Hello everyone! |
I spent a few days in Bangkok, not so much by intention as by not knowing where to go first. Did some sightseeing - temples, palace, river tour (where I got a first glimpse of how simply many people here really live) - spent too much money, and got thoroughly lead poisoned from the pollution, and tired of haggling with unwilling taxi and duk-duk drivers. A duk-duk is a kind of tricycle with a motor, and a passenger seat open to the heat and fumes, though protected from the rain by a roof which comes down just far enough to prevent you from seeing anything. It is not a beautiful city, though the special places are very well looked after. However, you can get tired of seeing Buddhas in gold, jade, marble, gold and more gold.
I am now further north, in Chiang Mai, capital of backpacking tourists, with even a 'temple to tourism' (my phrase) in the form of a brand new twin spired temple and gardens on top of the highest mountain in Thailand, where you can even get Kit Kat and crisps. Thai food in general is lovely and you don't see much of the usual kind of junk food you get at home. The food on the street (literally) looks very tempting, but I'm not very brave, and it's hard to tell what it is. I've just been on a three-day jungle trek, which was really great. We did a lot of walking on quite difficult and steep tracks and I have sprains, bruises, scratches, and mosquito bites to show for it.
We also rode elephants for a couple of hours, and went down the river on home made bamboo rafts. Slept in villages of the hill tribes - very very basic, therefore no sleep at all for two nights - also one of the group snored horribly, it was very cold, and very hard bamboo platforms to sleep on, and the cockerels start at 3 am. We were offered opium on the first night, and some of the group tried it, but I didn't (pity really - they said it was quite nice). This was mainly because I hadn't brought any small change and the guide told us that if we gave them a large note, they would run away and not come back, as they were all opium addicts. However the second night's village was more civilised and the girls danced and sang for us.
Why did the chicken cross the road came to mind very often on the way up to the border and in Laos.
Hens and chicks seem to enjoy living dangerously on the edge of the main roads and frequently make a dash for the other side. It led me to ask myself why I am doing something quite similar! Probably just to find out how uncomfortable I can get. It's the dry season and everything is hot and dusty, and after three days of sweat and dirt and no washing, values begin to change.
Time is variable here actually quite reliable in Thailand, but not so in Laos. People say yes to everything, but you never know if they've understood, and if they have, whether they'll take any notice, so once embarked, you're somewhat at their generally good natured mercy.
Going down the Mekong to the old capital Luang Prabang was an experience. I was advised to take a slow boat the alternative is a long-tail boat a speedboat, which can go at up to 50 mph and often a crash helmet, is supplied. The slow boat takes two days and you stop for the night at a village called Pakben. The boat is long and narrow and holds about 20 people who sit on narrow planks along the sides of the boat.
You can also sit on the roof, which is narrow and has nothing to hold you on, but it's fun as there's plenty of air and views, and the boat sways from side to side with the current or if too many sit on one side. The river police don't allow roof-sitting, but no-one takes too much notice, except the driver (captain) who fusses now and then. I'm not much good at judging distances, but I'd say the Mekong was 2 or 3 hundred metres wide, but got narrow with rapids at times, and the currents swirl in many directions, causing rough patches and whirlpools. I don't know where you would end up if you fell overboard. Probably on the bottom.
There are rocks and sandy beaches, often very steep, along the river which is low at this time of the year, and the jungle comes down to the high water mark, with villages just on the tree line usually, but sometimes shelters right down on the sandbanks. The locals have shallow long boats rather like rowing skiffs. They fish and trade, even pan for gold, up and down the river. Beyond the first line of trees are layers of hazy mountains, all covered with jungle, except where logging has taken place.
The boat had no toilet, so stopped every 2 or 3 hours - just pulling in to the bank, and everyone leapt out and disappeared behind rocks and bushes. Finally reaching Pakben just before sunset, we climbed a steep sandy, rocky shore to a 'tourist village' with guest houses and restaurants - all wooden shacks, very basic, but did have a loo of sorts and the food was OK. In the morning one or two couples reported have had rats in their room, but mine, was stuffy but otherwise OK.
Sitting outside in the evening, the son of the house was taking the money and I had my first taste of the Lao sense of humour. They have no qualms about laughing at you in a very innocent sort of a way - just enjoyment - it is a little disconcerting at first - he looked at me and said: Hee hee hee, you mama, you mama, how old you? Later in Luang Prabang two little girls started laughing at my feet, which are admittedly a bit odd
On the second evening, after a very long day, we finally pulled in to Luang Prabang. You would hardly notice there was a town, there is so much vegetation, and it's just the river shore as usual - but at least there are duk-duks waiting to grab you for their favourite guest house (which luckily was civilised and comfortable).
Luang Prabang is a charming town. Not very big, probably rather larger than Clifden, but nowhere near as large as Galway. The traffic is slow and not too heavy, mostly duk duks, a few trucks and lots of motor cycles. There are lots of coconut palms and other trees so that if you climb the little hill in the centre, you can hardly see the houses. The buildings are nice - French Colonial if they are of any size, and open fronted wooden houses otherwise.
There is little concept of privacy, everyone's house is open to the street. The restaurants are often tables out on the steps or verandah in front of the open living room. And the kitchen is in the back yard, and quite primitve, though there are some upmarket hotels and restaurants too. The town is full of Buddhist Watts (temples), and they are very beautiful, with the monks' quarters alongside and small houses for large drums, and stupas (round spires), and bougainvillea and frangipani trees, and of course the monks themselves in their orange robes. Here the monks are not so beatific as in Bangkok, there are a lot of young lads, who behave just like young lads.
Young lads here like to come up and practice their English, if you are a sitting target, as when sketching. They will stand and talk for hours, or just stand. That takes a bit of getting used to as well. Every morning I went out walking around town and found something new. A view, a temple that was special, a gallery, a tiger, a flock of turkeys with a large male ruffling all his feathers. By one o' clock it was too hot to do much.
From the artistic point of view - many of the temples are wonderfully decorated with frescoes of traditional religious stories, apart from the usual gold and mosaic decorations. And of course there are magnificent gold Buddhas inside, usually very large, surrounded by smaller ones, artificial pink lotus flowers, candles, and offerings of flowers from the worshippers.
I found a couple of private galleries - some quite nice paintings, mostly of Buddhas or traditional scenes. One more of a contemporary style which I liked a lot - a view of the Mekong, very simple. I bought some paper made of Mulberry bark, and brought it away in a woven bamboo holder.
