Author: Nathalie

It has been awhile I have not written. Not sure what caused it, a coup de blues, writers block or just laziness. Probably a combination of the three, but I must admit a coup de blues did prime for a few days. It is not the first time a sudden coup de blues would overcome me while away from home. I remember at least two previous occasions.

First time was when I was 12 years old. Both my parents were away from home and I was staying with my aunt. All went well till one day I had a tummy ache. It became worse and worse and my poor worried aunt took me to see a doctor. The doctor thought it could be appendicitis and decided to not take any risks and operate. My dad had to leave his work and fly back home. The minute he stepped through the door, my tummy ache disappeared. I realised I was just missing home. I felt so foolish that I did not say anything. And my perfectly healthy appendix got removed.

The second time was in 1994 when I was sent to Lagos, Nigeria, for work. When the opportunity came up I immediately volunteered, though I was sure my dad would not like it. After all, he himself had worked in Nigeria and he had lived some pretty nasty things there. But to my great surprise, my dad gave me his blessing. Wise man as he was, he said it would be a valuable experience and he trusted the company to keep me safe. My dad was right: I saw and lived things that I will never forget.
Anyway, one day while I was getting up from reading a book, I scratched myself and blood splattered on the immaculate white couch I sat on. One look at it and something inside me broke. I started to cry and simply could not stop. My worried colleague called my boss and when he came in, he took one look at me and said “why don’t you call your mum? You will feel better”. I thought what a ridiculous suggestion (I’m not a kid anymore?!) but oh miracle, I did feel better once I talked to my mum.

The same sense of relief I felt when I arrived in Brazil and saw my uncle waiting for me at the airport. It felt like a warm blanket being laid over my shoulders. Especially because he reminds me so much of my late dad. It made my time in Brazil all the more a memorable visit, despite catching a cold that shortened our sightseeing plans with one day. But I did get to discover Antonina and Morretes, two peaceful little towns in the province of Parana. I imagine life must be sweet here, even though nothing much exciting seems to happen often. In Antonina time even seems to stand still with old buildings decaying more with every year passing by. But the surroundings!! Oh my. Rainforests, mountains, the river….. it is all there doing nothing else than pleasing the eye. Life in Morretes seems more colourful with plenty of little streets with hidden terraces beautifully decorated waiting for you to have a coffee with some nice pastry. Which of course we did.

A stark contrast with the day and a half I spent in Sao Paulo before leaving Brazil. Don’t get me wrong, the city is definitely worth a visit. If ever you have the opportunity to visit this vibrant and artistic city, do not listen to the Rio de Janeiro believers and go ahead. You won’t regret it.
The contrast I mentioned lies in the obvious areas: the jungle vs concrete jungle, the silence vs the noise, the individuals vs the masses. Nevertheless, I enjoyed cruising through the streets of Sao Paulo with my private guide Doris who took me from street art to street art. There are so many, we could not possibly cover them all in the 3.5 hours we had. These artistic expressions of emotions sure do colour the city and makes the omnipresence of concrete bearable.

Just like a talk with someone from home colours my day and makes my solitary journey bearable. That just proves again that I am not an island. I need the ones I love around me to flourish and be well.

When you think of Peru, it is very likely you think of the famous ruins of Machu Picchu, icon of the Inca civilisation and considered a ‘must-see’. Yet I did not set one foot in that area and I can’t say I regret it.

In fact I hardly ventured outside of the country’s capital Lima, formerly known as Ciudad de los Reyes, The City of Kings. The city has a rich history and the buildings to show it, reason why its old centre is on UNESCO’s World Heritage List. The city is huge: just under 10 million people. I shall not write about the traffic; my head still hurts today, 2 days after I left…. Lima is the second largest desert (surprise!) capital city (after Cairo in Egypt) and is divided in 34 districts, 2 of which I have gotten to know a bit in the 5 days I’ve spent there: Miraflores (upper class neighborhood) and Barranco (middle classe, bohemian/artistic neighborhood). The city has known its share of violence (and still has one of the highest crime rates in Latin America) but according to the inhabitants the situation is much better today. Maybe thanks to the huge number of police troops visibly present throughout the city.

The first thing I learned about the history of Peru, is the often used expression ‘pre-Columbian era’. My initial thought was that Peru at some point in time had belonged to the country Colombia. Sounds the same, but the one letter difference gives it an entirely different meaning. It refers to the period before the arrival of Christopher Columbus or, more in general, the entire history of the indigenous cultures before the Spanish came and basically changed everything.

The second thing I learned is that the Inca Empire may have been the largest empire in the Americas, some say even in the world, but they were certainly not the oldest. The Inca Empire was actually the last chapter of thousands of years of Andean civilisation. Machu Picchu was only built around 1450.

