Ravey Round The World

Leaving the South Pacific

2009-12-27T04:14:00.000-08:00

28 March 2009 - Goodbye to Fiji

Sat around on my last morning in Fiji, and watched as horses trotted across the beach.

Jen had left the night before and we'd had a great chat over dinner about the ups and downs of family, life and love. There had been a fair few lumps in the road for Jen along her path so far, certainly more than I'd experienced in my lifetime, and I couldn't help but admire her positivity and ability to deal with these not inconsiderable hurdles and still keep moving forward. Not only is she an interesting and candid character, but she's a good soul, and a helluva laugh. I hope to catch up with her again someday.

And I can't very well doff my cap to Jen without a heads up to my other Fiji pal Sinead. Now there's a one. A bold, brassy, loud, gobby, boozy, Irish piss-taker with a tongue piercing in the shape of a football and a torso littered in Leeds United tattoos (Sinead - if you are reading this, I hope you forgive this rather unflattering description and see where this is going!). It's fair to say when I first met her on the Stray bus in NZ, I couldn't see how we would ever really connect, and admitted this to her just before the taxi came to take me to Fiji airport. Unsurprisingly she said the same to me, and confessed that her first thought as I stepped on the bus wearing my battered straw trilby hat was "Oh god, look at this bloke, we've got a prima donna here". I'm not entirely sure what this means, but it's fair to say I didn't make a great first impression!

But the point is, we were both wrong. We jumped to conclusions, completely misjudged each other, and surprised ourselves by becoming really good friends over the course of a week in Fiji. Underneath that harsh exterior, Sinead is a smart cookie who is both rip-roaringly funny and exceptionally kind. If there's a better person to paint the town (or the island) red with, then I've yet to meet them and I shall never forget her falling off the bucking bronco in Christchurch.

Insert your own cliche about books and covers here. Never a truer word.

As the taxi picked me up and bumbled along the rough island roads to the airport, I chatted with the driver. He told me that he had never left Fiji and as he only earned $70 a week to support his family, was likely to spend his whole life there. It made me realise once again just how fortunate I was to be travelling overseas. It's an exceptionally privileged position to be in and it's not something that should ever be taken for granted.

3 Countries in 3 Days.

2009-12-06T09:14:00.001-08:00

20 - 27 March 2009 - Oz to NZ to Fiji.

When I started this trip, I hadn't imagined I was going to spend most of my Australian time in Brisbane, but that was how it worked out, and I wouldn't have changed a thing. At times in that city, with the people I was staying, it felt like I wasn't really backpacking at all, but more like I had been stepped into a parallel universe or been given a new identity on the other side of the world. Although life was different in many ways, it also felt very familiar, very homely. I loved my time there.

On Friday 20 March I left Bris for what was to be the last time on this world tour. The airport goodbye with CB in the early hours of the morning was once again a horrible experience, sweetened only by the fact that Cass had now booked herself a flight to visit England in June. The long slow countdown to that date began the moment I stepped onto the plane.

I only spent one quiet night back in New Zealand, and on the 21st March I caught my next flight to the paradise islands of Fiji in the South Pacific. On the way to the airport I met up with Irish Sinead and Scottish Jen both of whom I had gotten to know on the Stray bus and were also heading to Fiji. It seemed daft not to knock about with some familiar faces so we all had a beer before getting on the plane and decided to book ourselves on the same island-hopping package tour when we landed in paradise.

Arriving in Fiji was a little confusing. For one, it was pouring it down with rain. Hardly the weather we were anticipating. We also heard there was a tsunami warning, so that was encouraging too. The Fijian tour guides at the airport were very pushy, trying to get us to take this deal and that deal. We really didn't know what was going on at first, but eventually managed to get booked on a 5 day tour of the Yassawa and Mamucca islands, including accommodation on 3 different islands and a couple of nights stay on a boat.

After struggling to get any money out from the ATM machine, I eventually had to borrow a wad of notes from Sinead to see me through the week. As it turned out, I probably should have borrowed more. Fiji is an expensive place. When we arrived at the hostel Horizon on the main island Nadi, the beer was pricey and tasteless, the food took forever to arrive, the rooms were average and the internet was impossibly slow and cost the earth. Not a great start.

The tour began properly the next morning. It was overcast and drizzly as we got on the bus down to the port. A sick-inducing 5 hour boat ride followed, with one poor girl opposite us violently chundering over the side the whole way. When we eventually arrived at the island of Tavewa in the Yassawas, the bad weather had cleared and the sun was blazing. We were welcomed onto the island by the smiling faces of the Fijian staff at Coral View resort who led us to our digs. Once we were settled in, then the serious business of major relaxation began.

There was nothing much to do on the island other than sit, bake in the sun and swim. Unfortunately for me, I had lost both my sunglasses and even worse, my boardies. So I had to dip in the one of bluest ocean I had ever seen squinting like Mr. Magoo and wearing my thick grey River Island shorts that took forever to dry and weighed me down so much I might as well have been trying to swim in pyjamas.

Food at the resort consisted of set meals at set times, so if you were peckish during the afternoon you were shit out of luck. But that was OK, when dinner was finally served it was worth the wait - there was beer-battered aubergine, some kind of vegetable that's cooked in the ground that I can't remember the name of & something called 'bread fruit'. OK, maybe I'm overselling it by saying it was excellent, but we were all so hungry we would have eaten absolutely anything. Just like on Nadi, the beer and wine served at Coral View was fairly appalling and ludicrously expensive, so after just a couple of post dinner drinks, followed by a spirited performance from the Fijian hotel staff band, I crashed out in my hot mozzie-netted bunk and was asleep by about 9pm.

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Being so early to bed meant getting up at 8am for breakfast on 23 March was no problem. Ever since New Zealand I had got into the habit of getting up early and had really started to enjoy it. That feeling that you're not wasting the day. However, the only problem with Fiji was that once you were up early there was a hell of a long day ahead of you, and by 3pm you were bored shitless. There's only much relaxing I can stomach before I start getting restless. I had the same issue at Thong Nai Pan Yai on Koh Pha Ngan. I can't just sit around for hours, I find it frustrating. I need to go out and explore, but on this tiny island it was rather difficult.

One highlight of the day was getting the boat over to the Blue Lagoon on the opposite island for some snorkeling. This is the famous area where they shot the Brook Shields movie of the same name, and it really is the idyllic paradise island. Beautiful coral, crazy looking fish and plenty of coconuts all about the place...

In the afternoon back on Tavewa I went off exploring and trekked up the mountain (well, hill really) which overlooked the whole island. The walk made me feel like I was in an episode of Lost especially when encountering things like this...

...and I got bitten to smithereens by the bugs as I rummaged through the forest and scrambled up muddy slopes to the top, but it was worth it for the view. I've never felt so far from home.

The evening back at Coral View consisted of dinner, a few games of cards, some limbo and then a lesson in how to do the traditional Fijian "bulla" dance, which to me just seemed like a slightly less cringeworthy version of the maccerana. But I gave it a bash nevertheless.

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24 March - After a "candi sausage" lunch (nope, me neither) we transferred to the Wana Taki cruise boat where we were to spend 2 days at sea docked near various islands. This was the longest I'd gone without internet since my world tour began, and it was beginning to do my head in. Facebook and email were my windows to the world and I was frustrated not to be able to connect with CB back in Oz. Trying to remain positive I spent most of time swimming, kayaking and playing guitar during the day and watching jittery pirate DVDs in the 24-bunk dorm in the evening. I also took some excellent pictures to contribute to Matt Davey's Great Big Book of Sunsets...

At night it rained and the ceiling leaked onto my bed.

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26 March - Awoken early by what sounded like a Japanese man playing the ukulele and singing over the boat's Tanoy system ("wake up everyone, now is the time to go peepee!"). At first I thought it was a member of the boat staff, but later I realised it may have been a bizarre Fijian radio station.

We took a connecting boat to South Sea island around lunchtime. This is the smallest Fijian island of all, it's so tiny that you can walk around the whole thing in 7 minutes.

After settling in and taking a few photos, it wasn't long before the sun was coming down and I was sat on the beach enjoying a cold beer. Dinner and drinks followed, and by about 9 O'clock I was having a ukulele jam with the island's diving instructor. A fitting end to my week of island hopping.

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27 March - Caught the boat back to the main island Nadi and was relieved to finally get back online, not only to Skype CB but also to sort out my Visa for the U.S. which was starting to cause me some mild panic as I was due in Los Angeles the next day. I stayed at Horizon again in a room which had frogs and ants outside but a very good shower. I left my travel companions Sinead and Jen for the day as they went off to explore one additional island, and I kicked about the hostel trying not to spend too much money. Sitting in the bar I got chatting to a pervy egotistical 42 year old Canadian "helicopter pilot" (yeah right) who said he only comes to the bar on a Fridays because "that's when the fresh pussy arrives".

I do hope I never end up like him.

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Watching:
Slumdog Millionaire - as excellent as everyone says it is.
The Express - decent biopic of black American football player Ernie Davis in the 1950s. I fell asleep and missed the end, but I'm told he died of leukemia aged 23. Not exactly a happy ending then.
Iron Man - f-ing ace! The best Marvel film yet in my opinion. Finally a superhero flick with some humour. Thank you Robert Downey Jr and John Favreau.

Reading:
Pig City by Andrew Stafford - excellent account of the Brisbane music scene

Listening:
The Saints 'Know Your Product'
The Go-Betweens 'Draining The Pool For You'
Loads of Rocket From the Crypt
Elvis Costello - My Aim Is True ('Welcome to the Working Week', 'The Angels Want to Wear My Red Shoes' - what tunes!)
Santogold
TV on the Radio
Vampire Weekend
Elliott Smith - Figure 8
The Modern Lovers 'Road Runner'
Jonathan Richman 'New Kind of Neighbourhood'
David Crosby - If Only I Could Remember My Own Name

You Say Goodbye and I Say Hello

2009-11-22T04:41:00.001-08:00

12/13 March 2009 - NZ: The End of the Road (Sort Of).

On Thu 12th March myself and Helena bid farewell to our friends Fink, Sarah and Bert and got on the early morning bus from Queenstown to Christchurch.

I only had a couple of days before catching my flight to Brisbane, so I didn't do all that much except potter really. Visited some tasty little craft markets selling jade and wood carvings, played table football in the Base hostel, ate some half decent cheap Thai food and went to an excellent and uber-inspiring Rita Angus exhibition at the Christchurch Art Gallery.

Helena left on Fri 13th to fly to Auckland and then continue on her travels into S.E. Asia. It was sad to see her go, she had become a great friend and one of a handful of people I knew I'd stay in contact with once this whole Round the World adventure was done. New Zealand wouldn't have been the same without the H-Bomber.

Later that afternoon I got a message from Bert that he had arrived in town, so we met up for a pizza and set out to find a karaoke bar. Along the way we bumped into Sinead, Elaine and Rachel three Dubliners who had been on the Stray bus with us throughout the North Island. They'd gone their own way in a hire car from Abel Tasman onwards, so there was plenty to catch up on and we sunk a few in the hostel before heading out.

I needed to get up at 4am for my Brisbane flight, so was intent on having a fairly quiet one. Predictably that soon went out of the window and by 1am I was still in the bar singing Kinks tunes and riding a bucking bronco (not at the same time, sadly).

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14 -19 March 2009 - Back to Brisbane, Australia

And so in the very early hours of Sat 14th March I returned to the big island of Australia to spend 5 glorious days in Brisbane with CB. On the plane over I was happy as a pig in shit. I had had an amazing 3 weeks in what was now one of my favourite countries, I had investigated a possible job opportunity back home which looked likely for May and now I was about to be met at the airport by someone that tied my stomach in knots in the best possible way. Wonderful.

Over the 5 days hanging out in Bris my favourite bits were going to a tribal-themed birthday party, eating dinner at nana and pop Burge's place, playing Cranium at Sam and Ines, driving up the Gold Coast to Ettamogah Pub, and standing on top of Mount Coo-Tha at night overlooking the city, talking about plans, schemes and dreams.

As for the rest of it, you can mind your own business. But here's some pics...

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Listening:
Sugar 'If I Could Change Your Mind'
Sigur Ros 'Takk'
Bon Iver 'Wolves'
Bill Hicks 'Australia'
Chris Bell 'You And Your Sister'
The Kin 'Rise and Fall'
David Gray 'A New Day at Midnight'

Watched:
The Biggest Loser
Megadeth VH1 Behind the Music
Summer Heights High
I'm Not There (overrated Dylan movie)
Watchmen (looks beautiful but a bit too much weird glowing blue cock for my liking. The comic was much better)
Lars and the Real Girl (disappointing)
Chasing Liberty (sappy fun)

One Giant Leap

2009-10-29T13:04:00.000-07:00

10/11 March 2009

Back on the road on Tue morning bright and early, we passed briefly through the town of Wanaka for lunch and then on to Queenstown - the adventure capital of New Zealand.

Just outside the town, we stopped at Kawarau Bridge where bungy jumping as we know it was developed by AJ Hackett and Henry van Asch back in the 80's. Standing there watching people throw themselves off the 43 metre bridge made my stomach turn. Initially I had no desire to get involved, but after some goading from friends I eventually figured that a NZ trip wouldn't be complete without having a go this other cack-your-pants scary activity.

With a deep breath I signed my name, paid my money and booked myself in for the next morning. Not at Kawarau bridge though. I went for the big jump instead. The Nevis. 134m. Don't believe me? Check this out, and note the fear in my eyes just before I shuffle over to the platform...

With another major personal achievement to boast of, I spent the rest of the day unwinding in the Irish pub Pog Mahone, drinking Kilkenny and playing Shithead (it's a card game not somesort of perversion) with Fink, Helena, Bert, German Sarah, and American Adam. The forfeit for losing the game (which I so often did) was eating a neat blob of Vegemite, a challenge I surprisingly found even more vomit-enducing than a 134m jump out a cable car.

The evening saw more more drinking at the Alpine Bar followed by a late night dinner at Fergburger, a Queenstown institution open 21 hours a day and serving some of the biggest and best hamburgers you're ever likely to eat. With names such as the Tropical Swine and the Bun Laden, who could resist. Good luck if you think you can handle the Big Al though.

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Easy Like Monday Morning

2009-10-26T12:54:00.000-07:00

Mon 9th March 2009 - NZ South Island

After a big night in the pub (topped off with an hour's worth of drunken Facebook chat in the computer room with friends and casual acquaintances back home), I woke up on the 9th and stumbled onto the little orange bus around 8am. We set off towards Makarora, passing through Fox Glacier and a place called Haast on the way. To be honest, I remember little or nothing about either of these destinations, and my scribbled hungover travel notes do not-a-lot to jog my fading memory. This probably indicates that I slept most of the journey, nursing a hangover with my grey hoodie pulled over my head and Ryan Adams' Cardiology caressing my ear drums and nursing me back to health.

Around lunchtime we stopped at Lake Matheson, famous for its reflected views of Mount Cook and Mount Tasman. Unfortunately the slightly drab weather meant the lake wasn't quite doing its best reflecting today, but the scenery was no less stunning and the stroll around was certainly welcome after a few hours on the bus. We also visited a waterfall (the name of which escapes me) that we were told would give us some kind of trippy mind-altering 'magic eye' type experience if we stared at it for 20 minutes. Again, I must confess this didn't really work for me, and in fact I gave up after 10. But it was a nice looking visual burst of watery loveliness nonetheless.

Makarora is a small community running parallel with the Makarora river and surrounded - as are so many places on the South Island - by rolling green hills and dramatic mountainous landscapes. It is, as you would imagine, rather beautiful.

Once arrived I had to opt out of the expensive activities of jetboating and helicoptering (is that a word?), not just because of the potential expense but because I had to spend most of the afternoon attempting to contact my credit card company in England to find out why my card had been declined. It turned out that Qantas had not yet accepted my booking to Brisbane because of this problem, which caused me no end of panic.

To cut a long story short it was a big f**k-up on their part and I managed to get it all sorted out just in time for a fish supper and pint of beer to ease my way into the evening. Over grub I had a nice chat with two old retired Welsh ladies who had joined our stray bus at the last stop. Both were pushing 65 but were terribly sweet and delighted in telling me all about the jetboating they'd just spent the afternoon enjoying. "Ooh, we went ever so fast! It was wonderful!", they said. What a pair of silver-haired adventurers they were.

The night time's fun came courtesy of a decent karaoke jam. I managed to destroy 'Our House' by Madness and at least two Lionel Richie songs, but I'm happy to deviate from my usual blend of self-deprecating modesty to admit that even my poor performances were in a different league to some of the efforts displayed by my Dutch and German friends. When picking a song to sing surely it's necessary to at least know some of the tune, even if you don't know all the words?! One guy Marc just saw the name Robbie Williams in the songbook and then when it came to his turn spent 3 minutes jumping up and down on the spot whilst waving the microphone in the air, occasionally shouting "Woo hoo! Yah!" and getting progressively red-faced like a child after too many Smarties. I think the song was Let Me Entertain You, and he certainly obliged.

After the karaoke we gathered round the pub's 1970s out-of-tune upright piano for a more old fashioned sing-song. A few of us could play so Helena blasted through a bit of Ben E. King's Stand By Me and I delivered the few tunes I can remember off the top of my head when drunk - 'Hit the Road Jack' by Ray Charles, 'The Scientist' by Coldplay and 'Wave' by Antonio Carlos Jobin. Unfortunately, as I soon found out, only the first of those three songs is a crowd pleasing selection for a 2am pub sing-along.

