Wonderscapes and citylust

Life winding, winding up, in this city, many years and the same winding roads leading me home. The big bricks of Brisbane are changing and new development has emerged, but the heart of the city remains the same. Staggering art-itechtural wonders, bizarre concept bridges, big, better gliding buses...and surprise surprise..more more more rules and regulations, white lines splitting the street, naysayers and conformity enforcers.

I feel this city doesn't reflect me anymore, in the sheer walls of glass and the grey concrete, I see less and less of myself. More and more of commerce that leads us forward..to where? I wonder about the disconnection, I really do.

And yet...

Yesterday I went clippity clopping in the city. My boots make a nice round sound on cement, and as I passed a fellow femanimal, my clop clips fell into beat with hers..I walked closely to her for a while, and could see she became increasingly uncomfortable, I noticed she purposefully tried to put her beats out of synch with mine, without success.

'A researcher hiding in an abandoned car once filmed children playing in a school ground at lunch hour. Screaming, laughing, running and jumping they all seemed superficially to be doing their own thing, yet careful analysis showed that the group was rocking to a unified beat. After some searching, the researchers found a tune that fit the silent cadence, and when they played it and rolled the film, it seemed as if each kid were dancing to the melody even though there had been no music playing in the schoolyard!'

So, are we connected..something within unifies us, makes us groove to the same beat of life, an unconscious undercurrent ties groups together and even in our most casual moments we pulse in sychrony. It's a feeling that makes me feel alright as I navigate the flow of energy, visible and otherwise, of this jagged, concrete place I call home.

Australian beach life is like no other... like no other...
it's ahop, skip and a jump...a very relaxed jump from Asia.

Damn, after time communing with mother ocean, getting my feet wet in the tea coloured streams, drying in the warm sun... I've decided, I'm moving to Byron and buying a small tea shop and forever supping tea with the wide view of the world at my feet ..

unique, I know

...

Peace

and

love

Hi, if you've read the recent Teach International article and are interested in my experience living in Vietnam, you can pop into my archives beginning early 2008

Tab

Birds and blue skies of Home

Yesterday, I almost tripped over a duck. Walking along a dark pathway I didn't see the small brood on the side of the road until it was almost too late. Imagine, I walk, and there is a duck.

They aren't the only animals in this amazing place, everywhere birds of all colors call and whirl in the air. Brilliant rainbows, shining whites, crested, yellow, white, black and proud. On my back porch one evening an owl landed gracefully on the awning, staring at me with eyes of wisdom and truth and after sharing time and space flew off again as I rose to leave. What a wonderland of creatures.

The truth is, I'm happy to be home. The secret is out. I've landed on Australian soil breathing the fertile green land, the bird-filled blue skies as wide and generous as I remembered.

Welcome to Australia..

A land of thick accents, terrible television advertising and regulated, regimented rules. A place of long history, and ancient traditions, overlayed with desperate commercialism, addictive purchasing and little political truth..

... but home at the very least!

Ghost Realities

'Almost every reality you 'know' at any given second is a mere ghost held in reality'....

Vision, self doubt, "see" and "hear"...what makes you so sure they exist? Given the power and subtleties of our culture, our system, our mental mind makers..the learning devices our societies create..what makes you more than an effective learning machine?

The peer pressure, phony proponents, unrealistic stings of unreality, social cues and the compulsion to go along with the herd are far more valuable pressures than we think they are...so how are we natural? how are we free?

It's been said we are a beach complete with shifting sands and dunes...'After all what is our reality anyway? Nothin' but a collective hunch'..as Lily says.

I'm a beach.

i'm the metaphor at hand, a mismatched time honoured clock of misperception. I'm hypersensitive, bound by the norms with crowds of silent voices whispering in my ears full of indescision and misunderstanding...

the influence of the mob gone before..

