The other side of the Legends of the Fall

Location: http://www.estanciacristina.com

It is Christmas day and I’m in my own little version of Legends of the Fall here at Estancia Cristina.

Its just sublime, accept there is no Tristan, Brad Pitt or the lovely Sir Antony Hopkins, or 3 boys off to war fighting over a woman or for me.  Well maybe that’s not so true, there is no war here! 

I’ve been sitting in my lovely room, in a cottage in the middle of bubblefuck and icebergland in Patagonia, with a needle and thread sowing up my True Religion Jeans.  Thankfully they have split in the ass because they are cool (phat) aged jeans, and not because my ass has spread like the Patagonia Icebergs have over the last 2000 years.

On this stretch of my trip for my first night, I’m with an English couple together for 7 years, however just married in November and a French couple who look like they’re reliving their youth.  Michel (the French dude) pulled out a harmonica when we got shown to our cabins and stood on the porch like a mountain man, playing a wild tune, the sound echoing beautifully, whistling through our little private valley.  It was really something.  I love these little moments in life you know, random and the often the best.  Short-lived was this group as they had to leave early because of poor weather and the boat wouldn’t sail on Christmas Eve (the only way here is by boat for 2 hours through the Glaciers).  It really did become my own little retreat then until the next lot of guests arrived on Christmas day.  How harsh. 

The Estancia team is also what makes this experience so great.  Great formulae, everything is included in the price (bar the alcohol tab – pardon the pun) all incredibly attentive and all very well chosen.  Many have become my new amigos. The Sommelier Andrea especially, who has been treating me to some of the best wine Argentina has to offer.  I hate to think what my bar bill will be?

Soli my hostess is a gem and has looked after me like her best friend who has just come to stay.  Mariano my outrageously gorgeous Argentinean guide has held my hand through the glaciers and up mountains to show me the best views Cristina has to offer.  Walking back from the Glacier Upsala the day before last, we got talking.  He was very impressed I was a woman traveling alone and 37 for that matter.  He felt I was so brave. He was right, it did take courage. 

He helped me understand about how the Argentinean men loved, it seemed that every man I met wanted to talk about they way they loved.   He told me that blondes like me didn’t exist in Argentina. I was incredibly rare, his eyes smiling more and more at me.  Yes, I wanted to tell him I was utterly unique, and that there was nothing common about me, or rather that in a week’s time I’d have brown roots! I didn't choose either.  I did try to reciprocate in some way by helping him to understand that I didn’t have the pleasure of enjoying the sight of such fit, supple brown skinned, dark brown lush lashed eyed men either in Singapore. 

The hike was 4 hours, so we got plenty of time to talk. He encouraged me to find out what it was like to let an Argentinean man show his love for me.  We were hiking, the wind was up, the cold was pushing through my jacket so I could feel it on my skin, and yet all I could think was I was having a tender,  moment with a man,  who I might add, was making me feel like a beautiful woman despite a puffy  North Face Jacket and baggy ski pants. I felt like a Princess in the Legends of the Fall Valley.  As we walked back to the main houses, he pointed to my Cabin, “The middle one and at the last window, is that one yours?” he looked at me and didn’t turn his gaze until he saw my response.

That day I have found my poncho – the mandatory member of an Argentine wardrobe. These carpets over your shoulders are vital, and I’m now in love with my new one. I fell asleep in the afternoon, siesta time, curled on the top of my bed; tired, toasty, feeling so yummy, warm and fuzzy on all fronts.

At dinner, the sommelier Andrea has chosen a bottle of wine for me – it’s seriously good. Seriously. After drinking Vino Toro out of a carton across the Andes, it’s like velvet on my tongue. In Argentina they call this a “select” wine; Catena Zapata 2004, Agrelo, from Estiba Reservada. It’s stamped with a number, apparently very official; what’s more, it comes in a little grey hoodie. No, it’s an alpaca grey sleeve with face cut out of it for the label and a red tie, it’s rather lovely, and it’s coming home with me.

With wine, comes dinner, and for the menu du jour:

Estradas

Proveleta Patagonica con Ensalada verde y vinaigrette de Tomates secos

Which is Spanish for:

Patagonia Provoletta with Green Salad and Dried Tomatoes Vinaigrette

Platos Principales

Cordero Braseado con Tuberculos Asados en Manteca de Limon y Tomillo

Translates to

Grilled Lamb with Grilled Tubers in a butter of Lemon and Thyme

Postres

Bizcocho Humedo de Chocolate, Ganache de Chocolate y Naranjas

Which literally means love muffin me up! Just heaven on a spoon! 

My Legends of the Fall Estancia is well known for it’s gastronomic prowess.

Which translates to - the food is to die for.   The chef is my new friend too. He comes and personally delivers me my meals.  We shake hands, I say “Bueno”, he then leans in and kisses me on the cheek. Then I blush and give him a huge smile.  I love this place. How can life become better than the movies I ask you?  It’s so special. What the other guests must think I have no idea.  Nor do I care.  I think it all started because I just simply sent Soli into the kitchen on the first night to tell him his food was magnificent and since then, he’s in love. I’m in love. Again, I’ve fallen in love with every one here.  Didn’t realize I had so much love to give, well, that’s lie.

And then last night, the Chef hung up his apron, came out at five to Midnight with a glass of champagne for me and leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. I blushed and kissed him right back – on the cheek.  Bless his cotton socks, he literally turned and rushed out of the dinning room into the night.  I got a bit welled up, it was really gorgeous.

The other side of this Estancia is that it us situated on National Park and boundaries, excluding Antarctica, by far the largest ice body in the Southern Hemisphere.  The South Patagonia Ice Field, and Upsala Glacier where I hiked to. In fact it’s third largest in the world.  These glaciers are moving constantly, breaking off in huge ice wafers; a sound that crackles, chilling to the bone. You’re excited to hear it, but never quite prepared for it. It surpassed any crack of thunder I’ve ever heard.  The Upsala Glaciers has moved so much in the last 3 years, shifting vast amounts of ice, over a 4 kilometers block in fact snapped off and is floating down stream into Lake Argentina.  Where is a geologist when you need one?

As I leave my valley today aboard the boat, we sail back out into this iceberg field. As a tourist it’s stunning, as a geologist I’m sure it’s far more devastating.  It makes me wish I paid more attention at school, or rather, keen as mustard to learn more as an adult. GOOGLE! 

These broken icebergs are the most exquisite blues – like a sapphire my mum used to wear.  My instrumental music distracts me from the environmental banner of look at this An Inconvenient Truth staring right at me. Another distraction is it has now become trendy to catch and break some off for your G&T.  With both, I slip into fancy zone and look for shapes, a sharks head, a lemon meringue pie, a frogs face, all making the sides of my mouth curl up. These icebergs were glistering in the sun like someone had left the hot tap dripping on them.

