Morag's Year in the Sun

New Blog

2009-09-22T03:24:00.000-07:00

For those of you not on facebook and thus haven't heard, my new blog is uselesslemon.blogspot.com

Log on and bountiful pleasures await.

The End of All Things

2009-07-29T11:27:00.000-07:00

Well, as the song goes 'Save the best til last'.

This was certainly the case with my last few days in Canada and traveling as a whole. We frequented the theatre to see Cyrano De Bergerac (mum and felt that if Cyrano had just told Roxane he loved her, it all would have worked out splendidly and she wouldn't have wasted her life in a convent, Dave thinks we don't get romance) and then had the most wondeful meal I ever had. Seriously. We went to this converted church and had a slap-up 3 courser. Every portion was small, but perfectly formed. The gastromical delights were astromical. I cannot actually describe to you how marvellous this meal was, but orgasm in a plate sums it up in the best and in the most word economical way.

After that we made another small journey to Fenelon Falls, Barbara's home town and location of their lake house. They called it a cottage, but trust me it was a house. A majestic 2 storey lakeside property with a small path to the lake and private deck. There was also a habitable boat house and small (purple!) boat. Most excitingly of all, Dave had erected a Scottish flag and I lay on the sun soaked deck, saluting the flag feeling very patriotic. Our weather wasn't too fantastic, but I managed a swim and we went on a jaunt on the afore-mentioned boat (I discovered I do not have sea legs) and when the rain did fall, we went for trips to nearby towns buying shoes and fresh vegetables. It was altogether a wonderful couple of days and I will look back upon them with great fondness.

Then the epic journey home began. It started with a 2 hour drive to the aiport and a slight panic when yet again they said I didn't have a seat on the plane, but actually did. Mum and I then said a fond farewell to Dave who had kindly been our taxi once again. Unfortunately, as always I then picked the wrong security queue and accidently 'volunteered' us to go through an experimental secuirity process which I can only describe as standing in a photo booth and getting a hair dryer blown in our faces. Quite how that detects bombs and the like, I am unsure. Anyway, there was some amusement had when the girls in front of us, that we had assumed were Polish/Russian because of how they spoke, turned out to be in fact incredible thick accented Glasweigens. I mean no wonder tourists in Scotland have trouble, these girls were incomprensible, like howling dogs on crack.

Anyway, the plane was on time and the 7 hours over the sea went slowly and without sleep, but it went. We then arrived in London with another 2 hour wait and then our final flight to Aberdeen. After a brief sit down with Grandpa, we then drove back. To illustrate how tired mum was I'll tell you this- she let me drive.

By the time we got to Dingwall we were both exhausted and it was about 5pm Scottish time, 11am Canadian with no sleep. However, the day wasn't over yet. I then met mum's new fancy man and was shown around her new house at the bottom of the hill (under renovation at present, not habitable). I also met one of the fancy man's dogs. Yes, one. He has five labradors. Indeed. After much sitting on by the dog, we returned to my childhood home and decided to have a take-away as by this stage, eating out or cooking were way beyond either of our abilities and in fact the capacity for rational thought was over. I stumbled to bed around 9pm with every intention of watching the some of the highly anticipated last season of Battestar Galactica (if anyone tells me who the last cyclon is, I will end you), but managed 10 minutes before I lapsed into a dreamless coma.

And that's it. Travels over, new life to now begin. However, before I can even think about my move I have to socialise solidly for a week and a half before I'm actually going to be in Dingwall long enough to form a sentence, let alone form a exit plan and job getting strategy. I will say this, after several notes of interest, I have decided to continue the blog. I will open it on a new page (or whatever its called) with a new name yet to be decided. So those of you who wish can continue following me, instead of around the world, around the interview table. I'll keep you posted (literally).

All there remains to say is this -to quote my favourite fictional character Samwise Gamgee (and in fact the final sentence from the Lord of the Rings)-

Well, I'm back.

Swansong with Shakespeare

2009-07-22T13:40:00.001-07:00

So this is an unexpected pleasure. I wasn't sure I'd get another entry until I returned to the motherland.

Unfortunately, poor mum's flight was delayed by a couple of hours which meant instead of pacing around Toronto for some of the day, I paced around all day. However, Dave, mum's university friend who has been living here with his wife for 30 odd years had offered to pick her up. Dave and Barbara actually live a couple of hours away in a place called Stratford (more on that later), but he happened to be in town for a talk so offered to be a taxi service. Due to the delay of course this meant a lot of hanging about so we ate and talked about the theatre until mum's eventual arrival in the late evening.

It was quite odd seeing her as I, of course, haven't since before Christmas. Mum is not a natural traveller and that combined with the delay, she was quite wiped out, but much better than I had anticipated. Fortunately, I had managed, by sheer fluke, booked us the most marvellous hotel in Toronto, which apart from a view of a strip bar, was absolutely beautiful and most high class. The next day mum didn't feel too jet lagged so we decided to visit a place called Casa Loma- a massive castle like house built by an eccentric business man in the early 20th century that eventually bancrupted him and he had to give it to the state. Now, it was a lovely place with secret tunnels, grand fire places, magnificent garden and the like. Unfortunately it was filled with masses of small children on school trips. I think there were about 5 different trips all with about 50 kids each, all far too young to appreciate the aesthetics of the place, who proceeded to run around screaming, falling over and generally being vile and getting in my way. It was most disconcerting. We left there pretty quick as I just couldn't cope. We later when to a shoe museum which was far more civilised and had, well, lots of shoes so I was happy.

The next day we did a most untouristy thing and went to see the 6th Harry Potter which I very much enjoyed and was most amused to be sitting along from a chap who looked like a hippie version of Dumbledore and who kept bellowing wth laughter. After that we went shopping along the posh shops not buying anything. We popped into Tiffany's, but quickly scampered out as they kept trying to give us assistance and we became terrified they would discover we were in no way going to purchase anything.

After our time in Toronto we went to Niagara Falls via the Greyhound bus. Mum found coach travel very exciting which shows how little she goes out. On arrival at Niagara, I was very much reminded of Las Vegas. For those of you who recall, Vegas was not my favourite place. Well, the falls appeared to be much in the same vein. Masses of wax work museums, arcades, giant inflatable things and worst of children. Our hotel this time was not so nice, but bearable and we managed to find the one nice restuarant in town and had huge steaks and tiny puddings. We also had a pint of beer and mother who is not used to drinking became all affectionate and began to tell me how much she loved me. I then took her home.

The next day it was beautiful and sunny so we made our way past all the fast food places, tacky shops and children and got to the falls. Now, much like many hyped things (see Milford Sound) the falls were nice, but I didn't fall to my knees and bask in their ultimate glory. However, we walked along beside them and took the obligatory photos. We were then at a slight loss at what to do as it appeared if you don't want to spend your day haunted wax work museums, there wasn't much to do. However, I got the map out and discovered there was a cemetary not too far from our hotel. My mum and I are very morbid and we love a good graveyard so we ambled along there and spent the better part of the afternoon having a nosey at the names and design of the stones (FYI lots of Italians in Niagara). We also saw about a thousand variously coloured squirrlels and one chipmunk so that was exciting.

On the way home, a most curious thing happened. We were waiting for the green man when a police car drove past and bizarrely, his torch fell out of the window and rolled on the ground in front of us. I picked it up, but the police car kept going and wondered what to do I recalled we had seen a police station on our way to the cemetery so we dutifully walked back, torch in hand, but when we got there it was shut (4pm and shut!). So at a loss at what to do, we left the torch by the front door and walked away. A few minutes later as we just got out of shouting distance, we looked back and saw a police car pull up beside the station. A policeman got out and in a rather comical nature, looked about his person and in the front seat. This can only have been torch cop. I can only hope he found his lost item by the door. I expect if he did he must of wondered how and earth it had got there. I hoped this good karma would cause something nice to happen to us, but unfortunately it did not.

The next day, Dave again being a very kind taxi service picked us up from Niagara to take us to his home in Stratford. As we joined the highway, we were talking nineteen to the dozen and suddenly, police sirens and lights started flashing all around us! Dave had been accidently speeding and was being chased by the police! However, he did not in "Police Camera Action" or "Police Stop" programme try to make a rapid get away. Instead he pulled up and got his ticket (from a very nice policeman I might had, very polite). I wondered if I mentioned the torch story that he might let us off from the ticket, however I thought that might be testing things somewhat.

We made it without further incident to Stratford after that, which is a beautiful medium sized town, famed for its Shakespeare festival every year (in which Dave is a key organiser and his wife Barbara a participant). Dave and Barbara have a lovely home in a deeply quiet area and live with a 18 year old insanely fluffy and affectionate cat called Freebie. We went for dinner that evening and I had two glasses of wine and felt deeply drunk so I dread to think what I'll be like at my reunion the first weekend I'm home with all those hard core alcoholic doctor friends of mine. Anyway, today mum and I spent a lovely morning in another cemetary (lots of Scots in this one) followed by a shop in the wee quaint town which had a Scottish shop (but it didn't sell Irun Bru) . I forced mum to buy a dress and then she forced me to buy one to make it even. Our indulgence was then completed by consuming masses of chocolate cake and now we are quite sleepy.

The next few days are to be thus- dinners out, a theatre outing and then a trip to Dave and Barbara's cottage by the lake. From the photos I've seen it looks a most majestic affair and I promise to take lots of pictures.

And then I'll be heading on home. It seems bizarre to think in 5 days, I'll not only be back in Scotland, but back to Dingwall to spend my last few days in the family home as mum has sold up and will be in her new house by September. However, another new start is quite fitting I think. I am about to start another new journey in Edinburgh and in search of a new job and new life path. This year was supposed to be a period for thinking of these things, but to be honest I am no further forward in deciding what to do than when I left. However, this does not disturb me, instead I think it has given me preparation time to start thinking about things. If that makes any sense, and I suspect it does not.

Anyway, I'll see you all very soon with an empty bank account and a full photo album. I am very much looking forward to coming home and am ready for the motherland. The question is, is she ready for me?

Final Countdown

2009-07-15T12:05:00.000-07:00

Dah dee dah dah, dah dah dah da dah, dah dee dah da dee dah dah da The Final Countdown!

Does anyone actually know the rest of the words or in fact any other words at all of that song? Thank-you "Europe" for that classic one hit wonder. Yes, indeed in less than 12 days I shall be home, but I am getting ahead of myself, lets return to Quebec City...

Indeed, my last few entries have been a diatribe of whining and for that, I apologise. After being very melancholy in Quebec City, my final day there turned out to be quite pleasant. The sun shone and I wandered around looking at slightly old buildings with touch more enthusiasm. The next day I got my trains to Ottawa (I required a change in Montreal, oddly the price of getting these two trains was cheaper than the single trip from Montreal to Quebec City, odd indeed) and the only thing of note was a slightly peculiar Canadian man who asked if he could lift my rucksack. Not in chivalrous "let me carry that for you my good lady" but in a "how heavy is that" way. This wouldn't have been quite as peculiar if he hadn't had been sitting on the train station floor elastic banding 4 bamboo canes together to form a walking stick and (even though it was clear that English was his first language) that he insisting on speaking every other sentence in French even after I told him in my best accent "Je ne comprend pas, parlez vous Anglais?".

Anyway, I reached Ottawa and got a taxi to the hotel. I don't usually get taxis, not just for the cost, I just don't like them very much, all those interperosal skills you have to perform in a small enclosed space wth a stranger. But the train station was quite far away and there was no other means of getting to my destination. The taxi driver spoke English as a second language, I couldn't tell what his first language was and thus where he was from, but he could not grasp the concept that I wasn't English. I tried to explain to him where Scotland was and I got blank looks and he continued to say things such as "there's the English embassy". I bit my tongue and tried not to say "BRITISH Embassy". However, this isn't something too surprising, I have encountered it before many times. However, as I looked around Ottawa I noted that it is quite a Scottish place. A great deal of the street names are "MacDonald" "Elgin" and the like. Also on the main street across from the Parliament buildind there is a St Andrews Church with a massive Scottish flag outside so I actually became more offended in retrospect at the taxi drver for not seeming to even realise Scotland was a country.

This seemingly cultural naivety has continued in every destination in Canada in terms of getting ny name wrong. Oddly enough though, unlike other destinations where it is the receptionists who have, despite my 'Christie is my surname' spiel, made the error, it appears to be the booking service. In every hostel and hotel I have been at, the receptionist has listened to my Christie speach, but it is the computer that has me booked in as Christie Morag. Do the people reading the online boooking form, look at my name entry and go "hmm she has typed her name in backwards and again on the credit card page, I will correct it for her, silly girl" I just don't know. How do people called Craig Simon or Andrew Scott etc cope with this stuff. It's driving me batty.

Anyway, I arrived at my hotel and was delighted (despite the name error) to find it was a fabulous suite room with a little kitchenette with about ten towels and 8 pillows. Surfice to say I did spend a considerable amount of time in my suite watching "Law and Order" but I did venture out occasionally to see the city and found it to be a most pleasant place. The main attraction is the parliament building which is very impressive (Holyrood really should have taken note) and even better was that inbetween two of the buildings there was a stray cat sanctuary that sheltered and fed the homeless feline population (and a racoon). It seemed a very clean and safe place, though doubtless to say I'm sure it has its underbelly, but as capital cities go, it was one of the nicest I've been too.

The days quickly passed by and I was on a bus again for my final destination of Toronto, where I am now. Unfortunately for Canada's largest city, it is not making the best impression. There has been a bin men strike for three weeks and its beginning to show (and smell) on every street corner. It's a shame because, apart from that from what I've seen, it appears to be a well laid out tourist friendly place.

The exciting news is that tomorrow evening my mother should be here to enjoy the stench with me. I say 'should' be because every other holiday my mother attempts to go on, there is always some drama. I wouldn't be at all surpised if evil monkeys hijacked her plane and forced it to land in Alaska. So fingers crossed until she has actually arrived on Candian soil.

I suspect this may be my penultimate entry. Once mum arrives, it'll be a few days in Toronto followed by Niagara Falls and finally a few days in a family friend's log cabin in the wilds somewhere so I'm not sure when I'll get the chance to write again. I promise to do a "I'm back!" entry to give this blog some closure and a well rounded finish (I did a prologue at the beginning, it seems literally correct to do an epilogue). I'm really looking forward to it too, after the generally good times had by all in NYC with Anthony, I anticipate such times ahead for Toronto. A fitting way to finish my adventures; to go home with, rather than to, my mother!

Moaning in Montreal and Quitting in Quebec.

2009-07-08T17:10:00.000-07:00

As the title suggests, Montreal did not do much to lift my spirit. Well, that's not strictly true, it was a pleasant enough city, but my shear determination to remain solitary prevailed. I spent much of Montreal dodging the rain as the thunder storm that followed me around the east coast of the US had also followed me here.

Montreal is a French Canadian city, but it is incredibly Anglicised so any attempts I made to speak in my bastardised school girl French were quickly thwarted by the person I was speaking to replying to my feeble attempts in word perfect English. So I gave up and much like in Holland, just spoke in English without attempting any further embarrassing dialogue.

Now, what did I do? Right, well I went to see their world famous Notre Dame (oh what an imaginative name for a church) and had to pay to see it which immediately put my back up. It's main claim to fame though was that Celine Dion got married there a few years ago so that really should have put me off. I was underwhelmed. After all my exploits, its got to be a great big church with bells on to impress me. However, Montreal had a trick up its sleeve in terms of fabulous churches go. One morning as I dragged myself from bed thinking what to do that day (my enthusiasm is so refreshing, is it not?) two of the girls in the room were discussing this giant church dedicated to Saint Joseph. Now for those of you not familiar with the Catholic faith, Saint Joseph was Jesus' step-father (essentially) and he is the patron Saint of Canada. After hearing that it was very large and shiney, my interest was piqued and later that day I went for a look see.

Well, this is how its done. The church itself was a massive , huge, enormous affair right on top of a hill. There were so many steps leading up to the main entrance there was actually a free shuttle bus to the door. In the middle of the stone steps there was a section of metal staircase roped off. This was so the dedicated , faithful few could ascend the staircase on their knees- ouch. If that wasn't fabulous enough, the church was actually split into two levels. The lower level had a statue of Saint Joseph surrounded by what can only have been about a thousand candles and round the back of him was the tomb of a priest they are trying desperately to get cannonized (it never said what he did anywhere so I can't tell you if I reckon he was worthy, because I am of course the leading expert on such matters). People were all over this priest's tomb, praying and crying. It was all very dramatic. Then came the inners of the main Cathedral. Now in my experience 'new' Cathedrals i.e. not the ones built in Italy in the 17th Century, tend to try and emulate their superior European sisters, but fail (much like the Notre Dame). However, this cathedral had said 'to hell with that' or perhaps something more Christian, and instead had a very modern concrete type design. Instead of marble or bronze statues, it had these bizarre elongated wooden pillar like effigies all around the walls. It was curious and I absolutely loved it. If I lived in Montreal and a Catholic I would definitely go this church on a Sunday. It rocked. You know, as far as churches go.

Sorry, that's a bit of rant, but it really was nice. Another unique thing about Montreal is it has an underground shopping centre. It is so big you can get a map to help you round. I did not get a map and got hopelessly lost. It is multi-layered and goes on forever. So much so that the damn shops get repeated after a while and that was my down fall. I kept ending up at the bottom of a going down escalator when I wanted to go up. It took me about 45 minutes to eventually make my escape. It was very traumatic. And I didn't buy anything.

Nothing particularly dramartic (like being accosted at breakfast by overly keen Germans) occurred in Montreal and I'm struggling to remember what I actually did there. The answer to that is not very much, just my usual reading, seeing stuff, chatting to folk type affairs. It was a nice city, but not as nice as I had anticipated. In my brain, I assumed Canada would be a better, shiney, cleaner, safer cousin of the USA. This idea was mainly brought about by the fact that they don't allow guns here so for some reason I thought by crossing the border all the 'bad people' would suddenly cease to exist. But of course, like any major city, there are poor areas and homeless people. They don't magically disappear just because you can't buy a gun in a supermarket (although there were fewer homeless people). Not to say Montreal was a dirty, sewage strewn brothel, it just wasn't the Disney fairyland I was expecting.

Anyway, after that I caught the train. Now this is when I really should have learned to read my guide book before I go somewhere. You'd think after all this time, I would know better, but there is no fool like an old fool. Quebec City was my next stop. I thought "ah old, French CITY' That'll be a nice, sizable place to go visit for 4 days. The name lies. If Quebec is a city then so is Dingwall. It is so small. There is nothing to do. Okay, there are a couple of museums, a large old battlefield and a wall. So that was day one. Days 2 and 3 have been a struggle. Tomorrow, mercifully is my final day here and fingers crossed there might actually be some sun. I'm very good at wasting time, but wasting time in a place where it is pouring with rain and there are no English book shops, theatres or cinemas is a real struggle as unlike Montreal, Quebec is majorly French. In addition to that, everyone in the hostel appears to be either a teenager from a school trip or a small child on a family holiday. I've never been in such a 'family' orientated hostel. I got booted off the TV by two small French children who wanted to watch a French cartoon, the content of which appeared to be a bunch of robots in Ancient Egypt raiding a pyramid. And when I said 'J'appelle Morag' in my bestest French, the little f**ker corrected my pronunciation.

So, not feeling Quebec City love. But then I didn't feel Montreal love or Boston love, so perhaps rather than the places, it is my mind. I am longing for the mother country now, these final few weeks are beginning to take their toll. I feel especially antisocial, taking my book everywhere in the vain hope people won't speak to me, not taking part in hostel activities in case, horror of horrors, someone might like me and ask me to do something with them. So how am I remedying this unhealthy pattern of behaviour? Am I forcing myself to smile and make polite conversation in the kitchen? Hell no, when I go to Ottawa at the weekend I've treated myself to a bargain hotel (thanks Expedia.com) so I can wallow in complete solitude before heading on to Toronto to meet my mother. Ah, I predict a Law and Order marathon in my future and eating crisps in bed! I know what living is!

Boston Blues

2009-07-03T18:37:00.001-07:00

After the excitement of New York and seeing Anthony, despite thinking myself a strong independent woman, I found myself very melancholy when I reached Boston. This possiblity was not helped by the fact I spent the entire jounery cramped next to rather large woman with a medium sized baby on her knee. The creature did not cry which was fortunate, but did keep tryign to suck on my jumper and dribbled on me.

After the trauma of that, it is no wonder that my enjoyment of Boston was limited. Which is not to say Boston is not a nice place, far from it. But alas, my heart so renewed after my time with Anthony, fell into sight-seeing apathy and I found myself very unenthusiastic. Despite this I did try and force myself to have fun and did the touristy things, but with a heavy heart. I wandered the freedom trail throught the city and learned estentially, the Brits are complete bastards. I went to Harvard and looked at pretty buildings and pretended I was in Dawson`s Creek or some other such marvellous programme. I went to the rather fabulous Isablla Stewart Gardner museum which actually did pique my interest so I will tell you a little more about ut.