I'm the fall guy of generations of mistakes
the crowing of a crowd
long bent and wasted, crowding in the collective mind

trick me and tell me it was a white car speeding by a blue house and maybe i'll say...um, yeah, it was going pretty fast..

and yet, I'm touching the void here
balancing out, aiming to avoid pleasing

almost...maybe not this generation..but maybe the next
maybe

Cook for Peace

Ooh, how wonderful is sharing food - a most precious ritual, culture to culture, home to home. Families celebrate over roasts, reward with sweet meats and show appreciation with treats. But these days sharing food is a revolutionary movement!
My lovely Catalan friend Estella, who is part of the love love love of the Love Bis - Malaysia Chapter - a seeker of good people, truth and (cheap sustainable) travel, joined the ragtag group collaborating Food Not Bombs here. They cook and share food regular Friday nights..for free! Yes, yes, free food!

Food Not Bombs is a peace movement sharing vegan and vegetarian food in over 1,000 cities around the world!

Holding the belief that while people are starving not a single dollar more should be spent on WAR. Food from bakeries, packaged food from dumpsters, surplus stock are collected, cooked and shared with the community...those people...'out there'.

The immense wastage of our Western societies is ignored, government and corporate priorities are SKEWED and as a result, billions of people starve. Thusly, a loose-knitted group of activists collect free, surplus and thrown away food and cook it up to distribute to the homeless and poor, FREE.

...and it's yuuuuummy!


It reminds me of my first Nimbin trip. Haha.

Starving and exhausted we pulled into town as the sun disapeared over the hills. The town was desolate (hippies retreat to the hills to pump water and fix solar panelling in their yurts). Our hungry bellies rumbling and not expecting to eat...

But then, a white van stopped on the main street in dim circle of street light adn two people began unpacking... a line of fold-up tables a huge feast began to materialise.

Huge pots bubbling with pea and lentil soups, fresh brown seeded loaves, steaming cauliflower and vegetable casseroles, cream cakes, chips and biscuits and plastic cups full of raspberry cordial and juice. Our eyes bulged at the miracle assembling itself on the desolate street.
From the dark shadows hairy, dreadlocked hippies emerged, torn tie-dye shirts, clinking talismans and dirt stained feet. Over soup, I chatted with a boy, Josh's age, covered in cake from stuffing his face, he had wild eyes and was living in a house in the hills making jewellery, this was his first proper meal in a while.

I was told that the man who created the feast was called Les. From his own pocket, he had been feeding people in the Lismore region every Saturday for 20 years!

There are angels among us..feeding us..and cooking up a little peace*

gypsy cats
miaow..

What do you do when the world around you commands obedience.. in dress, in manner and in life choices? What if you don't agree with the choices? What if you don't get into the hype, don't want to contribute to the fear?

What do you do if you wanted every single day of your life to be full of love..music..smiles..colour???

Would you give it up because someone says you must be more like them? Or would you put on your most colourful vest, arrange your pants, and walk whistling out the door...to meet and make your own sense, your own story...

The Love Bus are a colorful bunch of gypsy cats travelling the world creating spontaneous musical combustion. Starting their travels in the greenscapes of Kuranda, I met up with the kids in Malaysia where we were all lucky to meet Antares and from there the love has spread...worldwide...

They play music music music...

with soul
love

harmony

So let's get together

and feel alright...

sweetsouls

...
wandering

loving
singing
smiling
all the world
through..

...

always

with a beat
always with a song

no matter what
public
transport

they are on...

..

And more more beautiful music to be heard ----


Sounds of Sun
www.myspace.com/soundsofsun






Sunny Lee Snook
www.myspace.com/sunnyleesnook

*more of the LOVE you love on Fb*

Music4Humanity

Music4Humanity is a global music project aimed at inspiring humanity, focusing on enriching the lives of others through music and compassion. The kids involved in this hold fund raising events, music workshops, concerts, music therapy, docos and films, and create volunteer music programs all around the world!Josh explodes on stage wth smooth jazzy vocals and dreamy guitar fingers, cheeky or contemplative, flamboyant or melancholic; Josh Lee's music is littered with personality. Folky with space for funk, gypsy, roots, jazz and rock. Amorphous and changeable, but clear and elegant..
 Josh is currently living and gigging in Bristol, UK...

