My Delhi debut

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I had heard all the horror stories, all the warnings. But my first trip to Delhi was more than I could have hoped for. Following is an email to my near and dear not long after I arrived in India for the first time. It is dated March 5, 2012. I hope you enjoy! There are more posts to come on my first extraordinary Indian adventure.

Hello loved ones.
Thought I would drop you a quick note from downtown Delhi.
What a weird trip it has been, but mostly fun.
Some of you know (and others may care) that I meet Sachin Tendulkar and MS Dhoni at Brisbane Airport as I was leaving, managed to shake their hands and get autographs. Seriously momentous for me. Beyond stoked. Then I bid them adieu as they walked into business class and I joined the rest of the great unwashed in cattle class.
Flight from Brisbane to Singapore was a good one with a spare seat next to me. I filled in almost two hours of my four hour stopover in Singapore by walking from Terminal 3 to Terminal 1 to Terminal 2. Love that airport. By the way mum, are you still smoking? I hope the answer is no but if not, what brand do you want me to get? You liked the Davidoffs didn’t you?
Flight from Singapore to Delhi was worst ever. Squeezed like sardines into a tiny fucking tin with turbulence and astoundingly bad service for Singapore Airlines. How I miss business class….
Stuff up with driver saw me dropped at the wrong hotel resulting in me arriving at the right hotel at 12.30am (5am Brisbane time – a full 23 hours after leaving hotel). The concierge thought it appropriate to try and kiss me. Arrrrrgh. Indian men!!!!! At least he upgraded my room to what is euphemistically described as a suite. Not at all sure what my premium room would have looked like. Air con rattles loudly, water from the shower has a lovely and distinctive rust hue to it and I was woken this morning by possibly the worst smell in the world. Did I mention after finally getting in to my room, showering (too tired to notice the water colour) and dragging my tired arse into bed, the concierge called my room to check I was sleeping without any problems!!!! India!
Hopeless jetlag but I did make it to a local restaurant and had the most amazing meal. A local who clearly was amused by my utter confusion at a menu written only in Hindi guides me. Next thing I know the truly best meal of my life was presented before me. A curry of some sort (maybe chicken, but I will never know for sure!!!!), some bread, some rice, some tea and a sweet, decadent dessert, all for the cost of less than $2. Being Australian, I am used to ridiculously expensive meals with average service. It is quite something to be served then most amazing food ever with great service at such prices. Yep, reckon I could just get used to India!!! Apparently Indian food really is better in India.
Watched the cricket, Australia not playing India. Catching a game between the two in India is how so totally on my very small bucket list!!! Hysterical watching Australia and hearing Hindi commentary instead of Michael Slater and Tony Greig. Made me laugh and laugh. Though jetlag could have been a contributing factor.
Spent today (Monday) interviewing candidates for a job here.
There was a wee small earthquake which was, well, surprising. I thought I was imagining it until all the staff came running like rats out of hidden corners of the motel talking excitedly to each other. Finally someone who spoke English explained to me that there had indeed been an earthquake. He was very excited. I am relieved it hasn’t been followed by any more. Yes the Earth did finally move for me!!!!
Tomorrow I have a driver (Jeet) picking me up at 9am to show me Delhi. It is costing me $17 Australian to have him drive me for 8 hours. Obscene isn’t it? The biggest decision still to be made is whether to go to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. It would cost US $90 but the real issue is that it will apparently take about four or five hours to drive there (lots of cows and bad roads apparently) and then the same to get back. Everyone says I must see it yet also agree it is too much for one day. I have already paid for all my nights here in Delhi. Ummmm. What to do? Also, the best day to go for me would have been Thursday which I am told is a major religious festival (Holi – believe it or not) throughout India but particularly at a temple slap bang between Delhi and Agra. India!!! It sounds like the festival would be fun in Delhi in any event.
I am actually having a good time and am keen to get into town – I am a bit out so it is quieter – to check out what the big deal is. Luckily the terror alert has been downgraded since a group of men were arrested yesterday. They were apparently planning to blow up the major shopping district this week. India!!!!! What an adventure. I do feel quite safe though and the people have been extraordinarily kind and helpful. Indian people are so warm and genuine and giving of their time. They are extraordinary and I am enormously thankful for their generosity of spirit.
My life is blessed and I am pleased I have the chance to share some of it with you all. Though I would very much enjoy a shower in water which is somewhat clearer than, well, rust!!! Gotta take the good and the bad. That said, I feel strangely at home here, totally comfortable. I had been warned of the sensory overload that is India. But I am truly relishing it. The sounds, the smells, the people, the utter difference to me life. It has shaken me out of complacency and made sure I am truly in the moment. What a blessing indeed and such a departure from my usual corporate existence. I simply feel quite blessed.
Please anyone, feel free to call my son to check he has fed the dog and cat and himself and that he is doing alright.
Love youse all
A

