Life. Updated

Living

Someone once said to me that the secret to living life was doing what you loved to the extent that you stopped wishing you were somewhere or someone else. It seems so easy, this exercise in self-discovery, and yet we look around and discover time and time again that such happiness appears to elude the many who seek it. Is this because we rush attempts at perfection? Perfection that we assume will lead to riches? Riches that we assume will lead to happiness? Now don’t misunderstand me, obtaining wealth is by no means a sin, however it is the way we derive these pay checks that will ultimately result in the quality of life we receive.

From wide eyed and I-am-so-curious-about-the-world-beginnings where children, behind closed eyes, nightly swoon over faraway lands, dreams of dancing and space travel plans it appears somewhere between high school and death we are pinned down and corrupted by notions that appear to link financial success exclusively with personal well being. Ironed into our souls, through the media, is the idea that if we are rich we will be happy. We study to become accountants, lawyers and businessmen where fluorescent light lit hallways become our daily surroundings and trips to the coffee machine our thoughts of forbidden pleasure. Excluded are those who actually love what they do, but more most of us, of course, the result is typically mundane yet accepted. Society rises early from Monday to Friday, herded off like cattle to jobs they despise, talking about places they would rather be, but all the while feigning happiness because, suckling from the tit of the all-mighty dollar which will allow them to accumulate things: ‘this-was-how-it-was-supposed-to-be.’ But this is not living!

We need time to think about the decisions we make, because in subtle and not so subtle ways, they affect the directions that our lives will take. It seems ridiculous that, upon the completion of year twelve, students are not only encouraged, but also expected to select a University degree that requires a four-year commitment and the resulting pending career. For the vast majority of us, we have had little life experience beyond the obligatory school camp and the trip to Central Coast with Grandma. Conservative, narrow minded and conceited parents; suits, teachers and other disappointingly dreadful souls frown upon the idea of backpacking. ‘A frivolous waste of precious time,’ we hear them cry. However, the reality is quite the opposite. We are forced to fend for ourselves. We ask questions like ‘what is my budget for today’, and ‘where will I go’, ‘what will I do’, ‘where will I sleep’, ‘how do I get there’ and ‘is this edible’? Learned is self- reliance and tolerance. Ideas and beliefs we had never known existed present on a day-to-day basis. Introduced are situations that both frighten and excite. We strike up conversations and forge intensive relationships with people who, at home, we would have never even considered talking to as, heaven forefend, it would be considered strange. In hostels and other such pressure cooker environments we sometimes discover wisdom and sometimes we simply discover. Long distance busses allow for times of reflection and periods of loneliness lend tears with the desire for familiarity. More than any of this, however, we return home with an assured sense of who we really are and what we desire. And it is from this that we develop a sense of what we want to achieve in this life, and how to go about it, because even if we haven’t changed much as a person, no one returns home indifferent. Happiness is a choice and it’s one that everyone can make.

A short time after retuning home I was confronted by an old boss. He is, by all accounts, a walking talking experiment of corporate wastage and personal happiness sacrificed, and he said to me, ‘when are you going to get your life on track?’ And of course I just smiled, thinking, ‘when will you?’

JJ og The Notorious XX på Isbjørnskattejakt

JJ og The Notorious XX på Isbjørnskattejakt

Posted using ShareThis

Songs I like at this very moment.

Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks- The National
Past is Prologue- Tycho
Spanish Sahara- Foals
Who by fire- Leonard Cohen
Antigravity (Fulgeance Remix)- Shlomo

Autumn Play

Incubator (US)-Cigarettes
oOoOO- Hearts
Dam Mantle- Rebong
Chromatics- Running up that hill
Caribou- Sun

