So - it happened four weeks ago...

It was four weeks ago that I broke my ankle on the Choi Shi Michi in Japan. It feels both yesterday and a lifetime away...

Part of me is still in mourning over the trip lost - the imagined care free soul, feeling a good 2kgs lighter on lots of exercise, rather than feeling 2kgs heavier on a forced sedentary stint. The other part is sitting it out in a resigned but reluctant patience that knows I should be looking inward but prefers to be distracted.

My leg has been in fibre glass cast for three weeks and two days, just over half the prescribed six weeks... and I've moved from fighting the concept of a cast to something I can only described and no-other-option resignation.

I find it hard to believe that the best possible holistic treatment for a broken limb is to immobilise it in a cast which hampers circulation, forces a stocking tight against your leg and worst of all prevents access for a gentle massage and loving touch.

The doctors are not concerned about HEALING. Their concern is the least fuss method (for them) to ensure that the limb remains immobile and non-weight bearing. The patient must just learn to shut off the discomfort and the feeling they the injured part of their body is beyond their control and concern.

Personal note to doctors: this is an area that could earn you a lot of money if you came up with a workable solution. For me a bound on splint that allowed me to massage the leg would have been better - and... some patients are capable of being responsible patients, and capable of taking their own decisions regarding their well being.

But... I've moved on from fretting over the issue to mindless resignation as I wait out my remaining two weeks, five days of jail sentence for my limb.

After arguing about what we remembered of the docs instructions, Bob has moved from grousing at me for putting my foot lightly on the ground, to grousing when it is not resting lighting on the ground. The petulant child in me, close to the fore under what has been patience-trying circumstances, screams I told you so at him... but four weeks of not using something is a long enough to entrench new habits.

It is now, as hard to use the foot and get it accustomed to a light weight on the ball of the foot (as per docs instructions) as it was to remember not to use it initially.

Ever since the attempted manipulation of the leg after one week in a cast the ankle area has had strange sensations... exacerbated by gently resting the foot on the floor. They have eased, changed, and are now felt less within the ankle and more on the side of the fibular... but I find it extremely disconcerting - a feeling that is heightened by not being able to see or rub the leg.

Of course, I'm also starting to realise that the when the cast comes off at the end of six weeks, it is not the end of the journey, but rather only the beginning. The start of learning to use the foot and leg again, the start of building up strength, muscle-tone, and teaching it to listen to mental instructions. The start of mobility, of getting fit again, of finding physical balance.

It certainly will be novel to stand on my own two feet again. I'm definitely looking forward to the freedom of walking back and forth with ease and not needing to plan a task to the nth degree so that I take everything I need with me on the first trip, because a second trip (down the stairs, across the lawn, along the plank the covers the stone-filled gutter, along the verandah, dodging the tools in the passage to the kitchen or bathroom) is just to tiring to contemplate.

My shoulders do not like the crutches - they aggravate old shoulder injuries... but on the plus side my arms and shoulders are feeling stronger, and right leg one-legged squats are a breeze.

In a way I'm sort of looking forward to facing my worst nightmare - the oscillating cast saw... and my imagination has replaced it with new worst nightmare - which is finding out that I should have followed my instinct with these strange sensations, and that I need an operation and another six weeks in a cast! It is not something I would like to even contemplate facing, and hopefully it is all just the fabrication of my cast-averse mental meanderings.

The plans of mice, men and me...

It is still hard to believe. In a blink of an eye, ten days after my departure from SA, I was back in my home country, nursing a fractured fibular, sprained ankle and giant size disappointment.

After long flights, braving typhoon weather and cancelled busses to get to the starting point - and setting out for an anticipated 80-day solo walking pilgrimage - within 30 minutes of walking and less than 10 minutes on the mountain trail... it was all over.

The ground was still wet from the typhoon rains. My right foot slipped, spraining slightly. I moved to save it - and the left ankle went, with me twisting and falling over, gently...

Shaken, I had to take my pack off in order to stand up. The ankle was sore, but slow movement was tolerable... I knew if I took off my boot to inspect the damage the injury would swell - and that would be the end of walking, so chose to keep walking in case it eased.