The best art for me was in the Royal Palace Museum. This was quite small for a palace, with its own magnificent Watt, it had a Buddhist facade, but behind that it was French colonial style - quite livable in. The throne room was painted entirely in deep red, and all over the entire room were mosaic figures of Japanese coloured mirror glass - people in various activities, horses, elephants. Really gloriously colourful and elegant, with lovely chandeliers.
The king's and queen's bedrooms were very simple, quite large with plain wooden furniture of an Art Deco style - a total contrast to the colour and magnificence elsewhere. In the corridors were superb huge ceramic jars and traditional prints on the walls. The dining room too, very plain and simple, then the Queen's reception room with all the gifts from other countries. These were lovely - exquisite Chinese ivory carvings - the filigree ball within a ball all carved of one piece, more fabulous vases, silverware, some European paintings, and I think best of all, a silk tapestry of the nearby waterfalls. This was not made in the way of a French tapestry, but stitch over stitch of the finest silk thread in wonderfully subtle golds, greens and creams. When I see things like this, I feel it is an impertinence to call myself an artist.
I went on a trip on the river with some others from my guest house - you negotiate for a boat - and we visited the caves with the hundreds of Buddhas, which is really counted as a temple, the whiskey (out of rice) village, the weaving (out of silk and cotton) village, the paper (out of coconut fibre) village.
The whiskey village was really like a witches den - stuff bubbling everywhere (not opium this time ,though that was on offer too). There are fires in pits in the sand upon which stand old oil drums full of rice. It was also called the village of the jars, but they don't make them any more, just use them for the whiskey. The rice is soaked, cooked, washed in the Mekong (!), then distilled in a contraption of drums and pipes and jars. Similar to poteen, but legal!
The watt just down the road had a fete for three days one weekend - a constant blaring of chants and preaching and music, all mixed up They have old fashioned loud speakers - you know the kind). The children here are lovely, and the men seem to enjoy them and often carry the babies, and seem involved with them, and they play all over the place. The fete reminded me of the time we came to Ireland, when there would be a hand operated roundabout at the pony shows, and the stalls were all homemade, with games using bottle tops and magnets, a tree with little messages tied to it, all very unsophisticated and unspoilt. There was a puppet show, very decorative and rhythmic to the music. And the roundabout was fascinating - crudely made little horses which swung up and down, and from side to side, and in the end I discovered that it was driven by an electric fan on the edge of the roof.
I got a bit apathetic for a few days, and a bit tired, and didn't do as much sketching as I might - I always feel so self-conscious.
At the end of the week, pasted on a guest house door, I came across a piece someone had written about a tiger who lives in Luang Prabang, with a map of how to find her. She is quite young, and was rescued from poachers as a cub. Her two siblings died, and presumaby the mother had been shot. There are said to be a thousand or more tigers in the remoter hills.
Phet (meaning diamond) lived with the villagers until she got too big, then had to be put in a cage, which unfortunately is very small. . She is very sweet and gentle and you can put your hand in and stroke her. When I talked to her, she sort of whined, and sort of purred, then did a somersault, rubbed against the bars like a cat, rolled over on her back, then suddenly made me jump by leaping up to the roof.
As she now lives on the donations of those who visit her I spent a day making some small posters and putting them up in some of the guest houses. I contacted an organisation in England who have been working on her case and it seems that now, after a year of being in this tiny cage, she is about to get a big new one. I am happy about that.
How did I get back from Laos - well I had intended to go up North, but it's a long round trip by truck bus on rutted dirt roads for the most part, and in the end the mountains look much the same, as do the villages. Comfort attachment clicking in again! Or I could have gone South to the capital, Vientiane, then a long route by (good) bus on good roads back to Chiang Mai where I had left a large and heavy suitcase with a lot of stuff that I should have left at home.
So I came back up the river - slow boat, which, the harbour (river shore) manager assured some of the passengers who were in a hurry was going to be a two day trip - i.e. fast slow boat. However someone forgot to tell the driver, and off we went at a leisurely pace, picking people up on the way, setting them down further up.
Eventually we drew into the bank below a village at about 3.30 and were told (sign language) that here were our quarters for the night. I didn't mind too much as I wasn't in a hurry, but some people were very put out. You have to go with the flow around here (forgive the pun), actually the slow flow. ...
Three of us opted to sleep on the boat - not a great idea, sharing a mosquito net and blanket meant squeezing into a narrow space on floorboards laid like up and down steps. There was a fabulous full moon, and the night was almost like day - not conducive to easy sleeping - plus - the two lads who constituted the crew decided to have their own opium, whiskey and loud radio party. So they were in and out and up and down all night.
At one point when miraculously I was dozing off to sleep, I woke with a start to find my bag missing in which was my limited amount of money. The boys had disappeared, imagine what I imagined. It had been by my head, inside the net, they must have been quite clever to get it out. I looked around (I had just bought a torch, which actually managed to last the night) and found the bag, all intact, in their part of the boat. Just then they reappeared and managed somehow to convey that they had wanted it for a pillow! I couldn't be too cross as we had pinched theirs.
The following day we were transferred to a bigger boat carrying some local people and a cargo of coconut fibre. This was a bit more comfortable, having room to stretch out, especially after the cargo was unloaded. On the way we stopped briefly at a logging village where an elephant was pulling tree trunks down the beach, then pushing them up some planks into the hold of a real cargo boat. These, when under way, (boats, not elephants) almost look like a house travelling along, as at one end there is a colourfully painted two or three storey wooden house, and not much of the boat is showing as they sit low in the water.
We stopped at another small village the second night and were shown to a house with a concrete floor with just a few bamboo mats. Consternation and rebellion among the troops! However, about ten minutes later futons and blankets were produced, and we were shown the loo (miracle) which was clean, though the hole in the ground variety - have got used to those now, they're everywhere except hotels. So we set up mossy nets and had a reasonably comfortable night - and as far as I know no-one snored, unless it was me.
Later upriver we came upon a semi-submerged boat, with the owner family camped out on shore, so we stopped to see if they needed help, but they seemed to have things under control, with the cooking pots going, and a hole in the roof to lift out the engine with a gantry they had rigged up. Don't we lose so much by being civilised. Third day on our slow slow boat, we arrived at Houaxai, across from Thailand, in the early afternoon, crossed over without fuss, and got a bus to Chiang Rai, part way down to Chiang Mai.
