Today, on repeat

Can't. Stop. Listening.

Just because...

It's been a while.

The Story of the Cows

I’ve always felt the countryside is the type of place to appreciate from my car window, watching the green roll out in front of me at a safe distance. Likewise, I’ve never had much affection for livestock and, in particular, cows - due to their large size, they kind of freak me out.

So you can imagine my face when I was told one of my days in Uganda would be spent visiting cows - cows! Looking. At. Cows. Not only do I not want to get up close and personal with the bovine species, but even if I did, there is ample opportunity to do so right here in New Zealand from behind some very sturdy fencing.

Naturally, for this part of the trip, my expectations were pretty low. I couldn’t fathom how I could pass a day looking at cows.

To give some background, these are special cows. They were a partnership between a New Zealand and a Ugandan organization looking to find an empowering solution to generate income for rural women who need to support themselves and their family. The ladies need cows, they tell us. For milking, for breeding, for fertilising their small plots of farmland.

Cows? We can do that. The funds were slowly raised, particularly as a law change in Rwanda increased the cost of cows by almost a fifth practically overnight. 8 pregnant heifers were purchased and delivered to the village. The women of the cooperative decide together who receives each cow, along with education on cow rearing, fencing and feed, with the first born calf being returned to the group to be passed onto another woman and her family.

Setting out for the day, our local representative, Leslie, tells us a bit more about what it means to own a cow, particularly for a woman. These women are married but effectively raise their children alone - their husbands are very inspecifically “elsewhere”, we are told. The village is close-knit and the women support each other, but they needed a way of earning an income. Having ownership over an asset, such as a cow, is not only a way to support themselves, but a huge step in terms of the empowerment of these women.

Our little cruiser van turns off with no warning and chugs up a dirt path - actually, I’m not convinced it was a path before we forged our way through the bushes, branches stretching, creaking and landing with a thick “thhhwack” on the windscreen. I don’t think this small, rural village somewhere between Kampala and Jinja ever has visits from large motor vehicles.

I’m not sure if it was the anticipation or the fact that the van was swaying over the edge of a rather sticky looking ditch, but the chatter in the van was silent. Faintly, over the revving of the engine, we hear calling.

“They know we’re coming” says Leslie, with a smirk.

“Ayiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyi!”

We stepped out of the bus and into the arms of Kitoola, a little village very focused on its community efforts, but at this moment, very focused on us. This felt like the type of welcome usually reserved for old friends or returning family. The singing, the chanting, the dancing all continued - there was an energy bouncing between these women that swallowed us in.

Pulled in by the crook of an elbow and a bright smile, we were taken between stretches of the village, to the first cow. The singing stops abruptly and a woman steps forward and stands next to her cow. Four words. “This is my cow”. The Kitoola women around us erupt in applause and laughter.

Each cow looked much the same, but each woman stood proud and told us how she cares for her cow and what it means to her - these explanations are translated to us from Luganda to English. Every time, the reaction of pure unbounded happiness from the women is the same.

Despite not knowing us, the village welcomed us before they even saw us. These women wanted to share with us what we had shared with them. So, I threw my dislike of all things “farm” aside and listened.

I heard stories of context - not just what these cows will provide for these women in terms of goods or dollar amounts, but how this is impacting their life and the life of their family.

I heard about the first cow giving birth - it was the middle of the night, and yet the women of the co-op gathered themselves together, running through the village to watch, to help and to celebrate the first calf for their group. A sign that this project had leapt to self-sufficiency and will continue to provide for the community.

I heard songs of gratitude and laughter rippling with pure joy.

By the end of the day, we were dancing with them and felt a heaviness empty out of our bones. Children sat cross-legged on the floor, in fits of laughter at the “mzungus” attempting the Ugandan hip-swaying rhythm. You’d think maintaining this level of excitement (and physical exertion) would be exhausting, but if anything, the energy only multiplied as the afternoon burned on.

From what I know about the disposition of Ugandan people, these women were happy and joyful before we came, before the cows. Their happiness is not what is remarkable. But that day, they chose to share this happiness with us as strangers and let us carry it home.

Women's Co-operative meeting - Kitoola, Uganda

>> Photo Journal: Base Campin' in Nepal

Growing up in New Zealand, I'm pretty spoilt for amazing scenery - mountains, beaches, forests, lakes and pastures. But I've never seen anything like the contrast between the rusty reds and browns of Nepal's urban areas and the bright blues and greens when you leave the city and hit the trails. 

Yes, the Mt Everest Base Camp trek can be overrun with tourists at times, and you can see the commercialism seeping over the trails - but there's a reason it's so popular. For me, Base Camp itself wasn't the big winner, it was Kala Patthar - you can read about that here.

Apologies for the lack of photos involving people - definitely not my strong suit. Panoramic shots galore, enjoy.

Red saris at Pashupatinath Temple, Teej Festival (for women).

Pashupatinath Temple, Kathmandu.

Runway at Lukla Airport - world's most dangerous airport. This baby drops right off a cliff. Credit: L Laurie

Lukla Airport.

The first view of Everest.

From Kala Patthar (highest point  5,500m)

Almost looks good enough to swim - glacial beach style.

Sunrise from behind Mt Everest.

Rock cairn.

Pokhara - lakeside.

