As it draws nearer to the day, let´s hear from stroke Henry Macphillamy about his thoughts as the final approaches:

Well, as a crew we have trained long and hard for this moment, and now we’re here, ready and revving to get down to the business end of things. I think that a good performance in the heat on Monday was crucial for us. We knew how well we can row together in training and in time trials. Racing at the world championships on the other hand, with all the pressure and excitement they entail is a whole new ball game entirely.

For me it was my first real race in the four. During every other time trial we have done it has just been us and the clock. A clock is a fixed inanimate object that you can neither touch hear or see. In the heat and repechage you could hear the incoherent screeches of the other Cox’s and the thud of powerful strokes in the lanes adjacent to you. You know that these crews are doing everything they possibly can to mow you down with every stroke they take. You can let their presence intimidate you, or you can use them to enhance your own performance.

For the best part of the last four months, the five of us have worked together as a crew. Our times got progressively faster and faster until we (and others) considered ourselves worthy of representing our country. It hasn’t been easy for any of us, and in not just in terms of training sessions! As we head in to the last few days and training rows before our final race here, I think back to all the work which we have done to get to this point.

Not only the work we have put in as a crew, but also those who have supported and encouraged us. If someone had told me that I would be in the a final at the rowing world championships this time last year, I probably would have laughed at them! There have been many times in my life that I haven’t backed myself where others have, and nowhere could this be truer than in rowing. I’ve been lucky in meeting coaches like Simon, Tony, Linda, Stuart and Sue who have given up their time and shared their experience and passion for the sport with me. I’ve got an awesome family who have done everything from giving me lifts to training (both in peak hour and stupidly early hours of the morning), travelling half way around the world to support me (and take in the sites), walk and feed my mongrel of a dog while I’m away, send me ‘harden the f**k up messages, and of course, get laughs out of the numerous Facebook photos I have found myself in throughout the adventure. Relatives, all my mates, and I could go on and on!

Now is the time to back ourselves and each other as a crew. We have put in the work, and we know that we are more than capable of racing a good race. Of course I want to win a medal here as I’m sure we all do. The most satisfying feeling however will come from finishing that race, and knowing that we could not have possibly put more in to it than we did. I can’t wait for Saturday to arrive, and I can’t wait to celebrate with a very cold beer (or ten).

You can watch the action of the world rowing championships, complete with live streaming, at www.worldrowing.com. Watch out for the LTA4 final with our very own green and gold.

As we follow Carol Cooke’s personal journey, and following on from our previous post ‘When five become one‘ Carol shares with us a little about her motivation and how she has spent the past 11 years, believing in the impossible.

For the past few days I have been running around like “a chook with its head cut off”! Trying to get things done before we head to Penrith for our staging camp.

Now that I am sitting down to catch my breath it has really hit me…this is really happening! It has been months coming and it is really a bit surreal. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to realize that I am actually a member of the Australian Rowing Team!

Just over 11 years ago, April 23rd, 1998 to be exact, I had a neurologist tell me that my life as I knew it was over, to go home and get my affairs in order before I became incapacitated and that because I had Multiple Sclerosis I would never do any sport or exercise again. There are times when I just shake my head and think “If he could see me now”, oh how wrong he was!

On that fateful day, never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that my life would take the direction it has. When I am talking to groups I always ask them “What would you attempt to do if you knew that you could not fail?” I have always headed into situations not really thinking about whether or not I would fail and with this challenge, at this point, we have more than surpassed my expectations. We can only get better from here on in and I have great hopes for this crew. What we have accomplished in the last couple of months is extraordinary!

After our last campaign, attempting to qualify for the Beijing Paralympics, I really didn’t know if I would get another shot at representing my country. Lets face it, I am probably the oldest person to ever make the Australian team. At 47, well 48 next week, this was not what I envisaged for myself at this point in my life. But I have to say that my life has been ingrained with that great Aussie expression “she’ll be right mate”. This has shaped who I am.

I guess my greatest tool is my ability to believe in myself and my capabilities. I believe that you should live your life to the fullest, laugh, cry, scream, shout, whatever you want to do – just get out there and do it. If you don’t see yourself abseiling, caving or evening rowing for that matter – find that one thing you have never thought you could do and give it a try.

A friend of mine gave me one good piece of advice and that was “to live life without fear, confront all obstacles and know that you can overcome them. Nothing is impossible if we dare to face our fears and believe in ourselves.” Thanks for inspiring me Warren.

