The Rose in the Lily Pond

Dung, our tour guide for the day, feels quite at home on the chaotic streets. In a word, Hanoi  is chaotic. Every time Nick and I step out of our hotel room our senses are working on overtime. The footpath is cluttered with street vendors with their customers sprawled out on miniature plastic furniture. Surrounding them are masses of parked scooters forcing us out to brave the road as we navigate the city populated by 6 million. Scooters by far out number any other mode of transport but throw into the mix the taxis, buses, bicycles and every other vehicle imaginable and walking down the street becomes a high stress activity with the possibility of death never straying to far from mind. Road rules are more like guidelines here and it seems like there is no such thing as a red light or a one way street. At an intersection there are white stripes painted across the road. In New Zealand we would call this a zebra crossing - where vehicles stop while pedestrians walk safely across.

A lot of travel blogs will tell you to ‘let go of your fear and go out and travel the world,’ however for me travel seems the norm, and my security. The daily grind of traffic, work, eat, sleep scares the bejesus out of me and I find my sanction in travel. My biggest problem right now is finding a place to do my washing. Sometimes however I feel like traveling is purely selfish and indulgent and that fleeing couldn't be clearer than in the Philippines. We left the island of Palawan to stay in a four star hotel in Bangkok living in the lap of luxury where our toilet had the ability to give an enema. It seems in stark contrast to the sheer poverty we were experiencing in the Philippines. Best toilet ever. We took photos of the pristine white sand beaches, the turquoise coloured water, and the sunsets but what we didn’t take photos of was the starving dogs that roam the streets, the kids begging at the bus station with sores all over their faces, the dirt floored bamboo sha

I experienced the worst type of culture shock in Singapore, our first destination in Asia. Body image shock. It was day three in our four day stop over and I was wearing a loose fitting, flowing dress.  We were traveling by the ever efficient MRT otherwise known as the subway or the metro in other countries and a woman offers me her seat. I see the “reserved” sign on it and a wave of confusion washes over me. Wearing said dress in Little India, Singapore. She gives me a warm hearted smile and gestures for me to sit down. Instead of  questioning why, I say thank you. At first I think it’s a gesture of hospitality - she took a guess that we were visiting this modern and massive city- and she was playing the kind host, but then I see the “reserved seat” sign. I’m not elderly, I’m not disabled, I don’t have a small child to cart around, oh god, she thinks I’m pregnant! The lady next to me goes bright red and starts giggling - she takes it upon herself to voice her stifled laugh

Hopefully in one year's time when we return from our adventure - we will still be holding hands and smiling! Ryan Gosling, my travel buddy, would like to reveal his true identity as Nick. I was going to do some hilarious photo shopping where I cut and paste Ryan’s face over Nick’s - I mean who wouldn’t want to go on a round the world adventure with your ultimate Hollywood crush - but seems that fantasy is over. The adventure however has just begun. Right now, we are three hours away from Singapore, our first destination on our round the world trip. In the lead up to boarding this plane, it felt surreal that we were going to be away from my family, friends and life responsibilities for a year, and now, seeing the white mushroom clouds zooming past me, it’s only starting to feel real. Feeling the excitement and nerves of getting on a plane together  Some people think that it’s a mistake. Before I boarded this aircraft, I was fulfilling a two week contact at a newspaper

Having the time of my life at my leaving party in 2008 with my family and friends before I head overseas for a year and a half  I remember the hustle and bustle of the check in queue, the different languages soaring through the Auckland International Airport terminal, the greasy food at the food court, but most of all, I remember my Mum. She looked at me adoringly, her 22 year old child about to board a plane to New York with no return ticket. What must it be like for her? To say goodbye to me, her only daughter who is travelling alone - not knowing when she will see me again, and not knowing whether I will be safe. She puts on a brave face. I’m the one who’s a pack of nerves. I can’t concentrate on enjoying my last few moments with my Mum. I’m on auto-pilot only semi hearing Mum’s questions about money belts and boarding passes.  “You’ve got to go Rosie Dose.” She uses my pet name. I feel as small as a five year old and not at all ready to face the world on my o

Today I handed in my notice at the Kaipara Lifestyler. I have bought a round-the-world plane ticket departing late September with my boyfriend - who will be known from here on out as Ryan Gosling, Ry for short, we’re pretty close. Don’t get me wrong – I have, despite my uncertainties, enjoyed my stay in sleepy Dargaville but it’s time for me to move on. The pull of an adventure overseas and doing something different and new everyday is too strong. The rough plan is, and I have no doubt that things will go horribly wrong or incredibly right and we will have to change our route, a week in Rarotonga celebrating my Nana’s 80 th birthday, teaching English in Asia, backpacking through India, a brief stopover in Europe and soaking up the language in South America – one of my lifelong dreams is to be fluent in Spanish – not to mention attending the Football World Cup in Brazil! It’s not my first trip away from the New Zealand nest. When I was 22 I explored USA, Canada, a