Note to self: must learn a few more Beatles' numbers.

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Cold Chisel

2009-10-22T11:52:00.000-07:00

Sun 8th March 2009 - NZ South Island

Woke up about 6am for my hike up Franz Josef.

I'd opted for the full day hike which was going take at least six hours and I was a bit concerned that my dickey knee was going to play up. For some reason my left kneecap goes a bit funny when walking steep slopes downhill and had suffered a bit towards the end of the Tongariro crossing. However, I hoped for the best and soldiered on regardless, getting kitted out in full climbing gear including thermals, large insulated jacket and trousers, beanie, woolen socks and huge boots with crampons (metal ice spikes!).

The glacier looks very intimidating from the bottom, but strangely beautiful with its icy blue glow and cloud covered peak.

We separated out into 5 groups led by 5 different guides. To volunteer for Group 1 you had to be confident that you were a fit-as-a-fiddle young buck, capable of pegging it up the ice quick as a flash, and chiseling away fresh manmade steps with a pick axe along the way. To qualify for Group 5 however, you could afford to be considerably less agile. There was obviously a sliding scale of fitness and laziness in-between, so with my dickey knee I played it safe and opted for Group 4. That was until they told us they had too many people, and asked if anyone would mind being relegated to join the real slowcoaches. I obliged and took my place alongside the lemons at the back (I am of course just being jocular and light-hearted, Group 5 were not really lemons, they were all nice people. Just very s-l-o-w).

The climb up was great fun, squeezing through icy passages (now, now) and breathing in the fresh glacial air. But when we reached out summit after a few hours of trekking, the heavens opened and the walk down was not an enjoyable experience. It was hideously cold and uncomfortable and with the slow kids in tow it seemed to take forever. By the time we made it down (the last ones on the bus) I was literally soaked through to the bone and so was everything in my backpack. Mercifully my camera was safe, but I wish the same could have been said for my ham sandwiches.

Back at the hostel by early afternoon, I was soggy, wet and miserable. In order to bring myself back to life, I parted with a few dollars and went down to the Glacier Hot Pools. My God, I tell you, that's some way to relax after climbing one of the South Island's biggest lumps of ice. 40 degree heated outdoor bathes surrounded by rain forest. Fricking magic.

One thing I decided whilst in Franz Josef was that following the end of my Stray trip (due to finish in Christchurch on 13th March), I was going to make a rather large detour in my planned schedule and go back to Australia for one week to visit C.B.

A rather frivolous decision, but one that was nevertheless immensely exciting. I somehow knew it was the right thing to do, even if it did cost me an extra few hundred dollars and meant delaying my flight to Fiji. I got online and via a painful half hour of bad Skype connections, managed to speak to Qantas and sort it. I would be in the Land of Oz again by 14th March.

I was excited and C.B. was thrilled too. The weeks in New Zealand had without doubt been great fun, but they had also remained somewhat bittersweet considering the time I had spent in Brisbane and what (or more appropriately who) I had left behind. I had to go back there, just for a little while longer. It might not have made sense to everyone, but it made sense to me. Still does.

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Lipstick, powder and paint.

2009-10-21T12:11:00.000-07:00

Fri 6 March 2009 - NZ South Island adventures cont.

Another rainy day. We left Abel Tasman and pegged it down to a place called Barrytown via a brief stop at the famous Punakaiki "pancake rocks" on the way. Don't ask me the geological whys and wherefores, but they looked ace...

When we arrived at the grotty little sticky floored boozer/hostel where we were to stay in Barrytown we were told by Mambo (looking more and more to me like a bespectacled version of Glen Kotche, drummer from Wilco) that the main reason for the night's stopover was so that our group (which now featured a few new members) could "bond". This basically meant getting right royally drunk and having a cross dressing party. Really.

Everyone dived into the dressing up box and got involved, but with mixed results...

As you can see most of the blokes in dresses looked like, well, blokes in dresses, and H managed to pull off a pretty solid Jack Sparrow. As for myself, I usually don't take much persuading to get a dress on. I've done it 3 times in my life (I'm talking fancy dress parties here, not my own private moments!), but this time I decided to go the whole hog. I shocked most of the group by shaving off what little whispy chin fluff I had been cultivating for the last few weeks, slicking down the barnet, shovelling on the slap, and donning a rather fetching evening gown which made me look like some sort of hideous cross between Jamie Lee Curtis and Liza Minnelli. I even found some clip-on earrings which despite hurting the hell out of my 'lobes, I became quite attached to.

Now, I've made a considerable effort to try and keep any photos of me as a lady off the electrical interweb, but in a shocking u-turn I shall share this one and this one only...

...and that's all folks! (thank god).

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The next day (7 March 2009) we were thankfully allowed to sleep in to midday before piling back on the bus and heading further south. We were heading towards Franz Josef glacier but stopped at a place called The Bushman's Centre on the way.

This was a tiny curious museum/sort-of-farm I guess in the "wild west" of the South Island containing frogs, eels, possums and a pig. There were also stuffed ferrets...

...and a very welcoming but pleasingly to-the-point sign at the door...

The owner Pete was a straight talking Kiwi man's man, aged about 50-ish, short and stout with a greying beard. He played us a documentary video which detailed his former profession back in the 70s and 80s: capturing wild red deer by jumping out of helicopters. Yep.

Before pressing play, Pete told us in his dry Kiwi brogue:

"Now, listen up. This film does feature some footage of animals getting shot. But may I remind you that this is the Bush Centre, NOT Pete's Lentil Farm. If you want to watch bean sprouts being grown you're in the wrong place. If you've grown up in a big box of cotton wool and you get upset by watching a few deer getting tipped then you'll just have to put up with it."

How excellent is Pete!?

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We arrived at Franz Josef by the late afternoon and I booked myself on a full day's climb up the glacier starting 7am the next morning.

Washing. Beer. Bed.

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Goggles on, chocks away.

2009-10-19T13:45:00.000-07:00

5 March 2009 - Abel Tasman National Park

We were staying at somewhere called Old MacDonald's Farm in Abel Tasman. Beautiful picturesque coastline surrounded us, and we were told by the locals that when the weather is good this place can be pretty close to paradise.

On the morning of 5 March 2009, however, the weather was not so hot. The skies looked as grey, overcast and drizzly as one would typically expect to see looking out the window back home in Essex.

I was so relieved.

You see readers, on the way to our digs the day before I had got a little over excited when they passed the clipboard round the bus and in a moment of bravery/lunacy had signed myself up to jump 12,000 out of an aeroplane at 10am the next morning.

Gulp.

All night I was completely bricking it, but when I awoke and glanced at those miserable skies, I breathed a massive sigh of relief and assumed the jump would be cancelled. I remembered how some fellow backpackers had had their jumps cancelled in Taupo due to this sort of poor visibility. So I threw on a hoodie, jeans and raggedy Converse then ambled casually over to the meeting point just to make sure.

Me: "Hey Mambo, so I guess it's all off today then? Nevermind."

Mambo: "No, no. We're still doing it. In fact you're late, better get in the minibus now, the rest of the group are waiting for you."

Me: "Shit."

As I got on the bus and sat next to Helena I realised my own extreme fear was easily eclipsed by hers as she suddenly burst into tears! This was intense. I felt awful for her, especially as I had sort of convinced H into joining me on the skydive in the first place! But she quickly got it together, and we both sat in silence mentally preparing for an experience that was likely to be one of the most terrifying of both our lives.

When we got to the jump spot, I'd imagined we'd get a good hour's worth of training before we got put on the plane. I was wrong. We were kitted out in our jump suits, strapped up and briefly introduced to our respective instructors (with whom we would all be entrusting our lives) and went up-diddly-up-up in what looked like the world's smallest aircraft within about 20 minutes!

In the tiny crammed plane were me, H, our two instructors and two camera men who would jump out just before us and take video and stills of our gurning faces as we plummeted to the earth. My instructor was called Tom. A nice man, certainly, but he didn't inspire much confidence when I asked him how many jumps he'd done before as an instructor and he replied "Four".

Four!? I was expecting him to say hundreds!! I was really really nervous now. I turned my head away from Tom, and felt a chill go down my spine. Sensing my unease, Tom added, "Only joking, I've done four thousand!".

Oh Tom, you are a one!

I looked over at Helena who was fighting back the tears and gave her a little nod to say she'd be ok. This seemed to reassure her, although little did she realise that my mental state was no better than hers. Within 5 or 10 minutes, we'd reached 12,000 feet and our time had come.

H went first. The door of the aircraft opened her instructor shuffled them both over to edge on their bums. As she disappeared out of the door screaming, I could hear my photographer describing to Tom exactly how he was going to film us on the way down and what the protocol was when we landed. This seemed like a strange thing to have to explain to an expert that had already done four thousand of these jumps before. Then it occurred to me: Shit, maybe he was only lying to put my mind at ease! Maybe he had only done four jumps!! Did I really want to entrust my life in the hands of a relatively novice instructor!? Well it was too late now, before I could say anything we were shuffling over to the edge and it was time to dive into the still cloudy morning sky. Tom whispered to me, "It's raining a little out there, so you might feel a bit of stinging on your face". Oh God, this was getting worse.

We sat on the edge and I was told to go "like a banana" and face the sky with my head up and my legs curled underneath the plane.

I have honestly never been so terrified in my entire life.

They counted 1-2-3 and we were gone..........................................

The first 3 or 4 seconds were the scariest but also in a way the most familiar as we tumbled towards the ground and I got that same feeling of acceleration and "drop" in my stomach that you get when you go on a really big rollacoaster. However as soon as Tom stabilised us and tapped me on the shoulder to open out my arms, the whole thing changed. It was as if my body and mind just adjusted to what was going on and within a moment the scariest experience of my life had turned into the most thrilling and unique thing I've ever done.

I was freefalling through the clouds for a total of 45 seconds but it only felt like about 10. The whole thing was magic. There's not really anything with which I could compare it. It's unlike anything else you're ever likely to do in your life. It really is unbelievable.

I was told that if I shouted (NOTE: shouted, not screamed) on my way down I'd be able to catch my breath properly. As you can see from these photos I more than obliged.

As soon as the parachute opened, I actually found that bit more uncomfortable than the freefall. At least with the freefall you know that the parachute is going to (hopefully) open and you'll be ok. But once the parachute was open I realised that if I was to somehow slip through the straps I was a goner (not that that was likely to happen but the mind plays tricks when you're thousands of feet in the air). Tom starting spinning to get us through the clouds and that really started to make me feel sick. That old familiar "rollercoaster stomach" feeling returned as we glided in large circles and the ground approached faster and faster. I was convinced I wouldn't be able to lift my not-very-supple gangly limbs up high enough to pull off the landing properly and I'd end up doing a Janet Ellis and breaking my legs, but it was a piece of piss. We landed gently on our arses and the immediate feeling was that of utter exhaustion. It was difficult to process what had just happened. I got to my feet and stumbled around like a drunk uncle at a wedding, just as H (reacting in the complete opposite way) came bounding over, shouting in her Swedish accent "Woooo hooo, I was flying!!!!"

We did it. It was mega. The Facebookers back home weren't gonna believe this.

I turned to Tom, shook his hand and thanked him so much for getting me down alive. Then just before I walked away to rest my legs and collect my commemorative certificate I looked my trusted instructor in the eyes and said, "So come on Tom, how many jumps have you actually done? Truthfully please."

"Four", he replied.

Git.

---

Reading:

W.J. Peasley 'The Last of the Nomads'
Erlend Loe 'Niave. Super'

Give It Some Wellie!

2009-10-14T13:39:00.000-07:00

3 March 2009

Took the bus to Wellington, stopping at a couple of towns along the way, one (Ohakune) that contained a statue of a giant carrot and another (Taihape) that boasted a giant gumboot. Taihape is apparently famous for being the gumboot-throwing capital of New Zealand, so we all had a go. As you'd expect it wasn't a sport (if you can call it that) in which I excelled. In fact, I was f-ing rubbish and being the sole representative for England I managed to quietly disgrace my country with the most feeble throw of all time. I mistimed the spin/throw combination and the wellie went West, straight into the side fence.

---

The name of the last town we stopped at before getting to Wellington was Bulls. A quaint place, Bulls is notable for its enthusiastic use of puns. All the shops and locals seem to get involved. It really was quite unbelieva-bull. Although some were better than others. For instance...

...is rather cool. But...

...is very silly indeed.

It was mad visiting all these crazy little towns throughout NZ. I often wondered what sort of life you would lead if you lived somewhere like Bulls all year round. Pretty quiet I'd imagine. Although if it were me, I'd probably just end up spending most of my time talking shit on Facebook, drinking, listening to music by over-sensitive American singer/songwriters and eating cheese sandwiches much like I do in London.

When we arrived in Wellington, we checked into a hostel, visited Te Papa museum to see a colossal giant squid, ate some thai food, and then drunk a few shots in the bar with Seagull. For many of us who were heading to the South Island the next day it was our last chance to raise a glass with our much-loved scrawny Dave Gorman lookalike driver/tour guide, who was heading back to auckland to pick up a load more Stray cats.

We all hit it fairly hard, but managed to crash out at around 2am as we had to be up at 6.30am to catch the bus. However, at 4am some joker set off the fire alarm in the hostel, so dozens of us were forced to leave our bunks and stand on the pavement outside. Half asleep, half drunk, and feeling like hell on earth.

Fun fun fun.

---

New Zealand, South Island

4 March 2009

Caught the ferry from Wellington to Picton on the South Island.

(Obviously that's not the ferry but it's the only photo I had of New Zealand's capital that was worth using. Nice enough place, mind.)

On the way over H taught me how to sing the theme tune to Chip and Dale Rescue Rangers in Swedish (phonetically and without any regard for the correct spelling it goes "Ee cormai piff and puff, ear pas bron! Ee cormai piff and puff, vadee gonoo!!" Good isn't it? Come and see me in England and I'll sing you the whole thing).

Our South Island bus journey began on a much smaller and orangey coloured bus driven by our new leader Mambo. Another top bloke Mambo, very different vibes to Seagull, but no less of a gent. And yes, they've all got those zany nicknames. It's their thing.

Plenty of new folk on the bus, which was now about 70% Dutch. There was also some characters from England (Brummies Doug and Russell who shared an appreciation for Neil Young), Belgium (Bert who looked like an 18th Century composer) and Irish (Finton from County Clare who snored like a bastard and always had a deck of cards up his sleeve). More of them later.

From Picton we travelled to Nelson for wine tasting, and then from Nelson to Abel Tasman National Park where it was pissing down with rain and I ate mussels off the BBQ for (I think) the very first time. Slippery little suckers, ain't they? Can't say I was over keen...

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Rotten Eggs and No Style + The Walk of Life

2009-10-13T12:17:00.000-07:00

Sun 1 March 2009

Next stop was Rotorua which, according to everyone that goes there, has a very distinct "rotten eggs" aroma, caused by the geothermal activity releasing sulphur compounds into the atmosphere (thank you Wikipedia). Made no difference to me of course, what with me being only blessed with four senses rather than the standard five. No honestly, I can't smell, I've done the tests at the doctors and everything. If gas was leaking into the room right now I'd be none the wiser and up until the age of about 15 I thought that farts were urban myths, they didn't really exist, and everyone was just pretending.

But I digress, back to Rotorua. We were only there for a couple of hours, just long enough for a spot of lunch, a brief gawp at some hot mud pools and then a quick accidental visit to a kiwi gospel church in full Sunday service swing. Me and H were walking down the street when we heard a band playing so poked our heads in to investigate. We didn't know the building was a place of worship, and before we knew it we'd been led to the second row from the front, told to remove out hats and had our hands shaken by all the church regulars who welcomed us to their group. Now, I'm not knocking those that partake in a spot of God bothering, but something about this place just felt a little culty and odd for my own preferred blend of bland agnosticism. It didn't feel joyous and uplifting, it just felt a little, well, weird. Even H thought felt uncomfortable and she's a church goer herself back in Sweden. We both decided to leg it after the first few minutes of intense preaching and head back to the bus.

Once on the move we passed through Hakka falls (big ass waterfalls and more hot mud pools)...

...and ended up in Taupo, home of Lake Taupo (the world's largest crater lake don't you know) and a popular spot for one of of New Zealand's main backpacking activities, The Sky Dive.

Now I've never really been one for the adrenaline junkie vibes, but ever since I saw the photos of my friend Jake Bailey's skydive on Facebook when I was in Thailand and he was in NZ, I started to get really excited about the idea of doing it myself. If only because my family and friends would be gobsmacked that I had the cojones to go through with it.

Anyway, I was all ready to do it, but then I found out that they only offered a video and no mid air action photos for me to show off on Facebook. So I put it off for now. Or you could say bottled it. Delete as appropriate.

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On Monday 2 March 2009 I did a 7 hour trek/walk/hike/tramp/whatever-you-want-to-call-it called the Tongariro Alpine Crossing. It was hands down the best walk I have ever done in my life. The scenery was just out of this world. Huge lunar-esque landscapes, vast red volcanic craters, huge mist covered mountaintops. It was awesome in the truest sense of the word. I took these shots, but I'm not sure they even capture the half of it...

Apparently one of the mountains we passed was actually Mount Doom from The Lord of the Rings films, but buggered if I knew which one. They all looked a bit doomy to me.

