from Pillar to Post: a traveller's guide to stuff

a quick catch up (part ein)

2009-05-18T07:53:00.003+01:00

Trying to fit 3 months' worth of events into one blog post is pretty impossible for me.. Hell, I find it difficult fitting one day in sometimes.. So I'll have to split this one up and try miss out any unnecessary details (wish me luck)!

The Medical: I finished my medical trial. After a few incidents of accidental blood squirting and inability to find my arteries (and an uncanny ability to find my nerves instead) I survived unscathed: no scars - physical or otherwise. My nurses, Vanessa and Debbie, were very friendly and made the time go quickly during those long hours laying still, strapped to uncountable and ceaselessly beeping machines. Plus I got myself a nice fat £400 cheque at the end of it...

The Music: I managed to play a few more Open Mic nights at Whistle Binkies and got to know Alan, the sound technician, fairly well - an acquaintance that would prove to be quite helpful a little later on down the track. My guitaring skills are still a bit hit and miss at the moment but, hey, that's what practise is all about... I haven't hit Whistle's in over a month now and don't intend to do so any time soon, I'm just a little too busy plus my humble abode is now situated across town!

Some Friends: For one night only! That should be the subtitle to the evening of Saturday the 28th of February, when an old school friend, Jimmy Marin and his girlfriend Amanda popped over to see Lee and I. We checked out a very messy club called Why Not, which somehow seemed to maintain the illusion of poshness about it (probably because it's situated on "posh street" otherwise known as George Street). Free jugs of vodka/redbull greeted us at the door and I managed to embarassingly and unintentionally score a pash from the most drunk (yet still ridiculously posh) girl on the dancefloor. A night to remember.... Good or bad...

The Flat: After a few weeks of work and 2 months of couch surfing in Edinburgh I decided it was a good time to get out of Lee's hair (well, her lounge room anyway) and find myself my own accommodation. I used Gumtree to post a "Looking for" ad. Within 24 hours I had about 10 phone calls.. One of those callers was Carolyne, living in the west end and looking for someone to move into her spare room to offset some of the costs of owning a house. I checked the place out and just couldn't say no. I moved in by the weekend.
But the phone calls, texts and emails didn't stop there. For the next 2 weeks I was getting about 5 or 6 missed calls a day. I stopped checking my voicemail. Probably not such a good thing since one of the calls was from Debbie (one of the nurses from the medical trial) telling me that they were concerned that my white blood cell count was bouncing between normal levels and extremely low. To this day I still don't know the cause of this but they suggested a good multi-vitamin and healthy diet as a good way to try and regulate it. I would like to say I've taken their advice on board fully, but that would be a lie - I put it down to saving money...

Photos:

in the bathtub with some stoned friends...

Jimmy-o!

a mishap at the hospital

putting NZ on the map!

the various machines i had the pleasure of being hooked upto..

playing and philosophies

2009-02-24T10:33:00.001Z

My first day of work went by quite seamlessly, except for the fact that I worked from 10am to 8pm having a break for "lunch" only at 6pm. Those of you that know me well, know that I eat.. a lot.. and so an eight hour shift with no break doesn't sit too well with me. Oh well, I guess I'll just have to take it like a man and stop my whingeing because with the number of staff on each day and the busyness of the place that is likely to be a regular occurrence.
The following day was extremely interesting for two reasons: The first was due to the hospital (described in my previous post) and the second was due to my music. John and I got ourselves a prime spot (at 12:15am) on Monday night/Tuesday morning at a pub called Whistle Binkies for their open mic. We played a selection of 80's hits. Well, not really, we were limited to three songs, and none of them from the eighties: "Summertime" by George Gershwin; "Got None" by Robert Post; and, "A Stranger" by A Perfect Circle. Also, not one of those songs was known perfectly by both of us at the same time. So there were mistakes, especially since it was my first time playing guitar live - pretty damn nerve racking. The crowd seemed to like it though, and now that we've got a taste for it I think we'll be trying to play as many open mic's as possible.
Saturday night, and Hughesy's girlfriend, Megan, was enjoying birthday celebrations back at Whistle Binkies. It was just one of those laughs-a-plenty nights where your sides hurt and your mandible feels as though it's about to fall off. Like most drunken nights, this one ended in deep philosophical discussions including what we would do in situations similar to the one portrayed in the Nazi-era movie, Sophie's Choice.
I only got a couple of hours sleep that night and somehow slept through my alarm (I never do that) and woke up at 9:30am when my shift was supposed to start at 9. Not good...

ET-3 and vasodilators

2009-02-24T10:26:00.000Z

I didn't explain exactly what the clinical trial was for in my last post. The study title is, "Characterisation of the role of ETA and ETB receptors in regulating plasma ET-1 and the vasodilator response to ET-3 in man." A mouthful, yes. Pretty much what I am doing is taking 3 rounds of different medications spaced 3 weeks apart, and they do blood tests to see if the drugs are doing what they expect. One of the rounds is a placebo and the other two are already marketed drugs used for regulating blood flow in people that suffer from hypertension.
In some hypertension patients, especially with any kind of exertion, the vessels in the lungs contract making it more difficult for the heart to pump blood around the body, causing the right side of the heart to work harder. This in turn can lead to right-heart failure (heart attacks) and even death. The medications I am taking (apart from the placebo, of course) are designed to reopen or enlarge blood vessels, thereby reducing the amount of work the heart has to do and potentially saving the person's life.
The PhD student, whose nickname is Bean, running the study has found that these medications might also have positive effects on other organs (the liver or kidneys) and so is studying these effects on healthy patients - which is where I come in.
Monday was particularly intensive in that I had finished my week course of medication and they now needed to test the effects on a small test area of my body. They chose the forearm. They strapped diameter-sensitive mercury-filled bands around my forearm (to accurately test blood flow which meant I had to lie completely still for 2 hours) and pressure bands around my wrists and upper arm, inflating the wrist bands to the point that they cut off the circulation to my hands for upto 13 minutes at a time - I completely lost feeling in them during the intermittent testing over the course of the 2 hours. They then stuck (or tried to unsuccesfully a number of times) a needle in my artery to pump the ET-3 drug into my forearm. (ET-3 is a chemical that first causes a contraction of the blood vessels and then rewidens them.) During one of the unsuccessful attempts, they had already started testing when the needle was pushed out of the artery but remained in my arm - I have some damn strong arteries - so they were pumping this chemical into arm with it having nowhere to go, that was quite uncomfortable... Plus it meant they had to start again from scratch using my other arm, extending my hospital visit from 4 to 6 hours.
It wasn't long before the testing was over and I was glad to have the feeling and use of my hands back. Now I have a 2 week break and we start the whole procedure again with another medication. After the third round I get a nice little thankyou note with a few words and the number "£400." Another good thing about it is that I'm getting really used to seeing needles and my own blood coming out of my arm so to any more hospital visits I say, "Bring 'em on!"

The Start Of An Amazing Adventure!

2009-02-14T14:20:00.000Z

I am now officially part of the Airag Addicts. Kevin, Lee's mate from Ghana who we met up with in Japan, introduced me to the Mongol Rally - an annual charity drive from London, UK to Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia in July - because he said that Lee and I were the only one's crazy enough to do it. He was right. A group of 7 of his friends (or friends of friends) from America formed a team called the Airag Addicts and needed an extra person. I jumped at the opportunity and it wasn't long before I became the 8th Addict. As well as being a crazy adventure at the time, we will be raising lots of money up until July for donating to the charity MercyCorps, along with buying the 3 cars we will need to get there, visas, food, bribes for Kazakh militants, etc. The cars will be donated to the charity once we reach Mongolia for local communities to use. I've put up a link in the right column to our site where you can see what we're getting upto, link to the various associated websites including the Mongol Rally and MercyCorps, take a squiz at our planned route and, of course, donate! Wish me luck!

letters from a guinea pig

2009-02-13T13:07:00.005Z

Along with all my jobs and potential jobs over the past weeks I have taken on a slightly risky moneymaking venture in something that a lot of people would consider only as an absolute last resort, or probably would not consider at all: a medical trial. Now there was that particular case several years back in the UK where a bunch of volunteers participated in a study which went horribly wrong, causing the near-death of most of them and requiring several amputations, etc.
That study is the one often referred to when convincing someone not to take part in clinical trials. The positives are almost always overlooked, however. For one, you get paid a fair amount of money for very little effort and often very little inconvenience (as most can work somewhat around work schedules.) The other obvious positive (and the reason behind the study in the first place) is that the data obtained from your participation could actually help improve the lives of others through new or improved drug treatments for their ailments. You can choose which trials you participate in, including those that are simply measuring the effects of already tried and tested drugs on ailments other than the ones the medication is marketed for. Furthermore, once you are involved you can pull out at any time, no obligation, no questions asked.
The way I see it is that millions of people around the world are pumping an inordinate amount of drugs and pathogens into their bodies daily, knowing fully their long-term detrimental effects on their own health and the health of others, and with no possible overall positive outcome for themselves or, heaven forbid, improvement to society, but still somehow do so willingly because they are generally happy to live selfishly in the moment - or denial - without consideration to their future (whether that be 50 years, 20 years, 5 years, 1 year or 25 minutes away.) So why not do something that could also possibly (though very unlikely) have an unfavourable long-term effect on my own health but that could potentially benefit others down the track whilst admittedly serving my own selfish short-term interests in earning money for it?
I know of many people who regularly smoke, take multitudes of drugs (recreational or medicinal or both), do not exercise, eat disgusting amounts of fast food (especially here in Scotland with their even proud application of the deep frier to almost any food imaginable, including mars bars, burgers and pizzas!), etc. - and spend lots of money doing so - who would be repulsed by the idea of participating in such a study because of the risks to their health. I also know of many people who, for instance, drive recklessly, have expensive cosmetic surgeries, get surburnt, and listen to music too loud because it is not in their immediate interest to consider the negative possibilities or ramifications, yet would still object to a medical trial.
I agree that volunteering your body to science is somewhat stigmatised and considered a bit crazy, but considering the other foolish, senseless and downright stupid (coincidentally, also a definition of "crazy") things that we do, is it really that bad?

finding nemo (a.k.a. work)

2009-02-13T13:07:00.003Z

It didn't take long for me to find a few opportunities for work once I reached Edinburgh again. Gumtree again being my medium of choice, I managed to track down a job running a guest house for which I was interviewed and subsequently turned down due to lack of experience (although I thought I did provide a strong case with my "housekeeping and restaurant management" experience.)
Then I came across an odd request from a man wanting a driver for a few hours a week for 3 weeks for his mother and butler whilst his mother went shopping, paying £750. Sounded like a good offer. The problem was that it was payable only by cheque. I tried proposing other less risky forms of payment - including one which involved me setting up a PayPal account - but these suggestions didn't sit well with him and he quickly found himself another candidate. Who knows, it might have been all above board but I wasn't prepared to take the risk.
I eventually managed to land myself 2 jobs: one at the café that my sister works in, Kilimanjaro Coffee; and the other as a script writer for an educational DVD series. The DVD series essentially sets out to teach the entire UK school curriculum of English and Maths from reception to year 12 (in Australian schooling terms.) I am employed to work on the maths side of things. I essentially write the entire script for each lesson (eg. multiplication or fractions) which an actor will then reproduce on screen with props and visuals. How did I land that? Gumtree again... They needed people with maths and teaching experience - my degree and my tutoring stint in London seemed to suffice (although I didn't mention that I only ended up with one student.) I start at Kilimanjaro fulltime tomorrow.

The Ed

2009-02-13T13:06:00.006Z

The first weekend of my return to Edinburgh was quite action packed starting off with Dan's birthday party (Dan is one of Lee's housemate) where the requirement for entry was being dressed either as an old person - Dan was easily the winner there - or as a ned (a Scottish term for the similar category of peoples to English chavs and Aussie bogans/wiggas.)
The 25th was our official Australia Day (as it was a Sunday and it was being celebrated in Australia that evening with the time difference) and we certainly made a day of it. The 25th also corresponded to Robert Burns evening (the famous Scottish poet) and so we had a bit of a mishmash of cultures. We invited a whole bunch of Aussie and Kiwi friends around and Lee and Susie again came up with the idea for lunch: a traditional Scottish feast of haggis, neeps and tatties (turnips and potatoes) along with TimTams and the Scottish equivalent, Penguins, and of course a whole bunch of Aussie music - everyone singing Farnsie's "You're The Voice" at the top of their lungs was the highlight!
Feeling insanely full of food we all painted our faces with green and yellow and pushed off in the early evening for the surprisingly quiet Oz Bar for a Pale Ale and where we could watch replays of AFL bumps, biffs and brawls and listen to the Triple J hottest 100. Good times! Especially with the fact that we had a celebrity in our midst: Hughesy! Well, not really, but this guy would have to be his long-lost twin brother or something - he looks, speaks and acts exactly like the man himself.... Funny bastard too...
The next night was the real Oz Day and the celebrations picked up considerably in the city's only Walkabout (that messy Australian bar chain in the UK), it was going off! The majority of our clan met up again and had a bit of a bum wiggle while they played that song with the lyrics, "Am I ever gonna see your face again?" to which everyone in the bar classily shouted in reply, "No way! Get fucked! Fuck off!" Hadn't heard that one in years...
A few days later I got to spend a little time again with Malin and her friend Therese when she came up from Dublin for a short trip. We ate Mexican. Shortly after, I was treated to the second snowfall I had seen on this trip so far - hard to believe since it was technically over 2/3 of the way through the "season" of winter. The meadows, an expansive park-like setting, was completely and beautifully white, the footpaths were dangerously slippery and the temperature was sub-zero, yet women still found the necessity for high heels. They are an odd breed... It has since snowed a number of times and I find it so much fun every time it does - the meadows and Arthur's peak turn white along with my clothes, people build snowmen and throw snowballs, and the photographers come out in force.
I met John by chance in Burger King while we were both there using their free wifi, we got to talking and turns out we're both quite into music. We have caught up a few times since jamming about, including the meadows in the snow (a bad idea), and are planning to take part in an open mic night some time soon. That's exciting.
More recently, Dan, his mates, and Meg (the newest South Clerk housemate) managed to convince me to come out to a house party in what is commonly known as "the caves" - part of an underground city that stretches all the way to the Edinburgh castle - on the night after Lee and Susie left for Morocco for Lee's birthday. Stopping first at The Jazz Bar, which is in fact a jazz bar, to watch a few bands we soon found this subcity fortress which is actually a flat but looks more like some sort of WWII bunker for one crazy party with DJs, all the alcohol you could ever want, holes in and graffiti on the walls and the constant struggle in order to move just 5 metres. That place was packed to the brim against some sort of fire regulation, I'm sure.

Photos:

Susie and I as neds, well, she is...

Lee as an Aussie on Aussie Day

Hughesy!

Pizza Shapes!

Fosters!

only in the UK - everything you can think of wrapped in plastic... even single eggplants (aubergines)

crazy women

partying with Meg in the caves

the castle under snow

this little house is right in the centre of the city

yup, even labourers still have to work when it's snowing

off to work through the meadows

tobogganing under Arthur's seat

The Curious Case Of Just Too Much London

2009-02-12T15:14:00.005Z

London. What can I say. This is the fourth time I have come through the city of 8 million, give or take a few million, on this trip so far. And somehow I'm finding that the more I see of it, the less I like it. Don't get me wrong, it is a wonderful city in so many ways: the cultural events that never cease, the galleries and music venues that constantly find new ways of bringing the arts to life, the convenient (but expensive) tube network, the famous and lively Piccadilly Circus, Westminster, Leicester Square, South Bank, Covent Gardens, etc. But, at the risk of overgeneralising and overstating, anything outside of those areas is simply utter shit.
The monotonous "suburban areas" of, say, Clapham, Richmond and White City (just to name a few) are virtually identical in the look of the streets, in the repetitive rows of 2- and 3-storey colourless UK-style-façade housing, and in the chain stores that pollute the already dreary identity of the area - exacerbated by 52% of days in a year being overcast. Sure, there may be the odd uninspired green park nearby but the endless landscape of kebab shops, Tesco, H&M, Argos, Ladbrokes, The Carphone Warehouse, Boots, Sainsbury's, TopShop, Costcutter, William Hill bookkeepers (and the list goes on...) certainly make for a dull and tiring stroll through any of these areas. Too big. Too tedious.
I stayed with 4 people over 6 nights this time around. The first 2 were with Saskia in her tiny room in White City, the home of the BBC. I had my interview for the French job during this time and found out the next day that they wouldn't hire me because of my piercings. Turns out the guy running the estate is an ex-Army Major and does not tolerate any piercings except for normal earrings on females. A case of discrimination? Maybe, especially since I would have been working solely as a groundskeeper, but I somehow don't think I would have had a case. Meh, c'est la vie.
The next night was spent ripping it up with Tom and John at their flat on Guitar Hero. I was somewhere else the next night again, this time with the Aussie Davie whom Lee and I met in the first couple of days of our trip, nearly a year ago, on Vietnam's Mekong Delta. We enjoyed a night out with his girlfriend and a bunch of their friends for a birthday, following up with a very relaxed Saturday hanging around the house and then going on a bit of a trip to the local hardware store for some wood for a bookshelf Davie was building. The final two nights were spent with someone I hadn't seen in even longer: Lauren from NZ, who I hadn't seen since.. NZ. We caught up for some reminiscing at her flat in Clapham Junction (conveniently located near Britain's busiest train station of the same name - but oddly some distance from the nearest tube station.)
All this excitement of not getting my job and being back in London made me want to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible, so it wasn't long and I was back on an overnight bus up to Edinburgh to put some serious efforts into job hunting.