Help keep the love going...visit www.music4humanity.info

now...

i say...

I was recently approached to write an article for the Jakarta Post on hichhiking...whether they print it or not is another story...but here is what I said....


1) How does hitchhiking in Indonesia compare to other countries/places?

Well, honestly, long highways seem the same no matter what country you travel in. To me a journey seems subject to the state of mind of the traveller than anything else. In Indonesia, I noticed friendliness and more rural territory, maybe because of this people are more open to accepting a roadside travel companion. Everywhere people were generous and enthusiastic about teaching language and sharing songs and knowledge. Unfortunately, the roads highlighted our trip in Sumatra! On much of the coastal highways, bone jarring potholes appeared around every corner. Trucks and cars progress through the countryside much slower and I spent many sleepless nights in the cab of a truck bounced around like a pinball.


2) Why do you choose to hitchhike over taking other transport?

After travelling for a long time, I became frustrated with the callous way travel is generally approached. I got off the bus. Literally. I started walking. I walked almost 300 kilometres and along the way people offered me lifts, rides or even doubles on their bicycle. Now I’ve hitchhiked in 8 different countries, exchanged conversations with hundreds of people and learned pieces of 6 languages. I’ve become hooked on this idea of ‘humane’ transport because hitchhiking offers real human contact. It’s an exercise in real life experience. Real people. Real travel. When I hitchhike I open myself up to possibilities, genuine interactions and generosity, and usually remove money from the equation. I hitchhike both because it’s free and because it’s freedom.


3) What kind of people do you usually get rides from?

Absolutely everyone! Old and young, from different countries and from different backgrounds. I've found it's easier to stop trucks and with private cars it seems men are more likely to stop than women. In countries where it is rare to hitchhike, the question everyone asks is why I choose to travel this way. So my brother and I adapted the way we explained our presence on the highway and tell people we are participating in a social experiment… in human kindness. And it’s really like that. The more people you meet, the more you see how diverse but similar we are and how absolutely anyone can stop to help a stranger. And even if you can’t stop, an apologetic wave goes a long way to making a girl feel better!

4) Tell me about the best ride you've ever gotten?

I’ve ended up in many wonderful places with interesting characters. A recording studio in Bengkulu, a shishkebab BBQ on a beach with Iranian students, a wedding party in the mountains, and all along the way people went out of their way to share their culture and experiences. But one time I hitched from Sumatra to Java, on a ferry! My friend Charlie and I spent hours speaking broken bahasa and sharing Ayam Goreng with the drivers. Aboard, we whizzed into the executive lounge complete with live band and spent the night playing guitar and relaxing on comfortable lounges. We got a ride with the band and a place to sleep till the next day. Patiently teaching traditional songs like Kopi Dandut and helped us to find the highway. The people were generous and genuine and it was the very best part about arriving in Java.

5) What are your favourite things about hitchhiking? Least favourite?

Hitchhiking is exhilarating. I am constantly surprised, amazed and humbled by the open-hearted kindness of strangers. Moving through the world this way has changed the way I view the world. I can never be convinced by the media into believing we should be afraid of other people, this first hand experience has led me to believe we should open our selves and our hearts even more to people and we'll find we reap the trust that we sow. The least favorite aspect of this form of travel is long, hot highways and my own terrible sense of direction! I once hitchhiked for three hours from Penang, Malaysia unknowingly in a very, very big circle, only to end up at a very familiar road, with a very, very familiar bridge!

6) Tell me about hitchhiking as a woman!

Trust and confidence is key and your intuition is worth more than you can imagine. I've never understood how good I was at assessing people until I began hitchhiking. As far as being a female hitchhiker, I haven’t found my experience differs much to my brother’s or other male friends. Needless to say, it’s easier hitchhiking in pairs, as a single female there have been times the conversation veered uncomfortably towards my marital status. It’s important to be confident and maintain friendly conversation but be ready to divert it if it becomes too personal. I assess drivers carefully and find getting rides at gas stations allow me more time to speak to drivers before accepting a lift. So far, all my experiences have been very positive.

