Fasting. It's Not For Everyone

I'm writing this on our beautiful wooden balcony that juts out from our wonderfully cosy yet luxurious room. My view is palm trees, mangroves, fan palms, dozens of flowers that are completely unknown to me, and various other trees and bushes. I can hear birdsong, see another couple of bungalows, and can just make out the natural lake belonging to The Spa, Koh Chang. It's verging on a tropical paradise.

We were glad to finally put our bags down for longer than a night or two after about 8 days traveling through Bangkok, Siem Reap and Phnom Penh. Bangkok was as hectic and tasty as ever, and Siem Reap and Phnom Penh proved to be fascinating glimpses into a truly beautiful country, one I very much hope to go back to. I struggled - and am still struggling despite having read two books on the matter since our visit - to really comprehend the fact that the horrors that happened in Cambodia were so very recent. Somehow I just can't quite believe it. If you're looking for a first hand account, you could do a lot worse than First They Killed My Father: A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers.

The Spa wasn't the first place we stayed on Koh Chang. First off, we spent a few nights by Lonely Beach on the other side of the island. We didn't do much except unwind, and I ate quite a lot, as I always seem to do in Thailand. Though this time, eating was a good thing, as when we arrived at The Spa, it promptly stopped.

My wife, Thilde, is a yoga teacher. She's probably one of the healthiest people I know (if not the healthiest). She doesn't drink, smoke, eat red meat (anything with four legs, basically), and she's calm, collected and generally very together. I, however, drink, I love cheeseburgers, I only recently (December 31st of course) quit my stupid drunken smoking habit, and to work out I love an aggressive CrossFit class. However, I used to do yoga, I eat healthily 90% of the time, and I love my wife, so quite often we find ourselves in spas, in India or Thailand. Usually, Thilde will do yoga, and I will run up and down the beach. She will meditate, and I will read. She will fast and detox, and I will eat and drink beer. The locations are always absolutely stunning, so it's a win-win situation.

This time, however, I thought I'd do something different. I thought I'd fast. And hell, why not throw an enema in there too.

We tried a fast once before. We had just got a great juicer as a wedding present, so we decided to do a three day juice fast. I’m not sure why this seemed like a good idea as I'm a big eater, and always have been (to the point where, when I was little, my parents left a pot of yoghurt by my bed so that I'd eat something before I went in to see them), but we had met some people who swore by fasting, and from what we read about it, it sounded like an altogether (potentially) very promising experience. You feel healthier, lighter, your mind is clear, you rethink food in terms of what you eat and how you prepare it, and you clean yourself out (sometimes literally). 

But I love my food, and I really, really need my food. Without it, I lose all will to live, so obviously I came to the conclusion that a fast would be a great idea. Besides, it was only 3 days and it was supposedly incredible once you got over the aching hunger pains. Needless to say, I didn't make it. I got to just over two days before cracking. Thilde made it, and really seemed to enjoy it. She felt brighter, more alert, cleaner, and happy. In fact, she liked it so much she did a six day fast last year at The Spa on Koh Samui. I generally drank and admired her. In fact, she coped so well I started to forget the misery of my two day fast and found myself curious about the whole thing again. And that's how I ended up at The Spa on Koh Chang. Seeing as I was already going booze free for January, I thought it’d be the perfect complimentary process.

It probably was, but that doesn't make it right. I broke my fast two days ago, and can once again but quite definitively this time, say that fasting isn't for me. Turns out I don't handle not eating much very well. I didn't sneak any food in, I didn't kill anyone, and Thilde and I are still married, but a bit of me died for those three days.

My pilot light went out and I just couldn't care about anything or anyone. Yes, I was in paradise, but whatever. Yes, the fruit we could have for lunch exploded with flavour on my tongue, but whatever. The juices we had for meals were varied, fresh and mouth-wateringly good, but you know, whatever. I just didn't care. While I never got to the starving point, I had a constant hole in me. I'm not even sure I'd say it was in my stomach. It was if my brain was running on fumes and my muscles had turned to limp spaghetti. I couldn't get started in the morning and wanted to do nothing except lie down and read. Walking up the stairs was hard work. Getting dressed was an effort. We went kayaking one morning through a beautiful mangrove forest, but all I cared about was the fact that my bum got wet. Mangroves and views could stuff it. One upside I definitely noticed was that I slept well. Real blackout sleeps. Perhaps I was just quietly dying, but whatever it was, for the two days I've been back on food, I've noticed the change in sleep quality. But I'm loving eating. Definitely enough to let my sleep suffer a tiny bit. I feel myself. I can literally feel the energy in me, and I can't tell you how good it feels to have it back.

Thilde has been incredible. I've no idea how she's put up with my pathetic attitude. She’s a rock. Although she is pretty happy I've started eating again. As am I.

