Amsterdam Observations

Circulating lights in a coffeeshop,

Unsure if cultural or commercial.

“Right now, my brain is in three languages.”

“Mine is only in two.”

“Okay, what’s next?”

              Outside, the sun peaks and hides.


Journey to France: Day 109

After wrapping up our two week volunteering work in Langkawi,  we packed our tent and one backpack and we’re on the ferry out of Langkawi into Satun, Thailand. We had been looking up Islands such as Koh Tarutao and Koh Adang. We read reviews after reviews and still weren’t 100% set on either island. We thought we would decide when we were at the port and see what the prices were.

When we got to Satun however we were to learn that Tammalang Port,  which is where we were,  was not the same port as the boats that go to the islands. We were told to take a minibus to get us to that port and that the prices for the boats were 450Baht to get to Koh Tarutao and 650 baht to go to Koh Lipe from which you can then go to Koh Adang. Furthermore the Tarutao National Park was closed hence camping was no quite possible as there were no operating  amenities. The bungalows there were operating though but they were 600 baht a night at minimum.

We still decided we could just go to Tarutao and see what we could do with accommodation when we get there. Being in Thailand a few times in the past we already knew there wasn’t much else we were interested in the South of Thailand.

We managed to hitchhike a ride out of the ferry terminal to a bus station. It was pretty easy despite the man’s lack of English and our equally disgraceful lack of Thai. Even with English being my first language, I still think it is very unfair to be impatient or to look down on those who lack the ability to speak English. Some of us learn it as a first  language by chance and it’s the only language they learn, yet they can’t master it let alone a non native English speaker. Also it should be a courtesy for those  issuing a foreign country to learn a bit of the locals’ language rather than try to speak to them in English. Unless of course they request it themselves.

Our first hitchhike took us to a bus station where we didn’t have any baht at this stage to purchase tickets. Our intention was to hitchhike to the next port/town to withdraw money and purchase items then.

We stepped out of the bus terminal, unsure of which way to go next or where we came from. Simultaneously, an old man riding a motorbike with a small,  yellow, ice cream cart attached stopped for us. He clearly didn’t know English and our knowledge on Thai was zilch. Somehow we managed to make him understand (or so we thought)  that we needed to get to the port with the ferry that will take us to Koh Tarutao.

He was so happy to take us on his little vehicle. Asia had always been so much more convenient this way for their readiness to load as much  onto a vehicle as possible. We were 2 on his motorbike and me on the ice cream cart as well as our backpack (we only brought one this time) and tent.

We were riding for a while until he brought us to a terminal. I looked around and announced with  a profanity that I will omit from the following sentence, “****,  We are back at the same terminal!”

Two hours of walking, waiting and the heat was enough for me. I didn’t sleep well the night before, the thought of going somewhere new as well as leaving our puppy behind was churning an inconsistent mixture of excitement and worry.

I asked Clément if he would be willing to change plans and go somewhere else?

“Where do we go? ”

“How about Pai?”

I had heard many wonderful stories from other people about Pai, this small village in the high hills in Northern Thailand, close to the border of Myanmar. More famously known as a hippie community though the perception of that was to be challenged during our stay.

So we changed some currency at the jetty and took the next scheduled minibus to Hatyai, the closest domestic airport. The problem was,  the bus doesn’t go to the airport but we learnt that a bit later.

The driver initially stopped at Songkhla’s bus terminal and asked everyone to get out. The rest were locals who looked confused. So the driver then asked where each person had wanted to go including us. We said the airport. It was already about 2pm in the afternoon. We didn’t have a flight but I could only predict as long as we get there before 5pm we would have a flight that same day.

Finally after the driver had finished dropping everyone else off on his round he took us back to the station and told us we needed to get a taxi instead to get to the airport. I kind of expected this and every nerve in me wanted to scream at him “Why did you not tell us sooner and delay us by at least an hour by taking us on a useless ride around the city?!”

It was not something new for us to expect a service that was initially promised only to be told that wasn’t the case and be thrown out to the waiting pool of sharks waiting to take an unethical nip. Taxis started at 300baht.

We went to the bus station ticket counter in hopes of finding someone who would actually be honest with the prices of taxis to the airport. Usually people who have no profit to be expected from monopolising the tourism industry are the most trusted sources of information. It couldn’t be 300baht, how do locals afford that? After all the airport was about 10kms away from where we were approximately.

