Roots go down, life goes up*

a photo of the cherry blossoms on Feb 16

Roots go down, life goes up*. 

Like a plant, I'm happy. I'm sure as the daylight lengthens by a couple minutes each day, plants become happier, more awake, more alive. Not that they weren't still alive and satisfied during the winter, they were just, slower, quieter, more concerned with conserving energy then putting it out into the world. 

I feel like a plant in spring, bursting upward for the sun. And like a plant worries of a late spring frost, I too feel like I have to worry-worry that it's not real, and so after a very short moment of concern, I pinch myself. Sometimes rhetorically, other times quite physically. Because life, is, so, good. 

I write to you, dear reader, from the west coast. From my new home on Vancouver island! As many of you surely know, after an eclectic and amazing 20 months of travel, I've been craving the stability of a physical sense of place. After a more-intuitive-then-anything-else type of decision, I made the leap and moved to Vancouver Isand; a two hour ferry ride away from Vancouver and mainland Canada. I now live on the ocean! I'm surrounded by water! 

The leap westward, where I've got a smaller community, less connections work and organizationally, felt quite natural in some regard, as I felt intuitively like it'd be a great place to live, but then also there is an element of risk that comes along with such a shift. Not knowing the ins and outs of a community can limit your ability to offer insightful contributions to an organization. But with confidence, I spent hours on a few versions of my resume. I spent hours emailing everyone I knew who are or were tightly, or rightly aquatinted with the people, homes and organizations on the Island. 

I hopefully applied for a position at the Compost Education Centre, but was being realistic with the fact that Victoria is home to many other passionate environmental educators who are keen on all things food and localism and sustainability. And I was also realistic with the fact that the position sounded awesome, and I felt capable and qualified. Turns out all these things are true, and I'm now entering my fourth week of work as the Education Coordinator at the Compost Education Centre. It's a rad organization that I had met on an Otesha Tour a few years back, and is prominent in the local scene of programming for young students and adults alike, mostly around composting, growing good soil, and in turn, growing good food. My position involves liaising with teachers, and riding a bike and trailer around to schools, facilitating workshops about vermi-compositing (worms!) and basic soil science. It's a hoot, and I get to talk with puppets like Corey (a giant apple core, the greens in your compost) and Brownie (a giant leaf, the browns component in your compost), show kids red wriggler worms, and help set up vermi-compost systems in school classrooms. I'm soooo excited to have the role, and it feels great, natural, and I get to work every day in both schools and at a beautiful demonstration garden site in the heart of a nifty neighbourhood in Victoria. I feel so lucky and privileged and overall - stoked!

I've already experienced so many moments since being here where I have whooped while biking a beautiful borrowed bicycle across town, acknowledging that I'm so happy to be here, that I'm happy to have chosen to settle in somewhere for a while. I've got a beautiful home to move into at the beginning of April too, and so my gratitude extends...

The universe is definitely affirming that this was a good decision at this point in time for me. It at moments feels surreal, I have momentary flashes where I consider I may need to pinch myself, or where I feel as though something negative might happen, however, I have the wisdom to acknowledge that actually...I've done things up until now in my life that have led to this situation arising. Yes, I was born into privilege that has contributed to my current situation as well. But also, I've created this reality. I've called it in, requested it, worked for it, and it feels great...

My new home has a giant garden, so expect to see some upcoming posts about plants and soil and vegetables...there's a whole new climate here for me to learn in the garden sphere. I can garden through the winter. Whatttt?! Amazing. Another reason why I am excited to explore life here in Victoria. And there's so much dancing to do here on the ocean, in community centres, in churches! And it certainly is a yoga town. Oh and I've started pottery classes! And am looking for some Spanish lessons, and trying to make friends who I can go on epic camping, biking and hiking adventures with :) Here here to settled life! 

Please come visit me out here. I'd love to have you. 

(*This phrase was inspired by a recent lyric I heard at the show West My Friend, a fun, folky band from Victoria)

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The following is a little excerpt from a blog I wrote and then didn't publish back in the middle of February, after I'd been here in Victoria for 2 weeks complete with an ode to my parents, and some processing about my adventures of the past two years.
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I've arrived back in Canada. In fact, I arrived at the end of January, to Toronto Ontario.

My amazing Dad took some time off work to drive into Toronto to pick me up from my months of adventures, and after a quick embrace, we picked up where we left off a number of months before with our relaxed and casual conversation.

I need to share with the world: My parents are awesome. 

As humans grow into adults, relationships naturally morph between parent and son/daughter. Your no longer a kid who needs care and support, you are an adult who can potentially meet your parent on the same level, all being capable of the same money making, same self care, same cooking and domestic abilities. And so, you become friends. Of course there is always going to be a difference between a parent/offspring friendship then any other relationship. Parents were in fact responsible for most all of the patterning you currently love or hate, for better or for worse. And, I've been through enough self evaluative and reflective times and spaces to realize that I now, as an adult, have the power and ability to take some of those patterns, and leave others in the dust. But can I rave for a minute? My parents are sweet and loving, super energetic, honest, and uber generous people. They have shown me so much love and support over the years. Sure we've had our challenges, I've been flakey at being in touch, and they've been overly annoying with worries and check ins. But, all that doesn't really matter, because the root of it all is a relationship based in Love. 
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After spending a good amount in Ontario, cooking many delicious meals and eating with family, practicing lots of yoga and networking the heck out of everyone and every org I know in Victoria, I landed there (here!) - Victoria - my new home. And it feels strange, me of all people, I'm the one unattached to place, to house, I've always found a sense of home in my heart (I've even wrote previous blogs about it), but I found myself in the last 4 months really craving a sense of place different then I can find when I'm in motion. 