Now, the background is I have recently been reading a couple of books on art crime, both theft and forgery ( I am like soooo intellectual) and in the theft book it mentioned the museum. the museum was bequethed to the state by the lady, Isabella, after countless years of collecting and under strict instructions NOTHING was to be changed about the lay out. She had designed the house herself, a rich lady of the early 20th centruy and its crowning glory was the the central open air courtyard and more importantly to the art world, one of the rare Vermeers and the ONLY seascape by Rembrante (known). In 1994, three masked thieves broke in, tied up the security guards and stole 300 million dollars worth of art and amongst other things, the two aforementoned paintings. On their way out they told the guards `you`ll be hearing from us`. But no one ever has and none of the haul has been seen since.

Knowing this, I was interested in seeing the museum and was most delighted by its layout. Because Isabella (who by the way also made the clause, if your name was Isabella- same spelling- you could get in for free, what a lady!) had said nothing can be changed, where the Vermeer and the Rembrante should be are just two empty frames. Very haunting looking upon those hollowed spaces, imagining where the pictures are now. Have they been destroyed? Are they in a rich`s man house adorning the walls? What has become of them!?

Anyway, so that was fun.

A bit out of sequence I realise, but I also want to tell you about anther thing that may have made me a tad grumpy during my time in Boston, the tale of the early morning German. In the hostel I was at, there was a free breakfast served in the rather cramped kitchen. I like breakfast, I feel it is an important meal and hey it was free, so my 2nd morning there I wandered down, bleary eyed, grumpy, but craving a cup of tea. Now as I mentioned- grumpy plus it was morning so extra grumpy. All I wanted was my cereal and my cup of tea and to be left in peace. This was not to be. A rather unattractive, young chap started talking to me. The usual `where are you from stuff` nothing suspect. Being the polite perosn I am (ha ha) I responded appropriateyl, but I think not overly so. He then makes the delightful statement Ì like Scottish people`then launches into a story about some he knows. I find when the entire nation is swept up into this braod umbrella of niceness, the person saying the statement is usually an arsehole. That observation turned out to be true once again. During his diatribe about getting drunk with some Scots, he somehow manages to slip in he`s a lawyer (wow I am sooooooooo impressed), then he slips in `what are you doing today`then quite unexpectedly asks if I played sports. Em, no. Do I play an instrument. Em, no. Then he suddenly says òh you must do something like that, you look so fantastic`. Right mate. Its 9am, I`m depressed, I recently cut my own hair whilst drunk and I`m wearing baby blue jeans I bought on impulse in Gap. I do not look good.

I told him that I do nothing of interest and mainly I just sit about and try to cease to exist and quickly made my excuses and went to go clean my cup and he followed me. Despite him telling me he has already been to Harvard (I had told him I had planned to go there today) he says `I am going there, we should go together`. I look at him incredulously. This ugly, pompous German lawyer and think there is possibly nothing else in this world I would rather not do than spend time with him. I do not say this instead I try and palm him off this some crap about using the internet. He persists. I then just say `no I`d ratherr go by myself`. His little ugly face falls and he quickly washes his cup and walks away. I am suddenly hit with an immense feeling of regret and guilt (though not enough to go out with him). This stays with me the whole day, this feeling that I`ve broken his little German heart and even though I was mightily relieved not to have spent the day with an ugly pompus German who tries to pick up girls at breakfast (I mean not even a bar!) , I still feel bad. Of course for the next two days he is the only person I keep consistently seeing around the hostel and subsequently find myself peering around corners to check he`s not there. There is no better way to deal with guilt than to hide from it. You can quote me on that.

Anyway so that was Boston.

Fortunately, like all things, the time there ended and I found myself on another bus, this time to Montreal and fortunately with no slobbery babies. However, on the bus were two elderly siblings, Betty and Billy from none other than Aberdeen! And proper Aberdonians they were too. Billy was a retired science teacher from Aberdeen Grammer and was delighted to hear that my mother was a High School girl- although he told me since it went comprehensive it was been decided `mixed`. Billy was a great old boy, one of those fantastic old men wo doesn`t listen to a word you say, but instead rattles off stories about people you don`t know like they were your family and tells you terrific antedotes about his health prolems. Fantastic. Betty herself is a keen marathon runner, I tell you, you would not think that to look at her, I was most impressed. Apparently, she did the Boston marathon the year that 2/3rds (or something like that) of the participants collapsed due to the heat, but she managed to finish. They were great crack and I was sorry when they got off the bus in Vermont.

The rest of the journey was decided uneventful although I did get a bit of a grilling from the border control man (in a French accent) `you are travelling alone ??`like I was smuggling a child in my rucksack or something- trust me nothing could be snuck in, there is no room left for anything else!

So here I am finally in Canada, my last destination. My swan song country. My last hurrah. I am looking forward to exploring here, my fear of being shot dead is much less than in the US. Although, I am looking forward to being home where the keyboards are not French and I can actually find the apostrophe key and not have to use some weird dash thing, apologises people.

New York, New York Part 2

2009-06-27T18:58:00.000-07:00

I realised in my last entry, I missed out lots of things that Anthony and I have done thus far. And then I realised, I have done more in this week than probably in the last month and if I was to detail everything we did it would get a bit boring. So instead I'll mention the highlights and if you want to know more then please, dear readers, don't hesistate to ask.

After the spendor of Broadway musicals and high alcohol content cocktails, the excitement did not stop there. No, no, the next day we ventured to the Statue of Liberty. We got a boat across and then looked up at her from all sorts of angles, unable to climb the dizzy heights as you aren't allowed to (post 9/11 type stuff). That was for the best really as just as we went inside for lunch it began to pour with rain. I can't remember whether or not I mentioned that the weather was not being 100% cooperative with us at the beginning of the week, and this day was no exception. The rain came tumbling down for most of the afternoon. However, it made little difference to us as we spent the greater part of the day on Ellis island in a massive museum about immigration. I never knew there could be so much to learn about the process, but I do now.

That evening we went to a fabulous Ethiopian restaurant at the corner of our street and I must say it was tasty. If ever you get a chance to eat at such a place do so, althoguh prehaps not on a first date as you eat with your hands.

The next morning we decided to have Breakfast at Tiffany's which meant wandering along 5th Avenue and sneaking inside the store. We persued the first 2 floors before losing our nerve. I was wearing flip-flops, they knew we couldn't afford anything. We then had breakfast and Anthony would like me to mention that it was then he had a most delightful cupcake. I myself had a most delightful chocolate covered strawberry, most of which I dropped on my jeans.

For the rest of our time we spent the vast majority of it in various museums that I won't bore you with, but they included the Natural History Museum and the Modern Art one and were vast in nature and quite overwhelming. Do not try and do a whole museum in NYC in one day, you will melt your brain. On a break from museums, we went into a giant toy shop with a massive barbie section. I had to restrain myself from buying a black barbie in a wedding dress- she was so pretty, but would not have fit her in my rucksack.

Talking of purchases, I almost forgot to mention my great find (well Anthony deserves some of the credit). On my birthday the two of us were walking along a street and just happened to be talking about my brother Niall's desire for an owl chess when we came across one! I was so excited I texted Niall who in turn was so excited phoned me from Azerbijan and instructed me to buy the chess set on his behalf. So in 6 weeks time if all goes well, Niall will have that much desired object and I believe I will have major brownie points. I reckon I deserve at least 3 pints for that find and maybe a bag of crisps.

Anyway, Anthony and I's time together came to an end far too soon and low and behold it was Saturday! Typically after a week of thunder storms and rain dodging, our last day was glorious. The sun beat down on us and we spent our last few hours wandering through central park, gazing at the squirrels and pretending we were in Enchanted (there is a scene in the film where Amy Adams sings in a fountain, we found the fountain, but did not enter it to sing, just next to it). Unfortunately, the time then came to bundle up our stuff. Anthony accompanied me to the bus station so I could get to Boston and we said our goodbyes before he left to get his bus for the airport.

And thus passes the travelling age of 'Anthony the NYC companion' and enters what I would like to describe as the 'dawning of the final age- the last month'. Yes, in 30 days I will be returing to the motherland, beware!

New York Part 1

2009-06-24T07:08:00.000-07:00

Da da ddah dee da, da da ddah dee da, New York New York!

Yes, my return to New York has thus far been much more successful than my previous crazy-man-on-bus incident. After being soaked and drugged up in DC, I got the bus back to the island city and paced for 24 hours before Anthony arrived. And that he did on Saturday afternoon to my great delight. Despite travelling for a ridiculous amount of hours from which I would feel exhausted and insist on a sit down, we powered out to have tea and did do at this fabulous little tee-total Soul food restuarant called Amy Ruth's. It was like eating your Granny's home cooking. After that he did crash, but I was very impressed with his fortitude and it let me indulge in not one, but two episodes of Law and Order.

I should take a minute to tell you about the place we are staying. Obviously, I'm on a budget so the choice was fun things or nice hotel and we chose fun things. I really struggled to find an affordable private room in a hostel in Manhatten. When I finally did I was much relieved. However on arrival I must say despite my hardened traveller slumming-it ethos that I now possess I was a bit shocked. It's a bascially a big house that had been hastily made in to a hostel. Our twin room turned out to be a box room with a killer set of bunk beds in it that are impossible to climb without launching yourself across them. It got a little strange when I realised we were in room 101 and steadily growing more freaky when I realised the total of the room came to $666. I felt that neither of these things were good omens.

Despite our room in the Devil's hostel, we have had a super time the last couple of days. On the Sunday the weather was being uncooperative so we decided to be cultural and went to not one, but two museums! The Guggenheim (art and arcitecture) and the Metropolitean Art Museum. By the end of the day we felt saturated with paint and culture. It was fortunate we did such academia as earlier that day we had a true stupid tourist moment whilst trying to use the sibway for the first time. After much faffing we finally manged to buy a ticket from the automated machine, only to go through the wee gate thing and were then confronted with a locked 6 foot iron gate. We finally managed to escape out of this situation and then had to buy more tickets as we had invalidated the first ones. We felt like very stupid tourists.

That evening whilst searching for a resturant we got absolutely soaked in the pouring rain (this now becoming a theme for me) and ended up ina Greek place. Whilst we were there a waiter approached me and asked (in French) if I was French. I said no and that I was from Scotland and his look of astonishment that I was actually a native English speaker was evident. So my accent and speach pattern has obviously not changed much since I left.

The weather began to improve slightly which was fortunate as on Monday we met a a lady called Diane (I felt she should have been called Nancy) from a thing called Big Apple Greeter- bascially a New Yorker shows you round a apart of NYC for free. She took us around Colombia Uni where Obama went amongst other things and it was most interesting. Nancy/Diane herself was a hilarous and slightly odd lady, like the best people are. She incidently was a big Law And Order fan too so I approved heartily.

And now to my birthday. Thank-you to all who sent me kind wishes and regards. To those of you that forgot- eternal curses on you all!! Anthony had very thoughtfully arranged for mum to send me a birthday card via him so I had one card to open on the day itself (unfortunately, no large cheque). We had decided to go to Greenwich Village that morning for a wee guided walking tour and found the most fabulous street in al the world. It was called West 10th Street and it was a street of lovely old fashioned town houses that all had window boxes and good paint jobs. One was for sale so we looked it ip- 7 seven floors, a roof top garden- a cool 18 million dollars, so affordable then?! After our nice walk we went to Kat's diner- the diner made famous by the "when Harry met Sally' orgasm moment. I wasn't too impressed, just a greesy spoon like we have back home, except larger portions (it is America). On the walk back I was delighted to discover a Christie street, and then the adjacent street was Forsyth street! I took a picture pointing at the signs, amused at this odd coincidence (for those of you who don't know, Forsyth is my mother's maiden name).

That evening was the big night- our Broadway musical. Anthony had bought the tickets for my birthday and we were due to see 9 to 5, the muscial based on the amazing 70's musical of the same name with Dolly Parton. After a scare (we got on the wrong subway train) we made ourselves beautiful and headed on down to the show. Of note, CJ from the West Wing aka Alison Janney was in the muscial playing the Lily Tomlin role from the film. Well, it was terrific! We were in the 2nd to front row, right in the middle so had a great view. Afterwards, we were too excited to eat (we had skipped dinner) and ended up in a revolving rooftop bar drinking Manhatten cocktails (Manhattens in Manhatten- do you get it, we are sooo original and funny). What we didn't realise was that those cocktails are all alcohol and no mixer. With that on top of no food, we ended up quite drunk and if the bar hadn't have been revolving already then our heads definitely would have been spinning!

Right that's part one over, get ready for part two later in the week!

The Ecstasy of Religion

2009-06-18T17:50:00.001-07:00

After the escapades of the bus station, I was relieved on my arrival to Philadelphia to find that although a big city, it had a relatively small central area that was easily walkable and as such I could avoid public transport.

I had 5 nights and 4 days in Philly, ample enough time to walk the giant park which had lots of statues, see the famous Eastern state jail (fantastic exhibit, my must see of the city), visit the liberty bell, roam the hallways of the Anthropology museum (real mummies!) and generally have an informative, educational and relaxed time. Now, I'm not fantastic at taking pictures, but I have been making a concerted effort since my arrival in the states, especially in San Francisco when I was joined by Amanda and in Philadelphia where there was so much to see. But the gremlins were in the machine. On my last evening, on a hostel organised ghost walk, I got chatting to a lovely Irish girl and I recalled a rather interested statue I had seen at Penn's landing. It was a large bronze affair, one side depicting lots of sad Irish people digging up foosty potatoes and the other, lots of happy bronze Irish people coming off a boat supposedly in America. I think the idea was meant to be hopeful, but to be honest it was a bit sentimental. However what made it funny (and lets be honest when is famine not?) was someone had put a real potato next to a bronze spade. I, in my maturity, had taken a photo of this and went to show it to this Irish girl I had met because of course being Irish she would love that kind of thing.

Imagine my dismay on looking at my camera to discover not only had it deleted my photos from Philadelphia, but also all my photos from the West Coast of the states as well! (Apart from Vegas. Of, bloody course, the one place I didn't like!) I was dumb struck, I fiddled with the damn thing for ages, but I cannot work out how it managed to delete just those photos and it has been working well since. A mystery. My mind will just have to be picture enough, and these words I type here my aid memoire (fortunately I keep a diary which is slightly less irreverent and more descriptive).

Despite that great disappointment, my time in Philadelphia was very enjoyable and I would have to say it was a lovely city and very historical (or as much as Americans can manage with their young country).

My next stop was another iconic American city- Washington DC. And again, I must stay what a great city. As a poor traveller, I love this place as although the hostel is pricey, it is in keeping with the rest fo the East Coast, but everything else here is free! The Smithsonian museum is in fact about ten different museums and a small red bricked castle and they are all free! There are countless instantly recognisable monuments and buildings. It was a poor travllers hogs heaven- everything was walkable, lots to see and do without spending a penny. So did I mention there were a lot of free things?

2 days here is definitely not enough as each museum deserves half a day at least. I chose carefully and on the first day I went to see the holocaust museum. It was due to open at ten and I arrived at 945 thinking I would have to meander around a bit waiting fo the doors to open, but to my surprise the queue to get in was around not one, but two corners! I finally got an entry ticket with a timed entry slot at 1245! However, I was not put off and decided to spent the rest of the morning visiting such (free!) monuments as the Lincoln Memorial. Unfortunately, disaster struck. My back which had been troubling me a little of late and it decided to kick in and I was unable to walk much further than the museum cafe where I was forced to take lots of ibuprofen and have a cake.

Later after a significant rest, I returned to the museum highly anticipating the exhibit and feeling a bit better. After another queue for security I finally made to the entrance, my goal in sight! And the fire alarm went off. Now as you have heard a crazy white supremicist guy killed a poor security guard last week so when the fire alarm went off about a thousand Americans went 'OH MY GOD ITS A BOMB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!' and ran out the emergency exit.

It wasn't a bomb. Someone lent on one of the thingys. After some standing about in the rain and then some standing in line again for security I finally got in. And it was worth the wait. I spent almost 3 and half hours there, what a fascinating place. I would have stayed longer, but it closed! What was remarkable about it was the fact it didn't go "And then America joined the war and everything was fine". It was honest about the immigration policies both pre, during and post war. Very good, five stars. Worth the 1st, 2nd and 3rd wait.

These delays meant further museum-ing that day were abandoned until the next day. I decided to be adventurous and go to a museum off the main drag- a forensic pathology museum according to my book. Well, my book lied. It was on an army base- on arrival at the base a man asked for ID and he had a very large gun! Frightened that I had prehaps made a bad decision about my educational development, I then I couldn't find the building or anyone to ask for help. And then my back kicked in again. I abandoned the museum search and had a bagel. I decided to stick to big places and decided to go see the Capitol Building and thw White House etcetc. It was all going well, I was hobbling slighly, but things were being seen and photos being taken when suddenly the sky went dark. A rumble from the heavens and then as if God turned the tap on, the rain came down. I was standing by the White House and there was no shelter. I tried to get out my umbrella to discover it was broken and kept falling down. I realised then it was too late. I was wet. I abandoned all attempts to try and stay dry- there really was no point and began hobbling back to the hostel. Of course by the time I got the hostel, I was literally soaked to the skin and the rain had stoppe dand the sun was out. As I dragged my poor little semi-disabled self into the lobby, I got the strangest looks from the receptionists.

Bizarrely, this event steeled me for action. I whipped on some new clothes (pants and all- I was that soaked) and stepped out again! I would conquer DC if it killed me! This new enthusiasm was perhaps helped by the fact that, on return to the hostel, I was in so much discomfort I raided my medication supply and took my second to last codeine tablet. With this new lack of pain (and inhibitions) I was ventured forth! And went to the National Cathedral. Yep, I went to America's national church stoned. And it was good.

Planes, trains and automobiles

2009-06-12T15:33:00.000-07:00

I escaped the creepy man of Seattle and made my way back to San Francisco. I was pleased and delighted to find that the freezing fog that has clouded my visit on my previous trip had lifted and the weather was now warm and pleasant.

What was even more delightful was my friend Amanda- the travel agent I met whilst trekking in Tasmania- was coming for a long weekend with her step-mother Kay. It was just a coincidence that Amanda had decided to make the long journey to San Francisco the same weeekend, but what a lovely one at that. As I mentioned, the continous formation of new friends has been taking its toll of late and it was so nice to slip into easy conversation. What was also nice was having companions for activities and we had a delightful day at the art gallery and a slightly wind swept lunch. In the evening we dined at Francis Ford Coppola's restaurant. We were initially a bit put out as there was a massive group of Americans next to us, one of which I can only desrcribe as a wailing banshee. The waiter, a lovely chap called Tim (I think), was so apologetic for the noise we got free deserts and coffee!

On the Sunday, Amanda had organised for us to go ona wine tour of the Napa Valley. The tour guide was a German woman who was definately hungover and made little or conversation until the last ten minutes when she was angling for tips However, her narration was not required due to one of our fellow wine taster compainions, a Texan woman called Debbie.

Now, I'm not one to judge- oh to hell with that, I definitely am, but this woman was everything a sterotypical Texan woman should be apart from the fact she wasn't grossly overweight. She was loud, obnoxious and between wineries she was shotting tequila- I kid you not. At one stage rather than use her spitton, she threw a glass of wine over her shoulder and narrowly missed me. She hung on to everyone, slapping them 'affectionately' and generally made a nuisance of herself. To cap it off, on the bus ride back to San Francisco she began to bemoan the possibility of public health care in the US as she thought it could be no good thing that the poor and needy should get free health care.

That evening Amanada, Kay and I went to a chinese trestaurant with the rudest waiter known to man (I personally think he was mentally disabled) and had the bottle of wine we had got from our tour. We then went to a bar called 'Top of the Mark' a rooftop bar in a hotel and had devine cocktails. It was so high up, I felt I could have tickled the moon (if I had been brave enough to go near the window) and if you squinted very hard, you could see the Golden Gate Bridge. After all the alcohol of the day, I made a fond farewell to Amanda and Kay and went back to my hostel. I was leaving the next day and had neglected to pack earlier. I must recommend not packing whilst drunk as I did so in a most peculiar order and during which I narrated much to the bewildement of my Malaysia dorm-mates.

The next day I caught a plane to LAX and stayed overnight in a airport motel. I was due to catch an 11am flight to New York the next day and I was too nervous to fly on the same day. Also I was looking forward to ordering room service- a treat for myself. Now I have never ordered room service before and I was quite diasppointed. However, I suspect that fact I was staying at the cheapest hotel should have been an indicator that the meal was not going to be fantastic.

