tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36330760670654210892024-03-14T19:49:26.732+01:00Travels with KylieCome away with me to Canada.
After teaching abroad in London, UK; Marrakech, Morocco; and Kaohsiung, Taiwan; I went back to Australia for a visit and a push of the personal 'refresh' button in my home country. But the adventure did not stop there. Now, I am in Ontario, Canada, on a new adventure.Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.comBlogger84125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-11531214237503218592012-12-13T16:09:00.001+01:002012-12-13T16:09:12.792+01:00Happy Half Days and Sliding SeagullsAlways look on the bright side of life?<br />
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Yep, that's me. I see the world through rosy glasses, my cup is half full - I am an optimist. But lately, things have been up, and they have been down. You see, I am one of the fortunate ones to have been recently hired to the Halton District School Board in Ontario as a day-to-day Supply Teacher. Although heavily despised by the existing lot Supply teachers, I was one of 240 hired to the Board, out of 2700 applicants. The pool of teachers is now quite large - many teachers are squabbling over a few jobs However, I have been quite successful in acquiring teaching jobs. I have made a few contacts in different schools and have only had a few non-teaching days.<br />
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Nonetheless, a lot of the teaching days I have had are half days. This means that the regular classroom teacher may have designated planning time, a meeting, a conference to attend, and are entitled to the morning or afternoon off only.<br />
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I see lots of positives and negatives in working this way.<br />
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<i>Negative</i><br />
I get half pay.<br />
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<i>Positive</i><br />
I get to sleep in.<br />
Or, I get to beat the traffic on the way home.<br />
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When I work only in the afternoon, I like to use my mornings. This morning, I went for a run.<br />
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<i>Negative</i><br />
It was cold outside. Like, really cold. Like, frost on the ground kind of cold.<br />
I hadn't run in a couple of weeks, so my legs were heavy.<br />
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<i>Positive</i><br />
I recently bought some winter running gear and could try it out.<br />
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<i>Positive</i><br />
The new gear worked! I learned that the long sleeved dry fit top has longish arms and little holes to poke my thumbs through. Bonus - the sleeves cover my gloves, meaning no chilly air flow up my forearms.<br />
The tights are longish too, meaning my ankles stay snug.<br />
My fluffy head band is wide and covers my ears. Bonus - it keeps my clip-on ear phones in place.<br />
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I ran on the sidewalk, and then took my route to a nearby park, where a bitumen path forms a track.<br />
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<i>Negative</i><br />
I discovered black ice. <br />
I slid.<br />
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<i>Positive</i><br />
I now know what black ice is and will avoid it like, well, the black plague.<br />
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But do you want to know the best positive of all of this?<br />
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On my second lap around the track, a small flock of seagulls landed on the same black ice. And they slid and skidded, way worse than me. <br />
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Half days aren't so bad.<br />
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<br />Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-19774175703912864132012-10-17T03:51:00.000+01:002012-10-17T03:57:56.951+01:00My Favourite Place... for Fall ColorsI came here only once before. And loved it. I loved the fresh air,the shining sun, the towering trees, the leaf littered paths. I loved the way the air made me feel, allowing me to breathe deeply, to breathe fully. And the colors. The changing fall colors caught my eye. Once dark emerald leaves turned peridot green, amber and finally ruby red. I loved walking along the dirt paths, crunching the fallen leaves with each step.<br />
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This time, I came equipped with my camera. I wanted to capture the colours. I wanted to be amazed from my computer screen and one day, from a print. And I wanted to share it. My favourite place for Fall Colours is Dundas Peak, Hamiton, Ontario.<br />
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My favourite place for fall colors is Spencer Gorge Wilderness Area, consisting of Dundas Peak and Tew's falls. <a href="http://brucetrail.org/" target="_blank">The Bruce Trail</a>'s side trail, coded by blue blazes on trees, marks the route from the carpark on Harvest road, all the way to Dundas Peak and beyond. The views are wonderful, extending from Dundas' Main St to MacMaster University and beyond. But I wasn't that interested in the views. They were nice, but the kaleidoscope of burnt colours was more of a sight. </div>
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And then there was a splash of sapphire. An elusive blue jay was hidden among the stripped branches. He stayed still for a moment. A moment long enough for me to lift my camera and click the button. And then he was gone.</div>
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Directions</div>
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<br />Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-25776242079794493062012-08-01T06:01:00.003+01:002012-08-01T06:05:09.697+01:00Via Ferrata - Low's Peak Circuit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So we decided to amp up our Mount Kinablau experience, which you can read about <a href="http://travelswithkylie.blogspot.ca/2012/08/conquering-mount-kinabalu.html" target="_blank">here</a>. And what is the best way to do that? By completing the Guinness World Record certified World's Highest Via Ferrata. <i>Via Ferrata</i> is Italian for <i>iron road</i>, which basically means a mountain route which can be climbed due to the positioning of cables, bridges and ladders. </div>
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<a href="http://www.mountaintorq.com/about-mountain-torq" target="_blank">Mountain Torq</a> is responsible for the ropes course, which at 3776 meters is the highest in the world, and is the first of its kind in Asia. The circuit was made more enjoyable by our lovable guide, Jon.</div>
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After our 2:30 am ascent to the summit, and a short one kilometer hike down, we were ready to get harnessed for the circuit. </div>
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We completed a short course on the knots, ropes and pigtail hooks the previous day at Pendent Hut with our Mountain Torq guides. It was hard to be nervous with such crisp, clean air and amazing views. We abseiled down the face of the mountain, climbed down impossibly spaced ladders and even tightrope walked across a thin cable. All the while Jon was playing paparazzi, taking these fantastic photos of us, and the view. </div>
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The circuit also includes an hour long hike through the brush, which quite frankly, I would rather have avoided. It was a good thing that we were told to keep our helmets on, as my legs buckled beneath me more than a couple of times, and then my knees didn't bend when I wanted them to, which resulted with my helmet hitting a branch, also more than a couple of times. </div>
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After completing one more section, we were on our way back to the Pendant Hut, 9 hours after having woken early that morning. Then with jellied legs, a mountain <i>and </i>the world's highest via ferrata conquered, we made our way back down the seemingly steeper stairs at record speeds, straight to Kota Kinabalu, and a much deserved massage. </div>
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<br />Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-28014641091829870552012-08-01T05:02:00.002+01:002013-05-21T16:36:53.545+01:00Conquering Mount KinabaluA trip to Malaysian Borneo is not complete without visiting Mt. Kinabalu. Kinabalu National Park, a World Heritage site, is spread over 750 square kilometers and is home to Mt Kinabalu, which at 4095.2 meters, does not make it on the highest 100 mountains list. Regardless, it <i>is</i> the 5th highest mountain in South East Asia.<br />
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My partner, Jeff, and I, hiked <a href="http://travelswithkylie.blogspot.ca/search/label/Toubkal" target="_blank">Jebel Toubkal</a> in the Moroccan Atlas Mountains previously. We did it by ourselves, albeit with the guidance of friend of ours, Chris Hardy of Intrepid Travel. So when we were researching Mt. Kinabalu, we were a bit annoyed to read that we would need to employ the guidance of a local guide, <i>on top</i> of all of the other fees that were required. We are not at all opposed to paying our way, but considering hiking the mountain is a one way up, same way down kind of affair, markers every 500m complete with shelters, drinking water and flushing toilets, we were trying to figure out a way around it. So we ended up joining with four other hikers, splitting the cost, gaining the necessary permit, and going off on our own.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Beginning the ascent with a descent. </i></td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">The hike up is simple. You actually begin by going </span><i style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">down, </i><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">before going </span><i style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">up</i><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">. The trail is made easy by the markers every 500 meters.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Markers like these are placed at 500m intervals.</i></td></tr>
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The terrain differs from rocky steps, to muddy trails and stairs formed by tree roots. The weather differs also, from bright sun, to light rain, to misty moments. </div>
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Break areas are frequent, making the hike easy for all. At parts there are also railings to hold for grip, which are much more useful on the haul down, rather than than hike up, especially if you weren't prepared and didn't bring hiking poles...</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Jeff tries on the porter's wooden backpack containing supplies for Laban Rata.</i></td></tr>
