61~The Sisterhood, Mama and the Universe

She's my sister, my best friend, my soul mate and the best part of me.

From Vietnam to Thailand- I have words and stories yet to share on my new love: Vietnam. However, I break my rules of sequential storytelling in a bid to share words I have made a head start on before I return home (in one week!!).

I headed to Koh Phangnan, in a real state. I had overdosed on my huge bag of cashew nuts (purchased with my last Vietnamese dong at the airport) and could only blame this as the catalyst for a pounding head and an excruciating stomach ache. What a shame to leave Vietnam with the taste of too many of their delicious cashews in my mouth. I felt as every cell in my body breathed cashew and I realised that I was officially over this nut (for the foreseeable future). After all my good health, I am finally being reunited with my sister and I feel so ill. Eve had left Hanoi 2 days before me to head out and meet Steph, while I delayed entering the country for visa issues. Steph was having her winter escape and we would form a trio on a Thai island.

Sick (I think genuinely so) with a side of cashew coma, I just managed to hold it together on the ferry. Arriving and being directed to a songthaew, heading to where I thought I needed to be, I began to feel relieved that I would be with Eve and my big sister who could take care of me. Somehow I managed to get in the wrong songthaew; I completely went to the wrong side of the island and had no choice but to pay over the odds to do an about turn. The songthaew driver and his wife sat in the back while they showed me on the map why it would be so expensive; they attempted to console me and seemed quite alarmed by my extremely desperate and tearful reaction. As I sobbed uncontrollably, dehydrating myself further, my head pounding every time we hit potholes and flew over the hills and took twists and turns, the wife of the taxi driver reached back and passed me a sweet, hoping to pacify my hysteria. They dropped me at Dolphin Bungalows, a pathetic 35 year old mess and I struggled with my bags down the jungly path. There was Steph and Eve on the beach. 

I arrived tears and all, at the towels of my sunning sisters, in need of help. My sisters. They nursed me with cold towels, a banana shake, pain killers and tucked me into bed. Collapsing into their care, I recovered within a day and we loved our beachy spot.

We had quickly formed a sisterhood. Eve had delayed her plans to join a silent retreat for the very reason that she did not want to miss out on sister time; she gained honorary sister status without question. Like children, whenever asked, we told all that we were sisters and in Thai/English we answered the question of birth order by referring to Steph, the eldest, as Sister 1, myself as Sister 2 and Eve, the blondie and quite different in appearance, Sister 3.  This was reminiscent of the days of childhood when with your bestie you would pretend to be related and I guess people would just play along with you. It seemed that people believed us- perhaps ladies in their 30’s should not be playing such make believe or perhaps families are so much more unconventional nowadays that there could be two brunette English sisters with a blond Dutch addition.

We befriended a hilarious German pair, one who was keen to impress Eve with his frisbee skills and beach sport prowess. These lads were on the orange juice and vodka at 11 am and were rather ruddy in the deep burns they displayed on their topless torsos. Eve’s new found friend had a right gut and his butt crack was on full display as he frolicked around in the water. I admired his lack of self consciousness. I feel uncomfortable in a bikin and my gut is not even a fraction the size of his. He was so ‘out there’. Confident and full of life makes for so much more fun than a shrinking violet, self conscious and unengaged. Many nearby watched in amusement; his raucous nature, unnecessary comedy dives to catch the frisbee- quite the elaborate and exuberant performance. His eyes were sore from crashing head first into the salt water and he came to rinse his eyes under Eve’s instructions with our water. He plonked himself down on Eve’s towel next to mine (I never participate in beach games), and unabashedly grabbed our bottle, dousing his eyes, jabbering away to me. I was glad he was not on my towel; his crash landing was a rather wet one and Eve’s towel was crumpled, sandy and sodden beneath him, he seemed not bothered to have half his wet body off the towel, all caked in sand.  Fun over and next drinks to be had, our new pals missioned off. They said they would be looking for us later for some drinks; he did the binocular sign (reassuring us that we could not hide) and we were all pretty tickled as they headed off.

