Of Dancing, Rugby and Travel Tales

My belly-dance teacher has come back from her travels and predictably, she’s returned with itchy feet. Her adventures in the East have unsettled her so much that she has put her house on the market and is packing up and going off again. For good. Or at least indefinitely.

We spent a wonderful evening together this week drinking vino and catching up. Her travel tales had me spellbound. She let me take home part 1 of her travel diaries and I have to say, it reads like a Bridget Jones travelogue, only without the fluff. They had some hair-raising experiences and some very sticky moments. I lost count of the number of times I had to pick my jaw off the floor. Well, a Rough Guide can only guide a traveller so much and then I guess it’s up to the traveller to balance cautiousness with the need for adventure and excitement. But how they got through some of their *scrapes* is beyond me. I can only think that the gods were in a benevolent mood because the chances of them getting out of some of their pickles unharmed were pretty slim. They had a close call which involved some jewel exporting and a gang of faux friends who were eventually (and in the nick of time) revealed to be professional scammers.

But of course, they made many new ‘real’ friends in all the different countries they visited – a varied and diverse bunch of people. And they did lots of partying. I mean lots! Needles to say, I was very envious.

They also became very anti-American when they visited the War Remnant museum in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam and were shocked and sickened by the images they saw. Agent orange has certainly left its legacy. They told me the locals refer to the Vietnam war as the American war. Even now, children are still being born with terrible deformities and the landmines are still injuring people, with many amputees being reduced to begging on the streets. Sigh.

Anyway, for six months they lived dangerously, stretched their minds and broadened their horizons. Certainly beats sitting on a computer writing about it. And the belly-dance classes have been knocked on the head but as timing sometimes has it, my daughter’s dance school has just started an adult jazz dance class on Wednesday nights so I am still able to fulfill my dancing desires. And it’s a great aerobic exercise.

Talking of exercise, rugby season has started again and my son has now moved onto full contact. He has all the protective gear – the padded head guard and the gum-shields. I was going to buy him a padded vest too but he protested and his dad sided with him. Sigh. I’ll bide my time and get my way soon enough. Say what you like, I’ve watched them play and they are bloody rough! It’s a full contact sport and although I wouldn’t like to see it go the way of American football, I certainly wouldn’t like him to enter the field with no protection at all. He is only eight years old after all and he only gets one body.

Anyhoo, ttfn. The weekend calls and it’s a glorious day.


3 responses to this post.

  1. I see you have been captured by the “writing inertia”, Earthpal, after a time off the arena. Good, and yes, I coincide with you that contact sport for an 8-year-old is a bit risky. Those lesions acquired in childhood, as you no doubt know, are practically impossible to correct along the years afterwards.

    Caution is the word.


  2. Yes Jose, I have been very busy this week. It’s great to get some rare time to myself.


  3. […] to attend, rugby tournaments to tour (he’s playing full contact now you know and I did get my own way on the padded shirt thing) and dancing queens to taxi around for rehearsals and shows, it leaves me […]


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