In the past few weeks several people have enquired about the lack of posts, more specifically—the lack of posts on India and Sri Lanka. I thought I had shared enough, but I guess I was wrong. I also haven't had much of a writing spirit in me. Sometimes it just pours out and other times(like the past couple months), I am as dry as the Sahara. But in the spirit of sharing, here you go... After leaving the fresh hell that was Delhi and Jaipur, I wondered what new agony would await me upon my arrival in Agra. I was miserable, hot and tired. At this point, I just wanted to see the Taj Mahal and get the hell out of dodge. The train pulled into Agra station, the doors opened and there he was waiting, right outside my carriage. His name was Babloo. He was a short, sprightly young man. He stood there, in 30°C weather, in a long sleeve dress shirt and slacks. This seemed to be the young Indian man dress code. He held a sign with my name, smiled and said "Rhodesia? Welcome to Agra!", in his heavily accented English. At that moment, a calm came over me and I knew I would be taken care of. I trusted him immediately. I was escorted to my hotel, where I showered and put on my Taj Mahal outfit (a white and rust coloured salwar kameez that I had purchased in Chennai). On the ride there, I got to know Babloo. He explained that he had been in the travel industry for twelve years (he was only twenty-three). He told me of his family and life in Uttar Pradesh. There was something about his energy that I knew I could trust and that he would protect me. We arrived at the complex and went through a thorough security screening, where a female guard pulled out my pepper spray and asked me what it was. I told her it was dog spray. She gave me the side eye, handed it back to me and I went in. The moment we reached the archway and I caught my first glimpse of her, I was overwhelmed with unexpected emotion. I had seen the Taj Mahal in photos and documentaries countless times, but to lay eyes on her...I asked Babloo to give me a minute. I just stood there staring for a long while. A hardened traveller, who has seen it all, might find my awe of the monument pedestrian, but for me it was simply unforgettable. It was a Sunday, the sun was blazing down and it was extremely crowded. We walked around the perimeter, I touched the marble, ogled and took countless pictures. There were many people staring at me, but I didn't care. A few people yelled out random countries at me " Kenya, Nigeria, West Indies!" I paid them no mind. A man in his 20's with his girlfriend and family saw me and was urging his girlfriend to take a picture with me, like I was a monkey in a zoo. She didn't want to and I told him no. He gave me look a that said "how dare you say no to me!" He urged on, Babloo interjected on my behalf and spoke to him in Hindi. The guy pulled in close to Babloo, whispered something in his ear, smiled and patted him on the back, then walked away. I didn't have to understand Hindi to know that what he said to him was of a sexual nature. Babloo was visibly upset as we walked towards the line up. He wouldn't tell me what the man had said. He just shook his head and said " these people they don't understand. I work with tourists. They don't understand it is rude!" We stood in the line up for a glimpse of the mausoleum (the only part that is open to visitors). You're herded in like cattle, given one minute to take pictures and then ushered out. We stayed on the grounds for a while, chatting. Babloo, my protector, would block people as they tried to photograph me or get in my personal space. I knew without him my experience would have been a lot more frantic and unpleasant. After the Taj we wandered for a bit. I then went back to my hotel, had dinner and marvelled at the day's events. The next day Babloo was absent. It was just me and my driver (whose name I can't recall). He was a nice young man, mildly handsome but had a mouth full of teeth the colour of tar from chewing tobacco— which(to my delight) he indulged in on several occasions throughout the day. I was taken to Fatehpur Sikri to marvel at more Mughal architecture. For two hours, I wandered through the site and met a bus load of Indian tourists from Kerala, who were incredibly sweet and inquistive. I had several hours to kill before my train left, so my driver dropped me off at Babloo's office, right in the centre of busling Agra. It was the size of a small walk-in closet and adorned with maps and posters of India. He had a small desk, on which he managed to fit a computer, hard drive, modum, antenae, papers and countless wires. I sat on a tiny wooden bench,which could barley hold my rotund ass but would end up seating two of us. I would spend the next five hours, just hanging out with Babloo and his dear friend Harish, in a shoebox. My suitcase was just outside the office and I was paranoid about someone walking by and swiping it. Several shady characters came by and spoke to Babloo, some stayed for a while, but when he sensed my uneasiness, he sent them away. My solo female traveller mind said" WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!" Hanging out in a plaza in the middle of Agra with two dudes and less than desirable characters strolling by. My instinct told me I was safe. I knew I could trust Babloo. He was also two inches shorter and 80lbs lighter than me. Harish was as sweet as apple pie, didn't have functioning legs and walked with his arms. I relaxed but my spidy sense was always alert. We added each other to Facebook, shared pictures of our friends, discussed Bollywood stars. Harish went home and Babloo took me to the train station in an auto-rickshaw. We said our goodbyes and I gave him a big hug, which from all the peering eyes, I knew was inappropriate. I headed back to Delhi and another ten days of travel. Agra and Babloo were the turning point of that trip. It started off great and then it went to shit. But then, you get off a train, someone holds up a sign with your name and smiles at you and all is well again. |
