Exploring New England: Day Four

A few Autumns ago I was wrapping up a mini road trip around New England. On day four I travelled from Hartford, Connecticut through Rhode Island, where I detoured to visit a corn maze, and finished in Boston, where an unexpected adventure awaited me that night.

I began by visiting the Mark Twain Museum, but I only looked at the outside before starting the drive to Salisbury Farm in Rhode Island.
Finding a corn maze open during the week had not been easy, and it was very quiet – eerily quiet in the deserted corn maze. The maze was made of the words ‘Boston Strong’, in tribute to the bombing at the Boston Marathon earlier that year.  It took me some time to make my way out, and as I struggled through the ‘R’ I was forced to admit that I had overestimated my maze-routing abilities. I was pleased to finally emerge from the maze exit, but I had another challenge awaiting me: driving into Boston in peak hour on day one of the World Series at Fenway Park. And so my road trip story ended after the traditional crisis and climax situation, followed by the wonderful resolution of arriving at a cosy hostel (HI Boston) and the bonus, unplanned activity of World Series Game One that night.

Haworth & the Bronte Parsonage

One of the first things I wanted to fit in to my two years in the UK from long before my arrival was a trip to Haworth to visit the Bronte Parsonage. I had finished my Master’s dissertation only a few months before landing in London and the Bronte sisters were one of my case studies, and through my research I found they were quite fascinating.

Charlotte, Emily and Anne grew up in the village of Haworth in Yorkshire, which happily is rather well preserved and still very small, making it easy to imagine what their lives might have been like there in the 1800s. The parsonage is on top of a hill on the outskirts of the village, with only moors and I presume some farms behind, and a cemetery, complete with the church where the Bronte family are buried, in front. The day I was there was so incredibly foggy and dark that it was difficult to see much beyond the stone walls that surround the house, but it felt like just the lonely place I had imagined — and that I’m sure inspired many of the well-known homes in the Bronte novels.  The reason I was so fascinated by the Brontes, and so eager to visit their home (where the majority of their short lives were spent apart from brief periods abroad, but more importantly where they learned to write and composed some of what I believe are the most beautifully-written books) was because I think anyone that can write the way they did about human nature after rather uneventful lives with relatively little social interaction, not to mention their ages at the time of writing such books, must be incredibly intelligent with an almost supernatural understanding of the world.  Perhaps I visited on the one day a year the weather is so poor, but in my experience the village, the parsonage and the moors in particular are just as mystical and gloomy as the most miserable places the Brontes wrote about, and in the end it was a day that fulfilled all of my Haworth hopes. I cannot say I wasn’t happy to return to the bright lights of London though!

The crazy year that was 2015

This post breaks what must be my longest ever drought between posts. Over the past year I have collected a fairly decent number of passport stamps, taken on new projects and relocated twice, which has left my blog a little neglected.

So to catch up a little…

2015 started on Primrose Hill in London, before I travelled to Qatar for the 2015 Men’s World Championship — my first of many tournaments last year.   I then raced back to London for 10 days that passed way too quickly, as the two years preceding them had.   Then it was on to Morocco with SA, starting with Fez.  Followed by Chefchaouen, where we were cursed with bad weather that meant we spent a large portion of time huddled together for warmth in the hotel.  We had purposefully left some parts of our itinerary unplanned, and decided based on excellent advice to detour via Meknes en route back to Rabat, where our Moroccan adventure concluded.  From Morocco I travelled straight to Spain to visit my brother, who was studying in Murcia in the south. It was the end of February and already close to 30 degrees many days.  Next was Amsterdam for a couple of weeks before Paris, from where I would say goodbye to Europe for the forseeable future.  After a perfect couple of days in Paris I endured a 12-hour flight to Hanoi minus on-demand entertainment or sleep, but the tedious hours were forgotten when I arrived in the lively, leafy city, which was waking up for the day very quickly.  My Vietnam travel companion was Daniel darling, who I met in London and also visited Vienna and Switzerland with. Hanoi was the base for our explorations, which included Trang An, Sa Pa and Cat Ba Island.   From Hanoi I flew to Siem Reap, Cambodia, with plans to continue to Phnom Penh which I changed after learning that the lakes were too dry to travel by boat and that the around 300 km journey by road takes approximately eight hours — but this was far from a negative. I enjoyed Siem Reap in every way. Angkor Wat was probably one of the first places I dreamed of travelling by myself back when I used to pick up travel brochures at my university’s agency, but I had forgotten that until I was walking along the stoney entry road in the dim dawn light and saw the famous outline of the temple ahead of me. At that point waking up at 4 am to make it in time for the sunrise was very much worth it.

