The very many wonderings of a worldly wanderer

Vietnam and the Final Voyage

2008-06-26T08:08:00.000-07:00

To my devoted and avid readers ;-),

Sooo...Vietnam. Country 17 of 17. The last, final, ultimate destination of my travels, placed high on a pedestal as the only remaining nation in which to end the adventures and misadventures of a year of globe-trotting. I can tell you, it didn't disappoint. The first stop in Vietnam was Ho Chi Minh City, aka Saigon. On the bus from Phnom Penh I met the rather lovely Fay, with whom the first couple of hours in HCMC were spent trawling the streets trying to find a reasonable room at a reasonable rate. Having discovered a clean and quiet little place on a backstreet with hot water (hurrah!), a TV (BBC World and 'pretty dresses' on FashionTV are always good) and a balcony (excellent for drying clothes - until it rains, that is) for a bargainous $8, we set about trying to be good tourists by ticking off the main sights. This was actually far more of a challenge than you might think. The 'little backstreet' we were staying on transpired to be little more than an inlet within the depths of a maze of backstreets, all of which looked the same, smelled the same, and, to all extents and purposes of us trying to find out way out, were utterly infuriating. 25 minutes later and a lot of gesturing and pointing 'conversations' with the amused Vietnamese, we found our way out onto the main street. But 25 minutes! Honestly.

Anyway, having made this momentous achievement, we miraculously made it across town to our first sight, the War Remnants Museum. The museum documented the Vietnamese war, with the American involvement being rather crudely detailed. Seeing the effects of Agent Orange and the lengths to which the Vietnamese went to fight the US was yet another reminder of the cruelty of war and inhumanity capable of human beings. A sobering couple of hours later, Fay and I left and decided we needed some cheering up, so set off for an ice cream parlour via the park. Now, we probably would have made it through the park hassle-free if it hadn't started to chuck it down with rain. Quite literally, the heavens opened up in about 2 minutes and bucketed it down, leaving us to run for shelter under a nearby pagoda. 40 minutes later and the sheets of rain diminished to a trickle and we made a run for the ice cream place. Only we got lost. Terribly, terribly lost. We waded around in ankle deep water, dodged floating plants and muddy verges, went round in circles for ages, and finally found ourselves near to a police station. A few directions later, and we did make it out of the park alive, albeit drenched to the core and in need of a cup of tea. Approximately 2 hours after we had decided to get ice cream, we finally ended up in a very nice ice cream parlour and sampled some excellent Vietnamese coffee too. After all this excitement, we went home to a hot shower, wet laundry, and watched pretty dresses. Good day.

The next day, given our success at losing ourselves, we thought we might try an organised tour and headed off to the Co Chi Tunnels. The Vietnamese communists used the tunnels to fight the Americans in the Vietnam war. They run all the way underneath the city, and lead as far as the centre of Vietnam and into Cambodia too. For ages the Americans couldn't work out how they couldn't find the VC (Viet Cong army), when the Vietnamese were hiding in holes right under the US base. The tunnels were only accessible by tiny trap doors which surfaced in strategically camouflaged and secluded spots. Now, me being me and being blonde and being interminably accident prone and inept, I decided it would be a great photo opportunity to get into one of said trap doors, despite the fact it is *tiny* and only really big enough for stunted hobbits to get in (or Vietnamese). And all was grand, getting in was easy, I had a photo or two taken, had the guide put the lid on my head and joked about how funny it would be if I couldn't get out and had to crawl to Cambodia...and then...I got stuck. Completely and utterly stuck. Now, I know I am tall, but I'm not ridiculously fat or anything, but I couldn't get out of the damn hole, even though I tried with all my non-existent upper-body strength and kicked and struggled tirelessly for at least 3 minutes. And to start off with it was pretty funny, with two well scrawny Vietnamese guys trying to pull me out by my armpits and my friend Faye laughing at me mercilessly...then after about 10 minutes it just got embarrassing. I really don't know how I got in and couldn't get out. I mean, the hole *was* small, and I am *not* a Vietnamese midget, but really! Eventually we had to recruit two 'big, strong British lads' (say this in a Yorkshire accent because it sounds better) who yanked me out with brute force, leaving Fay doubled over in stitches by a tree stump, and me utterly and truly embarrassed. After this traumatising experience, Fay suggested that ice cream was the only solution to making me feel less red-faced. Obviously, I agreed - and thus we ended up going to Fanny. Fanny is THE BEST ice cream in the WHOLE WORLD. Seriously - I had ginger and cinnamon ice cream with caramel sauce, and it was better than Cadbury's. This is not a compliment I would give unless it had been extremely carefully considered.

Day three - having done the only 'must-do' attractions we found appealing, we decided that a water park would be an excellent idea. It was. There were flumes and loop-the-loop rides and rapids and space-bowls and black holes and karaoke and lots and lots of Vietnamese fascinated by my white skin and blonde hair. We didn't get lost on our way here, because we took the bus. We went for ice cream again afterwards and watched pretty dresses. This was a good day too.

After three days in HCMC it was time to move on to the next destination: Dalat. Still accompanied by Fay, we headed to the cooler climes of the hills and got settled in another lovely little room with a TV (no pretty dresses though - we had to make do with CNN). The first day was spent getting to grips with the kookiness and quirkiness that is Dalat, wandering around the lake, topped with swam-shaped paddle boats, visiting the flower gardens, dotted with abstract naked statues, and marvelling at the so-called 'Crazy House', built by a Vietnamese architect to look like something straight out of Alice in Wonderland. I kid you not. Between fending off a posse of Easy Riders (men who offer tours on motorbikes across the hills of central Vietnam) and taking pictures of the oddities speckling the Dalat landscape, we managed to find some more good coffee and had a great first day. Day two was spent getting away from the hustle and bustle, though, as we trekked up into the Dalat hills to catch some spectacular views and walk among the (imported and planted) pine trees. Our guide did a stellar job of explaining the countryside to us, showed us a coffee plantation and explained that Vietnamese coffee is roasted in butter, rum, sugar, and, oddly, fish sauce, to give it its unique flavour! The final day in Dalat was spent doing a day tour of the countryside with the now-named Sleazy Riders, who had pursued us relentlessly around Dalat trying to secure our business. Slightly reluctantly, we agreed to a one day excursion as Fay was considering doing a 3 day trip with them up to Nha Trang and wanted to test the water before committing. Most of the day was very good, with the Easy Riders taking us to some prime photo spots and showing a few arsenal treats like how to make silk and how to weave bamboo baskets. We also had an excellent buffet lunch up in the hills and saw a convent and the Valley of Love - a valley of tourist tat and ridiculous monuments all looking like cartoon characters with the atmosphere of Disney land. Nice. The riders became their 'sleazy' moniker by Fay's driver's repeated reference to whisking her away for three days and 'money-saving' by sharing a room, and the short-changing attempted at lunch and the Valley of Love. All in all, a good day, but with a few frays around the edges which made us a little uncomfortable. To end the day on an irrevocable good note, however, we went to the night market, where we bought out the town's supply of rambuttan (awesome red little fruit like lychee but with soft green spines all over) and went woolly hat shopping. Do not ask why, in a country where he temperature is uniformly over 30 degrees, this was necessary - but at the time the pink and woolly hat Fay bought and the truly fabulous powder blue hat I purchased were a perfectly sensible way to spend our money, and provided a lot of entertainment for the Vietnamese lady we bought them from.

The following day we bussed into Nha Trang, a sea-side resort with a terrible reputation for theft but a great reputation for its night life. Upon arrival, we went for a wander along the sea-front, I tried a spot of sunbathing (and still failed to get anything resembling a tan), and we went out to test the renowned night scene. We did have a good night, complete with wine, cocktails and ice cream (naturally), but heard so many stories of muggings and pickpocketings we decided to hotfoot it out again the following day. To while away the hours until the bus, we hopped onto a boat trip, where we were entertained by karaoke, given the most amazing fruit buffet and food and squeezed in a nap and some snorkeling. That evening, though, relieved to have escaped the thieves, we boarded our first night bus. It was an experience. To start, the beds are only about 2 feet long, the Vietnamese not being terribly big people. This is problematic when you are 5 foot 9, as your knees inevitably end up by your armpits, and you end up squished into the bottom of the 'bed' in any case because it slopes at an angle designed to inflict severe spinal problems on even the most oxen-backed of people. Then there were the bumps in the road which sent us all careering 2 feet into the air and smashing us back down again with considerable force, the broken toilet which smelled offensive for the whole journey, and the screaming baby who cried allllll night. It was a delightful journey - thank goodness we found somewhere fantastic to stay in Hoi An to compensate!

Our accommodation in Hoi An was quite simply the most lavish and lush hotel I have ever stayed in. Goodness knows how we managed to wangle it, but we bartered and begged our way down from $25 a night for a room to a mere $12, thus $6 each, and for this money we got the following: queen beds each with crisp linen sheets and big pillows and comfy duvets, satellite TV, silk bath robes, a big bath, a hot water power shower, a balcony overlooking the swimming pool, a mini bar, massage and beauty room service, room service of food and drinks, wooden carved interior to the room, free buffet breakfast, free internet, free bike usage, the nicest staff in the world. It was pure luxury - for £3 a night. Three. Pounds. Per. Night. Heavenly. Now in Hoi An, apart from watching pretty dresses on our very own TV we were to get many things tailored, as Hoi An is tailor-capital of South East Asia. Thus, in 4 days I managed to get 2 three-piece suits, 6 shirts, 2 dresses and 2 winter coats for the princely sum of $333, while Fay got shirts, dresses, coats and all mmannerof paraphernalia too. In fact, we spent so much time in tailor shops we barely managed to see the beautiful lantern-filled UNESCO protected town or visit its main sights. We didn't get to the nearby beach and didn't really have a night out (instead, opting to drink wine while watching pretty dresses). We did manage a mini-excursion to My Son which the Lying Planet (the Vietnam Lonely Planet was unforgivably inaccurate on many counts) rated as a must see, but was, in reality, a heap of rubble in a field. Complete waste of a morning. We also managed to do a Vietnamese cookery course with a super lady called Hung, who is probably the best Vietnamese cook in all of Vietnam. However, the main thing we did in Hoi An was shop. A good few days well spent.

Next stop after Hoi An was, almost palindromically, Hanoi. We arrived here after a night bus which was, if you can believe it, even *more* horrific than the last. This journey involved a drunkard who puked on me, a woman who fell asleep on my lap, broken air-con which actually blasted hot air into my face (as if I nneededit when it was over 30 degrees ooutsideanyway), yet more screaming children, a television blaring bad Vietnamese pop into my face all night, the guy on the bunk above me stepping on me *every* time he got out or into 'bed' and being molested by an over-curious Vietnamese guy who took a liking to the 'silver' hairs on my arm. The first few hours of Hanoi were spent in a sleep deprived daze trying to book a tour to Halong Bay and trying not to get ripped off by the conniving woman who ran our hotel. We spent most of the day completely flat out in bed, although we did make it up for another Fanny ice cream :-)

Halong Bay, around which we spent 2 days cruising on a lovely pirate-esque ship, was wonderful. The towering rock pillars looming out of the blue ocean were magnificent while the sunny weather held up and the people on our boat made the trip a lot of fun. We explored a couple of caves, swam in the sea, sunbathed and took lots of pretty pictures - the perfect way to relax after an evil night bus! It would have been lovely to spend another day in Halong Bay, ddriftingamong the limestone karsts, but we with the end of my time in Vietnam stealing up quickly, we had to head back to Hanoi to jump on a night train to our final new destination - Sapa.

Sapa, another hill retreat similar to Dalat, was beautiful. Lush, rolling, green-clad hills shrouded in cloud and mist and romantically speckled with conical-hat-wearing locals and brightly-clothed hill tribes women. Here we spent three days trekking (or, rather, sliding down hills of mud) with the Hmong and Zao tribes, including a home stay in the hills with a fabulous family who had their own TVand karaoke machine. Needless to say, the karaoke machine alone made for an excellent evening of entertainment of Fay, Diane (a London-based French girl on our trek) and I singing (screeching) Careless Whisper at the top of our lungs. Coupled with the prolific amount of rice wine imbibed, however, the night was truly unforgettable (well, until we could no longer sing due to the effects of said rice wine - dangerous stuff! - at which point we started to forget not just the lyrics but most other things too!) Unfortunately the evening was slightly marred by me being bitten by a puppy and being utterly convinced I had contracted rabies. A lengthy (and slightly drunken) conversation with our terrific guide Peinh later, we established that the dog probably wasn't rabid, but that if I died of rabies my Mum would fly Peinh to the UK for my funeral. I think Peinh was happy with this arrangement. The following day, nonetheless, we decided that, although we were 99% sure the dog hadn't got rabies, with a disease that has a 100% fatality rate, you can't be too careful. So back to Hanoi and off to hospital it was for me...

So, back in Hanoi for a couple of days before I flew to Bangkok, the first stop was the Korean-Vietnam Friendship Clinic for a lengthy discussion with a vague yet amicable doctor about whether to have a booster shot. Thank goodness I had read up on rabies, or he might have convinced me to get completely the wrong treatment He was a bit rubbish. Anyway, injection had, we went off to Fanny to get consolatory ice cream (of course!) A wander around the lake and to a couple of sights finished the afternoon nicely, and we were ready for an evening of Vietnamese Water Puppets. These were brilliant. A little orchestra of weird and wonderful instruments accompanied the dances and theatrical shows of a selection of water puppets, ranging from animals such as oxen, swans and dragons to people of every degree - locals, rice workers, emperors, dancers, lovers...the agility and craftsmanship of the puppets was awesome, and the ability of the puppeteers was inspiring. The following day, and my final day of traveling with Fay, was spent crossing the last few sights off the list. The morning was spent trooping round the Mausoleum, seeing the embalmed body of Ho Chi Minh (weird - looked like a waxwork in Madame Tussuad's), taking pictures in a restored tradesman's house and...you guessed it...and final trip to Fanny. And here the stories of Vietnam and the travels of Helen and Fay came to an end, but there were many good days watching pretty dresses and eating ice cream, and Vietnam will be forever remembered for its fish sauce, coffee and conical hats (and ice cream!)

The Final Voyage, then, was to Bangkok. Here I had my concluding two-day shopping-fuelled meltdown before flying home. I dallied round Khoa San Road, pushed through the crowds of Chatuchak market like the locals, bartered and bargained at MBK, scooted round the smoggy streets of Bangkok in tuks tuks and came back a sweaty, disgusting mess. With armfuls of bargain buys and souvenirs, nonetheless, I was very content, and celebrated my purchases in the evening by eating curry and drinking cocktails with the splendid company of Adrian and Alice on the first evening, and Corey on the second. These friends, whom I made in Australia, were luckily in Bangkok at the same time as me, and we had a blast. The final night out in Thailand with Adrian and Alice was especially memorable, featuring much reminiscence and the 'Killing Time' challenge of working our way through the entire cocktail list of Killing Time bar. We managed it :-) The final evening with Corey was also lovely, if less alcoholic, and provided a little bit of time for reflection. A couple of Thai massages and a bit more shopping thrown in for good measure, and my two days were finally up and I slightly sadly, slightly excitedly stepped onto my final bus of my travels to head to the final airport of my travels and get the final flight home.

And now, 5 days, one roast dinner, several rounds of Marmite on toast and at least a hundred cups of tea later, I am very much home. It's all been rather overwhelming to be honest. I have all these clothes, all these books, all this stuff that was once indispensable to my life yet which I have not missed at all this year. I do have a family and friends, however, which I have very much missed and are truly indispensable, and whom I have been happily catching up with. I'd love to finish this blog on some cheesy, well thought-out, poetic note, but instead I think I will take a little more time to adjust (and drink a few more vats of tea), and I may well write an epilogue...but for now, I shall bid you adieu, and end the last of my travel-blog entries proper.

Helen

xxx

Laos and Cambodia

2008-05-24T19:03:00.000-07:00

Yo y'all,

So...two days on a slow boat. One word: slow. Ok, the scenery was beautiful (for the first few minutes), the card games were fun (although we only knew 3 games and these got tiresome eventually), and it was nice to have time to chill out (until you realise you are stuck on a boat for TWO DAYS and it gets as boring as watching a snail race)... but the pre-eminent memory for this couple of days can be summed up in one word: slow. Despite the slowness, however, the residual effects of spending two days on a very slow boat down the Mekong (aside from an array of mosquito bites adorning my limbs and face) was that I met some great people. My new found loveliest people were Cat and Michelle, who helped me celebrate my birthday in Luang Prabang in some serious style. Luang Prabang is lovely. As an old French colony it has lots of yummy bread and cakes and wine, and other niceties. We spent a fabulous day sauntering round this UNESCO World Heritage town, visiting the Phu Si Wat, which sits atop a hill giving splendid views of the surroundings, musing around the Royal Palace's gorgeously decorated
interior, dallying with the monks at the Xien Muan Wat and pillaging the beautiful wares of the night market. After browsing the multi-coloured scarves and vast array of oranments, pictures, bags, coffee and jewelry in the remarkably chilled-out market, we went to dinner, had more wine, then after a few shots of Lao Lao (Lao brewed rice wine - as pleasant tasting as paint stripper), went to the bowling alley. It was a very fun birthday.

After a day's recovery, in which we ate more cake (good for hangovers) and went back to the night market to buy a few choice items, as well as spending a few hours splashing around in the fabulous nearby waterfall complex, it was off the Vang Vieng. This little town is a renowned jewel of the backpacker route, offering tubing, bars, alcohol and 'happy' shakes, all followed by a Friends sesh in a bar (and every bar played Friends from morn 'til night - no joke, *every* bar), and a centre point for exciting activities like caving and rock climbing. It should have been a less cultural, but fun highlight of my trip, but, alas, it was not to be. I was struck down by a mystery bug and spent my time there in bed sleeping it off. Just my luck! Cat and Michelle, meanwhile, went tubing and did all the fun stuff, then reported back that it was 'fun but not that fun' (which sort of consoled me, but not really) before bundling me off to Vientiane. And in Vientiane I did nothing for 3 days while I got better. On day 2 we did make a little excursion to the hospital to see if anything was really wrong. After being greeted by the receptionist who happened to be the doctor and probably also the cleaner, however, we started to doubt the usefulness of the visit. After she took my temperature with a dodgy thermometer and happily declared it was 28 degrees C and that I therefore has no fever (although it was easily 30 degrees outside), we were pretty sure our trip was pointless. And when she offered to take my blood to test for dengue fever, though my symptoms didn't match at all, we knew it was time to go back home to a big bottle of water and a lot more sleep. Thank goodness I started feeling much better the following day, as Laos medical services leave a lot to be desired and if I ever become rich I will set up a fund for services there. A scary reminder that aside from the touristy buses and western food on menus, Laos is still very much a developing country and the people there have very little access to health care and education. We are a very and often undeservedly lucky bunch in the developed world.