I was suffering a pang of separation anxiety again, but nice inner warmth, I’d had a wonderful time and lovely Christmas with the scenes Legends of the Fall.  I didn’t feel alone at Christmas at all, quite the opposite. I had such a magic time; Santa even came to visit on horseback.

I have two more components of my trip to go, but for me right now, if the boat sank, I would be happy.  I’ve been an extremely fortunate woman.

I shall go and stand at the front of the boat, put “My heart will go on” on the ipod, and stretch my arms out and let my hair flow in the wind.  Where is Jack when I need him? Regardless, my feet aren’t quite touching the ground at the moment.

Again, I would recommend Estancia Cristina to any family, couple of single gal looking keen to explore Patagonia. Excellent, 5 star rating. 

If there was such a thing as a food-a-holic, this when they need to cart me off to rehab.  Nah, I’ll just start the 12 steps when I get back to Singapore. Dieting when the world is offering such fine cuisine on holiday is sacrilege. I should work it all off on the next part of my journey.  As for my new amigos, I was truly made to feel part of the clan, our prolong parting embraces made my Christmas retreat all the more special and me, warm and fuzzy. 

Next, I head to Torres del Paine to trek and kayak in Chile for 7 days. 

Merry Christmas to you all where-ever you are the world.  I hope that you have been given lots of hugs, warm smiles and a glass a Champagne handed to you with a kiss on the cheek too!

Love, love, love. Viva Argentina.

TBS xxx

I wonder how environmentally active I will become when I return to real life?

The other side of being a passenger

The next phase of my Argentina trip – the horse ride over the Andes, crossing into Chile.

Location: http://www.huechahue.com/

I arrived in Bariloche and I got off what was more like my little 1973 Ford Fiesta beaten up car, than a boeing plane. I promise you this aircraft was tied together with a string and some clag I used in Pre School.  I didn’t care it was taking me to my little adventure in the Andes on horseback. I had no idea what to expect, I just knew I was going there to be a passenger.  

You’ll be happy to know I left the black high heels at home, but swapped them for a pair of my finest, most solid brown boots, with an appropriate heel. They were fab, and for the record, they lasted the whole trip, in fact I’m sitting here with a stupid grin on my face as I wiggle my toes in them under the table.  These boots took my up and down some pretty steep hills, mud, dust, slopes that even the horse slid down, these boots were made for walkin’, a surefooted heeled Aussie bird! Olay.

Righto, so back to the scene at the airport – I was forgotten by my hostess, but not for long, for then came bounding through the door was Ernest.  He was a huge, big-handed man, who didn’t speak much English, so we pointed and laughed at each other for a lot of the 2-hour journey to Estancia Huechahue.

I decided to have two days at the ranch before the horse riding started and the rest of the crew arrived.  Buenos Aires is the Paris of South America and yes it has so much to offer, but in the two days I was there, I gave it good nudge and decided that cities are everywhere; time with my cows was what I was wanting. And time with my cows I got.

The lovely Diego (our host and posh Gaucho) took me under this wing and immediately out on the ranch to chase some cows, MOO! We then painted yellow numbers on them at the crack of dawn the next day ready for a big event. I was going to a horse and cow thingie. It’s got some posh Argentinean name and they do take it very seriously, so I will probably be run out of town when I publish this, but as a passenger you're not supposed to pay too much attention to detail, so for this piece it was like a rodeo/fate event, where the locals did this amazing parade of horsemanship in an event called Cow Parting. 

The whole town was there, and everyone looked like a gaucho to me.  All so authentic and right out of a coffee table book I bought before I left.  These very 80’s looking men on horse back and dressed in Michael Jackson big shouldered pleated leather jackets sat on their strong beautifully shiny creatures and parted cows in a very small yard.  Olay. I’ve never seen a man twirl a horse like that in an instant. They would round up 3 cows of the same number, amongst 30 with in 42 seconds. Unbelievable.  It was dusty, magical and more than the movie ticket promised I would see.  This being a passenger thing is working for me!

The following day my fellow horsemen arrived.  We sat around the table eating our first 3-course meal (every meal was three course after that!)  The group was very formal, polite, swapping amall talk and no laughter at all. I had a hunch that this wasn’t going to last. I was right. The group was perfect. We were so lucky.  3 couples and 3 singles gals, and we all just clicked. It was the best group of randoms, and from the end of the next day onwards, there would not be a dull moment, or silent ones for that matter.  We became a little unit.  Even with the locals, we were one big happy family. 

Next to the horses; all of whom were matched to our personalities. They did such a good job really, all very apt.  Enter stage left Argentina. She was brilliant.  She and I bonded in an instant, and in true Aussie style, I shorted her name to Argi.  She was just like me, in every way possible it was hysterical.

Fast, like lightening when she wanted to be. Tall, strong, big eyes, and when she couldn’t be assed, she was happy mosing around at the back, just watching what was going on.  She had her days, she definitely got her period at one point, she got a serious strop on one morning. Then far out, don’t mess with her tummy, or she’ll bite.  I’ve got a nice purple patch on my upper thigh to prove it.  Well yeah, I’ll backslap you too in you poke hard in my love muffin.  And hey, yes, she was a flirt, no doubt about it – for when there was hot boy out front, she was certainly up there having a little twinkle in her eye, flicking her hair for him.  Zorro was his name. HI Aussie name was Zozzi - is that fitting for a big hot black Stallion? Hmm?

Like every journey as passengers we need a safe place to land.  Pedro and his merry men were our ground staff. He makes a mean G&T and he’ll never leave your tin cup with a coloured ribbon on it go empty.  The food was utterly outstanding. Although, even being a farm girl, I have never eaten so much red meat in such a short space of time. I'm checking in for an Up the Jackson treatment when I get back into Singapore (Colonic, sorry too much info!)  My fellow Aussies will hate to hear me say this, but I have to share a secret with you. This beef and lamb takes on Australian meat hands down.  I’ve had several Patagonian lambs fanned out on the bbq, sirloins, rib eye t-bones, massive Fred Flintstone beef ribs on medieval swords stuck into the ground around the camp first, and with all I could have used a blunt stick to cut through it like soft butter. Juicy, fresh, succulent, amazing. magnific!

We were lucky to have had beautiful clear nights under the stars, sleeping on the ground, well on our thermal 1-inch thick mattress or sheep skin saddles. The first night was I thinking to myself what the ffffaaarrrrkkk have I done here, was I drunk when I booked this holiday? But the passenger in me pushed on. Come the last day, I didn’t want to leave, even sitting around a dinner table seemed wrong.  We all missed Pedro and his billie-can of hot coffee from the fire.

We traversed up and down the Andes, followed a snowy mountain river, crossed about 10 of them and survived through a pretty intense sleet and snow storm which just happened to be on the highest peak, our ridge of choice over the Andes.  Most of us thought our days were numbered and even the horses seemed to shake as we tried to get down off this ridge. I was shitting myself personally. Unlucky, or luckily, we had to change course and headed away from the ridge and through the dense forest. 