As it was a cloudy day the sunrise was a bit underwhelming, but  I stayed sitting there long enough that the sun finally broke through. In Siem Reap, apart from visiting Angkor Wat, I mainly ate delicious food and drank cheap roadside smoothies, along with a few visits to museums and a cooking class, all of which I would highly recommend. Next I conquered the bus ride from Siem Reap to Bangkok, which involved a lengthy border crossing and a rather longer overall journey time than I was told to prepare for, but eventually saw me settling in for a couple of days of sightseeing and a trip to Elephant’s World before the arrival of my Thailand travel buddy, Rachael. Rachael and I headed straight to the islands: first Koh Mak for three days then Koh Kood for another three. The islands themselves were absolute paradise, but we were hit hard by food poisoning that week which resulted in me hiding in the hotel room for most of the time in Koh Mak and Rachael taking her turn in Koh Kood. Our recovery was well-timed with our return to Bangkok for Songkran, the massive New Year celebration involving a huge waterfight throughout the city, which was just as awesome as it sounds. Then it was time for me to board the plane to Australia, after close to two and a half years away.

Returning home after such a long period is a surreal and bittersweet experience. After many years as an expat I feel increasingly foreign each time I arrive home, and find simple things like talking to people in shops who share the same language and even accent as I do very strange, but I appreciate Australia more every time.   In July it was time to hit the sky again. Four flights took me from Brisbane, Australia to Uberlandia, Brazil for the 2015 IHF Men’s Junior World Championship… where I discovered Pão de Queijo….  Celebrated my birthday…   And France won one of their three world titles of the year.Then, much sooner than I had expected when I left in February, I returned to London for a whirlwind two and a half-day visit.   From London it was on to beautiful Ekaterinburg, Russia for the Youth World Championship.  Then it was time to decide what to do next, and so after hours of sitting on planes thinking about my options plus a few work considerations that had popped up over the previous weeks, I settled on moving to Amsterdam. I returned to Australia for a too-short 10 days during which I tried to squeeze in my favourite things, including a visit to the far north coast… And a last evening of noodles and ice cream. Before I knew it it was time to say goodbye again.  Six months later, after an initial arrival period dominated by visa applications and the like, a World Championship and a EHF EURO, and apartment hunting, I am slowly settling in Amsterdam. And this year is shaping up to be almost as eventful as 2015.

Northey Street Market

If you love organic food, you’ll love this market. Sprawled underneath fig trees on Northey Street in Windsor, this market is home to fruit and vegetables galore; locally-made honey (nothing beats Aussie honey); nuts, grains and oils; cheeses; fresh juice; and plenty of inventive breakfast options. It’s popular but when I was there was far from overcrowded; just happy people doing their weekly shopping, enjoying the buskers and savouring laidback meals.

Like with any organic food, prices are higher than your run-of-the-mill supermarket, but you get what you pay for. And if, like me, you were horrified by this recent experiment where a Swedish family switched to organic for a week with rather noticeable results, you might agree the extra dollars are worth it.       

A day at Elephants World

Elephants have always been my favourite. When I was little I knew every line from Dumbo and used to embarrass my parents by walking around in public pretending to be an elephant, with my arm extended in front of my face in an effort to look like a trunk, occasionally emitting ‘elephant noises’ I’m sure were completely inaccurate impressions. So when I was planning my trip through southeast Asia I knew I had to see some elephants up close.

Prior to my visit to Elephants World I wasn’t aware just how damaging the trekking industry is for the elephants’ health, but I knew that riding one or seeing a show where they were trained to do completely unnatural things was not what I wanted to do. I wanted to go to a place where I could be among them. I came across a list of animal-friendly places to see elephants throughout Asia, which is sadly a very short one. Elephants World was the most practical to fit into my itinerary, so I went ahead and booked.   
At Elephants World the focus is on working for the elephants, rather than having the elephants work for the people. It is a sanctuary for retired and rescued elephants, most of whom come with a sad story from their past. The one-day visit includes feeding the elephants, preparing their food, and washing and swimming with the elephants in the river. It’s certainly not an easy day — it was hot and we really did work, but I enjoyed every minute and was happy to know I was genuinely contributing to helping this place fulfil its purpose. 
Upon arrival we fed the elephants from a big basket of fruit and vegetables. I was a little intimidated at this stage, as I stood in front of this enormous animal which took each piece of fruit from my hands with such strength, but as the day went on I quickly felt quite comfortable walking near them. Every elephant has their own mahout who takes care of and directs them specifically, and they do a great job of monitoring their elephant’s mood and making sure visitors and the elephants are safe.