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We reached Laban Rata about 4 hours after commencing the hike at Timphoon Gate. The views from Pendant Hut, which is operated by Mountain Torq, were amazing. At 3272.7 meters, we were above the clouds. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Above the clouds at Pendant Hut.</i></td></tr>
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We rested for the night, and then woke at a sprightly 2:30am for the ascent to the summit, in total darkness. Our headlamps came in handy as we followed the wooden stairs and ropes to the top.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>We made it!</i></td></tr>
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Three hours after leaving Laban Rata, we reached the summit! We were in time for the sunrise, which didn't come soon enough to defrost our freezing fingers and toes. The sun cast brilliant pinks and purples over the clouds below us. </div>
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During the daylight descent we were able to look back and see clearly the route we had taken up to the peak. As the peak bathed in the sunlight, we made our way to the seven kilometer mark, where we began our <a href="http://www.mountaintorq.com/via-ferrata/activities/lows-peak-circuit" target="_blank">Mountain Torq Via Ferrata Low's Peak Circuit</a>, the highest Via Ferrata in the world, which you can read about <a href="http://travelswithkylie.blogspot.ca/2012/08/via-ferrata-lows-peak-circuit.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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The descent was quicker, but more challenging. With lactic acid building in the legs, and a yearning to get down to the bottom as soon as possible, the legs were a tad on the shaky side. The intermittent hand railings helped to take the pain away from the knee joints, and also made it easier to 'fall' down the steps, knowing a barrier was there to hold on to. We passed the next lot of hikers making their way to the top, not envious of the descent they would need to make the next day, but jealous of the brilliant sunrise they would soon experience.<br />
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<br />Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-32078806313883331002012-06-02T02:27:00.000+01:002012-06-02T03:10:37.749+01:00Loving Pa Lungan, Bario, MalaysiaBario, let alone Pa Lungan are not often on the Malaysian visitor's agenda. We told newly formed friends in Sipadan, Sadakan and Kota Kinabalu that we were visiting the area to hike, and no one could offer us much advice. The Kelabit Highlands are not a bustling tourist hub, and I think that is a good thing. The slow paced village, with occasional electricity is kept apart from the rest of world by its lack of road networks, close proximity to the Indonesian border and surrounding jungle.<br />
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Whilst Bario itself is home to a school, new hospital, bars, airport and telecentre, Pa Lungan, a 4 hour trek away, is quite remote. It is surrounded by lush primary jungle and its inhabitants practice a more traditional way of life, tending to livestock, harvesting rice and practicing cultural customs. </div>
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We were more than pleased with our guide, Redi, who took us on our journey from Bario to Pa Lungan, through various terrain and temperatures. We drank from pitcher plants, were sucked by leeches and gathered jungle greens for our dinner. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Wild ginger</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Pitcher plant</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Guide Redi, and Jeff drinking from the pitcher plant </i></td></tr>
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Upon reaching Pa Lungan we were greeted by our hosts for the night at <a href="http://baturitunglodge.blogspot.ca/search/label/palungan" target="_blank">Batu Ritung</a>, Supang and Nabun. Supang welcomed us with some much needed lunch and drinks. For the rest of the afternoon we were free to explore or relax as we pleased. Jeff choose to hike another mountain, while I settled for bead making in the bamboo hut with Supang. Kelabit glass beads were traditionally made and and worn by the women. Now however, plastic beads take their place. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Supang's beads</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>My necklace</i></td></tr>
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Dishes of wild honey boar, local python, fiddle-heads with wild ginger and jungle garlic greens were served with Bario rice and homemade rice wine for dinner. Afterwards, we were treated to a community dance by the local Kelabit community, including an indigenous woman with the traditional long earlobes, stretched over time and weighed down with heavy brass rings. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Kelabit dance</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Indigenous woman with extended earlobes and Kelabit beads</i></td></tr>
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We even got the chance to join in the festivities. Supang is a kind of community leader, originally from Pa Lungan, but later moving to Kuching with her accountant husband, before coming back for a slower pace of life. She often holds community women's meetings, making handicrafts and organising festivities for tourists, as an attempt to hold on to and revive the Kelabit culture. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Jeff and I with hosts Nabun and Supang</i></td></tr>
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Anyone wanting to experience traditional culture, trek through primary jungle and support indigenous culture should really make it their agenda to visit Pa Lungan. If the nature doesn't astound you, the people will. </div>
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Learn more about Bario and its tourism <a href="http://www.ebario.com/" target="_blank">here</a>.</div>
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<br /></div>Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com1Bario Airport (BBN), Miri, Sarawak, Malaysia3.73464 115.4783383.481122 115.162481 3.9881580000000003 115.79419499999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-69955130929429147672012-06-01T21:45:00.003+01:002012-06-05T04:25:23.837+01:00Sepilok Orangutan Rehabilitation Centre, MalaysiaSeeing orangutans in the wild, swinging through the jungle, has always been a dream of mine. However, as it is very difficult to enter the Indonesian Borneo, where the majority of wild Bornean orangutans live, I decided to do the next best thing.<br />
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The Sepilok Rehabilitation Centre, in Northern Sabah, has been helping in-need orangutans since it opened in 1964. The Centre encompasses 43square kilometers of protected land and provides medical services and rehabilitation for orphaned orangutans. It's nursery is out of bounds for visitors, but the orangutans can be seen during the designated feeding times.<br />
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After hearing and reading different reviews regarding the amount of orangutans that can be seen during the two feeding times, we decided to take our chances and attend both the morning and afternoon feeding sessions.<br />
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I am so glad we did!<br />
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We were fortunate enough to see a young female orangutan during the morning feeding session, along with the rambunctious macaques.<br />
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Then, during the afternoon feeding session, we stayed at the viewing area while everyone else left. Secretly, I was hoping the young female took a liking to me and would come close to me, maybe for a hug, for a touch. Of course I knew that would not be in her best interests, but one can always wish. Whilst waiting, an older female with developing check pads came up to the feeding platform for a late lunch. However, the young female stole her spotlight by swinging on the ropes, slyly making her way over to the viewing platform. She walked along the railing and came quite close. The staff however, weren't as thrilled as the half-dozen or so tourists staying around. The staff work hard to ensure the orangutans are rehabilitated, with hopes of them one day being released and becoming self-sufficient. Needless to say, unnecessary contact with humans won't help achieve this. So the staff tried to get the female back into the jungle, eventually leading her into the dense forest.<br />
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Totally amazing. </div>
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Read more about the center and rehabilitation process <a href="http://www.sabah.edu.my/srm012.wcdd/BM/menu1.html" target="_blank">here</a>.Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com5Sepilok Orang Utan Sanctuary (Pusat Pemulihan Orangutan), Labuk Road Km 22, Sepilok, 90000 Kuala Lumpur, Sabah, Malaysia5.865184 117.9490475.8493885 117.929306 5.8809795000000005 117.96878799999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-679917643148615722012-02-05T01:58:00.000+01:002012-02-05T01:58:07.201+01:00A Wollongong Sunset<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">From our Corrimal St balconies the views are quite good. We can see Wollongong City Beach and the Five Islands. We can see the golf course and the steel works. We can also see Mt. Kembla and Mt. Keira. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I am not an early riser, so I rarely, if ever, see the sun rise. But I am good at watching it set. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On this particular January evening the colors were quite amazing. Pinks, purples, reds and oranges lasted for a little while as the sun went to bed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4so1N33IuIVPJ6AAr20HGHjaEHinAXXtXUerzWWaQYW5roYcMd-3-MtZAK-u1sX6AqozsVWNhd95xqbhBAI6ysfO0xNLx4kSVSmcN7O06wyzgusNpbeK3IiUW8ynHpUN7wBZPnHnOnRkN/s1600/IMG_3828.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4so1N33IuIVPJ6AAr20HGHjaEHinAXXtXUerzWWaQYW5roYcMd-3-MtZAK-u1sX6AqozsVWNhd95xqbhBAI6ysfO0xNLx4kSVSmcN7O06wyzgusNpbeK3IiUW8ynHpUN7wBZPnHnOnRkN/s320/IMG_3828.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHPjCH8KNgeQbvhp72OHbqOQEqAviGyGgTH8O56n85Vdnr8uK1dPGvosq5QKeW6UcM_LLffa_xL8-QZSoHDsh59rAvCPlsanq6dWScYKtA_yDhuO2-j4ZXFuPfJvdgZcNKrfNgiJ7nM7uH/s1600/IMG_3822.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHPjCH8KNgeQbvhp72OHbqOQEqAviGyGgTH8O56n85Vdnr8uK1dPGvosq5QKeW6UcM_LLffa_xL8-QZSoHDsh59rAvCPlsanq6dWScYKtA_yDhuO2-j4ZXFuPfJvdgZcNKrfNgiJ7nM7uH/s320/IMG_3822.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div>Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-75060978809078710422012-02-05T01:36:00.000+01:002012-02-05T01:36:52.019+01:00Koala Spotting at Kennett Creek, Great Ocean Road<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I had heard and read about the 'wild' koalas along the Great Ocean Road and I wanted in. I can't ever remember seeing koala's in nature, sans fence, wire or zoo handler. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1qX7e3yiFVtWLDlJsrsgXfhbqmdbzzff-v8Fs5ul6_B5F4h7eXGMmw1EWvRaM3_DkOoi2j9WHr_gAhuI-wdKHQxFRa1hWGa20h-bLAUPLCDf-iinWSRfRkMTfYasuj7GbaTKyb4dCXkc_/s1600/IMG_4017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1qX7e3yiFVtWLDlJsrsgXfhbqmdbzzff-v8Fs5ul6_B5F4h7eXGMmw1EWvRaM3_DkOoi2j9WHr_gAhuI-wdKHQxFRa1hWGa20h-bLAUPLCDf-iinWSRfRkMTfYasuj7GbaTKyb4dCXkc_/s320/IMG_4017.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Precariously balancing on thin branches</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
