A Trip & A Bath Part Tres

Still on day three and the adventure continued. Erwin & Linda were a little concerned that their car was playing up a little. So they decided to head on to Lavina to find accommodation for the night, before it got too dark. Tami had other plans. On the other side of the lake, lay the 'oldest' village in Bali. We had a map of Bali on our travels and on it there was a little drawing of some human bones. It seemed somewhat out of place on such a beautiful and peaceful island. It was only when we got here that we actually learned that this little village, which has apparently been around since the 15th century, has a cemetery, separated from the village just a little boat ride away. The peculiar thing about this cemetery, is that they bury their dead above ground and this was enough to tickle Tami's curiosity. Personally, I didn't think I'd be too worried if I missed it, but as they say, when in Rome... So we drove around the lake, sometime along a road just wide enough to take the car and with scarily steep sections that looked like they led straight into the lake. Luckily for us, the brakes worked! When we arrived at the village, we were confronted by a bit of a crowd. All of them men and boys and not a single woman in sight. In total, probably about fifty, scattered around the one road that ran right against the lake. Nobody seemed to pay much attention to me, but Tami was the subject of a hundred eyes as soon as she stepped out of the car. Being a tall, attractive, blonde Californian, she might be used to that sort of attention but there was something a little eerie about this place. We got the distinct feeling that if they wanted, they could probably chuck us over into the lake and everyone would be non the wiser. They knew what we wanted, of course. Many tourists came to the village to be taken round to the cemetery so they sent out their negotiator and only speaker of English. Tami and I had discussed prices before we'd got there but such was the awkwardness of the situation, that we decided to tread a little carefully on the monetary front. In the end, he settled for 170'000 rupiahs. Just under £10. We thought that was pretty reasonable in the end, seeing as we'd heard that they charge some tourists anything up to £50-£60 a go! Tami's blonde locks probably aided that particular situation! The next thing we knew, he was busy with all the other guys, trying to summon a boat. The boat that arrived to take us was rickety, full of holes and powered by two little old men and their oars! It took about 10 minutes to get there. The burial site is around a little peak and is completely cut off from any roads or paths. This is so that no people or dogs can get to the site, to disturb the bones of the dead. The boat is the only way that you can get there. Again, there was quite an eerie feeling to this place too. At first, we could only see signs of a little temple located near the shore. As the boat rasped up against the beach side pebbles and came to a halt, our 'guide' jumped out and helped us both onto shore. The site itself is less than a minutes walk, away from the temple and behind some trees. The first thing you see when you walk up to it are three rows of skulls, neatly placed next to each other and all facing you. To the right is a massive tree called the Banyan tree and is said to be over 1100 years old. Apparently, this tree gives off a very special scent to mask the odor of the rotting corpses. Admittedly, I didn't smell much but it had been a while since the last body had been buried there. Four months to be exact and our guide said he knew him well. A well respected 'elder' of the village, lay to our left and was covered only by a sarong up to his head and a stack of bamboo's pyramidically place above him. Next to it, were six other bodies that had visibly decomposed, far more than the first. Tradition in the village says that they can only bury six above ground at any one time. When another dies, the oldest one there is removed to make room and his skull is placed under the Banyan tree with the others. This is not actually the Balinese way. The Balinese cremate their dead but this little village is very unlike the Balinese people and once again, tradition dictates they do this in this fashion. Every year, around Nyepi - the Balinese new year - a great ceremony takes place on the lake to commemorate the dead. Our guide said that we should attend it, as it was a truly magnificent occasion but being over a month away, we politely declined his invitation and informed him that, next time, maybe :-) We were taken back to the village and were subsequently greeted by the fifty-odd men again. It was all kinda spooky and I'm not all too sure that I liked it very much. In the end, Tami and pretended to be on our honeymoon, for practicalities sake... of course. When we finally managed to flee the joint, we started on our trip to Lavina, only to meet up with Erwin & Linda, not 30 minutes down the road with a busted radiator. It had taken a few hours to patch up but looked like it was ready, just as we rolled passed them. Apart from getting a little lost and having to drive in near zero visibility for a lot of the way, the ride to the hotel was otherwise event less and we parked in for a good nights rest.

A Trip & A Bath Part Deux

Day three and it was time to start our volcanically enticing hike. As expected, once arrisen, the morning was full of the now usual Baliniese tricks, to try to get us to give them money. Once again, luckily our Lonely Planet guide came to our rescue and we didn't fall victims to any of their predatorial traps. It was one Baliniese after another. "Hey, you need guide?", and that became the phrase of the day. "Hey! You need guide?", we'd utter to ourselves and even to the so-called guides themselves as we'd walked past them. Some would say that we were actually not allowed to go up there without one but we knew better. As we walked on up the volcano, the answers to them started to differ. From shear lies like: "No thanks, we'd never walk up that thing! We're just going to the base of it to have a look", to things like, "Oh, thanks but don't worry, we're professional 'guides' from Europe. We all took 'guide' courses!". We actually passed one guy on his way down. After his compulsory "Hey! You need guide?", we looked around him inquisitively saying "Why? Have you lost your group. I'm not sure I'd want you to be my guide. You probably lost them, shrugged your shoulders and then came back down the volcano for more!". You get a bit cheeky after a while here in Bali but truly, it's harmless. Everyone asks you the same questions and if you answer quickly, they rarely understand what you're saying anyway. I mean, don't get me wrong, I do love the Baliniese, but once again, priority number one is to see how much money they can get off you. Once they know what that number is going to be, if any, then you can actually have fun chats with them. Anyway, once we got far enough up the volcano, the 'guides' ceased to be and all that was left was our own metle. It was harder and warmer than we'd anticipated it to be. The cold winds didn't materialize and the path up, turned out to be a little trecherous. To start with it was quite simple, just following paths through the woods but once we got past the forrested section, it was all rocks and sharp bushes and branches. There wasn't much risk of falling but it did get a little hard on knees and ankles. It promped a few stops along the way which were rewarded with stunning views across the lake. The sort of views that make you think about how small and insignificant you are as well as how beautiful our planet is too. With the summit, came a welcome euphoria and self sense of satisfaction at what we'd done. We'd been checking the view to the lake behind us for most of the trek but when we got to the top, the crater was rather special. It took us around thirty to fourty minutes to walk around it and although some of the section had shear drops, either side of them, we still took great care and moved together around it. The views to all sides were incredible. Clearly visible, down away from the main villages and the lake, was the path that the last major lava flow had taken and where it had basically engolfed the village. Unfortunately, it had come at night, killing most of the people there. Inside the crater, you could clearly see different points at where the earth had just exploded, allowing the lava to errupt from it and pour down the side of the mountain. There were also still many points where hot steam was bellowing out from. You couldn't put yourself too close to some of them as they'd burn, but you could get close enough to sit in your own private sauna. About half way down the side of the volcano, there was a little restaurant/food place. We stopped in quickly to have a chat with the man who, every day, awoke at four to hike on up the volcano with supplies for the tourists once they arrived here. In well earned celebration, we cracked open four beers and toasted our victoriously accomplished mission. Once we'd moped them up, the chap at the restaurant actually pointed out the 'proper' way to come up the side of the volcano so that we could go back down easily. We all looked at each other a chuckled slightly. So, we'd taken a route that wasn't the right one! We still got up there anyway. I mean, that was kind of our point. How hard can it be to just keep going up. Anyway, the day turned out to be an amazing one and once we'd all got down, I think it took a little while to sink in but once it did, we all realized what an amazing thing we'd all done. I highly recommend it!