Photos:

the healthy options on offer at a roadstop en route to London

Saskia's pad, i'm squeezed in under the bed there..

a small sample of the BBC buildings in and around White City

Lauren and I

Glasgow

2009-02-09T15:53:00.006Z

The day before I left Edinburgh, a Friday, I received an email from a London agency I had been in contact with since July. They wanted me to come in for an interview the following Wednesday for a job in an enormous private chateau south of Paris, owned by an Arabian prince and his family. Why would I pass up that opportunity? The quandary before me was that I had just booked tickets to see friends in Glasgow and Aberdeen over the ensuing week: Job interview and wasting my tickets, or visiting friends I might not get the chance to see again and wasting a fantastic opportunity to work in France? Tough one. I considered my options carefully over the next few days.
That last day I also checked out a nice little raw food café in the city's north called Red Sugar. Yep, everything raw, nothing cooked over 47.7°C (that's apparently when enzymes in the food start breaking down.) There appears to be a whole subculture of people enjoying this lifestyle - I had admittedly never heard of it before - and although I like the idea, I don't know if I could be a faithful follower (it would be virtually impossible whilst travelling anyway.)
I shot off early, well what felt early due to the sun not having shown itself yet but what was actually 8:30am, for the bus station. About 2 hours later I was standing in the bus terminal of Glasgow admiring the bronze sculpture of a heartwarming reunion between two lovers. I was there to visit Brian, my Scottish mate who I worked with at the Open Polytech in NZ, but first I wanted to see what the city was all about.
This metropolis of old and new is the largest city in Scotland and offers a huge array of activities including museums, art galleries and an unrivalled nightlife. They also love their clocks... After wandering around the city's main shopping areas, and having my hat blown off my head about 10 times due to the strong winds, my first stop was the place that held the most interest for me, the St. Mungo's Museum of Religious Life & Art. This is a fantastic museum showcasing, without bias, the main world religions and other minor faiths/belief systems through descriptions, artifacts, photos, paintings and personal accounts of peoples' own experiences. I think if a wider audience went to that museum it would certainly bring a greater tolerance and understanding of the differences between peoples. I gave a donation.
I walked briefly out into the heavy rain towards the beautiful cathedral around which the city was built. The Cathedral Church of St. Mungo is a masterfully constructed building from the 12th century (the date of the first stone building that replaced the early wooden church) dedicated to the patron saint of Glasgow (whose real name was actually St. Kentigern). If the name St. Mungo rings a bell, it is because the charity I worked for in London was named for this fellow by the Glaswegian who founded it several decades ago. Mungo's bones are actually buried underneath this church and it was nice seeing where he was laid to rest.
Out into the rain again I went as I walked back towards the city centre. The rain didn't subside when I reached it and so I decided to duck into the Gallery of Modern Art for my weekly art fix. I met Brian that evening and we went out with one of his mates to a pub situated next to a classy club known as Nice 'N Sleazy.
It bucketed down for the entire next day which was a write off. This was the day that I made my decision to forfeit my already-bought tickets and instead purchase a ticket back down to London. I had wanted the job in France since I first heard about it 6 months before and I knew I would regret it if I missed this chance.
I went to see the People's Palace and gardens on the day before my 13 hour trip back down south, while Brian was at work. The gardens house the world's largest terracotta fountain dedicated to the four British colonies, Canada, South Africa, India and Australia, each with their own statues of people in distinctive local dress and the queen sitting prominently atop the central column.

Photos:

in the Glasgow bus terminal

St. Mungo's Cathedral

inside

the site of a plastics factory explosion in 2004 where 7 died, near Brian's house

the largest terracotta fountain in the world (the Aussie side)

ah the Scottish

who needs it?

the Tardis: i never quite understood what a police box is...

Pasta Hut

a very common sight in Scotland - kilt shop

i was tired... Brian and I

Away in the Highlands

2009-01-31T14:33:00.004Z

And then it was the new year. A whole year had passed in what seemed a blink of an eye. Ten months of travels completed. Nearly half-way through... "How did that happen?"
Day one, January 1st, turned out to be not very indicative of what this following year will hopefully hold for me - I stayed inside rugged up on the couch all day and watched 3 movies and an entire season of the British comedy The In-Betweeners, stepping outside only once to get Indian food from down the road at 9pm. Lee had worked all day. She worked the following day as well whilst Susie, her friend Annie and I went ice skating in the Winter Wonderland. I hadn't been ice skating in years and years and I just did not want to stop. Annie, on the other hand, was not quite willing to let go of the wall. Once they managed to drag me off the ice, Susie took us to see one of her friends in Portobello, a seaside suburb of Edinburgh, and we had a bit of a stroll along the beach in the middle of the Scottish winter - I couldn't help thinking that there was something not right about that....
Lee and I decided to hire a car for 3 days to see some of the Scottish countryside. We left a little later on Sunday morning than we had planned and headed north towards a university city called St. Andrews, famous for its historic connections with the game of golf. The city is also famous for its enormous, all-but-collapsed church, and a virtually unrecognisable castle ruin. It was raining and we decided to push on, especially since we were in the approximate vicinity of the shortest day of the year and we suspected our sunlight wouldn't last for long. We were right. We still had a couple of hours left of driving to reach our destination and the huge lochs we were passing already had started to blend into the mountains and sky as one big dark, yet slightly phosphorus blue-hued blur, like some sort of luminescent deep-sea creature spotted at a distance of 10 metres.
Finally we arrived. Inveraray: the small loch-side town near the west coast where my cousin and his wife had spent the majority of their 2 years abroad. And what a lovely town it is, and very typical of the old towns we were to come across along our route. Every building square and whitewashed. It was now pitch-black outside and we decided to pop into the George (the pub where they worked) for some dinner. We got to meet Donald and a few of the rest of the gang and they were extremely friendly and hospitable. Donald even bought us a round of drinks for new years. Now, we had planned on spending as little as possible on this road trip so we had brought sleeping bags and a large duvet to rug up in the car, but they wouldn't have a bar of it. They instead insisted we could just stay in one of their lovely hotel rooms. Awesome! After an early rising and a long day of driving we were buggered and so hit the sack about 10:30pm, awakening early the next morning ready to do it all again.
We packed up our bags and stepped outside about 0730hr into the dark and into the minus 4 degree temperature. The road was sleeted, our car was iced up and the windscreen washers had frozen over. As dawn broke we stood in front of the majestic Inveraray Castle, which I could imagine having been taken directly out of a fairy tale, before taking a very mountainous scenic route up north. Keeping an eye on our in-car temperature gauge, we noticed the outside temperature fluctuating throughout the day between zero and minus 8.5 degrees. That fact was evident in the lakes, rivers and waterfalls that we came across - all frozen - including huge stalactitic ice formations sheeting the carved out rock to either side of the road. Along the way we also spotted some of Scotland's rugged up hairy cows ("herry-coos") going about their business amongst a multitude of lochs and bens (lakes and peaks).
As we approached the largest city of the north, Inverness, we drove along the shore of the UK's largest and most famous lake, Loch Ness. Did we see the great beast that I have dubbed "Nelly"? We thought so.. But then realised it was just a small cutout of a marine dinosaur stuck to the car window. It was very convincing though...... honestly... After a quick visit to Inverness we made our way up to the seaside town of Ullapool by nightfall, which is the closest to the North Pole we've ever been. Again, the architecture was in the typical Scottish style and the harbour was lovely. We ate some fish and chips in the car (it was way too cold to be standing outside) before bunking down early also in the car. I woke up about 4:30am due to discomfort and the cold, and before I knew it the sun was rising and it was time for breakfast and to start heading back south again.
We decided to take an even more scenic route through the central highlands (as if it wasn't scenic enough) on more local roads. This took us through the Cairngorms National Park and the Grampian Mountains, ski fields, icy pastures, the lovely but quiet town of Braemar and then onto the town of Scone and Perth city. We decided we had to stop in Perth (1) because I've never been to Perth in Australia, and (2) because it has some stunning architecture. Then it was back onto Edinburgh, and our short but remarkable tour had come to its conclusion, with about 30 miles to spare from our 750 mile limit.

Photos:

Lee at the entrance to the church in St. Andrews

us @ the George with Donald

Inveraray castle

Inveraray town centre

and its loch, Loch Fyne

herry coos!

standing on an iced over river - the water was still flowing underneath

frozen waterfall

Nelly!

fancy a swim?

in Braemar

our car

Hogmanay

2009-01-31T14:23:00.004Z

Boxing-boxing day was Saskia's last in Edinburgh before heading back to London, so we did a bit of exploring. My first real day of exploring since I had arrived 5 days earlier. The weather was very kind and the sun was very bright, although not really warming in any way. The famous Royal Mile featured quite highly on our list.
Lee had a day off on the 29th and we spent a good few hours of it walking around the highest point in Edinburgh, Arthur's Seat and the Craigs (pronounced crags). Again the weather was very kind and we could see for miles. This particular hill, I found, was pretty deceptive somehow. From Lee's street, South Clerk St, it looks as if it's about 4km away and exceedingly tall - a mountain. But it's not. It's so close to the city, about a 15 minute walk and only takes about half and hour to walk up. Very misleading.
The 29th is also an important day for the Scots in Edinburgh (or the Scotch, if you're American). It is a day celebrating the nearing of Hogmanay and is kicked off with one of the coolest torch processions I've ever seen. Lee, Rory (Lee's Scottish fellow), Susie and I took our places among the thousands gathering in the cold along the Royal Mile at about 6pm. We collected our "torches" - essentially metre-long beeswax candles - and waited for the slow wave of lit candles to arrive from the front of the pack. It took about an hour. Once they were lit by the people in front of us we started our march, bagpipes playing as we walked, an electric feeling in the air. It was all very exciting and all very pretty, a sea of torches rolling through the old streets of this beautiful city. Small kids who probably shouldn't have been holding these lit candles were sword fighting each other. As were we. The alliance took a right turn onto Princes Street and started filing past the Wonderland, people on the ferris wheel taking photos of what I imagine would have been an amazing view of the rippling effect of the thousands of moving and flickering candles beneath them.
I say "alliance" as we were all focussed on one goal: reaching the top of Carlton Hill to set a Viking ship ablaze. It has been a tradition for many years around the north of Scotland, but was only revived in Edinburgh around a decade ago. The weather was still on our side and it was getting colder. People were rugged up as they held their torches high - some with a sense of pride, others with a sense of trying not to set the woman's hair on fire in front of them. The streets had been closed off for this event and oddly although there were thousands of people crowding them, the traffic lights as they ineffectually changed from green to red and back again somehow made the streets seemed barren. A man, crazy or just entertaining - can't quite decide which - lit green flares and waved them as he ran up and back along the top of a nearby wall.
Eventually the crowd became a mush of people and we slowly made our way up the narrow path to the top of Carlton Hill. By the time we had arrived the Viking ship was already well and truly on fire, quite spectacular really as the flames engulfed the huge silhouette of an emblem of a dragon. Some speccy fireworks erupted from the Acropolis to top off the already fantastic evening. So much fun!
Two days later and the night that everyone cannot wait for, but rarely seems to enjoy, New Years Eve, came to town. The Edinburgh street party is one of the most popular NYE parties in Europe. The streets are again blocked off, stages are set up for the bands (including Glasvegas and Groove Armada this year), the fireworks are ready and waiting somewhere in the Edinburgh castle, bringing your own drinks is allowed. What more could you want? Well, dancing of course! Susie managed to score us free tickets (as she works at the council) to check out and have a crack at some traditional Ceilidh ("kay-lee") dancing. Think a thousand people and the simplicity and repetitiveness of the "hokey-pokey" - or the "hokey-cokey" as they call it in the UK, weird people - but with cool Scottish music and lots of men in skirts. Classic! We manage to get ourselves in trouble for doing the conga line in the Spiegel tent as it "could have been" distracting to the chilled out band on the stage. We were having fun, that's all I can say. A Japanese girl even joined in. That's how crazy things got, man!
Finally it was time for the old fireworks, well, there was about an hour to go but we decided to try and find ourselves a spot with a good view of the castle. It paid off. Anticipation filled the air until the fast-growing sound of thousands of people counting down from 10 to 1 took over, then all that was left was excitement. I'd say they would have to be up there with some of the most awe-inspiring, emotion-stirring and best-executed fireworks ever - though I admit I have not spent a new years in Sydney yet. Even once the fireworks had finished and the reality of the new year set in, the street party still had an hour to go (they like closing up shop early over here). Susie's friend, Kate, and I decided to go find some music as we hadn't seen a single band that evening and we unintentionally stumbled across one of the most entertaining groups around. Moishe's Bagel are born and raised in Edinburgh and their music is described as a mix of folk, jazz and Balkan. We danced the night away. Check it out.

Photos:

down the Royal Mile

part of the Edinburgh Castle

Winter Wonderland

Arthur's seat

lighting of the torches

all very exciting!

the sea of fire

that poor Viking ship!

Lee and I

Happy New Year!

Princes Street celebrations

A very Edinburgh-y Christmas

2009-01-20T16:36:00.004Z

As the train pushes on, the rolling green landscape, whilst remaining relatively modest, is brought to life by sheep, rivers, fields of peat, stone walls and old-style houses that make my 150-odd year old previous residence in Adelaide seem like it was built last year. We pass a coastal town and a mysterious, fog-enshrouded island off the coast comes into view. A short while later a second train change occurs in a city that I am quite familiar with, not in the literal sense, but in that a good friend of mine that I met in New Zealand lives here. I have to walk between stations here to catch the connecting train to the country's capital. I arrive early afternoon and Lee meets me at the train station.
I had landed ready for Christmas and the famous Scottish New Year celebration of Hogmanay, a well-known 2-to-3-day festival. There was a slight problem though. From the moment I stepped foot onto the bustling Princes St from the Waverley station, a sickness was a-brewin'. I met a few of Lee's housemates, including the crack-up Aussie Susan that evening. After only having slept for a couple of hours the night before I was quite tired and was starting to feel the effects of my ailment, so I hit the sack early. The next two days were a compete write-off - I slept for most of it, a feat which I don't recall ever having achieved before and don't intend repeating. It was, in part, a conscious decision to do this as I knew that Christmas and Hogmanay were coming up and I wanted to let myself recover as much as I could - not to mention the intentional avoidance of the punishing constant change in temperature between the toasty warm inside to literally below-freezing outside. I pretty much lost my voice, a real annoyance for someone who sings all the time (yes, in the shower, too.)
This Christmas was a time spent with orphans from all over the world.... Well, Australia, New Zealand and Spain... Close enough. Lee and Susie (a.k.a. Miss Clause) planned and executed a wonderful Christmas lunch of lamb, turkey and the "Two-hour Pavlova"! This was only after we had all exchanged gifts, both from each other and packages that had been sent over by our respective mums (thanks for the snakes, mum!), which sat under the classily-decorated tree in the lounge room that had since been transformed into my room after I couldn't bear the heat of Lee's little loft at night due to my increased core temperature. That evening we tried, unsuccessfully, to find any kind of pub or bar that had more than 10 people in it. Guess Christmas night is just not a night for going out in Edinburgh.... It was still a really enjoyable day.
Boxing Day was a day for relaxing. But moreso than that, it was a day for going on rides! Over the festive period, or as Bill Bailey prefers to call it, "the Primary Gifting Period and Auxilliary Generosity Zone," Edinburgh sets up a whole bunch of rides, stalls, authentic German markets and something they call the Winter Wonderland - including an open-air ice-skating rink - all set around and overshadowed by the looming Gothic, and somewhat rocket ship-like Scott Monument, dedicated to the Scottish author Sir Walter Scott. Pretty cool! Literally...
In the afternoon we (Susie, myself, Lee and her kiwi mate, Saskia) decided it would be fitting to visit the cinemas to watch "Australia," the Baz Luhrmann film about my country - who would have thought? - in the early 1940's. A few hours later we emerged into the darkness, with the sun having already well-and-truly set, and ventured to the top of Carlton hill (one of the several hills that permeate the city centre) atop which stands Scotland's attempt at replicating Greece's Acropolis - they famously, and to many embarrassingly, ran out of money and it remains in its present state only half-finished. From here you can also get quite a good view over the city, its multitude of colourful lights from the Winter Wonderland and a secondary set of ostensibly more "big league" rides on the other side of the park, and of course the city's main centrepiece, the Edinburgh Castle lit up like a massive beacon on top of its stony hill.

Photos:

Lee and Saskia making some fruit salad for Christmas day! mmmm

Miss Clause (a.k.a. Susie) doing the cleaning

wise words..

spinning around - the ferris wheel, Princes St

the Christmas markets

Scotland's embarrassment - I think it's pretty cool personally

the Scott Monument amongst modernity

Béal Feirste

2009-01-09T11:22:00.002Z

As I mentioned before, laziness caused my leaving of Dublin to be postponed until early afternoon on the Saturday and thus I didn't arrive into Belfast until about 5pm. My CSer Dave met me at the bus station and took me back to his place where I met his housemate Shorty, and my couch. Pretty much from there we got ourselves some dinner from the local chippy and then got onto the drinks. That was one of the latest nights I'd had in a while, out until 7am at a groovy 3-floor club and then a house party. Phew. An eclectic group of friends made for a wonderfully vibrant night and one of their mates' "stories" of his first sexual experiences kept everyone entertained for what felt like hours, somehow.
Well, as we all know, a night late to bed usually results in a morning late to arise. Midday was my time for waking and this meant that, due to the current time of the year, I had only about 4 hours or so left of daylight. I had no specific plans for what I wanted to see and so just wandered about the pretty city centre, with it's own small version of the London Eye (as evidently can be found in a lot of UK cities), until the sun did set. In that time I managed to unknowingly fund a faction of immigrants that have been illegally obtaining and selling Ireland's equivalent of the homeless magazine, The Big Issue. It was a good read, though.
I got to chatting a fair bit with Shorty about the difference in viewpoints between the people of Northern Ireland and the Republic on the occupation by Britain. "Ireland" is divided into 32 counties, 26 in the Republic and 6 in Northern Ireland. I managed to get a fairly good idea from my time in the south that the general consensus is that they want unification - for Britain to retreat and return power of those 6 counties back to the Republic. I also got the feeling that there is still quite a deep seeded feeling of resentment towards the English in particular. On the other side of the border I understand there is a fair amount of the same sentiments, although obviously they're more diluted due to the fact that the majority of residents here are in fact UK citizens. The problems that have long plagued the north have all but subsided - the IRA are virtually unseen in these parts and the religious division between Catholics and Protestants is dwindling due largely to a decline in church attendance - though there are still some residual fears about walking through certain areas of Belfast as a Catholic, for instance.
One other thing that I noticed? The people of Ireland have a real problem with littering. So much so that the governments of both countries have had to spend a huge amount of money on advertising campaigns telling people not to throw their rubbish on the ground. Odd.
That little problem aside, I enjoyed my very short time in the country's capital, and the whole of Ireland for that matter. I plan to return at some point with a car (most likely rented) to explore the counties freely and on my own terms because I didn't really see all that much of Ireland during my 2 months there: Glendalough, Dublin and Galway in the Republic and only Belfast in the north - so much more to see.
In the morning I jumped into a taxi at 6am heading for the ferry port. My ferry back to Britain left at 7:30am on the 22nd of December and this time it was heading north-east, towards Scotland.

Photos:

Dave, Shorty and I - Merry Cut-Mas...?