Anyhooo - after I had got better, Cat and Michelle flew off to Hanoi, which I was very sad about because they are brilliant, and left me to see a few sights. I went to check out Pha That Lung - a massive gold looking monument - and ambled off to the 'Champs Elysees' road, complete with fake Arc du Triomphe at one end and Presidential Palace at the other ( a definite take-off and nothing like the French counterpart!), wandered along the river front and went round a few wats. Vieniane is not exactly what one would term a tourist attraction, however, so it was straight off down to the laid-back south off Laos for me. Now, as much as I loved Don Det, a little island in the middle of the Mekong river where I did nothing but read and eat and became as interesting as a hammock-bound sloth-like icicle, half of the love affair I had with the south is the way I got there. The radical, multi-coloured, flurescent-lit, all singing, all dancing, pimped up, pimped out super-sleeper bus! It was great. Not only were the head and tail-lights luminescently lit in multiple colours, but the under carriage flashed from red to green to blue too. The in-house entertainment consisted of deliveries of un-nameable stodgy snacks and Lao-Thai karaoke from 7-11 pm. And, as if that wasn't good enough, the lyrics were also written phonetically in roman script so we could all sing along. Fantastic. And then there was the boat ride paddled by a a little man in a carved out log which nearly sank across the Mekong to get to the island - close, but no cigar in comparison to the pimped out mega bus. :-)

After the excitement of the mega bus and couple of days of nothingness in lovely Laos (one of my favourite countries) it was off to Cambodia for me. Good thing I had chance to get mellowed out in Don Det, as the journey to Phnom Penh was atrocious. To start with, there were 20 of us shoved into a a 12 seater minibus, where the seat backs were broken and the air-con didn't work. The back of my seat fell into the knees of the girl behind as the seat in front squished my own knees, thus meaning I had to sit cross legged and side ways to get any degree of bearable posture. Then it started to rain, and the window next to me wouldn't shut, thus drenching me thoroughly with the stream of muddy water cascading down my back for 4 hours. When they found us a new bus, however (after much kicking and screaming from us) it still wasn't up to scratch, being still only a 16 seater and having NO suspension whatsoever along Cambodia's infamously awful roads. We drove through mud slurries half a meter deep and fell into holes, got way-laid by unnecessary waits in random areas for no reason (well, the reason was that they wanted to make sure we arrived in Stung Treng too late to get a local bus, meaning that we would be forced to use their excessively priced onwards 'service' to Phnom Penh), had a 'flat tyre', meaning more waits in the middle of nowhere, an excursion through the jungle in pitch black because there was a 'hold-up' on the road...and didn't get dinner until 10pm because it took us this long to reach a restaurant where the driver would get commission. All of this served to get us into Phnom Penh at 2am, tired, annoyed, and very angry, to be dumped at a hostel where the driver would get yet more commission. What a scam! Fortunately there was a good group of us on the bus, and with a few songs, a few jokes and some seriously bad New Zealand music, we got through in one piece and, although this is exactly the kind of journey that gives tour agencies a bad name, I think my memories of it will be amusing rather than annoyed. My abiding most annoying memory is that the left indicator was stuck on 'on' and flashed the whole way there! Well, what can you do but laugh, really, when you are mud-covered, rain-drenched and about to get DVT and an epileptic fit from the orange flashing lights!?

The next day in Phnom Penh was packed with sight-seeing. Sadly, given Cambodia's genocidal past, the sights to be seen were not really enjoyable, but were crucial to understanding Cambodia and exactly how far it has come in the last few years. My visit to Tuol Sleng, or S 21, the secondary school turned into a detention and punishment centre by the Khmer Rouge, was overwhelmingly saddening. Along with numerous classrooms turned into torture chambers, there were rooms displaying thousands of mug-shots of the 'criminals' (blameless citizens) who were held there, and cabinets showing the instruments of torture and bones of those killed. Already utterly sobered by the complete inhumanity of the Khmer Rouge regime, a trip to the Killing Fields really hammered home the message that man-kind can really be incomprehensibly cruel. Here, amid the trees and grass, with the sun beating down and a light breeze blowing, we saw the Wat dedicated to those murdered, filled from base to tip with the smashed skulls of the dead. In now flower-covered pits lay the bones of children slaughtered indesciminately. One tree, called the 'Magic Tree', had a loud speaker attached, purposefully put there to play music louder than the victims' screams. The whole experience was a real eye opener on Cambodian history, but a reminder that such atrocities have occurred many times in our history and are still happening today.

To cheer ourselves up after the morning's visits, we went off to the Grand Palace to marvel at the Silver Pagoda and browse the palacial architecture. Afterwards a few cocktails in the Foreign Correspondents Club and a splash-out meal finished the day with a much needed high note. Next day, it was off to Siem Reap for a few days to check out Cambodia's ancient Knmer capital and wonder, Angkor Wat. Angkor was great. We hopped on some bikes on the first day and cyled off to see the great temple itself. As the world's largest religious building, it was pretty darn impressive. With bas reliefs all over the place, towering turrets, lakes and moats, there was plenty to see and it took a good 3 hours. Unfortunately I didn't get chance to climb the nearby temple on a hill to get that 'Angkor Wat' shot, but it was nonetheless grand. The subsequent temples we saw were also fabulous - Bayon, with its many faces smiling eerily and gzing in every direction - Ta Prohm, left to the elements and covered in tree roots, including 'that' tree route from the Tomb Raider film - and many, many others. It took a good 2 days to see them, with the second day riding round in a tuk-tuk (open air motocyle driven taxi), after which I was utterly templed out. It was still a good couple of days which I really enjoyed. The temples were an interesting back drop to Cambodia's more recent history, showing the wealth and power of the Khmer empire in its prime. A really poignant touch to the visit was the music played by landmine victims as we went around the temples. Men and women with lost limbs and severe injuries from landmines left from the conflicts Khmer Rouge period had learned to play instruments, and in small groups played some delightful traditional music to set the atmosphere in the temples. The contrasts and contradictions arising from such beautiful music accompanying such brilliant monuments played by people who had suffered the most awful injuries yet had risen above their misfortunes to celebrate their heritage and remaining abilities was deeply impacting. After going to the landmine museum and learning how there are still between 3 and 6 million unexploded mines in Cambodia and many injured or killed each day by them, I was really affected by the issue. Cambodian people have been through so much, yet have such indominable spirits and a wicked sense of humour. Their day-to-day is often riddled by poverty, with the evidence of landmines visible in many beggars and kids having to sell on the street to support their families. With a raging HIV/AIDS epidemic too, Cambodia has really struck me as a remarkable country in terms of the issues it has to face. Moreover, the people have struck me as grasping the true essence of 'life' - of being able to see the bright side and trying their hardest in the face of misfortune to make the best of their lot. Of course, there are those who take advantage of the tourism industry in unadmirable ways, and those who beg although they are still able to work, but generally I have been impressed greatly by Cambodia and its people.

A quick 2-day stop back in Phnom Penh to get a Vietnamese visa followed Siem Reap. Here I spent a good couple of days relaxing and doing not a lot, but also went to visit a local orphanage. Sarah, Eve and John and I took rice, books and play toys along with us and spent a wonderful afternoon with the kids. They taught us how to make paper flowers, played football with us, showed us their Apsara dances and sang songs in English. They completely showed me up by knowing more words to the macarena than I know, and were fantastic kids in every respect. They were all from poor or disadvataged backgrounds, many orphaned and some with parents who could not support them. Thanks to the orphanage, though, they are learning English, French and Japanese, and being taught a general curriculum so that they can go to state school when they are older. Incredibly, for the 72 kids there, they consume 50kg of rice per day, costing $30. Every bit of support is greatly appreciated, and the staff there are simply marvelous in their attention and support of the children. I had such a great afternoon, photographing the kids wearing my sun glasses, teaching them how to cat-walk and pose! It made my time in Cambodia extra special. When I get home and start earning, along with supporting Amnesty, which tackles issues like landmines and other humanitarian issues, I would also like to sponsor a child. Given how much of an impact Cambodia has made on me, I will choose to sponsor a kid here. I think it's the least I can do - I really wish I could do more.

That's it for Cambodia now, though. I've just picked up my Vietnamese visa, so it's off to Ho Chi Minh City tomorrow, aka Saigon, where the tales of the 17th of 17 countries from my grand tour shall begin...

xxx

The rest of Thailand: Full Moon, Bridge on the River Kwai, Bangkok, Ancient Temples, Chiang Mai

2008-05-05T22:28:00.000-07:00

Dear all,

Since the last time I wrote I have been having a super-lovely time doing very exciting things. After the interesting cultural excursion of Nakhon, I skipped up the coast and hopped over to Ko Pha Ngan where I jumped straight into the Full Moon Party action. I met up there with a friend I made in Malaysia, Roland, and Marian, with whom I travelled part of Australia's East Coast. Not to bore you with more of the same, but Ko Pha Ngan is another whtie sandy beach island with crystal blue waters and bright sunshiny days...yada yada yada. But, as I have mentioned already, Ko Pha Ngan is the island where all the cool kids go - the island of the infamous Full Moon Party. The build up to this party was pretty spectacular in itself: warm up parties on the beach drinking buckets (literally) of Thai spirits, watching fire poi performances, flip-flop swapping, party hopping and night long bopping. All good, but resulting in the mass induction of nocturnality for all tourists on the islands, the disappearance of breakfast, the turning of lunch into dinner and dinner into post-drink snacks. The party itself, however, was even more overwhelming. There were thousands, literally thousands, of people on the beach, all dancing away and drinking many more buckets than on previous night. People had come from all over the island to join the fun, as well as boat loads of people popping over from neighbouring Ko Samui. Marian and I had a brilliant time painting each others faces with luminous body paint and had, at one point, a veritable clintele of Asian ladies cuing up to have us paint their faces! We danced with lady boys, jived away on the podiums (I may have fallen off one and got an impressive bruise on my thigh) and lost our room key in the sand. Lovely stuff.

After recovering from the party, Marian headed off to Phuket to meet Olivia, while Roland and I joined the mass exodus of people from Ko Pha Ngan to Bangkok, and jammed ourselves into uncomfortably full boats and buses in a bid to find a quieter spot to wind down. This we found in Kanchanaburi. After a brief (15 minutes) stop in Bangkok to catch the bus to Kanchanaburi, better known as the city of the Bridge on the River Kwai, we found ourselves a nice little wooden shack floating right on the river. A great place to catch up on some sleep. In our couple of days here we visited the infamous bridge, went to the cemetaries of those who died, and made a trip to the museum where we learned the sobering details of how the Japanese built the railway line and bridge using POWs during WW2. The time we spent in Kanchanaburi coincided, fittingly, with ANZAC day. As Roland is a Kiwi, the poignancy of the historical happenings in Kanchanaburi took on greater import as the army representatives in Thailand commemorated the Australian and New Zealand soldiers who died in the World Wars in the cemetaries of the city. On a lighter note, Kanchanabuir also afforded us considerable entertainment as the river is home to a Thai tradition of floating karaoke boats. Each night we would witness the hilarious attempts of the Thai tourists at singing (or whining) various Thai pop anthems as they drifted down stream in a flurry of gaudy lights. And from the quirky to the bizarre, we also took a cycle trip to some nearby cave temples which were made famous in 1995 by the murder of a British tourist by a drug addicted monk! Another odd activity to do in Kanchanaburi was to visit the tiger temple, where I stroked some rescued tigers (not scary at all, but very cute) and took lots of pictures of baby wild pigs. Great. So there you go - Kanchanaburi, a city of extremes.

After our couple of days of relaxing, museums and culture, Roland and I headed back to Bangkok to sweat it out in the backpacker ghetto of Khoa San Road. We holed up in a dump of a hotel costing us the princely sum of GBP 1.50 a night, where the beds were sandbags and the showers smelled (who said travelling is glamorous!?!) and set about ticking off the sights-to-see and things-to-do in Thailand's capital. We trawled around the superlatively stunning Grand Palace, where the mirror-mozaic exteriors of the architecturally impressive buildings glimmered dazzlingly in the sun, became very snap-happy in the temple Wat Phra-Kaew, and were awed by the biggest reclining gold Buddha image in the world. To temper the grandeur of Bangkok's showpiece sights, we went to Patpong to see a pingpong show, the details of which I will not go into here, and slummed it by eating the street-vendors wares back on Khoa San Road. We met up with Cassie, Jo and Michael - friends made in Malaysia - and got lost in the humungous Chatuchak market, which has over 15000 stalls! Just before leaving for our next destination, Arutthaya, I made a quick stop off at Jim Thompson's house. Thompson was an american architect who moved to Thailand after having served here in the US army. The house he built is comprised of 6 different teak wood Thai houses and is filled with beautful ornaments, pottery and sculptures from across Asia. Set in a lush tropcial garden, the house was a brilliant example of Thai architecture and art, and I happily whiled away a few hours browsing the silk printed pictures he had amassed. Jim Thompson set up the Thai silk trade between Asia and Western Europe and America, so I duly browsed the fabulous silk pieces that were on sale. Thompson disappeared on a walk in the Cameron Highlands in Malaysia, never to be found again...I'm glad that didn't happen to Michael and I when we went on our mapless trek a couple of weeks ago!

So...next stop, Arutthaya. Arutthaya was the ancient Kmer capital, and as such is home to many funky ruins of temples. I felt rather 'Raiders of the Lost Ark' as I meandered through the ruined remains, photographing Buddha faces trapped in tree roots and half-weathered statues. After just a day, however, it was time to move again, and we boarded the night train to Chiang Mai. I loved the night train. It had lots of comfy beds, it was air conditioned, and it was very exciting. I felt just like a child again and took sweeties with me and had a marvellous time (and slept well). Hurrah!

And then...Chiang Mai. Chiang Mai is the second largets city in Thailand and is the capital of the north and a hub of tourist activity. Although the city's temples are interesting and the Night Bazarre is the best market I have ever been to, it is the activities available to do from Chiang Mai that make it so popular. The first day was spent sight seeing and organising, but from then on I have been doing all sorts of wonderful things. I spent a day becoming the Thai version of Delia Smith with The Best Thai Cookery School (how's that for advertising!?), where the owner and teacher was absolutely brilliant. We visited a market where we were taught about the different herbs and spices, fruits and vegetables, available in Thailand, and were shown fermented eggs and how to make coconut milk and coconut cream. Afterwards we learned to make all sorts of yummy dishes from Pad Thai to Red Curry, srping rolls to mango and sticky rice. Our teacher was really funny and enthused about Thai cuisine and culture. I felt positively like a culinary goddess after this most enjoyable day and I can't wait to try out my new recipes at home.

Following my cooking escapade, it was off on a trek to do fun stuff in the hills. The first day's dirst stop was elephant trekking in the jungle. The elephants were adorable and very well cared for, and took us some rather circuitous routes through the jungle, stopping ever few minutes for another bamboo snack. The ride was actually pretty uncomfortable, but the novely of riding on an elephant was as good as that of stroking tigers. The afternoon's activity was a trek to a hill tribe, where we were to stay the night. Along with 10 other people, I slipped and slid down the slopes, battled the rain, and moaned my way through a 3 hour hike. Getting stuck in the mud and singing all the way was part of the fun, though, and when we arrived at the tribal village we had a wonderful welcome. The people came to talk with us and sing with us, they fed us beautiful green curry and rice, they showed us how they made handicrafts and sold some to us, and gave us special 'Lahu' (the name of the tribe) massages. The kids were fantastic and the tribe were so accommodating and hospitable that it made the whole experience unforgettable. After a good night's sleep in our wooden hut, it was off on a trek again, this time to a waterfall. As it had been raining a fair bit, the waterfall was in full force and made for some fun splashing around and trying to avoid the leeches. Following the waterfall, we trekked off again to the river to jump in a raft for some white water rafting, then swapped to a bamboo raft to float down the calmer stretch of river. And then back to Chiang Mai, exhausted and exhilarated :-)

Unfortunately the fun I had on the 2 day trek was tempered by the hill tribe trip I went on the following day. I went with Olivia, a friend I met through Marian, but the day was a definite eye-opener on the bad side of tourism. We did see several different tribes and went to an unremarkable orchid farm, but found the tribes to be dependent on tourism and were saddened by the ignorant treatment of the tribes by the other tourists in our group, who took photos of the most inappropriate scenes in very intrusive ways without asking the permission of the tribes people. The tribespeople hassled us to buy their handicrafts and were very despondent, making the day uninteractive and depressing. It just goes to show the swings and roundabouts of tourism, I guess, but it made me realise how delicate the balance between tourism and intrusion is.

And that's it for Thailand! Tomorrow I head off to Laos via the two day slow boat down the Mekong, where I will shack up for a couple of days in Luang Prabang to celebrate my 23rd birthday.

More soon.

xxx

Singapore, Malaysia and Thai Shadow Puppets

2008-04-16T01:38:00.000-07:00

Righty ho folks,

On arriving in Singapore's immaculate airport (one of the nicest I have seen), I made a quick journey out via the extremely efficient MRT (mass rapid transport) to the apartment of Ole, the brother of the lovely Mira, whom I befriended in Bali. After a very hospitable welcome, including offers of laundry service usage and internet access, and having my first hot shower in over a month, I settled down for the night in a wonderful, clean, air-conditioned room. Heaven. The following day was spent traipsing round the city centre sites in my best attire (a remarkably still-white dress and rather worn gold shoes), such as the Merlion (statue of a lion/mermaid thing), various high-rise buildings, the arts centre and Clarke and Boat Quays. 'But why ever would you partake in such a sight-seeing spree in your only decent clothes?', I hear you ask. Well, the reason for this, my dear readers, is that I needed to look extra special and as unbackpackerly as possible to mark the one lavish extravagance I have allowed myself this year; dining at the exceedingly posh and sophisticated Raffles Hotel for luncheon. And it was marvelous. The hotel is grand, white, with colonial architecture; there are butlers and waiters and candle-stick makers to attend to your every whim; the swimming pool glistens like an azure gem in the midst of palm tree gardens and magnificent water-features; the ball room glows with charm and grace with twinkling chandeliers and royal red carpets; the dining room oozes class and style as the perfectly attentive waiters serve you impeccably. For lunch I dined on succulent pork shoulder drizzled with cherry compote, accompanied with garlic rosti and al dente asparagus and sweet, green beans. This beautiful main was preceded by a buffet of appetizers including fine smoked salmon, cheeses from the world, over twenty kinds of bread, salad, meats, soups and crackers. The desert was equally sumptuous, being presented on the shelves of a deep brown mahogany Dutch dresser, and boasting a selection of hot and cold desserts, ice cream, fruit, cakes, chocolates and biscuits fit for a Queen's palate. All of this was complimented by a bottle of sparkling wine of a ridiculous price, but made the experience worth every last cent.

