Traversing a distance like this by foot across one country that includes 22 provinces, 5 special administrative regions and 4 municipalities will introduce one to different minority groups, languages, scenery, food and adventures.

Christop Rehag did just that from November 9, 2007 to November 13, 2008. This clip has soul, colour, vibrancy and some awesome visuals of a country steeped in history and incredible scenery.

Imagine spending a year on foot, one step at a time.

This journey is inspirational. I’d ask you to think if you went through your own life one step at a time, rather than in a blur, and put each day into a slideshow, would it be soulful? Colourful? Vibrant? Full of movement? Memorable?

The Longest Way 1.0 – one year walk/beard grow time lapse from Christoph Rehage on Vimeo.

Peter Weinberger travelled with me on a nine day trip through China.  On a nine day trip, you would think the checklist would be pretty tight: Great Wall, Terracotta Warriors, dumplings, crowds, Forbidden City, Tianamen Square. When I asked Peter to recount a vivid memory from our time together, none of the checklist even got a mention.

Instead, Peter reminded me about the joy to be found in the unexpected… and looking up.

One thing I remember from our time in China was being in Xi’an late at night. We’d started with karaoke and managed to humiliate the only poor teenager in the group by making his mother sing Motown songs in front of him. We moved on to the disco and ran into another Intrepid Group. I remember these 20 something girls in that group who just thought they were so damn special — these well fed Australian girls who were only getting attention because they were the only game in town and rather then being engaging and sociable, they were revelling in their finally feeling that they were hot. Yech. So we moved away from them and drank and drank with the locals to Chinese pop music.

Finally, we were walking home together, you, me Brian and another Intrepid guide and perhaps another person or two. The night had taken on a bit of a melancholy feel. I’m not sure why. It was hot and humid and even though it was midnight, people were sleeping outside on some big central square because it was so damn hot. It was a friendly crowd, and unlike in the U.S. there were no drunken jerks, no roving gangsters looking to cause trouble. They were just normal people and families, eating, drinking, singing and playing games, enjoying the warm weather under a moonlit sky.

And then we happened upon the oddest site. A middle aged man in thin baggy shorts that made him look like he was walking around in his boxers He had an equally worn out tank top undershirt. He was dragging behind him an open sided trailer. Filling up the entire bed of the trailer was a 20 foot long telescope. It was the most unwieldy thing one could imagine. I have no idea how he got it in the trailer or how he managed to drag it to the park. (Or where he got a 20 foot telescope.)

The man was selling views of the rings of Saturn for one RMB – about twelve cents. It was a surreal scene. We had just left the loud partying in the disco, girls and boys drinking and trying their best to look cool and pretty, we were wandering between families playing mah jong and getting ready for bed outside. And here, in the midst of this, was this odd man, in the middle of the silent city, encouraging people to look at the stars, gently urging people to expand their world to include the stars and the rings of Saturn. All of this on a not summer night in the middle of China.

It was an oddly calming and wonderful experience. I don’t know exactly why, but it was just a nice denouement for a hectic evening in a crazy, overcrowded country where just spending the day breathing can wear you out. Tina, this strange guy even seemed to pick you up out of downcast mood. Without saying a word, you were giving off the emotional message that sometimes being an Intrepid guide can be a very lonely job, something that seems impossible in a country that is so over crowded that people must absolutely crave loneliness.

In the midst of these crowds, the emotional torpor of our wonderful guide, and self reflection that Brian and I were going through ourselves — wondering how two 40 something guys got here in our lives — finally allowing ourselves some introspection now that we were away from the never ending demands of girlfriends, children and work. In the midst of all this, we had to remove our gaze from our own navel, slow down, empty our brains of all extraneous thoughts and simply stick our eye to the end of a telescope and look at the stars.

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.

After a long day with meetings from 9am until 6pm, I took myself down to the Mekong and ordered a large beer Lao with some morning glory, shrimp and sticky rice, and still came out with change from $4. I thought I deserved it. The rat, pig’s ear and wasp pupa, compliments of my northern Lao experience, although tasty, won’t be joined by any other local delicacies between now and my departure.

As I watched the sunset and a team of rowers trying to scull themselves against the Mekong’s heavy current, I could hear Michael Buble blaring in the background. As I contemplated my five week journey, I certainly felt it was “like I’m living someone else’s life” but the only difference was, I didn’t want to go home.