Some of the Gang

I want that wok!

the city centre, very festive

Dublin.. again

2009-01-09T11:00:00.004Z

When we returned to Dublin, I was hit with a very different feeling to when I first arrived in Ireland. During the roughly 2 months interval between visits, the city has turned itself into a jovial hub of activity. The Christmas decorations went up all over, especially around the shopping areas and Temple Bar, and a number of charity workers were now dressed in Santa hats and singing carols on the streets. Markets line Henry street and the number of people cramming this particular section has increased several-fold, almost as if the idea of the recession that's become very prominent in the minds of so many Irish has been dispelled for this festive season. The city, like most places throughout the world during this time of year, has put on a much happier face.
Nic, the cousin of my ex, had moved to Dublin about a month ago and he was happy to let us crash on his floor for the night. Literally a floor - no blankets, no sleeping bags, no heating, and a bloody big gap in the window made for a few interesting nights. It was Christina's last night with me before meeting up with her sister and Nic had invited us out for some drinks, but we were both feeling a little too tired for that much excitement so decided to have a quiet one and instead continue our week-long discussion/debate on all things spiritual.
The following afternoon my newly-found travel buddy left me to meet her sister in a city hotel and I went out to see Nic at his work, the Purty Kitchen, where I managed to make a man cry by mentioning the Omagh bombings, the devastating act performed by militant faction the Real IRA on the small unsuspecting Northern Ireland town in 1998 - it turned out that his family was from Omagh. I felt terrible, even though he was very drunk and despite his friend trying to convince me that he just cries at anything. Later on Nic introduced me to a bunch of his workmates and we shared a few pints and a few dance steps in a neat little red-lit club in the Temple Bar area.
Nic had a day off work and we decided to make a day of it by taking the DART to the hill-encircled beachside town of Bray, about 45 minutes south of Dublin. Unfortunately we didn't end up leaving the city until around 3pm due to the previous night's events and it wasn't long before we were watching the sunset from Bray's beach.
That evening I met up with Naomi, who I went to uni with in Adelaide but never particularly got to know, and her husband Phil - they had moved to Dublin last year as Naomi is now doing a PhD in Cryptology there, a topic quite close to my own heart. We were put in contact by a mutual friend and it turned out that we had a great night reminiscing about all sorts of childhood memories from favourite Aussie chocolates to Peter Coombe. It was also the last night I was to spend at Nic's place, although I was promoted from floor to couch which proved to be a very welcome change. I had planned on leaving the next day for Belfast but for some reason changed my mind and instead moved temporarily in with Naomi and Phil at their apartment in the Dublin University.
I realised that although I had spent the equivalent of about 5 full days in this city, I hadn't actually spent much time exploring it. This was what I got upto over the next couple of days fresh off a new couch. The University is situated about a 1 hour walk north from the city centre and I made this walk each day. A noteworthy relic in the centre is the bullet holes in the columns of the landmark post office and statues along O'Connell Street that serve as a reminder of the troubles during the 1916 Easter Rising against the British. The Trinity College holds some lovely buildings but its main attraction is undoubtedly the Book of Kells - a famously elaborate manuscript from around AD 800. At this time of year, also, there are the Christmas markets in the docklands which I briefly visited.
For my final night in Dublin, a Friday night, I went with the guys and a couple of Naomi's workmates out to a lovely pub - which they consider to be one of the best in Dublin - and again the Guinness was flowing. Funny thing is that I never particularly took to it back in Oz, but now that I'm over here Guinness is slowly becoming my favourite beer. That evening I met some interesting Anarchists and we ate expensive cheese pizza.
My intention was to leave relatively early the next morning to give me 2 full days in Belfast before the ferry across to Scotland, but my laziness and the fact that I was particularly enjoying Phil and Naomi's company meant that it wasn't until after midday that I finally walked out their door and I ended up on the 2pm bus out of Dublin.

Photos:

a Christmas tree using something like 100,000 lights..

not too sure what's going on there - Nic and I in Bray

my bed for a couple of nights...

Henry street

this is where the sun sits around midday

bullet holes in an angel

in the Trinity College

on Temple Bar

Naomi, Phil and their mate out on the piss

a tour and a half

2008-12-21T12:58:00.003Z

We had been toying with the idea of hiring a car but there were two problems: Christina has a valid licence but because she is 18 wasn't eligible to hire a car, and the other issue; I have my international driving permit but... no licence - I had my replacement licence (stemming from when I lost my wallet all those months ago in Manchester) sent to Lee in Edinburgh because of my lack of fixed address. So that idea was out the window. If we were wanting to explore some of the surrounding areas of Galway (Gaillimh in Gaelic - pronounced like Gal-yiff) we could either hitchhike - not a bad idea usually, but around the areas we were going the roads are very narrow and winding - or take a bus tour. We opted for the bus tour, hesitantly.
We got to experience the contrast in quality of service between two different tour operators and it was very interesting. First of all, we were lied to by the owner of O'Neachtain Tours. Niki (our CSer) mentioned that there was a particularly good guided farm walk on the Cliffs of Moher tour. I asked this particular woman about it and she said that there were no farms out that way and I must've been thinking of their other tour. When we were on the bus, however, we did stop at a farm and everyone was able to get off the bus for the walking tour except for us and another couple. Upon enquiring/complaining to the bus driver (who was actually from a different company called Lears), he confirmed that the woman had flat-out lied to make the sale, and so he ended up driving us around the area to an old monastery and telling us all about the country's various folklore to make up for it. He was a great bloke, very informative and very friendly. Following this we stopped off at the ancient (>5000 year old) Poulnabrone tomb for a very quick photo opportunity - they are attempting to reduce degradation of the site by limiting visiting time to only 10 minutes.
Then it was onto the famous Cliffs of Moher, only the third highest cliffs in Ireland but very spectacular all the same. For the majority of the day, and especially during the drive upto the cliffs, a thick fog loomed and could even be seen rolling down the high hills towards the sea as we passed traditional thatch-roofed seaside villages. This fog was still very much present when we got off the bus. Amazingly, by a stroke of luck as if instigated by some almighty force, the fog dissipated and the snaking cliffs came into full view as we approached the cliffs' edge. Wonderful. Then, to add to the mystery or luck as it were, it all rolled back in again as we jumped back on the bus.
That evening I decided that, although we had thoroughly enjoyed the tour, the way in which we were sold the tickets needed to be called into question. I had a few words to the guy on the desk at the tour office, he agreed it was poor form and took my number for the manager... But never called... What a surprise.
We had a bit of a wander around town later on and bumped into a fellow, you know the type: a nomad, living in a caravan run on vegetable oil, handing out booklets outlining the problems with the world and the ways in which we can change, heading to Africa next year to do humanitarian work with underpriveliged Kenyans... A really nice guy, we chatted for about an hour, and Christina managed to take some inspiration for a similar African trip.
The following day we were feeling amazingly lazy and our time was thus spent indoors watching movies, including a bit of the timeless comedy known as Father Ted, which is set on a fictitious Aran Island of the west coast here.
The other tour we participated in was to the north-west of Galway (the first being to the south-west). My expectation of this tour to an area called the Connemara was that we would be visiting one of the only few remaining entirely Gaelic-speaking regions, or Gaeltachts, of Ireland. Well technically we did visit it when our driver (this time a very awkward O'Neachtain driver) dropped us off at the only English-speaking markets in the area for half and hour while he drove back to the depot to pick up a smaller bus. We then proceeded to drive straight through without any other stops until we reached the first English-speaking town outside of the region. I would have been happy if he'd even just stopped so we could see street signs in pure Gaelic (without English as can be observed in the rest of the country), but we weren't so lucky. From what I saw from the comfort of the bus it looked like a nice area although the weather was certainly against us with the rain almost not ceasing for the entire day.
Dara took us out for another Guinness session that evening and we said our goodbyes early the next afternoon.

Photos:

Christina and I in front of an early Abbey

Poulnabrone Tomb

good Samaritans - the Cliffs of Moher

you always get the best view from the edge

lovely

apparently Michael Jackson has put in a bid for this round tower castle - only about a cool €40m or so...

traditional thatch-roofed houses in the Connemara - to re-thatch costs about €40,000

boglands of the Connemara

a bit of craic with Dara

Gaillimh

2008-12-16T08:51:00.003Z

The morning before I left Glendalough was cold. Not unlike any other morning of the past 6 weeks. But this time it held a different feeling. As I awoke at 7:30am following a night out in Lynhams, I looked outside at the darkness (at this time of year the sun isn't showing itself until around 8:30) and decided to go for a run. I had done this only a couple of times previously in similarly cold conditions. As I turned right out of the hostels driveway, the frosted whiteness of the entire landscape hit me. It was absolutely stunning. So serene. I turned into the ancient cemetery and the beauty continued. A solitary man capturing the view down the valley with his camera looked up and smiled at me. Winter had now officially begun.
Christina and I left early the next morning, again well before sunrise, for the bus to Dublin. It wasn't until we hit traffic that I realised I pretty much hadn't seen civilisation for the past month and a half. I was excited at the prospect of being once again part of city life. We had plans for moving on from Dublin later in the day but we decided to spend a few hours walking around. We visited Malin at Shining and spent a couple of hours wandering with her. Then it was onto another bus, this time for a duration of about 4.5 hours to Galway. I had heard from many people that Galway was a fantastic city and well worth visiting - so much more so than Dublin. I'm happy to report that it certainly lived upto the reviews.
Couchsurfing was the way forward again and we found ourselves staying with the fantastic Kiwi hostess, Niki, and her highly amusing Irish housemate, Dara. By the time we had sorted our stuff out it was past 2200hr and we were quite exhausted from the long day behind us. We had plans to see a few of the surrounding areas of Galway but felt that our first day in the city should be spent in the city. By admission of even the locals, the city itself does not hold too many "sights" to keep tourists busy. It is a lovely place but the main drawing card is the craic. There are more pubs per capita than many other places in Ireland and that is very evident with even the backstreets holding at least some sort of drinking establishment overflowing with Guinness. The local music scene is probably second to none, seeing as the city is at the heart of the county that can claim proudly the birthplace of traditional Irish music. A quarter of the city's 70,000-odd residents are students, adding to its vivaciousness.
That first day Christina and I checked out the local cemetery. Yes I know it seems like I have a weird obsession with cemeteries, but I'm finding them quite interesting here in Ireland. Ireland is the first place where the Christian cross and the Pagan circle representing the continuity of life and the sun are known to have been meshed together. This well-known trans-Religious symbol is now the most common form of headstone used in cemeteries, and the cemetery we were in was no different. Apart from the occasional more subtle memorial, the entire estate appears as a sea of these grey stone monuments to the eternally resting.
Following this we meandered through the main shopping area within city before venturing along a coastal path, passing some remnants of the city's early trading days with Spain, to a few sandy yet cold beaches where we were able to watch the sun as it neared the horizon signalling the early end of daylight for yet another day. As most people know, with the death of daylight comes another seemingly more vibrant life. Nightlife. That night Dara and his mate Alan took us to a few pubs and clubs about the place and we had a great time yelling at an ageing Santa to "show us your sack!" in one pub followed by dancing up a storm in the club Karma.

Photos:

it's Christmas time in the city...

over the harbour

a typical Irish cemetery

neat buildings

living in the middle of nowhere

2008-12-06T19:01:00.004Z

The first weekend brought the first of many large young groups to the hostel. I would like to take this opportunity to say that I now officially hate groups of kids! Now, before you start to think I'm a complete bastard, let me put this into perspective for you. I live in a small double bedroom, Room 18, in the centre of the second floor. Groups of kids always book out the entire second floor (apart from my room, that is) and generally don't go to sleep before say 3 or 4 o'clock in the morning. Sounds harmless but when they are running up and down the corridors, screaming, banging on doors - including mine on that first weekend, waking me up at 4:30am with someone shouting, "Trick or treat!" - it can get a bit beyond the pale sometimes. In fact at that point I got up ready to yell at whoever was outside. It was a girl, maybe 17 years old and drunk off her nut. She said that she needed sleep and I could see that she wouldn't be able to get any in her room so I offered my spare bed simply so she would stop running around. Big mistake. Not only did she confuse me for someone she knew and try quite drunkenly to seduce me - not the best thing to be doing with someone who's just been woken up at 4am - she also peed the bed and while I was out of the room in the morning, decided to cover it up by doing a bit of "cleaning", including flipping over the mattress so I wouldn't know. And when I questioned her about it, she said she had "no idea why the blanket was hanging out the window." I left it at that. I think she was a little embarrassed by this string of events, though, and ended up leaving the group early and going home. I found this out at their very well-planned Halloween party that evening at the Glendalough Hotel. Some awesome costumes, including a few smurfs and the entire Tellytubby crew. After the party everyone crowded into one of the hostel rooms and were singing traditional Irish songs at the top of their voices until at least 5am. That, I was glad to be a part of.
After the weekend, we said goodbye to Jamie as she ventured off hitchhiking around Ireland and then onto the south of Spain. And then it was just Ryan, a 22 year old Chicagoan, and I. We had a good bit of craic along with fellow workers Maria, a cute little German lass, and Elena, the voice of reason from Spain. After the roughly 2 to 3 hours of housekeeping daily, Ryan spent a fair bit of his time writing his book, and I spent a fair bit of my time proof reading it.
As for me, it didn't take long to realise that apart from a bit of walking and drinking at the pub (which I very rarely do), there is not much to keep one busy out here at Glendalough. I asked about work at the two local pubs and the organic store, but with no luck. So soon I had picked up my guitar, and I pretty much haven't put it down for the past 6 weeks. If there was any possibility of a feeling of time wasted by staying in the one sleepy town and not earning any money, it has been well and truly quashed by the fact that I've made my first substantial progress on the guitar front - having learned about 8 or so songs and written two more - and for the first time I actually feel confident playing and singing them at the same time, something I've longed for since I started singing many years ago. My fingers are actually aching from playing so much, but again I'm not complaining.
A couple more weeks passed and Ryan's plans of staying for at least a few more months changed when his girlfriend was unable to organise a visa in time to come over, so he made the decision to instead return home for a month to see her. We had some drinks for his penultimate night and it would be an understatement to say that we both felt a little hungover that next day. Soon he too had left and then it was just me.
There have a been a few lovely travellers that I have had the privilege of meeting over the time, from Dutch to French, Israeli, German, Spanish, Irish, and of course Australian. The most recent of which being 18 year old Christina from California. She left Glendalough on Monday to begin her travels around Ireland. And I left with her.

Photos:

Me as a Tellytubby, Ryan as a person at the Halloween party

the colours were amazing near the start of my time in Glendalough - by the time I left, this same scene was bare

a lovely little bridge

my mate George

this is pretty much the entire town of Glendalough

the only surviving entry archways to a monastery in the country

the Cathedral of St Peter and St Paul

from St Saviour's church to the valley

Gleann dá loch

2008-12-06T18:49:00.004Z

Glendalough (Gaelic: Gleann dá loch, Pronunciation: Glen-da-lock, Translation: Valley of the Two Lakes) is pretty well described by its name. It's a tiny village sporadically settled about the eastern and northern shores of two bodies of water, known as the Lower and Upper Lakes, nestled in a quiet valley within the rugged and windswept Wicklow Mountains approximately 54km south of Dublin. It was founded in the 6th century by the monk St. Kevin after he retreated into a small cave above the Upper Lake in order to achieve solitude. His solitude was short-lived, however, and it wasn't long before others had joined him and a number of churches were constructed. From that point it flourished as a monastic centre for eight centuries until it was pillaged by English soldiers in 1398, leaving behind the ruins that remain today. Bloody English!
Malin and I met my new housemates, fellow freebies Ryan and Jamie, that first evening and the following day, after a walk around the lakes, the guys took us for a hike over one of the hills for some fantastic views of the lakes, waterfalls and valley below. Not to mention the nearby monastic ruins and cemetery. All quite spectacular really. What I've discovered is that the place is serene and beautiful irrespective of the weather: sun, rain, hail, wind or snow.. That's right... Snow!
On my second day, after Malin had returned to Dublin for work, as I began my first day of housekeeping, it started to snow. For hours it snowed. The sheep in the field adjacent to the hostel grazed in it and the mountaintops were capped white. Everything became white. It was such a shock to see this in late October but I was not complaining. In fact I was thrilled - it was the first snow I had seen in a few years - and although I was wearing my flip-flops I couldn't resist heading outside for a closer look.
Ryan, Jamie and I went for a couple of great hikes in that first week and even took advantage of the remaining high-altitude snow with a snowball fight on the top of Camaderry mountain, on the northern side of the Upper Lake. Deer and goats are bountiful on these mountains and the high-pitched shriek, uncomfortably reminiscient of a small child screaming, used in communication and especially as a warning by the deer can be heard all around the area.
As if somehow prompted by the snowfall, I was able to watch the somewhat gloomy transition from autumn to winter as the foliage of vibrant reds and yellows slowly succumbed to gravity and a number of trees became bare skeletons of their former selves. This is not to say that the landscape has now become desolate or unattractive, in fact the opposite has occurred. With many trees still retaining their greenery and the remaining having turned an eerie shade of purple, not to mention their newly exposed intricacy as having complicated and twisted branch structures and as the home for many mosses and lichens, it feels as though winter has brought a new face to the environment. One prepared for the colder months.
Although the snow melted away from the mountain not long after our snowfight in that first week, I don't think I would go so far as to say that there has been a day of consistent warmness since. Oddly, I have experienced a number of mornings where the sun beaming down will prove to be warmer than the same that afternoon - although the hostel has internet, it's a little expensive and it's not wireless, so Ryan and I would generally make the trek with our laptops to the pub in the next town over, Lynhams of Laragh, to scrounge their wireless from the cold sidewalk - yes, we are cheaps bastards... On these days, it would not be until we were finishing up or walking back to the hostel that my fingers would start to sting from the cold and I would sometimes find it difficult to speak without shaking. Good times. More recently, the temperature has started dropping below zero during the day causing ice to remain on the grass and puddles to freeze over almost permanently. The white caps on the mountains have also returned.

Photos:

the cemetery with its 10th century round tower - that's the doorway a few metres from the ground on the left-side of the tower

Upper Lake

the view down the valley from Derrybawn mountain

Emo!

