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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We learn as we go – tips for the backpacker tourist

During the past few months I have spent quite a bit of time as backpacker tourist / traveller / nomad and I am of the opinion that my experiences along the way can now be transcreated into a couple of amazingly relevant, priceless travel tips. Completely free for you, the reader. Feel free to compensate me for these later.

 

Tip 1: A backpack of more than 15 kg is heavy. Seriously.

Tip 2: Make sure that everything, repeat, e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g, fits in that backpack. Yes, the hand bag as well. This to prevent leaving one of your bags behind somewhere. And to prevent you from looking seriously ridiculous with all those bags hanging off you.

 

Tip 3: Make sure you have a smaller bag in your backpack. One that can function as hand bag, beach bag, day-trip bag...

Tip 4: Pack a rope of a couple of meters long. Comes in handy when you want to tie something (to the steering wheel of your motorbike). Also handy as washing line, handy when one of your backpack zips break...

Tip 5: A packet of washing powder is always useful for a quick hand wash. Although, your shower gel can be used for that as well. Just in case.

Tip 6: Always carry some passport photos with you. Sometimes you need them to get into a country and not having one can be very irritating. Read: expensive – when you need to have new ones taken.

Tip 7: A knife is always practical. For self-defence (never needed it for that), but especially for peeling/cutting fruit, for cutting a wire, for prying something open... Make sure it’s the foldable kind (not my favourite, I prefer my fingers to stay attached to my hand) or that it has a protective cover (my preference) so that your clothes don’t get sliced in your backpack. Of course, you can always make your own cover out of sturdy cardboard, (from a packet of biscuits or something).

Tip 8: Drawing money costs money. Make sure you know how much you draw and use the cheapest card. (Banks all over the world charge money for you to get your own money!).

Tip 9: Multiple bank cards come in handy when one of them gets stolen (never happened to me), blocked by your bank (inform them beforehand that the Nigerian transactions are yours :-)), or refused by an ATM or an overly motivated bank employee.

Tip 10: Matches are indispensible.

Tip 11: Make copies of your passport and immunisation cards... and email them to yourself. The embassy will thank you for it when you arrive without any papers.

Tip 12: Buy a local sim-card with a bit of airtime. In an emergency situation or when a friend can’t find the bar, you will be thankful that you can communicate.

Tip 13: A few elastic bands. To put your hair up, to keep that pocket-knife cover together, to close a plastic bag....

Tip 14: Plastic bags: for your dirty laundry (or your clean laundry – depending on which is more prevalent in your backpack), for your leaking shower gel bottle, to locate something easily, to put away your dirty shoes....

Tip 15: A poncho/raincoat (or a huge plastic bag).

Tip 16: A sarong (a huge piece of cotton fabric). This can serve as bath towel, bed sheet, rug, beach towel, scarf, picnic blanket or bag for your dirty laundry. Double benefit – dries quickly.

Tip 17: Oh yes, some clothes. The locals will thank you for not walking around naked!

 

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

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Lost. Lost in the thrill of it all.

From the moment I set foot on the ground, I felt lost. Completely disoriented. Everything seemed so different here, which in itself was not unexpected. I was some 10,000 kilometers from home (this equals five times the distance to Spain and back, and anyone who ever went down that road knows it is far!).

I smelled scents that were completely unfamiliar to me. I heard sounds that I had never heard before. I saw people in all colors and shapes, but none of them looked like me. The warm temperature, mixed with a high level of humidity was simply unbearable. Covered in sweat, I sat down on the cold tiles of a Hindu temple. My head felt dizzy. The only thought that emerged from my overheated brain was: "What the hell did I get myself into?", followed by a  physical expression of slight panic through my body.

 

I was lost.

 

A night and a day have passed. My panic now gives way to scarce moments of relative calm. I am beginning to find my rhythm in the chaos and torridity of this different world. Even more, I feel actually good and in my element. And then, all of a sudden, a revelation pops into my mind. This is it. This is where I belong. At this very moment of my life. This is the place where I should spend my time now. And it feels, God knows why, so right.

 

I was lost.

 

All this happened one year ago to the day. More precisely in Malaysia, the first South Asian country where I set foot on land. The country where I realized after three days: “I am lost”. Since then, I have been searching my way in this part of the continent that intrigues me so much. Vietnam, Indonesia, Thailand, Laos, and Singapore. They all remain a mystery to me, although a corner of the veil has been lifted.

 

I have seen amazing places (as well as extremely disappointing ones), I have met inspiring  people (but also very annoying ones), I have developed new passions (and unjustly neglected old ones), I have enriched my soul (and impoverished my bank account), I have made friends (and had to leave them behind).

 

What will bring a new travel year? More of the same, more different things.

 

I am lost.
 

 

Even beautiful songs don’t last long:
Lost – Frank Ocean
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Arw17vDiL_4