Hanna Butler Journeys

The end, the beginning

hanna — Mon, 16 Jul 2012 09:50:00 GMT

I’m in bed drinking tea and eating crumpets with a wicked flu. Outside the window at home in Wellington, the weather looks like I feel. It’s wet, cold and cloudy.

Another world away, just last week I was in Malaysia on hot humid, sunny streets eating spicy satay. The three weeks of my scholarship were incredible. I surfed, ate, saw inside dozens of hotel rooms, cooked, wandered and met magic men. It was pretty tiring, long days of activities, filming, photographing, note taking, mentoring and just generally trying to absorb everything I could.

I love Asia. I love getting off the plane and into the heat that wraps up around you, underneath your arms and up into your nose. I find the noise and chaos quite calming; you just become part of it.

But I do love coming home. Travel is what makes me love home more. I feel exactly like I do when I arrive in a new country and notice things I hadn’t before. The thing I notice the most is the sky. The long white clouds and blue skies that spread across and up and down. The native name for New Zealand – Aotearoa, means land of the long white cloud.

I am home, my washing is done, my mosquito bites have been itched away and I have caught up on sleep. Now it is the hard part, where the real writing begins. While I did briefly blog, I was also planning and note taking for other travel stories that I will try to get published.

But something I have been thinking about a lot is what travel writing is? So I Googled it. I asked, what is travel writing? The first result from Wikipedia summed it up pretty well.

My entry into the competition was travel writing that was evocative; it would sit in travel literature and travel books. It had elements of narration and description, but in no way was it instructive. If you were off to Pakistan, I would volunteer tips and advice, but probably not my travel story.

In Singapore my time with Richard Lim from Rough Guide was travel writing of a totally different kind, but the kind that you need from a guide book - instructive and descriptive. I felt a certain responsibility about accuracy and practicality of the information. Guide books are the bible of the traveller, they rely on the information to get the safely to their destination, but also point them in a direction so they get the best from their destination.

My blog was my brief personal journal, my own narrative of my days. I used it as my online diary, but I think a blog has the opportunity to embrace a bit of everything, depending on what you want to produce.

All styles of travel writing of course overlap, but I do feel it is important to understand the different types of travel writing in order to understand what you are doing, who your audience is and simply why you are writing. Travelfish is a pretty good example of a site that combines all the elements of travel writing. They have instructive and descriptive guides to a destination, but also personal accounts and experiences, that inspire and motivate instead of direct and aid.

While I am no expert travel writer, I just thought I would share my tips and mantras from my writing scholarship that have helped me and that I will continue to follow.

Time - Give yourself time to wander, watch people and get a feel for your destination. Sit and have a cup of tea and you never know what might happen.

Write – Write every day. Even just a diary to yourself or emails home to your mum. My travel writing started via my emails home, which were forwarded around town, until it seemed the mailman knew what I was up to.

Read – Read anything you can get your hands on. I love travel classics by Albert Camus and Eric Newby, but now I find myself absorbed by in-flight magazines and more current and commercial publications. I try to read what I would like to write.

Photograph – Take photographs that will remind you of things you might want to describe, and also take photographs that will help tell your story.

Notes – I have journalism training to thank for being a quick and comprehensive note taker. Words and phrases jump into my head at all times, so I always have a notebook on hand to capture them. I also find note taking to be a little more discreet in some situations than taking photographs.

Be organised – Know what you want to cover and what you need to get. Write a list, have a plan and questions that you want answered.

Desk - Have a spot where you know you can write. Whether it is your bed, or a decent desk in a quiet room, if it is conducive to writing, then use it! But for a travel writer, in and out of new places, you need to be able to sit and work anywhere, cafes, airports and hotel rooms. Find out where you can get decent local wireless, or buy a local Sim card and tether to your laptop.

Edit – Unless you have lots of time to walk away from your work, come back and self-edit, see if you get a friend or someone to edit your work.

Content – I think you don’t have to travel to do travel writing. Don’t put it off until you can next get overseas. Write something about your home town or your favourite spot at home.

Social media – Have a blog or website to act as your shop-front and promote your work through social media networks.

So this is where its starts. While the last few weeks have been an incredible journey, it was really just the beginning of what I have been wanting to do for a long time, putting my writing together with my travelling. It sounds easy doesn’t it?

Food for thought

hanna — Wed, 11 Jul 2012 11:46:00 GMT

Eating my way through Malaysia has been food for thought. I have been thinking how important travel is for food, and how important food is for travel.

When you travel you must eat local food. I’m not sure you are really travelling if you go somewhere and don’t eat the local food. Staying inside a tourist resort eating macaroni cheese – have you really gone anywhere? Food, art, culture, history and people– that’s what takes you to that place when you travel.

