No More Jam - Adventures in Travel

No More Zoom

2008-08-29T21:13:00.004+01:00

Some people who know me think that I bring chaos to wherever I travel. It's true I've flown in to areas of conflict, poverty and natural disasters before (China's recent earthquake is a prime example) but this time it's different. This time I'm involved in bringing down a business.

Zoom Airlines, the carrier that I flew with a few weeks back to Montreal has gone bust. It seems to be the latest business to get hit by the credit crunch. Blaming spiralling fuel costs and the downturn in the economy, the business folded yesterday afternoon. Hundreds of passengers on both sides of the Atlantic were left stranded, and thousands more, including friends planning on visiting me (!) are now needing to find alternative travel arrangements.

Zoom, like Oasis Hong Kong (another recent airline failure) were trying to extend the cheap no-frills model which works so successfully for the likes of Ryanair, to long haul travel. When I flew there was strict terms on check-in baggage, limited on board entertainment with a charge for using headphones and no alcohol served with the basic food provision. Having said that the staff were friendly and helpful, the flight took off and landed on schedule and the price in peak time August was about half that of BA or Air France. I'll skip over the annoying toddler that thought that my chair was a great activity play centre which worked if you kicked it repeatedly.

The airline managed to operate for 7 years in a time of great expansion in the skies, but now economic times are harder it is very difficult for smaller operators to compete. Also with the growth in eco-awareness, the tide is turning on travellers attitudes to cheap airline travel. This is sad news as the most memorable flights I've taken have been with the smaller regional airlines, not the mega-global brands. It looks like we're entering a period of consolidation, and the world of travel will be a duller place.

For info on how to get refunds when airlines go bust here's a handy guide.

A run in the park

2008-08-28T21:29:00.003+01:00

Maybe it was all the Olympic coverage, or the sunny weather here, but I've taken up running again. I say again, but it's been a long while since I've pulled on the trainers in anger. After working crazy hours in London it's been nice to be outside during the day and get a bit of exercise.

Running around the local park is a great way to observe Montreal people going about their lives. It's a popular park bordering the Latin Quarter and The Plateau areas of the city. It boasts a lovely lake with a fountain, sports pitches, tennis courts, kids play area and even a dog exercise zone. The park attracts a diverse range of people. Punks and Goths sit happily on the grass banks next to Grandparents and toddlers. Doctors from the adjacent Notre Dame Hospital eat lunch while rollerbladers whizz past. Then there are us joggers.

The joggers are easily to separate into two groups. The fitness fanatics and the rest of us. The rest of us are just wanting to feel a little slimmer and healthier as we shuffle around the perimeter of the park. The fitness fanatics can be summed up by "I-pod man". He is an annoyingly trim bloke who could be straight out of Men's Health magazine. To compound my own lack of fitness he always seems to be running through the park the same time as I'm dragging my weary bones around. I seem to be sweating buckets in the sun while he glides past.

The rest of us grab the nearest old band T-Shirt and not too smelly socks when we go jogging. Ipod Man dresses head to foot in sleek black running gear with a special MP3 holder strapped to his arm. The rest of us are content with listening to our own heart beats thumping in our chests. Ipod man is probably listening to Anthony Robbins podcasts.

But Ipod Man and the more down to earth joggers are typical of the large amount of health conscious folk who live in Montreal. It seems there is a conscious effort by a lot of the populace to be outside and active during the summer. There are special paths for cyclists and bladers which are always busy. All the major parks are accessible by public transport to avoid having to drive. Local markets are doing a great trade in fruit and vegetables. It seems that the whole of Montreal is making the most of the summer while it is still with us.

Montreal Snapshots

2008-08-21T22:14:00.004+01:00

Here's a few choice moments from the last week in Montreal...

1) A guy on St Catherine Street running up to our cafe table and shouting "Hey it's Madonna's Birthday!" and then leaping away again. Well it was the night before gay pride..

2) A full on punk rocking the "I still believe it's 1976" look with a great pink 6" mohawk on the Metro.

3) CBC Television gamely looking for any good news from Canada's poor showing at the Olympic Games. "Look he got a personal best!" He also finished 7th...

4) The 17year old kid bag packer positively beaming when I produced my own rucsac to fill my groceries. Plastic bags are bad people!

5) The number 11 bus packed with people heading to Mont Royal park on Sunday. A collective agreement that the destination is worth the stifling journey. BTW it was, it's a lovely park with a lake, on a hill overlooking the city.

Bienvenue a Montreal

2008-08-14T20:39:00.002+01:00

A cheery hello from Montreal, where I'm based for the rest of the year.

I arrived last weekend and I'm fast learning the dos and do nots of living in the world's third largest French speaking city. It's a fun and slightly daunting prospect but here's what I've gathered so far.

1) GCSE French won't get you that far, but locals will automatically switch to English when you can't work out how to say 23.75 dollars en francais. (ooh the shame!)

2) Sitting in the sunshine on a terrace of a cafe is always a good thing to do.

3) Being French, there's a plentiful supply of good cheese in all supermarkets.

4) It's 1997 so far as Banks and technology is concerned. People still use cheques! and faxes! and there's a new fangled thing you can do on your phone called text...

5) Cross the street when the light is green and hope that SUV stops in time. They don't believe in pedestrian signals or beeps for the deaf here - scary!

More soon, A bientot.

Welcome to the Future - China part 1

2008-05-22T13:02:00.005+01:00

**Apologies for the lateness of this blog - I've only just figured out a work around so I can post while in mainland China**

"Welcome to the future" reads a massive billboard from a mobile phone company, on the road which leads from Shanghai's PuDong Airport into the city. Crossing the Lupu Bridge into the centre of the city, I stare at the 100's of skyscrapers lining each side of the Huangpo river, it's hard to disagree.

If Beijing is taking all the attention in 2008 for the once-a-four-year extended School games-athon, Shanghai is just busy getting on with the job of becoming the centre of the world. Every major business and finance organisation is setting up shop here. PuDong which was twenty years ago forgotten marsh land is now a real life version of Mega-City Four. Gleaming towers to capitalism push ever upwards into the sky. The biggest construction sites in the world are operated by an army of workers from China's rural heartland. They are relentlessly building more. Maps which are printed only a few years ago are almost redundant, such is the pace of change.

Walking around The Bund, you get a sense of how fast things are moving. The old, grand colonial buildings which once housed the banking houses are now swish restaurants and bars. A gawdy psychedelic 'tourist tunnel' now runs underneath the river to where the real action is in PuDong. Old versus new separated only by a muddy stretch of river.

The Bund's eight lanes of clogged traffic is a testament to Shanghai's new monied middle classes.They have long since flipped their bicycles for silver Diahatsu's. Fashionable teens parade up and down with mobile phones clamped to their ears, ignoring the mandolin player reciting old Chinese folk tunes. The street food stalls which mobbed the Shanghai of the 1930's have all but disappeared, to be replaced by fast food joints. McDonald's and Burger King are fighting it out with Sushi Now! and cheese cake vendors for custom.

The joys of Heathrow

2008-05-06T20:07:00.005+01:00

Well it's five days until project China, and the last few weeks have been a heady whirl of getting everything in order, research and pfaffing about.

One of the main joys of being based in London is that I get to use Heathrow Airport far more than is healthy. Last week American Airlines exec, Don Langford called Heathrow "the worst of all the airports that my company flies to in Europe" and "a bit of a dump". Well Duh! Of course it is! Why give millions of visitors a false impression of London and the UK? Spend an hour trying to reclaim baggage at T5, and your expectations of our country will be so diminshed that even the slightest kindness will be welcome.

Even if T3 is falling apart, and T5 should never have been opened until properly tested, millions of passengers use Heathrow every year. It still is the busiest international airport in the world. The competion amongst airlines to gain landing slots is fierce. Just ask the residents under the flightpath.

Getting into the centre of London is still a pain though. Taxi's cost at least 50 GBP and the tube takes up to 1 hour. Heathrow Express at 15.50 GBP single trip is the most expensive per mile train service in the world.

For the frugal there is another option, Heathrow Connect. Using the same train track as the Heathrow Express, it takes 12 minutes longer as it stops en route to get into Paddington. The benefit is it only costs 6.90 GBP single fare and you are not stuck on a coach on the M4, or a tube signal fault on the Piccadilly line.

Either way I'll be there midday on Sunday queuing up under broken lightbulbs and torn lino. I think that for all it's faults Heathrow is a great place. It's a vibrant mini-city full of humanity, joy and tears. Shabby as it may be it's one of my favourite things about London. Now onwards to Shanghai!