Arriving back at the guesthouse the following day to pick up my case the manager (who is the only really fat person I've seen in a month) yelled 'Welcome Home!' - I had been going to look for a cheaper place, but I hardly could, could I? I did get a cheaper room though - on the fifth floor with a cold shower, instead of second floor with hot shower. But I still got to use the pool of course. So, now a last week in Thailand before I move on to Bali. I'm heading South in a couple of days, but first I have to visit the elephant farm and look at some more paintings - will report again soon. Lots of love, Jill
Barbara sang a song for me at the opening of my exhibition in Roundstone last November. In fact, she went one better; she composed a song especially for me. When I had asked her a few months beforehand, I didn't know that her cancer would spread. When she sang at the opening her lungs had been affected and her voice was not strong, but Barbara was strong enough and generous enough to use it nevertheless.
While I was still in Chiang Mai in Thailand, I noticed a beautiful hibiscus flower on the tree outside the guesthouse. No ordinary hibiscus, but a full, double, white one, supported and nurtured by luxuriant dark green foliage. It was nestling quietly in a corner, but if you looked, you would find it. I wanted to draw it, paint it, and as soon as I had that thought, I also thought of Barbara. I did draw it, but I didn't paint it. I thought I would do that when I got to Australia.
The thought also passed through my head that I might be too late, that Barbara might not receive it. Just two weeks later, last Monday, she died. She doesn't need it now, but perhaps I will still paint the flower.
I am now in Bali, having arrived at 2 a.m. with no local cash, and all exchange offices closed, and ATM machine out of cash. Luckily three English girls offered me a lift in their taki to a hotel, and as it is comfortable enough, I'll stay till tomorrow, then head up north by bus.
I haven't had much sleep for the last three nights, as there have been people having loud discussions at 3 am. Last night it was 4 am. Let's hope I get a better night tonight. It's very humid here, and it will take a while to get used to a new scene. Thailand had become a sort of home. At least I was beginning to know the ropes a little. Here people pester you every two metres, trying to sell something.
Before leaving Chiangmai up north, I went to visit the elephant farm, at the end of a pretty valley with orchid farms, monkey farms, snake farms, and Heaven knows what else. There was an elephant 'dressage' show. I didn't like the tricks too much, but they seemed to get some satisfaction from playing football - giving the large ball some very hefty wallops.
The highlight for me was finding a very special baby elephant in the nursery only two months old. The mother was chained up but the baby was free to roam, and roam it did. Every time I tried to sketch, it came over and wanted to play. Eventually the mahout came over and played with it, and had it rolling on top of him on the ground - it's the size of a small pony.
Not far from there was an art gallery that I had seen advertised in a magazine, so I got my driver to take me there. There were two sections, one for 'traditional' - though really a lot of it was more modern than the modern 'impressionist' section, being quite surrealist. Some of that was a bit like my own, using line and colour. One or two of the impressionist ones I liked, but they could have been by anyone, anywhere.
I began to wend my way back down south, stopping at Sukothai, which was for a brief period the capital city. The new town is quite small and scruffy, but there is a historical city with the ruins of many temples. It is set on a very large dry plain, and patches of irrigated rice paddies, bright spring green. I hired a bike to go around the ruins set among trees and ponds, and saw lotus lilies growing for the first time.
I did some very small drawings of very large Buddhas. There is also a museum with some lovely Buddhist sculptures. So many of them are so feminine, I am not sure whether they are male or female, but many are definitely female, and very sensuous.
By the time I got to Sukothai, I was reduced to a room at 100 baht (about two pounds) with wafer thin walls and a cold shower down the hall. Plus a neighbour who was definitely sociopathic - playing Thai radio at 6 am, and talking to it, complaining and talking to it when there was no music, just rapid fire Thai, like machine gun fire, but not at all inclined to switch it off. Luckily by then I was used to sleeping early and getting up early.
That, however, didn't pay off at the next place in Ayuttaya, close to Bangkok, where crowds of young backpackers were up all night. It also had a rock hard bed, and I didn't get much sleep for a couple of nights. The bus to Bangkok had dropped two of us off at the side of the road, the conductor saying: this Ayuttaya! It turned out to be a bit like being dropped at the side of the M50, and told 'This is Dublin'. There was a tuk tuk, but at an extortionate price, so we crossed the dual carriageway (with back pack, two small bags and a suitcase) and after much wandering found some motorbike taxis, who stopped a bus for us, to the centre.
Ayuttaya (I - U - Tai - A) is another ancient capital city, whose regime lasted a lot longer than Sukothai, but I wasn't much inclined to go looking for more ruins, though I found a small patch close by. Instead I wandered through some very extensive markets. This is an experience in itself - I got a bit braver about trying some of the food, but also felt pretty sick at seeing great pots of live eels sticking up their heads several inches in desperation. Live eels always give me the horrors. Worst was a net full of large black frogs. I almost became a vegetarian overnight, but somehow I never quite seem to succeed. I came back from Laos looking fit and healthy, but I think I've got flabby again in the week since.
Bali is full of flowers. However, when I arrived, I did not immediately appreciate the place. I had brought a travelling companion with me from Thailand, either from the last guesthouse, or from the hairdresser where I had had my hair trimmed by a bevy of men fussing and flattering and generally making the best of having a foreign woman among them late in the evening. The place however wasn't a hundred percent clean. I noticed the fellow traveller at the airport, where the cool of the air-conditioning makes mosquitoes rare, to say the least. I received some painful bites. A day or two later a small insect arrived upon the page of my book, then, as I moved, took a lightning leap away. I thought - that was a strange mozzy. It did that twice, then settled on the sheet beside me. By this time I had realised its true nature, and knocked on the head a bit fat flea! Why it decided to die at that point I'll never know.
The locals are somewhat akin to piranha fish. When they see you coming they leap out and sell. Or persistently try to. There is a patter that goes with it: Hello, how are you, what is your name, where do you come from, how old are you ... transport? massage? and so on. Sometimes this can go on for five minutes or more. But I got used to it in the end, and they seem to sense that and are not so bad, or maybe I just don't notice so much any more. Sometimes when they surrounded me, and got hold of my arm, I felt a bit panicky and wanted to run, but now it's OK. I think I have developed a demeanour which says No.
