The Universality of Football (see: Soccer)

I have mentioned to people before in my travels how popular the game of football is around the world (and I call it football because that’s what it’s called by 5.5 billion people on this Earth – power in numbers, people). I’ve played football with locals on an island on Lake Titicaca in Bolivia at 3000m+ above sea level (none of whom spoke English). I’ve kicked the ball around in West Africa, and watched towns and villages shutdown in countries as remote as Burkina Faso when important football games come on TV - and I’m not talking fancy TVs here. I mean a 15 inch black and white TV pulled out onto the street and surrounded by plastic chairs for all the neighbourhood to watch. The conversation went something like this… “What’s that Chubabu (“white man” in West Africa)?”…. You want dinner? … Okay… After the game”. There is no other sport in the world that can do this on so many continents in so many languages.



Most recently the guy I met at the airport in Yangon (hence forth called Ilan) and I met a Buddhist scholar when visiting the Shwedagon Pagoda (google that). He invited us to the monastery he was studying at and when we went to visit him we noticed newspaper cut-outs on the walls of famous football players from the Premiership in England. This was obviously not something I expected to see in the dorm room of monks, but there were several pictures on the wall of Chelsea, Manchester United and Liverpool players. As we walked out of the monastery we ran into novice monks (8-12 years of age) playing football with a small plastic ball in their robes and bare feet in the 40 degree weather. Since Ilan is an avid football fan (he is from Israel but also loves the Premiership) we played for about an hour with the children. Ilan, myself and our Bamar friend (Bamar is the actual term for the majority of people from Myanmar – the British fucked it up, like everything else except football, and called it Burma) played against four gritty and determined 8-12 year olds who eventually beat us 13-11. The amazing thing? the kids come from hill tribes and can’t speak the Bamar language, so not even our Bamar friend could communicate with them. We just played the game as it is supposed to be played and shook hands/high-fived at the end. There is no need to talk when everyone knows exactly what is supposed to be done, and how it is supposed to be played. This is why football is the world’s sport.

To top it all off, tonight half of the men in the city I am in (Bago) are watching the Liverpool/Chelsea game live on TV. Every generator in town (power in Burma goes off as easily as a child flicks a light switch) must be on standby for this game tonight because the restaurants are packed with men hungry for their fill of European football. As I sat eating dinner and watching the locals watch the game (I personally don’t care for football), I started to think about how many people in how many countries on how many continents might people be watching the game? I mean, if most of Myanmar is watching it, are the astronauts in the ISS watching it? And would that make it truly Universal?

Jumping in Puddles

A few days ago I was in Mae Hong Son (North-western Thailand), and there was a wicked thunderstorm. It was the kind of storm where the rain gets horizontal at times because the wind is so strong, and the rain comes down in such torrents that the ground appears to be dancing.

I was walking back from a hike when it began to lightly rain, and as I got back to the guesthouse and was about to shower the rain started pounding the tin roof so hard it sounded like machine-gun fire raining down from heaven. Having nothing better to do, I decided to put on my bathing suit and head out into it. At first it felt good just to feel the cool water spalshing onto my face and body and within a minute I was soaked through. I spread my arms out, threw my head back and just smiled up at the sky, feeling as free as Andy Dufresne when he finally escapes from the shit-filled sewers of Shawshank. As I stood in the middle of the street I noticed the water pooling on one side of the street as it flowed down the hill. I sauntered over to where the water was running and felt it rush over the tops of my feet up to my ankles. I tentatively took a small hop... and burst out laughing as a child does upon discovering something so joyful that he cannot contain his mirth. I quickly took as big a jump as I could and landed with all my might into the water, splashing water up onto my bathing suit and chest. I laughed as a grandfather does when he watches his grandson do something his own son did years ago that frustrated him as a father, but delights him as a grandfather: one of those deep belly laughs that sounds like someone has lost their common sense. I continued to jump in the puddles for a while, every time unable to conceal my merriment - I must have looked quite the sight to the locals as I stood in the pounding rain in my bathing suit in the middle of the road jumping up and down while laughing hysterically. This only added to the enjoyment, of course.