Third time's the charm..

2008-04-15T12:49:00.003+01:00

The ongoing China Visa story part 358

So, it's up and out of The Towers by 7am, to be down to the Chinese Embassy by 7:30. I'm all set with a vat of coffee, a George Saunders book and some music to keep me company. Hearteningly there's only about 20 people lined up at Portland Place when I arrive. The sun is shining and my hopes are up. Nothing is going to go wrong today!

Then something goes wrong. One of the guys at the front of the queue beckons me over to read a note posted on the outside of the Embassy door. From today, the People's Republic wants not only a lengthy two page form and a photo of you, but the details of your flight AND confirmation of what hotel you are staying at. My heart sinks. The details are kept on my webmail, and they need printed copies for their files. Going back to The Towers and getting the info would take over an hour, and the queue would lengthen considerably. I need this now!

Reluctantly I race towards Oxford Circus to try and find an internet cafe. I pass BBC Broadcasting House and wonder if there's anyone working early who I know to blag me in. Then I realise the people I know are over at White City. Damn! I spy two internet places nearby but they don't open for another hour or so.

Standing on Oxford Street I compose myself. Where can you get anything, day or night in London...? Answer: Soho! I barrel down Wardour Street to a 24 hour copy shop. The owner unlocks the door and lets me in. I manage to explain my predicament, while surrounded by dormant printers and copiers, waiting to spring into inky life. So will he help me?

"No, we don't offer that service, sir"

What?? You're a 24 hour print service! I NEED to print. Surely this is EXACTLY the service you should be offering! I even proffer a small bribe in his direction to help me out. Still the uptight jobsworth says no. I spy a PC behind his shoulder and wonder, as this is an emergency, if it would be ethical to throw him out of the way and commandeer his keyboard.

Luckily we don't come to blows as he mentions a 'net cafe close by. I turn and disappear out of the door. Success! Five minutes later I'm clutching my precious documents and running back down Oxford Street.

The queue hasn't grown too much in my 30 minute departure. The new scheme seems to have scared people away. The queue time passes and by 10am I've handed in my form. Time to celebrate this first triumph. I stride down to Market Place for a full english breakfast. There's no finer thing to lift the spirits. The folks at this brilliant blog on the great british brekkie have got it right.

After being suitably replenished, I then head back to the embassy. After another thirty minute queue, and handing over 50 GBP plus my sanity, I get the Visa. It's 11:58 am. The place shuts dead on midday.

Let's have a heated debate!

2008-04-13T17:46:00.003+01:00

So news of the latest trip to China is causing a little controversy in the nomorejam world.

The question posed by some (quite vocally!) is that it's unethical to visit China, especially when the situation in Tibet is so bad. The Foreign Office have just updated it's advice here.

As a paid up member of Amnesty international, I'm well aware of the current problems in Lhasa. This is what they're currently saying about the Olympic Beijing legacy.

I don't subscribe to the view that visiting a country is the same as supporting the regime that runs it. While I won't be travelling anywhere near Tibet, the issue is worth pause for thought.

China will have an increasingly dominant position in the world throughout the 21st Century. Increasingly it's the world's manufacturing base, and with the American credit collapse, it also is taking a higher position in the finance world. Tourism boycotts will have next to no affect on the country. They really only have an impact when the people of the country ask for them, such as in Burma. That certainly isn't the case here.

Raising an issues' profile in the media, such as last week's Olympic Torch fiasco, will have a far greater affect than a few hundred people deciding not to board flights.

Passing up the opportunity to go and develop a greater understanding of a country is not something I believe in. Especially when the place will have such a significant impact on our lives.

Groundhog day

2008-04-09T12:26:00.004+01:00

So back to the Embassy for a second try. A sunny morning, and I'm in a positive mood. Could I do this all before 10am? Were the Gods of Visa on my side..?

Were they hell!

The Queue at 8am was worse than the queue at 11am the previous day. I started talking to other seasoned Visa queuers. I might get to the front of the queue by 11am they said. As I had to start work an hour before that, my heart sank like a stone.

So I joined the queue out of blind optimism anyway, just to see if it would move AT ALL. It did, bang on 9am, but my hopes of a quick turnaround were receding fast. People in front of me had come prepared, with books, music and giant cups of coffee to while away the hours before getting processed by the people's republic.

My disappointment was only leavened by a courier who obviously had left the gig too late and tried begging his way into the middle of the queue. This being England, we were having none of it, and he promptly got sent packing around the corner to the very back.

So with time definitely not on my side, I left the embassy still without my Visa. Now I have the hard earned knowledge that I'll have to be up with the milkmen, and start queuing a lot earlier if I'm going to get that darn paperwork.

Props out to my fellow queuer DJ Storm, I hope the Beijing gig goes well, and the sun shines for you...

Destination China - 32 days and counting

2008-04-08T23:55:00.003+01:00

So I'm back posting again after a long while. Hurrah!

I'm also back out in to the big wide world to report on the most interesting, vivid and bizarre places. In the process meeting fun and strange people, and of course attending any cultural festival I can find.

So in just over a month I'm heading off to resume an unfinished part of last year's tour, China. Having run out of time in Hong Kong I had to race back to the UK for two important weddings. As I bored my plane I vowed to return as soon as possible to this vast, strange, controversial and increasingly globally vital country.

With the help of Virgin Atlantic I'm flying off to Shanghai in May. Before you can fly though, you have to visit the Chinese Embassy for a visa. After the events of this weekend, I was not sure what to find as I approached Portland Place in London.

There was certainly a big big crowd as I approached the door to the visa application building. I asked one man standing there what the big crowd was for, half in mind that fire extinguishers might be let off any moment and cries of "Free Tibet!" would ring in to the air. I was to be disappointed, it was THE QUEUE for getting a visa. And it stretched all the way around the block.

As it was 11am and the office closed at 12, there was no chance in getting served. I resigned myself to the inevitable, I wasn't thwarted by protestors, but by the popularity of people wanting to visit the Country. I laughed, then strode off to the magnificent Daunt Books on Marylebone High Street to peruse their brilliant downstairs Asia section.

So we try again tomorrow!

A brief encounter with... 'Brief Encounter'

2008-04-08T22:50:00.005+01:00

" I always try and see Brief Encounter on my birthday" says Luke, the protagonist of Geoff Dyers' great book, Paris Trance. David Lean's seminal 1945 film is the only thing that seems to ground the character. It's a constant, in an otherwise mad journey through the summer of the lives and loves of four friends in the French capital.

I understand why he did that. The film always feels to me like it belongs on BBC2 on a wet Saturday afternoon. There's something which is very safe and quintessentially British about the picture. It feels like Britain, or a version of which we are comfortable with at least. For those unaware of it's charms here's a synopsis.

The story is of a married woman (Laura, Celia Johnson) who meets by chance a doctor (Alec, Trevor Howard) at a train station, who comes to her aid when she has some grit in her eye. What follows is a study in friendship, desire, guilt, thwarted passion and finally duty. Many of the scenes are played out on location at Canforth Station, Lancashire.

So after my brief Manchester visit, I took a rather more leisurely walk from Lancaster to Carnforth, to pay homage to a cult classic. My good friend Dr Alex, had some great guides produced by Lancaster council with detailed walks around the historic city. I decided to take the 8.7 mile (14km) walk to Carnforth, via the Lune river, Lancaster canal and the stunning but fatal Morecambe Bay.

It's a fun walk which takes in a lot of wildlife as it heads north from Lancaster. The castle looms in the background. I popped in to the castle for a quick tour the day before to see if my family shield was displayed next to the Queen's.

My guide was at first really positive: "I think I've heard of it!"
I thought "Brilliant, I have standing and nobility in my ancestry!"
After searching the walls, and then the official ledger he came back with "No sorry, I must have been thinking of a prisoner!"
Lancaster Castle, is of course a fully operational prison...

The walk takes you down the river where kingfishers hunt by the weir. The path then across the impressive Lune Aqueduct to join the canal. It meanders past people's backyards and workplaces, before opening up into rolling countryside and bored looking cows standing in fields.

About halfway along the walk is a great lunch stop, The Hesk Bank Hotel. A restorative pint of Black Sheep beer and a ploughman's, sets you up for walking across Morecambe Bay. It is a beautiful spot, but tainted in recent memory by the Chinese cockle picker tragedy.

