Abrams Family World Travel

World Travel: Five Moments To Savour In 2011

  

  

BIRTH OF KOBRA  

 

I feel privileged to have been present – and actively so – when both my children were born. I caught Zenchai. But with Kobra it was slightly different.

 

Although Jamie gave birth to her in the toilet, as she did for Zenchai, she had been in labour mostly by herself for roughly 45 minutes – no more. It was pouring with rain outside the Brazilian beach home where we were living and pitched black.

 

Our midwife arrived in the nick of time and by chance, with Jamie on her knees and ready for Kobra’s arrival. It was a magical feeling and occasion.

 

 

 

  

 

 LIVING ON LIGHT FOR 21 DAYS

 

The idea of going without food for three weeks and both food and water for the first seven of them seemed ludicrous. But I had the most extraordinary time by myself - thinking, feeling, being and without hardly any stress in the most beautiful, natural surroundings in Serra Grande, Bahia, Brazil.

 

Although I lost a lot of weight and strength, I gained so much in terms of perspective, understanding, direction, strength of mind and peace.

 

 

VISITING THE AWESOME IGUAZU FALLS 

 

I’d been saying almost from the time we arrived in Argentina that I wanted to go to Iguazu. I’d seen the photos and felt it was too far to go to not see in person.

 

Because Jamie was becoming more heavily pregnant, I opted to go alone. I took a 16-hour bus ride there and was greeted upon my arrival with a thunderstorm which raged for hours.

 

I got soaked, but the rain soon passed and what I witnessed was absolutely immense. A speedboat journey into the falls was the undoubted highlight of the visit. The same day I headed back to Buenos Aires by bus – taking 18 hours – but it was worth it!

 

 

 

WATCHING ZENCHAI LEARN TO SWIM AND KAYAK BY HIMSELF 

 

Zenchai can be ambivalent towards water. Some days I couldn't get him out of the ocean or river and on others it was painful trying to encourage him to take a dip. He's an extremist after all.

 

In spite of this, we spent many hours together splashing around. It wasn't until late into our eight-month stay in Piracanga, Bahia that Zenchai took an interest in kayaking. Around the same time his swimming seemed to blossom.

 

I don't know if, overall, his confidence was soaring, but after I'd made several failed attempts to teach him to kayak, a few days later I saw him paddling up and down the river like a pro all by himself.

 

And then a matter of days later when Zenchai and I were down by the river alone, he'd made his way across without me. Inexplicably, he jumped in when the tide was rising and current strong.

 

I heard him shout for help, saying his feet couldn't touch the ground, but instead of going under, he was thrashing his arms, freestyle, and staying afloat. I didn't want to panic him by rushing, so walked towards him as quickly as I could. He continued swimming until I arrived. Proud moment.

 

SEEING AND HEARING MY CHILD SPEAK A FOREIGN LANGUAGE 

  

This is nothing new. Children learn to speak new languages all the time. But when I saw and heard it with my own eyes and ears it still felt wonderful.

 

Zenchai spent only three months in a Brazilian school, but he also mixed a lot with native-speaking children.

 

Everyone kept saying when we arrived that he'd be speaking Portuguese in no time, but I couldn't imagine it.

 

However, he transitioned amazingly well and by the time we left Brazil he was singing in Portuguese and using his new language when playing by himself.

Serra Grande: Living On Light (Week 3)

I CAN see now why the final seven days are described as the ‘Mental Week’ more so than ‘The Resurrection’.

The 19^th day was testing for me in so far as my mind began to lose focus and I started looking ahead to the finish with it being so near.

Only on this day did I lose my sense of being centred, though. On the whole, the last week was a coming together of all the elements I had experienced.

The ‘process’ had given me a clearer definition of my sense of happiness and fulfillment, the experience of being in a deeper and prolonged state of stillness and of living in the moment, without wanting or needing.

I didn’t realise how much pleasure could be had from doing so little and simply enjoying whatever experience came along.

When silence and emptiness becomes uncomfortable often the impulse is to get busy. Mine was to remain quiet and still.

There was something therapeutic about observing and being with nature, especially surrounded by forest. I was certainly very alert and switched on. All my senses seemed to be operating on what felt like a higher frequency. Often I couldn’t sleep as my mind was so active.

I noticed I had become gentler and kinder to myself. I felt mentally very strong, as if the whole experience had expanded my mind, nourished my soul and lifted my spirits.

The final two days were stormy (lashing rain and then a fierce, chilly wind) but inside I maintained calmness. I stayed in the tent mostly, warm under my blankets. What a contrast, I thought, to how I’d felt not too long ago in Piracanga, where outside it was sunny and gloriously beautiful, but in my head space the clouds were gloomy.

It confirmed to me that any situation or place is only as happy or beautiful as the thoughts you have about it. Even mosquitos buzzing around my head!