In hindsight it was stupid to keep walking. But setting out, alone, in a foreign country, was one of the hardest things I'd ever done - plus it had taken months of saving and preparation and planning - so letting go was literally a slow and painful process.

I was on the Choi Shi Michi on Koyasan, and it took between five to six minutes to cover the 108/109 meters between each stone marker (with my 20kg pack). I set out just after 9 - the injury took place between 9.30 and 9.45, but I kept going until 2.30, when I finally accepted this was the end of the road.

I had come alongside or crossed the tar road twice, but this was my first goal. The idea was to read this point and ideally camp and see how the leg was, or simply see how the leg was... but I'd known for a little while before I got there, that the leg was not going to carry me much further.

I walked into a Japanese tea room for help. Eventually a couple who could speak some English formulated a plan and took me back up the hill to the hospital on Koyasan. I was strapped into a half cast and told that I needed to see an orthopedic surgeon.

It was only once I was safely in my room at a temple lodging on Koyasan that I was finally able to get through to Bob (who had gone to Johannesburg to represent me for the Vodacom awards).

Bob got repatriation plans in motion, while I was taken down to Wakayama to the Red Cross Hospital and accommodated in a hotel nearby. The Japanese doctors eventually agreed that I was fit to fly as long as I had an injection the day of the flight to prevent blood clots... and I started my journey back home on an Emirates business class fight (nice).

I've now been back one week, and am starting to process the disappointment while simultaneously finding myself increasing curious as to the lesson / reason / greater scheme of things - wanting to know just why the universe appears to have had other plans for me.

Apart from the uncertainty and drama regarding whether I would be allowed to fly, and miscommunication between the Japan (giving permission) and SA (who did not know of my permission to fly so had not booked flights) there has also been some uncertainty as regards my treatment.

I was given the clear impression in Japan that I would need an operation, but in SA the trauma unit doctor was happy to align the bones while putting on a cast and then checking via X-ray that the alignment was OK. So second and third opinions have been sought.

I am due for an assessment tomorrow...

The leg is not sore, although a number of other areas ache as a result of poor posture to accommodate the need for elevating the foot and the lack of mobility and exercise is becoming increasingly annoying.

The expression of love, compassion and support that has flowed from people as a result had me wondering is his was not a way to bring some of the elements of the Shikoku experience (where people give gifts of money or food to pilgrims who they see as representing Kobo Daishi) home with me... although I expect there is more to it than that...

Looking forward - I'm still feeling a bit numb, but enjoying the feeling of looking out on a fairly blank canvas. I will be able to focus on the next steps once I now that the leg is encouragingly on the healing path. Then I can decide whether to pick up work or plan the next adventure.

Japan Ho!!

Three more sleeps to departure... on an adventure that is well overdue. The culmination of pouring heart and soul into work, achieving related pecuniary and quality goals... in combination with the slow realisation that there has to be more to life than... well, than work.

Perhaps reading too much of Osho's works is to blame for the growing disquiet and feeling of discontent. This brought on the proverbial Aha! moment that was heart felt rather than intellectual. Society conditions us to behave in accepted ways - not for the good of the individual, or for the good of the person, or the spirit or the soul... but in a rather stifling manner ostensibly for the good of the collective, but largely for the benefit of a select few who gain from the rest of us behaving like mindless morons who have lost touch with the essence of self, individuality, independent thought and self expression.

So - I'm hopping of the self-perpetuated hamster wheel of life and freelance writing for a while.

I'm taking three months off the walk the 88 Temple route around Shikoku island in Japan. Solo. With backpack, sleeping bag, tent...

I'm mindful that the answers I seek are within, and that I don't really have to travel to distant and exotic lands to find my essence and personal answers. But am equally aware that if I extricate myself from the comfort zone of my hamster wheel it will be easier to break the cycle or habit.

