Take any Old Year - Turn it Stupendously Epic

I’m not sure how I’ve survived 2012: I’ve fallen 869 times, crashed 3 motorbikes, blown 17 bicycle tyres, licked any and everything, hitched 2687 km, cycled 2953 km, motorbiked 3214 km, sailed some 13 060.8 km,  shipwrecked, probably contracted rabies, and today celebrates 396 days of unemployment... not to mention surviving the predicted world’s ending...

I’ve always pretended to be ballsy. I’m not particularly - I’m a woman, we don’t have balls. I think my could-be-any-race-group complextion (currently leaning towards Nigerian), calloused bare feet and mangled mop of gypsy hair gives me that caveman-style untouchable aura. But I bruise, I bleed, I have sleepless nights of worry and I’m generally just as scared as the chickens who live across the road from the KFC... 

A year ago today I was sat on a friends balcony in Singapore staring worryingly at the world map wondering where to go next... My goal was a flightless mission to Spain, maybe. But the terrified little girl inside had only a giant teddy bear and a gianter backpack to cling to. And the bank account probably wasn’t very happy already.  A pep talk with myself, and excessive amounts of prayer later I missioned off into the abyss and let life unfold. 

It’s easy to have a good year when you play it safe. You know what’s going to happen. You know who and where your friends are. You have a secure job where you can budget and plan bonuses. You have a cellphone contract and you know that when you walk into a local supermarket or a restaurant that you’ll find the brands and the flavours that you’re looking for and if you don’t you can at least speak the language and ask. But an excellent year involves a bit of roulette.

You never know what you're going to eat next....

“Never try, never know” is one of the many catch phrases of Asia (normally used to promote drug sales and prostitution). You don’t. Think back to the year that’s just past and how many times you turned down offers that made you nervous, conversations with people who smelt funny, travels to places you’d never heard of; how different would life have been if you’d said ‘yes’ more (or, in a few selective cases “no” more)?? 

After 2 and a half years of being away and 5 months of sailing, I arrived home. We moored in Richard’s Bay (South Africa) a little over two weeks ago after some incredibly hectic seas and a good many sleepless nights of holding on for dear life. I was looking forward to seeing friends and family and familiarity. I kissed the ground (which tasted very similar to dirt the world over, if you were wondering), and spent a couple of hours bouncing up and down in happiness (before I wore myself out and took a 4 hour power nap). It was so good to be back but I’d subconsciously already decided to run away again. 

The purple show's the radar's reflection of the storm surrounding us

The tattered remains of our gib

The crew and the friendliest immigration man I've ever met who gave the biggest welcome hug

I missioned to Cape Town (car-bus-car-car-car-car-bus) for the first sibling reunion in 3 years and found a whole lot more than I’d bargained for.  The best year of my life (so far) just got even better and ends with me dating my best friend of 10 years.... And that’s more than definitely worth sticking around for.

The fam

Aren't we an attractive lot???

I’m about to give the realer world another shot [GULP] - but this doesn’t for a second mean that the adventures are over. It simply means a new sort of gypsyism and I’m both excited and terrified - I have no idea where 2013 is going to take me.

And now it’s time to check my bank balance for the first time in 2 years - this is officially the scariest thing I’ve done all year... 

Happy 2013!! Go crazy. Be awesome. Say yes a lot. Come Visit. Don’t die.

Life's a Journey

They say life’s a journey.

And so far it’s been quite a trip – learning to crawl becomes learning to walk, learning to walk becomes learning to do so without being hit by traffic or roaming elephants or falling off a cliff. You progress and learn how to use a toilet and read and write (assuming of course that by reading this you’re all literate… if anyone actually reads this trash). You progress through school and learn the basics of physics and math and languages and geography and history and art and begin to develop a personality and you learn how to trust and make friends and how to love and hate.

When the foundation’s been set, you learn how to make difficult choices like what and where to study or whether or not to grow up. Some get married straight away and sprout a family, a white picket fence and some llamas. Others start climbing a corporate ladder and some try and produce an empire or become dictators or assassinate [or lick] royals. Some become doctors and lawyers and actuaries and psychiatrists while others become toilet cleaners and Celine Dions and gypsies.    