The forest was staggering, in parts really mind blowing.  We took to recalling movie scenes that it reminded us of. First it was Last of the Mohicans; we were expecting men in little loin clothes and tama hawks to come out of nowhere, we were shouting at each other, "Stay alive, I will find you".  We actually were in an Indian plantation with a real Indian guide leading us, so inspired.  Then through the monkey puzzle trees we all thought Gandalf would came gliding out with the Tree People, and we were in Lord of the Rings. He and they would have been tall enough for our tree's.  A quick scare gave us the Blair Witch Project, then finally, then it was Out of Africa in the wonderful little clearings with perfect lush grass and one or two dead trees that seemed fitting and medieval. These were my favourite and always such surprises when we had just ridden through dense forest.  Our mysterious little treasures only discovered because we were on horseback and perfect for our afternoon siesta. Then there was the wedding scene for Braveheart. Of course, I had the sound track playing.

The other side of being a passenger is that it can have a shelf life in my books. Meaning that to relinquish my freedom of a choice wasn’t going to work for the whole time.  With every great story there has to be some good with the bad – really, the bad is there to make the good times even better. 

I got sick.  I really was open to moving on from 2010 and leaving all the bad stuff and hard year behind me. Rules of physics are: what goes in, must come out, and my toxins were coming out.  I got a stress lump under my arm.  I knew what it was immediately, but untreated it become nasty, spreading quickly and the pain really set in. I was trying to treat it with overdosing on evening primrose oil and every other tea tree oil or pill I had in my bag.  I wanted so badly to keep going, I didn’t want this little journey to stop but it was looking grim. 

It was time to take back the reins and be responsible.   I needed to be real about this and the pragmatic woman kicked in, “well, it is what it is”.  And it wasn’t going away on spiritual affirmations and 4 horse pills of evening primrose oil either.  Was that the end of my trip – ho hum? I had 3 weeks left of more yeah ha action that I also needed to protect, and I didn’t really want to check out how good my UOB travel insurance was.

The gap of changing horses at Chile was the opening. Jane (the owner of the Estancia) rushed me into the closest town and into Hospital.  The next thing I knew, my pants were down and I was blushing getting a jab in the ass by a nice handsome young Argentinean doctor. The formulae if I wanted to keep riding; strap up my arm and take some medicated horse pills.  "Antibiotics down your gob, or up your ass?", one of my new friends asked me. What was I prepared to do? I wasn’t going to die, or loose a boob so there wasn’t any need for the latter precaution. I was back with the group with in the hour.  Yeah Ha, Olay.

I rode for the next two days with my arm in the sling.  Less pain, and more love. Great antidote really - The gauchos were a sucker for a blonde in a sling! I really was a passenger now, I didn’t lift a finger, or a saddle for that matter, but I was well enough to lift a glass, "pass the vino tinto, I’m back!"

For the next two days, I had a little chat to myself – yes again, it was all about the choosing your attitude stuff.  I could be a passenger in the journey, but a passenger that checked in this time. Get a ticket and know where you’re going love.  I had a second chance and it was sweeter than the first.

Chile was magnificent. Fresh horses, a complete change in scenery, more lush and green, softer steep slopes that we had fun cruising down like The Man from Snowy River, with our Chilean red headed leader calling out random Chilean words that none of us could understand.  I joined in with “Marco....Polo”… no one really understood that either! I had found my fun button again, with a new passenger appreciation. Our little ponies, mine was Favourita, were the experts and we were travellers.

The slopes seemed steeper, more sludgy, more muddy, seriously slidey, but I had complete faith in my Favourita, he just bounced down, sure footed, a man on a mission, utter know how, a real professional and I was so happy hanging on for one armed ride.  We were well matched, Favourita and I.  I only wish I would fall in love with a man in real life like that.  Surefooted.  Yes, that’s it.

I’d recommend Estancia Huechahue to anyone wanting a little adventure and some good honest riding fun. There is none of this trail riding bullshit for sissies and nay-stuffy wankers that think being horsey is something to brood about.  I had the time of life, which was one of the movie scenes we didn’t think of.  Every night was a hoot, full of sidesplitting laughter, great stories, incredible food and Vino de Toro that we could muster under the south hemisphere bright stars. 

As for my little group, I fell in love with them all. (My nose is tingly writing this). As passengers together over the Andes, we bonded. Thankfully no one had to eat a frozen bum cheek (for those of you that have seen Alive!).  There is talk of getting together again for another little adventure…. maybe horse back across Africa!

As for being a passenger, some are better at it than others. I’m learning nicely I think.  It’s really lovely when you have a life that is so jammed full of making decisions all the time, that you can enjoy letting someone else take the reins for a while.

Olay – on to my next journey and opportunity to just go with it for a while.  Estancia Cristina, again, I have no idea what to expect, but I know all I have to do is just rock up and they will feed and take me out looking at some great big iceberg stuff! Unreal. Tick, yes please.

I know this is going to sound so utterly annoying, but I have to say I’ve been the luckiest gal in the world. I’ve had such a wonderful time on this trip, even though not everything has gone to plan. I’d put this little trip on your Bucket List, and as I always say, never put a price on experience.

TBS

Xxx

p.a Btw I fell off the horse twice and didn’t even fall over in my heeled booted babies - go figure!

The other side of No Te Calientes

The Argentineans have got it right, either the entire race has had botox, tinted eye lashes and a bottle of blue pills in their hip pocket, or there is something in the gene pool and attitude towards life that is beyond what I’ve seen before.  These people are beautiful in every way and they seriously seem to love everything that life has to offer.  These people choose to take it easy!

No Te Calientes, I’ve heard this expression several times today; it literally means to take it easy.  The Argentina’s say it as a throw away line, like to say hey, chill baby. Its cool, I like it a lot.  It seems to be the perfect phrase for me at this time in my life. Move aside urgent, warm and fuzzy, yeah yeah yeah, make way for No Te Calientes.  

I had three intentions today, to meander, shake off the hang over and buy a piece of jewellery to remember Buenos Aires by.  With my new Camera bag bouncing alongside my handbag over my shoulder, beaming with my fill of this Argentinean love fest and I was set to explore.   Happy snapping and some stylish leather bracelets later, it was time for me to take a moment and order a drink.  At that point, I remembered my little promise to be present and I felt it.  I was surrounded by more than the wolf whistles, lovers and a bag of accessories. I had company.

There he was across the street, staring. I’d taken photos of him and didn’t even realise it. He’d followed me from the jewellery store 4 blocks to where I had parked for lunch.  With absolutely no camouflage, he just sat there, like a jaguar waiting for his pray.  In true Argentina form, he made no attempts to hide his feelings, he was there waiting for me. Well not for me, for my camera I suspect. This targeting I had read about and once upon a time I would have freaked out right about now, but with my new motto of choosing my attitude, I decided this jaguar was not going to make a dent on my love-in.  I chose No Te Calientes.  He’d chosen the wrong Sheila.