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Stories I haven't shared
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Hello sister
"The real hypocrisy, I came to realise, was in the eyes and minds and criticisms of those who came from lands of plenty, where no-one had to fight for a seat on a train." Shantaram(Written by an Australian escaped convict, who lived in Mumbai for several years)
I read this line shortly after returning from India and it engulfed me. I read it over and over again. It made me re-examine my experience there. Like I said before, this can only be done properly with a bit of distance. I shall remember India not for the people who gawked, took pictures and pointed. I shall remember it for the simple man on the bus who told me I looked hungry and shared his chapati with me, or the Rajasthani man on the train who sang for me, or the owner of the tents who showed me true Goan hospitality, or the group or children who ran up to me to say "hello sister!" and shake my hand.
I read this line shortly after returning from India and it engulfed me. I read it over and over again. It made me re-examine my experience there. Like I said before, this can only be done properly with a bit of distance. I shall remember India not for the people who gawked, took pictures and pointed. I shall remember it for the simple man on the bus who told me I looked hungry and shared his chapati with me, or the Rajasthani man on the train who sang for me, or the owner of the tents who showed me true Goan hospitality, or the group or children who ran up to me to say "hello sister!" and shake my hand.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Date#28
Name: Deepak(that was actually his real name. I know there is no chance in hell of him seeing this so...)
Age:25
Occupation:Waiter
Nationality:Nepali
I took a stroll down Palolem Beach, looking for somewhere to dine. I randomly picked a spot and a young, handsome waiter approached. I ordered a Goan steak(because I knew for the rest of the trip, finding beef would prove difficult). We spoke briefly. I noted his accent and features were quite unusual for the region. I asked him where he was from, to which he said"Nepal" with a big endearing smile. I ate my meal and left in search of a lame party(because of noise laws, loud music must cease at 10pm. So they have headphone parties...which is as wack as it sounds).
The following night I attempted to walk past the restaurant to use the Internet cafe next door. I had to intention of eating there again(the food was good but I like to mix it up). Deepak saw me and inquired where I was going and if I was coming to eat dinner. There was something really calming about his presence, so I promised I would come back.
I sat down to an enjoyable dinner with Deepak frequently coming to my table to check up on me and engage in conversation. When I finished my meal, he asked if we could sit for a while. We walked over some tables on the beach and he pulled out a chair for me. He spoke in short,terse sentences and often apologized for his English. He felt like he spoke too much. I told him to keep talking, I found him something about him intoxicating—not in a sexual way, but he drew me in. He told me of his family back in Kathmandu, saving money for his sister's dowry, and turmoil of living far from home. He wondered why, at my age I wasn't married. I tried to come up with a feasible answer. I didn't have one. I asked him why he wasn't married or engaged. He wanted to ensure his sister was married and then his mother would find someone for him. He told me of his dreams to start a restaurant in a smaller town near by and told me about how delicious Nepali food is. We sat there for a long time, just chatting. There was something about his energy that was calming for me. I liked him.
Loud techno music blared from the other end of the beach. I asked him if he went to the parties to which he replied"No, no. I make 100 rupees a night. Enter is 500 rupees." I was embarrassed at my ignorance. It was getting late, so I told him I had to go. He said "wait,wait,wait one minute". He ran to the shop next door and came back with a small Goan treat that looked like peanut brittle. I was moved by the gesture(even though I had no intention of eating it because I detest peanuts). I clasped his hand and slipped a $10CAD note to him. I told him it was for his restaurant. I didn't mean for it to be demeaning, condescending or charity; I genuinely wanted this to go towards his endeavour. He promptly put the note in his pocket. He gave me his email address and password. I told him I didn't need the password and tried to explain that he shouldn't give it out. I gave him a kiss on the cheek and said goodbye.