Snow!

many an evening was spent playing games - I suck at Monopoly but am undoubtedly the Jenga master!

another view of the valley

deer on the mountains

after the fall

it was damn cold up there.. but so good

the long trek to Glendalough

2008-12-06T18:48:00.003Z

I met Malin, a Swedish girl who worked at the hostel, on this evening out and we got to talking. I found out that she had not been outside of Dublin city for about 3 months and as such was itching to do something. I mentioned the possibility of Glendalough and the plan was formulated for the next day. I had to be her wake up call at 9:30am ready for the 10 o'clock bus but after getting misdirected - by a couple of policemen, mind you - and subsequently lost we must've just missed it by a few minutes. There wasn't another bus until 6pm. What to do, what to do...
Malin had the idea to jump on the DART (rail system) and see a place called Howth on the coast. Sounded easy enough but somehow we again got lost trying to take backstreets and ended up walking aimlessly around the city for a couple of hours with all of my gear, coming across a city marathon before eventually finding the train station.
We only had a couple of hours in Howth but it seemed like it was a lovely relaxing beachside town. I imagined the streets full of holidaying families and the green parks converted into a temporary fairground over the summer months, kids licking icecreams from a takeaway while the parents looked through the window of the local arts and crafts store. Unfortunately this was not our experience. It was cold and it was windy. We rugged up with about 30 layers each and found some backstreets to explore, one of which gave us a nice view over the town's cemetery with its centuries-old collapsed-roof stone church and the ocean in the background. After a bite of lunch at the local pub we had a bit more of a wander, with just enough time to discover another old church hiding away from the town centre before we had to return to Dublin.
Well, we weren't going to miss this damn bus again so we walked straight to the bus stop on the other side of the city (we got off the train a few stops too early we realised) and the bus was waiting. We paid our €20 each (!) for the return trip and were on our way. I think we were both pretty stuffed after our long day of walking with all the extra baggage and we both fell asleep on the bus only to be woken up to the bus driver saying, "Wakey wakey, sorry to disturb your slumber but we have arrived." By this point it was around 7:30pm and it was pitch black outside. The driver pointed us down a dark road, untouched by the glow of street lamps or even moonlight, and shrouded in trees. We followed a small trail of others who had similarly been pointed in that direction thinking that they would know the way better than us - why, I do not know.. They didn't let us down though and we soon found ourselves looking at a homely looking yellow building in the middle of nowhere.
In the reception, out the corner of my eye I spotted an A4 printed sheet pointing out that I could have my accommodation and breakfast for free (including the tastiest muesli you've ever laid your tongue on) in exchange for a bit of work. I had no plans over the next week, apart from the fading possibility of getting work on a farm near Belfast, and so I thought 'why not.' And thus my time in Glendalough began.

Photos:

a church

Malin and I in a traditional Irish pub

another church

and it begins...

Baile Átha Cliath

2008-12-06T18:44:00.003Z

I was welcomed to Ireland with open arms. They were my arms, waving in astonishment at the line of us still waiting for the bus to pick us up from the ferry terminal over an hour after we docked. It was about 7:30pm by the time the double decker bus decided to show up and in this time I had befriended a fellow Aussie traveller in the hope that there might be a vacancy at the hostel he was staying at. It was a Saturday night and I had once again neglected to book accommodation.
My first taste of Irishness actually came on the bus when I noticed tiny green confetti shamrocks scattered across the second level floor. Confetti is not something I would normally pay much attention to, but I thought the style of confetti in this case seemed quite fitting. We walked to the Aussie's hostel and within seconds we had discovered that I still had nowhere to sleep for that night. Good old hostels.com helped me out after putting a coin into the automated internet machine in the Busáras terminal, and it was not long before I was unknowingly walking through the city's party heart, Temple Bar, on my way to my new temporary bed. That evening I did not feel like partying though, in fact doing anything apart from sleeping after my 14-or-so hour excursion sounded quite adverse. So that's exactly what I did. Slept.
The next morning I had to again look for a place to stay as the hostel was full for that evening, so I asked an older gent who was staying in the bed next to mine. He made a few suggestions and then let me know that there really was not much to do around the city apart from drinking and visiting the Guinness storehouse. This same guy managed to unintentionally change the course of my travels for the next six weeks by casually mentioning a place that he had heard was supposed to be quite nice: a little village south of Dublin known as Glendalough. The seed had been planted and as I walked around reciting the name in my head so I would not forget it (I'm not exactly known for my great memory capacity) it didn't take long to find a new hostel, the Shining Hostel, this one a little cheaper than the previous.
The weather was strange that day. It was never warm, but it shifted a number of times between sunny clear skies, bucketing down and windy. The last two usually occurring simultaneously. Actually, what am I saying? That kind of weather is pretty much the norm out in these parts. And by "these parts," I mean the entire British Isles. Dublin is known in Irish Gaelic as Baile Átha Cliath, or just Átha Cliath (it sounds a little like a cross between or and the 'o' in stop, followed by clee-a), which refers to a fortress from back when Ireland was a bastion in medieval times. It was perhaps not too startling to find out that the city was built on and divided in two by the River Liffey. The major shopping focus is on the north side of the river with the wide O'Connell Street and pedestrianised Henry Street providing much spending opportunity and many a busking location. And there were quite a few great buskers about, including a fantastic guitarist/singer and his overexcited dog and a very talented puppeteer. O'Connell Street is also home to the city's famous landmark, the 120 metre tall Monument of Light, or 'The Spire', which is actually meant to be a massive knitting needle in dedication to the most unexpected export, the Aran sweater. Odd.
While on my way to the supermarket that afternoon, in a shopping centre on Henry Street, I came across an Israeli guy manning a small nuts stall who tried convincing me to work illegally with him selling nuts for commission. What a job. I could have even made a few euro extra by working in the beauty stall across the way straightening people's hair. Hmmm. Thanks but no thanks. He did however give me a discount on nuts and offer to practically give me a lifetime supply if he could keep my hat.
That afternoon I spent in the hostel speaking with a guy that took a little bit too much of an interest in me, if you know what I mean. Somehow we ended up eating icecream covered in banana, jam and nutella with a Swedish girl while sitting on the floor of the hostel's bathroom. Not too sure how that came about. But in the evening a big group of us (mainly Swedish) headed out to Temple Bar - which is actually an entertainment quarter as opposed to just one bar - for some Guinnesses (I guess that's the correct plural of Guinness? Not Guinnii?).

Photos:

Grafton St by night

some Irish guy

there is a large homeless presence around Dublin

The Spire and an example of the English/Gaelic street signs that can be seen all around the country

Shamrocks

London - Round 3

2008-11-21T16:36:00.004Z

Which one did I choose? Turns out, none of them.
For the past 3 weeks the Aussie dollar had been slowly falling against both the sterling and the euro. In fact, on one particular day in Budapest it lost about 1/4 of its value literally overnight. I think this was the main factor behind my decision to not continue travelling and to find myself a job again.
The plan: to find some work until Christmas, have a few weeks off over the festive season to do some travel with Lee, then head into the French alps to work in a chalet for the ski season. The perfect plan in my opinion. That, I figured, would set me up with a good few months worth of French-speaking opportunities and then a good few months more worth of unhindered travel options around Europe for the summer months.
On that final day in Prague I booked myself a Student Agency bus (loving the bus) back through to Victoria Station in London, departing that afternoon. Student Agency are a cheap Prague/Budapest based bus company with a difference. I guess you could say they act a little more like an airline than a bus service. There's the selection of movies, your choice of music stations and there is even complimentary hot chocolate served by a stewardess who's on call for the entire trip, which in this instance took about 5 hours longer than scheduled due to delays on the eurotunnel.
Tom and John were kind enough to take me in again for that transitional period in London. I was not staying for long. I was on my way to Belfast.
My week in London was relatively uneventful apart from buying myself a new laptop to replace the one that I had bought only a month before. At one point I spent 48 hours indoors with the curtains drawn - I figured out that that can be quite depressing only after I stepped outside to do some shopping and realised that there was actually a world out there. I also managed to catch up with Nic and Michael again for a few drinks on one of my last nights (although I'm not sure how good my company would have been due to a self-inflicted absence of sleep the night before.)
The most interesting day by far was the one after I arrived. On Sunday, Tom and I decided to go on a photo excursion of the city. It was something I felt I had neglected to do during my time here last time and so I was more than eager for Tom's suggestion. We took an anti-clockwise tour of central London, using a combination of buses and our legs, in order to find unusual sites where we could make manifest some of our ideas in front of the lens. We managed to get some great shots!
I booked the first half of my trip, to Dublin, on the Friday afternoon and the following morning - about 6am - I was once again on the move. The day was to be another long one on buses, trains and a ferry. During the train journey north towards the port at Holyhead, I had an interesting conversation with a few girls that were born and raised in Dubai. At the same time an announcement came over the intercom system informing us that there was some quite adverse weather conditions over the Irish Sea where my ferry was due to cross. Some of the ferry services had been cancelled. Luckily, mine was not one of them. It was a massive and unexpectedly fancy cargo ferry, and one would think that it would hold such considerable momentum that choppy weather would not affect its crossing all that much. That just didn't hold true. For the majority of the several hour passage the boat was rolling and pitching with quite unsettling amplitude - cupboards were opening and cleaning gear was rolling around the upper deck - and there were a number of audible and jarring collisions with large waves. It was actually a little scary when my stomach started getting that same sensation that you get on a rollercoaster or when your car dips suddenly on an undulating road.
Rocking aside, the trip went by without too much drama (apart from those that threw up in the stairwell) and after passing through customs we were once again on dry land.

Photos:

Camden

Skatepark - Southbank

Funny guy, that Tom

backstreets of Camden

the Antarctic

now they're having to resort to djing

the streets near Buckingham Palace

can you guess that this is an Irish boat?

Praha

2008-11-21T16:31:00.005Z

Praha (or Prague, as we know it) is the capital of the Czech Republic and is described as one of Europe's most beautiful and fascinating cities by most who visit it. I am no exception. Although I have used the term 'grand' in a few instances to describe cities visited in the past, this magnificent metropolis also fits that description perfectly but in a very different sense. While places like Vienna and Lyon feel as if you have stepped back into a time where you could imagine the entire city being built to satisfy the wishes and majestic vision of a king, Praha feels more as if it had been pieced together over the course of centuries, bringing to fruition the visions of hundreds of architects, Catholic nobles and artists alike. Having escaped WWII virtually untouched, the city's architectural diversity is enormous and immediately apparent - from Gothic and Renaissance to Art Nouveau and Cubist - and it all just... works.
The portrayal of Prague as 'The City of a Thousand Spires' paints a very realistic picture of what you can expect to find here. The churches, the enormous and imposing watchtower gateways, the famous Old Town Hall clocktower with its giant astronomical clock and of course the Prague Castle all exhibit some version of this Gothic feature. I don't know why but somehow a spire will always seem to add a certain beauty to a building. In the same way, spacious open squares and wide avenues add a certain greatness to a city, and there are plenty of those in Prague. But what about the narrow, cobblestoned, archaic backstreets that I have come to associate with medieval Europe? Yep, a lot of them too. The city really is magnificent. I think Karlův Most (Charles Bridge) also deserves a mention here as it affords fantastic views of the stunning riverfronts on both sides of its 300-odd-metre span across the Vltava River. The bridge is adorned with 30 sculptures dating from the 18th century, strengthening its allure, and is lined with sketch artists and jewellery stalls to catch the attention of the hordes of tourists constantly passing over it - in summer this bridge is the busiest place in the city.
In the evening of our first real day in the Czech Republic, Dan took us by train to his small, charming and quiet village about 40 minutes out of Prague. His parents were kind enough to let us stay for a couple of nights and mum was trying to feed us before we managed to even step through the door and say their adorable word for hello, ahoj ("ahoy."). When we had finished eating (oh those jam and cream cake things for dessert were divine) Dan took us for a walk to the local pub where we met some more of his mates, Pedro lost a game of pool to me, we watched French music videos, and I ate a most disgusting looking (but beautiful tasting) camembert cheese while two old Slovak men argued in the corner. A pretty normal night.. Until...
At some point in the night before, around 2am if I remember correctly, Pedro's best mate, Sky (a funny guy aside from the events of the ensuing discussion), rocked up and we shared a few beers with him. I think he was the only one out of our bunch to not have slept that night. Well he slept this night, that's for sure........ For one he fell asleep in the pub (a side effect of a little too much alcohol me thinks) and it took a glass of water over his face to wake him up. Then there was the short, yet seemingly eternal walk back to Dan's place. And last but not least by any stretch of the imagination, I had to lay next to one of the strangest, loudest and most irritating sleepers I have ever come across. To top it off there was the unfortunate vomiting episode all over Pedro and Kristina's clothes, acting as a catalyst for a heated (and loud, for 5am) argument between those two. Sufficed to say, I gave up on sleep for that night. Dan was not a very happy either that all this was going on in the room next to his parents'. Oh well.. One for the grandkids..
We spent 2 very relaxed days in that village and again there was a lot of sleeping in past midday (for everyone except me that is). The morning after all that unpleasantness, while everyone else slept, I sat and watched a Czech program on TV that looked like a really old news broadcast. Dan informed me that that was exactly what it was. Every single day they air the news that was broadcast on that date exactly 25 years ago. He explained that it was really interesting because in 1983 they were still part of Czechoslovakia and the news at that time took on a very obvious communist stance. What a great idea! Not the communism, but revisiting the news from the past on a daily basis. Why don't they do something similar back home?
We said our děkuji's to Dan's parents and migrated back into town after this stint in the Czech countryside. We ended up settling for our remaining two days into a hostel situated down a small alley just off the old town square, Staroměstské náměstí, home to the old town hall and towered over by the twin spires of the Týn Church, the latter being conspicuously and spectacularly lit by blue light in the evenings. A bit of partying, a bit of general sightseeing and some eating at the vegetarian restaurant downstairs from the hostel followed until Friday afternoon, when most of us were scheduled to leave - everyone already had their flights booked, except for me.. again.. I couldn't even decide where I wanted to go after Prague:

Berlin? Somewhere else in Germany? Maybe Paris?

Photos:

In Dan's Village

in the early hours of the morning

Lee, the centre of attention as usual...

the cheese - mmmm

imposing structures

Vltava River

Týn Church

communist art

spectacular

Spionator

it doesn't take much to cause a crowd

the astronomical clock

eating some Czech sausage

And a tiring introduction to a new city

2008-11-21T16:29:00.005Z

Through the early morning fog we walked, crossing the street once to avoid a group of 3 suspicious-looking men. Within 15 minutes we had reached the train station and it was time to once again say goodbye to this lovely city and to brace ourselves for the next unknown.
The majority of the following 2 hour train trip was also shrouded in intermittent fog and it didn't subside even when we had arrived at our next destination city of Linz. Still in Austria, but closer to the Czech border, Linz is not the best place to visit on a Sunday morning - despite its claim to fame as being Hitler's favourite town. We had only a couple of hours here until our connecting train and Sunday morning, then and there, was the only time that was available to us. Don't get me wrong, it seemed like a nice enough place, a really nice place in fact, but it was just dead. Almost no-one on the streets and most of the stores were closed. Despite this, I could still appreciate the city's architectural merits. Although almost completely devoid of greenery and in some places riddled with construction work, the buildings on the central square, Hauptplatz, and main street eminating from it away from the river boast an aesthetically pleasing Vienna-like feel - but on a much smaller scale.
After this short interlude, it was back on the tram to the train station (again nervous about potential ticket inspectors as we were pretty sure we had bought the wrong tickets.) We managed to avoid another fine.
The fog subsided eventually and as the train rolled through green pastures, far-reaching forested areas and small Austrian, then Czech villages, I watched. A long 7 hours and two-thirds of the Czech countryside had duly passed before we arrived - almost 12 hours after setting off from Salzburg. It was dark and we were tired. We were meant to be meeting Pedro, Dan and Kristina (of The Mop fame) at the train station but neither of our phones had credit so there was a period of about an hour of attempting to use public pay phones and asking shop keepers if we could use theirs before I figured out that it's not impossible to top-up my mobile whilst roaming. Then there was a half-hour of waiting in a nearby restaurant for them to turn up. An hour or so later, whilst on our way to a pub, Lee and I decided we were too tired and weren't prepared to lug our bags around anymore, so we would look for a hostel instead - it was about 11pm by this point, which makes looking for a hostel in a brand new city a little taxing, and so after an hour or so of walking around the busy and wide main avenue of Václavské nám and sitting in McDonald's we took the easy option and gave up to meet with the guys again, just in time for a new pub. The fog once more began to fill the streets and the temperature had become that kind of bitter cold we had come to expect of European evenings. It wasn't until about four and a half hours after this, at 4:30am, that our heads had finally hit the pillow in a disused hotel owned by one of Dan's mates. A long day.
The morning came and went and I don't think any of us were up before about midday. The light of the new day again came to the rescue and, although the place at night looked mighty impressive, it certainly looked a lot more friendly that following day. We ventured into town on the underground and for a couple of hours in the afternoon Dan acted as our tour guide, showing us some of the many wonderful sights in his home city.
We were in Prague.

Photos:

happy snaps in Linz

how European...

they didn't think that name through very well..

already tired on the train

the National Museum at the head of Václavské nám

The Hills are ALIVE

2008-11-21T16:20:00.007Z

OK, so I don't really know what that means, but it sounds ominous and... familiar... Of course I am talking about the famous song from the movie, "The Sound Of Music". And the best place to watch it every single freaking day is undoubtedly in Salzburg's International Hostel. We stayed there 4 nights. Their continental breakfast was amazing... and cheap!
The last time I was in Salzburg was in the final days of 2005, with my mum and Lee. It was winter. It was cold. And best of all it was white and covered in snow. Absolutely stunning. This city was one of my favourites 3 years ago, and that still hasn't changed. It was the one I was most excited about revisiting on this trip. There's simply a beautiful liveliness in the streets, in the markts, in the colourful 17th-century buildings that sit flush up against the cliff backdrop, in the trams, in the Sacher torte shops, in the prominent medieval Festung Hohensalzburg fortress overlooking the city, in the many painted Christmas egg shops that line the narrow and busy Getreidegasse (they are in full bloom even in mid-October), in the parks, in the river and, yes, even in the hills that encircle this picturesque old town, which has been given Unesco World Heritage status. This time around though the season was Autumn and the surrounding hills were not white, but multi-coloured in greens, yellows, oranges and reds. The weather is clear, the air is crisp and there is a great vibe flowing through it. As you can tell, I like this city.
Of course, the major attraction for most people is the sights and sounds of The Sound Of Music with many of the film's scenes shot right here in Salzburg or very nearby. They are quite recognisable too, provided you brush up with the morning screening of the movie at the hostel. Last time we were here we did the obligatory Sound Of Music tour which did the rounds taking us to said sights - it was pretty cool, but there's something just not right about a busload of people singing "How do you solve a problem like Maria?". There are a multitude of other similar tours here capitalising on this fact, including Freülein Maria's Bicycle Tours...
The other claim to fame this city holds is that it is the birthplace of one Mr. Mozart. There are several museums here dedicated to the man, despite the fact that he decided to leave Salzburg in 1780 at the age of 24, leaving behind a legacy of only his earliest works.
During our time here, we visited a Biofest with all things bio on display and on sale in Kapitelplatz, a square towered over by the fortress above. Primarily bio bread, bio icecream, and of course bio meat were available here, not to mention the large beer tent full of people drinking bio beer (what kind of Austrian festival would it be ohne Bier?). We met a lovely and new-to-travelling young American couple on our second day in the hostel and we spent a good deal of time talking about the differences between our two countries. Always interesting. We made friends and had a long and intense talk about politics in Mexico City with a local mum from the Republic café/bar where we spent a lot of our time. But our time in Salzburg was mainly spent simply meandering from the new town on the north-side of the teal-blue river to the pedestrianised old town on the south and back again, soaking in the vibrant atmosphere of the crowds of tourists and locals alike.
A wonderful, long awaited and much enjoyed experience.