Anyway, the next morning I dutiful arrived at LAX only to discover my flight was delayed 2 hours. Never mind, it was Tuesday and I had booked a hostel in MYC for two nights and then a bus to Philadplephia on the Thursday. I was no real rush to get to New York, especially as it was my intention to withhold sight-seeing until my friend Anthony comes to join me in a couple of weeks. Two hours turned into three and then boarding was announced. As the plane load of people aprroached the gate, suddenly a voice told us the flight was cancelled! This came as somewhat of a surprise and no reason was given. However, as I said I was no hurry and I wasn't really bothered. Not so some of the other flyers who were furiously phoning travel agents and getting very cross. I met a lovely Australian girl who needed to get to NYC by the early Wednesday, but she was managingto be perfectly polite and we went together to the help desk to get ourselves sorted out. Fortunately she managed to get a later flight that day and to my great delight because of 'my great inconvience' that they couldn't get a flight for me until the next day, I got put up in the Hilton with 20 dollars worth of food vouchers. What a trauma.

By late evening of the next day, I finally made it New York where again transport difficulties were thrust upon me and I got stuck in an airport shuttle bus in traffic for nearly 2 hours. But as I said no hurry. From my brief, inital impression, the city seemed large and intimidating and in many ways I was pleased that my exploration of it was going to wait until I was going to be accompanied by a friend.

The next morning I made my way to the 'Port Authority' Bus stop, made famous by various TV shows and films. In a word (if it is one)- unglamorous. However, I got chatting to nice middle aged couple whilst we stood in the queue for our bus in the terminal buidling and I felt relaxed. That was until I herad shouting coming from the adjacent bus stop to ours. Earlier I noticed a rather large middle aged black man patrolling the building talking to himself loudly about wanting to get to California. I suspected that, not just from the fact he was talking to himself, that he was a little nutty as to get to California on a bus would, I predict, take weeks from NYC. Well, this chap had forced his way past the bus driver of a bus to Newark (approximately 80 miles form NYC) and was refuing to get off the bus. The bus driver, a portly man was having an absolute hissy fit and screaming at the man, something I suspect is probably not the best way to deal with the mentally ill and rather scary for the passengers of the bus. Eventually, 8 armed poilcemen appeared and dragged the man from the bus in handcuffs. Despite my alarm at this unfolding scene, it amused me to note that of the 8 officers only one appeared to be over 5 ft 6 and it did make me wonder about the assocation between the fondness of smaller men and big guns.

After all that excitement we got on the bus (the middle aged couple I was in line with were most apologetic and assured me this had never happened before to their knowledge) and our bus driver proclaimed to love us all and was a very jolly chap. I must admit by the time I got to Philadelphia, despite the rain, I was most pleased to arrive, safe in the knowledge that I was booked to stay for 5 nights and that I wouldn't have to board any long distance transportation for a quite a few days. Steve Martin and John Candy, eat your heart out!

Sleeping well in Seattle

2009-06-05T10:56:00.000-07:00

Seattle the city of rain, Tom Hanks rom-coms and coffee. Well of the three I only sampled the latter. To my great fortunate there was a bit of a mini-heat wave occuring in the city of restless dreams and to my greater fortunate I did not meet Meg Ryan up the Space Needle (how I despise that actress).

My journey truely began on the train when I met possibly the smallest person without a medical condition called Dennis. He was a young, miniture Costa Rican chap who was on the way to meet a friend in Seattle. He had been in Portland visiting his step-brother and now was continuing up the coast much like myself. We had a wonderful chat for about 3 hours and after it was over we had arranged to meet the next day to do some touristy things. And that we did.

We climbed the space needle, walked along the monorail track (well along side obviously we were not death seekers) and in the evening ended up trawling the nightlife of Seattle and ended up seeing a very enthusiastic drag queen show. It was all great fun lubricated by some very cheap lager.

Now this may surprise some of you, scratch that, all of you, but despite my fondness for the ale I haven't been indulging in that much of late. When I was in Brisbane with Maggie, Duncan being the wine connseuseur that he is, I did ingest a few fine grapes, but apart from that my alcohol intake had been much reduced (and all the better for it). However, drinking vast quantities of 'bud light' (if you didn't know my new companion was homosexual, you now do) certainly took its toll on me the next morning. I was physically incapable of getting out of bed until midday. I was fortunate that the bunk beds in my hostel were unique as they were completely surrounded with little green curtains for privacy and as such my new dorm mates were not subjected to the vision that was the hungover me. When I did finally emerge I did not feel at all well and I have to be honest and say it wasn't until about 9pm that evening that I finally began to feel altogether myself again. Surfice to say, it was not a productive day.

Unfortunately due to my incapacity I was unable to meet up with the lovely tiny Dennis again and he departed back to Costa Rica, but there was a fond exchange of emails and for those of you with facebook, he has posted some pictures if you would like a look (also you can see my do-it-yourself haircut).

The good weather continued so I got out my guidebook and dedicately went out and saw the sites of Seattle. On first impression I wasn't too impressed with the city with its multitude of Starbucks coffee shops (literally one on every street) and numerous homeless crazy people. However, it warmed on me over the next few days especially when I found a park adjacent to a cemetery. Now for most people I'm sure this isn't much of an attraction, but when I was at home mum and I would frequently visit various cemeteries in the surrounding towns as they are curious and interesting places. It isn't a macbre thing, more a interest in history I suppose. This vast one in Seattle surprised me greatly in the number of Scottish names present as I wasn't aware it has many ties to the mother country, but there you go.

Anyway, enough of idle tourism. I would like to tell you about a hostel quirk and about one of the most curious conversations I've had in a while. In most independent hostels, that is not official Youth Hostel Association ones which are carefuly regulated, but the individual ones, I have noticed a recurrence of a certain character who I have named the "Creepy Man'. In most independent hostels, they will allow you to stay rent free if you work there and this results in a large number of semi-permanent residents who don't have any money as they are not paid, but are very familiar with the hostel. There is also usually a 'Creepy Guy' in situ. This is usually a chap in his mid-thirties (who really in my mind shouldn't be dossing in a hostel) who is very comfortable in the hostel surround. You notice the other hostel workers keep their berth from him and he seems to be present in the communal areas regardless of time of day. He is always chatting up some solo female traveller saying such things as 'yeah I've been everywhere in the world' and 'I could show you around *insert city name*' and 'yeah I used to be a bass player for Pearl Jam'. As soon as the solo female traveller shows any independent thought or questions this guy or gets company esp if it a male compnaion, the 'Creepy Guy' will scurry off in the corner and linger for new prey.

Now I sure you have an impression of the type of fellow I'm describing and as you can imagine I dislike such chaps. Despite being a delicate flower, I can smell a slimey chat up line from 20 paces and it impresses me not laddie. Now in Seattle we had one such 'Creepy guy' and in the 4 days I was there I was able to avoid him until my last night. I was in the kitchen cooking when I realised he was behind me chatting to some gullible American girl. I knew it was him as he had the most curious accent. It sounded like he was an American doing a English accent very badly and as such it was quite a distinctive voice. He was telling this girl about 'all the books' he had read and that "War and Peace" was his favourite novel (laugh laugh, cough cough), but then she departed. You could almost feel his eyes scanning the hostel looking for a female alone. Alas, me standing over my little pot cooking my noodles was the nearest victim. Then a most bizarre conversation took place. I will describe like a play for the drama. What I say will be in italics. Stage directions are in bold.

Creepy guy walks over to cooking girl
English?
No, Scottish
Ah, English
No, Scottish
He points at the girl who is intently staring at her cooking pot.
Edinburgh
No
Glasgow
No
Where?
Inverness
Oh?!
A hush descends. He looks puzzled. This suggests to the girl that he is not English as he says he is. On the whole English people know Inverness. Suddenly the Creepy Guy begins to talk again. His words are spoken quickly.

Scottish people are nice. I knew some Scottish people who were in this hostel. Actually they were arseholes. They were Man U fans and I like City. We were, like, at the pub and I said 'hey no need to get nasty about it, but hey I will then'.

The cooking girl looks alarmed and puzzled on hearing this bizarre incoherent speech.
He continues after a brief pause.

How do you like America?
It's nice
Seattle?
Nice

Silence

Americans are nice. Seattle is nice. The people are nice. Mostly.

Attempting to make conversation the cooking girl says
There are lots of homeless people
Yeah that's America for you
I think its to do with the lack of a public health service. No safety net for the mentally ill
(girl looks thoughtfully at her well realised statement)

Yeah. Homeless people. They are alright. They do their thing. I let them. In their corners. They stand outside the hostel, I don't mind. They do their stuff. It's okay

Creepy guy suddenly walks off, leaving the cooking girl with her pot. She is puzzled, but relieved. Scene ends.

In the immortal words of Jim Morrison - People are strange.

The book(shop) thief

2009-05-29T23:36:00.000-07:00

I'm going to try and keep this short as the last few entries have been quite ridiculously long. Sorry for that and thanks for sticking with me.

The dismal Vegas experience very much over shadowed much of the trip in San Francisco. I was grumpy and disappointed with Sin City and also a little strange from watching all those Law and Order reruns. Whenever one has too much time to ones self, one finds one can get a little peculiar and also a bit introspective and feeling a tad homesick. So as I descended upon San Fran, I was grumpy, strange and had high expectations that I would feel better soon. The problem with high expectations is that you often are left disappointed as you've set them too high to meet.

This I feel was the case with my first few days in San Fran. It didn't help that it was really cold and foggy so I couldn't recooperate by sitting in a park reading a book (my usual mood lifting cure all). Also, when I feel a bit low, I need to be left alone until the mood lifts and a German girl in my dorm persisted on trying to befriend me. "what are you doing' 'what are you planning on doing' 'what are your plans' and so on. Now I'm sure (in retrospect) she was just being kind, but I all wanted to do was leap from my chair/bunk bed (wherever she had cornered me) and scream at the top of my lungs "Get out of my FACE!"

Now, this is obviously an over reaction to a German attempted befriending. I'm aware. But as Winston Churchill said 'you cannot dodge the blackk dog of despair' or something similar. So I sullenly sulked and slunk and all together tried to avoid her for, oh 3 days. However, after this time (during which I had been doing my best to be a good tourist, did a tour, saw the Golden Gate Bridge, the gays and the hippies- buy a book if you want to hear about the sights) mooching around avoiding Germans I suddenly and inexplicably whilst having an late shower to warm myself after a long day of walking in the cold, started feeling better. Oh it was a fantastic feeling. I felt energised and ready to be socialable again.
Unfortunately, it was about 10 at night and the German was asleep, bless her and the next day she left before I could apologise and show her I actually was a nice person, not a weird recluse.

After my sudden epiheny or whatever it was, I truely began to enjoy San Francisco (the sun deciding to descend probably helped this) and I spent my last day there feeling far more myself. And I bought a book. Maybe two.

However, it was now time to move on to my next destination, a place called Portland. You may or may not have heard of this little city (I had not), but main reason for going there was 1. it broke up a tedious rail journey to Seattle and 2. I was told it had a very large bookshop. For once my expectations were met. What a bookshop. 4 floors of well laid out, alphabeticalised joy. And it was a mix of new and secondhand. If I could have moved in, I would have. If I could have actually picked the building up and transplanted it to Edinburgh and employed myself there, I would have. Actually, if I get a genie wish that would be it (stuff world peace).

Portland also has a wonderful array of arthouse cinemas pouring out of every little cubby hole and a very large clean park with a massive rose garden. I have basically been in hogs heaven for about 3 days. If I hadn't of already prebooked my journey onward to Seattle today I would have stayed. Forever. Well, may be two days.

I'm the Kid in America

2009-05-22T23:24:00.000-07:00

Well all my dark nightmares of being wrestled to the ground at the immigration desk and then probe searched by customs turned out to be unfounded. I arrived safely in Los Angeles after an uneventful journey in which I did not sleep. This is curious to me as I fall asleep on any other form of transport, just not planes as (Aimie will testify after being on several trains with me on mini breaks) I fall asleep on public transport at the drop of a hat. However, planes do not lull me into that good night.

Anyway, I pensively approached the desk, greasy face and hair, clutching my little book with my information about where I was staying and my ticket leaving Canada etc etc, full of nervous anticipation. IS THIS YOUR FIRST TIME IN THE US? OH MY HAVE A NICE TRIP! I was stunned and moved quickly onwards to the customs queue. The customs man looked me up and down, OH MY GOD DO YOU ONLY HAVE ONE BAG? For some reason, despite only having one bag, my trusty rucksack for the last 6 months without change, I turned and checked my back, "yes" I said. OH COME ALONG THEN!

From this I surmised two things. All Americans shout at all times and most people coming to the states must have multiple pieces of luggage. In my by then exhausted and slightly confused state I began to search for a door to door shuttle bus- there was no way I was going to try and naviagate public transport with major jet lag. What was so confusing was that I actually gone back in time having left Auckland at 5pm on Sunday, I had arrived at 11am on the same day. I had gone back in time. I truely am a God. Anyway, I got my shuttle and was driven to downtown LA. Now the only reason I picked this particular hotel (yes a hotel, I decided hostelling with jetlag would be unfun) was it was near the bus station so I could walk to the bus stop to get my bus to Las Vegas the next morning. The guide books aren't too kind about downtown LA and after driving through it, I could see why. It was just dirty long streets with dirty people. However, prehaps in my exhausted state I was being unkind. I got to my hotel and when staright to bed for a few hours.

On awakening I realised I was hungry and I would have to venue into the big bad world to get some food. Now despite my anxiety about getting into the country having disappeared, this was replaced by a fear that I would be accosted and robbed by gang members who all had guns and would rob me of my virtue. So in my jet lagged state I stepped into the world. I had not unfairly judged it before. As I wandered the sweaty streets desparately looking for any kind of food shop, all I found where discount diamond stores (?!) and lots of random old men who didn't yell at me at me per se, but every one I walked past would make a funny noise. It was most disconcerting. I saw a MacDonalds and I say with no shame, I got some chicken nuggets and I high tailed it back to the hotel before I was killed by a crazy man.

I ate said chicken nuggets or 'McNuggets' (ho ho so clever) and promptly fell asleep again. I was awoken my the bed shaking and the remote for the TV falling from the bed to the floor. I thought to myself "oh a big truck must have driven by' and thought no more of it until about half an hour later I was channel surfing and came across this headline "LA rocked by biggest earthquake in years!!!" Ah, my first night in California and I had experienced an earthquake. The cliche! This also worried me slightly. No, not the brush with death (it was a very mild earthquake, two shop windows fell out and some stuff fell off some shelves in a petrol station), but the fact the first one in ages had occured on the day of my arrival.

Cast your minds back to my Australia trip. During my time there I was in Melbourne for the devasting fires, left Tasmania the day 30+ whales beached and went to Cairns the day after a cyclone had hit. I was concerned that my bad ecological luck had skipped New Zealand and was now about to strike the States. So keep your eyes posted on the news.

The next morning I awoke unrefreshed, but raring to go. I had decided I did not like LA and was not regretting my decision not to spend anytime there (thank-you Esme for some sound advice). I asked the hotel receptionist if it was far to the bus stop- NO NO! So I began to walk. And walk. And walk. Half an hour later through urine soaked streets and a brush with a fire engine (I keep forgetting that they drive on the right) I arrived at the bus station. Ew. Smelly and dirty. The bus was no better. It was full and I had to sit next to a Mexican chap. I think he must have known a tourist was going to be sitting next to him because he'd obviously gone out and bought the outfit. He had a white stetson, snake skin boots and was chewing a matchstick. I mean really, c'mon, can you fill the stereotype any more than that?!

The bus journey to Las Vegas was unpleasant, but uneventful apart from one thing. I had managed to fall asleep, it not being a plane and suddenly the bus screeched to a halt and I was woken up. Now as I said the bus wasn't great and there was something wrong with my seat so whenever the bus slightly sped up or slowed down it rocked back and forth. With this sudden stop I was flung forward. I looked aorund and all I could see was sand. Of course driving through Nevada meant lots of sand, but a gust of wind had caused a mini-cyclone of sand to swirl around and by chance had hit our bus. It wasn't a strong wind, but the bus had to wait til it passed and the driver could see again. I t was a bit alarming and excited the two old ladies wearing matching wigs, green and orange linen suits in front of me to no end. You just know that'll be the story at the knitting circle next week.

I finally got to Vegas and caught a taxi to my hotel. It was very expensive and I think I was had, but I was so grateful the taxi driver didn't kidnap me and sell me into white slavery that I paid it gladly and scampered. Now those of you would know anything about Vegas or if you are like myself and get all your information from CSI, you will have heard of Caeser's Palace, the largest casino and hotel complex on 'the Strip'. Well, I wasn't staying there, it was too expensive, I was staying at the Imperial across the road. It was immently cheaper and immently obvious why. The hotel rooms were very basic and didn't appear to have any light switches. However, it was cheap and private and had a TV channel that only appeared to show Law and Order so I was happy.

After a shower I ventured out into the big bad world of Vegas. Celebrities, fashion, money, sophistocation! Well, they must all have been on holiday somewhere else because all I saw was fat, ugly, poor people sweating. It was bloody hot and not in a nice Australia way, in a dirty smoggy London way, but three times as hot. I resolved to the see the sights so I dutifully walked to the south end of the strip, took pictures of the fake Effial Tower, the fake statue of Liberty, the 4 floor M&M shop, dodged past the hundred guys trying to give me little porn cards with prostitutes phone numbers on (these guys literally lined the streets) and tried to be a good tourist. I wasn't really feeling the love, but I was trying when suddenly a tall chap started walking next to me and began talking to me. He was young, American and of course shouted. I found it was rather odd that he would suddenly start talking to me as I was just walking along, I wasn't stopped anywhere looking at something and I felt the random talking to stranger etiquette had been broken. However, my inability to be rude led me to chat back (but I kept my steady pace). This guy seemed perfectly reasonable, but was obviously angling for me to have a drink with him and I was thinking how I would politely say no and leave (remember most serial killers are American white men between 20-40, trust no one) when he did something I would like some feed back about.

Now to recap, he had started talking to me randomly and we had just started talking. As we walked along the pavement, the way became narrow and we had to go single file. Now I know I'm not the most graceful of people, but I have been walking and standing independently for most of my life, I can manage it. Well, this chap put his hand low down on the small of my back and 'directed' me to where I should walk. I felt this was A. Insulting and B. invading my personal bubble. Now I take my personal bubble VERY seriously, just like my hostel etiquette and he has broken it severely. All pretences were gone. Shortly after this incident we pasted a dancing fountain, he slowed and stopped and I said "oh I'm tired, enjoy the fountain" and ran away. Bravely ran away, away, like a true hero. Was I over reacting? Or do you think he was a creep?

I returned to myhotel room(it was getting on- at least 8pm!) and hid there for the rest of the night. The next morning I resolved to try and enjoy myslef more. I mean come on it was Vegas! Sin City!!!! Money!!! Lights!! Glamour!!! So with this new enthusiasm I was walked out with my head held high to go the north end of the strip. I lasted about 3 hours of street porn card abuse, scary looking old women wearing inappropriate clothes and the blistering heat before I bought a sandwich and went back to my hotel again. I realised then the truth of the matter. I hate Vegas. It's dirty and hot and full of desperate horrible people who all want something from you. So I cut my losses and stayed in my hotel room until the next morning when I checked out and went to the airport to fly to San Francisco.

Now, as I sat on the plane (not sleeping) I looked back at my time in Vegas, realising that I had spent most of my time in my hotel room hiding from the celebrity look alike black jack dealers and the like, and thought 'do I regret that?'

The answer is no.

Bodily Functions 2 and goodbye to NZ

2009-05-16T15:59:00.000-07:00

I think I have done something to upset the gods and goddesses of good fortune. After the snore-fest and my subsequent escape to my hotel haven, more unfortunate bodily functions awaited me back in Auckland.

Of my last last few days in my fab hotel in Christchurch, I do not have much to report. So overwhelmed was I at having a flat screen with a movie channel and an ensuite that I took full avantage of both features. Basically meaning I ate crisps in bed while watching Narnia and peed with the door open (its just so liberating!). I also cut my hair. Yep, myself. Well, I standing in front of the mirror bemoaning the unhealthy state of my hair and the complete lack of enthusiasm about hairdressers causing the multiple spilt ends. And then I decided, I have scissors, I have cut open people so why not cut my hair (I may have had a couple of glasses of Pinot Noir at this stage). So I did and took off about 5 inches. It's now lying just off my shoulders and it looks alright if I do say so myself. Saved myself a bit of money on a hair cut and shampoo. Maybe I shoud become a hair dresser on my return. Apparently they are the happiest profession, social workers being the least- big shock there.

That's bascially my news from the end of Christchurch. I did visit the cathedral and I have to say I was disappointed. After all the fabulous decorative and majestic Catholic Cathedrals of Itlay and Spain, this Protestant one was a bit drab. I know the old cathedrals of Europe were built with the blood, sweat, money and tears of peasants, but my word they do have lovely buttresses.

On Tuesday I flew back to Auckland for my last few days in New Zealand and to get the last bits of organisation done for flying to the states. Much like the last few days in Australia, I was feeling ready to go. There is still much to do and see in NZ, but my passion has waned some what and I'm hoping a change of country will re-ignite it. As such, these last few days have quite solitary, reading books and having lots of cups of tea. The effort of making (as Edward Norton calls it in the cult film Fight Club) 'single service friends' was a bit beyond me this week.