So we followed the instructions on our brochure from the Lorne information centre. We went past the caravan park and up the dirt road for four kilometres or so. We thought we must have gone too far, so turned around and pulled over.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-NCfriCd0K_x1xQkKOIKdv49582X0lxHpDKPa6kW2w7SHpnXpjTHNt0KSgs9ju3xsPkkbyT5F0bI3IftrBbBAbQ9M6KUzes5lPP466Y5aKULzZVM3rSgcwPSFYjW15V6e8rwfvnWif-1M/s1600/IMG_4025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-NCfriCd0K_x1xQkKOIKdv49582X0lxHpDKPa6kW2w7SHpnXpjTHNt0KSgs9ju3xsPkkbyT5F0bI3IftrBbBAbQ9M6KUzes5lPP466Y5aKULzZVM3rSgcwPSFYjW15V6e8rwfvnWif-1M/s320/IMG_4025.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very hungry!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Jeff spotted him/her first. High up in the eucalyptus tree. Moving quite quickly. Devouring gum leaves one after the other. Balancing carefully on branches which looked too thin.</div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiluZ_S9N49nw4wkPsys9HmXP-BYoHkzz3KgGB5SkiPuqjcu-jxqQJcljhExvTd7advImj4NJIz6WZBziH1Q9UQ3JP-W3AfqfB3JTJtDXDg9ZJ35mtpTTgYR8BFHInofgFc0R_KQ3go8akX/s1600/IMG_4026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiluZ_S9N49nw4wkPsys9HmXP-BYoHkzz3KgGB5SkiPuqjcu-jxqQJcljhExvTd7advImj4NJIz6WZBziH1Q9UQ3JP-W3AfqfB3JTJtDXDg9ZJ35mtpTTgYR8BFHInofgFc0R_KQ3go8akX/s320/IMG_4026.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A sight not often seen</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
The koala was huge! Clinging on to the high branches, it just didn't seem natural. But with no one around, no fences, no rangers, no board walks, what could be more natural?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div> We then made our way back down to the caravan park where we had to weave amongst the throngs of tourists getting in close and personal with some more marsupials.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8XI8YtNt2bspk8bXApI6Ni5RbZW4R2IhVIJtUChwrW8YC6nmDU30rQXNskxrROptnNmK9kwQi7ipohwgiPhpeimY9fl6WnPrWfdfLVAnHYoqfwSQwLy-oOeMVVrlQkSIqXrkN82j4zwU1/s1600/IMG_4037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8XI8YtNt2bspk8bXApI6Ni5RbZW4R2IhVIJtUChwrW8YC6nmDU30rQXNskxrROptnNmK9kwQi7ipohwgiPhpeimY9fl6WnPrWfdfLVAnHYoqfwSQwLy-oOeMVVrlQkSIqXrkN82j4zwU1/s320/IMG_4037.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting in close. Too close. </td></tr>
</tbody></table> This is what you generally expect when thinking of koalas. Sleepy, sitting in a fork in a thick tree, gripping on for dear life.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ZzRu0mBSzfaCQErbVuKGFD3SYKka54FbX61sbNQMWCQhB_zJFQWFZ7-ZwYlr5MZYL58DP5FTHurxy8TP9o3os0dX-jwwO9bXMmGdYmkYuHrNPNMzBVHZKyDqKQ66PJza2r_ZcDGOGiwo/s1600/IMG_4038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ZzRu0mBSzfaCQErbVuKGFD3SYKka54FbX61sbNQMWCQhB_zJFQWFZ7-ZwYlr5MZYL58DP5FTHurxy8TP9o3os0dX-jwwO9bXMmGdYmkYuHrNPNMzBVHZKyDqKQ66PJza2r_ZcDGOGiwo/s320/IMG_4038.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sleepy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKrPsv-zJGiRNlbMWrSsFhosVOF_C7kTtCJ1UpkadpT2u38OiVty13wa7LryLTryGyqlbfCyKyVW3gFB4McDe4ERh1QabMtfn7Zv0BI3WWAlrWswkJ0vw94J-14I9Ao9FG6QdutuKoREp/s1600/IMG_4042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKrPsv-zJGiRNlbMWrSsFhosVOF_C7kTtCJ1UpkadpT2u38OiVty13wa7LryLTryGyqlbfCyKyVW3gFB4McDe4ERh1QabMtfn7Zv0BI3WWAlrWswkJ0vw94J-14I9Ao9FG6QdutuKoREp/s320/IMG_4042.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking very cuddly</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifO2Vrj9HVZ6bp84KPfwD4KJILkYBdnDfKH7NrzuuN3smCllyPa_Ei1oofo5_p9nUMMIXnJOy2VWmF8wB8lIzVV_Wj59ZlHm7uFdpSVvC3MMnWB7niwYPLTs_R_yUpwI5Hc2SZXE-Vee-G/s1600/IMG_4044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifO2Vrj9HVZ6bp84KPfwD4KJILkYBdnDfKH7NrzuuN3smCllyPa_Ei1oofo5_p9nUMMIXnJOy2VWmF8wB8lIzVV_Wj59ZlHm7uFdpSVvC3MMnWB7niwYPLTs_R_yUpwI5Hc2SZXE-Vee-G/s320/IMG_4044.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snooze time</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
We were both glad to have ventured up the unsealed road and spotted a swift, acrobatic, wild koala for ourselves, away from too close paparazzi and tour buses.<br />
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For even more koala's, you can make your way to Cape Otway where dozens of koalas line the road, perched high in their gum trees.Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-48925339717181939472011-10-27T11:32:00.001+01:002011-10-27T11:36:41.597+01:00Yoga ChallengeI have been so fortunate upon returning to Australia. I have been able to reconnect with my first ever yoga teacher, Maurie. Maurie connected me to Megan who has an awesome new Yoga studio in seaside Kiama. Now, I teach 2 classes per week and the occasional Saturday morning class too.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYwCoAi_yAMCcs6ZDA4jmLp5GBos9UHxuSbg4qkUVeysGRKfeSXfRrAKoOePXHtk6bVPEEIlR4iI-BeXfDAZJTIvcXEdF5SdAF8s53QkwVWklkfMM3ewbfW0infP7j3i1FWOrzrjE1xYdL/s1600/IMG_3361.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYwCoAi_yAMCcs6ZDA4jmLp5GBos9UHxuSbg4qkUVeysGRKfeSXfRrAKoOePXHtk6bVPEEIlR4iI-BeXfDAZJTIvcXEdF5SdAF8s53QkwVWklkfMM3ewbfW0infP7j3i1FWOrzrjE1xYdL/s400/IMG_3361.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Devinely Fit Yoga, Manning St, Kiama</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>I am also lucky to be invited to participate as a teacher in <a href="http://www.yogaaid.com/australia/venue?lid=8036709e-c67b-4057-9b29-931819301089">YogaAid</a> Kiama. YogaAid began in 2006 and allows local teachers to get together, raise money for charities and spread the love of Yoga. I am looking forward to the challenge! We will practice Yoga for 2 hours in the outdoors, next to the sea.<br />
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You can donate to my nominated charity, Barnados, and support me by clicking on this<a href="https://www.yogaaid.com/kyliebalogh"> link</a>.<br />
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Below are some pictures of my amazing Yoga team at <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Devinely-Fit-Yoga-Lifestyle-Kiama/111955442230452">Devinely Fit Yoga</a> in Kiama.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjehbWq09kdy9mNdmyvaYG6MYaNDIY2sDD5vNonopkM2zvP1M6pg9Kxm4QNbZc29XiqoHIca4MWnTL3tiDOBhGB8yxsSYbwN473HSlQHJSrBnrxeESlny54UqUdNg6KWw-5ZVc40MN72FI-/s1600/IMG_3399.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjehbWq09kdy9mNdmyvaYG6MYaNDIY2sDD5vNonopkM2zvP1M6pg9Kxm4QNbZc29XiqoHIca4MWnTL3tiDOBhGB8yxsSYbwN473HSlQHJSrBnrxeESlny54UqUdNg6KWw-5ZVc40MN72FI-/s320/IMG_3399.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Myself, Megan (studio owner) and Ginnie</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD-D99ws-JIjdBhp1GNk8spRNGK0JXlRSzK5h24mXkc2pvL69zd8ylZyz_mH_kGtju8apZqInafnXIunxg-2rKO6m48_uKtcPFsTyDrgnB1xeT0a_QEytFe_Qc3iuNKXJ-Pwy2jvRwlK1G/s1600/IMG_3402.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD-D99ws-JIjdBhp1GNk8spRNGK0JXlRSzK5h24mXkc2pvL69zd8ylZyz_mH_kGtju8apZqInafnXIunxg-2rKO6m48_uKtcPFsTyDrgnB1xeT0a_QEytFe_Qc3iuNKXJ-Pwy2jvRwlK1G/s320/IMG_3402.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs3xujrSzBO9KLbn_q8YGii7OKXA6Z4iQP9l03uwFV6sTt7giI-H7Bml1yTPFUEwvujkXxjFaW0Zc0S05SdqG3nkkW8Je4Zfx2rEdbsQ3R1Jf-0VgzDljlDMASIqk39vNXFjSgrYDn2e6V/s1600/IMG_3405.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs3xujrSzBO9KLbn_q8YGii7OKXA6Z4iQP9l03uwFV6sTt7giI-H7Bml1yTPFUEwvujkXxjFaW0Zc0S05SdqG3nkkW8Je4Zfx2rEdbsQ3R1Jf-0VgzDljlDMASIqk39vNXFjSgrYDn2e6V/s320/IMG_3405.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrBMz35wroFmqPDoLnJ2qsNsKhZHEsOlzJOavLDSLnz5kZGgnOkeBzscv3g1sc1cdIGwOZSihs2n-6IPxURG27XC-7kf83kT4A-E1dmvu-7JrA-ock2mhxkOacldt5JaQN-d-nT0CbDnkY/s1600/IMG_3411.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrBMz35wroFmqPDoLnJ2qsNsKhZHEsOlzJOavLDSLnz5kZGgnOkeBzscv3g1sc1cdIGwOZSihs2n-6IPxURG27XC-7kf83kT4A-E1dmvu-7JrA-ock2mhxkOacldt5JaQN-d-nT0CbDnkY/s320/IMG_3411.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-60663749154955923482011-10-08T13:12:00.000+01:002011-10-08T13:12:11.972+01:00Making Connections in Unfortunate Circumstances<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-9p77zNScfcAg0hwvH0WISo-5uRLrpai8UL47ETrLmqYv_Zz5hqyxaU97evUS9jxV7Q6dduhloRZozDZ9nasS9eJVer77hHrDIvw75vxn3tzNM4xeLjxQVK1lOzUbMGqhx76FaHG6QoYD/s1600/IMG_3259.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-9p77zNScfcAg0hwvH0WISo-5uRLrpai8UL47ETrLmqYv_Zz5hqyxaU97evUS9jxV7Q6dduhloRZozDZ9nasS9eJVer77hHrDIvw75vxn3tzNM4xeLjxQVK1lOzUbMGqhx76FaHG6QoYD/s400/IMG_3259.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our little car did not meet the same fate</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I wish I had taken photos. Even got a number, an email. Perhaps even a name. But sometimes it doesn't fit.<br />
<br />
We traveled over 7000 kilometers in 12 days, in a 1989 Honda Integra, bought for $200 by my car enthusiast dad, who repaired it to a safe standard. Jeff and I aren't likely to sit around and let a holiday get away from us. We tend to push the limits. We cram too much in. We book flights that on more than one occasion have had us in a sweat getting to before check in closes. We want to do it all.<br />
<br />