The ladies at the counter sank my heart when they said that was indeed the price to go to the airport as there were no other means of getting there from the bus station. We could take the local mini vans but we didn’t understand the colour systems and routes.

A bus driver that does the regular route from Satun to Hat Yai and back overheard our conversation. He engaged in a bit of conversation with us and showed us directions to the airport on the map. It was much too far to walk. Perhaps we could hitchhike but it’s always a challenge in cities to get a car to stop for you. Everyone in cities are usually living their own lives detached from those that aren’t related or affiliated with them. And they tend to find a





satisfaction from living in this manner.

“I can take you there,” he said,  and pointed at an intersection. The vertical Road was his route, the one perpendicular to it goes to the airport. He said from the intersection we could jump on a blue big tuk tuk and it should only cost us 60 baht. “For free,” he added with a matter of fact face.

We were happy to accept the offer of course.  He was due to depart at 3pm so we waited until then.

He was very true to his words. He dropped us off at the intersection, we stopped the right blue tuk tuk without troubles, and were confirmed the right price of 60baht. A flow of events as smooth as this when you’re in a race against time (and your time is running out) definitely puts you in a more determined mood.

We arrived at the airport before 4pm. We straight away went to several ticket counters to compare prices. We have done this in the past. Nok Air was our chosen airlines as they had the cheapest last minute flight including luggage. Of course the tickets were not the best prices we could have gotten but we both agreed to close our eyes on this one (I couldn’t even recall the price now as I blog about it). The tickets were purchased and we were about to board the plane to Chiang Mai in 2 hours!

We realised we didn’t pack any clothes for the cold weather/airports..


Journey to France: Day 36

I remember those late nights when I used to cuddle into my doona (Australian term for a comforter/continental quilt if you must) and stay up late chatting to my friends on WhatsApp or Facebook chat. I used to wake up drowsy the next morning, and rush myself to work, smiling to myself thinking it was well worth the late night chat as I reply to messages I’ve missed because I had fallen asleep.

When we were in Bali, a friend of mine who is originally from Indonesia but now lives in Rwanda said she was coming to Indonesia for a short trip. She invited us to a wedding.

Hence since our arrival in Java, we were to cover 1040kms to get from Banyuwangi (East java) to Bandung (West Java) that’s about a 20 hour drive in Indonesian traffic. We had 4 days.

To summarise we made it earlier than expected in technically two days. We spent 2 nights in the Yogyokarta region.

Next we have to cover double the kms. About 2000kms of it and a 42 hour drive + ferry from Bandung. Clément was researching hitchhiking in Sumatra and read a post about a backpacker motorbiking in one part and village children threw rocks at him. Back in Mt Merapi near Yogyakarta, our CS (couch surfing) host warned us that the area of Lampung and Palembang were “dangerous”. There had the heaviest crime rates reported in all of Indonesia. We will just have to see how we go on this leg of the journey. We still have hopefully two more nights in Bandung.

Today, after a comfortable sleep in probably the only hotel bed we would ever experience on our trip, (Ncep paid for our night here), we attended her best friend’s cultured and humble wedding. It was a small Muslim wedding with the ceremony held in a Mosque ( Masjid Agung Al-Ukhuwwah). There were not more than 300 people who attended and the bride was gracious enough to allow her to bring Clem and I who have never met her before. The older ladies were fascinated to see Clément (a tall, Caucasian Male) at this event. They started taking pictures of and/or with him.

Indonesians never cease to amaze me with their generous hearts and sweet nature. To think countries such as Malaysia and Brunei treat them as
second class world citizens is heartbreaking but thats the truth of it all and living in Malaysia for the first 17 years of my life, I’ve heard and seen such treatments.

This evening we await our CS host for tonight. We’ve sent him messages but so far no response..



Journey to France: Day 34

A brief summary of the day before we arrived in Bandung. We were in Yogyakarta and started to find a car to hitchhike to Bandung. This was probably the first difficulty we had experienced yet. No one would stop for us, we were in a the middle of a city, it was 10kms to walk out of the city centre and 30kms to get out to the main road that would lead to Bandung. Either way it was nearly unwalkable with our backpacks and the heat. We moved from one Street to another, holding our sign the whole time and still no one stopped for us.

It was about to start raining and Clem and I were getting agitated with each other. It didn’t seem like the day was going to go well at all. It didn’t seem like we would get to Bandung.