Experts are still not done unravelling Peru’s history. The country must be a true heaven to archeologists. Experts estimate that there are around 100,000 sites of archeological importance, but only around 10% has been excavated so far.

Still a lot of digging to do!

What will stay in my memory the most of my 5-days visit to Toronto, is rekindling with my ‘old’ colleague I knew from years back when I worked in Paris. We had only been colleagues for not even 2 years and I had not seen her for 12 years, yet staying with her and her sweet family was like catching up with a lifelong friend. Sometimes in life you meet that kind of person; it just clicks. Even after pressing the pause button for 12 years, the feeling remains exactly the same.

This seems to contradict with a phrase I noticed arching above the viaduct in Queen Street, Toronto: “The river I step in, is not the river I stand in”. There was something beautiful to that phrase that I just had to look it up. I learned that it is borrowed from the Greek philosopher Heraclitus who said “the only constant in life is change”.

It is a reality that can fill us with fear or sorrow when we have a good thing going; we do not want it to change. Yet it also brings us the sweet feeling of hope, when we are in a not so good place. Guess that is why I find the phrase so beautiful; it is balanced.

A little over one month ago, I left Mauritius to undertake this journey around the world in 50 days. I have to say: it has been an awesome life experience so far. I am just over half of my journey and already I have discovered so much. New countries and cultures, of course, but what stands out is something I treasure even more: the discovery of my ability (or not!) to be alone, creative, resilient, courageous and ……. (<– fill here any other skill you need to keep standing in life). I thought I already knew the extent and/or limits of my abilities, yet I have surprised myself again.

The river I stepped in, is definitely no longer the river I stand in.

 

p.s. :
if you are looking for an extraordinary life experience, I can highly recommend to undertake a solo trip. Not necessarily around the world but just any trip that moves you away from home and be on your own for a longer time than you normally are.

 

After a day of riding through the city on a bike, even cycling over the Golden Gate bridge to Sausalito, I decided to use my last day in San Francisco to visit City Hall.

The building is quite extraordinary – architecture wise – and it was a pleasure to walk around in it. The previous City Hall was destroyed, as many other buildings, in the Great Earthquake and following fire of 1906. It was then rebuilt in only 2 years and stronger than before. It got damaged again though in the earthquake of 1989, to a point that the dome actually moved 4 inches. The dome was since then improved to better stand future earthquakes.

Once you are inside you arrive in this huge space with the dome towering above your head. It really is a massive dome, 42 feet taller than the dome on the Capitol in Washington DC. What really impresses too is the staircase leading up to the first floor. The acoustics are amazing; you can just imagine how a gospel choir would sound.

But the building, pretty as it is, was not the main reason I wanted to go and have a look. It was a Friday, and we all know that Friday is a popular day for……….?

Weddings! What better place to observe people than there where they are dressed up for ‘the happiest day in their life’?

My first impression was that it sure is a romantic place to be wed. Apparently I was not the only one thinking that because couples were lining up, one after the other. To my surprise the ceremony took place at the top of the stairs. Not in a separate room, but just there – kind of in the hallway. With a wedding ritual that lasted 15 minutes at best. No privacy, not even a personalised ceremony.
It remains a great place though for beautiful pictures and I guess that would be the main motivation. And maybe also the silent hope that the earthquake resisting strength of the dome would rub off on the marriage.

Most couples were radiant and confident looking, ready to tie the knot. Occasionally there would be the nervous couple, fiddling with clothes and hair as if they wanted to make sure over and over again they looked at their best. Once I observed a couple who looked downright like lambs on a conveyor belt heading for the slaughterhouse. Oops!
There were the classic long white dresses, with or without veil, but also just simply a light coloured dress with flowers in the hair. Military outfit or a handsome suit for the grooms. High heels for the brides. Although once I saw a bride lifting her dress and tennis shoes appeared. White ones. Not sure if she was aiming for comfort or a quick escape just in case.

Equally fascinating is to observe the faces of the parents. It is the mix of the emotions, happiness and pride with a hint of fear and regret (“this is it, I’m losing her forever to another man”), that gets to me every time. It is simply a beautiful thing to see.

I guess at the end of the day each parent hopes for their child to find lasting love, even though they know by experience that the wedding day is not the end station of a love found but the beginning of a long and fascinating journey through a landscape quite similar to San Francisco’s. Hilly.

 

It has been 2 days now that I am in San Francisco, my very first visit to the United States of America. I have enjoyed walking around in this city: the beautiful old houses with the steps going up to the front door (I’m staying in a B&B like that – absolutely gorgeous!), the refurbished cable trams, the steep streets, the parks and the waterfront. Of course, the blue skies and abundantly shining sun accentuates her beauty. The habitants are also very proud of their city and you can note that a lot of efforts go into keeping it beautiful.

