May 2019: Andrew's story

It has been over 7 years since Drey first shared with me an excerpt from Thich Nhat Hanh’s book ‘Breathe, You are Alive!!!’. It is a commentary of the Sutra on the Full Awareness of Breathing (Anapanasati Sutta) and reads as follows:

·         We all have the tendency to run away from suffering. But the fact is that without suffering, there is no way to cultivate understanding and compassion. I don't want to send my friends and children to a place without suffering, because a place without suffering is a place without understanding and compassion. Without understanding and compassion, there can be no happiness.

·         A lotus can never grow without mud. So just as the mud plays a very vital role in bringing out the lotus, suffering plays a vital role in bringing understanding and compassion. When we embrace our suffering and look deeply into it, we can learn a lot.

Over the past week, I have shed a lot of tears. Tears in memory of a person who wasn’t that close to me during his life; but who has made a big impact on me following his death.

Exactly a week ago, I got the email that said ‘Andrew has sadly passed away today’. My full emotional response to the news was not immediate but unfolded slowly over the following days. It was about 6 months ago, just before Christmas, when Andrew was first diagnosed with leukaemia. He had gone for a routine eye test at the local opticians, and within days, found himself admitted in hospital with 6 weeks of hospital isolation ahead of him following his first course of chemotherapy. He broke the news to me a few weeks later, when I returned from my pilgrimage to India and Nepal. 

Perhaps due to my own life experiences, I was adamant that I wanted to be a support to him through his journey; but only if he wanted me to be there. I didn’t know what the future held for him, but regardless of what was to unfold, I wanted him to feel supported, cared for and not alone.

When I first met Andrew 4 years ago, I could see a lot of parallels in our lives. He seemed like a decent man, rebuilding his life after the breakdown of a long term relationship and moving into the same residential area that I used to live in when I was going through the same life event. He was quite open and chatty to begin with, but as the years went by, he became more and more silent and aloof. Sometimes I would only get a grunt out of him, and often I would feel that I was a disruption to his already very busy day. He would rush in a few minutes late for our appointment, and then rush off as soon as I had left.

So it was quite a change when I contacted him in February 2019, and he was quite insistent about wanting to meet me. Our clashing schedules meant that the only way we could meet was at the break of dawn. I joked that I’d have to meet him at 5am, and he was up for it! Fortunately, I was working from home that day, and so we managed to leave it till 7am.

Andrew was self-conscious about having lost his hair due to the chemotherapy and warned me about it before I went round. So I made it a point to comment that he looked a lot younger without hair, so don’t worry about it.

I had checked the house and was about to leave, but I sensed that he wanted to chat, so I stayed for a bit longer. He told me about what had happened with his diagnosis and treatment. But more importantly, he wanted to impart the valuable advice to me to go on holidays, not work so hard and to enjoy my life. He described his diagnosis as a ‘car crash’. He was happily chugging along in life and then ‘Boom!’. His life was turned upside down. He recounted how difficult it was being stuck in the hospital room for 6 weeks. Although he wasn’t physically restricted from walking out of the door, he knew that doing so would put his health at risk due to the risk of infection. The whole environment was closely controlled – the temperature, the air, his diet, etc. 

I asked him if his diagnosis had changed his outlook in life, and he replied ‘Hell, yeah’. His appreciation for life and everything he had had significantly increased.

I was late for work that day, but I felt it was more important to spend that time with him and so I would deal with the consequences later. I remember him very carefully gazing at my hands as though he was trying to memorise what I looked like. Or perhaps he was just intrigued why I was holding a single chopstick in my hand – the chopstick I had used to test the smoke alarm on the ceiling as I wouldn’t be able to reach the button otherwise. I remember coming home and thinking, I wish I had given him a hug; as I recalled having lost the opportunity to give my grandmother a hug before she passed away 22 years ago. But of course, that may not have been deemed appropriate as my relationship with Andrew was officially a professional one.

My encounter with him that day inspired me to look into platelet and bone marrow donation. Alas, I didn’t meet the minimum criteria. But still, I felt very hopeful and positive that he was going to get over this. I sent him a get well card with a very heartfelt note conveying that message.

When I told my sister about Andrew’s condition, she thought that was dreadful. Poor Andrew. Funnily, I didn’t react in the same manner. Yes, of course I wouldn’t wish for Andrew to be unwell. But I was of the opinion that it’s brilliant that he’s turned that corner, is able to see life differently, to appreciate life and to realise what is really important. A day of living in the light and really cherishing life is worth more than a decade of living in the darkness, in oblivion.

Over the weeks that ensued, I made it a point to ring him every week. We only chatted for about half an hour each time, but I wanted to give him a distraction from all the medical procedures and a connection outside of his family circle. I was hoping that if there was anything he didn’t feel able to speak with his family about, that I would provide the outlet for that. He told me about his work and how he was so grateful to that for providing him with a means of keeping his mind active. He told me about the horrible side effects of the chemo drugs. We spoke about what he would like to do when he was discharged. He told me about his brothers and how one of them had been found to be a match as a bone marrow donor. On Wednesday the 27^th of March 2019, I rung, and then texted him, but didn’t get a response. So I took it as a sign that he wanted some privacy, and stopped my weekly calls.