Onwards on the canal and Carnforth appears. The station is well set up for catering for visitors. The main one being there aren't that many trains to get in your way, as it now languishes being a small branch station. The famous 'refreshment rooms' and platform have been lovingly restored by a team of passionate volunteers. There is also a dedicated room for fans to watch the film on constant DVD re-runs and a gift shop to buy your own copy.

My own impressions were, in keeping with the film all too brief. I just had time to gulp down a milky coffee before being bundled out of the door. "I've got to turn this place around to be a bar for tonight's jazz evening" says the manager by way of explanation. But I still had time to admire the platform clock and the place where the Laura and Alec said there farewells.

It's a subtly complex film which even one of the stars didn't quite understand. Trevor Howard allegedly turned to David Lean during the filming and said "But why doesn't Alec just f*** her??" The beauty in understanding the film and also the place, is knowing the answer to that question.

A brief encounter with... Manchester

2008-03-21T14:10:00.004Z

Have you ever met up with a friend you haven't seen in a while, and they've had a complete makeover in the meantime? It's a slightly jarring experience. The new look throws you for a while until you adjust to it. The familiar and old clash with the sparky and new. Then you remember why you were friends with this person in the first place, and can start to relax. Well that's now I felt about visiting Manchester this week.

I spent a lot of time in the mid nineties in Manchester, and the place always had a swagger about it. Stuart Maconie in last years best travel book, Pies and Prejudice, goes into an entertaining rant about how it's the British city that fancies itself the most, and I agree. And my experience of the city was before the mother of all makeovers that followed the IRA bombing of the Arndale centre. That terrible event at the fag end of 'the troubles' gave the city it's biggest reason to change itself. I haven't visited the city in years and a trip to Lancaster gave me the obvious excuse to break the journey and spend a few hours getting to know the city again.

Entering the city at Piccadilly station the changes are obvious and instant. Instead of a grubby slope down onto London Road, new station shops open on onto gleaming office blocks with men dangling on ropes inspecting the miles of glass. At the start of Piccadilly the Malmaison hotel chain has it's Manchester branch. The idea of anyone wanting to sleep at this end of the city ten years ago was laughable, now it's 255 pounds a night for a suite.

Heading up Piccadilly you enter the gardens. A grand staging post the city's buses and trams, sorry, Metrolink, the square has been spruced up and new buildings flank two of it's sides. Heroin addicts from Withenshaw used to call this place home, now it's young guys in bright jackets giving away copies of the local paper. It's not just London that gets the joy of recycled press releases and celebrity 'gossip' thrust at them on their way to and from work then..

Dodging the trams I cut through the Arndale centre. It was comforting to find that this bastion to cheap shopping hasn't changed. It now boasts an Aldi. That's all I'm going to say.

Corporation Street has changed completely. A new M&S and Selfridges sit next to each other in a great big glass box. Next door another London department store, Harvey Nicols opens it's doors to the footballers' wives set. In front of all this gleaming consumerism, is the Manchester Wheel. It's like a cut down version of the London Eye.

The further you wander around this area of the city, the more development you see. The old corn exchange is now called 'The Triangle'. The tatty but endearing little stalls have long gone and instead is a Triffids-like pod boasting a Cafe Nero. Further down Deansgate cranes stretch into the air, slowly pirouetting as they transform the skyline.

All this modernity was increasing hard to take in on a short stop over, so I headed to the Northern Quarter. Thankfully this area hasn't (yet) been bulldozed over to make flats for marketing executives, and still retains it's charm. Many good bars have now sprung up here, along side independent clothes and jewellery shops. This is the Manchester that I loved in the 90's so it was a relief to still find that vibe alive and well. Even the temple of studentdom, Affleck's Palace is still trading. Although signs in the maze of shops signify that it's only hanging on my it's fingernails.

Oldham Street still boasts it's fine vinyl and cd shops, with Piccadilly, Vinyl Exchange and Eastern Bloc doing good trade. I spent far too much time in these places as a student, so it was a pleasure to grab a copy of the new We Are Scientists cd, before ambling back to the station.

I sat bewildered on the train as it pulled away from city. So much has changed in a comparative short space of time. What to make of it all? Manchester still has it's swagger about it, just recently it's been able to do so in designer clothes.

A new place to lay my head

2008-02-19T21:46:00.002Z

Moving is right up there in the stress stakes with births, marriages and deaths. But If you're lucky to have some very good friends to help you lug boxes around it can all go swimmingly.

So I'm now a resident of Shoreditch, which for a few years was the epicentre of all things arty and cool. The best documenter of that was this. The area's creative types were also taken to task by Charlie Brooker's brilliant creation of Nathan Barley. It worked better in print than it did on screen.

Anyway, lots of new bars and restaurant's to explore. This first I went to last night was Fabrizio's on St Cross Street in Clerkenwell. A really welcoming place with good variety of rustic italian cooking. The owner Fabrizio Zafanara came over and chatted with us afterwards. A brilliant place and half empty!

Last weeks news today..

2008-01-23T15:49:00.000Z

One of the small snippets of information that came out of last week’s Heathrow crash was an interview with one of the passengers of BA038 from Beijing. After complimenting the pilots and cabin crew, he then put the boot in to ground staff while waiting to get checked out by medical staff.

"I asked if tea and coffee could be arranged and this fell on deaf ears"

What?! The plane only missed crashing in Hounslow by a matter of seconds and he’s going on about the tea?? I’d be straight off to the bar to clear out the champagne before hugging everyone in T4 for getting out alive. Perspectives man! You have just become a member of a select band of people to say you walked away from a plane crash. Enjoy it!

Book review: Charlie Connolly, Attention All Shipping

2008-01-23T15:35:00.000Z

If you suffer like me from interminable bouts of Insomnia (usually when there’s an early start the next morning), the lilting melody of “sailing by” and the shipping forecast that follows it on Radio 4 denotes the fact that it’s almost 1 o’clock in the morning. If you’re still awake at such hour you may have given half a thought to what those obtuse place names that are called out to weary fisherman actually mean. Where exactly is Lundy? What are you supposed to do with a Dogger Bank?.

Charlie Connolly has thought these same thoughts and more. He’s actually done a whole trip around the shipping areas of the uk, to find out what’s the deal with this broadcasting institution.

Starting out from his home in Greenwich, Charlie trawls his way clockwise around the country and also popping over to such glamorous locales as North Utsire, (a bleak windswept isle), the independent and paranoid state of Sealand “we’ve had attacks on our sovereignty!” claims the prince. Which is more surprising, as the state is an old WW2 barrage 10 miles off the coast of Southend.

Through the course of his travels, the highlights are the small stories of how the sea has influenced the lives of those living at it’s edge or who’s living depended on it. Lovely tales abound of outstanding bravery from lifeboat men, eccentric lighthouse keepers and piracy on the high seas.

24 hours in Hong Kong

2007-09-01T07:25:00.000+01:00

Due to the joys of Indonesian air travel (decrepit airports, lousy timekeeping) my leisurely 4 days in Hong Kong was pegged back to an exhausting, exhilarating 24 hours. So what can you do when you've only got one day to spend in one of the most crazy cities in the world? Well this is what I managed...

9pm
From the super sleek new international airport at Chek Lap Kok, it's time to throw the bags in left luggage and jump on the express train into town. It only takes 20 minutes to get into the centre. They go every few minutes and are clean, quiet and safe. Then in a cheap cab to check in to a hotel in Jordan on Kowloon. Accommodation is pretty expensive here but you can get a full service room for under 90 US dollars. The room has a central console where everything operates from. It takes me ten minutes to work out how to turn on the TV.

10:30pm
Only a 5 minute walk from the hotel is the night market at Temple Street. All kinds of stuff is sold here from clothes to clocks, DVD's to paintings. In the side streets there are great cafes to get some grub and they do live free Cantonese singing performances. It's late in the evening but everyone is still out in the 30 degree heat. Neon lights flash over my head as people race around. Welcome to HK it's full on.

11:30pm
One stop down the metro is Tsim Sha Tsui, HK's tourist ghetto. All the cheap tailors hang out here who'll turn around a suit for you in 48 hours. I don't have that much time though, Boo! I quickly check out Chungking Mansions. The notorious backpackers hovel / sleaze building which was captured in the great film Chungking Express. Cinematographer Chris Doyle says this is the real heart of the city. It's hard to disagree.

12:30pm
I'm fading fast in the humidity so it's down to one of the many basement bars for a pint of San Miguel, the local brew. Pop videos blare out from a corner TV, groups of friends huddle round tables exchanging gossip, drunk financiers quaff champagne. It's all good fun. I stagger out on to Nathan Road and avoiding the approaches of the local drug dealers/prostitutes and touts it's time for some shut eye.