Oops, I'm forgetting my sequence of events in my deep reflectiveness. Yes, so I arrived in Auckland and returned to the YHA that I stayed at before. To my surprise (and the receptionist) for some reason I was given a free upgrade to a 3 bed dorm. I wasn't going to complain, that was until I entered the room. There were 3 single beds in this small room, 2 occupied by at this stage absent travellers and there was a very curious smell (and by curious I mean stinky). I opened the window and thought no more of it and went for a walk. I couldn't help notice that both beds were adorned with French travel guides so I assumed (correctly) that my roomates were 2 French girls travelling together.

I was out quite late that night, being the cheap evening at the cinema, I of course when and on my return to the room the lights were off and my two roomates were in bed sleeping. This was not the first thing I noticed. The first thing that hit me was the pungent smell that burst from the room on the opening of the door. I actually gasped. I had to sleep that night with my head under a sheet to protect me from the stench. Why have the gods abandoned me so! What made me all the more curious about these two girls is that they never seemed to speak to me (not even a hello despite my efforts) or each other or get out of bed. The next morning I arose and showered and faffed about at bit and on my return to the room about 12, they were still sleeping. That in itself wasn't too extraordinary, but that eveing about 8pm, I returned to the room and they were in bed again with the lights off (and smell on). I then assumed, prehaps they are getting up early for a flight. No. And then again they weren't out of bed by 11 the next day.

Now, I'm not trying to be xenophobic here, but these two girls really did fulfil the lazy, smelly and unfriendly French stereotype. Not good ambassadors for their country. Fortunately after the third night they then left and I aired the room. I think one of them must have had some sort of bowel complaint, it really was an extrardinary odour.

However, in between inhabiting my smelly room, it has been a nice week. I feel refreshed and ready for a change of scene and I needed to get a travel guide for the states to help me plan my next adventure. Travel guides as with most books here in NZ are quite expensive and I was bemoaning this fact when I stumbled across a fabulous little second hand bookshop (I have a nose for them). One whole wall of this tiny shop was populated by very new, yet half price lonely planets and got very carried away. So carried away I failed to notice what inhabited the other shelves of the bookshop. A lot of Agatha Christie, some DVDs and an entire back section wall to wall with porn and erotica. I bought my lonely planets and scampered away from the porn shop and bought myself a cake to get over the trauma (any excuse).

Now a bit of background about me and porn in bookshops. I have an uncanny ability to walk into erotica sections of bookshops quite without noticing. In fact my internal compass seems to lead me to it first and then suddenly I'll look more closely at the titles and realise my error. All this started back in my school days when as an innocent teenager I got lost in Borders bookshop in Glasgow. I had just been for my medical school interview and had some time to kill before getting my train. I was nervous about being in the 'big city' so I sought sanctuary in a familiar place. However, what happened was I got lost in a labyrinth of shelves and staircases in which every path seemed to lead back to the Gay, Lesbian and Erotic section. I eventually had to ask someone how to escape. And now to this day I seem drawn there like a moth to a flame. The irony is I depise erotic fiction, I think it's all terribly silly.

Anyway, that has been the main excitement of my week apart from meeting up with Eilidh Nicol, an old friend, yesterday. By sheer serendipity she has only just arrived back from Scotland after being home for a few months so I was lucky to catch her before I headed off again. It was so nice to see her and it was lovely to chat about familiar things for a change. She also took me out to the infamous One Tree Hill. A hill that used to tree on it, but now doesn't (a mad activist cut it down, for more details go to wikipedia). It has been mentioned in a U2 song and there's now an American teen drama of the same name.

I am now preparing for the off. I have packed my bag myself, binned any consumable goods and ensured all my sharps are in my stowed luggage. I've got my visa waiver form filled out and printed, my passport primed and ready. So fingers crossed people they let me in the country and it being a 12 hour flight, have some films I haven't seen on the aircraft. About both these pressing matters, I am concerned.

Bodily Functions

2009-05-12T20:38:00.000-07:00

Christchurch is a nice enough small city, nicer than Wellington in my opinion and completely different to Auckland. After another duck and hiding bus journey I arrived late afternoon in the city and soon discovered my hostel and 3 enormous supermarkets all in a row. The supermarkets in a row phenomenon is something I first noticed in Nelson- the town of the prison hostel and wine tours- but seems to be a common occurrence in New Zealand. I can't decided what the reason for it is. Is it that one company bought some land and then their competitors, just to annoy them, bought the adjacent land to build their giant supermarket? Or is there a law saying giant supermarkets must all be built in spitting distance of each other? It is a curious oddity that as you can tell has had me thinking.

Anyway, after doing some food shopping in one of the giant supermarkets (I won't tell you which one in case the others get jealous) I had a brief orientation wander around the city centre and was pleased to discover 3 arthouse cinema in direct vincity. This immediately made me feel more at home. The next day it rained and rained thwarting any real efforts to be a tourist, but to my delight I found 3 second hand bookshops all in a row (sensing a pattern in the layout of Christchurch's facilities...) so I bought some reasonably priced books and decided to spend the afternoon eating cakes and drinking hot chocolate whilst reading my purchases (one of which was a true story of a 2nd world war POW who tried to escape 10 times. It was a great read made all the more amusing by the old fashioned polite turns of phrases, now sadly lost to the modern day slang).

That evening I fulfilled a promise to my Grandfather and went to see a friend of his Betty whom had moved to New Zealand a year ago with her son (who was also present for the visit). Betty was a charming lady who very generously had make me about a thousand ham sandwiches and supplied me with lots of biscuits and tea (from proper china teacups). It was a most delightful evening and I felt quite fat afterwards.

The next morning I had a bus tour to do which was a purely indulgent affair. As many of you know, one of my favourite films is the Lord of the Rings and New Zealand is where it was filmed. There are literally dozens of tours you can do that can show you various places where things were shot, but I had resisted them all as I didn't want to ruin the 'magic' (I couldn't bear to see an abandoned Hobbiton). However, there was a tour to the Southern Alps, which took you to the valley where Edoras was filmed and an option to climb the hill where the Golden Hall was situated (if you've lost me, don't worry about it). This all sounded like pleasant scenery if nothing else plus it has a champagne lunch included. This I couldn't resist. It was actually a very enjoyable tour mainly consisting of a pleasant guide telling stories about the films and the stars followed by the hill climb and lunch. I was incredibly fortunate as it was a beautiful day and everything looked so pretty. However, what struck me as most odd was that there was this Malaysian family on the tour and none of them had seen the films. Not one film and not one of them. I'm sorry, but what on earth pocessed them to come on the tour? To sit for 3hours hearing stories about a film they had ever seen to climb a hill of a set they had never seen and then get driven back? It doesn't sound like much fun to me. However they all seemed to have a great time so who am I to judge (but I do).

Anyway, enough of that. Now to discuss what happened next. Back to hostel etiquette. Now I know I bang on about this a lot, but when you are travelling, the hostel is your home, your sanctuary. Your comfort zone if the dizzying site seeing world becomes overwhelming and you need a place to hide. So its important that if nothing else that you feel at ease in your dorm. Unfortunately, I was in a mixed dorm again (not a name error for once) and the first 2 nights were alright. But then on the 3rd night the Americans invaded. 2 older (ie in there 50s) chaps that pounced on me as I entered the door- 'OH MY GOD. HELLO THERE HOW ARE YOU? WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING TODAY (no pause for answer) OH MY GOD WE HAVE JUST GOT HERE AND WE ARE SOOOOO JET LAGGED BUT SO EXCITED....' and you get the picture.

After about 10 minutes of this barrage, as I edged toward the door desperate to leave ( I genuinely was needing to make a phone call) I'd already got a tirade about Californian wines and invited to stay at their house when I was in San Franciso. AS IF! Why would a single female traveller take 2 older men up on such an offer? Do these men think when they say such things?! There are 50 times more serial killers in the US than anywhere else in the world (*statistics from the Florence museum of serial murderers 2008*), I would never do such a thing even if they pinkie promised they were not going to murder me. So I made my escape and on my return much later that evening as I got to the door of the dorm all I could hear were strange and terrifying noises. I paused unsure what to do, but being the brave international woman of the world I am, I ventured forth. I boldly pushed the door open and in incredulous horror realised the source of the noises. Both the men were snoring like a marching band being chased by a train. As I climbed ino the bunk (unfortunately above the worst of the snorers) I lay in hopeful anticipation that the snoring would stop. It didn't. I tiried all my usual tricks- shaking the bunk so much it wakes the person below up. Dropping things on the floor, But all these just made it worse and worse.

To add insult to injury at 6 in the morning when I actually finally got to sleep, they got up and oput the light on for 35 minutes (I timed it) and talked in normal voices. ETIQUETTE!!!!!!!!!!! It is 6 in th f**king morning and both of your interminable train like snoring has meant the rest fo us have only slept for 14 minutes combined the whole night! I was angry, but happy in the fact that they were gone.

That day in my weakened state and the weather being uncooperative again, I did very little. Some feeble attempts at sight seeing followed by some cake eating. I went to see a very sad film about the female French resistence fighters during the war and felt thoroughly depressed. However, I thought, tonight I will sleep well. But karma was not finished with me yet. When I got back to the room, the Americans had returned. They had just gone on a day trip. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I prayed and crossed my fngers, snore less, snore less, snore less! But the gods who had listened to me and given me good weather for my glacier hike had turned their back so on me. It was worse.

The following morning I decided I could not make another night of it. It was like the M&S advert "this isn't ordinary annoying snoring, this is unrelenting, super sonic, painful 8 hour long M&S snoring" so when the Americans didn't pack their bags and leave, I did. Some of you may have remember that I made a travel agent friend in Tasmania. Well , she had given me the name of a cool budget hotel in Christchurch and I had been toying with the idea of splashing out on it. The snoring men gave me all the persuasion required and I tooks my rucksack and food bag and went there.

It was fabulous. Cheap, shiney, mini-fridge, flat screen TV, en suite and the best feature of all was the one it didn't have- snorers!

American Idiot

2009-05-03T15:35:00.000-07:00

(Just to warn you this a long entry. It is about 90% rant so I wouldn't be offended if you skip to end.)

Before I could do the heli-hike on Franz Joseph glacier, I first had to get to Franz Joseph by the bus. I don't think I mentioned before, but on my journey from Nelson to Greymouth there was a rather odd American girl on the bus. I was sitting behind her and she was regailing the bus driver with a tales of her new Irish boyfriend she was to meet up with and get a room with in Greymouth. I thought that prehaps she shouldn't devulge such intimate information to a complete stranger especially one who is driving a large vechicle at high speeds, but I assumed she was just excited. As we stepped off the bus together she began to ramble to me about this 'dreamy Irish boy' with 'eyes so deep you could swim in them' and I near vomited- you must remember she said all this with an extremely annoying American acent as well. I made my good byes and secretly wished the boyfriend luck.

The next day I arrived at the bus station for the 4 hour journey to Franz Joseph and the American girl was there looking somewhat forelorn. She saw me and immediately launched into a monologue of her heartbreak. She had booked the hotel room and met up with him later, but then he dumped her in front of a bunch of his friends and went to the pub. Oh dear I said and tried to be of some comfort, but the words never reached my lips as her constant loud grating voice continued to spew out more and more. And we weren't even on the bus yet.

This diatribe continued and eventually after getting more and more intimate details that I in no way encouraged her to divulge (I didn't get the opportunity!) I was saved by the bus driver giving a very enthusiastic commentary and she was forced to shut up. The only problem was the driver was much like the one in Nelson and he gave a constant 4 hour narration about everything under the sun. There are times you just want to sit back and look out of the window. Play some music and have a little peace. But between the narration on the bus and the American talking at me during breaks, I got no relaxation on that journey.

Fortunately on arrival at Franz Joseph, she was staying somewhere else so I made my escape and found myself walking to the hostel with another infinitely more pleasant girl from Barcelona. She had one of those fabulous Spanish accents when speaking English that I just wanted to give her words to say and listen. We enjoyed the free soup at the hostel together and then I indulged in a bar of chocolate and a fine pinot noir (my new favourite type of red wine- please take note for future birthday gifts) I had purchased in desperation during a bus stop on the way.

Now it is important to mention at this point that the heavy rain was still continuing and my hopes for the heli-hike were diminished. But lo and behold the next morning, the sun was shining brightly in the sky, the clouds a mere whisper of what they once were. Joy! The gods were smiling down on me this day (where were they yesterday on the bus journey? They are fickle cruel masters). The ride was on. And what a nice trip it was too. Apart from feeling a little uneasy getting off and on the helicopter (that episode of ER still haunts me to this very day) it wasn't particularly scary and the views of the glacier were fantastic. I even took a little video of the ride on my camera which I felt was an achievement in itself. If I ever work outhow to post it on facebook then you can watch it and be very bored for 2 minutes. The glacier was surprisingly blue and looked like squashed candy floss. I got to put on crampons and carry an ice axe whilst walking over it and I felt like an explorer about to find treasure (unfortunately, I did not).

Afterwards I felt so exhilarated as soon I got back to the hostel I decided to go on a 4 hour walk in the woods, over a gorge (a bridge in situ) and on to the base of the mountain where the glacier was situated. I felt I was going quite a pace with my appropriate attire of hiking shoes and walking trousers when a tall blonde boy wearing a long sleeved white t-shirt and inappropriate shoes stormed past me at a terrfic speed. I continued on across the gorge and noticed that due to the rain, it did seem quite high. A few minutes later I saw the afore-mentioned boy except this time his glowing white shirt was covered in mud as was the rest of him. He told me the path was blocked by the high waters and despite his best efforts (evident by the state of his clothing) he could not get across. So we turned around and started a nice conversation. He was Swedish and was an ex-Kindergarden worker who had quit his job and gone travelling to 'find himself' (sound familiar?). He was touring around NZ in car and also sleeping in it. I expressed my concerns about this as it was now dropping below zero during the night and he said it was a little cold. I then enquired how he washed etc and he said every morning he drove to a lake and had a swim. I must point out again how bloody cold it was. This thought had me aghast and I offered to sneak him into my hostel so he could have a hot shower. But the gentleman that he was, he declined. We then arrived at the vechicle and I memorized its number plate incase in a few days it was found with a frozen body inside and they needed someone to identify the body.

I then then returned to the hostel still concerned about the welfare of my new friend, but I was soon distracted by the surprise of seeing the jail boy from the Abel Tasman walk in my dorm. He was travelling on a different bus service than me, a more organise-y, touristy type affair and had 2 awful days stuck on board with (in his words) 'a bunch of total arseholes'. He had decided to come to a different hostel than the rest of the bus and stay an extra day just to avoid them. Travelling can be such a small world.

As I learned the next day. The lovely Spanish girl and I both discovered we were going on the same bus to Queenstown on the 9 hour journey and this made me ponder somewhat.

My fears were realised as I waited for the bus and who turned up, but the American. As she walked toward me I resolved to try and be nice to her. She was young, had her heart broken and clearly wasn't really enjoying travelling alone. This resolve lasted approximately 14 seconds. She opened her mouth and let loose a complaining whinging whine that I can only describe as painful at best. She complained about the weather, the hostel, the bus and we'd not even got on the damn thing yet. The main problem (apart from her incredible annoying accent adn mis-pronounciation of words) was the fact she seemed incapable of listening and having a two way conversation. She would say something and if you managed to squeeze out a brief comment or answer, she wasn't able to pick up the thread of what you had said. Instead the soliloquy would continue as if your presence was not required (how I wish it wasn't).

As we boarded the bus this monologue continued, the Spanish girl wisely ran to the back of the bus and hid. Unfortunately, the American let me board first then sat next to me. She then asked where I was staying in Queenstown. Every part of me said 'LIE!' but I could not and I told her. "oh that sounds nice, I'll go there too'. NO NO NO. It got worse. She then asked when I was going to Milford Sound (a 12 hour bus trip to pretty fiordland). "Tomorrow" I whispered. "Oh, maybe I'll do it then too!'. Oh where were the gods now!

At the next meal break, I was enjoying my soup having a pleasant conversation with the Spaniard telling her about my previous time in New Zealand. I was discussing my visits to a local prison with a psychologist when the American girl screeched "OH MY GOD! Tell me you are not a psychotherapist! OH MY GOD! If you are I will just have to leave this table right now!'. Firstly, what I should have said was yes and got rid of her. However I was so taken aback by the shear volume of this statement and I couldn't actually gage her sincerity so I told her the truth- no. 'OH MY GOD! THANK GOD! BOTH MY PARENTS ARE THERAPISTS!

And with that statement it all fell into place.

After some more screeching from her, she went to the loo and I finally snapped and let my head fall into my hands and bemoaned the thought of spending yet another bus journey with her and a hostel. The Spaniard immediately gave me lots of sympathy and told me I should just tell her straight - go away. How I wished I was an empassioned Spaniard and had the courage. But I am a self-depreciating Scot and it just isn't in me. Instead I did the mature thing. For the rest of the journey I solidly ignored her, putting on my head phones at every opportunity and keeping my head buried in a book.

Amazingly, she must have got the message as on arrival at Queenstown she didn't follow me to the hostel I was staying at. I didn't exactly run away per say, I just didn't look back. But there was still the next day on the Milford Sound bus trip to face. I actually contemplated cancelling the trip, but then I realised how silly of me that would be and if I had to I would just have to find some Spanish courage somewhere in my Celtic bones.

The next morning I was relieved and delighted on my arrival at the bus stop, that the girl was not there. Joy, joy, joy! However, this was short lived when a taxi pulled up and an aged granny got out. She immediately began to talk to no one in particular and then turned her sights on me. I should have learned my lesson. I should have stayed quiet. I should have run. But I did not, instead I answered her questions and attempted to make polite chat. And attempted is the right word. Now I know I have a reputation for being a bit incomprehensible at times, but when speaking to aged grannies whilst standing by a bus stop in a foreign country, I do attempt to slow down and speak clearly. Obviously not clearly enough. She didn't understand a word I was saying and as such I was getting some very peculailar responses to the conversation we were attempting to have. She then make a incredible racist comment that really threw me - I mean it was only 7am, it was a bit early for that sort of thing. Fortunately, the bus then arrived and we began to board. I was then faced with a choice. Sit near the racist granny and endure a day of garbled conversation or let her get on first and run to the back of the bus and hide.

I'm not proud of what I did, but I did the latter. I just could not endure another 12 hour bus journey in hell. I was temporarily racked with guilt about this decision. As I walked past her, I saw her expectant face fall as I kept moving on toward the back. Guilt, guilty, nasty girl. But as I said, temporarily, as shortly afterwards a Japanese girl tried to sit next to her (the bus was almost full) and she wouldn't let her. Racist granny. My guilt was gone.

Anyway the reason for the bus trip was go and see Milford Sound, a legendary fiord of beauty featured in such films as Lord of the Rings and more recently, the new X-men film (the bit were Hugh Jackman jumps naked into a waterfall). The problem with popular places is 1. they are popular, many other people are there and 2. hype. Hype is a terrible thing. It can make the extra-ordinary disappointing or at least expected. And I have to be honest this was the case with Milford. Beautiful without doubt. A lake with mountains arising from it, waterfalls cascading from everywhere etc etc. So as beautiful as it was I couldn't help but think back to one of my days spent in Napier on the North Island. A place not particularly renound for it's beauty, I walked down from the backpackers (the prison one if you recall) and stumbed upon a black pebble beach with sea stretching out like infinity and mountains on each sides like bookends. It was such an unexpected beauty, I sat down on the pebbles just looking out to the sea for some time, struck by the tranquility. So Milford Sound, as lovely as it was didn't quite have the same inpact as Napier in its surprising glory. And I wasn't hiding from a racist granny there either.

After my seemingly endless days of bus journeying, I spent my final day in Queenstown doing nothing in particular. Queenstown is known for being a gateway for adventure activites, but I wasn't feeling particularly adventurous plus I'd actually been to Queenstown on my previous visit to New Zealand so didn't feel as compelled so explore every knook and cranny of the place. However, I did manage to find a second hand bookshop. If that was a talent that recieved payment, I would be a millionaire.

And then the next day I left (on a day long bus journey of course) to go to Christchurch my final South Island destination. And, yes, you guessed it I wasn't alone on this journey. As I stood waiting in the freezing cold thinking (rather naively of me by this stage) that I would enjoy a quiet journey reading my book, who turns up......... No not the American fortunately, but the racist granny.

Karma is a bitch.

April Showers

2009-04-29T14:56:00.000-07:00

The ferry across to Picton was uneventful. Not an unpleasent experience, but not one I would rush to do again. Fortunately, unlike my previous boat experience going towards the reef, I was not sea sick and fell asleep for the most part. I know how to have fun.

I arrived in Picton and most people don't stay here, but I decided to and I am so glad about that decision. What a lovely little town. And my hostel was fantastic. Cheap, free breakfast, open fire and to cap it off free chocolate pudding at night WITH ice cream. That may not sound that fab to you, but apart from the cake extravaganza in Wellington, I've not had many desserts recently.