Food can also take you somewhere when you are at home. At home in the middle of a cold, wet Wellington winter, a spicy Asam Lasksa might just take me back to Malaysia, if I just close my eyes a little I can be back there.

Nothing can beat getting on a plane, train or bus and going somewhere, but for me living in one of the most geographically isolated countries in the world, going somewhere can be expensive and time consuming.

When I get home in a few days, I am going to start travelling more, local journeys that take me around the world through food, art, people, culture and music in my own community.

I have travelled around the world over land and sea, and will continue to pack up and leave, but my challenge is now to travel more from my home.

Cooking with Goodness

hanna — Wed, 11 Jul 2012 11:41:00 GMT

Pearly Kee should have her own talk show. She would do a bit of cooking, but she would also give advice, and just talk and talk, about anything she can.

I spent the day with Pearly at her home to learn how to cook traditional Nonya food, a blend of Chinese and Malay cuisine, borne by the Peranakans, the first Chinese settlers to Penang. First we visit her local market where she is a bit of a celebrity. Oh hai hai, oh hai, she waves across bananas and butchers to her favourite vendors.

She knows everyone and everything, describing fruits, meat and spices, what they are used for, why and a little story with each one. For Pearly cooking is not just about the cooking and eating, it is about the stories, rituals and significance found in food and how it keeps her traditional Peranakan culture alive.

We cook outside in the garden under a roof covering us from the monsoon rain. Pork in dark sauce, Chicken Kapitan and Nasi Prawns – her recipes, her culture and her stories.

For many years Pearly didn’t enjoy cooking so much. Cooking was handed down to her as an expectation and responsibility. It’s obvious now she comes alive in the kitchen, singing and giggling with knives and spoons waving, cracking jokes.

We add spice, stir and wait for her next instruction. She tells us how to hold the spatula to get the most goodness back into the meal. The goodness must go in says, get the goodness in.

Pearly Kee is the goodness. The food we cooked was the absolute goodness, but I think it is more due Pearly’s incredible goodness, that everything was goodness.

The Durian Den

hanna — Thu, 5 Jul 2012 23:43:00 GMT

Like a drug den, people can stay on the premises waiting for a knock on the door to be told their hit is ready. But is not a drug, it is not even a stimulant of any kind. It is an unadulterated natural fruit, revered across Malaysia.

Durian. The name of the infamous Southeast Asian fruit even has a strange sound to it. Durian.Stranger though than it sounds, is how it smells and tastes. Love it or hate it, it’s a food phenomenon. It is Durian season in Malaysia and roadsides and markets are full of the smelly, ugly fruit. Families and friends congregate late at night just to gorge on it. But to get the best Durian I travel across Penang to the Bao Sheng Durian Farm.

The owner is known as the Durian Seng, grew up on the farm. He loves Durian he tells me, it is his life. He places three fruit on the table and we taste in a specific order, paying close attention to the different flavours. I don’t hate Durian, but I definitely don’t love it. I love the texture creamy like custard or soft French cheese, but the taste is just indescribable, and while I don’t find it offensive, it is not something I would seek out.

While it seems excessive that we taste the fruit and look for notes of wine, dark chocolate and sugar - they are there! But the best is yet to come, as we wait for a Durian just fallen off the tree. The farm even provides accommodation for devotees to get the freshest Durian hit possible. The fresher, the better, and for lovers of Durian, getting the best becomes addictive.

It arrives, and the Durian Sen throws the fruit on the ground to release its chi. Then, we wait. Every few minutes The Sen checks the fruit by smelling it. The scent has to move throughout the fruit for it to be ready to eat he says. When it is ready, he demonstrates how we need to eat it to get the most out of the numbing feeling fresh Durian should leave in your mouth. He mimes holding a bit of Durian and pushing it in and out of his mouth with his lips pursed. “You must get the fresh in the mouth.” It looks strange, but everything here kind of is.

A local company brings their 50 staff for a reward for all-you-can-eat Durian. It is a feeding frenzy, they are animals and all you can hear is sucking and eating. No talking. Everyone has Durian in their mouth. It’s like five o’clock drinks in New Zealand.

It is ready, the Durian Sen tells us and he cuts into the fruit like a surgeon. I rub the fruit into my mouth, to get the fresh into the mouth. But by now Durian is Durian. It’s sweet, it’s bitter, it’s creamy, but mostly it is utterly indescribable. I burp my way back into town. Every burp, a reminder. I won’t be back for another fix, I am not an addict.