After the first feeding we watched the elephants go for a swim, then began preparing the sticky rice balls for the older elephants.  
Some elephants are tied up but it is only temporary — they are new and need to get used to all the other elephants, and the other elephants to them. 
A delicious lunch is included.

After lunch the elephants were delighted to take a dip in the mud pool. 
Then we prepared the elephants’ fruit baskets ahead of their afternoon feeding. This involved putting all the right fruits and vegetables in each basket according to dietary needs, as well as some hardcore scrubbing to ensure everything was clean. 
After lunch we finished preparing the sticky rice balls, then fed them to the two older elephants. We were joined by a cheeky elephant who wasn’t supposed to eat the rice balls, but kept coming to us and opening its mouth in anticipation of tricking the unknowing visitors.
After the rice balls it was time for the highlight of the day — swimming with the elephants. One of the things we learned that day was that elephants can carry up to 500kg on their neck and up to 100kg on their back; this is why the trekking industry, where elephants carry up to four tourists on a heavy seat, is so cruel. So, the elephants can happily swim with one or two people at a time — and they certainly seem to enjoy the playtime.

At first sitting on this very powerful, large animal was a little intimidating, but apprehension soon turned to laughter as my elephant kept dunking both me and his mahout. He held my legs with his ears — they were unbelievably strong — keeping me quite securely on his neck. It was truly amazing and though the whole day was wonderful, those few moments eclipse all the rest of my memories at Elephants World by far. 
A lot of people choose to do more than one day at Elephants World, or stay in Kanchanaburi, the town nearest to Elephants World, overnight. I chose to day trip from Bangkok and found it to be a very easy option. In the morning I took a 6am local bus from the Southern Bus Terminal (Sai Tai Mai), which is oddly enough actually in Bangkok’s west, for 100 baht. It was comfortable and convenient, and I arrived with plenty of time to scout around for a coffee before the Elephants World truck picked me up for the free transfer at 8:30am.

For the return journey to Bangkok I ended up taking a minivan, which stopped at the Victory Monument. That may have been a more convenient final stop but I did regret my decision as the minvan driver was 100% crazy — I really was unsure I was going to make it.

Hanoi

I landed in Hanoi just after 6am after one of the most tedious flights I’ve ever experienced, from Paris. After months of planning interspersed with work trips, the holidays and enjoying my last few weeks in London, which meant I was organised for this leg of my homeward journey much later than I ordinarily would be, I was finally halfway (or something) back to Australia. While I was sad the previous few months, and years in fact, were over, there was a big sense of relief to be in the moment I’d been planning for and thinking about for so long. The lead up had been stressful at times, and now I could relax.

My very first few trips abroad were to parts of Asia — Malaysia and Japan — with my family, but this was to be my first taste of Asia in a while (apart from a work trip to Qatar in January). Driving from the airport I was thrilled at the increasing amount of traffic as we approached the inner city — the number of motorbikes, the number of people on each motorbike, the number of beeps from every motorbike; it was all so lively and exciting.  
For the Vietnam leg of my southeast Asia visit I was travelling with a dear friend and travel buddy from my time in London. DD had left a few months before I did and is now working in Dubai, so there was a lot to catch up on, which of course added to the anticipation of the morning.

Our hotel was in the charming, bustling old quarter (more on that area another day), which was perfect. As I had absolutely no sleep on the 11 hour flight, we had an easy first day of wandering around the city — and both of us absolutely loved it.
I don’t think photos can possibly convey the character of the city properly. The buildings are beautiful, there are trees and greenery everywhere, people go about their own business not paying much attention to anyone else, there are plenty of peaceful spots to be found amid the havoc, and any time you’re bored, you can spice up your day with a crossing-the-road adventure. Hanoi is alive at any time of day or night — we found we could quite easily spend a few hours sitting in a cafe, chatting and people/chaotic traffic watching. 