Now Saturday was something called ANZAC day which essentially was the Kiwi and Australian rememberence day for the great wars and everyone gets a day of work. Or so I thought. After the complete shutting down of Auckland on Easter Friday, I assumed that a Saturday holiday in a small town would deem everything closed. As such I hadn't planned to do anything that day. However, to my surprise everything was open. This did not change my plans, I had decided to do a self-guided walk and I was going to do it (plus, hello, free!). However, I got the times slightly wrong and ended up walking for near 5 hours. Well, at least it was a nice sunny day and I'd packed a lunch.

On my return to the lovely hostel I felt very fit and could practically feel my stomach and thighs becoming toned and muscular. As such I felt I deserved 2 servings of chocolate pudding that night. The next morning I caught the bus to Nelson, the 'big smoke' around these parts aka it has more than one supermarket and met a tall chap who not only was going to Nelson, but was staying in the same hostel and doing the same Abel Tasman day walk as I was. After the relative solitude of Wellington and the polite chat of Picton, I couldn't seemed to stop talking to this poor fellow. Verbal diarrhoea flowed from me and I was unable to control or stop it. This continued the entire bus journey, supermarket visit and sausage cooking (yum) that we did together. Fortunately for him (and me, it is very tiring to talk non-stop) by the beginning of the walk the next day, I had finally calmed down some what.

Abel Tasman, for those of you who care, is the smallest national park in New Zealand and is a very popular hiking and camping destination. But as all of you know, I do not camp. So a day walk was in order. My new best friend, Tall boy, and I caught the bus very early to be taken to the ferry site and were surprised by a constant narration by the bus driver. What was surprising about it was that not only did he not stop AT ALL, also he kept making very politcial statements about the loss of green space and telling us all his wife's bad habits. I'm sure she was delighted. After 2 hours of that, escape into the wild unknown was most appreciated.

On the ferry, we met Jail boy, a young English chap who whilst in Thailand had his camera stolen, reported it to the police and then was arrested himself for 'insulting the king'. He languished in jail for 5 days until rescued by the British Embassy and sent home. I'm amazed he ever travelled again! The day was glorious. The sun beat down on us, we sweated like horses and were impressed by views and shared such stories (though non beat his jail time tale).

That evening I was exhausted after the long walk and the return bus journey in which we had the same narrating driver and had planned to go to bed. However, the best laid plans of mice and men and all that and I ended up at the pub. I was very retrained and only had 3 pints, but the people I had come with (all "Magic Bus' tour group) were all drinking like sailors despite their 7am bus trip and when I left at midnight they were still going strong. I would not like to have been their driver the next day. I'm getting very old in my old age and the I wouldn't even contemplate drinking heavily before a journey espcially not an early one. To be honest drinking heavily itself has lost much of its appeal too. I must be growing up.

The next day, the weather turned. It rained, then it rained then it poured and then it rained some more. So I read a book and organised my life (a bit, well I booked a hotel for Vegas). Fortunately I met a nice software analyst and we went out for tea then went to see a film I'm to embarrassed to admit to seeing. However, it was the first time in months I'd gone to the cinema wth anyone so it was a nice change.

Because of the rain, my plans have had to change. They have had 40 days rain in one night (or some such silly statistic) and its still raining so cave water rafting is off (it would be underwater rafting now, not so much fun). As such I have decided to splash out and do a helicopter then hike over a glacier. When it rains, spend. So keep your fingers crossed for tomorrow morning for me as I need a bit of luck to ensure the trip actually goes ahead and a bit of luck if it does as I'll be in a freakin' helicopter!

I Walk the Line

2009-04-23T15:59:00.000-07:00

So I left you in suspense of my imminent imprisonment. As most cliff hangers, this will be a disappointment, I'll level with you now.

I travelled from on from the lovely Taupo to Napier and for me the main attraction to going to Napier was you could stay in a disused prison. Not converted, disused. After a brisk walk, well stagger, up the hill to the gates, I was greeted by a rather forboding wooden door complete with authentic buzzer system like you hear in the movies. I was welcomed by a very enthusiastic girl who showed me round- the cells, the shower block (unchanged!), the hanging gallery (now poetically used for hanging the washing up) and I settled into my room. Alas, I wasn't staying in one of the cells, but a rather rickety out house type affair. There I met a poor lost looking fellow who immediately launched into his travel life story about he'd come for a holiday to see a friend he'd not seen in years. They realised on about day 2 of 30 that they didn't actually get on and now she was desparately trying to ditch him at every opportunity. As such she had gone out with another friend for the night and was left alone in the prison.

I felt uncharacteristically sorry for him and decided to be nice. I had planned on going to the museum that evening to the converted theatre to watch an arty film about people smuggling (cheerful stuff as always) and invited him along. He was very enthusiastic and came along only to fall asleep for most of the film. However, he said afterwards he liked what he had seen, so at least he tried. The next day he and his unfriendly friend left very early (8am!) and I never did see him again. Poor fellow.

However, his suffering aside, my day turned out ot be marvellous! It was gloriously sunny and Napier turned out to be even prettier than Taupo. There was a gloroius pebble beach I just sat on for ages, like a herione in a romantic film then I climbed a big hill and took in the view. I went to the local museum which had a fascinating exhibit on the local cemetary and an interesting documentary on the 1931 earthquake. I then returned to the hostel, thinking with the departure of the friendless boy and his friend, I would be alone. But no as I sat myself down in front of the truely massive TV, a quiet slender chap came into the room. With mush persistence, I discovered he had been living in the prsion since Decemeber and was working locally. He was from Chile. We then watched a terrible comedy together that he had rented. And then as suddenly as he came, he left without a goodbye.

The next day I did a wine tour that included a lovely lunch and general sight seeing around the area. It was another gloriously lovely day, the sun shining, birds singing kind of atomsphere. The other people on the tour were pleasent enough, but don't really warrant mentioning. As expected after the fourth and final winery I was well and truely tipsy and on my return to Napier I felt obliged to buy some candy floss and phoned my mother with great gusto and talked more nonsense than ususal. I promise to phone without the influence of alcohol soon mother.

I then went into the TV room, expecting to find my quiet Chilean but instead discovered 2 Dutchies, a kiwi and 3 Brits. I was bit overwhelmed after 3 days of relative solitiute, but being mildly drunk I started talking at an alarming rate and volume. In retrospect, they must of thought I was quite, quite mad. The good thing about travelling is, unless you make a great effort, you generally will never see people again so embarrassment can be avoided long term.

I had to rise early the next day to get the bus to Wellington and to my surprise as I trudged down the hill, I came across the quiet Chilean who was in a car and offered to take me to the bus stop which was a good half hour walk away. I accepted, he apologised about the state of the car and then we drove for 5 minutes in silence before he dropped me off and disappeared before I got to say thank-you. An odd, but I feel ultimately, pleasant fellow, that if I'd had more time, I would have worn him down and eventually, I would have made him my friend.

Anyway, so began the last few days in Wellington. I have done so little, that one day I feared I may actually cease to exist due to my inactivity. I just been walking around, eating bargain cakes from the supermarket (6 lamingtons for 3 dollars!), finding little cinemas- I actually found the best cinema in the world. They have armchairs with little tables, give you home made scones and tea with your ticket (5 dollars cheaper than normal cinemas) and there are no adverts before the feature, just trailers. Fantastic.

But, yes, essentially I been in a wee cocoon of my own making, floating around and being not very productive. Well, I have been organising some America stuff (I'm very anxious about into getting into the country so I want to have all my travel sorted out so I can prove I'm not trying to illegally emigrate), but other than that I have been a very bad tourist. I did go the museum, once. It was nice.

However, I now waffle. Today I'm getting the ferry to Picton and now a frenzy of travelling is to begin. I'm only going to stay in places for 2 nights and then move on so I can see the country and hopefully not fall into the deluge of lethargy again.

Just before I go, I must just say, thank-you Maggie for becoming a follower! I now have 7! Although, Gin and Tonic- you still remain a mystery? Who are you?!

They call me Morag Christie!

2009-04-16T15:00:00.001-07:00

Okay, so the Maori concert in Rotorua is where I left you dangling in suspense.

It almost left me that way when I arrived and they didn't seem to have my booking. However, they were very kind and fitted me in anyway. But then when I got on the bus they told to get on, I was told it was the wrong bus and my name wasn't on that bus's list. but they were very kind and took me to the concert anyway. I saw lots of Maori dancing around, ate lots of Maori food and generally had a jolly time. As is the small world of the backpacker I ended up sitting next to two girls I'd shared a hostel room with in Auckland. On my return to the buses, I found the correct bus and was promptly asked "are you Marie from Ireland?"

Then all the earlier confusion became clear. Clearly when the receptionist from my hostel phoned to book me she made a slight mistake and of course when I arrived they didn't have a booking for Morag from Scotland.... And so continues the seemly never ending confusion around my name. I am sure I have mentioned the Christie Morag's I've been getting, oh say. constantly. The constant 'oh Christie's your SURNAME' and the occasional 'oh I thought that was a man's name'. Who would have thought when my parents were looking down at my tiny frame just after my birth deciding to name me a slightly old fashioned, but not unusual name, that 25 years later it would dog my entire traveling career.

Anyway, that was the end of Rotorua and I got the bus the next day to Taupo. I don't think I mentioned that when I first arrived in Rotorua I didn't like it for no real reason, well the opposite was true about Taupo a mere hour away by road. A delightful little town in which I instantly found a second hand bookshop which I always take as a good sign. It also helped that my hostel compared the slightly odourous one before was marvellous and clean! I arranged then to do the Tongariro Alpine crossing, a 20km hike between two mountains, one of them being Mount Doom from Lord of the Rings. You can guess now why I was so keen to do it.

I was very fortunate as from the morning of the hike it was clear it was going to be a nice day. A cloudless sky and a warm sun. The two mountains standing proud almost side to side, parting slightly to let us pass to gaze up at the wonderous volanic rock that they were created from.

Yes, it was quite a romantic setting and I got quite carried away. I took about 80 pictures of Mount Doom. I also met a nice Australian lady police detective and we had a great chat about the recent bikie (not biker) war occuring in Sydney presently involving an airport murder.
After 7 hours of hiking I finally arrived at the other end feelign very self satisfied and seemed some how poetic that on my arrival back at the hostel that a couple of people were in the TV room watching The Fellowship of the Ring. I had a wee smile to myself. That evening I had a shower and felt incredibly healthy and fit.

I had already decided not to spent too long in any small town so I would time to see everything on my bus ticket (I'm not sure how long that enthusiasm will last) and that day I was due to go to Napier. However, I had a few hours to kill before my bus left so I wandered around Taupo. I walked along the lake and throught the parks. I sat on a bench and ate lunch. I watched a bird sitting on a tree trunk looking very happy with itself some men planting trees. It was all very picturesque, I didn't want to leave. Now imagine my delught when I arrived in Napier to find it was a small town just as fantastic, except I was later to discover it had 2 second hand bookshops!

Napier is famous for being struck in 1931 by a very nasty earthquake that leveled the town and as such it was rebuilt, but as the fashion of the time was art deco, all the buildings are art deco and any new builds have been been made in that style too. It's a very beautiful cute wee town and as all the buildings are in the same style it feels like it has been lost in time somehow, untouched by modern archiecture. However, there is one place that remained standing after the quake. The decomissioned prison that has been turned into a museum/backpackers. So of course, that is where I decided to stay.

Unfortunately, my time on this computer is almost up and I've ran out of dollar coins. This means I must leave you now hanging in suspense, just make sure you tune in next week for the completion of this fantastic installment of 'Marie and the Napier Prison Blues'!

Smooth Criminal

2009-04-11T21:01:00.001-07:00

I am now in New Zealand.
But first, let's return to last night in Oz...

Zac the chef made me a fabulous final meal involving hand made gnocci and then oxtail spagetti. This was accompanied by a fine red wine and good banter. It was such good fun, it left me feeling very melancholy and reluctant to leave Australia altogether. The next morning Maggie and Duncan had travel plans of their own and left before me. So I made my way to the airport on my todd ( I must point out I not once ever in the history of this trip been waved off, most distressing) and on the flight over to Auckland I was quite sullen and withdrawn. I sitting inbetween two people and usually I make polite chat, but I was feeling so blue they never even got a smile. I was thinking to myself that I just couldn't be bothered with NZ, I wished if I could skip it all together and go straight to America.

So not the best of moods. I arrived very late and went straight to bed. However the next morning I awoke with a new vigour and zest for life! The world was joyess! Auckland was, well to be honest, not very pretty, but it was new and exciting and fabulous! I think most of this enthusiaism was due to the fact that right round the corner form my hostel was the Civic theatre and it was showing 'A Winter's Tale' by Sam Mendes starring Ethan Hawke. I wandered in and said 'cheap ticket?' They said 'yes' and my good mood was born. Shakespheare is my cure all. Then I discovered a fantastic bus ticket that would take me all around NZ (well the main places) for a very reasonable price and included some day trips (or so I thought, more on that later).

So this bascially meant NZ was planned. In the bag. Done. And despite not being very organised of late, I do like to be organised. The next couple of days in Auckland were the usual ones that come with entering a new city for me. Walking around parks, getting lost, feeling cold and needing to buy new trousers (hmm maybe not that one), climbing a big hill (Mount Eden- in factadormant volcano), discovering the art gallery was under refurbishment (boo) and going to see a Shakepheare play (very good, odd blend of tragedy and comedy). But all in all I enjoyed my first few days there.

Then I decided to go on the first leg of my bus trip. What I thought was included in my journey was a trip to the Waitomo Caves with Glow-worm boat trip then onward to Rotoroua. I got on the bus early (8am!!!) and got chatting to a mother-daughter combo from the borders. The mother was very over bearing and was one of those women who could have been anything from 50 to 90, but acted like she was 120 and a cripple. Everything was such a tremendous effort (apart from eating clearly as her gut was certainly 'healthy') and she told me all her woes.

On arrival at the caves, I followed the rest of my tour group to the entrance where a woman was checking everyone's tickets. Tickets? I had no ticket. It was done over the phone. Hmmm. It then dawned on my that my bus journy did not include the cave visit. Oops, my bad. I was about to turn around and go back thinking 'Darn it', but prehaps not that polite when the ticket lady screeched "Great Sights Bus trip!" and let my entire bus through and I was swept up in it too. So basically I stole a cave trip. 4 days in NZ and already a thief. I've obviously spent too much time in Australia, clearly their ill gotten ways have infected my good, pure soul.

So I thoroughly enjoyed my glow worm spotting (very pretty tiny lights made up of insect behinds, ahh) and then was taken on to Rotoura. I had trouble booking a hostel and ended up in the 'Blarney Stone'. An Irish themed hostel in New Zealand. Hmm. Mild odour in the dorm room, but a very nice staff so one shouldn't complain (but one does).

Today I went to a polynesian spa and spent about 2 hours enveloped in thermal sulphur water, a bit smelly, but very relaxing. Tonight I'm off to a Maori feast or some such thing. I didn't read the brochure, just asked the hostel girl to book me a Maori evening as that's what you do here in this wee town. So hopefully that will nice and relaxing too, although some how I doubt it- I mean have you seen the All Blacks do the Haka?

Goodbye to Oz

2009-04-05T17:18:00.000-07:00

Ah, yes the title is true. Tomorrow I leave Oz to continue my journey to New Zealand. So just how have I spent my last week? Well, settle in and I'll begin.

I think I left off about to go to Fraser Island. Fraser is famous for being entirely made from sand and in fact it's original name was indeed the Big Sandy Island. Imaginative. To get to this mecca of sand, I first had to travel to Rainbow Beach which sounds delightful, but is in fact a small street with an over priced supermarket. Unfortunately, I had made an error with my bus booking and the 12 hour journey overnight on a uncomfortable bus turned into 18 hours. As you can imagine I was not pleased with myself for this error and chastised myself appropriately. On arrival in Rainbow, I was quite exhausted as during my long bus journey not much rest was had, hindered by the bus driver that kept waking the bus up to tell us it was time for a meal break. At 4 am?! Really, seriously, come on.

Fortunately, my afternoon nap followed by an early night did not mean I missed anything due to the small and rather unexciting nature of Rainbow and I arose the next day with a new enthusiasm for exploring and adventure. Now, most people when adventuring on Fraser, do a self drive trip wherein you get out together with ten other tourists and drive around and camp. Yes, camp. On an island entirely made of sand, recently a victim of a cyclone. Not my cup of tea. I like a toilet and a bed and a shower and protection fron evil beasties. So I did a guided tour with about 15 other people and a guide called Petre (NOT Peter). My group was a pleasant crowd and to great delight the average age was about 24 unlike the usual 14 that I had encountered on the rest of my trip down the North East coast. We spent 2 days and 2 nights exploring lakes, sand dunes, Scottish ship wrecks (really its called the Maheno, you can google it) and generally having a jolly time. Unfortunately, on the last night one of the girls in my dorm developed a gastroenteritis. Filled with fear, I refused to use the same facilities and became over whelmed with concern that I would be stricken with this on the bus journey to Brisbane the next day. This was not helped by on the parting of the group, the same girl methodically hugged and kissed (yes kissed!! Health and safety people!) everyone, one by one. I made a swift exit across the road, waving goodbye, safe from the transmission of vomit inducing mircorobes.

That evening was spent back in the very small Rainbow Beach so not much excitment was had although I did educate a German on the the language and culture of Gaelic. The next day I travelled back to Brisbane to the hotel of Maggie and Duncan and found myself joined by another guest, Zac the chef, who is trying very hard to get a new visa, but not managing very well. The last few days have as been the usual joyful, fun filled, civilised dinner party days that seem to be customary in the hotel of Maggie and Duncan. I have eaten much fine food, drank some fine wines and even made a salad and baked cakes!!! Morag the chef should now be my name. I also managed to catch up with Amanda, the lovely Tasmania trip travel agent and Luke, the delightful Berlin trip town planner and by lovely coincidence actually ended up in the in a night club dancing ridiculously with both of them.

So now my last day in Oz is upon me. I'm sitting typing this whilst Zac and Duncan are doing the crossword and newspaper quiz from yesterday's paper in a very civilised manner. Later I will post a large package home to my mother of excess belongings that have somehow appeared and will no longer fit in my rucksack. Then tomorrow, I will put my bag on my back and again travel to the airport to start a new journey.

And of course as seems to be the way with me these days, I haven't organised a damn thing!

Spelling

2009-03-26T21:31:00.000-07:00

I need to apologise profoundly for the spelling errors in that last blog. Ordinarily, after I've typed an entry I go through it and correct my errors. However, as I mentioned there was a rather long queue and I didn't have time. I have gone back and corrected the mistakes now so hopefully it will make some kind of sense.

I had one more day in Airlie before moving on and I used this to go to the book exchange (I have just finished Donna Taart's- a Secret History. I got it because it was cheap and it turned out to be marvellous) and laze by the town lagoon - an outside picturesque swimming pool created, I think, to prevent silly tourists jumping in the unsafe sea. I met up with Judy and the other Kendal 2 and we all had dinner together before an uncharacteristic early night for them all as they were getting boats early the next day.

I then went to Mackay, 2 hours south of Airlie. Now this is not really a backpacker destination and as such I could only get a motel not a hostel. This was delightful luxury. It's amazing when you've been roughing it (ooh it's been almost 3 weeks since being at Maggie's with my own room- practically a lifetime!) that having a double bed, en suite and TV can do for the morale. After a stroll around town, I got a take away which I ate at my little table with a cool bottle of cider watching the news. Fantastic.

The next day, I did more exploring as you see this was not just a holiday visit, it was recon. Anthony and Cat, 2 friends from uni are moving here in August to work at the local hospital after being lured by another uni friend (Matt) who already works here. There are several nice things in Mackay. Little cafes, an adequate shopping centre, 2 cinemas (neither arthouse), a free art museum, a book exchange and apparently botanical gardens (I couldn't find them). There is also a nice marina by all accounts, but I didn't have time to see it. Well, that's a lie actually, I just couldn't be bothered with the faff of getting the bus. I am a terrible tourist. One thing I noticed though is that not only is Mackay very flat, but it is a very anti-pedestrian place. The reason the bus was a faff was because I couldn't find a bus stop. And half the streets don't have pavements. Anthony and Cat- buy a car.

That evening I went to see the afore-mentioned Matt and met his lovely wife, Lucy (who I thought was called Marion for some unknown reason) for the first time. Getting to their place was slightly precarious as I have mentioned the lack of pavements and as such I had to walk either on the poorly lit road or on grass embankments. I abandoned the grass walking after a large rat ran up to my foot, stopped, looked at me and ran away. Fortunately, after a nice catch up and feed, Lucy offered to drive me home so return journey advetures were avoided.