I've had such an overwhelming amount of opportunities in the past 21 months of adventure, since I packed up my little home in Ottawa and headed to the East Coast of Canada. I'm so grateful for my east coast solo bicycle trip, my time on farm in Quebec, my journey to British Columbia, my time being overwhelmed in Mexico, my permaculture course in Ecuador, my facilitation experience in Southeast Asia, my family time in the autumn, and my yoga teacher training back in Ecuador. I've finally explored (a bit) of Latin America. I've become a yoga teacher, a more skilled facilitator. I've learned a ton more about growing food and wild edible plants. I've searched my soul, I've searched for couchsurfing addresses, I've searched for good food, I've searched for that feeling....I've met amazing people, had some intense connections, and learned so so so much about the universe...

some of the coastline close to my current home

And here I am fulfilling this sensation that I first had in the summer months in Souteast Asia. A sensation of desire to root. And if not to root, to at least grow little rootlets, that will grab hold of some nourishing soil to make way for sustainable, supportive friends and community. I crave another meaningful job, I crave a home space with friends who are welcoming to community gatherings, and who like to cook and garden. It seems I've been successful on a couple of those fronts in just 2 weeks!

Notes from Peru

View from my high altitude hike in the Cordillera Blanco in Peru ~5000masl

high altitude mountain glacial lakes - Peru

awestruck

Huanchaco, Peru

I recently spent some time in another new country to me: Peru. Newly minted a certified yoga teacher, I left the comforts of my beautiful friends' farm for the traveller's adventure once more. Making my first stop at the west coast of Peru, after 100's of kilometres in the dusty expanse of the desert, where life exists only beside the oases that tiny river valleys provide, life seeming inhospitable even in these narrow spaces where the flash of green has a welcome cooling affect on the otherwise squinting eyes over the bright beige sand dunes... The coastal town of Huanchaco boasts great surfing, amazing food, and a scene of local fishers who paddle out in homemade reed boats. 

The town was dusty; as were the towering dunes at the east end of the town, forcing any growth north an south only along the ocean shore. And I realized a traveler's curse after just a couple hours exploring this beach town...I've been spoiled by other, more beautiful beaches. And in this state of privilege, I've also been able to develop a sense of satisfaction with any place for what it is, appreciating the place for what it does allow, what it does have. And while the grey sand, stray dogs, bigggg waves, and floating plastic didn't call me to come swimming at every moment, I did appreciate the length of the beach which allowed for great runs, hidden spots to practice yoga, and cheery artisans selling their unique jewels. And I was able to process even more of what was happening in my life, cook my own food, and socialize with interesting people. 

Of course, as I anticipated, I was keen for a change of scene after 3 days at the beach, and so headed for the mountains on time for my 29th birthday. 

And mountains they certainly were. 

These were no mini mountains, no Gatineau hills. They happened to be the highest mountains in South America, the tallest towering to 6100 masl. I signed up for a three day program of sorts. So I spent my first day in the Huaraz area for a good chunk of time in a mini van, winding my way slowly over stunning high Andes mountain vistas, painfully sitting in an unchangeable upright seat, over pot hole laden dirt tracks to a small community that has some very interesting and ancient Incan ruins. It was no Machu Picchu, and not being a history buff, I had concern that I would be disappointed with the site, that the word 'boredom' might approach my consciousness. But as our Spanish speaking guide took us about the site of Chavin, I became more and more intrigued about how this ancient culture was connected to Pachamama, how they practice ceremony and ritual. 

As I attempted to comprehend all the (Spanish) information that was directed my way, My mind began to connect the similarities of spirituality that different people practice all over this world. Historically, there were cultures all over this world, a long time ago, all doing similar spiritual practices, around the same times without ever communicating with one another!  (Some folks may position that they were in fact communicating with one bother through the stars, the earth or other spirits). Incas, Chinese, First Nations of Canada, aboriginals of Australia, they all worshiped the constellations, used plants as medicine, whether hallucinogenic to further their exploration of the darkness or for a bruise on one's leg. They had and have special ceremony for gratitude, in fact every moment of life seems to be an offering of gratitude in these cultures, especially indigenous ones. For the Incas, the maize plant, serpent, feline, and condor reigned supreme as figures in their spiritual worship. The First Nations of Canada, the eagle, corn, beans, squash, and turtle characterize many of their traditional stories. Land and environment in these cultures are so important, so intertwined with there lives, there is no separation.

