And on the first day God said, “Let me be funny”. And someone replied…
I’m on the road again and on the first day, to get me into the right mindset, i stumbled across this.
And on the first day…
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A Life Worthwhile
I took some portraits of a friend and his wife and step-son last december. This friend died two and a half weeks ago. At his funeral his wife came up to me and said, “Thanks for the photos you dropped off recently. The black and white one is laying in his coffin with him now.” My photography has never before felt so worthwhile – a simple black and white portrait accompanies my friend to the other side. I will miss him.
Passing a Weak Stream
Recently I was sitting in a cafe enjoying my chai latte when an old italian guy leans over from the next table proffering a sheet of paper for my attention and says, “Excuse me. Can you tell me…” and begins reciting something from the sheet. ” ‘ how many times over the past month have you had a weak stream when passing urine?’ ” “What does this mean?” he enquires innocently. And I try my best to explain what ‘passing a weak stream’ might involve: a reverie by a babbling brook?; or having a piss that doesn’t cut the mustard? He is seemingly content with my attempt and slides back into his seat. But a minute later he’s beside another cafe dweller, popping the question again – to further clarfiy the intricacies I suppose.
The Lama Rides Again
I saw and listened to the Dalai Lama last Saturday at Princes Park, Carlton. There were several thousand people sprawled across the middle of the oval in the sun and plenty more scattered throughout the grandstands. Mr Lama reminds me so much of Yoda from Star Wars – a small, delicate old man, slightly crooked and wobbly on his feet, a squeeky voice, simple sense of humour, gentle and generous laugh, and very wise.
What i enjoyed the most was the fact that while this famous and dignified character spoke, a bunch of young teenagers continued to kick for goal down one end of the footy oval. I could occassionally hear the thud of Mr. Tom Sherrin hitting the boot and once I heard the warbled and sustained ‘pinnnggggg’ after Tom hit the upper end of the goal post.
Dignity & Grace
A few nights ago as I wandered home along High Street I came across a homeless man, a ‘bum’, a raggedy man, gently picking through the layers of urban garbage that filled the public rubbish bin. While stereotypical in appearance – wild, filthy hair, a bushy beard and raggedy clothing – I imagine he would have surpised many with his response to my query, “G’day mate. Are you short on a few dollars at the moment? ”
“No thanks.”, he said, in gentle and graceful tones, looking up while slowly continuing his search through the refuse, “I’m doing alright at the moment.”
We chatted briefly. I mentioned that I had seen him around over the last few weeks (walking along High Street, Northcote and Hoddle Street, Clifton Hill) and he replied that he had grown up just up the road – in Preston I think. We wished each other well and parted ways. It was a beautiful exchange and he is an inspiring character.
Walking with the Ants
Like an ant, I carry home the spoils of walking the footpaths which are my terrain – in my case I gather a battered wooden outdoor table, a garden umbrella, a potplant stand and the outline of a female figure which had a previous life as a shop fitting; all to be added to the growing collection of discarded and remnant items which decorate and litter my abode.
Melbourne Social Forum
I have just spent the last three days atttending the third Melbourne Social Forum – a local version of the World Social Forum which was set up in 2001 as an annual event to discuss social issues and foster community spirit. If you are interested in community issues you should definitely check out www.melbournesocialforum.org and its parent event, the World Social Forum, www.wsf2007.org.
Approaching Storm
It has been stinking hot today – about 35 degrees – but the cool change is just blowing in now. Mid grey and dark grey (almost silver in parts) thunder clouds are slowly gliding by from the West. The breeze is gusting and carries the warm scent of water; and the first few bulbous drops of rain have hit the concrete, leaving a temporary stain. Now more are on their way and a low growl of thunder just rolled by. It’s beautiful.
Now, suddenly, it’s really started. Massive raindrops spear into the bitumen and explode in a conical fury. Our shoddy roof guttering can’t cope with the volume and sends crooked columns of water gusghing over the far end.
And then it’s over. As quickly as that. Five minutes only. At least for now.
