Aussie kids grow up in bare feet and thongs. In fact, thongs are such a part of an Aussie kid’s life that they don’t even get it when American kids laugh at them for calling them thongs… in their vocabulary a thong is something quite crude and not for children!
Aussie kids can run in thongs, bush bash in thongs, ride their bikes in thongs, hell – Aussie kids with a pony can even ride in thongs!
However, when you travel south-east Asia you learn things about walking in thongs that no Aussie childhood can prepare you for! Navigating mangroves, walking through wet-markets without getting that gross black shite all over the backs of your legs, making it through rice paddies with your thongs still attached to your feet and climbing jungle vines without releasing your thongs to the orangutans below.
Aussie kids can run in thongs, bush bash in thongs, ride their bikes in thongs, hell – Aussie kids with a pony can even ride in thongs!
However, when you travel south-east Asia you learn things about walking in thongs that no Aussie childhood can prepare you for! Navigating mangroves, walking through wet-markets without getting that gross black shite all over the backs of your legs, making it through rice paddies with your thongs still attached to your feet and climbing jungle vines without releasing your thongs to the orangutans below.
These are skills you have to learn by observation. Watching the locals navigate these challenges is the best way to learn the skills necessary to avoid looking like a ‘bule gila’ or a ‘farang ba’ when faced with the challenges of thongs that are not covered by the average Aussie childhood.
Feeding up this morning felt like a cross between navigating the mangroves in West Sumatra and walking through the wet markets in Kampot, Cambodia. When it is as wet as it is here in the Swan Valley this morning it is always best to resort to thongs for feeding up. My feet are waterproof, you see, unlike most shoes (trust me, even Hunter wellies wouldn’t survive today!), so I slip on my thongs and plan to hose of my feet at the end of the feed run.
Feeding up this morning felt like a cross between navigating the mangroves in West Sumatra and walking through the wet markets in Kampot, Cambodia. When it is as wet as it is here in the Swan Valley this morning it is always best to resort to thongs for feeding up. My feet are waterproof, you see, unlike most shoes (trust me, even Hunter wellies wouldn’t survive today!), so I slip on my thongs and plan to hose of my feet at the end of the feed run.
Between trying to avoid getting mud flicked up as high as my beanie while also trying to keep my thongs on my feet, I must have looked like a ‘bule gila’ or a ‘farang ba’ (or perhaps some sort of mutation of the two). There was much swearing as I felt the mud flicking up behind me from one foot while the other refused to budge from the piece of ground in which it was stuck. And I gotta say, blancing on one foot while juggling 4 biscuits of hay in one hand and a bucket of feed in the other is one way to get your morning work-out. I’m not sure I recommend it.
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