What is left but dirt

They had staggered out of the warehouse. There were three of them. They walked without direction, but instead, with general purpose- for they knew they needed to find the main road. The skies had melted from black to grey since they had last set foot outside. Things seemed tranquil. A breeze blew. The clouds lifted and all around bathed in soft light under the blue overhead. They were relaxed. They reached the road. "Kids selling roses...thats cute," thought the first. One of the boys turned to the other, "just keep your hands in your pockets." Things were still pleasant. The world was passing slowly like an underwater dream. The kids came closer and suddenly surrounded them. They were no more than thirteen years in age, the youngest, perhaps,having seven. It was he who approached one of the three boys on the street. "Nice rose for you sir...maybe your pretty girlfriend no?" "No." "But they nice roses sir...you want." "No." The kid reached forward and placed is hand into the pocket of the older boy. He had his hand on the leather. He began to retrieve what he thought would be his lunch. An open palm connected with the boys face with such force the slap was heard half way down the block. The young pick pocket had his feet lifted from the ground, the wind forced from his lungs and then he found the pavement. Silence enveloped and surrounded the gang of youngsters. The youngest sat there on the pavement with his eyes that stretched and widened with every hanging second. Time seemed frozen. And then, the scream came. Loud, piercing and assured. Time resumed. Ten pairs of pupils settled on the culprit, whose actions it seemed, and just caught up with his brain. Then chaos. The young boys found beer bottles and some broke them and hurled them and others just hurled them. The brave ran towards him and jumped using the bottles as a sort of club, striking down on the back of his neck, his stomach and head. Others found sticks and threw them like spears. Mud was sprayed. The two boys who remained stared in disbelief as they were taunted and threatened by the gang. They made a pass for the road. They waved their arms, but no one would stop. Eventually they hailed a taxi. They grabbed their friend who was, by now, a pile of mud and blood and glass shards and threw him in the taxi. "To the hospital," they screamed in Spanish. They drove away- their rear view mirror flashes of violence and worlds shattered. The day had, by then, reached boiling and all around seared in pain.

Grey Hair

Sit in chair
Open eye
Sun light
Pour
In
Through

Venetian
Blind
Coffee smug
You watch bird
Who knew you like
Newspaper crossword?

Overheard
'You know the thing about burnt bridges is that they can be rebuilt'

Sitting by the lake

'Hey mister'
'Get out of here kid...go on..beat it'
'But I want to sit here...'
'Well you can't'
'Why'
'Because I've had a really rough week and I just want to be left in peace.'
'Maybe you should try talking to someone...that's what my mum always tells me.'
'Yeah like i'm going to take advice from a nine year old'
'I am ten...actually'
'Didn't your mum ever tell you not to talk to strangers?'
'Yeah, but she also said if someone looked sad that I should try to help them...'
'This mum of yours sounds like an incredible lady'
'Oh she is. So, tell me your problem'
'I can't believe I am about to open up to a ten year old I just met'
'Thats ok mister, I read a lot and my mother tells me i'm p..persistant'
'Persistent?'
'Yeah, thats it'
'...and your problem?'
'Oh. Right. Well...the work I do for a living makes me miserable, the women I loved left me and I feel as if no one cares'
'I care'
'Well thats very nice of you but all the same...I don't count on ten year olds for moral support'
'Thats a shame...you see...me...that's all I count on...times are happy...we still have dreams...ignorance is bliss and all that yadda yadda..just a regular peter pan mister'
'That must be nice'
'I care about you'
'You said that'
'No I mean, I really do care about you'
'Why'
'Well...mister...er...the fact of the matter is...well...I think your my dad'

Letting Up Despite Great Faults: "Our Younger Noise" from Christopher j Ewing on Vimeo.

Rain

The skies went dark and then black and rain slipped down all across dripping about a red bike that was parked on the other side of the street. There were birds that sat perched together above in the trees, and those trees had partially protected the leafs and debris below. A man stopped and gazed at the pavement. He seemed to be thinking and after some time he turned around. Under his umbrella he had shaded himself from the commotion that ran about outside and his eyes had welled up in tears. Or was it the rain? But by now the rain had begun to thunder and the wind roared and the leaves that used to be on the ground soared and now a part of the mayhem he placed himself on the bike and road away back down the street and into the moody grey.