After a day in history, I spent the next two exploring glacial lakes and hiking to heights of 5100 masl. In a way I was still spending days in history, as you can see the track that glaciers take as they slowly retreat, hear the eerie echo of a glacier calving, as nothing in nature ever is unchanging. With my head slightly throbbing, elevation seeming to grab tightly and squeeze, I journeyed to Laguna 69 as well. A high mountain glacial lake, it has unique turquoise colours and beautiful waterfalls pouring down into it from ice above. But it was more so the journey there that was impressive. Moving up slowly, passing by other equally impressive lagunas, we crossed through alpine forests, marched past cascading waterfalls, jumped over sloppy cow paddies, and stripped off our shoes for some seriously icey river crossings. With vanishing waterfalls, hiding mountains and the tallest mountain in Peru as a backdrop, yes, it was the journey that was super special, worthwhile. But then again, isn't that always the way it goes? The journey is truely the most rewarding part of this life....

And journey on friends, I'm now writing from Guatemala, where I'm on the road facilitating another Operation Groudswell program. Once again, I feel affirmation that facilitating the learning and exploring of young adults is a type of work I really do feel is natural and meaningful. And the support that a group can offer is just fantastic, it's one of my favourite things in life. The uniqueness of community connection... in these group travel experiences, it's so wonderful to feel supported, and to see participants supporting one another.

Abrazos y besos, beautiful people...

Satnam - Yoga and Learning in Ecuador

The view from my Yoga mat, on an exceptional day

Satnam was a word I heard often this past month. As my group of fellow yoga teachers in training met each day for 30 days for morning sadhana (i.e. disciplined learning and spiritual practice) we used both the word Satnam and its base sounds, it's 'seed syllables': sa - ta - na - ma over and over again in our meditation and mantra practices. Singing, chanting out loud, chanting silently, matching movement to sound, breathing the words; Satnam became an important word (and sound) for me. 

The meaning of it was introduced to us all on day two of our course. Sat means truth, name or identity, and Nam is the self. Broken down further into its seed syllables:

sa-truth 

ta-life/infinity

na-death/transformation

ma-birth/renewal. 

The sacred resonance of the mantra Satnam encourages us to ask the question, who am I? What is my truth? 

It feels nourishing to move deeper into exploring the answer to this question. The more I do so, the more the answer seems to be an acknowledgement of what I am not: I am not my mind, not my body, as I can actively be the witness to both of these things, feeling in yoga and mediation that I am outside looking in on my mind body. And so if I am not those things, what am I left with? Maybe I'm left with spirit. I am spirit, so are you. And call it what you wish: pure awareness, consciousness, shakti, goddess, divinity, God. I am those things. So are you. We all are. And there is no beginning or end. I, we, all. Spirit. 

Okay, I realize I just got pretty new-agey esoteric on you, but it is really the language that resonates with me as I continue on this learning journey. 

It's been a big month of just that for me - learning.

I write to you from my little yellow tent on Phil and Susannah's land, their permaculture paradise, teeming with tropical and temperate edibles, gorgeous splashes of colour to fill vases on our devotional altars, and our salads and dinner table with bright flowers of all sorts. The land they are stewarding is situated in Barrio San Jose, about a 20 minute walk to the town of Vilcabamba, in southern Ecuador. I first came here last February, for an amazing permaculture course (you can read about it here), and felt intuitively like it was time for me to return; this time for an in depth exploration of my yoga practice. 

I learned about body anatomy, alignment principles, conscious touch. I developed a much stronger sense of personal body awareness. I learned about Ayurveda, the ancient Indian science of life. I studied the origins of yoga, learned yoga philosophy, yoga ethics too. We practiced pranayama techniques, yoga Nidra, Kundalini, restorative, Hatha, Bhakti, Astanga yoga types. We've had lessons on sacred trinity awareness, sound and music as spiritual and healing practices, and we have sung so much. I've gotten to play in the garden, go on beautiful runs and hikes in this southern mountainous area with a seriously perfect climate. It's been rich. I am lucky. 

I wonder how I will take all that I've learned to my future weeks, months and years. I anticipated my Asana practice would deepen over this month, and it has. But so has my ability to process emotion healthfully, how to understand my patterns, both bad and good. Poco a poco. Little by little. An exploration of Ayurveda has given me vocabulary to describe some of these patterns (for those of you in the know, I'm vata pitta, explains some of me!) And how will I share what I have learned with others? Perhaps on the mat. I do feel inspired to teach Asana in a studio or some other setting. But I wonder in what other ways I can apply these lessons that at this moment seem partially intangible. The integration continues...

And I have not been disconnected from the future in this effort of bringing my mind to the present. I'm about to launch into another transitional time in my life. Interestingly, I am facing my 29th year of life, a believed auspicious time in the cosmos when everyone's "Saturn Returns" it's known to astrologers as a potentially tumultuous and transformative time in one's life. I've also been reflecting for a few months now, that I'm ready to settle in somewhere for a little while, and let some baby rootlets sprout. I've set my intention towards Victoria, BC. And a couple job application have come and gone, without success. So it feels like an even greater leap of faith to journey westward, without much to encourage a feeling of groundedness. I've never moved to a place for the sake of moving there. Instead, school or a job has always dictated where I'd land. This is different. An active choice to location. 

So 2016 will begin the next chapter of this juicy journey of life. 

But not before one last surprise journey! 