We drove from Shellharbour, NSW, to Alice Springs, Northern Territory and back. We know we are different. Our little car was dwarfed by mammoth Land Cruisers, Range Rovers and Defenders. Our borrowed two-man Kathmandu tent was overshadowed by motor homes, caravans and purpose built trailers. But we didn't care.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enjoying Uluru</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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We met <i>Alex</i>, a Polish born middle aged Australian while hiking King's Canyon, Northern Territory. He kindly took our picture. We chatted, we shared stories. He and his wife were hosting 2 couples visiting from Poland, friends since Alex and his wife left for Melbourne 30 years ago. We parted, continuing our hike, only to be reunited on returning to our car to realise we (Jeff) had left the headlights on and drained the car's battery. Alex didn't have jumper cables, but he had a caring side. He drove us back to the King's Canyon resort, where we borrowed jumpers. He then drove us back to the car and gave us a jump. He then drove with us in the dark to make sure the battery worked and we were ok. Alex even checked up on us in the morning at the campsite to make sure everything was in working order. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8KmQAnlzwAR9zXM0oacg42aFjl-PZZUWiwk-9sjtP56DC-pQvx2dvJpkAUH420KsNkAaTr70BiCLtlSGg9Grme0zK8yggSGCV6WJAqadCUl5fzPE8t8pB3se_aYCkgakZXikkc4ccxE9v/s1600/IMG_3256.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8KmQAnlzwAR9zXM0oacg42aFjl-PZZUWiwk-9sjtP56DC-pQvx2dvJpkAUH420KsNkAaTr70BiCLtlSGg9Grme0zK8yggSGCV6WJAqadCUl5fzPE8t8pB3se_aYCkgakZXikkc4ccxE9v/s400/IMG_3256.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeling the burn of the Oodnadatta Track</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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We met <i>Ann and Paul</i> on the Oodnadatta track in South Australia. Our little car was front-end wedged on a dirt and rock bank on the side of the track. We (I) hadn't anticipated the curve in the road, braked too hard and spun out of control. Ann and Paul, retired, occasional teachers, stopped their caravan towing Land Cruiser to give us a hand. With some shoveling, lifting and pushing, the car became unstuck. Paul gave us some rope to keep the bumper on, while Ann assured us that we would be laughing about the incident in time to come.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRNCLLh9jW9HewXaCawiQ-UmDL_kQkgTOtVipSLowHWd-oPXwDtLd49kZ6yA-6YNQV33KjwWw0eaVPNti9O0pJ91_aDIDbJCHTTDsF3wSaEyT880JS6UCi2_noRjnAXzChyHf_UbwvrSlt/s1600/IMG_3077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRNCLLh9jW9HewXaCawiQ-UmDL_kQkgTOtVipSLowHWd-oPXwDtLd49kZ6yA-6YNQV33KjwWw0eaVPNti9O0pJ91_aDIDbJCHTTDsF3wSaEyT880JS6UCi2_noRjnAXzChyHf_UbwvrSlt/s400/IMG_3077.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unsealed roads abound in the Outback</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
We met the <i>famillies</i>, and kept on meeting them throughout South Australia. We thought we were the only ones at an old school in Paranchilla, until three 4x4's drove in and set up camp too. Talking about our car (mis)adventures in the rugged camp kitchen, we were told they had some sturdy duct tape that might be of use to us. As it happened, in their group was a dirt bike mechanic. So with tools in hand, after the sun had risen he tightened the loose bolts and connected what had become unconnected on the bumper. One of the four high school aged children even took a sneaky photograph of us and our car. We ran into the families on the road and in a pub and cafe during the remainder of our trip.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinHUxjNk-v8Rh_pIUhR-3ggDHvkbpuuIgt4ve57-aKGneAmQlKK69dhigLciIgpCLCo7HqK12uX-yK_yH9YZD0bLTHSPLGLIIsfpl-6RSusfHQEUvRT1GmPdhCP4JGQng2e79JUwnHq8JI/s1600/IMG_2853.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinHUxjNk-v8Rh_pIUhR-3ggDHvkbpuuIgt4ve57-aKGneAmQlKK69dhigLciIgpCLCo7HqK12uX-yK_yH9YZD0bLTHSPLGLIIsfpl-6RSusfHQEUvRT1GmPdhCP4JGQng2e79JUwnHq8JI/s400/IMG_2853.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Having a rest</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
Last but not least was <i>Shaun</i>. A motor mechanic recommended to us in Blaxland, New South Wales by the local Post Office. Our little car finally ran out of juice. Shaun installed a new battery while telling us some tales of his recent flight to Broome and the bushfires he could see from the plane, roaring in the NT - which we had managed to avoid. He taught us how to tap the alternator with our tent-pole mallet to keep the connection going and avoid the turmoil of the red battery light on the dash appearing. He gave us some magnets, wished us well and then we were on our way.Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-90293071218050031432011-10-08T12:03:00.001+01:002011-10-27T10:59:34.382+01:00Animals of the Outback<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I kept missing them. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I wasn't camera ready.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We were driving too fast.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It wasn't until we slowed down that we could really look. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And be looked at. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCETbq_ByU79ABKNuAyhmKkhREA7XS0Cn0R00srdj4VKeGSRxNJ_zPnNhz8yBA-PQAXlOFAm8QKin9mPO8OgsDUgOgx8gRrvvhkImUj8TKrJS7Zt8NCftz-OEZg-W3j-yUma-eI0yxOUc8/s1600/IMG_3303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCETbq_ByU79ABKNuAyhmKkhREA7XS0Cn0R00srdj4VKeGSRxNJ_zPnNhz8yBA-PQAXlOFAm8QKin9mPO8OgsDUgOgx8gRrvvhkImUj8TKrJS7Zt8NCftz-OEZg-W3j-yUma-eI0yxOUc8/s400/IMG_3303.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-5c1WLt1q-3HpS6i6IMRL5Uy_Jc3rDFyrBfAP3e71vMjzl1KE08wIZtiCeEWI8GOkUIrRSs93fR-89cYbRmf10VOxVkbyMKWlzRrw92zR4cceYPOuhG1vOoFWcuN4xQjIKn_d_kZ7m4ue/s1600/IMG_3304.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-5c1WLt1q-3HpS6i6IMRL5Uy_Jc3rDFyrBfAP3e71vMjzl1KE08wIZtiCeEWI8GOkUIrRSs93fR-89cYbRmf10VOxVkbyMKWlzRrw92zR4cceYPOuhG1vOoFWcuN4xQjIKn_d_kZ7m4ue/s400/IMG_3304.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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The brumby was magnificent. We kept seeing the signs. The silhouette of a strong, burly brumby on a reflective yellow roadside sign. Would we be so lucky? He stood strong in the middle of the dirt Mereenie Loop road in the Northern Territory. By the time I was ready he had moved to the brush. Keeping a watchful eye on us as we slowed to a stop, taken by its presence. My favorite.Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-74543750006190294102011-07-14T10:04:00.002+01:002011-07-14T16:16:46.072+01:00Penghu - Before the rains came...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So we decided it was time to check out Penghu, aka Pescadores, off the west coast of Taiwan. Like all of our travel adventures, we arrived and wondered why it had taken us so long to get here...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">With islands and places named <em>Husband Islet, Wife Islet, Incense Burners Islet, Chicken Head Islet, Ox-Hearted Hill and Goddess Mercy Hill</em> to name a few, the islands were sure to have lots of charm, or at least character. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We eventually made our way from Magong Harbour after the puke-worthy ferry ride, to our homestay <a href="http://www.sunrisebb.idv.tw/">Sunrise B&B</a> on the eastern side of Magong, in Hu-hsi township. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We braved the cool light rain on our scooter ride over. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Then the rains disappeared and the sun came out. We made our way to the closest beach to our B&B. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvqU5dIm1YEcrfR4d1-ybFwxMLyW-VcnARTYtJ3YPMcwJElkYJN2pgazYBY1EFw81gGRnUWonYnGzakiq8SlVckVi1jP1zuk4DOf3ZP8SMV14WbFp2OGq4SW1WUqfnE2kH0zc6skImQck_/s1600/IMG_2207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvqU5dIm1YEcrfR4d1-ybFwxMLyW-VcnARTYtJ3YPMcwJElkYJN2pgazYBY1EFw81gGRnUWonYnGzakiq8SlVckVi1jP1zuk4DOf3ZP8SMV14WbFp2OGq4SW1WUqfnE2kH0zc6skImQck_/s400/IMG_2207.JPG" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beautiful beach</td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-31pb_HtYoJcipGm8xn99_UMIO4aMq1vE8j_IvRh_QWVHL-4SfGkAlmSLoXIazi3NQQEu3ajJ7gvXLRL4wTaNWvX6PpipbxQ8EGZFq1LenMa4ifC_a5H9WQ_qUmRUwbWpZGTmyw7K4lc1/s1600/IMG_2204.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-31pb_HtYoJcipGm8xn99_UMIO4aMq1vE8j_IvRh_QWVHL-4SfGkAlmSLoXIazi3NQQEu3ajJ7gvXLRL4wTaNWvX6PpipbxQ8EGZFq1LenMa4ifC_a5H9WQ_qUmRUwbWpZGTmyw7K4lc1/s400/IMG_2204.JPG" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of the town from the beach</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<tr><td style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjbqEI8LuL-cTUgFNisbjkOGMMio_JEYtQILxIqFi2nsmB1puZ8-GeYu2uVYBZBmTsQ6KL1X1CARBikjGOTnCPNGdnn9figv7a-k6OGUJVHyVI0LdFhuyDbBM1zmYWytRQ2SDZFSO5PtJR/s1600/IMG_2200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjbqEI8LuL-cTUgFNisbjkOGMMio_JEYtQILxIqFi2nsmB1puZ8-GeYu2uVYBZBmTsQ6KL1X1CARBikjGOTnCPNGdnn9figv7a-k6OGUJVHyVI0LdFhuyDbBM1zmYWytRQ2SDZFSO5PtJR/s400/IMG_2200.JPG" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The shower/ toilet block and, yes, it looks like an army tank</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt-c_8vxGMe24xVJtflpbMmA69TseQNuJWoQYt2LKgSOFD__vQJQBVO5g3q9JCSNzxE7vUEMPhO_XPlkeBqk26lsbujI9SU7VQVoBdaB7p0sr31EdedemD5xzeYOqFX-nNpV54ZbGi7EBH/s1600/IMG_2206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt-c_8vxGMe24xVJtflpbMmA69TseQNuJWoQYt2LKgSOFD__vQJQBVO5g3q9JCSNzxE7vUEMPhO_XPlkeBqk26lsbujI9SU7VQVoBdaB7p0sr31EdedemD5xzeYOqFX-nNpV54ZbGi7EBH/s400/IMG_2206.JPG" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coral shore, blue skies and a big fat cloud rolling in<br />
<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<div style="text-align: left;">Now all we can do, after stopping in at 7-11 for some supplies of Smirnoff, Asahi and pea crackers, is sit back and wait for the rains to ease.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYo0o2J8MlYa4eDkfLEbvKkKFCjKUmkA6roT8ukv7PDaZhDbm90Yrtvvuel7t-I81-uoIFkv0x1S8xz-QqA43bBOLXuIZ5854Y4ERxst6KFui8-BrUs3Wu19vMLfzcSmVxDj4KHWvWiy0E/s1600/IMG_2217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYo0o2J8MlYa4eDkfLEbvKkKFCjKUmkA6roT8ukv7PDaZhDbm90Yrtvvuel7t-I81-uoIFkv0x1S8xz-QqA43bBOLXuIZ5854Y4ERxst6KFui8-BrUs3Wu19vMLfzcSmVxDj4KHWvWiy0E/s400/IMG_2217.JPG" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from the B&B - rain!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkJ8KFol6UHS4o_pVIBzp5jX27_OrE-ssQBg1hYdk11MJcSLRbgxKIkbmEcsp3gFLyxr_HpJkEFylvFPPKPa6SVnJDkJFv68HUMt-7Bl0wU2WDQAKaSTCL3l4C0HukX9lij06DANWggrqn/s1600/IMG_2214.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkJ8KFol6UHS4o_pVIBzp5jX27_OrE-ssQBg1hYdk11MJcSLRbgxKIkbmEcsp3gFLyxr_HpJkEFylvFPPKPa6SVnJDkJFv68HUMt-7Bl0wU2WDQAKaSTCL3l4C0HukX9lij06DANWggrqn/s400/IMG_2214.JPG" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Overcast sky, miserable drizzle</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQaASUnGGLyamgGw1FpiBqlWqsUQU4kA1xf-vD8mD6nj4zhvSM1bGDew8rNqhpUXU81u2IvLUCvl4dxMcrnBeGIKp87jfMNv-9KuweWZ4rlHx7H8vmXE5_cjmWFb24-Fwm2ijsCaLWVvWC/s1600/IMG_2218.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400px" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQaASUnGGLyamgGw1FpiBqlWqsUQU4kA1xf-vD8mD6nj4zhvSM1bGDew8rNqhpUXU81u2IvLUCvl4dxMcrnBeGIKp87jfMNv-9KuweWZ4rlHx7H8vmXE5_cjmWFb24-Fwm2ijsCaLWVvWC/s400/IMG_2218.JPG" width="300px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chillin' and waitin'<br />
<br />