Everything is a projection of our thoughts. The mosquitos eventually became my playmates. I’d sit in my hammock, they’d try to make me their acupuncture cushion and I’d attempt to clap them. Not very Zen-like, I admit – only if you do it with anger. But I noticed my sight, timing and speed of hand improving quickly. I observed the different types of mosquito, how they moved and their patterns. I got to know them well.

Little could dampen my spirits, it seemed. I really started to comprehend more fully author Byron Katie when she says ¨Everything is perfect as it is.” The more you accept, the more perfect you see the world for what it is. So I looked to the present moment, which is where life is really happening – always!

I realized I had been fighting reality every time I opposed my circumstances and the result of this was stress. Now I try to graciously accept where I am and what is taking place.

I recognize for me that happiness and healthfulness come when there is an absence of stress (the worrying, conflict type). I’d had 21 largely stress-free days and that in itself made this experience worthwhile. I accepted that my happiness is solely MY responsibility.

The sense of feeling ‘lost’ no longer resides in me. I don’t feel at all directionless even though beyond England for Christmas I haven’t a fixed destination for where I will be. But tomorrow I might. Or the day after. I trust in myself and life. As scientist Alan Kay once said, "The best way to predict the future is to invent it."

I’m happy to be in Piracanga, London or wherever. And now when I think of the last two years travelling with my family, I see it as the best time of my life.

However, while the ‘process’ was for me powerful on so many levels, physically, it was very weakening. I was not even close to the level of fitness at the end as when I started.

I did my best to accelerate my physical revival by working out daily, doing push-ups, chin-ups and squats. I swam, practiced yoga and walked. I was always mindful not to do too much. My routines were short, but intense.

I got progressively stronger, but my body was thin and often drained. I felt less thirsty than in the second week and drank less. Hunger was never a factor. I didn’t think of food. The fresh juices were more concentrated, perhaps explaining why I consumed less. But on some days I woke up having had nothing for what must have been 14 hours or more and felt fine. I now know I won’t ever starve.

I liked that I was able to enjoy living in a natural bodily rhythm. I didn’t drink because ít was time’. I realize how much my desires to eat and drink are mental rather than physical.

However, I have no desires to stop eating even though I feel sure that I could – at least in the short-term – and that drinking juices never gave me that heavy feeling you get when eating too much and the digestive system is overloaded.

I enjoy food – the preparing and sharing, the taste, smells and social interaction around it. I will seek to find a healthy balance. I realise the wrong foods can make you sick, too much food can leave you tired and not enough makes you weak.

Living on juices only, I peed more than ever in my life. This made sleeping problematic as on average I would be up five times every night. Often, though, I’d sleep in the mornings, by when my bladder was empty, and towards the end of the week my dreams became clearer and more vivid. Although I didn’t sleep well, I felt rested.

The ‘process’ felt like a long and short experience at the same time. It’s hard to explain fully, but I am sure we have all had that sensation. I came to really enjoy sitting in the forest house for hours in my hammock cross-legged. I never picked up a book or, surprisingly for me, tried to do any drawing. I spent time just watching.

This was a transformative journey I can’t imagine I will ever forget. I hope – and trust – it lives on in me. Little would I know how much the day after I finished my resolve would be thoroughly tested. More on that in a blog to follow.

I owe special thanks to my beautiful wife, Jamie, who not only lovingly takes care of my family, but supports me, shares my visions, gives me the freedom to be myself and opportunities to explore my potential. I love you.

Thank you, too, to Silvia, who supported me, welcomed me to her home and on to her land and provided me with the gift of this chance to grow, evolve and understand myself and humankind more fully.

*Anyone interested in doing the ‘process’with Silvia can contact her by email - [email protected] - to discuss it further. She speaks Portuguese, English, French and Spanish.

Serra Grande: Living On Light (Week 2)

MY physical rejuvenation was very slow. But my attention for seven days switched from body to mind and emotions. I didn’t experience any internal upheaval. I was very happy, centred, stable and calm. It was a beautiful week.

I could drink again. In my pre-‘process’ gluttonous way, I looked at the fruits in the kitchen and thought it wouldn’t last more than a few days.

But I found, despite a week of complete fasting, I didn’t need much. The first day I consumed only 1 ¾ litres of diluted fruit juice and coconut water. I made all the drinks fresh myself, using a hand-powered blender and pushing each drop methodically through a strainer.

I didn’t force myself to do anything, instead trying to listen to my body. When I was satisfied, I’d put my juice aside. When I was thirsty I would drink.

Thoughts of food, which filled my mind the first week, disappeared slowly. I was never really hungry, even if at night I could feel my stomach burning. Usually, my ‘dinner’ consisted of ½ litre of coconut water by candlelight around 6pm.