As you've probably gathered, I loved my Raffles' lunch (thank you Auntie Sue for treating me to it!) I then spent the rest of the afternoon bloatedly waddling down Orchard Road, soaking up the expensive boutique shopping malls and moaning because my feet hurt (darn gold shoes!) The evening was then passed eating out with Ole and his colleagues and trying the famous Singapore Sling cocktail (yummy). The following day in Singapore was spent trundling round the food stalls and temples of Little India and China town, and catching up with 'The Brummies', Edward and Chris, whom I had met in Gili T and Kuta.

After the luxury of Singapore - a great city as far as cities go - it was off to Kuala Lumpur, city of nastiness, dirt, the Petronas towers, a communication tower, and not much else. With the company of Ed and Chris, I did manage to see the Batu caves to provide some excitement for the KL experience. Largely, though, KL was spent trying to sort out my superannuation claims in Australia and shuttling back and forth between police/embassies/commissioner of oaths try to get my passport photocopy verified. Fun. The next stop in Malaysia could not have been more different, however. Poles apart from the hustle and bustle of KL, the Cameron Highlands took me warmly in the folds of their rolling hills and gave me a much craved-for taste of home. The Cameron Highlands are not only cooler, being at higher altitude, but boast lush tea plantations spread like blankets over the hills, thus lulling me into a rather homely reverie. The first day I spent drinking tea, visiting the tea plantations, visiting the tea factory, visiting the Boh Tea Museum, and drinking some more tea. I also made some trips to a honey farm and a butterfly farm, a strawberry farm and a rose centre, as well as stopping off in the market to try some weird and wonderful fruits. The rose centre, bizarrely, had very few roses in it, but still contributed to the glowing, idyllic experience the highlands afforded me. After chowing down on some great Indian food afterwards, I made friends with a few people, and agreed to hike the hills the following day with new-found friend Michael. And that we did. The Lonely Planet specified that we should take a) water, b) waterproofs, c) a partner and d) a map. Well, three out of four ain't bad! (We forgot the map and spent 4 hours wandering the jungle and ended up hitching a lift back to town). After the highly successful morning's hike, we treated ourselves to scones and jam (and more tea, naturally) and watched some films in the communal area of the hostel. I love the Cameron Highlands.

As all good things must come to an end, however, I had to leave my dreamland destination of the pretty Camerons, and I headed straight up to Perhentian Islands, the showpieces and little jewels of Malaysia's north east coast. A bus trip and a boat ride later, along with an hour-long search of the beach for accommodation, I settled down for the night in a shanty shack on a hill, with a gecko, a spider, a bird and, at one point, a monitor lizard for company. It was cozy. The beach was beautiful - white sand, turquoise waters, all that. I did a snorkel trip in the Perhentians and met some fabulous people. The snorkeling was brilliant too, as the water was bath-warm and filled with fishes, turtles, sharks, coral, and all manner of sea beasties (like jelly fish - several of which stung me. Hmph.) Still, after my farewell night of drinking vodka watermelons on the beach with my fellow travelers, it was onwards and upwards to Thailand.

Thailand's first stop was Nakhon Si Thammarat, a rather untouristy destination specialising in Wats (temples) and shadow puppets, and exceptionally hospitable people. On the nine hour train ride up, I was befriended by several locals, one of whom offered to accommodate me, and had an hour long Thai-English learning session (using the phrase section of the Lonely Planet) with a great kid called Pha. My new Thai phrases came in rather handy in Nakhon as I appeared to be the only tourist in town, and actually became something of a 'local attraction'! I found the locals to be super - friendly, helpful, smily, curious, welcoming, hospitable, generous. I had coffees bought for me, taxi rides given free of charge, and had an amusing time trying to communicate using my sparse Thai vocab coupled with elaborate gestures and a fair amount of pointing and sign language. As well as being entertained (and probably reciprocally entertaining too) the locals, I got out to a few of the temples to witness monks praying, golden Buddhas lining the alleys, massive metallic shrines, and more worshippers than would grace Worcester Cathedral at Christmas. The real highlight, nonetheless, was seeing the shadow puppets. The museum displayed puppets from all across asia, while the staff gave me demonstrations of how they made them. I was shown how the buffalo hide is dried and how intricate designs are chiseled in and then the skin in dyed with fruit-dye to form beautiful puppets. I bought a plain black non-moving puppet of Magkhala, who in legend is an angel. When evil Ramasoon, a demon, tried to axe a diamond from her body, the sound of the blow created thunder and the clash of the axe on the diamond created lightening. Unfortunately I was the only visitor that day so they wouldn't put on a show for me, but I imagine with such passionate craftsmen and artists it would be wonderful.

And so I will sign off for now, and continue Thai tales next time.

Love for now,

Helen xxx

Indonesia: Surfing, sight-seeing, snorkelling in paradise and all that jazz

2008-04-02T20:07:00.000-07:00

Halloo,

After the hectic last couple of days in Ozzieland, I was pretty shattered getting to Bali. Fortunately the plane trip was made very bearable thanks to the company of surf-lovers Hannah and Charlie, and the taxi trip from Denpasar airport to Kuta - the tourist and surfing Mecca of Bali - was made rather cheery by sharing a cab with a couple about to tie the knot in Bali. Ahh - how lovely. On arrival, however, I set to pounding the streets, carrying my life tortoise-style with my rucksack on my back, to find a hotel. After numerous visits to hotels with no vacancies, having received a hug from a British couple who clearly thought I looked so bedraggled I needed one, and being offered everything from paintings to cure-all-potions by eager street vendors, I finally found an American called Darren who directed me to a nice little hotel with the extravagent room price of around 1.50 (pounds!) a night. I love cheap :-) After collapsing inelegantly in my room, I then spent a good few days sleeping, reading, and getting to grips with the culture difference.

Kuta is very touristy. One of the world's top holiday resorts, it is the Australian equivalent of Ibiza: sun, sea, sand and, obviously, surf, all accompanied by being harrassed on a minutely basis when walking down the street by shopkeepers selling every conceivable convenience known to man (and many useless inanities too!) Aside from the tourist-culture, however, there are little quirks which betray the Hindu culture underpinning Balinese society. Every street has a temple complete with stone-carved dragon-type creatures, or, failing that, there are enough offerings underfoot to dodge that it's nigh-on impossible to forget the importance of the Gods to the Balinese. Every morning I woke up to the sickly smell of incense, walked onto the street to find offerings in the form of little banana-leaf boxes filled with flowers, rice, and, strangely, Ritz crackers. Well, I suppose they have to modernise religion somehow! As most of Indonesia is Muslim, however, there are also constant reminders of the Muslim religion, mainly in the form of Halal food and water. As tourist-central, though, you can get pretty much any kind of food from anywhere in the world. I chose to stick to the cheap and cheerful (and very tasty) Indonesian options of Nasi Goreng and Mie Goreng (fried rice and fried noodles). Delish.

After a few days of chilling in Kuta, befriending some locals who had set up a tatoo parlour, visiting the 'owner' of the parlour (a crazy Austrian punk who had given them the money to buy the shop, then decided on a whim to buy a house in Bali and live there - I helped decorate her house in punk-style graffiti), and doing a lot of nothing, I finally got the itch to move. First trip was to Ulu Watu via Dreamland Beach. Dreamland turned out not to be so dreamy as when we got there it was under reconstruction as New Kuta Beach and there was little there beside rubble and a bit of dodgy sand. Ulu Watu, on the other hand, was fabulous. After sitting and staring at the surfers from a cliff-side Warung (restaurant) with travel-buddy Doug, we headed to the Ulu Watu temple to see a Balinese theatrics performance. As the sun started to set we made our way through the channels of the temple, with me falling victim to the pathologically cleptomaniacal monkeys, one of which stole my camera case, and settled in an arena to watch the show. From dances to theatrical interludes, all accompanied by the percussive vocal music of Balinese monks, the show was a spectacular shower of colour with vivid costumes, expressive facial expressions, traditional pyrotechnics. It told the legend of a lady stolen from her husband by a monkey king and portrayed the trials and tribulations the man had to go through to rescue her. Definitely a highlight. Also on the list of nice events was a trip to see the sunset from nearby Seminyak and a quick eat from a side-street stall with Raul, my Columbian next-door neighbour from the hotel. I thought food on the tourist stretch was cheap at a quid a meal - but Raul and I managed to get 2 drinks each, rice crackers, rice, and cap cay (stir fry mix) for a pound between the two of us. Crazy prices.

After Ulu Watu, I was keen to move on to see some more culture, and with some friends I had made on the beach, Isaac and Claire, I headed up to Ubud by bus. I did have the option to travel up with Raul by motorcycle - but after witnessing the liberal attention to whatever highway code may exist in Bali, I thought the bus would be a safer option! On arriving in Ubud, we met a Spanish lady, Ana, who was to become my room buddy for a few days. In Ubud, a town obsessed with art and culture, we trawled the market for bargain buys of Dutch influenced art work, Balinese jewelry and Thai fishermens trousers (of which I am now a proud owner :-) ). Ana and I also made a trip to the Monkey Forest to watch the monkeys parade around temples and be generally adorable. Far from the theiving primates of Ulu Watu, these monkeys were rather endearing. I saw them eating bananas, carrying their little babies around on their stomachs, and even having a water fight in a nearby fountain! Claire, Isaac and I also went to see the Kicak dances in the Palace of Ubud, which were really special. There was a full gamelan and percussion orchestra (all dressed up to the nines in red and gold robes) providing the soundtrack to numerous dances from men, women and children. From war to marriage dances, the costumes alone were a feast for the eyes, let alone the fascinating body movements which comprised the dance. Every part of the body seemed fundamental and indispensable - even the toes and eyes had gestures and moves laden with significance. In the fabulous palacial setting, it really was tremendously interesting. I think it is my favourite memory from Bali. To check out the culture around Ubud, Claire, Isaac and I rented a driver for the day and moseyed around the lush rice paddy fields in the area, heading up to Gunung Kawi to climb the 300 one thousand year old steps around ancient stone burial monuments. We went to Mas to watch the woodcarving and marvel at the grotesque faces of the gods, and went to Celuk to watch Balinese jewelers making some stunning silver pieces. We also checked out the Royal Family Palace and got a few good snaps of well kept gardens before heading back to Ubud to chill out in the reggae bar with Raul (a nightly occurrence in Ubud!) Claire and I indulged in a Balinese massage as a treat on our return form the day trip. And as if this wasn't enough culture, we had a rather cultured and cat-loving (they had at least four friendly cats, the sweetest of which was little Ginger who liked to sleep on the chair on my porch) little hotel here too. The hotel backed onto a temple and each morning I awoke to find a pile of rice offerings outside my door to ward off evil spirits! Amusingly, at the end of the road there was a Ralph Lauren and a Gucci store - just in case we needed culture of a different level!

After a few days in Ubud, marred only by a bout of Bali belly and sharing the room with some unwelcome cockraches and geckos, we decided to move on to the legendarily paradisical Gili Islands, recommended by almost every traveler I met in Kuta. One day of stressful bussing, boating, bussing again, boating, and wandering sandy streets to find accommodation, we arrived in the beautiful little paradise of Gili Trewangan, an island off the coast of Lombok. Gili T, as it is known, is as near a paradise as I have ever been in. There are white sandy beaches, with superb snorkelling just 5 meters off shore, no motorised transport, little hassle from the shopkeepers and a good selection of cheap restaurants and bars. On the non-touristy side of the island, which we visited by bicycle, the bars dwindle away and only picturesque beach huts pepper the perfect coast line. By day I swam, snoozed and snorkelled if the weather was good, and if it rained there was an unending selection of DVDs to watch at the Irish Bar or at Rudy's, along with some Wii games to keep us entertained. By night, however, Gili T burst into life. The bars were busy but not crowded, serving double G&Ts for the bargainous price of 50p, the locals came out to mix with the tourists, the cats came out to share our barbeque fish dinners, and the poi-throwing fire performers amongst the traveling community came out in force to give stunning shows on the street. I honestly think Gili T may be the happiest place on earth. There is a flip side though. For the more hard-core and experimental, it is also a non-policed island, so marijuana and various other drugs are available to all and sundry, as are the legal magic mushroom shakes. I didn't try any (being the very sensible and well-brought up girl that I am), which was just as well because on the second day we were there the locals were shaken up severely by the first police raid ever known to the island. Six locals were carted off with bags over their heads by teams of police in full body armour. A little scary, but at least all the hard drugs were cleared off the island afterwards. Another bit of slightly scary excitement also occurred during a thunderstorm, when a bolt of lightning hit a kettle just 10m away from where we were sitting. The thunder crack was deafening and my heart definitely jumped straight out of my chest! Fortunately no one was hurt. I much preferred watching the orange lights of the lightening from the thunderstorms over Lombok, seen from Gili T beach and a good, safe distance from the action! Flip-side or no, I still enjoyed Gili T immensely, and thanks to creating a lovely little friendship circle I managed to get 'stuck' there for a good week. I still think this is the happiest place on earth. I just hope it doesn't get too popular and turn into the next Phuket.

After Gili T, Isaac and I headed back on the arduous ferry/bus trip back to Kuta, leaving Claire to enjoy a couple more days of boozing. Once back in Kuta I met up with the Brummies (Edward and Chris, whom I had made friends with in Gili T) and tried my hand at surfing. While Isaac stood up after two attempts and will probably have O'Neill knocking on his door any day now, I was quite honestly appalling at surfing. In my lesson I managed to stand for a couple of seconds only to fall back on my arse immediately and get hit with the surf board. Once left to my own devices by the instructor, I couldn't manage even to catch a single wave to take me into shore so had to paddle my way back, taking a good 45 exhausting minutes. Oh well - I suppose I can't be perfect at everything - haha! I also met up again with Mira, my lovely German friend, and managed *finally* to catch up with Klaus (whom I met in Peru) after 6 months of nearly but not quite meeting along our traveling paths. Along with Isaac and Claire we went for a pricey but nice seafood meal at Jimboran, an area with posh restaurants lined up along the beach, with tables and chairs set in the sand and live Balinese music played throughout dinner. Another little excursion took us to Tanah Lot, a temple by the sea to the north of Kuta, where we watched the sun set behind 3 volcanoes and the temple. Photo-tastic :-) Other than that, the last few days of Kuta were spent killing time and waiting for my flight to Singapore, where I am now, very hospitably being put up by Mira's brother Ole. But more on Singapore city next time.

Much love,

Helen xxx

Magnetic to Cairns (aka Marian's and Helen's super-duper ozzie adventure) Ayers Rock and Melbourne

2008-03-09T21:18:00.000-07:00

NB - You may need to refer to the key at the bottom of this entry to understand this post.

G'day mates,

It's been yonks since I wrote - so here's the rest of my Ozzie news. ..

After the delights of The Whitsundays and a rather alcoholic farewell to Airlie Beach, shouting each other XXXX and knocking back a few schooners of VB then dodging the pash seshing couples in the clubs, I got moving again and skipped a wee way up the coast to Townsville, port to Magnetic Island. Set in a lush tropical climate and speckled liberally with palm and eucalyptus trees and koalas, Magnetic was perfect on the night I arrived there. As the beaut of a sun set on a tranquil sea, the cotton wool clouds above were lit up with a lovely rosy pink. The sound of cicadas and occasional lizards scurrying across the floor made the atmosphere calm yet quirky - even one curious possum came to check us out while we watched the sun go down! When the sunset ended, though, the sky melted into a deep blue, and a blood-orange moon rose up over the island opposite our hostel. It was so intense and rising so quickly we actually thought it was a bush fire! To intensify the scene we also had a power cut - a brilliant catalyst both for snapping a few good shots and for managing to procure idiotic accident-prone injury number 4: sprained big toe. Said injury occurred as follows: on the way to my comfy dorm and doona, looking forward to cozying up with a book and getting some shut eye, I unfortunately managed to smash my big toe on some unlevel ground, causing sickening pain and an inability to walk. The following day I was ordered by the doctor to go back to Townsville to get x-rays. Which I did. And nothing, thankfully, was broken. But I still couldn't walk. I did buy myself lots of consolatory ice cream though. Always good. A good story, no?

Ok. So not a very happy ending to the Magnetic Island story. The next bit of story is much better though. It goes like this. Marian and Helen went to Cairns where they went out, danced, sung, had lots and lots of fun, ate ice cream, got lost frequently as all the streets looked the same, and went on a dive in the Great Barrier Reef. In the reef they swam with lots of pretty fishes and saw lots of coral and had a lovely day out. See - a much nicer story :-) Cairns was actually a rather nice place. It was very geared up for travelers, lined with bars and hostels, but the recent bad weather had made it very quiet. Nonetheless we really enjoyed the Cairns nightlife it - and particularly liked the reef snorkelling. We also made a trip up to Cape Tribulation, so called because Captain Cook managed to get his boat grounded on the reef, had lots of trouble getting it unstuck again, couldn't find much food on land, had a lot of agro from his shipmates and generally had a miserably few weeks. He named a nearby mountain Mount Sorrow too, so he really can't have been having a good time! Marian and I did have a good time though. We trekked through the rainforest by the Mosman Gorge, stayed in a gorgeous hostel where we chilled out all arvo by the pool in our swimmers, and ate heaps of Daintree Rainforest Fruit Ice Cream (very yummy). We also went to an animal sanctuary where we got to see crocodiles being fed, saw some snakes, and got to pet kangaroos, which were very cute indeed. As well as this, we cruised the daintree river too to spot crocs in the wild, and had a guided walk to spot frogs, golden orb spiders, see the mangrove plants and learn about the foods the aboriginals eat in the forest. After Cape Trib, we returned to Cairns for one last night on the goon before I left the lovely Marian to fly off to the Alice for my next adventure.