<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-38811496710793599362011-06-30T02:20:00.000+01:002011-06-30T02:20:15.432+01:00Mmm, I'm in love with Taiwan's LYCHEES 荔枝<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">How do you like your lychee's? Out of a can? Perhaps with ice cream? Only in a martini? Never had one before?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">I like my lychee's fresh. Fresh from a tree. Green bug bitten leaves intact. Stems and all. Smelling sweet and fresh.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirXVhyryTdNTrsGcc8XmOB1h19xAv0jw6IEoeP4aC0GEYqPfN_DabV2Pmc7gFbdoueipPr10sIbiFoMCGqo-u39YjgEwB2Y7MvndZlWaifU3v2UTRK5jJR389LN4DEH0W3CEuW_1xrxcKS/s1600/IMG_1808.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirXVhyryTdNTrsGcc8XmOB1h19xAv0jw6IEoeP4aC0GEYqPfN_DabV2Pmc7gFbdoueipPr10sIbiFoMCGqo-u39YjgEwB2Y7MvndZlWaifU3v2UTRK5jJR389LN4DEH0W3CEuW_1xrxcKS/s400/IMG_1808.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We have been fortunate in Taiwan, having access to 'exotic' fruits such as guava, pineapple, papaya, various melons, mangoes and the sort. I love seeing my fruit growing in the roadside fields and then being sold at a roadside stand. I love knowing that the fruit was picked from the tree, stem and all to secure freshness, right before I bought it.</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV9cCMDk_aJZd0bTNCzxPyaxrSI8ug64wzXsFSAHPKeJggamiMzGPqvmlroOpVPMpzmeJgWDAPjdrQlin1wolXwHBgMTcUlXV2iy5yvIJgVN_AryoZje_dsmaEZuThjXNpu4DuIWu3CSoj/s1600/IMG_1817.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV9cCMDk_aJZd0bTNCzxPyaxrSI8ug64wzXsFSAHPKeJggamiMzGPqvmlroOpVPMpzmeJgWDAPjdrQlin1wolXwHBgMTcUlXV2iy5yvIJgVN_AryoZje_dsmaEZuThjXNpu4DuIWu3CSoj/s400/IMG_1817.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Lychee's just taste better that way.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHYN0s1XMWZk3jP4haQRiq4O2pxv1AEwkzjEwsxN4DHw_EENx-RPu2DNHz07-xZ-13Kd4JJvpzPPZFhO1A_Sh_FiytYBSUcKnHo0YliiGnh2xpov73PxVmbQRgI7xi79syC3rK8kzOt9VF/s1600/IMG_1815.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHYN0s1XMWZk3jP4haQRiq4O2pxv1AEwkzjEwsxN4DHw_EENx-RPu2DNHz07-xZ-13Kd4JJvpzPPZFhO1A_Sh_FiytYBSUcKnHo0YliiGnh2xpov73PxVmbQRgI7xi79syC3rK8kzOt9VF/s400/IMG_1815.JPG" width="286" /></a></div><br />
<br />
To be brutally honest, I had no idea how lychee's grew until I came to Taiwan. I also had never seen rows of spiky pineapples shooting up out of the ground. And in Taiwan is where I spied green mangoes hanging from a branch, on random roadside trees. I will miss the ease, organic nature and family run businesses which supply us with our delicious fruit here in Kaohsiung. I will also be missing the price on return to Australia...Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-46408427856705103632011-06-04T12:24:00.000+01:002011-06-04T12:24:52.692+01:00My Ex-pat Dilemma: FriendsTravelling and living abroad has endless ups. New countries to explore, new places to find, new food to try, new people to get to know, new thoughts to have. BUT, it also has its drawbacks. When away from home there are some things which will be missed, and cannot be easily replaced. Some things last only for a little while - a mirage - and then the reality sets in.<br />
<br />
The truth is, I miss my friends. We have now been apart for 4 years. Small visits within that time bring comfort back, but after the week, after the plane ride home, its gone. I think I have taken those friendships for granted. I assumed they would be easy to come by. Wonderful people like them can be found anywhere right? I was wrong.<br />
<br />
Of course I have created relationships; colleagues and acquaintances, friends and foes. But nothing compares to that of <i>real </i>friends. Nothing comes close.<br />
<br />
I feel comfortable being alone. Me and my thoughts, my meditation and projects. But sometimes, you just need it. You just need a friend to pop over, to watch a movie, to cheer you up, to take you shopping, to go for a run, to go for a drive, to cook dinner, to reminisce...<br />
<br />
To be fair, this is the first time in four years that it has hit me this hard. I have met wonderful people, but I am sadly still not satisfied. I am not greedy. I am not selfish. I just miss my friends. That group of girls who will do something with you because <i>you </i>want to, not because <i>they </i>want to. Those girls who are up for a laugh and some fun any time, and if they aren't can be easily persuaded. Those girls who can read your mind. Unfortunately oceans have separated those minds and the girls do not know. It's too far away. I'm too far away. I'm too far away for them to know.<br />
<br />
They can't be replicated and can't be replaced. They're one of a kind. Really. Years of getting-to-know-you are precious. Those awkward teenage years would bond anyone. Now, in a different phase, out of partying and into partners, weddings and babies, it's still the same. But it's different. I am out here and they are still there.<br />
<br />
Perhaps it's time to bridge that gap.Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com58tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-51136389188393802152011-06-01T05:59:00.001+01:002011-06-01T06:00:50.031+01:00Taiwan Traffic: A Graze with Death<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Well, it very well could have been. I could have been. <i>Dead</i>. Too close for my liking. Way too close.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">It went down something like this.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">I was heading off to an 8pm Yoga class at Our Yoga House, which is very conveniently located at the end of my street, past the Husia intersection. I usually wear my black zip-up jacket to Yoga, but since it was raining, and getting dark, I decided to wear my white rain jacket. I distinctly thought it would make me safer against – scooters riding on sidewalks, cars running reds, the usual Taiwanese traffic terrors. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">I waited for the light to turn green, and then cautiously crossed the road, making sure not to skid on the slippery white paint on the crossing. I was halfway across when I froze. Well, I didn’t really freeze. I don’t remember. From the corner of my eyes, on my right I saw a gold coloured 4WD coming towards me. I instinctively swung my upper body to my right, grazed my right hand on the grill and thumped my palms on the hood of the car. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">I can’t remember what went through my mind. I remember looking at the middle aged male driver, anger screaming through my eyes, terror on my face, head shaking slowly from side to side at the imbecile behind the wheel. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">He looked fearful. Perhaps because he was almost a murderer, sentenced to a life of guilt and prison, or perhaps because he thought in rage I might damage his expensive car, or perhaps he wasn’t paying attention and this was a close call. Perhaps he ‘lost face’ – a term thrown around here in Taiwan too much for my liking.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">I regained my composure, although I felt like I hadn’t lost it too much. I slowly walked to the end of the crossing, left hip a little jarred from the quick turn, right knuckles slightly scratched from the connection to the grill, head spinning, breath unlikely slow and deep. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">People stared at me as I turned around, got my little notebook out of my bag and wrote down the license plate of the almost death -car. ZL-3616. I really didn’t need to write it down as I kept repeating to myself to the short walk to the Yoga House.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Taiwan traffic is dangerous. A well-known hierarchy exists here. Trucks and buses rule supreme. They are the bullies of the road, followed by large, medium and small cars, then scooters, bicycles and finally the lowly pedestrian. Just because the green man says ‘go’ and there are no cars in sight, does not mean you are safe. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Lesson learned.</span></div>Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-25556172834091948602011-05-14T10:18:00.001+01:002011-05-14T10:20:18.559+01:00My very own handmade Hakka Oil Paper Umbrella<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVzJBBkGrajCFT4xpEdaT78KW_TZUdRHVgdpKRhyGXyi5CAYdJJKePrE1cG11nLXGaoP9c1U87Wlc3U0Mx7jrfFLYmG1lGj292IMBNYmYgmWfGK1wrz0JyvD7vEG1LAqhkD1Hon6xCTcL4/s1600/IMG_1460.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVzJBBkGrajCFT4xpEdaT78KW_TZUdRHVgdpKRhyGXyi5CAYdJJKePrE1cG11nLXGaoP9c1U87Wlc3U0Mx7jrfFLYmG1lGj292IMBNYmYgmWfGK1wrz0JyvD7vEG1LAqhkD1Hon6xCTcL4/s400/IMG_1460.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">So pretty, so strong, so unique.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM3YiaEQpNWrjf6f1KLpFPY19Q56Z2YaTPmBHIB3ar303n6DKgrfQdeW5sdkLOre9fgEH53BsiSobkzL3kgq68yvYGhZVg9Jk-Y9E6EVDHl9R_h9g7RguFJmz2vNBwnwACl156qpOjgQSR/s1600/IMG_1462.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM3YiaEQpNWrjf6f1KLpFPY19Q56Z2YaTPmBHIB3ar303n6DKgrfQdeW5sdkLOre9fgEH53BsiSobkzL3kgq68yvYGhZVg9Jk-Y9E6EVDHl9R_h9g7RguFJmz2vNBwnwACl156qpOjgQSR/s400/IMG_1462.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I wanted one.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj02DwfSFG-6yU4UVGl2AZNQ0KQckHPiX-boKlPMnVbKNLEg104ndKRBetxYOU-GtK9VCk6cWtdYvUrHEw0LRfJkBj1oL6IYCj3flttUoryEn-rMtyl7b6x18Ye68fzws0rlwSEerbKVNls/s1600/IMG_1468.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj02DwfSFG-6yU4UVGl2AZNQ0KQckHPiX-boKlPMnVbKNLEg104ndKRBetxYOU-GtK9VCk6cWtdYvUrHEw0LRfJkBj1oL6IYCj3flttUoryEn-rMtyl7b6x18Ye68fzws0rlwSEerbKVNls/s400/IMG_1468.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I chose my favorite.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJZRPJnatQQok92g15BOkdIrIJfmZZI4V_LlYPqYWMpretqPglGYJj0a6s0o9YU54zpwfg7Z8Uv2cb2ED0O-YDDd9sFeHmADzj4X-zcPbjlUf03QX0lCu_UeApDtU5M9OKp3YK-vfoUKvK/s1600/IMG_1458.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJZRPJnatQQok92g15BOkdIrIJfmZZI4V_LlYPqYWMpretqPglGYJj0a6s0o9YU54zpwfg7Z8Uv2cb2ED0O-YDDd9sFeHmADzj4X-zcPbjlUf03QX0lCu_UeApDtU5M9OKp3YK-vfoUKvK/s400/IMG_1458.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">How could I resist?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPqMsYUtr-HOS1Nqfv_abg06Is-s0PWSzLAnfdJ7MwSiiefwJQHusQquCUC7_hR2Cb7XDtBHQ3vpepOzO1jLEeYSNw8FKSy9BZHtkZzI9U9AtCO4XhJMfRb3K7RAqfXqonAjzM_0wfZa0V/s1600/IMG_1473.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPqMsYUtr-HOS1Nqfv_abg06Is-s0PWSzLAnfdJ7MwSiiefwJQHusQquCUC7_hR2Cb7XDtBHQ3vpepOzO1jLEeYSNw8FKSy9BZHtkZzI9U9AtCO4XhJMfRb3K7RAqfXqonAjzM_0wfZa0V/s400/IMG_1473.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I asked the young female cashier about it's history.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>My father made it from bamboo. My grandmother painted it. The Chinese words wish you luck and happiness. It takes a month to make one. These umbrellas are special and will bring you good luck.