We headed to the East of the island (not to escape the comedy pair but in the search of good yoga) where Eve and I had a contact. Lovely yoga teacher Elodie, a friend Eve and I had made in Bo Phut, Samui, 2 summers ago. She had been a real source of inspiration for me and helped to change many things in my life.

Protected by the power of the sisterhood we managed to find a perfect house for the remaining days; pretty good considering that the full moon was waning and therefore digs in Phangnan are quickly full. I waited with the bags while the other sisters went on a search, they acted dejected on their arrival but it was soon clear they were pretending- of course they had worked their magic. What is it called? I asked. Double something. Eve recalled. Double D’s? Steph offered. It can not be! I demonished. Well, we have a porch and it is lovely, Eve concluded.

Double Duke’s was a great spot at the end of the beach; quiet and way from the clusters of families and the slightly more upmarket resorts. There was something a little odd about the set up of workers and there was a lady that held court, who everyone referred to as Mama but our porch was perfect and gave us a sense of space. Eve and I puzzled out here and we took it in turns to nap in the hammock. Indoors, Eve and I would take the double bed and Steph the single. Like Steph said, this was her holiday. I guess Eve and I were more like feral travelling bums, used to sharing beds and used to new beds and new places. Eve and I had new nicknames that had quickly replaced Princess and Baroness, she was Bert and I Ernie. We had both been brought up on Sesame Street and the dynamics in the way this ‘couple’ related to each other, eating cookies in bed and crumb issues had begun to ring true with us (more often sand and coconut oil being the issue but we are both cookie monsters so this easily could be the culprit). The sisterhood was in full swing with a yoga routine down, massage, sunning, reading, puzzling and buffet style meals were gorged on as we found symbiotic ways of ordering a collection of meals and sides to share between us.

We met Minas, who was a very interesting guy. Here he is with some fun French buddies of his that we hung out with too. 

His dad being a passionate historian, and a well respected French writer in this field, he was named inspired by the calculative measure of 'minas' evidenced in the ancient writings on cuneiform. Minas himself is a travel writer, with a published book that Steph was privy to see. He was a supporter of the puzzle escapades; we realised his higher level of intelligence when he came and analysed our edges that had befuddled us for days and slotted them smoothly into place within seconds. He wished to try yoga and we were the girls to approach; our reputation had spread as we trekked across the beach morning and afternoon in our yoga get up.

Our massage ladies were impressed by our daily commitment but questioned us later in the week when our bodies were somewhat wrecked from the harsh ashtanga that was just evidently not working for us. We did not recommend this for Minas’ first experience and instead told him to try the afternoon Hatha with the amazing Elodie. We were honoured to escort him to his first ever yoga class. Minas again was another inspiring type, so comfortable in who he is. I realised this was something I had found on my travels but was losing as I crept nearer to my yoga teacher training that I had committed to just a month before. Why was I in such a state of flux? There was some pretty intense moon and astrology elements in play; we were certainly on an island which subscribes to this and as spiritual types ourselves we were pretty clued in to this time of change. We were in bed by 9pm the night of the full moon but the energy on the island was pretty strong. While Steph and I walked down the hill from afternoon yoga, motorbikes flew by in succession. It almost felt sinister. The evidence as we headed out at 6:30am for our early morning yoga session was clear, some had returned and evidently opted for kipping on the beach, faces adorned in neon paints and personal belongings scattered near their person. 

We wondered if this energetic build up to the full moon shenanigans had anything to do with Mama, the head haunch woman at Double D's and, and her temperament. The hospitality industry of the Thai seems to have taken a nosedive since I was here last and I am aware of the strife the country has encountered and quite possibly how sick they are as well by some very demanding and badly behaved visitors. At Double D’s the bloke running the show was doing a 1 man job, others stood around looking miserable and Mama would show up to rule from a stool, counting money and going over the tabs. Generally just casting disdainful looks around. Sometimes she would be transfixed by the television; this was common over the course of a few days in the various restaurants we frequented- it seemed the was a major plot explosion in a Thai soap opera. This was not the time to broach Mama with a question, need or request. Sister 3 had two blow outs with Mama, one over a key we had locked in the bungalow and another over a coffee with sweet milk- well, the details you do not need to know- but Mama and Eve had butted heads. Eve was unsure of what had overtaken her to react so strongly and we heard from various people that the energy at Double D’s had always been strange and there was a very rabid and vicious dog at one time too…Here I am post run, head down as I order a coffee.