Last night a friend said to me:

“Can I ask a slightly random question? And slightly existential:

are you searching for something?”

And I had to think about that for a while. What was I searching for…

For those who go through 300 years of med school, have you arrived when you’ve finally graduated? Or is it only when you become specialized? Or is it only when you’ve become the best?

For those who have families, have you arrived on your wedding day? Or at your first house owning? Or at the birth of your first child? Or is it only when they’re potty trained or graduated or sprouting grandchildren?

Do celebrities ever arrive? Or dictators ever conquer enough? Do archeologists only find success in uncovering mammoth ancient ruins? Do cleaners ever get things clean enough? Do travelers ever see enough of the world or endure enough adventures?

Can you ever have enough friends? Earn enough money? Find enough time? Sproot enough offspring? Get enough ticked off your bucket list (http://barefootedgypsy.blogspot.com/2011_01_01_archive.html)? Find enough happiness?

A couple of weeks ago I found myself being potty trained all over again – learning how to use a pump toilet. Then I found myself learning to walk again – it’s a different kind of ground on board a sailboat. I had to learn again how to keep meals down while the boat bounces about on rolling waves and every time I go ashore it begins again because the land seems to constantly shift beneath my feet. I’ve gone from pretend-to-be grown up to an infant in days. 

I’ve thought about it a lot over the years – but last night’s question really made me ponder. I know I’m definitely not just gypsying about to escape real life or run away from responsibilities, but what is it I’m searching for? It’s like I’m chasing something that doesn’t even exist.

This is probably far far and further too deep for a Monday morning in the office/ on the commute/ in a space station/ lazing in bed or on a beach/ wherever you may be… but I really am curious how anyone ever really knows that they’ve arrived? While I’m still frivolously happy plottering about this incredible world – meeting amazing people, seeing incredible beautifulnesses, sampling foreign cuisines, learning new skills and licking foreign artifacts – but where and when does it all end? How do you know it’s time to end one and begin a new chapter?  

Life’s a journey all right, but where does it end?

.... THE END.

How to be a Sort-of-Proffessional-Long-Distance-Cycler-Person 101

So I've been pretending to be a cyclist for a whole week now and I have much advice for all aspiring future long distancesers. And while I know you think I might not be the best person to get advice from with me being 27, homeless, unmarried, and unemployed, and so on and so forth; but I am wise far beyond my ripe old age and my mother says she's proud of me anyway so I think you probably should listen up. Ok? Good. Now shut up and absorb wisdom.

1)  Firstly to be a professional biker type you should probably be in a reasonably sound shape first. You know, maybe walk the dog once in a while or if you don't have one, race your grandma around the block.... even kicking the dog creates some muscle and let's be honest, in today's world every little helps. 

2)  Secondly, and this is a big one, don't start cycling in a mountain range. I know it might sound all romanticized and what not but it isn't. It just sucks. It sucks a lot. But at least there is pretty scenery to enjoy while you throw up from overexertion.

3)  Keep your luggage light. I know a 75 litre backpack might not look like much but it throws your bike a little off balance. I also strongly disadvise the carryance of oversized stuffed toys, while they may appear awesome (actually, let's be honest, they are awesome) when strapped to the back of your bike,  they tend to get stuck in wheels and local kids try and grab them and well, they just aren't quite ideal. 

4)  Don't buy a chinese bicycle. The wheels tend to solidify with the body of the bicycle making riding a lot harder than it should be if not impossible. Also on occasion the handlebars tend to follow there own minds and duck and dive making breaking and gear changing a nightmare and this will conveniently happen while you're racing downhill.

5)  Don't tell you cycle buddy that you'll meet up in the next town when they have all the local currency on them. It really does suck when you ride the last 30 km without a drop of water....

6)  Don't cycle at night. Even if it is only 21 km in the dark... You tend to not realise that you have a flat tyre, especially when you don't have any lights (or you forgot to bring batteries) and then a sporadic thunderstorm breaks out and you get drenched and miserable and end up sleeping under a fruit stand on the side of the street where mosquitoes molestorise you and frogs don't shut up. 

7)  Take some tools with you. Even when you have a puncture repair kit and a spare tube and pump you might just realise at that inopportune moment, 14 km from the next town, that your wheels don't have quick release and have to push.