That night I had a very strange dream. I lay sleeping in my beach hut, when a sudden swarm of locusts enveloped the room. The bamboo door burst open and a shirtless Deepak swept me off my feet and rescued me. The dream flashed forward to a life in Nepal. I had abandoned any semblance of my life in Canada. Deepak and I trekking through the foothills of the Himalaya's with our two children Lakshmi and Deepak jr. The sound of roosters crowing, just outside my hut, awoke me from that blissful dream...
Age:25
Occupation:Waiter
Nationality:Nepali
I took a stroll down Palolem Beach, looking for somewhere to dine. I randomly picked a spot and a young, handsome waiter approached. I ordered a Goan steak(because I knew for the rest of the trip, finding beef would prove difficult). We spoke briefly. I noted his accent and features were quite unusual for the region. I asked him where he was from, to which he said"Nepal" with a big endearing smile. I ate my meal and left in search of a lame party(because of noise laws, loud music must cease at 10pm. So they have headphone parties...which is as wack as it sounds).
The following night I attempted to walk past the restaurant to use the Internet cafe next door. I had to intention of eating there again(the food was good but I like to mix it up). Deepak saw me and inquired where I was going and if I was coming to eat dinner. There was something really calming about his presence, so I promised I would come back.
I sat down to an enjoyable dinner with Deepak frequently coming to my table to check up on me and engage in conversation. When I finished my meal, he asked if we could sit for a while. We walked over some tables on the beach and he pulled out a chair for me. He spoke in short,terse sentences and often apologized for his English. He felt like he spoke too much. I told him to keep talking, I found him something about him intoxicating—not in a sexual way, but he drew me in. He told me of his family back in Kathmandu, saving money for his sister's dowry, and turmoil of living far from home. He wondered why, at my age I wasn't married. I tried to come up with a feasible answer. I didn't have one. I asked him why he wasn't married or engaged. He wanted to ensure his sister was married and then his mother would find someone for him. He told me of his dreams to start a restaurant in a smaller town near by and told me about how delicious Nepali food is. We sat there for a long time, just chatting. There was something about his energy that was calming for me. I liked him.
Loud techno music blared from the other end of the beach. I asked him if he went to the parties to which he replied"No, no. I make 100 rupees a night. Enter is 500 rupees." I was embarrassed at my ignorance. It was getting late, so I told him I had to go. He said "wait,wait,wait one minute". He ran to the shop next door and came back with a small Goan treat that looked like peanut brittle. I was moved by the gesture(even though I had no intention of eating it because I detest peanuts). I clasped his hand and slipped a $10CAD note to him. I told him it was for his restaurant. I didn't mean for it to be demeaning, condescending or charity; I genuinely wanted this to go towards his endeavour. He promptly put the note in his pocket. He gave me his email address and password. I told him I didn't need the password and tried to explain that he shouldn't give it out. I gave him a kiss on the cheek and said goodbye.
That night I had a very strange dream. I lay sleeping in my beach hut, when a sudden swarm of locusts enveloped the room. The bamboo door burst open and a shirtless Deepak swept me off my feet and rescued me. The dream flashed forward to a life in Nepal. I had abandoned any semblance of my life in Canada. Deepak and I trekking through the foothills of the Himalaya's with our two children Lakshmi and Deepak jr. The sound of roosters crowing, just outside my hut, awoke me from that blissful dream...
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Images from the sub-continent
I thought I would share a few of my favourite images from my trip.
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| Bullet hole at Cafe Leopolds. |
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| Anjuna, Goa |
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| Palolem beach, Goa |
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| Anjuna, Goa |
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| Anjuna, Goa |
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| Anjuna, Goa |
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| Delhi |
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| Jaipur |
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| Jaipur |
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| Jaipur |
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| Agra |
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| Village near Bikaner, Rajasthan |
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| Village near Bikaner, Rajasthan |
Saturday, March 12, 2011
HIGHLY EXPLOSIVE MATERIAL
As I was writing this post the other day, thousands of people were dying in Japan. I stopped writing because it was inconsequential compared to a massive earthquake, tsunami and people loosing their lives. The post is actually about valuing life and the reminders I got along the way...
Reminder#1
I boarded a tourist bus headed to Jaipur(from Delhi). It was one of those big volvo buses; Images of Rajasthan plastered all over it. I sat in seat #1. I noted that the bus had a sizable crack that started at the base of the windshield and flowered into a lovely pattern at the top. I thought to myself "that's just great".
