The man with the megaphone. Jumping around like a crazy monkey.

Picture this: 

You are lying in bed, exhausted from a tiresome day. Rest. Finally. Finally some time to relax. But that brain of yours clearly thinks differently. All kinds of thoughts run through your mind. “Perhaps I should actually not have said that to my colleague”. “I mustn’t forget to go past the post office tomorrow.” “Did I actually confirm for next week?” “What would my love think about dinner tomorrow?”

 

More. Always more. And louder. Always louder. As if a man is standing behind your shoulder. Shouting things all the time. Through a megaphone, even, so that you are sure to hear it. Commenting on you. On the things you do. And on the things you don’t do.

And on top of that, your commentator jumps from one topic to another. Thoughts to the left, ideas to the right. Another idea and another. Like a monkey, jumping up and down, all the while screaming loudly. Continuously trying to get attention. Demanding attention actually. “Okay, we can forget about sleeping. Sigh.”

Sounds familiar? Then, read on.

You’re not alone. Everybody, I repeat, everybody is familiar with this. It’s just that some people seem to be able to deal with this better than others. I say “deal with this”, not “avoid”. That’s why I am at this retreat. To discover how to deal with this. At a meditation centre in Thailand.

These centres come in all shapes and sizes. Ranging from primitive (sleeping on a bamboo mat on the floor, getting up at 4am, no eating after lunchtime, no sex or other distractions such as reading, writing or being on the computer... no talking), to luxurious (a 5-star resort with delicious food, a great bed and WiFi).

My retreat is more of the luxurious kind. “It is my first time.” “Hunger makes me extremely moody.” “I can’t sleep on the floor with my bad back.” Blablabla. Blablabla.

So I am at a retreat. Busy with my baseball bat and net. Swinging around like a mad man. Chasing the megaphone man and the monkey. I can’t catch them nor knock them out. Turns out that the bat and the net aren’t the right tools.

 

 

My meditation teacher advises me to try and compete with the megaphone and the monkey instead of trying to knock them out. “Alright, I’m up for the challenge!” I crawl on my mat and get myself in that fabulously comfortable meditation position (legs crossed in an interesting looking plait) and tell the megaphone man: “Show me what you’ve got. Knock yourself out.”  And the thoughts and ideas come. And go. “Is that all you got?” I dare the megaphone man. And something else comes. “That’s it?” And more comes. “Anything else?” Nothing. Or actually, thud, another idea. And then nothing. I am sitting quietly, relaxed and content on my mat. In the most comfortable position ever.

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Italian drama.

All of a sudden I found myself at the Milan airport. It was a building from the eighties and I was there virtually on my own. That didn’t particularly make me feel welcome, and that for a country I’ve never been before. Except for that one aberrance, about 15 years ago, when I took my first snowboarding lesson in Tirol. That was my first and last time in Italy. The country clearly hasn’t made much of an impression on me.

At the Milan airport it instantly dawned on me why Italy is not my cup of espresso. The only other people there were the tarty sales ladies with their sun-damaged skin and too much eye shadow. You say Italian women are beautiful? Not after their 35^th they’re not! They scream at each other and at their cell phones on the top of their lungs. You say Italian is a beautiful language? Not if you don’t like drama. But let me stop right here, before all those Italy-lovers with all their drama get on my case...

 

Actually I didn’t really care that I had to brave Italy for a couple of hours. I was on my way to Singapore. A city that simply cannot leave you unaffected. She attracts you, like a child that wants to play. She pushes you away, like an unrequited love. In Singapore nothing is left to chance. The city is a well-oiled machine. Everything is easy (public transport: punctual. Streets: clean. Scooters and cars: quiet... Fresh food: eat whatever you want). Nothing in Singapore will unsettle you.

At the same time, a lot of things in Singapore will blow you away. Crazy architecture, unbelievably friendly people, a perfectly planned-out city as if taken out of a book, an well-run and efficient economy (something we don’t know), a real melting pot of cultures. 

 

You need to see it to believe it. And as my mate Baz says: “Live in Singapore once, but leave before it makes you soft”. (Baz Lurhmann - Sunscreen, free interpretation).

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Everything is going to be ok

Some people claim that I am the adventurous type. Whether this is true depends on your definition of ’adventurous’. I am not afraid to set off on my own, also when it comes to areas that would not necessarily fit into the ‘Standard Travel Destination’ category. Without any problems, I will sleep in a hut with cockroaches and eat something that could be categorised as ‘domestic pet’, but it usually doesn’t get much weirder than that.