Animals have figured here as always everywhere. After the flea, my next encounter was with a cockatoo. There are many chained and caged birds here. This one was chained to its perch near to the fruit seller. Some people had been admiring it, and I went up and talked to it. But I made the mistake of putting out my finger, whereupon it decided to perch on me, working its way gradually up my arm, with its very long claws wrapped around me, digging into the flesh, but luckily not drawing blood. It got cross when I asked it to leave and made to hold on with its beak as well. I began to realise that it only went uphill and raised my arm. Eventually I had to lower myself so that my arm was going upwards to the perch, while the girl selling fruit tempted it back with a red hairy fruit like a lychee. Lesson learnt - don't approach cockatoos too closely - tigers, OK, not cockatoos.
I bought a map and hired a jeep a Susuki, which is really a jeep shaped car as it doesn't have four wheel drive. It did have quite a strong engine luckily, as I encountered some rough and steep roads on occasion.
Driving eastwards out of Kuta at the southern tip of Bali on the main road was an experience in itself. There are hundreds of motor cyclists, which swarm around you like bees, and behave just as unpredictably, passing on either side, rarely using indicators, joining the road from all directions. At least no one drives very fast.
Along the road was what looked like temples, having strange statues of wild gods, ornate angular architecture, rooftops full of shrines with black thatched hats (roofs). At one, which I noticed was being renovated, I stopped, only to be approached by a young man with a pristine yellow tee shirt and drawn into a huge emporium full of silver jewellery. Oh dear, well, at least they had a loo. Or there would be places full of sculpture - copies usually of ancient figures and animals. There is a huge industry in making artefacts of all sorts, which I was to see again and again.
In Kuta I had had my first taste of an Art market, or gallery - rooms and rooms full of paintings, which I later realised were reproduced over and over, everywhere. There is a technique, which resembles painting by numbers, where the drawing is printed on to the canvas, then filled in. In Kuta though, there were some original works, and I liked some of the abstracts very much.
Along the road, and all over Bali there are dogs, seemingly not really strays, but looking like it. Dogs here get a rough deal. Though there are some which are pampered, plump and glossy, most are thin, flea ridden and mangy and roam the streets and markets looking for food. I saw several with missing limbs, some without hair, some so starving they were skeletal.
I stopped at a small beach still in the tourist area, just north east of the capital city, Denpasar. The accommodation was expensive by local standards, and though I talked for a while with a nice Dutch man on the beach, most people were in a select group under the shelter (literally) of the Radisson Hotel. It was lovely to have a swim, but lying on the beach I was approached by a very black young man with dreadlocks. I wondered what he had to sell, and avoided him by going into the water. He followed on his paddleboard, so I thought that he wanted me to hire it. Then, with a look on his face that reminded me of some of the less savoury mutts who used to come visiting when Sopie was on heat, he asked if I would like him to come to my room in the night. Whereupon I fled.
My next stop was further up the coast, driving along a very busy main road (though the distances are not great - the island is quite small). Padangbai is the port where people take the ferry to Lombok Island, so it is full of backpackers. The accommodation was good and cheap, and the beach swimmable and lined with small fishing boats painted bright colours. These have bamboo poles as outriggers and look upon the ocean like strange spider-like insects, especially when they are outlined against the setting, or rising, sun. Many have colourful small triangular sails and they go out at 4 am, back at 8, and sometimes again in the evening.
In the evening I took a short walk to the harbour, where there was a large ferry cum cargo boat being loaded and smaller boats resembling a tourist launch coming and going - and strangely, all called Queen Elizabeth 2. I wondered if it was a strange joke, but when I spoke to a lady who had just disembarked from one of them, she informed me that the ocean liner Elizabeth 2 was parked just around the corner, and that these were her launches bringing passengers ashore. They were on a 100 day cruise.
There was a market selling pretty sarongs, embroidered shirts, dresses, hats, and artefacts. While I watched these mostly elderly Americans like tall ships themselves, attracting swarms of native people hanging on to them in the hope of selling, selling, selling something, if only a bunch of beautifully scented frangipani flowers. The following morning before I set off, I climbed over the headland and had a look at this giant and legendary ship. Unfortunately they wouldn't take visitors on board; I would have loved to have a look.
Up on the hill I came across a temple. These are walled enclosures containing covered resting or meditation platforms, some statues, often fierce and always strange, but no serene and beneficent Buddha. I was struck by the more primitive nature of these places, nothing soothing here.
When I arrived in Bali one of my first thoughts had been that this was a place for company, not for travelling so much alone and also that I would like to find a tranquil spot to stop for a few days. I continued up the east coast, and took a secondary road along the coast, not knowing what I would find. The vegetation here is luxuriant, really tropical and an extraordinarily lush green (though this is admittedly exaggerated by my tinted sunglasses). The road took me through small villages, houses built more of stone than wood, all with shrines to their ancestors - this is a mostly Hindu country, with some Moslems.
At first the road was good, but gradually the surface became more peeled showing the stones beneath, until it was a narrow winding and hilly lane above the sea. I began to wonder whether it would be passable, but eventually was reassured to see other vehicles parked beside houses. There were river crossings, but the rivers were dry, and at one place at least the road was only just passable, a narrow piece of boulder road left where the rest had dropped away.
There were beautiful goats, and even more beautiful cattle tethered by the roadside. The cows and calves are small, red brown, large eyed, timid like deer, sleek and plump. And the inevitable sorry dogs. Some shops in the villages (seeming to sell mostly biscuits and soft drinks), people sitting outside, or sleeping on covered platforms. Men and women in colourful sarongs (a length of cloth wound around the lower part of the body), but many of the men were in western dress. When I was beginning to tire, after several hours, there began to be beaches lined with the small fishing boats, and eventually, to my surprise, a sign saying 'Bungalows, restoran' (no T).
Very hungry by now I climbed the steps to a 'Restoran' and stood and waited. There were Europeans seated at the tables and one waiter, who smiled and said nothing. Two of the women were with local men, much younger than themselves, and it seems that this is quite OK, but the local girls are not available, like the Thais and Lao girls, to go with western men. Apparently you have to get a Javanese girl. It was very common in Thailand to see a large white man with a very young and tiny dark girl. I sometimes had an uneasy feeling that this came close to paedophilia at times. But the girls need the money, and on the whole seem well treated and affectionate to the men.