The dirty one near the drain

hanna — Wed, 4 Jul 2012 23:14:00 GMT

When we travel we always get recommendations of things to do and see, none more so than what and where we must eat. But when you travel specifically to eat, that’s when people sit you down make you take out your notebook and write down where you need to go and what you must have. Even being told to go to the a restaurant that is the dirty one near the drain. My must-eat-list is growing, like I will be, since I have got to Malaysia and told people I am here to eat and write about it.

Food carries culture and heritage like nothing else. I can’t think of any other ritual that we do more often than we eat. Food holds pride, knowledge; it reflects the local geography and says a lot about economic status. It is also something that transcends boundaries. While there are many ceremonies in cultures that are not appropriate for foreigners to join in, everyone can always eat!

After a day talking and thinking about food, I met Cho for less talk and more eat. It seems pretty fitting the name of her cookbook translates to “please eat”. We visited the evening markets and ate our way through it. Every stallholder and vendor had steaming, frying and golden food under bright lights. Every second stallholder Cho stopped at and brought a bit for me. Have this one, this one is good, and please, you have to try this, she said.

Between Cho and the people who I have met in Malaysia so far, here is what I need to eat. Malaysia, I am going to eat you!

Line Order - apparently there is two, one is an imposter, the original is the dirty one near the drain.

Kasim Mustafa – between 12pm and 3pm they put on a dish where I am told there is a vat of rice, dhal and chicken, no choices.

Prawn Mee – Penang staple must have of prawns and noodles

And Cho’s list of what to eat in Malaysia.

Naki lamak - coconut rice infused with pandan leaf served with cucumber slices, small fried anchovies, roasted peanuts, hard-boiled egg, and hot spicy sambal. Traditionally sold wrapped in banana leaf or newspaper

Rendang - usually beef or chicken slow-cooked with ground spices and coconut milk until the meat literally melts in your mouth and the spicy sauce is reduced to a dry curry

Kangkung belacan - water spinach stir-fried in shrimp paste and chillies

Banana leaf rice - rice with an assortment of vegetables, curried meat or fish, pickles and papdum served on a banana leaf

Roti canai - thin bread with a flaky crispy crust (when done well), fried on a skillet and served with usually a three condiments to dip the roti in

Assam laksa - thick white rice noodles served in a tangy spicy fish soup with onion, basil, pineapple and cucumber topping.

Char kway teow - stir-fried flat rice noodles with prawns, eggs, chives and bean sprouts. Usually, with an option of cockles as well and sometimes the best ones tend to have a bit of crispy pork lard

Curry mee - thin yellow noodles mixed with beehoon (rice vermicelli) in spicy curry soup with coconut milk with dried tofu, prawns, cuttlefish, chicken, mint leaves and topped with a special sambal

Hokkien mee - thick yellow noodles fried in thick black soy sauce and crispy pork lard

Prawn mee - yellow noodles and meehoon (rice noodles) served in soup boiled from prawns, boiled egg, kangkong vegetable and chilli

Pan mee - Hokkein-style noodle which means ‘flat flour noodle’ served in a soup. The dry pan mee is served with minced pork, fried onions, anchovies, and topped with a poached egg that is stirred into the noodles. The key to the dish is the dry chilli mix sambal, which is served on the side

Kaya toast or roti bakar - bread served with kaya which is a sweet spread made from coconut and egg

Popiah - fresh spring roll stuffed with stewed vegetables and tofu in a sweet brown sauce

Otak-otak - grilled or steamed fish wrapped in banana leaf which has been flavoured with spices and coconut milk

Lor bak - marinated mined pork, rolled in a thin sheet of soybean then deep-fried until the outside is crispy

Cendol - a dessert/sweet drink with green noodles in coconut milk and shaved ice

Ice kachang - sweet red beans, seaweed jelly, barley pearls, sweet corn and fruit covered in shaved ice then laced with rose syrup and condensed milk (sometimes with durian ice cream)

Photos: Malaysia

hanna — Mon, 2 Jul 2012 03:15:00 GMT

My holy trinity

hanna — Mon, 2 Jul 2012 03:14:00 GMT

The final part of my journey is about something vitally important to me. No matter where in the world I go, I do it at least three times a day, sometimes more. It is probably one of my favourite things to do when travelling and at home. When I am at home I can even just travel somewhere by doing it. It’s eating, obviously. And now while in Malaysia, I am eating, travelling and writing about it. That’s like my holy trinity, right there.

It started out pretty rustic last night on my arrival. Off the plane and onto the streets in search of food and in Malaysia you don’t have to go far. It wasn’t what I was expecting, but at nearly midnight a Bro Burger and a milkshake off the street was just what I wanted. Quick, hot, cheap and good.