A Trip & A Bath

There were four of us. Erwin, Linda, Tami and myself. I'd checked the surf and the prediction was bleak so we all decided that this would be a good opportunity do some cultural sightseeing around Bali. We hired two cars and headed off with a map, an iPod and heads full of tales of volcanoes, hot springs and good snorkeling spots. The drive was slow to start with, plowing through snail-speed traffic but once we were out of the cities in the south, we were able to do some serious cruising. The countryside is absolutely stunning. Lush, green rice fields parted on different levels, cut into the hills and massive palm trees are the norm on this beautiful island. The flatter regions are truly stunning and the mountains equally so. It's a jungle-style atmosphere for sure and although I kept thinking of American Vietnam movies, you still cannot help but be besotted by the scenery. That was a bit weird actually. I felt like all that was missing was an M-16 in my hands. Luckily I had a camera to qualm my shooting needs. Our first stop was Ahmed. A nice little resort in the North-East of the island. We arrived at dusk and just about managed to find a place to stay. Two little bungalows right on the sea front for only US$9 a night. Mind you, I might as well have slept in the car as I can barely remember waking up in the morning. That night, we went to a little restaurant up the road. The staff there were very friendly and very young and complained about the usual "oldies" that always come here. Apparently, we were a breath of fresh air to them. As soon as the last customers were out, they broke out the guitars and cracked open the Arack! Arack is pretty much firewater. Like the Portuguese have their bagaco, the Russians their Vodka and the Koreans their Soju. Only this stuff is, well, a little stronger. And in the morning, we felt it! When we all woke up (still rather out of it), we decided to go for a swim in the ocean. Little did we know, however, that this side of the island is littered with razor-sharp volcanic rock, just under sea level. The swim was fine, but our feet suffered some bloody cuts. Tami had some industrial style paracetamols so I necked three of them, munched breakfast and then we started back on our trip. Day two was mostly about driving and stopping to check out the magnificent views. The weather was surprisingly clear as we followed the coast line and then weaved our way up through the windy roads of the side of the volcano. On our way, we stopped off at a magnificent waterfall. We trekked through the jungle as the heavens opened. One of the locals ended up following us to show us the right way. He asked us if we needed umbrellas and started tearing down some of the big leaves from the palm trees to give us a bit of well needed protection. What a genius! When we got to the waterfall, I only just realized that I'd actually never been to one before. I mean, not a proper one like this one anyway. The water cascaded down in bucket loads from around 30 or 40 metres above us. He then encouraged us to get under it, stating that it was actually a very good massage. We received, what I considered to be more of a beating then anything else, but it was a fun one to say the least! I absolutely loved it! Everything was turning out rather perfectly. The rain stopped just in time to allow us to amble back to the car and when we got there, it pelted it down again. The drive on from here was a little trecherous but we took it easy until we arrived at our next stop for the night. Mount Batur's volcano sits next to a magnificent lake and had last erupted in 2000. It was a small one compared to that of 1976 which killed many people and pretty much wiped out a whole village but you could still feel it's activity in the air. The people here were unafraid of it. Instead, they reveled in money that the tourists brought in to pay for guides that "help" them up to the crater. There are many cunning ploys that the Balinese use to get money off the tourists and this is one of their most profitable ones, sometimes charging as much as US$80 for a group of four to be taken up there. Personally, we thanked our Lonely Planet Guide and our experience for not falling for this one. The four of us had grown wise to some of their scams and even though we angered a few of them, we felt it was our god given right not to have to pay for it. We found a nice place to stay and went to a nearby restaurant to try the local delicacy. The fish from the lake was probably one of the boniest I'd ever had to sift through, but it wasn't all too bad in the taste department. Mind you, that could have been because of the massive amount of chilies and garlic that they scattered over it! Not that I was complaining. Me, chilies and garlic go way back. We've had some great times and any time they wanna have some more, they just have to present themselves on a plate in front of me! After the meal, we headed back to the room for some late night poker and then readied ourselves for the morning.

Cock-a-fight 'll doo

The Balinese people seem to live for their ceremonies. They absolutely love them. During these ceremonies the women dance and the men bet money on cock fights. But it's not some bizarre tribal thing or anything. They don't hop around naked, stamping on the floor and hoot-hooting at the tops of their voices. The ceremonies are for the gods. The women dress up in beautiful dresses and the men wear sarongs and udongs round their heads. It's a village event and everyone is invited... well, everyone apart from the tourists. Some of the ceremonies are OK but the important ones are usually packed and it's hard to get into the temples. I was lucky enough to assist one of them as I've sort of befriended the family that run the hostel I'm staying with. Although the men don't seem all too pleased about my eventual presence, they're quick to fold when I tell them that Mama Ketut has invited me. The ladies put an amazingly gentle and suave dance on and the rough-and-ready men go round the back of the temples and launch roosters into to-the-death fights. I went down to one of these to check it out and it's a little ghastly. They strap razor sharp knives onto one of each of the cocks' feet, make their bets and then ready them off. Each fight takes about five minutes and by the end of it, they put the winner to one side and let him rest for a few months. The loser is put down and eaten... if he's not already dead. It's a strange feeling to witness something like this. It can get quite bloody and the guys really get into it. I try to keep as open a mind as possible though. After all, we all do it in some form or fashion. In England there are underground dog fights, fox hunting and we shoot birds. It doesn't necessarily mean I agree with any of them. I just feel that I shouldn't think any less of the people here for doing something we don't. The Portuguese and Spanish have bull fights and I know that many people disagree with that too. Heck, the Americans bomb and kill people, but we still seem to let it go on. So I don't really see this as that harmful when you put it all into perspective. I know many of the tourist here despise what they do, but I don't really. When you witness one of these ceremonies, you can see that there is an awful amount of good that comes out of them. The community gathers together and everyone has fun. They praise their gods, offer them gifts, dance and chant through massive and extreemly loud megaphones so that the entire village can hear it! At the end of it all, everyone is happy... and surely that's what life is all about.

Bali, Oh Bali

Ok. I'm gonna start this blog by quickly stating that the views expressed here, are by someone who probably hasn't done enough investigation to warrant writing them. Still, all I'm doing is giving my immediate informed opinion on a nation, which, once again is rich, coming from someone that has only been here for a month. Just quickly, overall, I'm loving this place and I hope that nobody (especially the Balinese People) gets me wrong. From the wonderful climate to the massive snails on the road. The variety of animals, smiling people and the besotting landscape. This place is truly wonderful. Sometimes it can be a bit strange though. Firstly, I've quickly learned that the Balinese people are Hindu and don't like being associated with any of the other Muslim islands in Indonesia. I've yet to visit these islands but there certainly seems to be a little chip on their shoulders about something. Every time I suggest that I might head off soon and travel to either Java, Sumatra or even neighbouring Lombok or Sumbawa, my inquisitive gaze is immediately returned on by another of disapproval. "Why you want to go there?!"... is normally the first response, which is accompanied by a severe frown. "Curiosity?", is the best answer I can give them, and I in turn accompany that with a shrug. Now, in Bali there seem to be two types of people. The nice and the not-so-nice ones. All of them greet you with the same broad smiles, but soon enough you can spot one from the other. Some don't seem to care very much if you're here or not and are generally kind folk. The others see you as dollar signs. And who can blame them? The average wage here is probably around 800'000 rupiah a month. That's £44, 58 Euros or around AUS$90 a month! Tourists come here and spend that in a night. Some hotels can cost up to 3 million rupiah a night! When we think thats £164 to live in the sort of luxury you can only dream of, with outdoor spa's and top of the range Hollywood-style accommodation, thats not so bad. So when you get a little old lady, trying to sell you a bracelet for 5'000 Rupiah and you say no, you can pretty much empathize with her disgruntlement. After all, all she's asking you for is 20 pence. But of course you can't always say yes to everyone and everything. In fact, you very quickly realize that you have to say no all the time. And then it becomes a matter of principle and to pile it on a little more, when you say no and they start uttering Balinese obscenities at you, you definitely want to start standing your ground. So it becomes a difficult ball to juggle. The thing that's getting me right now, however, is the level of corruption. Here, everything is done on the sly. When it comes down to official paperwork, you can forget about anything going smoothly unless you're willing to cough up a little bit of cash. And this happens with both the nice and not-so-nice people. For example, the maximum time they give for tourists to stay in the country is 30 days. When I was in Sydney, they weren't very clear about this and I bought a ticket to leave here in two months. So now I was going to have to leave the country and then come back in again... or so I thought! I emailed the British consulate and they quickly put me in touch with their representative here in Bali. I called the man and explained to him my situation. I could visualize his demeanor on the other side of phone as that of one that was looking over his shoulders to check if someone was listening in on what he was about to say. "Well..." he said, "You can't actually get an extension as such... but I can help you". And here's where it all starts. You see, to leave the country and come back in, it costs you around 3 million Rupiah. So the immigration office start your stay by placing a sticker in your passport as opposed to stamping it. Then, if you want to stay some more time, they meet you half way and for 1.5 million, they take the old entrance sticker out of your passport and put a new one back in again. This one will state that you came into the country a month after the time you got here. If my passport was to be used, to ever trace my traveling steps through time, that one month would have mysteriously disappeared. For all accounts... I wasn't on this planet between January 4th and February the 3rd. And what gets me is that this contact was given to me by the British Consulate themselves. A 30 day visa cost me US$25 upon entry. That's 230'000 Indonesia Rupiah. To take the sticker out and put a new one in costs 1.5 million. Where does the 1.3 million go? That's US$140 into somebody's pocket. And so everyone is in on it. Even the people in my hostel who are absolutely lovely. Everybody "has a friend" in immigration "who can help you" and then it's time for you to do the haggling. And haggling really is a part of this island. I can't speak for the rest of Indonesia but in Bali, that's the way it goes. I mean, if you're 10 years old, you can ride a motorcycle here, no problem. Children come out of school with their uniforms and big square ruck-sacs on their backs and ride around with no helmets on like they own the place. Of course, for them, there is no problem. If a tourist, however, gets stopped by a police officer, the rule is: You pay! No if's, no but's. That's the way it goes. Someone told me that a friend of his got stopped so he pulled over, took his helmet off to speak to the officer and the cop fined him for not having his helmet on. They'll get you for anything. They makes out like you're in big, big trouble but then you shrug your shoulders, plead your ignorance (or innocence, whichever seems most suited to the situation) and ask the officer what can be done without having to go to the police station. At this point, the answer is simple. Just open you're wallet and give the cop 50'000 Rupiah. If you're cheeky enough, you can probably get away with 20'000. You give him the money and he gives you directions down a one way street the wrong way so that you can get home faster. Everything has it's price here and if you're willing, that price can be very low indeed. The Balinese will try everything and will come down to practically nothing to get you're business. You just have to accept that there's one price for the locals and one price for the tourists. I went to put petrol in my bike and the guy put 14'300 IDP in. I gave him a 20'000 note and he gave me 5'000 change. I pushed my bike away and as I did, I saw that the next guy didn't get the pump reset. He pushed it up to 20'000, giving him 5'700 and only charged him 5'000. So I paid 700 of one of the locals petrol. I mean, it's only 4p, so why should I get pissed off about it? That they're playing me for a fool maybe? So I turned round to the guy after he'd filled up and said "Hey, cheap Bensin (petrol in Balinese), huh? Good price, good price". One of them smiled but the other wasn't very amused. I know I don't live here so I should probably just bow down a little and accept their rules. It's just a little irritating sometimes, that's all. So right now I just try to stay away from it all as much as possible. If you meet someone, you have to be just a little cautious about their intentions and about what they're trying to sell you. I'd like to think that even I have developed a slight sense for opportunism though. If they're willing to come down in price with a lot of what they have to give you, why not play their game? They actually seem to respect you more if you do so and you're more likely to forge friendships with the locals if you doubt their original offerings. Bizarre? Tell me about it!