The flight itself to Alice Springs was pretty spectacular. From the aeroplane window I saw the lush rainforest landscape transform into the Big Red Centre of Australia. Watching the foliage disappear to reveal a rusty red desert, scored with veins from evaporated rivers and marked with the cracks of the bone dry earth, was magical. Alice Springs wasn't really too exciting - although the tour of Ayers Rock I did was fantastic! The first day we got up super early to drive down to the Rock, stopping only to fill our eskies with a few beers. And the Rock was fabulous. Its sheer scale is awesome, and the formations on the rock are beautiful and strangely captivating even in the 42 degree heat! Our guide showed us some of the aboriginal paintings at the base of Uluru and pointed out how they used the rock formations as hunting spots, kitchens and school rooms. As we are not part of aboriginal culture, however, only some of the stories of the rock were told to us. The secrets of their religion are well guarded and we could only know the tales told to children. Photos were prohibited in some areas too, meaning that some of the most sacred areas can only be seen if you go there yourself. The others in the group decided to hoof it round the base, while I rested up my sprained toe and chatted with the guide for a while. That evening we saw the Rock by sunset. Just experiencing it turn form red to orange, gold to yellow, silver to grey was mesmerising, but knowing just some the significance it has for aboriginal culture made me respect their belief that their ancestors reside there and made the evening indelibly etched to memory. It was such a stunner, in fact, that we hauled ourselves out of our swags at 4:45 am the following morning to catch the sun rise. Equally abso-bloody-lutely brilliant :-)

Day 2 and we headed off to Kata Tjuta, which translates as 'many heads'. There are 37 domes to Kata Tjuta, which tower out of the earth causing valleys in between. After a walk through the Valley of the Winds, we headed to Kings Creek Station to put some marshmallows on the barbie, experience the true outback by using bush dunnies (something we sheilas weren't hugely thrilled by), and count shooting stars from our swags under the milky way. Day 3 was perhaps my favourite, though. We went to Kings Canyon, a massive lots of rock formed like towering pancakes which was caused by an earthquakes thousands of years ago, and used to be under the sea. How exciting! In the middle of King's Canyon is a little pool named the Garden of Eden where we had a dip before carrying on on our journey. It's amazing to think that even in the middle of the desert there is water...and it really was beautiful - definitely worthy of being called Eden! At the end of the day we all returned to the Alice for a quick shower, a change of daks, and met up for an abso-bloody-lutely lovely last meal before we parted ways.

Last stop on the Ozzie tour: Melbourne. Melbourne was a refreshing change from being out in the sticks, and was a truly wonderful city. I immediately bonded with my friendly dorm mates by going out to dinner and catching the sunset from St. Kilda pier. We caught sight of a couple fo penguins in the rocks, then headed back to the hostel. The following day I explored the city, checking out the Queen Victoria Markets, snapping pics of Federation Square and Flinder's Street Station and catching a film in the open air cinema in the evening. The film was screened in the Botanical Gardens, and as the sun set and dusk drew in the flying foxes fled from the trees across the sky. The city lights in the distance were framed perfectly between a 'v' of trees either side of the screen, and as the stars came up and orion settled himself right above the city, Sweeney Todd began. It was brilliant: a brilliant setting for a brilliant film and a brilliant night of eating sweeties and watching Johnny Depp. Brilliant! My last day in Mlebourne was nice and simple -wandering round the WaterFest in town, going to the Nation Gallery of Victoria, getting some Cold Rock ice cream (the best in the world - you can choose any flavours and a baffling array of extras to add into it...divine) and catching my bus back to Sydney. No wukkers!

After a day in Sydney sorting out the exciting tasks of tax claims, dentist visits, stocking up on medications for Asia and catching up with friends, I said my goodbyes to Australia, went to the airport to catch a few winks before my 6am flight.....and now I am in.....Bali!!!!!!

Bali is beautiful. Bali is great. Bali is warm and sunny and chilled and cheap. I think I am in love with Bali :-) I am here for three weeks, so next time I hope to wax lyrical about Bali and Indonesia and make you all green with envy. Mwahahhaha.

Cheers dudes.

Much love

xxx

g'day- Australian version of hello
mate- friend
Sheila - girl
agro - annoyance, trouble
beaut - great, good thing
dunny - toilet
eski - cool box (from eskimo)
bathers/swimmers - swimsuit, bikini, shorts
arvo - afternoon
dunny - toilet
no wukkers - no worries - from 'no wucking furries'
stunner - really great
abso-bloody-lutely - absoultely (duh!)
hoof it - walk
barbie - barbecue
goon - boxed wine
XXXX - 4 x, type of Ozzie beer
VB - Victoria Bitter, Ozzie beer
pash - kissing
out in the sticks - in the outback
the outback - central Australia
heaps - lots
the Alice - Alice Springs
doona - duvet/quilt
dorm - dormitary
daks - trousers

Hitting the road up the Sunshine and Gold Coast

2008-02-22T22:01:00.000-08:00

So in my last blog I lied. I didn't actually leave Sydney in 'two hours' as I said I would, but missed the bus, thanks to the ineptitude of my travel agent who told me the wrong bus stop, and spent a woeful 2 hours in the teeming rain at 11 pm trying to find accommodation. After the string of bad luck since Christmas though, there really was only one thing to do - laugh - which I did in an recklessly lunatical fashion in the taxi on the way to a new hostel, much to the dismay of the taxi driver. Having decided that this was simply ridiculous, I actually then had a lovely time in my last day in Sydders. I met some Swedes, demanded a refund from the travel agent, spent some time in the NSW Art Gallery, ate Starbuck's cake (mmmm :-) ) and hopped on the next bus to Byron Bay.

Byron was beautiful. I very luckily had a one off gorgeous day (after a significant spell of storms causing lots of flooding) and met up with Jane, a friend I made in Ecuador. Jane and I went up to the lighthouse, sauntered round the national park, ate organic deliciousnesses in a hippie cafe while serenaded by a random traveling guitar player and attempted to get into the whole free-lovinf, free-living Byron scene by reading the tea leaves in the bottom of our cups. Don't ask me why this is at all a hippie activity - but it was fun. Next stop on the whistle-stop trip up the coast was Brisbane. Not being a beach town, Brisbane instead was adorned by a lovely artificial lagoon right in the centre of swanky, artsy Southbank ( on the South bank of the river), where I spent an afternoon sipping coffee and getting arted up in the art galleries and museums. In the evening I chillaxed back in my hostel in Chinatown and got into the backpacker spirit with a few bevvies and a pub quiz, from which I won a bottle of wine. Always nice. Although I can't quite understand why Brisbane is epithetically known as Brisvegas, it is a pretty bustling city. I preferred it instantly to Sydney, even though my quick touristy trip around the main sights of the town hall, government buildings and botanical gardens was in yet more drizzling rain. Brisbane has a much more cultural feel than Sydney, plus being in the sub tropics it's a damn site warmer and seeing palm trees scattered along the pavement edges and brightly coloured butterflies decorating the plants was a bit of a novelty for me. But alas, I had to leave Brisvegas after just one short but sweet day, and head on...

Next stop - Noosa. Noosa is very beautiful. Even in the rain. The horrendous downpours of the first day did make me wonder quite why this was called the Sunshine Coast...but hey. I met some great French people in my room, one of whom I convinced to teach me how to surf. Unfortunately we never did get chance for a lesson (darn rain!) but did have a lovely long walk through the national park, oggled a couple of koalas, saw some goanna lizards and got attacked by leeches. Lovely. Two days in Noosa and...Next stop. Hervey Bay, gateway to the world's largest sand island, Fraser Island. After meeting up with Kim and Meiken, some Danish friends from Sydney, for a quick drink in Hervey, I was quickly whisked off to Fraser at the unseemly hour of 6am. The early start was definitely worth it though, as Fraser was amazing. In my group of 11 (4 Norwegians, 5 German, 2 English) we drove around the island in a 4 wheel drive, taking in the sights by day and sitting around campfires by night, drinking goon over traveling tales and bonding over some seriously 'interesting' camp-cooked meals! On the first day we trekked to a little lake in the centre of the island before heading up the beach to our aboriginal camp site. The first night we got to see some aboriginal dances, get our faces dawbed with body art and get a glimpse of the aboriginee culture. It was a lot of fun - perhaps now quite as exhilarating as finding a death adder under our bench and panicking slightly as he instantly struck a strike pose before sulkily skulking into the bush, or dodging spiders the size of our hands on the way to the bathroom - but definitely a good craic. Aside from the spiders we also fended off a fair few dingos who popped into the site to say hello, dodged shored bluebottle jelly fish as we wandered up the beach, and marveled at the different types of lizard and gecko we saw. The second morning, on our way up to Indian Head lookout, we also saw an eagle swoop down into the bush and pick up a stunningly brightly coloured coral snake for his breakfast. Amazing! Aside from the wildlife, however, Fraser is also a natural landscape wonderland. We took a dip in the Champagne pools - rock pools where the tide washes up forming froth and foam - the only place on the island where you could swim in salt water. The rest of the sea is inhabited by jelly fish, fireweed (which can give you third degree burns) and is the mating ground for tiger sharks, which have been known to attack humans. That, added to a deadly rip tide, and I hereby conclude Fraser's sea is not bery hospitable! We could swim in the pure fresh water lakes and streams on the island though. We took a trip up to Lake Allom, where we played with some inquisitive turtles, swam in Lake McKenzie, a gorgeous clear blue lake surrounded by white sand, and trekked over sand dunes to dip into Lake Wabby. And if this doesn't sound exciting enough for you, I also had the additional fun of driving on sand, getting the car stuck, getting everyone to get out and push, and getting so stuck on a couple of occasions that we had to dig ourselves out! Fraser was fun :-)

Having had such a good time in Fraser, returning to Hervey Bay to hear that further up the coast they were victim to cyclones was not exactly the best news. After a day of calling hostels, tour operators and boat companies etc. (and of course, chilling out in front of a few films), it appeared that we had hit proper lucky as the weather took a very sudden turn. Despite the cylcones causing massive floods in Airlie Beach (my next stop) and even destroying a bridge, buses were starting to get through and I was able to head off up to Airlie Beach to meet my Irish friend from Sydney, Marian, and wait for a day in glorious sunshine for our Whitsundays cruise to start. And we have had noting but glorious sunshine for the whole trip. Airlie itself is a stunning little holiday town with a beautiful artificial lagoon (can't swim in the sea because of the stingers), but the Whitsunday islands are even more so. Pristine white sand surrounding lush green islands set in perfect azure sea, deep blue sky above and dazzling sunshine, cruising through the waves on a sun-decked boat listening to music, dipping into the waters of the Great Barrier Reef to spot corals of every shape, size and colour and kiss the tropical, multi-coloured fish, bedding down for the night on deck, watching the most romantic moonlit scene unfold as the stars twinkle into a velvety sky and the southern cross rises above the islands, sipping wine and pondering the wonder of the world.........this was my Whitsunday cruise. Of course, I did a fair amount of chatting, dolphin and turtle spotting, and playing drinking games with a forfeit of downing a snorkel bong (a snorkel with bottle on top contraption devised to supply amusement to onlookers and distinct bewilderment to person having to down goon [Ozzie boxed wine] through said implement) too - but the most part was spent realising that I am obscenely lucky to be here. I have had a fabulous time up the coast so far and I am rapidly revising my ambivalence to Australia as each new place I go to seems to be more pardisical. The only disappointment of the Whitsundays is that I didn't find Nemo on my snorkelling excursions...but as I head further north into the tropics I am sure I will find him somewhere!

I'll leave you with the Whitsundays for now - but tales of Marian and Helen's stunning Queensland trip are in the making as we speak, and I'll will keep you posted on the next marvels and wonders of Oz.

Love for now,

xxx

The long-awaited, celebrated, ill-fated tales of Helen in Sydney, and so forth

2008-02-09T00:21:00.000-08:00

Well hello there,

Apologies, yet again, for an exceedingly tardy blog entry. No excuses this time - I'm just lazy :-) I left you all in a tantalised and cliff-hanger-esque state, green with envy of the wonders of family holidaying and The Best New Year's Party In The World I was about to experience, poised with anticipation and waiting on my every word...well, maybe not...but I am very pleased to say that Christmas and New Year was every bit as good as I hoped and that it provides some worthy blog-fodder with which to start this entry. Finishing up work before Christmas with some boozy business bashes, Mum, Dad and Rachel were the first to break me out of my working-world and get me back into family living. Although it was obviously fabulous to see them all and get some hugs, I do have to say that the Cadbury's and Marmite they brought with them were almost of equal fabulousness. With Sarah arriving from New Zealand the following day, we then set off for our beautiful apartment by the river in North Sydney. The apartment itself was lovely - I got my own room (albeit the living room), and my own bed (albeit a sofa bed) - bliss! Most days we slept in (woken only by the screaming cries of the parakeets outside the window who sounded like distraught babies!), did some stuff, ate Nice, Proper, English Food, and finished off with wine and chocolate, which is always good. The holiday activities comprised of trips to various touristy places, interspersed with touristy activities and other such touristy things. We went to Taronga zoo and marvelled at the Tasmanian devil scurrying back and forth in its enclosure like a possessed yo-yo, visited the aquarium and were sorely disappointed that the touchy-feely pool wasn't open, meandered through Paddy's market, hopped on and off the monorail, perused the sights of Darling Harbour, learned the history of Sydney in the Sydney Museum...we also had the mandatory beach-days in beautiful Manly and found a gorgeous little secluded beach called Chinaman's Beach with a park right beside it and an ice-cream man (simple things...). One highlight was going to the Blue Mountains, a national park a couple of hours out of Sydney. Aside from the memorable journey there, in which I attempted to get behind the wheel of our hire car after 6 months off the road, there were some awesome sights there. The little villages up in the mountains were quaint and parochial, with great backdrops of mountains and jungle. The Blue Mountains actually do appear blue, due to the refraction of light through the oils released into the atmosphere by the jungle trees. We hiked to see some waterfalls, went on the world's steepest railway, and had us three sisters' photo taken with The Three Sisters (a rock formation of three upwards-jutting rocks) in the background. Nice. Other activities included mosying round The Rocks' market, seeing a spectular production of Billy Elliot, and Sarah, Rachel and I went to see a Jose Gonzalez gig. All rounded off with a few meals out (including at Nico's where I worked, ostensibly so I could take advantage of the staff discount!) and some present buying ( in which I successfully coerced my parents into buying me a beautiful opal necklace), the holiday events were definitely memorable.

And Christmas itself was also memorable. With everyone whole-heartedly agreeing with me that Christmas in Oz is just not 'right', we decided to try to do Christmas in English style. After the slightly odd festive offering from the Sydney Opera House, 'Chirstmas at the House' (where a rendition of 'Six White Boomers' [i.e. kangaroos] was a particular high point), and some rather disappointing 'carol' services in which all carols were belted out in the style of Mariah Carey's 'All I want for Christmas', we got our Christmas DVDs out, put traditional carols on the stereo, and settled down to a good roast. The fact that so many friends and family had sent cards and presents made the day more special, but just being with my own family made my Christmas perfect. The weather was not the 40 degrees we expected (but rather an overcast 20 degrees), the flat wasn't quite as cozy as home, but nonetheless the most important elements were there. New Year's was equally special, seeing us head for a neearby sighting point to have a picnic and watch the spectacular fireworks over the harbour bridge. From where we were we could see three sets of fireworks over the harbour, plus those in the city and Darling Harbour. Truly an experience which will stand out in my year of travels.

Sadly, though, after the festivities and activities (and one notably drunken cocktail party with the wonderful Marian and companions), the holiday had to end. I had to go back to work and resume my every-day Sydney life. And this is where the trials and torments, the long-awaited and ill-fated tales (as entitle this entry) begin....(cue drum roll and dramatic, suspense-fraught music). Although I tried to combat the homesickness by jumping straight back to work, my return to the restaurant was greeted less than kindly by my evil boss (the one who tried to fire me for being early), and was abruptly ended with me rather unfortunately doing my back in. Despite the heart-warming number of visits I got from gift-bearing friends while I was flat on my back for three days, injuring myself wasn't really the greatest of occurences, and was certainly not what I had in my plan. Nonetheless, after a few days rest I hopped back into the saddle and soldiered on back into the office. Not being able to work in the restaurant gave me a massive chunk of free time, mainly filled with tv watching and having meals with friends, but really didn't help my financial situation. I realised just after Christmas that I needed to get my head down and save in order to have the funds I wanted to start travelling again independently, but the back problem put the first damper on this. Then, as soon as I managed to find another restaurant job, I fell over at work, bashed my knee, and thus could not work - damper number two. And then, just to make life more interesting, my contract with Deloitte finished and I couldn't find any other office work. After many phone calls and pleas to agencies, I eventually decided that I needed to find some work - any work - to fill my time, and to stop me from frittering my money away on coffee and wine. Compounded with the fact that I had just found out I wasn't entitled to tax back, meaning I would have $1800 less than I thought to travel with, I was getting pretty desperate. Simultaneously I had grown tired of the tyrannical rules of my flat and had decided to move out ao as not to feel uncomfortable in my own living space, so I was jobless and homeless (ahhhh). This led me to moving back into City Central Backpackers - that paragon of cleanliness and luxury, where every oddball staying there and all the bugs in the kitchen give you pleasant company 24/7 - and getting into some work fundraising with a charity - Amesty International - for a basic salary, just to fill in the final days of Sydney. In actual fact the charity work turned out to be a very interesting and valuable experience. Working for Amnesty really highlighted to me how fortunate the western world is, the atrocities which occur in the world, and exactly how important it is that we take responsibility for it. Although face-to-face fundraising was emotionally and physically exhausting, having to remain unnarturally high all day in an attempt to convince people to sign up, it did hammer home that there are some amazing people out there. Of course, many of the people I encountered ignored me, one drunk man pushed me into a table, I was sworn at and laughed at, but many were genuine and kind-hearted individuals. Aside from my colleagues' admirable passion and enthusiasm for charity work, I met many individuals in the general public who really cared and were a joy to speak to. Nonetheless, not having the heart to admit that I had to leave to travel, I made an elaborate story up to excuse me from this job. It was made especially difficult as my colleagues were so positive and uplifting - and gave me some serious sympathy when my next disaster befell me....I got 10 mozzie bites on my foot, which I had an allergic reaction to, which then became infected, meaning I was put on hgh dose antibiotics, resulting in my very last night in Sydney being spent sober as the pope while all my friends merrily celebrated/commiserated in my start of traveling again/extraordinary run of bad luck in Sydney.

Still, despite the back/knee/foot problems, the losing the job, the not finding work, not getting tax-back, being unhappy in my flat, yada yada yada, Sydney has definitely not been all bad. These last few weeks I have spent some wonderful days in its Museum of Contemporary Art and the New South Wales Art Gallery, learned about its history in the Maritime Museum, been to the Observatory, wandered the coastline between Bondi and Coogee, been on night out in the dubious gay/transvestite/backpacker/stripper/traveler scene of Kings Cross, drunk absinthe in seedy karaoke bars at 4.30 am, and spent numerous nights drinking cocktails with friends and frequenting the Opera Bar after work. I have also met up with some lovely people from back home. Emma - Sarah's best friend - and I enjoyed Australia Day together, eating Pancakes on the Rocks and getting stuck into the free entertainment around the Harbour. A friend from Nottingham, Duncan, also made a visit in which we got thoroughly soaked in the dreadful weather Sydney has had recently and, again, ate pancakes ( pancakes make me happy :-) !) I also got to see some colourful Chinese New Year celebrations in China Town with my friends from my dorm. So not all bad at all....

