hey everyone

Hey everyone!

Don't worry, we are still at home. We wouldn't run away so quickly without telling y'all (and also, you know, the wallet 'lite' situation).

No, this post is simply an update of what I have been up of late. And not of the 'working in a cafe bla bla bla' sort. I have been very busy, in a sitting in front of my computer sort of way. (Actually I have been very busy in every sort of way, from hanging with the fam, to trying madly to start a garden and build another sweet home for some Australian chickens, and working, cooking and christmas-presenting a lot. But also in a sitting in front of this computer way.)

I have created a new little spot for myself on the dotcom! It's all very shiny and new and exciting. And taking a lot longer than I thought to get up and running because blogging is hard when you have to do real life stuff as well.

But anyway, now I have. It's all about.... everything, really. Sometimes cooking, sometimes gardening, sometimes, traveling. All the things I like to do.

I really liked spending time writing on here while I was away and I didn't want to stop that ritual just because I wasn't moving around so much, so I decided that I didn't have to. But I also decided this blog couldn't make the move away from pure travel- it's all in the name isn't it? So it is time to retire wander with me and move into my new place...

...which is called vermilion red and you can find it here and you can even leave me a wee note and let me know what you think!

I hope you like it and thank you everyone who followed our journey along on here. 

two surprises are better than none.

Where have you been? I hear you asking. What have you been doing? You wonder aloud.

Well.

Everyone.

If I don't have some news for you.

You may be able to sense what is coming, spider-sense style (that and the title of this post...). Surprises! Two of them! Hurray!

Everybody...most people...OK, some people like surprises. (I hope. It's what I'm basing this post around). Anyway, here goes:

Surprise the first: Some people already know this (in fact, I had to wait to post this til some people found this out, hence the gap between posts) but...WE ARE HOME. Really and truly and for serious. I am writing this in my lounge room; my recently reunited cat skulking around the bedrooms and my Dad completing his TESOL course in front of the fire. The fire! Because it is freaking freezing and not at all the sunshiny spring weather I was hoping to step breezily (how I thought I would be stepping breezily anywhere after a 36 hour flight-transit pancake I don't know) into from the plane. But no problem (maybe a little problem). We are back!* Back in Radelaide. Back in our normal lives- sans money, jobs and routine. Back.

Surprise! Gotcha, right? Good.

Because now it is time for surprise the second. Except this is more the announcement of a surprise that will be coming to you shortly, a surprise in the making. But it is thus: I have made a book! I spent three months in HutLand cooking, scribbling, writing, drawing and painting and now I have a book. It is a book of the Keralan food that we ate all the time at Our Home (it happens to be delicious so this was a good thing) and I am going to be selling it to raise money for my favourite bunch of Indian kids. Except that right now, I only have the one copy. The original, definitely not for sale, it took me so long to do that it is bizarrely precious to me now copy. We were going to get it printed in India but because I enjoy the rush of leaving things to the last minute and this doesn't work in India because it is India, it didn't happen. So we are making a plan. When that plan is made, I shall let you know.
Keralan food for everyone!

But now here are some pictures of our house at Our Home. Our favourite place in India and a place that wasn't as sad as I thought it would be to leave because we know for certain we will be back within the year. Except when we told some of the small boys we were leaving and they stood and stared at us with the blank faces of the 'just-awoken', tinged with sadness (I'm sure I didn't imagine it), I thought I might cry. But I didn't. So I win.

It feels strange to be back at home so suddenly. Whisked from the busy dirtiness and chaotic noise of the Indian streets and planted in the staid quiet of an Adelaide Tuesday. It's odd. It feels like I am on a little break from Our Home and I will be back there, building a toilet, playing chasey and sleeping in our bamboo hut in a day or two. I miss HutLand already but I am glad to be home. I think. I am pretty deliriously tired from some stupid long airport-y travel so I don't really know how I feel just yet. Except that I am happy to hang out with my dad and my cat. And my bed is reeeeaaallllyyyyyy comfortable.