No one seemed very friendly here, so I left and went on a little way, to another 'Restoran' sign. There were bungalows too, and the place carried the inspiring name of 'Reincarnation Resort'. This time down steps to the open sided restaurant perched on the hill above the flowers, banana plants, and the sea - just a small beach visible. As I entered I was hailed with a pleasant hello how are you from a couple of young men having their meal, so I thought at least someone is friendly here.
The bungalows were constructed entirely of bamboo - very beautifully made. A double bed and a veranda with table and armchairs, all bamboo, even the matting. The bathroom was a grotto built around two large palm trees and full of plants. A thatched roof over the loo, and the shower a bamboo pipe above a large rock to sit on. So I stayed, and the guests were few and companionable. The two men were Swedish, spoke perfect English, there was a Dutch girl a very attractive physicist and rugby player and later three young Irish people on their way to Australia.
For two or three days I swam and learned to snorkel not having done that since a child, and began to unwind. Four of us with big bags then packed into my small jeep and travelled inland to Ubud, which is supposed to be the artistic centre of Bali. This was a bit disappointing, though I had come not to expect too much. It was all the same kind of art I had seen on the way - some intricate and detailed traditional, some of birds and foliage, some abstract but nothing really stunning or original.
There was a highlight however the dancing which we saw in the evening. I was fascinated and captivated the costumes and headresses were brilliant with gold and embroidery, and fine latticework. It is, like Thai dancing, quite formal, and uses the hands with fingers bent back in a similar way. But the girls adopt a strange posture their spines arched and knees bent, and move their eyes, necks, hands in strange staccato movements, all perfectly co-ordinated, sometimes shaking and shivering one part of the body, a shoulder, a leg, to produce an entrancing and primitive puppet like effect. It is not really sensual or sexual; the girls are too much like dolls.
Two men also danced, one very large, with a mask, the other with one of the girls, looking almost as feminine as she, yet there was a formal composition which depicted, I suppose, a courtship, or flirtation. This all took place in the palace temple, with a great golden gate as backdrop, and accompanied by a gamelan band playing drums and xylophone - like instruments.
I realise now that just at the time that this was ending was when Barbara died.
From Ubud, up the volcano just one passenger left one of the Swedish men, who then accompanied me for the rest of the trip. At the top the usual sellers, then down into the crater to a village and pleasant guesthouse by the lake. In the centre of the crater, which is about 7 kms wide, there is another volcano, where the lava flow from an eruption in 1963 is visible on the side of the mountain. At 4 o'clock in the morning I went up that mountain - with guides (you have to pay - but it was well worth it). We climbed a track like Croagh Patrick, up about 700 metres, to the edge of the smaller crater and watched the sun rising over Lombok island, another volcano, outlined against the flaming morning sky, until as the sun rose higher, it disappeared into the mists.
We were fed hard boiled eggs and hot bananas in a roll, and coerced into buying coca cola (if not for me, as I don't like it, then for the guide). We looked at steam emerging from cracks in the rocks, where people have made shrines. They place plastic water bottles with the top cut off to catch the holy water. Our guide informed us that there is an annual Hindu ritual where animals, both dead and alive, are brought up the mountain, and thrown as a sacrifice into the crater, which is about 120 feet deep, I think. Barbaric, yes, I suppose, but I'm not sure if it is worse than battery farming or slaughterhouses.
The place was lovely, sharp mountains around the edge of the main crater, covered in beautiful trees and plants, a village across the lake which is said to be still very traditional as there is no road to it.
Joseph and I then travelled down to Sinjaraja on the north coast, but found this scruffy and unappealing, hot and humid. So we went back up to the western volcano hoping to find the same pleasant and cool atmosphere. This was disappointing, though in all the driving we did, there were fabulous vistas of rice paddies hugging the contours of the hills, palm trees everywhere, a perfect tropical setting. Young tourists from Denpasar -it being a three-day national holiday, akin to our Christmas - occupied the lakes on the top here and it was noisy and expensive.
We came down the other side, following our map through towns and villages devoid, it seemed of accommodation or restaurants. (On the top were plenty of hotels, on the way down, enormous wooden edifices crumbling into decay). Marked black sand and swimming on the map, we came at dusk to a place where we envisaged sleeping on the beach, having travelled ever bumpier, narrower roads through strewn out village after village lining the way, crowds of people dressed up for their temple ceremonies in their wonderful colourful costumes.
And right at the end of the road, a few metres from the beach, the idyll, of course. A little shop with two 'bungalows'. Two large attractive bamboo rooms to let. To save money we shared as it was so spacious and spent two nights before returning to Kuta. The beach extended along the coast and the surf and currents were strong. But we could play in the waves and sort of swim, provided we were careful not to go too far out. Always the local people come down to the sea to bathe and wash in the shallows at evening time. And they wash and wash their cattle. They spend hours washing their cattle, sometimes forcing them into the sea, but always rinsing in the sweet water which comes down in streams or rises in springs along the shore.
There were some palm trees, rice paddies coming down to the beach, volcanoes in the distance, and across the road the Royal Stable. Apparently the queen (or princess, I forget) of Indonesia lives there and keeps her horses. They would be ridden on the beach in the mornings, and we went up to the stable where there were just a couple of thoroughbred stallions, a small mare and one yearling.
Overnight four kittens arrived and in the morning were sitting under the jeep. They looked leggy, a bit thin, but healthy. Someone must have dumped them on the beach. I hope they find a way to survive - I told our landlord that it was very good karma to look after the animals. The Balinese, apart from the voracious selling, have been pleasant and helpful for the most part, though the culture is so different from anything one is used to, and the towns so full of litter and rubbish.
So now I am in a hurry and could write pages more of details. The writing helps me to take it all in. There was so much, so visual, I couldn't begin to draw, but it will all be there in teeming impressions, and will emerge again somewhere, sometime.
I send my love to everyone, and think of Barbara, the white hibiscus flower that fades quickly, but lasts forever.
Having just got a lengthy part of this message done, it disappeared on me, I think my little finger caught on something that deleted it. How maddening. I've just spent the morning shopping around to find the cheapest Internet cafe, as they are more expensive than Thailand, also the best exchange rate.
It is supposed to get cooler, the further you go from the equator - not so! I was horrified when the aircraft captain announced that the temperature in Perth had been 49 degrees the previous day.