Bashed Around By Bali Waves

It's been a hot and humid few weeks in Bali. The average temperature is around 30 degrees centigrade and the average sweated out by yours truly is probably around 30 buckets too. Mmmm, nice! Jaaaaazz! I'm still sick, which is great! I've got a lingering cough that just won't go away and even though I've cut down drastically on the cigarette intake, for some reason, I just can't seem to shake it off, breaking into spasmodic coughing splurts at least a few times a day... especially when out surfing. But all said and done, that's why I'm here. I've had a couple of killer days out there with some mammoth waves ridden. Yesterday was probably the biggest. I got caught out with an enormous set though. I was just hanging back a little too much and one of these waves just caught me out. I met two cool guys out here. An Australian called Jamie and Nate who's from Santa Cruz in California. As the set approached, and I knew I wasn't gonna make it, I just started shouting out that this was me pretty much done. Nate started laughing his head off at the prospect as he was just able to make it out to the left of it. I bit the bullet and took it on the head. The wave was so powerful it just took me for a bit of a tumble-dryer maneuver. After about 10 seconds, I was back up to the surface of the water, only to see the second wave of the set coming at me. It was almost like as if it was an avalanche, plowing towards me in slow motion or like one of those clips from a movie, when the bad guy is about to get engulfed by a massive swirl of fire in a big tunnel or something. The wave was miles away but I could just see this great mass of tumbling, chaotic water rushing towards me. With a shake of the head, I just turned towards the shore, grabbed my rails and closed my eyes, letting it just rumble up behind me and slam me around like a little rag doll. I don't think I've had this much fun in ages! When I got to shore, I waited for Jamie and Nate to come back in. By the time they did, I'd seen enough to persuade me to get back out there. I grabbed my board and my flippers and rushed back in. It took me about 10 minutes to get in through the channel and out past the break. Once I did, I paddled over to a right break that peaked up with a couple of little waves, probably measuring up to about two and a half metres in height. I hung round for a little while, just waiting for my ride. I caught one and the drop was nuts. I struggled to cut into it to do the bottom turn but just about managed to ride it out. The good thing was that the right led you straight into the channel, so all I had to do was turn and get back out there again. I waited for a little while longer and finally got the wave I'd been waiting for. Once again, the drop was insane. Traveling faster than a speeding bullet, I remembered that unfortunately, I'd left my superman cape back home. I couldn't cut into this one in time. I turned a little bit but lost a flipper with the shear speed of the thing. By time I'd noticed, I looked over my shoulder to the right, only to see a massive two metre barrel about to collapse on me. Thinking about it, maybe I could have tried to cut and duck into it, but I reckon I must have made a split decision which was somewhere along the lines of a) choose life and b) a rather painful death. I'm pretty sure I made the right decision as I'm writing this blog right now so... yeah :-)

Sick waves and sick head

From golden sunsets silhouetted by scrambling monkeys on temples, to bat ridden caves at the mouth of classic surf, Bali has it all. I must say that I feel like I've been a little unfortunate in my first week here in this paradisaical place, coming down with a pretty vicious cold. Sleeping has been a nightmare and I've been pretty bed-bound since it hit me just two days after my arrival here. If that wasn't enough, on the first day that I went out into the water, I managed to scrape a couple of big holes into my toes and trying to heal them up has been a real nightmare. I had this problem when I was up in Lennox Head back in Australia too and it pretty much stopped me from going in. Luckily the surf hit on the first few days and then it was game over for a fortnight. Just about enough time to fix 'em up! Here, however, it's been my cold that has stopped me from going in but now that its just a little on the mend, I went back in this morning for an early paddle and the wounds opened up again. Not nice. I got to be in there for about 2 hours and then the pain was just too much. The surf was pretty good though. This mornings venture was out to a break called Green Bowl on the southern most tip of the island in a place called Bali Cliff. I met a cool Brazilian guy from the hostel and we decided that the swell might be good today, so we got up at 5.30 a.m. The drive was about 20 to 30 minutes. When we parked our bikes, a man called Nyuman said he'd watch them for us, so we gave him our bags with everything in it pretty much. There was also one car there with four surfers round it getting ready to rumble. Two Africans, a Brazillian and an Indonesian local. We went to the top of the cliff but couldn't see much surf. By the time we'd got back, the four guys had pretty much geared up and started their way down to the break. We'd decided to go anyway so when the Indonesian chap came up and asked us what it was like, we just shrugged a little. At this he smiled and said "maybe you should go to Sarangan then! I saw it this morning and it was rocking!" Kind of realizing that he didn't want us to go into the water, we all laughed it off. They headed off and we got into our gear. It was good to have a couple of people go in before us as we didn't really know the break. We got to the top of the cliff and the trek down was a very long one. Half way down, we saw them going in through a rip and decided we'd follow them in and then when the we glanced through a break in the trees we could see what initially we hadn't spotted. At the end of the end of the rip, on either side, were gorgeous lefts and rights, glistening from the newly born sun. It took a little while to get out as we had to tread over quite a bit of reef but once we were out, it was pretty plain sailing. We were there not five minutes and somewhat mysteriously, there were only two of the four guys out there. When we finally got to the peak, the Indonesian gestured over to the remaining guy, saying that he was going back in for a quick bit. It seemed like the Indonesian was probably a guide for the others and when two of them bailed, he went back for them. Eventually the last one followed. Confronted with hollow, powerful and slightly messy 7 foot waves, they might not have been too keen on getting splattered and we saw them all heading back up the cliff. It was a shame for the one guy remaining and the guide but I guess the other two just weren't experienced enough. This basically just left myself and Gil out there. He's a pretty competent surfer and really pumped in on a few of them. I myself managed to picked up a couple of reasonable ones but got pounded pretty bad by a few of the following sets! The good thing was I could just paddle about 20 metres to the left and get back into the rip and out again. Unfortunately, my toes really started to hurt after a couple of hours and that was gonna have to be it. My last wave was a rare left though. The break is predominantly a right but this left was sick. It picked me up and I glided right into the pit, managed a quick cut at the bottom and then half way up the face on the other side before I had to bail with the whole thing collapsing behind me. Definitely my highlighting rush of Bali waves so far. After that, we picked up our gear and even tho we had to endure a little bit of hassling from some old Balinese women trying to sell us necklaces, we left happy and headed back home for some well earned brekky!