So I go into this next phase of this adventure with no fear and expecting the best. I have no doubt that the rest of crew will be thinking the same!

If we went into every day expecting the best, with no fear and belief in ourselves, imagine what we could achieve. What’s holding you back?

Inspired by Sigourney Weaver, it was a childhood dream to visit the gorillas in the mist. As part of my four month journey through Africa, there was no way I was going to miss an opportunity to fulfill this dream. The ridiculously expensive visa, bribery at the border, broken buses, pointed arrows, armed guards and warnings of vigilantes were not going to stop me. It’s not every day one attempts to fulfill a lifelong dream. Throw in stubborness, ambition and attitude and there was no way anyone was going to stop me trekking the Ruwenzori’s in search of my very own gorilla experience.

Stashed in my storage shed in Brisbane is some incredible footage of the mountain gorillas I encountered over two days of long treks. From only three metres away, the experience I had over these days is one that will never leave the memory banks.It is also an example of never letting opportunity pass by, for you never know when it may pass your way again. In the case of the Ruwenzori gorillas, due to poaching, war, disease and murderous attacks, the opportunity for others to experience this journey is now, unfortunately, diminishing. If not, impossible.

But this story is not about gorillas. It is about imprints. About faith. So let’s pull out the memory card and share the colour and vibrancy of a story that deserves as much mention as the gorillas.

It was my turn to cook breakfast. Only problem is I’m about 2600m asl, surroundered by jungle, in the middle of Zaire, have two armed guards on my tent, there’s no local corner store for about 500km and all we have left is a couple of smoked fish.

Never one to be undone and passionate about cooking, no matter where I am, I was pondering my options (for all of about two minutes considering there was only one) when I heard a voice from the distance.

Hi. My name is Elvis. Can I help you?

Looking up, I cast my eyes over a young boy: a skeleton covered in a dirty orange tshirt, ripped shorts, no shoes and scabs and open wounds covering his body.

Never one to refuse an offer of assistance, I sit down with young Elvis and chat with him a little about his life, his home, his existence. Although the size of an 8 year old, Elvis was actually 13 and quite bright given his non-existent education.

Eggs. It’s a rural paradise. Bound to be some chickens around the place. Always thinking, I finally had another option besides tuna on toast.

Do you think you could organise some eggs? I’ll need about 20.

No problem m’aam. I will get them for you.

Now I can’t exactly dig back into the memory bank to exactly specify how much I gave young Elvis to pay for the eggs. But with the smallest note in my pocket being 1million zaires, I figure I gave him about $5 to organise our breakfast feast. Waving him farewell, he headed off with a huge grin on his face and a promise that he’d bring the eggs as soon as he could.

Off I headed to set up my tent, prepare the fire, chop up some vegetables for dinner, wander around the local village, chat with the guards, plan the following day’s expedition, do some laundry and take a nanna nap.

Three hours later, the sun was setting, the night’s fare was smelling mighty good, marshmallows were ready to be toasted and there was no sign of Elvis.

Another hour later, the other four I was travelling with were categorically convinced Elvis had disappeared into the jungle with the equivalent of six month’s salary. How could I be so stupid? How could I have had so much faith?

As the temperatures plummetted and marshmallows ran low, I started mixing up some smoked fish and potato in preparation for an early breakfast. As I looked up at the shadows of the Virunga volcanoes, a small figure broke through the evening mist from the depths of the plateau below.

Miss. I am sorry it take me so long. So very sorry.

I am a self-confessed sook. I cry at sad movies. I sob when others feel pain. I feel anguish at the suffering other humans must endure. When I saw this skeleton of a boy walk towards me holding his tatty orange shirt out from his front, filled with the requested 20 eggs, I could not hold back the tears. Not because I was sad. In the back of my mind, I had already said goodbye to my $5 and had hoped Elvis and his family would use the funds wisely.

Elvis had walked for six hours from village to village in search of our breakfast. In a subsistence economy where the chickens are as malnourished as the children, he was lucky to find even one egg at each property he visited. And as I had given him the highest value note in the currency, his ability to extract change from any of the locals was a task, that in itself, required a great deal of negotiation, tact and honesty.

I cried because out of the depth of poverty came an incredible example of trust, faith, honesty and a young man keeping his word, despite every opportunity to win the lottery.

A couple of day’s later, all of the boys from the surrounding villages turned up at the camp to offer assistance in carrying our packs to the base of the mountain. Half the size of all the other boys, I headed straight for Elvis and gave him the job. I soon realised my pack was as big as him, so opted to carry my own while he took my day bag. We walked for six hours down the mountain hand in hand, like two old friends that knew they would soon part.

