Christine Revell's Childrens Home

Growing up I had always wanted to travel the world and work with orphans. In 2008, that goal was realised. I had organised a 4 week volunteer stint in an orphanage (Christine Revell's Childrens Home) in Cape Town through i-to-i Travel.

Christine Revell's Childrens Home (CRCH) is a home for children from new-borns to about 5 years old (or whenever they are ready to start school). Once they are ready to start school, they get moved into an older children's home (unless they've been adopted already). The children in the home were there for many reasons which include,

• Abandoned by their parents
• Parents were too sick to care for their children
• Parents were too poor to care for their children
• Parents were in jail
• Parents had passed away

The time I was there, they were caring for close to 50 children. Most of these children were HIV positive, however we weren't told which were and weren't to prevent any discrimination. The staff consisted of local permanent carers and a constant flow of volunteers.

The children were split into 3 groups.

• Group A - New-borns to 1.5-2 year olds (until they can walk well and can start feeding themselves)
• Group B - 1.5 - 3 year olds
• Group C - 3 years and older

Each group would have slightly different daily schedules based on their development stages. Whilst at the home, I had worked with groups A and B.

Working with the babies in group A, we stuck to a daily schedule that included times for feeding, nappy changing, bathing and play. The babies were my favourite! It's amazing to see how much they grow and develop even over a short period of 4 weeks. We got to witness them learn to crawl, take their first steps and say their first word. I taught them how to give me a high five and clap. It's such a rewarding experience.

The schedule with the older children differed in that they also had learning time. We would have individual sessions with the kids to try to teach them to differentiate and recognise colours and shapes, put puzzles together and read or write depending on how developed they were.

The time I had at CRCH was overall a happy and constantly sniffly (I constantly had a cold the whole time I was there due to the nature of the work) experience. There were however, some heartbreaking moments of realisation, and touching moments of strength from these kids.

My favourite baby, Siyabonga, had just turned 1 when I began my work there. He had problems with his legs. I'm unsure of what the condition was, but I believe he had under-developed muscle and motor-control. He had upper body strength and would just crawl with his arms and hands, dragging his lower body. During my time there, local university students studying Pediatrics or Physiotherapy would come in once a week to treat the children who needed it. By the time I left, Siyabonga had enough strength in his legs not only to crawl properly, but to also pull himself up and stand. I won't lie when I say a few tears rolled.

Another favourite of mine was Tyrone. He was a tiny 2 year old boy who looked like Exibit. He would always try to keep up with the big kids and always lagging behind. When he was happy, he'd kick off his shoes, sit down and start singing to himself - La La Laaaaaaa. It was sooo hard to not give him massive cuddles and kisses.

This is Gabriel. He was the piglet of the lot and was always hungry. Looking back now, I think he may have had some form of mental disability. There were moments when he would just blank out and become unresponsive. He always kept to himself and didn't really play with the other kids much. I didn't really notice him until he got sick a few weeks in and had 20-30 ulcers in his mouth. The poor thing was in so much pain and became needier than usual. I spent that day cuddling him and trying to make him comfortable. He had so much difficulty eating because of his ulcers and considering it was his favourite thing to do, he was so sad. That day I fell in love with him.

Ester was found abandoned by her parents at a few weeks old, in the airport bathroom. A priest had found her and brought her to the Children's home. She craved a lot of attention and would oft cry if she did not get it. However, when she was happy, she had the most beautiful smile!

I can't remember this little lady's name (as I didn't work with her much), but she was definitely one of the most clever kids at the home. When she wasn't wearing her favourite jeans, she would purposely wet herself. Then she'd come to one of us clueless volunteers and smile sweetly saying 'Ronda, I wet my pants. Can you take me to change please.' We'd then take her to the girls bedroom and she'd change into her favourite jeans!
She was also responsible for planning a mission to sneak into the kitchen late at night to steal some cookies to snack on with some of the older children at the home.

 Eon. Oh this guy was definitely the leader of the boys! He was the popular guy everyone wanted to be. He could dance, he was smart and he was an athlete. He was also a great big brother. His younger brother Justin was always taken care of and included in most of the boys' activities during playtime.







There's so much more to share about these awesome kids, so I might have to write another post on them later on. Christine Revell's was quite a well equipped home and the children were much happier than I had expected. Volunteering there was hard work but totally worth it. You so easily fall in love with the children.

Our last day at the home. We had a bit of fun covering the kids with baby powder to the chagrin of the permanent workers. Teehee

 

Turkey Slap

My Istanbul adventure. An unintentional weekend of sexual mishappens. After having a good laugh at the expense of my red-faced horny hostel roommate, I begin my last day in Istanbul. 

After going out for some breakfast and a walk around the old city, looking for last minute souveniers, I find myself back at the hostel with 4 hours to spare before I need to head to the airport. Looking at my options, I decide to try out the local Turkish bath house. It'll be a nice pamper and relaxing treatment right? Hmmm only time will tell.

I book myself in and 30 minutes later, a taxi pulls up outside to pick me up.

What exactly does a Turkish bath house treatment involve? I had no idea. I figured it would be something like spring baths where we bathe in spas or natural pools.

I get dropped off in a quiet part of town and the driver points to the stone building we're next to to indicate this is the bath house. There are seperate adjacent bath houses for men and women. I enter the building and find inside a large foyer like area with a large pit in the centre of the room. Couches are scattered around the place, and there are small booths lined up around the pit. There is an old turkish woman tidying up the couches in the pit.

She looks up and waves hello. 