I gingerly sat in my seat. I shifted from side to side trying to find a comfortable position. This proved quite difficult as I was suffering from an acute case of "Delhi belly". As icing on the cake, my monthly friend came for a visit(only women will understand how herrendous this was) and it felt like hobbits were attacking my couter. I self-medicated with about eight Pepto Bismal chewable pills(which turn your tongue black) and advil.
I eventually settled into my book and the musical horn of the bus as he drove at high speeds, overtaking everyone and narrowly missing other cars, buses and rickshaws coming in the opposite direction(I was used to this by now). More than half-way through the journey, the bus came to a screeching halt. I lurched forward, a few people gasped. I look up to see that he narrowly(and by narrowly I mean a few inches) missed a stalled truck. The driver uttered some expletives in Hindi and started backing up. It was then I noticed the "HIGHLY EXPLOSIVE MATERIAL" label at the rear of the truck. I started to laugh(I'm sure the other passengers thought I was a nutter). But what else could one do?
Reminder#2
In Mumbai I ventured to the venerable Cafe Leopold's. It was very busy on the lower level so I was told to go upstairs, where I picked a random seat in the corner. I ordered a mango lassi and naan. I sat for a while, people watching. There was a window right beside me, from which I could see the lower level. I noticed a large crack in the glass. I traced the origin of the crack only to find a bullet hole. When my waiter came by I asked him about it. He told me it was from the Mumbai attacks. I sat there staring at it for a very long time, thinking about the lesson, the fact that I randomly sat there and said aloud(to myself)" I get it".
I had many small reminders along the way. Like the day my ankle was swollen from walking for hours on end. I was annoyed by its numbness and bulbous appearance. I looked out the window of my car and there was a man driving a scooter with a wooden peg for a leg. I stopped complaining. India taught me many lessons, all for which I am grateful.
Reminder#1
I boarded a tourist bus headed to Jaipur(from Delhi). It was one of those big volvo buses; Images of Rajasthan plastered all over it. I sat in seat #1. I noted that the bus had a sizable crack that started at the base of the windshield and flowered into a lovely pattern at the top. I thought to myself "that's just great".
I gingerly sat in my seat. I shifted from side to side trying to find a comfortable position. This proved quite difficult as I was suffering from an acute case of "Delhi belly". As icing on the cake, my monthly friend came for a visit(only women will understand how herrendous this was) and it felt like hobbits were attacking my couter. I self-medicated with about eight Pepto Bismal chewable pills(which turn your tongue black) and advil.
I eventually settled into my book and the musical horn of the bus as he drove at high speeds, overtaking everyone and narrowly missing other cars, buses and rickshaws coming in the opposite direction(I was used to this by now). More than half-way through the journey, the bus came to a screeching halt. I lurched forward, a few people gasped. I look up to see that he narrowly(and by narrowly I mean a few inches) missed a stalled truck. The driver uttered some expletives in Hindi and started backing up. It was then I noticed the "HIGHLY EXPLOSIVE MATERIAL" label at the rear of the truck. I started to laugh(I'm sure the other passengers thought I was a nutter). But what else could one do?
Reminder#2
In Mumbai I ventured to the venerable Cafe Leopold's. It was very busy on the lower level so I was told to go upstairs, where I picked a random seat in the corner. I ordered a mango lassi and naan. I sat for a while, people watching. There was a window right beside me, from which I could see the lower level. I noticed a large crack in the glass. I traced the origin of the crack only to find a bullet hole. When my waiter came by I asked him about it. He told me it was from the Mumbai attacks. I sat there staring at it for a very long time, thinking about the lesson, the fact that I randomly sat there and said aloud(to myself)" I get it".
I had many small reminders along the way. Like the day my ankle was swollen from walking for hours on end. I was annoyed by its numbness and bulbous appearance. I looked out the window of my car and there was a man driving a scooter with a wooden peg for a leg. I stopped complaining. India taught me many lessons, all for which I am grateful.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Home
Hello Loves!
I am back from the subcontinent. A new woman. A new decade in my life. India was exhilarating, infuriating, luxurious and squalid...I could go on with a slew of contradictory words to describe India—it wouldn't do it justice. If you have been reading my tweets, you know this trip was"a bit like a camel ride"(as one reader Ro aptly stated). Someone asked me what I thought of India, while I was still there. I don't like to give an opinion until I have left a place, have some distance from it and clarity of thought. I will give you a full synopsis of the trip with notes taken from my journal and I may even share a few pictures. Sri Lanka(I love you) will have its own special post(or my sister-in-law will shank me). It's 4am and I've unpacked and I'm counting my mozzie bites and staring at my tan lines. Goodbye for now. I love you and namaste.