I got to learn a bit about the inside of life in San Francisco by talking to the people who live here.

The driver who picked me up at the airport told me he was not born and raised in San Francisco. ‘Seldom someone is, many come from somewhere else’. He observed San Francisco is in most cases a transitional city; people come, spend a few years but end up fleeing the city. Too expensive. He reckons I made an excellent choice though by choosing San Francisco. ‘It’s a nice city, people are friendly, very liberal, Trump would not dare set a foot here’.
He agrees with the saying ‘Land of Opportunity’ but also remarks somewhat bitterly that if you are sick or do not work, life is rather bleak.

The owners of the B&B I am staying in, seem to be an exception in the sense that they have lived in the very same house for 35 years. But they have travelled a lot and it has changed their lives. Ever since, no rat race for them anymore. Today they enjoy spending their old days receiving people from everywhere in the world at their home. It is half a day of work for each of them and it pays for the up keeping of the house.

Then there was the guy sitting across of me during lunch today. He used to be homeless and addicted to hard drugs but managed to get himself out of that painful and difficult period of his life. He never got rid of his old demons completely (do we ever?), ‘hurray for legalised marijuana that helps me sleep’, but he sure was beaming today. Seeing familiar faces around him from the time he was still homeless, he realised how amazing his path has been. ‘It feels like being reborn’.
He regrets though that people do not look beyond his exterior. ‘I like listening to dark music and I dress in black too. People misjudge me because of that’. He feels he must explain/justify himself all the time.

America. The land of the free. The land of opportunity. Work hard, become rich. Yesterday, May 1^st – Labour Day, is not celebrated here. ‘We are not celebrating the workers by taking a day off, imagine that, this is the land of capitalism!’.

It seems to me that there is a downside to the ‘American Dream’ though. If you were born under an unlucky star or you are not strong enough physically or mentally or you do not ‘fit in’, this land seems particularly unfree and more the land of adversity. And the American Dream, just a dream.

Travelling comes with experiences that makes you wonder sometimes.

I departed from Auckland yesterday, 30 April, at 8 in the evening and arrived in San Francisco after a 12 hours flight today, still 30 April, at 10 in the morning. In other words: I arrived before my departure, I travelled back from the future!

Crossing the International Date Line (IDL) sure messes with your head. But I like the idea of getting to redo your day. This video shows you how to get your day last 48 hours just by travelling from Tonga to Samoa, a mere 1.5 hour flight away from each other.
It led me to the thought of standing on the North Pole and walking circles over the IDL….. mind-boggling. It is a good thing there is not much human activity over there, because it would be a sure way to win the lottery. Just walk over the line and fill out the winning numbers!

Another crazy experience I get to live repeatedly while travelling, is how small our beloved blue dot really is.

I remember years back, when I lived in Paris, I was sitting in an international train from Paris to Brussels on my way to visit my sisters in Holland. Opposite me sat this guy from some African country; don’t quite remember which one. Anyway, we started chatting and he asked where I grew up. I answered, “in a little village you probably never heard of, called Sliedrecht in Holland”. He answered “isn’t that close to Papendrecht? Years ago I used to go out in this dancing joint called Tuxedo with my ex-girlfriend who was Dutch”. I was dumbstruck. Not only he knew the 2 tiny villages I spent my youth in, but he had also danced in the very same club in the very same years as I did.

I also remember being in Buenos Aires back in 2000, in some backstreet looking for a restroom. Went in a Chinese restaurant and started chatting to the lady behind the counter. And sure enough, she used to work in a Chinese restaurant in Sliedrecht. Never met her there, but ran into her in Argentina. Of course.

In the B&B at Auckland another guest checked in the day after I arrived. He was from this little island in the Indian Ocean, called Reunion Island. Where I happened to be born.
On the ferry to Waiheke Island I met a Kiwi with the very Dutch name Van der Burg. Chatting with him I learned that his parents were from Holland and his partner, well, she is from Mauritius (where I live)!

The world becomes smaller every day. We move around, looking for a new challenge, or better economic prospects or maybe just a simpler, quieter life. We mix, creating new ‘original’ beings who can no longer be fitted in one box to tick.

I wonder: when borders fall away in the hearts of people, might this just save us?

One world!

One love!

No more islands!

Oh, sentimental me…….

The areas around Waitomo and Rotorua are filled with many spectacular sites and I had taken out two days to discover these areas.

Waitomo (wai = water, tomo = hole) is known for its many caves, some of which filled with glowworms attached on the ceilings. When we first entered the caves, we were asked to switch off the light on our safety helmet. It is pitch dark down there; you are not even able to see your own hand waving in front of your eyes. By the time you are done with the tour, your eyes have adapted and you can actually make out shapes and forms. You then realise the human eye is quite magnificent as well!