"Ola" my hand went up, and my lovely waiter and I had some words.  With no fuss, he calmly said, “No Te Calientes, I’ll walk you back to your hotel.”  It was just like that, so easy.  So guess what, I took it easy, finished my pizza and beer and watched the world go by for an hour and honed into the lovely sounds of the Spanish accent in full flight.

Omar walked me home in the afternoon sun, chatting about life, love and Argentina male philosophy. He was a single man at 67, had had two loves, but didn’t believe in a woman controlling him.  I got the sense there were more like him here.  He was 4ft 5, but he naturally exuded a considerable stature.  We swapped details and we agreed to have a red wine when I came back to BA in three weeks time.  I think he has a few stories to tell and I want to hear them.

The other side of No Te Calientes is that it has become crystal clear that these Argentinean’s don’t know how to take it easy on the love thing.  As I ambled along the classic tree lined charismatic streets, my eyes lit up by the sight of countless happy people.  Lovers kissing unashamedly, old people holding hands, old men sitting on benches laughing and debating, and men with no indignity for letting out a good old wolf whistle in adoration for a beautiful woman. And you have to respect these people, it's life for them, in no way are they embarrassed to demonstrate the way beauty makes them feel. There is no discrimination or limitation in age either. How refreshing. 

I’m in love with they way their voices hum. I sat with one ear listening to the people at the bar last night, oh I just the sound, the rolling r’s and lisp and deep voices of the men. It’s dreamy, Mc Steamy.  On my way home from blogging I met some people who invited me to drink with them.  We had a lot of fun, not much Spanish, not much English so we wrote on napkins and drew pictures.  The one word I could tell, and heard a lot was Bonita.  Simply means Beautiful. Oh, gosh, pout, blush, and more of a pout.

I was fixated and made them say things for me in Spanish. I think they thought it was all very cute and charming so they played along. Regardless, it was intoxicating for me. As was the local vodka. The sounds of the rolling r’s and rumble of it all, hmm, everyone is Bonita here, no matter how they may look in their own mirror.  Did I have vodka googles on?

I want to come back as Penelope Cruz, not only would I get to snog Scarlet Johansson, but I would have that sound, that magnificent, smokey sexy sound come out of my mouth with every word.  Inspired, I’ve been walking around today practicing my Spanish. Reading street signs, menu's, then saying English words with a Spanish accent. Honestly, it's easier for me and seems to work for them to! Of all the words, I’ve decided I like the sound of “lovers” the best.   Say it slowly, practice with me, here goes:

Let your whole mouth get around it (righto!) and when you start, begin with your mouth opened as if you were going to take a sip of your coke lite.  Then press your tongue up against the roof of your mouth, just touching your front teeth. From the front, and in slow motion, you should see the curve of the spin of your tongue. Then bend your tongue down and let out the first syllable “laah”.  Let your breath push out and make a breathless “ahhhh” sound. Then press your lips into a pout as if you were going to sip on the straw in your coke bottle and push the “veerrr”.  Then, while pouting push your tongue back up, curled under your front teeth, and bring your teeth almost closed with enough gap, lips still pouting, then, while you push out the final, sultry syllable, twist your tongue and then roll it inside your mouth to create the “rrrssssssshhhhs”.

Now say it all at once - “Laahh-veeerrr-rrrssshhhhhs”.  Next, stop picturing me saying it and think of Penelope Cruz saying it to you.  Hmm, No Te Calientes boys!

(Note to self,  probably a good thing to stop practising saying “lovers” as I walk along the footpaths too!)

It’s a good job I signed a contract with my new job, because I can tell you I’m already giddy in love with this place and if ink wasn’t on paper, I dare say I’d stay here for a while longer.  But if I come bouncing back into Changi airport with long black locks, big lips and lisp, you’ll know what’s happened to me.

No Te Calientes, I’m just joking, blondes have more fun.

Take it easy laah-veerrrr-ssshhhs!

TBS

xxx

P.S: Then just to prove an Argentinean point  as I walked home tonight after dinner, I came across a street dance off (which doesn't sound sexy enough or give justice to this tribal gathering). The Argentina’s of course love to dance; there was jungle drums, native calls like wolves, men and women with hardly anything on making some serious moves together, rubbing bodies, hands everywhere and shakin their booties like Shakira.  There was plenty of bouncing boobs, jelly belles and muffin tops swinging away, but again, absolutely Bonita. God If I moved here I’d never have to do no carbs ever again! 

Love love love. Viva Argentina!  

The other side of choosing your attitude

I’ve arrived in Buenos Aires, having slept for 12  hours of the 27 and feeling pretty damn good.  I’m sitting in a bar in down town BA having some Martinis and some local nosh to get me acquainted. Beautiful people everywhere here and I feel like I could be at home in Melbourne in St Kilda somewhere.  Nice.  It's just fabulous, I'm tapping my boots, there are such great tunes playing for me here.

This is the first day of the rest of my life.  I could say that every day, but I thought I’d choose to make it count today.  I have made a little promise to myself for this whole trip and coming year; I’m going to “choose my attitude”.  Ok, that might sound daft and fluffy, but after losing it last night before I left Singapore, I thought needs must.

Now, for all of those people that I’ve annoyed with my relentless overgrown smile and stories of beef farms and getting back with my people (the cows that is), and so many of your have said “….I want your life, I want to do what you’re doing…. “,  I’ll let you into a little secret, the shine wore off last night and I hit a massive brick wall. 

I had a power kip before packing last night (always pack at last minute) and when I woke my flatmate was out and I was alone. Oh dear.  A silent stare into his empty room, condo stillness, and then the anxiety set in. The little chin started to quiver, the cheeks went pink, my chest spasimed tight and yes, the heavens opened up.  Now I could have split some milk (or soy) and it would have had the same effect, so I'll admit a simple trigger was all I needed to release the pent up girl energy that was bubbling away inside.  One of life’s inevitable explosions.

What was it?  A combination of things really, mainly over doing it I guess.  That, and that age-old adrenalin addiction kicking in.  Right, some factors to consider;

It was the last day at my job, saying goodbye to working with some really special people. 

Then being told that my trekking trip booking had been “Argentinean”. Which meant, my only option was to camp outside instead of having a room in the Inn, which scared me a little to camp alone in Patagonia.  

Maybe having 18 people for a sit down gourmet three-course Christmas lunch on the Sunday before I left had something to do with it. 

Or what could have topped me off, was indulging in a new yummy romance that inevitably meant I had zero sleep for the week leading up to going away.

I felt like a child standing on the edge of a huge rock wanting to jump into the deep blue unknown ocean, pensive, but holding my nose ready to jump in, titillated, and definitely a little scared.