I am back from the subcontinent. A new woman. A new decade in my life. India was exhilarating, infuriating, luxurious and squalid...I could go on with a slew of contradictory words to describe India—it wouldn't do it justice. If you have been reading my tweets, you know this trip was"a bit like a camel ride"(as one reader Ro aptly stated). Someone asked me what I thought of India, while I was still there. I don't like to give an opinion until I have left a place, have some distance from it and clarity of thought. I will give you a full synopsis of the trip with notes taken from my journal and I may even share a few pictures. Sri Lanka(I love you) will have its own special post(or my sister-in-law will shank me). It's 4am and I've unpacked and I'm counting my mozzie bites and staring at my tan lines. Goodbye for now. I love you and namaste.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Hello India
I flew into Mumbai via Brussells. It was an exhausting 17 hours of travel. I checked into the Mirage hotel(near the airport). It's a four star hotel(which I don't usually do). I wanted a soft introduction to India. This morning I flew to Goa. I had checked out a beach huts on-line and even messaged a few. They all wanted pre-payment by wire transfer. Yeah...not so much. I decided I would just show up and hope they had room.
At the Goa airport, I retrieved my suitcase quickly, stopped at the pre-paid taxi stand inside of the airport(apparently if you don't take a pre-paid one, you get scammed). I was led to my taxi and hopped in. About 15 minutes into driving my driver stops the car and another car pulled up beside us. My driver gets out, and hands my suitcase to his friend and says "this my brother, he take you". My heart sank. My suitcase already in the other taxi and cars were whizzing by I hopped in. I realised my pepper spray was in my suitcase. My new driver introduced himself(he could probably sense the "I'll cut you" aura I was emitting.) His name was Yogi. I thought one of two things: I'm going to get robbed or he is going to try and charge me a higher fare.
Driving here is like nothing I have ever seen. There were many times I just had to close my eyes. Anyway, Yogi got me to my destination and I paid the pre-arranged fare without any problems. I'm staying in a beach hut. It really is a hut. I've got my own balcony. As I walked to the Internet cafe I passed two warthogs and two back packers walking barefoot. Really people?
I'm exhausted. I need a nap. Ciao for now!
At the Goa airport, I retrieved my suitcase quickly, stopped at the pre-paid taxi stand inside of the airport(apparently if you don't take a pre-paid one, you get scammed). I was led to my taxi and hopped in. About 15 minutes into driving my driver stops the car and another car pulled up beside us. My driver gets out, and hands my suitcase to his friend and says "this my brother, he take you". My heart sank. My suitcase already in the other taxi and cars were whizzing by I hopped in. I realised my pepper spray was in my suitcase. My new driver introduced himself(he could probably sense the "I'll cut you" aura I was emitting.) His name was Yogi. I thought one of two things: I'm going to get robbed or he is going to try and charge me a higher fare.
Driving here is like nothing I have ever seen. There were many times I just had to close my eyes. Anyway, Yogi got me to my destination and I paid the pre-arranged fare without any problems. I'm staying in a beach hut. It really is a hut. I've got my own balcony. As I walked to the Internet cafe I passed two warthogs and two back packers walking barefoot. Really people?
I'm exhausted. I need a nap. Ciao for now!
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Why I love travel
Someone asked me that question the other day. I don't have a simple answer. I find it difficult to verbalise.
I went on about how some of the most memorable and euphoric moments in my life, have happened whilst travelling. I told her of my very first (and only so far) safari, in the Kruger national park. We spent almost 12 hours on a blazing hot date, trolling the park(well 1/4th of it because it's the size Wales). The day was almost fruitless. We only managed to see three of "The Big 5" . The sun was setting as we headed towards the gate. I tried to suppress the tinge of disappointment that was rising in me because I was beyond grateful for the experience. Up to that point we had seen elephants, rhinos, buffalos, giraffes, impalas, wildebeests, springboks, water bucks, duikers, bushbucks, civets and a martial eagle. As we took a leisurely drive to the gate, there they were, waiting for me: Two male lions sleeping on the road. I shrieked so loudly, I think I woke them up. That moment made the enitre day worth it. I was now satisfied. As we continued to the exit, the elusive spotted leopard(along with her cub) appeared. Our guide informed us that out of the 40 plus times he's been to the park, he'd only seen them twice before). We drove on and spotted some baboons and two rare birds. The floodgates had opened.