I'm leaving the Ecuadorian safe space of Phil and Suzannah's for Peru tomorrow, I'll go all the way down to Lima, and after a birthday spent on the beach and perhaps a bit of time with the most giant mountains in the Andean chain, I'll adventure to Guatemala for two weeks. I'll be facilitating a short winter break program with Operation Groundswell, where we'll learn and volunteer with a defensive re-forestation initiative, experience a sustainable agriculture co-op, hike into the highlands of Guatemala for a new years at some hotsprings, and play in the waters of Lago Atitlan. Should be a flury of work to get prepared, but it feels like a great way to spend the holiday time. I'll return to Canada near the end of the first week of January, and begin my transition westward.  

And so, see you in 2016 Canada! 

The beautiful flower and fruit mandala alter we created for our yoga teacher training ceremony

My yoga teacher training class and teacher!

More on Myanmar: From trekking to election time

Many people ask the question: is it Myanmar, or is it Burma?

Officially the country is known as Myanmar (err officially, the Republic of the Union of Myanmar). All of the locals I interacted with, also referred to it as this. Before 1989, when the name was officially changed, Myanmar was known as Burma. But this word was taken from the dominant ethnic population the Burmese, or Bamar people. And, as I quickly learned on my first of two mountain treks to remote villages, the name Burma, was not considered inclusive of the 135 distinct ethnic groups recognized in the country of 53 million people. Not everyone here is Burmese; they might be Shan or Palaung or Kachin, etc. So, collectively they are all the people of Myanmar.

After my adventures with big cities and temples, I ventured to the north eastern Shan state of Myanmar, where many of these aforementioned minority groups live in green hills, growing vegetables, rice and tea, herding their cattle and caring for their working water buffalo. Where Shan noodle soup is ubiquitous and smiles of white and red teeth abound.

I embarked on my first three day trek from the cool mountain town of Kalaw. Where we spend two days hiking through such a varied landscape. Mostly green hills, patched with different forms of vegetable growing on the first and second day, and on the third, descending 900 meters to Inle Lake, a large freshwater lake where fishermen paddle their canoes with one leg, and floating farms abound.

During my second hike, I was lucky to be walking along side a Palaung man, whom walked myself and two other solo travelers to his village, where they grow much of the countries tea supplies, 16 kilometers outside of Hsipaw, also in Myanmar's Shan state.

The varied villages and ethnic minority groups I had the chance to learn about and interact with on these two treks were varied - with different arts and crafts, different clothing and dress. They grew different foods (though I saw a lot of rice, peanut, corn, tea, cabbage and other mixed vegetable fields), lived in homes that were constructed out of slightly different materials. All were predominately Buddhist and some practiced Animism (spirit worship). All meals centered around rice and vegetables, and were cooked over open fires inside the house. Tea was central to every break, every meal, every time you had nothing else to do. Cows and water buffalo plodded by at all hours of the day, often guided or ridden by their caretakers.

Staying in these villages was refreshing. To see people living simply in this world, gave me hope. Sure, you'd see the odd person with a cell phone, and most houses had government given solar panels for their two light bulbs come nighttime, but neighbours were very close, chatting as they passed one another, and hearing through one thin wall to the house next door. They used one another as the bank (borrowing money, that they then promised once the tea harvest was complete for example). And the children could be seen freely rushing out of their small schools, for their walk home. With metal tiffon lunch container in hand, and woven bookbag to the side of their green longyi (i.e. wrap around skirt) and white top uniform, they egarly ditched their book bags to throw their home made wooden tops, or play a jump rope game with their friends on the dusty pathways. No cars flowed through their 'streets'. Just the odd motorbike, and lots of feet and hooves. No running water, just rainwater storage tanks, or piped spring water from mountains higher up.

Best of all, to the extent of my interactions with these people, they are very happy.
Not at all under developed or less developed. I was always comfortable, safe, clean and (deliciously) well fed. Though without electricity and running water, with super simple houses and no streets to speak of, they, to my eye, seemed more developed. They work very hard in their fields in the day, and they have family and community to do it all with, and that's more then so many people can say who live surrounded by hundreds of neighbours in 'communities' within cities in North America.

I hope for such a redefinition of  'development' in the west. I hope we further 'develop' our family and community connections, and that we progress towards the realization that consumption and consumerism is not necessary for happiness and comfort, and that it feels good to work hard sometimes. 

On the trail from Kalaw to Inle Lake

The path down to the toilet, during my first nights stay in a small Shan village

86 year old woman weaving bags with a loom strapped to her body

The chef, cooking up a delicious storm in the kitchen 

House in the village - with beans drying and cow cart parked

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In a separate topic I've felt inspired to write about, the people of Myanmar are on such an interesting road to democracy.

Though, they are far from what I consider democracy.

The people of Myanmar that I had the opportunity to meet and converse with are hopeful and patient people. Though I interacted briefly with many locals that exuded such qualities, the people I had the most interaction with were my two (smart) guides on the treks I went on, whom I conversed with for long periods of time at depth during our long walks and quiet, dark nights together. I get the sense that many of the people of Myanmar understand what a democratic government might mean for them, and what this country would look like if there was an end to the long years of military rule.