Welcome home us!

*There is a little delay between when this post was written and when I published it. There is a reason though, not laziness I assure you. I wrote on the eve of my homecoming, so everything would be fresh and true. But I had to wait to post, because I had decided to surprise certain people and I can be a bit stubborn so there was no way I was giving this up, so this could only be posted after said surprises had been surprised.

P.S. Yes, I really did light a campfire inside the bamboo hut. Because I was halfway through cooking a curry when we ran out of gas in the HutLand kitchen and the daily downpour was about to start. And I was NOT giving up on that curry.

it's finished. finished. FINISHED.

OHHHHH EMMMM GEEEE. It is finished! Our palace on the hill-side, our best ever egg farm in the history of Kerala, our main frustration for the last two months...it. is. finished.  

This is what we were thinking when we began this project (now I think about it I really don't know what we were thinking). We were thinking 'a big chicken coop, easy, should be done in two weeks tops.' We were thinking 'well, obviously we need to make some kind of snazzy laying-boxes-poking-out-of-the-back-of-the-fence situation, for ease of collection and all.' We were thinking 'oh, and why don't we make the front walls lever up so we can clean it easily and I think the floor should be split in two, and have some kind of ridiculously over-complicated lowering system for some reason that I can't even recall right now'.

What we ended up with, two months later (!!), is a fairly simple hutch made almost entirely out of bamboo and coconut rope, with your basic floor and walls and nesting boxes strewn thoughtfully about, a snake/eagle/rat/dog proof yard for our hens to peck about in and a design that is so un-Keralan that everybody keeps asking us when we will be putting the tin roof on, concreting the floor and installing the light. And we keep telling them that our chickens don't need those things. Our chickens are going to be happy, earthworm digging hippy chickens. Our chickens are going to be the happiest in the land. And they accepted that (sort of). But then we bought rice-sifting baskets for laying boxes...

Here is our last two months in pictures. The satisfying digging and planting of the poles, the kind of frustrating kind of hilarious days when the kids were helping, the tedium of stitching together 60 metres of netting for eagle protection, the triumph of putting the roof on.

A moment when we were so sick of roping together bamboo to make walls that we had a quick 'look at how pensive and meaningful I am, staring into the distance, sitting in a chicken coop' photo shoot.

The painting of the hen-house. The time we were having a cup of tea and a sit down and we heard coconuts falling form the neighbour's trees...

And finally, the Arrival Of The Hens. We drove for half an hour with thirty hens cowering in terrified clumps under our feet in the back of the jeep. Then we arrived home and I handed them out, one by one, as you would with lolly bags at a birthday party, so the kids could take them up the hill and plonk them into their new home. As you can imagine there was much squealing and giggling.

And some very happy hens. Thank freaking god.

an indian moment.

When you have been here for a while, you start to notice these moments. They are unique to the sub-continent and if you are in good spirits they make you laugh. If you are having a bad day they can tip you over the edge. They are called 'Indian moments'. 

The other morning, after a night of relentless head scratching, I begged mum to check my hair, yet again, for creepy crawlies. So we were sitting outside the hut, in the sun, and she was diligently searching my scalp. And then some of the older boys wandered up, for whatever reason, saw what we were doing, and stood and watched. They said nothing. Just stared for five minutes or so until they got bored. Then they left. Mum and I just looked at each other in acknowledgement of this Indian moment. 

We went shopping the other day. Just because. When you live in the jungle anrd spend every day covered in dirt (and recently oil, thanks to an ill-conceived idea to rust  proof a fence) it is sometimes nice to be around things that are clean and new. So we went shopping. 

Traditional Indian clothes stores tend to avoid coat hangers, so to browse you must lean over the counter and point to what you want to look at and then the assistant will pull it out. You have a quick look, realise it isn't really you and then the scene begins all over again. This makes shopping for a top quite an investment of your time, but it is certainly an interactive activity. It also means that in most clothes shops the counters are piled high with colourful rejects. 