Nonetheless, I do have to admit that Sydney is not really my city. I have never really felt part of this city or managed to engage with it. The things for which I love it also make me hate it: the multiculturality gives it vibrance and energy yet precludes any unity or depth of culture; the sparsity of history, given that it is a young country, means it is and exciting blank canvas but also means there are no firm roots or culture. Sydney is very transient, very glitzy, very glamourous, but it can also be alientating and lonely. Although I have had some highs here, I have also had the lows. The cents I worked so hard to save to travel definitely have two sides, and just go to show that traveling is not always the 'time of your life', the glamourous 'living the dream' that many imagine. It *can* be - don't get me wrong - but it can also be just living, just a time in your life, living away from home, friends and family and dealing with whatever life chucks unexpectedly your way. I have learned a lot here, but I am sad to say I am not sorry to be leaving. In 2 hours time I will be boarding a bus to Byron Bay and commencing the next leg of my travels. I'll be heading up the East Coast to Cairns, jetting to Ayers Rock, then to Melbourne, before making a last day-stop in Sydney before my flight to Indonesia. Hopefully the next blog will be full of fun stories and happy tales. Surely a change in scene will bring about a change in luck, and what I've learned here about survival and keeping going can only help to make the next journeys more enlightening. It will be odd to leave the friends I have made here and to make the transition again from relative stability to unpredictability. But that's one of the reasons I love traveling, and one of the elements that makes traveling such a valuable experience. And with that note of profound wisdom (ha ha), I am going to hit the road again and become a 'traveler' once more. Wish me luck :-)

Much love,

Helen xxx

Sydney so far

2007-12-14T22:11:00.000-08:00

Yo kids,

After a fair chunk of time since my last blog, the steady stream of quiet clammering for more blogging news on Australia has finally cajoled me into writing another entry. Leaving beautiful New Zealand behind and saying farewell to the Englishness of Christchurch, I arrived in Sydney to none other than the most English of weathers - rain. Definitely feeling the jet lag (or possibly it was a hangover from my last night in NZ as the time difference is only three hours!), I put my self straight to bed and happily awoke to a rather stunning sunny day, which I spent meandering around Darling Harbour and soaking in the Sydney vibe. The next week or so went whizzing by in a frantic search in more rain for a job. After being offered various sales roles in which I would either become one of those heinous door-to-door people who are universally hated or become a random street wanderer wanting to shoot myself on a minutely basis and harassing people with various contract sign-ups, I finally signed up to a few agencies to get me some 'proper' work. The small (read very scary) deficit in my bank balance did however force me into a small bit of handing out leaflets for a travel firm...a position in which I got to entertain tramps on the street, enjoy the slightly sunnier weather, be entertained by some random transvestites and be asked on numerous dates by inquisitive ozzies...as you do. So my first couple of weeks , to be honest, were pretty non eventful in comparison to the skydiving, dolphin swimming excitement of NZ.

With the agencies on the task of getting me a proper job, nevertheless, was able to spend my remaining hours buying clothes for bargainous prices, wading around in the rain and being overjoyed at snippets of sun, going to interviews, searching for flats, and all sorts of fun things. I also moved into a much cheaper backpackers where I met some utterly fabulous long-term room mates, and discovered the wondrous secrets of goon. Now ''goon'' is the slang for Australian wine in a box which can only really be described as so cheap and so bad that it can only be good. My new roomies, Lydia, Cole, Andy, Wayne and Sean spent a fair few nights on the goon talking travel and watching DVDs, staying up all hours and being generally backpakery. All this was a great contrast for me, until I managed to land a job with none other than Deloitte, who will be employing me when I get back to the UK next summer. A week of trying to get up at 7.30 after not being able to sleep in the hubub and party atmosphere of the hostel finally got me to move into a flat. I had been flat-searching with a rather lovely Irish girl I met, named Marian, but after viewing a lot of 6 person flats with 10 people in, rooms where beer was being dried out of the carpet with haridryers, 'double' rooms with scarcely enough room for a double bed, one flat where the asian lady was clearly running some kind of illicit business judging from the myriad boxes cluttering every square inch, and numerous apartments where people were sleeping in the lounge and even on the balcony (I kid you not) we agreed to search on our own. The flat I found is ideally located, 15 minutes walk from Deloitte (which is, incidentally, a very cool job) and 5 minutes from the restaurant I am waitressing in (which is a great job when the evil senior manager who threatened to fire me for turning up early for a shift is not working), and is cheap for the area, clean and modern. So after a few weeks of uncertainty, managed to land pretty happily on my little feet :-)

And since then it's been same-old, same-old. Luncheoning on Sydney harbour, working at Deloitte with my very friendly colleagues, having my very own Deloitte mug, getting lots of free cake and tea, enjoying the much better weather, working at the restaurant, going out, chilling out, passing out through sheer exhaustion at working so many hours...and also a few highlights to pot. One highlight was going to Darling Harbour on the King of Thailand's birthday with my Thai flatmates May and Nui and Ana (Croatian), Benny( Korean), and Lee (Ozzie - May's husband) to celebrate. We joined the throngs dressed in yellow, watched Thai dancers, marvelled at the sitting-in-lotus-position-power of the monks, held candles, listened to 81 repetitions of happy birthday wishes in Thai (the King was only 80, but they thought they would do an extra for good luck, bring the whole episode to a lengthy 20 minutes!) and had a splendid evening. I started to get itchy feet though and have thus been thinking ahead to new travels. Hopefully I'll be off again in February. Other highlights include the staff Christmas party trip to Rod Island and getting the ferry back in a thunderstorm, taking an office trip to Manly for lunch, and wandering Paddy's market, watching the ibis birds stalk around the harbour. Fun stuff.

Sorry this has been a bit of a boring blog. I'm afraid my life can't always be exciting. It should get a bit more exciting in the next couple of weeks though as Mum, Dad, Rachel and Sarah are coming out for Christmas and New Year. I am soooooooooooooooooooo excited. Even though the Australian attempt at Christmas is regretably shabby, consisting of a few holly sprigs and Christmas trees (which don't grow here) adorning a few random buildings, snow flakes (which are definitely not a feature in the 30 degree heat!) speckling some merchandise, and a few mince pies (which fear are only a token gesture to the season for the British contingency here in Sydney). At least with the family here I'll get the traditional family arguments! Haha. Oh well - it won't all be bad I suppose...I am sure we will seek out some yuletide spirit somewhere in the city, while obviously sunning ourselves on the beaches, enjoying all the cultural stuff and going to gardens and zoos and aqauriums and suchlike. So hopefully some more news in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, Happy Christmas everyone. Enjoy the cold weather for me in the rainy, dark depths of England (making you jealous yet?), and watch the tv on New Year's Eve to see the Sydney celebrations. I'll be among those masses. (Jealous now? Hehe ;-) )

Love and Christmassy goodness to all,

Helen xxxx

NZ South Island - The Beauty that Was the Land of the Long White Cloud

2007-11-02T14:28:00.000-07:00

Morning all,

Well - it's been a beautiful, long and scenic ride in the south island of New Zealand, or Aotearoa ( in Maori), the Land of the Long White Cloud. The prettiness that is the south island started with a ferry crossing from Wellington to Picton across a rather gorgeous seascape (most of which I missed because I was asleep) which ended dramatically with sheer cliff faces rising from the sea (which I also missed, also due to my submission to seratonin). I saw the pictures though, courtesy of new-found amazing and lovely person James, and felt suitably silly for having failed to see it. The first stop in the south island, however, was stunningly picturesque as well, so i don't feel I missed out too much. Nelson, the supposed centre of New Zealand, is a vineyard paradise of sunny weather and pretty mountains and hippy organic foods, and just happens to be next to the Abel Tasman national park. After a wander to the centre point of NZ to so the touristy picture thing, the Kiwi Experience posse and I enjoyed a few quiet drinks in the most English pub outside England, The Prince Albert, and stayed in rather posh rooms with power showers :-) The following day saw the first activity of the South - I went kayaking in Abel Tasman along a coastline of picture perfect beaches and was lucky enough to kayak alongside seals and see penguins, which was pretty cool. A stopover in a hut in the park allowed me and my compatriots, Woody, Duncan and Alison, to trek back through the park the following day, which was also pretty cool. What was NOT cool, however, was getting bitten to shit by bed bugs in the hut. Not cool at all - and two weeks, 4 types of antihistamine, and an entire tube of aloe vera later, the 150 odd bites I was so lovingly given are finally disappearing. Still, I think I can call myself a traveller now - a proper, bonifide, bed-bug-bitten traveller. I am also a expert on bedbugs, which is great.

After the two-day Abel Tasman trek, we headed back to Nelson for a night out, followed by a mooch around Nelson's amazing market the following morning. There were crafts, jade stone, bone and paua shell jewelry, yummy organic foods, locally grown fruit and veg, and many very smiley and happy people being exceptionally helfpul. I love Kiwis. The next stop was in Westport, an old mining town on the West Coast, and was very uneventful, apart from watching England lose the rugby - never a good thing. So, a coach load of disappointed English set off for the next stopover, via a coastal walk along the nearest point to Australia. If you looked really, really hard on a very clear day, you'd still have no chance in hell of seeing Oz. Lake Mahinapua was the next pit stop, and as a place was as uneventful as Westport. However, due to the cunning plan of Steve - The Most Amazing Kiwi Bus Driver Ever - a party involving everyone dressing up in outfits entirely constructed from plastic bags ensured an evening of raucousness and revelry ensued. I dressed as a pirate (obviously), and I had a hat, and a hook like Captain Hook, and a parrot called Long John after Long John Silver, and a parchment of buried treasure. I looked oh-so-beautiful, and joined a horde of variously attired friends masquerading as skydivers, cows, mummies, zebras, Little Red Riding Hood, a cupcake, and other such delights. See the pics.

Continuining with the journey down the west coast, Franz Josef Galcier was next on the cards. Unforntunately my plan to hike on the glacier and get a close-up view were scuppered by the skiing injury to my knee, so I had to make do with being bed-bug-bite-covered and somewhat tearful at the hostel instead. I did get to hike up to the glacier, but I was still pretty disappointed not to be able to check it out properly. Ah well...I saw some pictures, had a lovely hike to it with Claudia the Columbian, and had some time to wash and dry all my clothes etc. to rid myself of the evil bedbugs. By comparison, the subsequent stop in Wanaka was darn groovy. Lake Wanaka followed in the trend of NZ scenic-ness by being utterly gorgeous, surrounded by mountains and blue sky and all that. We had yet another night out (see a theme emerging here?) and also got to go to Puzzling World where we were confused by the optical illusions and had our hung-over logic challenged by various puzzles and mazes. By comparison to Wanaka, nevertheless, next stop Queenstown was even more fabulous. Queenstown is marvellous. It surrounded by snow-capped mountains, has a serene lake, has gorgeous gardens to stroll around, the weather was great, the sky was blue, the birds were singing...the usual. Furthermore, Queenstown is filled with great bars, good places to eat, all the backpackers you could ever want, and is the activity hive of New Zealand. Adrenaline junkies can attempt skydives, bungi jumps, paragliding, parasailing, canyon swinging, and all manner of other exciting activities. I did luging - which is basically go-karting down a hill and racing people at dangerous speeds. Having nearly run out of money, though, I was restrained on the activity front and chose instead to spend my time and money imbibing various beverages with lovely people and navigating my way around a dorm room so messy it could have been a Tracy Emmins piece. But Queenstown was awesome. Sweet as...

In order to reach the final destination of my Kiwi Experience ticket, Christchurch, we embarked on an epic 8 hour bus ride and had a glimpse of Mount Cook en route. Apparently it's in Lord of the Rings. But I don't like Lord of the Rings, so I wouldn't know really. It was very pretty. It is the tallest mountain in NZ, fact fans. Even though Christchurch was my last official stop, I managed to get an add-on to head up to Kaikoura. Kaikoura was, again, very scenic and pretty - mountains, sea, blue sky, yada, yada, yada...but here I managed to do one of my favouritest things ever - swimming with dolphins :-) I got to dance with them, sing to them, look them in the eye, look oh-so-sexy in a wetsuit and have an unforgettable afternoon. Not being waterproof and thus not being terribly enamoured by the sea, my camera wasn't taken along with me so I have no pictures of the underwater shenanigans. But you can imagine the dolphins and what it's like to swim with them. And you can see pictures of me in a wetsuit!

Final destination, then - Christchurch. After hitching a lift back to Christchurch with lovely Phil from the hostel, I have spent the last few days whiling away the hours in Christchurch. It's about the least Kiwi city you can find in NZ - no activities, very few scenic views etc. However, it is very like England. There is a Gloucester Street, a Cambridge Terrace, and Oxford Street and Manchester Street. The river Avon winds its way through the city, complete with punts, and passing an arts centre which is so Oxbridge-college that the lack of toffee-nosed posh-types in it is almost disconcerting. That said, although almost everyone told me that Christchurch was boring and there was nothing to do, I have successfully managed to get my hair cut, see many art galleries, go to a cathedral and a museum, have a huge Hallowe'en party where my attempt to be a goth was thwarted by my blonde hair, wander the botanical gardens and try to plan how to earn money in Oz. I must earn money in Oz to relieve current state of destitution and vagabondery in an attempt to facilitate further travel...I will definitely miss NZ, land of incredibly beauty and amazing activities...I imagine that Sydney, where I will fly this afternoon, will be a very different experience to NZ - not nearly so exciting or varied...but we shall see, and I will inform you thereof anon...

Muchos loves to everyone

xxx

Link to Kaikoura and Christchurch pics - http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2179635&l=243fb&id=36900740

NZ - the Kiwi Ezperience of the North Island

2007-10-16T00:30:00.000-07:00

Hello again,

Firstly, thanks to those of you who dropped notes on my blog or emailed me. It's much appreciated and I now feel ever so slightly less as though I am going dippy by talking to myself. I have been doing a lot of talking to myself recently, though, mainly on account of doing various reckless and death-defying, and dippy stunts in New Zealand's north island, many of which have weird and wacky names, and all of which will be detailed below, henceforth, forthwith, something or other. Yes.

Soooooo - New Zealand. Just like home, but better! The first couple of days were spent relaxing with lil sis Sarah and Pete - braving the dizzying heights of the Sky Tower's revolving restaurant and chilling (literally) in the Minus 5 bar, where everything but everything is sculpted from ice at a chilly temperature (you guessed it!) of -5. The Aucklanders overwhelmed me once more by exactly how mean we Brits are in comparison to the rest of the world by being exceptionally friendly and helpful. The lady at the pharmacy insisted on giving me an entire bag of testers so I didn't have to buy products, just because I am travelling. How lovely! I didn't have too much time to mosey on down with the locals though before I booked myself onto the Kiwi Experience bus and scooted up north to the stunning Bay of Islands. The drive up there was pretty awesome - it can only really be described as Wales on Speed: rolling hills, green valleys covered in sheep, a few extinct volcanoes, hillsides with serated edges, palm trees dotted here and there. Just like home, but kinda trippy. Nice. Anyway...I teamed up with a few fellow Kiwi Experience bus buddies to take a trip around the islands on a super fast jet boat called the Excitor (cue exciting sounding music) before making a very quick departure and heading south again to Whangarei. Now Whangarei (pronounced Fan-ga-ray) was a rather special experience. I got to catch up with some old family friends, Jonathan and Jo, and their fantastic kids Zara, Caleb and Cheyenne. We had a 'bbq' (bring your own food and share it with loads of friends), I got to eat home made cake, Cheyenne and I had lots of hugs, Zara shamed me with her culinary brilliance by making The Best Chocolate Cake Ever (she also tried to bridge some gaps in my upbringing by showing me how to crochet - why didn't you ever show me that, Mum!?), and Caleb taught me some great Maori songs. In fact, Zara and Caleb were incredibly well informed for 9 and 6 year olds, respectively, and told me all about Maori culture and NZ'z native birds and trees. It was wonderful to have a day of normality in amongst all the backpacker bustle - and Zara, I will be sending you a postcard soon, promise!

I spent the last few hours in Whangarei getting sunburnt through factor 30 on a four hour hike on which I got lost by a river. Then I went back to Auckland to kill a day or so waiting for the next bus. I checked out Auckland Museum and had a 3 hour wander around the gardens in the Auckland Domain, and caught up on some kip before my early morning pick up to go to Mercury Bay. This little stopover got the group on the bus to gel a bit as we walked through a pitch black train tunnel by a river gorge, as you do, and walked down to Cathedral Cove to watch some waves and reflect on the world. Link to pictures below. After Mercury Bay, I spent a couple of days in Rotorua. And this is where the real fun begins :-) Firstly, Rotorua is a pretty exciting place in itself. Positioned on an area where the earth's crust is particularly thin, there is some rather cool volcanic activity happening there. Geysers, mudpools, steam holes, pools of laughing gas, thermal bathing pools, and, oh yes, a constant smell of sulphur EVERYWHERE. Aside from the perpetual smell of rotten egg/farts, however, Rotorua was also an adventure activity hub. There I commenced my road to insanity with agro-jetting, swooping and zorbing. Yup. You read them right. The Kiwis have indeed created three new sports all of which known by a name fitting to their wackiness and riskiness. Let me explain. Number one: agro-jetting. Speeding round a man made water maze in a speed boat going at 100 kmph. Crashing into every available corner compulsory. Number two: swooping. Being strapped into a sleeping back with 2 friends, hoisted up a 100m crane attached to a bungy, pulling a cord and being allowed to 'swoop' down perilously towards impending death (well, until the bungy kicks in). Panicked screaming inevitable. Number three: zorbing. Putting onself in a giant inflatable ball, filling with water and rolling down a hill. The most fun you can have with your clothes on. Apparently. I did all of these. The other highlight of Rotorua was learning about Maori culture. We got to go to a Maori museum, and take part in the Maori Experience. It was an albeit touristy but very informative evening in which we participated in hangi (pronounced hungi), a traditional feast cooked under ground, witnessed some Maori singing, dancing, weaving and a huka. The photos do the evening no justice, but it was rather fun - the best bit was getting roast dinner with stuffing and gravy!