I thought about sending him a card, or a text before his 51^st birthday in May, but decided against it. I knew he had been expecting to be in hospital for his next course of treatment during that time. My plan was to contact him towards the end of May anyway, to arrange for the house gas safety certificate renewal. I sent him an email about it, but this time, it was his colleague AJ who replied. She advised me to ring Andrew’s partner, A. When AJ discouraged me from contacting Andrew on his mobile, I knew things were serious. It was the first time I had heard of his partner A, but I duly rung and texted her. The next day, I got a call from PR, Andrew’s brother, to say that his condition was terminal. The doctors would not say how much time he had left. As it turned out, he passed away the next day, Saturday 25 May 2019.

Andrew’s death has stopped me on my tracks. Forced me to question my own life. Revisit my values and opinions about what is important in life. 

View of Iona from the ferry

Andrew had always been keen on being present when any tradesmen were due to call round, understandably so; but when it really came to the crunch, whilst he was ill in hospital, none of that mattered anymore and hence PR told me to go ahead with the appointment in his absence.

As I hurried along with the crowd into the ferry from Oban to the Isle of Mull and Iona the next day, it struck me how pointless, meaningless and unsubstantiated everything is. Money, status, the badges of holiday destinations one has visited, the numerous holiday photos we’re obsessed about taking – what’s the point of it all when the reality is that none of it really matters when we’re on our death bed. 

So if all that is not important, what is important? To love, to care and to be kind. To be kind to everyone with whom we cross paths with because this is our only opportunity to show them love. To be present and truly listen when someone speaks to us. To be aware and grateful for every moment we have and not wither it away on frivolous activities. To get the most benefit out of our lives. To make the most of the time we have. And not to give cause for regret over hurtful things we have said or done. I felt that very strongly. Be nice. Be kind. I still find my mind drifting off as a friend drones on and on about a topic I am not interested in, but then I would remind myself – listen, really listen to what she/he has to say. Let them know that they matter.

Andrew's photo of Tan Hill Inn in 2015

On my way back from Oban, I made it a point to detour to the North Yorkshire Dales. Many years ago, Andrew and I had spoken about the Tan Hill Inn. I have always wanted to visit it, but had never made the journey there. Andrew had sent me a photo of Tan Hill Inn on one of his day trips out on his motorcycle. Despite the pouring rain and fading daylight, I was adamant to make my way there and raise a glass in his memory.

Andrew hadn’t written a will, and so his brother has to apply for a probate. The process can be long and drawn out over many months. It has impressed upon me how important it is to get my own affairs in order so as not to leave a trail of paperwork for my next of kin. Get a will in place. Declutter. Live simply. All things I already know, but never got round to.

When I spoke with SM at work about a work colleague, PB, who had passed away of a heart attack just a
week before Andrew, she commented about how unfair life is. PB had just been made redundant at work, was turning his life around by making various lifestyle changes for a healthier life and then without warning, his life ended. Once again, I viewed things differently. I responded ‘Well, I like to think that they are in a better place now’. To which SM joked ‘Yea, maybe they don’t have to put up with this horrible weather because they are above it’. I thought, maybe it is not unfair (to them). Perhaps the prospects in the afterlife are a lot better than life on earth as we know it? Perhaps PB and Andrew are looking upon us from wherever they are now and thinking ‘Awww, life is so unfair. They are stuck there whilst we are enjoying our lives here! They don’t know what they are missing out on’. 

Naturally, I have been speaking to everyone around me about Andrew’s story. In a bid to ensure that his life was not in vain, I’d like others to benefit from his experience and for me to take on board the advice he had imparted to me. I am grateful for his well intentions in wanting me to make the most of my life and not to have the same regrets he had. I am grateful for having been a part of his life, no matter how small and to have had the opportunity to have met such an honourable man. A few years ago, I had noticed that he had missed paying the rent one December. I waited for a few days, but still it didn’t arrive. All sorts of thoughts crossed my mind. Did he lose his job? Is he in financial difficulty? After some disturbed nights, I decided that I had no choice but to question him about it but will bend over backwards to help him if he was in trouble. We can come up with a payment plan or something if he was having financial difficulties. When I spoke with him about the missed payment, he was dismayed. Something must have gone awry at the bank. Within 2 hours, Andrew had gone to the bank and ensured that the money was banked in. 

View from Tan Hill Inn

In my email and phone encounters with PR over the past week, I realised that the moral values and integrity Andrew possessed was not unique to him. Both brothers are equally honourable and it is of great credit to their parents. Whilst it may not be a consolation to them having lost a son, there’s a lot to be said for the fine men they have raised.

Despite my undefinable relationship with Andrew – was it a professional relationship or one bordering on friendship? – I’m thankful for everything he and his life have taught me. We shared a common principle in life to live with integrity, good moral values and one based on well intentions. Whilst our brief exchange in life on earth has come to an end, I hope that he has moved on to a better place and maybe someday our paths will cross again.

Thailand + India/Nepal Pilgrimage January 2019 Dhamma Reflections

When I get back to the UK, understandably everyone will be asking me - how was my trip to India, Nepaland Thailand? I'm uncertain of how to express my exact thoughts and emotions at this moment in time. There have been a few key events during the trip that has taught me a lot and given me a deeper insight into life.

 It was our third day in Bodhgaya, India when the first incident unfolded. There were 4 of us holding on for our dear life in a rickshaw as it whizzed through the streets, heading for the Maha Bodhi Temple. My line of vision was against the flow of traffic, as I took in the sights and sounds of chaotic Bodhgaya. It was a surreal moment as I watched a local Indian lady being hurled out of the rickshaw and landing with a thud in the middle of the busy road. She looked like a rag doll being thrown out of her seat. My heart skipped a beat as she lay lifeless on the ground. “Oh dear God!” I exclaimed. There was a deep sense of relief when she slowly got up with the help of her fellow companions as she held her head in her hands, presumably in pain. If there is to be a lesson on the fragility of life, this was it. She could have easily been fatally injured and not have survived the fall. None of us have any inkling of what's to happen to us in the next second, minutes, hours, days or weeks ahead. And yet, we live life as though we are invincible.