A small gesture and a big response

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Sometimes the smallest of gestures can make the biggest statements and leave you so grateful for the journey you have taken, as hard and confusing and mystifying as that journey may have been.
This week I had dinner with my old boss, a woman I am privileged enough to call one of my dearest friends. We were celebrating my son’s birthday, but in a completely unexpected turn of events, it was I who received an amazing gift of faith from her which prompted an outpouring of emotion within me.
On our way to dinner, Marian delved into her handbag and pulled out a slither of plastic. She was a little emotional, having been awake since 3am to make a flight to Brisbane. She held the slither in her hands and grabbed my arm telling me: “I have been waiting for you to start a new job to give you this”.
Intrigued, I accepted the tiny piece of plastic and it was all I could do not to dissolve into tears – I had also just completed two pretty stressful 10 hour days and was a little emotional myself! Written on this plastic was my full name – which few people know – and the name of the company we had worked at together. It was part of my old corporate credit card.
I had given Marian the card when I I resigned. I don’t remember now if I handed her the card intact or in pieces (for security reasons of course). But totally unexpectedly, a week after starting a new job, Marian hands me a slither of that credit card.
In and of itself, that small piece of plastic would mean nothing. But Marian is well aware of what it represents for me. It is my past; my history. A symbol which marked my status in the company and the trust shown in me. Only Marian and I were allowed corporate credit cards; she entrusted me with the company’s finances and that was kind of cool.
I think some context is needed here. Before I started work with Marian, I had been unemployed for nine months and was in serious financial trouble. I literally did not know how I would pay my next week’s rent. I couldn’t pay my son’s school fees or registration fees at his soccer club. We were living a hand-to-mouth existence, and as a parent, that is very, very scary. It is also hard not to feel as if you have failed your child, and yourself to be living that way. But circumstance had conspired to bring about this situation and I was struggling under it’s burden.
And then Marian took a chance on me and gave me what really was, in many ways, a dream job. Within a year I was travelling the world, earning a good salary and had finally managed to pay off my university debt. I was even looking at getting a deposit together for my first home. My life completely changed.
It wasn’t all roses of course. The job was very stressful and being completely unused to managing staff, I did struggle with the weight of the responsibility of it all. But I also loved the challenge and together with a great team, building a business we could all be proud of.
So my decision to leave this job had been extremely difficult but was, without a doubt, the right thing to do.
But Marian, understanding the history and what that credit card represented, expressed an extraordinary act of faith in me by holding onto that slither of plastic. She was telling me she always knew it would work out, that I would prevail because I always do. That I was strong enough to withstand whatever was thrown at me and would come out the other end stronger and wiser.
I understand in this gesture by Marian that though the last year has seen me relinquish so much of who I thought I was; has changed my life and approach to the world in the most fundamental of ways imaginable, I have grown and evolved and carried forward friendships others could only dream of having. I have lost so very much in the last year, but I have maintained what is most important – my sense of self, my friendships and an ability to adapt.
And again I am so impressed at her self-control; holding this precious little secret in her handbag for a year and never letting on. It was positively insightful and controlled and an act of both love and faith. And I am humbled by it.
The timing is perfect really. It is the week after the anniversary of an event that changed my life, and the week we are celebrating the most important event of my life, the birth of my gorgeous son. To see these two events collide in almost perfect harmony is almost poetic.
And again I remain thankful for my life and the people in it. How many people can say that with total honesty? I am aware of my blessings and thankful for each and every one of them. Happy birthday son, I am so proud of you. And thank you Marian, I love our friendship and your faith in me

Wanted: advice for a young traveller starting his journey.