7) What have you learned from hitchhiking?

Hitchhiking is an exercise in personality development. Moving through the world this way has made me more aware of people, to trust myself implicitly, manage my relationships, divert/change/adapt my conversation skills and to be more humble (when faced with great generosity or when being turned down ride after ride). I’ve learned it’s not money or possessions which provide lasting satisfaction, its human experience and sharing our collective stories. We can communicate no matter what our backgrounds, races or culture, we just have to slow our engine, open our doors and give it a try!

Two Tribes meet

I told them I would be back with bamboo in a sec and wandered down the rugged little hill and past the puppy’s grave. (Over the years many animals have found their end at Magick River. Mary once pointed out to us all the sites of the dead pups and cats and kittens and monkeys! She said when the dogs brought him up the road, with not a scratch on him, the baby monkey was so poignantly human he was given a ‘proper’ burial.)
I spotted Anoura cutting betel nut with women and sat with her chewing the nut wrapped in bitter tasting leaves, promptly forgetting about my bamboo mission. Our asli neighbours were having a celebration. I’d watched them cooking since morning and communicated in stilted Bahasa I wanted to taste Orang Asli cooking. With big smiles I was led to their rumah.

Cute kids peeked at me from behind mother’s skirts and the men shot curious glances. But honestly, I was concentrating on the food piled high on my plate. The men asked me to invite my friends and that’s how the tribe at the top of the hill came to meet the tribe at the bottom…finally. We brought guitars, of course.

The women laid out another mouth watering spread of food. Freshly killed wild boar made into three delicious dishes, coconut sauces, fresh bamboo shoots, wild picked jungle vegetables and the traditional crunchy crackers, all topped off with a sweet caramel pudding. Even the vegetarians were happy.

Our French/Spanish friend Micky’s eyes were popping out of his head as he exclaimed between mouthfuls, “it’s so fresh, so clean, so full of taste.” He would close his eyes after every mouthful of boar and mumble something half Spanish, half French. One of the brothers shot a mid-sized male boar in the jungle a day ago and the women told me they never eat meat from the town because of the chemicals. Throughout the meal, I had mental pictures akin to Asterixsk and Obelix cartoons, wild parties in the forest with bountiful food and glistening sides of wild boar…this was what it was like!

After eating came the songs!
Of course, we are always quick to sing (and Happy Birthday featured prominently). But funnily enough, we had a newly arrived New Zealand couple with us, a very proper, tight collared private school teacher and her husband. He surprised us all, first asking if he could sing a song, and then, gently putting aside the guitar offered to him, he promptly took off his shirt…in front of a crowd of open mouthed foreigners and curious asli, he proceeded to do a totally impromptu, very impressive version of the Hakka! In the brief moments of shocked silence that ensued, I quickly translated the song was from the asli of New Zealand and this man (with his white, white skin, short shorts and curly hair) was not asli, but had learned their music. The Temuan grunted with understanding gave him a proper applause.

Micky sang a Spanish song accompanied with some gypsy kind of dance (inspired in part by the local wine) and Stas sang a Russian ballad. With the help of a much better translator, a half Malaysian friend Aslan, they shared old folk stories of the Temuan in the area. Accompanied with a promise that the next day they would drive some miles to visit the local elder for more lore.

The two tribes met and now it feels as though we have more brothers and sisters. Let’s hope we respect our new friendship and know that it will add much more to our lives and experience in this magical place.

Kampung Life

The lost boys of Jogjakarta gave us many things, a safe place to sleep, wine to drink, canvas to paint, stories and open minds. In a short time, we were welcomed into a brotherhood and into their hearts. They shared the colored tapestries of their lives accenting difficulties by allowing only mere shrugs at hardships and trials. Isanto, in particular helped me understand life beyond the stories by welcoming me into his home. I saw how family is everything (even if it's created), hardship is relative and poverty in this place, immediate.

Jogja's inner city kampung's are modern Indonesian slums. Old housing stiched together with tiny alleys brightly colored with mold and running like seams through an area the size of a small neighbourhood. Entering the kampung you'll see a waterfall of corrugated iron cascading over gutters and peaked windows.