After relaxing in some geyser pools in Rotorua, the next stop was Waitomo for a bit of caving. Black water rafting, as it is called, consisted of plunging into the icy depths of underground caves, floating around in inner tubes and staring up at the ceilings of night-time-sky-like glow-worms. Sane. And then we warmed up with some soup and bagels, saw a rainbow on the bus journey back and got cozy in the fabulously comfy chalet rooms of our hostel :-) Continuing the whistle-stop tour of the North, Taupo was next on the menu. It was here I saw fit to throw myself out of a plane 15000 feet in the air. Insane - but *incredible*. Definitely *the* best activity I have done. As I was garbed in an attractive blue jumpsuit, I was pushed out of a plane by Mike to experience an 80 second freefall. I saw Lake Taupo looming up at me, with the east coast of NZ to one side and the west to the other, and a big blanket of fluffy white cloud zooming towards me at 200 km per hour. The kookiest concoction of drugs floods into your brain - dopamine, adrenaline, seratonin - and you feel literally on top of the world. A little paraglide to bring you back down to earth, and you just want to do it again. It's amazing. Brilliant. Awesome. Fantastic. Dvd and pictures of My Suicide Attempt below :-D

Well, after Taupo's main event of My Suicide Attempt, aka skydive, the four hour hike new-found-friend Max and I went on to some natural thermal springs, the sublimely blue Huka Falls, a prawn farm and a hydor-electric dam topped the day of smashing-like. River Valley, our next stop, was a bit more subdued, however. Having spent a chunk of money on the skydive, I forwent the white water rafting (the water was cold too!) and instead busied myself with crossing the river by flying fox, hiking up the other side, playing trivial pursuits and giant jenga, and teaching Capitalism (card game) to the rest of the bored and restless in the lodge. With nothing more noteworthy to say about River Valley, I will pass onto our journey to windy Wellington. Here we stopped off at the little town of Bulls, where the locals clearly have far too much time on their hands (or a quirky sense of humour) as the police station was dubbed Consta-Bull, the bins labelled 'be reponsi-bull' and the antique store named 'collecti-bulls'. Hilarious. Anyhooo - next stop, Wellington. It is very windy. Anyone who values their hairstyle should not venture to Wellington, and visitors should consider wearing hard hats and heavy shoes in an attempt to combat the probability of being swept away and hitting one's head on a nearby lampost. This happened to me today. Other than the wind/head encounter, though, I had a nice day climbing up Mount Victoria, moseying in the botanical gardens, and being a culture vulture in the national musem, Te Papa. Lurvely.

And now, dear readers, I have reached the end of the tale so far, for the exciting adventures of the South Islands have not yet been written, and there is nothing for it but to post up the links to hundreds and hundreds of photos which you may or may not care to view. But please watch My Suicide Attempt. It validates my having done something death-defying to know people actually care whether I lived or not (which I evidently did, otherwise I wouldn't be writing this...but watch it anyway).

La Paz and Bolivia - http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2167055&l=f6975&id=36900740

The Salt Flats, Bolivia - http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2167058&l=af7bf&id=36900740

Paraguay - http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2167063&l=0d5d5&id=36900740

Iguazu Falls - http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2167071&l=27fa5&id=36900740

Buenos Aires 1 - http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2167078&l=a10a2&id=36900740

Buenos Aires 2 - http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2167085&l=572a3&id=36900740

Uruguay - http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2167089&l=13fa2&id=36900740

Bariloche - http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2167092&l=c43eb&id=36900740

Mendoza and paragliding - http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2174117&l=1de53&id=36900740

Possibly the most scenic journey in the world, Mendoza to Santiago - http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2174119&l=2cb93&id=36900740

Chile - http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2174120&l=0f1dc&id=36900740

Auckland, Whangarei, Bay of Islands - http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2174121&l=7f9c1&id=36900740

With Sarah in Auckland - http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2174123&l=4a72e&id=36900740

Mercury Bay, Cathedral Cove, Rotorua - http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2174126&l=ce3a1&id=36900740

Taupo - http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2174130&l=ff66e&id=36900740

My Suicide Attempt - 'official' photographs - http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2174132&l=99233&id=36900740

My Suicide Attempt (aka, SKYDIVE!!!) - http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2174128&l=aa204&id=36900740

SKYDIVE DVD - I have just been told by the internet man that I can't upload it here. I'll let your suspense brew a bit, and put in in the next blog :-)

Toodle-oo

H xxx

The End of South America

2007-10-02T11:02:00.000-07:00

Hi-di-hi,

Oh dear. I think I may have jinxed myself with that last blog entry. I did indeed hit the slopes of Bariloche, and did indeed accordingly injure myself spectacularly while trying new sports, just as predicted. It's such a pity because it all started so well. Day one - Valerie the Argentinian and I had some amusing first lessons, falling over and causing general havoc on the beautiful white mountains of Catedral by bumping 'accidentally' into various good looking skiers, requesting politely to be aided to our feet and flashing winning smiles as we skied elegantly away (yeah, right!). Day two - I had a fantastic morning and most-part of afternoon testing out my new-found favourite sport, progressing from the green easy trails to the blue intermediate trails with ease and having an adrenaline-packed time stumbling gracefully down the pistes. Until, that is, disaster struck in the shape of bad visibility (it was snowing), me going one way, my skis going another, and my left knee making a break for freedom in a completely opposite direction. This all necessitated a pair of rather lovely Argetinian paramedics to come dashing to my rescue, and the whole day ended excitingly with me being carried down the mountain-side in a stretcher. Hmmm...

Despite the fact that the ski injury resulted in me having to change my plans quite considerably (not going south to the glaciers and to hike in Southern Chile, but staying in Bariloche for 10 days to nurse the knee), this turned out not to be such a bad thing after all. Thanks to the indomitably good company of Will and Pete, and the newly acquired friendship from my Bariloche Boys, Skylar and Adrian, I rather liked my untimely convalescence. I got to watch some DVDs, finally get to see Borat (whose catch phrases have now become part of my everyday vocabulary), get facturas filled with delicious dulce de leche bought for me by considerate companions, immerse myself in hostel culture (including a rather dubious dinner each evening), drink inadvisable quantities of fine, cheap Argentinian wine and test out some more of Bariloche's famous chocolate. It's a hard life! I did also, I should add, get out on a few trips once I could walk again. These included a horse riding expedition on Pampa, my sure-footed mare, up a mountain side, from which I saw some of the most spectacular lake and mountain views conceivable and bigged up my gaucha (female cowboy) status in true Latin American style (i.e. with a sultry smile and sexy side-kick). I chilled out with some Germans by the lake side, went on some light hikes to black glaciers. I managed a trip to Isla Victoria as well, where the obscenely gorgeous views were only marred slightly by the excessively commercialised boat-ride there. I even got to see some giant sequoia redwoods there which have been introduced from California. Bizarre! Reminded me of Yosemite, though - my favourite place in the whole wide world - and made me want to go back there badly.

It wasn't all chilling out in Bariloche though, learning to gamble through Texas Holdup and perfecting various other vices (don't worry Grandma - nothing too serious and nothing imprisonable) - I also went to nearby El Bolson for a day with Skylar the Californian rafting guide and Adrian the Ozzie exceedingly un-mathmo-ish mathmo. Whatthe Lonely Planet promised to be a hippy-loving, artisanal craft-fair filled, while-food loving beer-fest with a happening vibe actually turned out to be nothing too special. A few crafts here and there and a band in the main square was about all it summed up to and the bus breaking down by a picturesque mountain lake turned out the be the day's highlight! Still, a hotfooted return to Bariloche saw some more high-style fun and frolics (well, drinks in the bar and a visit to the Irish bar Wilkenny's and reggae club) and a return to some friends I met in BA, Katy and Laura. So not a bad way for things to turn out really. And a very welcome break to be able to spend time in one place and get to know some people and the town properly. Plus, it was warm. Argentina's massive gas reserves mean that all indoor places in southern cold climates are roasty as a toasty thing on a fire. Nice.

After Bariloche I headed straight up to Mendoza. A rather inspiring bus journey, through Mars-like red-rock landscape, watching a husky, dusty red sunset seep behind dusky mountains lit by a full moon looming whistfully above led me right to the heart of Argentina's biggest wine producing area. Accordingly, the first activity continued in the vein of my Bariloche exploits with me sampling the delights of the vine in various Mendoza wineries. With excellent wine, excellent company from Clare, Adam, Caiore and Jim, and an excellent chocolate factory visit to end the day, the first excursion was, well, excellent. The following day was yet more excellent, however, with a paragliding trip over the Andes. It was mindblowing. To see the mountains from a bird's eye perspective was exhilarating to say the least. There are definitely not enough mountains in the UK...I am currently masterminding my move (in later life) to somewhere more beautiful and mountain and river filled where I can do fun stuff and not be stuck in an office from 9-5 (pr 9-9 as I'm sure Deloitte will conjole me into enduring). Watch this space. I'll put up pictures soon and you'll see exactly what I mean :-)

Anyway - Mendoza was the last visit in Argentina, and the last bit of solo-travelling I would do in South America. Without getting all soppy and 'deep', I can honestly say that travelling on my own has been one of the best experiences yet. I met kinds of people I thought I would never meet, got taught stuff I never even knew I needed to know, landed in some unique life situations my life so far had no way of affording me...and all of it has been seriously challenging but in the best possible way. I'm definitely digging the travelling vibe (yeah, man...) Hmmm....sort of.

Last stop in South America was Chile, and the most mind-blowingly scenic bus journey to get there ever, ever, ever. Mountains, and more mountains, and snow, and more snow and mountains covered in snow...pictures to follow. I spent a day in vibrant Valparaiso with Pete and some friends from Buenos Aires, being aided at every turn by the exceptionally helpful and talkative Chileans, the best of whom was undoubtedly Juan, who befriended us in a bar and drunkenly chatted to us about how good friends Chile and England were for at least, oh, 4 hours! The next couple of days were spent enjoying Santiago with picnics and park-visits, rounding off the trip to South America. And now, dearest readers, if you are still reading by this point, I am, after a 13 hour flight and losing the whole of October 2nd through time-difference, sitting in Auckland, New Zealand...

...and the story will continue...soon...

love for now - Helen xxx

PS - drop a note on this if you've read it. Or drop me an email. I don't really mind talking to myself (in fact it's pretty usual really), but it would be nice to know...

Tales of Buenos Aires, Uruguay and chocolatey delights

2007-09-15T18:16:00.000-07:00

Hello,

The Awesomeness of Buenos Aires. It is awesome in many ways, namely the steak, the wine, the people, the sights, the night life, the history, the steak, the travellers, the museums, the atmosphere, the tango, the steak, the wine, the steak...(guess what I have been mostly eating since I got here!) After a good two weeks in this most wonderful of cities I could proudly list for you the things which I have enjoyed most. However, such a list would entail only the repetition of two things on the above list: wine and steak. Which is not to say I did not enjoy the other things I did, which were also awesome. But the steak and wine were amazing. I realise, nonetheless, that you might also appreciate a little insight into the other excellent things about Buenos Aires. So here goes...

Buenos Aires is a pretty darned cool place. The atmosphere is very cosmopolitan, very European, very multicultural. In fact, due to the Spanish and Italian heritage it is almost an extension of Europe and certainly has a very different feel to the rest of South America. You can get shower gel, brown bread and other such western delights, and even (albeit terrible tasting as it is made in Brazil) Cadbury´s! And they know how to make a proper cup of coffee. Gone are the days of Ecuadorian ashtray-flavoured instant coffee with a sprinkling of powdered milk. Gone are the days of coffee gloop reminiscent of congealed soya-sauce found in Bolivia which had to be watered down and doused liberally with sugar to make it even partially palatable. And welcome the days when quality caffeine can be relied upon to cure the worst of red-wine hangovers. Beunos Aires is also pretty darned cool because it has so many different areas. For the first stint of my stay I resided in the Clan hostel in the microcentre. A rocking atmosphere and a selection of great new traveller friends were complimented by the great things to see in the neighbourhood. I checked out the Casa Rosada (Argentina´s pink answer to the White House) and saw the Madres (mothers) of the children lost in the Dirty War protest outside it, I saw the congress buildings, and dallied around the most expensive shopping malls salivating lustfully over beautiful leather bags. I also managed to catch a tango show in the rather swish Cafe Tortoni before branching out to visit the area of La Boca - the colourful home to Boca Juniors Football Team and historic birth place of the sultry dance of tango itself. With some new found Israeli friends and the lovely Norweigan Ida and German Claudia, I ticked off another area and sauntered around the middle class gardens of Palermo. Then, with Pete Ross safely sent to Patagonia, the arrival of Peter Goult and his friend Will brought a new selection of exciting things to be done. Firstly, an afternoon trip to see a polo match resulted in sneaking in the back accidentally, then taking full advantage, naturally, of the free wine and beer afterwards. And since then Pete and Will have been doing a splendid job of entertaining me. On Sunday Pete and I mooched around San Telmo (another area - cobbled stones, lovely little squares, rather quaint) antiques market, watching street artists and tango dancers. And on Monday they convinced me to go to Uruguay...

Uruguay. First stop, Colonia. One ferry ride at an unearthly time in the morning later, and we reached a pretty but overly quiet little place where there was little to do, and where it rained. All day. However, given that I have only seen rain twice in the last 3 months though, the novelty of rain only added to what actually turned out to be a rather enteraining day. Faced with next to nothing to do, the impromptu rental of a golf cart enabled us to see the city in style, as well as speeding recklessly at the maximum golf cart velocity of 20 mph, racing other golf cart renters and attempting wheelies and spins on gravelled areas. We found a deserted and dilapedated bull ring, saw a lighthouse, some ruins, and marvelled at the show piece 1.90m walls the guide book raved about. The day was topped off by dining in the excellently converted interior of a 1920s car in a rather eccentric restaurant. As you do. So all in all a good day. Which is more than can be said of Montevideo. Again, it rained. Again, there was nothing to do. We met some friendly South Africans, went to a none existent beach and saw an uninteresting museum of art. And then we went back to BA.

Soooo, back in buzzing Buenos Aires, and we changed hostel to stay in Palermo, where I resumed culture vulture status by visiting the Museum of Belles Artes and the Evita museum, as well as finding a beautiful leather bag, and making a quick re-visit to the microcentre to see some churches. I also resumed my party-animal penchant for a couple of nights, once again consuming more steak than is strictly necessary and imbibing more red wine than is probably wise. Pete turned 23, in aid of which a few screwdrivers and various other cocktails assured he didn`t even make it out of the hostel. So I went out to a club instead to celebrate my last night in BA. Sigh.

And now - one 26 hour bus journey later - I am in Bariloche. The journey was rather scenic, passing expansive plains on which cattle grazed and finally melting into the rolling hills, snow-topped peaks and sparkly lakes of the Lake District. Bariloche itself is wonderful. It is just like Christmas. The streets are lined with log cabins and chocolate shops piled to the ceiling with delicious chocolatey goodness. Mmmmmm...And Bariloche is also a great centre for outdoor activities. Some of the things I would like to do are skiing, snowboarding, hiking, biking, paragliding and horse riding. Not that I will have time to do all of them, or that the (slightly cloudy and drizzly in the town, but nice and snowy in the mountains) weather or my finances will permit me to do everything, but I am having fun deciding which outdoor pursuit injury to acquire first. Watch this space for inevitably hilarious pictures of me failing spectacularly at various new sports (but doing so, naturally, in superlative style). I think I might hit the slopes tomorrow for my first skiing lesson, and in the meantime I will be taking full advantage of the sugary wares of Argentina`s chocolate capital.

xxx

On Salt, being a tramp, and the world´s best steak

2007-09-05T09:59:00.000-07:00

Afternoon y´all,

Soooo - where was I? Salt Flats. Well, the journey there was a little more tricky than anticipated. What should have been an easy transfer to Uyuni turned into an impromptu stop-over in the tourist-hating hell-hole of Oruro, where we were ripped off, scammed, shunned and scorned and had a thoroughly unpleasant time. This was mainly on account of my inability to move any quicker than a pitiful hobble, thus causing us to missing two buses and me to be unaffectionately renamed ´limpy Longfils´. Anyway, when we finally arrived in Uyuni via nightbus we jumped straight onto a tour of the Salt Flats and sped away to one of the eeriest places in the world. Imagine being in a David Hockney picture entitled White/Blue. That´s the salt flats. Massive expanses (12000 squared km to be exact) of flat, white, 40 thousand year old salt, topped with cloudless blue sky, spreading out in a glittering, glaring, snow-like landscape. We had a lot of fun posing like idiots among the snow mounds, saw a train cemetery and some salt processing, and were whisked off to our salt hotel (a hotel made entirely of salt) by our inept, useless and bolshy guide to spend an afternoon awaiting dinner-time. And there was nothing to do there. After the initial 5 minute long novelty of staying in a salt hotel wore off, we explored the surrounding desolate desert and salt - akin, I imagine, to being on Neptune - to find only more desert and salt, and nothing of any more interest than a couple of unclimbable wannabe mountains. Nothing to do. Nothing. Absolutly NOTHING. Faced with such a predicament, (Grandma, do not read the rest of this sentence) there was simply no choice but to get *blind* drunk and entertain ourselves with a stuffed armadillo. We discovered said armadillo fortuitously on a window ledge and named him Kirky, after the illustrious Mr. Adam Kirk, esq.. Kirky was great.

The morning after the night before was spent nursing horrendous hangovers and trying to unravel the mystery of where-did-Kirky-go. (It turned out the hostel owner confiscated him and locked him in a room well out of harm´s way - (Spoil sprts!) - a room which, I should add, apparently underwent numerous drunken and thwarted break-in attempts to rescue Kirky by Pete and me). We were then taken to the Galaxias caves, where we shimmied through petrified cacti forests, marvelled at moon-like caves of ancient fossilised coral (which would have been underwater 40000 years ago when the salt flats were actually a lake), explored a cemetery in another cave, went to what was once an island and gazed out on its white sea of salt, and argued with our rubbish guide to make him take us to a volcano specified as a highlight of our tour. Numerous threats of reporting him to the Lonely Planet later, we got a good view of an awesome volcano, stumbled on a flock of flamingos and saw some (salt) water springs to pot. Not bad all in all.

And after Uyuni, the epic trek to Iguazu began. Commencing with an obscenely early bus (and a serendipitous view of a lunar eclipse!!) to Jujuy, our descent into trampery began. Wearing approximately 13 layers of clothing in a bid to ward off the subzero cold, not having showered for 7 days (too cold to undress!) and having slept and lived in the same clothes for 5 days solid (again, too cold!), we reached Argentina smelling terrible, looking destitute, and thinking we had finally attained tramp status. An overnight stop-over in a cash point with a bonefide tramp while waiting for a connecting bus proved us wrong, however. I now consider the true point of my acquisition of trampliness to be when I started to envy our tramp his cardboard box. Moving on...some 1700 km, a shower in Salta and several packets of Oreos (my favourite travel food - oooh, the chocolatey goodness) later, having passed through Paraguayan capital Asuncion and had a do-it-yourself city tour by Ruth, stopped over in the most corrupt city in South America, Ciudad del Este, we finally got to Iguazu. It. Was. Amazing. Utterly amazing. We spent a day on the Brazilian side (got stamped in, but forgot to get stamped out again...so I figure I will be in Brazil for the rest of my life??) and one on Argentina´s side. Got lots of photos. Got wet.