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It is no secret to anyone who knows me that I believe travel is a valuable way to build character, explore new cultures, grow as a person, understand that universally we are more alike than different. I think time spent travelling is possibly even more valuable than a couple of university degrees and I am pretty fanatical about education.
So it is with a mixture of pride and excitement and trepidation that I am helping my son to plan some overseas wanderings. He has not travelled overseas alone before. And I am nervous for him. Thrilled, but nervous. He is about to turn 19 and, to my mind, that is still pretty young!
He is still deciding where to start. As a novice traveller, I have suggested he steer clear of Asia initially. Yes, it is on our doorstep and cheap. But it can also be very confronting for a young traveller. I want him to build his confidence before he takes on the challenges of backpacking around Asia. He went to Vietnam and Cambodia with me a few years ago and struggled with the poverty. The smell and pollution and noise and different cultures were a shock to a 15-year-old.
So his attention has been drawn to both Africa and Europe. I have some contacts I can offer in Europe – and contacts who can offer contacts. He is fast learning that as a backpacker, lobbing on people and asking to sleep on their couch is going to happen a lot. And it will either pay off or it will not. But it is cheap and safe and may even include the benefit of a home-cooked meal and a chance to do some laundry. As long as he does not overstay. I suspect he may learn that lesson the hard way.
But more and more, he is talking about Africa. At a party this weekend he was told by some experienced backpackers to trust his gut and he tells me his gut is saying Africa. Our close family friends are South African. He has the benefit of at least having a starting point there and a couple of contacts. Our friends are happy to make the introductions.
However, my heart is a little torn. South Africa is dangerous. And he is young and inexperienced. And I want to go with him and explore the “cradle of creation” too.
I am so excited my son is about to embark on a journey which will change him in incredible ways. Which will broaden his already very broad way of thinking.
I would love any advice I can pass on to him. Any websites he absolutely must check out before he goes. Information I would not have thought to pass on or flat out just don’t know. Tips any of you who have embarked on a similar journey can offer.
I look forward to hearing what you guys have to say. Thank you in advance.

Still smiling despite the pain!

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It is quite surreal to find myself back in the workforce after a six month hiatus and incredibly I am feeling it. A dear friend suggested I write a blog about the physical rigours of working in an office three days a week. Yes, she was joking, but after six months of wearing shorts and t-shirts and either no shoes or thongs (again, flip flops for non-Australians), my feet and shins and calves were protesting painfully after just three short days. To have my poor feet encased in shoes felt a lot like I imagine those Chinese women of years gone by who had their feet painfully bound must have felt. Okay, so I am prone to exaggeration. But I am sure you get the drift.
To find myself back in corporate clothing was a shock in and of itself. To hear the alarm go off that first morning was a hell of a jolt to the system. For my time to not be my own was something altogether different.
It is so brilliant to be having a whinge about having a job. How blessed I am that these are my circumstances. That after six months of wandering – literally and metaphorically – to find myself in a position where my skills are valued and I genuinely have a lot to offer and be excited by.
It amazes me how quickly we can get used to a set of circumstances or lose the rhythm of a lifestyle we have lived for years. It is weird not to be working with my friends and trying to remember a succession of new names and faces. To try and remember where the kitchen is and make sure I strategically pick as generic a mug as possible for my tea so I do not inadvertently upset someone. To understand the subtleties of a new workplace – the expectations, the mood, the philosophy about lunch hours and finishing times. But it is also very exciting. A new start; a new opportunity. A chance to shed the past and embrace a new future. A distraction from what would otherwise have been an extremely difficult week for me emotionally.
I liked coming home tired and intellectually exhausted and, as a consequence, being able to sleep well for the first time in months. I liked having to adjust to a new routine. Hell, I liked having a routine after months of ambling and rambling and wandering. That said though, I wouldn’t give up those six months of lack of structure for anything in the world.
I loved having that six months for myself. Again, I am blessed to have been able to take that time. To adjust and adapt and grow and learn and just be. To hang around in an ashram in Nepal, to trek the Himalayas, to undertake terrifying Nepalese bus rides, to wander around Melbourne with friends, to sleep in, read books, do some online courses, cook meals again, spend time with my son, watch really bad daytime television, start a blog!!!!!
I love that I am lying on my bed and my feet hurt from having to wear shoes. I love that I have to be organised in terms of food and shopping and washing because I can’t just do it the next day. I love that I can’t stay up all night wandering around the Internet or watching HBO.
My life is truly blessed and I am thankful. What an amazing place to be in.