Photos:

Across the river

the old town with the fortress in the background

the cliffs and autumn colours

Getreidegasse

that's what I mean by Christmas egg shops. imagine this throughout a whole store, throughout 20 stores..

autumn fun at the bio fest

i want a pair!

recognise this? i'll give you a hint: do re mi

neat

grab onto those Pecs

2008-11-05T16:05:00.004Z

Pécs. Pronounced as if you're saying pear with a ch at the end. A much quieter student city in the south-west of Hungary. I guess you could call it a welcome relief and a pleasant change. Again this was nothing against Budapest, it was really just a state of mind that I was in at the time coupled with the irrational thought that a change of city would bring with it a change of luck. Did it work? Put it this way: nothing bad happened so that was a positive sign! We both had a very positive attitude on the train across the country, watching the unexpectedly green and vast landscapes rush past. That was until I realised I had left my iPod cord back at David's place.. Aaaaargh.. Luckily, I was able to get hold of Aaron and he managed to find it for me. Phew.
As we waited for a bus into the city centre, a dance class in session was visible in the window of a 2nd floor studio outside the train station. We met with our CSer, Simon, who was in the middle of studying for his medical exams at the time, and he asked if we would like to eat some McDonald's for dinner. We declined and instead he took us to eat in a cozy downstairs Hungarian restaurant with live piano music, just off the main square, Széchenyi tér - a much better choice, don't you think? This main square is dominated by the largest remaining Turkish building in Hungary, a remnant of the country's 150 years of Turkish occupation in the 16th and 17th centuries. The Mecset templom - or Mosque church - seems to be a contradiction in itself. Its name, however, reflects its nature exactly. This lovely domed building was once a mosque, serving the city's Muslim community until it was converted into a Christian church; the Islamic moon symbol atop the dome replaced by a cross. Another interesting feature within the city is the padlock fences. Small sections of fence that couples connect a padlock to in order to signify their love. I thought that was cool. We were treated to something a little different on that first morning. Simon took us to his university to sit in on a German medical practical on the human brain. And they were using real human brains! Now that's not something you get to experience everyday - looking at a human brain while not understanding a thing the German lecturer is saying (apart from an occasional reference to the hippocampus) in a university in the south of Hungary.
There was some sort of arts festival on while we were here as well and as part of it there were beanbags laid out in one of the small central squares and a giant screen set up showing what I could only imagine was a Hungarian animated children's show. Again, we couldn't understand a thing but it was funny all the same.
Our time in Pécs was short and not paricularly jam-packed but definitely enjoyed all the same. We left the next day on another train which was to take us back through Budapest (where we met again with Aaron and he was able to give me the iPod cord) and Vienna in order to get to our next destination. We were excited for this one!

Photos:

just one of those lovely skies you can't resist photographing

one of the padlock fences

the largest unoccupied building in Europe - damn asbestos

Brainserhausen

that's an impenetrable fortress of security she's got set up there

the Mecset templom

yurt

2008-11-05T16:04:00.005Z

We spent the majority of the day with Henry and in the evening we moved out of the city on the 173-RED bus towards Erd (don't take the normal 173 bus as it takes you somewhere completely different as we discovered...), a gypsy village about 45 minutes out, to meet up with our CSer, David. This was definitely an interesting experience, and he is definitely an interesting fellow.. He has a Mongolian yurt. In his front yard. A real yurt, complete with fireplace, which we slept in. He lived in Mongolia for a while as a yak herder and liked the yurts so much that he had one sent over. He then decided to leave his "stable" yak herding career to become a beggar for 6 months in India, simply because "society needs beggars." I still haven't quite figured out in my head whether or not that statement is completely accurate. David's only job now is climbing mountains and he informed us on that first night over a glass of wine that we probably wouldn't see him for a couple of days as he was leaving early the next morning hitch-hiking to Austria to climb a mountain. He has attempted Mt. Everest a few times and his next goal is to reach the peak without supplementary oxygen. As I said, an interesting fellow.
So he left the next morning as planned and left us the keys to his house - trusting guy. The only thing that he asked of us was that we read through "the document", a list of things required to keep the household running, and to make sure the cats were fed. Done. We spent the next few days at David's house, chilling out in the yurt and trying not to get ourselves into a state where the idea of being back home in Australia sounded like a real possibility. I was feeling very much that way because of my newfound lack of trust in people, as was Lee. We even got to the point where we were checking prices of flights...
Well, sufficed to say, we didn't come home as is pretty evident to those of you in Adelaide. We instead got to spend some quality time with Aaron, a Hungarian-born-Kiwi friend of David's that came to stay with us in the yurt. He was really knowledgeable on political issues and historical facts about Hungary and shared a lot of this with us, not to mention his thoughts on Emo music and the cure for cancer that the government is withholding from us.

Photos:

said yurt

there was some cool stuff in there

one of the cats attacking Lee while Aaron cooks dinner in the background

one unlucky week...

2008-10-31T17:00:00.009Z

I had one very unlucky week in Budapest. By far the largest and worst case of bad luck was having my laptop and external harddrive stolen from the hostel room as Lee and I dined to celebrate our 7th month away from home. After this, it all went downhill. I managed to break a CSers internet connection, his Mongolian yert started falling apart and his turtles died, all while he had placed his house under our care, and to top it off we got caught again without a ticket on a bus (but somehow were able to talk our way out of it - actually I think talking is exactly the reason that we got away with it: we were arguing in English and I think the less-than-fluent ticket inspectors were a little intimidated, go English!). Hmm. Well, that's the bad stuff out of the way. Unfortunately, all these goings on did put a bit of a dampener on my experience of Budapest (pronounced like buddha-pesht) including my desire to explore it. Looking back, I feel disappointed that I didn't enjoy this city as much as I could have because it really is a lovely city. I guess I'll probably get another chance to see it next year with the Sziget festival!
We arrived into Hungary's capital mid-afternoon and were hassled as soon as we jumped off the train by taxi drivers and people offering us a bed in their hotel (I never take them up on their offers, I'd always much rather look for a place myself). It brought me back to times in Asia where we experienced the same. We brushed past them and headed for the information booths where we were sure we'd get a much more complete and unbiased list of available hostels - turns out we were wrong and one guy even asked, "Why would you want to stay in a hostel?" It was then I realised that for me the scariest part of travelling is arriving in a completely new country, new language, new city with all of your worldly possessions on your back and not knowing where you are or where you're going to sleep that night, and having this itching suspicion that it might not be advisable to trust people trying to help you. On the flip-side, I find that the best part of travelling is waking up the following morning, stepping outside, and realising that the place is really not that scary after all.
Well, thank God for WiFi again (Maccas this time helped us out) and we found ourselves a hostel for €6/night which was about half of what the info places said we would be paying. The 11th Hour Cinema Hostel had a homely feel to it which was great, we were happy - they made us coffee. But unfortunately we could only stay for 2 nights as they were booked out, hence the CSer.
Like a lot of European cities, Budapest is set on a river. It is split by the Danube river into two parts, the "old town" called Buda, and the "new town" known as.. you guessed it... Pest. Our hostel (along with the shopping strips and majority of the clubs and restaurants) was situated in Pest. There are some quite grand and picturesque buildings on this side of the river, most notably the Parliament building set along the waterfront with its red-capped roof and spires that make it look somewhat like the building is being suspended by invisible ropes. In Buda there is an equally grand and huge building on Castle Hill (Várhegy) that houses the National Gallery and affords a great view over the city. The surrounding neighbourhood boasts a lovely old-European feel with the colourful buildings and abundant churches, although it seems that just about every church in Europe is annoyingly obstructed by scaffolding at the moment, undergoing some sort of reconstruction or restoration work.
We came across some great traditional Hungarian food in a market here. Take batter, chuck it in the deep frier, add grated cheese and ham or spinach, et voila! Really cheap, really tasty and really greasy... This was of course after sampling the famous Hungarian goulash the evening before.
October 2nd marked the end of our 7th month abroad. We spent the majority of the day updating blogs, etc. Dinnertime came and I hid my laptop under the blankets in our locked dorm while we nipped out for a quick bite with Henry, an Irish fellow we met at the hostel. 45 minutes later, we came back and the laptop was gone along with my external harddrive and another fellow traveller's laptop. Immediately informing the hostel staff didn't prove very useful as they let us search all lockers in the hostel but turned up nothing. I have my suspicions that it was actually the Swedish guy whose laptop also was "stolen", but I think it's pretty impossible to prove anything. The first thing I did the next day naturally was report it to the police which was a task and a half in itself - a several-hour event.

Photos:

Blinded - looking over the Danube

Parliament

Part of the massive complex on Várhegy

Some more Várhegy

Even more

Carved into the cliff

The Wiener Schnitty

2008-10-31T16:59:00.013Z

We chose an overnight bus to leave Poland for neighbouring Austria. We were going to Vienna. Our first breath of air taken in this gorgeous city was at the Erdbergstrasse bus station at about 0530hr - and that was some cold air... Exiting the S-Bahn in the city's main square, Stephansplatz, a short while later brought us above ground at the foot of the huge and stunning 13th-century centrepiece, St. Stephan's church (Stephansdom). Vienna's city centre can be summed up in one word: grand; with its huge squares, massive pedestrianised areas, the coffee houses, the restaurants serving Wiener Schnitzel and strudel, the Marzipan shops, all housed within the typically 5- to 6-storey buildings that line every strasse and which look somewhat like impressively detailed marzipan sculptures themselves. Our first thought.. Where can we find free WiFi? We had contacted a few couchsurfers and had not yet heard back from them so we needed to check on this first in order to figure out what to do with our bags! Starbucks was the go. And those wonderful free 30 minute cards just kept on coming... Anyway, the upshot was that we managed to find ourselves a lovely CSer by the name of Raph but he was out of town for the day and would be back by evening. So we found a locker, dumped our bags and ventured out. Now Friedensreich Hundertwasser is an artist that simply appeals to me. Not necessarily for his actual art, but for his impressive visions on the natural (and physical) environment and our place within it. Born originally in Vienna he travelled the world for a good portion of his life, spending a lot of time in his second home, New Zealand, where he left his mark in the form of a number of artistic installations, the most famous of which is the Hundertwasser Toilet (!) in the North Island. He also left quite an impression on Vienna (Wien in Deutsche) with a number of central buildings having been playfully designed and "unconventionalised" by him. His idea on the need for uneven flooring to promote wellbeing permeates his buildings, as does his insistence on replacing the greenery that the building has caused the removal of. We visited a few of these buildings, one of which was his "art house", Kunsthaus Wien, with a number of weird displays from other artists, the strangest being a collection of random mechanised pieces of junk metal that did not resemble anything and did nothing apart from move up and down and make noise. Art in its purest form... I had been looking forward to finding the giant ferris wheel, Riesenrad, in which Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy share their first kiss in the movie Before Sunrise. Don't ask me why... It wasn't too hard to find, though - it stuck out above the skyline like a big red wheel (which of course it is) and it wasn't long before we had stumbled across the coolest and largest free-entry amusement park we had ever seen, Prater park. We even found the Breakdance ride and just had to have a go - my phone came out of my pocket here and I thought I had lost it for a fair while until luckily a guy, who had jumped on the ride into the same carriage after me and must've found it on the floor, handed it in. A good day had by all.. After a late snack from an Anker bakery (it felt like every meal we ate was from one of these places - loving the bakery food!) and a brief unguided round trip tour on the Ringstrasse circle tram line, past the neo-Gothic-style museums and the oddly Greek-style parliament building, we finally got the call from Raph - he was now in town. We met him and he advised us that he was in the middle of moving and studying for his upcoming exams so we weren't able to stay at his new apartment... Gulp. He suggested instead that we take the key to his old apartment and stay there on our own! So basically 2 days of free use of a house just outside the Innere Stadt of Vienna.. Brilliant! Unfortunately apart from spending a few hours of the first night with him cooking dinner, chatting and the like, we didn't see Raph again until we dropped the keys back just before we left. Shame, because he seemed like a really cool and friendly guy. The majority of our exploration was undertaken in the first day and the second was much more relaxed. The last thing we did here was to watch a Viennese Opera, the night before we shipped out. It was quite a modern performance in a relaxed atmosphere, encapsulating dancing and singing all to some of the most well-known tunes of Mozart and Chopin as performed by an extremely talented 9-piece orchestra. We were really impressed by the standard for the €20 or so that we each paid - although, we found out later that we could have seen something fairly similar for about €3! Oh well, we still had a great time and it was worth every eurocent.. Mid-the next day we made tracks, train tracks (terrible I know) - I think we both felt like our 2 days in wonderful Wien were certainly not enough, with so much that we didn't get to see (especially any of the numerous art galleries and museums). Just have to remember that for next time....

Photos:

Reisensrad

a fight with artwork along the Danube Canal

Stephansdom

the entire city is lined with these buildings

found this gem in an underground station - no more dull excursions to the toilet, this one plays Mozart while you poo, brilliant

it just sounds funny

Parliament

a trend was started a few years back when a political party posted "Danke" signs around the city thanking its voters following an election - the precedent has been set and now it is frowned upon if any party (even if they lose) fails to post these signs

one of Hundertwasser's creations

just grand

Cracovia and the Nazis

2008-10-31T16:58:00.000Z

I finished up my last day at work for St. Mungo's fundraising in a place called Slough. That name may ring a bell for some of you as the location of the Wernham Hoggs branch in the UK's comedy, "The Office". The place, as depicted in the show, is really not all that interesting. There is a pub there bearing the Wernham Hoggs name, though, which I was quite excited about although none of my workmates shared my enthusiasm.
The following day, the last Wednesday of September, I finished packing my stuff at Tom's house, made a quick - and expensive! - stop at the Australian consulate for some signatures for my replacement driver's licence, and jumped on a bus (slowly becoming my preferred, and possibly favourite form of transport) which was to take me across 6 countries to a city in the south of Poland. Similar to my experience with the Lyon-London bus haul, there was a change from day to night followed by a necessary change the other way, many truck stops and several changes of scenery. This time around, however, the trip was a tedious but bearable 26 hours long, we took a ferry across the Channel instead of the tunnel, the language used on the road signs changed 5 times, the bus drivers couldn't speak English, and I was at the start of a period of travel as opposed to the end of one. The destination was Kraków.
This city, clearly European in architecture and ambience, provided a delightful change from the London landscape. Its colourful buildings, sometimes run down but always grand, its traditional buskers in Europe's largest medieval town square, the Rynek Główny (and it is big!), and the factory made famous by Schindler for helping save thousands of Jews from extermination by the Nazis who had a stronghold over the region, all add to the city's intrigue and at the same time act as reminders of the interesting and, at times tragic past surrounding not just Kraków (pronounced kra-kov), but the entire country.
I arrived at the central bus/train terminal about the same time that Lee arrived from Warsaw. We walked around for a few hours with our backpacks before Miguel came to meet us in the city centre and took us to his house across the river near the Jewish quarter. He is working in Poland until the end of the year and had only set up base one week before we arrived, but was kind enough to let us crash on his floor (literally a wooden floor) for a few nights anyway. Unfortunately we didn't get to spend too much time with him as he was working or otherwise occupied for most of our time there. The first night, however, we met up with his (mainly Spanish) group of mates in a cosy pub which was nice, but not before being unluckily fined 72.5zł (about $35) each on the tram there for not having bought a ticket. I guess that's what you get for trying to save a bit of cash..
Our first full day there was spent just wandering around the small city centre, with the Rynek Główny at its heart. With our very limited funds, we made a decision to not visit too many attractions (of which there aren't an excessive number in Kraków anyway) but instead spend our time observing the culture and just generally hanging out. So we did. The prominent Wawel castle and cathedral at the southern end of the city centre, both iconic symbols of Poland, were added to our list of attractions-to-be-missed, but this was not too disappointing as - let's face it - there's only a certain number of castles you can visit before they all start looking the same (not unlike museums). Our focus was more on the food and lifestyle, with a milk kitchen (serving traditional and cheap Polish food) being one of the first venues we ate in.
The following day was dedicated to Auschwitz - this was one 'attraction' we could not miss. Auschwitz (Oświęcim in Polish) is the location where, in 1940, a disused army barracks site was expanded by the Nazis to become the largest centre ever used for the extermination of European Jews. A further 2 concentration camps, Birkenau and Monowitz, were set up nearby soon after, and between the three they succeeded in mass murdering between one and 1.5 million Jews and other people deemed unfit to live by the Nazis. Many of these prisoners were tricked by the Nazis into thinking they had been offered wonderful jobs in a far away city - some had even been sold fictitious properties - only to be rounded up and crammed into train cargo containers ready for the long journey (sometimes upto 10 days with no food or water supplies, causing a lot of deaths before even reaching the camp) to the equivalent of Hell on Earth. This promise of a new start meant that most people had brought along their most prized and expensive possessions which were then confiscated by the Nazis and either sold or kept by the soldiers as a prize.
Upto 10,000 people were killed on any one day in the camps and their bodies were then burnt in the on-site crematorium. The majority of those killed were Jews sent directly to the gas chamber within minutes of arriving at the camp and without any formal processing (which makes it virtually impossible to identify who they were). With the sheer volume of people they were sending to these death chambers, their gas supplies would occasionally run low and this meant people were sometimes still alive when taken to the crematorium. During our visit we were able to walk through one of these gas chambers and adjoining crematorium, the yards and the buildings where the prisoners were kept, including the rooms where they were made to sleep on heshen bags atop concrete flooring and the "standing" torture room which was not big enough for one to lay down in but in which some prisoners were held for upto a week - it really was a surreal and terrifiying experience. I have goosebumps just writing about it now.
Medical experiments on prisoners were routine, especially in trying to achieve mass sterilisation of the Jewish population, which often resulted in the patient either dying or suffering permanent and horrific injuries. Many prisoners were literally worked to death - they were subjected to backbreaking labour for over 12 hours a day on minimal rationing of food, and to top it off had to carry back the dead bodies at the end of each day through the gate to the camp bearing the infamous and mocking words "Arbeit Macht Frei" - Work Brings Freedom.
Just outside the city are some extraordinary salt mines definitely worth seeing. We visited this Unesco World Heritage site in Wieliczka on our last day in Kraków. These massive mines that have been worked for hundreds of years were made famous by the churches and shrines built underground by the miners themselves. Huge structures carved into the salt itself ranging from a crowned king and an angel to a replica of "The Last Supper" and a lifesize sculpture of the late Pope John Paul II in one of the many massive halls 135 metres underground. The highlight of that excursion would definitely have to have been the underground store that sold Lotto tickets, though.