Talk about imprints. Siting and spending time amongst the gorillas of the mist is one of my most memorable travel experiences – both the getting there, and the time observing their grace and power.

I never travel purely for the sights. As I’ve mentioned before, interaction with the locals is something I seek and gain much pleasure from.

Next time someone tells me to buy a lottery ticket, I won’t be rushing out. Elvis had six hours of opportunity to have a winning ticket. But he reminded me there are so many other ways that we can be winners.   The lessons he taught me will never die. They will never leave the building.

Reflecting on Jen’s story from Monday’s post, reminded me of one of my passenger’s feedback reports from a trip to Cambodia.

With the assistance of Jen’s and Vic’s reflections, it certainly reminded me of some incredible memories and experiences I had with the children whose paths I crossed during my time in Cambodia.

If you haven’t been to Cambodia, the children are everywhere. Selling books. Selling drinks. Selling sweets, bracelets, food, tuktuk rides, postcards and even themselves. These shrewd businessmen and women confront you at every corner, every temple, every restaurant and every hidden corner of the country.

I still tell the story of a young boy, who, at one of my many visits to Angkor Wat, asked me if I wanted a bottle of coke for $2.The conversation then went something like this:

No thankyou, I don’t need it.

What about some postcards – only $2.

No thanks, I already have too many.

What about these bracelets – 10 for $2.

No, I don’t need any.

You need some water miss. It’s very hot in there. $2.

I already have some.

Miss, what can I get you? All for $2.

Nothing, thanks.

Ok miss. I give you nothing. For $2.

The innocence of childhood is lost amongst the need to collect as many $2 as one can in the name of survival.

And it is for this reason, that I cherised my time at the Angkor temples when I allowed myself the opportunity to show the kids how to let loose their inner child.

Having left my own well worn trampled paths over the bones of those tortured by the Khmer Rouge at the Phnom Penh Killing Fields and the temples of Angkor Wat, it didn’t take me long to decide that my time would be better spent hanging out with the kids.

Armed with footballs, paper, coloured pens, crayons, balloons and on the odd occasion, a bicycle, I always came prepared for the ensuing battle. Arriving at these obvious well known tourist sites, one cannot help but get a little hot and bothered with the constant ’smile’, ‘take a picture’, ‘give me money’, ‘want to go to school’, ‘need food’ cries from the mouths of babes.

I felt what they did need over photographs, money, cookies and attitude (theirs, not mine) was a little bit of fun. A little bit of childhood.

I’d encourage them to draw pictures of their homes (ok… hut), family (it always included the obligatory cow and tree), themselves (always cleaner and well dressed) and me (always taller, more beautiful and better dressed).

Blowing balloons, fly away peter stories, what’s the time games, quad push bike rides, reams and reams of paper, white girl vs beggar team football matches, tackles, stories, piggy backs, questions, artwork. And then there was the smiles. And the laughter, that if I close my eyes and recall, can hear echo deep within, it is so permanently etched on my memory.

Give them $2, they’ll be back tomorrow still flogging their postcards and cans of coke. Give them a childhood, even for an hour, and you give them the world – well, at least one with a guaranteed happy ending, albeit for ten minutes.

We all know that when travelling we should leave nothing but footprints. I say baloney to that. When you travel, leave nothing but imprints.

If I had $2 for every imprint those small encounters have made on my life, they would all want for nothing.

In a previous life as a tour leader working for Intrepid Travel, I always endeavoured to build a connection between the locals and my passengers wherever possible. One of my passengers, Jen LaVin, has offered her experience of our time together in Cambodia. Although it was four years ago, Jen’s memory has been etched with the faces of a group of young orphans.  When I first met these children, they had never been to a small island about one hour from Phnom Penh. Neither had I. So that made for opportunity… isn’t that what travel is all about?

Enjoy Jen’s etching…

This has certainly been one of the most remarkable 24 hours of my life.  A day that could truly change a person.  We’re in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, a city I’m finding to be quite charming, with a faded French Colonial feel and warm people, very quick to smile.  I didn’t feel this in Bangkok or in Saigon, so I’m pleasantly surprised to feel so comfortable here.