At night we all stayed at a ski lodge dorm with huge bay windows and an open fire. A perfect place to rest the weary feet of a knackered backpacker.

An truly exceptional day without a shadow of a doubt.

---

Sweet As

2009-10-12T12:02:00.000-07:00

NZ (North Island) - 27 Feb 2009

Early start back on the bus on the morning of 27 Feb to leave Hahei. The night before had been pretty good, but fairly quiet. I was still on antibiotics for a persistant bad throat so didn't glug any booze. I was in a bunk underneath a posh kid called Will who claimed the dorms reminded him of Army cadet barracks at Sandringham or something. Nice guy, but he moved about a lot so I was forced to stuff my iPod headphones in and listen to Motown compilations all night, which to be fair is no bad thing. Bucketloads of Temps and big dollops of Smokey.

The bus was heading to our next overnight stop of Raglan, but on the way we passed through a town called Hamilton where we were told we could visit a statue of a a transvestite. This was sort of true, as it was actually a statue of Richard O'Brien in full Rock Horror garb, erected as a tribute to the chrome-domed former Chrystal Maze host because he used to work in a barbers in the town throughout the early 60s. I imagine it must be very frustrating being a hairdresser when you're bald as a coot, don't you think? Anyway It was in this town that O'Brien had come up with the idea for the Rocky Horror Show. All very well and good, but why did someone have to stick a condom on his finger?

Another notable highlight of Hamilton was a public toilet that talks to you and plays muzak versions of Bacharach tunes whilst you're taking a plop. Which was nice. Ooh, and by the way, according to Seagull, 1 in 4 people that live in Hamilton have got Chlamydia. So maybe Richard O'Brien had the right idea.

We were now into the second day of the trip, and gradually a few more characters on the bus were revealing themselves. There was Jacob the German (mentioned briefly in the last blog) who asked me three times what Stray pass I had booked and then - bizarrely - kept going on about how funny it was that some children were given weird names like 'Wesley', even though no-one brought the topic up or even engaged him in this conversation. Strange bloke. Then there was fellow Germans Kevin and Andreas, English girls Rachael and Emma, and a guy called Jan who looked like a Dutch version of a bloke called Martin that I used to work with years ago. (I don't expect that fact to mean much to any of you readers, but I mention it simply because Jan was one of the many people I met throughout my world tour that were spitting images of former work colleagues. In the Red Centre of Australia I met the Turkish version of Keith Wozencroft and in Auckland I met the gay Aussie version of Andy Day! Honestly it was uncanny!!! Ok, I sense I'm playing to a small audience here. I'll move on...).

Our accomodation in Raglan was based up in the forest near Whale Bay. The only real source of entertainment was a 'flying fox' zipline on which we all had a bash on and enjoyed thoroughly. Well, all of us except for one girl (Rachel) who was so scared of having a swing that her friends kindly picked her up and forced her on it, leading to her let go too early, fall off and smash her only pair of prescription glasses into bits. She had to wear her prescription sunglasses for the rest of the trip. Poor thing. You mustn't laugh, but...

A few of us also went off for a lark down by the rocks at the beach, where we inhaled the sea air and took outrageously vain photos of each other posing and looking moody like so...

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28 Feb 2009

Took the bus from Raglan to Maketu, stopping briefly at lunchtime to take in the glowworm caves of a very rainy Waitomo. The caves were not as exciting as we hoped. However, afterwards we got to watch a huge fat white rabbit being tied down and sheared of it's white fluff, which was far less cruel and far more comical than one might expect.

At Maketu we stayed at the home of a Maori gent named Uncle Boy, who along with his family and staff cooked us dinner and taught us all traditional Maori dances. We were told Uncle Boy was 70+ years old and "happily married" with a bunch of grown-up offspring. However, when asked by one of us why his wife wasn't joining us at dinner he said that she'd gone off travelling 4 and a half years ago and hadn't come back yet! Classic.

Anyway, the girls got taught some sort of lame Poi dance and all the boys got taught the far more appealing Hakka. This is the traditional Kiwi war dance thingy, which i'm sure appears very scary and intimidating when performed by ancient Maori warriors and the All Blacks rugby team, but looks faintly ridiculous when performed by the likes of scrawny Englishman and pasty overweight Dutch. We also got taught the traditional Hongi greeting which involved bowing and touching noses with our Maori hosts. Sounds fairly innocuous, but it felt a little awkward when it came to the old granny of the house. For a minute I thought I was going to panic, lean in too far and end up headbutting her or kissing her face. I kept it together though.

All in all a top night. Everyone drunk loads of cheap wine, the guitars came out, and we all crashed out around 2am sleeping in one big barn of a room. Check it out...

Only bad thing about today was when we went round the room asking everyone's age and I realised I was the oldest bloke on the bus.

Shit.

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Listening:

Supergrass 'Tales of Endurance (Parts 4, 5 & 6)' (Near-forgotten latter-day 'Grass masterpiece from Road to Rouen. More of these please chaps)
Smokey Robinson 'Tracks of my Tears'
Marvin/Tammi 'You're All I Need'
The Cardinals 'Freeway to the Canyon'
Coldplay 'Life in Technicolour Part II'
Sugar 'If I Can't Change Your Mind'

Stray Cats

2009-10-10T03:57:00.000-07:00

New Zealand, The North Island - The Tour Begins
26 Feb 2009

So after buying a pair of exceedingly overpriced hiking boots, showing off my Serj picture to a metalhead working in the local burger shop and then having a long conversation with a sexologist called Dave in the hostel, I packed up my bag and left Auckland on 26 Feb to join the Stray bus tour. The plan was to take 3 - 4 weeks travelling down from Auckland stopping at various spots on the North and South islands, ending up in Christchurch.

For those of you who aren't in the know about such things, the Stray buses (much like the Kiwi Experience buses) have drivers who are also tour guides/drinking companions and are able to pre-book accomodation as well as organise various activities as the tour goes along. You can "hop on/hop off", meaning that if you like a particular place you can stay there for an extra few days and book yourself on to the next Stray bus that comes through town. However, from what I could make out most people become friendly with the group they start with and tend to want to stick together throughout.

Our driver's name was Seagull, a gangly, absurdly chilled-out 32 year old Kiwi surf dude with a large beard and vaguely Popeye-esque laugh.

My fellow backpackers were a motley crew. 30% German, 30% Dutch, and the rest made up of Irish, Swedish, American and English. At first the conversation was as slow moving as our lumbering 1973 bus. Everyone kept their cards pretty close to their chests, but with a group this size it always takes a while for people to warm up.

First stop on the journey was Mount Eden (described by Seagull as the only thing worth visiting in Auckland), then on to the Hot Water Beach in the Coromandel Peninsula just north of Auckland (we were heading just a little bit North before we headed South). A Kiwi friend of mine had warned me that the Hot Water Beach would be a little touristy and lame, but I thought it was pretty cool. Digging holes in the beach so that boiling hot springs come up through the sand and burn the soles of your feet. Ok, it doesn't sound that thrilling, but you probably had to be there. Yeah there was a lot of tourists, and it felt more like ticking a box than a great life-changing holiday moment, but it was still a unique experience and it did give us all a chance to mix it up and let our guards down. If you get the right mix of hot springs and sea water, you can have a little bath. See...

My first and best pal on the bus quickly became Helena, a 22 year old former postal worker and generiatric nurse from Uppsala, Sweden with an equal fondness for dancing and scoffing chocolate, as well an excellent knowledge of Simpsons quotes. Helena was on a similar round the world trip to myself, but was doing it in reverse, so had hitchhiked across America before heading down to Oz and NZ, with SE Asia next on her hitlist.

Here is a pic of the H-Bomber...

H said she was a little worried about running out of money before she reached Thailand but I reassured her that she wouldn't need much dosh to sink a few Chang beers and stay in a beachhut when she got there. Giving Thailand tips made me a little nostalgic, and talking about money made me a little nervous. My own savings were also beginning to dribble away too and I still had the bulk of NZ, plus Fiji and USA to go. New Zealand was already revealing itself to be as expensive as Australia, and the main money-drainer looked set to be the activities we were encouraged to sign up for along the way. When we reached our stopover for the night at Hahei beach, a few of us (me, H, Germans Mike and Jacob and fellow Brit Emma) opted out of the $70 kayaking and decided to walk to a spot called Catherdral Cove instead.

It was about halfway through our walk back to the hostel that the outrageous beauty of this country really began to sink in. There was incredible coastline, air as fresh as my lungs have ever breathed and more rolling green hills than you can shake a stick at. It was stunning, one of those moments when you step outside yourself and think, Shitting hell, I'm a lucky bugger. I didn't know it at the time, but I was to have quite a few of those moments in New Zealand. The place is frickin' brilliant. Thank goodness for redundancies, eh?

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NZ Bound

2009-09-24T12:12:00.000-07:00

21 - 25 Feb 2009

And so on 21 Feb, my Oz adventure came to an end (or so I thought, but more of that later).

Even though I'd missed a lot of the Queensland east coast because of monsoon season (flick back to the blog entry entitled Rain to remind yourself of those woes), I still feel that I tackled plenty during my 2 months Down Under. I saw some incredible things, and hung out with some superb people (as well as a fair few ignorant berks, but such is the nature of travelling anywhere). The times with CB ended up amounting to much more than either of us could have anticipated, and that made moving on to New Zealand all the more arduous.

Getting on a plane from Melbourne to Auckland on 21 Feb was one of the hardest things I've had to do. It was astonishingly difficult. But the next 2 months travel was all pre-booked and my lap around the world had to be completed. At the airport plans were made, things were said and tears were shed. I boarded the plane in a somewhat mixed up state of mind, while trying to retain some optimism about the adventures that lay ahead of me.

On the flight I watched Simon Pegg in How To Lose Friends and Alienate People (a disappointing 6/10, even considering the presence of Jeff Bridges and his excellent white hair) and after a few hours kip, and a bit of light reflection, I arrived in Auckland, met at the airport by an old friend and former work associate Gareth O'Connor. A fine gent, here he is...

Round about June last year, just as I was first considering fleeing the EMI nest I confided in Gareth (who worked for the media agency that booked all our advertising) and told him my travel plans. Surprisingly he responded by revealing his own plans to leave England and set up home in Auckland with his kiwi girlfriend. We agreed that if my plan worked out that I would tap him up for a pint in NZ. And so it came to pass, the softly spoken dry humoured Scotsman (now married and with a baby on the way) was kind enough to not only meet me for said pint but also to pick me up from the airport and help me find some lodgings for the night. Top man.

I ended up staying in the Ponsonby area, simply as it was fairly near the city and was local to Gareth. I cannot for the life of me remember the name of the hostel I stayed at, but I do remember noticing a lot of decorative rainbows scattered about the place and then reading in Lonely Planet a few days later that it was the city's premier gay-friendly hostel. Which was a little surprising but alright by me. At least it was clean.

First impression of New Zealand - spacious. Even driving from the airport to the city you got the impression that there was a hell of a lot of New Zealand and not a great deal of people to fill it. Yes it's quite a small country, but Britain is smaller and has roughly 15 times more people. Of the 4 million people that live in New Zealand, over a third of them live in the capital Auckland. Astonishing really.

The air felt clean and fresh and I had gotten myself a good feelin' about this country.

On Sunday 22 Feb I wandered around Ponsonby, did some laundry, skyped CB, and generally pottered as I began thinking about my plans for the next few weeks. I ate lunch at a cafe down the road from my hostel and upon asking for a sandwich with no butter was approached by the middle-aged owner who asked, "Where are you from mate? You sound like Beckham!!". I told him I was from Essex, but that didn't seem to mean much to him. He just kept repeating "Bloody successful that Beckham isn't he?! Bloody successful!!".

Do you know they call convience stores "Dairies" in NZ? How odd.

---

I spent the next few days getting to know Auckland, which I enjoyed even though every local I spoke to said it "wasn't proper New Zealand". It was a nice enough city, but I got the impression that the real good stuff was to come once I'd decided how to explore the rest of the country. I'd considered booking a place on the Kiwi Experience bus but was warned off this by the guy that worked at my hostel with the immortal words "You're not 19 anymore". Instead I opted for the Stray bus which was a little more expensive but had an excellent route travelling down from Auckland right the way down to the South Island, stopping off at some excellent spots on the way.

I was due to join the Stray journey in a few days, so whilst in Auckland I managed to catch up with a few friends. Firstly, my old friend Jemma Spence (now known as Jemma Glancy) who I used to work with at Virgin records years ago and who had returned from London to her native NZ 5 years previous. She had since got married and had just given birth to her first child Lily. Here they are...

I hadn't seen her in a few years, so it was excellent to see Jem. Lily is a very beautiful baby, and kudos to Jemma for giving birth to a 10lb baby naturally with NO DRUGS to help her through. What a superwoman!!

I also caught up with another friend, former work associate (I'm aware that sounds wanky by the way) and all round top kiwi chap Paul McKessar who was kind enough to invite me out to a NZ band showcase. Really great to see Paul and not a bad gig too. A few good bands, a couple of shoddy ones, but the highlight was being introduced to the metal legend Serj Tankian from System of a Down. What an excellent bloke. I was extra chuffed when he said he'd noticed my Frank Zappa t-shirt outside the venue and had admired it from afar!

If you're not familiar with System of a Down, check this out. Or this. OR if you're feeling really fruity, THIS.

And here's a pic of me and Serj...

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Turtles and Voodoo Dolls

2009-09-14T13:17:00.000-07:00

It's Sept 14th, I am typing this from Rupert's place in Maida Vale, North West London where I am crashing for a month. I am still working in London, still plotting, planning and saving. Although quite what for, I don't yet know. I have an idea, but it's not the same idea I had a few months ago. Things have changed. I guess people change. And that's just the way it is.

Anyway, I have some free time this evening, not much on TV, Ru and his girlfriend Hannah are in Berlin, so after eating a Tesco's Curry For One and drinking 3 cans of cheap lager I have decided to have another bash at writing up my Travel Blog.

Rufus Wainwright 'Want One' is currently on the stereo. It's doing a fine job.

It's a funny thing to look back through an old travel diary of notes and write up my thoughts and feelings from 7 months previous. In many ways it seems so long ago. But in the spirit of perseverance, let's crack on...

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18 - 21 Feb 2009

Cassie arrived the morning of Wed 18 Feb for what was intended to be my last 4 days in Oz. We splashed out on our own four walls within a slightly swankier (well, swanky-ish, at least by backpacker standards) hostel in St.Kilda called Cooee.

Excellent area St.Kilda. Essentially it seems to be one main drag called Acland St (not a million miles away from Brunswick St in spirit, but shorter and quainter) packed full of decent bars, restaurants and awesome little shops of both book and cake.

There's also a very old school rickety theme park called Luna Park which mainly contains beautiful old wooden rollercoasters that would have no doubt been considered thrilling in 1973. Totally badass entrance too...

On 19 Feb we visited Brunswick St and the graffiti in Hoosiers Lane, before moving on to dumplings at Cammy's in Chinatown. The evening held the joys of Aussie band (and major C.Burge favourite) Jackson Jackson at the Prince of Wales venue. Genuinely brilliant gig, and I wasn't expecting it to be. Jackson Jackson is the side project of Harry Angus, the trumpet player and co-vocalist in Aussie band The Cat Empire, a band whom at this point had yet to truly tickle my English ears. This was in no small part due to Harry's screechy annoying twang that peppers the early Cat Empire records I'd been played by my enthusiastic new Aussie chums. I'd defy any Englishman worth his salt to listen to The Car Song and not want to kill somebody.

HOWEVER - and it is a big HOWEVER - Jackson Jackson were (and are) superb! Harry's voice seemed to have mutated into an operatic Australian version of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. Shocker. Truly brilliant. An admirable beard he has too. Not so sure about the skimpy black vest though. Sorry, singlet.

After that, the bars in Chapel St were paid a visit, and I was overjoyed to discover a proper old fashioned 60's/70's black-and-white photobooth in full working order outside one of the pubs. You wouldn't believe how hard these things are to find in the UK! To my knowledge there are none left in London anywhere, although I'd love to be proved wrong about that fact (the new replacement digital ones suck arse). We had to have a go, and the 3 shots we got were brilliant. You can't have them though, they're not for the likes of you. You can have this and these instead...

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Fri 20 Feb - spent a pretty much near perfect day knocking about a windy St Kilda beach and pier. There was a black swan on the sand. And then there was an elephant in the room. I was to leave the next day.

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Sat 21 Feb - 8am rise. Silence in the taxi to the airport. A long and astonishingly difficult goodbye.

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A Short Note + The Melbourne Identity

2009-05-01T13:31:00.000-07:00

As most are you are aware, I have long since left the backpacker's trail and have been home in the UK for at least 6 weeks now.

It's 8th June as I write this and I am well and truly back to reality. I have a new job, I'm up to my ears in debt and - for the moment - I am living with my parents in Essex.

Next month I will be 30 years of age.

I work in West London so I commute a total of 4 hours every day. Once at work I sit and stare at a computer screen. At lunch I eat cheese and marmite sandwiches that I have made at home the night before.

At night I sleep alone with only the faintest of memories of distant lands to keep me warm.

Hear those violins?

On the other hand, with the country in the depths of a recession it's churlish to complain about having a job isn't it?! Life's not so bad. I still work in music and have a career (of sorts) that I've been lucky enough to fall back on after pissing about the world for 6 months. Plus the commute isn't so awful. I always get a seat, the shouty nutter woman with the glasses and the blue anorak doesn't seem to get the train much these days and I get a load of reading done.