Photos:

some traditional Polish music

Floriańska, one of the main arterial streets out of the city centre

some lovely architecture

we were really lucky with the weather

Schindler's factory

entrance to Auschwitz

The shooting wall where they lined up prisoners - 2 to a bullet, 4 at a time

some of the faces never to be seen again

spectacles of those who died

a lovely sentiment

CaMel

one of the chapels inside the salt mines

Life from the Couch

2008-10-31T16:57:00.002Z

It's a funny thing, living on a couch. Especially when it's a friend's. As you know, I spent the majority of my sleep time in London on friend's couches. With the ridiculous cost of living in a city like London, in a country like the UK, remaining rentless is not such a bad idea, especially if your plan is to save money in a short space of time for future travels. And most of the time friends are more than happy to oblige. There comes a point where you do get a sense of guilt, however, in spending anything more than a few days on any one couch - whether or not your offers of reparation are cheerily deemed unneccessary. And so I again would like to thank, for their lovely hospitality and their comfortable couches: Nic (and the East Finchley crew), Globetrotter Inns hostel, Ash, Em and Josh, Steven and Jen, and Tom and John.
In a similar fashion, CouchSurfing provides another great way to save money on accommodation whilst travelling. Both Lee and I have used this wonderful service probably at least 20 times each and as such have saved at least $1000 a piece. We both can't recommend it highly enough to anyone we come across on our travels. Obviously the money-saving aspect of CSing is great for extended travels or stretched budgets (or both), but the real advantage to this style of travel - as opposed to staying in a hostel with other similarly detached travellers - is the local touch. In most cases you are staying with a local to the area (or an expat similarly ingrained in the culture) who can provide you with so much more detail and insight into the local customs and history than you could ever get from a guide book or the Saturday night hostel pub crawl. In general you can share meals and stories together, and some even have the time to show you around town and indicate points of interest, many of which you would never have seen at a superficial glance.
In short, couch surfing, whether it be a friend's sofa or a stranger's, is an extremely useful and rewarding tool whilst you are travelling. But just remember that you are staying in someone else's house for free, so be careful not to step on anyone's toes...

I vood like zee German feast...

2008-10-10T12:25:00.007+01:00

As I mentioned in my last post, I took 4 days off over my second-to-last weekend in London to meet up with Lee in Munich. We had already visited this wonderful Bavarian city (München in the native language) a few years ago over Christmas and it was interesting to see what we recognised and what had changed. For starters, there was no snow as there was before. But it was certainly much busier and much more "touristy" than we had remembered, especially around the city’s most popular square, the clock-tower encircled Marienplatz. The lovely and mint – or munt in Kiwi-speak – Naomi (gnome-face) was kind enough to lend us her place for a few nights.
The first evening we found ourselves, not surprisingly, in the famous beer hall, the Hofbräuhaus, for a few drinks with some of gnomie’s mates before moving on to dinner. We attempted to eat in a cosy little sushi restaurant but got kicked out by the Japanese owner for ordering too little?? We let her know that she had disrespected us and she eventually apologised. No harm done. After walking past the large gothic-style building and square that Hitler used to make his speeches from, we eventually wound up in a Chinese restaurant discussing Polish reality TV stars..
The following day Lee and I visited Naomi at her work in the Irish-Aussie mash pub for some lunch. The Oz vs. NZ rugby was on the big screen and we watched bitterly as NZ rose to the challenge. Alana and Brook (the Aussie couple we walked the Wall with in Beijing) rocked up later that afternoon and we wasted no time in catching up and drinking some more beers and eating kranskies in the Hofbräuhaus. The entire next afternoon was taken up mainly with travelling to and from Füssen , a pretty and colourful town near the Austrian border and at the foot of the Austrian Alps. We were there to visit nearby Neuschwanstein, the 19th century castle from which Walt Disney drew the inspiration for the famous Disney logo (not Mickey Mouse...). Unfortunately on the day we decided to go, the cloud cover was quite low and to say that visibility was poor is an understatement. Standing at the base of the castle, we could not see the spires. We did, however, manage to sneak in the back door, literally, of the castle to have a poke around the rather uninspired tourist-oriented interior of this marvellous building.
My last day before heading back that evening (on the latest possible plane I could find) involved much relaxing and contemplating my next step in this big trip on the other side of the world. Lee, Alana, Brook and Naomi all tried to convince me to not go back to London.. And it almost worked.. Well, actually this was the exact point that I decided I would uproot myself from my newly found working lifestyle and start travelling again. Nothing compares to travel and I knew that after this short break from London I just couldn’t stay there any longer than I needed to. I booked my ticket to Poland in the next couple of days following my return and thus my travelling mentality had again kicked in.

Photos:

Disney castle engulfed in fog

the famous path people with anti-Nazi sentiments used to take to avoid walking in front of the Nazi's building (below) and hence having to Heil Hitler the Nazi plaque

the old Nazi salute in the arena Hitler used to make his speeches from

Brook and Alana enjoying an HB stein with us

in Marienplatz

Lee and my new beanie-scarf-thing

the last 5 weeks

2008-10-10T11:38:00.008+01:00

I worked for St. Mungo’s for a total of 5 weeks before leaving the country.. A long time I know :P But after a while I got the feeling that I was just not cut out for that particular line of work. And when you are giving less than 100% as a street fundraiser your chance of signing people up drops significantly and then you are essentially being paid by the charity to stand on the street for 8 hours a day doing nothing, which is obviously completely counter-productive. Another reason was that I had been waiting on another Aussie brother-sister travelling duo to make up their minds about whether they wanted to share a triple room with me – rent is ridiculously expensive in London and this would have been a good way to save some money – but they just never came to the party. I did feel quite bad about leaving the charity, though, as they had been grooming me for a team-leading position and it meant that I would be leaving behind some lovely people.
I spent my last 5 weeks staying at two friends’ places, Steven’s and Tom’s. Both of them were great hosts, and I especially want to thank Steven and his lovely girlfriend Jen who took me in for about 4 weeks while I sorted my shit out! I managed to fit in a few more interesting things before I left London too: I went with Steven to see Thrice play in Camden which was awesome; I wrote and recorded my first ever solo song (quite a poor quality recording and lacking a few extra instruments, but the idea is there - if you haven't already, you can listen to it here); I had the chance to (but chose not to) watch Iggy Pop at a festival called Get Loaded In The Park in Clapham South (one of the many Aussie-dominated parts of London); I took some inspiration from Lee's recent purchase and bought myself a small 10" Advent laptop for £280; and the St. Mungo’s street team got down and dirty in one of the charity’s hostels getting taught bricklaying and plastering by some awesome previously-homeless guys that had turned their lives around with the help of St. Mungo’s.

My second-to-last weekend was not spent in London, it wasn't even spent in the UK. Instead I flew to Munich to meet up with Lee during her travels around Europe. All the details in my next post.

For the final weekend, Nic organised to take me up to Nottingham to watch her team, the Sheffield Steelers, and their rivals battle it out in their first clash of the ice hockey season. We met up with her family for some pre-game food and drinks at a nearby pub before heading into the stadium for THE GAME. From what Nic had told me and from what I had already known, ice hockey involves a fair bit of fighting and I had expected to see it at some point in the match. What I didn't expect was that the first and only fight would occur 3 seconds into the game before the ref had even thrown the puck down. I have seen fights before obviously in AFL, but they are always broken up ASAP by the players and umpires. In ice hockey, as I found out, everyone instead lets the players fight for as long as they're both standing - even if they're punching each other directly in the face as I witnessed on this night. A strange anomaly in the evolution of fair-play and sportsmanship if you ask me; but the fans seem to love it so who am I to judge?

Nottingham, although aka'd lovingly as the shooting capital of the UK, seemed quite nice to me in the 24 hours that I spent there. I stayed with a cool CSer, Nick, whom I met up with for a coffee later the next day after checking out the city. The most interesting thing I visited would have to have been Ye Olde Trip To Jerusalem: for one, it is reputedly the "oldest inn in England"; and secondly, it is built into the side of a cliff. Pretty neat.

Photos:

Angel Tube Station escalators - the longest in Europe

my St. Mungo's plastering wall - a real pro haha

getting loaded in the park

Thrice! Nice!

CaMeL is.. Wall-E

Nottingham - birthplace of Robin Hood

It's On!

Halal car insurance?

The same scene everyday walking to work... Unhappy suits over London Bridge

some of the great artwork you can find near South Bank

My Life as a Street Worker.

2008-10-10T11:35:00.004+01:00

Now with Jubby and Ella on their way back home, I thought it best that I start actively looking and applying for work as 2 months in London without a job had seriously depleted the old bank account (although at the time the exchange rate had been slowly dropping and hence working in my favour). Gumtree again came to my aid and within a week I had found the job I had been searching for. I had decided ever since reaching Europe from Asia that I didn’t want to be just another drone behind a desk or apron and instead wanted to earn money doing something worthwhile in the world. Something that actually gave a sense of job satisfaction through helping people. I had interviews with two different charities (well, one charity and one fundraising agency) and chose to become a Charity Street Fundraiser for the UK’s largest homeless charity, St. Mungo’s (funny name, I know, but St. Mungo is actually the patron saint of Glasgow). Initially we were a team of 6 hitting the streets in a different place within – and sometimes outside of – London every day.
I bought myself a neat little folding bike so I could actually see the city on the way to work as opposed to just its expensive, yet convenient underground system (it was a short-lived luxury, however, as the bike was stolen one week later from Old Street where I was working). Team morale turned out to be similarly short-lived – due to a combination of verbal abuse from people on the streets, several personality conflicts and lack of leadership – and it wasn’t long before our team leader was fired and several others quit. The idea behind the work was to get monthly donations from people but it gets quite difficult, as you could imagine, when you get people, for instance, telling you to your face that "you’re a prick!" for working for a charity trying to help homeless people get off the streets and get their lives back on track. It’s exactly this kind of reaction from people that also just generally taints your view of society as a whole.
Another interesting exchange I had was with a taxi driver on my way to work one day while I still had my bike. I was a little lost and late for work so who better to ask than someone who knows the city like the back of their hand? What a mistake. Well, he blatantly refused to help me because he "doesn’t like bike riders". How incredibly insulting! I don’t think I’ve ever been discriminated against like that before. I could only imagine what it would be like having to put up with that every day of your life… So, with that experience behind me and during the course of my work for St. Mungo’s, I’ve developed such a huge appreciation for the individual needs and situations of others – you just never know what has brought someone to their position in that point in time: how can you judge them without knowing the full story?

Photos:

A terrible thing... (before shot)

to the rescue!!! (after shot)

May, my little fundraising champ!

the St. Mungo's team during a bricks and mortar workshop

my lovely bike! a bit funny looking isn't it..?

the events capital

2008-10-10T11:17:00.008+01:00

For the next 3 weeks until he left, Jubby let me stay in the spare bed in the staff quarters at the Globetrotter Inns hostel where I met the crazy Spanish Miguel (aka. CaMeL, aka. Fucking Spanish People, aka. Polla) and within a few days found myself on the ‘Monopoly Pub Crawl’. Pretty much a whole day of drinking at pubs that had very little, if anything, to do with Monopoly. It was more like they just said, "Hey, there’s a pub! Oh and we’re in London.. Wait, Monopoly is based in London.. Let’s have a beer…" I did manage to lose the group at some point and spent a good hour underground on the tube trying to find them, which added a sense of adventure to the tipsiness. The night ended up, unsurprisingly, in the Walkabout (the ever-so popular, yet filthy Aussie/Kiwi/South African pub chain in the UK) and ultimately with a takeaway pizza on the streets of King’s Cross whilst we waited for a birthday party that never came.

Come to think of it, I got upto a lot in my time in London – here are just a few things: Steven and his brother took me to see a very interesting singer/harpist by the name of Joanna Newsom. I spent a lot of time with the lovely Swedish Tess while she was holidaying in London for a couple of weeks. More time with Jubb. Awesome Seinfeld marathons and crumbles with icecream at Ella’s place. House parties; a few of them. Another visit to Manchester for student night, this time along with Jubby in a tranny bar – equally as messy as the previous excursion to that part of the country. Partying until 6am at Fabric, one of London’s most famous clubs, for Ella’s penultimate night over this side of the world was definitely a highlight for me. And Ella's fairwell which wasn't. Then there was the ‘Speaker’s Corner’ in Hyde Park, where anyone can stand up to voice their opinions, lecture, or argue about anything and everything in front of a large intrigued and often rowdy and opinionated crowd – and they do this, not surprisingly on the "big issues" of religion, racism, politics, etc., without apparent control or mediation sometimes causing heated debates. Jubb, Miguel and I took in a couple of plays at the National Theatre and South Bank surroundings, the Dark Knight at the iMax, some Hell’s Pizza and also a bit of Olympic action on a big screen set up in Trafalgar Square. Miguel took me to a few classic movie screenings at the neat and artsy Riverside Studios in Hammersmith, which reminded me a lot of the Palace-Nova cinemas at home, especially with a particular self-portait photo on the wall of a man that I'm convinced must be Mikie's twin. And I managed to casually slice my finger open and proceed to bleed all over the dance floor in a bar in China Town one evening – I have reason to believe there is possibly still a tiny shard of glass still lodged in my finger.
One of the funniest days I had was actually the one in which Jubby and I managed to fail at reaching the one task we had set for ourselves that day – to get to the Tate Modern art gallery – and instead ended up at every pub along the south bank that wanted to sell us a bottle of red wine. Ironically, the last pub we stopped at before calling it a day was literally about 50m away from the Tate Modern but we had sat on the opposite side of the building and so couldn’t see it from our vantage point.. What idiots. The journey back to the hostel involved a few shenanigans with a bit of wrestling and pushing each other into bushes in the middle of a busy walkway and at one point I was on my way to being thrown into the Thames – as you do when you’re drunk. This is pretty much the kind of drunken foolishness that makes people either giggle to themselves or shake their heads in disgust. But the foolishness didn’t stop there and I managed to let a few girls do my make-up before passing out in the hostel bar, only to wake up with black marker pen all over my face and nails, and the words "I love boys" written on my legs. I only found video evidence of this part of the evening hidden away in my phone memory a couple of weeks ago… Sufficed to say, I won’t be wearing shoes whilst drinking ever again!
We did make it to the Tate Modern after all that about 2 weeks later – full of weird and, as its name suggests, modern art forms like cubism, abstract sculpture and a video of a naked, masked man wearing boxing gloves and masturbating. Odd. Then came Jubby’s going away and our trip to Heathrow during which we caught the wrong tube going to a completely different part of London. When we finally reached Heathrow there was a problem with their systems and no planes were allowed to land or take-off for a few hours, creating a sea of at least 20,000 confused and tense passengers waiting outside the terminal. Eventually, his boarding call came and we said our goodbyes.

Photos:

The morning after a big night out...

a party.. in a house..

Tess and the Swedish flag

Joanna Newsom

semi-nakedness on the Monopoly Pub Crawl

Southbank at night

Jubby's suicide lightswitch

these kebab shops are across the road from each other near Ella's place - "probably" the best kebab in the UK or definitely the best on the planet... take your pick... remember to take into account the checklist-style 'tick'

@ the entry to Fabric

some more fish-eye mirror action with Bella

Jubby's "piss-off drinks"

Camel, Jubby and me doing.. something..

London, festivals and a lost wallet

2008-10-10T11:12:00.005+01:00

The first major event, the one that drew me back to London, was my birthday. That Wednesday saw Lee come down from Manchester to visit and we spent the day together before heading out with a few of the East Finchley clan to Camden for some (correction: a lot of, and possibly too many) drinkies. I had a lovely evening - we managed to avoid getting stabbed, no thanks to Jubby - and I really enjoyed catching up with Steven (we studied Galois Theory together at Adelaide Uni) for the first time in nearly 3 years. The following day, after a massive fry-up, Bee took her train back to Manchester and I celebrated a successful celebration by buying myself an acoustic guitar off Gumtree – as we all know, Gumtree is THE place to be J
That weekend saw the first of many festivals come around, this one being the O2 Festival, which I went to with Ella and a few of her mates. The Saturday line-up welcomed Booka Shade, Fatboy Slim, Underworld and a bunch of others to Hyde Park. We even came across a few hidden gems such as the Japanese Popstars and some random guy making strange coughing and barking noises in front of a double decker bus. People were booing him, but I could see the potential. The next weekend brought a more organic group of artists to Finsbury Park for the Rise Festival – a festival dedicated to raising awareness of, and bringing to an end racial prejudice and discrimination. Pretty much a hippy fest, there was everything from African beats, a solar panel stall, Beardyman (if you haven’t seen him before, check this out) and some rad show rides!
I managed to catch up with Tom (a dude I worked with at the Polytech in NZ before we parted ways a few months later to continue exploring that wonderful country) for a few beers in a Sam Smith pub in Soho. It was while we were sitting at this pub that he pointed out that the artwork on the opposite side of the street was actually a Banksy – one of many I started to notice around the city – and this conversation somehow evolved to involve a fellow punter telling us about the racism issues within Australia and the UK and that he wanted to drive around in a Kingswood the next time he went to Australia..?
Lee had advised me of an upcoming student night in Manchester and soon I was on a 5-hour bus. Manchester is quite a nice city, although the weather was not the best while I was there. It is significantly smaller than London (obviously) with a proportionately smaller version of the London Eye, and the locals definitely have a very distinctive accent (Mancunian). We had a great night, although I did manage to lose my wallet with all my credit cards, driver’s licence, oyster card, and about £60 in cash. This meant that I was basically without access to funds for 3 weeks until I received my replacement cards – thanks Bee and Jubb, you guys were lifesavers!

Photos:

Baghead

birthday celebrations with Steven!

Jubbonaut

getting hot and steamy at O2 wireless!

