demands. Prices have notably rocketed and residents find their weekly grocery bills comparable to prices in the UK.

Sadly, insecurity is a major issue and most people opt not to go out at night. Barbecues and parties are generally held early in the day and guests, if they do not live close by, will either stay over or leave before dark. Car jacking has become too much of a threat to take risks and some overseas employers insist that their expatriate staff live in the gated communities which are beginning to spring up. I fondly think back to my years here when it was still safe to take local transport into town and wander around on your own. Night life was quite prolific and indeed on more than one occasion when the beer ran out at a party, we drove to the local police station to buy more from the shop there! Drink driving was not an issue then, and pretty much anything can be settled with the passing over of a few notes.

The recent events of the terrorist attack on the Westgate shopping centre are spoken about with great sadness and shame. That a terrorist attack should take place at all is horrific, but that certain local authorities deliberately prolonged the whole affair in order to completely ransack every outlet is shameful beyond words. Even the most weathered residents can barely fathom the audacity of such blatant thievery! Needless to say, corruption is rife and the chances of justice are negligible. My sister remarked that the event showed the best (compassion and bravery) and the worst (greed and corruption) sides of Kenya. It reminds me somewhat of many years ago when there was an attempted coup where mass looting also took place and for weeks afterwards blue collar workers could be seen sporting new Gucci shoes or a Rolex watch, totally at odds with their overalls! One of my favourite accounts from an eye witness was of two guys running down the street either side of a sofa held aloft.

The population explosion is beginning to encroach into the wildlife parks steadily destroying the natural habitat of many animals which are a huge part of Kenya's appeal. Coupled with poaching, which has become so out of hand with the growing wealth of China and their much misplaced perception that rhino horns and elephant tusks are a limitless commodity for their personal use, that even Prince William is working to prevent the decimation of these wonderful animals. With the loss of its wildlife and increasing security issues, Kenya stands to lose its popularity as an international tourist destination to more morally deserving countries such as Botswana where hunting was recently outlawed.

It is hard to witness the country I loved as my teenage home slowly decimating its natural beauty. As fond as my memories are, I cannot see myself wanting to live here again, short of some miraculous changes. It has been wonderful to be back and to see old friends again and I have now fully accepted that goodbyes will never get any easier. All that said, the coastline and many gameparks still make for a fabulous holiday (although I might suggest limiting time in the capital city) and the warmth of the Kenyan welcome remains as captivating as ever.