Ancient grandmothers bending over boiling pots in outdoor kitchens built against the bricks of their homes. Rain leaking off roof gutters falls into pots and pans laid below and everywhere latchkey kids, food sellers and buskers wander through the alleyways and open doors laughing and smiling as they go. It's a place that is immediately both colorless and full of life.

Initally, Santo was hesitant to mention his home life. His upbringing was a difficult one in a country that chains mentally diseased relatives to benches and were children are more likely to make up a nasty rhyme than assist handicapped people. Though things are changing, Santo's childhood was full of ostracism, poverty and neglect, by his community and his peers for having not one, but two blind parents.

Santo's parents contracted a disease in their early teens that led to blindness. They live together in a tiny house in the middle of an inner city kampung in Jogjakarta. Santo got his first tattoo at 12, now with bad gums, rotten teeth and liver problems from alcohol, he has spent most of his childhood living, drinking and sleeping on Malioboro Street.

I have seen shacks and hovels around the world, but I was still surprised at the house. It was a hallway. A two leveled, clothing filled hallway for three. Santo flung himself down on a dirty mattress piled in the corner and switched off the radio. He called to his mother and a tiny white haired woman hobbled out of the shadows of the house and came to hold my hand.

"Mum, this is Tabitha"..he said in rapid Indonesia.
"Nama saya Tabitha" I said in stilted bahasa.
"Cha-bal-ah", she said cocking her head..

oh well, close enough.

At 60 she has a cheeky smile.The sunken folds of skin where her eyes had once been, blended into the deep grooves and lines of her face. She grabbed my hands, her strong fingers pressing deep into my hands. Smacking her gums she worked her way up my arm only pausing to squeeze the delicate flesh of my inner arm and mention that I was chubby.

Both Santo's parents massage as a way to bring income for food and basic health costs. While I was living with them, I would chat with Santo's mum each week about food and buy the required ingredients at the market. With no fridge and no gas stove, cooking is an immediate task. She has been cooking on a charcoal stove since she was 10, it's massively labour intensive and a meal takes up to 2 hours. But to buy a gas cooker and learn a new cooking method is potentially very dangerous. To watch her measure out the gasoline for the coal, to light the stove, to fan the flames and to prepare, monitor and taste the food was impressive..and man, can that lady cook!

I stayed with the family, ate slept and learned a lot of bahasa, I have Santo to thank for being my personal tour guide around the city, and helping me understand more about the work of GIRLI and Milas, excellent charities that help kids through resturant and organic farming projects!

Santo is an artist and a traditional kite maker. He has a concentration that is magnetic, a silent way of working and moving without sound. Always sweeping, cleaning or making tea. And always sharing, no matter how little he has. All the boys seem to share this spirit.

They smoke a packet of cigarettes on the table until it is finished, they share meals when they can, they drink up when they can, and rely on each other for support..And it's this that I take away with me from Jogjakarta. The street boys, their families, their brotherhood and their movement..a family.

Oh the people you meet!

Wipe, wash, get drinks from the fridge, sweep, clean and polish tables. I'm wiping a table when I notice him. He's hard to miss. A large man wrapped in enormous folds of traditional monk yellow. He's patting a dog across the street in the sunshine, completely absorbed in his affections, the light glints around them, the dog incredibly happy, the monk smiling. He stands and looks around.

I move to the curb smiling to offer him our bathroom to wash his hands. He says to me in a thick Southern accent.

"what's your name, miss thang?"

I balk.
silence..staring at the multi colored tattoos on neck, hands..feet..then I recover myself,

"tabitha" I say.
"Hmmm, Soul Kitchen, he muses, "ya know viddles and fried chicken, with some black eyed peas would go down a right treat"..." and chitllins!"

I smile.
"we're an Italian trattoria"

Yesterday I met an older lady named Lizzie. In her 70's Lizzie is a tight figure of health. She told me stories about travelling through Afghanistan in the 60's in a converted army truck, she says she was the first to do it when Afghanistan was a big hippie route. She bought a piece of land in Australia in '67 for a 1000 bucks.