I remember once reading a comment made by a man who had spent some time observing autopsies carried out by the police. How peculiar it is that the teenage boy had no inkling that morning as he put on his pair of sneakers or that T-Shirt that it was going to be the last time he dressed himself. He had no idea that he was not to see through the end of the day.

As we travelled through Uttar Pradesh and Bihar on the tour bus, poverty was clearly to be seen all around us. I watched as mothers held the hands of their young daughters as they made their way through the streets. ‘That could be me’, I thought to myself. Perhaps that could have been me in a past life, or if I’m not careful, that could be me in a future life? Why have they got the lives they have; and me, the blessed life I have? Why is it that I was fortunate enough to be born in a respectable family, with parents who instilled in me good moral values and gave me numerous opportunities to seek a better life? At nearly every stop we made, there were hordes of children waiting and hopeful for handouts. Begging and pleading us for money. Day after day, we came face to face with the poverty, the filthy environment and smelly toilets. A tremendous sense of gratitude arose in me as I thought of my life in the UK and the opportunities I had been given.

I have a body that I call mine. I spend a great deal of time and money nurturing it - cleaning it, feeding it and taking care of it. I'm very careful to keep it healthy and free from injuries or harm. The next significant lesson I was about to receive took place back in Thailand.

Sunday 20th January 2019 - it was our third day back from India. I had set my alarm clock and got ready for pindapat (1) early that morning. My first pindapat during this Thailand trip. We made our way out of the monastery main entrance and turned right. We walked in silence in single file towards Phuwiang as Tan Bernard led the group of monks followed by Jeremy and me. We stood by the road patiently as we waited for one of the residents from the house we had walked pass to get her dana (2) offerings together. There were the usual exchange of pleasantries and before long we were on our way.

Just as we set off, two dogs came charging out of the neighbouring house and started barking aggressively at our feet. The thought arose in my mind, “Right, what should I do? Walk calmly and quietly away? Or do something else?”. Having discussed this with Mick the night before when he recalled a recent incident when he had walked calmly away unscathed, I decided to do the same. As I took my second step away from the dogs, I felt the dog's canines digging into my right calf. A male voice shouted out. Too late. My trousers were not torn but I could feel and see the sticky stains of blood. “I've been bitten by the dog”, I whispered to Jeremy as he protectively took the last position in the queue to widen the gap between me and the now retreating dogs. “Are you ok?”, he asked. “I'm ok, just in shock, I think”, I replied as I felt the blood slightly drain from my head.

As we continued with the pindapat, I could feel my calf muscles tightening and getting slightly sore. I'll probably be fine, I thought to myself. But if I do catch rabies and die in a few weeks, then so be it. Life will unfold as it's meant to be and I'll accept whatever it has in store for me. It was rather handy that preparations were underway at Wat Pah Kanjanabhisek for Phra Ajahn Maha Rung Reung's funeral. “If I were to die, you can just cremate me with Ajahn (3) Rung”, I joked with Peter. “I'm sure that will be very auspicious”, he quipped in reply.

During my retreat with Ajahn Amaro at Amaravati Monastery a few months ago, I had an insight into how my body is a part of nature. I have limited control over it. Just like how the parasites and tumour like growths attach to the trees in the forest, so too is my body subject to the forces of nature. My body is subject to tumours, cysts and infections of all sorts - it happens on its own accord as a normal process of nature and life. This body doesn't really belong to me. It belongs to nature. The dog bite was a reminder to me of that teaching. To wild predators (and possibly some doggy pets), my body is just a big piece of walking meat and bones. I too am part of the food chain.

The lesson that I found most profound came just 2 days later. The big crowd that attended Phra Ajahn Maha Rung Reung's funeral had left. It was the morning after the funeral. Most of the clearing, packing and dismantling of the marquees had been completed. A small crowd of monks and remaining visitors, including the ‘farangs’ (4), gathered around the ‘oven’ as it was dismantled to reveal the remnants of Ajahn Rung's cremation. We stood around in anticipation, trying to catch the first glimpse of the ashes as each panel of the oven was unscrewed and lifted. Before long, all the walls had been removed. It struck me how little was left of Ajahn Rung's cremation remains. The only clear visible signs to indicate that there had ever been a human body in there were a few fragmented pieces of skull, pelvic bone, vertebral column and the femur head.

I tried to bring to mind the frail body of Ajahn Rung from when we had met him just 2 weeks ago, prior to leaving for India. How he had bravely struggled with his breath and endured the obvious discomfort and pain of his physical body. He was only 47 years old. This is all that remains of his physical body. A pile of ashes that if carried by the wind or strewn on the ground, would return to the earth, stripped of any indication of the person or human body it once was. For someone with a deep-seated fear of death, ghost, cemeteries and dead bodies, it was a stark realisation of how unsubstantiated my fear of death is. The cremation process merely hastens the process of deconstruction/decomposition of the human form to its main elements of earth, fire, water and air. The human form is just a temporary structure, the temporary coming together of the elements. It is like a hologram - with no solidity, stability, permanence or ’thing-ness’.