Bali By Bike

If you're gonna get anywhere in Bali, it's got to be by bike. Day 2 was chill-out day. A day to compose, relax, take it easy and hit the local beaches and restaurants. Today, however, was an entirely different one. I got up at 6.45 am and Waeyan gave me the keys to my very own motor bike. Now, taking into account I'd never ridden one before, I was a little bit nervous when he handed me the keys, gave me a helmet and told me that he had to head off to the local market. He drove off, leaving me to stare at the bike whilst listening to the local cock, cock-a-doodle-doo away. I looked around and saw nobody, so, I got on top of the bike and hit the START button. Spluttering and jerking up the little hill that leads to the road, I was amazed that I didn't hit anything. I got to the top and headed right to the local beaches. On my way I cruised... well, more like did the equivalent of bike-crawled, up to a swiss guy hanging out outside his hostel. I asked him a couple of quick questions like... "erm... how does this thing work?", so he smiled and gave me a quick run-down. Within minutes, I was a bike-riding god! The roads here are surprising smooth and very hilly and controlling the thing became very easy. I headed out to local beaches, only to find that the waves were all flat. So I came back and decided to head on out to Nusa Dua, which is on the other side of the island. I got conflicting reports on what was the best way and how long it would take to get there but found that, in the end, the only way was to ask as many people, as much as possible. Eventually, I got there, after about a 40 minute drive. And it was worth it. The beaches on this side of the island had highly favorable winds and the waves looked lovely. Nothing too big but just a little bit of fun. Unfortunately, they were far out past a reef and getting out to them was going to prove to be a little bit of a mission. I settled for just going for a swim and headed out towards the local beach. The water was incredible. The kind of cyan clue that you only dream of and see in your local bus-stop billboard. From a distance, I could only see a few people and some shacks, but when I got down to the beach, through a little cave walk-way and down past an obscuring hill, I was shocked to see a massive hotel complex, complete with it's own swimming pool, water slides, massage shacks and even 3 camels lying lazily under a tree. On the beach were quite a few middle aged, rich sons of Russian billionaires, chugging away on cigars! I looked around for Roman Abramovich but couldn't see him. I didn't actually realize it but, today was Russian Christmas, and they were putting on a big show on the beach. Somewhat disgusted, I walked around the beach and then suddenly saw a group of guys getting onto a little boat with surfboards and bodyboards at hand. At this point I dropped everything, ran up to them and asked them to come with them. They were a family from South Africa, staying at the complex and quickly, after a little bit of my persuasive and comic charm, they accepted my offer of paying my way on the boat by letting me head on out with them. The boat drifted out, past the reef and behind the peak of some lovely little waves. Nothing massive, but still a big load of fun. The reef underneath was surprisingly shallow and I hit my back on a few of them, but it was nothing too bad as the waves were harmless really. After an hour out at sea, the boat came back to pick us up and we headed on back for a couple of beers on the beach. And even though we got bitten by the local mosquitoes, which were obviously having a field day with all these tourists kicking about the place, my first trek out to Balinese waves was a very pleasurable one :-)

Blog Me Bali

So it was time to say goodbye and farewell to Australia. I'd managed to stay there 8 hours short of my visa expiry date. Personally, I was rather in awe of that feat. It was a great experience and I'd quickly just like to thank everyone for making my life there a pleasant one... apart from Gerry Mullane. Most of you who were in touch with me in the last 2 or 3 months will have heard the name mumbled from my tightly angered lips. Were it not for him, Virgin would probably have taken me on and kept me there for a while longer. As it happens, I believe it's probably turned out for the best. My grandmother enjoys blaming fate for these sort of things and although I vehemently disagree with her theories, I think that in certain cases, she's got a point :-) For one, were it not for the way things turned out, I wouldn't be writing this blog from an internet cafe in a beautiful place called Padang Padang, on the southern most tip of Bali in Indonesia right now. I did, however, have to leave my lovely Joy. The girl I've been with for the last 6 months has been a real bright light in my life. Her plane left at 9 a.m. from Sydney International Airport, so we both caught a taxi at quarter to seven and headed out there. Our goodbye was surprisingly curt. Earlier, we both couldn't help but notice that we though it felt like any other day. I think I put that down to how comfortable we were together. I miss her now but I think we'll be together again. So off she went. I saw her off at the departure gate and she cried. My eyes welled a little and she was happy enough with that. I then proceeded to amble around like some kind of zombie, answering last minute text and calls from friends and annoying people by being at the free internet posts playing chess. Quick tip for Sydney International Airport: Get an internet cafe! Revolutionary, I know. I then went to get a little sleep in the upstairs lounge. I set my alarm for 2.30 p.m. and shoved my phone down my shirt. The vibrations, belled from them, were enough to awaken me. I lumbered up, rubbed my eyes and made my way to the already large JetStar Check-In cue. After thirty minutes of being kicked in the back by an annoying 2 year old, blonde Kiwi rascal, I popped up to the counter, all giddy-like, only to find out I wasn't allowed to go to Bali without a ticket leaving the place. I panicked! I asked myself how I could have been so stupid as to overlook the rules and regulations of visiting Indonesia, but then quickly dismissed that thought by answering to the tune of the fact I was that stupid. Typical. I had about one hour to buy a flight out of Indonesia. But unfortunately, customs weren't very clear about how long I'd be able to stay there. I rushed over to one of the computers only to find them all taken. I even got behind one of the people but one of the others got off. Unfortunately, a middle aged, ragged looking old hag hopped onto one before I could grab my stuff and circle round to it. I tried to argue the point that I was there first and rather desperate, but she basically told me to go stuff it because hers was an emergency too. If only I'd not played all that chess whilst others were desperately waiting, maybe? Hmmm... Good ol Karma. Eventually I got onto one, only to find a flight and then fail by seeing my credit card declined. Great. So I rushed to the local Jetstar desk and informed them that I'd found a flight out and I wanted to buy it but had to pay cash. They went onto the site, found the flight and I ran off to cash-point to grab the dough. When I got back, they were having problems getting the ticket and I had to wait, anxiously, until there were no more people left in the check-in cue. Some problems with the website apparently. Still, I was there and they guaranteed that they'd get me onto the flight. Finally, when it came through, I checked in all my luggage and ran for the plane. I made it with 7 minutes to spare. Most of the people were already on board. It was emotional seeing off Sydney for the last time but once we were airborne, I only had Bali on my mind. I'd got a flight for 2 months time and now I was being told that I'd definitely only be able to get 30 days on my visa. Stay tuned for some interesting haggling time, trying to get an extension from the Indonesian government... or from the local travel agencies. I finally arrived in Bali after sitting for 5 hours, next to a guy who worked in the horse saddling business. Now there's something I never thought would happened. As it turned out, he'd been to Bali on business for 8 years now and also had some interesting points about health, places to visit and prostitution to discuss, so it wasn't all boredom. My arrival was a little annoying though. Not only did customs point blank refuse to give me the extension on my visa, but I also got hussled by a couple of "porters" there. They picked up my stuff, carried it through to customs where some burly looking chap asked me if I'd packed any alcohol, cigarettes, drugs or "videos" in my luggage. My heart was racing, flashing back to the Death Penalty signs for bring drugs into the country, that were plastered all over the place. In my haste, I fortunately answered all the question correctly, but when the two guys who were carrying my luggage corned me and asked me for 50'000 rupiah each as a "tip", I just gave it to them, fearing they might make my life a little harder by denouncing something suspicious to customs or something. I then realized that I'd got scammed. Nice. They charged me £5 to carry my bags for 10 meters... and I was so huffed in it all that I payed for it. That was a night's accommodation out the window. Outside was another story. The night time heat and roadside chaos was strangling. Non-stop hassling by guys asking if I needed a taxi and attempting to spark up conversation to find out where I was going. I had to haggle like mad with 3 different taxi drivers before I got a trustworthy one that promised to use his meter. I was nervous as anything, in the pitch black of night fall, somewhere in South Indonesia, what was to say this guy wasn't going to pull over into some field and take all I had... or worse. As it turned out, he was a really nice guy and I just felt bad for having distrusted him. When I got to my place, the Padang Padang Inn, Waeyen was waiting for me at the gate, bleary eyed, but with a smile that made my shoulders drop. He took me to my room and I collapsed on my bed for a fully deserved nights sleep. I could have slept through a cyclone, which is interesting because apparently there's one just off the coast, but missing us by a few hundred kilometers. I need day two.