I stumbled across an article on one of my facebook binges which said the first step to achieving authentic happiness is writing a gratitude letter. I can’t think of a better subject than my mother – after all, I wouldn’t be here without you and Dad and your love and support - and you read this blog without fail. Dear Mum, I think you are pretty cool. At 59 you can still do a hand stand, you want to travel the world (again), and you are way fitter than me. I have you to thank for instilling a sense of adventure. When I was little you used to tell me about your voyages as a little girl travelling by boat to and from New Zealand and England – you showed me pictures of what you looked like when you were my age and I thought you looked so pretty (and I still do). Even though you worked when we were growing up, you found time to do all sorts of creative things with us like make little characters out of felt and build elaborate places out of play dough. You gave us a

Lake Waikaremona - Untouched and rugged beauty that NZ does so well.  Lake Waikaremona in the Te Urewera National Park is one of those special places remote and unharmed by humans. The dense bush and clear water make it easy to imagine what the world was like before mankind occupied it bringing with us all our clutter and junk. It’s one of the most beautiful areas of New Zealand that I’ve seen, yet I only heard about it around a month ago when my boyfriend suggested we do a 46km four day hike. The drive in slowly eased us into the isolated location. We drove on windy gravel roads for an hour and a half passing tiny backwaters where the general store was boarded up and the gas pumps had long gone dry. Cars were burnt out and left rusting on front lawns, and horses, pigs and cows which appeared to be wild wandered the roads, a weary obstacle when already risking turning a narrow blind corner. We passed the odd camper van or speeding local, but mainly we were on our own.

1. Is it just me, or do cows look like they are wearing tuxedos? "Martini - shaken not stirred." 2. Hay bales or alien eggs? 3. Interesting plants in the country... they remind me of something but I can't quite arouse the word... 4. Traffic. 5. The "shopping area" in Te Kopuru consist of one shop, it may live up to it's name, "the really good shop" but it's hardly an area....

The guard clips my ticket with a look of concern. I smile bravely back in return trying to reassure him and myself that  I am a confident independent traveller half way through a 23-hour bus ride from Boston to South Carolina and I’m riding the greyhound with my fellow, too-poor-to-fly, passengers. It was only later that I discovered many Greyhound passengers catch it because they are criminals who are on the 'no fly' lists.  I board the bus and am greeted by a gangster. He looks like a drug dealer from ‘The Wire’ with all the frills. Five sizes too big jeans, baggy shirt, gold chain and bandana intact. He calls me down to a spare seat at the back of the bus. No thanks. I grab a seat close to the front. Rattled, I eaves drop, “Cuantos hijos tiene?” a Latino man asks a woman with a baby how many children she has, and my muscles slump into the chair, my heavy eyes close. I am just another immigrant riding the bus.  The lights shut off. I feel a body shift into th

Climbed Tokatoka peak, an icon in Dargaville. I have been living in Dargaville now for six months, SIX MONTHS! I can’t believe it. Here’s five things this not so sleepy town has shown this former city girl: Where food comes from: The moo cows down the road I walk - they always stare at me as if they are plotting a take over... We killed the brown cow the other day. When I say “we” I mean the butcher who does home kills but I was certainly an accomplice. I have watched her grow while I have been living here – I almost told her to slow down as she chomped away at the grass so she got to live longer. Grant and Cherry, who I live with, rear cattle and now there are three cows left in their paddock wondering where their mate went... Yes it’s sad – but if you eat meat then an animal has to die, that’s the reality of it. Mixing with people you wouldn’t normally is refreshing: A 24 year old single mother of two young boys has befriended me at work. My close fr

For a week, my only company was an overly affectionate deaf cat. I was alone in the remote location of Te Kopuru house sitting a beautiful wooden house for a couple on holiday. The cat, small fry – named after its previous owner Mrs Fry, pretty much loved me to death, so it’s unfair to say that I didn't have company, but for a week I was that crazy cat lady that everyone dreads turning into. Beautiful house in the country I got a taste for what it would be like to live in solitude. It had its moments – I practised cart wheels on the lawn – probably the most ungraceful sight – but hey, no one was around to judge my awful technique, and it felt liberating flinging my legs into the air and plonking them on the ground again, until the unsettling thought of cracking my scull open and nobody being around to call an ambulance crossed my mind. The lawn, and the river at the end - what a perfect place to be alone.  I have mixed feelings about living alone; on the on

Most of the time I’m like Bridget Jones and set impossible and unrealistic resolutions for myself with the promise that next year will be different – of course I’ll lose 10 kilos, stop drinking coffee and somehow fall into a big pile of treasure next year. 2012, however, proved quite productive. I set four goals for myself and completed three. To be fair, one of those goals was to get glasses and could be completed by a quick trip to good ole spec savers. It went from easiest to hardest with the next tasks, finish my masters and get a job writing, a bit harder but also ticked off. The last task, host my first murder mystery night, is still sitting on my to-do list, but hey, three out of four isn’t too bad. I knew what I wanted out of 2012, I wanted to begin my career and I knew that it was the year that it was going to happen but 2013 I’m not so sure about - now that I have started on the career ladder, I’m not actually certain if it was so important in the first place.