That simple little space between the mountains

It’s August now, and I recently found out that the world ‘august’ means “majestic, inspires reverence or admiration”. So, with this theme in mind, I decided to post about a recent trip to Nepal where I trekked to Mt Everest Base Camp as a fundraiser for a Nepali children’s home that I have come to know and love.

This story starts with reaching Base Camp. I thought this was the goal, and while a physical feat, I couldn’t help but feel the victory was a little dry. I take the standard photos in front of the somewhat uninspiring background, drank a cup of tea and join in the celebratory hugs.

We walk back along the glaciers to our beds for the night, and I can’t help but feel a bit disappointed that this was it - a photo opportunity and a bragging right. It’s a fitful night’s sleep when I know I need to be awake early to start walking again, coupled with the suffocating cold. Not to mention that thought of going further up this mountain makes my stomach turn.

Leaving the tea house at 3am, it is complete darkness. We’re so far from the electric halo of the nearest city and we trust our head torches flickering over the gravel to lead the way up the steep path to Kala Patthar.

Despite the increasing thinness of the air, each breath feels solid to swallow as I try to drag oxygen into my lungs, but it fights my efforts each time and rasps down my throat. I keep my head low and my rhythm steady instead of trying to make out the skinny scrap of rock we are headed towards.

My steps become smaller, less certain and my shoulders shake with each laboured breath. This becomes a mental battle as much as a physical one. I focus on the ground immediately in front of my foot for each step, the gravel starting to look like static under my boots.

I silently thank my mum for passing me one of her traits, as my stubborn nature kicks in. My steps gain some reach and my back stands a little less hunched. The steady pattern of right boot, left boot takes over, and there's no room in my mind to even contemplate anything else.

Just before sunrise, we run out of trail and reach a pile of rocks and frosted prayer flags. I turn to face where we have come from. The sky has a new purple wash as it shakes off the night and the energy of the day hums along the horizon. Balanced in the grey air, I wait to greet the sun that’s still sheltered behind the tallest shadow on earth. I sit and watch that simple little space between the mountains.

Suddenly aware I'm holding my breath, I breathe out and the mountain’s ribs start to glow gold, lighting up the edge of the snow like a line of fire. The sun stretches its limbs, slowly reaching across the sky and everything it touches wakes. In the growing light, I see the crown of peaks circling the clouds I sit above, and feel incredibly small.

A sunrise is always a very hopeful thing, and standing beneath a natural wonder creates a very strong sense of stillness. But finding the intersect between these two, it feels like you’ve cheated somehow, and been a part of something you shouldn't have seen.

The day slowly strengthens beneath us, ready to catch us as we descend.

The World is your Giant Scratchie

The weekend I graduated from university, my parents gave me a gift - a world map that was a giant scratch card, with the idea that you can scratch off the top layer over each location as you travel to reveal the actual map beneath. Underneath, there could be joys or disappointments and you won’t know which to expect - that’s all part of it.

As far as graduation presents go, this was pretty damn thoughtful - aimed at inspiring travel and discovery, with the underlying message of "the world is your oyster - go, explore and conquer!" Then again, maybe they just know I love scratchies. 

Since receiving that map a year ago, I’ve ticked off Nepal, Hong Kong, England, Wales, Uganda and Kenya. 

But I’ve got an itch that all this scratching doesn’t seem to help - the more I travel, the more I need to keep moving. I’m working in an office where I’m surrounded by fellow travel-lovers and spend my time talking to volunteers heading off to exotic places, so it can be a struggle to mentally escape the need I have to physically escape.

I started this blog as a reminder to myself of my most treasured moments. And of course to inspire myself to continue finding ways and places to travels (and the funds to allow it all, of course). It can be easy to lose your place and drop your pace when day to day life jostles for your attention with it's alarms, emails and reminders.

Until my next trip takes a more solid form, it feels a bit like I’m holding all my travel memories and plans together with a piece of string and a paperclip.

Definition: triptease (noun)

triptease (noun) - a sequence of social media activity from one person, demonstrating the highlights of their current or recent travel experience. A prolific "tripteaser" will be posting in real-time on a variety of social media outlets including, but not limited to, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and blogs - like this one.

If you stumbled across this blog looking for XXX content, then Google has failed you. Sorry! I hope you’re not too disappointed. In doing a little research, if you type "tripteased" into google, you'll get adult results by the end of page 1, so I'm in good company..?

What this blog is really about is still yet to be defined. My posts will be loosely tied together under the category "travel", but it's more about the people and places that inspire me - whether that be at home or overseas. 

Travelling overseas to Vietnam when I was 18 was a key experience for me - it led me to my interest in travel, but also one of my other interests - development. As an idea, a sector or industry, a process and a criticism. Development is one of those words that doesn't have a widely accepted definition, but the concept of community progress for the welfare of its people is what really interests me, and that seems to fit under the D-word for the most part.

I'm very lucky in that, at the moment, travel is both my passion and part of my job. Thanks to my current role, I've been to some places in the world I wouldn't have imagined, and there is more to come.  

So, welcome to the blog of a triptease.

Vietnam - discovering my love of travel

>> Photo Journal: Morena Ōtautahi

Every traveller comes from somewhere. This is my somewhere.

Hot air ballooning in Methven, New Zealand early 2013. The trip was a gift from my friends - sometimes I lose sight of the fact that I have such amazing people in my life.

(Morena Ōtautahi means 'Good Morning Christchurch' in Maori)