I won't dwell too much on the enema suffice to say it wasn't my cup of tea. It made me feel sick, not physically sick, but something about the process, and the equipment; I can't say why exactly, but I felt as if I was going through a kind of medical procedure that involved my bottom and I just didn't like it. I had two on my programme, and after very seriously considering doing the second, I decided to skip it.

So, here I sit on the beautiful balcony with a belly full of porridge and coconut water. Yesterday, I had to be careful about what I ate and how much I ate, but today I think I'll push it a little further. I missed my food. I missed feeling full and having a warm belly. I missed having energy and being sharp and focused. I understand and do believe that for some people, fasting gives them energy and allows them to tone and focus their mind, but it does the complete opposite for me. I am glad I tried it. I'm glad I now at least have an idea of what Thilde does, although it's not the same. I think she's one of those who can shift her mind from food, and meditate with the energy she gets from fasting. I admire her for it, and while I wish I could experience it as she does, I'm just an eater, a simple eater, and I like me just the way I am.

I did lose around 4 kilos though so it wasn't all bad (although it hasn't all stayed off...).

Doing What You Love

"When you take a breath and look away from the spectacle it's amazing how absurd it seems when you look back."

Wise words from Russell Brand. Not that surprising really. The man comes out with real gems sometimes. However, this isn't about Russell, it's about me. 

As some of you may know, I recently got back from a three week holiday, two of which were spent by myself, driving around Arizona. Two weeks gave me time to think. I was made redundant just three days into the first week of the holiday, so there was thinking to be done.

There was no better place for me to do all this thinking than the desert. Miles upon miles of nothing but beautiful emptiness for me to ponder in. One thing that always strikes me while I'm away is the actual meaningless of so much which we think, at the time, is important. There is no better way to clear your mind than to get away from it all. As Russell says, in order to see how overwhelmed and confused we become, you have to get some distance. Over in the American Southwest, distance is what I got. 

"To do something well you have to like it. That idea is not exactly novel. We've got it down to four words: "Do what you love." But it's not enough just to tell people that. Doing what you love is complicated."

I spent a lot of my time thinking about what I really wanted to do, what really makes me happy, what parts of my previous jobs did I really enjoy doing, and what parts of them were the kind that made you want to roll over in bed in the morning and close your eyes again. It didn't take too long to realise that much of what I had been doing fell into the latter category, and that the bits that didn't, I really, really enjoyed. So how to do more of the stuff that I enjoyed? How do I do what I love? Go at it alone. 

Freelance. A scary word, but one that has been floating around in my mind for a few years now, and I know that if I don't do it now - at this perfect opportunity - then I'll kick myself very hard, in a very short amount of time. So that's what I'm doing. Digital copy freelance. Prattle & Jaw is no longer just a blog, it is a company. It's a company that will create simple and strong copy for effective online communication, no matter if it's translation from Danish to English, conceptual copy, or good old fashioned PR and news.  

It's an exciting and scary time, but it's a time that so far, I'm loving. It feels right. It feels like one of those moments when you wonder why you didn't do this sooner, but know that if you had, it just wouldn't be the same.

Fingers crossed everyone, and you know where to come if you need some good copy. 

Hmmm. I should do what I love

Tucson to Phoenix

So here I am. Phoenix Airport. I’ve just this second noticed that I can see the runway from where I am sitting, which is pretty cool. It’s dark outside so can only just make out wing tips and tail tips, but it’s still fun to watch.

My flight doesn’t leave for another 3 hours, and I got here 3 hours ago, but amazingly I’ve not been bored yet. I’m not sure what I’ve done as all I can remember doing is eating dinner, but there you go. It’s a great airport. Really friendly staff, fountains for filling up your water bottles once through security, free wifi, plugs everywhere for charging your various bits – it’s great.

Anyway, enough airport stuff. I woke up early, despite having nothing to wake up for, and after a bit of tossing and turning made my way to breakfast. Toast, bacon and a pot of yoghurt later, I was back in my room and packing my bags for the final time. I had a late check out so I was going to hit the pool for a couple of hours before heading on. It was a bit strange to pack away things I knew I wouldn’t use until back on Danish soil, but it also made me excited about sleeping in my own bed.

I lounged by the pool, swam and sweat the 2 hours away, then showered and hit the road. I’m pretty pleased to see that it’s a good hour and a bit until Florence, my first stop. It gives me time to relish the driving, the landscape and the air. I pass some beautiful scenery.

Florence will give me lunch, as well as something to look at. Lonely Planet tells me it’s really quite charming, and it is. It’s full of buildings like this.

But it’s deserted. It is pushing 40 degrees outside, so I’m not that surprised. I head back to the car and try to find somewhere to eat. I checked out a place online, River Bottom Grill, that looked good enough, and am convinced I’ve passed it when I suddenly see it. It looks like a bit of a dive from the outside, but is cool, friendly and has a great BLT and garlic fries. My body craves salt and homemade ice-teas washes it all down nicely. A big mug of coffee finishes it all off. I’m in no rush. I could easily sit here and drink beer, but alas, no can do. I bum about online (free wifi!) and then decide I should head on. Back into the furnace.