8)  Buy gloves or grow a pair of man hands - blisters suck and you get to the point where you can't even change gears anymore. Gears are important. I know this now know.

9) Don't underestimate the ability to bruise... you won't know where they come from or why they hurt so much, but before you know it your whole body will be a bruise....

9)  Don't start your journey without realising there is no physical way to cycle over 2000 km in 3 weeks... because at some point you're going to have to start hitch hiking to your friends wedding with your bike!!!

Battered Buttocks

My bum is blue.

Let me rewind a little so that you don't mistake me for a wierdo...

It was a dark and stormy day down in Can Tou, Southern Vietnam and I was boarding a bus. A local bus. A little orange bus that had Teddy stuffed into the luggage department for the first time ever... I was headed for Saigon, a trip that should have taken 3 1/2 hours maximum. 4 hours in I had one man drooling on my left shoulder after he mistook it for a pillow whilst the woman sat in the aisle next to me had donated me one of her plethora of children - the one who I can almost assuredly say needed a nappy change - and placed her on my lap... 7 hours later when I finally arrived I found myself lost and confused in the biggest city I'd visited in a while, swarmed by motto drivers that both wanted my money and my bear. While lurking the streets in search of anything English, I swore I'd never take another Vietnamese bus.

... This is how I found myself the proud owner of Percy, my 97cc fake Honda Dream lovingly referred to as the "Family Vehicle" in Saigon. Little Percy raced over hills and rice paddys and carried me the 2254 km to Ha Noi, the capital (I think) where I handed him over to Australian Ian who I hope is treating him with all the love and compassion deserved by such a humble [slightly gay] steed!!

It was only after he was out of my life that I discovered that there is only a bus towards Laos - no trains or boats or ox wagons - only busses!! I began to panic. I mean it was unbelievable - how dare they limit their transportation options? Dangnabbit. I wasn't taking any of it!

It dawned on me that hitch hiking was probably my best option but I was sternly warned not to do it alone so I began the hunt for company. I plastered posters around the city and on-line and became that annoying person that joins your table and disturbs your meal to pester you about things you couldn't possibly want.

I'd been in Ha Noi for almost ten days already and needed out. The only other person I knew who wasn't taking the bus was Rohan and he'd just purchased a bicycle...

It was over lunch on Tuesday that his friends led me to contemplate the cycle - no mention of course that he had actually done long distance cycling before or that he fitness levels resembled that of a Kenyan olympic sprinter. But the idea was there...

On Wednesday I awoke sold on the idea and roamed the streets in search of a worthy steed (I was hoping for pink or green or rusty), some luggage carriers and a bell (you can't have a bicycle without a bell). And then I was set - what more do you need??

Thursday (Yesterday I think) was departure day, and I woke up excited-to-the-point-that-you-almost-wet-yourself only to realise that there was no physical way to strap all my earthly belongings to my bike let alone pedal them over mountain ranges. Departure was delayed as I shipped 11.36 Kilograms of useless hogwash to mum in China and then delayed again as I discovered Teddy missing. Perhaps I shouldn't have put him in the shower... now everyone wants to cuddle him. Whore.

Post officing... enjoy mum!

About 34 km into yesterday's cycle Rohan taught me that bicycles have gears (I'm still a little perplexed by them though) - but after 80 something Km we pulled into Ho Bihn and celebrated life with a quality feast involving copious amounts of Com (rice) and tofu.

Today was a bit of a different story. It was about an hour into this mornings ride that I realized why most people invest in cushioned bicycle seats and why everyone obtains some level of fitness before attempting to cycle through mountain ranges and why you don't see anyone else with a giant Teddy bear strapped to their bicycle. I of course had acquired neither and of the latter I'm not too fond at present. I'm proud to say however that after today's 71 km cycle (At least 65 of those uphill), I've become a skilled walker of the bicycle and with my knees refusing to bend and my bum an unhealthy shade of whale skin blue, I've got to do it all again tomorrow. And the next day. And the and the one after that. Potentially for the next very very long time.

I said it before in the days of lonely motorbike breakdownages, but this is why most people take the bus...