After a two-hour chartered boat trip up the Mekong, playing tourist for a while and checking in on the internet, our first evening in Phnom Penh, a small group of us from our tour group met up with our tour leader at the Foreign Correspondents’ Club.  They have a roof deck bar that overlooks the main street of the city and the Mekong—quite relaxing with pitchers of the local Angkor beer, but also quite sobering, contemplating all the horrors journalists must have witnessed during their time here.  Our next stop was a local pizza place.  I know, pizza in Cambodia…but it turned out that the place is owned by two people who have started a school in the back for orphans, so all donations and profits go towards the kids.  And the pizza was actually good, even without making it ‘happy’ or ‘very happy.’

As if this weren’t enough, our tour leader surprised us and had arranged for the orphans to do a show of traditional Cambodian dances for us.  Since the horror of the 1970s, Cambodian art and music are slowly being re-introduced into society.  It is one of the foundations of this school/orphanage.

Seeing the children sing and dance in their brightly colored costumes was truly inspiring.  I wondered if they understood the importance of what they were doing.  At the end of the performance, we were invited up on stage to dance with the children.  Needless to say, it was a very special evening.  But it was only the beginning.

We began today at the genocide museum, Tuol Sleng prison, an old high school that had been turned into torture center S-21 by the Khmer Rouge in the mid-1970s.  It’s very hard to put into words what we experienced there, in fact, not everyone in our tour group could even bear to stay the whole time.  I was glad I had already seen The Killing Fields and read a fair amount about what the Khmer Rouge did there…made it a little easier.  But it was still shocking.  Only seven people survived the camp—the only ones still alive when the Vietnamese liberated Cambodia.  They discovered 14 corpses there when they arrived, people who had been tortured beyond recognition; these last 14 victims are buried in the courtyard of the high-school-turned-prison-turned-museum.

Our guide for the day was himself a survivor of the camps.  He worked in the rice fields as a human ’scarecrow’ from when he was six to nine years old, separated from his family and living in barracks with hundreds of other children.  He ended up losing his father and many of his siblings, mostly to illness as a result of malnutrition.  Hearing his first-hand stories only made the experience that much more disturbing and real.

Our next stop was out a dry, dusty and bumpy dirt road to the local killing fields just outside of the city’s center, where we learned even more about Pol Pot and his regime from our guide.  In a span of just a little more than three years, it’s estimated he systematically exterminated four million Cambodians, roughly half the country’s population at the time.  Why?  It’s not clear that anyone really knows.  It is surmised that he wanted to create a utopian, agrarian society.  But starving your workforce just doesn’t seem to fit with that model.  I think he was just a nut job.

Eight thousand victims’ skulls are housed in a monument at these particular fields.  And our guide was quick to point out pieces of bone and teeth still visible in the dirt on the paths we were walking on.  One can’t stand there and not feel changed.

Amazingly, we learned that many who participated in the atrocities are still involved in the country’s government, some at the highest levels.  While this seemed totally incomprehensible to us naïve Westerners, when asked how this could be, our guide merely smiled politely and told us that “forgiveness is one of the fundamental principles of Buddhism.”  I found this to be one of the more enlightening lessons of the day.

In an attempt to lighten things up a bit, we headed back into town for an epicurean delight at a restaurant/school that helps teach local teens the hospitality trade in an attempt to keep them off the streets and off drugs.  The service was amazing as they eagerly waited on us.  And the food didn’t disappoint.  There was also a very nice Western-style bathroom at the restaurant (a rarity along our route…) that was very fancy, complete with hand towels and walls plastered with anti-Dubya cartoons and such.

After enjoying our meal, our leader provided us with yet another very welcome surprise—Tina had arranged for all 21 of the orphans from last night to spend the afternoon with us.  In local Tuk Tuks, we ventured out to an island not far from Phnom Penh.  We made a quick stop at the local Central Market to buy some fruit, drinks and some balls and toys for the kids, and then headed across a bridge to a first island, one with lots of quite modern houses and restaurants, and then to a ferry to cross to a smaller island where most of the population weave silk under their stilt houses, sow their fields with water buffalo and live in unbelievably poor conditions by our standards, but fairly well by theirs.

Spending the afternoon with the children proved to be the perfect antidote to our depressing morning activities.  The children were loving and kind and seemed genuinely happy to be spending time with us.  it didn’t matter that we didn’t speak the same language.  Most of them had never been on a boat before, making the simple ferry ride an exciting adventure; and all of us delighted in seeing their faces as jumbo jets flew low overhead—apparently an uncommon sight over downtown Phnom Penh.