My guide for my culinary tour of Malaysia is Cho, ex Malaysia local and Burmese cookbook author, who really stepped up my Bro Burger experience by arranging a cooking demonstration at fine dining restaurant Enak. The chef mistook my blonde hair and pale skin as a sign of aversion to chilli and spice, and the slow cook beef rendang just didn’t hit the hot spot.

Malaysians love their food, but one local who gets pretty excited about what she eats is food blogger Meena. Leaving upmarket restaurants behind us, we head uptown for the smokey hawker streets of Kuala Lumpur.

Chicken wings and satay arrive, and leave our plates for our mouths. Bones and skewers stack up as a sign that we need to move onto the next street side stall. Stingray, sea snails, squid are next. The table quietens and loudens as we suck the snails to get them out. In the middle of mouthfuls we talk about food, and the best meals we have had around the world.

I love travel, food and writing, but just like any meal there is a recipe for putting them together. The challenge for me while I am here is learning how to write about food, in a non-cheesy way. Terrible joke I know.

Never judge a guide book by its cover

hanna — Mon, 2 Jul 2012 01:59:00 GMT

I went to Bali, but I did not go to Kuta. I went to Bali, but I saw barely any tourists. I went to Bali and had a lovely time. I met fantastic, warm and open people, always ready for a chat, or simply just a smile. What surprised me was how surprised local people where that my trip hadn’t included Kuta Beach haunts. They told me that I saw the real Bali. I saw coastlines that met mountains, and paddy fields that stepped down to the roadsides where cloves dried and filled their air with their flavour. I ate a lot of rice, a lot of noodles and even more satay. I climbed a volcano, learnt to surf, and experienced magic across the spectrum. I know that I have said it already, but I am going to say it again. If it hadn’t of been for the World Nomads Travel Writing Scholarship, I really didn’t see myself ever going to Bali. I have seen a side of Bali that most never do, not because of difficulty, but just because most can’t be bothered. Be bothered, its amazing, trust me, take a bus, go a little bit further. Bali has been a real travel lesson for me, and I plan to go back. Never judge a guide book by its cover.

Half a volcano

hanna — Sun, 1 Jul 2012 19:11:00 GMT

It is about the journey and not the destination. The old travel maxim has never been truer for me.

Mount Gunug Agung is Bali’s highest and most sacred point. The keen climb the volcano in the night to catch the sun rise across the whole island. Stuart, Jesse – the World Nomads producer and I were the keen, so we got up at 1am to be taken to the foot of the volcano.

Our guide Nyouman made offerings at the temple before we climbed the 300 stairs to where the trail starts. The trail up the volcano is the path from a lava stream when the volcano erupted in 1963. Imagine a volcano erupting, the lava spews straight down the mountain, right? That meant we were headed straight up the mountain. No cross back trails, no gentle incline. Straight up, it was straight up.

In the dark, in the rain, in the middle of the night using my hands to pull me up the trail, I wondered how this experience was a prize. Thank you World Nomads, thank you. As it got darker, wetter, and steeper, I sent more little telepathic thank- you messages to World Nomads.

Stuart asked Jesse, is this gruelling or arduous? He replied both, and it was. It was really hard. We had to stop for breaks after 15 minutes, and from then on about every 10 minutes. Yuman our guide barely breathed and basically floated up the mountain. Lactic acid stung my legs and I am sure my puffing scared away any wildlife in earshot.

My warning bells went off when we past a couple of pretty fit looking Germans heading back down, too hard for them they said, good luck. They had proper walking sticks and cargo pants and all the right gear, and yet they couldn’t do it?!

After two hours we reached halfway, finally above the treeline and the clouds. The stars came out and stretched from left to right and underfoot the ground had changed to loose volcanic rock. It was pretty magic. Not a sound and not a sight besides the stars. I was on top of a volcano and if my legs hadn’t been so sore, I could have stretched and touched the stars.

It had been getting harder for the last half hour and I had noticed Jesse’s breathing begin to change. He wasn’t just puffing like Stuart and I, he was really struggling to regain breath. He needed to stop, and wanted to go back down. We made the decision to all head back together.

Having gone straight up the volcano, meant going down, was going straight down. My approach to this was to get on my bum as much as possible. Dawn revealed that we were in fact in a pretty lush jungle up a volcano.

As disappointing as it was to not make it up, I was pretty glad to get in the car and off the volcano. So we didn’t make it, so what. The volcano definitely isn’t going anywhere, and I while I will be leaving Bali in a few days, who is to say I will never be back.

I often feel like this travelling when I hear people talk about places they can’t miss, rushing around “doing” a country or city as if the place is about to disappear. Slow down, enjoy the journey.

Travellers currency

hanna — Sun, 1 Jul 2012 02:24:00 GMT

One of the things I love about travelling is meeting other travellers. There is an understanding between travellers, which is often hard to find back at home.