Squshaholics

Hi, my name is Jason and I am a Squashaholic. Ever since I found out I was a squashaholic, I've been campaigning for other unfortunate souls like myself to qualm this evil addiction by continually playing it until can play no longer. This is - I'm sure - the only way to beat it. Whoever invented this sport is a genius. Classic symptoms are: Firstly, feeling like some kind of Super Greek God whilst throwing yourself around, what really is nothing more than a box painted with a few red lines and embellished with a beautiful coat of dry and drab white paint. Secondly, sweating like a Shashta Beast on fire that rip roars it's way through air like as if it's not there. And thirdly, bringing on the sort of Euphoric feeling that can only be compared to catching the wave of your life, point after point after point. It's become a box for my sweat and tears. My contemplations and life conundrums. It's a time box that distorts the outside world and makes that world, nothing more than roads filled with cars and parks filled with trees. When stepping into this box, time might as well stop for those setting foot in it. As addictions go, this one is kicks! I thank Jocelyn for lending me one of his racquets and introducing me the sport for I've embraced it no end. I'll miss the court on level 16 at the Virgin Mobile building. I've only been playing for around 6 weeks but feel like I've been doing it for years now. Hiiiiiiighly recommended ;-)

Time Goes By

April the 12th, 2007. That was the last time I published a blog. It's now the 22nd of September and that means that "time" has elapsed. It's been kind to me too. These past few months has made me fatter, happier and rounder than I have been in some time. I also had a wonderful holiday in a little place called Lennox Head and have returned to Sydney as complaints Representative for Virgin Mobile. Probably one of the most boring jobs I've been in, in a long, long while, but still, it's money in the old rocket. I've also broadened my horizons in the teaching department. I currently have 5 student. 4 Korean and 1 Chilean who I basically just sit and chat with... that's right, I'm getting paid to talk! Who would have thought it ;-) All this and to top things off, I have a new girlfriend. Her name is Joy. She's from Korea and she's wonderful! We've been seeing each other for about 3 months now... which brings me to a very sad point. My visa will expire on the 4th of January and unless I can somehow extend it, I'm looking at having to return to Europe... without her. I've been looking into a few different ways of doing it, but, it seems the only option is to do 3 months of fruit picking or agricultural work in the Australian outback. I don't quite get the why's of this methodology but they're in place. The problem with that is that, firstly, I've just moved into a house with some great friends and Joy and signed a 3 month contract there. Secondly, look at my hands! They're artists hands. I'll be damned if I'm gonna go spend 3 months of my life in some field, picking lord knows what and wondering if I'll ever be able to pick up a guitar again! ;-) (I know I'm being a touch dramatic but, the bottom line is, I see it almost as a prison sentence and I really, really really don't wanna do it :-)).

So... there is another option. I can study. The problem with that is that it's expensive. We're talking thousands of dollars per term. In conclusion... it's not looking too bright, and I'll probably have to leave the country at the beginning of January. Where I'll go...??? Well, I'm not all that sure that I want to come back to Europe just yet ;-) ....

Jolly Valley

Hunter Valley is a place where many dreams turn to mushy moments of slushy slurs. Where words fail you and actions often maim you. Imagine a place where there is nothing on your breakfast, lunch or dinner's menu but a glass of classy wine, a plate reflecting rosy cheeks and broad smiles and you'd probably find yourself here. I'd never been on a wine tasting trip before and I thank Philippa, Lorrie and Zaid for putting the whole thing together, and to Lynda and April for inviting us onto it. The trip started with a pleasant, two and a half hour train trip northwards up the coast to Maitland where Adam and I were picked up from the train station. We weren't exactly sure we were in the right place to start with. The three old fashioned clocks that hung on the wall and told us the times of the few trains that went there, made us feel like we'd somehow been chucked into a time machine and strewn back a good hundred years or so. It was a bank holiday and nothing was open. Not that there seemed to be many things that could have been open. We hopped in the car and drove up to the house we were staying in. A beautiful cottage-like-place with a pool in the front and vineyards round the back, travelling off for as far as the eye could see. The night approached with stars a plenty and made for a gorgeous first evening. Day two was fun. The plan was to go bushwalking and the place was a supposed two hour drive further up the coast. It probably would have taken just that, were it not for the fact that the last fifty kilometres were all off road. Meandering round prominent rocks like as if it were a rally course and plunging through fords eventually meant it took us a total of four hours to get there. Philippa displayed some smooth driving skills whilst simultaneously playing a game Adam suggested called "Hey Cow!" The objective being to call the attention of random cows by the side of the road (and some on them) by shouting "HEY COOOOW!!!!" at the tops of our voices. By the end of the drive, we were all pros and I'm sure the cows were getting rather annoyed at being pulled away from their grass consuming activities. Terrance - Philippa's car - deserved many plaudits for holding up through the bumps and bashes it received and also putting up with the pumping tunes we subjected it to. Well done Terrance! Zaid's car also received a bit of a drubbing and both cars' mud ridden sides made them look like twins by the end of the trip. After all that, we actually only got one hours worth of bushwalking done, but the day was fully worth it. The evening was embellished with wine and laughs and tales a plenty and served well as a preparation for what was to come the next day. Day three turned out to be the day of a life time. I woke up with a horrid hangover. Great. Just what I needed to start a wine tasting tour! The tour was not what I expected. I'd heard of it being like this, but just didn't expect it to be true! The first place set the tone for the rest. As we walked into the barn-like establishment with a large baril to our left, a gentleman welcomed us from behind a counter, propped up on two cases displaying the type of vine their grapes came from. He pulled out six glasses and started with the bubbly, proudly describing it as if it were his latest art piece. From that came the whites and then the reds. Six sips later and smiles on our faces were already evident. Most were lovely, but there was a jug that you could tip the ones you didn't like away... which didn't happen too often I must say. Eventually, we went to eight or nine different wineries, tried about six to eight different wines in each place and even threw in a quick trip to the pub where April, Philippa and I simultaneously ended up falling over each other at the door... before we got in! Admittedly, I did challenge them both to lean up against me as I attempted to prove that I'd be able to support them from either side. Not a good idea as on-lookers stared in bewildered amazement. When we left, Adam threw himself into a bush and we all piled in on top of him. The experience was a magnificent one and it couldn't have been done if Lynda hadn't offered to be designated driver for the day. For that, I'm sure everyone on the trip would undoubtedly join me in extending our grandest and warmest thanks to her. And Lynda, if you're reading this, we owe you one! Big time. Anything you want? Just shout... well, within reason of course ;-) Thanks also to Philippa for booking the van. To Lorrie for organising foods, trips and accommodation, and also for just being Lorrie. Zaid for being Adam, Adam for being April and April for... well, being the gorgeous, smiling, birthday girl that she was. I don't think I've ever met such a variety of folk that all got together, knowing very little of each other, and managed to part, feeling like they were bordering family-like status. Frickin Rock Awesome!!

5 Went Over

This is the last picture of the 5 brave men and women that dared to travel across the Sydney Bridge. Known to some (who've maybe consumed a few too many) as the bridge of deaaaath, this courageous mêlée of call-centre workers, simple folk like you and I, threw caution to the wind - and maybe even past some on the way - and did what, in their hearts, felt right. Stef, Lynda, April, Adam and Jason made a decision on the 15th of March that would alter their lives forever. Stefani, a student from the United Kingdom and part time traveller, had only just arrived on these burly shores for a one year holiday working visa. Lynda, a part time Architecture student and brilliant mind from a far location know only as Canadiaum. April, a beautiful and brimming Scottish lass from over the hills and far away. Adam, a thoughtful and pensive being from the planet Zorb and Jason, a half English, half Portuguese, fully baked ginger bread man, all departed from Milson's Point, 1.5 miles North of Sydney and embarked on their trip across this, the widest long-span bridge in the world. It is also the largest steel arch bridge with the top of the bridge standing 134 metres above sea level though it can increase by as much as 180 mm (7 in) on hot days as the result of steel expanding in heat. Two large metal hinges at the base of the bridge accommodate these expansions and contractions and thereby prevent the arch from being damaged. Although these factors are rather daunting, this still hindered not these 5 valiant souls from completing the trip of a life time. Where are these 5 martyrs now? What will they do next? And who will they take down with them? Stay tuned for more adventures in the world of the Fab 5 Falconites!

Happy Birthday Bridgy Boy

And so it came to be! Sydney Harbour Bridge was about to celebrate it's 75th birthday and the city's present to it was to give it a day off... apart from the fact it was going to let millions of people walk over it and sing it happy birthday whenst doing so. But at least it got a day of no cars or buses zipping across it to make the treck over Sydney Harbour. A group of us set off at around 8pm to do it and I must admit, it really felt like we were a part of something rather special. All people had to start from the north side and travel over to the south. At the beginning, it was kind of like going through one of those marathon gates with tents stacking up supplies of water and sponges for its athletes. Instead, however, this time, the "athletes" were given hats with little lights on them. It sort of gave the effect that millions of little aliens were trecking across it. Great Stuff actually. The walk didn't take that long, and would have taken even less had we not stopped every 5 minutes to take photos of everyone and everything around us. They installed lots of speakers across the bridge, looping recordings of radio transmissions that had been saved from the approximate period that the bridge had been built in. That, mixed with a plethora of classical "victorious" tunes that really made you feel like either you were gunning to accomplish something extraordinary, or to just give you the impression that an Indian Jones movie was reaching it's climax. There was a great light show... apparently, but unfortunately we were actually "doing the walk" when it happened so we couldn't really see it. Those who'd completed it and were standing on the harbour's edge or even at the Sydney Opera House said it was all rather impressive though. Now I think I know why there was so much of that artificial smoke being huffed out of those machines for. It was slightly annoying at the time but I just thought they were gonna turn it into a disco of sorts. It was also a bit of a shame the fireworks display didn't go ahead. For what reason, we still don't know. Maybe high winds, maybe low clouds, maybe millions of people actually on the bridge at the time meant it would make it somewhat unsafe. One of the above probably. Anyway, it was all good stuff :-)