I avoided direct contact with Mama and just smiled politely and put forth my best behaviour in her presence. This is in true Sister 2 style. Sister 1 was the big guns and the one that was sent in for negotiations. Poor Steph had been given a tablecloth as her blanket and it really was not cutting it. I admired her reserve as she went on more than one occasion to attempt to get what she needed. The end result was much better than a tablecloth, Steph now had what looked like a quilt for a toddler withs some crazy cartoon designs. It is making me laugh to even now remember Steph underneath this bizarre bed linen arrangement. She said she would rather miss her blanket and liked it very much. Sister 1 wondered if she overstepped the mark too soon, calling Mama Mama to her face. She questioned whether Sister 3 had messed up our chances of dealing with the deep rooted anger odf this woman. Steph, through true perseverance and even a dedication of her yoga practice to this angry lady, turned the tables. And maybe the passing of the full moon helped also. The funniest part was when Steph collected me at the bungalow to head for massage. She had just walked in on Mama in the toilet. Mama had her pants down. OMG!!!!!!! What the hell did you say??? Steph shrugged, what could she say so she just singsonged, “Oh, sorry, Mama!’ and waited outside. What did Mama do when she came out??? Just shouted at one of the staff to out some toilet paper in there. Well, Mama does not seem so scary now you have seen her with her pants down!!!

Our massage escapades were a source of amusement, bliss and sometimes pain. Steph fears the Thai massage and will opt for oil, stressing gentle- no hard! When we wandered into our beach massage venue she overheard me request lavender oil, neglecting to hear the 'with thai' part. She followed me in and just told the lady she would have 'same, same'. Before she knew it she was in the midst of a Thai massage and had the look of terror in her eyes. We kept going back for more and Steph had some more intense Thai massage experiences. We called one lady 'Witch' because she seemed to have crazy powers. Her massage even had me wincing at times but she did some amazing stuff too. When I was wasted from practicing ashtanga she soothed away my pains with gentle massage, even when I requested deep thai. It was as if she just knew what I needed. She seemed to have developed an alter ego for her massage and would wear some wild sunglasses for the event, a reapplied bright lipstick and clown style make up and rocked out some crazy socks too. One time Sister 3 was interested in experiences the witch powers and Sister 1 delivered her directly to her. Sister 3 said she would never go back- far too intense! She would stick to her lady in the rival massage next door. 

Our last night, the three sisters together, would involve a drink at a favourite spot, dinner:- 

(we seemed to attract the little ones) and then a release of lanterns with intentions to the universe. One of our favourite spots to go was at the very opposite end of the beach to Double D’s- it was a complete energetic counterpart with a young Thai woman running a very relaxed show. Both these spots were matriarchal but worlds apart in their conduct of their family businesses. The chilled out vibes and anything goes, the kind of mother that will supply the g&t but also the encouraging smile and the supportive chat just when you needed it; down at Double D’s we had a Mama that ran a tight ship, ruling with an iron fist, barking orders and counting the cash. As I contemplated where to stay when the sisterhood disbanded, I realised that as appealing as this opposing matriarch had initially appeared, it became clearer that these were the bungalows of the lost souls and the dysfunctional waifs and strays. A woman immersed in health problems, a guy with a smoking addiction and the broken record of the drunk. I did not need to get sucked down this rabbit hole. I have my own perfectly beautiful dysfunctional family, thank you very much! Nope, I will go somewhere else. It would be too sad to revisit all the same spots without my sisters, I still felt like I may need Sister 1 to help deal with Mama and I did not need to listen to be the middle sibling amongst the dysfunctional family of the lost souls.