And one 17 hour bus journey later, and we are now in Buenos Aires. Perhaps my favourite place so far. We are staying in a funky hostel full of travellers, soaking up the sights, drinking red wine, seeing tango, and eating our body weight in the most excellent steak in the whole wide world. Mmmmm... Ruth and Matt fly home tomorrow, so one big night out tonight to celebrate our travels...and then it´s just me and Pete. Pete is currently masterminding a trip to Tierra del Fuego, Patagonia. Being adverse to the cold, however, I think I am going to stay put here in BA for the next while...and I will tango my socks off, eat meat, and let you know more about the awesomeness of Argentina´s capital next time.

Ciao for now

xxx

Rocking in Bolivia

2007-08-25T12:28:00.000-07:00

Yo yo yo,

Ok - so I lied. Despite the plan of exiting Peru quick-style and heading for Bolivian territory which I stated in my last blog entry, due to another vicious attack of The Stomach Bug on Ruth, we actually spent a couple of days in Peru´s most famous Lake Titicaca-bordering town, Puno. And a very nice couple of days they were too (well, except for Ruth). The Lake itself was perfect. The 3820m altitude renders the air almost magically pure, creating a crystaline atmosphere and excellent light by which to admire the sparkling waters and experience stunning sunsets. The town itself was rather quirky, featuring a quaint little church by which we witnessed yet another ad-hoc band featuring many unexpected instruments. The highlight, however, was our trip to the floating reed islands of the Uros people. Bobbing merrily in the middle of the lake, these man made islands have been there for centuries, and many of the people are still living to the traditions of their ancestors. Matt and Pete managed to get a ride in a reed boat, while I managed to put my right foot through the island and sumberge myself knee deep in the lake. Fun.

Next stop was, as promised and (I´m sure) highly anticipated by my lovely readers, Copacabana. I won´t sing the song at you, but I will wax lyrical about the place. The views were fantastic, the food was divine, Matt, Pete and I conquered a near-by mountain with a shrine on the top, we visited the rather Aegean feeling Isla del Sol, an island on which the Incas believed the sun was born, and had a lovely little trip on a pedalow. All good. Check out the photos (link below). Copa, copacabana...

After Copacabana, we went straight to the world´s highest capital city, La Paz (I say straight, but we actually had to re-enter Peru and then enter Bolivia for a second time as Copacabana is a little pokey bit of land which is technically Bolivia, but is disconnected from the mainland. We had to go by boat. The bus went on a boat too :-) ) The first sights of La Paz were breathtaking - quite literally, given the 3660m altitude - and displayed a sprawling city in a basin formed by towering mountains. Even once in the city itself, La Paz was still breathtaking, although in the less idyllic sense that the pollution was suffocatingly bad! Still, the waterfalls of cars, heaving traffic, comically horizontal traffic lights, busy, buzzy, bustling streets and masses of people were a welcome change from sleepy Lake Titicaca. The highlight of the trip, however, has to be mountain biking down the World´s Most Dangerous Road. According to the Inter-American Development Bank, this road from La Paz to Coroico is officially the most perilous the world has ever seen. In places it is a mere 3m wide, in the average year 26 vehicles fatally plummet over its sheer-600m-cliff-drop rough-hewn edges, and the worst accident in recent times was in 1983 when a bus and its 100 passengers slipped off the precipice into the abyss below. And I biked down it. I have a t-shirt to prove it. (And don´t worry, I am alive.) It was one of the best things I have ever done and was exhilirating for every metre of the 64km ride. Even though seeing the crosses by the roadside had a slightly macarbre feel, it didn´t detract from the excitement one bit :-) We spent that evening in pretty Coroico to eat cheap food and drink cheap drink, and headed back to La Paz the following day to soak up the sights, marvel at the Bolivian ladies wearing comical over-tall bowler hats, drink PG Tips in Oliver´s (English!!!!!!!!!!!!) Bar, meet up with some friends from Machu Picchu, and plan the next leg of our trip. The only thing I didn´t enjoy about La Paz was seeing the poverty. Some people were literally searching through rubbish to find food, while others had clearly been homeless for years. I found myself compelled to give money to several people I met - that some in the world have no choice but to live like this is deeply saddening. Bolivia is definitely the poorest place financially that we have visited. Conversely, I think it is one of the richest culturally. It is the only so far country which I definitely want to come back to. Due to it not being quite so set up for tourists as Peru or Ecuador, I feel that there is a wealth of culture and tradition beneath the surface which isn´t being dislayed. Additionally, the scanty amount of time we have here means that some places like beautiful judicial and symblic capital Sucre and the silver mines of Potosi will go unvisited on this trip. I´ll definitely be back some day.

Anyway - this is not quite it for Bolivia. We spent a few days in warm (!), low-altitude Cochabamba, where we discovered that Pete had stowed away a selection of Egg Shampoos from the previous hostel, and got all our clothes washed. Which would have been wonderful (because we all smelt terrible), except that we ended up booking a jungle tour for a couple of days, sans clothes, and possibly sans sanity. Armed with just one pair of trousers (all over which Pete kindly spilt Coke Zero), a bikini, a top, and a pair of tights over which I wore a pair of Pete´s boxers to protect (haha!!) my dignity, we sped off to Villa Tunari. Here we white water rafted in the Rio Spiritu Sanctu (Sacred Spirit River), went trekking, canyoning, waterfall jumping and rappelling, and saw animals in a sanctuary. The animals there had all been saved from adverse conditions - we saw parrots, a puma, a bear, and were attacked by a theiving pack of monkey who ate the seeds from then stole Ruth´s necklace, tried to groom Matt for fleas and peed on Pete. Lovely. The trip was generally quite fun, although it had the down side of me hurting my knee by jumping into a waterfall, spending the 4 hour journey back literally crying in pain, and testing out the Bolivian health service. I got some very exciting x-rays, had a chat with a lovely nurse, discovered nothing was broken and was instructed to rest in bed for 2 weeks. So I stayed in bed for a day. And have been taking a lot of heavy painkillers. I think I´ll pull through.

The knee-diversion was also problematic in that it meant we came to Oruro a day late, then missed 2 buses, and are still stranded here (it´s a horrible, Gringo-hating hole where everyone is mean, tries to rip us off, and is generally horrible) until this evening when we can get a night bus to Uyuni and the Salt Flats. I won´t ruin your eager anticipation of the next entry by telling you anything about the Salt Flats...but I am really looking forward to them!

If anyone would like to see photos of the trip so far, here are a load of links for your perusal:

Pisco, Ica, Nazca: http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2155964&l=6ff20&id=36900740

Cusco and Machu Picchu: http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2155966&l=d7370&id=36900740

Machu Picchu continued: http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2156104&l=36f54&id=36900740

Arequipa and Colca Canyon: http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2156104&l=36f54&id=36900740

Puno: http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2156111&l=8502d&id=36900740

Copacabana: http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2156112&l=edf13&id=36900740

I´ll try to get links to Ruth´s photos of Ecuador up on the next blog.

Also - please email me. Full marks go to the Standfields (and a small selection of friends), who have emailed me lots of lovely news. But the rest of you (extended family especially!) are rubbish. Send me news. Please. Now. :-) Thank you. (helensie@hotmail.com)

Lots of love for now xxxx

Cusco, Machu Picchu and Goodbye Peru

2007-08-12T11:33:00.000-07:00

Dear all,

After the whirlwind tour of Lima, Pisco, Ica and Nazca we travelled on to Cusco, ancient capital of the Inca empire. With cobbled streets lined with alpaca-wool clothing selling Peruanas (Peruvian ladies), inca walls, colonial architecture and cosy restaurants, Cusco is the perfect place to spend few days acclimatising to the altitude before setting off on various treks to Machu Picchu, lost city of the incas. Despite there being more tourists than you can shake a stick at and it being freezing cold at night, I really loved Cusco as a city. Unfortunately, however, we contracted some kind of violent stomach bug there and Ruth, Pete and I spent two of the four days before our trek in bed. Matt was sadly so ill that we had to call a doctor out and he couldn´t join us for Machu Picchu. Such a shame, particularly as we had been organised enough to book our 4 day classic Inca trail in January!

Nonetheless, Ruth, Pete and I set out for Machu Picchu, rucksacks on our backs, cameras in hand, and still languishing from the illness. The first day was a designated ´training day´ - supposedly easy and reasonably flat, serving to whip us into shape for the following days´ hiking. And although it was easier than the following days, 8 hours of walking in high altitude with backpacks proved challenging to say the least! Still, in comparison with our porters, who carried towering packs of our stuff, tents, cooking equipment and goodness knows what else, and who ran ahead of us at super-quick speed to set up camp for us, the difficulty of our task seemed pretty laughable. The spectacular mountain scenery we witnessed and the company of a great group soon made our woes almost pale into insignificance. Over the four days we trekked through four ecosystems, including cloud forests, jungles and mountains, seeing snow-capped peaks and awesome river valleys. I got to see some rare orchids and was even lucky enough to have a humming bird hover by a flower just 6 inches from my face. Along the way we also met numerous llamas and alpacas, encountered some of the most ´interesting´ (read revolting) toilet facilities I have come across, and saw several inca remains. Some were simple lookouts, a few were shrines, and many included inca terraces. These rather splendid step-like constructions built into the mountain sides were used for agriculture. The incas used to plant seeds on different levels of the steps, experimenting with what could be grown at different altitudes. They would then transfer crops from site to site across the mountains as the plants adapted to different climates, altitudes and ecosystems - basically an early form of genetic engineering! Incredible! Once such terrace site was Wiñay Wayna, which also included a few inca houses and a collectiong of 16 ceremonial baths built down the mountain side. The water flowing through has been doing so since the baths´construction over five hundred years ago. Another highlight on the third day was taking part in a traditional ceremony to Pachamama (mother earth). We fanned out three sacred coca leaves, blew on them in the direction of each point of the compass to sk protection from the mountain spirits, and collected rocks and placed them in a pyramid form on a high mountain pass. It was nice to experience a snippet of the significance the trail had for the incas, and understanding something of their religion was enlightening.

On the fourth day we reached Machu Picchu. After three freeeeeeeeeeeezing nights (even investing in an alplaca sweater, llama wool hat and gloves and a sheep named Juan didn´t keep me warm!), several excellent meals (the cook deserves a medal, or at least the cordon bleu), Pete being attacked once again by the illness and forming ´Team Slow´ who ambled at a leisurely pace some 2 hours behind the rest of us, and being coerced into getting up at 3.45 so as to hit Machu Picchu before the crowds did, we finally got there. Even though I was knackered, sleep-deprived, cold, my knees hurt, my legs ached and I had caught a cold, it was well worth it. We arrived at the sun gate at around 7am, and walked down to the lost city, watching as the sun rose behind the mountains and illuminated the ancient buildings and streets. Inside the city were houses, temples, a factory area, a plaza, and much of it was constructed according to astrological and orientational significance. One temple has windows in it through which the sun shines directly at summer and winter solstices, another has a sundial carved with an eye, which is lit up at certain points of the year. I am still utterly awestruck by the sophistication of the inca culture, and the intensity of their faith in their religion, a faith which drew them not only to walk so far to reach the city, but to build it in its remote mountain location in the first place.

Anway, after a brief stop in Aguas Calientes we returned to Cusco to meet a more recovered but rather lonely Matt, to meet up again with Klaus and Patrick, say farewell to Hannah and mooch around the city for a day. I managed to find a ring with an Andean cross on it (a cross which signifies the upper, middle and lower worlds and the father, mother and spirits in incan religion) and treated myself to a massage for my legs (which felt as though they had been tenderised, repeatedly pummeled with a mallet and were ready for roasting). I also got some thermal trousers as my aplaca clothing fetish simply isn´t sufficient to withstand the night-time temperatures. The next stop was Arequipa, where I visited a rather eerie ice mummy called Juanita who was sacrificed to the gods some 500 years ago, nosed around a few churches and soaked up the white-stone architecture and splendourous main plaza. I also enjoyed seeing yet more Peruvian flags marking Independence Day, flags which are mandatorily dislayed on every building in the country. We also went on a 2 day tour to the Cañon del Colca, which is supposedly the world´s deepest canyon. It really was rather grand, particularly with the condors swooping majestically up and down it. Photos to follow soon. Other highlights of the tour included seeing some traditional dancing and relaxing in some hot spring baths in Chevay. Very nice.

And that, really, is it for Peru. Tonight we head to Puno by Lake Titicaca, where we will stay just for the night before bussing it to the other side of the lake in Copacobana, Bolivia. Peru, so far, is my favourite country - varied, beautiful, steeped in history and culture, and friendly. I am sure Bolivia will be great too though - I am already looking forward to being able to sing Barry Manalow´s ´Copacabana´ when arriving there!

The tantalising tales of your intrepid traveller continue next time....

xxx

Trujillo, Caraz, Lima and beyond

2007-07-31T11:01:00.000-07:00

Peru has been living up to the high expectations which were set in Mancora. After another day of the sunshine city, we jumped on a night bus (and were highly entertained by Spanish Jackie Chan) and headed down to the arid desert of Trujillo. Here it is perpetually hot, getting a mere half an inch of rainfall in the average year, but gets a deluge of rain every 40 years or so called El Niño. The rain is apparently comparable to the flash floods Britain has been getting recently, or so said our guide, and it´s every bit as destructive. Nonetheless, the ruins of the ancient Chimu culture we checked out were being well conserved and were fascinating. We got to see the palace of Chan Chan on the first day, which is an enormous maze-like structure - we would have got very lost without our guide Michael (who originally came from Yardley, so we had a good bit of Brummie chat). From ceramics and textiles found there archeologists have been able to find out a lot about the culture and religion, including a gory penchant for human sacrifice. In the site of El Brujo, the remains of a Moche shrine which we visiting the following day, we were treated to some incredible wall art which depicted the ritual slaughter of teenage girls and slaves which was supposed to appease the rain gods to prevent the onset of El Niño. Apparently the Moche culture (which came after the Chimu) drugged their human offerings with psychedelic drugs so that they haemorraged, thus providing more blood, and hallucinated, thus being unable to distinguish between reality and their induced delirium. Great stuff!

The next day was less bloodthirsty. We got a day bus to a beautiful town called Caraz, which is set amongst the great black mountains of the Cordillera Negra and is a stone´s throw away from the Cordillera Blanca. The journey there was very scenic if longer than we expected. The driver fell off the roof while loading bags onto it, so we had to wait a bum-numbing extra 2 hours on top of a 7 hour journey while a co-driver was found. Still, I think he was alright (if a bit peaky) as he managed to drive us half way there (true hard-core Peruvian style). After an evening of Independence Day festivities in Caraz, the next day was spent trekking around an incredible mountain lake called Lago Paron. I have never seen any natural wonder so beautiful. The water of the lake was bright azure blue and crystal clear, and was set like a gem in the centre of looming snow topped mountains and dazzling white glaciers. The sky was cloudless and pure blue and the air was as fresh as a super fresh daisy. Thanks to a mate de coca (a Peruvian speciality tea meant to help with altitude sickness and made from cocaine leaves - yes, grandma, it´s legal here!) the first 2 hours of walking were a piece of cake. The following 2 hours, however, had us seeing spots, gasping for breath like asthmatic goldfish again and staggering around in state of perpetual bloodrush. It was fun - sort of! Unfortunately that night we had to leave Caraz on the night bus so that we could meet Matt and Pete in Lima. Not having accounted for the Independence Day holidays we couln´t get a bus-cama (sleeper bus) so had an ordeal of a journey on a tiny, freezing, packed, noisy, bumpy bus sat at the back right next to the vomit-inducingly-smelly toilets. It was foul. And there was no Jackie Chan.

Having arrived 2 hours early, woken the guys up at 5am, kipped on their floor and forgone breakfast in order to book bus tickets for the next few days, our one and only day in fog-filled Lima wasn´t the best. We did get to meet Hannah though, who accompanied us for the next leg of our travels, and we found ENGLISH TOFFEE! Real, pedigree, original English Toffee. Well, so the packet said. Anyway, in addition to the camera, credit card, deet and MARMITE the boys brought with them, this eased the pain of the day somewhat. We hotfooted it out of Lima that afternoon to get to Pisco, where we went on a boat trip to the Balletas Islands to see sea lions, penguins, various birds and a national park whose desert landscape was rather reminiscent of being on Mars. Not that we have actually been to Mars, you understand, but it was red, rocky and pretty cool. We entertained ourselves by taking ´space´pictures of us, climbing mountains, staging the death of Matt off a precarious looking cliff edge, and acquainted ourselves properly with Klaus, a lovely Austrian guy who shared a dorm with us and consequently made our group up to a numerous six. Pisco and Paracas, no matter how diverting, were no match for the following day´s activities. The six intrepid explorers journeyed yet further south, braving death by eating suspicious mystery chicken dishes, defying all laws and common sense by squeezing into just one taxi and risking developing nausea through drinking luminescent Inka Kola (it´s bright yellow, tastes like rotten irn-bru, is definitely not cola and was absolutely definitely not drunk by the Incas), and reached the town of Ica. In Ica we drank yet more Inca Kola, found some salty tasting Fanny jam (this is seriously it´s brand name, and it does taste salty), and happened upon some ´Traditional English Cola´ which was red and, again, tasted like off irn-bru. (Fact fans, Peru is the only place in the world where something sells better than Coca Cola, and it is Inca Kola. Makes you wonder. Another fact, in one square metre of Peru you can find more species of ant than in the whole of England...interesting stuff...) From Ica we went to Huacachina. And this is where it got very, very cool. Cooler than Mars (so to speak), cooler than the mountains of Caraz (in terms of fun-factor) but hotter than Brad Pitt eating vindaloo on a hot day (in temperature). Huacachina is an oasis in the middle of some superb desert sand dunes, and we went dune buggying, driving down vertical dune slopes in a pink and yellow dune buggy, and sand-boarding. It was an amazing experience...´supergeil´, as Klaus called it (he was pretty darned good at it, having done a lot of snowboarding in Austria, and with a pretty darned buff body to prove it) or ´awesome´, as we called it. Later Klaus and I climbed to the top of a dune to take pictures of the oasis before running barefooted down again and burying ourselves in the sand, just to make sure it had got into every conceivable crevice and orifice before jumping into the nearest sqimming pool. Awesome :-) !!!