Full On Basket Balls

Feel free and easy to click on the pic over to your right to make it FULL SCREEN BABY!!! (I'm quite proud of this little photo actually hehe) You gotta love this building really. I mean... If you don't, I might just have to force you to like it by designing Sydney Opera House lenses that you have to wear every morning or it'll give you a little electric shock every time you attempt to inhale oxygen... and/or other things with it. Anyway, a strange thing happened on this day. I was walking around the harbour, north side of Sydney and I saw these two guys laughing and joking, bouncing a basketball and walking down to the water front. I was getting a little cold as night was approaching so I slipped into a random persons garage to swap from my shorts to some trousers (as you do). As I left the garage, I saw the two guys come back up the hill in a somewhat more serious frame of mind than before, minus a basketball. Later on I walked on down toward Sydney Harbour Bridge and I came across said ball, weightlessly bobbing away, minding it's own business in its supernatant fashion, floating, buoyant in Australian waters (as you'd expect any basketball to be, once it found eurekeaic freedom from it's owners grubby hands and cleansed itself within the purity that finds itself densely immersed in mother earths salty waters). It was black and blue in design and I suddenly thought that maybe the guys had thrown the ball into the bay because they'd used it as a murder weapon. I quickly dispelled the idea as ridicule and ventured down to the water to pick it up. Later, I met up with Adam, a tall American chap I work with at the call centre. I told him the story but it seemed to matter little as his wide eyes focused only on the ball. They were like a child's eyes whenst presented with the biggest ice cream known to mankind. From the moment I handed the ball over to him, something told me that I was destined never to caress it again... unless I specifically asked for it. Knowing this, I let him have it. He now owes me, and if I suddenly forget how to reset someones password, I know he'll have to stop whatever he's doing to help me out. He also owes me two pieces of tropical chewing gum, which he brought over from America and guarantees me are better than the "normal" triple X pieces I gave him on the first two days we worked together. Week one at the call centre is now over and week two commences in the morrow. Should be fun! Repetitive fun... but fun non-the-less...

Optusized

"Welcome to Optus! You're through to Jason, how can I help?!" I've found a job! Sorry, I mean, SOMEBODY'S GIVEN ME A JOB!!! These Aussies must be insane! And desperate! And it's one of the jokes that's already been bestowed upon me by some of my new team-mates! It's crazy stuff! It's been a little tough getting to grips with the programs, answering phone calls and attempting to decipher what the customers problem is but, slowly but surely, I think I'm getting it! I'm working on the 19th floor of a beautiful building in the North of Sydney. I can just about see Sydney Harbour Bridge through the scattering of fellow skyscrapers dotted about the place. Our team leaders are all pretty cool people. They stay cool with when all around them is obviously quite tight and tense. The combinations of deadlines and us, novice phone bugs, must be creating a concoction that once induced, brings on hair-tearing and border-line screaming moments a plenty. The cool thing about the job is that the company, which is the major telephoning rival to Vodaphone over here, has just taken on 20 of us to take calls from people who have subscribed to Optus's new Cable Internet service and who are having difficulties setting up their email. The tough thing about it, is that all their customers are using different operating systems, ranging from your bog standard windows 98, NT, 2000, XP and now the new Vista, to Mac mailing systems too. That's the major challenge at the moment, but because that's ALL we're dealing with right now, I'm hoping we'll all get that mastered as soon as poss. Today will be day 4! So far... so good! "Is there anything else I can help you there with at all?"

Reddy Or Not

The Australian Red Back spider is one of the most dangerous around. It can be found anywhere from Sydney northwards... which pretty much means the whole country apart from Melbourne & Tasmania. Susana and I were preparing for the evenings entertainment, clearing out the garden for a barbecue that was to be readied for some guests when suddenly, whilst cleaning the eski (Australian for one of those cooler boxes you take to the beach or on picnics to keep your stuff nice and cold) for the beers, she came across this little fella. This one's abdomen was about the size of the surface area of your pinky's finger nail, which meant he was a male. A bite from him would probably only lead to paralysis, a fever, severe vomiting, general nausea, a slightly annoying headache and maybe a little bit of temporary blindness. A females bite, however, gives you about 2 hours to get yourself to a hospital and treated with an anti-venom or else... well, lets just say it's everything the males bite gives you except when you get the blindness bit, it's not so temporary. Funny really, I always thought these spiders were massive things, the size of fully grown giraffes or something but it turns out they're no bigger than my arachnophobiaec tendencies! Hmmm... how much truth there is in that statement is not for me to comment on ;-)

Doing My Part

I just have to say Thank you, Thank you, Thank you to Paula, Susana and Leanne for letting me stay in their place at Sydney. When I first arrived, I hadn't a clue what I was doing and was a little nervous, but they soon put me at ease displaying a level of hospitality that quite frankly hit me for six. Having never even met me and not even knowing what I looked like when they picked me up at the bus station, they welcomed me with open arms, spun me round a few times, fed me, wined me and dined me up and it's because of them that I've been able to settle into life in Sydney so easily. In exchange for the barbecues, the parties, the breakfasts and lunches, the tour guides and evening outings, the comfy bed and super shower (all wicked luxuries not afforded by the common backpacker), I've tried to do my part in helping out with the dishes and a bit of gardening... and hopefully just being as cheery as possible :-) On Saturday, I'll probably be moving out and giving them back their rightful space so that they can prepare for Nuno's (Susana's partner) imminent arrival. Congratulations Susana on getting your new job! A position in a highly respected Architectural firm at The Rocks, bang smack in the centre of Sydney! Once again, thank you guys so much for everything and it's with a tear in my eye that I shall be bidding you goodbye during this wonderful part of my Aussie adventure!

Buildings Of The Future

This Place is truly magnificent. Half of me is actually displeased at the fact I didn't come here right away. But upon reflection, my experience in Melbourne was a truly great one to start off at, simply because of the people that I met. As places go, however, Sydney is a city of many fronts. Many rears too... but, fortunately, I haven't had the displeasure of experiencing them. The only thing I know is that they're there. As a natural course of action of course. The city is a bustling burst of multi-culturalism, concocted by the world, for the world's pleasure. I'm actually fearing that I might already feel at home here only a week after arriving. Sydney is divided into two CBD's (Central Business Districts), Sydney and North Sydney, physically linked by the Harbour Bridge. A colossal structure made of thick wrought iron which translates into pure metallic muscle. It's held up by massive blocks of concrete and when you stand underneath it, it gives you the impression it would withstand any natural, human or even alien disaster. I doubt even the Giant Stay Puft Marshmallow Man in Ghostbusters would have the ability to push this baby down! And then you've got the Opera House. It quite simply rekindles my faith in modern constructions. That such a piece of poetic architecture was constructed or even allowed to be constructed on what is probably the most important and predominant site of such a dynamic city as Sydney, is a credit to the Australians. I don't know if there was ever any protest at its creation, but I can see why if there was any. It's a highly risky building that doesn't really fit in with what we currently see as "modern" high rise buildings, with straight lines and cut off angles or "contemporarily" lavish habitats. Instead I actually think it points to the future and shows us what we should all be wanting our wonderful cities to become. Great Stuff!