Emily, Ella and the guy with the headband

a big blue mouse on the decks??

this little one loved the drums @ the Rise festival

suck those cheeks in!!

in the Man Chest with the Mobberley crew

A memory of the lazy man - migration off the continent

2008-10-10T10:49:00.005+01:00

Whoa Nelly! So it’s been a wee while since you last heard from me.. About 3 months according to my calculations. If you had been relying on my blog to keep you updated on my whereabouts, you’d be justifiably mistaken in thinking that I was still in France – Lyon to be exact. Well, in fact, I’ve actually spent the last 3 months in London, half of the time being a bum (doing relatively little with the majority of my days in between sporadic bursts of job-hunting) and the other half working in one of the most interesting jobs I’ve ever had. But more on that later.
I left Lyon at 9pm on the 25th of June on a Eurolines bus bound for the Victoria Coach Station in London. 16 hours was the scheduled travel time. In my relaxed state of mind that I had acquired in this city, I casually strolled out of Anouck and Vincent’s house leaving myself very little time to actually get to the bus station and so needed to hop on the underground. Unfortunately, the machine refused to take my euro notes and I was left stranded until a lovely woman, sensing my heightened stress levels, suggested I squeeze through the turnstile behind her. I arrived with about 3 minutes to spare! That evening I watched the sunset (yes, the sun was still up at this time in June; nowadays, in early October – not even winter, mind you - the sky is already nearly pitch black by 1930hr!), the day turn to night, the stars and moon producing arcs amongst the black backdrop, the lights of Paris pass us by in the distance, the late-night attendants serving customers in several 24-hour truck stops, the sunrise the following day, the green fields and vineyards, and this was all before we reached Calais, the French gateway to the Channel Tunnel and the British Isles.
After quite a long wait and a few of the passengers being searched by the French border patrol (including myself, it’s always me – remember those small white tablet shaped expandable wash towels you gave me Rachel? Ecstasy maybe?) the bus rolled on down to a waiting train and proceeded to drive inside one of its yellow-lit carriages. The seamless transit through the 50km underwater tunnel took about 30 minutes and I was again on UK soil ready for Round Two with only a few hours of sleep under my belt.
Nic met me at King’s Cross station on her lunch break and she kindly handed over a spare key to her place. I was to stay at their house for 3 weeks. The initial plan was to get a flat with Jubby for a few months, but due to unforeseen circumstances he had to cut his own working holiday short to go back to Australia mid-August. Ella also had booked her ticket back to Adelaide for about the same time. This changed my plans considerably, in fact I had no plan and took each day as it came, merely pondering the necessary questions. Would I get a job here? When would I get it, before or after those guys left, and where? Would I get a flat? If so, would I decide at some point to up and leave, potentially causing problems with the lease? Not surprisingly, for the next 6 weeks I ended up not working and spending as much time as I could with my Adelaide crew along with hanging out a with few other mates I had met along the way on my travels, past or present. After all, I am over here to enjoy myself right?

Photos:

Sunrise

inside the Channel Tunnel train

a fairly typical suburban London street

punk is still alive and well!! @ the Camden Markets

Nic and I doing some shopping at the markets

looking mighty happy to be standing in Piccadilly Circus, Ella

London underground

meeting on the Thames

Grand Old Lyon

2008-07-10T16:56:00.006+01:00

Kiss count: 2. Left-Right.

As I said in my previous post, I left Avignon early, about 8h30 and the TER-network train to Lyon (Lyons in English - again... why?) took around 2 hours, passing some lovely countryside on the way. The final station, Gare de la Part Dieu, is situated about 2km east of the centre-ville of Lyon, the city itself situated in central south-east France. It has the second largest population in France with around 2 million inhabitants, and it is easy to see why so many people choose this as their home, it just has such an air of grandeur about it. And while it appears a lot more commercial than many of the other cities I have come across so far in France, with some fairly upper-class stores and a few wide pedestrianised shopping strips, Lyon is also one of the country's cultural heavyweights, second only to Paris, meaning there is always some sort of festival or event going on at pretty much any point in the year. Interestingly, Interpol has had their headquarters here for the last 20 years, although I didn't get a chance to find it...
To give you a sense of orientation, Lyon is divided crudely into 3 sections by two rivers, the Rhône and the Saône, that actually meet at the southern end of the city. The 5th arrondissement (or district; Lyon is divided into 9 of them), comprising Fourvière Hill and Vieux Lyon (old Lyon) and cut off from the other 2 areas by the river Saône, is the smallest, oldest and most visually exciting area. Sandwiched between the two rivers is the main shopping and cultural area of Presqu'île, with a number of large public squares dotted along the roughly north-south axis. On the eastern bank of the Rhône lie the districts known collectively as Lyon-Rive Gauche (left shore) with the predominently commercial areas a little further out.
My last 5-and-a-bit days in France were spent with the awesome CSers Anouck and Vincent, and their soon-to-be ex-flatmate, Greg. These guys were very welcoming and accommodating: they took me to a huge house party the first night I arrived where I met a whole bunch more cool French guys; they made me their temporary interior designer, rearranging their living space to make it more agreeable for potential new flatmates; they cooked dinner for me on a couple of occasions; they took me out to see a bunch of live local music; and they introduced me to the wonderful world of Woody Allen films!
After pulling myself out of bed (well, technically, off the couch) around 10h30 the morning after the house party, I took a stroll around the Presqu'île area and then worked my way through colourful Vieux Lyon - I don't think I've ever seen so many vividly couloured buildings, each one distinct from the next - before ending up at the white Basilique Notre Dame situated at the top of Fourvière Hill. Nearby on the hilltop is the famous Tour Métallique (metallic tower), a transmitting tower that looks very much like a mini Eiffel Tower - the original of which is, coincidentally, also used primarily as a broadcast tower. From this vantage point, the entire city sprawls out before you in a sea of red roofs.
Fête de la Musique: An absolutely brilliant idea that I think should be brought to Australia immediately - although, having researched a little, it looks like capital cities in Australia have already been celebrating this day (the 21st of June) for the past couple of years, but calling it something along the lines of Musicfest? I've personally never heard of it. The idea behind la fête de la musique is that the government loosens restrictions on public music performances, with bands, DJs, solo artists, etc. able to perform on the streets freely (and for free) for the entire day throughout the entire country. Starting from Place des Terreaux, the large open square near the guys' appartment, I had such an awesome night roaming the streets by myself, watching and listening to all sorts of music being played on basically every block - there were some great acts too; my favourites being an army brass band, a DJ with keyboard and trumpet accompaniment causing a stir, and another group on the brass pumping out such hits as Daft Punk's "Around the World".
Some more noteworthy things I got upto in Lyon include: visiting the fabulous and famous museum/fine art gallery known as Musée des Beaux-Arts; checking out some more of those impressive painted building murals I saw in Montpellier (in fact, in a few of the other cities I've visited as well) showing everything from 25 local famous personalities to an artist's impression of 'the ideal city' to an entire building of huge books; learning (and, er-hem, winning) a cool new card game called Jeux de Tarot; and lastly, exploring the early history of film at the Musée Lumière, situated in the building where the Lumière family (coincidentally the word lumière translates as "light" in English) lived in the late 19th century while producing some of the world's first (silent) motion pictures.
Most of my time in this city, however, was spent just relaxing as opposed to constant sightseeing. I played Vincent's guitar quite a bit, chilled out eating pains au chocolat (so bad but oh so good..), and just generally wandered about. I really liked this place and it was certainly a good choice as an ending of my time in France - so lively, warm and friendly... I will be back!

Photos:

count the vineyards...

some interesting folk at the party..

Place des Terreaux and the Hôtel de Ville

looking across the River Saône with the Basilique in the background

the view from Fourvière Hill

the grand buildings of Lyon

Fête de la musique!!

across the Rhône

enjoying a quiet beer

now that's a bookshop!

inside the Musée des Beaux-Arts

ONE of the cheese sections in the supermarché

checking out some live music...

the city of mysterious energy

2008-07-09T11:58:00.009+01:00

Kiss count: 3. Left-Right-Left.

What can I say about Avignon? It is a fortified city, with its almost completely preserved walls considered to be one of the finest examples of medieval fortification in existence. Its streets and café-filled squares are lovely, its museums are very interesting, and again the architecture is quite aesthetically pleasing. It is home to the Pont d'Avignon (bridge of Avignon) - officially called Pont Saint-Bénezet - which spans almost across the Rhône (all but 4 of its 22 wooden spans were washed away by a catastrophic flood in 1668) and is the star of the famous French song, "sur le pont d'Avignon." The city is most famous for its history under Papal rule between the 14th and 18th centuries, which came about due to political turmoil in Rome at the beginning of the 14th century, forcing the pope to migrate and reside (along with several of his French-born successors) in Avignon.
What attracted me to Avignon, however, was not any of these things in particular, but the overall unexpected energy of the place. For some reason, the moment I jumped off the train in this new city at 9pm I felt oddly revitalised. I usually would be getting tired by about this time and couldn't be bothered doing anything, instead here I was keen to drop my stuff at the camping ground/hostel and begin exploring as the sun set. Turns out that from this point on up until now as I write this, I have a renewed vitality about my days. Strange. But not at all unwelcome!
After walking around much of the city's walled perimeter and many of the interior streets, I ventured across the river to Avignon's picturesque sister-city known as Villeneuve-lès-Avignon. This is where many bishops associated with the papal court built their massive residences, despite it being an area under French rule as opposed to papal rule. Nowadays, it remains a fairly quiet residential area but retains a very medieval feel with crumbling stone buildings winding up the hill towards a huge fortress-like monastery.
That evening, I bumped into a Luxembourgish couple (how many people can say that?) and we spent the evening at the local Irish pub chatting about anything and everything - they were a good laugh! The next day was fairly uneventful except for a visit to the Musée Lapidaire, which houses one of the most interesting collections of ancient Roman and Egyptian artifacts I have seen, again that could be partly due to my enhanced mood as of late. I watched the sunset over the river and pont d'Avignon on this night.
During my last day here I decided to check out the interior of the colossal gothic Palais des Papes (popes' palace) within the city's walls. It was constructed during the 1300s and the inside was apparently decorated with amazing tapestries, carpets, stained-glass windows, etc. None of these adornments are present today, however, as they were all either pillaged or destroyed in the many fires that ripped through the building over the centuries, and this made for a much less absorbing visit, although the grand scale of the rooms and building itself was quite exceptional. One intriguing thing I learnt was that every time a papal conclave was required, they would actually knock down a few of the walls of this building to make more room for the popes during their time of isolation - afterwards the walls would be resealed and everything would be back to business as usual.. A lot of effort for the sake of a few days in my opinion..
The rest of my afternoon was spent lounging in one of the parks, observing the (fairly unsuccessful) courting ritual of pigeons, before heading back to the hostel and finding myself in with a group of 10 other Aussies, chatting general crap and drinking beers as we do. I stayed my final night in Avignon with another CSer, Sabina, who had quite limited knowledge of English and we used this to our advantage by turning the evening into a massive language lesson for both of us. She is a lovely person and I was a little sad we didn't get a chance to spend more time together as I left early the next morning for my last overland train in France...

Last stop: Lyon!

Photos:

The city, the Rhône and the pont d'Avignon

these are the city walls

the French love their protests...

Palais des Papes with the cathedral in the background

gives a whole other meaning to climbing plants

in Villeneuve-les-Avignon

some more of Villeneuve

the Luxembourgish, Alessio (Alex) and Conny

mesmerised by a street performer

the Opera house

loving the gothic theme

Beaucoup de Mostiques!

2008-07-07T16:01:00.011+01:00

Kiss count: 3. Left-Right-Left.

The most famous resident of Arles was one Mr. Vincent Van Gogh. The Dutch painter spent the penultimate year of his life creating some of the world's best known, most popular and most expensive paintings here whilst battling severe depression. It is also here that he stalked his artistic partner, Gauguin, with a razor blade on 23 December 1888 before famously slicing off the lower part of his own left ear lobe, wrapping it in newspaper and giving it to a local prostitute, named Rachel, telling her to "keep this object carefully." Van Gogh committed himself a few months later to a nearby mental hospital where he would spend the next year before shooting himself in the chest with a revolver, on 27 July 1890 at the age of 37, in a field near Paris. Oddly, he didn't die in that instant and didn't realise he had fatally wounded himself - he died two days later in his bed. Van Gogh's last words, as reported by his brother Theo, were "la tristesse durera toujours" - French for "the sadness will last forever"... Poor guy...
Despite Van Gogh being such a prominent part of Arles' history, not a single piece of his work can be found here - except for some reproductions by other artists - which I find very odd. Nevertheless, the city is quite charming with its Roman architecture and colourful buildings situated on the banks of the River Rhône (one of the main waterways in Europe, passing through France and Switzerland), and you can see where he was able to find the inspiration for his paintings.
Like many towns in the area, Arles (pronounced Arl) only prospered after it became a Roman stronghold around 49BC. The city soon replaced Marseille as the region's major port and within a century-and-a-half had become such an important centre that a 12,000-seat theatre and a 20,000-seat amphitheatre, reminiscient of Rome's Colosseum, were built here. Today, these structures still stand and are used for cultural events and even bullfighting (with a slight twist - around this area, known as the Camargue, a non-lethal form of bullfighting is practised whereby white-clad razeteurs attempt to remove ribbons tied to the bulls horns using hooks held between their fingers).
On the Saturday morning of every week a massive market, stretching on for what seems like miles, is held in the streets of Arles with everything from fresh produce to jewellery, used electrical goods to Islamic fashion items (it appears as though there is quite a large Muslim influence in France). I checked this out for an hour or two before going on my obligatory wander around town. In the evening, two girls from the hostel and myself headed to place de la République in the city centre where a four-piece female a capella group was performing - we had a great time listening to them but unfortunately had to leave early as our hostel had an 11pm curfew.
The following day I took a bus south to an old farmhouse-turned-hostel in the heart of the Camargue, a huge delta of the Rhône famed for its expansive beauty, white horses, black bulls raised for bullfighting, flamingos and mosquitoes! So many mosquitoes! Anyways, so I managed to hitchhike down to the coast to the main town in the area, Les Saintes-Maries de la Mer. I spent a good few hours here and bumped into some of the people from the hostel in Arles before bussing it back to the hostel where I spent the night eating dinner and trying to make conversation with a lovely French family from Lyon using our very limited knowledge of each others' language.
I spent most of the next day riding a bicycle (a velo) I had hired around the Camargue. Unfortunately I had given away my insect repellent to Alana and Brooke in Beijing and it was way too expensive to buy there so I decided to brave it and go without. Big mistake! I got to see thousands of flamingos in their natural environment but at the same time came back with thousands on mozzie bites all over my shoulders, hands and ankles. I don't know how they got to my shoulders since I was wearing two thick long sleeved tops... Mutant mosquitoes maybe? After all this fun, I decided to give hitchhiking another go back up to Arles - very unsuccessfully. I was picked up once but got dropped off about halfway and eventually had to catch a bus after another hour or walking.
When I arrived back, instead of staying in Arles - where there was no vacancy in the hostel anyway - I walked to the train station just outside of town and bought myself a ticket...

Photos:

Simona and Angel

enjoying the bread at the Saturday markets

the streets of Arles

the amphitheatre

from a different angle

some more artwork

who's been playing funny buggers?

my Japanese friend Satoko!

flamingos

flamingo

the famous black bulls

given up.. waiting for a bus in the middle of nowhere after a couple of hours hitchhiking

x

2008-06-30T09:19:00.006+01:00

Kiss count: 2. Left-Right.

For the entire week that I spent with Katrin in Marseille, I was trying to organise another CSer for my next destination, Aix-en-Provence, 30 minutes north by bus. I had a difficult time of it as everyone seemed to have left the city for some reason. I eventually ended up checking into the hostel (known as an Auberge de Jeunesse in French) here for the first night and planned on staying for that one night... Until...

Initially founded as a Roman military camp named Aquae Sextiae in 123 BC, Aix-en-Provence, or just Aix (pronounced like the letter 'x'), is now simply a wonderful city. The colourful buildings, cobbled streets, countless restaurants and cafes, numerous and plentiful fresh produce markets, and relaxed atmopshere all make for a very pleasant stay indeed in what is one of France's most graceful and popular cities. My only issue with the place was that I could never find the bloody centre-ville! To the north of the city's main, tree-lined boulevard, Cours Mirabeau, lie the quite tortuous, chiefly pedestrianised streets of the old Vieil Aix area where I spent most of my time, but for some reason I could just never get my bearings here and found myself wandering around aimlessly on many occasions. In a city like this, that's definitely not a bad thing..
Within hours of arriving here I had made friends with a lovely American lass named Simona, a former French-language student in Aix, and a few of her friends. We got to chatting and somehow I ended up spending a lot of my time hanging out with them, eating late breakfasts with Simona and she even offered me her couch for a couple of nights! It's funny how these things happen... She was so accommodating, I really appreciated her hospitality! Thanks mom ;)
Again, there wasn't particularly all that much to do in town apart from enjoying the lovely weather, atmosphere and buildings, which is nice as I was not in a particularly "sightseeing" mood. A good excursion from here, however, is to the nearby Mont Sainte Victoire. The peak of this limestone range, the major landmark of the Aix region, reaches 1011m and affords magnificent views over Provence's mountains and rolling plains and the bright aqua-coloured lakes at the ranges' base. I decided to take a morning and afternoon out to scale this picturesque mountain which is immortalised in the many oil paintings by famous artist Paul Cézanne - boy was it hot, and I managed to get myself nice and burnt before missing my bus back into town and having to get a lift by a friendly holidaying Parisien couple.
It was here also in Aix that I was introduced to my first, and last, foie gras (lit: fat liver): the liver of a duck or goose that has been specially fattened by force-feeding, in accordance with French law - let it be known that at the time I did not know that this form of animal cruelty was used in the production of foie gras (in fact a number of countries have laws against selling it due to how it is produced). It is one of the most popular delicacies in French cuisine, but to be honest, I can't really see why.. It's not all that interesting in my opinion, if anything it grossed me out thinking about eating a duck's liver. I think Simona's French friend, Angel, might have had a different idea though..
I spent my last afternoon hanging out at the house of another of Simona's friends. Romain, while being an overall nice guy, also writes and produces music mainly in the electro genre. He showed me some of his work and I was quite impressed, and he seemed similarly impressed with my singing. Hopefully we'll get a chance to work together at some point. I guess time will tell...
That evening, Angel - who could speak not a word of English, mind you - was kind enough to give me a lift to the bus station ready to catch my bus to the next town. Unfortunately I had read the timetable wrong and ended up being 15 minutes late for the final bus. He and Simona were such champs and offered to drive me all the way to Arles, about 70km away! When we arrived, they waited for me to check in at the Auberge and then we enjoyed dinner at an Italian restaurant in the town centre before they left me at the local Aussie pub (in which there was not a single English speaking person) and headed off on their road trip back to Aix.
What a great few days!!