After this experience I tried to remember when the last time I played in the rain was, and I can recall it - August of 2003, just before going to univeristy. Can you believe that? Six and a half years of rainfall wasted without enjoying it - in fact, probably wishing it away everytime I got caught in it. Next time I'm home in Canada and a good rainfall comes I hope I remember to get out there and jump in the puddles. Give it a try.

How to enjoy yourself, Thai style

I am currently in Chang Mai, Northern Thailand, for Sangkron. Sankgron is the Thai new year (April 13-15th) celebration. Officially it's three days, but unofficially it's more like a week. As it occurs at the hottest time in the Thai year, the Thai people decided to celebrate their new year with a massive water festival. I arrived yesterday morning and quickly bought a water gun (super soaker style) to fight back against the constant onslaught of guns, buckets and myriad other contraptions designed to administer water onto any and all passersby. Pick-up trucks are turned into water assault machines, with huge pails of water and numerous people standing in the back of the trucks showering water onto everyone on the street, while the people on the street fire at one another as well as the people on the trucks. Even people on motorbikes and scooters aren't free from the onslaught - everyone is soaked and loving it.

This was probably my greatest realization of the day - that the Thai people can completely forget their egos and enjoy themselves to the utmost. It doesn't matter if someone gets water in the eye, or an excessive amount of cold water poured down their back - they may shout in surprise - but they turn with a smile on their face and spray you back. I didn't see anyone angry or abusive during the festivities. Foam put directly into ones mouth? No problem! Someone's sunglasses flew off from the stream of water and broke? HAPPY NEW YEAR!! Your gun is empty? Here, take some of my water! Of course, there is some etiquette. For instance, food is generally off limits, and when someone is opening their waterproof pouch (they hand them out for phones, money and cameras) they are (usually) left alone. Aside from that, no one is safe - old women or young children are fair game - and yes, there is something a little sick in spraying an 80 year-old toothless grandmother with a water gun, but you forget that after she throws an ice-cold bucket of water down your back!

What I love most about this event is the harmony that exists within the water warfare. I'm not confident that the city of Toronto could have such an event without a few fights breaking out due to bruised egos and male pride. Of course, a water festival of this magnitude wouldn't happen in Canada because the environmentalists would be up in arms over the egregious waste of water. Thankfully, the Thai people know how to have fun - if only for a few days a year (but I have a feeling it's many more).

The simple things

A few days ago I was on a public bus in Java, Indonesia, for just over five hours. This is a bus that travels between major cities, but has its doors open at all times (literally) for people to wave it down and jump on, or tell the "door man", for lack of a better word, whenever they want to jump off. He makes a shrill whistle (by the third hour I was able to sleep through it), and the driver knows someone wants off, and thus pulls over. FYI - there are two doors, with the door man controlling the back of the bus - most people get on and off via the back door - and the driver controlling the front door. Once the passenger is on or off the bus, the door man shouts the Indonesian equivalent of "go" and the driver continues. There is also a "fare guy" who walks up and down collecting the fare, which is dependent on the distance you want to travel. All the while, people selling goods will jump on and off, and even local musicians jump on with their guitar, play a few songs and collect a few rupiah from the passengers. As a result of this regular stopping and starting, what should be a 3 1/2 hour bus ride turns into just over 5 hours. That's sounds like a complaint, but it's not - I could have taken a shuttle bus that would have been direct, but where's the fun in that? The people who take shuttle buses pay twice the price, and when travelling, I feel there is an inverse correlation between how much money someone spends and how interesting they are. On the local bus you can walk on with your cigarette, live animal, or several small children all for one fare, provided they all sit on your lap. You can't get that on the shuttle buses.