What have I been afraid of all this while? I'm not saying that I've been ’cured’ of my fear of ghost and dead bodies, but I dare say that a huge chip of it has fallen away. When I left the UK just 3 weeks ago, I was full of anticipation and hope for powerful experiences in India - the land of the birth, life and death of the Buddha. A hope that it would totally shift my outlook of life and greatly increase my faith and inspire my practice. I had hit rock bottom and needed something to change my perspective of life. Unfortunately, I can't say that India has filled me with the inspiration I had hoped for. I didn't feel the supernatural energies of those holy sites. However, I do feel that as I'm making my way back to the UK, having said goodbye to fellow Sangha (5) members from the pilgrimage, that I take home with me some profound lessons and experiences that has a humble outlook but deep impact in my life. The three characteristics of existence – dukkha (6), anicca (7) and anatta (8) – were so obvious throughout the pilgrimage.

The night sky is not lit up in magnificent colours and the smokey scent of fireworks, but instead, the sparkle of the twinkling stars is clearly visible each night as the sun sets. Always reliably present, always there - as is the Dhamma (9).

(1) alms round
(2) giving of alms
(3) Thai word for teacher
(4) Thai word for Westerners
(5) Community
(6) Suffering
(7) Impermanence
(8) Non-self
(9) Law of nature or teachings of the Buddha

Pilgrimage with the Buddha Metta Society in Thailand (Isaan region) 2-17 January 2015

My dream as a teenager was to join Medicines San Frontier as part of its team of Doctors without Borders. Instead, 19 years on, I find myself as part of a multi-cultural team demonstrating Dhamma without Borders....

Our group of 12 pilgrims led by Ajahn Sudhiro and accompanied by Tan B (Brendan) and Tan C (Christian) consisted of people from various parts of the world – 3 Americans, 2 Malaysians currently residing in the UK, 5 British, 1 Thai currently residing in New Zealand and 1 Thai from near Bangkok. Some of them have repeatedly made this trip in the preceeding years, whilst it was a new experience for the rest of us.

The 2 weeks of travelling from monastery to monastery was unlike the other sightseeing holidays I have been on in the past. Our journey begun in Khon Kaen at Wat Pah Kanjanapisek with Ajahn Sudhiro’s birthday and the rice harvest celebrations. Prior to playing with the local children whilst feasting on the village offerings, we were reminded to generate gratitude to our parents for our gift of life as Ajahn Sudhiro led a ceremony in memory of his parents. The reality of ageing, sickness and imminent death was brought to mind when we visited Luang Por Mahaso at Wat Pah Kam Can Nua. Christian’s head shaving in preparation for his ordination unfolded the following day. It’s only Day 4, and already we have stumbled across reminders of the Buddha’s 4 encounters when he left the palace gates over 2558 years ago.

Each morning started with following the barefooted monks on their almsround (pindapat). Local villagers would line the streets with food offerings to await our arrival. With palms held together in anjali, they greeted us with big smiles and the words “Savadeeka” (hello), “Savadee Pi Mai Ka” (Happy New Year), “Now mai” (Are you cold?) and “Sabbai di” (How are you?). The monks’ visit each morning provides them with the opportunity to give dana and practice generosity. Unlike in the West, I found that the Thais were very open handed in giving, and equally open to the idea of ‘allowing’ others to practice generosity by gratefully receiving anything that is offered. It was a beautiful practice to watch and embrace. The practice fitted well with Ajahn Sudhiro's mother's advice to him as a young child - "Don't eat without offering dana, don't leave the house without taking the 5 precepts, don't sleep without meditating".

The ensuing days unfolded with us hopping from monastery to monastery, transferring metta (loving kindness) to its resident stray dogs and listening to live dhamma talks from the respective abbots. Some members of the team reminisced at the construction site of the reclining Buddha at Wat Pah Kittiyanusorn where they had helped to lay concrete in previous years. At Wat Sri Pu Wieng, we observed the recitation of the 277 rules of the patimokkha and the ordination of Tan C as Garudhammo (meaning 'steady in the dhamma' in Pali). Despite the distracting psychedelic lights emiting from a Buddha rupa at Wat Thum Pha Kurng and its huge ornate display of nagas, we were entranced by its abbot's dhamma talk urging us not to run away from our fears and to frequently recollect the teachings of the Four Noble Truths. Luang Poo Thongma repeatedly blessed us at Wat Tam Kaeng (deer cave) whilst encouraging us to let go of everything (ie thoughts and attachments) at night as we lay in bed because we never know when we will draw our last breath.

It's clear to see why Wat Tham Pah Wieng stands out for me as a memorable experience in this trip. It was here that Peter, Joan and I spent the night in a cave with countless bats. We abandoned our initial plan to return to the sala for evening chanting as it was too hazardous to manoeuvre our way up the dilapidated trail to the cave in moonlight. Therefore, we opted instead to do a short evening chanting and meditation session of our own. The cave filled with our faltering chants of the Ten Perfections, reflections of universal well-being, the Buddha's word on loving kindness and reflections on sharing blessings before subsequently falling to silence as we sat in meditation in the darkness. I had a very disturbing sleep that night - one may blame it on the unfamiliar surroundings, the visions I had of unfamiliar faces, the weird but short dreams that filled my sleep or the loud bang followed by the silhoutte of a man in glowing white light making its way to the mouth of the cave. I thought the latter was Peter making his way to the 'toilet' in the middle of the night, but he later denied this having been fast asleep through the night. It was only revealed by the abbot of the monastery (Luang Por Vijaro) the next morning that the cave holds cremation ashes in its nooks and crannies. He believes that a monk who had practised well had once died in that cave, and that the visions I had were pleas for the sharing of merits. Despite my usual scaredy-cat nature, I felt a positive vibe in that cave. I believe that it is filled with virtuous beings who mean no harm and truly wish we had shared enough blessings to uplift their spirits.