Hanoi served as our base for exploring the other areas of the country’s north on our itinerary. We came and went several times and it began to feel like home, but the bulk of our exploring was left until the last day before we departed. We walked to every point of interest, covering a lot of ground to finish the day exhausted. I must confess that by the end I found the constant beeping a little less charming than I had at first, but that’s just part of what makes the city.  At least it made the streets of Bangkok seem relatively peaceful in comparison.  

The London Wrap-up

Almost two and a half years ago I departed Australia on a new expat adventure. My destination was London, and everything to come was completely unknown. En route back to Australia I travelled through three continents, visiting Morocco, Spain, the Netherlands, France, Vietnam, Cambodia and Thailand, not to mention all the other countries I’ve added to my passport since I was last home. It’s been quite a ride.

In my first blog post about the move I listed the things I had: a two-year visa and my suitcase, along with the things I didn’t: a job, a place to live, and more than three friends in the city. It really is crazy is to look back on that time and all that was to happen over the next two and a bit years — so many things I could never have predicted or dreamed; so many expectations that turned out to be completely inaccurate, in the best way. I had done the living abroad thing before, so I thought I could plan a little how things would go, but the biggest thing I learned from this experience was to let go of expectations completely.

In that first post I mentioned checking in to a hostel I would call my home for the next ten days. Well, that turned out to be a huge underestimation — in that hostel I found my first home in London where I stayed for 16 months, many wonderful friends from all over the world; a job that would serve as a perfect safety net, allowing me the time to build myself up as a freelancer, something I previously thought of as unattainable; and a tall Italian who would be the star of my UK adventure. That a hostel would play such a huge part in my London experience was definitely the most unpredictable aspect of my time there. It’s not for everyone, but living in the hostel was one of the most fun, hilarious and random things I’ve ever done.

The time the guys actually rated girls walking past out of 10. They received only smiles in return — how does this work?

Some kid was born on my birthday:  
    
Hostel living: the philosophy applied to any and all inexplicable/hilarious/ridiculous events experienced as part of this inexplicable/hilarious/ridiculous living situation.    
A man in the park asks to sketch Nathan.     
My farewell from AHP.    
The hostel, Astor Hyde Park, is on a beautiful wide street in South Kensington, one of London’s fanciest neighbourhoods, just down the road from Kensington Gardens. I can’t count how many hours I spent wandering, running and lazing about in Kensington Gardens and adjacent Hyde Park, not to mention walking around South Ken in disbelief that I lived there.

The time a Hugh Jackman movie (Pan, still to be released) was filmed on our block. There were huge spotlights, fog machines and I could hear the director shouting ‘action’ as I tried to sleep well after midnight. 
All this time I was steadily working on building my client base and becoming busier and busier with work, until I was able to focus solely on that. Serendipitously, in my last week working at AHP my boyfriend was offered the Manager position at a different hostel: Astor Museum, so after a month of summertime travel in France and the Netherlands, I was lucky enough to move in with him in beautiful Bloomsbury.

Leaving South Ken was sad, but discovering Bloomsbury was amazing. I fell completely in love with this gorgeous neighbourhood full of parks and garden squares; handsome old buildings very different — though just as worthy of admiration and photo-taking — from those in South Ken; history; and countless independent coffee shops that served me as excellent offices.
  
The location was spectacular for getting to know parts of central London even better. I absolutely loved our weekends: wandering down to Covent Garden for brunch, meeting a friend in Angel to find a new coffee spot, frantic shopping on Oxford and Regent Street, or practising handstands in Regent’s Park.
              
At Museum, I found a new hostel family.

We invented (maybe not) the closed-eye selfie and found it hilarious.
We made Christmas jumpers mandatory for the whole of December.     
The time Kye got locked in the shower and it took at least 20 minutes to get him out. 
I always believed the expat experience is worth the pain you will inevitably feel at the end when you leave the home away from home you have created for yourself, but I must admit I’ve questioned that philosophy a little over the last couple of months. A piece of my heart will stay in London, and it’s not easy. Maybe J.K. Rowling was onto something when she wrote that every time Voldemort created a new horcrux into which went a piece of his soul, he became a little bit weaker.

Arriving in a new place with little or nothing planned and finding your way is one of the most satisfying things I can think of; it’s why I’m hooked on moving around and discovering new places. There’s nothing like the pride of actually making a life on the other side of the world work, but then the chapter closes and all those wonderful moments become memories — and sharp pangs that haunt you for a long time afterwards.