Myanmar was a one party state between about 1962 and 2011, led by military group called the junta. There has been numerous uprisings and protesting to this government, especially during the 1980s and 1990s when elections were won by the National League for Democracy (NLD) party, but the election results were ignored by the ruling military. These were also the years when the inspiring advocate for democracy, Aung San Suu Kyi was on house arrest for not so fair reasons.

Myanmar has an election coming up, in November, but people are discouraged about the possible outcome, because of continued corruption and forced changes in the constitution which mean that the NLD party leader (Aung San Suu Kyi) cannot win the election. The current constitutional changes that were put forth (not for debate) some years ago, mean that 25% of seats in the Myanmar parliament will always be filled by the military, and that no person who is married to a foreigner or has mixed race children can become president.

This are both important factors in this country electing a truly progressive government (because 25% of seats will still be held by the corrupt conservative military) and it also means that the Nobel peace prize winning Aung San Suu Kyi cannot be elected as president because she is a widow of an English man.

This is just a small bit of a foray into Myanmar politics...

Because of these reasons and so many others (e.g. all money from resource exploitation seems to stay in the deep pockets of military officials, bribing small villagers to vote for the military party if they offer a asphalt road or solar panels, etc.) fighting between military and rebel groups (achem, groups who simply desire justice) continues in many areas of Myanmar. This has forced some small villages to relocate to safer areas, and has kept much of the country to off limits to visitors like myself.

I write all this as Canada too prepares for election time. And it is an election I feel so so emotionally involved in... Having had a conservative government for 11 years now, I've seen environmental legislation get scrapped, arts funding get cut, election policies making it more difficult for students and lower income people to vote, security and censorship get increasingly, freakishly, big brother-esk, and important public organizations (e.g. Canada post and the CBC) being privatized or getting funding cut. I'm frustrated, and honestly, scared, for the future of Canada should an NDP or liberal government not get elected.

These Canadian political problems are so different then those in Myanmar, and so many other countries, I acknowledge that. I am more fortunate then so many.

But in truth, I question the democratic value of the government in Canada. Where, in the election of 2011, only 38% of Canadians who voted actually wanted this (stupid, whoops did I type that) conservative government. I feel like this government neglects everything public, the things that keep us alive, like common air, forest, water. They seem to have been successful in breeding a more fearful Canada as the conservatives spend more money on fighter jets and censorship. Their words are brainwashing us, and we aren't consciously aware of it.

Traveling abroad makes me love Canada more then ever. Even the fact that I can write this blog criticizing the government is a privilege so many don't have. But I love it for reasons that I am scared will not be reasons anymore should a conservative government be re-elected...

Please please please, for me, for your daughter, your son, for your neighbour, for a healthy and strong Canada do not vote conservative. And if you're stuck on whom then to vote for, so that votes aren't split between NDP and Liberal in your riding, check out the website www.Leadnow.ca where you might be able to see which candidate is more likely to win in your riding, and therefore where to meaningfully place your vote.

The guide on my second trek, Omoug, a Palung man, showing a tea plant! 

Water buffalo hard at work, ploughing a field to plant peanuts in

Almost at Inle Lake! This man was carrying quite a load of firewood

Mountainside views

Woman at the market who I bought fresh peanuts from

Inle Lake fisherman using the traditional leg paddle style

Myanmar Magic. Burmese Beauty.

Shan noodle soup - the famous dish of north eastern Myanmar, a simple rice noodle soup, always served with endless green tea, fermented vegetables, spice as you like.

My view from the circle train - a commuter train that circles around Yangon city

Two Buddhist nuns praying in front of one of the many Buddha shrines at Shwedagon Paya, a major pilgrimage place for thousands of Buddhists 

Green Beetle leaves displayed in spirals, and chopped up pieces of Areca nut (from a species of palm). The combination of these two things as well as liquid lime and a sprinkle of tobacco make up the little green package that people stuff in their mouths, chewing it up to a blood red pulp. It creates stimulating, alert effects in the body, while long term effects are far less positive.

A photo from a small red temple I rested in for a while in Bagan, a massive flat landscape dotted with ancient temples.

From the roof of a temple in Bagan.

Another new place, another new culture, another new adventure. 

This particular one got off to a funny start.

I say 'funny' As an adjective now, not to describe it as comical, because it was everything but. However, it was challenging, strange, upsetting, and well, funny.

I was unable access any of my money, and unable to use my credit card too. Upon researching the money scene in Myanmar pre-arrival, I was happy to read that there were plenty of ATMs accepting international cards. What I had not counted on, was that all of the (likely 22-my best estimate) of said ATMs would not accept my particular cards...

And so I got my first taste of the kindness that seems to exude from Burmese people. As I strolled through the bustling, vibrant streets of the country's biggest city, Yangon, From bank to bank, I visibly became more and more upset and worried that my Myanmar plans were crushed, that I'd literally have to return to Thailand, where I had come just one day before. A few locals helped by letting me use their cell phones to make international calls to my banks (as internet is so slow in Myanmar, no online phone calling service such as Skype works), one by driving me in the drip drop rain, down one of the busy streets to the Canadian embassy whom he thought may be able to help. Another offered me some Kyat for lunch money, and as I eagerly, embarrassingly waved him off, he stuffed it in my hand anyway, insisting "friend, please don't cry, it will all be okay". And of course, it was all okay. What seems like the biggest problem in the world today, is so often cause for reflection tomorrow. Sweating the small stuff sometimes means feeling cleansed the next day, clearer and more able to recognize what really sets oneself off, what really evokes struggle.