No More Buses

And then up came Sydney. It was rather a strange transition, happening from one moment to the next as if time had decided it wasn't going to change for me. How thoughtless of it! I left many new friends in Melbourne, hard though it was, to seek new adventures and maybe even some greener pastures that had maybe been grazed on by a different breed of cow. This is Australia after all and there are new and bizarre beasts appearing on the horizon everyday. The other day I was paralized by the sight of a spider, easily the size of the palm of my hand, orange in colour and about as hairy as a mamoth that had forgotten to shave. I was just about to do what needs to be done in a campsites toilets when a man, who had already negotiated the little terror, warned me of its presence. I toyed with the idea that maybe he didn't want me to come and pee next to him and that that was his pet spider that he used for such occasions but then quickly thought better of my insane thought patterns. I went to a cubical instead. But the trip away from Melbourne was certainly an emotional one. Thank you to everyone at All Nations Motel in St. Kilda for all your support and kindness. I shall forever remember Martina and Anthony for their continual patience which seems to be measured on the longest string ever! I know my voice can carry sometimes and they didn't have to put up with as much as they did! Thanks to Marc and Phil, Jenna and Linda, Lucy, Sam and Roy who I shared a room with for so long. To Jason and Nathan, Matt, the 2 beckys and Amy, Jenny Bunny, Alex, Virginie, Shannon, Suzie and Katherine, Kotten and Maja, Stefan, Ruben, Wouter, Mario, Maik and Guss. Special thanks to Ben for all your help at work and for your wicked sense of humour. You are bad. You know that! Thanks to Dave, Luke and Andy. I'm sorry I couldn't come with you to Adelaide but I'm sure we'll meet up again sometime! And a special thanx to Emma for making me laff ;-) Sorry if I've missed anyone. Email me in protest and I'll write a special blog specially for you ;-) ! I also met another lovely Emma who I decided to travel up to Sydney together with. I can't believe you accepted the challenge of travelling with me down the Great Ocean Road and then all the way up the coast. The bus trip was actually just a bizarre one. A 12 hour trip that forever felt like it was in and out of a bad dream. At 8 at night the bus left Melbourne South Station and headed out to the sticks. The first hour was finely filled with Sudoku's and chats but then the sun went down and the erratic sleeping commenced. At midnight we stopped for our first pit-stop and rather stupidly, I decided that a vegetable spring roll was in order. I headed out the bus, feeling mostly asleep still and seeing only the blurry lights of the toilets and the café. I don't even remember what the girl behind the counter looked like. Just that she looked like she'd rather be somewhere else. The vegetable spring roll was lying under an intensly fabricated heat, next to a couple of steak pies and sausage rolls and I, rather zomie like at this time, pointed at it and think that I communicated with the girl about my wanting the darned thing. I must have said something right cus it was in my hands seconds later. I went outside and sat on a park bench, placing it down and recomposing. My first bite of the roll was not right. Something felt strange. This wasn't what I remembered a spring roll to taste like! I spat it out! But, knowing that I'd just paid 3 dollars for this thing, I decided to brave it. I took another bite and sloshed it around inside of my mouth for a few seconds before I swallowed it... without really chewing on it properly. I took one more mouthful but this time just couldn't take it and spat that bit out too. When I looked at it, it was like it was vegetable spring milk on the inside. And then it dawned on me that this thing might well have been there for a few days now, waiting for that unsuspecting tourist to come rushing in and grabbing the poor little blighter! Anyway, back onto the bus and on to Canberra where we arrived at 4 a.m. I didn't see much of it but apparently, according to the general concencus of the place, I didn't miss much either. We arrived at 8 in the morning in Sydney and after hauling our stuff out of the bus, we headed to the nearest café to devour two cappucinos each! The weather was ok and a cool girl called Susana, who was one of my mothers students back in Lisbon last year, picked me up and took me back to hers and her mums place for a barbie. The next day I ventured into he city with her and she showed me the ropes and some sites too. Problem was, I got accused of brining the storms of Melbourne up with me. I woke to the oh-so-familiar titter-tatter of rain drops falling on my window sill and thought I was back in London. Where am I? I got more jetlag from this trip then I did from any flight I've had so far... and I think I'm still suffering from it! Is this Australia?

A Day At The Opera

Amy's work as production coordinator has taken her to new levels. By organising one of the most beautiful events I've ever experienced, she helped put on a free concert for over 1500 dazzeled spectators at Melbourne Town hall in aid of the Australian Red Cross. They're working overtime to aid the people and their homes as the immense bushfires sweeping these parts of the country continue. I thought Portugal and Spain were bad last year, but this year here has apparently been one of the worse ever recorded. It's not being helped by the swirling winds and the one and a half year draught that's being experienced right now. But goosebumps were the order of the day as the maestro conducted a fantastic concert with excerpts from Tchaikovsky's Romeo and Juliet and from Bizet’s Carmen Suite. It's left me drooling for more and I've managed to wrangle tickets off Amy for a performance on saturday night! I can't wait! If you'd like to see any information on it all, just follow the link :-) http://www.stateorchestra.com.au/ WELL DONE AMY!!!

Construction Time

Building things is cool! I'd never worked on a construction site before but I managed to blag on into a nutty job out here. I only had it for a week and it was hard graft but really rather rewarding. Cash in hand is a tonic out her with a bit of lime. If you can get it, you take it. I painted about 300 slats of wood for the outside of an extention for a house and then proudly made cement for the first time. It was some experience I tell thee! Unfortunately, when I informed the foreman that I'd need someone to show me how... he kinda said "I thought you'd worked on building site before... and you know don't know how to make cement". Woops. Caught. Still, I made it to the end of the week with only a few nail marks in my legs, enought splinters in my hands to create my very own
tree and a back that didn't forgive me for the next week afterward. Tomorrow I'm hoping to work for a guy that needs people to mantle and dismantle Marquees. Hopefully this'll give me enough cash to up and shoot off to Sydney in search of warmer weather. All this 38 degree malarky is just not cutting it ;-)

Mel Born so sweetly

My flight out from Bangkok was at 9 p.m. I thought it was going to be ok cus its only a 10 hour flight so I was due to arrive in Melbourne in the morning the next day. I was all packed and ready to go. Jess had bought me a "monk's bucket" which is a sort of beach bucket style bucket that carries all the bare essentials for a monk to live, from a small blanket to a little orange juice, some water, a bar of soap, noodles and other little necessities. I also got a bag of apples and some biscuits and then headed off to the airport with the same drive I'd acquired when I first headed on out with from Portugal. The giddiness was there once more and the excitement was overwhelming. I ended up sitting next to an Australian guy who owned his own finance company or something. I wasn't entirely sure of what it was but I thank him for boring me to sleep. All in all, the sleep wasn't actually that comfortable and I awoke with still 4 hours of my flight left. We were delayed on the landing and with only 3 hours sleep, I was feeling pretty rotten... and not smelling very nice either. But the landing was a welcome one, under clear blue skies and warm winds. I grabbed my stuff and headed off the plane to the welcome feeling of finally being in Australia. All these months of anticipation culminating in that one moment I stepped off the plane. The build up had been grand and the zest to reach my destination a real mission. I gave my passport to the chap behind the desk and smiled. My bleach blonde hair not matching the photo gave him a reason to look up for a second time with inquisitive eyes. He asked me if I had anything to declare and I said that yes, I had "monks bucket" with "stuff" in it. He ticked off a box and then let me through. As I picked up my things off the belt, I had to join a line of people all looking to leave. I ambled slowly to the back of it and was suddenly stopped by a rather large Australian lady and a really cute dog. The dog whiffed around one of my bags and she said "Ooo, what have you found boy?". I turned a pale shade of white and my heart skipped a beat. Not for the first time on my travels! She grabbed a bag that was hanging from my trolley and peered inside. "Ahh, fresh fruit!", she declared, all a little too loudly. I tilted my head and frowned, a little confused, as she pulled the apples out of my bag. "Can I see you're emigration pass please!". I handed it over. "Why haven't you declared that you've brought foods in from another country?". Classic. Done by apples! She let me off with an apple warning. I felt mightily, appleingly relieved. Great stuff. I walked on out and faced Melbourne with a warm smile on my face.

Shooting For Nirvana

I think I found heaven. The sublime sunsets here give birth to a night life that breaths and lives blissfully aware of it's people and surroundings. There's something for everyone here and I think I found the thing I love most being broadcast at the top of it's game! Its a super cool pool hall where the games are refereed by three sexy girls per table. They clean the balls for you when they go in and even get the white ball for you when it drops. On top of it all, the games cost a mere 28p, the drinks are not too bad and they screen premiership footy. Is it heaven? Challenges welcome! They do have a selection of other tables which are just for big money bets but I didn't dare play on those. The bets range from £20 to £50 per match, normally first to 9 and are played by all the best husslers in town. It's like watching pro pool on the telly but live... and free. Amazing stuff! Steve, the boss of the place, asked me not to put the name of the place in the blog, but if anyone would like to know it... just email me ;-) I'm sure he wouldn't mind!

Santa for a day, Santa for a lifetime!