Our visit at Wat Pah Chang Pueng, the Wat of the Fallen Trees (and the nearby cave) and Luang Por Chorb's Cheddi were a bit less hair-raising although the witnessing of a motorcycle accident en route did generate a lot of emotive discussions.

The following day, we attended the Children's Day celebrations at the Summuang School down the road from the Buddha Metta Project. My next unforgettable experience was to unfold at the bamboo grove near the cave a short trek from the Buddha Metta Project. It was here that Ajahn Sudhiro had practised for 8 years. Whilst most of the others chose to remain in the cave, unable to find a comfortable spot, I opted to sit in meditation at a private but open area a short distance from the cave. Halfway through my practice, I opened my eyes in response to a distracting rustling of leaves. I saw a brown snake scuttle across the rocky terrain being chased by a black snake. I thanked my lucky stars as I had nearly chosen that rocky terrain as my 'seat' just moments before. I tried to continue my practice as the black snake retreated to its hiding place. However, it wasn't long before Tan C decided to climb over the top of the cave. The commotion triggered the black snake to resurface as it slid past about ten feet in front of my path. Needless to say, my meditation session had been distrupted beyond return by this point. Nevertheless, Ajahn Sudhiro felt the experience was special enough to recount to the Samayya students on tudong the next day.
 

The Cheddi at the Wat of Peacocks (not its real name) offered me the perfect environment for a peaceful meditation session. The abbot reassured us that anyone (even farangs) have the potential to reach nibbana. He also gave us a dhamma talk about relics, letting go, the power of the mind and how to work with bodily pain. We visited the Mae Chee Kaew nunnery before heading for Wat Buddho Thamma Tharo where Luang Por Sompong gave us a dhamma teaching about panna, kilesas (defilements) and finding refuge in oneself.

It only seemed fitting that our journey would take us to the birth place of Ajahn Mun, the monastery where he was ordained as a novice monk and the meeting place of Ajahn Mun with his teacher Ajahn Sao by a water well where Ajahn Mun had made offerings to Ajahn Sao. Ajahn Best and Tan Peter made us feel welcomed at the "Zoo Monastery" where we chanted in memory of a friend who had recently passed away.

I started off the trip expecting Wat Nong Pah Pong and the Ajahn Chah memorial service to be the highlight of the trip. However, it soon became apparent to me that I was enjoying the journey more than the destination. Nevertheless, I did find Ajahn Chah's Cheddi rather emotionally moving. 

For me, the main highlight of the trip was listening to the dhamma talks given by the reknown teachers we met along the way. I had made a determination to be mindful and present throughout the trip. Hence, I listened attentively to every piece of advice they had to impart and diligently wrote them down for future reference. 3 common themes came up repeatedly during the dhamma talks – sati (mindfulness), panna (wisdom) and samadhi (concentration). Whilst these were not new concepts to us, it impressed upon me how simple the Buddha’s teachings are, and yet how powerful it can be if utilised and practised well. I found it very inspiring and it has motivated me to be more diligent with my practice.

Travelling with fellow Kalyana Mittas (spiritual friends) whilst having dhamma discussions was also very enjoyable. This trip has finally given me the opportunity to visit the many famous monasteries I have read and heard about over the years of frequenting its affiliated monasteries in the UK (Harnham Buddhist Monastery in Belsay and Amaravati Buddhist Monastery in Hemel Hempstead).

 

A few days before leaving Thailand to return to the UK, I commented that I was about to leave for the ‘real life’. A wise man amongst us responded that the humdrum of working life is not the ‘real life’. Living in the dhamma (a term frequently coined by Ajahn Sudhiro) truly is the ‘real life’ - no pretences, no denials or covering things up but instead trying to live life in the present moment, seeing and accepting life the way it is. Having thought about it, I can’t help but agree with him.

 

Argentina 6-24 November 2014

Stunning scenery and Italian cuisine.....

The 2 weeks in Argentina provided me with the perfect opportunity to practice my basic Spanish, top up my tan, test my skills in charades and build up my stamina by walking from dawn to dusk on most days.

As Argentina is predominantly populated by Italian and Spanish migrants, much to my disappointment, we didn't get to try many new weird and wonderful dishes as pizzas, pastas, steak and empanadas (mini Cornish pasties) were the usual suspects in most restaurant menus. Argentinians seem to love spreading dulce de leche (a sweet milky caramel) on everything - bread, pastries and desserts. They are also very fond of their mate tea - lugging 2 liter thermos flasks everywhere they go so that they can top up their mate cups.

In the days leading up to the trip, I was anxious about how I would make my own way from the airport to the hotel where I would be reunited with my friends. South America has always had a bad reputation for illicit drug trafficking, crime, violence and corruption. Fortunately, over the course of the two weeks I was there in November 2014, I learnt that my pre-conceived ideas about how unsafe Argentina were unfounded. Sure, one has to be street smart and extra cautious in certain parts of the country, however generally, we found Argentinians to be friendly and kind.