After brainstorming many ways with other traveler's to get a hold of my money, I eventually called in the support of my family-Krista to the rescue, to lend me some money via western union wire transfer, an extremely easy process.

But had I not had the family resources to make this happen, my trip in fact would have been much different, if non existent. In my home life in Canada, I'm able to rely much less on money - I am a part of communities where I can borrow, share, dumpster dive food, ride a bike, sleep on a friends floor. But in the world of solo travel, such things are not available to me, and so my reliance on the monetary capitalist system is necessary (especially in Myanmar, where things like couch surfing are technically illegal for tourists, and camping without a guide or special permit illegal too).

Money. It's quite the commodity. Makes things so easy, and grants privilege so blatant. The weight of that is sometimes so heavy... My eagerness to step away from the capitalist system is prominent, but I'm so a part of that very system...is it ever possible to untangle oneself? And it felt so strange, to be in a place, where I assume I am (normally) able to access far more money then the average person in Yangon, but yet to have people offering me to make expensive long distance phone calls and giving me lunch money...

Money problems now set aside, I started exploring Yangon. I my first day simply walking all over downtown. Observing the street life - golden brown Indian style dosa pancakes being fried, noodle soups being prepared all at makeshift cookery set ups under (sometimes) less then adequate tarps. People piling into buses, while horns are honking. Umbrellas being raised and lowered constantly in this rainy green city. Every ten meters a blood red smile from a man chewing beetle nut, a mild plant stimulant many people in Myanmar chew. Dodging the blood red spit piles in the streets around my steps, observing the packed tea shops, where everyone sits on very low plastic chairs, talking with friends or watching a soccer game, sipping either Chinese style green tea, or strong black tea sweetened and creamed. There most certainly is no shortage of things to look at in the streets of Yangon.

Other things that marked my time in Yangon was my visit to the Buddhist pilgrimage destination - the Shwedegon Paya. A massive and shimmering complex of temples, I only saw maybe 5 others foreigners while I was there, but saw many more Burmese visitors, many of whom motioned that they wanted to take a photo of me, the 'white' sheep of sorts. I think I'm on at least 16 Burmese people's phones or cameras up to this point. It is at this place that you can find hundreds of other sanga to pray with, as everyone takes their turns at every Buddha statue prostrating three times on the ground. They walk slowly, placing flowers at the Buddha shrine that represents the day of the week that they were born on, and pouring 5 cups of sacred holy water on the head of the Buddha statue, for good karma.

I spent a morning on the 'circle train' too. This is a rickety old train that runs approximately 50 km around the city, and is their version of a local commuter train. Along with my new Kiwi friend Milly, we decided randomly to disembark at the North east side of the loop where out the window we saw an active market place. Whew, what a stop choice.

We meandered the juicy narrow walkways between vendors staring at us, and responding with generous smiles as we announced the greeting "mingalaba"! They were selling all manner of vegetables and fruits, and also meats and spices, rice and preserved bamboo. It was a sensory experience to walk around this makeshift market place, in all its intensity, business, and mucky steps. We boarded the train again an hour and a half later, after taking a walk on the other side of the tracks through a tiny village, where children squealed as they threw their tops off the string, and where yet more locals, baffled by our presence, smiled and said hello.

Now I write from the Bagan area. Where I've rented a bicycle for two days to explore this majestic landscape of ancient temples. This place is so stunning in a unique way, quiet, sunny and green. Here, where past kings of this country insisted on building hundreds of Buddist temples, is a flat plain landscape studded with red brick style temples-most of them having undergone some element of restoration, and all of various sizes.

I meandered on my bicycle down the quietly trafficked main road, and followed my whims. I cycled down quiet sandy roads until finding a temple I was drawn to. Parking my bike under a tree, I walked up to the temples, often only finding only one other pair of sandals at the threshold. These sandals were often those of the local "key holders"- the person whom cared for the temple, could point out concealed crumbling murals on the interior walls and ceilings, and could unlock the sometimes hidden narrow rock staircases to exterior upper platforms, offering jaw dropping views across the temple ridden plain, over the Ayeyarwady River to the low hills beyond. 

These temples were built during a frenzy of development demanded by the king, between the 11th and 13th century. This took place as Myanmar experienced the transition from Hindu and Mahayana Buddhist belief systems, to that of a Theravada Buddhist belief system (which is still the predominant religion in most of Southeast Asia).

I found many moments of awe and solitude, reflection and calm, during my cycle rides and moments alone exploring these quiet rock and brick temples, enjoying the strong breeze, and looking out over a landscape with locals herding their goats, Palm fruit trees reaching for the heavens, and the calming sound of the most familiar (and illusive to me) bird through all of Southeast Asia.