The next day I had to catch an overnight bus and so I spent the day uncomfortably. I prefer to awake and then jump on transport, not hang about , but the evening bus was the only option. I did very little as I couldn't settle. Fortunately, I had got another very good book (Marcus Zusak's The Messenger- an earlier work to his critically acclaimed the Book Thief, which I have also read) so this was a comfort and helped toil away the hours. I then got the bus, the first leg of the journey taking 13 hours, followed by a gap of 2 hours then a final 1.5 leg before arriving in Rainbow Beach, where I am now. I did not smell good on arrivial and very quickly had a shower then went for a wander aroud town. This is a lie. There is no town. I found a small cul de sac of shops and a shell garage. Oh well, it's only for a night before I go on my Fraser Island trip.

Right that's me, I better go spell check this now...

Speed

2009-03-22T19:14:00.000-07:00

Dear, I'm terribly sorry, I have been so remiss in writing this and my last entry was a tad luck lustre. For these things I apologise and will now explain.

As I mentioned before I met 3 very nice Kendal dwellers and a terribly young 18 year old girl on an overnight trip to the rainforest that I then went on to inbibe several alcoholic beverages with.
Well, the following days were spent primarily with one of these mint cake eaters, a girl who seemly has limitless energy and a very high alcohol tolerence. I will call her Judy. As we were both travelling South on the greyhound (a cheap bus service) we decided to go together and the night before we left Cairns we went to friend of hers house to swim in his pool. This quiet night morphed into a wine from a bag drinking frenzy (they call it a goon bag for future reference) causing a panicked bag packing and very uncomfortable bus journey to Magnetic Island the next day.

Now Magnetic Island on the brochures is a delightful place full of amazing activites and jolly times. Now the reality is slightly different. The hostel we stayed was beach front, although due to the time of year, giant stingrays and jelly fish are present and you cannot swim in the sea in safety. The rooms in this place were little shacks with very shoddy craftsmanship and multiple portals for nasty beasties to enter into and were complete ovens at night. The first day was spent somewhat pleasently. I nursed my hangover and lay by the pool. That evening was Paddy's day and the bar at the hostel put green food dye into all the drinks. This sounds interesting, but trust me by the end of an evening, a hundred drunken teens with green tongues was not amusing especially as I was still nursing my poor head. The next day was miserable weather, I tried to book a horse riding trip in spite of this, but when I turned up they said they had not been told about me (I'm sure the girl I spoke to on the phone was the one that turned me away - very suspect) and I couldn't go. As there was nothing to do in the evenings, again the hostel bar was our destination and even more alcohol was consumed, but not by me.

The next day we were joined by the very young 18 year old and hired a small car to go round the island. The island has one road and is only 10 kms long. The car didn't go far. Still we had a jolly time and had a BBQ by the beach. That evening it was destination bar again. I reminded them both politely that we had an early start to get the bus to Airlie beach the next day. They assured me that they would be ready in time and then at half 5 in the evening cracked into a 4 litre goon bag and proceeded to drink most it. The young girl was put to bed with a bucket by me at approximately half past 9 and Judy had to be located the next morning and hurried out of the hostel to catch the ferry (to get the bus you see, it was an island).

However, we did make it, but by this stage I was getting a tad weary of the near constant alcohol abuse and when we arrived in Airlie beach I selected a hostel a bit out of town and for the last few days have been revelling in a dry atmosphere eating lots of chocolate. Don't get me wrong both girls are delightful, but I can't hack the pace and neither could my liver.

Airlie beach in my opinion is very similar to Magnetic Island in the sense the only after hours activity appears to destroying ones brain cells and as such my slightly out of town hostel has been a god send. Fortunately it differs in the fact that there are good things to do during the day and it's larger than 10 km squared. Unfortunately, due to a mild illness (don't worry I am fine) I had to spend the vast majority of my first day waiting to see a GP to get a prescription, the total of my 2 minute consultation and drugs coming to over 100 dollars (God love the NHS, I will never take it for granted again). This meant that buy the time I went to try and get a boat trip, I couldn't get the one that I wanted and the others available didn't suit my plans. Instead I had to opt for a day trip.

Now at first I was very disappointed by this. The whole point of coming to Airlie beach is to sail the Whit Sunday Islands and spend a night on a boat. However, my day trip turned out be fantastic. Now when I booked my day trip, I knew there was beach walks and snorkling involved. What I failed to realise was it was a speed boat. Yes, indeed. I looked over the jetty and thought dear lord what have I done!? The 3 crew were 3 completely delightful young men who proceeded to circum-navigate almost all the islands in a break neck fashion, but still stopped long enugh to have lunch on a beach, walk the beaches and snorkle some very nice reef. So it may have been short, but I thoroughly enjoyed my day, saw all the islands and saved about 200 dollars (well that's how I see it).

I must go as there are many people waiting for this one computer, but that's me practically up to date. Just remember, love the NHS.

Sun and Sea (sickness)

2009-03-15T17:52:00.000-07:00

So after a delightful stay at Maggie's and a catch up with my travel agent friend, I headed off to Cairns which is the tropical part of Oz. Again my amazing timing (see my Melbourne dates and the bush fires there) meant that I had just missed a cyclone, amusingly called Cyclone Hamish, a couple of days before I headed north.

For once I was mildy organised and had booked a couple of things before I arrived. Unfortunately, despite requesting a female only dorm at my hostel, I was once again put in a mixed dorm and was called Christie when I arrived at reception. My name is MORAG and I am NOT a man! Anyway, it is a fairly nice hostel so I bear it.

On my first full day here, I went on a very large boat out to the barrier reef to snorkle and visit the fishes. Alas, my stomach was left behind on the boardwalk so the journey was not entirely pleasurable. I did end up chatting to a very forth right Dutch woman who was very sympathetic. Snorkling was very fun and saw many pretty fish and a couple of huge fish which I was concerned about eating me, but fortunately all my fingers are intact.

The next day I went on a 2 day trip to the rainforest and day one was a hive of activity with swimming in a watering hole, visiting a wild life sanctuary, going on a crocodile river cruise (only 2 small ones seen), visiting an ice cream factory (surprisingly disappointing) and having half a cow hamburger for lunch.
However, after the day was over, myself and a few others were left at a hostel literally in the middle of the jungle that had shacks for rooms and one shop that didn't have carrier bags. We learned despite being next to the sea, we couldn't swim in it due to it being stinger season and potential death. So we made the best of it by playing a drinking game, twister and then a limbo competition which I was pitiful at.

The next day me and my new friends (2 girls and a guy from kendal, a very young girl- 18! from South Hampton and a hard work ITU nurse from London) explored the Daintree rainforest, went to the beach and looked longingly at the sea. Fortunately, we had heard of a water hole that was safe from crocs and stingers and made or way there. Alas, it was difficult to get to and from on traversing the river on our exit, my flip flop got washed off my foot! Now i had left most of my stuff at Maggie's for this 3 weeks NE exploration and I only had this pair of flip flops or my walking boots with me. I would not lose it! So I threw off my back pack and leapt into the river . I reached, I clung- the flip flop was saved! Now I hope you are imagining a graceful rescue, because that's what I also saw. Prehaps my fellow travellers may not share this image, but they are not telling the story now are they?

So after that adrenaline rush, we got picked up and taken back to Cairns. My new Kendal friends (no mint cake jokes please) and I went out that evening and maybe inbibed a few too many fine ales to calm my nerves resulting in a very lazy day yesterday consisting of laying by the free outdoor pool and recovering.

I feel almost recovered now, thank goodness and my flip flops are staying firmly on my feet.

Meat

2009-03-09T22:24:00.000-07:00

So where was I? Ah yes, back in Sydney for a few days. Well, I did indeed catch up with a few friends that I had met during my previous visit to the city. One evening I ended up at a Brazilian themed night club and learned how to sambo (well, tried may be a better description). I also caught a couple of films at the Mardi Gras film festival and ended up chatting to a chap next to me on one occasion. It turned out he was an consultat anaesthetist. It seems even going round the world, I can't escape the medical profession. I don't have much else funny or interesting to say about my sojourn in Sydney. For most of it I was struck with a profound lethargy and failed to do anything bar eat, sleep and read books. Exciting, international traveller am I.

Now, coming to a (slightly) more productive few days, I went back to Brisbane agian to stay with Duncan and Maggie. This time however, they had moved house to a place called Coorparoo. I have to be honest, but it appears that the names of Austrailan cities/towns/hills is one of three things- either copied from the UK (Perth being a good example), a literal description (Mount Disappointment) or lastly in the case of Coorparoo just made up from a random selection of leters. There are some claims that these names are Aboringinal, personally I think the Aboringines were playing a joke and no one has cottoned on.

However, despite the silly name, their new house is very nice. All high ceilings and wooden floors and very tidy. I immediately threw the contents of my rucksack all over the guest room floor to try and remedy that, but to no avail. I was then very industrious for couple of days planning my NE coastal trip that I am due to leave on tomorrow, but this must be kept in perspective, most of my days of late, if I sleep for less than ten hours and have to do more than one necessary chore eg. buy milk, this is a hard day.

At the weekend Maggie, Duncan and I explored the markets around their new home and looked at a lot of large antique tables. I was atonished how expensive used goods can be. I mean it may be stained oak, but some else could have changed a baby on it or something, yuk.

Anyway, Sunday turned out to be a very exhausting day, especially for me with my busy busy life. Maggie and Duncan had both entered a off road triathalon. For those of you who don't speak crazy-fit, this is a race in which people PAY to swim 1km, ride off road 25km and run 10km. Yes, they PAY to do this. And unless you get placed 1st, 2nd or 3rd, you don't even get a medal!? What is the point of doing such a thing of you don't get a shiney bobble at the end of it?!

So I was to be a spectator at this maddness. For those for you who don't know, I'm a bit of a professional when it comes to other people being fit and exerting themselves thanks to Louise, my dear friend from uni who likes to run a long away, usually in foreign countries that I happen to be in and as such I've seen her race in 3 different countries. I'm her number one fan, but I promise not to break her knee caps like Kathy Bates (for those of you not acquainted with the book/film Misery- trust me that was a really funny reference). The down side of supporting Maggie and Duncan was that I had to get up at 4:30. Yes, 4:30 AM. What is wrong with these people? Fortunately, I was able to take a fold up chair so for the duration of their duel exertions, I was able to sit in the shade drinking a chai tea latte, proving to be the worst sports photographer ever. They both did very well. Maggie just missed out on a medal and I'm sure there was a conspiracy because the girl who apparently beat her the third had fat thighs.

However, we were not all to go home empty handed, oh no. It turned out, I was going to be the big winner of the day. I have discovered that in a typical raffle in Oz, rather than just the ususal bottle of wine/whiskey or a home bake, that the major prize is a meat tray. When I heard the boy scouts touting for a raffle and heard the immoral words 'first prize meat tray', I felt curious and obliged to buy a ticket. Now, I'd all but forgotten this purchase and as we were packing up to leave, they announced the raffle was to be held. As I looked for my ticket stub, Duncan was regailing me with the tale that 2 weeks ago he had won a meat tray at the local bowling green and how marvellous that had been, when I heard my name over the tannoy. I had won the grand prize. Victory!!!! I ran up to the stage, flung my arms in the air with joy and recieved my winnings. This was not any meat tray, Not only did it come with 2 bottles of wine and a snazzy red BBQ apron adorned with two jovial cartoon sausages with crowns on, but it may have been the largest meat tray any put together by a scout group. It weighed about 5kg and contained 7 huge steaks, 8 lamb chops and 6 very large patties.

A pretty good investment for a dollar.

Deja vu, all over again.

2009-03-01T15:42:00.000-08:00

So did I mention Hobart reminded me of Alness? Well this feeling continued for the entire 2 days I was there as did the pouring rain which prevented me doing any of things I wanted, namely climb Mount Wellington. So for the duration I was, to say the least, very grumpy and didn't enjoy my time in Hobart. I did go to a nice bookshop cafe, but that was only the only thing I enjoyed in the city.

Now of course, perhaps I'm being too harsh. Maybe it was just the weather or just the manky hostel or that I had left my new friend the executive travel agent or the fact that everyone thought I was Irish. Or maybe it was really just like Alness.

Anyway, I escaped the rain and headed up to the small, but infinitely nicer Launceston again. I returned to the hostel I had stayed in previously to discover for some reason this time they thought my name was masculine and had placed me in an all male 8 bedded dorm.
Now I can't recall if I have mentioned before about my strong feelings about hostel etiquette so I will re-iterate. When living in a commual space, esp for weeks and months at a time, it is the done thing to respect ones co-inhabitants. Not turning the light on in the middle of the night, not talking loudly early in the morning, not having sex on the top bunk (it does happen) and so on and so forth. It has been my experience that women follow these rules exceptionally better than their male counter parts and most importantly, snore less. When living communally, snoring becomes the bane of your existence because you can't get away from it, you have no personal space and you can't throw a shoe at them incase they turn out to be a shoe fetishist and steal your flip flops. It's a fine line. So to summerize, stay in female only dorms.

Now, going back to Launceston, I had been placed in an all male dorm and alas the hostel was fully booked and I couldn't change hostels as I was due to be picked up early to go up Cradle Mountain the next morning. So I had to stay and at first I didn't mind. At 4 in the morning when the trio of snorers was still going strong and the stench of beer was coming in wafts from the bunk below me, I minded. What I found most amusing though was whilst having my breakfast I had a brief conversation with 3 of the blokes in my room who were also up early. They asked me if I had slept well and I explained no for the above reasons and their response was 'really!? We didn't hear or smell anything'. Men.

Anyway, on to more pleasant things. That morning I had opted to join a tour to go to the Cradle mountain region and see the infamous mound and I was rather surprised to discover there were only the guide (an aspiring film maker), a polite Japanese girl (are there any other kind?) and a slightly mad young German guy on it. However, this actually made it a rather nice more personalised experience, made even better by the guide stopping suddenly on the middle of bridge and asking us to peer over. We saw a platypus which is the most bizarre of creatures. A furry otter like thing with a beak and seal like fins for feet, but most extraordinary of all was it's glowing yellow eyes. I can truely understand why back during the discovery era of Oz that people thought it was surgically created animal for high jest. What was also funny about this sudden nature detour was the guide said he'd been doing this stop for the last month and hadn't seen a platypus until now. That's the luck of the Irish for you.

So after our time with nature we finally got to the range, the over cast day suddenly seemed to disappear, the clouds parted and the magnificent Cradle Mountain stood before us. It was impressive, even more so when we climbed up the adjacent mountain to get a better view. I took lots of pictures that will not even begin to do justice to such a beautiful place. We then wandered a bit off the beaten track to see the remnants of a house built in the 1900's by and Austrian chap (who's name I forget). The story behind this house in the hills was the chap was a botanist who had met and married an Australian botanist back in the day and honeymooned here for 6 weeks looking at trees. A few years later , his wife died suddenly. Left bereft and afronted by the cruel complexities of the modern world, he'd upped sticks and built a cabin in the wood and was determined to become a botanist hermit. However, this chap (Wilhelm something) was actually quite a sociable guy despite his resolution to be a hermit, as the years passed he became quite famous for living off the land up and ended up having a multitude of visitors (both local and tourists) who would come stay with him. It apparently became quite the done thing to visit Tasmania and go stay with Wilhelm, a bit like going to Paris and seeing the Mona Lisa. Anyway, his house has been preserved and apart from the lack of a decent sewerage system, I could see the appeal of staying in such a peaceful place and having your mates over to look at trees.

This harmony was broken slightly by the afore-mentioned German fellow tourer who kept asking 'when can I smoke', 'can I eat this potentially poisonious berry' , 'if I see a snake can I kill it' and best of all while standing at the edge of a cliff over looking a tourist trail 'Can I throw a rock off this'. No, no and no!!!

So after all the joys of Tasmania, it was finally time to leave. Unfortunately for my fellow Jetstar customers after being dropped off at my hostel, I didn't have time to shower before getting in the plane to Sydney. Sorry about that guys.

I'm now back in Sydney again, back in the hostel out in Glebe that I first stayed in when I got here in January. Nothing much has changed in 2 months. The beds are still a bit wobbly, the creepy Kiwi bloke who claims he is a masseure is still prowling the courtyard and the mossies are still biting. However, there is comfort in the familiar and I intend to spend the next few days catching up with a few friends I met last time I was here and relaxing. Because it's very stressful being unemployed.

Lions and Tiger (snakes) and bears- Oh my!

2009-02-23T16:57:00.000-08:00

Yes, I am alive. I survived the wilds. But only barely. This next entry of my blog may not be suitable for young children or the faint hearted.

Well, may I exaggerate a little, but I did have brush with death (but more on that story later).

So last week I toddled away from Melbourne, not as reluctant to leave as Sydney (but then Sydney didn't put me through heatwave hell). I arrived in Launceston, apparently the 2nd largest city in Tasmania. Hmmmm, nice but that's not what I call a city. Cities in my opinion are meant to have people in them, this apparently is quite important and in Launceston I didn't see many.

The next morning, bright and early I was colllected by my 2 guides for my 6 day trek. Of the 8 fellow trekkers , I was the youngest by at least 35 years and in one case 50 apart from one other girl called Amanada. Now, I'm not age-ist, but this did take me a back slightly. That and of the remaining 6 trekkers, 5 were men with names beginning with J. Very confusing.

So it was then I thought the trek was going to be more of a gentle walk Oh well. However, I was wrong about this. These wilely old guys were fit and kept me on my toes. I won't bore you with a detailed day to day, blow for blow account of my walking, but the 6 days consisted of walking up Mountains called the Blue Tiers, walking along beaches called the Bay of fires, staying in a pub with an alcoholic pet pig and being horredously bitten by mosquitos. Oh and drinking some very fine Tasmania piot noir with Amanada.

However, not it was not all fun and games. The brush with death came on out last days trek. We were idling along a coastal, but rocky track, enjoying the trees the birds and the general ambiance of nature. I was fourth in the single file line up of our walk, when I noticed something the three before me had not. Just off the track was a large coiled up black snake. It looked right at me and raised it's head. I gave it a look back in astonishment. Despite being told about the wildlife here, I hadn't really expected to see any and my first instinct when I saw a large black snake was "why has someone left their toy rubber snake in the wood". Then as I said the snake moved and I realised, that it was of course a real snake and most likely very poisonous. I increased my pace and shouted back to my fellow trekkers (in I must say a very calm voice) that there was a large snake next to the track and then similarly calmly informed the guide.
It was then the reality of the situation hit me. This was a tiger snake, the most poisionous snake in Australia and despite not thinking I was afraid of snakes, I got an incredible fight or flight adrenaline rush and as you can probably guess, I didn't fight it. The guide had to catch up with me and tell me to slow down the pace! I wasn't the only one spooked though. Amanada who was behind me at the time of the snake spotting, ran in the other direction and by all accounts the expletives that came to her lips were not suitable for a PG audience.

Amanada, as you can guess, soon became my ally. A lovely girl who currently lives in Brisbane as a executive travel agent (who knew that was a job?) and on thelast night, once back in Launceston, she confessed it was her birthday. This demanded celebration! Champagne, greek food, red wine! Unfortunately, it then descended into beer and gin and tonics (oh and my new follwer 'Gin and Tonic' who are you- ?Maggie). The next morning, packing up my rucksack and locating the bus station was not the most pleasant experience of my life. Co-incidently, Amanada and I discovered we were both on the same bus to Hobart (the largest city in Tassie) and after arriving, scooting around the famous markets we settled down for cake and hydration to comfort ourselves from the hangovers still troubling us.

We bid our farewell that evening and I went to a small town outside Hobart for big my indulgence of the trip so far. You see it was the Oscar weekend and due to the time difference, I've never been able to watch it at home. So I decided rather than roughing it, I would check into a hotel for a couple of nights, buy junk food and watch the Oscars live. However, hotels in Hobart were expensive so I decded to stay in a motel out of the city. I was a bit dubious at first as it was reamarkably cheaper than anywhere else I had seen. However, imagine my delight when I saw the room to discover that it had a river view, a small kitchen and ensuite power shower. Pleased as punch. And I thoroughly enjoyed the Oscars despite Frost/Nixon winning nothing, at least Kate Winslet and Sean Penn got the statues they deserved.

I'm now in Hobart city centre, back in hostel accommodation for the night before heading back to Launceston for a final day trek and then journey to Sydney again to catch up with a friend.
As you know, I've mainly been hot this last, well to honest 2 months, and the cheek of it, but today it's raining. And Hobart, like Launceston is small. But unfortunately, unlike Launceston is not very nice. It feels like Alness. You know the rough part. Any small city that's got needle disposal bins at every corner can't be a haven for puppies or small children. However, I did spot an independent bookshop with a cafe so I may be forced to spent the day drinking tea and reading a book. It's a hard life, but I do need to get over my snake trauma. It was very traumatic.

Tasmania trekking I must go!

2009-02-13T15:05:00.000-08:00

So, here I sit at the computer station in my hostel in Melbourne about to end my time here and start a new journey into the wilds. I have been staying at the Nummery (no there are no nuns) for a bit over 2 weeks home and it has become familiar like an old sweaty sock. But now it is time to trek!