Recently I'd recommend...

Andrew Collins 'That's Me In The Corner'
William Goldman 'The Big Picture'
Bill Bryson 'The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid'

I failed miserably in my quest to keep on bloggin' when on the road. I had just gotten so far behind, and once in America had little access to cheap internet. So basically, I threw in the towel.

This entry is my attempt to get back in the saddle. If anyone's still listening, I hope enjoy the rest of the tale. Even if you do already sort of know the ending.

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Melbourne - 13 Feb 2009

Booking ahead. There's a thing. If you do it, then you feel safe. You've got somewhere to stay. But what happens if you want to change your plans? Maybe you meet a good bunch of folk on a plane, train or automobile and decide to tag along with them at their digs? Difficult if you've already pre-booked a bunk at Mrs. Miggin's Saucy Saloon on the other side of town. And when you get there it almost always looks grottier than it did on screen at Hostelworld.com.

For Melbourne, I decided to wing it. I pre-booked nothing and arrived at 10pm with just a 20kg backpack and a dream.

Bit of a mistake as it turned out. Melbourne's quite a popular place, and after an hour of trawling round the city poking my head in at least 10 different hostels I still hadn't found anywhere to stay and was beginning to panic. Finally I found a bed at Melbourne City Backpackers and paid nearly $30 to share a room with 9 other people. I winced as I handed over the notes, and tried to concentrate on the fact that out of those 9 people I might make some new friends. Maybe even a pal for life! As the great Craig Finn once put it; you gotta stay positive.

But you can see it coming readers, can't you?

Yes, you guessed it - the night of Fri 13th Feb ended up being one of the most uncomfortable, frustrating and teeth-clenchingly infuriating nights of my life. At 4am, having been deep in dreamland for a good hour or two, I was awoken to the sound of the room being invaded by two large, pissed and heavily tattoed 18 year old cockheads whom spent most of the night shouting at each other, play fighting in their pants, glugging wine, giving each other 'wedgies', dangling their goolies over the heads of fellow sleeping room mates (and taking photos of each other doing it) whilst all the while smoking ridiculously strong weed in our non-ventilated room. It wasn't just tomfoolery, it was pretty agressive. They would wake up sleeping couples in the room who were too intimidated to tell them to fuck off, steal bottles of beer from the few travellers who were actually managing to kip through the racket and occasionally shout out in thick slurred Dublin accents 'This is our fooooking room, alroight?!! Blaaa haa rruuggrrrgh" or something. I'm not sure if they thought I was asleep or not, but I was doing my best to pretend so. I'm not a fan of confrontation at the best of times, and the last thing I needed was this.

By 5am, despite having consumed a good bong's worth of secondary weed smoke, I realised that any attempt at sleep on my part was futile. What's worse I really needed a piss. I HAD to go to the toilet, even if it meant engaging with these idiots. I got up and left the room with haste, ignoring the goons and wearing my best "I'm really quite cross" face. As you'd imagine, this isn't a face that often fools anyone, but in this instance it actually seemed to work! By the time I returned, the lights were off and everyone was in their bunks!

Ha! I rule.

---

The next morning I had to get out. There was no way I could stay in that place another night, so I checked out and tried my luck at the marginally better Discovery hostel (8 bunks per room instead of 10!). I dumped my bag, tried not to think about the fact I was alone on Valentine's Day and spent the rest of the day exploring Melbourne, which is by far my favourite city in Australia. Less showy than Sydney but with more soul. Cool cafes, quirky stores, decent bars, record shops and graffitti too. Go to Brunswick Street in Fitzroy and visit Polyester Books, my favourite bookshop in the world. You'll love it. Go now. Go.

Here's some graffiti. S'nice...

In the evening I'd arranged to have a drink on Chapel street with my mates Eve and Lucy that I'd first met in Laos. They'd just arrived in Oz that day after spending weeks in Thailand and were struggling to cope with the culture shock of having to pay $9 for a beer instead of 60 baht. However both were on top form and after a couple of overpriced beverages they convinced me that I should join them and their friend Erin (hair like Tina Turner, but not really) on a Great Ocean Road trip the next morning.

And so it was. We set off at 10am and had a corking couple of days with 5 of us (including Erin's sister Jess) on one of the world's great drives. We saw incredible ocean views, visited a lighthouse, talked to a kookabura, gawped at koalas in the wild, went camping, drunk Rose, DJ'd in the car and finally on the last day when bored and hungover invented a new game which involved throwing a pair of socks at someone's head in an attempt to knock their hat off. This might not sound much like fun to you, believe me it is.

Unfortunately I didn't get any photos of us playing SockHat, but here's some others of interest...

---

On 17th Feb I returned to Melbourne and booked myself in at a new hostel called Urban Central. This was more expensive and a lot smarter than my previous Melbourne digs, plus as the rooms only contained 4 bunks per dorm I figured I ran a much greater chance of sharing a room with some nice folk instead of gits.

WRONG AGAIN!

As I opened the door of my nice tiny little dorm room, who was sat on the bed grinding up a load of weed for his first joint of the evening in our WINDOWLESS room?! Yep, one of the same two Irish lads from two nights previous!!!! UNBELIEVABLE!!! Turns out him and his mate had been kicked out of City Backpackers for fighting and had just checked into Urban Central that day!! What the hell are the chances of that?!! A completely different hostel right over the other side of town, and I end up sharing a room with them AGAIN!! Total nightmare!

This time round, the kid - let's call him Billy - was relatively sober and didn't actually remember me at all from the other night. I didn't feel it neceassary to remind him, so shook his hand and made polite conversation. I couldn't understand most of what he was saying though, because he had a broken jaw from another fight up the coast a few weeks earlier.

His mate was nowhere to be seen, but turned up in the middle of the night and made himself comfortable in the bunk below me, despite him not actually being booked into our dorm. At 4am the actual occupier of the bottom bunk turned up blind drunk on Bundaberg rum and couldn't understand why there was a tattoed Irishman in his bed. So he had to go through the rigmoral of getting the night staff up to kick him out of the dorm. Two nights sleep ruined by the same two punks. Oh Melbourne, why do you taunt me so!?

An interesting post-script to this story - when I was in Fiji (about 2 months after Melbourne, we'll get to it, don't worry) I had made friends with an Irish girl called Sinead and a Scottish girl called Jen. Both excellent fun people. One day over lunch I was sharing this anecdote about my bad luck, when Sinead piped up...

S: "Broken jaw?! One of them wasn't called Billy, was he?"
M: "Yes! How did you...?"
S: "I know him. I used to live with him in Sydney"
M: "You whaaaat?...!!!!...###!!"

True story.

---

Listening to...

Fleetwood Mac 'Everywhere'
Foo Fighters 'Headwires'
Simon and Garfunkel 'Bridge...'
2 Def Lepard songs I'd rather forget
Oasis 'Stay Young'
Pearl Jam 'Better Man'
Ben E.King 'Stand By Me'
Other assorted power ballads.
Pot luck CD comps made fro Erin and Jess Collins' dad.

NOTE: My spellcheck is not working. Excuse the odd mistake won't you? Thanks ever so.

Return to Sydney

2009-04-13T12:43:00.000-07:00

8 - 12 Feb 2009
After a difficult goodbye at Brisbane airport with CB (we arranged to meet in Melbourne in a few days, but let's not get ahead of ourselves), I caught a flight to Sydney to stay once again with my friends Luke and Freya. It's been said before, but it's worth saying again - these two are quite frankly outstandingly brilliant people and they were kind enough to allow me to make their couch my home for 5 days.

I had a really well-needed quiet week, mostly staying in and saving $$$, catching up on blogging, watching DVDs and occasionally venturing outside for Vietnamese rice paper rolls, the odd gig or a movie. I also ran the length of Bondi Beach a couple of times and attempted some snorkeling but the water was freezing. As it happens this was 2 days before a surfer lost his arm and very nearly his life in a shark attack on Bondi. First one in 80 years apparently. Who knew?!

Boozing was kept to a minimum this week, save for one night out where I met up with Warren and Luke, two characters familiar to regular readers of this blog as they appeared in Bangkok, Viang Vieng, Koh Pha Ngan and Sydney before. Warren's hair had finally gotten under control and Luke had found himself a job, which is a good thing as I think he was about to start selling his body on the street to pay for his daily $5 steak and chips at Scruffy Murphy's.

We got drunk on jugs of headache-enducing Toohey's New and Warren told me he has a Thai girlfriend who cannot understand his thick Northern Irish accent so they communicate by him typing out what he wants to say on into a text message and passing her the mobile phone. This made me laugh out loud.

On my last day in Sydney I forced Luke to take me to Harry's Cafe de Wheels in the ridiculously named area of Woolloomooloo. A famous van that has been selling pies and (what we would call) mushy pees for about 60 years down by the harbour. Apparently it's Angus Young's favourite thing about Sydney and you can't say fairer than that. The pie was delicious.

Here's the other things I saw and heard throughout the week...

Films:
Milk - 7.5/10
Before Sunrise - 8.5/10
Before Sunset - 8/10
The Life and Death Of Peter Sellers - 6.5/10

Tunes:
Nina Simone 'Don't You Pay Them No Mind'
Franco Zeffirelli's Romeo and Juliet 'What Light Through Yonder Window Breaks' (the Balcony Scene, Part 1) - IT WAS ON FREYA'S iPOD, OK?! IT JUST CAME ON!

Art:
Art Gallery Of New South Wales - saw some beautiful 18th and 19th century Aussie landscape stuff, some cool surrealism (James Gleeson) and a intriguing piece called Cadence #1 by an artist called Robert Owen, which I liked not just because the artist shares the same name as Liverpool's King of the Mods.

Gigs/festies:
Laneway festival @ Circular Quays
Spiral Stairs (ex-Pavement) doing Two States was excellent (Pavement reunion soon please). Jay Reatard were (was?) disappointing despite the presence of Flying V's and big hair. The Temper Trap left me cold by overstretching themselves with a poor Bruce cover.

Wolfmother @ Oxford Arts Factory - new line up, billed as White Feather for some reason. Killer riffs, laughable stage wear, great new tunes and 'Woman' thrown out second in the set. You can be snooty about the 'mother but if you liked playing Zep and Sabbath riffs and you could be in a band this fun, you would. Even if the singer is looking more and more like Carrot Top these days.

TV:
Peep Show - Season 5
Underbelly - Season 2

And this...

Rednecked in Byron and Right Back to Bris.

2009-04-13T10:08:00.000-07:00

Thu 29 Jan - Mon 2 Feb 2009
To cap off my last few days in Queensland, Cassie and I hit Dreamworld on the gold coast to pet kangaroos and shit ourselves on rollercoasters (not literally)

After that we headed down with Joel and Tess for a long weekend at Byron Bay.

Byron is a pretty chilled out place. Plenty of backpackers, a few crusties and street musicians and not much to do except swim, eat and drink. So that's all we did - no complaints here!

I made an effort to keep up with my Australian friends in the rough Byron surf (Cassie and Joel are former 'life savers' who both swim like fish) but got smashed around and dragged under by the waves so much until I conceded my skills in the water haven't progressed much further than the level of the Junior Penguins swimming club of Clements Hall that I used to attend when I was 11.

Over 5 days at Byron we hit the beach, danced on tables whilst watching girls with flags painted on their breasts at a place called Cheeky Monkeys, walked to the Most Easterly Point of Mainland Australia (a lighthouse, essentially, but a nice one), and I got a sun burnt neck.

---

Back to Brisbane on Tue 3 Feb for a final 3 days exploring the city and one final big night out in town with CB.

It was on this last night out that we randomly bumped into Ross one of the geordie fellas from my very first night of travelling in Bangkok. With so many backpackers following such a similar route around the globe, bumping into people at various points is not uncommon. We chatted for a bit, reminisced about the whiskey buckets in the Kho San Road and talked about where we'd been and how much money we'd pissed up the wall in Australia. It was only a brief chat, and fairly inconsequential except that afterwards it prompted me to reflect on everything that had happened over the previous 3 months and how my life had changed in such a short space of time.

On 1st Nov 2008, as a novice backpacker still wet behind the ears and very much the perenial singleton, I would never have fathomed that I'd be sat in a bar in Brisbane 3 months later with a beautiful Australian girlfriend. But this was where I found myself. And I couldn't have been happier.

---

NB There are buckets available in the corner if you need them.

---

Films:
Doubt - a real let down for me. Less a film, more an acting competition between Meryl Streep and Phillip Seymour Hoffman.
Footloose - rolling out the classics for the uninitiated. Can't believe they are remaking this with the plastic looking spod from High School Musical.
Step Up - these modern day dance movies just don't have the chops of the 80s ones. Where was the no handed backflip? And is it too much to ask for a chicken race on tractors?!
24 Hour Party People - still brilliant.
Sex and Death 101 - the worst film ever made.

Bands, tunes, albums & ting:
The Presets
The John Butler Trio
Sneaky Sound System
The Kin
Megadeth
David Gray 'White Ladder'

Gigs:
An Horse at the Brisbane Zoo
Juzzie Smith blowing on his harp at the Byron market

Grub:
$2 spag bol from Cheeky Monkeys

Booze:
Hahn Super Dry
Pure Blonde
Bundaberg Rum (not pronounced "Boondaberg")
Jim Beam and coke in a can.
Passion Pop (a bit like Poire Superiour the 99p sparkling wine I used to buy from Asda in Warrington when I was a student. Needs must).

Mo' Brisbane, mo' bloggin'

2009-03-20T01:24:00.000-07:00

Yes, yes I know this is getting silly. A month since my last blog. Plus I am still writing about stuff that happened TWO months ago! Very poor.

BUT. Seeing as my blogging audience is the size of a football team (not even a squad) I don't think there will be many complaints. I'm just going to keep writing this thing for my own personal joy of putting pen to paper. Or finger to plastic key. Anyway, you get the idea.

For the sake of some fresh perspective, the date as I write this is 20th March 2009. I am sitting in the internet room of Base backpackers in Auckland, New Zealand. Not only is my Australia trip over but so too is my New Zealand trip. Tomorrow I fly to the islands of Fiji in the South Pacific which, according to the news reports I have been reading, may or may not be hit by a tsunami anytime soon. So that'll be 'citing.

I have just eaten a surprisingly good pizza in the next door kebab shop and watched about 10 minutes of the wretched American Idol, where some old scrumpet was crucifying MJ's The Way You Make Me Feel as I winced and choked on a mouthful of pepperoni and stringy mozerella.

I am fairly content. I have a book to finish called 'Niave. Super' by Erlend Loe which I am enjoying immensely (thank you Jemma Ballo) and I may drink one beer before the night is over. Just the one beer mind. Money is running low. Very low. My good friends Cathy Credit Card and Oliver Overdraft will have to be called upon in about a week. But that's ok. You only do this once, right?

So how have I spent nearly all my b-b-bread. And what have I spent it on? Let's look through the keyhole...

Brisbane (21 Jan - 28 Jan)
Within hours of arriving back in Brisbane from Fraser Island (or from Hervey Bay more precisely) I was elated to find out that my gig-ticket-blagging skills were still in tip top shape in the Southern Hemisphere when I managed to get on the guestlist to see Neil Young play the Brisbane Entertainment Centre (supported by the greatest live band in the world My Morning Jacket). I thought it might be a tricky gig to get into. Impossible even - sold out show, $150 a ticket, etc. But a couple of crafty emails later (thanks Jamie Sampson, you are a gent), me and Cass were sat watching old Shakey himself storm through Cinnamon Girl with all five members of My Morning Jacket sat next to us. A beautiful thing. The old toad turned in a stonker and MMJ's support set was short and sweet but astounding as ever. Who can resist it when they play this live...

What made the evening even more fun was that after the gig we were stopped by a journalist and photographer from the Queensland Sunday Mail who took a photo of us for the weekend's paper. Just the Events supplement, but still...we must have tickled his fancy. At first I hadn't a clue what was going on, but Cassie seemed to trust them and handed over our names as the middle aged journo in the linen suit and open neck shirt adjusted my hat to a jaunty angle and the photographer snapped away. I protested that the tipped trilby made me look a little camp, but for some reason the journo disagreed and maintained that it was "very James bond". I can't remember any of the Bonds wearing a straw trilby from a Phuket market stall. Not even Bob Holness.

Sure enough, they printed the pic in that weekend's edition of the paper. I haven't scanned it in yet, probably because it's not a great photo of me and I am excruciatingly vain. But if you ever want to see it just pop round to my house when I am back and I'll give you a copy. I've got about 300 of them.

---

On 22 Jan I checked into Bunk backpackers in a cool area of Brisbane called Fortitude Valley and had a pint with a builder named Tony. This was not a particularly exciting day.

In the evening I went for a few spur-of-the-moment drinks at the Down Under bar near the Palace backpackers in the city. The bar was and IS dire (standard backpacker fare, but with added Grease Megamix) but the evening turned out to be rather wonderful. And you can't ask why because I wouldn't tell you anyway, so on your bike.

Checked out of the backpackers at 3am due to the worst snoring in the history of mankind and went to stay at the Burges.

---

23 Jan - The only thing I remember from this day (or night should I say) is going to a Brisbane club called The Alex, affectionately known to locals as The Pit. For any Southend-based readers, The Pit could be compared to TOTS (or Talks as they call it now, I think) at the height of it's wretchedness but with more boozy lads and worse music. However I do remember having an enjoyably long conversation about Machine Head, Megadeth and Slayer with Cassie's brother Joel, which went some way to compensate for the surroundings.