To the most amazing person on earth

Emptiness into nothingness it seemed you searched and hearts had sprinted northwards finding refuge amongst the throats of all. How we all yearned for a response. How we would have given anything for a smile. How we would have given all the happy thoughts and emotions and times of simplistic ecstatic beauty that surely lay wait in memories not yet processed just to here you call our name. How we wanted to make everything as it once was. We're all waiting for you. And we're there with you till the end- because we know you'll return and our love for you runs stronger and deeper than oceans. And we will wait patiently, hands folded in bouts of assurance, until the end of fucking time. xx

The Train Ride

Streams seemed to construe and bend through the green lushlands while all around the earth span, and the floating birds who raced along, found refuge amongst their kin in the grand trees above. A train rattled through the mountainside and beyond. People stared through windows, momentarily escaping the harsh realities of their yesteryears. Further along, brown dust had covered tin huts whose roofs were laden in years of rust and occasionally the wind would whip across that whole damn plain of existence, persevering over dry nothingness until it found foreign mountains and distance. Somewhere on the train, a boy sat alone. His eyes were closed, lost deep in thought, music and other worldly emotions. He was halfway between sleep and consciousness, and like this the sun streamed and bathed his memories. Somewhere else, a girl had begun to listen to music: she let herself become the surroundings. 'Midnight in a perfect world,' she thought. The hours passed. Time ran into night, and later their heads met, outside windows, while smoking cigarettes under the starry glows and sights. Their smoke danced in cool air, spiralling in circles all the way up to the heavens. They smiled.

Pixies: Monday March 15th- A Review

I had missed the Pixies on their last Australian appearance; an acute financial depression in prior funding which had resulted in the said blame. Of course, there had been attempts to console. Dear friends, who had witnessed the spectacle, provided YouTube footage and personalized accounts that had done nothing more than expand the void ironically created as a result of my physical absence to the event itself.


Well void hath extended no longer! - And as we entered the Horden Pavilion on Monday the 15th of March, filtering through gates that streamed forward in an amalgamation of the young and old, we sat in the courtyard and waited patiently for the universal call to arms familiar to most events of similar proceedings. Cries and screams of Pixie related dreams were heard throughout, and suddenly the lights dimmed. So through gaps we maneuvered like serpents; squeezing our bodies under, around and through people whose scowls at our tenacity were quickly forgotten and lost to the opening strums of dancing the manta ray. Black Francis wailed his distinctive wails amidst a series of multi-coloured spotlights that illuminated the band and allowed the opening infamous B-side song to receive the attention it deserved. The claps of many joined in a collection of hysteria at the outbreak of waves of mutilation, and as the song progressed it appeared a sense of nostalgia had fallen like a spell over the members of the audience; seizing even the most brazen of individuals as the song played out behind an arena of closed eyes. I bleed left a sea of sweaty and charged patrons as Kim Deal peered out from behind her bass and through the dimness she remarked with cheek ‘that’s half of our set already…wow!’


It was hard to imagine that the recording of the Doolitle album, for which the concert was based on, had occurred over twenty years ago. Further, that the cries of yesteryear, bellowing from the stage ahead, were still so applicable to an audience of mixed age and generation. But nay, and as the songs kept rolling so to did the dancing and the floor space saw fifty something’s next to eighteen year olds- and there was something oddly timeless at play as crackity jones faded into la la love you. It was becoming apparent that the band were not a forgotten product of a generation now long passed, but rather that their music had the ability to affect people in similar ways, irrespective of birth year. No 13 baby caused a gentlemen in front of me to remark ‘I want this song to go on forever,’ and indeed it seemed it would; such was the enthusiasm of the crowd as whistles were whistled and smiles from the band acknowledged.




And then, amongst the sheer build up to a song that many had treated as an anthem of youth, hey heard the screams of thousands fill the arena, reverberate off walls and proverbially set the place on fire. It, amongst others, would be the resulting factor that disallowed me the luxury of speech the day after. Gouge away was to be their final song from the Doolittle album and as the last words strayed from Francis’s lips people screamed and held their breath as the question on everyone’s mind began its beg ‘would there be an encore?’