You can’t help but worry what will happen to these kids, as many of them are too old to be adopted.  We’ve already seen so much—kids with baskets of Xeroxed books for sale, shoeless kids carrying babies and begging for food or money, kids who know every trick in the book to try to guilt tourists into buying their wares.  You have to wonder if they’re ever allowed to be kids.  You wonder how much they really know about the world and all its possibilities.  You fear for their safety and their future.  But it did all of us a world of good to be able to give at least one afternoon of fun and joy to this particular group of orphans.

I found myself sad when we finally had to say goodbye, my hands uncomfortably empty with no little ones to hold onto them.  But I also felt incredibly uplifted by the experience and eager to explore ways in which I could help these children and others like them.

It’s been an amazing day—to have witnessed firsthand both the worst and the best of Cambodia, both its horrific past and its bright future.  It’s an experience that’ll be hard to get my head around, and one that I’m sure will stay with me forever.

(c) Jen LaVin

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There once was a woman named Vicki who for the first 15 years of her adult life spent it home alone. Work, then home, then bed, too scared to even go out to the pub for a drink with her work mates. Vicki used her family and her dog as an excuse to go home. Until no one asked anymore.

My life has always been unremarkable. In fact, it was boring. If I were to describe myself before the trip, it would definitely have to be lifeless. I have lived in Perth all my life, and worked in the same job for eight years. A self confessed couch potato weighing in at 140kg, I didn’t know what the word exercise meant. I was afraid to go out and mix with others. Why would I when I didn’t like myself?

On reflection, I am not sure why I didn’t like myself. I have always been extremely shy. I grew up in a very isolated environment, looking after my pop and grandma. They were my world. I guess I never developed on the social level like most people. So I simply shut myself off from everyone, becoming more isolated and insecure the older I got. I decided to go on the Challenge after seeing it advertised through Guide Dogs. It seemed like a great way to see a part of the world I had always wanted to go, the pictures made it look easy and it seemed like a worthwhile reason to support a very worthy cause.

However, not only did I find the fundraising was a lot of hard work, but the hardest part was yet to come. I’d gone and booked myself on a Challenge, and I couldn’t hide anymore. I had to get out and meet people. I had to be the one doing the inviting. I organised wine tours, dinners and auctions. I had to force myself to go and talk to people, to open myself up, to not be afraid of being seen and to come out of hiding. My challenge had started before I’d even set foot out of the country. It became even more painful when I got to China and realised I no longer had a valid reason to hide away. I had to conquer my insecurities. I had to become someone I had never been in my life.

Physically, the trip was extremely difficult for me. At 140kg, walking such long distances during the day with little training hurt with each step. Every night I would tape my swollen feet and knees and cover the new blisters and sores with padding and bandages. This wasn’t a holiday. This was torture. Aside from the trip being physically difficult, the greatest pain came from me acknowledging what my life had been like prior to the trip and the fact that for its entirety, I had hidden myself away. Most people I knew thought I had a great life and just didn’t have any time for them. Little did they know I kept myself prisoner behind the barriers of my own fear and insecurities. I still get so nervous that I am sick before I go out. I still drive around and around before I can make myself get out and go in.

But there is a difference. I don’t turn around anymore and go home. I go in. I am enjoying myself more. I don’t let myself stop and think too much or I will talk myself out of doing and going places. I don’t want to go back to the way I was. It would be too easy. It would have been easy to stop walking. The pain would have eased. But I would not have felt the sense of achievement, and the sense of self worth that I now feel.

Now, when I reflect on the trip and think about the Wall, the physical pain seems but a distant memory. I find myself remembering the beauty of the wall instead. I guess it has taught me that we have to go through pain in our lives to appreciate the beauty around us.

The pain from the mountain is a little different. There have been many things in my life that I didn’t think I could do. At 39, climbing the mountain is one of the first major things I have accomplished in my life, so the pain should stay with me forever. And I don’t really want it to go. It’s a constant reminder that no matter how bad a situation I am in, there are many others worse off than myself, and to get on with my own life. I guess it has taught me that when we go through pain in our lives and come out the other side with a smile, that we will be much better people for it, as I am now. The pain was worth it. And I no longer fear it.

FRIENDS

One of my greatest weaknesses in life has always been that I feel I have to do anything to get a friend. I think it manifested itself in the way I have always been passionate about helping other people. It was the only way I received any recognition or appreciation in my otherwise unenthusiastic life. Considering the protective barrier I placed around myself, I don’t think I even had a real idea what a true friend was.