A while ago, (actually about half a year ago already, but I am rather slow when it comes to publishing) I went on a trip that I would consider rather adventurous. Not discouraged by my lack of experience and knowledge I hired a scooter and went on a road trip in the north of Thailand for a few days (only towards the end one finds out how long that will take). The adventure was preceded by doubts (do I really have to do this?), a little fear (I hope I wont get mugged), and my mind saying “no!” 

But over the last months, during my previous travels, I realised that everything always turns out okay. Thanks to my companion, the road, I started trusting this. Out of gasoline? No problem, someone across the road is selling a litre. Flat tyre? No stress, we’ll run into a mechanic. No accommodation booked? No worries, there will always be a place to sleep. After experiencing these things, you simply can’t arrive at a different conclusion: Everything will be alright. 

 

 

 

I was lucky to learn this lesson before I screeched down the asphalt and the scooter died on me. A fantastic couple, Sakba and Mew, stopped and took me to their gigantic banana plantation in the beautiful mountains. And they did what the Thai do best: they smiled, took care of me, fed me and made sure that my only thoughts were: “Everything is going to be alright”.

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What could it be?

I regularly ask myself why there is nobody in the world like me. “Yes, but, Lien, every human being is unique, right?” Yea, I guess so, but that tired adage doesn’t help my train of thought much.

 

Being like me, how exactly do I define that? I feel like I am a number of different things, and that, firstly, people don’t understand how that is possible, and, secondly, that they have no idea what label to put on me.

 

That glazed-over look in their eyes, those brains being screened for something that they do know... those frowns in the forehead...

 

It’s a plethora of facets I struggle to match with each other sometimes, making me feel as if I dont really belong, no matter where I am, or that I am perhaps, at the very least, that odd one out.

 

For instance, I spend most of my off-time with other travellers these days. You can put them in 2 categories: the ones who are on holiday and the ones who travel. The first category doesn’t understand that I leave a flourising business behind in Belgium for a long period of time (you can see them think: “My goodness, that is brave, I could never do that”). 

 

In the travellers category you mostly find people who are unable to settle at home. In other words, they are searching for something, or they are running away from something. Their lives just kind of carry on, without any type of plan or goal (unless it is a ‘I will change the world’ kind of goal).

 

You know that, right now, I am neither a traveller nor am I running away from something at home. Perhaps I’m searching for something? But what?

 

And when I think about this, I feel even more like an alien. Yes, I would love a house on the beach, with some tropical fruit in the garden and some vegetables in the..... And yes, I believe that that is possible.

 

And besides that, do some business for a bit of money to do some extra stuff (like buying some nice clothes or a ticket to Europe or somewhere else in the world). The strange thing is that the world in which I would find myself then, would have so little to do with mine. Beaches full of travellers without a goal, keeping themselves busy with something temporary (like running a beach bar or being a diving instructor...).

 

I am neither a holiday maker nor a traveller. I am not an entrepreneur in the true sense of the word, but I am entrepreneurial.

 

I am not someone who wants to save the world, but I do love beach life and nature. I have no ambition, but I am not without purpose either. What then, am I in this world? 

 

 

Perhaps someone who does what others only dream about but never do? Perhaps someone who succeeds where others fail?

 

Perhaps someone who can not be categorised? Because as soon as you put me in a box, I will have jumped out again before you know it.

 

Perhaps I am just Lien De Pau. Unique in all my facets.

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Take a look at www.AboutfoodAndflings.blogspot.com for more pictures and recipes!

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Happy fatty

Okay, I have to be honest about this. Honest with myself and honest with the world. I can’t overlook this, there is no denying it. Never before have I taken up so much space, physically, as today.

 

The weighing scale has not given me a definitive answer yet, but that extended tummy that moves with each step... it just doesn’t lie. That dress, slightly tighter than before, but sadly not around the boobs, speaks volumes. Those arms, never before as flabby as they are today, now hang somewhat purposelessly alongside my body.

Not that this is any surprise, mind you. Those trainers have been lying in a box for months, and yes, that tennis racket is ready to use (newly strung and all) - in my bag in Belgium, that is, and swimming in salty sea water, even though it is turquoise and full of aquarium fish, is just not my kinda thing. I firmly believe that those kilos will come off as soon as I start that dive master course, because, as everybody knows, dive masters have bodies to die for.

 

And combining all that inactivity with entire days of eating, it can be expected that, at some point, you will start paying the price. Especially after your thirties. My breakfast is generally good enough according to Sonja Klimpen’s standards. Unless I start eating toast with kaya at Toh Soon Cafe, or mountains of dimsums at Tai Kong, or roti canai with honey at Kapitan, or...