I have a lot of family and friends who just don’t get why I routinely pack up my life and disappear for months to live out of a backpack. They ask when will I settle down or when I will get a real job and come home. The answer to their questions is always never.

After a week in Bali with Stuart McDonald the co-founder of Travelfish, between half-climbing volcanos, learning to surf, getting healed and vexed and a lot of time in the car navigating on roads that define off the beaten track, we have exchanged a lot of travellers currency. The currency of travellers are their stories of bus trips, crazy people, near death experiences, stomach problems and what generally possesses us to keep doing it.

While we could have swapped tales all day about where we have been and where we want to go, but Stuart’s job was to help me turn my travelling into a career as a travel writer. The knowledge, tips, and general kick up the bum Stuart has given me to start writing is invaluable. If you want to read Stuart’s advice for me, you can check it out here.

And then in true traveller style, you leave for the next destination and disappear. But the joy with being on the road is travellers might just meet each other on the road again.

An afternoon in Bali

hanna — Fri, 29 Jun 2012 17:37:00 GMT

A lot can happen in an afternoon - if you let it. With a couple of loose plans we leave early in the afternoon case anything interesting happens on the way, as some things can never be planned.

Leaving the postcard rice paddy of Sidemen we drive though Tuli Kup where children are playing on a football field next to raging fire. Gus our translator says to stop and look, because it is a cremation ceremony. We are all a bit unsure about intruding on what would be in our lives a very private situation, but he reckons it is not a problem. It shows our cultural differences and the Balinese perception of death as being a part of life to be celebrated and accepted without mourning, or need for privacy.

The Hindu majority in Bali cremate the dead, but this wasn’t a typical funeral pyre. Gas lines feed the drums with kerosene for the blowtorch because the deceased was a priest, protocol stipulates he is to be cremated immediately. Workers stoking the fire and family are happy to let us get close, just the wild flames and heat keep us back.

Cremation is an expensive event in Bali and the graves surrounding the fire are of those whose families couldn’t afford one. They are instead buried until a much cheaper local mass cremation ceremony takes place, when they will be exhumed from the earth, cremated and then like the priest’s ashes taken to the sea.

Further down at roadside markets, whole pigs sit at canteens, carved up as a local delicacy for lunch. Stuart from Travelfish has been trying to find this - Babi Gulung, which is suckling pig cooked many ways. Our plate, are filled with pork, pork crackling, pork sausage – every bit of the animal has been used, and every bit is porky goodness.

Our appointment with a Balinese white magic healer is confirmed and we go to his clinic at the porch of his home, where after his day job as a shopkeeper in the local market he treats the sick and vexed. Patients arrive carrying bags of sugar and coffee, true healers will not charge for their services.

I didn’t expect what happened next. An elderly woman examined with the end of an incense stick starts screaming and writhing in pain. Aduh, aduh, ouch ouch, she wails and moves frenziedly, oh my oh my. The healer says there is nothing he can do, she needs to see a medical doctor for vitamins.

A young couple bring their toddler who has visited a medical doctor three times, yet has still had a fever for over ten days. The healer says a black magic spell has been put on the child by someone who doesn't like his parents.

The more people arrive at to the porch, the more I am convinced this isn’t fake. He asked me if he can treat me, and I say no. I don’t doubt his magic and that is what makes me weary of it. But I do eventually get on the mat, the end of the incense stick pokes my little finger and I say something in English I really hope he doesn’t understand. It hurts, it really hurts. And he continues poking my fingers, stomach and nipples, only returning to the finger that hurt. The finger tells him I have headaches, and he pokes some more to fix them. I’m not prone to headaches at all, but the day before I did take pain relief for an unusually strong headache.

Cleansed and captivated we leave as night and rain arrives. The scene was set driving into the dark Balinese countryside with to see another magic man, but this one practices magic of the dark, black magic.

We meet him under the cover of the temple at his home. He sits on a plastic chair and makes us sit at his feet. We are close to him, but never really see his face because of a light bulb swinging behind his head. His face is pock marked and even though I can’t understand what he says she speaks with authority

One of the key pieces of equipment he uses is a protective belt, which makes for a fee. When worn it protects the wearer and gives them power. A knife is sharpened in front of us, and he stabs his stomach and cuts his tongue, nothing happens because he is wearing the belt.

Through Gus our translator, we can ask him just about anything. He believes there is nothing wrong with what he does, harm from black magic will only happen to someone if they deserve it. He is not responsible for it, he is just part of the process doing his job. People come to him to seek revenge, to help their businesses or for protection.