We went into one of these shops. I found a scarf, mum found some leggings and just as we were going to pay, she spotted something bright pink sticking out from the fabric mountain on the counter. They were cotton pants, exactly what she was looking for. She pulled them out and decided she would like them, they would go perfectly with a tunic that had not yet been paired (wearing a dress with no pants or leggings underneath is simply unheard of in rural India). She took them to the counter with our other choices, ready to leave happy and satisfied, and then this happened...

"Oh no madam, not those pants".

"Oh yes, I would like these please. Just these three."

"No madam. You can't buy those pants."

"I can't buy these pants?"

"Correct."

"Why? This is a clothes shop and I have selected these clothes and I now wish to pay for them."

(I suspect some of her responses may have been lost on the three men behind the counter, but they certainly amused us).

"No madam. They are part of a set. You cannot buy them alone."

"Right. I don't want a top, but where is it? I'll have a look anyway."

The two underlings then spent a good fifteen minutes hunting for the matching top. They rummaged through cupboards, scanned all the shelves and sifted through the fabric mountains. At one point they pulled out a new dress, with bright green pants and suggested mum might prefer those. She did not. We were all in fits of laughter by now, commentating on their fruitless search as they doggedly pursued it. They realised she wanted pink pants and pulled out numerous other pants of different shades and fabric and tried to convince us they were the same. 

After this had gone on for some time I thought we may be there all day if nobody said anything and I asked if, in fact, there even was a top that went with these pants.

I was met with laughter and renewed searching. 

"I don't actually want the top guys. If there is no top why can I not simply buy the pants?"

"No, no, no. It is part of a set you see."

"Uhhhhh huh. But you haven't got the set, the pants are all alone and why. Simply why."

"Ahhh, they are our last pair of cotton pants this colour. We have no more."

Finally we understood (sort of). The pants had no top but they were the last of their breed in store. So if someone happened to come in and want a top that these pants would match, the clerks would be in quite the pickle.

"Ok fine. That doesn't make sense but fine. We will just take these two."

And as we were paying, one of the underlings held up the offending pair of pink cotton pants and said "stitch?"

This set us off. We were in hysterics. We had just spent well over half an hour discussing the sale of these pants, which was 'not possible' as they were the last pair and now they were telling us they could stitch us some...

They did not understand why this was funny. We paid, thanked the men, and left the shop laughing incredulously over our Indian moment. 

You could go mad in this country. So sometimes it is wise just to sit and stare at the skies. Thankfully, they are often magnificent.

onam

 

I have just come back from the singing and clapping of the girl's home prayer time with a newly henna-ed hand, and I am feeling fairly exhausted after a day of chicken coop building with ten young girls who are all very eager to help but aren't that interested in listening. But I thought, you know what, I think everyone would like to know about Onam (and if you didn't before, you do now right?), and right now there is power, the computer is free and I have a spare moment- there's no time like the present! So this is what we woke to, two Sundays ago... 

Ten kilos of fresh flowers nestled safely between the seats of the jeep, waiting to be arranged into eye-catching patterns, and when we went into the kitchen we thought a food bomb had exploded. Welcome to Onam, Our Home style.  

Onam is an exclusively Keralan celebration and the legend behind it is thus...

Once upon a time the state was ruled by a demon king called Mahabali. In a hefty contradiction of terms this king was incredibly popular amongst Keralans- all were happy, peaceful and prosperous. Good times abounded. But the demon king had one shortcoming (and it wasn't that he was a demon...I feel like I am missing something here)- he was egotistic. And so the gods decided he was getting a little too big for his boots (and they were also a bit jealous that everyone liked him so much...even gods aren't above a little pettiness you know) and so they banished him to some place far, far away. Shrek was there. So the king was gone, but the gods did have to admit that he had done a lot of good for the people of Kerala and so they granted him the right to come back and visit his people once a year. That day is Onam and it is a day of feasts, flower arrangements and general merriment to welcome back the demon king on his annual visit.