Slowly my intake increased. By the end of the week I was comfortably consuming three-four litres daily. The fruits – pineapple, mango, papaya, passion fruit, orange, cupuacu, banana – were delicious, but nothing topped sweet coconut water. People pay ridiculous prices for vintage wine, but give me coconut water – at R1 per coconut – any day.

I didn’t regain any weight. If anything I lost more. I noticed by the end of the week my arms had got thinner and my shoulders narrower. Though I got stronger, I found my conditioning still wanting. I continued with my yoga daily, but anything vigorous was a struggle. One day, when after swimming a few lengths of the lake, I could feel soreness in my hamstrings. It reminded me to take things easier.

And so I did. While in the first week I had no desire to read much, the second was different.

When I left London 14 months ago, I took with me only one book. It was by Byron Katie called Loving What Is. I’d read it about six years ago and really enjoyed it. However, I hadn’t touched it in all the time I was in Brazil. But when I went into the ‘process’, I thought it would make the perfect companion as the book is about self-examination and following it is a process in itself.

Katie’s work helped me immensely during the ‘recovery’. I felt drawn to examine relationships, past and present, and to deal with anything that caused me fear, anxiety or confusion.

I found myself waking up in the night like a yo-yo, switching on my lamp and writing letters of gratitude and apology. I found a lot of peace in myself.

I had called off the troops – on myself and others. It may not be the same for everyone, but I realised what is important to me isn’t what happens next, that all I ‘need’ is to enjoy where I am and what I am doing – to be fully present and live my truth and not the illusions of the stories I had been attached to.

I reflected on my family travels and could see only positives in the amazing experiences Zenchai, at only five, had been through and how he has developed.

My love swelled for Zenchai, my precious, extraordinary and misunderstood little boy. I look forward to sharing more wonderful adventures with him and learning from him.

That was another discovery for me – that my family are my teachers. They show me better than anyone what I need to find in myself. Thank you to them. Though I was a long way from them and had no contact, energetically I felt very connected. I wrote a special note of thanks to my daughter, Kobra. It said: “Thank you for showing me the potential of my own love and the power of a smile.”

It was indeed a humbling week. I felt peace where before I noticed anger or confusion or frustration. I felt content where before I was restless.

Time is a great teacher and I had lots of it. I never once felt lonely or bored even though I was nearly always alone. I didn’t long to speak with anyone or think about emails. I had no schedule – nothing to wait for. There were no real distractions to make me think `I need to do this´ or ‘I need to do that’. I didn’t oppose anything – thoughts or tasks.

The forest, lake, clouds, wildlife and plants was my TV – and in high definition with incredible surround sound. My head provided the commentary. I never tired of the picture.

It didn’t bother me much whether it rained, was hot and sunny, cloudy or cold. I was in a space of acceptance. Some days I just wanted to stay in bed, wrapped up in my blankets – and I did. On others I sat in the lake and watched the world around me.

My experience would take on a new dimension on Day 12, however, when I moved in to the forest. It meant more isolation. But it brought out in me the inner child. I was excited. Pitching a tent in a crumbling, half-constructed tree house with no running water or toilet, building fires, spending the night in darkness, often with powerful storms, felt adventurous. And it was.

My new location, though, meant I was further from my food source and the lake. The five-minute walk to the lake – which Silvia called ¨going to the city¨ - required a very steep climb (which is why it’s usually from Day 10 that guests are invited to move to the forest). I got used to it, slowly. Usually, I go up mountains with ease. But my legs were still recovering from the first week.

The second week passed briskly, smoothly and effortlessly, though I felt as if I had been through a lot, like a great weight had been ditched. I wondered, if only briefly and with a magical sense of expectation rather than impatience, what the final week could possibly bring.

Serra Grande: Living On Light (Week 1)

I SAID farewell to Jamie and the kids at the airport, jumped in a cab and went to Ilheus town centre for some food (last supper around 3.30pm) before hopping in another taxi for the bus terminal.

The driver, who spoke some English and liked The Beatles (which he played for me) offered to take me direct. His price R70.

I declined, saying I had time and it was much cheaper by bus. Eventually his price came down to R40, so I agreed, provided he dropped me at the door of the farm Borboleta Azul (Blue Butterfly) owned by my guide Silvia, who, with the least interference possible, would nurture me through the ‘process’.

Off we went, me with only an approximate idea of the road to my final destination until we reached Serra Grande and I pointed him towards where I thought we needed to go.

The road was dusty, unpaved, lined with rocks and pot-holes, though not as poor as the Piracanga Road. I could hear the driver muttering to himself discontentedly as his car took a semi-beating, especially on the two occasions we got stuck and his wheels kept spinning and I needed to get out and push.