There are a thousand things I’ll miss about that city:
Markets and festivals
     
Iconic buildings    Incredible, free museums      The crazy fun of Notting Hill Carnival
  
The parks, and watching them change   
Sundays at Brick Lane with SA   
Southbank and the river

Tube and double-decker bus rides
Camden and Notting Hill    Christmas — there’s something unique about Christmas in London              
And all the random moments in between
  

Fez: Day One

Fez was our first major stop in Morocco. We flew in to Rabat, stayed there one night, then hopped on a train to Fez the next morning. It was a beautiful day and the train process couldn’t have been easier. It was crowded though, which meant we spent the entire three hour journey standing, but mostly we had enough space and a great view of the passing scenery. I was so happy for the warm sunny weather and the prospect of two weeks ahead with SA that the three hours passed quickly and soon we were walking the rather long way from the station to find our Riad in the medina. A combination of things on this first afternoon made me unhappily realise that this was a place where it might be difficult to have genuine local experiences. It began when the staff at our Riad recommended a place where we could find Burger King, pizza places, etc as an area we should try to eat. I was a little shocked at this — the food was one of the things I was most excited about, as I suppose it is wherever I travel, or on any random Tuesday morning for that matter.

Both secretly dismissing that advice, we enjoyed our welcome tea, quickly settled in to our beautiful room and then headed out to discover the medina — before being brought to a halt by the first of the many helpful (I resist the urge to surround helpful with quotation marks, because some genuinely are) locals eager to assist us on our merry way.
I’m not opposed to being helped with directions, but my favourite thing in a new place is to simply wander, looking at the map occasionally — I don’t want to be led quickly through the medina, passing interesting shops, beautiful doorways and mystical alleyways that beg to have their picture taken. It’s about the journey, not the destination, right?

Our new friend led us away from the main road we were on, down a series of winding alleys, including one that was so dark and narrow my survival instinct definitely stirred a little, then out onto a main road that looked suspiciously like the one we were on before. While SA was led into the take-away shop to get some food, I quickly walked up the road about 30 metres, to find the exact point at which we had first met this guy — confirming my suspicions that he had taken us on a much longer, completely unnecessary route to find something we easily would’ve found ourselves.

I wasn’t shocked at this — anyone travelling to Morocco should be well aware these kinds of things happen on a regular basis, as I was, but I can’t say I was happy to discover that my suspicions were correct. From this moment we were much better at politely but firmly declining most of the invitations and offers of help we received. Some were genuine, and some were not — we certainly needed directions on one or two occasions in the medina, and were extremely grateful to those that helped and welcomed us while asking nothing in return.

But that afternoon was an important lesson for the rest of our time in Fez. Tourists being led on overly long, complex routes through the medina is something we witnessed more than once, and I’m sure there’s a conspiracy to use this tactic in order to convince tourists they can’t find their way themselves and will need a guide. The medina in Fez is a complete maze comprised of 9,400 streets/alleys/slight fissures you can only just pass through, so I know many people recommend a guide, but we decided to try without one and once we were a little more on our toes, had a fantastic time exploring.

The area we discovered that day was a little different than what we found over the remaining days. A little more local, a little more rustic (hooray!). It was a great introduction to the bustling city Fez represents. We bought some delicious fruit from a street vendor, and finished the day with a tagine and one of the 386 mint teas we enjoyed on the trip.    

Souq Waqif

Qatar marked a number of firsts for me: my first trip to a Gulf country, my first visit to a souq, and my first dose of vitamin d for 2015. My visit to Doha was for work rather than play, which meant little time for being a tourist, but I did manage a visit to the souq — also a first — one evening.

Exploring a little then people watching as we sat at a cafe was an extremely relaxed way to spend an evening — though our meandering pace was not reflective of how lively and entertaining the souq was. Weathered men pushed wheelbarrows transporting goods through the narrow alleyways, performers on stilts entertained the crowd that filled the various squares dotting the souq, countless birds awaited new owners in rows of stalls, and bright, patterned clothing completely different from any fashion I’d seen actually on people seemed to be the main commodity available for purchase.

It was interesting, beautiful, perfect weather and we had no trouble finding our way through the modest maze of streets. I could easily dedicate several more hours to exploring, observing and tasting the many mouth-watering food options I noted with particular interest for any future visits.