'Hi. I booked for the Turkish bath. My name is Ronda.'

'Ahhh come come. Take towel. This key is to lock the door. Leave your things inside.' The woman replies, as she hands me a key hanging off an elastic band. She leads me to one of the booths and leaves me to get undressed. 

Once done, she takes me through to the bathing area. Walking through the door between the front foyer and into the bathing area, you are immediately hit with a wave of heat and the smell of dampness. Running water can be heard and there is a sense of muffled seclusion. As I am lead through a maze of hallways, I can feel sweat trickle down my back. We end up in a large stone room. This is the bathing room. All around the walls, there are numerous taps which run water into the trough which lines the wall. In the middle of the room is what looks like a large stone alter/table. 

The room is empty bar ourselves. The woman takes me to one of the wall taps, turns it on and instructs me to pour water over myself and wash up. She then leaves.

Following her instructions, I sit on the edge of the stone trough and start ladelling water and pour it over myself. Is this it? I wonder. Not sure what to do, I keep pouring water on myself for about 10 minutes. Thinking this is it, I wrap myself up in the towel and head back out. Just as I find my way back to the foyer, the lady sees me and tells me to go back inside and that she'll be there soon.

I head back and start pouring water on myself again. Shortly after, the woman returns. Naked, except for her underwear. Her breasts are sagging down to her stomach and flops back and forth as she walks. In her hands is a bar of soap and shower puff. She instructs me to come lay on the stone table face down on my stomach. I do so. 

What have I gotten myself into? 

A bucket of water is thrown on me and soon she starts scrubbing me from head to toe. She leans over me to reach the areas further away from her. The bar of soap is rubbed on and then scrub scrub scrub. As she's scrubbing away, her naked breasts are slapping against me. Skin to skin. Slap slap slap slap slap. 

Once she's done, she instructs me to turn onto my back and the process of rubbing soap and scrubbing begins again. Slap slap slap slap slap. 

I feel slightly disturbed by this. I also found it quite funny. But most of all, I felt like a child being bathed by her mother. Even my hair and face was scrubbed (yes, by the same bar of soap and shower puff). 

Once she was done with me, she had me go back to my tap in the wall to cleanse. I was advised that I could go to the sauna when I was ready and stay there for as long as I liked.

As I sat against the wall pouring water over myself, I decided this was not the relaxing bath house experience I was expecting. 

Istanbul, it's been an interesting weekend. I think next time I come to visit, I'll be bringing friends.

Tomato Soup

What do you get when you put truckloads of tomatoes and tens of thousands of people together in a small town of population 9000? 

Human tomato soup.

Let's start from the beginning. 

In 2008 I had embarked on my big travel adventure and eventual move to London. Part of that adventure was to attend Spain's annual festival, La Tomatina.

La Tomatina is Spain's annual tomato fight festival. The festival happens every last Wednesday of August in a small town called Bunol, located about an hour from the seaside city of Valencia. The tomato fight has been a tradition in Bunol since the mid 1940's for an unknown reason, but was so enjoyable, it was brought back every year. It has now grown so much that people from all over the world make their way to this small town each year to participate. 

Most tomato fighters stayed in Valencia, and I was no different. On the morning of the festival, dressed up in the costume decided between myself and my friend E (white shorts, white singlet and a white apron with red polkadots), we headed to the train station with 2 other friends we'd met in Ibiza a few weeks previously. 

As with any large event in any city, public transport was the primary option to get to the destination. So we pack ourselves onto the train for an hour long ride. Once we get to Bunol, we follow the thousands of people already there through the spiralling streets of the town and slowly make our way to the town centre. As we walk through the town, I notice that most of the locals have opted to be out of town during the festival and have left their homes locked with their windows boarded up. However, some locals have chosen to stay and watch the crowd flood their home town as they spray water from hoses out of their windows. This later becomes a blessing as it gets so hot and dirty that the water is welcomed by all.

Making our way to the town centre

Once in the town centre, we stake our claim on where we want to be positioned for the fight. This is so much harder than it sounds. It's near impossible. There are so many people that there's hardly any room to move. It's basically a planned riot. Think of a moshpit. Now envision the moshpit extending through every street in a small town. The fight has not started yet, but people are getting their T-shirts ripped off as they try to fend their way through the crowd. You can't choose which direction you move, you just go where the crowd takes you. You can't fall over in this mass of pushing and shoving because there is no room for you to fall into. You just get pressed up against multiple someones in every which direction and hope you don't lose your friends.

Playing sardines in the town centre

The festivities begin in the late morning with the Palo Jabon. The Palo Jabon is a leg of ham on the end of a 10 foot pole which is covered in grease. The goal is to climb to the top of the pole to retrieve the ham. The successful person wins the ham. I was lucky to be central enough in the town square to witness this part of the festival. Man after man is seen trying to climb up this slippery pole. As one fails to succeed, another is already on his back trying to gain extra elevation to reach the top for the prized ham. When the ham is finally claimed, gunshots are fired to signify the beginning of the tomato fight.

Where are the tomatoes? That's what I'm wondering as I'm pretending to be a sardine in a can. I've already described how crammed together we all are, well it gets worse. Soon we see where the tomatoes are. They're in fruit trucks. Fruit trucks slowly making its way through the streets of the town. The streets that we are standing on. Now we all have to squeeze onto the sidewalks so the trucks can make its way through. I don't know how it was done, but it was done. Numerous times throughout the fight. 