Photos:

just in case i forgot where i was..

the streets of Aix

i found it! he actually bought this in Australia..

Montagne Sainte Victoire

the view from the top was amazing!

Simona from her apartment

a brush with fame.. is that..?

nightfall

a touch of love - apparently these can be found on rooftops all over the country

Marseille or Marseilles?

2008-06-13T09:04:00.009+01:00

Kiss count: 2. Right-Left.

Technically, the French name for this city is Marseille, but in English it's spelt Marseilles. The interesting part is that they are both pronounced the same - mar-say. This leads me to wonder why some names of cities or countries change between languages? Another example is Corsica: the French name is Corse (which is, in my opinion, a simpler version - however, I suppose it does sound a lot like the English words coarse and course). Nevertheless, I will try use the French terms in my blog (I don't think there will be many differences, but it'd be fairly pointless coming to France and asking a French-speaker - a Francophone - how to get to Corsica).
Marseille is about one-and-a-half hours away by train in the neighbouring province of... Provence. It is a much larger city than Montpellier, and as such is much more city-like. There are still the winding archaic streets (mainly in the outer quartiers, or neighbourhoods), but there are quite defined directions for the main rues and cours and a more (if only slightly) grid-like pattern has been employed for the layout of the city. It is situated by the ocean with lovely Vieux Port, brimming with sailing boats, restaurants and tourists, at the head of the main strip, La Canebière. At the other end of La Canebière, where the tramlines diverge from their course along the wide boulevard, is what looks eerily like the skeletal remains of a cathedral.
Maybe it was because of upcoming festivals, maybe because summer is upon us, maybe because it's school holidays, or maybe it was a combination of all three, but it was impossible to find any accommodation here. I had to contact the only CSer (yes, I'm going to try do this in most places I go, I find it's quite rewarding staying with a local as opposed to in a hostel - plus it's cheap haha) that gave me any kind of positive response, to ask if she would mind if I stayed for 2 nights. This was alright with her (even though she was really wanting her space after already hosting a bunch of people the few night before). Turns out I ended staying with Katrin, a German in France on the ERASMUS programme, for 6 days :)
My first day here was quite unfruitful and I basically wandered around the central city, getting oriented with the streets, stopping for an hour or two to enjoy a baguette aux 2 fromages and un café under a fountain of naked ladies (statues of course).. The following day was a little more active, beginning with a brisk walk up a hill to the highest point of the area. Located here is the Basilique Notre Dame de la Garde, a large cathedral atop which sits a massive golden statue of Mary and Her Child. The building itself didn't particularly tickle my fancy but the views over the sprawling city and its harbour were spectacular. On my way back down I took the scenic route through the neighbourhood streets down to the ocean and past a number of plages (beaches) - I noticed that people seem to be a little more liberal here on public beaches, happy to sunbathe topless even if sitting right next to a trendy café. In the evening, Katrin introduced me to her boyfriend, Mathieu, and a few of the couchsurfers he was also hosting and we all went tango dancing (or attempted tango dancing - a few too many left feet there I think) at a local dance hall, followed up with some salsa dancing at another club.. A great night!
Katrin was kind enough to let me borrow her bike the next day so I could ride out to the Calanques, huge mountainous limestone formations that are the remains of ancient river mouths and that have been further carved out by glacial activity.. Basically a Mediterranean fjord. I got a little lost trying to find them, managed to reach the first part around 30-40 minutes away from the city centre, but turned back after this.. Not to worry: we went for a real trek out there a couple of days later.
The weekend I was there was the Fête du Soleil (Festival of the Sun) and so there was a whole bunch going on in town from African beats (there is a massive African presence and influence in the south of France, particulary Moroccan and Algerian) to more tango, giant giraffes, hip-hop, travelling horn players, cute old grandmas making crêpes, reggae, and everything in between.. So many people, and so lively.. It felt as though half the city was there. We just couldn't help but dance the night away :) On a low note though: Mathieu's CSer was pickpocketed whilst enjoying the music - her passport, credit cards, everything gone. Luckily (oh, so luckily) for her, the culprits merely took the money (only about €30) and threw her purse on the street where she found it a short time later.. Phew! Everyone took a little more care with their possessions from that moment on..
After the excitement of the previous night, no-one was in a rush to go anywhere fast. We all met up at Mat's place for a late morning breakfast of croissants and pains au chocolat before taking a slow ride to the beach - most French towns offer bikes for hire for the cost of €2/week - where we spent most of the day lounging around under the warm sun, playing chess and just generally watching the day go by.. To finish the day off, a few of us played a game of Pétanque, a variation of boules that is very popular in Provence - it's the most-played sport in Marseille - and then an early night for me ready to hit the Calanques! There's so much explaining I could do about this hike, but I think I'll let the pictures speak for themselves..

Interesting observation(s): 1. Yes, people do carry around baguettes everywhere: in their handbag, the basket of their bike, even while rockclimbing apparently... 2. People do say "bon appetit" (for those of you who didn't know, it's actually pronounced "bon appetee") at every meal: in fact, I was standing on the street eating a croque I had just purchased, when a guy on a bike pulled up next to me, lifted up his visor and said to me two words... "bon appetit"!

Photos:

Katrin (centre) and friends traipsing about in the Calanques!

lovin' it...

that's some clear water alright...

at the start..

a little bit of tango

getting into it at the Fete du Soleil

going for a ride

i don't know what it's called so i'll just call it the "skeletal" church

Vieux Port

one of the streets in the more well-to-do area

quite a busy photograph, with the Basilique way off in the distance - it can be seen from most places in town

getting a few lessons in tango from Mathieu and Katrin

Je suis en France! ...Montpellier...

2008-06-12T19:49:00.010+01:00

Salut mon amis! I've made it to France! I don't know if you remember, but my initial plan for this trip was to organise a French working visa so I could live and work here.. I plan to learn French, and what better place to do it than in this country? Well, the work visa part didn't work out, but at least I'm here in Montpellier.. It's a start..
Montpellier is the sunny capital of the Languedoc region of France, with over 300 days of sun per year. The region's name originates from Langue d'Oc, a language closely related to today's Catalan and quite distinct from the forerunner of today's French, Langue d'Oïl (the words oc and oïl meant 'yes'). It's a student city with students of the university (or 3 of them actually, including Europe's first école de médecine founded in the early 1100s) making up about 25% of the population. The look of the city is quite typically European, especially in the old town in the centre: thin winding paved pedestrian streets set on an overall undulating landscape, hanging lanterns suspended between buildings, medieval-style buildings, very rustic and very beautiful..
The train ride here from Barcelona was smooth and rather scenic. The tracks followed the coast much of the way, passing through marshlands, villages, rolling hills and, of course, vineyards... I arrived at Montpellier St-Roch station just after 9pm and Bene, a friend I first met in NZ, along with a couple of her friends were there to greet me. They took me out for a couple of drinks that first night which was nice. I attempted to use any French that I knew, but realised that I knew basically nothing and that most of what I did know was pretty pointless in conversation, e.g. j'habite en France (I live in France) or je suis architecte (I am an architect) haha. I was able to stay with a couple of Bene's friends, Nicolas and Julie, the first few nights here, and my last two were spent with a very accommodating couchsurfer named Vanya.
In the city itself, there isn't much in particular in the way of sights, it's more about just soaking up the atmosphere of being in a French city. This is done in one of two ways: either order a croissant, pain au chocolat (a croissant variation filled with chocolate - quickly becoming my favourite breakfast food here, gulp..) or brioche (kind of like a toasted sandwich covered in melted cheese) from a boulangerie/patisserie and proceed to eat it whilst checking out the full range of French books on offer in one of the many stalls that line the city's main strip, Place de la Comédie, for the annual book festival, La Comédie du Livre; or you could choose to sit in one of the many cafés that can be found on basically every street corner and in-between, sipping on a café, or vin rouge if you prefer, and watching people partake in the rather peculiar greeting ritual of cheek kissing 1-2-3... The right side first, then the left, then the right again.. The greeter must do this with each and every person in the group, not necessarily just friends, to not appear rude.. 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3... A tiring exercise if meeting up with, say, a group of 15 people.. This particular pattern appears to be specific to Montpellier at the moment as other places seem to only have a 2-kiss greeting. I'll keep you posted..
I've seen and experienced a few neat things in Montpellier, some of which a reflective of the French culture in general.
1. The first being the 'mandatory' cheek kissing which I think is quite cool - it immediately creates a sense of intimacy between 2 people.
2. The second: a quaint little jazz bar offering beers from all around the world (including a few Aussies beers - Coopers Sparkling even, Asahi from Japan, Tsingtao from China, etc.) and many, many from each region of France - you walk into a huge store room, pick your beer and the bartender will grab a cold one for you, awesome..
3. The third was a Saturday night gathering in a small square in the city centre (le centre-ville) after a birthday dinner for Julie. There was a circle of people playing guitar, a group of people with didgeridoos, a fire breather and even a guy with an extremely loud trumpet. All there for no particular reason but to enjoy their Saturday night. That was great fun!
4. A street performer that would stop cars at traffic lights and perform a quick routine rolling a glass ball around before the lights went green. I watched him do this maybe 10 times, at every red light. It was funny to witness and at the same time I appreciated his determination and his originality.
I stayed in a hostel for one night in Montpellier (every other night was booked out and Bene had left Montpellier for work up north, hence the CSer). Here I met an American girl, Bonnie, who had just finished a semester in Paris, learning French. This particular morning had great weather (whereas the previous couple were overcast and even raining, unusual for this city) and so we made the most of it and caught a bus out to the beach, 12km away. As the bus approached the beach, the clouds started closing in the sky. We missed the stop, somehow, and ended up having to walk about 2km in the rain (yes, it had started raining by this point.. pouring, in fact, with thunder thrown in for good measure - so much for the 300 days of sun). We were absolutely soaked by the time we reached the beach, exactly the same time as the sky cleared up and the sun came back out.. What a weird day. After all of that drama though, the beach and surrounding town turned out to be really nice and we spent a good few hours there.
My last night in town was spent at Vanya's place, along with another CSer from Turkey who was staying the night, chatting into the wee hours of the morning and sharing organic vegetables for dinner and her lovely homemade dessert.. Mmmm.

Photos:

a French apartment buzzer

typical setting for a cafe

Arc de Triomphe, one of many throughout France

spot the paintings..

Me with Bene and a couple of her mates

l'école de médecine

he's even got the clouds right :)

at the beach at Palavas-les-Flots (doesn't sound very French does it?) - oh, and before you say anything, I'm aware it's not raining.. umbrellas make for good sunscreen too :)

love these streets!

the Chateau d'Eau (Water Tower) in the large parklike area known as Place Royale du Peyrou

number 4

The Barcelona Three

2008-06-12T00:01:00.008+01:00

There are a few things that enter my head when I think back about our time in Barcelona: Paella, Tapas, Architecture, Carlsberg, Non-stop Partying, German School Groups, Pigeons, Architecture, La Rambla, Bob Marley, Maoz Falafel, Winding Streets, who could forget Sangria, Relaxing, Street Performers, Gelati, Internet Cafes, Regular Cafes, Handbags in Sacks, Architecture, Pizza, Placa Reial, Frosties and Chocolate Cereals, Bananas from my stall in the Mercat de la Baqueria, Flowers and Birds, Sleep, No Sleep, and more things of that nature...
In fact, a big portion of our 2 weeks in Barcelona was spent relaxing in Placa Reial - the placa into which our hotel faced, the placa that never slept (up until at least 5am every single day there were people sitting in the cafes and restaurants outside our hotel window drinking, laughing, singing anything from classic 80s hits to happy birthday..
This city is just full of life, everywhere you look the streets are bustling, there's always something happening, something colourful to catch your attention, a busker playing an accordian or guitar, sitting still as a statue only to jump out at unsuspecting curious passers-by scaring the daylights out of them, dressed as a clown entertaining crowds at the expense of innocent bystanders, or maybe even pumping out a dance beat or two to complement his juggling routine aimed at the outside-dwelling patrons of a nearby restaurant..
The weather was fine, the people friendly (and pretty damn good looking too, I might add - both guys and girls), the views over the city spectacular from the cable car to Montjuic.. It is just generally a great place, and one quite high on my list of favourite cities :)
While getting lost amidst the web of small alleyways flanked by towering 4-storey buildings - many of which date back to medieval times and where washing hangs out of the open windows over balconies that provide a home to numerous flowerpots and weathered wooden shutters - was definitely a highlight for me, we also managed to fit in a bit of sightseeing too. Some of the most memorable places we visited were.. Get ready for it: the Egyptian museum (Museu Egypci) with a very interesting display of photographs from the uncovering of Tutenkhamen's tomb; the Ethnological museum (Museu Etnologic) displaying info and artifacts of several indigenous cultures from around the world (including Australia, which the museum had quite an interesting viewpoint of - see the photo); another Olympic site, this time from the 1992 Olympics; La Sagrada Familia, the enormous and visually exciting Roman Catholic church that has been under construction since the 1880s and is still not expected to be completed until about 2026 (!); the Picasso museum, devoted entirely to the man everyone has heard of, and including an exceptionally interesting special exhibition on the famous painting, Las Meninas, and Picasso's (and others') various interpretations; the wonderful and huge fresh produce market, Mercat de la Baqueria, which reminded me a lot of the Adelaide Central Markets, brilliant; taking in a flamenco performance in a very intimate club called Tarantos; and last but definitely not least, the Benedictine abbey, Santa Maria de Montserrat built atop the very picturesque mountain Montserrat just outside of Barcelona. Phew....
Above all, though, it was lovely hanging out with my mum and sis for the last time in what I suspect may be a while as we all split up to go our separate ways on the 29th of May. Mum flew home to Australia, Lee moved on to Granada in the south of Spain and I took the train northeast about 4 hours into the south of France!!! This Thursday was a particularly teary day...

A few small facts that you may or may not have known: Barcelona is in an area of Spain known as Catalunya, which also used to include a small region of France. It has its own language (Catalan), separate from Spanish and sharing many similarities with French, and is considered essentially as a separate nation. Bullfighting is not a Catalunyan tradition, but a Spanish one, and as such is not practised within Catalunya (except when the Spanish government decides to take the arenas under their jurisdiction - which they can do - at certain times in the year, when even the Catalunyan authorities are replaced by Spanish).

Photos:

Placa Reial by night

the fountain in the centre of our placa

in the Museu Etnologic - the world's view of Australia

graffiti is quite widespread through this city

La Sagrada Familia - notice the cranes in the background

an alleyway

another alleyway

an interesting way to make a few dollars...

healthy breakfast options

Monument a Colon (Monument to Colombus) at the end of Las Ramblas

one of the best markets I've seen...

on the cable car from Montjuic

at the top of Montserrat!

we found this small church also near the summit of Montserrat

hide and seek

A week in London

2008-06-07T23:05:00.007+01:00

Flying into London was obviously exciting, yet I was, for some reason, also quite nervous.. Arriving in Heathrow airport meant that all of those months (over 12 of them) of planning and organising and talking about our Asian adventure had finally come to a close and our itinerary had essentially ceased to exist. I had now officially entered the realm of infinite possibilities and the unknown.
Something else that bothered me was entering back into western culture.. I say this not meaning to offend anyone, but I see the "western culture" in general as somewhat superficial, especially when comparing it with the extremely functional cultures that we came across in south-east Asia. I didn't particularly care for the people's "need" to be fashionable, the "need" to show ones wealth with a nice car or the "need" for possessions in general. I basically found the place and people quite uninspired and uninspiring because of this. This was definitely a case of reverse culture shock, but I guess I've always felt this way and it was just magnified by my experiences at the time. Nevertheless, as with everything, it doesn't take long to become accustomed to your surroundings and I am now quite used to the culture again, and have even been noticing a few substantial positive attributes within our ethos as compared to the Asian societies.
I say I was entering the unknown.. well, sort of... I have been to London before, a couple of years ago, and so had no trouble in finding my way around the Tube (which seemed a little lousier than I recalled from last time - the metros in Japan and China were definitely better - but in its defence, the Tube is nearly 150 years old, the oldest underground metro in the world) which, let's face it, is pretty much all you need to know your way around London. We had our 2-year UK working holiday visas stamped (phew...) as we passed through immigration and caught the Tube to King's Cross station where we met up with Nic (the Northerner; you'll remember her from my NZ blog). From here Lee and I split up to stay with separate friends.
This short time in London was pretty much one big catchup session for me with a whole bunch of people I hadn't seen in ages (or hadn't ever seen for that matter). Nic, Jode and their housemates were kind enough to lend me their couch for the few days I was to spend here. Man, it was great (and strange) meeting up with Nic again, this time in her own country.. She even took a well deserved day off work and we took in a bit of sightseeing and took the train out to the Prime Meridien and Royal Observatory at Greenwich, where we got the very novel idea (I'm sure) of taking a photo of us standing with one foot in the eastern hemisphere and the other in the western.
I caught up quite a bit with my best mate, Jubby, who I had only seen for 1 month or so out of the past 20. He has the same visa as I and came over last August. Like old times.. Nothing changes.. And that's the way I like it :) No-one can understand what we're on about when we're together - and I think most of the time we have no idea either haha. The first night out we had was spent in Walkabout - a very typically Aussie pub, complete with Foster's flags, a sign pointing to the "Dunnies" and some of the bar staff wearing All Blacks shirts.
Ella, another fellow Adelaidean and long-time-no-see candidate, is also here and we shared a few beers (and double vodkas, right?) and spent some quality time, along with Jubby, standing pointlessly in the line to get into a club hosting Paris Hilton. Stupid £20 entrance fee... Instead of paying this ridiculous amount (equal to about A$45) we headed to a nearby bar - with the best cocktails in the world! - called Archangel.
About 10 years ago, I'd say, when the old chat lines were cool - ICQ, mIRC, etc. - I started chatting with 3 gals from Michigan, USA. I have kept in particularly close touch with Michelle. Obviously with me living in Australia and she in the US, we haven't really had the chance to meet. Until now.. Turns out she and her friend Ami were in London at the same time as I was! What are the odds? We just had to catch up! And how else does one catch up but over a beer? We chose a pub and got to chatting pretty much like we had known each other for years, which technically we have :)
On the 16th of May, our mum flew over and spent a couple of days in London with us, getting ready for her two week trip in Europe.. And when I say Europe, I mean Barcelona!

Photos:

The tube! A familiar sight...

Nic and me with a little friend I like to call Hot Chocolate

Jubby!

Me and Michelle

Playing in the park

the Meridien

Bridge.. What bridge..??