---

Skip to 26 Jan - AUSTRALIA DAY! I'd never heard of Australia day before, but apparently it's something of a big deal. Everyone basically wears corked hats and celebrates being, yep you guessed it, Australian. I got in the spirit and donned an Australian flag towel and ate kangaroo steaks all day whilst listening to Triple J's Hottest 100 countdown of the year (ask an Aussie) and sipping sangria in the pool. Tough one.

---

27 Jan - I went to the local shopping mall in Bris and nearly bought a t-shirt featuring a picture of Erika Eleniak from the original series of Baywatch on the front. Then realised it was a bit childish so decided against it and purchased a Spider Man T-shirt and a Chewbacca t-shirt instead.

On the drive back from the mall we spotted a man power-walking down the street in blue dungarees. I was informed by Cass that he is a bit of a local character with OCD who feels compelled to strut 3 hours from the suburb of Cleveland to Brisbane city every day in the same clothes. If he doesn't do it then his family will turn into jelly and planes will fall out of the sky onto his head or something. Apparently there's been documentaries about him and everything. Huh.

In the evening, accompanied by Cassie and a visiting Luke Bevs from Sydney I went to watch Ryan Adams and the Cardinals play an sublime gig at the Brisbane Tivoli. Kudos to Bevo for the ticket shout too. And double kudos to Neil Casal - 'Freeway to the Canyon' is my new favourite song in the world (currently tied with Jackson Browne's 'Late For The Sky').

I also thought a lot on this day about how much I miss Red Leicester cheese.

---

28 Jan - Visited Queensland Gallery of Modern Art (GOMA) which was excellent. Trying to visit a gallery in each of the big cities I visit and this was a goodie. Saw a load of stuff that inspired me, none of which I can remember the name of now. Which is helpful. I really should take more notes.

One of the best second hand record shops I have ever been to is in Brisbane. Again, the name escapes me, but it's round the back of Queen Street mall. Australian second hand record shops are about 10 years behind UK ones, and I mean that in the best possible way. As well as buckloads of dusty 7" and 12" vinyl, this shop was selling the following things...

8-track cassette tapes
A Degrassi Junior High book.
Jake The Snake Roberts and Ultimate Warrior decorative cloth wall hangings.
Original VHS copies of Teenwolf and Rocky IV (ex-rental, large case)
Betamax versions of The Wizard Of Oz and The Dark Chrystal

See what I mean? I never wanted to leave!

---

Watching:
The Wrestler - do I really need to tell you how good this is? 8.5/10
Gran Torino - 7.5/10
True Lies - 7/10
Forgetting Sarah Marshall - 6/10
Control - 8/10
Step Brothers - I only watched half of this. It was...not great. I love John C.Reily though so I will give it an even 5/10
Summer Heights High - I am so late on this but it is utter TV gold. Puck you miss. 8.5/10

Gigs:
The Cardinals at Brisbane Tivoli - 8.5/10
Neil Young w/My Morning Jacket at Brisbane Entertainment Centre - 8.5/10

---

Catch the Sun

2009-02-17T17:44:00.000-08:00

Brisbane, Byron, Fraser Island (13 - 20 Jan)
Flew to a very warm Brisbane on 13 Jan and got picked up by Cassie at the airport. Yep, Cassie Burge of big-white-framed sunglasses fame from Koh Pha Ngan and Phuket adventures (don't you read my other blog entries?!). After having an incredibly brilliant time in Thailand together before Christmas we had decided that when I got to Australia we should meet up in her home town and do a few road trips including one down to Byron Bay ("the best place in the world" according to the Cass Dog). As it happened, because of the weather in Cairns I was arriving in Brisbane two weeks earlier than expected. But that was all cool with her and more than cool with me. It would the understatement of the year to say it was a joy to see her.

We drove to the city and stayed at a very basic rickety old-fashioned backpackers called Palace (were they being sarcastic?) with spooky corridors straight out of The Shining.

Next day we took a roadtrip down the coast to Byron with Cassie's friends Elena and Chelsea to see a band called Symbiosis. Upon arrival we found out that Symbiosis had cancelled and been replaced with a goodtime folk band called Round Mountain Girls, which was much more my scene anyway so we had a hoe-down. I had a bit of a sore throat so drunk whiskey and dry all night instead of my usual beer, but then woke up the next morning with tonsillitis.

Back to Brisbane and visited the doctors to get some medication. $65 dollars to see the doctor but he did throw in some tourism advice about Brisbane so I can't begrudge him receiving his cashmoney.

A non-drinking BBQ night at the Burge residence followed. Cassie's dad Ken, mum Chris, uncle Sam, aunt Ines, brother Joel and brother's girlfriend Tess all welcomed me into the fold and the steak went down a treat.

---

The next day I met up with Perrin and Andy (two fellas I'd met briefly in Cairns) to embark upon a 3 day trip to Fraser Island (the world's largest sand island, donchaknow?). We cut it a little fine getting the coach and arrived 2 minutes before it was due to leave, incurring the wrath of the coach driver who told us off like schoolboys. "Where the bloody hell have you BEEN?!". I've noticed that on the whole Aussie blokes are friendly and eager to help us foreigners, but get something wrong or wind them up and they'll bite your head off.

After a night at Hervey Bay we headed off to Fraser early the next morning, a group of 10 people in a 4x4. Aside from myself, the team was made up of this motley crew...

PERRIN (South African, looked liked a cross between Jack from Lost and my friend Jonny's brother Charlie)
ANDY (Englishman with a knowledge of random 80s movie quotes that surpasses that of myself and even my brother. Monster Squad anyone? The Peanut Butter Solution??)
MAGNUS (Swedish copper)
MALIN (erm, Magnus's girlfriend)
ANDERS (singer in a Swedish hardcore punk band)
JOHAN (Swedish ex-truck driver and Anders's older brother)
CRAIG (outrageously camp English student and part-time airport worker)
JESS (English gap year student, tan of epic proportions)
LAURA (English, friend of Jess, both banned from a high profile chain of hostels in Australia but wouldn't tell us why)

The weather wasn't great, but driving for miles along a deserted beach was awesome, as was the view from Indian Head, the Mahino shipwreck, Lake MacKenzie, watching wild dingoes sniff around our campfire and looking up at the stars at night (even more than in The Red Centre). Here's some pics...

Driving through the jungle got a little hairy in places. We nearly saw another 4x4 overturn at one point and then when we got on the beach we actually DID see a wrecked vehicle from our same tour company that had just crashed a couple of hours earlier. Thankfully no one was injured (or so we were told).

Luckily our group managed to keep our vehicle together. Although my dad will be disappointed to find out that I didn't have a go at driving. There were too many alpha males, so I took a backseat.

Even though Fraser Island was fun, after 3 days the sand just became too annoying. I don't like sand at the best of times, and on Fraser it's everywhere. It sticks to you, it gets in your food, you sleep in it. It did my head in. I'd had a good time, but had no complaints about heading back to Hervey bay for a night of pizza, a shower and a change of clothes.

---

Rain

2009-02-16T17:31:00.000-08:00

Cairns (10 - 12 Jan)
When I arrived in Cairns it was bucketing it down. I didn't know it was monsoon season in Queensland, and I certainly didn't know a cyclone had just been hurtling down the coast. I still managed to do a boat trip to the Great Barrier Reef, but I had to cut out trips to Cape Tribulation and Port Douglas which was a real shame.

The Barrier Reef boat trip was cool but hardly the experience it could have been on a beautiful sunny day. The water was choppy, the winds were blowing, the trip to the reef was vomit-inducing and when we had to get in the water we were all in full 'stinger suits' from head to toe to protect us from the extremely dangerous jellyfish that are in the sea at this time of year. I looked like human condom (and no, I don't have any photos of this).

I was also gutted that I couldn't do the two scuba dives I had paid for because of my crap sinuses. As always I was blocked up in my left nostril which meant I couldn't re-adjust my airways by making my ears pop as you go deeper underwater. According to the instructors, if you weren't able to do this then your head would explode or something. So I stuck to the snorkeling instead. I'd never really been able to get the hang of snorkeling in the past, but the water at the reef was very warm, and I was able to breath deeply and avoid panicking. Because of the weather, the visibility wasn't as good as it could have been, but we still saw loads of incredible fish, giant clams and stingrays. It was unlike anything I'd ever done before and I'd love to be able to do it again in the hot season.

On my second day in Cairns I checked out the weather warnings online and realised that the entire Oz Experience bus trip I had booked down to Brisbane was going to be a waste of time. It was going to be storms and floods the whole way down the Queensland coast. Everyone I spoke to was chasing the sun and trying to get down to either Brisbane or Byron Bay. So I resigned myself to the fact that Townsville, Airlie Beach, Magnetic Island and the Whitsundays would have to be put off on this trip. I booked a cheap flight to Brisbane and left the next day.

Watched:
Frost Nixon - 8.5/10
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button - 7.5/10

Red or Dead

2009-02-11T22:21:00.000-08:00

The Red Centre (5 Jan - 9 Jan)

I flew into Ayers Rock airport on 5 Jan and upon leaving the plane was met with a blanket of intense heat and acres of stunning orangey nothingness. This was the Australia I'd imagined. The "real" Australia. The Australia that most of the Aussies I've met on this trip have never explored. Not that I blame them really. It's expensive out in the middle of nowhere. A few days vacation at the ludicrously overpriced Yulara (aka Ayers Rock resort) would probably cost about the same as a 2 week tour of Vietnam. So I can't criticise Antipodeans for saving The Red Centre for their retirement days. To a Brit like me however, the place was magical.

Only bad thing about the outback - the flies. Oh my god, the flies. They are everywhere. Constantly. On your face, in your ears, in your mouth, on your food, in your pants. And they love sunscreen too. Slap on a bit of Factor 30 and they can't get enough of you. I invested in a fly net for my face straight away which made me look like a tit but I didn't care. It beat slapping my face every 5 seconds and waving my hands around like some kind of simpleton.

I stayed at the Outback Pioneer Inn on my first night and BBQ'd my own kangaroo, crocodile and emu meat. I'm not even good at doing beefburgers on the BBQ back home, how the hell was I supposed to know how long to cook a crocodile for?! Still I had a bash and I think it turned out ok.

Contrary to popular opinion croc doesn't particularly taste like chicken. To my, admittedly warped, taste buds it is more like a tough old bit of chewy pork. But the kangaroo was very tasty (beef, essentially) and the emu sausages did the job too. Over dinner I tried making conversation with one man who was German and didn't understand a word I was saying. The evening's entertainment was an old codger singing Waltzing Matilda and a song which went 'G'Day! G'Day! Everyone say G'Day!" or some other fresh hell. I went to bed early.

Unless you are booked on a tour to see the big rock and/or other such orangey bits, it's boring as hell at the Ayers Rock resort. After a very dull day at the resort I finally managed to book myself on a 2 day tour that included most of the things I wanted to do for a reasonable price. Uluru, Kata Tjuta (The Olgas), camping under the stars, plus a sunset and a sunrise were all on the agenda. The tour would have included King's Canyon but for reasons to tedious to go into now I had to miss out that part and join the tour halfway through. It was a shame to miss King's Canyon, but it couldn't be helped and I took comfort in the fact that not every box was ticked and I've kept a little something back for a future visit.

When the minibus picked me up at 7.30am on the morning of 7 Jan, Beej the tour guide greeted me with the immortal words "G'Day Matty. I hope you can breath some life into this bunch of miserable bastards". A little harsh certainly, but not entirely off the mark. Some of the tour group did end up being mind-numbingly dull and made no effort to interact, but there were some great people too.

There was Adebayo (a recording engineer from Washington D.C. who looked a little like Andre 3000 and who's dad was one of the founding members of the Black Panthers), David (a softly spoken German who looked not unlike a young Luke Bevans) and also a man who's name was Dougnut. Yes Dougnut.

Unfortunately, I don't know anything about Dougnut (he didn't say much) and I have no photographic evidence that he existed, so you just have to believe me. However here's a pic of David and Adebayo (not to scale)...

The walk around Kata Tjuta was the greatest I've ever done. It was spellbinding. It felt like walking on Mars. Check it out...

The sunset and the sunrise at Uluru were, to be honest, less impressive and over quite quickly. However I captured some good shots...

The real treat was camping (at 4am there were more stars in the sky than I'd ever seen) and also the base walk around Uluru. When you get that close to the thing and sun is shining on it, it's mind boggling. Totally beautiful.

The only bad thing about the base walk was that a couple of us got, well, a bit lost. Yep, Adebayo and I were caught up in a conversation about family, politics and the merits of The Wire and as a result were not paying as much attention to our route. After a while you see it all starts to look the same. We somehow managed to walk one full lap (10km) round the rock, past our group's meeting point and halfway round the rock again. We were an hour late, the mid-morning sun was burning, we had only a tiny bit of water left and no mobile phone reception. Frankly we started to panic. All of our stuff was on the minibus, and if Beej and the group couldn't find us then they would have no option but to return to Alice Springs without us. We would have been stranded, in no uncertain terms, utterly stuffed. We didn't know whether to keep going round Uluru in the same direction or go back the other way. In the end we decided to hit the road and flag down another bus who put word out on the radio to look out for our minibus. The driver also kindly agreed to take us to the Cultural Centre in the hope that we'd see Beej driving round on the way.

Mercifully we found our minibus and flashed it down. Beej - a true blue Aussie bloke who pulls no punches and speaks his mind - was NOT happy. We had already seen him berate German David for being 10 minutes late for the bus the day before, and now here we were over an hour late. He didn't say a word but his silence spoke volumes. Luckily for us we got on well with Beej. He liked me and Adebayo and thought David was a rude little dick, so his attitude towards our idiocy was more muted. After we apologised profusely and got on the bus there followed a good hour of silent driving before he turned around and uttered, "So going for another lap there were you Matty?".

A few 'firsts' for the Red Centre included seeing my first big Aussie lizard, my first kangaroo, emu and dingo (strange that I've eaten 2 out of 4 of those beasts before seeing them alive with my own eyes), drinking my first Goon bag (cheap Aussie white wine - a headache in a box!) and almost enjoying a Keith Urban song.

I also rode and ate camel. Not the same one though, obviously. THAT would be sick.

After the tour finished I spent two days in Alice Springs, and I personally found the place to have a bit of an intense and unpleasant vibe. In my limited experience of the place I found some of the local white people's attitudes to Aborigines uncomfortable and vice versa. Plenty of trouble goes on at night apparently. To quote Beej, if someone comes up to you and asks you for a light your best option is to "punch them in the face and then run like hell".

As Bill Bryson wrote in his book Down Under, Alice Springs could really be called "Anywhere, Australia", nothing much exciting to speak of there so I booked my accommodation in Cairns and flew out the next day.

The Land of Oz

2009-02-08T23:29:00.000-08:00

To make sure I finish this whole blogging business before I actually return to the UK, I think the best way for me to recount my (almost) two months in Australia is to separate it out into larger chunks. Let's start with...

SYDNEY (28 Dec 08 - 05 Jan 09)

Upon arriving on an appropriately scorching day in Sydney I was swiftly picked up at the airport by Sir Luke Bevans, a friend from the UK and fellow workmate/Ryan Adams fanatic I have known for some 8 or 9 years. Luke has called Australia his home since Sept 2007 so it was obviously excellent to see him, despite the fact he has acquired a taste for cricket tops and Tobias Funke-style denim cut-offs.

Bevans looks like this...

A top contender for the title of Nicest Bloke in the Southern Hemisphere, Bevo and his equally lovely girlfriend Freya (baker of muffins extraordinaire) let me crash at their flat in Darlinghurst for couple of nights where I was fed, watered and generally looked after to the highest possible standard. And I cannot tell you how good a hot power shower felt after weeks of cold dribbly ones in Thailand.

Bevs and Freya look like this...

After a couple of days another mate and EMI refugee Jason Day also came to visit from the UK with his friend Jan.

Jason, who looks like Ian Hislop except for when he once grew his hair and looked like Phil Collins in the Easy Lover video, had actually booked in at chez Bevs months before I had even decided to go travelling so naturally the spare room belonged to him and I moved over to a flat in Redfern belonging to an Aussie mate of Luke's called Andy. Are you keeping up with this? You might not think my living arrangements are of particular importance, but I thought the fact that a complete stranger (Andy) let me have a key to his flat and stay in his bedroom whilst he was out of the country just serves to highlight the generosity and welcoming spirit I encountered throughout my time in Australia.

In Sydney I ticked some major boxes and did some very cool things. Naturally I visited the opera house and the harbour bridge which were both as breathtaking as I had hoped....

...I caught some waves on Bronte and North Bondi beaches...

...watched bats fly over the city skyline...

...and ate snags from the barbie almost every night.

I also drank schooners (NOT pints) of Coopers Pale Ale at the pub, spotted possums in the park, gawped at sharks and seacows at the Sydney Aquarium, attended a Star Wars exhibition at the Powerhouse museum (shut up!) and generally had an excellent time in a city which, if I ever decide to relocate, I can see myself enjoying immensely.

One of the biggest highlights of my Sydney experience was a day trip to the Blue Mountains. It all looked a bit like Endor. Here's a photo of the Famous Three Sisters rocks plus some other shots of us posing...

I also had one of the best New Year's Eves of my life when I watched an astounding fireworks display over the harbour bridge from a nearby rooftop. Check these out...