As the trucks drive through, numerous people in the back of the trucks pelt squashed tomatoes (squashed to minimise the pain caused)  into the crowd. Basically you catch or pick up the tomatoes and throw it back out to anyone and everyone. Luckily as a girl, all I had to do was hold open my top and let the tomatoes eventually fall into my cleavage. No hand and eye co-ordination required (which in my case, does not exist). Catch and throw. Catch and throw. Pull tomatoes out of boobs and throw. Aim for the people in the trucks or aim for no one in particular. The fight is a frenzy of flying tomatoes, jets of water spraying over the crowd and shouts of joy, frustration and confusion. There are tomatoes everywhere! My white clothes are now orange. There's clumps of tomato in my hair. Tomato juice is running down my face. The goggles I wore to keep the juice out is fogged up. The ground is covered in tomatoes. In some parts of the city, the mixture of tomatoes and water are up to our knees. 

Nice and clean before the fight

During the tomato fight

BANG BANG BANG!! Gunshots are fired to signify the end of the tomato fight. That was one of the craziest hours in my life. Everyone soon stops throwing tomatoes, start looking around for their friends and inspects the damage done to their clothes. 

Post tomato fight. Take note of the tomato staining on the cleavage (not mine)

MmMmm Soupy goodness

 Slowly, everyone starts making their way out of town and back to the train station. The locals who have stayed around for the spectacle offer a free shower from their garden hoses to help clean out the tomatoes. I couldn't be bothered lining up for these impromptu showers and decide to try to get on the train as soon as possible and head back to my hotel in Valencia. 

It is only lunchtime and the sun has just reached it's peak for the day. It is also smack bang in the middle of summer, so temperatures are in the 30's (degrees). Our clothes start to dry up. So does the tomatoes. This is going to be painful to wash off and out. 

The trains are packed and people are pushing their way on to get back to their accomodation as soon as possible. By the time we are back in Valencia, my clothes are dry and crusty. My body is tomato stained. The clumps of tomato in my hair is dry. And best of all, the heat is cooking the tomatoes so I don't need to worry about bad body odour. I smell much worse. I smell like sour, over riped tomatoes. Getting back on the city's metro trains, the locals attempt to stay away from the tomato stained, cooked tourists. They also attempt to be subtle about their appreciation of our smell. Some fail, as I notice sour, puckered facial expressions. It's hard not to laugh about the situation. So we laugh freely.

We finally find ourselves back at our hotel. Once there, it's a mad dash to the hotel room we're sharing - the prize being the first to use the shower. Unfortunately I didn't make it there first. So it was a relatively long wait before I got my chance to smell and look normal again.

This was one of the craziest experiences in my life. I don't think I'd ever go again, but it's an experience I'll never forget.

**Please excuse the poor quality of photo. These were taken with a disposable camera :)**

Regurgitator

I have a thing for flying. I've always wanted to be a pilot and a professional skydiver. Just the thought of any form of flight experience is exhilirating. So when I had a few days to ween away in Cusco, Peru, I decided to book myself for a tandom paragliding session.

Cusco is an amazing city. Anyone who treks the Inca Trail will first arrive in the mountain city of Cusco in the Andes of Peru. The locals rely on touristic trade, and during the time I was there, the city had not yet been invaded by the Western commercial world. In 1996, there were no signs of the familiar yellow 'M' - no fast food chains.

Prior to this trip, I'd already been on my first tandem skydive a few years before and figured paragliding would be just as awesome. So on the morning of the experience, I get picked up by my instructor and his assistant and get driven out to the mountains.

Once we reach the cliff where we take off, we spend a long time waiting for the right wind conditions. It took ages! While we waited for the right time to take off, my instructor starts setting up his parachute. I was surprised to find that the parachute isn't round, but rectangular (10 x 2 metres). I obviously did my research...not. The parachute is laid out and the chords are checked to make sure they aren't twisted together. I snap photos of the process and of the scenery. I'm standing on a cliff in the Andes. The view is breathtaking. I zone out into my little world. 

'Ronda! Come here, I will show you where we take off.' My instructor brings me back to reality.
I walk to where he is setting up. There's about 15 metres from where we are standing to where the cliff drops off. My instructor points towards the drop off and advises, 'We run off there.'

The thought sinks in. Holy shit! I'm running off a cliff! Is this a wise idea? It's worse than just jumping out of a plane, that requires 1 single act. This requires a whole bunch of conscious steps to purposely RUN OFF THE CLIFF. This is NUTS!

As I mentally hyperventilate, I outwardly pretend like it's all wavy gravy. Or so I think.

My instructor starts testing the wind direction and the parachute. He needs the right thermals (hot winds, not warm under garments) to be in action before we can go for a successful flight.

'Have you got anything warmer to wear?' he asks me. I was in trackies and a light jumper, which he tells me won't keep me warm enough once we're in the air. Maybe I should of worn thermals (the warm under garments, not hot wind). So he offers me his jumper, which is so big is goes down to my knees. Totally stylin', especially with my helmet and harness.

Soon we're strapped onto the parachute and ready to take off.

'Now, listen very carefully to my instructions,' my instructor tells me. 'Whatever I tell you to do, do it immediately - no questions asked. I have to read the wind as we run off so that we can catch it.'
'OK,' I respond not totally understanding what he meant. Just do as he says.
'OK. Ready? Run to the left!' So I start running to the left.
'To the right! To the right!' Running to the right.
'Left again!' I run to the left and soon my feet had lifted off the ground and we're in full flight.