I have been reflecting upon the different peoples I have visited - the elegant and sophisticated, small-boned and enigmatic Thais, the Laos, also fine-bodied and beautiful, but strangely innocent, then Bali where the people are broader featured, more primitive and lack the sophistication of the Thais, but still have fine healthy bodies and beautiful skin. I wondered how it would be to return to a wealthy, clean and manicured country and be among large white people instead of small brown ones, however the hostel is full of Japanese!
It's too hot to go exploring much of the city during the day, and the taxi driver warned me emphatically not to go out alone at night. So I won't spend much time in the city, but will go off on a camping trip around the area, which seems to cost less than it would to stay here. Then I will return for a day, and be off overland around the coast with another group to Adelaide.
I found a treasure here today - The Art Gallery of Western Australia, just around the corner from the hostel, and gloriously air conditioned. So that is where I spent the day. It is an attractive gallery. The older works are housed in what used to be the Police Courts, and that is a lovely building in itself. The courtroom is there with it's fine mahogany furnishings. They have a lovely and varied collection of European artists and Australian colonial painting, some small sculptures, lovely old pieces of furniture, some glass vases incredibly delicate in form and colour and best of all for me - two tall Galle glass vases, and two in the shape of flowers by Tiffany.
The modern art collection is housed in a light modern building, with galleries leading off the centre in an octagonal shape. There are some superb pieces of glass and ceramic work - enormous plates and dishes in deep turquoise ,blue, or browns, quite a lot from Scandinavia
There is aboriginal art painted in natural ochre colours with shapes and patterns in white dots. Some are on Eucalyptus bark and look as if they are woven in fabric, such a soft texture. There were a number of very good Western Australia artists with work ranging from figurative to totally abstract. The only work I didn't really appreciate was a show of work made of large numbers of words painted onto panels and covering the walls. Also a lot of loaves of bread on stands, and more panels with grey streaks. I know it all had a point, but without explanation, it didn't really inspire me. I loved a large circle standing out from two other cirles on the wall, in subtle colours - so simple. They have a small Rodin sculpture and a couple of Sydney Nolan paintings, which I like well enough, but not as much as some of the less well known work.
Outside the gallery is a large bronze - about twice life size - called 'Calling' by Gerhard Marck which is about the need to recognize the extent of torture in the world. I would love to do a work like that. There is so much to absorb, I feel over full, and not well able to describe it all. Just a lovely gallery with a great variety of excellent work.
I have now ridden an OKA - that is a strange creature somewhat resembling an armoured car painted yellow. I am tired today, after five days inside the OKA, and fifteen minutes on top of it driving up the dirt track to a station (farm). Something like sitting on top of the boat on the Mekong, a little less wobbly, but further to fall with a harder landing.
My greatest challenge yet - five days with the same people being driven around to someone else's plan. How not to be ratty, horrid and generally hate everyone?
The trip was too long - 2,500 - kms for the time allowed, but that's Australia - quite an adjustment from Bali (or Ireland) where so much is crammed into so small a space. I think I was at my worst this last week, or my sociophobic best. Nice people - except that there seems to be a lot of intolerance among the Australians towards the aboriginies, prostitutes and Japanese who buy land in Australia ( especially among the men). And the more I saw it, the more I got intolerant too, towards them. It wasn't universal, but it did keep cropping up.
I was a bit sharp once or twice with my replies. It is hard to be nice to nice people, especially when I'm feeling tired from bus, heat, flies, snoring, etc. (I wrote this so much better the first time) . I like backpackers, they are sometimes lazy and rebellious, I feel more at home, they are less terrifying than nice ordinary people. But no, the people were kind and helpful (a bit too helpful at times - a bit overkeen to do the washing up, for which I should be grateful, I know) but I felt a bit rushed after meals, which I hate, and when we were at some outstandingly beautiful places and it seemed too soon to leave.
Yes I was getting to feel horrid, wanting to be horrid, wanting to be honest in my old way. The more I feel this way the more cross I get with myself, and the more cross I get with everyone else. It is a vicious circle of reaction which happens when I am not at ease with myself. Mostly I can change it and not react, but in strange and stressful surroundings (however beautiful), I want to escape. What appears to be linear thinking of cause and effect becomes circular and never ending, and there is an illusion of no way out. But I know there is a way out don't I? I have learnt some lessons somewhere along the way in the last few years haven't I? Sometimes it doesn't seem like it... 'plus ca change, plus ca reste le meme' keeps coming to mind. Deepak Chopra somewhere mentions the 'quiet desperation of the need to conform'.
I was glad it was out of season on our trip up north, the sights were not too blocked up with visitors, and there was room to breathe. So much space, stations (farms) of 70,000 acres are small. One we stayed at was that size - the farmer had about 6,000 acres under cereals and the rest, he said, he wasn't sure how to find it. At that farm we took a ride on the back of an ancient lorry in the moonlight to view the kangaroos. Eventually we found them on the track and as we shone the spotlight on their beautiful sensitive faces they stopped and stared, or bounded off across the fences.
The landscape changed gradually as we travelled, from brown fields with large trees and lovely horses just north of Perth, to bushland and sand coloured farm land with smaller, bushier trees, to just bush, to red sandy ground with heath-like covering in bright green, light green, pale green, orange and ochre, all with grey burnt looking branches. On bushes there were flowers the shape of corn cobs in red, becoming white as the small heads fell off to leave the core.
It was so dry. I would like to come back in the winter (July, August) when the wheatfields are green and there are carpets of wild flowers.
The towns we passed through were small and pretty, often with large fig trees, and some lovely old colonial sandstone churches and houses.
We went sand-boarding down sand dunes, but I wasn't very impressed with that and got a nice bruise. They were a bit artificial, created by the quarrying of the sand, not like the real ones we used to slide down at Aberffraw in Wales, as children. But there was the fabulous, enormous shallow salt pond created by a sand spit, where the water was shades of emerald and sap green, and dark blue, against the light blue sky and the white sand. Here grow cyanobacteria, forming lumpy growths and wavy patterns in the tide, called stromatolites. They are supposed to be billions of years old, the first form of life on earth. And there were river gorges, and sea gorges where the red ochre and white rock looked like primeval paintings of birds, and the rocks formed strange and fascinating layers and honeycombs which could be dragons and huge lizards.
Shark Bay
There was Monkey Mia where I slept???? on the beach because the little house by the beach was so cramped. How I envy those people who fall asleep and snore the moment their head hits the mattress.