An anniversary and a new start

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We are just days out from it being a year. Twelve months. Three hundred and sixty five days. Eight thousand seven hundred and sixty hours. Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes. A trip to Nepal. The sale of my first home. Giving away my beloved dog and cat. Quitting my job. Dozens and dozens of bottles of scotch. Hundreds and hundreds of nightmares. Dozens and dozens of anxiety attacks.
Almost a year to the day, I will be starting a new job. Hopefully, this is the turn around I have been praying for. But it will take longer for the memory to fade further, the effects to be less apparent to those who know me well, for me to feel truly safe again.
It was October 24, 2012. I went to check on a colleague who had not arrived at work and was not answering his mobile phone. My life will never be the same again. I cannot write about what happened because there is still a court case to come and next to my colleague, I am the only witness to what happened that hot October day. And the man who changed my life – our lives – still walks the streets of Brisbane as the justice system is painfully slow to bring this whole terrible event to a conclusion.
But I have spent the last year trying to do two things: a) wake up each day and; b) understand what the hell it all means. I frequently manage to fall woefully short on both counts.
All of my relationships have changed. I guess that is first and foremost because I have changed so very much.
I am still astounded that one moment in time, one decision can forever change a life and ripple through the lives of those around my colleague and I in ways we will probably never understand.
I have always believed that things happen for a reason. That life is not random and there are forces more powerful than us mere mortals orchestrating things so that what is meant to happen does in fact happen and in the end it all works out for the best. But many thousands of minutes since October 24, 2012 I am no longer certain this is in fact the case. Seriously man, I just don’t get it.
Why say this publicly? I dunno. I keep trying to understand it. I can’t talk about it. Doing so brings on the nightmares and anxiety. Writing about it helps me some.
And as I prepare to start a new job this week, the same week as the anniversary of that awful morning, I am hoping to leave more and more of it behind me. To shut the door a little more; to let more light into my world; to start again.
And I am thankful to have the chance to start again and to those who have held my hand, listened to me cry and continue to love me through all of this. It is a cliche, but true nevertheless, I could never have done it without you.