During dinner, a man arrived and quite simply all our attention was drawn his way. He needed somewhere to stay and we told him about Double D’s. He took a walk with us down the beach. He was pretty spiritual and was checking the yoga out. He was from Turkey and when he told us his name, I commented that it sounded nice. It means Universe, he said. I was flabbergasted. Talk about resonance! We need to communicate with the Universe tonight, I revealed conspiratorially to him, we have lanterns and intentions. I raised my eyebrows with a serious nod of my head; he reciprocated the expression, as if he understood perfectly.

We were rather pleased to have accumulated such a gem; it is not everyday one meets the Universe. Particularly when one plans to try and tap into the Universe. We had our own direct line. Steph gets an email from the Universe everyday- is this from you? Sister 1 whips out her phone to show him the lovely and inspiring message she received earlier. Look, I add, it is signed ‘The Universe’. He is bemused, admitting that although not directly written by him, one of his many workers probably composed this one. He confesses the Universe is not a one man show.

I do not like to say we paraded him around, but we did introduce him to Minas and the French lads by saying, ‘This is the Universe.’ Even Mama seemed to recognise his power. She asked how many nights he would be staying, in her abrupt manner. His relaxed reaction, demeanour but no messing attitude brought this casual and a little cheeky response, ‘Well, I see how it goes and we will talk tomorrow. Okay, Mama?’ She was tamed. He raised his eyebrows at me. He recognised the crazy energy of this lady. No pulling the wool over the Universe’s eyes. We did not bother to learn his name, referring to him and directly addressing him as ‘Universe’. He appeared to take this all in the stride; would we expect less of the Universe? 

We moved towards the fire, tying our carefully written dreams to our lanterns. Unfortunately, conditions were not great for releasing these precarious paper lanterns. So our beautiful lanterns crashed down in complete shambles. It is okay, I enthused- we have the Universe right here! Surely our wishes could still be granted because the Universe was here, in human form (please note: the Universe was EXTREMELY handsome with great muscles too- of course) Universe, please touch my intentions before I burn them? Happily. We all sat around the fire, watching the flickering, savouring the warmth of the low flames and the loveliness of being gathered under the stars- the sisters, the Frenchies, Minas and The Universe. 

When I finally conjured up the courage to release the paper into fire of the things I feared most and wanted to let go, The Universe leant forward and gently blew on the paper. The paper, with the force of his breath, burned vivid oranges and yellows into blackness that floated away into the night air. I could see the contours of his face in the light of the fire and I said, Thank you, Universe. I layback to look at the star filled sky and floated in the aura of possibility that permeated the night breeze. We never saw The Universe again and Sister 3 had her bags packed and ready to head into silence for 10 days. So the sisterhood was disbanding. Sister 1 and Sister 2 would spend the last day at Double D’s together. I would head near the pier and see my sister on to the ferry and stay in a little beach hut, alone. Time to study and prepare, for my yoga intensive teacher training, our sisterhood no longer a beautiful distraction.

It was so strange to say good bye to Sister 1 and know that the next time I would see her would be back home. How lucky that we got share sister time here in Thailand. How lucky I am that she is my sister, how lucky I am that she believes in me and knows just how I feel. 

'You can kid the world, but not your sister.' ~ Charlotte Gray

Bon Voyage, my sister. I headed back to my bungalow to spend my days alone. I pootled around on a bike, forgetting flip flops, enjoying yoga and study.

And all the time I felt surrounded in a warm cosy haze; the leftover warmth of the sisterhood. Thanks Sister 1 and number 3 sister from a different mister. It was a complete blast and I feel your strength you shared with me in all my self doubting moments.

There is no better friend than a sister and there are no better sisters than you.

60~Hi. My Name Is Jess. And I Am A Yogaholic.

Hi. My Name is Jess and I Am a Yogaholic. 

And when I change the way I look at things, the things I look at change.