Our journey started in Buenos Aires where we explored its suburbs - Palermo, Recoleta, San Telmo and La Boca. We snapped photos of Casa Rosada from all angles; including from within its famous balcony where Eva Peron (Evita) addressed the crowd who came to support her and her husband Juan. We walked along Avenue de Mayo, Florida, Defensa and Avenue 9 de Julio at least half a dozen times, in day light and at night over the course of 3 days. Plaza de Mayo, Palace of the Argentine National Congress, Obelisco de Buenos Aires, Piramide de Mayo and Plaza San Martin became familiar landmarks as we criss crossed the city to visit its tourist attractions. Plaza Dorrengo, Feria de San Telmo (San Telmo Sunday fair), the Mafalda statue and the San Telmo markets quickly became favourite spots that we found ourselves visiting again and again - predominantly to watch the tango performances and pick up little souvenirs. I loved how the crowd of people had fun spontaneously participating in the tango dances and cheering on the dancers. We also made time to visit the La Recoleta Cemetery (contains the graves of notable people, including Eva Peron, presidents of Argentina and Nobel Prize winners), Museo Del Bicentenario, Floralis Generica or made a day trip out to Tigre Delta (a popular tourist attraction by the mouth of Rio de la Plata).

 My friends and I unanimously agreed that the highlight of the trip was the mini trek on the Perito Moreno glacier. Despite a delay to our flights, we made it safely on the 3+ hour flight from Buenos Aires to El Calafate. It was then a short drive from El Calafate to the Parque Nacional los Glaciares. The Perito Moreno Glacier is one of only three Patagonian glaciers that is growing. The glacier was named after the explorer Francisco Merino who sadly never got the chance to catch a glimpse of the glaciers before his passing away. Equipped with crampons and a brief training session on how to walk on the ice, we marched forward to explore the blue-white terrain. It felt surreal be in the middle of the winter wonderland terrain of uneven meringue like peaks, streams, crevasses and lagoons.

For me, the view of the granite Fitz Roy range from the top of Laguna de los Tres came a close second favourite and was well worth the 1 hour steep hike up from its base. We were astounded by the force of Mother Nature when we visited the Iguazu falls both from the Argentinian and Brazilian borders.

In Chile, we were treated to panoramic views of the glacier sculptured snow capped Torres del Paine mountain range and its turqouise coloured lakes. To top it all, we also spotted the Argentinian black and white tegu, condors, coatis, wild boars, guanacos, a woodpecker and a cayman.

Malta - a place I wouldn't mind calling home

The end to a travel-ful year.....

I have been very lucky to have been able to travel to so many places in 2013. But just before the year comes to an end, I felt that I needed to cram in just one more short break. It's the most last minute holiday that I have ever booked (1 week prior to travelling), but I'm so glad I made that impulsive purchase because it has been a fantastic holiday.

Armed with just a backpack and handbag so as not to go over Ryanair's hand luggage restrictions, I set off on the third solo trip of my life. I chose Malta because I wanted somewhere relatively cheap, safe enough for a lone female to travel on her own, a place that does not charge for single supplement and easy to travel around. Malta ticked all those boxes.....and more!

The main 3 Maltese islands consist of Malta, Gozo and Comino. Equipped with a DK Eyewitness Travel guidebook from Morley library, a stack of bus timetables obtained on arrival at the airport and a tip off from David to avoid Popeye Village, I set off with my trusty 2.60 Euro day bus ticket for my day out in the cities.

First stop was Valletta, the capital of Malta. I couldn't have planned things better. As I walked down its main high street, Republic Street, I stumbled across the National Museum of Archeology. Perfect! That was on my list of things to do. With photographs of the 'Sleeping lady' and 'Venus of Malta' securely stored in my camera, I continued down the street. Before long, I was greeted by an unassumming building with the sign 'St John's Co-Cathedral'. Fantastic! That's a second tick on my to do list! When I first read the guide book, I was rather hesitant about visiting yet another European museum and cathedral. However, I'm so glad I handed in my 5 Euros for entry into the St John's Co-Cathedral. I have no idea what's the difference between a cathedral and co-cathedral, but the inside of this building was very ornately decorated and extremely atmospheric. I am no art critic, but I did think that the oil painting 'The Beheading of Saint John the Baptist' by the Italian artist Caravaggio looked amazing.

It doesn't take much to confuse me. As I exited the cathedral from the back door, I had lost all sense of direction. Hence I trusted my legs to take me wherever it so wished. Trust me to stumble across a pastizzeria (a place that sells pastizzis (the Maltese equivalent of a Malaysian curry puff or British cornish pasty) and pizzas) and subsequently the Barrakka gardens with a panoramic view of the Grand Harbour.

Due to my small lie in and extended breakfast, by now, I was running out of time to cram in Rabat and Mdina. Rush, rush and onto the bus I went. The tourist information operator suggested that I visit the WWII shelters, St Paul's grotto and catacombs in Rabat. The only problem with visiting Malta off season was that I had the whole place to myself. My heart sank as I heard a couple walking out of the catacombs, as it meant that I would have to venture it on my own. With a big gulp, clammy hands and a pounding heart, I tried to be brave. I walked down the endless alley of WWII shelters buried underground only to find a dark, narrow, winding path leading to the catacombs. I marched ahead with renewed confidence, peeked my head round the corner, stood amongst the catacombs and scuttled off as the audio aid mentioned that one may still find the odd pieces of bone lying about. I thanked my lucky stars that I hadn't paid the 5 Euros for entrance into the main sections of the catacomb but instead went for this mini version which included entry into the grotto and WWII shelters. Whew! Why do I do this to myself? And pay for the experience?! I vowed that from now on, I will avoid anymore visits to places of the dead in this holiday! That's the Hal-Saflieni Hypogeum struck off my list! I'm not going to book in advance and pay 30 Euros to scare myself!