On restaurant oddities in Phnom Penh

I've spent some time during the last Operation Groundswell program in a very delicious food establishment in Phnom Penh. It's a very different restaurant then your typical Khmer fare. You won't find lok lak, amok, or sweet and sour vegetables at this hip modern Cafe type eatery. Instead you find "power bowls" loaded with fermented beets and cabbage, delicious home grown sprouts, lightly oiled and perfectly cooked winter squash, crispy fingers of tempeh, roasted red pepper humus, spiralized cucumbers tender from their apple cider vinegar soak, all over a bed of tender young greens. Or choose the home made falafel served with a fresh salad, some fermented pickles and a smear of vegan cashew cheese. Sip on a fresh cold pressed green juice, have a superfood smoothie, or top it off with a raw salted carmel cashew cheesecake. You get the picture? I was in my food dream! Wonderfully presented meals fullll of flavour and full of vegetables-my kinda meal packs in the nutrition. I loved this restaurant so much i have returned every time I've stopped through Phnom Penh with operation groundswell.

And each time I made this observation that I am about to share with you...

It really is a strange thing the dichotomy of a grossly dramatic class system. I quietly people watched one of the times I visited said Cafe, savoring my 4 dollar iced coconut matcha green tea latte. I watched the young, beautiful expats flow in and out, greeting one another, surprised to see other friends in this cafe which i began to realize was quite the popular expat hangout. Over the two hours that I sat, working, reading and writing on my day away from the team, I heard numerous (none of which I identified as Khmer) people excitedly speaking in rapid fire English about their recent trips back home to Canada, their work trip to Yemen, and their reunion in Colorado.

I observed silently the young and equally as beautiful Khmer staff members serve this expat crowd, myself included, this food so far from the types of food they likely grew up eating. I noticed the confused look on one staff woman's face when a customer asked for a plastic dish for water to serve to her dog; in a culture where dogs are not pets, but guard animals whom are viewed as quite filthy and treated relatively poorly, the restaurant staff must of thought this american woman was insane. But she politely responded by bringing out a personal water dish for the pup.

And I stared at the menu of items, all of which were over 4 dollars but under 7 dollars, i reflected on how this restaurant was likely completely out of economic reach for every wait staff that worked there, and many other Khmer people (of course there are also plenty of Khmer people who could with out a doubt afford many meals here). For me, a lower end of middle class person in Canada, I found the restaurant cheap by Canadian standards an expensive by Khmer standards.

And I find it weird. So strange the situation, where I am dining at a place out of economic reach by most staff, whom are all of a different race then all of the patrons.

I'm sure similar situations are alive and rampant in Canadian towns and cities, where class systems and race are paralleled and privilege systems are very present but that I don't take notice of as readily. (Possible examples that come to mind are the local corner store run by Asian immigrants, a Sikh taxi driver who drives me home from the pub and a white urban Tim Hortons worker). But here in Cambodia it is so much more in my face. As I struggle to understand my own privilege in being in this part of the world, I sometimes get nervous - as so many do when we start conversations about power and race and class systems. As a very privileged woman from Canada I find it difficult to determine what to do with some emotions around the example above that I felt in the restaurant: guilt that I feel, and in turn the guilt I feel like I don't even deserve to feel.

I don't know what I don't know. My invisible knapsack still has some junk in there that I have not shone a flashlight on. And so I'm quite certain that there are elements of my life that are outwardly oppressive and other ways still that I could more usefully use this privilege to break down oppressive structures in society and oppressive patterns in my own habits. I'm still learning. But it's important to recognize and to talk about. And to be grateful. To be grateful for the even the smallest privileges that you do have.

Northern Thailand, Words from Bali

I recently spent a week in northern Thailand after finishing the facilitation of my first Operation Groundswell program. I wanted to seek out something nourishing, for the mind and body. After having a separate week of connection and luxury of a special kind in Bali with my sister, I gathered with the team to wrap up the program for a couple of days - away from Bangkok on the canals leading to the gulf of Thailand. After this, I followed some leads to the north.

I was drawn North because of an ecovillage named Pun Pun, and the nearby Panya project. I stayed at the super special Thailand Earth Home: a homestay about two hours to the north of Chaing Mai. The homestay was permaculture inspired; growing many of the vegetables that they use on site, having stunning adobe (a natural building practice which combines clay, sand and often a plant fibre like rice or wheat straw) buildings well decorated with hand painting and clay incorporated mosaics. Meals were served just meters away from the chicken enclosure and were traditional and healthy northern Thai dishes, shared with the family under yet another beautiful earthen orange building, this one with only low walls and thick beams, with images of farmers working their rice fields painted on the walls.

Best of all was the homestays close proximity to Pun Pun. A beautiful walk trough a tiny village and in between farm fields up a red dirt lane took me to the Thai ecovillage Pun Pun. Here a group of people, some couples with families, some young, some older, live together in community; developing their own skills towards self reliance and sharing these skills with others through Pun Pun workshops, and welcoming volunteers like myself to come and learn.