Since the trip to China, I believe I am starting to realise. I believe that I have had many friends with me all my life, but I just didn’t know how to see or appreciate them. On the trip, I constantly didn’t want to let anyone down because I saw myself as an embarrassment to others on the trip. I was very self-conscious about always being last and always being in so much pain. My insecurities were discernible every day in the nos, the I cant dos, the anguish and the tears.

However, there were a few special people who supported me on the entire walk. Although continually embarrassed, I was extremely grateful to have their company. Even when I cried and said I couldn’t do it, they believed in me. Even when I begged to stop, they didn’t doubt me. They kept me laughing and singing. They kept pushing me. They made me push myself. I was happy that for the first time in my life, other people thought I could do it, and I am forever grateful they wouldn’t let me stop.

I am now feeling a little more comfortable in asking other people for help. I realise that it isn’t embarrassing. I realise that to have people around me and having friends support me through the hard times is not something I should fear or be ashamed of. No longer do I just try and make friends with people so it gives me a feeling of self worth. No longer do I think I need to put on a face so that people like me. No longer am I afraid of what people think of me. I make friends with people so I can be there for them, knowing that they will be there for me when I need them. I have learnt not to take friends for granted. And I have also learnt that it’s okay to ask for help, be helped and not to be embarrassed.

Even though I may never again see some of the people I shared this journey with, it has highlighted to me that people do come into our lives for a reason. There were people on the trip who will always be a big part of my life, for without them being there during the hard times, I know I would never have made it. Not just in China. But in my future. Thank you my angels.

DREAMS

Quite often we rush through life and miss out on special things, or even just the simple things. I realised this especially while walking on the Wall one day when the tour leader reminded us that the walk was not a race. That we would never be there again and that we should enjoy and savour every moment. I took the time to sit down and enjoy the view, soaking up the remarkable history in front of me.

Back in Perth, I find I want to enjoy my life more and I want to try new things. For the first time in my life I am inviting myself to places and events. I am reflecting more on what I want to achieve in my life and am setting goals to ensure these happen. All things I had never even tried in the past.

One of the greatest lessons I learnt from the trip is that I can get through the hard way and feel a total sense of achievement once I have completed it. No longer am I doing what is expected of me. Not in my work, nor in my personal life. I now have more control over my emotions. I’m learning about myself. I’m trying to make decisions and stick with them and so I don’t slip back into bad habits. I don’t want to go back to the way I was. I am talking about the experience to anyone who wants to listen. Even to the ones who don’t. I have taken up a newspaper drop with my sister and walking every day. I have already lost 10 kg since arriving back home. Now I am planning my next challenge to Ladakh in northern India in May 2007. One of the goals for next year’s trip is to help someone like myself to make it to the finish.

There is so much to be achieved by having a dream, and then living it.

COURAGE

Before leaving home, I didn’t believe I would complete the challenge. In fact, I never believed I could do many things in my life. No one else believed I could either. My upbringing did not encourage self confidence, and I guess the gene pool just doesn’t take into account our looks. Looking at the photos of the mountain scared me shitless. I had a terrible fear of heights, unable to even climb a step ladder. Getting me to go up the Wall on day one was a challenge in itself as it was an extreme effort to even leave my room. I woke up every morning feeling physically ill and worried. I remember a point on the mountain when I begged to stop. I didn’t want to let anyone down. But I was pushed until it was too far to go back. I dug deep as I figured that I hadn’t died yet so it wasn’t going to kill me, and I pushed myself to keep on going.

I’m not afraid of trying anymore, and am more open to giving things a go. I even mowed the lawn on the weekend, something I had never done before. It wasn’t so scary after all. I used to worry so much in the past about doing everything that I didn’t even give things a go because I was scared of failing or of being embarrassed.

But courage can take us to places that we never thought we might reach. I know. I’ve sat atop a mountain.

BELIEF

On the trip to China, I met someone who not only knew I could climb the mountain, but knew I had to climb that mountain. Somehow they knew that I needed to do this more than anything I’ve ever done in my life, for if I didn’t, I would never achieve anything. They were right. For not only have I found the courage to give things a go, but I have an inner belief that I can do what looks impossible.

I still get scared, but I have learnt to not think things over as much as I did in the past. I make decisions a little easier. I don’t spend too much time anymore thinking about what others are thinking. I like myself now. Most of my work colleagues think I’ve gotten tougher since China. I say no more often. That’s a start. I am more out there and going out more. I’m starting to put myself first. I am starting to believe in who I am and what I can achieve in my life.