The longer we are there the more questions we ask, and he can see that we are interested in his job, which unlike the white magic healer is quite profitable. He tells us the huge rates he charges for his services, we even have to pay a fee for our chat.

The scene – sitting in the dark, in the rain, in a rural village gets even creepier when he offers to take us to the cemetery at midnight to see him in action. We decline the invitation, having already been to a cemetery once today and having to wake at 1am to climb the most sacred volcano in Bali, Mount Agung Gunung.

In an afternoon we got under and inside Bali. While this was due to Stuart and Gus, Bali locals, this was also just due to seeing what happens. A lot can happen if you just let it.

Magic hands and surf gods

hanna — Thu, 28 Jun 2012 12:31:00 GMT

I am no different to the hordes of tourists who flock to Bali’s beaches for great surf and massages. They don’t get far, sticking to the main strip of Kuta Beach, never really experiencing why this island is so famous for beaches and magical people. I leave the bodies frying on the beach for Medewi, home to the longest left hand break in the world and to the magic hands of Ugis.

Ugis isn’t healer or a magic man who levitates when he walks. He doesn’t wear a turban, have a wise-man beard or have any air of pretentious piety about him. He wears a surfer’s t-shirt, jean shorts and smokes a cigarette. Yet Ugis is known around the world for healing with his magic hands. He would never tell you this, another guest at his homestay explains how she met him on the beach 12 years ago and he fixed a chronic ligament problem in her foot. But you know when you meet him there is something a bit special about him, he has that look in his eye.

On a massage table outside overlooking paddy fields, he asks where I am broken. I tell him I have no major problems – which is true, but to also test his magic hands. He finds my shoulders, knotted from years of work hunched over a computer. Ohhhh what is this, this is a problem, here is a problem, he says and talks to my back with his hands.

After nearly two hours of fixing my back Ugis finishes, looking tired and laboured. He leaves me to have a cigarette. I’m exhausted too and sit catching my breath, dripping coconut oil listening to the call to prayer reach me from over the paddy fields. My back feels great, but I feel greater. It was a magical experience, it sounds cheesy and cynics need to stop reading now, but I did feel a sense of magic.

Ugis’s son Rama isn’t magic with his hands, but as his name suggests he is a bit of a god, a surf god. The fourteen year old who has been surfing since he was a child has just on won the local surf competition and reckons he can get me carving it up. (Surfer speak for surfing.)

Rama gives me Surfing 101. We lie on the beach pretending to paddle and get up on the board. I actually practiced this at home before I left, even figuring out whether I had a natural or goofy stance. Doing it in my pyjamas on my stable lounge floor unfortunately doesn’t help me much when I am doing it at sea on a moving wave.

Rama hung onto the back of my board, pushed me into the waves and screamed at me to get up, get up. I got up half way, fell off. Got up a bit further and fell off. Fell off, got back on the board. On my last and best wave I hear Rama cheering me on and see him doing the surfers wave with his hand.

If you had told me that I would be surfing and getting massages in Bali I wouldn’t have been interested. It’s not that surfing and massages aren’t my thing, but the impression I had about Bali was that it is all tourists do on beaches is get tans by day and get drunk by night. I had no idea that there was more to Bali than this and feel a bit embarrassed that I hadn’t taken the time to look a little further dig a little deeper to find out more. I’m happy to admit that destinations like Bali are not my thing, I’m a traveller, not a tourist, but the more I think about this, the more I think it has to do with your attitude and not your destination.

Beautiful Bali

hanna — Mon, 25 Jun 2012 09:00:00 GMT

No offence Bali, but I thought you were a cheap and nasty tourist destination for my mates from Down Under. How wrong am I. Apologies Bali. So far you have been beautiful and I can see why people flock here.

I arrived in Bali yesterday and spent the afternoon on the beach, cocktail in hand and a pretty amazing sunset in front of me.

Today this will change as we hit the road for the longest left hand break in the world, climbing an active volcano and seeing a side of Bali that most tourists don’t.

This is thanks to Stuart and Sam from Travelfish who have made Bali their home and reckon they can show me why they love this little island paradise.

Sorry this is such a quick post, but I have to get ready to carve it up!

Hang ten dudes.

Nisha

hanna — Mon, 25 Jun 2012 08:52:00 GMT

I met Nisha on my last night in Singapore. She is 7 years old and her father tells me her favourite thing to do is talk. I realised this when I sat down and she asked me if I would like to borrow her umbrella, where I was from and what I would like to order. Nisha sat down at the table with me and screamed my order to the kitchen.

Nisha like most people in Singapore has a migrant story. Her father came from South India nearly twenty years ago in search of work, so he could save to have a family and give them a better life than he could in India.