And encore there was as the group reemerged to thunderous applause, the ruckus continuing as a second, though stripped down, bout of wave of mutilation entertained. Into the white followed before the group fled backstage once more, waiting a full five minutes before delivering their final series of chords. Velouria, Nimrod’s sun and Vamos all seemed powerful closers, and just when there was time for one more song where is my mind arrived without warning, further cementing an entire collection of individuals who would be voiceless for days to come. As the lights finally returned we trickled back out into the Monday night streets where, through the haze and smoke of it all, we smiled and found seats- no longer able to walk…the sheer impact of the event overwhelming and we were happy to have been a part of the seen sights and feats.

Seeker

And heaven close over, and arch without reason should words find themselves spat from smack lips that flecked prior to the season.


Endeavor through wonder, wading wet sticks and prior fires that sit reminiscent,
ringing through winds and chimes that reverberate over lands and seas.


Mad foreign sands cover treasures and
complex measures are taken to ensure these grails stay buried.


And yet we discover, and hell forfend!
By virtue the things we seek are found around the bend.

Corruption and Smiles

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vc3m64Xztc8

Travel in Central and South America

Over the past six months I have been asked a few times for recommendations about both Central and South America- whether to go it alone, with a friend, with a tour...which countries to visit...how much money to bring...points of interest and so on. So in an attempt to summarise such a sheer amount of information, I will try to keep the answers brief yet informative.

Firstly, and I can not stress this point enough, do not book a tour. Logically, does it make sense to pay someone to tell you when to wake up, what things to see, what time to arrive, when to leave or where to eat? The magic coinciding with backpacking is the freedom to do whatever you want. The ability to stay in a location for that extra day should the mountains strike you so, the food tempt you or the women (how scandalous!) indulge you. These whirlwind-do six-countries-in-one-month-affairs are not only limiting, but cost sometimes four times the sum of money it would amount to had you have done it yourself. If this has not yet deterred you, and your still hell-bent, screaming for some stability in the far lands that be, then I urge you to pay me to be your guide. I will do it for half the price as Contiki and throw in local parties and local friends for free.

Next, with a typical six month holiday, the decision to visit Central or South America (or possibly both) is crucial to the experience- because well...it is the experience. With six months it is possible to see both Central and South America; however I would strongly advise on choosing one or the other. For a start the distances in South America are far greater than those found in Central America, and its not uncommon for a bus ride to last anywhere from 10-24 hours. However these pre-conceived grievances slowly fade when you realise that all a 16 hour bus ride entails is a 5pm departure, a couple of movies, a sleep which pulls one in with the bends of the road and the callings of song ( a charged iPod is crucial...as is a blanket, hammocks make great covers as well- I still do not fully understand the concept of their air-conditioning systems, but rest assured you will FREEZE), and then a sunrise- the soft lapping of warmth glinting through windows and stroking one to consciousness in time for an hour or two sight-seeing before exploration of the new town or city at 9 am can take place.

Now, both Central and South America are beautiful- each with their various points of interest and exhibits of natural beauty. Climbing volcanoes in Guatemala and roasting marshmallows from flowing liquid magma rates just as highly as ascending (along with the entire village) the principal sand-dune in Jericoacoara (Brazil) and watching waves lap the vertical sand cliffs while all around the light dims as the sun, that fiery ball of life, diminishes beyond the horizon bringing light to the night. Lonely Planet does a pretty good job of listing points of interest so I will not delve to deeply, however some personal favourite experiences of the Americas include: The San Blas islands of Panama, the hike to South Americas new lost city (Ciudad Perdida) (and also an insight into the production process of Cocaine- and how it has shaped, both positively and negatively the outcome of the country), the Inca Trail, the harsh mines of Potosi in Bolivia, Buenos Aires, the ski fields of Chile and Las Lenas, Iguazu falls, and seeing Amazonian kids paddle out in home-made canoes to bob and float in the resulting wake of our steamer- but more than that...their smiles.