I'm also aware that I enter the zone of meditation or personal awareness best when moving - which is why tai chi resonates so well with me - and there will be plenty of moving - just the pack, the road, and me... and what better route to follow than a traditional Buddhist pilgrimage, imbued with energy, and visit the temples on the way and become one with the heart sutra which is said twice (one at each of the temple halls) at each temple.

I fly out early Sunday afternoon (via Sydney) and land in Tokyo in early on Oct 6th, and spend the night with a friend of Bob's in the outskirts (2 hours by train) of Tokyo. Oct 7th I catch the overnight bus to Osaka and on the 8th make my way to to Mount Koya.

I will spend two nights on Mount Koya, staying at one of the temples - getting ready both mentally and in terms of the gear that pilgrims (henro) need.

Oct 10th - I start walking... and thats what I'll be doing for many days. Walking.

My route takes me down from Mt Koya to the coastal city of Wakayama (estimated 2 days walking), then by ferry across to Shikoku island, and then another day to walk up to Temple 1.

The plan is then to visit the 88 temples (in the correct order - no short cuts) as well as the 20 Bangai (additional unnumbered) temples, returning to Temple one to complete that mandala or circuit; and then to walk back up to Mount Koya to complete that mandala too.

I'm not enjoying the process of packing. In a way it is a process of letting go, handing over control... there is no way to know what I will actually need, or to be prepared for every eventuality - and trying to do so is impossible, but I find it hard to stop trying.

Living your dreams...

On a recent press trip I met a fellow journalist who gave me much cause for thought. Some 10 years my senior she was living life to the full, and had turned many of my youth-filled dreams into reality.

Here was someone who went hiking - often; climbing - often; and had got off her proverbial butt and followed up on her interest in San rock art and could talk knowledgeably about digs, and pottery shards and even pigments in paints...

Here was someone living what I had often dreamed of doing - but largely had not.

Yes there were periods of intense hiking, but they dwindled, have been mildly ignited, but still take a back seat.

Yes there were periods of climbing, but my ability has faded along with the photos (nothing digital about those days)... and my interest from childhood in the mysterious people who painted in trances on cave walls remains an unsatisfied interest, fed a little on cave visits and books read ... but largely unexplored.

I felt a little small. Worse: I felt like a total non-achiever. I felt I had failed to live my dreams.

I sat with that thought for a few weeks, during which period there was a slow-dawning realisation that there was more to life than hiking, climbing and digging in the dirt for artifacts.

It was not a case of turning sour grapes into wine; but more a realisation that while life is about living, you can't expect your dreams to remain unchanged by the passage of time, particularly as the vista will change with each experience.

Hiking had its place, it's period of delight in an intimacy with nature, of pitting mind and body against a goal; as did climbing... they were growth opportunities grasped and used like a passing handhold as I climbed higher.

The truth is, other opportunities came my way, offering different challenges and enabling me to acquire a different set of skills.

It is not fair of me to look back and say I've failed to live the dreams of a younger Shaz. People change and with that their dreams change to.

Looking back I am grateful for the experiences and challenges I have faced and stared down with a level head (albeit possibly with a racing heart). I have learnt and grown from being challenged in areas that climbing, hiking, and even anthropological know-how could not have done. It is not a failure to chose another path... but it was, and remains, a reminder that knowing yourself is the first step towards happiness.

No Cheetah

There was another interesting lesson (re)learnt on this last trip into the African bush - the realisation that nature is bigger than all of us and can't be co-ordinated or orchestrated to meet our (immediate gratification) needs.

This of course includes not getting to see the cheetah we were sure we were going to see...

The reserve we were visiting had introduced cheetah from a breeding programme. The cheetahs were habituated to humans - which meant that there was a strong likelihood of seeing them... and our expectations were high.

But nature planned to teach impetuous and somewhat demanding journalists a lesson that involved expressly not meeting their expectations or demands.

A week before we arrived at the reserve the lionesses killed one of the cheetah pair. This disrupted the normal pattern and movement of the now lonely and pining cheetah - and he remained elusive and well hidden.