‘Loneliness is the poverty of the self; solitude is the richness of self.’ ~May Sarton

As I sail away from Samui, having headed on the early morning boat, I feel liberated to once more be alone, comforted by my decision to hit the road one last time. I seek solitude, want to swim in the memories, the moments, the people and places that are stored within. I will 'allow the vast ocean of space around me and the ocean of space unlocked within me, meet.' Words uttered from my teacher over the past month float around in my head; poetic words gliding into our yoga practices, melting my heart and taking me that bit deeper, discovering emotions and peace hidden within.

A month intensive teacher training could probably branch into at least 50 different blogs with character studies, highs and lows, moments of hilarity and tears, feelings of pressure and fear, euphoria, fatigue, a head exploding with information…

I will share is this word: sangha. The sanskrit word for community. This moment this magical group sat in an opening circle our sangha formed and a month later our closing circle confirmed that this sangha will forever be in all of our hearts. Our sangha was pretty darn harmonious; our teachers say it was a very special one. 

To quote good old British gal Jan, “I have been surprised while being here because no one has really got up my nose." Living in close proximity can result in disharmony (however yogi and non judgemental we attempt to be!), especially when we were subject to such intense amount of hours. Although there were no evident irritations, the close living spread some nasty germs like wildfire and did result in a quarantine situation. By day three the group dropped like flies; 4 being hospitalised and many ill in their beds. It was like some scary film, witnessing the group fade so rapidly; watching from the window as the ambulance arrived and took our teacher on a stretcher, a paramedic supporting a frail looking student. This was serious. Crying and writhing in the night, stabbing pains all over the body and wondering if this is what yoga does to you?? 

With every cloud comes a silver lining; perhaps all the monitoring of each others most recent toilet escapades helped to speed along the sense of intimacy. One might hope interrelations amongst the group would have been better (or more fittingly) formed through a chant, a beautiful yoga practice or partner work, but this horror film pretty much sealed the tight binding of the sangha. One teacher was hospitalised, our other two teachers nursed. They did rounds amongst the ill that can but be compared to the work of Florence Nightingale. Doortje, a strong Dutchie that became my bestie within the sangha, struggled to her first class, elegantly wrapped in a shawl. She managed to make her suffering look glamorous and royal somehow. She confessed she had not had change to write her 100 words on what yoga meant to her, but she lay awake thinking about it last night. ‘The way you, Simon and Annie, nursed us- this was yoga.’ The care, love and stoic nature in which they did this blew us all away. 

By day 4 of this epidemic, the three students hospitalised were nearing a release but still not strong and our teacher was really struggling. The Sangha that were still at the retreat slowly began to regenerate; some weakly rejoined the modified lessons, and there was camaraderie amongst the sick and those in health. We continued with our programme and our bond was stronger than ever. But hearing the news that our hospitalised teacher needed an oxygen mask was terrifying. This woman was a yoga goddess, a firecracker of Finish strength; she may be like Thumbelina, minute in size but wow, what braun. I had walked to the shop, needed some time alone. As I stood at a crossroad I stopped to watch the humongous dragonfly majestically hover near and then soar once again. One seemed to suddenly turn to two, then three, then many more. Remaining still, I was mesmerised by a sea of dragonflies that glided around. I stood in the middle of this seemingly isolated spot of a dragonfly dance, feeling the power of their encircling movements and said a prayer for our teacher.     

Needless to say, the sangha was soon restored and the days flew by. Turns out my bestie is a real life Dutch baroness. Cool. We had the same flip flops (which were interchanged on many occasion- I was nearing feral status and for days would leve them outside our practice room or the restaurant) and sunglasses. I did not want to confess to being a princess as it seemed somewhat unsavoury next to true royal blood; my glorified label paled with insignificance under a genuine title. But Doortje was my pal (but surely my immediate attraction before the much later discovery of royal roots in my bestie is evidence of my princess calling!?) and we were also great study buddies. I strong on the Sanskrit and some of the philosophy and she was super hot on anatomy. I could give endless loving details and personal observations on every member of the group- such a plethora of personalities, fantastic people from all over the world; I could not have wished to share life and the beautiful practice of yoga with a better bunch. Chanted from Patanjali’s Yoga sutra: maitri, karuna, mudito, peksanam = friendship, compassion, delight and equanimity. This is the lesson in how we should act towards fellow man. Our sangha was this personified; there was no hierarchal or caste system here. Sharing flip flops with a baroness, confessing predilections of pancake binging over the buffet with a world famous rugby hero (he was here accompanying his wife and what a gentleman), beautiful yoga practices, laughter and learning- this was just all a normal day here; quite simply the rays of light that was in each us was endlessly reflecting and refracting.