 

Come lunch time (about one hour later) things start going wrong. Especially when small starters have to be eaten before the actual lunch. And then comes the actual lunch: pork and the fat of said pork. With rice. Veggies are more for decoration. Eating a lunch like that is rather tiring in all this heat, so a pick-me-up like ice coffee (with sweetened, creamy milk) and a piece of cake will get us through those complicated hours between 2 and 4. Anyway, you get the picture...

 

But, never mind all that. I need to admit to something far more important. And to everyone who cares to know, because I am pretty enthusiastic about it. I walk around with a smile every day. The kind that would make a wide-mouthed-frog go green with envy. And I regularly catch myself realising it and acknowledging it, which makes the smile disappear instantly.

I am happy. Or even better. I am content. I am content with everything I have. And also with everything I no longer have. With each day that I live and feel alive. With my life minus all those responsibilities that, I now realise, have heavily rested on my shoulders for far too long. Shoulders that always willingly carried them, but that now feel so nice and relaxed for a change. This feeling of ‘contentment’ is something I  hope everybody I care about can feel at least a couple of times a month.

 

And, while floating on air, who cares about those couple of extra kilos?

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Take a look at www.AboutfoodAndflings.blogspot.com for more pictures and recipes!

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Party every day

And you can take this quite literally in Malaysia. Not only is every day a party because I am on holiday, but because the Malaysians just love to celebrate. This manifests, among other things, in beautiful local girls singing while standing on golden floats, followed by hundreds of people on foot with yellow-covered books on their heads. And nobody was able to tell me what this, obviously religious, festival was all about. Appeasing the Gods? Trying to redirect your own destiny? Or just any old reason to make noise in the street until midnight?

 

Since my arrival in George Town I’ve been going from party to party. First there was the end of the Ramadan (Hari Raya or ‘Big Day’), which can be compared to our Christmas celebrations in terms of the copious amounts of food, drinks (the non-alcoholic kind, that is), presents, family parties and indigestions.

 The day before the Islamic Hari Raya, the Chinese community had started their own celebrations: ‘The party of the Hungry Ghosts’, a month of festivities during which deceased family members return to the living to cause havoc. As surviving relative you can, however, prevent possible problems by offering copious amounts of food. And the spirits are fussy because they want to eat their favourite snacks, which means that food needs to be prepared, to order, in gigantic commercial kitchens. (Of course they wouldn’t be Chinese if they didn’t turn this into something commercial). After a month of indigestions (because afterwards you are allowed to eat your prepared offerings yourself) the Chinese Malaysians are treated to the final event of the festive month -you wouldn’t be able to come up with this name yourself- which they call the ‘Happy Ghosts Festival’. Or what did you think with all these full bellies. Indigestion Festival would have been a great name as well.

 

Of all the countries in the world, Malaysia has the highest number of national holidays. (They do have fewer leave days on average). This is because each religion (or a whole string of religions) is a recognised, official religion which is why all related festivals are official public holidays. For everybody, of course, there is no discrimination here!

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Take me for a ride mister!

A somewhat normal person would pee in his pants. Or at least scream out loud. If you don’t feel like going straight to heaven, the afterlife, the promised paradise, your next life or the other side, you just don’t do it. 

 

I thought it was particularly useful and practical. And for that price, I couldn’t get into a taxi, let alone go on foot. So there I go. I had just negotiated the price and I was already on the back of the scooter taxi. The man with whom I have just signed my death warrant handed me a helmet. For good karma?! I know by now that a helmet in Vietnam is nothing more than an aluminum pot on your head. Value: about 10 USD. Because you're worth it?

 

He starts the engine, accelerates and I almost fall off the back. My physics teacher has once taught me: a body at rest wants to stay at rest. I could not estimate the impact of her words of wisdom when I was 16 years old. Today in Saigon, I must honor her. 

 

 

 

‘Hold on tightly’ is clearly the message Schumacher wants to give me, so I do. When I spoke to him in the street earlier, he must have read 'I'm in a hurry' on my face. He races through traffic as if my life depends on it. Or not, depending on how you look at it.

 

We go grazing sidewalks, because there is too much traffic on the road. We drive through a red light, because we have no time to wait. He bypasses a traffic jam by driving on the other side of the road. It's nothing more than a kamikaze race. I hold on tightly. 

 

With somewhat clotted hair, I arrive for my appointment early. Alive and very much kicking! Adrenaline rushes through my blood and I remember why I'm so crazy about Vietnam.

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