The mobile Rocky Horror Show

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Have you ever had one of those days where you wonder if you have woken up in a parallel universe? Where all kinds of weird inexplicably happens to you at every turn? I did one day last week, but thankfully it was all kinds of good weird. And I still can’t get my head around it.
But of all the weird to arrest me on this particular day, nothing could match not just my bus trip into the city, but the inescapable feeling I had accidentally entered a mobile version of the Rocky Horror Picture Show.
I had intended to walk into town for my appointment – in Queensland “town” is used to describe anything close to a CBD. In my case, I live within walking distance of the city of Brisbane and it is an easy and pleasant walk along the river. But as soon as I left my building, the suffocating heat of an October heat wave day swept over me. I was determined though and did the mental coin toss – do I walk into town using the main roads or the river walk. In this heat it was a no brainer.
I crossed the road to get to the river quickly but found myself within seconds at a bus stop. Every step was hard in the heat and as I spied a bus trundling down the main road, I decided what the hell and opted for the bus.
But as the bus edged closer to me, I noticed it was an Express bus and as such would not stop at my stop. On a whim I stuck out my hand to see what would happen and the bus did indeed stop. Surprised I climbed aboard to hear the jovial giggling of the bus driver announce “I know I’m not supposed to stop here, but I stop where I want to”. The driver followed this with a totally bizarre laugh which caught my attention more for how out of place it was than anything else.
There were a smattering of other passengers on the bus and they all seemed to be egging on the driver who then announced that rather than head straight into town, had decided to detour to the cultural precinct. It was not a major detour but was quite unprecedented in my bus travelling days in Brisbane. The other passengers on the bus giggled away and kept egging on the driver.
“What the hell is going on” kept wandering through my head. Then I felt a pair of eyes bearing down on me. I looked to my right to see a large, dark woman probably in her 40s, staring intently at me. I smiled. She did not. Just then I felt a shudder behind me. I looked around and saw an older lady, perhaps in her 60s violently shaking the seat in front of her. Okay, this was getting really weird. She glared at me, challengingly. I increased the volume on my iPod.
I had thought or hoped the bus driver was joking when he announced we would be touring the cultural precinct of Brisbane. He was not. The bus turned the corner onto the bridge to take us on to the other side of the river. The guy seated closest to the driver asked if this was part of the normal route. He was told no. They both giggled.
I tried to smell for gas fumes in the bus to see if this explained the behaviour of those I was encountering. But I could detect no such smell.
I looked to the back of the bus and saw an indiscript bunch of people except for a teenager who was rocking out to his own music and smiling in an altered kind of way.
When the bus pulled into the cultural centre, I decided enough was enough and disembarked. It meant a small walk into town but it was just too much weirdness for me. I noticed a few other passengers from the back of the bus took the same action. Truly, I am still scratching my head about that one.
I figured the bus trip was a one off incident but that same afternoon, I had three separate, random people approach me in the main shopping area and tell me how good my hair looked. I have very closely shaved hair which is rarely worthy of comment.
I ordered a coffee and the guy serving me noticed the bottle of water in my hands was near empty. He offered to fill it up for me. It was a really nice gesture which I accepted, but again, weird.
I then watched an elderly man order what was clearly his first taste of Indian food as he was totally flummoxed when ordering and settled on “just something which isn’t too spicy”. About half an hour later I saw the same man trying to order an ice cream. He seemed overwhelmed by the choices on offer and opened his wallet where he slowly stroked a yellowing and ageing photo of an old woman. He mouthed something to the face in his wallet and this seemed to fortify him enough to enable him to proceed with his ice cream order. I decided the photo was of his wife who I assume was dead. I could be completely wrong but this man seemed so intent on trying new things; I dunno, there was just something about his manner, a sadness which was striking.
It was a strange afternoon all round. I don’t understand it, in the same way I fail to understand much of what has happened to me in the last year. But I am glad that the weirdness was generally good and largely amusing. And I am glad I can still be surprised by life.