The beach and the bay were lovely in the moonlight, but sand is not soft to sleep on. This was also a part of shark bay and we were told not to swim at night, as that is when the sharks came in to feed. Later we travelled up to a headland to look down upon them, and saw three or four. The purpose of coming here, however was to see dolphins, not sharks.
They come in to the beach to be fed, but that day only one came up really close, and followed the ranger, turning on her side and smiling, to be admired. They were small, pretty dolphins, and look gentle, but can be very aggressive too - so you don't put your hand out, or they might either leave, bite you, or slap you with their tail.
Nearby the beaches were composed of billions of tiny, intact shells whose whiteness contrasts sharply with the red sand of the earth behind. Later we saw the lake of many colours, which is a salt lake full of algae which turn from blue to pink to purple depending upon the time of day. And the old convict holding depot, now in ruins.
Praying Nun The Pinnacles Desert north of Perth
Last of all on the way home we visited the Pinnacles Desert. Here the sand is deep yellow, like a mustardy gold, spattered with grey stone spikes that look like the teeth of some ancient whale, or dragon, some small, some tall, mostly smooth, but some like honeycomb exposing the root formations of the primaeval rainforest from which they are made. Some of the pinnacles have been given names such as the 'praying nun' or the 'sealion'. This was a lovely place.
Our overnight stays were varied - an old farm cottage - tents - a house by the beach - a tiny house by the beach - all interesting, and our food was standard picnic for lunch and Aussi barbecue most nights. After sampling bung arrow (lizard) kebabs which tasted closer to venison than anything else I know, my tummy was somewhat in rebellion. Next night we had kangaroo stew (I couldn't tell the difference from beef).
The vast empty spaces, the fabulous ochre colours of the earth, the vibrant blues and greens of the waters were more inspiring to paint than anything else so far, but I haven't even attempted to sketch. I will let it all process through my odd brain, and see what eventually emerges.
So now I'm back in sparkling Perth - about the greatest contrast to Bangkok you could get. It's a very quiet city, large wide streets, not at all crowded - or maybe I'm just out of season, or it's Saturday and everyone's gone to the beach.
By the time I had written all this the first time, I was laughing at myself, but now I'm too tired. It was nice to get back to the hostel and meet a couple of daft Irish lads.
Travel sickness has caught up with me. That is to say, I'm sick of traveling. Literally. The last two days of my trip to Adelaide found me feeling sick and with a tummy upset. My digestion has at last given up trying to cope with the continuous input of new experiences, new places, new people. In Biodynamic terms I'm having a vegetative freak-out. And I'm very, very tired. So I didn't stop in Adelaide to visit the galleries and museums, beaches and cancer center.
I got the next plane to Brisbane and am now safely ensconced at my sister's house, sleeping it off, and taking lots of enzymes and tonics. Maybe I've got some bizarre delayed tropical disease, which can happen, but right now I don't really care too much. I have found a Buddhist retreat not far from here, and have booked in for a few days in a couple of weeks. Hopefully I will be all balanced and shining bright for the family party at Easter. This year, Mum is 80, Emma will be 21, and by Easter I will be 54 (I think, if I got the calculations right).
The trip from Perth to Adelaide was long. Seven days, 3,500 kilometres. A group of 16, mostly young, some couples - one of which was older, even than me. I was determined to be a good sheep and almost succeeded, but didn't really feel too happy again with this kind of tour. We saw lots of places and did lots of things, but there was too much bus, and no day without travelling. I wasn't as impressed as I had been on the trip up the west coast, but it was good to see the area.
 |
We stopped at Kalgoorlie to view the big hole in the ground caused by the gold mining (reminiscent of the slate quarries at Bethesda overlooked by our old farmhouse in Wales), saw (and some took part) in an odd gambling game called 'two pennies', and drove past the brothels - where the girls now, by law, have to sit inside, looking out of the windows. (Tidy up the streets at all costs). |
We traveled down to Esperance on the South coast, named by the French. It means 'hope', in contrast to some bays I had seen up west which were called things like 'Disappointment Bay,' and 'Hopeless Sound'. Then we camped at Cape Le Grand national park, where we swam, in beautiful, turquoise coloured but Irish temperatured water, walked, and climbed a small mountain to see the sunset.
We had two nights bush camping, admittedly not far off the road, where we lit a lovely camp fire to sit around for the evening. There was much talk of snakes and poisonous spiders and scorpions and such like, and some went off to look for spiders in trees. All we saw at the camp site were extra large ants. One day we went down a cave in the middle of the bush and swam in cold, dark water at the bottom. I strained my knee coming back up. On the last night we stopped at a hotel in a small fishing town called Streaky Bay. I was very tempted to leave the bus at that point and stay in this quiet little place for a few days. Just down the road we were to swim with dolphins and sea lions. This we did early in the morning. The dolphins weren't very interested in us, but the sealions, especially the young ones, were very playful and amusing. Although we were wearing wet suits, it was very cold, and I was feeling sick by then, so I didn't really have too much enthusiasm.
The countryside from west towards the south-east was almost universally flat. Somewhere towards the middle there was a large expanse of green plain where they had had some rain, but towards Adelaide it was so brown and dry again in the wheat fields. They said they had had no rain since last August. For part of the journey there were salmon gums - pretty trees which moult every year - shedding hairy looking black bark to reveal a lovely new smooth salmon coloured skin. The colours were magic against the blue bush and various greens of other foliage, especially when the sun set in brilliant gold light behind them. We crossed a corner of the huge Nullabor plain (Latin for no trees). The land is so vast, it is a reminder of infinity.
We arrived in Adelaide on St Patrick's Day, to find the evening streets overflowing with young, very youngsters, but on Sunday it was quiet again. My hostel was on a quiet leafy street, where the low houses were built of soft coloured sandstone with ornate verandahs and balconies. Another city with straight, wide streets, it is supposed to be very English, and the cultural center of Australia. However, enough is enough.
Once I get my energy back, I intend to start painting, and maybe writing, so there may not be so much correspondence - but you never know, if the mood takes me. Thanks to everyone for your inspiring comments - especially Jim who doesn't believe I can be narky!
After five months in Australia, living mostly at my brother's house in order to write and paint, I returned via Fiji. I have been writing my autobiography - an interesting and stimulating exercise, though Heaven knows whether it will ever see the light of day as a book. I took the opportunity of working out of doors in wonderful weather, not too hot and sticky, to produce some oil paintings, somewhat larger than I had done before.