So for fear of being inadequate, presumptuous and arrogant in my ability to undertake yoga teacher training, I was reluctant to share my intentions with some. This sangha and the teachings shared by our wonderful guides, Simon, Eija and Annie, made me edge closer to believing. This is priceless.

In the final whispered words of my teacher, “Go out and teach straight away. You have a real presence as a teacher. This is a gift.” I remembered the dance of the dragonflies the moment she said that and felt a wave of courage; I may just now believe that I can try. Thank you, Eija, because I floated away on these last words and it was that lift I needed. ‘My mind could rest in the hammock of my heart’, to steal some of Simon’s poetry.

I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I believe in the yoga they Simon, Eija and Annie shared and if I just squint my eyes a little and change the way I look at myself, with a little help from the words of my teacher, myself and my sister, I realise that the self doubt continues to dissipate. From the words of Wayne Dyer, reiterated on the beach to me by my sister as I shared my fears (Who am I to say I could even attempt to be a yoga teacher? I should not be doing this; I can’t do it.) :

 “When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.”

So, I come away from the training with certified status of yoga teacher. But by and far the most important thing I have learnt is I come away with a deep understanding of the kind of practice I want to share and how to keep my body safe. I do not have to be able to bend myself in half. Stand on my head for a long period of time. I can just be me. A yogaholic. I think of the new people who have crossed my path and I have taken them to yoga or talked to them about yoga, so much so that they have joined me in a class or gone home and sought a class. I have already been spreading the love and benefits of this ancient practice and now know I will be forever studying the deep forests of yoga.

I share with you my 100 words of what yoga is to me and the teacher that I hope to be:

Yoga is my komorebi. Komorebi is a Japanese word, untranslatable in any other cultures, meaning ‘the sunlight that filters through the leaves of the trees’. As I am drawn deeper into the forest of yoga, komorebi is increasingly bewitching, an orchestral symphony of leaf and light.

Through a yin and yang yoga approach, the mechanics of our bodies reveal awesomeness; a universal matrix and map within. Safely, with a respect for our unique anatomy, students can be guided into this forest of yoga; exploring the texture and pleasure of the movements. With this practice we leave behind who we think we should be, savour the komorebi, and come back to our true selves. 

I managed to unravel myself from the bosom of the sangha, my final bow to Rhianne and Joanna in Bo Phut. As tempting as it was to remain within this precious vortex, I spiralled out of our trio and headed down the familiar walking street of Bo Phut.

I awaited my transport as the sun rose and said good bye to this wonderful island.

This was the very town that Eve and I had stayed 2 summers ago; the very place I had my first experience of the Simon Low style teachings and felt that very deep resonance, a calling to explore this style of yoga further. I am drifting now on the remnants of the magical force in Koh Phayam, finding my way from the darkness and party bungalows (with no space for my mat) into the light.

In my escape for solitude, I have found a spot nestled in the hillside of Koh Phayam. Komorebi is rife, lotus flowers in abundance. I have my yoga books and a mat donated by Rhianne.

 In the 50 words by Shelley Jenkins, ‘let your mat be your mirror’ and the words of Goldie Hawn:

‘I’ve finally stopped running away from myself. Who else is there better to be?’`

Hell, I will throw caution to the wind. Enough hiding behind the words of others. Enough wordy prose. 

Hi, everyone. My name is Jess. And I am a yogaholic.

I am a qualified yoga teacher. FULL STOP.