Marcel Proust said: “The real voyage of discovery consists not only in seeing new landscapes, but in having new eyes”. I don’t want to go home. The more I learn, the more I want to keep learning. And the more I have my new eyes open.

As I dig into my bag for water, I sift through the samples of children’s books being delivered to rural villages, graphic pictures of UXO (unexploded ordinance) victims who have lost limbs, silkworms still spinning and a camera filled with over 600 photographs of places, faces and change. I recollect a movie I saw today: the depth of a mother’s grief as she recalled the death of her child through a bomb explosion. I will never forget the eyes filled with tears, the bowed head, the silence. The anger inside of how a ’secret war’ could still be causing so much devastation, was quite overwhelming. Estimates predict that it would take another 400 years to clear the country of all the UXO hidden underneath the landscape. And yet the exhibition I saw focussed on the approach of education and allowing us “into the lives of the people that it serves” in order to reach out and create change.

The realisation that I have new eyes really hits me, along with that of not only the journey I have travelled, but the adventures ahead and the desire to ensure I fulfill the commitment to myself and others to make this project a success.

Apart from the fact I have spent five weeks researching, writing and experiencing the world of change through the eyes of those who are creating the change and those whose lives who have been changed, I have also hung out in brothels, slums, communes, villages, walked the streets at night and learned about some incredible projects. Why would I spend 11 hours in a car travelling 250km dropping off silkworm eggs (and that’s just one way) when I could have just sat at home and learned about these projects by email?

Because unless I travelled the path, I could never truly understand. I spent five days with a Nobel Peace Prize nominee, who, despite calls of “crazy woman” from friends and family, has persisted with a lifetime of commitment to providing opportunity to those who have none. This is something that you just cannot learn via email. You have to follow the path and see, hear and experience the work being done.

For one who has spent years experiencing the privileges of travel, it certainly has had a different purpose this time around. I would encourage anyone contemplating a journey to travel with new eyes, or at least, be willing to have one’s eyes open to learn and see a little more than just the major sights and culinary delights of any new destination.

My American friends, Jen and Trev, introduced me to the tunes of Sister Hazel, and I now find myself humming to the tune of my favourite song “you should see the world inside my head”.  As I so often do, tonight, I watched the sunset, “like it’s a big surprise”. And not because I have an extremely vivid imagination, but because I have different eyes.

This will be my last post on this blog for a while. I have a lot to do. Websites to finish. Stories to write. Products to code. Accounts to be finished. Photos to be selected. Wrapping to be decided upon. BAS to be done. Braces to be fitted. A job to find so I can eat. And a return to Melbourne to contend with.

The vision of give.com.au has been strengthened through the humbling, moving and powerful stories I have witnessed. There is still a lot to be done. There are still more stories to be heard. There are still more countries to visit, partnerships to be strengthened and projects to support.

Thank you for your support. Thank you to my friends who continue to encourage me. Thank you to Rob McIntosh, my knight, for his creative support and genius. And importantly, thank you to Frank and Mary.

I look forward to the next twist of the rollercoaster as it spirals upwards full throttle and with the element of unknown as to which way it will twist next. Let’s hope you will continue the ride with me.

So as Sister Hazel sings, I encourage you to get up early tomorrow and “watch the sunrise, like it’s a big surprise”. Think about your passions, what you love to do, and something you are always talking about but never get around to doing. I guarantee you will get a little more than you bargained for. Perhaps it’s the first step onto your very own rollercoaster. Trust me, it’s worth it. You’ll never be afraid of them again. The rollercoasters, or the mountains!

There will be hard work. There will be tears. There will be pain. There will be journeys down one path to only hit a dead end and have to turn around and come back. There will be opportunities to dig deep and push onself to new limits.

And besides. Rollercoasters and mountains both have great views from the top! I’ll see you up there.

x

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

I’ve been in Melbourne for almost 17 months. It hasn’t brought me exactly what I’d hoped for, but then again, I probably didn’t know what I was hoping for. A new beginning perhaps? An opportunity to try and settle back after an incredible life experience? A new challenge? I’m at a bit of a crossroads – I can hear my mum telling me to stop being a dreamer, settle down and to make something of myself. But then again, if I’d done that every time she had told me, I would not have done anything I’ve done – I’ve been hearing it since I was five.