Wow, it wasn't so bad. I'd always thought you'd just run straight down and off the cliff. We were still a good 10 metres from the edge when we lifted into the air.

It was amazing! There's this great feeling of freedom as I floated in the air high above the Andes. I'm paragliding in the Andes! It was so awesome. How many people will ever get to do this in their lifetime.

It wasn't long before my camera came out and I started snapping away at the bird's eye views I was getting of the valleys below. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Photos of anything and everything.

My instructor was right, it was cold! Being so high in altitude, the temperature dropped, so thank goodness for the fleece jumper he lent me.

'Would you like me to take a photo of you?' My instructor asks me from behind.
'Sure.' I hand him my camera and enjoy the views below and around us.

I was so excited to be in the moment at that moment. Only yesterday I was horseriding through the valleys, and now I'm paragliding over them. It was a surreal feeling and I was taking in every moment and loving it.

That was until I started to feel nauseus. When you're paragliding, you're constantly catching different winds and thermals to remain in flight. If you don't you start to descend. That day was quite windy, so at these high altitudes, the flight was quite jerky. We were going from one direction to the next depending on the wind we caught. Due to the high altitude and the cold, my fingers started to get really cold and numb. The constant swinging in all directions gave me motion sickness. By then, I'd put my camera away as my stomach was starting to churn and I had to concentrate on not vomiting.

'Do you need to puke?' my instructor calls out. I must've looked green.
'Yes!' I called back. He sticks his hand into his pocket and pulls out a plastic bag.
'Here! Puke into this!' This must not be the first time his customers have gotten sick in the air.

I take the bag from him as I mentally tell myself, 'Don't puke on yourself. Don't puke on yourself.' My hands are so numb now that I have difficulty moving them, let alone pulling open a bag and holding it over my mouth. Eventually I do and I let myself go. I vomit into the bag until I'm able to stop retching. Once I was done, I tied the bag up securely and put it into my pocket. I checked myself and found that I successfully got everything into the bag and nothing onto myself. My stomach still felt horrible and I started to feel dizzy. I just wanted it to be over now.

It felt like forever before we started to descend, but it was probably only another 10 minutes. We eventually landed in a field on a farm somewhere in the mountains. There were farmers around us working - harvesting the crops we landed amongst. My instructor greeted them and had a chat. He had a 2 way radio which he used to communicate with his assistant and had already told him where to pick us up from. As he spoke with the farmers, I laid in the field, not moving, waiting for the motion sickness to subside. I remembered the bag of vomit in my pocket, took it out and left it in the field. I didn't want to forget and accidentally burst it whilst is was in the pocket.

I remained horizontal for the 30 minutes it took for our ride to arrive. I just felt so sick! I had a tour of the local museums that afternoon and was determined to feel well enough by then to go. I'm going to need Coca tea when I get back to treat the motion and altitude sickness, I tell myself.

When the driver finally arrived, I climbed into the backseat, laid down and tried to sleep it off as we head back to my hotel.


*Coca tea is made from Coca leaves which come from the same plant as cocaine. It's used as an energy boost as well as treating symptoms such as headaches, dizziness and nausea.

Stewie

We go through life meeting thousands of people. Some of them become friends for life. Some of them become friends for a while. Most of them are just a fleeting moment. And some become a lasting impression, a lasting memory. Stewie the kayaker if one of these people.

Cape Tribulation coastline

I met Stewie during a trip to Cairns with some friends. We had taken a day trip to Cape Tribulation to do some sea kayaking off the coast. Cape Tribulation is about a 3 hour drive north of Cairns, home of the Daintree Rainforest. It's a gorgeous, quiet, natural place of beauty and tranquility. The various accomodation on offer there - whether its a hostel, B&B or a resort - are all nestled in the rainforest and blends into the natural landscape. You can spend your days trekking and exploring the rainforest under its canopy of trees or you can hike a short distance through the rainforest to reach the coastline and enjoy a quiet relaxing day on an almost desserted beach. I was only there for a day but would love to one day go back and stay a few days in Cape Tribulation and explore more of it. 

We had set off early in the morning from Cairns and drove up to Cape Tribulation. Arriving there, we wait at a hostel where we are to meet our guide for our sea kayaking session. Soon a minivan turns into the driveway and out jumps our guide. He's fairly average in height and build, with an all year round tan wearing a relaxed outfit of boardies and a t-shirt. Our guide introduces himself to us. His name is Stewie and he's got a friendly and easygoing demeanor. Stewie ushers us into the minivan and off we set. During the drive through the rainforest to our kayaking location, Stewie tells us about the history and ecology of the area. I remember him telling us about the native free-roaming boars in the area. If you ever come across one, be very careful and don't make sudden movements. If the boar decides to come after you, run for your life!! Or get to higher ground as these guys are fast and strong, and if they catch up to you, you're sure to have your stomach torn out by their tusks. Hmmm OK, so I don't want to get out of the minivan now.

Soon Stewie turns off the main and only road in the rainforest and drives through the trees into a clearing. We are then lead through the rainforest to the beach where the kayaks are. During this walk, Stewie tells us about his morning kayak.

'Sometimes when I'm walking through this area, I come across a crocodile. That's when you need to be careful and quiet.'
Ummm ok. Keeping my eye out for crocs now.
'We're actually near the location where Steve Urwin was snorkling and got stabbed by the Manta Ray. I haven't really seen any Manta Rays recently so we should be pretty safe,' Stewie continues.
Right. Try not to fall out of the kayak.
'I did see a shark earlier today when I went out for a morning kayak. But they're small and pretty harmless.'
Definitely do not fall out of the kayak.
'I also saw some Cassowaries this morning, which are native to this area. So we should be able to spot some this afternoon during our session. It'll be awesome!' Stewie concludes as we arrive at the beach.