59~Peaceful Port Douglas

I bid farewell to the South of Australia and left Melbourne for the infamous Cairns. I had already decide that Cairns may not be for me and would move on from there. 

After a solo night in Cairns, I was heading the next day to Port Douglas which I heard was a quieter part in this area. I would stay at 'Dougie's', a hostel out of town that was right near the beach and situated in the jungle. Turns out it was a great call on many fronts and I fell in love with the sleepy town. I found two great yoga studios, a picnic spot, a lovely hostel where I met some really amazing people and could cook my own food, a great spot to read and be alone. Utterly peaceful. The weather was far too hot to beach it and the ocean was un-swimmable because of the jellyfish (apart from the enclosure they provide but I was still not getting in). The hostel gave me a bike for the week as opposed to having to hire it daily and I made a little life here. I booked a couple days to head up to Cape Tribulation and to immerse myself in the promise of the deeper solitude of the rainforest there, returning to 'Dougie's' for my last 3 days in Australia. This was my most frequented spot:

 I managed to write all my Christmas cards, perspiring in the process and getting a little browner.

I enjoyed this view when I occasionally put down the teenage fiction I was devouring. Set in Australia, recommended by the Flying Kiwi guide, I was unstoppable. I think I was on book 7 of 'Tomorrow: When the War Began'.

I did the walk up the hill to look out point each day because the view was quite spectacular.

I met a Dutchie, Hans, who immediately captured my heart. He was kind, strong, interesting and I felt an instant connection with him. Kindly, he took me and a German pal to Mossman Gorge where we enjoyed a walk and swim in the cool waters. Hans was nearing the end of 2 months of bar work here and was attempting to see the sights that had escaped him because of his working schedule. I was quite pleased to share a bike ride into town and show him the lookout point. I took him to an even better spot that no one seemed to know about, a little lighthouse that overlooked the bay on the opposite side. I had spent many hours here, alone, drinking in the view and the tranquility. We had a bit of a magical afternoon. Biking side by side, pushing our bikes up the hill and riding down like kids. Although, I had to walk the last part, terrified my shoddy brakes would fail and I would lose my teeth. Hans waited for me at the bottom, he was flushed and said he almost lost control. We shared food in the communal kitchen and on his last morning we sat and had our breakfast together. I do love the Dutch and was looking forward to seeing my best Dutchie, Eve!

I headed to Cape Tribulation for the weekend. I was part of a tour and we went on a cruise for crocodile spotting. My foot is just to show I was there. I did see a crocodile but failed to capture it on camera!

It really seems that most travellers here are drinkers and recovering from hangovers, using their bus time to recuperate. As opposed to sweating it out and snoozing in the quieter seats at the back, I opted for sitting up front with the guide. The guide, despite the disinterest of most passengers, spurt forth a monologue, detailed facts about the land around, interrupted only by my odd question. I have to say he totally did not disappoint- a fountain of knowledge presented in Steve Irwin-esque manner.

He explained the fauna on a jungle walk, was thrilled when we came across fresh cassowary droppings (pretending to touch and eat the faeces in order to assess the freshness and therefore how near the creature may be) and enthusiastically examined a huge spider in it's web. I can understand this frenzied approach to exploring the nature here; it is as if the forest has been pumped full of steroids, or had a dose of something 'Little Shop of Horrors' style!

I had two nights in Cape Tribulation, a very peaceful hostel that is made up of bungalows situated within the Daintree National Park and Wet Tropics World Heritage area. I kept myself to myself initially, enjoying a walk along the deserted beaches, eating alone and reading on the beach.