This afternoon I'm off to Tasmania to do a 6 day trek around the place to see lovely things and feel fit. This means I probably I won't have internet access for the next week (imagine no broadband in the mountains- how uncivilised) so I will summerize my last few days and will bid you farewell in case I meet an unexpected Tazmanian marsupial tiger that eats me up.

After my Grampian adventure (or mild walk as in more appropriate) I realised I would have to conserve my energy before going to Tasmania. I am a great believer in sleep stores- for example if one is going to a large event one weekend, the weekend before should be spent resting in prepartion so the stores can build up (it's theories like these that would have made me millions if I hadn't quit). Anyway, so the last few days have been very leisurely.

On Tuesday though, I was in a bad mood for absolutely no reason until I went to a 2nd hand bookshop, met a nice cat and bought a book about a serial killer. Ah it warmed my heart.
On Wednesday, I did not feel well. My mother has this theory that if you are unwell, if you are brave about it you will end up losing a leg, if however you moan and complain it will come to nothing. So I followed this advice. I had a lie down, took some paracetamol and drank some orange juice and moaned a lot to my dorm mates that I was convinced I was going to get tonsillitis before going to the wilderness.
On Thursday I felt better. I spent the entire day in the botanical gardens quite accidently. I mean to go for an hour, but ended up enjoying the ambience so much I stayed and then went to a little converted theatre cinema and saw a documentary about a french chap who slung a wire between the twin towers in the 1970s and walked between them for an hour. Mad chap, good film.
Yesterday, I packed. This took a long time and everything only squeezed in. I left some stuff at Maggie's so how I'm going to take that stuff too, I am uncertain. It's all the extra hiking clothes I bought in my excitement that's done it. In the evening I met up with 4 guys I had originally met in Tokyo. Absolutely lovely chaps who are all stage students (not actors, but lighting etc etc) and we had a few beers and played pool. They were the epitomey of nice Ozzie blokes, good banter and it felt very easy slipping back into our politcally incorrect humour like we shared in Japan. Two of them were then going on to see one of their brothers play in a heavy metal band. I declined this invitation.

So now you have a blow for blow account of my last few exciting days in Melbourne, I hope you are thrilled. So until I see you all again, goodbye my dears and good luck!

Celebrity Spotting

2009-02-09T17:06:00.000-08:00

So as you can gather it has been quite hot down under. Any of you who have seen the news the last few days will be aware of the fires in the vicinity so just to reassure you (and please stop texting at 4 in the morning people), I am in the city centre of Melbourne, not the out back so I'm safe. Plus the weather has now changed- its a bit chilly and a bit rainy. But that is not a complaint. That's how hot it was.

I've a busy bee despite the heat getting organised for Tasmania on Saturday (it has involved lots of coordinating which I find taxing on my brain) plus I've been sociable. Shock.

On Thursday I did a day trip to cuddle kangaroos (well pet) and see the penguin parade at sunset. Alas due to heat, it was less of a parade than a small party of aquaintences of penguins. However, I did see some and they were cute. During this day trip I met a retired couple from Fort William who are the first Scots I've met during my travels. We had lovely chats about Fort Willy and they named lots of people who I didn't know and I nodded appropiately. Alas, my hope of meeting a travelling soul mate like I did with Luke the Brisbane boy in Berlin and then spending 4 days together having a jolly time looking at Holocaust Memorials, did not happen. But then I think I raise the bar too high, I mean how can you beat that?

Saturday was the infamous 46.6 degree day and I did nothing. I almost ceased to exist.

On Sunday the weather had seriously changed. Cold, windy and rainy, it was like being at home. However it was the St Kilda festival so I dutifully went along like a good tourist with my special tram pass and walked out with my waterproof on appreciating all the things I was meant to appreciate. It was then I had my first celebrity spot. Now it doesn't really count as she was performing, so therefore not spontaneous, but sometimes the rules have to be stretched. However, I saw the singer Kate Miller-Heidke. Who? I hear you say. Well, any Ozzies or Maggie reading this will know. She is a pop/rocky singer now, but was once an opera singer and boy does she have a set of pipes. I like her because most of her songs are little stories not just 'I love ya, yeah yeah yeah'.

So I enjoyed that and I even managed to film parts of it with a special button on my camera. With sound. I am so proud.

My second celebrity spot was entirely spontaneous and deserves mega points. I was picked up very early yesterday morning to go on a hike to the Grampian mountain range and as I chatted to the mini bus driver/tour guide at the traffic light we noticed people were filming in the park across from my hostel. It was Kevin Rudd, the Prime Minister. Points.

So my hike in the Grampians I hear you say? That must have been a long drive! Ho ho ho, you jest so. There are two Grampians- one in Scotland (original and best) and another near Melbourne, unimaginatively named. This was again a day tour and much like the 'hike' in the Blue Mountains in Sydney, wasn't much of a hike. However, I did see a nice waterfall and lots of trees. Good day. I also met two Edinburgh girls and a Virginian girl. We all clicked and got on terribly well. Alas, all three were leaving the tour at the end of the day to stay in the Grampians to join another tour and not returning to Melbourne so finally after meeting some potential playmates I was deprived so cruelly. But we will always have our memories of the Grampians.

Nothing can take that away.

Too darn hot 2.

2009-02-06T17:53:00.000-08:00

One of the main differences about the weather pattern I have noticed here is not, in fact, the amazing levels of sunshine, but also the peak temperature of the day. On a sunny day in Scotland, the warmest you get is say 12, 1pm, the lunching hour for civilised people. You can dine in a small roadside cafe gently sunning your face safe in the knowledge that come nightfall the temperature will have cooled. You can have your evening meal and sleep soundly in your bed at night not too over heated.

Not so in Australia. On a hot day the temperature beings to climb at 10am then continues to rise higher and higher. By lunchtime, you are too hot to eat, shunning all but sugary carbonated drinks. You might think, 'ah by evening it will be cool. I shall eat a large meal then and be satisfied'. This is not the case. Often peak heat occurs about 6pm. There is no escape in the day. Then at night it contiues on at 30+. Its too hot even to think about having a beer.

I thought I'd had my share with the 4 day heat wave last week. But it is now 1pm, 40 degrees and set to climb to 44 before night fall.

I am not amused. And not at all cool.

Melting Melbourne

2009-02-02T22:58:00.000-08:00

I'm terribly sorry about my performance as a blogger the last few days. My last entry was poor at best, so so soryy, but it wasn't my fault. It was 'The Heat'. I give it a name because I never felt heat like it.

I arrived in Melbourne last Wednesday to the first day of a 4 day over 40 degree heat wave, the hottest to hit the city since, like, I dunno, ever. I don't know, dear reader, if you've ever been outside in 45 degree dry heat before, but I hadn't. When the wind blew, rather that a relief, it felt like hot sandpaper on my skin and my eye balls were going to evaporate. So in short, not nice and it rendered me incapable of doing anything vaguely worhwhile. Not even in the evennings could I adventure around the city as it was still 35 plus (nighttime was not a pleasurable experience). So for my first couple of days here, I merely rose in the morning read my book inside the hostel, when for a swim then in the evening either watched the tennis (Australian Open) or went to the cinema (so it wasn't all bad). I saw Benjamin Button- over rated, if it beats any of the other films esp Milk to the Oscar, I will be most displeased- and the Class, a documentary style film about a teacher in a rough school in Paris. It was so realistic there were times I wanted to shout at the screen to tell those bloody kids to shut-up. Why anyone is a teacher i don't know (hi mum).

Anyway, finally on Sunday, the weather broke- a chilly 30 degrees and I was able to go outside for more than a 5 minute period without melting. A nice chap called James that I briefly met in Madrid last year had remembered I was coming to Melbourne and had invited me to lunch with some of his friends. However, he had forgotten it was Chinese New Year and we ate in Chinatown (as he is Chinese, I felt his absent mindedness rather hap-hazard) and during our meal we got punced upon by a dragon- man than on tryingto leave, we were trapped inthe establishment by what seemed like a thousand fire crackers going off at the restaurant door.
We made it out relatively unscathed, although rather deaf. James proved to be a very nice chap (to be honest I barely remebered meeting him in Spain, how bad of me), but for some reason I was struck by a sudden case of nerves during the meal and talked even more crap than usual so don't think I made a terribly good impression. Oh well.

Yesterday, I had an unexpected good time shopping for clothes for going hiking in Tasmania. Did I mention I'm doing a 7 day trek? I am a fool. However, as I have barely any appropriate clothing, I made a list and went to it. I thought it would be a horrid experience trawling throught hiking shops, but maybe its because I've banned myself from 'pleaaure shopping' (I re-evaluated my budget and realised I'm drastically over spending so I now have a daily allowance that I can ony break for essentials), but it was terribly good fun and I got lots of very pretty walking clothes. I never would have known there was such variety in walking gear! However, it was quite pricey, so I have decided that I will trek lots in New Zealand to justify the spend.

Right, I'm typed out out and don't have much else to report. My new hostel is very nice- activity evenings etc, but I'm not really clicking with anyone like I did in Sydney. I think its the prospect of having an entire week with constant company in Tasmania quite soon that is making me enjoy some quality alone time. That and there does seem to be a high proportion of rather odd (but harmless- I hope) people here. There is one lady, she must be at least 60 (and time has not been kind) who keeps trying to tell anyone who will listen that her husband is Chinese and she makes paper lanturns for the Chinese museum and another African sounding chap that keeps accusing people of being on drugs and narrating the events occuring in a room when he enters. However, at present I don't share a dorm with any of these oddities so I just smile at their antics and dive out of the kitchen on their approach.

I need to be careful around odd people as they seem to gravitate toward me like bees to honey. I'm not sure why, prehaps it's because I'm too polite to ignore them or maybe, as the mad German from Sydney said, I have a good aura. That must be it.

Too darn hot.

2009-01-28T15:21:00.000-08:00

This will be brief as from the title, you can tell, it is hot.

I have finally left Sydney, but have come to melbourne during a heatwave. That was clever.

My last few days in Sydney involved park sitting, amazing film watching (go see Milk- Milk for the oscar!), visiting a water park (I felt very mature), catching up with some people I met in Amsterdam (a lask lustre affair, I don't think any of us really had our hearts in the reunion- sometimes what happens in Amsterdam, stays in Amsterdam), going for a hike, seeing the Australia day fireworks in the pouring rain and finally leaving Sydney.

Apologises for the lack of details, but as i said I arrived in Melbourne to a heat wave -45 degrees when I got off the plane. It is now 10 am and it is already 35. That all sounds fine and dandy to you cold Scottish people, but imagine that in an 8 bed dorm with no air con. Now you feel me.

I had a brief wander around last night night, but today I actually need to read my guidebook and see what Melborune is about- I used to be so organised. I turned up yesterday without a map or any idea where I was going. So unlike me. Isn't that good?

Sydney still continued

2009-01-21T17:32:00.000-08:00

As promised the second exciting installment.

Are you ready for an ardously detailed description of a play you will never see? (I know you care Anthony, my dedicated cate Blanchett lover). Good, I hope you are sitting comfortably and I'll begin.

The War of the Roses covers 8 of Shakespeare's plays covering the lead up to and end of the War of the Roses. The play by the Sydney theatre company lasted 7 hours in total and condensed Richard II, Henry IV parts 1&2 and Henry V into the first half which I saw on Monday night and Henry VI and Richard III which I saw on Tuesday.

Act one was Richard the II. Cate Blanchett (!) played Richard and the set consisted of all the players standing on the stage whilst being showered by gold confetti for the most part. Cate (my good friend, we are on first name basis now) was very good and even though the set design sounds odd it was very striking. However, my favourite of the two nights had to act 2 of part 1 (Henry IV and V). The actor playing Prince Hal (to become Henry V) was mesmorizing. Absolutely amazing, I cannot stress that enough. He managed a very awkward scene where he commited oral sex on Falstaff then spat out the result of it and smeared it over his face. I know it wasn't real, but it look very icky and the whole audiene did audibly gasp when he did that. However, he managed to make it really distressing and sad, which I know sounds a bit crazy. Plus there was a bit more action in this half mainly consisting of murders made more dramatic by the actor playing the murderer getting a mouthful of fake blood and spitting it over the victim. I'm sure health and safety wouldn't have allowed it back home.

Part 2 was Henry VI parts 1-3 and Richard III. Any of you who know the play Henry VI will know that it is murders and plotting abound and quite a lot to squeeze into 2 hours. However, they managed it incredibly well by suspending an LED strip light thing form the top of the stage which changed as the scenes changed eg The murder of ....., the deposing of..... which really helped things run more smoothly. There was approximately 7 murders in the first act so as you can imagine there was literally gallons of blood being spat in all the actors faces. Definitely not hygienic (I can feel you shudder at the thought Kim).
The final act was Richard III and again they had a woman playing the title part. The stage this time was a childs playground with black confetti streaming down over the players. Richrad was mazing, she managed to bring humour and tragedy to the part.

So in short, it was good. I feel very poetic and dramatic and full of the luvvie spirit.

Now, in all my ardent love for Shakespeare, I forgot to tell you about meeting Al. To those of you who don't know, Al is my good friend Andi's boyfriend and he had come on holiday to Sydney to see his sister (thanks for letting me know Andi!). He gave me a text and we had a lovely lunch in the botanical gardens and a lovely walk around some of the areas I hadn't been yet in Sydney. It was so nice to see someone from the mother country especially so unexpectedly. Ah the joys of a holiday maker!

Anyway the spirals of time are once again against us and I must depart. Farewell, my dear friends, good night!

(Sorry, just way too much theatre....)

Sydney still

2009-01-20T20:17:00.000-08:00

So I left you thinking I was in the safe hands of a German hippy about to take me to an open air viewing of Run Lola Run. What could be safer? In fact it was safe, but I learned, what I suspect you all knew, that the mad German was in fact mad.

Now one would think a hippy type would at one with nature etc etc so I forgave her when she started protesting very loudly that standing waiting for the bus was 'very bad for my lungs, it is not good for us all this pollution' and I forgave her when she toook literally a thousand phots (who would have thought a monorail track was so facinating and requiring multiple shots?). However, I could not forgive the fact that on the very brief walk back to our hostel that she moaned and complained and shrieked and howled at every cockroache she saw (it's Australia there are lots). So after I managed to regain my arm from her grasp, I realised my escape must be made.

Fortunately, she sleeps in and sounded so the next day I crept out and spent the day doing what i love best- park sitting. Now this may shock you all, but I suddenyl found myself wanting to exercise! It came as a shock to me also, so i decided to go swimming. I went to an open air pool with every great intention, but then after about 4 lenghts a thunderous lightening storm erupted blasting bolts of fire that ripped through the air like a whip.

Okay I exaggerate slightly (I've been reading science fiction, forgive me), but they had to evacuate the pool so that was the end of my sporting moment.

On return to my room (a six bed drom with three inhabitants so naturally we all had a bottom bunk each) I found the German had moved her stuff on to mine. This was odd. Had she missed me so that day she felt to be above me. I worried this could be so and the Aussie girl who also shares the room feraed for me. I later discovered it wasn't amorous intention, but an evil power cable running under the bed was giving her headaches at night so she was compelled to move (subsequently claiming the move cured her headaches and proving her point). Mad, mad , mad.

Anyway the weekend came and after our bonding moment over the German, the Aussie girl and her English friend (who speaks faster than I do!!!! Really!!!) spent a bit of time together, book shopping, ice skating and beach lounging and all types of girlie high jinks. All good wholsome fun.

Now I must go as I am running out of internet time, but what awaits in the next entry is Cate Blanchett, showers of blood and unexpected meetings with old friends.....

Sun in Sydney

2009-01-13T16:45:00.000-08:00

Well, my new years resolution didn't last long. Apologises to my readers, after my last comment about not having any I now have 3 followers. A proud day indeed (FYI Emma, love the screen name).

I blame the vast majority of this lack of writing to the fact I have now moved on from Brisbane (and the jigsaw- I was defeated, Maggie finished two days after my departure) and am now in Sydney where my hostel doesn't have free internet. Imagine having to pay to use a service!

I am loving Sydney. Maggie very wisely told me to geta hostel out of the centre and it's a great place. Most of you know I am not adverse to the odd tipple, but a lot of the inner city hostels, that is all they do. I went to the Blue Mountains on Monday (more on that later) and on asking two English girls who have been here for a month what they most liked about Sydney, they said the pubs. Then I asked what they has been doing for the last month and they said the pubs. So as much as I like a drink, I actually want to remember some of Australia.

I've not been terribly exciting since my arrival in the social capital of Oz, but you dear readers should know that after the park extravanganza that was Tokyo. My hostel is in Glebe and had a masssive outside courtyard which is great. Every night for the last ten days I've eaten under the stars and there had been surprisingly few mossies.

On my first full day here I was surpirised to bump into two girls I went to uni with (Susan Dickson and Caroline something for those of you who care). It was quite surreal. Then the next day I met up with a lovely girl I had orginally met in Barcelona. Erin is a smashing girl, so so kind. I wasn't sure she would even remember me, but she welcomed me like an old friend and took me for breakfast and a wee tour of the eastern beaches. The poor thing is having a rather terrible time with a flatmate situation so it was so ncie of her to take the time. Hopefully, once that is resolved we'll catch up again.

So the rest of the this last week, I've done a lot of city investigating, book shop finding and botanical garden sitting,as you can imagine. Also to great surprise and joy the Sydney festival is on so they're are lots of plays and music around every corner. I went to go to sit in the park and have lunhc and suddenly I was surrounded by a thousand children and a juggler. That wasn't a highlight actually...

I have also made friends with the two girls in my room. One is an Aussie, living in the hostel while she sorts out a plcae to live and has similiar novelisitc tastes as I (we have made a date to go book shopping on saturday) and the other is a German woman who is very interesting. She is a tantra teacher (google it) and is hoping later in the month to go to a retreat to not speak for 10 days and find her inner peace. Cool eh? She believes in herbal remedies and the like and thinks she was a man in a past life. I think I was a cat.

Tonight we are going to see Run Lola Run, a very popular cult German film, in a open air floating cinema and have a picnic with her friend Hong Kong boy. I haven't met him yet, but I'd be surprised if that is in fact his name.

Oh I forgot, I did do something interesting. I went on a day trip to see the Blue Mountains. The Blue Mountains are a famous range and they are most well known for the three sisters which are bascially 3 big rocks on top of a hill. The story behind it is that a Aborginal king changed his three daughters to stone to protect them from a magical predector, but then lost his magic wand sothey are stuck forever in stone. The tour was great bature wise. Saw big mountains, pretty gullys and tested out my new walking shoes. the people in the tour were so funny though. The guide was niceguy but the rest of the people were so funny. They without exception (and they weren't all one group or anything) had been out drinking till about 2 in the morning and were hung over. Most didn't wear anything suitable for trekking up mountains (one girl was wearing gladiator sandals and a sun dress) and almosty all of them moaned and complained about walking. It was a walking tour! People are strange. I think the poor guide was a bit baffled too. IT was a good day though and I took pretty pictures to bore you with once I work out how to put pictures online.

So finally, just to rub it it in. The weather here is so lovely. A medium 29 degrees the last few days. You know when the rain comes, it such a relief from the heat. I have to put sun cream on everu day in case I burn, it is so relentless. Poor, poor me, eh?!

New Year and Jigsaw obsessions

2009-01-04T19:56:00.000-08:00

Hmmm, I appear to have been neglecting my blog during this festive period. Much like a child after playing with a new puppy. At first it is fun and exciting, but too soon walking the dog becomes a chore. However, I have resounded as my new year's resolution to be more attentive to my online readers- all one of you (thanks bro, feeling the fmaily loyalty).

Talking of new year, I do hope you all had a pleasing time of your choice. After returning from the delight that was Chrsitmas, poor Maggie had to work and I too had some trip planning to do. So of course I went to the park and read my book (no no not my travel guide!). Yes, in my usual fashion I managed to procastinate fully for almost the whole 3 days Maggie was earning her crust. However, I did manage to purchase a pair of shorts for the tiny sum of ten dollars (yes, me in shorts), meet up with Luke, a lovely guy I met initally in Berlin and of course see a movie.

Luke is a born and bred Brisbaner and he felt it was his duty to how me a good time in Fortitude Valley (or 'the Valley' as the cool kids say). This is the area of Brisbane where the young, the beautiful and the interestingly dressed go out to socialise and be seen (although I'm not sure who by). One of the clubs was having a theme night called Fluffy, in which the dapper young gents of the city gathered to dance merrily together in a spirit of brotherhood. I had a jolly time dancing away in my sensible shoes, drinking the finest gin and enjoying the entertainment by a very tall and glamorous lady named Alexei Paige. I was such a fine time funking down with grooves that I didn't get to bed til 4 o'clock. What would my mother say!