I shocked Nisha by started to speak to her with the basic Tamil words that I know. She looked at me, and looked at me again. “Tamil terima?” I repeated it, “Do you speak Tamil?” She dropped her umbrella and asked me if I was Tamil. I replied, no, but in Tamil. And she screamed and laughed and told me she had never met a white Tamil person before.

She noticed my bra from under my sleeve and raised her eyes. I asked her if she had one too. Putting her hands on her chest and rolling her eyes, she exclaimed “No, I am just a baby!”

Meeting people like Nisha is what makes me travel. It is hard to explain, but for me it is just the simple interactions and conversations that I love the most. I left her father’s restaurant full of greasy paratha and feeling lighter and happier, and slightly sad about leaving Singapore.

I will be adding more stories, particularly a behind the scenes interview with Rough Guide author Richard Lim.

Photos: Bali

hanna — Mon, 25 Jun 2012 00:47:00 GMT

Fish foot spas and beauty parlours

hanna — Sat, 23 Jun 2012 12:54:00 GMT

I don’t usually let fish nibble at my feet, but a visit to a local beauty parlour or hairdresser is always on my travel itinerary.

While on assignment for Rough Guide at the Singapore Zoo and Night Safari, I had time to kill between the Zoo closing and the Night Safari opening. Souvenir shops, bars and restaurants were all options, but it was the sign for the spa that interested me.

Spas,beauty parlours, hairdressers, and masseuses are not in the guide books, but I think they should be. They are a great way to connect with local people and experience local ways of doing things - believe me, haircuts are not the same around the world.

I’ve had a haircut outside the Taj Mahal, been scrubbed till I was pink in a Syrian Hammam, had blind massages, and even a haircut at a Singapore bus station where I ended up looking like a Hello Kitty character- Japanese style they told me. But never a fish foot spa.

While fish foot spas are not a Singaporean concept, Nancy who was working there told me the connection was because it was at a zoo. “You know you come to see animals, fish are animals too you know. This just like aquarium with benefits!”

The Kangal fish from the Middle East have tiny mouths which scrape against the dead skin on your feet like exfoliation. After a few days of pounding the hot streets of Singapore my feet needed love and I thought little kisses from hundreds of fish would be perfect.

My feet went in and they went out. My feet went in and I started shrieking. My feet came out again. It was nothing like little kisses from lots of little mouths. Those little fish where biting and tickling me. Nancy claimed the fish didn’t bite. "If they bite you, I will bite them” she said and to prove her point she got in with me. It didn’t really help. Hundreds of fish swarmed to her feet as if they were her offspring. She held my hand and tried to force my leg into the water. I was too ticklish, and somehow ridiculously frightened!

A fish foot spa definitely wasn’t my favourite, but still I can’t over recommend getting a haircut or a facial on your next trip. I am not talking about high-end spas at fancy hotels, I mean the dingy gaudy ones with posters of Britney Spears. Like at home, the ladies who work as hairdressers or beauticians are renowned for having a good chat. It is truly one of my favourite things to do while travelling, regardless of the disaster hairdos I have got.

Next on the list- a pedicure, those fish nibbled off my toenail polish!

What is Long John Chicken?

hanna — Fri, 22 Jun 2012 13:52:00 GMT

I sat down and immediately the waiter appeared. Protocol was to order on sitting down. The huge menu was totally foreign to me. The waiter stood there and listed off some of the options. It didn’t really help.

I saw Gado Gado, I get this at a place at home. It is one of my favourites. I was pretty hungry though and thought I needed something else, and felt a bit like chicken. Listed under the “Western” section was “Long John Chicken”, and the waiter was staring at me staring at the menu.

The Gado Gado arrived straight away. I know my Kiwi version is probably a bastard child of the mainland version, but it is the bastard child I know and like.

I can see how they are related, but this one was topped with the most awful rancid greasy off fishy smelling crackers ever. Seriously to give you an idea I reckon seagulls would have loved it.

I willed Long John’s chicken to arrive, moved my food around a bit more, finished my drink and played with my phone. The waiter came over and asked, Good, good? Gado gado good? I nodded and rubbed my tummy and gave him a wink.

There was a problem with Long John the waiter said, but he tried explaining they could do something similar. I heard same, same, so I went with it and said Ok.

Then it came. It was like dense French toast made from naan bread with cheese in the middle and covered in mayonnaise and tomato sauce, and it tasted like curry. I’m not sure what was worse. I tried to be polite, I really did. I figured that it would actually be more polite to give up and leave, than to continue and vomit all over the table. I got the bill and mimed it was so good, but it was so big I couldn’t finish.

I was now hungry and slightly nauseas. Thankfully the glow of a 7/11 appeared as my saviour, so I went for a couple of safe options. It was a cop out on my part, but am sure all of us have had similar experiences on the road, it is all part of the fun.