Just as we were about to put our sign down and try to walk further out of the city, when a man in a red shirt approached us. His English wasn’t very solid so I translated. He said he saw us nearly 20 minutes or so a go on a different Street. He saw we didn’t get far and he happened to pass us again after he picked his daughters up from school.

“I want to help you”, he said. He offered to buy us train tickets to Bandung. At first we politely declined. We couldn’t accept it. And then he said we had two choices, either he takes us to a train station and buys us tickets, or he gives us money and leaves us where we were.

Neither was an option we wanted to take from a stranger. It was much too kind! It was unbelievable! Not too long ago, a lady picked us up just outside Solo. She bought us coconuts and coffee. She was meant to drop us off as far as her journey allowed, so we could continue hitchhiking to Yogyakarta. Suddenly she turned around and said she wanted to take us to a bus station instead, and to pay for our bus tickets too which she did.

In this scenario we didn’t want to take money from this really kind hearted man. So we agreed to be taken to a station. We took photos with his really sweet daughters, both gave us keychains that they had for a long time. It wasn’t a special present of any sort but just like their father’s example they wanted to give us something too. They even wrote us a little note to carry with us on our journey.

Henry bought us our tickets and took us to the train station. When he dropped us off he had some notes in his hand. He took Clément’s hand and pushed the notes into his hand. Clem said we couldn’t accept this, I mean he paid for our train tickets already. But Henry would not take no for an answer and pushed the notes into Clément hand again.

We got out of the car and kissed them goodbye. We looked at the notes he gave us. It was 100,000IDR. It made Clem feel guilty for taking that money. But that’s what kindness is isn’t it? It doesn’t stop with just one person, it is to be paid forward without the expectation of paying it forward. It must have made Henry and his family feel good to have helped us.

We would have done the same for someone else in our situation if we had the leverage to.

Today as we were lying on the floor of a Mosque in between the wedding, Clément turned to me and said the way we travelled was much better than how he previously had travelled. I asked him why he said that? We couldn’t afford accommodation and we had to also count our micro-cents each time we had to buy food, we didn’t even buy the train tickets initially as we didn’t want to spend the money in case we needed it for our travels.

He pressed his forehead close to mine and said it was because this way we met people. This way we saw more places that we wouldn’t have heard of. This way we didn’t just experience places, we really experienced human kindness.

And he was 100% right.



Journey to France: Day 31

We stepped off the ferry from Bali onto Java on the 29th of February. We checked the time on the ferry and it showed 6pm but we havent even reached the port yet. Clément said he was concerned hitchhiking would be too difficult once it gets dark. I recalled reading that Java was on a different time zone (an hour behind Bali) so it was 5pm in Java still and we would still have enough time when we arrived to at least get one ride. When we got down however, we saw the street lights were already on and the sun was gone from the sky.

Only a bit of dusk light was leftover and it wasnt going to last long. We had some food while contemplating if we should set up tent for the night or try hitchhiking anyway. We looked around. It was a one road street and all along it were shops or houses or some sort of construction that didnt leave us enough room for even to place a sleeping bag. It was looking bleak, we had no choice but to give hitchhiking a go.

We were exhausted. We had been awake since 7.30am as we were told we could get a lift to the airport in Bali at 8.30am. However we didn’t leave until probably 9.30am as the others were late to get ready. It didnt matter. It was still morning and we had a free ride to the airport at least.

Upon arrival we asked the person within the closest proximity to us where the bus station or bemo station was. He said there were no bus stations or bemos around. IT WAS AN OUTRIGHT LIE! And I was getting pretty sick of being lied to, being viewed as someone’s income instead of human being. Here we were, two backpackers asking someone for a bus station and they had the ill-minded mentality to lie to us.

I saw a security guard at the corner of my eye, someone who was paid by the airport and would have no intention for himself to lie to a tourist. I asked him the same question. He said yes there were both a bemo and bus station just outside the airport, not too far from where we were!

I turned back to the taxi driver who had lied to us and his friends and i yelled at them “Kamu semua pembohong!” (You are all liars).

They said nothing back.