That, as far as I can gather, is what it's all about. What it meant for us was a good hour of everybody's Onam morning spent plucking the petals from flowers to make impressive bursts of colour on the floor...

...quite a few flower fights when the dull repetition of pluck pluck pluck next became too much and the kids went nuts...

 

...and a solid ten hours of cooking in the girl's home kitchen to produce the 11 different curries that would grace our fresh banana leaves for the Onam feast later in the afternoon.

Food and flowers, that's what it's all about. And making merry with family and friends. And then a lazy afternoon nap when everyone is full to bursting and all the excitement has died down. Kind of like Christmas, without religion or presents.

So there you go, the story of an obscure Indian festival to file away in that box in your brain that is reserved purely for the 'things that are quite interesting but serve absolutely no purpose in day to day life'. You're welcome.

Now, I have to go. We have a chicken coop to finish.

bubbles and biscuits.

There's a change in the air here. The monsoon is thinking about leaving, like that party guest who rises from the dinner table to make his goodbyes and then half an hour later has everyone standing by the door, surreptitiously checking the clock, while he recounts for them yet another tale that just must be told. It is thinking about leaving, but it hasn't gone just yet. And though the days have been getting drier, the sun is still scarce; the sky a cloudscape of thick grays and whites. The mornings have been perfect- reminiscent of those days in the height of summer when you wake up at six and sit outside while the sun is still bearable and you can smell the heat that will arrive to blanket everything later in the afternoon.

The ever-drier days bring herald many things: the excitement of a changing season, the opportunity to turn brown again, after two months of cloud, and snakes. Lots and lots of snakes. So what have we been doing the last few days? Snake-proofing! Which is just a different way of saying weeding (it does sound more dramatic though, right?). So much weeding. The thing about living in such a fertile place is that as soon as you pull out a weed and turn your back on it, it pokes its little green head right back out of the ground in some kind of "hilarious" magic trick.

But one can only weed for so long without turning into a crazy person and so in between ripping undesirables from the earth we have been bubble blowing and biscuit baking (and alliterating). Because everyone loves a good bubble and baking outside is fun. Although to be totally honest we were not baking as we have no oven, we were deep frying. But for good alliteration that does not make, so I'm sticking with baking. They're biscuits, after all.

 

 

street scenes: kalpetta

Humans are very good at adapting. This is what makes us such strong survivalists; this is why we are at the top of the food chain. It has to be so- imagine what it would be like if we weren't. A planet full of people who freak out when their situation changes equals a planet full of lunatics flapping about like headless chickens...we'd crash into each other, there would be blood everywhere, we'd all have our shirts on backwards. A funny sight to see perhaps, but not a very productive species. 

The downside to all this kick-ass adaptation is that we also have the tendency to take things for granted. You know it, we all do it. The scenery, the lifestyle, the whatever it is that is so amazing becomes deadened by over-exposure, becomes the norm. Seriously, Will and I have been traveling for eighteen months and we have begun to think that hopping from country to country whenever we get a whim is normal; we have stopped seeing the incredible in what we are doing (only sometimes though...other times we will be doing something and I will just stop and think wow, we are doing this). 

And so with India. Everything about this place is insane. Really, everything. But after four months of living here we have kind of stopped seeing it. So it was a happy email I received from my young cousin the other day, asking for photographs of India for her school project. Now I had something to force me to look around, to be a tourist in our local town again. I not only had to keep my eyes open for the unusual, I had to seek it out. Turns out, it was the easiest thing ever. Because once I started to look around with my 'Australia' eyes, everything was unusual, everything was a photo opportunity.

So thank you Riley Mae, for making me open my eyes and remember where I am.