Fortunately for Maggie the second holiday of the season soon came around and we set off again, this time for a different coastal town called Kingscliff to meet up with Duncan and stay at his good friend Paul's house. Now, if you have been reading closel, you will have remembered that in ou lat road trip, the air conditioning in the car had brken down. This was still the case, but on this journey we were driving in the midday sun with top temperatures if 35 degrees. I have had better experiences in my short life, but the extreme heat was made slightky better by a mid-way sop for a nice pie (Maggie doesn't usually let me ave junk food- she is so good). We finally arrived in Kingscliff and may I say that Paul's dad Terry (who I met previously when he came to stay briefly with my moher a few years ago) has a rather spectacular house and pool placed a ten minute wlak away from a most delightful beach.

After a 2 hour, 35 degree heat drive, I must say there is nohing better than putting on your cossie (I am so Australian now, I know the lingo) and running into the sea. Delightful. Then very excitingly , the host, Paul, his brother and Duncan returned from their fishing trip armed with a massive 15kg tuna. Now I don't know anything about fishing, but apparenty This Is Very Hard To Do and is a Very Big Achievement. So despite it being the 30th and most parties kept til the 31st as tradition dictates, a party for this fish was organised. A mere 14 people attended, the fish was cooked 3 different ways and much merriement was had by all. I have several pictures of the fish and it's delightful catcher Paul who must say is a lovely guy (a teacher no less) with a equally lovely aversion to wearing a T-shirt.

Hogmanay then arrived and the weather coninued to get hotter and hotter. So whats a girl to do, but hit the beach, meet some new friends (all school buddies of Duncan) and go to cafes to eat in the sun. Then something quite extraordinary happened. Maggie and Duncan had left for the afternoon to see his family and I decided to stay in Kingscliff to continue my research on whether or not Paul owned a shirt. During our beach lounging earlier in the day, someone had mentioned they had recieved a miniture cricket set for Christmas and we should all go and play in the park. Amd so we did. I played sport. Not only did I play, but I actually managed to hit the ball (with the bat) and run back and forth two bits of wood for quite some time. When I was put out (I'm not sure what the rules of cricket are, but someone told me it was all over), i got a small round of applause and Sean (the owner of the cricket set) said it was greatest cricket performance by a Scottish person he had ever seen. I took that as a compliment.

Well, after all the activities, you would think I would be just exhausted, but it was Hogmanay. After much decision, that after the fish party, tonight should be a quiet affair between friends, of course a massive house party with loud dance music, more barbequed food, small children dancing (wih full supervision of their parents) and fireworks ensued. In fact, it was quite the biggest party I have been to in some time, larger than even my dear brother's 30th and with much less good behaviour. At around 4am and witnessing a party goer trying to smoke a cigarette backwards, I decided it was time for bed. Unfortunately, poor Terry has been the victim of termites and his downstairs guest rooms are a no go area so all us waifes and strays had to sleep in the corridors. This is not a big deal as it is so hot that anywhere with a pillow suffices for sleep. However, this did mean despite by best efforts, I was very much trying to sleep in a thorough fair and presence did not go unnoticed by Paul's other brother Mark and a friend who decided that I would very much enjoy (at 7 am) to be serended by their imitations of crows and attempts at mastering the Irish accent. This went on for approximately an hour and despite my several attempts to explain I was not Irish, they continued. Their renditions were also heard by the rest if the house and I expect most of the surrounding households, so even though it was the first of a new year, I was up and ready for the new day by about 830am. What an achievement. This was aided by an early morning swim and a large bacon and egg roll. Yum.

Alas, good times eventually have to end, and after the worse of the sun had gone, Maggie, Duncan and I made our way home (via his mum's house for homemade ice cream) to Brisbane for a very early night.

Maggie again had to work on the Friday so I entertained myself by going to the art gallery and book shopping whilst the boys watched cricket onthe TV- all day. Apparently, cricket lasts 10 days!? The weekend brought 'a change in the weather' heralded by the newspapers. It rained so heavily on Saturday that we had to shut all the upstairs windows and rescue the outside dining table. The boys were still watching cricket so Maggie and I decided to be very wholesome, do some baking and buy a jigsaw. However, the only one we could find in the limited number of shops in her neighbourhood was an 1000 piece Star Wars themed puzzle. Maggie wanted to do it by house rules ie you are not allowed to look at the box. This jigsaw has become an obsession. It is incredibly difficult, massive and has consumed Maggie and I's time for the las 2 days, so much so that the baking didn't get done til Sunday. We both just had to get out of the house for a walk yesterday, but couldn't stop thinking about it the whole time and hurried back. I thought I heard someone move the table this morning so had to get up and check the puzzle and check it was alright (it was).

It's all been very stressful and the worst thing is- it's not finished yet.

Christmas time

2008-12-26T16:53:00.000-08:00

Festivities have come and gone since I last updated this. And lots have happened.

I had one final day in Tokyo before I got my late night flight to Brisbane. I'm not awfully good at these travelling days, i just want to get going, but my flight wasn't until 9pm so I had to fill my hours with something. So guss what, I went to a park. But this was a proper park with activties such as a zoo. Now I know that in theory I disapprove of zoo's but I also disapprove of eating meat and I'm the biggest carnivore out (meat just tastes so good!). So I paid my 600 yen and prepared myself for seeing a giant panda.

Now, to be honest if you had asked me a week ago would I like to see a giant panda, I probably would have said yes, but enthusiasim wouldn't have been overwhelming. I eman they are just black and white fluffy things tat refuse to breed. However, thinking I was about to see such a creature, I became quite excited.

Unfortunately, unbeknown to me (but very clearly sign posted in English around the zoo, but I don't look at anything properly) poor old Ling Ling passed on in April of this year. Imagine my disappointment, rushing (well walking with purpose) toward the panda enclosure to find a little photo of the bear next to a sign describing her demise from heart failure several months previously. But fear not, there was a substitute- two huge stuffed giant pandas you could sit on and pose for a photo. How lovely. Oh and jut to point out, they weren't real stuffed bears, more large soft toys.

Anyway so after that crushing disappointment, I made my way to the airport. I found myself terribly excited to get to Australia and see Maggie that the flight could not go quick enough. This wasn't helped by the fact the in flight entertainment was exactly the same as my previous insomniac journey and id finished my book. Grr.

Anyway I finally arrived, rushed to passport control, sweating with all my documents ready for an interrorgation after the visa fiasco- would i be let in? What questions will I get asked? Will I get searched? And I was waved through with barely a grunt from the passport control officer. I was almost offended- I mean I could have been coming to steal babies for all they enquired.

So I waited for about 45 minutes for my bag which typically was last off (I was getting to the oh god oh god it's been lost stage when it finally poked it's little head out of the luggage window) then joined a massive queue for customs in which they take away your chocolate and make children cry.

So finally made it through and for the first time in months I had someone waiting for me at an airport. I felt loved. But there were so many people, I didn't know where to look so when Maggie presented herself in front of me, it took me a few seconds to realise she was there!

Duncan, Maggie's partner, was also there to greet me and they took me back to their lovely house in a place called New farm they share with an equally lovely chap called Ryan (who i have met when he lived in Edinburgh, but like Duncan is an authentic Aussie).

The next few days were very lovely and domesticated. Walks around the local area to orientate me, book shopping, cooking, baking for Christmas and just general catching up. And then Christmas. Duncan's mother and aunt live about 2 hours away in New South Wales in a little town called Pottsville and that is where the family clan were to congregate for the festive period. Duncan has 3 siblings 92 brothers and one siser) and all bar one had their partners coming. Add in Zack another UK waife and stray, a family friend and the aunt's partner and son, it was a busy affair!

Christmas eve is the focus at the Taylor household and it was so Australian it is going to sound cliched, but its the truth! We arrived and instantly the beers started flowing, barbeque was started and there was even a sing song ariund the piano. We went across the creek and swam in the sea before dinner then managed to squeeze about 14 people, a one eyed dog and a grumpy cat around Duncan's mother's dining room table to have barbequed fish, prawns and other fabulous trimmings. Then presents were opened, the beers kept flowing and by the time I went to bed it was 3 and I was no where near the last to drop!

Christmas day was sightly more low key as several people had to go to other family meals, but still a good few people left for an early morning swim (a great way to get rid of a hangover) before the barbie was stoked up again and more food consumed. After a bit of confusion I also got a lovely phonecall from my family who at the end of my Christmas day were just starting theirs.

So boxing day followed the same pattern and then in the evening Maggie (who had to work the next day), Zack and myself drove back to Brisbane. Although we had a sightly scary moment when the 'I'm too hot light' went on and strange smell started wafting through the vechicle. We stopped, let the man in our party lift the bonnet and scratch his head then phone Duncan who's advice was 'to keep drving whilst i join th RAC'. However, on returning to the car to follow this advice we found that if the air conditioning was switched off then the 'hot' light remained off and the car drove well. So apart from some slight sweatyness on our part, the car managed to get us all safely home.

What a heart warming Christmas ending.

Last Tango in Tokyo

2008-12-19T03:48:00.000-08:00

So after complaining about everyone going to bed early after the rainy day, that evening, the aforementioned Essex boy in my dorm returned from his touristyness and we went to the hostel bar where we met 3 Aussie boys and ended up playing some very strange, but compelling game on the Wii for about 3 hours. So all was not lost.

So what did I do on Thursday......Oh yeah, the rain stopped- yipee!!!! So I went to another part of Tokyo that I can neither pronounce or spell. And I went to another park. What can I say, I really like parks and they have lots here. I also saw a very big shrine which was nice, a statue of a Japanese dog with a story behind it not unlike Grey Friar's Bobbie and lots ofvery oddly dressed Japanese girls. You know the ones with massive shoes, fake hair and lots of Hello Kitty! accessories.

In the evening, I played chess against one of the Aussie boys. Any one who has ever played chess with me knows how that went (I lost a lot, but my boredom during the game caused me to give most of the pieces back stories and personalities- the saddest of which was the story of the 2 horse brothers, divided by political loyalities in opposing sides who ended up killing each other. Their poor mother).

Today, it was again sunny. Guess what I did. Yeap, park. Then more walking round shops with odd looking Japanese girls and very high buildings.

To be honest, nothing particularly funny or interesting has happened in the last couple of days so I apologise for the dullness of this entry.

Oh I will mention something I forgot to tell you about the rainy fake island day. One of the shopping centres was really fancy, the inside was made to look like an outside with a changing colour cloudy sky and a bench covered in fake flowers called 'the happy seat' (apparently you sit in it, take a photo and think of nice things). Well, particular shopping centre (called Venus Fort for anyone who cares) claimed to have the largest public toilet in Japan- 64 stalls in all, according to my book. Now I read this and thought- I know what will make my mother proud, if I could find this toilet (anyone who knows my mother will understand this). I went to every bloody toilet in the place and couldn't find it. I realised it needed a systematic approach so I went to the floor plan on the top floor and toilet by toilet, floor by floor I searched. And then, when I thought all hope was lost, I opened the final door and I saw it- 54 gleaming bowls (*the book was wrong- only 54 not 64).

Beautiful.

Drip, drip, drip, lots of Tokyo showers

2008-12-17T01:43:00.000-08:00

It's raining. But that's today. Lets go back to happier times, yesterday.

So after my sleep marathon on Monday, I finally emerged on Tuesday, bright as a button, fresh as a daisy, bushy tailed and all that stuff. It helped that the sun was shiney, the frost had gone, life in short was good.

Tokyo is very big and confusing and surprisingly enough there's a lot of Japanese signage around that's not the easiest to decifer. However, they do have a very good metro system which I truely believe is the solo travellers best friend whatever country you are in. I decided on my first day to go to central Tokyo, see the imperial palace and all that jazz. As it was such a beatutiful day I bascially spent about 4 hours walking about the imperial gardens as just when you think there can be no more, you find yet another one. And I missed out about three because I just couldn't take anymore folioage. I also found an area of park that was called "Shelter for people who cannot go home again". I was intrigued when I saw this sign so walked through it, expecting to see a homeless shelter, but in fact it was just an expanse of grass with a bunch of homeless people sleeping under trees. I think it must be a place where homeless people are tolerated as I haven't really seen many homeless people around the city. It was a sad little piece of land.

After my greenery marathon, I headed to the main shopping street in central Tokyo. It was very stereotypical with the big plasma screens and giant 3D watches, it was like being an advert for Thomas Cook- look this girl is in Tokyo, cue me standing in street surrounded by all the technology and people wearing faces masks (lots of people here are very worried about breathing in pollution so wear masks a lot when outside). It was a bit surreal. So to counter balance this, I went to a toy shop. What better way to feel normal again than to surround yourself with 5 storeys of plastic toys and lego. The lego was ace.

Anyway after all that excitement, I went back to the hostel and ended up having a few drinks with my dorm mate in the bar downstairs. He, like me, did the uni and job thing then went huh? that it? Quit his job and has resorted to a year of travelling on savings with no clear idea what he is going to do years end. Thank goodness I'm not the only one.

Today it rained, rained, rained and then rained some more. And it was cold. So whats a girl to do, but go to a landfill thats been turned into a fake island where there is about a million shops, a rainbow bridge and a fake statue of liberty? It was the campest place I have ever been to. It was fab.

However, the rain has continued on and on into this evening and everyone here at the hostel is a bit fed up of it. Its just so relentless, you can't really go outside and the idea of going out and doing anything doesn't stir up the imagination. So it a quiet one here in Asakusa, lots of civilised conversations and book reading. No one even wants to have a drink. Damn them all! Fortunately, I bought myself a cake, so all is not lost!

A

Goodbye Sunshine, hello frost...

2008-12-15T03:47:00.000-08:00

Nobody told me it was winter in Japan. More on that later...

So Singapore proved to be the country that didn't allow me to sleep between snorers, incredibly loud Americans shouting at each other outside my door and an Oriental couple coming in and out of my room deciding whether or not they wanted to stay at 4 in the morning, none of these factors were condusive to sleep for the 4 days I was there. However, the country itself I quite enjoyed.

After my shopping day (oh I forgot to mention the best bit about the Keanu movie was at one stage he speaks -or trys to- in chinese. As most of the population are chinese origin, his attempt at the language caused the cinema audience to roar with laughter everytime he opened his mouth. It was very amusing) I went for a bit more culture in the country that, to be honest, seems to orientate around shopping centres.

I wandered along in humidity and 30 degrees plus to the harbour front to see the big wheel (which of course I didn't go up- it was miles high!) and then the big Merlion (yes a fish/lion hybrid statue) at the river front which spits water from its mouth. It was then I realised why there are so many shopping centres- they have air conditioning. I was hot, hot, hot and had a kinda of sweaty residue all over me that made me feel icky. I realised then only by diving from one centre to another could I survive this tropical land. How on earth am I going to survive in Oz?!

I also saw the 'Fountain of Wealth' which according to my book was a splendivourous, fantabulous, magnificanty giant amazing thing. Not so much. Looked like a water feature in a shopping centre that occasionally sprayed you with tepid water.

On Saturday I went to Sentosa island which is an artifical island made basically for sh*ts and giggles at the south end of Singapore. Beaches, more giant Merlions, waxwork museums and of course giant shopping centre (the biggest in fact). Only I didn't check the weather before I went. All the other days, despite the heat, it had been fairly overcast so no danger of sun exposure. Not this day. Clear blue sky, sun, sun, sun. Now many of you that know me when exposed to sun I burn even with factor 40 hence the tyranical way I put it on. Alas, it was only when I was lounging (in the shade) on the beach did I remembered due to a high pressured explosion in my bag that destroyed my factor 40 on the flight back from Italy, I only had my factor 20 with me. I stuck to shade, I didn't let myself swim, I used my brolly as a parasol (I looked so so so cool) and yes you guessed it, I still became a lobster, but only my left shoulder so it could have been worse.

Anyway, sun dodging aside, it was a lovely day until suddenly without warning the rain began to pour like proper movie style rain so I hot footed it back to my hostel for a timely nap (remember no sleep at night). Then because I am so amazingly cultured I went to the ballet. The theatre in Singapore is massive and you guessed it, joined to a shopping centre and cost about 300 million pounds to build. What can I say, it was nice. I was in the major cheapo seats and it was still a good view and despite being in the gods (or Circle 3) I didn't feel the balcony was about to collapse like I do in HMT. The ballet was the Nutcracker - how festive- so full of children, but don't worry I ignored them. Now I've never been to ballet (gasp I hear you say, how can that be true what with me being so cultured and everyfink) and to be honest I'd forgotten they don't speak, it just classical music and dance with dimmed lights and comfy seats and I hadn't slept properly in 3 days...Yes I fell asleep. Only briefly in the first half, but I felt so guilty that for the rest of it I tried to sit bolt upright and be fascinated, but to be honest, even though I know the dancing was difficult and the costumes were lovely etcera ectera, I was sort bored. I know, hang my head in uncultured shame. Anyway, it was a good experience to have and despite ballet not being my thing, I'm glad I went.

The rest of the trip was bascially nice (very short due to heat) walks in hilly parks, more shopping centres, random statue things and great amusement in finding Elgin road along with several other very Scottish sounding street names like Mackenzie Place and Edinburgh Road (me thinks Mr Raffles the British guy who founded Singapore may either have been a Scot or his town planner was).

I flew out late on Sunday night to Tokyo where I arrived early this morning to a 1 degree day. Nobody told me it would be winter here. I'd totally forgotten to look at the Japanese weather before I left. I was just thinking, Singapore hot, Oz hot, NZ hot, and generally hot, hot hot everywhere else I'm going. There was frost on the cars! However, it actually was a beautiful clear day and I put on all my jumpers at the airport so was fine, just a bit of a temperature change is all.

Of course with the overnight flight, I didn't sleep a wink and as I have mentioned, ooh about ten tines already, no sleep in Singapore so of course the instant I arrived in Tokyo I was overcome with a profound lethargy and fatigue. I got to my hostel about ten after all the faffing and the lovely girl at the reception gave me a cup of green tea, let me shower, use the internet (until it sponataneously broke- honest it wasn't me) until she let me into my room early. I also got chatting to an American guy who told me he was going home today to then move to the desert near LA and gave me lots of tips about the West coast. He also only had one eyebrow which was quite odd, but surprisingly not as noticable as you might think. Anyway, I had all these plans, but after a pot noodle thing and a bit of chocolate I thought, I'll just have a wee nap... Woke at about 6pm feeling so rubbish and guilty about my lack of activity. I then met a lovely French girl who has been in Tokyo for 5 days and likes it so much she is staying another 5 or so who told me not feel guilty, I must obey my body! Sleep, be rested and then you will be fine tomorrow. And she said it in a French accent so it sounded even better. So I stopped feeling guilty, had a brief walk, quick dinner, saw a temple/shrine and decided to have a quiet one tonight.

So bascially, tomorrow I'll see Tokyo, today I will rest my weary body and finish my book (true crime- I know you are proud mum).

I tell you this tourist malarky is a tiring one. How's work everyone?!

Singapore, the first step.

2008-12-11T05:54:00.000-08:00

So I finally left after all that procastination. Not frought without complications of course- well concerns that worry me senseless, but actually come to nothing. Never use the company visabureau.com to get your Oz visa. They tell you it will take 10 working days, after 12 you enquire and they the say you never applied in the first place- this 7 working days before you are due to go down under. By this stage I was in Singpore, horrendously jet lagged and freaking out big style convinced I was going to be turned away at the border before my holiday even properly started. Add in the fact I couldn't find a phone and you have one stressed Mo.

And then this morning I get an email from the company (and one from the Australian embassy who I had cntated va email in a panic) to say oops soz actually yeah you did apply a it was granted on the 25th of Nov, just forgot to tell you. B***ards. Not the embassy, I must note, they replied within a few hours of my email with a very reasuring letter.

Anyway, that stress plus jet lag plus a very loud snorer in my room last night, left me for my first full day in Singapore, a bit weary. As such I went along the infamous shopping street Orchard lane, taking my time,accidently buying a sun dress an soaking in the atomsphere.
After a necessary nap, I felt more tired than ever and instead of being sociable I went to the movies. I saw the Keanu movie 'the Day the Earth stood still'. It was fine, didn't require much thought.

Tomorrow I promise to be cultural and then fill these pages with better stuff than a movie review.

Hope you are all well, feel free to leave a post, but you have to join to gmail first though.

DAY 1 (ISH)

2008-12-03T05:59:00.000-08:00

Ah ha! Thanks to my kind eldest brother, I now have a blog. To all those I promised to emailed and didn't during my Europe tour, this blog is for you....and for me as this way my guilt is alleviated and I don't have to remember everyone's email address.

For those of you who know me from old, you will know for my year off (bad description, I know, as it implies I'm doing something producive on my return), I have already spent 3 months-ish touring Europe.

I will, I hope, summarise that time before (or during) my time away on my next sun filled leg of my grand World tour (well bits of it).

Alas, my sudden decension into utter disorganised chaos means I cannot start that process today as I have foreign money to buy, visas to acquire, but soon I hope to have my blog up and running and thus a way to keen you all informed (if you wish to be) on my new and hopefully exciting trip.