Sadly our next stop in Nazca had a lot to live up to and failed to provide the highs of Huacachina, despite us being up in an airoplane as our main activity. We flew up in a teeeny 6 seater plane to see the Nazca lines, which are various designs etched into the desert floor thought to have been created by the Nazca people and only visible from the air. The lines might have been great, but I wouldn´t really know as I got horribly travel sick and hated every second of the 35 minute flight. I managed to get a couple of pictures of the monkey, condor and astronaut before losing all feeling in my limbs, but the rest of the lines I can only experience vicariously through postcards. A shame, and all in all it wasn´t worth the $50, but Pete, Matt and Klaus loved it. I, however, am NEVER going in a small plane EVER again. That night we got a horrifically hot night bus to Cusco, where we are now, and chilling out for a few days before hitting the Inca Trail and Machu Picchu. Hannah has returned to her school, and we have a new adition to the group in the shape of Patrick, a German from Stuttgart. So for the next few days I´m going to soak up the sun by day, freeze by night, and immerse myself in Inca culture while proudly wearing my new alpaca sweater, hat and gloves.

Laters...xxx

2007-07-20T18:24:00.000-07:00

¡Chicos!

Since the wonderful waters of Baños, Ruth and I have spent a bit of time slumming it. Our first endeavour was to trek the Quilotoa loop, which is a trail connecting several tiny villages in the central highlands of rural Ecuador. From the Lonely Planet´s description it sounded pretty darn good; remote indigenous villages where homestays are the norm, treks of only a few hours to get between villages, picturesque mountain scenery complemented by deep canyons and an akaline though magnificent lake formed in a volcanic crater. Obviously, as two girls on a tight budget the homestays would be fine and the trekking would be simple - we are officially Jungle Ruth and Mountain Helen, after all. However, it was problematic. First problem - transport. There were pretty much no buses, and for some unknown reason those buses which did run left at the obscene hour of 3am. This meant we had to hitch some rides with guys who tried to overcharge us ridiculously. Second problem - homestays. While very interesting to see the cultura differences between urban and rural Ecuador, our mediocre spanish prevented easy communication with our hosts. And we got fleas. Or at least we think we did. And still have. Nice. Third problem - treks. The altitude as simply too high after living it up as jungle warriors in the Amazon basin and we spent about two hours staggering up a slight incline gasping for breath like asthmatic goldfish out of water. So yeah. Bit of a disaster really. Despite the fact that we cut our trip from 3 days to 1 and a half, we did get to see some awesome scenery though in Zumbahua, Quilotoa and Chugchilan.

Following our aborted trekking trip, we thought it best to nurse our mosquito and flea bites in Riobamba for a couple of days while waiting to take the infamous Nariz del Diablo (devil´s nose) train from Riobamba to Alausi. I have to say, for a town where ´not much happens´ (Lonely Planet), Riobamba was a good place to chill out for a couple of days. We were transported there in a bus presided over by a huge poster of Jesus (most of them are!), which meandered through mountain tracks, by the side of which the occasional shrine to Mary appeared (they are all over the place - bus stations, roadsides, hotels, swimming pools...these people take their Catholicism seriously). In Riobamba itself we encountered no less than three parades. One, continuing in the religious theme, which was in homage to Mary and Christ, and had dancing, singing, chanting, buses topped with shrines, kids kneeling in prayer, and took a good 30 minutes to pass. Another was something to do with the hospital. And one which we have no idea about. It was colourful. The shoe shiners on the street that we encountered in Quito resurfaced, still pursuing Ruth and I down the street with a plaintive ´por favor´ (even though Ruth was wearing flip flops and I was wearing gold ballet shoes - what on earth did they think they could polish? Our toenails? Honestly!) Other than the parades, Riobamba seemed to have a superfluity of trainers shops, pharmacies and photocopying shops. We are not sure why, but the best theory is that they do a lot of sport, repeatedly injure themselves and have to go to the pharmacy, then have to photocopy the documents to send to the insurance. If they have insurance, that is...hmmmm. There were many singing rubbish trucks (really) which, like the deathly buses of Quito, announced their arrival cheerily with a tune. There were also two impressive snow topped volcanoes in Riobamba. And, of course, the main reason for being there, the train. The train took five hours, zig zagged through mountains, and had to perform a switchback (whereby the train goes forward on one track, then reverses up another track in a ´devil´s nose´ style (?)) to get up a fairly sheer rock face. Ruth and I sat on top of the train :-) Fun!

From Alausi we went straight to beautiful Cuenca, which is a colonial town and utterly gorgeous. Unfortunately we spent very little time there in our hurry to get to Peru, but both of us said we would love to return. The route across the border was an interesting experience. The bus from Cuenca to Machala, then Machala to Huaquillas was uneventful. But getting from Huaquillas (Ecuador) to Tumbes (a mosquito filled hole of a town in Peru) was a pain in the proverbial backside. Firstly we had to get a taxi to the immigration office with the only taxi driver around, who did not have a marked taxi and swore he would only charge us $1. This resulted him recruiting his friend, a plain clothes immigration officer, who insisted on ´helping´us by doing our forms for us, at which point I panicked about not trusting them and demanded to stand in line like everyone else, then I confiscated the taxi driver´s car keys so he couldn´t run off with our stuff. After immigration, we ended up in the taxi again (there were no others!) trying to get to Tumbes to catch our bus to Mancora, when the driver tried to get us to pay $30 for the journey (the guidebook says it should be $5-7), which we managed to get down to $18. And when we arrived in Peru he demanded it in soles (Peruvian currency), not dollars, then drove us to a cash point so I could pay in soles. By this point we knew we could trust the guy, but still knew he was going to rip us off. We thought our troubles were over, but Peruvian buses are an ordeal too! We had to wait half an hour to have seats allotted, then had fingers prints takes, video footage made, *and* had to stop at a checkpoint to have our bags searched!! At least we know we weren´t on a bus with muggers or smugglers. A really annoying experience, but hey, we got here.

Our first stop in Peru is Mancora, Peru´s answer to Ibiza. It´s hot, sunny, sandy, full of backpackers, surfers and westerners, and jam-packed with mototaxis and seafood. Loverrly. Today we chilled on the beach, tonight we´re going out (a novelty as it´s the first place safe enough for us to go out on our own at night) and I am loving it. I´m a little sad to leave Ecuador, land of singing rubbish trucks, but very excited about Peru...more to come soon!

Hasta luego xxxx

2007-07-13T16:38:00.000-07:00

Hey hey,

As predicted, Mitad del Mundo was a knockout experience. The northern and southern hemisphere collided dramatically, marked out by a line painted on the gound in a theme park style get-up with a massive monument of the world right in the centre. We soaked in the party atmosphere while drinking cervezas (beers) and listening to a 9 piece salsa band on the Mitad del Mundo central stage. We just about caught the quick sunset too before we got on the 90 minute long bus ride (which costed a measly 40p) back to Quito.

Our last morning in Quito before heading down to Tena was equally dramatic, but for totally different reasons. After an early morning salsa lesson (still the Meaning of Life), we chanced upon a procession in town rather like the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. There were soldiers everywhere, a brass band which included saxophones and some large circely instruments I didn´t recognise, and an appearance from Ecuadorian President Rafael Carea himself. Pretty exciting for a Monday morning. But, to add to the dramatic procession and a dramatic church I visited where the entire interior was gold (seriously, 17 tonnes of the stuff!), I had a wonderful and dramatic experience with an Ecuadorian man. Quite often, being white, blonde and western, Ruth and I get people staring at us, saying ´hi´, ´hello´or ´hey baby´, or whatever English they know (sometimes it´s quite rude!). This particular man, however, walked up to me, took my arm, and said in a delightful manner, ´Luke, I am you father´. How hilarious is that!? Hahaha.

Anyways, Quito behind us, we took a rather rickety 7 hour bus journey on chillingly precarious mountain roads down to the depths of Tena. Here we booked a jungle tour which started the following morning and was for three days. And. It. Was. Awesome. Utterly awesome. And I am proud to say I have emerged alive, if ravished by millions of mosquitos (40 plus bites on my legs alone!), and have honed some valuable skills to assist me in my piratical mission to captain the seven seas. The lodge we stayed in for the first 2 days consisted of wood cabinas built on different levels right atop a cliff overtowering the Rio and Napo rivers. Just looking down made me feel very Indiana Jones, but the first morning´s activity almost convinced me I had accidentally fallen into an adventure film. We trekked through the rainforest, were taught by our guide, Alex, about medicinal plants and materials used by indigenous Quechua tribes, encountered yellow spiders with spines and shimmied around poisonous snakes. We made crowns from jungle plants, were given ´earrings´ (really just spirally tendrils which stayed on your ears) by Alex and ate lemon ants (yes, I really ate ants and they really tasted like lemon :-) ). We also did some canyoning, which involves using your hands and bum and legs to lever yourself up between tiny rock crevices. Very exhilirating. And I think there might be some truth in karma, as I ripped my trousers, probably in payback for setting fire to Ruth´s pjs :-S

That afternoon we went swimming in the river and panned for gold. We posed for a few photos in the style of a Herbal Essences advert (for this is exactly the kind of setting we were in). The following day involved a trek through torrential rain to an indigenous community and a hair-raisingly scary boat trip back across the swolen river to the lodge (Alex crossed himself and looked skywards before rowing us across a phenomenal current). I tried some traditional foods such as chicha, a drink made from yuka, and boiled plantain, and I had my face painted warrior-style with the juice from a flower´s seeds. In the afternoon we went tubing (drifting down the river in big inner tubes) and the high water made for some great white water fun. All memorable experiences, but one thing I will never forget was the sky on the first night. Without any light pollution at all, I was shocked at how many stars there are in the sky that we don´t usually see. The milky way was clearly visible, the plough was the wrong way up (because of being in a different hemisphere) and stars actually twinkle!!! I spent at least 2 hours just marvelling at the twinkling little lights in the velvety black sky, singing ´twinkle twinkle little star´ to myself in a hammock. Stunning!

The last day involved a change of scenery as we went to a rustic family owned lodge 40 minutes away. Riding in the back of a truck, Ruth and I got a pretty bumpy ride there, but it was worth it. There were dogs and kids running all over the place, 2 parrots who chose not to imitate words but the screaming cries of the 2 month old baby. The two of them squarking in unison was hysterical. That morning we went on another trek, I ripped my trousers and lost all the remaining dignity I had, we climbed up vertical waterfalls (honestly) and descended the rainforest slopes in a the manner of a Tarzan-esque ´controlled fall´, swinging between trees and gripping onto roots for dear life. The afternoon was spent at a laguna, posing for more orgasmic Herbal Essences photos, jumping off rocks 10 feet above the water and sliding down fast-moving waterfalls on our bums. We have video footage to prove it. Oh, yes :-) Yesterday evening we went out in Tena with Alex (the guide), drank more cervezas and piratey cocktails and had 2 hours sleep before catching the 6am bus to Baños, which is where my fabulously exciting tale is being penned (or typed, to be more accurate). I´ve spent most of today in the naturally occurring hot volcanic mineral baths after which the town was named. I showered under another waterfall, and slept, and wandered around a bit. And now I am just about to finish this entry and have some dinner. Lovely.

xxxxxxxxx

2007-07-07T19:16:00.000-07:00

¡Hola mis amigos!

I have arrived in Quito, the capital of Ecuador, and it is amazing! The journey here was fairly eventful, involving sitting next to an Israeli tour guide called Moshe for a 12 hour flight, who advised me of Peru´s unmissable sights, and befriending a rather befuddled and flustered American named Paul who had lost his group and spoke no Spanish. Paul and I wiled away 8 freezing night-time hours in Quito airport while I waited for Ruth´s flight to arrive and he waited for the phone booths to open. I bought him hot chocolate with my scanty Spanish and he made me a wire sculpture of a dragon fly in return. What a story, huh?! The best bit of the journey, however, came just as I was flying into Lima airport. It was 5.30 pm and suddenly the massive red rock tips of the Andes loomed up above the clouds, every fold and crevice of their magnificent mass catching the late afternoon sun. I am really looking forward to seeing them properly in a couple of weeks when we head down to Peru.

But for now, back to Ecuador. The Ecuadoian Andes may not be as stunning as the Peruvian, but Quiot is AMAZING! The city itself is comprised of a colonial old town and bustling new town nestled in amongst the Andes and three volcanoes. The people are exceptionally friendly and the food is great. It tends to revolve around chicken and rice, but there have been some interesting surprises, such as chicken feet in soup, cheese and banana toasties and fried green banana salted crisps. Surprisingly tasty actually, in case you were wondering :-) We chose to splash out a bit for the first few days while we acclimatise and recover from jet lag. We are staying in a hotel in the old town called the hotel San Francisco de Quito. It has a jacuzzi, steam room, sauna, lovely rooms, internet access, and the best eggs i have tasted in a long while for breakfast. And all for the equivalent of 7.50 a night. Bargain! We are using it as a base until Monday, and have so far seen the various cathedrals of Quito, heard the marching band which only seems to play in the middle of the night, had near death experiences with the buses which only signal their lethal proximity at the last second with a siren resembling a curious blend of ´Three Blind Mice´ and ´Blind Date´, been to the Plaza Grande, and seen the Virgin on the Panecilla (a statue of Mary with eagle wings, a crown of stars, standing on a globe which is chained to a dragon, as you do, and all atop a mountain which translates as ´the bread roll´). We also headed up Quito´s answer to Notre Dame - possibly the deadliest overhead view of Quito to be braved. The gothic basilica cathedral is decorated with, not gargoyles or saints, but, wait for it...iguanas and tortoises. Despite this amusing Latino architectural twist, we still felt rather Quasimodo-ish as we clambered through the eaves of the cathedral on a rickety wooden causeway, and climbed the vertical steel ladders to the top of the bell towers. The view was stunning. The Cotopaxi volcano shone bright white in the distance, framed by the mountains and slopes on which the outskirts of Quito are built. As a little gift to celebrate our safe return to firm ground, the entrance guide made us friendship braclets from what he assured us was marijuana (otherwise known as hemp). Other highlights have been the weather - gorgeous, but then we are on the equator pretty much - seeing shoe shiners on the streets of Ecuador, and salsa dancing. And, after very little consideration or reflection, I can declare confidently that Salsa is the Meaning of Life. Fact.

Apart from sightseeing in Quito, there have been a couple of other exciting stories to report. Yesterday saw our first small disaster in the form of me setting fire to Ruth´s pj bottoms. It was an accident, honestly, and it is only mildly possible that the alcoholic blackberry smoothie I drank caused this rather tragic occurrence. It really wasn´t my fault that Ruth left her trousers in the lamp and told me to leave the light on, and it wasn´t really my fault that we had a small fire to deal with and the smell of burnt toast to inhale all night. Obviously Ruth will propagate the story in the fashion of ´Helen was blind drunk and set fire to my trousers in a fit of inebriated rage´. But you know it isn´t true. You heard it here first.

Today brought the second disatser of the trip, in that my camera and purse were stolen. They were in my bag when we were on a bus to a town to the north of Quito called Otavalo. They must have been taken by an extremely skilled thief as we were being careful - but obviously not careful enough! Fortunately there were only 20 dollars in the purse and the camera can be claimed for on the insurance. Still, a lesson learned the hard way, unfortunately. I am not even cross at losing possessions, as the people here really are significantly worse off than us Brits. I am more annoyed that I feel I have now lost trust and confidence in the people, who have otherwise been absolutely wonderful. Even so, I tried not to let it ruin my day in the massive indiginous markets of Otavalo. We saw some intricately made crafts and indiginous vendors in traditional clothes, and even had to stop the bus on the way to let past a group of marching indiginous tribes people who were protesting to save their territory. I bought some lovely stuff, and the end of today saw Ruth and I honing our somewhat inept Spanish skills at the Police Station when reporting the theft. Up until today we had only managed to perfect our Spanish swear words and Catherine Tate impressions ( - am I bovvered? Look at my face. Do I look bovvered? Bovvered - ¡estoy molestardo? regarde mi cara...etc.) but now we are fluent in criminal language of a different and more acceptable kind :-) Hopefully tomorrow won´t bring any more mishaps. We are going to see the Equator. The Ecuadorians call it the Mitad del Munde, the middle of the earth, but I shall affectionately bestow it the Tolkien title of Middle Earth, and tomorrow I shall knock myself out with the excitement of hopping between hemispheres.

All for now - love as ever...

Getting set to jet across the ocean blue

2007-07-03T07:10:00.000-07:00

To all my lovely friends and family (and any other randomers who wish to read),

Finals came and went, graduation has been and gone, and now, with memories of Girton already dwindling into the vaguery of nostalgia, I am just about to set off on yet another gap year. Having sent and received endless travel emails in the past (endless in frequency and length!), largely filled with inane anecdotes few care to read, I decided this time to write a blog. It may also be filled with endless inanity, but you can at least choose to log in when you wish, if you wish (or not, as the case may be), to keep a track on me and my travels and keep in touch...

...I am officially ready to go. The tickets are booked, the travel guides bought, I have hassled the post office for travellers' cheques and dollars three times, and I have endured multiple jabs for various diseases and have attained superwoman status (well, maybe not superwoman, but as I can no longer get typhoid, hepatitis A or B and maybe C, and will not become rabid or yellow with fever, I figure I am as near to invincibility as I'll ever get). I have more or less everything I need. Probably more, in fact. I say this as I am still currently surrounded by an assortment of odd-looking contraptions (such as my beautiful red 'spork' [a spoon, knife and fork in one multi-purpose piece of plastic - snazzy!]) which I have not yet managed to fit into my annoyingly unexpandable 70 litre rucksack. Once I have resumed and won the fight against the bag, however (while continuing the ongoing fight against anti-malerial-tablet-induced-nausea), I will be properly ready to get set to jet and sail the seven seas.

Tomorrow I fly to Ecuador, where I will spend two weeks salsa-ing around with Ruth before heading into Peru. After meeting Matt and Pete on 26th in Lima (Peru's capital), Bolivia, Paraguay, Argentina, Uraguay and Chile are on the itinerary. After this, Pete and I will carry on to New Zealand, Australia, Bali, Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam. Fun, fun! I'm a little bit scared, quite sad to leave family and friends for so long, but very excited! If it all goes to plan, in a year's time I will come back suntanned, proficient in Spanish and ready to kickstart my career in consulting with Deloitte. If I do not return, however, it is probably because I will have become pirate somewhere off the coast off Australia and will be pursuing my mission for world domination through various piratical endeavours. I will let you know if this is the case and send you pictures of me in a hammock with rum.

I think I'd better go and battle the bag again...but watch this space for more news soon - and do email/post in response. Emails make me happy :-)

Lots of love to all...