Kaladan River Journey
Wow, a long overdue entry. I didn’t expect it would take this long but internet access in Myanmar was next to non-existant outside Yangon. To fill you in on a little of my adventures over the last month, here’s an excerpt from my diary as I motored up the Kaladan River from Sittwe on the West coast towards Mrauk U, about 65 clicks inland………’on old wooden boat, about 30′, with two Krauts and three crew, heading to Mrauk U. Will take about 5 hours.
Despite the fairly rudimentary design of the boat and the numerous holes in the deck and tarpaulin roof, it still feels like we’re getting the royal treatment – lounging here in wooden deckchairs watching the world go by under the blazing sun. Rice fields, water buffalo, perfect domed haystacks, small thin wooden fishing punts with one or two people rowing and a sail made from a multi-coloured collection of rice sacks stitched together like a patchwork quilt.Not many trees. Mountains in the distance to the East. The grey-brown river is very wide here, mudflats and a few mangroves either side, occasionally a collection of thatched bamboo huts on stilts, semi permanent fishing nets (anchored in place with two large bamboo poles) are dotted across the river. Now and then I spot a wiry figure knee deep in the mudflats searching for something, but what?
…3 hours later…
The evening light is fading fast. Villagers on the bank continually wave at us: some casually; others madly jumping up and down waving their arms; some calling out; and yet others simply continuing with their work as we chug by. It appears that these people are living in very rudimentary shelters – 3 sided, about 9 square metres maybe and sometimes I can see about ten people in there. No cooking fires visible on the land yet but the sun was a rich golden orb as it sank towards the horizon and one of the crew has a small fire going to cook some rice.
…4 hours later…
The last three hours we have motored under a full moon and stars (the moon a mesmerisng deep and dusty red as it began its journey skyward) and an increasingly cool temperature. One of the crew sits astride the bow with torch in hand, barking commands and madly waving his arm this way and that as he spots potential obstacles in our path. I never see anything but imagine us entrapped in one of the semi-permanent fishing nets rigged up on the river or colliding with a local out working the river under moonlight. Fortunately we meet with nothing other than the river parting before us. An elegant golden stupa has come into view ahead.Coloured lights are draped in lines from the apex to the ground and words in a foreign tongue, like commands, can be heard barked from a loudspeaker somewhere.
The boat’s motor slows to almost an idle as we angle in towards myriad voices nearby. Slowly, a jetty and human figures appear out of the darkness. In a style reminiscent of Apocalypse Now, we have arrived at Mrauk U.
Arrival in Myanmar
All going according to plan, by this time tomorrow I hope to be sitting under a full moon amidst the hillocks and ruins of the myriad buddhist stupas at Mrauk U, just inland from the west coast and near the border with Bangladesh.
“Bangladesh – Visit before everyone else does”. This was the wording spotted on a poster by some fellow travellers ten years ago – somehow i still don’t think there’s any rush just yet. Having said that, it would be an amazing place to visit, no doubt, and I am amazed that I will be so close. Alas, I will not make it this trip.
I arrived here in Yangon (Rangoon), Myanmar (Burma) a couple of days ago. Within five minutes my bag-strap broke and within three hours my stomach was galloping with the horses. Pleased to report that race was run and won in relatively short time and my bag was beautifully repaired by a cobbler on the side of the road while a crowd steadily built to look at the kinda-funny-lookin’ white guy who was looking at, and taking photos of, the kinda funny lookin’ (in my opinion at least!) cobbler who was repairing his bag! By the time he had finished (10 minutes) there were about 30 people encircling us.
A tad nervous about heading off tomorrow – probably mostly to do with a fear of further food poisoning combined with travelling on public transport for long distances – never a fun prospect! But it won’t be too full-on at all because I’ll be flying most of the way and then taking a boat inland for the last few hours. It’ll be the trip out via an alternative route that’ll be the greater worry – a 3 hour boat, followed by 8 hour ferry, followed by 19 hour bus ride which I read is notoriously rough. Bon voyage.
– a belated pic from france. Love the chemist signs.
Pabulum 