On the beach, we see an array of kayaks set up. This is basically where Stewie stores his kayaks. No sheds, no chains and padlock, because who's going to steal them? Before we start kayaking, we go through a short training session on how to paddle and safety instructions. This is when I notice a strange characteristic. As Stewie goes through the procedures, I notice that he's winking. Alot. Is he flirting? Is there something in his eye. As I listen and ponder, I notice that both eyes are doing it. Ohhhh he's got crazy eyes!! My first encounter. I look at my girlfriend and notice that she's noticed it too. It starts to become distracting as his eyes constantly twitch and wink. We practice using the paddles in the air as Stewie corrects our technique and soon we're ready to go to sea!

We pick up our paddles and in pairs carry out 2 kayaks. As we approach the water, Stewie calls for us to stop where we are, drops the kayak and runs out ahead. We're not exactly sure what's going on, but soon he comes back and explains he though he saw a shadow of a Manta Ray up ahead on the sand banks and ran to double check. Luckily, he was mistaken. Phew.

In a short time we've launched ourselves onto the water and start paddling around the coastline. I'm paired up with my friend K and my girl friend L is kayaking with Stewie. K and I have trouble paddling in sync with each other. I still blame it on K's sad attempt to paddle in time with me as I was sitting in front and could not see him, while he's at the back and should be stroking in time with me. We constantly drifted out to sea and had to paddle hard to get back towards the coastline. At the time, it was frustrating, but looking back now, it was pretty funny.

The native Cassowaries getting friendly

L and Stewie had a pretty good laugh about it. While K and I were struggling with our kayaking, Stewie was telling L about how excited he was that we'll be able to spot some Cassowaries, pointing out locations of where he had seen them recently. So we kept our eye out for these native birds.

The kayaking session lasted 2 hours. During this time, we spotted an eagle or hawk perched on a rotted tree trunk on top of a cliff with what looked like a snake dangling from its beak. We were probably 100 to 200 metres away and even from that distance the bird was measuring at 30cm tall, so imagine how big it would be up close! It was pretty amazing to see a Bird of Prey in its natural habitat. As we paddled back towards the beach, there was still no Cassowary in sight. Stewie was still optimistic. 'We'll see one soon guys! I just know it!'

Eventually, the kayaking session ends and we paddle back onto the beach. Later on, L tells me that as they neared the sand. She had heard Stewie mutter, 'Stupid bird.' The poor guy was so disappointed that we didn't get to see any Cassowaries. We jump out into the water, and drag the kayaks back onto land and store it back with all the other kayaks.

When we first walked out to the beach, we were all keeping our feet as clean as we could in our thongs. But after having been in the water and getting wet, we happily trampled back through the rainforest to the minivan barefooted. As we squelched our way through the mud, Stewie turns around and looks at L and I and comments, 'It's pretty sexual isn't it?'  I didn't know what to say. I was a little confused about what he was refering to. However L replied, ' I guess the mud is getting in between our toes and stuff but I wouldn't say it felt sexual.' Ohhh he's talking about the mud. What?

We get back to the clearing and K announces that he needs to pee. Stewie decides he needs to as well and they both head into the bush. I yell out, 'Remember, more than 3 shakes is a wank,' to which Stewie replies, 'If I need a wank, I'll let you know!'

Stewie with a freshly hacked coconut

Coming back from his toilet break, Stewie points out a make shift shower hose where we can clean our feet and legs from the mud we trampled through. He then points at a pile of coconuts and ask if we want to drink and eat any. Awesome! Fresh coconut off a tree. Of course we want some!

Out of no where, Stewie pulls out a machete and starts hacking at a coconut. What the funk?!?! Where the hell did that machete come from? Should we be worried. L and I give each other a puzzled look. Stewie hacks off the top of a coconut and hands it to us to try. It's delicious!! We finish off the coconut - juice and flesh - and after a few minutes rest, get ushered back into the minivan.

On the drive back onto the main road, Stewie stops outside of a steel shed, turns around and asks, 'Do you want some abos?' and then jumps out of the van and runs off.

The three of us look at each other confused. Did he just say he was getting some abos? What? That's what he said right. Did you hear abo as well?

After a few minutes, Stewie climbs back into the driver seat with a handful of Avocados. Ohhhhhhhhh he said Avos!!! Short for Avocados!

During the short drive back to the hostel where we met Stewie, he tells us about how he would go to Port Douglas and drop into the Hostels there and look for volunteers to go on a paddling trip with him on his outrigger from Port Douglas to Cape Tribulation. He tells us of how he'll convince drunken backpackers on a Friday night to head out with him. In their inebriated state, these volunteers think its a marvellous idea! They would head out in the evening and start paddling to Cape Tribulation in their drunken state. It takes a good part of the day to paddle the distance and as these volunteers start to sober up, they realise the painful decision they've made, and being in the middle of the ocean, they have no choice but to keep paddling.

We arrive back at the hostel and bid farewell to our very interesting and memorable kayak guide. Stewie is definitely a character and he was the highlight of our trip in Cairns. When I go back Cairns and Cape Tribulation, I would love to look him up and do another kayaking trip with him.