Ultimately, you could read as many guidebooks as there are printed, watch as many documentaries as there are filmed and read as many blogs as there are written- but each person´s experience is going to be different based on the people that they meet. Fellow backpackers and locals alike have the ability to make or break places, and I would argue that it is the people, rather than the locations themselves, that leave a lasting impression of places visited. I have never met a group of people more hospitable, instantly accepting, naturally happy or excited about life as the Colombians- my reasons exactly for choosing Colombia as my favourite destination of the Americas.

Also, do yourself a favour and learn Spanish. The first time I travelled South America I had no grasp of the language at all, and so, missed out on meeting locals in the process. With the understanding of the language you no longer feel as if you’re viewing countries through a spy glass or some sort of window. You will save money, meet amazing people and enjoy the various rewards of travelling to a much greater extent.

As far as money goes, on the whole, South America is most likely slightly cheaper than Central America but that depends on the locations visited. Venezuela, Colombia, Brazil, Belize, Costa Rica, Mexico and Panama are going to require roughly 30-60 dollars per day (the exception being Brazil where, if moving quickly, the aforementioned prices can be doubled due to the exorbinate- almost mafia like- prices of the Brazilian bus systems. More often than not it can be cheaper to take a flight, especially when travelling from Rio to Salvador). Whereas in Guatemala, Nicaragua, Peru, Argentina and espeically Bolivia, it is possible to survive on roughly 15-30 dollars per day. Now this budget assumes you stay in cheap guesthouses or backpackers, eat at local restaurants (maximizing your money by asking for the menu of the day) and drink or party very little. It is the same all around the world; countries can be as cheap or as expensive as you want to make them.

It is possible to work in hostels along the way to save money. However, don’t expect to earn anything either- typical rewards for working behind a bar or front desk include: free accommodation, free evening meals and 50 percent off at the bar. With savings like these it is possible to live off next to nothing considering the expenses you no longer have to fork out for. Loki hostels in particular are great at employing people and I had the pleasure of working at both the backpackers in Cuzco and in La Paz. Working ski seasons are next to impossible unless you already have both a fluent knowledge of Spanish and the ability to teach skiing or snowboarding. I stayed in Las Lenas (Argentina) for 5 months snowboarding everyday without working. How? For accommodation, try the website www.laslenasski.com as I rented an apartment for about 1000 dollars for the season. Ski passes cost approximately the same, however its possible to sell them to other travelers should you leave early. But why ski in Argentina? Well Las Lenas, and its fabled Marte chair, provide some of the best backcountry skiing and snowboarding in the world and the riding that I encountered their (people to powder ratio) rivaled, if not exceeded the riding I have found in North America.

To conclude, your going to have an amazing experience no matter where you choose to go. If I could do it all again, I would probably choose South America solely on the fact that I have more local friends in that part of the world. You will get sick, you will be hungry, you will get tired, and you will also see some of the most breath taking sights in the world, change and mature as a person, make friends for life and find out why so many people fall in love with this beautiful region of the world. If you have any questions I am more than happy to help out further. Just book that plane ticket, throw some cloths into a bag- and go! xx

Mornings

To wake up to the tide- waves cresting and crashing and sand swirling. Beyond this the wide expanses of salty seas that seem deftly left by a masters paintbrush; so perfectly strewn with delicate depressions and changing textures that sit like a patient child. And they chip and slide, beautifully-effectively altering ones perception of beauty every couple of seconds. So rising on ones side-usually at first blinking when, slowly, fuzzy memories develop hard outlines and colours gain richness- we check our eyes once more because 'why should I be so lucky to wake up to paradise?' But nay! Because the sun is emerging from beyond trees and behind horizons and in those very trees parrots already sit perched waiting for the first show of the day, the monkies arrive...the world presses play. And now not thinking, rather absorbing, the sun begins to creep slowly and confidently up my body- its warmth engulfing my feet and ankles and legs and still northwards. Golden tones reach my chest and I can feel it reaching my neck as everything suddenly brightens and melts like a lucid dream. Sun flecks from cheeks to eyes. A monkey scrambles around branches through leaves. And then I just sit there, just me and the animals and the water and the sun- seems kind of crazy that all this could actually happen. But it does...in the magical parts of the world.

5.1.10
Osa Peninsula
Costa Rica