My next stop is Casa Grande. I’m not really expecting much but, once again, I am very pleasantly surprised. Again again, I’m almost the only person there (2 others). I chat to the park guide about my trip and the weather and she tells me how all the parks are full to the brim in the winter. You can manage with flip-flops and a t-shirt in the winter, so many OAPs – snowbirds – flock here for the colder winter months elsewhere. The summer is just too hot. This explains my constant solitude at almost every park. No complaining from here.

The Casa Grande ruins are made up of four compounds, each of which contained numerous buildings. Now, of course, there are only worn down walls, expect for one building - Casa Grande. It stands in the only compound you can visit, and is a true oddity. No one really knows what it was used for, although guesses abound. The first European to set eyes on it was Padre Eusebio Francisco Kino, a Spanish missionary, in 1694. Hundreds of years of looting, vandalism and graffiti later, it was finally made a national park in 1918. In 1932, the current protective roof was put over it, and not much has changed since. It, and the compounds, were built around 1350 by the ancient people of the Hohokam period. The area was abandoned about a thousand years later for reasons unknown. It’s suspected that over-population combined with water problems forced the people to move on. All that is left are the worn down walls of all the buildings and compounds except for Casa Grande, the only large construction, and completely unlike any other from that period. It’s a very, very important place for Navajo people and is oddly powerful. I love it.

Casa Grande

I walk around for some time, despite the baking heat, and am watched closely by the pigeons who now call Casa Grande home. I wonder what it was like all those years ago.

Pointy pointy

You can see the outer walls of a second compound and a ball court (an oval ring of dirt that looked very different back then and was used for games) from a viewing point in the parking lot, but my attention is elsewhere. I’m sure I can see a sand storm brewing in the distance. I go to the bathroom and refill my bottle from the water fountain in anticipation of getting stuck in a storm, but alas, no such luck. It does get murky as I leave, but that’s it.

My next stop, after another hour and a bit, is the David and Gladys Wright house. Frank Lloyd Wright designed and built this house for his son, David and his missus, Gladys. Gladys left the house to her granddaughters, who sold it (!). It was then sold on to a developer and was threatened with being demolished. Great efforts went in to saving it, and after a lot of online campaigning, fund raising and signature getting, an anonymous benefactor bought it, saving it from demolition. The benefactor turned out to be a Las Vegas attorney, Zach Rawling, who has established a new Arizona non-profit to care for the house. Huzzah!

I have to drive through Phoenix to find the house and I’m terrified. I’ve not been around so many cars in a long time, I’m driving a big car, it’s in a city I don’t know and busy American roads freak me out. It’s really hot and I’m sweating a lot. Suddenly, I make a turn that is clearly where the rich people live. It’s quiet, the houses are big and beautiful, and there is grass! What luxury. I arrive at my destination, but have to go around the corner to get a view. It’s all fenced off with threatening signs all over the place, but you can get a decent enough glimpse.

Slightly different angle

It’s beautiful. To think it was going to be demolished! What I’d give to live in it. You can see a video of the outside and inside here.  

Next stop is the airport. More mad city driving, but not much, thankfully. Unfortunately it’s rush hour traffic on a Friday, and the highway is jammed. Luckily, I’m in not busy. I see something in the road but can tell it’s nothing dangerous so just keep driving. I hear a weird popping noise and then smell something that could be paint. I keep driving.

Back at Budget, I get out of the car to see black paint sprayed up the side of the car. A spray paint can. That’s what it was. I tell the man and we fill out an incident form. He’s confident it’ll be able to be taken off without too much worry. I hope so. I’m bummed out enough about the journey ending, the last thing I need is the cost of a paint job.

I pack up all my bits and bobs, and clear out my rubbish. It’s actually a bit sad to leave the car. We’ve had some good times. I head towards the airport the same way I came two weeks ago. I can’t help but think back to then. I was so tired and nervous. I was already wondering if I had made the right choice – not about staying another week, but about coming in the first place.

What a holiday it’s been. What an adventure. I've covered 2360 miles, or 3798 km. I’m going to miss Arizona very much. I’ll miss the kind, warm and friendly people who are all too happy to chat away, but never intrude. I’ll miss the wonderful weather – whether it’s baking desert or rainy mountains. I’ll miss the landscapes, the deserts, the forests, the canyons, and the hills. I’ll miss the road, dirt or tarmac. I’ll miss driving to new places, discovering spots as I go. I’ll miss stopping at breathtaking views and just sucking it all in.

I’m so, so pleased I’ve been able to do this trip. As I said yesterday, it’s just made me want more, but for now, I’ve had my fix. Now it’s time to go and stay in one place for a while. It’s time to go home.