Clement and I went off hand in hand in search of a bemo. We reached the outside of the airport and was stopped by someone again, someone who was a motorbike driver. He asked where we were going. We said to a bemo station and we werent interested in a ride. He said to us the bemo station was really far. I was preparing myself for him to sell his transport service but to my surprise he didnt. In fact he told us a bus would be passing by really soon from where we were standing and it wouldn’t cost us more that 7000IDR to get a ticket to a bemo terminal where the bemo to Gilimanuk (where the ferry to Java would be departing). Bemos had terminals in Bali and each bemo had specific terminals they would arrive and depart from.

The man who helped us with the bus was from Lombok, not Bali he explained, and he never felt it was right to convince or lie to people to sell a service. He was not going to be a salesman that was for sure, but he would restore faith in humanity in his own little way.

We hopped on the bus, it wasnt a proper bus stop, we waved it down. This was a blue bus that departs from the international terminal and it has white outlines of skyscrapers on it’s sides. There was traditional Balinese music being played on the bus. The lady who was playing the music off her phone was happy to share her music with me.

When we got to the bemo station we were shocked to find out that the bemo was going to cost more than we initially thought. We expected to pay 35000 IDR maximum per person. The price was 50000IDR each! The driver said it was because of our backpacks too as bemos were small and our backpacks easily took up the space of 3 seats. (Indonesians had very small frames).

I thought for sure we were being tricked again ablut the price. But i was tired, i wasn’t keen to try hitchhiking in a place like Bali. I looked at Clem and i was sure he didn’t want to pay the price so I said, it’s okay I would pay for it. I was also still sore with him about the night before in Kuta where he spend about 120000 IDR or more on cigarettes and alcohol, but he was counting money for transportation. We had different prioritisations on what we would spend money on.

We got on the bemo and paid the fare. It was going to be a 2 hour ride we were told. It must have been much longer than that as about an hour in, the bemo broke down. We were the last 2 remaining passengers and in a place like Bali i was afraid , being seen as tourists, that for sure the driver would just tell us too bad and tell us to find our own way. Thankfully he didn’t, he called another bemo driver who was also droving to Gilimanuk to stop where we were to take us. The rest of the ride was smooth sailing.

That was the whole of our morning and afternoon.

After our meal, we prepared our hitchhiking sign. “BANDUNG, NUMPANG GRATIS” was what we wrote. The night before i googled hitchhiking in Indonesia for some tips and a reliable website (insert link later) told us including the word gratis was very important as it meant free. In Indonesia if you asked people if you could “numpang” (hitchhike/hop on board) you will get people who will stop for you, however they will ask for money.

We waited for no less than 20 minutes when a truck driver stopped for us. He had just finished work and was on his way back to his village which was about 6 hours away from where we were and we could hop on board and he could take us as far as we could go, close to Surabaya. He hopped into his high truck and there was some room, though not much, behind the seats.

The driver’s name was Koko. He said he stopped for us because he felt sorry for us. He thought we had no money and he knew for sure not many people would have stopped for us. We struggled to find a comfortable position to sleep behind the seats. It was going to be a very long drive and as we didnt know when we would get our next ride it would have been smart for us to sleep.

I fell asleep several times but not for long as each part of my body was constantly aching. I looked at Clem and he was struggling so much more to sleep. His eyes were red. I was about to say something to him and then my eyes dropped and I drifted into a deeper sleep that time.

We got woken up because Koko wanted to get some food, he woke us up and insisted we sat down with him to eat. We weren’t hungry and we werent looking to spend money on luxuries such as eating when we weren’t hungry. It wasnt a healthy habit for the body to that anyway. But Koko insisted. He asked the lady to fill up a plate of rice and pushed it to us so we had no choice but to fill it up. We shared a plate between us. He paid for our meal and bought us water and biscuits.

We were soon to learn that hitchhiking in Java would be relatively easy and those that stop for us really looked after us so well. It wasn’t just because Clement is caucasian and it wasnt because i could speak Bahasa Indonesia. It was the way of their culture. Its the way they are to help others when they have the capacity to.

Koko wanted to take us to the train station and buy us train tickets direct to Bandung! He was a truck driver and has a wife and a child. We could not have accepted the extent of his kindness nor did we fathom the extent either. So he dropped us off at an intersection as he was going a different direction and had to part with us. It wasnt more than an hour until a car with 6 young Indonesians stopped for us and took us to Surabaya. Before they arrived we had several people stopped out of curiosity to ask where we were going. They rarely see anyone hitchhiking with a sign let alone two interracial backpackers. One group of 3 on a motorbike stopped to take a photo with us. We obliged. Then the man requested something a bit out of the ordinary. He looked at Clement and asked “boleh turunkan?” He touched Clément’s stomach and touchee his female friend’s stomach after. I wasn’t sure if i understood him correctly and asked what did he mean?