Australian landscape inspires me in a way that no other landscape ever has. I did not paint many, but they contain something which I have felt before, but not expressed - the connection of the landscape with the spiritual essence of the people of the past which still influences the present. I love the space, and the colour of the space. Back in Ireland, I already feel constrained by what seems enclosed and static by comparison. Not that there are no wide spaces in Ireland, there are. Perhaps it is the water which dampens the fire. There is plenty of fire in Australia, and plenty of water in Ireland. I thought that the travel would settle my restlessness for a while, but for the moment, it has only increased.
Just before my departure from Australia I got the flu, and delayed my flight to Fiji for a couple of days. However, I was still suffering on my arrival in Nadi. A pleasant small backpackers' hotel with a swimming pool for a couple of days got me a bit stronger, so that I contemplated a trip to one of the Yasawa Islands to the North West, by seaplane. Late in the evening I was informed that the plane would not be going out, as they had run out of pilot hours. There is no schedule, they work as work comes. So I got on a bus, and hopped off at a small 'resort' on the south coast of the main island. A garden room to myself gave me the privacy to contemplate in peace the effects and implications of my travel and the visit to my family, and to get properly anxious about arriving home and getting sorted, especially with regard to my finances.
I wasn't overly energetic, a little depressed, I suppose, but the sea was cool and pleasant to swim in, and the gardener took me for a walk up the hill at the back, and along the stream in the forest to a rock pool for swimming. Inevitably the 'other person' who was to come with us did not turn up, and by the time we reached the pool, the little gardener was getting amorous. It was rather like swatting flies, and just as much of a nuisance. At least he did make a good bonfire on the beach that evening, and luckily got drunk and disappeared. There was no Kava that night, as there had been in Nadi. I didn't like it much, it doesn't taste very good, and it is supposed to be mildly narcotic, but all it did for me was to keep me awake. The gardener told me that I hadn't drunk enough of it.
I took a bus trip into Suva, the capital, which is quite small. There was a good market where I bought some fruit, though nothing like as interesting as the markets in Thailand. I had been dying at the resort from lack of fresh fruit and vegetables, as the cooking was not entirely to my taste. Once I had my own food, I could cook my own in the kitchen provided.
In Suva I went to the museum and saw some large catamaran canoes, with impressively large oars. The Fijians look very strong. They are a mixture of Polynesian, Melanesian and Micronesian it seems. The men have fine big bones and large feet, and can be quite handsome.
The women tend to be coarse featured and often large. They have frizzy black hair, which the men wear short, but the women wear in a big fuzz around their heads. One or two were cut very neatly in a way that reminded me of topiary. They could be made into wonderful shapes!
Apparently in former times it was a sign of status to have a very large hairdo - they wore them very wide. The women wear bright cotton dresses printed with flowers, and the men their equally flowery shirts. They are all very friendly, and I enjoyed my bus rides, with mostly local people and few tourists.
A large number of people from India were brought to Fiji by the British to work on plantations, and have remained. They have stayed racially separate, as far as I could see, and with their fine bones and different style, make quite a contrast to the Fijians. The Indians seem to have a monopoly in working in the transport industry. Fijians work in the tourist trade, which a few white people seem to own. That was my impression.
My bus rides gave me a view of the countryside, and the local villages which line the road. Most of the villages seemed quite poor. The houses are just made of corrugated tin, with here and there a traditional cottage called a bure, made of plant fibres. I wondered whether the Indians all lived in the towns, as I only noticed Fijians in the villages. Here and there are small plantations of cassava and other vegetables, but there is not much cultivation. My gardener friend explained that they do not like to work too hard, but operate on 'Fiji-time'. I met some local people who lived close to the resort, as we had to cross their land, and pay two dollars (Fijian). It seems that the tribe allocates land to those who need it, but some own their own.
One family lived in a bure in the forest. It was very tiny, and they subsisted on what they could grow in among the trees and cleared patches. It was a very basic existence, but they looked very healthy. I was told that the tribe and the family, look after those who have no job. Others I met had more sophisticated dwellings and a more orderly system of cultivation. They all loved to have their photo taken, and it was hard to get them to remain natural and not to pose.
A young girl took me into her house, right on the beach. Everyone was out and there were just two double beds, prettily decorated with lace trimmings, set head to foot, and a floor space with grass matting to sit on. Outside under a roof was the kitchen. I promised to send her some photos.
The landscape changed as I travelled from Nadi in the west, to Suva in the east. Westwards it is dryer and the hills are quite grassy and brown. My resort was almost half way between the two, and seemed to be on a dividing line, as to the east, everything became more green and lush. There is a climbing plant, a creeper, which covers everything, so that the forest looks as if it had thick green paint, or custard, poured over it moulding itself to the trees. It looked as if, once you entered, you would be in a strange, dark world with no light. It looked a real tropical jungle, and it was easy to imagine arriving in past centuries and meeting cannibals on the shore.
One day I walked along the beach and around the headland. There was a village, and as I approached I noticed a strong smell. It was familiar, and at first I thought it was something dead rotting on the beach, then I found that there were several small wooden, roofed pens with pigs in them. I suppose if they were allowed their freedom as in Thailand, they would get run over, as the main road was close by. Or perhaps Fijians don't like having to go and catch them. It's a shame they couldn't run around. Did I tell you about Fanny. She was a sow we once had. She was good fun, but didn't have enough piglets, so we had to make her into bacon and eat her.
I had planned to visit a small Island on the north coast which would take about five hours in the bus, some over dirt roads. I was looking forward to moving, and having a small adventure, but I got a tummy upset, and had to stay put. After two days in bed, it then rained solidly for my last two days in Fiji, just to prepare me for home. The rain stopped just enough for me to have a pony ride on the beach. Luckily it was a narrow pony, so I wasn't too stiff afterwards, not having ridden for about four years. Only one pony had a saddle so the pony-man had to ride bareback, with a cushion, as his animal had quite a sharp spine. Afterwards he asked if he could come to my room in the night. He was quite attractive, so I was almost tempted. Given his record of turning up late or not at all, I probably would have waited most of the night. Nevertheless I had a moment of fantasy.
That was Fiji, and that was the end. Long flights home, no hitches, everything miraculously on time. Back home, hassle, hitches, responsibility, anxiety, money - I've put on weight. It's easy to lose weight travelling, no responsibility!