08:00am
The air-con in my room lulls me into a false sense of comfort and as soon as I'm outside the heat blasts straight through me. Joining the rush hour I squeeze on to the metro to Central. Stepping out of the station you immediately look up and gaze at all the skyscrapers. HK loves it's tall buildings. From HSBC's robot like structure, to the mighty Two IFC they represent what the city does best, making money.

09:00
The peak tram is one of the most touristy things you can do, but it's still worth it. Rising from beside Hong Kong park to the Peak park, the vista of the city opens up before you. It's truly stunning and the gods have been gracious enough to give us a clear day to grant amazing views over Kowloon to the New Territories. The park is a lovely space to stretch your legs away from the maddening crowds. Also it's about 5 degrees cooler, not that it matters as my shirt is quickly flecked by sweat. August is a brutal time in the city, apparently November is ideal though..

11:00
Stroll back down to Hong Kong park through the mid-levels. It's all plush apartment complexes housing upper management of all the banking firms. Accommodation is really tight on Hong Kong Island, so most people schlep in on the metro from Kowloon. Quickly see the birds in the aviary. It doesn't look too much fun living your life in a huge net.

13:00
Lunch! and it has to be Dim Sum. There are hundreds of places which specialise in tasty treats which come in little bamboo bowls. I settled on a place in Soho (South of Hollywood Rd, not anything to do with the 'adult' district of london) and tucked into steamed chicken and ginger dumplings, Carrot and pumpkin soup, spring rolls with pak choi, shredded duck parcels; all washed down with green tea. Yum!

15:00
Over to the Western Market to look at some great fabrics and some not so great antiques. Cat St sells lots of bric-a-brac and is a good place to pick up last minute gifts. Nearby there are some independent clothes shops which are worth a browse. Beware, they usually don't stock large sizes. so if you've had a few too many stir fries you might not find anything to fit. Myself being a lithe bunny I had the pick of the range...

17:00
After a thoroughly underwhelming visit to the noon day gun, made famous by Noel Coward in 'Mad Dogs and Englishmen', it's back over the water to the Peninsula Hotel. This hotel is one of the best in the world and commanded great views over to Hong Kong Island. New Buildings on the waterfront have obscured some of these views, but the grand hall is still as impressive as ever. Next time I have 500 quid to burn, I'll be staying here. The Gin & Tonics are very good though.

19:00
My mad dash around the city is almost at an end. Only enough time to check out the statue of Bruce Lee on the street of stars. He was voted "Hong Kong Film Legend of the 20th Century". There are metal barriers keeping eager fans back. Lining the waterfront there are also concrete hand prints of other famous stars including Michelle Yeoh, Jet Li and Jackie Chan.

19:30
Saving the best journey to last I catch the Star Ferry over to the rail terminal. It's a fantastic 9 minute hop and you have a chance to gaze at the amazing skyline lit up against the setting sun. Hong Kong is a dizzying, maddening city where nothing happens at less than full speed. Around each corner is another surprise. It's sweaty, chaotic, joyful and confusing. All life is represented here, and to visit here you'll feel more alive too.

Komodo Latte

2007-08-28T12:47:00.000+01:00

After three days of exhausting travel across some notorious Indonesian seas on a boat which looked like a shed I'm finally face to face with a dragon. We are on the legendary Komodo Island, a world Heritage site and a unique place. The savage beast which has struck fear into the hearts of man for generations is only a few feet away from me. It's about 2 meters long and I can see it breathing. I can almost smell the power of this ferocious reptile. And do you know where this harbinger of doom was when we came across it? Next to the bloody visitors cafe! Probably wondering if it should order the cappuccino or the latte. They really do not know any fear and a bunch of gringos fresh off a boat was not going to scare it.

If my first encounter with the fearsome dragon was not exactly what I expected, it certainly wasn't the last. Komodo national park covers three islands are are the only home to this endangered species. Across two days we hiked on Komodo and Rinca Islands which sit just off the coast of Flores. I counted about 15 dragons in total (which conveniently made the park entrance fee 1 dollar = 1 dragon, which is probably a fair price..). Also on the islands were, buffalo, deer, monkeys, wild boar and some fearsome looking cobras.

All the time I was walking through this amazing landscape all I could think when we spotted another animal was 'Dragon food!'. The Komodo Dragon has no predators and so it sits impressively on top of the food chain on these islands. Even so there are only just around 3000 of the dragons left in the wild, and a extensive conservation program is being undertaken to keep these unique creatures alive.

A guide shows you around and carries a big stick to whack a dragon on the nose if it gets too close. A few tourists have ended up dragon meat whilst visiting. Even the late Steve Irwin (see No More Jam passim) almost got bitten by a dragon and had to quickly climb a tree to escape. We met the guide who showed Irwin around when he made his TV show. By the expression on his face when he told us about the incident you could tell he thought Irwin was a bit of a fool for going so close to these unpredictable killers. "You never know when they are going to attack, even if they are resting, they always have one eye on the prey".

Into the land of Dragons

2007-08-27T12:35:00.000+01:00

Just back in civilisation after taking a four day boat 'experience' from Lombok to Flores. I'll post a decent story about coming damn close to some dragons in Komodo, but I really need to get some food before I faint with exhaustion.

Needless to say it's a story of high jinxs on the High seas, a boat which should have been down the bottom of someones' garden, Chemistry experiements involving beer bottles and nooses, a close understanding of the feeling when you dive into a jelly fish and ultimately the answer to the question; Do dragons cast magic spells?

An Island in the sun..

2007-08-18T05:55:00.000+01:00

So the No More Jam trip is fast approaching it's conclusion. Soon it's back to London and reality beckons! What a dreadful thought. To stave off such thoughts (and they are coming thick and fast now) I have found a small island called Gilli Meno to retreat to.

Sitting off the coast of Lombok, the island boasts only 300 full time inhabitants. You can walk all the way around the island in just over 1 hour, it's that small. It's also an exercise in sensory deprivation as well, to put it bluntly, there is not a lot to do. You can sit on the beach, or go out with your snorkel and play with the sea turtles, a colony which live about 100 meters off the north coast, by a coral wall. And that's about it really.

I was told to come here by a genial Irish couple who I met in Ubud a couple of weeks ago. "Go stay with the mad french guys at Tao Kombo!" they had insisted. It was one of the best tips I've had on the trip. See their site for some good pics. Any guys that quote Emile Zola are cool in my book. It's a top place. Last night a family from the one village on the island came and played (it was Indonesian Independence day). with simple drums, a cross between a guitar and a lute and some haunting singing by an 83 year old, the atmosphere was pretty cool. I'm staying for a week before heading to the madness of Hong Kong. Salut maintenant mes amis!

Let me take bag, yes?

2007-08-15T11:04:00.000+01:00

One of the downsides of travel, especially in the Far East is the amount of hassle you get. Mostly it's good natured and you can't really resent a bloke showing you a suitcase of knocked off watches whilst you eat your Nasi Goreng (fried rice) in the local Warung (food stall).

It becomes more of a problem in other situations though. This morning I took the public ferry across from Bali to Lombok. As you aproach the boat a gaggle of blokes abound to take yuor bags on board the boat for you. Obviously this invovles a tip. The big problem occured when a couple of the 'porters' just grabbed some random bags and ran on board with them, and then demanded money from the people once they caught up to claim their bags!

A full on row happened in the middle of the 'lounge' deck of the boat. The 'porters' were demanding money for their services and this danish couple were refusing to pay. A sort of mexican stand off ensued for the next couple of minutes before the porters eventually sulked away! Well after that exciteent the next 5 hours of the ferry ride were an anticlimax of bad pop videos and overpriced snacks. Ahh the joys of travel....

Monkeys, Dragons and Seaweed

2007-08-14T07:56:00.000+01:00

A bit of a catch up on the last week or so in here in Indonesia. I'm sitting in a cafe in the port town of Padang Bai, waiting to catch a ferry over to Lombok.

I spent most of last week in the glorious hill town of Ubud. It's sits in a river valley about 25 km north of the capital Denpasar. Rich green rice paddy fields flank either side of the town. I spent some lovely mornings walking up the Capuan ridge amongst the long Elephant grass overlooking the town.