I would also recommend him to anyone who does travel to the area. Stewie works with the company Paddle Trek Cape Tribulation Sea Kayaking. Look him up on the link below. Just don't tell him I said he's got crazy eyes!

Cape Trib Paddle Trek

Note: These photos don't belong to me. Having lost any photos I have from the trip, these were found online. Yes, I did consciously choose a photo of Cassowaries mating. 

A Nomadic Night

I've done a fair bit of travelling in the past few years - most of it on my own. I thought of myself as abit of a nomad. It wasn't until I was in Marrakesh in 2009 where I got a tiny taste of a real nomadic life.

I had booked myself on an overnight trip to camp in the Sahara desert. That's right, I'm going camping in the friggin SAHARA DESERT! The tour involved a very long minibus ride to the edge of the Sahara where we stopped at various lookout points, had lunch in a small town and visited a fortified desert city called Ait Bennhadou.

Ait Bennhadou is quite a wonder to see. Imagine desert and mountain country, sand as far as the eye can see and in the middle of it runs a river where there's a fortified city surrounded by greenery. It's like seeing a mirage.

Ait Bennadou may look familiar. That's because the city has been filmed in many movies such as The Mummy, Gladiator and Alexander.

There are not many people living in this city now due to the damage and erosion of the natural elements, however there are still locals who live in the area that come to work here and try to make a living from the tourists. Wandering through the city, you'll find men working to maintain the structures and buildings; you'll see young children playing while their parents work; you experience the locals plying their trade whether it be weaving rugs and carpets, artwork, or jewellery making. It's hot, but peaceful. Everyone is quite relaxed, and unlike Marrakesh, the locals aren't aggressive and demanding attention. They approach you in a friendly matter, or if they don't, they just watch you as you pass by.

 

After a short afternoon seeing the city, we hop back into the minibus and head out to the Sahara. Once we reach the edge of the desert, we get saddled up on camels and begin our 1.5 hour camel ride to our camp ground.

Riding camels in the desert? It sounds like such a novel idea. You see it in imagery everywhere. It's kind of a cool thing to do. For the first 20 minutes. Then your buttocks start to get sore. Soon, your upper inner thighs are sore too. That's when I begin to wonder how the guys are handling it, because if I had testiculars, I would think they'd be in major pain too.

Camels - the bane of my buttocks existence..

Pushing the pain to the back of my mind, I watch the scenery go by. It was late afternoon when we started our camel ride into the desert. We had ridden through small villages where the children would follow and ask for gifts or try to make money from us. As we rode deeper into the Sahara, the sun began to drop. It was gorgeous to see the sun and moon dance around each other as the sunlight faded while the moon rose over this vast land of sand. Soon it was pitch dark with only the moon lighting our way from high above.

After long while of riding, our guides finally stop and start calling out into the desert. From not too far away, you can hear answering calls. As I looked around in the dark, I noticed small flickering lights in the distance indicating the various campsites for the night. Woohoo! We've arrived! I can get off this damn camel and be free from the pain I've endured.

We get shown to our tent, which is big enough to fit up to 15 people inside. The tents are made from strong weaves made by the locals so that it keeps the sand out during sandstorms. The floor is also covered with weaved rugs. We settle ourselves and our belongings inside the tent then join our guides outside for a pre-dinner drink.

Our guide introduces himself and his culture to us. He is a Berbere. Berbere people are indigenous to North Africa. His people and his family live and work in the Sahara. A real life nomad! They spend most months of the year travelling through the desert. Only in summer will they settle for the few months as it is too hot to travel. As he tells us about his life, he serves us some Moroccan tea, or as he calls it, 'Berbere Whiskey.' The next hour is spent talking and getting to know the others I've travelled with. Our guide starts shouting back and forth with the guys in the 'kitchen' tent where our dinner is being prepared. He calls this method of communication 'Berbere telephone'. A few of us decide to lay down and take this opportunity to stargaze. Being so far from civilisation and pollution, the sky is clear and the stars shine brightly. Out of the silent gazing, our guide advises that we are watching 'Berbere TV'. I'm noticing a pattern here.

Soon dinner arrives and we are served with various Tajines, salads and bread. A traditional Moroccan meal in the Sahara desert. It's an amazing feeling to be here and the night has only just begun.

After dinner we get ushered to a nearby sand dune where we are joined by other groups camping for the night and get treated to a song and dance jam by our Berbere guides. Traditional songs are sung to rhythms being drummed on oil cans and Moroccan castanets (hand cymbals). Soon the dancing starts and eventually everyone joins in. We learn the local dance moves by copying our entertaining guides and dance into the night. It's an amazing feeling of freedom. In this moment, all your worries melt away as you sing and dance under the moonlight.

The evening wraps up and one by one people start to drop off to sleep. Most of us take the option of sleeping outside of the tent on rugs - literally sleeping under the stars. As I lay wrapped up in my blanket watching Berbere TV, I try to plan my next few days in Morocco. I had 10 days in the country and had only booked my first 2 nights of accomodation before arriving to Marrakesh.

In the morning, I'm one of the first to wake up. Having cocooned myself in my blanket during the night, I find the bright light of dawn unforgiving and brighter than usual as the light reflects off the sand. Taking several minutes to adjust, I eventually get up and take the opportunity to explore the area around us. Still squinting and probably looking as chinese as ever, I take in the view of the open desert. It is amazing. Banks of sand as far as the eye can see, a great openness, or some may say, emptiness. There's a feeling of peacefulness about it, with a slight hint of malice.