I’ve been going to the Vietnam Vets Centre for the last month, and can honestly say, it’s one of the best things I have ever done in my life. I never share my past with people because I fight hard to not let it come into my life, so you will be surprised to hear this. Being a Vet’s daughter isn’t easy. The depression, the anger, the negativity, the broken relationships – I’ve fought 36 years to not be like my family and I’m finally learning that I don’t have to try so hard. It’s not easy for me talking about it, but it has shaped me, and I have found the last four weeks extremely difficult, hence my need to get away. To take out all the emotion. And just have some fun.

I woke up Friday. The weather was magic. My soul was in need of some nourishment. And the forecast was for a perfect weekend. So I planned to take one of the top ten things to do in Oz off my list and head to the Great Ocean Road. So at 7am on Saturday I headed off for some snacks and hit the road – the thought of two days visa shopping blazing in the dust as I flew down the Princes Highway towards my target – a weekend of randomness.

Most people who will read this, have travelled with me, and know what I’m like doing something I love. This journey was a little different. I was by myself. Had a lot on my mind. Had been crying too much the week before. And really was just looking for an excuse to get out of town. What I found however, was an incredible opportunity to just do whatever I wanted and totally immerse myself in the two days of exploring, both this incredible part of the country and myself.

I probably did over 700km in the two days, and that is just in the car. I walked to Erskine Falls, spent two hours sinking my feet into the sand along Apollo Bay, soaked in the history of the Otway Lighthouse, meditated with the sounds of the bubbling stream and birds amidst the solitude of Maits Rest, walked down Gibson’s Steps and along to the mmmm… third apostle if you count the one that has crashed into the sea, got lost in the tundra of the Bay of Islands, soaked up the sun under a willow tree while enjoying some local cheese and wine at Timboon, walked to Trinity Falls, quivered my way up 47metres above the ground at the Otway Fly, watched the sunset over the 12 apostles, was amazed at the sheer size and number of crater lakes I could see from Camperdown, and to top it all off, thought there was only one way to really do it all justice, so I jumped into a helicopter and flew over this amazing part of the world.

Uh huh…. my calves are killing me. My eyes are wilting. Everyone knows I always ask the locals what not to miss. But really…. did my neck really need that 20km unsealed Lavers Hill – Cobden Road – 40 minutes on a one lane dirt track through tropical rainforest, with not one other vehicle passing – I must go back and thank John and Di – wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

I was taking my own advice on the weekend. It wasn’t a race, but I was grabbing every opportunity. I bypassed every town – who needed cafes, tourist shops and mmm people when there was magic out there waiting. And needless to say, I figured out why it’s tagged great – large in size, powerful, wonderful and most certainly remarkable. It certainly should be on the list of things to do, and I’m really glad that I went by myself. Because as much as it would have been amazing to share it all with someone, I didn’t have to worry about being selfish, because for a rare time in my life, I just did anything I wanted, and more.

No one was incredibly brilliant when the names were being handed out… although I was liking the Sow and Piglet story told by my very nice… ok hot… helicopter pilot. Yes, it’s a road along an ocean, and pretty remarkable, ok, great scenery. But I found another definition for why it has the ‘great’ appendage.

Spending two days alone certainly does give one time to reflect and look forward. As an adult, we are rarely given opportunities to grow. And over the last two days Carl Jung finally made sense: our vision will become clear only when you look into your heart. Who looks outside, dreams. Who looks inside, awakens.

I think my mum has always been right. I have been a dreamer. But the great thing about spending time watching the power of the waves as they reshape kms of limestone cliffs, walking amidst the tree tops and flying above such a remarkable landscape – it gave me time to look inside. To not just dream. To know who I am. To really identify what starts the fire. To think about what I want to achieve, and not just about how I can help someone else. And most importantly, what is going to give me the simple fun life I really want. Not the world I get caught up in. But the one I want to be in.

I think I might be curling out of my slumber…. and there’s a golden glow like the one about 8.50 this morning as the first real light hit the apostles… and me, as I’d fallen asleep on the sand.

The dictionary is wrong. Life is a verb. Not a noun. I proved that on the weekend. Now I’m looking inside… and there’s plenty of movement. But this feels different. It feels great! Five weeks coming up in Asia – chilling, fun, simplicity and above all doing something I am passionate about. A place that always makes me feel alive. How could it not?