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: left;">The family run business is quite famous in Taiwan. It is one of the only remaining paper oil umbrella workshops in Taiwan, and perhaps the world. The Hakka people used the umbrellas in their everyday life. They are also used as wedding presents with parents giving them to their children on their special day.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">In 1989, after watching his skilled parents make umbrellas, Lee Ming-Hsiang decided to open a business of his own. I am glad he did. You can visit the family run business's <a href="http://meinung-umbrella.com.tw/index_en.php">website here</a>.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhInGrrYUTfhAY_4EZw7tpxQB08qtAqHC1Q7JGZjYrkIr9d0DNLCx4zdHS0EbITNlKc2NJYmZhK5V1Jo40pEBdnFl2iKBDSCnNdf9GI60g5NpOIh_9tQh9OKamIUmAx5cZvgf-EuXUkhtMw/s1600/IMG_1464.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhInGrrYUTfhAY_4EZw7tpxQB08qtAqHC1Q7JGZjYrkIr9d0DNLCx4zdHS0EbITNlKc2NJYmZhK5V1Jo40pEBdnFl2iKBDSCnNdf9GI60g5NpOIh_9tQh9OKamIUmAx5cZvgf-EuXUkhtMw/s400/IMG_1464.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPNQXKSnzOVmQjc1LT4tSZZ_d5cySuYgqk9pxpHaLjx_OP-W9fQ69ZQmbyGYv9UbhT1zOH8pdbxCH_WzPPxhNqeCIUIHziywWTA7zAPRXxGiMeJ26Go14FmM9FtYMU18oPdJm9NFZ1C2Mq/s1600/IMG_1477.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPNQXKSnzOVmQjc1LT4tSZZ_d5cySuYgqk9pxpHaLjx_OP-W9fQ69ZQmbyGYv9UbhT1zOH8pdbxCH_WzPPxhNqeCIUIHziywWTA7zAPRXxGiMeJ26Go14FmM9FtYMU18oPdJm9NFZ1C2Mq/s400/IMG_1477.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Meinong is about a 50 minute drive from downtown Kaohsiung.</div><div style="text-align: center;">You can buy your own oil paper umbrella from the Lee family store. Directions below. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><iframe frameborder="0" height="300" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=%E9%AB%98%E9%9B%84%E7%B8%A3%E7%BE%8E%E6%BF%83%E9%8E%AE%E4%B8%AD%E5%B1%B1%E8%B7%AF%E4%B8%80%E6%AE%B5339%E8%99%9F&aq=&sll=22.833149,120.440369&sspn=0.670806,1.234589&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=Section+1,+Zh%C5%8DngSh%C4%81n+Rd,+Meinong+District,+Kaohsiung+City,+Taiwan+843&ll=22.90219,120.534697&spn=0.023719,0.025749&z=14&iwloc=A&output=embed" width="300"></iframe><br />
<small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=en&geocode=&q=%E9%AB%98%E9%9B%84%E7%B8%A3%E7%BE%8E%E6%BF%83%E9%8E%AE%E4%B8%AD%E5%B1%B1%E8%B7%AF%E4%B8%80%E6%AE%B5339%E8%99%9F&aq=&sll=22.833149,120.440369&sspn=0.670806,1.234589&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=Section+1,+Zh%C5%8DngSh%C4%81n+Rd,+Meinong+District,+Kaohsiung+City,+Taiwan+843&ll=22.90219,120.534697&spn=0.023719,0.025749&z=14&iwloc=A" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a></small></i></div>Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-60974686007349865602011-05-12T15:06:00.000+01:002011-05-13T21:26:36.172+01:00Mmm, I'm in love with MANGOES 芒果<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRHrupvjiBdpQkxa61pPPtvv77fBNjbm4jvAQwhzCnKB1Xa22FVwqyQgLLZyAwnw-zG_ZyYyLAYNXgqk0T2CxyAAKZjlGMW8H14gCy9Z3qqpRPIHh3Svzme4RxPLhRwf2mX6Iicgz_lgp0/s1600/IMG_1451.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRHrupvjiBdpQkxa61pPPtvv77fBNjbm4jvAQwhzCnKB1Xa22FVwqyQgLLZyAwnw-zG_ZyYyLAYNXgqk0T2CxyAAKZjlGMW8H14gCy9Z3qqpRPIHh3Svzme4RxPLhRwf2mX6Iicgz_lgp0/s400/IMG_1451.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mmm, mangoes of all shapes and sizes</td></tr>
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I loved Morocco for the fresh fruit and vegetables, namely the <a href="http://travelswithkylie.blogspot.com/2010/02/mmm-moroccan-mandarins.html">mandarins</a> and <a href="http://travelswithkylie.blogspot.com/2010/04/mmm-moroccan-strawberries.html">strawberries</a>. Now, my favorite fruit, well, one of my favourites, is now in season.<br />
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I have wonderful memories of Christmas time in Australia. Buying mangoes by the boxful from the vans that stop on the side of the main roads. Mangoes with ice cream, mango smoothies, mangoes in salads, or just mango is it is, dripping down my chin and off my elbows. Yum!<br />
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Now I am so happy it is mango season in Taiwan. Mangoes are cheapest bought from the back of the small trucks, or 'moving markets. Otherwise, a grocery store or fruit store is the other option. 'There are so many types of mangoes here. Big ones, small ones, medium ones... I have tried them all and they are all delicious. They are juicy and sweet and ready to eat.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjafhIWpeQB_0hn1TVoXBN7f2p-raKJPpeslK7ESC8ohRfRME5qBVDqkt2G2HBMeGG22UHUVMLi2hjbLPxdJa0NC57xUlloEWpOnAkwV2E3XenGxBe6kVzL-Amr6jA5SljsxaxV8EGUCalN/s1600/IMG_1456.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjafhIWpeQB_0hn1TVoXBN7f2p-raKJPpeslK7ESC8ohRfRME5qBVDqkt2G2HBMeGG22UHUVMLi2hjbLPxdJa0NC57xUlloEWpOnAkwV2E3XenGxBe6kVzL-Amr6jA5SljsxaxV8EGUCalN/s400/IMG_1456.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I am not sizest</td></tr>
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In Taiwan I have had mango tea, mango juice and mango with frozen ice <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">雪花冰; a very popular dessert here in Taiwan. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8tDIL-ZVKUWE9MTKNzdmoZNH360q3dSTpzDAz0QJV2n1rKgie1aKFE0bUPuHMpLGgU04gWvZwE4bfDgeVjTXNg6LDWxkecBs0I0cAgD_8lXtpnxMFUVqYbn_j53UsSVz-DVsIFuA7Sdjl/s1600/IMG_1452.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8tDIL-ZVKUWE9MTKNzdmoZNH360q3dSTpzDAz0QJV2n1rKgie1aKFE0bUPuHMpLGgU04gWvZwE4bfDgeVjTXNg6LDWxkecBs0I0cAgD_8lXtpnxMFUVqYbn_j53UsSVz-DVsIFuA7Sdjl/s400/IMG_1452.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Delish!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Of course, I love mangoes a la Mark Darcy,<i> just as they are</i>. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
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</span></span></div>Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-36750977246209228252011-05-04T09:44:00.000+01:002011-05-04T09:44:47.485+01:00Reflections: Yoga Teacher Training Completion<div style="text-align: center;">Read about my reflections of my Yoga Teaching Practice <a href="http://yogahousetaiwan.blogspot.com/2011/05/2011ryt200-kylie.html">here</a> at the Yoga House Blog.</div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRZZvTtoq2g8rHjBUM7H7NJZBF0Yxu9T7NeGb7Ncl58RaHGuBi408S-auh0JCMkzndlpNywmToN2G5P8A-JHJGjCI73W7UPQUljc5ElcU97w3y7_CjTH8Cvx-ukLWJuE2664qq5trYBtT3/s1600/Kylie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRZZvTtoq2g8rHjBUM7H7NJZBF0Yxu9T7NeGb7Ncl58RaHGuBi408S-auh0JCMkzndlpNywmToN2G5P8A-JHJGjCI73W7UPQUljc5ElcU97w3y7_CjTH8Cvx-ukLWJuE2664qq5trYBtT3/s1600/Kylie.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yoga House Director and Teacher Sucharita and me</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-63405212431162364972011-05-01T10:07:00.004+01:002011-05-02T04:43:21.862+01:00Graduation with a Difference<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOxRu3M3OjwuIslMItHOctJs5158Ewxofn3v-dbsWSvZZHIww4iVo8n3MwBO-QAA2CbG_Sy8Cnt7iT_K-tXivpOg8tuQ2pv6gQ7hrVyJc0kO_C9VBOGzjA3YOd2PjH8mCQotGTiBxCmubJ/s1600/IMG_1386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOxRu3M3OjwuIslMItHOctJs5158Ewxofn3v-dbsWSvZZHIww4iVo8n3MwBO-QAA2CbG_Sy8Cnt7iT_K-tXivpOg8tuQ2pv6gQ7hrVyJc0kO_C9VBOGzjA3YOd2PjH8mCQotGTiBxCmubJ/s320/IMG_1386.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
The past 2 weeks of Yoga Teacher Training have been very awesome. We hiked to the second highest peak of Shoushan <i>Monkey Mountain</i>, meditated amongst a maze of tree trunks, roots and branches, each student taught an hour and a half class - which included us <i>taking</i> 12 classes over 3 days, and today was the culmination with our RYT 200 <a href="http://www.ouryogahouse.com/english.html">Yoga House Institute</a> Graduation and party.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8F54B7xHbe2VZ-BHWNQqSxquwmaXUJp2gACn7KSnNPdRl6-DeV6CEb0QFGVaf_f3Q3p3qShg3DijveeMbTF2Uz5IWX4pmFKMCZ5YL5AHsuDPOjn_x0jzpFip1J3LOdX6xUsG680tA8biA/s1600/IMG_1274.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8F54B7xHbe2VZ-BHWNQqSxquwmaXUJp2gACn7KSnNPdRl6-DeV6CEb0QFGVaf_f3Q3p3qShg3DijveeMbTF2Uz5IWX4pmFKMCZ5YL5AHsuDPOjn_x0jzpFip1J3LOdX6xUsG680tA8biA/s320/IMG_1274.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monkey Mountain</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monkey Mountain</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enjoying the view</td></tr>
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</div>It is difficult to imagine that 10 weeks, that's 200 hours of Yoga Training spread over 10 weekends, has come to an end. I feel that the Teacher Training has given me a purpose to being in Taiwan. I have met some truly wonderful, inspiring and knowledgeable people who have enhanced my experience in ways I only know. To be around such positive, kind-hearted souls, weekend after weekend, meant as much to myself as the Course.<br />
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I don't care what people say - <i>tree huggers, vegis, hare krishnas, hippies, </i>whatever. Who can possibly say that feeling and being healthy, happy, energised and strong is bad? Take it in. Try it. What do you have to lose?<br />
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Today's class, the last one of the course, was amazing. First, a student taught the class a variety of poses, calling from each of the groups - core, balance, twists, forward bends and backward bends. My flexibility and balance was challenged, even though I am mush stronger than I was at the beginning. Yoga is a continual practice with improvements being able to be made during every practice.<br />
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Secondly, another student-teacher taught an emotion filled class. She has recently learned that her father will be passing away in the USA in a few days time, while she is here in Taiwan. She was fortunate to be able to visit him last week and share with him some Ujjayi Pranyama. Her lesson was centered on opening the heart, spreading peace, love and compassion - and accepting them as well. Her poses called for strength and opening of the heart, connected to the breath.<br />
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Lastly, a very spiritual student-teacher taught the class heart opening chakras. We attempted to engage our Kundalini often referred to as the dormant serpent at the sacrum. We visualised different images as our chakras were engaged, seen and opened. Restorative postures ensured we remained relaxed and calm.<br />
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After a delicious pot-luck it was paparazzi time.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yoga House Graduates and Friends</td></tr>