I don’t quite know how it all happened… but it did! In the first two weeks of my stay in Thailand, I’ve spent a lot of time with my sister, dropping Maisie off at school, having coffee’s with all the mothers of the children, doing “stuff” during the day and then picking Maisie up afterwards. I can’t say I don’t enjoy it cus I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t. Hanging around with single desperate housewives, enjoying coffees and air-conditioned 4x4s has always been a little dream of mine! The kids are wicked too. They’re like little coils of wound up energy. You know, I don’t think they should sleep because when they wake up, all they do is leave trails of destruction anywhere they go. And they get away with it too! But you gotta love them for it. Anyway, all this hanging around, chilling out and not doing much was bound to hit me some time. What I didn’t realize was that from one minute to another, somehow, I’d “agreed” to “volunteer” to become the school's Santa. I don’t quite know how it all happened although I do seem to recall there being offerings of wine and other little luxuries for my troubles. Apparently, last year’s Santa had fled the country and headed on back to the land of Engle’s for Christmas and they were desperate. It was one of those situations where everyone was smiling and laughing, and saying no would have raised or furrowed a few eyebrows. It all happened very quickly and it actually turned out to be amazing. Firstly, I had to go to a post Christmas morning bash where bucks-fizz was served to get me in the mood. Then I did a little dress rehearsal for all the mothers and after getting their approval, I was ready. The next day, the mothers and teachers had kitted out a little grotto, tree and all, and I saw almost 100 children, Ho-Ho-Hoing away in a funky costume. I was nervous as anything. I thought that once the ball was rolling, I’d be cool but the very first kid that came in, burst into tears! He was only two, admittedly! Still, it wasn’t the start I needed. However, once it got going, I seemed to fit the bill rather well. I can now proudly put "Being Santa" on my CV! Bring it On!!! I am available for children’s parties and Christmas bashes by the way! ;-)

Black Jacked

I woke up too late to accompany Jess to Maisie’s school today so I decided to get in touch with an Indonesian girl I’d met a few days back to arrange lunch. She was up for a month to visit an uncle she hadn’t seen for over a year now. When we met up, I hadn’t had any lunch and was ravished so she asked me if I wanted to come and have lunch round hers. I didn’t want to be rude. I mean, she wasn’t really my type to be honest but hey. Besides, she had an eyelash, stuck in the section of her eye, closest to her nose which I couldn’t stop staring at. It was dangling by a bit of wet sleepy dust and equated to a complete turn-off. Anyway, we got in a taxi and headed off out to her place. After driving for about twenty minutes, I started to get a little worried. She started asking me questions about marriage, weight and sleeping habits. All the way there, she kept getting phone calls, saying one word and then hanging up quickly. When the taxi finally crept into her block of flats, I could see we were miles out of Bangkok. It was a bit annoying because I’d promised to get back to take care of Maisie for Jess and it was going to take me ages to return. We walked into her uncles place and it was empty, apart from a dead cockroach on the living room floor being munched on by about 50 odd mini-ants. We sat down and her cousin walked in. They stuck the telly on and both headed off to the kitchen and after about ten minutes or so, brought out a bowl of classic noodles and bean sprouts. It smelt lush but the noodles were a bit too stuck together for my liking. Then, her uncle Rudi steps in. He was short (about my height) with a brimming smile. I actually liked him more than the girl. His English wasn’t as good, but what he didn’t know in language, he made up in happiness. He was a card dealer on a ship that was docked in Bangkok harbour and said that if I ever wanted to make a little extra cash (at this point he threw me a little wink ;-)), to come to his table! Luckily for me, I don’t really play cards. Anyway, he insisted on showing me how he did it and told me to follow him. He took his shoes off as he went upstairs so I followed suite. The room had a double bed, a table, a couple of chairs and a clothes cabinet. The thought that this guy was gonna force me to have sex with his niece zipped into my mind and then zipped straight out again when he pulled out a deck of cards and some chips. I breathed a sigh of relief and sat down. He started showing me how he did it. It was Black Jack. He dealt out the cards and then showed me how he could let me see the next card that was coming, by flipping the pack and hiding it from whoever my opponent would be. He’d also see the opponents hand and then indicate with his fingers, which cards the guy had as well. Because I’ve never played this game and probably because I’m a little stupid, this whole process took about half an hour, during which time he started telling me about this guy called Mr. Malik. A spoilt brat from a rich family in Brunii who loved to gamble his parents wealth. They’d struck a deal on the ship Rudi was working on but Malik had only cut him a small percentage of what they’d agreed to split. Naturally he was pissed off at the bastard and suddenly, I could just about see a light at the end of the tunnel. He obviously wanted me to go to the ship and play one on one with this guy and take his money. It turned out I was right about part of that statement. Rudi leaned over to me and said “You know, I’m actually Mr. Malik’s favorite dealer and he’s coming here, to my house, for a quick game before he heads out to Japan for a business conference” and all of a sudden, Mr. Malik shows up at the door. At this point I just freeze. My heart stops and I feel a deep chill run all down my body. I turned to Rudi’s niece with a look of “What the hell is this?” and she just returned the glare, worried as I was and shrugged her shoulders as if to say “I don’t know, I don’t understand”. I squeezed her leg, nervous as anything as Rudi’s whole demeanor changed. “Ooohhh, Mr. Malik, Mr. Malik, how are you? Would you like something to drink? Can I offer you anything at all Mr. Malik?”. Mr. Malik was tall, dark, dressed in a suit and sported geeky glasses. “Not at all, I am well thank you Rudi. As you know, I cannot stay long”. The introductions were made and suddenly I was involved in poker game I couldn’t get out of. A poker game in which Rudi and I were attempting to scam this rich brat. The game started and this guy pulled out a thousand dollars to bet with. Rudi was dealing, sitting on the same side as Mr. Malik and could see all the cards he was pulling. With his little tricks, we soon won the thousand dollars off Malik. All I could think was that if this Malik guy realized we were doing him, I was dead. Suddenly, the stakes changed, he opened his briefcase and pulled out $40.000 and handed it to Rudi. “Lets play proper, yes?” Rudi was gobsmacked but covered it pretty well. “Ooohh, Mr. Malik, we want to play serious now, yes? Ok, Ok.” And started dealing everything out. I squeezed his nieces thigh again and my hands started to tremble. The bet got to a stage where I had no more cash and Rudi, eyes wide, just said “Do you have 6000 Baht?” (which is about £70) and I didn’t so I just said no. “6000, just 6000 to see Mr. Malik”. I scampered through my wallet and had about 300 Baht. “Sorry, none with me”. Rudi turned round to Mr. Malik and said, “Mr. Malik, I know Jason for a long time now, I will lend him the money”. Happy about the situation, Mr. Malik let the game go on, and on, and on. And I went on borrowing, convinced that we were gonna win this. Finally, with a pre-determined sign we’d arranged, during the half hour explanation of the game before hand, Rudi indicated to me that he wanted me to end the game. And so I did, with the bet at $36.000. This was it, we’d won. I had the highest hand and we’d scammed this guy. But Mr. Malik stopped play and gestured to the piece of paper we’d been taking notes down on for the borrowing of the money. “Mr. Jason” he said, “As you know, I have come into this game with $40000 in cash, and you, you have not shown me any money. Now, I have a pretty good hand here. If I win, what cash will I receive from this game?" My heart stopped again and I glanced over at Rudi with probably the stupidest expression I’ve ever pulled. Luckily, I wasn’t someone else so I didn’t know just how stupid I must have looked. Rudi looked over to me and said “Do you understand what Mr. Malik is saying?”. The stupid expression remained. I got good at that for the next minute or so. “Do you have any money? A passport, a camera, anything you could put into this deal to see Mr. Malik's hand”. So I got my camera out. Mr. Malik looked a little annoyed and suddenly stood up and said “look, I have a meeting to go to, why don’t we adjourn this for an hour or so and complete this when I come back”. We all agreed and Rudi put my camera into a suitcase with the $40000 and our cards, sealed and signed in a pink envelope. He gave Mr. Malik a copy of the key and then headed off. Rudi then sat in front of me. “We’ve won! We have the cards! We have his $40000! I phoned a friend and he can lend me $18000 but you have to help me out here. Once we finish this, you can keep $20000 and I’ll keep the other $20000. You just have to help me out here. How much can you get?” Here is where I thank the lord I’m not rich. I’m stupid, but I’m not rich. I was ready, right there and then to go and get this money for him, if only I had it. But I knew I had no where near enough. He pressured me for about 10 minutes to the point where I just said “Look, this is now your problem, you put me in this, I haven’t got the money. You know we’ve won so you get the money cus I can’t do it”. Eventually, after a little more pointless persistence, he gave up and said he’d find another way. He gave me my camera back and I got into a cab with his niece. She was furious and was shouting at the cab driver, all sorts of orders and directions and stuff. She just couldn’t believe that her uncle, who she hadn’t seen for over a year now, could have done such a thing. We got to the main road and we had to change taxis. She got out, paid the guy and said she was really sorry for what happened and that she was going back to have a go at her uncle for putting all this pressure on me. When I got home, my mind was racing all over the place, it was madness. I told Jessica the story and as soon as I mentioned the words Black and Jack, she smiled and said I was part of a scam. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced she was right. The bad part of it all was that, when I went to check my camera, my memory card had gone. Rudi had stolen my memory card! I couldn’t believe it and was about to contact his niece when suddenly my sister said “No! Forget it man! It’s so not worth it”. “But I really want my memory card back”, “Give me you phone” she said. She took the sim card out of the back, stuck it in the side of her mouth between her teeth and crunched down on it! Wide eyed she handed it back to me. "Fair enough", I said. I stared at her for a number of seconds, slightly shocked by the mini-overreaction and after a few moments, we both just burst out laughing. I mean, the number was still in my phone and the girl had written it in the back of my book for me too... but I got the idea. No point re-kindling that little affair.