“My friend wants to get pregnant but she can’t (he didn’t say why), would he like to help her out?” (He asked in Indonesian)
I raised my voice at him in shock and partially laughing at the audacity of it. “This man is my fiancé!”

He repeatedly apologised and then left as abruptly as his question was strange.

The 6 youths that stoped for us took us into Surabaya and a bit out of it. It was 2am when they picked us up and 3am when they dropped us off. It seems the traffic never ends on the mainroad in Java and there were food stalls (warung) and convenience stores open. The youths asked for a photograph too. We must seem quite the novelty. They left us at a petrol station as that qas the furthest they could take us that wasnt too out of their way. We slept in front of the petrol station for a few hours.

At 7am or so we woke up and resumed our journey. We waited for perhaps 20 minutes for a car to stop. Again many people on bikes stopped to quench their curiosity. A couple of them stopped to give us advice. One man even offered to give us money!! He offered to give us 100000IDR each. We declined the really kind offer. The man said if he saw us at the same place when he gets back he would then help us. But not long after he left, a man stopped for us.

He was on his way to work. He goes from town to town selling metal for his supplier. He took us as far as Magetan which was about 5-6 hours drive. We talked ahout languages and countries and cultures.

I havent hitchhiked for very long but I can see why Clément, and every other hitchhiker I’ve met, enjoys it. To say you meet people is an underestimation. You really do get to connect with people. Especially in such a long drive. And i think the connection is formed more when there is silence between people. It’s not always easy for strangers to keep conversation going, but it’s even harder to enjoy silence together. And the unspoken, assumed trust between the hitchhiker and the driver was a relationship that was completely new to me, but it was nice. Why do people have to prove trust to people? Why does society have to alwsys play this back and forth game when most people claim they dont even have the time of the day for their families?

Back in canberra once, when it was winter and raining, a colleague wouldnt even give me a lift to my car once which was only about 300m away from her car. Instead she handed me an umbrella and said “make sure you return it.” This was in a first world society where people had the mentality to spend their earnings on beers and excessive clothes, but to not offer 5 minutes to help someone down the road in the rain. Leaving Canberra was a blessing.


Journey to France: Day 23

Our arrival in Bali was everything I had dreaded. The flock of “taxi” drivers hovering around us and rudely saying “ok” and grabbing our bags to steer us in their direction. I was overwhelmed, stressed and annoyed. These “taxi” drivers, and I say “taxi” because most of them don’t drive an actual taxi, and most of them try to mimic the infamous reliable taxi company The Blue Bird Group by flashing a blue card with “The Blue Group” REALLY QUICKLY in front of you.

It was like entering a man eats man world. The lack of honesty and sincerity  was already getting me flustered. Having a couple of them hovering around us while we attempted to connect to the slow wifi at the airport was adding coal to the flame. Finally Clement managed to connect to the wifi on my phone and logged into his outlook to retrieve the directions to the abode of our Helpx host in Jimbaran.

We were going to attempt the 14km (approximate) walk but thankfully, although not really, the “taxi” driver that was hovering around us the whole time, accepted to take us to Pura Goa Gong which would cover our journey by 12kms. It was 10pm at night and my righ foot was throbbing in pain each time i had pressure on it so although we hadn’t planned on taking a driver, it would have been better for us in the long run.

He agreed to take us to Pura Goa Gong for 100,000 IDR, after much haggling he initially asked fo 200,000 or 250,000 or something ridiculous like that. Once we got in the car, the sly toad then said he wanted us pay100,000 IDR each!!! I was speaking to him in Bahasa at this point, I knew he was trying to be dishonest and taking our lack of knowledge of the area to his advantage.

To show him we were unafraid and weren’t at a disadvantage, we told him to stop the car right away and to let us out. He told us he would take us back to the airport instead and we said “fine”.