I was a little blubbering flower.  HELP.  A text message out and the universe did the rest.  Bless, the calvary to my rescue.  It’s remarkable you know – you just reach out and in an instant you have your cradle to rock in.  I had calls from darling friends telling me every one would be there with me holding my hand, texts saying they were with me and thinking of me and couldn’t wait to see me on my return; and then the mother of texts came in – unprompted, seriously this blew my mind and dried the eyes I can tell you – it said:

“Hey there, have a great trip and fun time. U don’t strike me as some one scared of adventure but in case that happens, my tip is to always remember a line a friend of mine told me recently and that was …. ‘The brave may not live forever… but the fearful do not live at all’, Cheers D.”

And of course there was Nona, my wonderful godsend of a helper, who is like a sanity checker more than anything else, who mind you, helped stop the tears as she sat at the end of bed laughing her head off at me whilst I was fussed over what the fuck I was taking.  

The other side of this little unexpected freak out is, that it’s perfectly normal to expect such a thing would happen when you've tired to do this shit on you're own.  And, well the nice thing about such a blubber is it just makes the edges softer really.  

So here goes - 

I didn’t have a going away party at work because I really hate good-byes, I get too teary and teary just makes me messy.  I do feel like I’m breaking up from a relationship with leaving this job. I’ve had such a challenging year, but it’s incredibly hard to walk away from.  The people I’ve worked with I would say I will keep as life long friends, so I find it all a bit confronting. I’m the master at confronting others, and do it often, but would prefer it not to confront me publicly.

• I choose to have remembered me for my smile rather than some Gwyneth Powtrow blubbering speech at a party.  Worth it. 

The Christmas lunch was inspired by my Aunt writing to me supporting what I was doing, but said make sure you’re not lonely on Christmas day.  So I thought, well, I’ll bring Chrissie forward this year and put on a show before I leave. I have to say, it was my best Christmas party I’ve thrown yet, the food was spectacular (if I do say so myself) the table was so bright and cheerful, every one got a goodie bag to take home, and wow, I got to sit and talk to people this time. God love Nona and helpers. 

• I choose to love my friends like family and take a moment at the table to see how happy people are eating my food and drinking silly amounts of wine. Utterly worth it – and not even considered a sacrifice to having more time to pack.

The silver lining to the camping situation on the trek in the Glaciers is that I’ll be camping with a fully trained “Patagonia propeller head geological guide”, who will be able to share all that “stuff” that will make those damn glaciers so much more interesting.  So lucky me, I’ll get to have more time with this dude.  See, always an answer.  Solid gold glacier, worth it.  

• I choose to hold my nose and jump into the deep blue mysterious water, because what is the worst that can happen to me, come what may, there will always be a story to come with it.  Writers worth it.

And as for being over tired - well, who can forgive me for falling for the alluring charms of an incredibly yummy Englishman over a Truffle dinner? Nice little Christmas gift, thank you.  Absolutely worth being over tired for.  

• I choose to be open to experience lovely warm and fuzziness when you least expect it. 

AND…. for shits and giggles....

Truffle Dinner at the Fullerton Lighthouse, 450 SGD;  having a hot guy in a pink shirt at that dinner, priceless; for everything else there is MasterCard!

I tell you what, pointy ends of the plane, flatbeds, cream PJ’s and oodles of French champagne and Campari on tap makes for an enjoyable down time day.  That’s what I’ve chosen to call the transit to my destination, some down time.  My rancho-relaxo day on the plane with Qatar Airways.  People scoff and say, blimey 27 hours travelling, I’m now saying, yes it’s my “me time”.

And now, I choose to present. Not only to take this experience in and soak it up mind, body and soul, touching and feeling at it’s finest… but I also realised I need to be really present.  For, when I got off the plane, through customs and as I approached my welcome FLEUR GLOVER sign, curved lips, bouncing blonde locks and long boots skipping towards my liaison, it suddenly dawned on me, something was up with this glorious movie made moment.  Wait, what, I’d left my entourage behind. Yes, that’s right, I’d left my trolley of my suitcase, carry one case and trekking backpack behind back inside in Duty Free.  Blonde in boots!

• I choose to be me.

The most important thing is always to know you have a choice - and you and only YOU decide what you want to do.  You can spar, you can discuss with your partners, debate with a friend, beg for answer because you’re foggy, but only you can make up your own mind.   Choose to be present. Simple idea really, but effective.

I choose to be a brave and curious character and I am relieved to be normal, and to feel naturally anxious, or scared and express it.  I’ve chosen an unconventional life in the eyes on many, but as I said to a friend recently who wished she were doing this trip instead of being a new mother, “the grass is always greener”.  I would love to have her life with a devoted husband and two beautiful children.  I have just had some living to do before it’s my turn.  

And until then, I choose life and great travel insurance!

Always remember to touch and feel.

TBS

Xxx

I know I need an editor, but I have had a few martini's tonight! :-)

p.s: I will apologise in advance, because I will come back incredibly annoying; full of energy, hope, inspiration and optimism.  You can choose to ignore me. 

p.s – next stop – a beef farm to herd the gorgeous creatures.  This is one of those ticks in the boxes life experiences.  I love cow’s, so be prepared for a cow blog. 

The other side of travelling alone

I came away to Phuket because I was supposed to be on a diving week with some friends and a boy I was dating. He turned out to be dickhead no 426 (and invited his ex girlfriend diving) so I thought why waste the paid for plane ticket,  at last minute, I ventured off to Phuket, solo. To the lovely Serenity Resort & Spa.

http://www.serenityphuket.com/index.php


It’s amazing when you travel alone what can happen to you that rarely occurs when you have friends around.

Firstly, I made friends with the lovely AOF who was my host at the resort.  I told him my story of why I was here alone, and that I was a writer, and asked if he had a room that had a lovely view that I could seek inspiration from and create my stories.  He upgraded me to a two bedroom master suite. I promise you this place is bigger than my condo in Singapore. It’s well over 2000 Sqm with a huge balcony overlooking the pool and beach in front.  Just Magic!

You are alone for as long as you want to be in this world of travel. On this trip however, I really wanted to have some solitude, me time and most importantly, rest time.  Not to sound ungrateful, but I’ve been entertained by many little situations and people that have wanted to share my company.

With out going into too much detail, I’ve been given financial advice in the pool and an invitation to dinner by an Englishman here doing a 6 week Thai Boxing Course.  He was married, so I said no!  I was then approached in the turquoise waters by a devilishly handsome French man wanting to get to know me better; that was until his beautiful topless girlfriend came trawling into the waters.  I thought, "hmm nice boobs",  got the giggles, bit my lip and bowed out gracefully of that situation as well.  I stopped at a random restaurant in the middle of the island and lunched with some boys from Germany, they were hilarious, and boys on tour definitely. They didn’t believe I was 37; not a day over 27, they were sure. God love them, if they had more facial hair I may have stayed longer. They didn’t look a day over 21.