For me, travel has a redemptive quality to it. There have been moments of extreme frustration, sadness or fear and then you turn the corner only to meet someone amazing or see something that blows your mind. Travel opens your eyes, your mind, your heart and your palate.
I've been to 29 countries and India will be my 30th(just before my 30th birthday!) but I still feel like there is much of the world I have yet to lay my eyes on. I am beyond excited for this trip and I can't wait to share the journey with you.
I went on about how some of the most memorable and euphoric moments in my life, have happened whilst travelling. I told her of my very first (and only so far) safari, in the Kruger national park. We spent almost 12 hours on a blazing hot date, trolling the park(well 1/4th of it because it's the size Wales). The day was almost fruitless. We only managed to see three of "The Big 5" . The sun was setting as we headed towards the gate. I tried to suppress the tinge of disappointment that was rising in me because I was beyond grateful for the experience. Up to that point we had seen elephants, rhinos, buffalos, giraffes, impalas, wildebeests, springboks, water bucks, duikers, bushbucks, civets and a martial eagle. As we took a leisurely drive to the gate, there they were, waiting for me: Two male lions sleeping on the road. I shrieked so loudly, I think I woke them up. That moment made the enitre day worth it. I was now satisfied. As we continued to the exit, the elusive spotted leopard(along with her cub) appeared. Our guide informed us that out of the 40 plus times he's been to the park, he'd only seen them twice before). We drove on and spotted some baboons and two rare birds. The floodgates had opened.
For me, travel has a redemptive quality to it. There have been moments of extreme frustration, sadness or fear and then you turn the corner only to meet someone amazing or see something that blows your mind. Travel opens your eyes, your mind, your heart and your palate.
I've been to 29 countries and India will be my 30th(just before my 30th birthday!) but I still feel like there is much of the world I have yet to lay my eyes on. I am beyond excited for this trip and I can't wait to share the journey with you.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Joshua James Ogilvie
I met the dashing J.J.O whilst travelling with my dear friend E. We were staying at a charming B&B in Palermo, Sicily. The night before our departure we noticed a new sojourner checking in. We kept a close eye— deducing stories of his origin and likeness. The next day E and I checked out, but had hours to kill before our train departed. We decided to pass the time in the common room and there he was. The three of us sat in silence; BBC news blasting on the television, until one faithful moment when E asked " do you mind if I change to MTV?" and the rest is history. We spent the next five odd hours chatting, dancing, getting drunk of limoncella and vino. We also had one of the most epic photo shoots of all time called "Sexy time in Palermo". Our time came to an end. He walked us to the train station, helped us with our bags and we said our goodbyes. As the train pulled away Mr.Ogilivie dropped his pants(knickers on of course!) and ran along side the train until out of view. He is a world class traveller and one of the few true gentlemen left in the world. Ladies and gents I present to you Joshua James Ogilivie:
How do we celebrate the end days? It’s over at thirty right? Right! I mean that’s what they say and because I’m 30 I care what they think, or at least what they think about me. See at the age of twenty we don’t care what the world thinks of us, at thirty we worry what it’s thinking of us. I’m told at forty we come to the frustrating conclusion that the world wasn’t ever thinking of us at all. Marlene’s borderline thirty, she cares what we think, that’s why she’s got a bucket list and is documenting her intrepid ride to the brink of relevance. Have a look at some synonyms for the word intrepid – bold, fearless, courageous… I love that it takes those traits to successfully deal with the reality of this terrifying landmark. For what it’s worth Marls, you’re doing well ya little trooper.
The thirtieth year of my life had been my most extraordinary yet. It was punctuated by a move to Shanghai and having the thrill of participating in (a Chinese production of) The Amazing Race. It was an astonishingly rewarding experience, the time of my life. But I came second, lost by four minutes and don’t want to talk about it, digressing…
For my thirtieth birthday I decided to indulge my fervor for travel by flying from Melbourne to Shanghai. Breakfast with the family at home, 10 hours of free drinks and entertainment at altitude and an arrival in Shanghai just in time for dinner and a cheeky bar crawl through the French Concession. Perfect. Problem is every time I board a plane, I lament the absence of glamour in the whole affair. Watch Catch Me If You Can as a reminder of how stylish traveling used to be. In the 1960’s flying truly was the future, it was a luxury, and people dressed for the occasion. And could they dress! The airports were stylish, the stewardesses were stylish (and they were gorgeous), and the passengers were stylish. Nowadays people fly in their goddamn pajamas because they want to be “comfortable”. It’s embarrassing. The future was going to be so cool, and look what we did to it.