Ubud is famous for it's culture and everywhere you look there are artists, writers and musicians working away in studios. The town is also famous for it's Dancing. I went one night to a traditional Kecak dance which depicted the story of a prince and princess being separated in a forest by an evil Ogre. There were 6 main players but what made it special was the choir of a hundred or so men who kept up a trance like chant for the whole performance. They also set the scene for each act and made great monkey noises "Cha-cha-cha-ou-eiieee!". Great fun.

Monkey's abound in Ubud. The main drag where I stayed was called Monkey Forest Road. At the end of this drag was a temple with a large colony of grey Macao Monkeys. They are nothing like the dosile pictures on the ticket you get at the entry though. They're greedy sods! Half way around my walk and there's tens of the guys all jumping around you wanting bananas. One ever jumped on my back, only to run off again when I had nothing to offer it.

After all the culture you can relax and get a massage. Ubud excels at this. For about 5 pounds I got pushed pummeled and cleansed of the nasty stuff in me for an hour. Afterwards you sit under a pagoda drinking ginger tea and feeling, well, blissed out.

For the last few days I travelled over to the tiny island of Nusa Lemborgan. It's main product is seaweed. They harvest tons of the stuff here from the nutrient rich water. Every afternoon they crop comes in and they lay it out on big blue sheets to dry before it is packed in plastic to be shipped away. Seaweed is an emulsifier. It's the stuff in ice cream which makes it creamy!

So now off to Lombok. I tried to get here on my 2000 round the world tour but they were in the process of burning Christians out of their houses. I hope I get a better reception. this time around....

Bali rising

2007-08-06T09:00:00.000+01:00

Over a beer in a hotel in Oz, I mentioned to an aussie that my next destination was Bali, Indonesia. "Why the hell do you want to go there? They all hate us!" He almost spat over the table. I tried to reason with the guy that the hate of a few medieval religous fanatics shouldn't stop you going to visit a place. He wasn't being convinced though and muttered into his beer that what I was doing was stupid and dangerous.

The Bali bombings of October 2002 have left a big scar between the two countries. Over 200 were killed and 88 of those were Australian. Relations between Jakarta and Canberra have been pretty poor ever since. When suicide bombers blew themselves up in Kuta Square in 2005 a bad situation was made worse. Tourist numbers that were dramatically down, plunged further still, and now there are 50% less Aussies and Japanese visiting than in 2001. Since Bali was the prime overseas destination for Antipodeans, that's a lot of people for an economy which relies heavily on tourism to cope without.

After a few days in Kuta beach, the centre of tourism on this small island I was wondering what the place would be like if it wasn't for the bombs. The place is maddeningly busy! The beach and streets are teeming with visitors. This is high season and just getting across the street can be an exhausting process. Motorbikes and small jeeps are everywhere. If you're really brave you can rent one from any of the guys on the street. I looked at the traffic and gave it a miss.

Kuta Beach is the big attraction and I grabbed a surf board and headed in to the waves. Surfing is a huge draw here and there are many big breaks along the coast. As I'm fairly amateur at it I was glad just to be able to stand and follow the surf in. Guys behind me on th the bigger left handers were zipping along and producing mean cut-backs and drop-offs. If I had a year practicing every day maybe, just maybe I could get that good!

Three days was enough for me in Kuta and now I'm in Ubud to get the lowdown on the culture, visit some cool temples and go chill out in a spa. Ahhh........

The farewell to Oz Top End Tour

2007-08-01T04:57:00.000+01:00

By the time I landed in Darwin, I was wanting to leave Oz. I've been here two months now and it was starting to take it's toll. Endless anonymous backpacker hostels, bad meals and TV leave you feeling drained. I needed something to engage in again, and then I found it out in the bush. The three national parks of Kakadu, Nitmiluk and Litchfield are the big draws to folk who venture up to the 'Top End' of Australia. There are many tour companies ready to take a hefty wad of dollars out of your wallet to show you around.

Well being a hardy traveller I didn't feel the need to be guided about, I wanted to explore out my own pace. So with three new friends I found from loitering about in the backpackers (Big up Ian, Nina and Kim!), we hired a campervan and set out into the wilderness.

Kakadu is larger than Belgium, and has only two roads accessing it (probably just like Belgium). We cruised down the Arnhem Highway and checked out the huge turmite mounds which stand up to 5 meters tall on the side of the road. They're also magnetic and the little critters always build then North/south so they get the least heat from the sun and so keep themselves cool.

The landscape is awesome out there. Natural Rock escarpments meet wetlands and tropical rainforest. An abundance of wildlife from wallabies, kites, bald headed eagles and crocodiles call this place home. Ahh the crocodiles. There's a reason they shot a lot of 'Crocodile Dundee' here. Saltwater and Freshwater crocs are everywhere. Talking to a Ranger he said they counted 90 crocs in a 4 km stretch of the park. Wanting to see for ourselves we went down to the banks of the East Alligator River and almost immediately saw one on the far side of the bank. Being careful not to stand too close to the edge as tourists have been eaten by Salties in the past we peered into the murky depths. It all got a bit frightening when the croc turned and headed towards us then suddenly dived underwater. Time to go!

The park also contains some great waterfalls. Having only a 2WD we didn't manage to check out Jim Jim Falls but went to Gunlom instead. These falls drop into a large plunge pool from a series of four infinity pools 70 meters above. TRhe water was great to swim in and was croc free!

Onwards to Katherine Gorge. This stretch of the Katherine river 200kms south of Kakadu is famed for it's sheer limestone cliffs and pristine water. We hiked 5 kms from our campsite to through Butterfly gorge to the river. En route we, wait for it, yup saw butterflies as well as a couple of fast moving snakes. Luckily they were moving in the opposite direction as my time here has only fuelled my paranioa of the dastardly creatures.

The gorge opens up onto a spectacular bend in the river after cooling off in water we eat our sandwiches on the bank and wached turtles come up and nearly nibble on our toes. Cool.

Lastly we hit Litchfield park about 15o km's south of Darwin. The park has a series of swimming holes and yet more waterfalls for the perfect spot for a natural shower. Florence and Wangi falls were still pounding water over their edges even two months into the dry season. The pools are big enough that you can still get away from the day trippers and find a quiet(ish) spot.

Over 6 days these three parks showed me that the best parts of Oz are the ones miles away from the towns. Going bush is the way to go.

Onwards to Indonesia!

Back in (semi) civilisation

2007-07-31T09:17:00.000+01:00

Hup!

Back in Darwin after 6 nights on the road in a campervan touring Kakadu, Katherine Gorge and Litchfield National Parks with new friends Kim, Ian and Nina. Cool Photos to follow but there were dicy encounters with crocodiles, snakes, friendly wallabies and mad park rangers.

I'll be posting a decent story or two in the next couple of days but right now I really need a beer and some food!..

Sail-a-Whale

2007-07-22T12:21:00.000+01:00

"Ha! Ha ha ha! I love these animals!" Captain John shouts from the back of the catamaran. His face is beaming with excitement at the spectacle taking place only 10 meters to the starboard side of the boat.

Three Southern right whales, a mother and her calf and, erm Auntie Maureen are checking us out. Their huge black backs break the water, and the white markings on the heads are clearly visible. Richard the deck hand screams "I've seen her before, she was here last year" pointing to the mum. The calf breaths and a shot of water arcs into the air. The eight passengers on board are collectively holding our breath to see what will happen next.

The family suddenly ducks down beneath the waves and swims right under the twin hulls before appearing again on the port side. For a moment we've been accepted into part of this huge mammals family. And it's bloody amazing. For the next 25 minutes they keep in close contact with the boat occasionally raising their heads above the water, or 'spy hopping' to take a better look at us.

I'm on the HMV Sail-a-way, off the coast of Albany. The large bay is home each year to hundreds of Southern Right (named by hunters because they floated when shot, and contained lots of precious oil) and Humpback whales. They come here because of the warm Leeuwin current which pushes down the cape coast and the relative safety of the bay.

I say relative, because less than 30 years ago, whales were still hunted off the Southern Australian coast. Albany was at the centre of this trade. The aptly named ' Whale World' (party on!) at the nearby Frenchman's bay tells the story of the industry. It finally closed down on November 30 1978, one of the first big successes of the environmental lobby.

Now a new battle is being fought, this time by the Australian government against Japanese whales who are this year hunting 500 humpback whales in Australian governed Antarctic waters.

As we head for home with a wonderful pod of bottlenose dolphins playing in the bow wave before us, a humpback 'breaches' and jumps almost out of the water ahead of us. The noise is audible from over a kilometer away. Our luck seems endless this bright cold morning, and I don't want to be anywhere else....