Eventually, I decided we best ask for directions and a family on the road offered to help, joining us in the car and taking us all the way only to find Silvia wasn’t there (she was waiting for me in Serra Grande – I’d said I would call her when I arrived).

So we turned back to the family’s house – a concrete shell, no beds, but good satellite TV – where I waited.

As for the taxi driver: I got out his money, but he asked me for R100, showing me the meter, which he had kept running (and was at R130). I agreed the trip was rough on his car, but reminded him we’d made an agreement. I gave him R60. Begrudgingly, he accepted.

He did at least honour calling Silvia for me when he reached a point where his mobile phone picked up a signal.

About an hour later a lady living at Silvia’s picked me up and showed me to the room where I would be staying for the first 11 days. It was basic. No electricity. A compost toilet. No doors.

But I wasn’t here for the luxury. It didn’t matter to me. Later Silvia arrived. We talked, had some coconut water and then it was off to bed. I slept about 12 hours (estimated).

The ‘process’ began at midnight and would end at the same time 21 days later. The first week there is no food or liquid. The second week I could have diluted juice (one part fruit, three parts water) and coconut water. The third week the juice is more concentrated (40 per cent fruit).

For me this was a journey of self-discovery, to explore my limits and to also experience the depth of this ‘process’ called Living On Light.

I’d never done anything like this before. I’d fasted several times for 24 hours only on water or vegetable juice.

It’s important to understand these are only my interpretations and experiences. The first seven days, sometimes referred to as ‘The Surgery’, are about the physical.

I found not consuming food or water challenging in moments, but these phases surprisingly soon passed. I was more thirsty than I was hungry. Having a heavy cold, too, didn’t help, but this quickly went.

By the end of the sixth day my mouth and lips were dry, seriously parched (hence the silly grin in the photo above). But I had no hunger. I still peed every day.

The week began slowly. I had no rhythm. The first day I spent mostly inside, bedding down and nesting. I recall the first two days seeming to last forever and wondering how on earth I was going to complete 21.

But by the fifth and sixth days time was moving swiftly. Something had changed effortlessly and beautifully within me.

I had stopped resisting – resisting the ‘process, counting the days, thinking of time. In the first few days I had tried to fill my hours, as we’ve been conditioned to do. I picked up books and read. I journaled (a lot). But by the end of the week I didn’t feel to read any more. I was content and comfortable just being, whether it was sitting on a fallen tree in the lake, in my hammock or by the lakeside.

Thoughts would come and go. It didn’t matter. There was no critical judgement or interpretation. Just acceptance. I let things unfold naturally.

My only difficulty was sleeping. The forest orchestra really made a concert each night. It sounded like a 100 horses on cobbled streets blowing whistles and playing drums. I had to wait each night until the racket finished before I could properly rest on my bed which felt as if it had no mattress.

Maybe as the flesh reduced on my 6ft frame I could feel my boney physique more. But really I didn’t lose as much weight as I thought I would. My face didn’t become drawn-looking until the third day.

I would combat thirst by gargling with water and rinsing my mouth when swimming in the lake. I felt fine swimming – it seemed to energize me – but walking was arduous. My legs felt weary from Day 2. My balance was distorted.

Each day I did some yoga, but nothing demanding. The first week is about rest. I slept a lot during the day, tying up a hammock between trees.

Silvia advised me that from Day 4 I should three times a day take two-hour rests until the week was over, trying not at all to move. This I did.

However, I often felt breathless and as if I couldn’t even lift my legs when walking. My diaphragm felt as if it had shrunk.

Each action and step was becoming slower and deliberate. I was mindful of my every motion. My resting heartbeat seemed more rapid. My handwriting improved as I noticed I kept pace with my thinking. I didn’t sweat.

Every day was a blank page. I didn’t have to check my diary. The days were not divided by meal times. There was waking up, whenever that was, and 5pm, when I would meet with Silvia for sharing and meditation (she’d usually ring a bell). Promptly after I would go to bed as darkness moved in.

I didn’t have any extraordinary revelations. More so, I thought of food and delicious recipes I wanted to make and consume. Sometimes I’d even cherish food I no longer really ate, like melted peanut butter on toast with tea (the milky kind). Other times it was food I was looking forward to after the ‘process’ - chocolate mousse, falafel sandwich.

Later in the week, as thirst became stronger than hunger, all I thought of was watermelon, coconut water, tangerines and juicy oranges.

The ‘process’ is about breaking conditionings and we have many, of which our eating habits are perhaps the strongest.

I tried not to force anything. “This is a hospital and you are the patient,” Silvia would say to me as a way of helping me to understand I should trust in the ‘process’.

Trust I did. And by the end of the week, with my stomach feeling as if it had shrunk to the size of a pea, I came to take my first sip of water.

It tasted so good I almost felt like crying. “This [appreciation] is what the ‘process’ teaches you,” said Silvia.