Anyways, as I was on the bus I had to marvel at the order and precision in what could be seen as a constantly chaotic jumbling of passengers - some a few blocks, some several hundred kilometres. I couldn't help but smile as I looked around at the faces, many missing teeth and looking like life's been rough, but all quick to smile as they make eye contact with me. Like in Malaysia, nearly everyone smiles from ear to ear a friendly, genuine smile, whether they are missing teeth or not - more often the former (I feel there could be another correlation there - the more teeth one is missing the more interesting they are... Any thoughts?). It is these types of experiences that I hope to remember long after I've left these countries - they are the moments that cannot be captured by a camera, but tell more about a country than any picture can. Often when I tell people of my travels at home I tell them of the "highlights", ie. climbing Mount Kinabalu, seeing orangutans, etc, but simple things like bus rides can be even more remarkable in the day-to-day life of a traveller.

Brunei, Singapore and Bali

Since my last post I've visited several countries. I went through the beautiful and interesting, but excruciatingly unexciting country of Brunei. This is a place with no income tax, subsidies for everything and no cost for post-secondary education. It also has some beautiful rainforest because the country's oil money has allowed them to keep the rainforest intact (of course, the debt remains and the interest accumulates). It's also a place where alcohol is outlawed and it effects the overall vibe of the country. Nearly everything shuts down at 10pm, and there is literally nothing to do at night. When I asked the couchsurfer I was with (couchsurfing.com - check it out), he had no answer for what he did at night. "Watch TV or movies" was his answer. Now, of course there are positives to no alcohol: the crime rate is low, violence is unheard of, and I'm sure health care costs are lower per capita than in countries with alcohol. However, is it not possible for clubs, bars, or some kind of establishments to exist without alcohol? My parents always asked "Do you need alcohol to have fun?" After visiting Brunei, I would have to say, "Yes mom, I do, and so does the rest of the country." I don't feel like sitting at home in front of the TV is any more productive than having a few beers with friends on a Friday night. Of course, people in Brunei could read a book, but I could go to the club just to dance - so long as other people are getting drunk...

Singapore was next. If you are in the area, go. It costs a bit more than other places in south-east Asia, but it's really nice. First-world-clean, cutting-edge, nice. The coolest thing I did in this country (besides walking around little India for hours on end) was going to the zoo with another couchsurfer and we happened to stumble upon the tortoises at the exact time of their feeding (just my luck!). For less than $4 CDN I was able to feed 80-year-old tortoises, as well as a few younger ones. Watching their mouths as their soft pink tongues stuck out to pull the apple back in to their beak-like mouth made me feel like a kid at a petting zoo for the first tim; giggling and wide-eyed in amazement of these magnificent creatures. I was then advised to touch, pet and scratch them (particularly under the chin of the biggest one!). The skin on the neck felt dry yet stretchy, while their legs were as hard as rocks. Despite all the rumours about tortoises being immovably slow, they move with great consistency and I can now see why the hare lost the race.

Currently I am in Bali and the Hindu culture has been intoxicating (Bali is the only part of Indonesia that ins't predominantly Muslim). Ornate stone temples with carvings that would take ages are everywhere, and offerings are made throughout the day everywhere I go. The offerings usually consist of several flowers, rice and incense compiled in small boxes made from banana trees. Beautiful for their elegance, simplicity and devotion, they are unlike anything I have seen before. There is also art everywhere, and people continue to greet me with a smile everywhere I go. It is a relaxing and calming atmosphere. I also happened to get into Ubud at the exact time the Spirit Festival began. Apparently this is the biggest single draw to Bali all year, and I happened upon it by dumb-luck. The festival is all about balinese music, dancing and yoga. It's been uplifting to be a part of, and it's definitely good for the soul.

The Rainforest Reality

As I drove from Mt Kinabalu to the town of Sandakan (where the Orangutan sanctuary is), I quickly noticed that the roads were lined with what seemed to be an endless palm tree forest. Literally, for 3 and 1/2 hours of driving I only saw plam trees. At first, I thought they were naturally occurring and quite beautiful - I mean who doesn't love plam trees? They are part of the quintessential tropical vacation: lazing on the white sand beach with the breeze blowing through the palm trees' leaves with a cocktail in hand... Who doesn't dream of that scene as they prepare for their beach vacation? However, as I continued to watch them fly by from the bus window, I realized they were perfectly spaced apart and all at the same age of maturity. Typically, such perfection doesn't occur in the forests of nature, and I realized that these were the plam oil plantations I had read about before coming to Borneo. Malaysia is the world's second biggest exporter of palm oil, (first - Indonesia, who owns the other two-thirds of Borneo island... what do you think I'd see if I drove around the Indonesian part of Borneo?).