The Mdina, or otherwise known as the old capital of Malta or 'Silent city' is a pretty medieval walled town. Its location at the top of a hill gave it commanding views of the farmland below. I worked my way through its narrow high walled streets bathed in the yellow glow of its street lamps as the sunset in the distance. Being the kiasu (literal translation: scared to lose) Malaysian that I am, I decided to take a different route home. Why tread on the same path back to Valletta and then change buses to get to Sliema when I can take the X3 to Bugibba/Qawra, and then bus number 12 to Sliema; and hence cram in seeing yet another place (Bugibba/Qawra)? Anyway, so that's what I did. Only thing is, it was so dark outside, I couldn't see any of what must have been stunning views of the beach front of Bugibba. Oh well, I sang Moonriver to myself whilst chomping down bite size pieces of the Maltese honey ring (a round Christmas sweet pastry filled with the usual suspects of Christmas spices - cinnamon, clove, orange peel, aniseed) as I walked down to the bus stop to catch my connecting bus. (In case you are wondering why singing to myself seems to be a common theme in my blogs, it's because my piano teacher Gill said I need to practice for my aural Grade 2 exam).

Downing my breakfast in 10 minutes flat (a great feat for me!), day 2 was an early start as I needed to rush for the infrequent one hour bus ride to Cirkewwa to catch the 9.45 am ferry to Gozo. Politely turning down morning coffee with an overtly friendly elderly Maltese gentleman from Naxxar sitting next to me on the bus, I quickly walked around the Cittadella in Victoria (the capital of Gozo) whilst chatting to 3 Manchester university students from Malaysia. Then I headed to Dwejra to see the Azure window and Fungus rock. At the last moment, just as I was waiting for the bus back to Victoria, I even managed to catch sight of the greenish Filfola lizard (Maltese wall lizard).

Unfortunately, coming off season, there were no ferries to Comino, so I'll have to forgo seeing the Blue lagoon. Not a great sacrifice, but it would have been nice to have been able to make the visit. Instead, I replaced the afternoon itinerary with a bus ride to Ramla Bay. Not a bad substitute. Apart from a dog walker, I virtually had the whole beach to myself......for a good few minutes anyway! After a few attempts at hiking up to what I thought was Calypso Cave, I gave up as the trek was overgrown with weeds. As I waited on the beach for the bus, a conversation with a local security guard revealed that I had been barking up the wrong hill! Calypso Cave is at the top of yet another hill on the other side of the bay! Oh well! Never mind!

Despite the relatively short distance to Hajar Qim and Mnajdra temple, day 3 was to be an even longer day due to the few bus changes that I would have to make. I grabbed a boiled egg and a strawberry jam sandwich from the breakfast buffet to be consumed at the bus stop. The two Neolithic temples are situated by a hillside overlooking the sea and Filfa island. What a beautiful location! It was in the museum here that I was harrassed by an attention deprived cat. We danced as the little feline followed my every move - left, right, forward, backward, round and round. Perhaps unlike all other Maltese beings, this cat didn't speak English - because I said out loud "I'm sorry, Cat. I know you want me to play with you, and I really don't know why, but I don't like cats.", but it didn't get the message. When I tried to ignore it, the little ball of fur came closer and nudged against my leg! Even my steel-like aversion to cats dissipated as I laughed at this feline creature that wouldn't leave me alone. After I pressed the green light switch that demonstrated the stream of light passing through the miniature model of the temple during the Summer Solstice, the cat followed suit with its paws pounding at the light switch. Perhaps the museum attendant heard my cries of laughter as it wasn't long after that he came equipped with a packet of crisp to lure the cat out of the museum. Despite all that, I did manage to learn a bit about the method of corbelling used to create the roof of the temple structure and get my black khaki trousers covered in dust from taking a self-potrait whilst sat by the doorway to the temple.

I very nearly scrapped the idea of going to the Blue Grotto as I'm sure I have seen something similar in the past. And it didn't help that if there were no boats going out that day, I would have had to wait an hour for the next bus. However, I am so glad I bit the bullet and went for it. The coral blue water in the grotto was stunning. What a mesmerising colour! If we had more time, it would have been possible to dive in for a swim. It was so tempting!

Next stop, Marsalokk - a sleepy fishing village to the south west of Malta island.  I took the opportunity to sit back, relax and watch as the blue and orange striped fishing boats bobbed in the harbour whilst devouring a grilled lampuki accompannied by Maltese roast potatoes and bread soaked in Spanish olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

Not wanting to rush on my final half day prior to the journey to the airport the next day, I decided to cram in one final stop. Senglea and Vittoriosa. I hopped onto bus number 203 (as bus number 3 didn't turn up when it was supposed to). I had a whistlestop tour of the Vittoriosa marina, St Lawrence cathedral, Inquisitor's palace and Fort Angelo before rushing back to Sliema's Diplomat hotel for its Maltese buffet spread accompanied by 'traditional' Maltese music. After a deep conversation about religion and life, I made my way back up the Marsamxett harbour to my hotel for a leisurely time before my departure the next day.

Morocco - desert, mountains, sun, sand and sea

Lovely company, wonderful time....

As we sat in the taxi on the way to Lima Airport in Peru in November 2012, ST and I started planning for our next adventure holiday for the following year. Plans of discovering more about the Mayan civilisation in Mexico, exploring the archeological sites in Jordan and trekking in Nepal did pass through our lips. But alas, due to time, financial and safety constraints, Morocco came up tops.