Then he pulled another dishonest card, by missing the turn off to go back to the airport and then said he wanted 150,000 from us. We stood our ground and again asked to get out of he car. He wouldn’t stop. After much debate, we agreed that if he would take us directly to Kelly’s house we would pay 120,000 IDR and if he only took us to the temple (Pura), he would take 100,000 IDR again. He wasnt oblivious, he knew the exchange rates of every country by hard. He was trying to extort every dollar out of us by saing we would be paying much more in Australia. I told him that is true, however we are not in Australia, we were in Indonesia and insisted to pay local rates and not be extorted. I told him the truth, that while we may have arrived from overseas, we weren’t on a blow out holiday and we didnt have much to which he just laughed back at us.

Atlast when we reached our intersection, he said he didnt want to go down he road to take us to the house. His excuse was that his car was too nice to drive down gravel road. We were happy to continue the rest of he way by walking. Note that the roads had no street lights at all. When we took the 100,000 IDR out to pay him, he rudely asked for 120,000. We reminded him it was not part of the agreement and then he got nasty, he said if we didnt give him the 120,000 he was going to backtrack 200m back and get us to start walking from there, to which i reminded him again that was not the agreement and that he was just being vengeful. He refused to take the money we were passing to him and leaned forward to grab Clement’s bag! This cracked me and i started shouting at him to leave our belongings alone and just take the money as previously agreed. He told us to get back in he car so he would take us back to the airport and leave us there so we wouldn’t have to pay him at all, to which I asked him what was the point in that?

He realised he had no point aside from failing at being devious and wanted revenge. He grabbed the money from my hand and with malice, told us to start walking. He started yelling out of his car calling us liars, which angered me to tears (good thing it was dark). I yelled back that we had been honest with our price from the first second he harassed us. I was tired, my foot was aching and we had a dark walk ahead of us. But most of all, I was hurt by the lack of compassion and honesty displayed from the first person we spoke to when we arrived. My only regret was not catching his name or number plate to report him.

The walk was not that bad, the moon was bright and nearly full. It lit our way pretty well, we were lucky then. The roads were definitel in dire need of maintenance. Massive puddles extended from one end of the road to another. The road was wide enough for one car at a time. As we walked and i was still shaking from anger, a motorbike was coming up behind us so we stopped to let it past first.

It was a couple on the motorbike. The woman was extremely empathetic. She kept trying to persuade her husband to take us up to our destination. She even got off her motorbike and asked me to sit instead. We politely declined as it would have been out of their way. Turns out we stoppd very closely to her house. We walked alongside their motorbike, chatting with them. Pak Adi was what the man was known by and his sweet wife is Suriani.

Pak Adi gave us directions to a shortcut to help us on our way. We were only 700m off at that stage. While he did so, his wife gave Clem a boiled egg and an Indonesian Orange. I will have to find the righ name for it in english later. The couple also invited us in for coffee and some rest. We said we had to carry on but thanked him and said we would come by the next day.

Finally we reached the house but there was no doorbell and the entrance had such a large courtyard that Kelly couldn’t hear us calling out to her. Our sounds alerted the grounds keeper of a nearby house who came out to speak to us. I explained in Malay that we were friends and couldn’t contact her. He replied in Indonesian and said he could call her for us. Thankfully she left us her number. He went back to get his mobile and we rang her.

I was beyond relieved when she came out as this meant we had a bed to sleep for tonight. Kelly was amazingly loving and nurturing. She tried to offer us food many times but I was so tired I just wanted a shower and to lie down. She brought us water, sheets and towels and continued to fuss over us.

I was feeling oddly cold in the shower. My body was shivering considering we were in a country just underneath the equator. I laid down with Clément. He tried to hold me but it was causing me discomfort. I felt nausea building up and couldn’t close my eyes for long. I felt sick.


Journey to France: Day 3

Day 3: two swims in gorgeous waters in one day (see photo) preceded by a big breakfasts. We indulged in people watching and sharing our thoughts on observations, predictable human nature, and love, an inescapable topic.

Our host, Steve goes above and beyond to make these two hitchhikers feel completely at home. Not only were we spoilt for lunch, ice cream, dinner too and Clem even got a Cornett at the end of the day. He offered us to stay another night at his house in Kempsey and even to drive us up 4 hours North to Byron Bay the next morning!

The generosity that come from people who haven’t as much as they once did is one that astounds me. To have such a heart for people you don’t even know is a remarkable act of kindness that is such a rarity to find in first world society.

How ugly is it to observe a person with a nice house and all the big boy toys
money can buy, but yet would not even give the time of the day to someone in need? How ugly is selfishness and greed? Uglier than ignorance.