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!