I ignorantly said yes to Morocco before I realised that we needed a travel visa. Luckily ST managed to submit the documents on my behalf at the not so friendly visa office in London. Two weeks later, it was a done deal! In a matter of days, our flights and tour were booked! In the frenzy of working extra long shifts, neither of us managed to get in any holiday research before we found ourselves on the plane to Marrakech.

Our 2 weeks' adventure saw us whizzing through Morocco. In Marrakech, we watched the many activities in the main square Djemaa el-Fna (monkeys, snake charmers, ample stalls selling orange juice and dates, henna stalls, theatrical performances and funfair games) and explored the souks branching off from it. If one manages to overlook the trail of horse carriages and the wonderful aroma that it imparts, the Koutoubia Minaret was a good alternative landmark to look out for when trying to work out directions back to the hotel. Casabalanca offered us a glimpse of the interior of one of the world's biggest mosques in the form of the Hassan II mosque 'floating' by the sea. This is as per Hassan II's translation of the Koranic verse that proclaims God's throne was built upon water.

In Rabat and Meknes we visited several mausoleums and night markets whilst downing more mint tea. Chefchaouen had lots of narrow streets flanked on either side by blue and white washed buildings akin to a scene from Santorini in Greece. One of my favourite places was Fez. We started off with a superb tour of the souks by Ali as he led us through narrow maze like streets. With mint leaves in hand to mask the smell of the ammonia and pigeon poo used in the processing of the leather, we visited a tannery and took the obligatory photos as featured in travel magazines. To top it all off, we had one of the nicest meals in Morocco. We had tapas like starters, (in my case) a main of pastilla (pastry with chicken filling topped with a dusting of cinnamon and icing sugar - I know, it sounds like a strange combination but tasted heavenly! :P , and finished off with a big platter of fruits including ruby red pomegranates. Superb!

As we headed westwards away from the cities towards the Atlas mountains, the temperature plummetted drastically. By the time we reached Midelt, it felt like a totally different country. We were frozen and surrounded by maple trees. There were cries of outrage from the tour members. We came to Morocco for the warmth! If we wanted the cold, we would have stayed back in our respective countries (Canada/Britain/Australia)! Whilst the weak Canadians seeked shelter in the van, the tougher British trained Malaysians braved the weather for an outdoor lunch picnic of strange looking fruits (eg Horned melon/kiwano) and crisp.


Without doubt, the highlight of the tour was our trip to the Sahara. Once we had dressed up for the part, we mounted our camels and trotted across the sand dunes as desert sparrows fluttered around us. ST, who was initially the most frightened amongst us, bravely let go of the handrails to concentrate on her camera shots whilst my clammy hands gripped the handrails for my dear life. I utterly enjoyed sandboarding as we watched the sunset.

After a hearty meal of olives, kebabs, khobz (Moroccan bread) soaked with the gravy from the stew, rice, fruits and mint tea, we sat round the campfire for a sing-a-long and drum playing session. The Australian, Canadian, Polish and Malaysian national anthems were sung in true patriotic fashion followed by renditions of Moon River, Que Sera Sera and Ging Gang Gollie in my not so melodious voice. One by one, everyone chickened out of sleeping under the stars and headed to their respective tents. As my final companion for the evening, Jason turned round to me and asked "Will you be alright out here on your own?", I automatically replied "Of course, I will!"......a response I was to regret for the rest of the night! Equipped with only 3 blankets, a few layers of clothing (including my trusty North Face waterproof jacket - not that I am likely to need a waterproof jacket in the Sahara desert), I curled up on the sand. First, I heard what sounded like big bubbles gurgling through a huge tumbler of water. I blamed that on the camels. Then, to my right, I heard the howling of what sounded like a wolf. Next was the sound of Jason's beer can rolling in the wind. Intermittently, I would hear the toilet door slamming in the wind. Needless to say, I didn't get very much sleep that night. However, it was an amazing, unforgettable experience as I lay in the middle of the Saharan desert on my own, watching as the constellations and moon make its way across the sky. Never mind that I only noticed the untouched spare mattress on the other side of the campfire the next morning as I woke up before anyone else to take photos of the camp. In a daze, we lined up on our camels, felt the warmth of the sun against our skin and watched as the sunrise casted long shadows on the sand. It was a photographer's dream come true.

Our next stop was the Todra valley and Todra gorge. The red coloured sheer rock face towering above us looked spectacular. It was a shame we didn't have enough time to go for a trek before we were whisked off to Ouarzazate. It was at Ait Benhaddou, Ouarzazate that the Gladiator was filmed. It was also here that we watched as invisible messages came to life before our very own eyes - using tea, saffron and heat.

Alas, all good things must come to an end. Essaouira was our final stop before we returned to Marrakech. It's famous for it's sun, sand and surf. A relaxing European like town by the beach. I did enjoy wandering down the streets in search of Arjan oil and other souvenirs, chatting to the fellow Swiss traveller who picked at his grilled fish with surgical precision, watching the fishermen cleaning their catch and devouring grilled crab, prawns, squid and sea urchin for lunch and dinner.

All in all, Morocco was good fun, especially thanks to the lovely companions we had throughout our travels. Morocco does have lots to offer, though I must admit it didn't give me as much of a buzz as I had on my return from Peru. ST and I agreed that we think the holiday could have done with a trekking trip thrown in. Perhaps we could fit that in alongside a trip to Argentina in the new year??? ;)