After a walk through the cave and its tunnels we end at an underground river. An inflatable dinghy is waiting for us and we all take place in the little boat. Again we are asked to switch our headlight off. Blue sparkling dots on the ceiling everywhere, thousands of glowworms! Yet, it is not enough to light up the tunnels. So we were asked to try and ‘see’ the tunnel with the help of our ears. Indeed, the sound of a nearby underground waterfall bounces off against the walls of the caves and it helps us form a three-dimensional picture of the cave/tunnel.

The glowworms are truly a spectacular sight. Twinkling above our heads like the Milky Way while we glide through the tunnels as our guide pulls the boat along with the help of overhead cables. An experience I will not quickly forget!

Rotorua (roto = lake, rua = two, ‘second lake’) and its surroundings is all about geothermal activities: hot springs and lakes, boiling mud pools and geysers. The day of the tour it was really pouring down with rain, with an unprecedented rainfall causing even major floodings in and around Rotorua. We had to skip our visit to the ‘Champagne Lake’ (see picture below) in Waiotapu because of it. Upon arrival we learned that the site was completely flooded and we had no other choice than to turn back to Rotorua. Luckily there was still plenty to see there and despite being completely soaked to the bone, I enjoyed walking from one geothermal spectacle to the other. The rain only added to the already dramatic landscapes…..

 

Today I visited the Waitakere Ranges Regional Park, a natural barrier between Auckland City on the Pacific Ocean, and the west coast on the Tasman Sea. The park measures about 180 km2 and just driving through it, is already a real pleasure. The bendy road is from time to time quite steep, the highest point is about 474 meters, providing you with fabulous views.

When looking at the black iron sand beach from higher up I felt like Ada in the movie The Piano, peering down to her piano abandoned on the misty beach with the wild surf in the background. Sure enough our guide confirmed that the movie was indeed filmed here. The beach is called Karekare, and was right next to the one we ended up walking on. Everything I saw this afternoon reminded me of that movie (<– click on the link to see): the beach with its thunderous surf, the clouds, the rainforest we walked through…. It was the unexpected gift of the day as I absolutely love that movie, and even more its music score.

The rainforests in the park are secondary but nonetheless filled with treasures like the black fern, the silver fern (New Zealand’s national plant), the Pohutukawa (better known as New Zealand’s ‘Christmas Tree’), the Nikau and Kauri. This last tree can live for over 2,000 years and can therefore develop massive trunks.

What surprised me most though was the eerie silence in the rainforest. Hardly any sound of birds! I was told that there has been a severe storm earlier this month, taking down trees, powerlines, roofs and, well, apparently made the birds take off. Hopefully a temporary situation, because the sound of silence, especially when unnatural, can be eardeafening.

Today, 25 April, is ANZAC day – a public holiday in Australia. I had never heard of it, so it was a great opportunity to go out and discover.

ANZAC stands for Australian & New Zealand Army Corps and the holiday was originally about commemorating those who had fought at Gallipoli (Turkey) in 1915-1916. I was told that Australia, at the time a young nation, suffered a lot of casualties, wiping out half a generation. Back then the patriotic sentiments were so high, that white feathers would be given to young fit men who did not volunteer to join the army and special badges were worn by those who tried to get in but were refused for whatever reason.

Over the years ANZAC day has become the day Australians remember and honour all Australians and New Zealanders that have participated in any war or peacekeeping operations Australia has been involved in. There was no ceremony this year in Noosa Heads so I went to Tewantin, about 10 km from Noosa Heads, to watch the parade and see the ceremony.

I was amazed by the huge turn up of the public: young and old were present. Involving the youth is considered extremely important, in line with the slogan “Lest We Forget”. The day is not about “glorifying war” as was said in one of the speeches. It is rather about honoring those who left to fight a war far away from home and lost their lives, and those who did make it back but with broken bodies and/or minds.
The parade was opened by 3 army people on horses, followed by kids from the different schools, scouts and veterans. When passing by the gathered crowd would applaud them. The paraders were carrying flags and medals. Some kids wore medals too; I learned that these were medals of their parents, grandparents or even great-grandparents.

I spoke to several older people and all had relatives that had fought in the Vietnam war, the Korean war or World War II. There were proud stories about “stopping the yellow power from coming down to us”, but also sad stories of  the difficulties veterans faced when they came back home. Being booed at or called a baby-killer.

The whole event was quite honestly moving, to a point that I even felt tears coming to my eyes. I realised that it is one thing to go to war to defend your country or protect allies against invasion by a clear-cut enemy. It is an entirely different thing when you are sent under the cover of “saving” a foreign nation, when in fact you are the invader for pure economic interests. Being manipulated to risk or even give your life for that is total madness and utterly sad.