I had heard from various people and discussed with Hans about a challenging hike in the area but as difficult as it sounded, I was determined to do it. It was only 5km but apparently the steep climb and elevated heights of 680 metres made it difficult hiking conditions. The recommendation was not to go it alone; the hostel manager had found another girl who was interested and was trying to hook me up with her. I kind of wanted to tramp it myself, but at the same time the wildlife of Australia freaked me out, I trusted Hans when he said it was tough and after all he is a tough Dutchie... I was told to take a lot of water and set off by 6am to escape the midday heat. I had an early night and decided I would do the trek regardless if I was alone or not. I crossed paths with a girl in the morning and we realised we were the two hikers. No one else around at 5:30am. She was a Swiss girl, young and very sweet. Turns out that we were both glad to have a friend. It was super challenging and I have never sweated in the way I did during the ascent. At one point we both wondered if it would ever end, my legs shook and it seemed relentless! The beautiful Daintree coastline, being in the clouds and resting with our snacks made it all worth it.

 As we descended, we encountered other groups just starting out. Some desperate to know how much further. We could not lie- they already appeared to be struggling, had little water and were perhaps a little naive in their approach to this challenge. I was glad we had acted upon the advice and set out early with plenty of water. In the afternoon I went to a 'Swimming Hole' with a British girl I had got chatting to, the instructions were clear: head upstream and the safe area for swimming would be clear because of the swing ropes, downstream was to be avoided as this is where the local crocodiles liked to chill out. The water felt deliciously cool in these tropical parts, we were alone and the dappled reflections of the rippling waters in the late afternoon sun on the trunk of a huge tree made this day and this place utterly magical.

The following morning I headed for snorkelling in the Great Barrier Reef. I have no photos that show the turtle I swam with, the corals, the shark and all the sea life that amazed. This photo does show the peak of Mount Sorrow, pointed out by the guides as we sailed out to the reef.

The bus ride back to Port Douglas was full of hungover party animals, I sat up front once again and heard some amazing stories, getting all the best views and enjoyed my second trip to Mossman Gorge. 

Mossman Gorge differed this time; we had a look at some aboriginal artefacts and the heavens opened. Swimming in the rain was pretty lovely and I think it helped those still in the realms of their hangovers.

My last days in Port Douglas were just perfect. I had a friend to share some yoga with (she had been long ago and now says her interest in yoga has been rekindled- very cool!), a full moon, a lovely moment with Hans (who made me feel like Thumbelian in his huge, warm and meaningful embrace), biking around, writing the last of my Christmas cards, hitting the Sunday Market.

Christmas Carols could be heard from the church, mangoes were in abundance, as was jewellery and talk of the storm the night before. Rain had thundered down, bats and birds hysterical in the dusk and full moon- I had biked to get food in town and was challenged by the wind and eeriness of the night as I headed back to the hostel, narrowly missing the downpour. A farmer/redneck type spoke about the benefits of the coconut to me. I had to confess, I LOVE the coconut; smothering myself in it head to toe, cooking with it, eating it and using it for other magical things too- so he was preaching to the converted.

I love coconut so much, but death by coconut is pushing it. Where I sat each day reading, contemplating, and now post market eating my coconut salad, a huge, heavy palm branch crashed down. Inches from a man sat in quiet contemplation. Hmmmm.

I had one last stop. A favourite coffee place to read and write.

So I left pretty Port; I had felt at peace here and had a happy little home. I had seen the Greatness of the Barrier Reef and had been blown away by Australia's nature... Next stop, short flight to Sydney. A kip in the airport and a flight to Singapore and onward to Vietnam. Good bye, Australia. It was short and I did my best (in a leisurely way ;-)) to traverse some of your land. You are beautiful, spirited and have shown me the curves of our earth with your endless skies. Next time I will head inland; I want to see the kangaroos silhouetted in a fiery sunset from a dusty desert road.

But for now, the view from the plane of the barrier reef and the lands below will do just nicely. I breathe in the peace, remembering my favourite spot I found and prepare myself for Hanoi, Vietnam. I narrowly missed being whacked by a palm branch. I had been lucky. I hear the traffic in Hanoi is frightening and getting whacked by a motorbike might be more likely. Hans warns me it is quite something; I appreciate his honesty and his helpful descriptions. I feel a little prepared and even preempted the trauma of hassle with an airport pick up from my hostel. So I really suck up the final memories of such a peaceful, easy place. Vietnam, here I come!