To round off my stay with a very un-Matt Davey experience I was taken to to watch South Africa and Australia play a Test Match at the Sydney Cricket Ground. Despite my limited understanding of and almost non-existent enthusiasm for the sport I still managed to enjoy the day, chiefly due to 4 pints of Victoria Bitter and a meat pie, plus some amusing and enjoyably laddish conversations with Bevo. Oh and I was sat next to an old man from Southend! Would you adam and eve it?

All in all, most of my time in Sydney was a welcome diversion from the backpacker trail, although it is worth mentioning that I did dip my toe back into the murky world of grubby travellers' hostels when I visited Warren and Luke (my Northern Irish compadres from Laos) at their Pitt Street digs. Warren's hair had got ridiculously large and Luke had entirely run out of money. This inspired me to both get a haircut and keep a better eye on my pennies. Australia was already proving to be a hell of a lot pricier (or "exy" as the locals say) than I'd anticipated.

Watched:
Peep Show - Series 4
Vicky Christina Barcelona - Come ON Woody! what's going on with you? Scarlet though. Oh sweet Scarlet.
High Fidelity
The Castle
I'm Alan Partridge - Series 2

Listened to:
Cold Chisel
Tim Fite
Tame Impala
The Temper Trap
Ben Lee 'I Love Pop Music' - the worst song ever written by an occasionally brilliant songwriter?
Bags of Ryan Adams and The Boss as one comes to expect whenever myself, Luke and Jason are in the same room.

---

On a more sombre note to end, when I was down by Sydney harbour I saw the Mona Lisa Peace Boat going under the bridge. A passing gentleman casually informed me that the ship's current passengers included 1000 survivors of Hiroshima atomic bombings. It's impossible to even comprehend...

Christmas in the drunk tank

2009-01-21T22:29:00.000-08:00

24 Dec 2008 - KP and I left Phuket to go back to Koh Pha Ngan at 7.30am on Christmas Eve. The first excitement of the journey came when our mini-bus neglected to shut its back door properly before driving up the steepest hill in Thailand (probably) resulting in mine and Katherine's backpacks falling out and rolling down the hill into on-coming traffic. Brilliant. Mercifully a moto taxi flagged our driver down quickly enough for us to stop, reverse back and retrieve all of our worldly possessions intact. Our journey continued, but not without both of us turning round to check the doors every 5 seconds.

Me and KP made the most of the choppy boat journey by listening to Shakin' Stevens 'Merry Christmas Everyone' and The Pogues 'Fairytale of New York' to get us in the Christmas mood. It wasn't quite as festive as going to the Hullbridge nativity play or sitting through a marathon of Scrooged, Home Alone and Mickey's Christmas Carol, but we had to work with what we had. We continued the vibes with some badly sung carols on the tuk tuk to Thong Nai Pan Yai beach. When we finally got to Longtail resort we were chuffed to be welcomed back into the fold like returning heroes, and the drinks flowed accordingly.

The rest of the night is a blur but I do remember it involved me nearly puking up a shot of Tequila and then talking to a painted wooden statue. I also seem to remember Rupert jumping head first through a burning ring of fire. Unfortunately I didn't get a photo of this, but I did capture a shot of me with the statue, which is obviously just as exciting...

And here's the tequila...

And here's some other people I like...

CHRISTMAS DAY 2008 - A stinker of a hangover and a drizzly day meant that my first Christmas Day away from England and my family was spent mainly sitting in a hammock trying to feel human again. Depressingly all I could think/worry about all day was what job I'm going to do be doing when I get back to the UK. I had to keep reminding myself that it was Christmas and that I should be enjoying myself.

By the evening, courtesy of a webcam/Skype session with the Daveys back home followed by a slap-up seafood bonanza at Longtail, my spirits were sufficiently lifted again. We did have fun, and it was certainly an experience to be on a beach in Thailand on 25 Dec. But I'd be a liar if I said I didn't still prefer my Christmases served cold with added helpings of overcooked turkey, Terry's chocolate orange, novelty socks, cheap aftershave I'll never wear and brown imitation leather belt & wallet giftpacks from Debenhams.

BOXING DAY 2008 - I said a final sad farewell to my friends KP, Ru and all the Koh Pha Ngan set and trundled off back to Bangkok via the sleeper train in order for me to catch my flight to Australia the next day.

In relative terms, a 12 hour train ride in Thailand is much more comfortable than a 12 hour bus ride, but it's hardly the Orient Express. In-between bug squashing sessions in my top bunk cabin I did manage to get an hour or two of sleep, even though most of that was marred by a vivid dream (nightmare) that involved me and an ex-girlfriend beating up a famous pop star and then being blackmailed by a former workmate of mine who agreed to not grass us up as long as I went on a romantic date with their elderly mother.

I've learnt not to analyse these things too much.

27 Dec 2008 - After 3 hours kip in a Koh San Road hostel I caught a cab to the airport and jumped on a plane to Sydney.

Time for Australia.

---

On the plane to Oz, I was mostly...

Reading...
Barrack Obama 'The Audacity Of Hope'
Nick Hornby '31 Songs'

Watching...
Man On Wire - brilliant doc about the French tightrope walker who walked on a wire suspended between the two World Trade Centre towers in the early 70's.
Ghost Town - some good Gervais improv bits, but hardly a classic.
Baby Mama - despite starring the Tina Fey, this was slop. I turned it off after 15 mins.
A new(ish) episode of The Simpsons when Grampa gets it on with Selma - one can't help but think that one of the best TV shows ever has finally started scrapping the barrell for storylines.

Listening to...
Coldplay 'Viva La Vida Or Death And all Of His Friends' (the good bits, not the dreary bits)
Some Aussie hippy music by djembe-playing crusty-dreadlocked white men.

Coast to Coast

2009-01-11T21:03:00.001-08:00

14 Dec - The arrival of Katherine Parrott!

My old friend KP - or Captain Kapers to those of us in the know - had just flown out from Blighty to Bangkok to undertake a few months travelling of her own, so I'd encouraged her to come and hang with us on Koh Pha Ngan. I'd decided to put my flight to Sydney back a couple of weeks so there'd be a gang of us to spend a Thai Christmas together.

So great to see Kapers. Although she was white as a sheet, which was either the result of the horrific motorcycle accident she'd seen happen at the Full Moon Party a couple of days earlier or the fact that, well, they don't tan easily do they? The gingers, I mean.

15 - 18 Dec - We all hung out for a few days on the increasingly windy beach. Me, KP, Kayla, Rupert and a German couple we'd met called Sandra and Patrick. Luckily for Ru, Patrick was a surgeon so was able to take out the big man's stitches after a few days, saving him a return trip to the hospital.

We all moved from Central Cottage over to a new (and much nicer) bungalow resort called Longtail. We took a mission over to Thong Salow to help Rupert pick out a guitar, played frisbee, found a puffer fish, ate the best burgers in the world (Wigets near Nu Bar - a winner!) and had a spontaneous party/DJ session at Chai Ya bar.

Ultimately though, after a few days, I'll admit I was a little restless. Thong Nai Pan Yai was just a little too quiet, and I needed a change of scenery. KP shared my sentiments and was feeling like she'd not explored enough since she arrived in Thailand. So on a whim we both decided to shoot over to Phuket for a few days to hang out with our two good friends Elena and Cassie.

(Did I dress that up enough to make it sound enough like I wasn't just chasing after a girl, yeah? Good.)

19 Dec - Bid goodbye to the Koh Pha Ngan crew, told RD I'd be back in a few days to check that he'd been practicing his E to Am chord change, but I don't think he believed I'd return.

Caught the boat and bus over to Patong. Fairly grim place, full of dirty old middle-aged English sex tourists having dinner with Thai girls. Expensive too. However we were determined to find at least one good haunt, and find it we did. Rock City it was called. Rock tribute bands all night including a full working AC/DC tribute complete with Thai Angus young in school uniform. How could we possibly not have the best night ever here?!

20 Dec - Cassie and Elena arrived. Went to the beach, had a great swim, got stung by sea lice, drunk green melon cocktails, played Connect 4 down Soi Eric (AKA Trannie Alley!) and went to Rock City again. The AC/DC boys were still on top form. They totally nailed 'Hells Bells' and 'You Shook Me All Night Long'. They didn't quite pull off 'Riff Raff' or 'Shoot To Thrill', but nobody's perfect and it was an admirable effort.

21 Dec - Hungover. Beach. Posh chicken dinner. Bowling (I came last).

22 Dec - Fried fish. Dancing at Tiger discotheque. Rock City again. Too much Chang beer and tequila. Felt sick. McDonalds. Bed.

23 Dec - Cassie and Elena moved into a 5 star hotel (their xmas gift to themselves) and me and KP booked our ticket home for the next day.

That evening we had one last Patong supper at a restaurant featuring entertainment from someone called Margaret Mitchell-Galviner. Billed as 'Star of stage and TV' and with hair like Bonnie Tyler circa-1984, Margaret was performing "soft ballads, smooth jazz and hot pop". Cruise ship entertainment at it's very best, her version of De Burgh's 'The Lady In Red' was truly something to behold. I was mesmerised.

And just when I though Margeret was going to be the musical highlight of the evening, we strolled over to a mexican resturant for a couple of viking margaritas accompanied by the sounds of a Thai/Mexican band with full horn section doing versions of 'Simply the Best', 'You Can Call Me Al' and (best of all) 'Swing The Mood' by Jive Bunny and the Mastermixers. Not wanting to spoil such a perfect moment, we soon called it a night.

A fitting end to a fun filled few days.

---

Reading:
Alan Moore & Dave Gibbons 'Watchmen' (C: "Are you reading a COMIC!?")
Steve Martin 'Born Standing Up'

Listening:
The Silver Seas 'The Country Life'
Augie March 'One Crowded Hour'
Fats Domino 'I'm Walkin'
The Jam 'Beat Surrender' & 'Going Underground'
Stevie Wonder 'Do I Do'
Get Well Soon 'Witches! Witches! Rest Now In The Fire'
The Jacksons 'Shake Your Body (Down To The Ground)'
David Gray 'L's Song' & 'Shine'
Cream 'Sunshine Of Your Love'
Hendrix 'All Along The Watchtower'
The Troggs 'Wild Thing'
The Box Tops 'The Letter'
Tonnes of AC/DC
Van Halen 'Jump'
Bobby 'Blue' Bland 'Ain't No Love In The Heart Of The City'
The Band 'The Weight'
Karine Polwart & Edwin Morgan 'The Good Years'
Bobby Womack 'Across 110th Street'
Oasis 'Slide Away'
Detroit Cobras 'Hot Dog (Watch Me Eat)'
Battles 'Atlas'
Chris Bell 'I Am The Cosmos'
Elliott Smith 'Needle In The Hay'
The Black Crowes 'Thorn In My Pride'
Louis Armstrong & His Hot Five 'Struttin' With Some BBQ'
Hammel On trial 'Go Fuck Yourself/Choochtown'
Dan Reeder 'Food and Pussy'
Black Mountain 'Don't Run Our Hearts Around'

Watching:
Hancock (the first half)
The Incredible Hulk (the first 30 mins)
You Don't Mess With The Zohan (the end bit)
What Happens In Vegas (two thirds of it with the sound down)
Erin Brockovich (twice)
Gladiator
The Money Pitt
Good Luck Chuck
Kevin Coster flick about baseball that wasn't Field Of Dreams or Bull Durham (how many films about baseball does he need to make?! And whatever happened to Kevin Costner by the way?)
Some film with Steve Martin and Goldie Hawn.
Some film with Robin Williams playing the U.S. President.
A cartoon featuring penguins surfing and the voice of Jeff Bridges.

A marvellous night for a Moondance.

2009-01-11T18:19:00.000-08:00

10 Dec - Travelled via boat/bus/boat/taxi to Koh Pha Ngan with plans to meet up with Rupert again on 11th and attend the infamous Full Moon Party on 12th.

I had booked a bamboo hut at Thong Nai Pan Yai beach (upon Ru's recommendation) which was up the North East coast of the island, meaning an incredibly overpriced and bumpy taxi journey along a jungle road with deep crevices that looked like cracked skulls. I got there at around 8pm and was soon accosted by two drunken Canadian girls J.C. and Daniella who dragged me into a place called Bar Nu for a beer. Both girls were annoying and kept saying things like "Hells Yeah!" and "Is London the capital of France?", so I swerved them swiftly for an early night.

11 Dec - RD arrived the next day sporting a pony tail/handle bar moustache combo and accompanied by Kayla, an excellent San Fran girl we had met at our lake party in Phnom Penh and whom Ru had run into again in Sihanoukville.

We all hit the choppy sea for some waves and then made friends with the hilarious waitress at Central Cottage Bungalows who we all called "Mum" and who called us "Lupert" and "Sexy Boy". Here's "Mum" with the big man...

12 Dec - The day of the Full Moon Party. Woke up to the sound of the bastard pet bird in a cage outside my bungalow, who from sunrise repeatedly screeched its feathery little head in what was possibly an attempt to impersonate Michael Jackson's "Oooohhh" at the beginning of 'Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough'.

I took it easy all day, pottered about a bit, spotted an incredible looking girl by the pool who looked awesome in huge white-rimmed sunglasses, and then finally headed off at about 9pm in the back of a pick-up truck down to Had Rin (or is it Hat Rin?)for the party.

We spent most of the journey sipping from plastic bottles of pre-mixed Thai whiskey, Red Bull and Coke whilst singing various songs with the word "moon" in the title and trying to get Rupert to sit down and not do his Teenwolf truck-surfing impression in the back of the ute. It was a hairy journey, but we arrived alive and ready for a big night.

And a big night it was. We started with some grub accompanied the rest of the people sharing our truck ride. Me, Ru, Kayla, a guy called Mel we'd met earlier in the day, an Irish couple called Ellen and Darren and 2 Aussie hippy chicks from Brisbane called Elena and Cassie. As it turned out, the latter ended up being the mysterious sunglasses chick from earlier in the day. Bonus.

Had a good chat over with everyone over dinner and - being the charmer I am - decided my best course of action with Cassie would be to first slag off her music tastes (The Wombats? I mean, come on!), then make a comment about her dress looking like it was tie-dyed, berate her for not knowing who Jason Donovan was, and finally ask her whether she preferred Crocodile Dundee or Crocodile Dundee II. Despite this shakey start, we eventually got on like a house on fire. Here she is...

As for the rest of the party, I'd heard rumours that these full Moon thingies were massively overcrowded with people puking in the sea, glass on the beach, Brits starting fights, minging trance music all night, and other such grottiness. However, I have to say, I had a ball! It was one of the best parties to which I have ever been. I lost our crew after an hour or so but I did manage to meet up with Warren and Luke from Laos as well as the four Seattle/Chiang Mai girls, who were all on top form and entertainment par excellence.

All the while Rupert was having a slightly less excellent night. At about 1am he was pushed off a table by an enthusiast stranger and smashed his forehead. With his noggin gushing blood he was taken to hospital by motorbike taxi and paid a few hundred quid to have 5 stitches in his eyebrow. Without anaesthetic. Ouch.

Still, he made it back to the party and this is what he looked like when I found him. What a trooper!

Towards the end of the night I stole Rupert's porkpie hat - which I thought made me look like Jerry Dammers but actually made me look more like Juliet Bravo -and then finally crashed out about 8am after an early morning dip in the ocean back at Thong Nai Pan Yai. It was cold, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

13 Dec - Slept. Ate. Went for a quiet drink in the evening. This was my favourite day.

---

Time for Phi Phi

2009-01-09T00:19:00.000-08:00

Right, I have really got to get a wriggle on here. I can't believe I'm still writing blog entries about what happened over a month ago. I thought I'd be up to date by now. So let's whip through a few bits shall we...

30 Nov - Bus from Chiang Mai to Bangkok. Watched the whole of a Pierce Brosnan film with the sound off. I'm still not sure of the plot but it involved Selma Hayek dressing up as a man.

1 Dec - Stayed in Bangkok all day and visited the places I had meant to visit when I had been there previously, such as Wat Pho and the Grand Palace. Both of which were awesome.

2 Dec - Had lunch at what has become one of my favourite Italian restaurants: Pepperoni at the Naria hotel on on Thanon Silom. I went there twice in one day so they gave me a discount on my spag bol. I also fooled them into thinking I can speak Thai by "sawadeekrab" and "nit noi" a few times. They loved it.

At 5pm I made my way to the bus station for a whopping 17 hour ride down to Krabi. Met a creepy and slightly posh middle-aged Englishman on the mini-bus and then promptly swerved him for a friendly Canadian girl called Stef.

Stef used to go out with the bass player in a Metallica tribute band and her Nan is on Facebook. If you ever meet Stef at a bus station I'd heartily recommend that you strike up a conversation, I can guarantee she'll be excellent company. I can't tell you how much more bearable a long distance bus journey is when you have a pal to talk to and swap iPods with. Unfortunately Stef was only stopping in Krabi briefly on her way to Kuala Lumpa and then home to Canada, so we didn't get a chance to hang out after that. But it's good to know I have a couch to crash on if I ever fancy a weekend trip to Vancouver.

Here's my shoes and socks on the bus...