I cannot get enough of India’s insanity

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March 2013

Honestly, India! You do my my head in completely but always make me laugh at how ludicrous you are. You are infuriating enough that one has to make the decision quickly to go with the flow or be driven insane. It always shakes me out of my complacency and drags me completely into the moment.
By the time my plane landed in Goa, I was exhausted. It had been a 23 hour trip and with my mind in a whirl of confusion about my job and the pressures on me to achieve career objectives while in India, my mood was somewhat dark.
I was unimpressed with the domestic/international/military base airport. I was pretty unhappy when my bag finally appeared on the slowest moving luggage carousel in the world only to discover the side zipper had busted open and the remaining contents were trying hard to play catch up with the bag.
That said, I did manage to get out of the airport pretty quickly and I was REALLY looking forward to getting to my fancy motel – the perks of business travel.
When I emerged into the glaring sunshine, I was immediately smothered in an oppressive heat. But I had been in India before and knew to expect this. What I did not expect was what happened next.
I saw an attractive young man clamouring among the hundred or so people parading placards for hotels with the names of guests they were expecting. This man was holding up a sign with the name of the motel I was staying at, but displaying a different guest’s name. I approached him through the throng of family reunions, confused tourists and business travellers. I told him I was staying at that motel but the placard did not have my name on it. He consulted his folder and quickly found my name. I nodded enthusiastically until I saw confusion cross his face. He looked at the “Arrivals” board which listed three landed planes.
Pointing to the board, the young man was uncategorical: “but madam, you have not yet arrived”.
I looked at the board and saw my recently landed plane was indeed listed as “delayed”. I chuckled and looking down at myself and at my surroundings to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, I said: “but you see, I have arrived, I am standing here.”
But there was no moving this man. “No madam, your plane is not here so you are not here”.
Yes, India. I had indeed arrived – sort of.
I suggested I would wait until I did arrive. This sounded like a very good idea to the young man. So I took in the smells, the sounds, the heat, the people and waited until my plane finally landed. After 20 minutes the young man turned to me and said: “oh good madam, you arrived now. Welcome to Goa”. It is impossible to do anything other than smile at such a welcome. I thanked him and suggested it would be very good to get to the car. But wait, there was another passenger whose plane had arrived but he was missing!!!! We waited another five minutes or so until he turned up and then we were on our way.
It was a gorgeous drive to the motel and my companion on my “exclusive” car trip to the motel was a very knowledgeable Indian who was in Goa for the first time for a conference. His excitement was infectious and he just about jumped out the car window when he saw the ocean. What a treat to bear witness to such an experience.
When we did make it to the motel I was starved so ordered some room services and had a quick shower. The food arrived much more promptly than I did and I was immediately reminded of one of my absolute favourites aspects of India – the food. The spices, the fusion and depth of flavours. Oh my God. It was amazing and despite the heat, the airport wait and the exhaustion, I felt complete contentment.
The next morning I determined to discover Goa. I managed to squeeze in a couple of days leave before the conference I was here to attend started. I went to the concierge and asked where a specific store was – Fab India, a dear friend had introduced me to this feast of all things Indian. I asked how far away it was. “Ten minutes by taxi,” the concierge told me. I asked how long it would take to walk. “Ten minutes”. Was the answer. I soon discovered that apparently everything was “10 minutes” away either on foot or car or rickshaw. Even if it was half an hour by car, it was still a 10 minute walk.
There was no malice in what some would consider to be such misleading statements. The fact is Indians, as a rule, have a somewhat different concept of time than westerners. Time is, for many, an external construct which really is not relevant. It passes whether you are watching it or not.
So I set off on foot. The directions I was given were, well, vague and, frankly, incorrect. So I walked and walked and walked, a hell of a lot longer than 10 minutes. The heat and humidity soon conspired to develop very impressive blisters between my big toes and second toes, thanks to the thongs (flip flops to most) I was wearing! In the end I dispensed with the footwear altogether but quickly started to develop blisters on the bottom of my feet from the searing heat of the asphalt.
I was lucky enough to find some shade on the Main Street next to a massive park which was hosting four separate cricket games. I have found anywhere on the subcontinent that if you stop and watch a cricket game, it is an automatic invite for locals to engage in conversation. Invariably the name Sachin Tendulkar comes up. I was lucky enough to meet the Indian cricket legend myself at Brisbane Airport the year before. Man that always gives me major currency with Indians. And the fact we can share a discussion about his brilliance always, always, always makes me smile.
India is the place which reminds me no matter how different people may seem to each other, there is always common ground if you just look for it. For me, this gives the people of India I have met a genuine warmth I cannot help but respond to positively. The country may be mad and chaotic and completely defy logic, but it a place full of genuine people and I cannot get enough of it. I count myself as incredibly blessed to have experienced the madness that is India a couple of times now. I can’t wait to get back there.