THE NEW PATH

So what has changed? After China, you can see I look at things very differently. The biggest thing I gained from the journey is my new perspective on life. Through my own experience and journey I believe that we too often look at all the obstacles in our path to achieving our dreams. We make excuses. We believe it’s too hard. We blame our past. We don’t live enough in the now. We don’t appreciate the small things around us. We don’t ask for help when we should. We aren’t honest with our feelings.

But by having dreams and giving things a go, pushing through the pain when it happens, having the invaluable support of friends, finding our inner courage and believing we can do it, the summit of a mountain is achievable, even for a 140kg couch potato.

Instead of looking at the bottom and considering all the obstacles in my way and saying I can’t do it, I remember what it was like to be at the top and looking back at what I had done. I know I can do it. Mowing the lawn was just the start. I’m a work in progress.

It’s why I’ve joined up to climb the Himalayas in 2007. I know that I climbed 5 500 steps in China and walked 70km of the Great Wall of China. I know I can walk plenty more on my journey within. It will be one step at a time.

My life is no longer lifeless. My life is now beginning.

Travelling alone provides one with plenty of opportunity to reflect on those people who have touched our life. In the past three days I have traversed the Cambodian countryside on buses, motodups, tuk tuks and taxis for a total of 19 hours. This morning, everyone else seems to be nursing their Saturday hangover, so I sit alone enjoying my fruit salad and rice muesli. No one to chat to, but plenty of time for reflection. This journey is a little different from those before – I have a purpose for being here. And although I sit here by myself, I have not come alone, but am sharing this journey with two people who mean so very much to me.

Frank and Mary Peek are my grandparents. I still recall the weekends of my youth spent baking date rolls, choko pies and fresh custard. I´d wander through the pumpkin and passionfruit vines in search of a tasty piece of sugarcane to chew on. Children of the depression, nothing was thrown out at Frank and Mary´s house. Adorning the vj walls of their Queenslander were bird feathers, calendars reflecting a history of coronations, sporting heroes and photographs from 90+ years of life.

Frank and Mary were married for 63 years, and although they could not be together in the final year of their lives, I made sure they were together for eternity, joining in a local tradition of placing their names on a padlock and throwing away the key atop one of China´s holy mountains, Hua Shan.

At the time of writing this, I have tears. Frank and Mary passed away within six months of each other, and I miss them. But above all, I feel a privilege to have them share this journey with me, for without them, this trip and my vision would not be happening.

When people leave our lives, we can always wish we had talked more, shared more, asked more, loved more. I do. But I can also ensure that the memories I have of them stay with me and I never forget what they gave me, nor the value they placed on their family and the little that they had.

When I helped clean up their house, I found a sealed envelope. On the front in my grandmother´s scrawl was written ¨to those left behind¨. I had not been in the country when Mary passed away, and with the deepest sadness did not attend her funeral. I felt that for some reason I was chosen to find the letter, hidden in the dark recesses of a wardrobe for over 20 years.

My hands trembled as I opened the letter. I could imagine Mary sitting at her old manual typewriter, keying in the names of all her children and grandchildren. On the attached page was a short message espousing the love she had for her family and her wish for their happiness.

Frank and Mary – I love you. I am forever grateful for what you gave me. In return, I shall provide an opportunity to individuals, communities and organisations that are giving to others. I hope you are enjoying this journey as much as I am enjoying having you a part of it.

My journey is dedicated to your memory and my vision honours all that you gave me.

I hope for all who read this, that you take some time out to thank those in your life who have provided you with opportunity, knowledge, purpose and pleasure. If you´ve ever been stuck in Cambodia during rainy season, you will know how important a bridge can be. They allow us to move through our lives easily, with support and provide us with the opportunity to go as far as we want to go. Rebuild broken bridges. Strengthen existing ones. And importantly, build new ones.

Thank you Frank and Mary. You have allowed me the opportunity to embrace my passions, but more importantly, to help me find a sense of purpose in my travels and my life.

Frank, you can finally be proud. Mary, you need not worry – I am happy.

xx

Tomorrow commences August 2008. In eight days, I will commence the second part of a personal journey that will take me from the inner, to five countries in south-east Asia. In eight days, the realisation of a dream takes me away from my computer where I have been glued for the past few weeks, and into the future. A future filled with passion, compassion, excitement, the realisation of dreams and self.