I mention this because for years I've heard about the "destruction of the rainforest", but it's never really meant anything. Obviously, I know it's a bad thing and that it's causing the loss of countless flora and fauna species, but could I really understand it as I read about it in my National Geographic magazine (printed on glossy-paper) from my air-conditioned living room in Canada (or even more absurd - my heated living room as the snow accumulated outside)? What was the tropical rainforest to me? Even when I went to the Peruvian Amazon the rainforest was a lush place, full of life and untouched by the hand of man. All looked in good order there.

The palm oil plantations in Borneo, on the other hand, have given me poignant proof that we are destroying the rainforests. At first, I was sad to see the plam trees, after a few hours I was scared at the sheer number and size of the plantations - on the upcrest of a hill looking down, all one can see is palm trees for kilometres around. The next day, as we drove from Sandakan into the jungle, again the roads were lined with plam trees. The palm trees went almost right up to the river - the government has forced a small buffer zone along the river that can't be planted. Even with the buffer zone sometimes I could see the plantations in the distance from the "jungle". At this point, I was just disappointed (remember how your parents used to do that to you "We aren't mad Russell, we're just disappointed... ouch). The forest, although still teeming with life and a great adventure, wasn't nearly as thick and exotic as the Amazon experience I had.

Now, some palm oil is used as a biofuel - but only a fraction of it, and how are we improving the situation if we cut down the rainforest as a way to combat our dependency on fossil fuels? It's like borrowing from Peter to pay Paul - the debt remains and the interest is still accumulating. I obviously have no answers, but I wanted to put this out there to remind myself of what I saw on my drives in Borneo, and hopefully make it a little more real for everyone else.

Content with no where to be and anywhere to go

Borneo is an adventurer's paradise - hiking mountains, trekking jungles, boat rides through jungle rivers and incredible scuba diving. I am so thankful for how fortunate I am to be experiencing this.


As I was on the boat back to Semporna from Mabul (where I did my PADI certification and went diving for three days), I couldn't help but smile as the boat bounced off the waves and I looked out onto the sea. I realized that I was as free as I could be - I had nowhere to be, no one to see and I could go anywhere I wanted to. Quickly however, I felt the need to preserve the moment and hold onto it, in order to re-live it again and again in the future. This, as we all know, is a futile exercise - capturing moments is impossible. Of course, a camera can capture a scene, and it can help us remember that time in our lives, but it can't truly capture the emotions of the moment. As I came to this realization I just sank into the boat and enjoyed the moment for what it was supposed to be - a perfect moment. Perfect moments, when I notice them, bring so much joy and emotion that I can't help but think about loved ones who are no longer here physically, but who I feel sharing those moments of perfection with me.


Not everything has been perfect though - I feel torn by the disparity between my good fortune and the people I see everywhere who struggle to make ends meet. Why should I be given the opportunity to see all the riches the world has to offer, while others grind away everyday? The funny thing is people here smile more often and more genuinely than people at home (myself included). This makes me think that we have something backwards at home. We're so concerned with what happens next - what we have to do next, where we have to go next, who have to see next, that we can't enjoy the moment we are in. This constant planning for (or worrying about) the future makes the present less happy, as proven by the absence of random smiles in our lives, or by the forced smiles we make everyday.

Obviously, I am trying to connect both of these ideas, and while my buddy Mac may say that "we look for meaning in things", I feel that the Malay people are more prepared to enjoy their day, regardless of how their day will turn out, while we (and I include myself in 'we') spend all day planning how we will be happy next, yet rarely achieve any real happiness.

As I read over this post I just want to say that it wasn't meant to be so morose, in fact I hope that I read this in the months after I return home and it serves as a reminder for me to be content with the Now. I hope it can do the same for you.