A not so subtle Lonely Planet job application

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I used to dream of wealth and all manner of quantifiable success in my life – a good job, a husband, happy kids, a nice home. But as I get older and life has presented few of these childlike notions of happy ever after, increasingly my attention is turning to travelling and exploring the world.
Let’s face it, for those of us who love to travel, scoring a gig where we actually get paid to do so is the holy grail. But it’s a case of how best to do that.
My strongest two skills are my ability to write and my openness to new experiences. These two qualities set me in good stead to make a living from travel. But I don’t want to be one of those travel writers who writes gushing reviews of airlines or motels.
Power to those who can and do, but I spent too long as a journalist to write faux gushing reviews of anything. I know of one journo who once wrote a brutally honest travel story about what can only be described as the trip from hell. The story was brilliant and funny and incredibly entertaining. But he never worked as a travel writer again.
I know another journo who had to do a restaurant review but was under clear instructions that the review could not be negative as the sales team didn’t want to get the potential advertiser off-side. The food was apparently so bad, the entire review was about the restaurant’s decor.
I have no interest in being inauthentic or reviewing anything with a pre-destined outcome.
For the last few years I have been lucky enough to have a job which sent me around the world. I didn’t get to write about these exotic and sometimes bizarre destinations – except to my friends and family – but this time instilled in me a passion for travelling which is a long way from being satiated.
I have bought a bundle of Lonely Planet guides and lived vicariously through them. Now I am pushing Lonely Planet to broaden its own horizons. Their travel guides are ideal for young backpackers and those of us a little older who want basic information including what scams to look out for, climate, must see sights and whatnot. But for those of us over 40, the accommodation recommendations very often don’t quite cut the mustard. You can be older than 30 and still long for adventure and excitement but let’s face it, at the end of the day you very often want to go back to a room which has a hot shower, comfortable bed and is not being shared with a bunch of strangers. And the chances are, the older you are, the more likely you have a slightly larger budget.
This is where writers like myself come into it. Should Lonely Planet include new sections in their guides for the slightly older traveller? Absolutely. I know of dozens in my age group who share this opinion. There is a market for it.
I am, of course, open to any other suggestions on how to make a living combining my love of travel and my ability to write.
Anyone reading this who has been able to do so, I would love to hear your story.

Reflections on a trippy journey

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June 29, 2013

Namaste all.
So I am down to just a couple of days left of this adventure and at the nightmare end of trying to get everything back to Australia. It is a logistical problem I don’t think can be solved with a suitcase and a second bought bag. I think of this as my first world dilemma in a third world country.
I want to thank you, each of you, for sharing this journey with me. I have enjoyed travelling by myself but sometimes there are events which you just want to share and these emails to you as a group have allowed me to be so self-indulgent.

I don’t know what happens now. I quite seriously don’t have a clue . There are a few possibilities but I need to decide how much I want change in my life; what needs restructuring in line with my current priorities. And for me, the number one priority is now time. Nepal has taught me this is even more valuable than money. Time changes perspective enormously and I found that I had stopped making time for myself and as such my perspective on a lot of stuff had just become completely out of whack.

On my good days (which is most of the time – yay!) I don’t mind not knowing what is about to happen. I am excited by the possibilities because there really are so many possibilities. I like the idea of recreating my life, following my heart this time.

On my not so good days, I miss the certainty that was my old life – well as certain as you can get really. I miss my old job, the staff and the work and being in what was a comfort zone even if it exhausted me completely. I liked the lifestyle the job afforded me. But the company as I knew it, no longer exists and for now, maybe I just need life to be simpler.

I want to say something profound about what Nepal has meant for me, but words are woefully inadequate for the journey I have been on. Instead I will share some things I did learn in Nepal: Everything which needs to happen does – eventually; Accepting life as it is at every moment is really the best thing we can do for ourselves; Nothing is permanent, not even grief or heartache; dancing is meditation; Man I used to beat myself up a lot; Things usually don’t go to plan and that’s okay because sometimes our plans are short-sighted; Nepalese bus rides are an extreme sport in themselves; I am stronger than I knew, climbing the Himalayas and all; Life really is funny, like really funny; Indian and Nepalese television is hysterical; Poverty is a relative concept.

I have been blessed and humbled and overwhelmed and awe-inspired and just inspired. I have become a vegetarian, eaten food I never dreamt of, had the most terrifying bus rides of my life, found peace and re-trained myself to laugh more. I have experienced pure joy and bliss and think I may finally have stopped crying. The shock and trauma of the last nine months feels to have passed and I have come to terms with the losses I have had to accept. I have found my passion and energy for writing again. Right now my life is good and that is what I am holding on to – NOW!

I hope you have enjoyed taking this journey with me. I have enjoyed having you along for the ride. Again, thank you.
Hugs and all that,
Angie