Then came the silver foxes, three. Oh I had been spying these over my sunglasses during the time that I did have alone, midway in reading my “MBA in 10 days” book.  I’d been out on my scooter exploring the island, and decided it was time for a sundowner, a head splitting frozen Margarita. Just as I came to the bar, there they were. Gillies, Andy and Izzy. All incredibly handsome, addictively charming, fit men in their late 40’s.  I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy their company.  I was invited to dinner, to tour the local Thai weekend markets and feast on the local delights. Whilst this struck on my Big Sheila foodie chords, no was the answer. But ...I did suggest that I might come and have a drink with them after dinner.

I was too chilled after my day on the beach and didn’t want to rush, even for these foxy silvers. This is going to make me sound like a bore, but I didn’t go. I came back to my palace, showered, threw on "Sexy in the City 2" to watch with dinner, and got into a nice chilled zone and sense got the better of me.

My hotel phone rang off the hook; the Silver foxes intent to track me down, however, at my age and experience, I know when a man has that look in his eye, and this night would not be early, calm or without a story. And at my age and experience, I know when to know better, especially when all three foxes had that look. It was enough to just know. I was happy being alone.

The other side of being alone on holiday is Facebook and the mobile phone always lets you know people are thinking of you. Phone calls from Catherine telling me she’d had breakfast with Bethwyn, talking about how special they both thought I was, which melted my heart to know I was in their thoughts. And Pete, my darling friend from Greece, called to tell me he loved me and in his glorious spiritual bohemian ways, remind me that love is all around, but it starts with me. And darling, Sophia reminding me to define my boundaries, to set filters and keep dickheads out of my life.  Funny how people choose to call you at opportune times! (maybe it was her ringing in my ears saying no to the silver foxes!)


Having some me time has also inspired to branch out and travel alone further afield.  I've got 3 weeks off work, so I've booked a trip to Argentina in December. A little glimpse at my intinerary:

First off, I’m going to get my file of the authentic Argentina Beef farm, and herd me some cattle at Estancia Huechahue (pronounced "way-cha-way"!).  A working cattle ranch in Argentine Patagonia. Big tick in the box for me of must do's in life.  Then, next,  a group of 8 of us will ride on horse back across the Andes into Chile for 10 days.  Amazing. 7 hours a day in the saddle, my ass will be either rock hard or red raw!  Just sounds magnificent (check out the links below).  Next, I will venture to a remote Estancia Cristina, where I will spend Christmas nestled with in the Los Glaciers National Park. It looks like something out of "Legends of the Fall". (Where's Brad? I wont comment any further there).  It's so remote, to get there I will sail for 4 hours through the Argentino Lake among icebergs and mountains.  Afterwards, I set off on a 6 day trek through the national park and into the glaciers further to touch and feel more of Patagonia’s mysteries an marvel at the blue marble icebergs.  I'll spend New Years eve on Patagonia Glacier, slightly different from drinking too much champagne at some random party somewhere.  I don't think I'll get a snog at Midnight, but it just looks and feels perfect!  Finally, I’m going to round off my trip with some time in Buenos Aires, where I think it would be rude not to learn the tango! Not a bad little plan to hatch from a beach in Thailand hey!

Some links for you to look at:
Horse Riding across the Andes:
http://www.huechahue.com/index.php?language=eng&section=acr

The Estancia Cristina Lodge:

http://www.estanciacristina.com/english/contactos.html
The 6-day trek

http://www.antarespatagonia.com/programas/5.asp
The Hotel in Buenos Aires:

http://www.vitrum.com.ar/
A Youtube shot of the Glaciers I will be visiting

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v4UYpOOn9Ro&feature=related

I’d recommend the Serenity Resort to anyone that wanted a little special treatment in a more boutique style hotel in Phuket. It’s not a massive resort filled with every Tom, Dick or Harry and Leiu-phoa (his local underage girlfriend). It’s intimate and lovely.

What is also lovely is to know that we humans by our very nature are inclusive and seek to share as a normal way of life. And as I always say, everyone has a story to tell. I’ve enjoyed this time alone, and have taken pleasure in my little interludes as much as my quite time.  Funny, I haven’t been able to nail this dry MBA book, probably also why I’ve been open to people approaching me. And as for Argentina, I feel that this is going to be one incredible journey. What a great way to set myself up for the New Year and maybe some new beginnings.

And as for new beginnings and new experiences, let's see what comes in next year! Like movies, I feel like I'm setting this up for a sequel post in 2011. .... I'm excited.

Talk soon,

TBS

p.s – he he, as I’m writing this from my balcony I’m getting fox calls from below. My Silver foxes are asking me to join them by the pool today. I love how there is nothing more reliable than the male ego! Hmm, might write about that next! ☺

The other side of the Killing Fields

I’ve chosen to publish this from the raw format I wrote in that day: Here it is. Today I went to the S21 Torture Concentration Camp and the Killing Fields in Cambodia.

I’ve had one of those days whereby people have warned me, tales have told me and the world all knows, but somehow, when you are there, personally there, no-one can prepare you for what you will experience in that moment.

Our day started at the Tabitha Foundation, talking though the whole house building process. It was comical to start of with, telling us stories of how Tabitha are now responsible building the house foundations because teams before us we’re not so crash hot at the laying the foundation of the houses as a result, there were some casualties. So we were just here to hammer the floors and walls. Hammer, hammer, hammer - warned to watch for our thumbs, because it was bloody painful to get hit, time after time. We all laughed and joked and then there was silence for we were about to be told the truth of why we were here.

Nari, our host, told us of her story. She apologised for her broken English and she asked for us to bare with her and hoped that we would understand what she was trying to convey. There was no need to do so, we would all know in our heads, hearts and minds that what she was sharing was an honest reality of years of anguish, not quite reconciled.  By the time we had heard what she had to say, even those that had been there before, would be hit by a wave of sorrow and sadness, empathic to her cause.

The Khmer Rouge had told her entire family, and in fact the entire town that they needed to flee from Phnom Pehn for three days to be protected from a threat of war. They gathered with them a small amount of clothes and money to see them through a short stint away from home. Three days turned into three and half years, she told us.  She was stoic until this point. Then the glisten of tears formed in her eyes.

She told us she was separated from her family and forced to live with girls her own age. She was just 14, so young, so little, so innocent.  I knew girls her age, and what it was like myself.  No-one was allowed to show or express any kind of emotion or fear with the each other. They were forbidden to feel she explained. Their clothes were removed and they were forced to wear black.  Numb, isolated in confined communities frozen by horror of what may happen to them if they did not obey.

Her chin started to quiver and her eyes well. To me, it sounded surreal.  I couldn’t relate to what she was saying at first; incredible the strength and power of denial; I simply didn’t want to. Watching her and listening to even the sound of her voice, so raw and emotional, even some 32 years on, was too greater force for even my defiance to last.  My nose went first, then my eyes over flowed, a tear dropped to my chin; quivering, my chest felt rock hard as my mouth and lips swallowed my deepest breath. I was now completely connected to what she was saying.