A walk in the woods

2007-07-22T12:02:00.000+01:00

You look up and it's still a way to go. The tree creaks alarmingly as it sways in the wind. You look down and it's a long way back to earth. You try to look out but all you get is driving rain in your face. Concentrate and hold on to the cold metal. Take a deep breath and start climbing again.

I'm at the Gloucester Tree in Pemberton, part of the giant forests of the South West. A dead straight and frankly huge tree only 3km from the town, this is the main attraction in the area. The tree is special for being one of four climbing trees. A series of metal spikes have been driven into the tree trunk at 1 foot intervals, all the way up to it's 50 meter top. They were first used by the forest rangers to act as a fire lookout. Now with only a flimsy looking side net you can climb all the way to the top too...

Probably best not done in the middle of a gale though. In the middle of winter. On your own.

Once at the top the wind pins you back against the fence. The lookout sways about 1 meter. In the lashing rain I was pretty sure there's no fires to be concerned with. The view is remarkable even against the heavy leaden sky. In summer this would be wonderful. I'm just concentrating on not getting blown over the side.

The only problem now is getting down again..

Caves and Quaffing

2007-07-18T10:23:00.000+01:00

I've just arrived in Margaret River, which if anyone has been looking at the shelves of their local Oddbins recently is where some really nice plonk comes from. It is also famous for some very good surf at the river head, if you're brave enough (which I'm not - the waves are bloody huge), and some outstanding limestone caves.

Ngilgi Cave, is 28 meters deep and full of amazing stalagmites (they grow up) and stalactites (yup, they grow down). A bloke out trying to find his lost horse, came across the cave in 1899, and with a mate decided it would be a good weeze to show tourists around. In those days you had to crawl on your hands and knees with a candle to get through the system. Now they've put in useful things like electricity and steps. It's alot easier to navigate around but I bet it was more fun in those days.

After leaving the caves I headed south and hit the wineries. Most have open cellars and tastings. So in full 'Sideways' mode, I went to a few to check them out. It's all good fun pretending you know something about wine. I pretty much know nothing, but with a few choice phrases half remembered from old 'Food and Drink' shows I gave it a go.

Vasse Felix is the oldest of the wineries and is now a large concern. The driveway up to the sculptured lake and restaurant is impressive. Once inside you can sup on some very nice Chardonnay and some okay Cabarnet Merlot. I had a big temptation to pipe up with the line, "If any one orders f**king Merlot, I'm leaving!" But I managed to contain myself.

I pootled around some of the other wineries; (Laurence, Moss Brothers and Cullen's) just to get the full experience. I managed picked up a couple of decent bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon. With no room in the backpack looks like I'll have to drink them before my flight up to sunny Darwin on Monday. Chin Chin!

Back on the road

2007-07-16T13:48:00.000+01:00

I've left the city behind and I'm back on the road! With a stupidly cheap rental car, which has fancy things like power steering and a reverse that actually works.

I'm on a tour of the South West. The plan is to tour some of Margaret Rivers world famous wineries, go see where the Indian and Pacific ocean meet and climb an 80 meter tree. Woo and indeed Hoo!

A mention has to be made to the good folk at Pirates backpackers in Fremantle. It was Bastille day on Saturday so with a large French contingent we hosted a big party with lots of food, cheap Champagne and rousing renditions of "Aux Champs Elysees! ". Entente cordiale indeed!

Big things: Revelation Film Festival

2007-07-16T13:20:00.000+01:00

On Saturday I took myself along to the very interesting Revelation Film festival. It was celebrating 10 years from humble beginnings in a basement to now covering 4 different locations and programming over 100 films, shorts and documentaries.

I saw an excellent documentary called 'Big Dreamers'. It's about the north Queensland town of Tully, which in a bid to generate tourism to the town decided to erect a big wellington boot, paint in gold and stick a frog on the side of it. Why?. Tully is the wettest town in Australia, and they though a gumboot would be a worth while symbol to that fact. I've been to Tully once in 2000, and it was chucking it down, so I can certainly agree with that.

Director Camille Hardman has produced a really entertaining film, and over the course of an hour shows the ups and downs of the local people as they set about erecting this boot. It was opened in 2003 and stands 7.9 meters high. Every year there is now a gumboot festival in the town.

What I can't get is the obsession with all things big in this country. Various towns around Australia have put up large bananas, gallahs, koala bears and even a giant potato. What on earth for? By and large they look ugly and stupid. It's embarrassing. But then people come on coach trips to look at these things. Never underestimate the stupidity of the general public, especially if they're in 40 degree heat. Sometimes you look at humanity and gently weep.

Freemantle & Facebook

2007-07-12T09:08:00.000+01:00

I've now relocated from Perth to the sunny seaside in Freemantle. It's nice here, you can eat fish and chips by the dockside and do battle with very brave seagulls. There's some cool cafe's and pubs to hang out in and some interesting shops to browse. Also the cat in the place where I'm staying comes and sleeps on my lap.

Oh, and I've finally joined the online frippery which is Facebook. I had no idea what it was until I went travelling and now everyone seems to be jumping on this particular bandwagon. Enjoy.

Perth; What makes a decent city?

2007-07-10T10:36:00.000+01:00

Right, I've finally made it to WA. After the outback adventure, it's back into city life. Perth is the most isolated capital city in the world, but it seems to be coping just fine. The skyscrapers glimmer against the blue sky, people jog along the swan river and catch up with the gossip at a pavement side cafe.

WA has the highest economic growth and the lowest unemployment of all Australia, and the locals seemed pretty chuffed with their lot. From the vantage point of glorious Kings Park, overlooking the CBD, I started wondering what makes some cities better than others.

Any city can win me over, and be guaranteed my love and devotion for ever if it gets a few of the following right.
1) You've got to be able to walk around it (Berlin yes; LA, no!). You don't get any sense of a place sitting behind a wheel of a car in 4 lanes of traffic.
2) Have at least one bonkers architect run riot (Barcelona and Gaudi for example). Do not have uniform buildings or you'll end up looking like San Jose, or worse Coventry.
3) Make sure you have a decent city park. Perth is a good example, Kings Park has great views and interesting design. Vancouver's' Stanley park is also fantastic. Imagine London without Hyde Park or Hamstead Heath? I'd rather not. One exception to this rule is Paris. It has no decent central parks, but it has the Seine and 'Shakespeare & Co' so I'll let it off.
4) A good place to have a drink or three. The best way to get to know the locals is over a beer/bottle of wine. Seville is great for this, as is Bangkok. Try getting drunk in Denver? It's bloody hard, which is why it sucks.
5) Culture! Throw a festival and I'll buy a ticket. Edinburgh shrugs off it's stuffy image and goes mad in August, Austin TX is brilliant because of SXSW. Geneva on the other hand just has banks - boo!
6) Throw in a couple of good cafe's, second hand bookstores and record shops ( "Do you have anything that goes 'Beep la la, love, beep' I think it's on a white lable?") and I'm more smitten than a teenage crush.

It's that easy, go on cities of the world, what are you waiting for!

Alice Springs update

2007-07-07T06:42:00.000+01:00

Yup the blog is back! After a two week hiatus I've managed to find a computer in this little ol' town in the middle of the desert. So Here's some photo's taken along the road from Adelaide to Alice Springs in a 4x4 with a group of mad French, Dutch and Adelaidians.

We slept in Swags under the stars, eat horrible vegemite sandwiches, stopped at the pinkest roadhouse in the world and drank in the most remote pub in Australia. All that before joining the tourist crowds to look at the sunset over Uluru (Ayers Rock to any colonial types out there.) 'Props out' as they might say to Tomato Joe, Amanda, Marleen, Blandine, Julien 'good night everybody!' and David and Diane.

Talc Alf

2007-07-07T06:23:00.000+01:00

Remote places seem to attract some interesting people. Talc Alf is one of them. Born in Holland, Cornelius Johan Alferink found his way to Australia in 1960. he's had a varied an interesting career from outback explorer, geological surveyor and now doing the twice weekly post run from Lyndhurst.

What Talc Alf is famous for is his carved stone art, campaign for a Australian republic (with a new flag) and a truely bizarre take on the origins of the Alphabet. Talc's take on it is literal geographic.

Talc Alf produces printed sheets with the alphabet on them with ideas the B = women, because if you turn a B on it's side it looks like a pair of breasts....