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We then moved on to the emotional Graduation. Candles were lit amongst bright hibiscus bringing calmness and light to our ceremony. We were issued with a framed, signed and stamped certificate - the first of many for many of us, I am certain. Then came the emotionally awakening part of the ceremony. Chanting has been a part of our practice. It is a form of meditation - something to concentrate on and visualise. However, this chanting was different. We sang to each other <i>All I ask of you is forever to remember me, by loving you. Oh, Kylie we love you, oh Kylie we love you. </i>How powerful. How beautiful. How amazing.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michael and Sucharita </td></tr>
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</div>I hope it is not the last time I will see my classmates from Yoga House. With so many experiences shared, it would be a shame to let friendships fall away. Through the natural course of life, I am sure some friendships will cease. However, I know that what I have gained will remain. For me and for them.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>NamasteKyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-52122732066370373092011-04-14T08:07:00.000+01:002011-04-14T08:07:09.886+01:00Reflections: Yoga Teacher Training Day 12<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">Energy</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">I sit here at my desk, typing this on my large, blue inflated fit ball. Learning more about yoga has made me more aware of my body; my limitations and extensions. Sometimes I am at my desk for hours – hunched over a keyboard, marking student work – and I feel my neck and back muscles tightening and aching. Of course, Yoga asanas help to relieve this tension. However, I am now thinking beyond that at what I can do to prevent muscle aching and enjoy my yoga practice for what it is, and not for what it can fix. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Reflecting on the Yoga Teaching Training so far, I have learnt so much! I have become more open in my thoughts, my instruction is more knowledgeable and my outlook is more positive. I have always been a positive person, but Yoga Training has allowed me to tap into my positive side even more, and become aware of it. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">An interesting workshop that we shared was ‘Energy Healing’. When I was younger I suffered from painful headaches. My mother and I tried numerous remedies; yoga, massage, balm… It was during one of my numerous massage sessions that I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">think</i> I encountered energy healing of some kind. I was about 16 and my mum had driven me to a massage practitioner of some kind in farming town, Jamberoo. At the end of the remedial massage, lying on my back, the aging male masseuse cradled my skull in his hands. I was a little freaked out. What was this guy doing? What happened to the rest of my massage? It is only now that I look back and understand. I was receiving a Cranial Sacral Therapy. The masseuse was giving me energy and was lightly massaging the nerves and joints in my neck to relieve my headaches. I was a little nervous at the time, and this alternative treatment was not explained to me. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Now I am aware of energy healing and its power. I used to not be so open, perhaps even a disbeliever. Although I do not understand the physics behind the thermodynamics, I understand to transfer of heat as energy. All 13 students as well as our two teachers participated in Energy Healing. We each took turns to lay in Savasana and receive the energy that was being given by the others, by way of placing hands on the recipient and giving positive energy for around 5 minutes. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">The effects were amazing. Different people felt different emotions when giving and receiving. Tears were shed, for no reason and for many reasons. Happiness, anger and sadness was shed and shared. Upon completion everyone felt grateful, energized and calm. It was an amazing, experience that really can’t be described. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">The energy workshop also taught me how the universe is good at balancing energy. We learnt to think that there is no bad energy. There is positive energy and no energy. Just like people may have positive energy or no energy at all. I already believe that certain people need more positive energy, and are able to ‘zap’ that energy out of people with lots of positive energy. I am one of those people with good energy. On many occasions, I feel that my energy has been depleted when I am around no energy people. After listening to a colleague or friend unload their problems, I often feel both mentally and emotionally fatigued, and then person sharing their problems or feeling negative feels better and energized. I understand now that I have been giving my positive energy, and not receiving any in return. I have to make my own energy in order to feel revived. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">When I read what I have written it sounds a little weird. But it is the truth and it is how it works. Perhaps it has happened to you. After being around optimistic, life loving, energetic, high-spirited people do you yourself feel motivated, active and positive, even though you may have done nothing but listened and talked? And when you are around negative, gloomy, miserable people do you feel weak and exhausted, even though you only spoke or listened? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">It is the transfer of energy that you feel. It exists. It’s there. Do you feel it? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Very cheesy, I know. But also very true.</span></div>Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-65583504363792826122011-03-28T06:02:00.003+01:002011-03-28T13:00:04.916+01:00Reflections: Yoga Teacher Training Day 10<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">Halfway There Already?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Yesterday I completed my 10<sup>th</sup> day of Yoga Teaching Training. Halfway there. Yoga Training at <a href="http://www.ouryogahouse.com/">Our Yoga House</a> is more like a Yoga retreat, or camp, than a course. We are greeted warmly each Saturday and Sunday morning, are fed healthy and delicious snacks, lunches and desserts (most recently – red bean cheesecake- yum!). We have access to organic teas, plum juice and coffee, of which Teacher Sucharita’s family grows right here in Taiwan’s mountains. Students mix, mingle, converse and learn together, breaking down language and cultural barriers, forming friendships and spreading good energy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">As cliché as it may appear, we are a big happy Yoga family. We care for each other, learn from each other, even upset each other. But we are all there for each other. I am a little sad that it is already week 5. Only 5 more weeks to go! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">This really got me thinking - <i>What will I do with my free weekends? Who will I share my leftist ideologies with? Who will inspire me to try advanced postures? Where will I get my cooking inspiration from? Where will I be able to talk about chakras and pulling in my ‘shining diamond’ or mudra bunda? Who will be the recipient of my unprofessional yoga massage? </i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">My partner Jeff. Of course.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">We will rekindle our free weekends with winding car drives and hikes; he will pretend to be sympathetic to my views on the environment and animals; he will un-yogi-like boost my ego as I demonstrate the difficult crane pose and wheel; he will be my cooking inspiration as I attempt to win over his stomach with delicious vegetarian meals; he will try to lend an ear without rolling his eyes as I teach him about energy flows and chanting; and finally, after learning asanas from me, he will gladly be the receiver of a neck lengthening, full body sprawling back compression massage. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">Let's face it, whether he likes it or not really ;o)</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eka Pada Rajakapotasana<br />
(Pigeon Pose) variation 1</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiol9YBjzzUsv6zVAEqFIFtkmLTk7W7Mh6ooonjStc3P8DIOKkQrxOjNQpOf8zn4dLFPHOwBuvTJv7ftWWVD-Q5TiENF1L54mESZdZi_MHFZPkvub6lH8L1ENigwFpSSBuSCcmUQ8FLj6Gv/s1600/CIMG8853.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiol9YBjzzUsv6zVAEqFIFtkmLTk7W7Mh6ooonjStc3P8DIOKkQrxOjNQpOf8zn4dLFPHOwBuvTJv7ftWWVD-Q5TiENF1L54mESZdZi_MHFZPkvub6lH8L1ENigwFpSSBuSCcmUQ8FLj6Gv/s400/CIMG8853.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eka Pada Rajakapotasana <br />
(Pigeon Pose) variation 2</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQwBxP3y-CAbLtYevpKtZ9lx462zxGhHkPOeuQSJFD7h84_mLWRD3DvHYB9muBJroJi0CF1IUBfovllDG0GFFjfSo3TytTu7LdUUwHUcE-2XoZ469jETJGLxpXJJJKb6WoIkIZCqUuUj4Q/s1600/CIMG8868.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQwBxP3y-CAbLtYevpKtZ9lx462zxGhHkPOeuQSJFD7h84_mLWRD3DvHYB9muBJroJi0CF1IUBfovllDG0GFFjfSo3TytTu7LdUUwHUcE-2XoZ469jETJGLxpXJJJKb6WoIkIZCqUuUj4Q/s400/CIMG8868.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Natarajasana (Lord of the Dance) <br />
modified with a Yoga strap</td></tr>
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</span></div>Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-15012954642282971692011-03-14T15:35:00.000+01:002011-03-14T15:35:09.309+01:00Reflections: Yoga Teacher Training Day 6<div style="text-align: center;">Anger and Gurus</div><br />
This weekend's classes left me feeling so light, happy and balanced. Workshops centered on the Chakras - Sanskrit for 'wheel' or 'circle', and Gurus - Sanskrit for 'spiritual teacher', as well as core poses and forward bends. However, it is often the lunch time talk with newly acquainted friends, which captures my thoughts.<br />
<br />
The lunchtime conversations between the foreign females can be just as educational and enlightening as the classes. Sunday's conversation centered on Anger. We all seemed to agree that girls, or at least the ones at our table, handle anger differently to men.<br />
<br />
We spoke about our experiences with our boyfriends, husbands and brothers. It seems us girls don't take other's anger personally. If someone gets angry at us, or cuts us off in traffic, or says something nasty, we often react by feeling bad for that angry person, because they are... angry, unwell, troubled. While our male partners may get upset because they feel we are letting someone 'walk all over us', we feel that becoming angry would only make us upset. It is easier and more positive to let it go. Yelling back, or thinking violently only serves to make us mad - an emotion that we fell is not favourable.<br />
<br />
I mean, everyone gets angry. But it is how you deal with that anger that got us thinking.<br />
<br />