I spent two days working alongside the community, first spending time sorting and stacking old thatch, using the most termite ridden bits of natural leaf roofing to mulch around nearby edible leaf trees and bushes. The following day I spent time with an older Thai man who showed us how to make a strong bamboo trellis home for their over growing butterfly beans, followed by creating a fence for a new chicken breeding enclosure - another way that this group is trying to become self reliant in their need for external inputs. We gathered for lunch together under a huge roofed area, siting on the floor at a simple low wooden table, the only furniture in the room. We ate sitting on the floor, together, mostly Thais, and some folks from the west. We ate delicious coconut greens curry, stickey rice, a scrambled egg vegetable omelette, a sour and sweet green mango salad, and raw additions of artfully peeled cucumbers, a sour wild grassy green that was a perfect accompaniment to the creamy and rich coconut curry. Ohhh the foods of Thailand...

Nearby to Pun Pun was another community of people, this one younger, and all farang (i.e. foreigners). They offer permaculture courses and learning opportunities to a broader community. Of a totally different energetic vibe, it was super cool to see the ways that these communities were very different, yet with a similar mission to spread knowledge and experience to the world on self reliant and sustainable lifestyles.

One more special spot nearby was a reservoir, one that I jumped into (Thai style fully clothed) one day after a sweaty day of volunteering. But I swam in the reservoir not with out haste, and contemplation. There is a serious drought in Thailand at the moment, a serious drought in the entire region actually - it certainly stems to the Permaculture farm in Cambodia that I spend time on with Operation Groundswell). What is meant to be the monsoon season, where rains come every day fast and hard, instead has been replaced by the regular dryness and heat of the opposite season. This means that folks in northern Thailand are a month and a half behind in planting their rice. Seeing the patches of lime green rice seedlings, sitting all tightly packed in a sole rice bed, somehow seeming to personify a child on a road trip "are we there yet? can I be planted out yet?" I recognize the gravity of this drought, no one dares plant out their rice for fear it will whither and die in the dry fields that are meant to be flooded in water. That's why it's important places like pun pun exist: to teach and share knowledge about what it is to be self reliant. And in the current global climate, skills in adaptation and self reliance in rural areas worldwide are becoming extremely important.

After my time in the rural area of Chaing Mai province, I arranged to be picked up by the songthaew (a covered pick up truck with benches in the back) that passes through the village once daily to get me back to Chaing Mai for some yoga and dance. Among roosters, packages of styrofoam and mystery boxes, ready to be delivered en route, I made my way back to the city. Playing the ukulele of my new friend once off the truck, I wandered into the city to find a place for a couple nights.

I spent time over the days that followed eating at vegetarian restaurants, wandering one of the best night markets I've ever been at in Asia, sampling delicious sweet and savory rice treats in a wide variety of forms, and dancing my heart open!

I found a lovely yoga community in Chaing Mai, where I realized that my time in Asia has been missing something. Over these couple of days I manged to take two yoga classes, sit in a group meditation, play at a contact improvisation dance workshop, and dance fully and sweetly at a meditative dance practice - ecstatic dance. And, once again I received the affirmation that dance is one of my practices. Being in a room full of energy, brimming with intention and exploding with interesting emotive evoking music, dance becomes my meditation, my emotional release. So beautiful it was, so hard it was, so many letting goes and realizations through this 2 hour dance practice. And the physical contact through dance with zero expectation was also able to momentarily fill a space a small void that I've had for the past months here in Asia. Through these experiences I realize that I miss ecstatic dance, as a means of expression, meditation, as a way to escape my chatty brain and come fully into the sensation of my body, letting whatever unconscious emotional needs to be processed in the physical expressions. Felt through the music, and poured out through motion.
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Rewind a little. I can't forget to share just a little bit about a spectacular 9 days I spent with my dear sister Krista, who joined me from her home in Australia for a Balinese and Gili Island adventure in the week prior to this northern Thai romp I was just sharing. Here are some words that summarize our adventure together:

Rest, volcano hiking, ocean, rice food, rice terraces, rice offerings, connection, dome house, coral, cocktails, rambunctious cats, seaside yoga, green landscapes, perfect temperatures, swimming, Balinese dancing (watching and doing), tai chi, snorkelling with turtles and fishes, long delicious breakfasts, hot chocolate(s), juice, welcome drinks, Ramadan, ceremony, bicycles, temples, sand, Komodo dragons, mount Batur, Krista and Kayla, Gado-Gado, temph delights, boats, mosquito nets, chinteaka (ie beautiful!), turtles, Titi, beautiful sitting places, comfortable sitting places, quiet countryside...
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Fast forward a moment. Here I am in Cambodia, more then 10 days into the second program with Operation Groundswell. By way of sharing just a little piece of what I experienced in this most recent week at the drought stricken, but generosity rich Cambodian countryside, I'll leave you with this strange poem:

The touch of the wind on my toes at night,
Moving my pink canopy ever so slightly.

Sounds of geckos echo into the woods,
While dry red earth crys deeply for rain.
Monks chant on loudspeaker,
While locals prostrate and pray.
Pray
for rain
for water
for Love.
My belly is full
My cheeks hurt from smiles
My sleeps are luxurious, restful
I am safe.
And yet, something is missing.
Or is it that
I Am
Missing
Something.

from the top of Mount Batur, Bali

My main squeeze, Krista. Gili Air

Sunrise in rural Chaing Mai province