He explained to me in front of his chalk board that the name 'Michael' means "life force of the mountain (M = mountain, Cha = life, el = of). And all along I thought I was an Archangel, and patron saint of underwear. Oh well....

Terry & Sharpy, the Iga Warta Experience

2007-07-07T05:25:00.000+01:00

"Ah, man this is really difficult to do" says Terry Coulthard as he places his cut finger on the fretboard of his guitar. The pain races through his nerves and a wince appears on his face. He battles on gamely though and finishes the song. A group of 8 of us are sitting around the campfire listening to Terry as he sings some of his people's stories. The pride is obvious in his voice as he relates the creation stories of his people.

We were at Iga Warta, a small community set up in the Northern Flinders Ranges of South Australia by the Adnyamathanha Aboriginal group. Enterprising brothers Cliff and Terry Coulthard have been inviting visitors on to their land to learn more about their local culture. It's a way of helping keep a threatened tradition alive and for them to make a living out of the land they were born into. Paul Kelly and Joel Edgerton are some of the celebrities who have visited this charming place. It was refreshing to see first hand a positive situation, in amongst a negative environment.

Aboriginal groups around Australia are in for a hard time at the moment. A damning report entitled 'little children are sacred' released last month paints a gloomy picture of Indigenous life in remote communities. Alcoholism is rife, job opportunities are scarce, life expectancy is low and child abuse is common. Prime Minister John Howard is using the report to 'get tough' on Aboriginal communities by withholding benefits and drafting in more police, just in time for elections later this year.

Iga Warta was in stark contrast to the portrait of a people beaten down by decades of displacement and loss of hope and meaning. Here was local people coming together to make something valuable from their land.

After a night sleeping around the campfire in our swags, another local, Sharpy took us out for a drive to the Ochre pits. He showed us the different colours of ochre and how, when mixed with water, they paint onto your skin. He told us of old ceremonies where boys would go out for years at a time in to the bush to be taught the laws of the group. They don't manage to do that these days as a vast open face coal mine has ripped through their sacred sites to provide low grade fuel for the Port Augusta power station.

We left the community with an insight into a different life and a song written by Terry's little cousin "Oh my Walla' which would be sung all the way to Uluru.

Meow, Meow! Adelaide Cabaret

2007-06-24T13:48:00.000+01:00

With the new hip burlesque shows doing the rounds of New York and London, Adelaide is also bringing back an ol fave in terms of Cabaret.

I went to see 'Meow Meow', who I think was English, spent must of the time draped around audience members and belted out a few french standards inbetween. The show was fun but there was a lot of padding (excuse the pun).

I did meet at my table a local headmaster Rudi, and his wife and brother in law. We all then went across to the festival late night club to watch a good jazz/swing combo called 'The Shuffle club' and danced around with an appreciative crowd. I stumbled home with sax ringing in my ears!

Adelaide update

2007-06-23T05:21:00.000+01:00

After feeling a bit in limbo in Noosa, I decided to jump on a plane and get to Adelaide. The easyjet effect seems to be racing around the planet, and JetStar which is an offshoot of Quantas got me there for a pretty good 50 quid.

This city has a reputation for being a bit dull compared to Sydney or Melbourne, but I think that's a little harsh. The centre is pretty and easy to get around, with trams and even a free bus. The locals appear pretty chipper and there seems to always have a festival going on (Currently it's a Cabaret fest).

I was in two minds wether to go straight to Perth, or stop here and take the train. So obviously I've not done either of those options and I've booked on a 4x4 expidition through the red centre. The thought of sharing a backpacker bus full of 18 year olds, made me shiver. But then I found a small company, Heading Bush, which looks pretty good, and we get to sleep under the stars in Swags. Hopefully it should be good fun and the trip will get back on to a good footing after this not so great week. We head out on Monday at oh-my-god o'clock. Nice.

Feeling down? Hug a Koala..

2007-06-21T04:26:00.000+01:00

What do you do when things aren't going your way? Do you reach for the biggest box of chocolates and the TV? Grab a bottle of scotch? Practice your rizla rolling skills? Well here's a different method to banish those blues, Go hug a marsupial.

After mocking the big signs advertising Australia Zoo in my last post, I actually decided to visit the place. With an enforced longer stay in Noosa, due to the implosion of the Long Drive CamperVan trip, I was looking for fun things to distract me. Playing around with wild/dangerous animals sounded like an ideal way.

Going to the zoo is a bit of a retro thing these days. Long gone are the times where the only place you'd be able to see wild or exotic animals was going down to your local zoological park. Now with the aid of Animal Planet TV, David Attenborough, and cheap flights to the places they film, why bother with the zoo when you can go to the real thing? And is it really ok to keep wild animals locked up for entertainment?

Also I was intrigued at the cult growing around the late Steve Irwin, self styled Crocodile Hunter. His style was the anti David Attenborough, who thought the best way to help conserve habitats was going in shouting "Crikey!" and wrestling the most dangerous animals there. Until his demise at the tail of a stingray last year, Steve Irwin had built a massive Zoo in his image (and there are literally hundreds of his pictures around the place), after taking over the management of the place from his parents.

Walking around the zoo even on a freezing cold winters day, you get the sense that it is a pretty well run operation. All the animals seem to have a big enough place to live and big fences are kept to an absolute minimum. The zoo prides itself on being interactive and so you can get up close to some of the more fun animals.

This is how I came to be holding a koala in both hands and trying desperately not to sneeze. It seemed content to sit on my arms and look about. The handler looked slightly concerned that I was going to drop the animal but I manage to keep a vague amount of composure before handed back the eucalyptus loving bear back. And I have to say it was great fun.

After that I went around and hugged/patted on the back/scared a few more creatures just for the hell of it. So the hit list included a red kangaroo, a wombat, a two month old calf, a goat and an Indian elephant by the unfortunate name of Bimbo. What I really wanted was to go and say hello to the two beautiful tigers they had, but apparently they'd rip my head off. As I'm quite fond of my head I thought best to not press the issue with the keeper.

The centre of the zoo is the bizarrely named 'Crocoseum'. A three thousand seat semi circle theatre where shows are held twice daily. The one I attended was called 'Wildlife Warriors'. It was a jarring mix of showing animals off, heavy handed environmentalism and badly performed comedy. Shivering against the wind the enthusiastic audience watched various birds, snakes and a grumpy crocodile called Norman (as in Bates, from the Hitchcock 'Pyscho' film). In between exhibits there were prerecorded pieces from the late Steve and his wife Terri. They were telling people how the had to become 'wildlife warriors' and to recycle their rubbish.

The slightly unnerving aspect to the zoo is that Steve Irwin is in most cases still spoken of in the present tense. The pair hosting the Crocoseum show said things like "lets see Steve's second enviro rule" and even said "Thanks Steve!" after the end of a pre-recorded clip. The tag line of the zoo is "The home of the Crocodile Hunter" like they were expecting him to burst through the door any moment with another "Crikey!" and tales of wrestling another unfortunate animal in the bush.

Only if you go to a darkened corner underneath the seating of the Crocoseum will you then find the tributes to Irwin. A length of tatty builders fence has been installed for fans to place pictures, notes and signed khaki shirts with tributes to the man. It was a interesting it was hidden away in a dank corner, easy to miss if you weren't looking for it.

The main thrust of the zoo seemed to be getting you into the merchandising store where a whole host of stuff was for sale. Tea towls, DVD's and action figures of Steve and Terri were all displayed. Also their children, Ben and Bindi seemed to be marketed just as much as Steve was. The store was flogging kids work out videos, magazines and even a whole children's clothing line based on them. It seems that old line of death being a good career move hasn't been wasted on the management of the zoo.

I left the store with a couple of postcards and a stuffed tiger, but my memory of the place will be the koala hug :-)

Noosa, Long Weekend Festival

2007-06-17T04:53:00.000+01:00

The high rises of the gold coast have now faded in to the rear view mirror, as I've landed in Noosa, playground of Brisbanites on the Sunshine Coast of Queensland. Driving up the motorway I passed huge signs for the ubiquitous Australia Zoo, brainchild of the late Steve Irwin. They've now renamed the road to the zoo "Steve Irwin Way". Crikey! I'm not sure if the stingray responsible for his untimely demise will get any roads bequeathed to it though..

Here in Noosa it's the start of a ten day arts, music and literature festival. They're some big names attending, including Clive James, who seems to be knocking out a book every year at the moment. There's also a bloke who's reinterpreted Herman Melvilles Moby Dick and the new Brenda Blethyn film Clubland showing.