She first came to Penang 20 years ago and has been a traveller all her life. I ask her what advice she would give to someone looking to lead an alternative life. She wonders if she should have had children. If only for the love.

I desperately want her to adopt me.

Mario, he's Italian, came in a few days ago. He jumped off his bike and burst through our doors in a blaze of alpha male energy...with hot buns and great calves. He's been riding 60, 000 kilometres from Rome. He says he only stopped because he has back problems and has come to Penang for the acupuncture.

Chong has been living on the streets for 5 years now. His wife died. He has no teeth. The lady down the road lets him help her with the cleaning in the hostel.

Bertrand is a world class photograher. He's addicted to Penang. And the world. He dreams of capturing great beauty.

And me. I have a few stories of my own.

Yum Yum Yum - el mundo en 2CV

..and I'm not talking about the edible street delights of Penang. I'm talkin' Spanish..dreadlocks to knees..world travelling, crunchy granola dreams kind of deliciousness...

Jorge (pronounced Hor - hey, for those of you who don't understand the Spanish 'J', and like me, pronounce it similar to 'George') and his friend, Miguel, are travelling the world in a 2CV. Again for those of you who don't know, a Citroen 2CV is old school French piece of class, on wheels.

The best part of this story is not that they are parked in a guesthouse down the road! but that just one year ago Miguel couchsurfed with me after leaving the car, and his friend in some rainbow tribe in India..

He helped me pack down my apartment in Hanoi..yes, he was one of the four I hosted within two weeks of moving out!

..and is what's known as a 'professional traveller', one of those nomads with a tiny backpack, funky picture dictionary, 4 t-shirts, can actually work a map,and a smile and personality to take the words out of anyone's mouth in ANY language or disarm an entire militia.

So, with this backstory, I was walking down the street in Penang and saw...Naranjito.. their little orange beauty and travelling goddess (though I am told Naranjito is a he) sitting forlorn in a carpark..I took a double take and ran up to see...

Hehe, it's a surprise that has kept me smiling for a while, it's very cool to have these guys here! 2 years and 30 countries later..stories, pictures, beautiful jewellery and hopes for a documentary on their amazing journey..

The car and Jorge are heading to Australia next, so I hope to catch up with them agaaaaiiin...

Check out the blog love below..sorry espanol only...
...but great boys, great pics and a great story!


Jorge - http://blogs.lavozdegalicia.es/jorgesierra

Miguel http://elmundoen2cv.rioja2.com/

Chinese Opera - aaaaahhhhhhh!

I lived in China as a teenager..and thusly, have a slight phobia when it comes to the thought of traditional Chinese opera. I also have a fear of spiky green fruits and ice kachang...but that's another story.

Chinese opera mostly conjures thought of overly made men in women's clothing letting out the most intense sounds imaginable...

...all the while a troupe of three older men located somewhere near your head smash enormous drums and clang pots and pans together in an attempt to miss every type of imaginable rhythm.. plus, I've always thought Mandarin sounded violent.

But, my busy gotta-see-stuff tourist side won this time and I dragged my other (more sensible) nice-sound-enjoying side kicking and screaming a little opera at a temple down the road...and...

well...it was ok.

I mean, they screamed..sang..clanged drums. I half understood the story..I didn't have a brain melt down or run screaming from the scene..it was ok..but the makeup I found absolutely fascinating! I'd never seen it so close up before..

There's a lot of opera in Penang, all around in fact, Anh Huah, my little Hainanese temple friend here, can get me in to the backstage areas..so next time I'm going with a purpose..to get some makeup tips!!

So, I went and found some beautiful pics on flikr by a man called John Iishi..

..just beautiful...

Chinese Opera Georgetown Penang
Mercy Temple (Quan Yin)
Jalan Masjid Kapitan Keling
(just near Little India)

Georgetown Festival

Let's have a paaarty!

