One thing my recent holiday demonstrated to me was how much a miss walking.
Now, I am not an athlete by any stretch of the imagination. I am a plodder. Which actually suits my preferred style of exercise just fine – walking fairly slowly but for a long long time. For example, in 2007, the Mr and I walked the West Highland Way in Scotland. Seven days of plodding. It was great.
We recently spent 10 days in Vietnam soaking up the sights and sounds of our computers, tablets, kindles and phones Hoi An, a UNESCO heritage listed town near Da Nang in the centre of Vietnam.

The plan was to relax by the beach – 10 days in one spot is THE LONGEST we have spent in one holiday spot EVER (except for when we visit parents) and I booked it for that long because I wanted to force us to relax and just enjoy the beach.
Unfortunately, the weather had other ideas.

It was the monsoon season in Hoi An, and there were some lovely cool, rainy days.

Great for us, crap for the kids and our plan to tire them out by throwing them in the pool every day. So we spent a lot of time visiting the old town and walking around, exploring each little nook and cranny.


This weekend was our second weekend back in Dili, but the first weekend ‘back to normal’ – last weekend we had a whingey, whiney sick little Harrie to deal with.
Being Saturday morning, I thought it would be a nice treat to go out for breakfast. The catch – I wanted to walk there.
There are a few places within walking distance from our house, but the roads here don’t have footpaths and don’t have proper drainage so at the moment, things are very muddy. However, I insisted it would be no trouble – it was early, not too hot, not too busy, and it was only a 10 minute walk.
After walking for five minutes, the Sprog had fallen over and we were sick of climbing over fences in order to walk on grass and avoid the traffic. And we were getting really sick of every. single. taxi. that drove past slowing down, beeping the horn and trailing us to convince us to hop in.
The Sprog wanted to be carried so I picked her up, not really looking where I was stepping. Next thing, my leg flew out from underneath me as I fell down into the mud. If you want to picture what I looked like, I was genuflecting down on my left leg in a puddle of mud.
Props to me though, I didn’t drop either the kid or my handbag. I just stood up, said, “Well that was fun,” (SARCASM) and kept walking.
When I washed my leg off, the damage wasn’t so bad. Just skin grazes that are a bit ouchy but nothing major. Hopefully some Timorese taxi drivers got a slight kick from the sight of the big malae lady going knee surfing in the mud. And Mr is refusing to ever walk to breakfast in Dili again.
ETA: This post was inspired by Carly at Confessions of a 30 Something Woman and her post “Pushing outside the comfort zone”