It seems that it is hard for us to convey this idea of non-negative reaction to our partners. Just as men may think that this approach to anger is frustrating, we too, find it difficult to understand how our dearly loved men can easily turn to violence to feel better or solve a problem. Perhaps it comes down to one thing. Hormones. Or perhaps, Empathy. It could also be that the world has distinctly moulded us into two groups. Boys and Girls. Men and Women. Even Lovers and Haters. Optimists and Pessimists? Maybe it is not a simple girl vs. boy thing after all...<br />
<br />
Perhaps we all need a Guru.<br />
<br />
Immediately when hearing the afore mentioned word, my mind races to stereotypical images of lotus sitting Indians, perched on the edge of the Ganges, clad in an orange loin cloth, with matted greying hair falling over a painted white face. Of course, I knew better than this. I know a Guru is a teacher, guiding one to their personal awakening. However, that cynical side of me that often rears its ugly head, popped up first.<br />
<br />
Teacher Michael said, "Absolutely. You must have a spiritual teacher in order to learn about yourself." He said that he himself has many gurus. His wife, son, the ocean, a contented homeless man, every student he has ever taught. People who allow you to learn more about yourself and your world can be your spiritual teacher, your Guru.<br />
<br />
You don't need to select a Guru. I think your Gurus will find you. It got me thinking <i>Who are my Gurus?</i>. <i>Who has allowed me to learn about myself? </i>The world? Books? Am I allowed to say Oprah? This is one I am going to have to think about...<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><br />
</i>Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-20892508675601823912011-03-06T13:29:00.004+01:002011-03-14T14:56:02.171+01:00Reflections: Yoga Teacher Training Day 4Saturday's training session left me feeling refreshed and energised. I am beginning to love balance poses and felt extremely comfortable and relaxed in Garudasana (Eagle Pose). I felt my hips open in Virabahdrasana Tri (Warrior III), thanks to home training against a wall. I felt proud and my inward ego grew.<br />
<br />
This is not very Yogi-like. Not at all. It <i>is</i> very natural to feel proud when accomplishing a difficult task or pose. However, this is <i>not</i> the point of Yoga. I was reminded of that fact today, Sunday, Day 4 of teacher training. Although my body and mind felt strong in the core poses, I encountered a great sense of contradiction when practicing 'Mindfulness Yoga'.<br />
<br />
Mindfulness Yoga is about being aware of your body. Being in the posture in every way. Being an observer to your body. Being and enjoying the moment. It is about being able to stop, look and listen. Being present in Yoga. This means not letting the mind wander. It is feeling the sensations in your body. It is not attaching emotion to a pose; just... <i>Being</i>.<br />
<br />
Yoga is not a performance. It is not a gymnastics display; you are not being judged or criticised. Too often however, there is a judge lurking in the darkness. This judge is the most harsh and unforgiving. This judge does not speak out, but acts silently. This judge is you. It is me.<br />
<br />
I experienced this today. I experienced this harsh judge when the class and I were being guided through Mindfulness Yoga. I tried to pay attention to my body. I moved slowly. I breathed. I felt the asana. I felt my body tighten, my upper back muscles clench. I found sitting cross legged frustrating. I couldn't forward bend in the pose. I became restless. Annoyed. Frustrated. Angry. Useless. I became even more perturbed when I realised I was not allowing my body to relax, not allowing my mind to be in the moment. The whole point of the exercise was to be <i>mindful</i>. I was being judgmental. I relaxed in Savasana (corpse pose) and let my body rest. I began to become mindful. But when the exercise finished, I felt annoyed for being that judge that shouldn't exist in Yoga.<br />
<br />
I know it takes practice.<br />
<br />
<i>Now we begin our practice</i>.<br />
<br />
Note to self: must remember.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Read more about my Yoga Teacher Training<br />
<a href="http://travelswithkylie.blogspot.com/2011/02/reflections-on-yoga-teacher-training.html">Yoga Reflections</a><br />
<a href="http://travelswithkylie.blogspot.com/2011/02/reflections-yoga-teacher-training-day-1.html">Day 1</a>Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-87222397786993072912011-02-26T13:25:00.001+01:002011-02-26T13:25:54.879+01:00Reflections: Yoga Teacher Training Day 1Where do I begin?<br />
<br />
What an awesome day. I feel a little tired, but refreshed. I feel confident, but still have so much to learn. I learnt that I am not as flexible or strong with my asanas (postures) as I used to be. But I quickly latched on to the first sutra - verse - of the first book of Yoga Sutras of Pantanjali,<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Now we begin our practice</i></div><br />
For me, this is an important thought not to be forgotten, but embraced. Yoga is the moment. It is not about previous experiences, or future practices, it is about being centered and clear. It is about sharing the practice. It is about <i>practice</i>. I have to lose the need to be the <i>most </i>flexible, strong and balanced. I think I am almost there. Today's teacher training lesson allowed me to do that.<br />
<br />
We began the morning with Ujjayi Pranyama - breathing techniques - and meditation with Teacher Michael. This allowed me to become centered and remember my fondness of learning and practicing breathing techniques over 10 years ago. Meditation followed for five minutes. I must have been in a deep meditation because I got lost in the moment and it felt like less than a minute for me.<br />
<br />
I judged myself too harshly during Teacher <a href="http://www.sucharita.com/">Sucharita</a>'s asana flow. I found the postures asked for strength I didn't seem to have, and for balance which had escaped me. My inability to 'master' the asanas made me internally unbalanced, which only added to my frustration and showed in my poses.<br />
Throughout the day I learnt to accept the idea that Yoga is about <i>practice</i>. It is momentary. Every day and every practice is different. I shouldn't compare myself with the 16 year old ex-gymnast I used to be. I have to move on. I have to practice Yoga <i>now</i>.<br />
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In a way, I feel that I am beginning my practice from scratch. Learning how to be grounded. Learning how to stand in a seemingly simple tadasana - mountain pose - correctly. I have to pay attention to my feet, knees and hips in a way I have never had to before. I enjoyed 'pulling apart' the poses, body part by body part, and teaching techniques with other students. We are more hard on ourselves than each other. Being able to correct each other and learn more about the pose was enlightening. A roll of the shoulder here, and slightly bended knee there, and the pose becomes deeper and stronger.<br />
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In the first book of The Yoga Sutras of Pantanjali, a sutra really struck me,<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Misconception occurs when knowledge of something is not based upon its true form</i></div><i><br />
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I wrote in down in my notebook, to serve as a personal mantra. However, when it came to the last activity of the day, chanting, I couldn't get past it. The chant today was Hare Krishna. Immediately my mind raced to stereotypes. I thought of the lyrics of 'I am the Walrus' by The Beatles and of students at my university in Australia coming to lectures with a shaved head and bare, dirty feet. After reading the handout we were given, I understood Hare Krishna to be a universal feeling of spiritual awareness and inner peace.<br />
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I reread the sutra I had previously written down. I tried to chant and join in, but I held back. I had dove into seated quiet meditation earlier in the day, but I couldn't perform this type of meditation. Maybe chanting isn't my thing. Maybe I have been consumed by misconceptions. Maybe I just need to let go. Maybe I am just not there...yet.Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3633076067065421089.post-22942411701739866912011-02-26T12:41:00.005+01:002011-03-14T15:39:35.092+01:00Reflections: Yoga Teacher Training RYT 200I began practicing Yoga when I was about 16 years old. My mother and I used to head down to the local community centre on a Tuesday evening for our Yoga class with Maurie. I suffered headaches and neck tension as I grew up and Yoga, as well as remedial massages, was a way for me to overcome those pains. I loved Yoga immediately. I was flexible and relished in the opportunity to learn advanced Asana's, or poses, especially the more difficult balancing poses. I loved learning Pranayama - centered breathing techniques. I didn't love meditation though. I found it a boring - I wanted to perform headstands and full shoulder stands, not close my eyes and think of nothing.<br />
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Fast forward 10 years and my practice of Yoga has continued, albeit sporadically. I practiced Yoga at home and in gyms, as well as Bikram 'hot' Yoga in London, taught it to my lovely Grade 2 class and as an after school class in Morocco, and have recently began teaching it to Grade 10, 11 and 12 students at my current school in Taiwan. I am not as flexible, balanced in mind and body and perhaps strong as I used to be. I want to get that back.<br />
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I have not taken a 'proper' class in years. By 'proper' I am referring to the full practice. From Pranyama to Asana's to Meditation. I felt it was time to return to my practice and love of Yoga, so I joined a Registered Yoga Alliance Teacher Training school - <a href="http://www.ouryogahouse.com/english.html">Yoga House Institute</a>, in Koahsiung.<br />
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I have been super excited for the course since signing up. I have to be honest and confess to being a bit of a nerd, and am happy at the prospect of having to study and complete projects. I want to learn more about Yoga and be able to help others who want to practice Yoga too.<br />
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The course takes 200 hours. That is every Saturday and Sunday for 10 weeks. I was a little apprehensive about 'giving up' my weekends. But then I thought about it with a different perspective. I will be gaining so much. Knowledge. Strength. Flexibility. Calmness. Balance. Positivity. As well as Yoga teacher certification.<br />
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Read my reflection on my <a href="http://travelswithkylie.blogspot.com/2011/02/reflections-yoga-teacher-training-day-1.html">first class here</a>.Kyliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16079215296885956780noreply@blogger.com4