Penang is set to party, for a month it seems. In conjunction with the celebration of its 2nd anniversary as UNESCO World Heritage Site, Penang is celebrating World Heritage Day (7th July) with a series of programs in the Georgetown area!
The festival features over 80 programs to promote arts and heritage in Penang. it should be loads of fun..the annual event is a feast of theatre, music, dance, film, art, opera, food, fashion, photography, and talks.

And...more opera...much more opera

Hope to see you around the streets!

Soul Kitchen Penang - soul food without the viddles

From the timeless hills of the asli, I'm back in the rhythm of 'real' life. Putting in some work time to make up for the spending I've done in the last few months..I've settled on the tropical island of Penang, found a great little place called Soul Kitchen to spend my hours.

Michele and Tonio created their little getaway in Muntri Street with this gorgeous retro trattoria serving breakfast, pasta and sandwiches. With retro furniture from Germany, old school wallpaper and blackboard menus, looks like a 1960's Berlin cafe and has the same ambience.

We serve delicious passsstaaaa..and grilled sandwiches and hot hot breakfasts! Tonio makes a tiramisu to die for, we've had comments from well-travelled world travellers about the high standard of his little coffee covered delights - but we only make them one day a week! So there is always a weekend rush!!

As far as pasta goes, the chicken a'limone is my favorite, lemon buttery chicken pieces drizzled over penne..mmmm! And when I get back to Australia, the only thing I will be able to think about is the salami with balsamic garlic tremmezzini!

We're smack bang in the busy centre of Georgetown, Penang. A little green cafe surrounded by Chinese temples and sexy old buildings. Penang is a little developed for my tastes, but it has a quaint old world charm and an off-beat, slow moving community that suits me fine.

I live above the cafe in a huge old room with high ceilings and old red shuttered doors. It does nothing to keep the karaoke out at night, but is full of light and color.

Please come and visit..and if you already have, leave a comment and let me know what you think!






102 Lebuh Muntri
Georgetown, Penang
(next to Chulia Street)

(photos from the very fine My Food Fetish site my-food-fetish.blogspot.com)

Welcome back to Penang...

again...

...Mama Blatz's cafe is up and running and now, it's time to work!

Magick River and the Star Children of the Diamond Constellation

It's about time I properly introduce Magick River...Mother Mary and child of the light Antares, Anora, Ahowl and all the truly magical soul beings who are sharing light and love with others who come along their path.



Some years ago, a home was created among the asli (aboriginals) of Malaysia next to a smooth flowing, clean river. Originally made from bamboo and set high in the hills I'm sure there were just as many parties then as now.

Nowadays, the home they have made is called Magick River and through their dreaming, have created a home for us all. A beautiful bamboo house aptly named the 'Bamboo Palace' is open to all, and set in the sublime green hills near Kuala Kubu Baru which is about one hour by bus from KL.

The asli have long created homes next to rivers. One thoughtless decision from the local government to build a dam brought ruin. Mary, Antares and a group of like minded locals fought the decision to no avail, the dam was built and inevitable flooding occured destroying the asli's homes and community.

The homes were rebuilt later and the community was brought to the banks of the current site. Little white houses neatly built in a row, with gardens of tropical flowers and fruits..full of kids, games and families.

Just up from our bit of the river flows the Mother Falls..

..a tremendous powerful three tiered waterfall, the cauldron is a place of bubbling power where the boys are playing in this picture

The water has carved out a perfect round cavern and the water is...

oh so coooo-ldddddd!!

One luscious afternoon we made the trek, I went straight into the roaring cauldron with Estel-la (a Catalan gypsy) and after nervous giggling, we jumped into the pressure centre. Estel-la jumped first and was immediately squashed down into the powerful gushing stream. After splashing about, I went to take a wee peek over the edge of the falls and ... WHOOSH... disappeared over the edge! My feet taken from under me by the strong current, I bounced from side to side down the 'sluice' and plunged deep into green darkness pushed by the power of the water above me. A total heart stopper..hehe, not banged up, just feeling a little silly, but it was worth the ride!

So, below is a little shout out to the most amazing feature of Magick River..the 'mother and father'..MARY and ANTARES ..