3- 4 Dec - After being landlocked for a month I finally got a long-awaited taste of the ocean when I transferred from Krabi to Railey. I swam and bronzed my pasty English torso at the beautiful West Railey beach and slept, drunk and ate at the not-so beautiful but much cheaper East Railey beach. It's all surprisingly expensive down on the Andaman coast, but very laidback too. This includes the table service, so if you order a Pad Thai at lunch time it should arrive just in time for you to enjoy during sunset (which, by the way, is pretty spectacular when seen from West Railey).

Met a nice enough bunch of fellow travellers at the Stone Bar who were all either English, Canadian or Australian and gave me some good tips for places to go on Koh Phi Phi (my next planned destination). I also got chatting to a jittery 42 year old tattooed Mancunian called Barry who lived in one of the dodgier bars with his Thai wife and had just spent 3 months in a Malaysian prison for human trafficking people for the Iranian mafia. I think I did a good job of nodding politely and not-at-all nervously at him for half an hour before making my excuses and taking a sharp exit back to my bamboo hut at Rampala Rockwood bungalows.

---

5 Dec - Took a boat over to Phi Phi and sat out on the deck for an hour doing my best impersonation of Simon Le Bon in the video for 'Rio'. On the recommendation of the folks I met in Railey, I checked in at Phi Phi's only real hostel, a place called The Rock. I can only imagine The Rock is so called because staying there is akin to a night on Alcatraz itself. Yes, the place is that bad. But to it's credit, it did seem very aware and almost proud of it's own shittiness. There was travellers' graffiti all over the walls and no locks on the door, the mattresses got wet when it rained and the shower water smelt like faeces. However, it was a good place to meet people so I stayed for one night before checking into a more expensive bungalow of my own the next day.

Met a good bunch at Phi Phi. There were the two English sisters Polly and Flick, a midwife and a chef respectively, enjoying their last couple of weeks of an 18 month trip before heading back to Bournemouth. Yvonne from Ireland who thought I was uncultured because I'd never watched the films Old School and A Shark's Tale. Hamish from New Zealand who broke my hammock and for some reason pronounced the name of the island as 'pie pie'. Victor from Germany and John from the U.S. who liked to wrestler each other on the beach late at night. Oli Vickers-Price, an excellent and well spoken Englishman who due to paralysed sweat facial glands (suffered at birth) only perspires on the left hand side of his face. 'W', a soul fan from Melbourne who looked like a cross between McLovin and James Harries (this is not an insult). Roxanne and Chantelle, who surprisingly were not Las Vegas strippers but in fact very cool and funny Aussies. Becky from Brighton who had just spent 3 weeks in a Cambodian hospital with blood poisoning. Not to mention Ben from Cornwall, Raphael from Switzerland, the two Swedish girls who's names I have unfortunately forgotten and numerous other excellent folk that I chatted and danced with over the course of my 5 nights on the island. Here's some pictures of some of them (I'll leave you to guess who's who)...

The most exciting bar to visit was the Reggae bar which contained a Mui Thai boxing ring where punters could get into the ring and bash the shit out of each other for 3 rounds. You'll hardly be surprised to learn that I decided not to slip the gloves on myself, although I did stand in the corner of Victor doing my finest impression of "The Cutman" Al Silvani whilst the German pummelled his way to a drunken victory. Sounds a little barbaric, but I'd be lying if I said it wasn't incredibly exciting stuff.

Whilst on Phi Phi I also did the following things...

- Had breakfast at a cafe that doubled as a tattoo parlour.
- Did "fire limbo". Twice.
- Got used to having cold showers instead of hot ones.
- Got called "sexxxy boiiiii" and "lovelllly maaaan" about a million times a day by the massage girls at the end of my street.
- Ate excellent pizza at a restaurant called Cosmic.
- Sat on a beach at 3am and was introduced to a girl from South Woodham Ferries who's sister and brother had both gone to my school.
- Swam in sea water that was as warm as a bath.
- Found out Blur were reforming in 2009 so danced to Parklife at an Thai indie disco to celebrate.

And I watched...

- Never Back Down (The Karate Kid meets Rocky for the YouTube generation but with none of the heart or soul of either of those two films. Turgid.)
- Anchorman (so much better 2nd time around, I finally concede that it is a classic. "Brick killed a guy!")
- Superbad
- The Beach
- The Notebook (don't, just don't)
- The 40 Year Old Virgin
- American Gangster
- Old School
- A Shark's Tale

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Chiang My My My

2008-12-31T22:50:00.000-08:00

Woke up early(ish) on Fri 28 Nov to get a posh bus from Huay Xai to Chiang Mai at 9am. 7 hours and one Mr.Bean film later I arrived, ditching both Suzanna and Ignacio straight away and heading off to a guesthouse called Nice Apartments. The place was aptly named, with my room containing a hot shower, double bed and TV which I didn't switch on for fear of having to sit through Ghostbusters 2 for the third time in a month.

That evening I'd arranged to meet up with the Rikki, Meg, Laura and Ashley, the four American girls I'd met in Viang Vieng. They'd all been stayed in Chiang Mai for 3 months and had offered to show me around if I ended up in that neck of the woods, so it seemed rude not to give them a tinkle.

We had a brilliant night at the Riverside bar drinking Chang and watching two Thai covers bands. The first slaughtered their way through a series of 90s cock-rock classics with the singer delivering every song like he was doing an impression of the singer from Creed, while the second were much better and stuck to bang-on versions of Lily Allen and Cardigans tunes. Naturally, we got pissed.

Afterwards we tore over to another bar called Heaven Beach for late night boozing. Here I managed to get a blister the size of a 5 baht coin on my finger from frantically strumming Eagles songs on a acoustic guitar with no plectrum. The Thai barman hardly spoke any English but my God did he love Eagles. He shouted Lyin' Eyes at me so many times that it broke my heart to explain to him I'd only learnt the chords to Take It Easy and Hotel California.

Spent just one more day in Chiang Mai on 29 Nov and kicked around the city checking out some of the Wats and stopping in the afternoon to spend an hour at one of the city's lesser known attractions, The Museum Of Insects. Owned and run by 75 year old mosquito and malaria expert Manop Rattanarithikul, this was the quirkiest little museum ever. Check out the high tech doorbell...

One of my favourite pieces on show was a large stone Manop was given by his grandmother when he was three years old in an attempt to get him to behave himself for a family photo. It was just an ordinary stone but the wiley old lady had pretended it was a vulture's egg to win favour with her difficult grandson. Since then Manop has kept the stone as good luck, and even hung it round his neck as a lucky charm during WWII as the US bombed Japanese hideouts in Chiang Mai. Instead of running for shelter with everyone else, Manop would watch the planes overhead safe in the knowledge that the stone would keep him safe.

Chatting to Manop was inspiring. He'd been collecting mosquitoes, insects, fossilised wood, rocks and other curio for over 50 years and had opened his museum in 1997 with his wife Rumpa (also a mosquito expert who still does research for the British Museum and Smithsonian Institute). Now, I've never had much interest in insects, but the fact that this guy probably knew more about mozzies than anyone else in the world still managed to impress me. Plus he was a gent.

Here's some other pics from Chiang Mai...

---

Blogging (Luang Prabang Style)

2008-12-28T18:57:00.000-08:00

Hello readers (all 10 of you),

Apologies for the hugely ridiculous amount of time between blogs. Quite how you've survived the last few weeks without my inane ramblings brightening up your lives I shall never know.

As I type this I am sat in a rather lovely looking flat in Sydney, Australia. Christmas has passed and my SE Asia is now over. But there is much still to tell, so without further a due...

Mon 24 Nov - The last of Laos

Following my excellent time in Viang Vieng, the third and final stop for my Laos adventure was to be Luang Prabang. The VIP bus I had pre-booked actually turned out to be what they call a "local bus", a ramshackle affair to put it mildly. The vehicle (manufactured approx 1972) was already packed to the hilt by the time I got on, and the only minute bumspace available was so far down the back of the bus that even the monks on board had declined to sit there (the f-ing back of the bus is reserved for the monks, for Buddha's sake!). Anyway, lodged between four other sweaty passengers and twelve battered suitcases I got myself as comfy as possible and embarked upon the 8 hour bumpy ride up north. It would probably have been a beautiful ride, but I didn't have a window through which the scenery could be appreciated. However, there is now a Buddhist monk somewhere in Laos whose bald head and neck are as familiar to me as the Lord's prayer or the first verse of Boom Shake The Room.

At the bus stop I had met two English lads called Andy and Seth. Nice chaps, although their time in Viang Vieng had been slightly less excellent than my own. Andy had been to hospital after falling off the first swing at one of the tubing bars and suffered severely bruised ribs and swollen internal organs. Seth on the other hand had been arrested by corrupt Laos police and falsely accused of opium smuggling. He was jabbed in the face a couple of times and then had his passport confiscated, later having to pay 5000,000 kip (about £400) to get it back. Following the arrest Andy had got word back to Seth's family in England who had subsequently contacted the British Embassy in Laos to report the whole farce. However, when the police found out they'd been grassed up they came to the lads' guesthouse the next morning and intimidated Seth into phoning the embassy to say they'd made it all up.

Apparently this sort of thing happens a lot in Laos, although I was shocked to meet anyone who'd experienced it first hand. Opium, mushies and weed are everywhere in Viang Vieng and local police use it as a daily opportunity to make some money out of the "farrang". Exceedingly dark times. Andy and Seth were in fairly buoyant moods considering their experience, although they couldn't wait to get out of Laos. Fair enough, I can see how something like that could dampen your enthusiasm for a place. It's certainly worse than being served a cheese burger with no burger.

When we arrived in Luang Prabang all three of us went for some food and a well earned beer. Apparently Luang Prabang has it's own renowned local cuisine, so in the spirit of adventure I took a detour from my trusted staple of chicken with cashew nuts to try something that the menu excitedly described as "Pork sausage Luang Prabang style". Sounded more impressive than it looked. Turns out "Luang Prabang style" simply translates to "served on a plate", albeit with the ubiquitous (and gratuitous) lone lettuce leaf.

Luang Prabang is pretty and quaint and the night market is excellent. Whilst browsing hand made pottery and finely crafted decorative scatter cushions I bumped into sisters Rachel and Jo with whom I'd spent a day trekking, tubing, kayaking, chatting and laughing with in Viang Vieng. Despite this shared experience having occurred only a few days previous, it took them at least 30 seconds of silent blank staring before they could remember who I was or where we had met. As you can see, I'm really making an impression on my fellow travellers here.

The rest of my time in Luang Prabang was short and sweet. I visited Kuang Si waterfalls, watched the sunset from the top of Phu Si, and then got the shits again. Here's some pictures of those first two things...

---

Wed 26 Nov - Mission to Thailand

The next intended stop on my agenda was Chang Mai in northern Thailand. To get there meant a 2 day slow boat trip down the Mekong river to border crossing. It was an early start and a long journey, but it was peaceful, beautiful and far preferable to a local bus ride any time.

After the first 8 hour day we stopped for a night's rest in a small village called Pak Beng where the electricity generators go off at 10pm and there's only a few restaurants and guesthouses that exist primarily for tourists and backpackers such as myself. I was starving so headed for some Indian food at a restaurant where the waiter tried to change everything I ordered.

ME: "I'd like the chicken rogan please"

WAITER: "Oh, I think the chicken tikka masala would be better sir"

ME: "Erm, ok... and plain roti bread"

WAITER: "Oh no no sir, I think maybe the garlic naan is better for you"

ME: "..."

Not sure what his game was, but I was the only one in the place so perhaps they'd just picked one dish for the evening and hoped it would be enough. After the grub with nowhere to drink and no-one interesting to chat to I went to bed. At 7.30pm.

The next day (27 Nov) we got to the border by the early evening, so having returned to Thai soil and comfortably got used to saying sawadeekrap again rather than sabadee, I decided to spend the night in a town called Huay Xai before chipping off to Chang Mai the next day. I'd been chatting to an American woman called Suzanna and a guy from Chile called Ignacio who'd had the same plan so we checked in somewhere together and went for food.

Now, this may surprise you readers, but I am not perfect. Yes, I know you're shocked but honestly, I am not. I have my faults. I can be petty, picky, fussy, annoying, judgemental, organised to the point of mild OCD, and the type of person that brings 3 tubes of Mentadent P toothpaste on a 6 month global tour just in case they don't sell it anywhere else round the world. However, one thing I am not is a moaner.

No, wait, hear me out.

I'm not talking about the sort typically English Grumpy-Old-Men-style rantings exaggerated with self-deprecating humour as an an attempt to jazz up (or jazz down? can you jazz down?) a bog standard travel blog. No, no, no. I'm talking about proper real life negative moaners who only ever open their mouths to complain or bring down the mood. This girl Suzanna (not her real name by the way) was a m.o.a.n.e.r.

In a monotonous Chicago drone she would complain about everything. The tea was too cold, the curry was too hot, the guesthouse was too expensive. Everything was a moan or a worry. She even complained when the ATM gave her 1000baht notes worried that "no one would accept them". God, she was boring. Ignacio was a nice enough geezer, but his English was limited so the meal we all had together was at best awkward and at worst grating. The tension was interrupted momentarily by a numbskull with a cigarette holder called Dunsten. A Canadian resembling a hip hop version of Dylan from The Magic Roundabout he asked us repeatedly if Laos would be cool about "backpackers smoking drugs" (I spared him the Seth story) and kept calling us all "boys", "guys" or "fellas" much to the embarrassment and annoyance of the admittedly butch-looking baseball cap-wearing Suzanna. After dinner we hit a little rasta bar playing reggaed up versions of Radiohead songs on the stereo. Excited by this I got chatting to the Thai bar owner - who was the coolest guy I'd met in a while - and asked him if he was a fan.

"Yes, yes! Thom Yorke! I love them!", he said.

I then picked up an acoustic guitar they had lying around and busked out a quick version of the tricky picky part in Street Spirit in an attempt to impress him further.

"Recognise that?", I said, smugly.

"No", he said, flatly.

I finished up the last dregs of my large Singha and left for bed.

---

Laosy & then not so Laosy

2008-12-01T03:57:00.000-08:00

So then, to Laos.

Rupert had already explored "the jewel of the Mekong" to the nth degree and so was planning to hang in Cambodia a little longer. I bid farewell to the big man and caught a bumpy flight to Vientiane on Sun 16 Nov.

Vientiane is Laos's capital city. It is quiet, quaint, peaceful and utterly utterly B-O-R-I-N-G. I knew that Laos was famously laidback so upon landing was glad (at first) to experience some calm after the full-on-in-your-faceness of Cambodia. But after a few hours I cannot admit to being anything other than bored out of my tiny mind and completely miserable. I must stress at this point that what I am about to recount is simply my own personal experience. If you ever visit Vientiane you may have the time of your life. It is possible. But frankly I doubt it.

Firstly, there didn't seem to be many people around. Let alone any fellow travellers with whom to chew the fat. I didn't find any decent bars, everything closed at 11pm, and to add to my woes I got the severe trots in a tiny 8-person dorm (not fun sitting on the toilet knowing seven other travellers are lying the otherside of a thin wall hearing every pebbledash porcelain plop). After hours in the slowest internet cafe on the planet I also got a virus on my USB stick containing all my holiday photos which shat me up big time (don't worry Mattfans, I have all the snaps backed up, the slide show will go on as planned when I get back to Blighty!).

In the first restaurant I dined, Viagra was offered to me by a travelling salesman (I declined obviously. Christ, I know I am a little older than other travellers, but give me some credit) and I had the hottest, most mouth-burning meal of my life. So unbelievably spicy was this chicken curry to my bland infant-like Western palette that it almost brought me to tears. In the evening I ate a traditional Lao dish called naem neuang. Supposedly these are pork meatballs but to me, the meal I was served looked like a withered penis and a lettuce leaf.

I found a bar by the Mekong river that Lonely Planet had recommended for travellers, but which I found to be filled almost exclusively with Northern lads and Lao prostitutes. I got told by a barman that a fellow customer - a large middle-aged Lao man approaching from across the room - wanted to "buy me drinks", so naturally I quick footed to a cowboy themed bar called Wind West (yes that's Wind West) which wasn't anywhere near as much fun as it sounds. Then on to a near-empty Folk Bar where and I sat in silence as a bigoted Swedish man argued with an American about politics on the table next to me.

My sole interesting conversation in 2 days was with a young waiter at the Blue Sky bar. Unnervingly he resembled an Asian version of a post-Dangerous/pre-baby dangling Michael Jackson, but nevertheless was a very softly spoken nice fellow who explained that it was his dream to become a holiday guide, but with his limited language skills didn't think it would ever be possible, so had to study TV repair instead. You're a colder man than me if that doesn't tug at your heartstrings just a little. Permission for lip to wobble sir? Permission granted.

On the plus side, I did see 2 snakes in the wild, which was quite exciting. Cobras I think. Not that I got close enough to really find out.

---

On Tue 18 Nov I took a spectacular bus journey north to Viang Vieng, staring out the window for 7 hours at some of the most breath-taking scenery I've ever seen. After Vientiane, arriving in Viang Vieng was a total culture shock. The place is like a backpacker's bubble, with tonnes of identikit bars and restaurants all churning out looped repeats of Friends, Family Guy and The Simpsons and very average same-same food. While this may not be the most authentic Laos experience (and God knows I was sick of it after a few days), at that point I didn't much care. There was people to meet and places to drink and that was alright by me.