When I buckle in I think “forget the chubby man next to me who - going by his attire - got lost somewhere between his bedroom and the toilet, who has sauce on his chin and is surely minutes away from falling into a food coma and possibly into my lap. I’m keeping it classy up in here!” I block out the emergency briefing by dialing in The Rat Pack – Live at the Sands on the iPhone and as soon as we reach altitude I order a Martini and try to ignore the plastic cup it’s served in. Deano and Sinatra will be my drinking buddies because I’m flying and I’ll be damned if it’s going to be anything less than glamorous and stylish.
I like drinking Martini’s mid-flight, because I like letting the weather dictate my drink. Sunny day in London – it’s got to be Pimm’s and lemonade. Okay with a finger of Gin too… because you twisted my arm. Flying is much the same – when the seatbelt light comes on, it’s the bar telling me “until further notice, Martini’s will be served shaken and not stirred”. If it’s good enough for Bond.
My birthday was October 14th. In the weeks since I’ve signed on to host a Travel Show for Chinese television. I like Chinese TV because (thanks to a 1.2bn population) even the shit shows get watched by 20 million people. I also had my first crack at live TV, made a music video, got auctioned off for charity, bought another Bell & Ross, crashed a motorbike and (justifiably) got in hot water from my passenger for concerning myself with the welfare of the bike before theirs. It’s a fucking great bike… and they were both okay. I’ve scared the shit out of some children at Halloween and then scared the shit out of myself by waking up blue the next day having forgotten that I’d hit the town dressed as a Smurf and I’ve reached new levels of fitness – smashing the myth that at thirty the body gains a mind of its own.
So life’s over at thirty? Nah mate, this is life at its fullest – no longer slaves to dreams and not yet servants of regret. The journey only starts here.
Ironically in my birth week I found out my father is at the end of the road. Life always has a way to keep you grounded and of reminding you that it’s a precious bloody gift that we never asked for but have kind of grown to love and, well, depend on. Doctor’s expect he’s got six months left on this rock - this has become his intrepid journey to the real thirty. So how’s he celebrating the end days? For those paying attention that was the original question right? Boozy lunches and fishing trips with his old mates. And who would begrudge him that. He’s so busy living now it’s like he was dead before. Bless him. He’s setting the tone for the rest of us, keep living till you can’t anymore and remember that your attitude should dictate your circumstance and never the other way around. Oh and for God’s sake keep it classy because if you don’t you’re killing the future!!
Some final advice for those who can’t get their head around the above, remember you’re only as old as the person you wake up next to. In saying that, don’t search for the fountain of youth drunk because you might wake up young, but hating the way you look. Yeah you’ve been there…
I’m Josh Ogilvie and I’m 23.
-----
How do we celebrate the end days? It’s over at thirty right? Right! I mean that’s what they say and because I’m 30 I care what they think, or at least what they think about me. See at the age of twenty we don’t care what the world thinks of us, at thirty we worry what it’s thinking of us. I’m told at forty we come to the frustrating conclusion that the world wasn’t ever thinking of us at all. Marlene’s borderline thirty, she cares what we think, that’s why she’s got a bucket list and is documenting her intrepid ride to the brink of relevance. Have a look at some synonyms for the word intrepid – bold, fearless, courageous… I love that it takes those traits to successfully deal with the reality of this terrifying landmark. For what it’s worth Marls, you’re doing well ya little trooper.
The thirtieth year of my life had been my most extraordinary yet. It was punctuated by a move to Shanghai and having the thrill of participating in (a Chinese production of) The Amazing Race. It was an astonishingly rewarding experience, the time of my life. But I came second, lost by four minutes and don’t want to talk about it, digressing…
For my thirtieth birthday I decided to indulge my fervor for travel by flying from Melbourne to Shanghai. Breakfast with the family at home, 10 hours of free drinks and entertainment at altitude and an arrival in Shanghai just in time for dinner and a cheeky bar crawl through the French Concession. Perfect. Problem is every time I board a plane, I lament the absence of glamour in the whole affair. Watch Catch Me If You Can as a reminder of how stylish traveling used to be. In the 1960’s flying truly was the future, it was a luxury, and people dressed for the occasion. And could they dress! The airports were stylish, the stewardesses were stylish (and they were gorgeous), and the passengers were stylish. Nowadays people fly in their goddamn pajamas because they want to be “comfortable”. It’s embarrassing. The future was going to be so cool, and look what we did to it.