Journalists on assignment can be a rather arrogant and demanding bunch (taking deadlines and editor's demands too seriously can to this to the nicest of people) and not wanting to insist that the reserve change its policy and use telemetry to track the cheetah we took the opening presented by contact with the neighbouring farm...

And there we were the next day, driving around 8,000, hectares in the baking African sun trying to track the pair of male cheetahs on the neighbouring farm.

We went to the spot where they were last sighted. Put up the telemetry equipment but found no signal.

We drove on and tried again. And again.

We saw rhino, giraffe, zebra, leopard tortoise, dung beetles, hornbills... but the cheetahs who were tracked daily by telemetry remained invisible - there was not one blip on the radar so to speak.

We eventually retreated to nurse our frustrations while attending other events on a tight media schedule - only to learn that the original cheetah on the first farm was sighted while we were out chasing a sighting of the other cheetah...

A wonderful (if frustrating) lesson. You can't control nature, or people; and it is possible to try too hard to achieve something that would come naturally if only you would relax and go with the flow...

I'm sure you are wondering about the final outcome...

The pair we were tracking were found late in the afternoon, resting in a shady valley where the signal could not be picked up; but there was not time nor opportunity to go back there.

We had another two days on the original reserve,and the lone cheetah was not spotted again while we were there... and we did try (when will I learn?).

I've often wondered if one sees more on a game drive bouncing around on rough roads through the bush, following fresh spoor... or sitting still and quietly letting nature unfold in front of you...

There's the thrill of the chase (almost satisfying a hunting type urge) in a game drive, and a sense of doing and trying which is appealing - and you probably do see more of the larger species... but you miss so much by not sitting still and letting the world reveal itself in layers to you.

Life can be frustrating; or a lesson... and I think there is a fine line between chasing a goal (too hard) and steering the course of your life in a chosen direction. Perhaps all that is needed is to know yourself and follow your heart - which is a whole lot easier said than done (given societal expectations and conditioning) - especially on a media trip.

Dead Leopard

I'm angry; yet strangely thankful. 

I attended a media trip which was to include something I considered special: the release of a relocated leopard. It was to be the first time I would see a leopard, and I was excited.

The leopard had been captured and removed from a farm to save it's life. Simply put the farmer considered it a nuisance and a threat to his livestock. The three-year old female leopard had been held in a boma largely to disorientate the sleek but smelly feline so that she did not head back to her old haunt...

She put up a feisty fuss when the vet wanted to darted her in the dark, covered section of the boma, but was soon sedated and carried out to the table to be measured and given a medical once-over before being take to her new home to be released.

In the middle of being measured and having an injured paw attended to, the leopard stopped breathing. The vet immediately administered an injection to facilitate breathing and she started again with a few shuddering breaths, we all sighed in relief but then her breathing stopped again... and no amount of resuscitation worked.

The sleek cat, in her prime, just died. 

The first incident in more than 60 successful leopard relocations.

It was a moving and emotional moment. Just about everyone present cried and withdrew; and the people involved felt awful and then tried to explain the incident away.

It is sad; but the truth is that nobody involved in the relocation efforts is to blame. They would not be relocating leopards unless it was for their own good and preservation - and it would not be necessary is man was not encroaching on the leopard's territory and if farmers revered them rather than seeing them as pests.

I was sad when the leopard died; and then angry. Angry that it had not fought to cling to life so that my happily-ever-after do-good impression of conservation efforts remained intact. Angry that my own race - humans - had placed the leopard in jeopardy...

But a sense of thankfulness began to descend after a while. I became thankful of the sacrifice of the leopard's life. For me it, and I think for several others present, it has been a catalyst - no more than a catalyst; a thorn in my side - to spur me on to do more about conservation than merely mentally siding with nature and the animals.

It is time for me to address the urgent need for us to respect our natural environment - our host the Earth and the other creatures that reside on her with her blessing; and as a writer, one of the ways I hope to make a difference - and honour the spirit of the leopard - is to blog about relevant conservation issues.

I would like to encourage everyone to join me in honouring this leopards life - to do more for conservation than simply acknowledging it should be done - and then leaving it up to someone else.