On my birthday this year, I gave myself the greatest gift. Registration of an Australian company that is dedicated to unsung visionaries who create change around the globe. Someone once said to me that a mind once stretched by a new idea will never regain its original dimension. Over the past six months, mine has been stretched to new extremes, and I will be forever changed.

Two years ago, I had a dream. I woke up and checked the availability of www.give.com.au. Astounded that it was there, I paid my fee and for two years, have tortured myself as to what I was going to do with it. I have spent a life giving to others, to the point of exhaustion, and yet at this point in time, feel I can conquer anything.

Why? Because there is power in vision. There is power in dreams. And there is power in self. Combine these three, and one can create anything. www.give.com.au will be launched later in the year and is a site dedicated to individuals, communities and organisations around the globe who give opportunity to others.

For me, this new path is one that has been a long time coming. A windy path with lots of detours, mountains and challenges to cross. But one that now fills with me fulfillment and the knowledge that finally, I can be happy.

I am about to embark on an incredible six week journey to Bangladesh, Cambodia, Vietnam, Lao and Thailand. During this time I am meeting with the founders and artisans of 14 organisations that are creating change. It is not just a journey of the world and the people in it. But it is a personal journey filled with all that I am passionate about – people, change, compassion, commitment and life.

Six months ago, I did not want to be here. I was in pain – physically, emotionally and spiritually. But I didn’t want to listen to the doctor and dug deep. It truly is incredible what we have inside us that we really don’t give ourselves the opportunity to find.

I have spoken with many. I know the power of the secret. Always have. I just didn’t know what I wanted. It’s never been about ego. Never about money. Nor what others can give me. It’s always been about what drives me and makes me feel alive. Finally, I have found it.

I would like to invite you to join me on my journey over the forthcoming weeks as I share with you the experiences I am soon to have, the people I will soon have the privilege to meet, and the satisfaction I will have in following a dream.

I don’t want to just share the end result as it’s not what it’s all about. I want to share the experiences of A to Z. For I believe that unless you stop every now and again and really soak up what is happening and what you are feeling in your life, you are not grabbing each rich opportunity that will only cross your path but once.

So join me on this world journey. I’ll be taking you to genocide hospitals, rural villages, fashion boutiques, amputee centres and street children hostels. I’ll be interviewing nuns, nobel peace prize nominees and ordinary people who have chosen an extraordinary life of giving and creating change.

I hope that by sharing these stories, it will encourage you to look at yourself and your community, and perhaps do one small thing that puts a smile on another’s face. You don’t have to see it. But somewhere out there, someone in the world is smiling because you will have made the choice to give. And that face may just be yours.

x

After asking her if everything was alright, she proceeded to tell me about her Italian lover who hadn’t responded to her emails in six months after leaving the city and proclaiming he would return in two weeks.

Broken love affairs are difficult at the best of times, but even in a town filled with promiscuity, one night stands and a string of broken hearts longer than the Ho Chi Minh trail, I couldn’t help but feel for this young girl who had simply been used for a little bit of fun. Thuy shared the following email with me, and was content when I asked her if I could share it.

Girls – bring out the kleenex

i have just one thing that made me happy honey
that is my realy love. I missing you so much. I want hear in your word.
i want you said to me the true that you are still in love in me or no?
i have feeling alone here in this city not because i have no friends
because i missing only you honey
I want to here what it your feeling
i have feeling that you want make me far away from you honey
not letter not call
so all the free times you are thinking not thing about me?
that ok tell me traid what it you want honey?
i want here really clear you want to do the true.
where is your love for me? i don’t think so!
The world is not always good and i very sad for you.
If I choice not be!
The true love never have the cost honey?
maybe it late to tell you
it realy true.
That i’m in love in you!
hug

After telling her everything would be alright, Thuy hurriedly packed her bags and thanked me for listening. Having been absorbed writing her email and listening to Westlife, she had forgotten the time and was running late for work at italian restaurant ‘Pendolassco’. As she jumped on her bike and pedalled into the distance, I felt certain this wouldn’t be her last bout of dust mask tears.

I then went to visit my friend Quan and told him about the young girl. After sharing a few stories of broken hearts and empty wallets (watch out guys), he likened love to instant noodles – millions of packets on offer, cheap, quick, tasteless and unfulfilling. He said that to really know love is to spend time preparing, making sure you have all the ingredients, everything goes together well and then not only will you enjoy it, but no matter how much it changes each time it is made, you will look forward to the same meal time and time again.