If anyone knows what Long John Chicken is, I would love to know? And your horror travelling meals?

PS: Sorry about the bad quality photo, it was slyly taken on my phone.

Stopover no longer

hanna — Fri, 22 Jun 2012 10:57:00 GMT

Destination Singapore, all abroad! Like many, my visits to Singapore have just been brief stopovers for a day or two between connecting flights. While on assignment here I regret not giving this neat city more time in the past. It’s a truly international city with a bit of everything for culture vultures, foodies, shoppers and the outdoors types. Singapore’s efficient and extensive public transport system makes exploring the small island quick and easy, so you have no excuse not to!

Here are my top five things to do in Singapore:

1. Get cultural, multi-cultural

Head to Chinatown, Little India, the Arab Quarter and the old Colonial District to get a taste for the diversity that is Singapore. Soak up the vibe on the street, have something to eat, and wander through temples, mosques and colonial buildings.

2. Hit the malls

There are malls next to malls, malls inside malls everywhere you turn in Singapore. Even if you aren’t a fan of shopping, malls are unavoidable, so just stick your head in and see what all the fuss is about. Most are located around subway stations so you won’t have to go far.

3. Get out of the city

Downtown Singapore is where most travellers end up, but check out some of the activities that lie beyond the high rises. Jurong Bird Park, Singapore Zoo and Night Safari, Bukit Timah Nature Reserve or a trip to Palau Ubin are all great options.

4. Learn something new

Make a point to acquaint yourself with the little known culture of the Peranakan people of Singapore. Learn about their fascinating and very unique local culture, the Peranakan Museum and Baba House are both great places to start.

5. Have a cup of tea

Whether it is Chinese, Indian, Malay or English style, sit down with a cup of tea and watch the city go by. Singapore is a fast moving, ever changing place that is wonderful to watch.

The in-between

hanna — Thu, 21 Jun 2012 14:10:00 GMT

A man stops at the Indian temple in Chinatown. Puts down his briefcase, places his palms together and bowels to an elephant headed god. It’s a moment of quiet relief from rush hour on the footpath. The gaudy old temple flanked by mirrored skyscrapers stands taller with his attention. As he turns back onto the footpath I see he is Chinese.

This is Singapore. Diverse cultures, religions and ethnic groups living side by side all retaining their history and tradition, while surrounded by impressive modernity and technology.

Colonial founder of Singapore, Stamford Raffles, designated areas of the city for the different migrant groups. Today these areas still ooze their local flavour and continue to grow as new waves of migrant labour arrive.

Under the shadow of the CBD’s high rises Chinatown’s streets were saved from becoming office block and apartments. The old buildings home to original Chinese family clans, funky advertising agencies, boutique hotels, and karaoke bars. The Sultan Mosque marks the Arab quarter. Sheesha pipes, Persian carpets and kebabs – it is a cliché, but it is all here in South East Asia. Little India is inexplicably India. It is as only India could be, loud, pungent and colourful. The people, mainly Tamils from South India, talk in a language that resembles shouting. The original people of the land the Peranakans, once not recognised now share an equally important place in local heritage, with proud museums and restored original homes.

Towering above the ground are Singapore’s impressive buildings. Below the ground is an equally impressive efficient high tech subway system that links and carry’s what lies between the sky and the ground. The in-between are diverse communities and people like the Chinese man at an Indian temple.

Love in Singapore

hanna — Tue, 19 Jun 2012 10:22:00 GMT

I feel like I am cheating on Singapore. We just got together and only have a week, yet I have found myself back in the arms of an old flame.

India and I have had a love affair for years. Our long distance love kept alive with yearly visits. This year our rendezvous was swapped for Singapore, but here I am eating a curry!

Little India is however an important and legitimate part of Singapore, I have no reason to feel adulterous. Indians first arrived in Singapore in 1825 as convict labourers for the British Empire. Continual migration has meant today they make up 9% of the country’s population.

It is not surprising a stroll down Serangoon Road fills my ears with Tamil voices and fills my nose with smells of Jasmine and spices. Locals sell Indian gold, statues of Hindu Gods and Bollywood films.

While this is India, this isn’t the Mother India I know so well. Singapore’s India is a smaller, nicer, finer, littler sister. No screaming car horns, cars have right of way, pedestrians wait for the signal to cross the road! She is cleaner too, rubbish bins where piles of rubbish would be in the subcontinent.

If I am to continue with cheeky metaphors of love, then tomorrow I will be with someone else – this is the joy of being in Singapore, where Indian, Chinese, Malay, Peranakan and even an Arab quarter make up this small fascinating nation.