She told us that she and the other teenagers worked form 4am and worked until 9pm, all day in the fields with hardly any water or food to eat. And that they all feared the night the most. She said again, they hated the night. She paused. And my chest sunk. Tears were streaming down my face. I knew what she was going to tell us was not going to be the entire truth. I could see sorrow and shame on her face. She didn’t need to tell us all, but a story was given about people never returning after the night visits, and that was enough.

She paused and cried. I could tell on her face she wasn’t telling us the whole truth. There was so much more to her story. Our camera’s stopped at this point and the room was still. Completely still, we were with her, even those that had been before.

I didn’t want to go to the Killing Fields. I had hoped to visit an orphanage instead; I wanted to deny this experience. However, I chose to follow the group and get on the bus to go there. The group satisfied my need for distraction with great chatter and talk.

Arriving at S-21, Dougie,our leader, explained that lunch was at the restaurant opposite at 12pm, at this point it was 10am. He told us, if anyone needed to retreat before lunch, they could. In my mind I heard if you don’t like this - get out.

I had said to a few of the group that I wouldn’t cope too well with this, and each agreed, there was no protecting any of us from what we were about to feel walking into that place.

Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum, the former Security Office 21 in “Democratic Kampuchea” was created by the orders of Pol Pot. IN April 17, 1975. Office 21 was called S-21 and designed for the detention and interrogation, inhuman torture, and killing after confession from the detainees were received and documented. From the moment I walked in, I felt it, a tight ball of hard torn hot energy in my chest. I felt sick. Immediately. I’d taken literally ten steps inside the compound.

We stopped at the signpost that framed the circumstances. Pol Pot had tricked the people into highlighting that were doctors, lawyers, teachers or what he had called Intellects and they were all captured and brought to S-21 to be tortured to understand remove them from society. These people were tortured for names of others, or merely because they had been educated or considered a threat to the communist regime.

Nari had cried earlier saying that what these people had gone through was nothing like the days of Hitler, because he didn’t kill his own people. Pol Pot had no regard for his own countrymen. It was all about killing off the strong to have control.

I walked around the grounds solo. I wept constantly. I walked past trees where prisoners, innocent teachers and doctors had been tied and tortured to an inch of their life. The marking on the tress were as if some one had taken an axe to the raw wood, but we knew, I knew, that there had been flesh before the wood was hacked out.

I broke away from the others and took myself to the rooms where there photographs of all the prisoners. I was hung of energy, overwhelmed by the sense that I was actually in the room filled with photos of every single victim killed. Hundreds of them, black and white faces in front me was paralysing my body, yet my face felt tears. There was so much sadness and sorrow in this room, and it wasn’t just mine, it was with every single person alive, walking through that room, not wanting to make eye contact with a living being, lifiting their glaze on to the eyes of the photos.

I wanted to walk out, it was overwhelming, but then I noticed a look on one mans face in a photo. It stoped me. I caught my tears in my throat and walked towards him to look closer. I was intrigued, there was a look of something more than a victim, it was almost a smerk. There was anger in his eyes and defiance in his expression. I sighed, a real “fuck you” expression, actually.

I’m fascinated by micro expressions and what our face really tells what we are feeling. I was compelled to look and wanted to see more “life” in these photos. In fact, most of the men had these looks; it was a look of “you might torture me, you might do inhuman acts to me, but you wont break me”. There was real courage in some of these men’s expressions. My breath drew so much deeper and stronger by seeing this.

Then I looked at the women. You could tell the ones that had been raped and molested. There was a look of shame in most of their eyes, some mixed with anger, so mixed with sadness. There certainly were no real blank expressions, masks maybe, but if you really looked, you could see. Essentially, there was a story on each of their faces, I didn’t need to read about the electrocutions, hangings, tree beatings, and rape or fingernail removals to know they’d been through a living nightmare.

We lunched and moved on to the Killing Fields. Again, I didn’t want to connect with what my head knew would be a horrible experience. Six of us hired a guide. Sitting under a tree beside the shrine of the 9000 skulls that were recovered, we were told that Khmer Rouge were instructed not to waste bullets, rather, these men, woman and children where killed using axes, pickets, rakes and and tree trunks before being kicked into a dug out grave.

The first grave we saw had 486 bodies in it. It was the size of a billiard table. I started to convulse with nausea. I had just read in a book that it was teenagers and boys that were the killers, these kids were brain washed, or forced to do these murders and the vision of these hinaus acts were making me sick to the stomach.

We walked further round the pathways of the fields. There were floods in the near by damn, so to our horror, the bodies were starting to come out of the ground. Clothes, bones and teeth were randomly poking out of the dirt track. They had only recovered 9800 of the 20,000 bodies that were believed to be slaughtered there.

We then came to path where the burial site laid for woman and children. Beside which, stood a mamouth tree, a oak with a wide glorious trunk. I had read about this in the bus on the way there, the young vigilantes would smash the babies heads against the tree trunk and then throw them in the pit. Pol Pot believed that he had to kill the root of the tree, and that meant, to kill the family of the intellects so that no survivors could seek revenge. At the moment, I really could visualise it. Oh. Smash. I didn't want to feel at this point. I didn't want an imagination. Floods of salty water dripped into my mouth again, streaming, my shoulder sunk and my body wanting to turn but so heavy. I wanted to see anything but this.

I turned and there was the “Hanging tree”. This tree was where men that were noisy as there were being killed were hung to silence them.  This is not what I wanted to turn to see. My mind rife with imagination- I saw spindly bodies hanging from these magnificent out reaching branches, all blowing in the wind, hanging there. Silent.

At that point, I utterly lost it. I didn’t want to connect with this any more, I wanted denial so much and  wanted to be back in that place before I got on the bus, happy with no experience. I was so scared to run because I was afraid that I would tread on burial grounds and for a moment I felt completely trapped.

I am not religious but I said a pray and I asked for forgiveness - so I ran. Back trough the path beyond the hanging tree, out to a wooden seat next to the soda stand. All I could do was curl my body in a babe shape and hug my knees. I was a mess with wetness from tears and streaming snot - I had no tissues left, and all I had to use was my shorts. I felt sick.

These innocent people were killed because they were educated. As I felt sick for the dead, I also felt such remorse for those who had been force to kill, because even if they were not formally brought to justice, they had their own life long penalty of mental anguish and nightmares of what they had done to their fellow countrymen. That in itself would be utter torture to a man corrupted by a force stronger than he.

The whole way back in the bus everyone was silent. No chatter, just very pensive, introspective people, all very shaken, moved by what they’d just seen.

The other side of what I experienced is this – apart from the bloodshed and physical torture, what kept creeping into my mind was this - that in our lives, in our work places and families, this kind of behaviour is prevalent in our every day worlds and we just come to accept it.