Our tent

Morrocan castanets

Soon everyone is up and slowly we pack our things together and get ready to ride back to town. The camel ride is excruciating. I am in so much pain the whole way back and really tempted to jump off the camel and walk. After what felt like the longest passage of painful time, we meet arrive in town. Our minivan driver meets us there and soon we are in our minivan for the bumpiest, slippery, made-for-motion-sickness 10 hour drive back to Marrakesh.

Close Encounters of The Third Kind

Hawaii. Oh how I loved Hawaii.

I went to Hawaii during my first overseas trip. On this trip I spent 2 weeks in Peru, 3 weeks in LA and a week in Hawaii.

Landing in Hawaii was so refreshing. After being in LA for 3 weeks, Hawaii almost felt like home. The people were friendly, the atmosphere was relaxed and there are smiling faces wherever you go. It almost felt like home.

View of Waikiki from Daimond Head Crater

I had booked myself into a hostel in Waikiki. It was an awesome location, I was literally 50 metres from Waikiki beach. When I arrived at the hostel with 3 suitcases (yep! beginner's mistake of overpacking!!), I got myself checked in and then asked for help with bringing my suitcases up the 3 flights of steps to get to my dorm. The 'help' was a 6 foot tall, gorgeous, and topless blonde surfer. I LOVE HAWAII!!

Once I settled in, I headed out to town and booked myself into a few hiking tours, a skydive and a Luau.

A pipe that looks like a cigarette

To get a better picture of my time in Hawaii, this is what my daily routine looked like.
630am - Wake up
7am - Get picked up to go on one of the hiking tours I booked in the mountains.
12pm - Return from the hike. Go grab some Maccas for my only meal of the day, then head down to the beach to sunbake
6pm - Leave the beach and pick up a half bottle of Vodka for $12 (375ml) and head back to the hostel.

 

Late night chilling on the beach

 630-7pm - Have the bottle of Vodka for dinner with the other travellers at the Hostel.
10pm - Noise curfew starts. We either have to go to bed, or if we want to party on, we head down to the beach.
1005pm - Have a good drunken time on the beach and share a few joints.
3am - Stumble into bed and get some rest before the next day begins.

A hiking path during one of my hangover hikes

There's some variation to this routine, but it was basically the same each day. There was a day where the morning hike was replaced by a skydive, or where the afternoon sunbaking was replaced by a second hike. That was painful!! 2 hiking trips on a hangover. It was mind over matter all the way!

My last day in Hawaii was the most intense in a way. I had had a wonderful week so far. The hiking however painful it was, took me to beautiful places and wonderful views. I'd gone to the waterfall where Jurassic Park and Lost was filmed. I hiked up Diamond Head crater (a once active volcanic crater - albiet thousands of years ago). I skydived over the ocean and watched the coastline come into view as I descended (Yes. I was hungover from alcohol and weed for this. I was also on 1.5 hours sleep). I met a gorgeous Irish guy. I met some international students who I befriended for an afternoon on the beach and had lunch with. It had been an amazing week.

I had no hikes booked for my last day in Hawaii. Just a chilled day planned for shopping and attempting to get out of Waikiki before going to a Luau that evening. Besides the tours, I didn't venture more than a few hundred metres from my hostel. You just get suckered into the Waikiki beach blackhole and spend all your days on the beach tanning. I became a tanarexic. It wasn't until I got back to Sydney before I realised how dark I was (Japanese surfer black).

That afternoon, as I was walking down the main street along the beach, a guy taps me and asks, 'Hey! Don't I know you?'
I turn around and find myself looking at a black (excuse the non attempt of political correctness) guy standing on his bike.
'No, I think you have the wrong person,' I reply.
'Oh sorry. I thought I knew you.' He responds. 'You're not from around here, where's your accent from?'
'Australia.'
Ok, in hindsight, that was an obvious icebreaker he used. I didn't realise at the time. I had such a great time in Hawaii, so I was open to talking to random people on the street without much forethought. So we talked right there on the street. I can't remember his name, but it was something like Martin Louis Jackson III. Yes, the third. He emphasised that. The. Third. He owned a TV show about boxing on the local cable channel. He was an entreprenuer of sorts and he grew the best weed in town. But he doesn't deal. No sir, he don't deal. He provides the herbs to friends only.
'Do you smoke?' Martin Louis Jackson III asked.
'Not cigarettes,' I answer.
'I wasn't asking about cigarettes. Why don't we head down to the beach and have a smoke.'
I agreed. What harm could be done? We'll be in a public place. Any funny business, I can scream for help.
So we head back in the direction I came, walked past my hostel, the Zoo (I had spent an awesome 2 hours in there on my second day) and walked further down along the beach towards Diamond Head Crater. Martin finds a quiet-ish spot at a BBQ area and sits down at one of the wooden tables. I sit opposite him and watch him expertly roll up a joint. We chat and pass the joint back and forth. This is the smoothest joint I've smoked ever!

Diamond Head Crater - Photo taken during a hungover hike

'This is so smooth,' I remark. 'Do you spin any tobacco in it at all?'
'Hell no. It's all marijuana. I grow my own and I grow the best,' he replies.
'Would I be able to buy some off you for the friends back at the hostel?'
'No. Like I said, I don't sell. But I'm happy to meet you again for another smoke. You can bring your friends if you like.'
Sounds fair I thought, so Martin Louis Jackson III pulls out a pen and pad and starts to write down his contact details. Writing down your phone number and email takes 30 seconds, give or take. But halfway through Martin Louis Jackson III remembers theres a very important phone call he needs to make. He pulls out his phone and dials the number.