Before long I got chatting to a fellow traveller called Simon (33, from Kent, wears a green hat) who had been in South East Asia since 1998 and not seen his parents in 2 and a half years. A very friendly and chilled out chap, he told me about the Thai martial arts he had studied for years and about living down in Phuket where he helps run a dojo and teaches yoga. He talked at length about "spirits" and "energy" all without managing to sound anything like a tosser, which is some feat I'm sure you'll agree. A top bloke. I liked him a lot.

And then there was Warren and Luke. Two laconic Northern Irishman whom I had briefly seen behaving badly weeks ago in a Bangkok hostel and who were now coincidentally booked on to the same trek as me on 20 Nov. Despite berating me for being an old bastard because I was "born in the 70's", these two made for good drinking compadres over a couple of days in which tubing, caving, kayaking and mild treking were all ticked off the list.

Tubing down the Nam Song river has become a bit of a rite of passage for travellers going through Laos. As you float along you get roped into riverside bars where revellers booze it up and risk life and limb on zip lines, slides and swings into the river. I managed the zip line and the slide but bottled it on the swing. Two out of three ain't bad.

I did dabble in some mud pit volleyball too.

The vibe may have been perhaps a bit too Frat party in places, but even so, floating down the river surrounded by beautiful mountains in the middle of South East Asia is not a bad way to spend an afternoon. Plus we met some new friends. The girls in the pic above are Ashley, Rikki, Meg and Laura who were from Seattle and on a weekend break from studying nursing in Chang Mai. Absolute legends all four. But more of them another time. I promise.

If you ever go tubing in Viang Vieng, please remember this: The last section of river on the way back to the drop-off point is deceptively long. It takes about an hour and a half to float/paddle down stream from the last (decent) bar. If you leave it too late it gets dark. Very dark. And if, like me, you're an idiot, then you'll end up 500 metres further down stream than you need to be and having to walk from one end of town to the other looking like a soggy Englishman with a tractor inner tube under his arm. Just some advice. I'm not telling you how to live your life, I'm just suggesting ways to improve it.

As I mentioned before, the food in Viang Vieng is fairly shoddy. The worst meal included a slab of rice so dry I could pick it up in one lump and had to cut it with a knife and fork...

Another favourite was a cheeseburger served without the burger itself. That was the only time I took the waiter to task. When I re-ordered I decided to get fussy (out of character?) and get it to my exact spec - no butter, no mayo, just bap with lettuce, tomato, cheese and please do not forget the meat. The meat is important. The waiter got it right second time, although my attitude to burger specifics intrigued/amused him so much that as I walked back to my guesthouse at 2am the next night he shouted from the other side of the street, "Hey, you, cheeseburger, no mayo, no butter, no burger!! Ha ha ha!". He did it the night after that too. I think I may have made his week.

---

On Sat 22 Nov I got word that Michelle Darling - an old mate from Mrs. Dale's 1st Year Hullbridge Riverside Junior School class 1986 - was on her way to Viang Vieng. I figured it would be rude not to show an old friend the sites and and sounds, so I hung about. We tore it up at the Bucket Bar and, just for the hell of it, I did another tubing trip. Michelle was accompanied by her two loony pals she picked up at the Thai border, Eve and Lucy. Ruislip girls with mouths like sewers and an extensive knowledge of Dumb and Dumber, Partridge, Pugwall, and (most impressively) Philip Seymour-Hoffman quotes from Along Came Polly. All of which meant, of course, we got along famously. Here's what they look like most of the time...

Being my second tubing experience, I was a little more hungover than before, so it took me a while to get going...

...but by the end of the day I was firing on all cylinders again, and even managed to finish at the correct place. Here's a bad quality pic of me and Michelle in which I may or may not be peeing in the river.

Anyway, the evening ended with one last visit to the Bucket Bar. This was my fifth night so the songs had started to become a little predictable. If I had heard the Do Do Do song (ask anyone who's been to Laos) one more time then I might have killed myself. So I made sure this was the final night in Viang Vieng for me.

What a whopper it had been.

---

Listening to...
Cinematic Orchestra - To Build A Home
Bruce Springsteen - Tunnel Of Love
Loads of early R.E.M.
Marvin Gaye - Ain't That Peculiar
Mary Poppins - Soundtrack
Bright Eyes - The Calendar Hung Itself
The Ruts - Babylon's Burning
Drive-By Truckers - Danko/Manuel
Howlin' Wolf - Baby How Long?
Ol' Dirty Bastard - I Can't Wait
Sonic Youth - Superstar
Jeff Buckley - What Will You Say
Foo Fighters - Everlong
Deniece Williams - Let's Hear It For The Boy

Dancing to...
AC/DC - You Shook Me All Night Long
Guns N' Roses - Sweet Child O'Mine / Welcome To The Jungle
Metallica - Enter Sandman
Kings Of Leon - Sex On Fire
Eminem - Lose Yourself
An obscure cover of Steve Earle's Galway Girl
The song that goes Do Do Do

Drinking...
Beer Laos
Whiskey, Sprite and Red Bull buckets

Reading...
Jack Kerouac - On The Road

Watching...

Eggs and Style

2008-11-22T00:22:00.000-08:00

Fri 14 Nov we visited the the Temples of Angkor at 5am to catch the sunrise.

Unfortunately the sky was a little too cloudy for anything too spectacular, but here's a few shots (as you might have guessed I've worked out a quicker way of uploading photos so there will probably be more images and less words here in blogtown from now on - rejoice!)...

The temples took up most of the day but were well worth the early rise. Other highlights of the afternoon included the eating of my first ever scrambled egg (really getting adventurous here people), and being offered $1 to sing 'Without You' to a roadside book seller. She had overheard me and RD humming away over lunch and specifically requested that we perform a rendition of her favourite song. Doing our best Harry Nilson impersonations, we managed a portion of the first verse and the bit in the chorus before it goes up an octave. Unsurprisingly she never paid up. Perhaps she was more of a Mariah Carey fan.

Pineapple spiders

2008-11-19T01:06:00.000-08:00

I gotta be honest, I'm already mildly sick of writing this blog. I know that's defeatist and lame, but it feels a bit like work sometimes and it's interfering with my sightseeing/drinking (delete as appropriate).

However, I am determined to keep going, so here follows some stuff from the second half of my week in Cambodia (NB in case you're wondering, I am not writing this in real time. I left Cambodia a few days ago and am currently in Laos, but that's another story for another time. This is my blog, I make the rules up and people can have their sandwiches without butter if they so choose).

OK, let's discuss the top 3 most terrifying journeys of the trip so far...

No.3 - Mini bus from Hua Hin to Bangkok. Already mentioned this, let's not go there again, it wasn't much of an interesting story in the first place. In fact it wasn't a story at all.

No.2 - Motorbike taxi to Phnom Penh bus station. Pelting through the busy riverside street in the middle of the water festival traffic, on the back of a motorcycle wearing my backpack but no crash helmet, with my driver wailing Khmer folk songs at the top of his voice as we swerve to avoid tuk tuks, trucks and old ladies carrying buckets of bananas.

No.1 - Coach from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap. I know I'm coming over as a complete girl's blouse here, but the coach drivers in this country are completely mental. We sat at the front of the coach which despite having the best leg room was the stupidest place to sit as you could see exactly how many of the oncoming cars, buses, bikes, cows and small children we nearly hit on the 5 hour journey. Overtaking other vehicles at ridiculous speeds on dirt roads and steep mountain bends, the driver simply beeped the horn constantly to warn the oncoming traffic that a huge double decker was coming through and nothing was going to get in it's way. Miraculously we escaped unscathed, which is more than can be said for the small dog that went under our wheels at one point. Poor little mutt.

Most fun was the stop off we made to refuel. As we left the coach, we were met by 20 to 30 small kids trying to sell us bags of sliced pineapple for one dollar. As I politely declined (I've never cared for pineapple, did you expect anything less?), one of the little girl replied with the words "maybe later?"

"Yes, maybe later" I replied, thinking that my mildly patronising tone was polite short hand for "no thanks I just want to go to the toilet and get back on the coach". 2 minutes later though, she was back.

"You said maybe later! You said maybe later!!".

This wouldn't have been such a big deal, except this time she was joined by a friend; a tarantula the size of a dinner plate perched on her chest. At first I thought it was party of her t-shirt design, but upon closer inspection realised that the spider was in fact a) real and b) enormous. Not knowing where to look or where to run, I turned to face Rupert who himself was being approached a small boy and a man with no eyes. The little boy reached up to Rupert to show him what he had in his hands: another hairy tarantula. At that point I realised there were baskets of cooked tarantulas being sold as snacks all around us. Spotting a definite theme to our surroundings, the seriously anacrophobic Mr Davies and the seriously cowardly Mr Davey acted like typical western tourists and scrambled to get back on the (now locked) bus, and ended up having to climbing through the driver's side to escape the Children of the Corn and their Anachrid pets.

When we arrived in Siem Reap, our tuk tuk driver Lem took us to the old market place where we found some digs and went for food on the main drag, appropriately titled Pub Street. You might guess from the name of this street that Siem Reap is a little more catered towards tourists than Phnom Penh. Holiday makers and backpackers go there to visit the Temples Of Angkor (which are magnificent, but more of that later) so the small street is crammed full of tourist friendly eateries, as well as some great street side vendors selling cheap eats, and a couple of good bars including the puntastic Angkor What?

Our first night in Siem Reap was a late one and heavy on the sauce (the booze I mean). The usual pattern of meeting some cool people, drinking too much, Rupert doing his Michael Jackson wobbly neck dance for hours, then everyone crashing once the sun has come up.

The next day was more uneventful, but we did mange to watch Ghostbusters 2 for the second time in a week. It's really not as good as memory serves, but still features some classic Murray. You've got to love Bill. Although he grows a better moustache than me...

Holiday in Cambodia

2008-11-16T00:59:00.000-08:00

I left Bangkok to fly to Phnom Penh, Cambodia on 8 Nov.

The Cambodian vibe is very different to Thailand. Phnom Penh seems quite bullish and pushy, but also really energetic and exciting. There's just something about the place that has an edge to it. It's hard to explain. Imagine somewhere as chaotic as Bangkok but on a slightly smaller scale with less cars, more motorbikes and more poverty.

The tuk tuk drivers are incredibly persistent, and never give up. If you politely refuse a ride, they will ask you again, and if you still refuse, many will then offer to sell you weed or take you to see 'nice ladies'. When walking down a busy street in Phnom Penh you could typically go through this same routine dozens of times with different drivers. Although no-one's ever really impolite, impatient or threatening. Quite the opposite, in fact. Pretty much all the Khmer people I've met have been friendly and helpful. Also they are noticeably more touchy-feely than in Thailand, all hearty handshakes rather than the more formal and elegant Wai with which I have been used to greeting people.

Last week I'd arranged to meet the irrepressible Rupert Davies - fellow EMI refuge/Willesden Junction Silverlink Platform 5 dweller and all round good egg - at a hostel called Me Mate's Place in the heart of a pretty hairy looking street near the river. Having already been travelling for 2 months the big man was beginning to resemble a cross between Captain Pugwash and Dennis Hopper from Apocalypse Now...

...but it was great to see a familiar face and definitely somewhat of a relief to have an accomplice with whom to attack the city.

We proceeded to shoot pool and drink Phnom Penh dry.

- - -

With a hangover of spectacular proportions and the sound of Harry Belafonte ringing in our ears, the next day (9 Nov) was spent down at Boeng Kak lake (the backpacker haven of Phnom Penh) attempting to recover. We ate some superb khymer grub and then sat in a bar to watch Quantum of Solace again, which strangely was just as enjoyable dubbed in Mandarin.

Getting down to the lake involved walking across Monivong Boulevard, a monstrously busy main road with no discernible zebra crossings, pelican crossings, or lollypop ladies to assist us in the process. It was literally a human game of Frogger, and I managed to get half way before stopping in the middle of the road waiting for a gap between the 85 million scooters, tuk tuks, cars and buses coming in both directions. A pant-pooing experience of the highest order and one neither Rupert or I dared to attempt again. From then on, it was tuk tuks all the way. Getting pulled along in a rickety carriage by a bloke on a motorbike was comparatively a safe(ish) transport option in Phnom Penh.

10 Nov was spent at the Killing Fields of Choeung Ek and the Tuol Sleng genocide museum, both of which I'd highly recommend even though they were incredibly difficult and upsetting places to visit. Not a fun day, but one that was definitely worthwhile in order to get a better understanding of some of the atrocities this country has had to endure.

After a tough day, we definitely needed a beer, so streets 104 and 51 were duly crawled until about 4am. Racing from bar to bar on the back of a couple of motorcycle taxis was an experience, although the guy I got to take me home at the end of the night didn't speak any English nor had any idea where I needed to go, something he failed to tell me as he beckoned me onto the back seat. After an hour of driving round Phnom Penh and shouting "Go to the river!! It's near the river!! Street 90! Please!" over and over, I finally got home.

Fell asleep watching Soul Man on the movie channel. Whatever happened to C.Thomas Howell?

- - -

The next day (11 Nov) was the Phnom Penh Water Festival so the town was buzzing. Spent the day milling about by the river and the evening at a local girl's 25th birthday party at No.10 Guesthouse down by the lake. Apparently we were invited by some people we met the night before, but I couldn't remember. I'm increasingly impressed with the warmth of the Khmer people. The folks running the guesthouse welcomed us like we were family. We stayed all night, met tonnes of other travellers and danced very badly for a long time.

There also seems to be a Cambodian tradition when it is some one's birthday that after the candles are blown out on the cake, people run around smearing cake cream over the guest's faces. Not such a big fan of that, but it's a small price to pay for a great party.

- - -

I have been listening to...
Don Omar 'Gasolina'
Al Green 'Take Me To The River'
Mark Cohn 'Walking In Memphis'
Harry Belafonte 'Jump In The Line'
The Contours 'Do You Love Me?'
Van Morrison 'Moondance'
Eagles 'Hotel California'
Bobby Caldwell 'Open Your Eyes'
Cymande 'Bra'
Frank Zappa 'Don't Eat The Yellow Snow'
Ray Charles 'Hit the Road Jack'
Paul Simon 'Graceland'
Jacob Golden 'Jesus Angelina'
Aimee Mann 'Thirty One Today'
Little Richard 'Baby'
Coldplay 'Yellow'
Dreadful Italian techno

I have been watching...
Little Miss Sunshine
Ghostbusters 2
Soul Man
Quantum Of Solace (English and Mandarin)

I have been laughing at...
Doug Stanhope

This is my first blog. Be gentle with me.

2008-11-11T03:48:00.000-08:00

I set this blog up with the intention of documenting my 6-month trip round the world.

Posting new entries on a regular basis was the idea, but unfortunately I have been exceedingly lazy and I'm now 10 days into my jaunt, sat in an internet cafe in Cambodia having not written a jot.

So for the sake of my mother - who might well be the only person reading this - let's start from the beginning...

I flew into Bangkok from Heathrow on 1st November. Stomach gripes and being sat between two faintly annoying middle-aged women who kept talking over the top of me and asking me to help them work the in-flight entertainment did not ease me into the journey. Once in Bangkok stress levels were increased when an exceptionally rude fellow backpacker in my dorm twice blanked my attempt at a Hello, I got all my gear got stuck in one of the lockers and then was kept up half the night by a man who spent 5 hours snoring like hell and then dramatically (and amusingly) fell out of the top bunk in the middle of the night.

It also pissed it down with rain twice which was definitely not what I ordered.

But no matter, I did a few cool things in BK and ticked a few boxes: took a tuk tuk ride, Skytrain, river boat to the Grand Palace (which was closed), and on my second night met some nice folk - Therese from Ireland, geordies Ross & Garry and Ed the Chingford John Belushi - who had all been travelling for months already making me feel a bit like the new boy at school. Tips were shared, tales were told and buckets of booze were necked in Khao San Road.

But the next day it rained again and I couldn't wait to get out of Bangkok. The place is great fun in the evening but is so crazy, polluted and full-on that I needed to be somewhere a little more sedate. I decided to catch a bus to Hua Hin (a little further south) and spent 2 nights staying with Graham and Ghan, good friends of my parents. Graham's son Scott was also staying, and I was well looked after and shown round the local attractions. Monkeys, elephants, and ladyboys were all present and correct, plus I ate noodle soup made from chicken's blood and a glazed dead grasshopper. Quite an achievement for a man who is known for a fairly exclusive diet of meatball Subways and cheese & tomato pizzas.

A minibus ride back to Bangkok is one of the more terrifying methods of transport I've taken so far. Narrowly escaping death at least 5 times, I arrived back on 6 Nov and stayed in an awful hostel ran by a pervy looking Canadian in a Hawaiian shirt. I spent two more nights in BK, exploring the city and quickly becoming an expert on riding the BTS Skytrain and saying sawadeekrab and pet nit noi. I got stopped on the streets by a number of friendly Thais that wanted to talk about English football. Seeing as my knowledge of the Beautiful Game extends about as far as the Football '87 sticker book, these conversations usually lasted about 30 seconds. Although the delight one old man expressed when recounting the recent match between Liverpool and "Hotnamspur" was enough to brighten my mood.

On the recommendation of Teddy Webb I also went to the cinema (Quantum Of Solace - Daniel Craig is The Don) just to experience the audience standing to pay their respects to the King's song before the main feature. A bizarre experience.

I sat down to write this very blog on my final night in Bangkok but ended up practising my GCSE French language skills with Marion a fellow backpacker who lives in Paris, loves jazz, modern art and red wine. I told her I like AC/DC, American sitcoms and cheap Dutch lager, but nonetheless we got on well.