When I buckle in I think “forget the chubby man next to me who - going by his attire - got lost somewhere between his bedroom and the toilet, who has sauce on his chin and is surely minutes away from falling into a food coma and possibly into my lap. I’m keeping it classy up in here!” I block out the emergency briefing by dialing in The Rat Pack – Live at the Sands on the iPhone and as soon as we reach altitude I order a Martini and try to ignore the plastic cup it’s served in. Deano and Sinatra will be my drinking buddies because I’m flying and I’ll be damned if it’s going to be anything less than glamorous and stylish.
I like drinking Martini’s mid-flight, because I like letting the weather dictate my drink. Sunny day in London – it’s got to be Pimm’s and lemonade. Okay with a finger of Gin too… because you twisted my arm. Flying is much the same – when the seatbelt light comes on, it’s the bar telling me “until further notice, Martini’s will be served shaken and not stirred”. If it’s good enough for Bond.
My birthday was October 14th. In the weeks since I’ve signed on to host a Travel Show for Chinese television. I like Chinese TV because (thanks to a 1.2bn population) even the shit shows get watched by 20 million people. I also had my first crack at live TV, made a music video, got auctioned off for charity, bought another Bell & Ross, crashed a motorbike and (justifiably) got in hot water from my passenger for concerning myself with the welfare of the bike before theirs. It’s a fucking great bike… and they were both okay. I’ve scared the shit out of some children at Halloween and then scared the shit out of myself by waking up blue the next day having forgotten that I’d hit the town dressed as a Smurf and I’ve reached new levels of fitness – smashing the myth that at thirty the body gains a mind of its own.
So life’s over at thirty? Nah mate, this is life at its fullest – no longer slaves to dreams and not yet servants of regret. The journey only starts here.
Ironically in my birth week I found out my father is at the end of the road. Life always has a way to keep you grounded and of reminding you that it’s a precious bloody gift that we never asked for but have kind of grown to love and, well, depend on. Doctor’s expect he’s got six months left on this rock - this has become his intrepid journey to the real thirty. So how’s he celebrating the end days? For those paying attention that was the original question right? Boozy lunches and fishing trips with his old mates. And who would begrudge him that. He’s so busy living now it’s like he was dead before. Bless him. He’s setting the tone for the rest of us, keep living till you can’t anymore and remember that your attitude should dictate your circumstance and never the other way around. Oh and for God’s sake keep it classy because if you don’t you’re killing the future!!
Some final advice for those who can’t get their head around the above, remember you’re only as old as the person you wake up next to. In saying that, don’t search for the fountain of youth drunk because you might wake up young, but hating the way you look. Yeah you’ve been there…
I’m Josh Ogilvie and I’m 23.
-----
Friday, November 12, 2010
I'm back
Hola muchachos! I 'm back from a short stint in the Dominican Republic. It was a working vacation(a little work but mostly play). When I was informed of where I would be staying, I googled it immediately and jizzed in my pants. When I travel, I am usually on a tight budget and tend to skimp on accommodation
I stayed at Casa Kimball, located on the north side of the island. This 20,000 square foot villa is owned by Spencer Kimball(one of the founders of Google, who is apparently single and needs to be my first husband) and designed by Rangr Studios. I'm not adept at describing architecture but it was AMAZING!
I was taken to my room, I immediatley took off my clothes and headed for the rain shower. The mirror was directly across from me, so I lathered up, danced and sang all while looking at myself. It was great.
I realized something on this trip. Spencer Kimball needs to be my first husband. After the marriage ends in a bitter divorce, I will take Casa Kimball from him and then it will become a sort of harem for me and all my Domincan boy toys. Must. Make. It. Happen.
I stayed at Casa Kimball, located on the north side of the island. This 20,000 square foot villa is owned by Spencer Kimball(one of the founders of Google, who is apparently single and needs to be my first husband) and designed by Rangr Studios. I'm not adept at describing architecture but it was AMAZING!
I was taken to my room, I immediatley took off my clothes and headed for the rain shower. The mirror was directly across from me, so I lathered up, danced and sang all while looking at myself. It was great.
I realized something on this trip. Spencer Kimball needs to be my first husband. After the marriage ends in a bitter divorce, I will take Casa Kimball from him and then it will become a sort of harem for me and all my Domincan boy toys. Must. Make. It. Happen.
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