'Hello?' Martin says into the phone. 'Hey!! What are you upto? Do you want to do something later?'
I'm now sitting there, very stoned and getting tunnel vision. This did not sound like a very important phone call to me. Not something you have to stop writing your phone number midway for. What the hell is going on? Is he calling for back-up to kidnap me? And then once they kidnap me, he's gonna rape me. Oh Shit! What do I do? Wait! We're in a public place, I just need to scream out for help. Oh no Wait!! We're in a public place!! We look like we're friends just chilling out. People won't believe me! He will just explain that I was having an anxiety attack. We have witnesses along the beach who will say that they saw us walk here together. There's no danger. Oh shit oh shit oh shit!! What do I do now? He's clever. He's got it all worked out. Fuck!

Martin Louis Jackson III hangs up the phone from his very important conversation and resumes writing his contact details. Very. Slowly. When he finally finishes writing his contact details and gives them to me, I've decided I need to leave. Go away from here. Get back within the safe gates of my hostel.

'Thanks for this.' I say to him. 'I think I better get going now. I've got a Luau to get ready for.' Oh nice one! Excellent excuse.
'No problems,' Martin Louis Jackson III replies. 'It was nice to meet you. Call me if you want to meet again.'
'I will. Nice to meet you. Bye.' I get up as normally as I can. I don't want to look like I'm running away scared. So I walk away as fast as I can without looking suspicious and head straight for my hostel. A few seconds later, there is a ring of a bicycle bell and Martin Louis Jackson III rides past me, turns his head back, smiles and in what I felt was a creepy voice, says 'Byeeeeeee.'

Once Martin is out of sight, I walk as quickly as I can to the Hostel and look for a familiar face. The people I was closest to in the hostel were all out, so I go to my room and lay on my bed. My head is spinning. I try to sleep. I'm too freaked out by this near rape abduction. I can't sleep. So I just lay in bed trying to calm myself down. What I needed was a friendly face to tell me that I'm okay, safe and that no one was going to hurt me. Since I couldn't find anyone here, I decided to go online and in search of some friends from home.

I go to use the internet at the hostel, log into MSN and hope some friends are online. One of my friends is online so I send him a message and hope he responds. He does! Yes!! I tell him about what has happened and how freaked out I'm feeling. I hope that he understands and tells me to calm down and think logically. He didn't do that. His reponse was, 'ROFL ur so stoned man! u are smasheddddd HAHAHAHAHA.'

Not what I was looking for. Not even close. I was heartbroken. I was stoned and heartbroken. I'm going to have to sort myself out, by myself. So I go offline and head back to my bed to try to sober up before I head out to the Luau.

It's 330pm. I have 2 hours to smarten up. I'm laying in bed, trying again to sleep. My alarm is set for 5pm just incase I don't wake up in time. That's not a problem. I can't sleep. My head is going in circles. I know I'm not going to be kidnapped and raped now, but what about tomorrow? I catch my plane back to Sydney tomorrow. I smell like weed. What if I still smell like weed tomorrow. What if I'm at the airport waiting to board the plane and the sniffer dogs smell weed on me? I'm going to get arrested. Oh shit man! I'm going to get arrested. I won't be able to leave the country. I'm going to have to call home and tell Mum and Dad that I'm in jail in Hawaii because I smell like weed. Shit! Check your luggage later Ronda. Make sure no one has sneaked some weed into your three suitcases. Fuck! My parents will die if I have to call them to say I won't be back.
WHAT THE FUCK? Get a grip on yourself woman. You are being fucking paranoid! You won't get arrested. You won't have tell to Mum and Dad that you're in jail because everything will be fine. Pull yourself together. You're just stoned and really paranoid. Calm down and everything will be fine. Take a deep breath and calm down.

So listening to my logical side, I take deep breaths and try to calm down. But when I take the deep breaths I can smell and taste the weed again and it sends me spiralling into paranoia. Oh my god! I'm going to jail! No you're not! Yes I am. The dogs are going to smell it. No they won't. You're not going to jail. What if I leave the hostel now to catch the bus to the Luau and Martin Louis Jackson III is outside waiting for me? What if he saw and knows where I'm staying? I'm going to get raped. Oh my god!! Pull yourself together! You're not going to get raped. You're just being damned paranoid because you're stoned as a mofo.

My inner selves continue to argue for awhile as I lay in my bed. No doubt, it would've been a funny sight. I'm laying in bed straight as a post, my eyes are probably twitching as I try to keep up with the conversations in my head. I probably also look as if I've seen a ghost, clutching the sides of the bed and all white knuckled.

Eventually, 5pm rolls around. I get up and have a quick shower to refresh myself. I'm not so paranoid anymore. I head out to where the bus picks up all the attendees of the Luau. Once the bus arrives, trying to look as normal as possible, I hand the organisers my ticket and climb aboard. I find myself a seat towards the back of the bus and finally fall asleep.

The bus ride to the Luau location took 90 minutes, which was great for my stoned self. By the time we got there, the paranoia was completely gone. Now I just had to act as normal as possible. We got seated for the pre dinner Polynesian show and I was seated next to an older American couple. Once they found out I was from Australia and travelling on my own, they started to ask more questions about my trip so far. I tried my best to behave normal and answer their questions coherently.  We chatted throughout the course of the dinner and had a rather civilised night considering the state I was in. By the end of the night I was feeling almost normal again. Thank goodness! No nightmares this evening of being arrested and sent to jail.