Meaning, that we are conditioned to either conform to a culture, a way of life because we are told, “that is just the way it is”. The ever prominent “just because theory” that I talk about often. It is what is because that’s just the way we do things, and common folk fear to have the presence, or the confidence to question, because of the trepidation of exile.

We’re conditioned to it. Society wants us all to be the same. Insurance policies want us all to be married, banks wants us to have a mortgage, families want us married no matter what, companies want us all to fit in to the “culture” and do what we’re told. The government wants us to all conform to regulation for order. And so on….

In so many ways we have people controlling us every day of our lives. It’s so rare that people stand up and say, “you know what, how does a big fat no sound, I’m going to do this……!" And you know what, when one says it, I can assure you, there are a majority of people in that group that all think it, but wont come forward. Condition is what we know.  What we know is what we are comfortable with. No matter how awful it might seem. It’s too scary to change. Do you know what I’m saying??

 Is the responsibility of being a member of society really democratic?

I got incredibly upset that no greater force such as the United Nations did anything to stop this atrocity. But then I came to realise that forces are greater than what any of us realise. Politics, socialisms, communism, culture, peer pressure, fear, desire, belief, religion. Family. Love.


What about the individual? Nari was the only survivor of her family. She was alone, striving to create a world that was better for her people. She is a survivor.

I always want to say something inspirational at the end of all of my blogs, but for now I'm focused and really care about telling the story.

But here goes; bless the survivors of the world - no matter what you have had to endure, somehow you're not alone.


TBS xx

The other side of building houses in Cambodia

I’ve just returned from 4 days in Cambodia and to be honest, I’m still processing the whole experience. It was one of those trips that, on paper looked to be pretty incredible, daunting and exhilarating all in one, but it could never be truly understood what it would the genuine impact would be like until I actually was there to touch and feel it first hand.

Here is our story.

A group of us, Bob and Boobette the builders, all went to put together houses, 16 in fact, for a little community an hour’s bumpy ride from Phnom Pehn. The estate we created were shiny rich green-tinned one-roomed Cambodia chalets on stilts. Each with three windows all fitted with the very natural Russian Air conditioning (rush in air) and bamboo flooring throughout. The big glorious green front door (as all Asia front doors should be) opened to a lovely wooden stair case that lead to the playroom down stairs and chill out area, or better known as the best place to rest the hammock.

The Cambodian dream; prime real estate; rice paddies fields out of your left window, the lou shack to your right, the main road close by, the local school upon your back door steps - location, location, location.

At lunch time we would transform ourselves into Santa and his elves and shower the children with presents, balloons, eye masks, pens and texters, rainbow coloured everything, noisy blowy things, more balloons and all sorts of shiny stuff that kiddies dreamed or heard about from other villages. It was Christmas every lunch time for these people.

Then, it’s paparazzi time, happy snaps everywhere with the children, and pucker up buttercup. Snap, snap, snap. Oh how cute, lots of giggles, lots of cuddles and so many of us have fallen in love.

The other side of this story is that as more Bob the builders came year on year, and that the total number of houses built per year had grown from 400 in 1996 to 1053 houses in 2010, the joy of Christmas has become more like the mad rush of the Christmas sales frenzy – everyone desperate to grab or get their hands on something shiny before some one else did.

The angels stopped singing, and the fantasy was cracking a little bit now – the happy faces turned to desperate ones, the kids scratched, the mothers whipped and the elves turned instantly into frightened white volunteers from Singapore. The dusty frenzy to grab that balloon was a sure sign that spirit of giving had naturally created an element of competition amongst our village, innocent, cute brown eyed beloved Cambodian families. If it were Willy Wonker and Chocolate Factory, someone would have fallen into the chocolate lake for sure. It was a little scary to be honest.

The naïve spirit of giving from the white people, from us all, has transformed our harmless people into aggressive snatching animals, clutching to have something materialistic because their community had elevated the value of these giving’s as status maybe? Has our commercialism turned their purity into ugly rivalry? Funny isn’t it, we think we are giving, yet, by our mere hope of philanthropic joy, we have created something far worse. Have we in fact turned these families and children into even more desperate people? Have we forced our inflated importance on material possession on these people? I'm still thinking about this.

Overwhelmed by these unexpected scenes, I stopped to take in what was really happening. These people live on less than a $1 a day, families that shelter their whole extended family in room that is 5M/5M sqm with a rickety door, windows that have no cover from the rain, the house is on stilts so they don’t wash away with the floods, and their feet score from the nailes poking out of the bamboo floors because our builders hammering techniques weren’t so great. Then there is the tin that is like razor blades, and if leant on out a window that hasn’t been nailed flushed against the wood frame, can cut through skin like butter on a hot day. I went to work to hammer the upstanding nails, and push down the tin that was not flush on the window frames. Actually, we all did from my team on that last day.

You know what, the Green tin is a recognition of the work and markings the Tabitha foundation, to represent progress in the community.

Each house cost just under 1000 USD to make with raw materials, and all the family had to do was contribute 40 USD to Tabitha to earn their new abode. Not a bad deal really! Prime real estate.

The extended families I mentioned are as old as I am. I made friends with a traditional dancer who looked about 18 in her photo she showed me, but she was probably more my age now. She had 2 kids, but no husband. There was one old woman there. But the elderly were scarce, they didn’t exist, they were extinct.

These communities were the young generations of Cambodians that were survivors of the Pol Pot regime. These were people were the new world that had lived beyond the hinaus crimes of the Khmer Rouge.

The reality of what these people had been endured was going to be far beyond anyone’s comprehension. Like words on a piece of paper, words like S-21 and the Killing Fields were “titles” I had chosen to block out because I knew they represented pain and blood shed. All until I was faced with the cold hard reality of these from the dawn before.

I will not be alone when I say that I have returned from this journey a slightly different person. Our leader Dougie said on the last night dinner that he would say that we all knew each other better, knew the country better and have learnt so much more about humanity, ourselves, our partners and friends throughout this trip, lessons that none of us would forget. He was right.

My building buddy Bill said, that he believed that this was a time when people were as real as they could be and therefore was the best time and way to get to know people. He was right, it was such a raw experience for all of us. Each and every person on this trip at some point came away with a new friend, or bond that we will cherish.

It’s incredible how in the face of diversity and hardship, or rawness of life’s cruelties, we get in touch with our real love for human nature and find ourselves drawn to the noble need to nurture. To nurture our friends, our families, our partners, our loved ones, our new found friends less fortunate and finally remembering for ourselves.

Like I said, I haven’t quite reconciled this experience yet, and maybe I wont until I do it again. But I will say this; help those that are not as strong or fortunate as you. You don’t have to build a house, or give them stuff that is commercial, you can simply extend a simple olive branch, but in your own special way, you can give back. It’s really simple.

Lots of warm and fuzzy.

TBS

xxx

P.s - Thank you to every one that supported this trip. You will never be forgotten.

I have written a separate blog about the trip to S-21 and Killing Field