In other news it looks like the cross outback trip is off for the moment. I'm currently looking into alternative ways of seeing the vast nothingness of Oz. One option is the iconic India-Pacific Railway. 3 days on a very big train!

An Australian Las Vegas

2007-06-15T07:31:00.000+01:00

The gold coast is every bit as tacky and commercial as you think it will be! With a stretch of swamp south of Brisbane to play with, developers have gone crazy wtih casinos, 5 theme parks and endless clubs and restaurants. All catering for the lowest common dollar.

They seem to be working well though as money floods into thisregion faster than any other. I'm currently at the southern end, picturesquely by the airport. The skyline is dominated by cranes with more high rises going up.

This is comepletely different to Byron Bay. And I've worked out that this is what Byron is the alternative of! Ah well, I might as well check out the tack as I'm here.

When in Rome....

An Alternative to what?

2007-06-13T05:04:00.000+01:00

Byron Bay used to be a big backpacker mecca as folk left Sydney and made the trek up the coast to Brisbane and the tropical north. Alternative shops sprang up to cater for this motley bunch and the most famous of these was The Arts factory, hidden from the village by a dusty track and the railway line.

In the 7 years since I was last here things have changed. It is not just the preserve of eurotrash and drop-outs. Smart new shopping precincts have been built, smart restaurants on the foreshore have opened up and the legendary Arts Factory has built a bloody day spa at the front of the lodge. The smart set have now come in with a lot of cash and the means to smarten up the place. The cafe down the road listed 15 different varieties when I asked for a cup of tea this morning. Expensive SUV's are as common as campervans on the streets of what now is quite a large town.

I took this up with Dave, our english mechanic who is having to fit a new clutch to the ever more problematic CamperVan. He took over the garage 6 months ago after living in a small village on the South Island of New Zealand for a few years.
"I'm probably one of the few people to move to Byron to drop back in" He cheerfully said as he looked at the engine with increasing concern.

Dropping back in seems to be an easy option from what was a drop-out community in the 80's and 90's. There are almost 300 businesses on the same trading estate as his work shop. All seem to be doing great guns. From cookie bakers to surf board manufacturers, all can make a living as the alternative gets sold back to the mainstream with a side order of carrot cake.

The old magic seems to have been diluted by the ongoing commercialisation of the town, but the tea I can report was lovely.

I bet this looks nice in the summer....

2007-06-07T07:45:00.000+01:00

So life on the open road has begun again. After two weeks of sliding back into city life, it's back on the road, except this time I'm driving. The last minute garage tune up to the van has been a life saver especially through today's storms along the east coast. New tyres have stopped us from aqua-planing on a couple of occasions when cross winds have hit.

The east coast of Australia is probably the most known to backpackers who travel here. There are many tour operators and bus companies ferrying people from Sydney through Brisbane up to Cairns. The joy of having a campervan, even one which has a sticky 1st gear and is almost impossible to get into reverse, is that you can go to places off the beaten track.

Seal Rocks is one such place. Lying on a headland about 100km south of Port Macquarie, it's a beautiful little fishing village at the edge of a national park. It boasts one shop, a caravan park and a 19th Century lighthouse. It also has an excellent point break for surfing. Unfortunately for us there was no swell so we couldn't test out the body boards we'd brought along. It's an excellent little find and not for the first time in the Australian winter I've caught myself saying " I bet this place is brilliant in the summer..."

Life in the van is an interesting learning experience. It takes time to get to know what you can and can't do with a vehicle which is almost 30 years old and has done nearly 267,000 kilometers. They'll be a fair few more before we get to Perth. Looking at the map it's almost impossible to comprehend how vast this country is. I think it's about the same as driving from Glasgow to Istanbul. But then I haven't done that journey either.....

Mike and Khaleen's long drive. T -1 day

2007-06-03T04:26:00.000+01:00

Are mechanics dodgy the world over? Why can't they give an honest answer posed by someone who knows nothing about engines (ie me) ? I was thinking this as some grease monkey at the corner auto centre was telling us some rubbish about what needed to be done to our campervan. On calling around other garages we knew what he was telling us was wrong and wanted more cash for it. Sensibly we managed to find reverse and drive away.

This week in Sydney myself and ol' Islington drinking buddy Khaleen spent most of our time talking to garages and spending cash in Auto shops, getting our 1978 Toyota Hiace camper van ready to roll across the Country. 1000's of kilometers are ahead of us so it's pretty important that stuff works! It's pretty much sorted now.

In between banging our heads against brick walls I've managed to hook up with some old friends. Chris and Helen moved out here a couple of years back. We met on Wednesday night for a fiercely contested pub quiz at the Kirribilli Hotel on the North Shore. Amazingly we came 2nd, or maybe 3rd. Anyway we won free drinks which was all that mattered!

The next night I managed to meet Serena and Brent who used to be in the much missed Dalston Mansions. It was good to catch up with their lives over a few beers. Good luck with the house hunting!

Anyhoo It's time to go shopping for more essentials for the Campervan; music. An 8gb Ipod is already full but i'm worrying it won't be enough. To the 10 dollar CD store!

Second chance Sydney

2007-05-30T03:26:00.000+01:00

"There's nowhere else like it" reads the blurb on tourist info for Sydney. Well this is my second time in Sydney and I'm going to give the copywriters the benefit of the doubt. This is one of the most hyped cities in the world. It's a "destination city". It looks fabulous in photos. When you get here you realise that Sydney is genuinely pleased with itself.

My experience of the city was a little different. Last time I was here in 2000, it rained constantly and the weather matched my mood. Trudging around the city wet through, even if it contains one of the most striking harbours in the world, gets tiresome after a while. Aussie's fabled good humour was somehow lost on the skyscrapers and busy double decker trains. In it's competitiveness to match the best cities of Europe and America, seemed to have taken on their bad points as well.

Well I'm here again and I have friends to look up and a Writers festival to check out. The beaches are inviting if the water is a little cold. It's time to see how good this place really is...

Such is life

2007-05-27T08:18:00.000+01:00

What is it with our love affair with outlaws? In Britain there's a long line of such 'folk hero's' such as Dick Turpin, Robin Hood, and even the "We love our mum, we do" pair of loveable sociopaths, the Kray Twins. In America there's a deep regard for Bonnie & Clyde the 1920's bank robbers, and the Wild West always conjours up Billy the Kid. All were deeply unpleasant nasty murderous villains. But gawd bless'em, they're looked upon with affection.

The same seems to apply here in Australia. The most (in)famous of Aussie outlaws is one Ned Kelly. Ned was the first person of European descent to be hung in Australia, at the Old Melbourne Gaol. There's a special place in the hearts of Australians for Ned. His life has been documented in many books, and the unlikely duo of Heath Ledger and Mick Jagger have both played him on screen.

What all these outlaws seem to have in common was a healthy disregard for authority. Ned was loved because he put two fingers up at the colonialists. He was by all accounts not exactly a lovable rogue. He started his criminal career at the tender age of 14 by assaulting a Chinese pig farmer by the interesting name of Ah Fook. A year later there was an incident where he sent a woman Kelly McCormack an 'indecent note that had calves' testicles enclosed'. What a charmer. The ensuing argument ended up with young Ned nicking a horse and getting put in prison for 3 months.

By the time of his execution on 11 November 1880, Ned and the rest of the Kelly Gang had notched up a good line in robbing banks and killing at least three policemen. In the final showdown with police, Ned and his gang held 70 people hostage and wore the now famous homemade armour. The armour thought Ned, was a good idea as he walked out to face the oncoming swathes of police. He failed to realise that as only his torso and head were shielded, he might still be a tinsy bit vulnerable. 28 shots to leg later, he was in custody and thrown in to Jail.

A showmen to the last, Ned got his photo taken whilst in prison and handed it out to family and friends. The celebrity con, long before Police, Camera, Action! was ever invented. His notoriety was such that a crowd of 4,000 had gathered outside the jail on the morning of his hanging. In the souvenir shop of the jail you can by little toy Ned Kelly's replete with mask. Let your children - reenact slaughter, terror and mayhem in the comfort of your own home!

Apparently his last words were "Such is life". Which for a career criminal is not bad when you think about it.

Where 100,000 come to watch England die, again

2007-05-24T01:38:00.001+01:00

Fun Fact: The Ashes are a joke, it's official. Go down to the bowels of the Melbourne Cricket Ground, in the museum and you'll find the evidence.

"In affectionate remembrance of English cricket which died at The Oval, 29th August, 1882. Deeply lamented by a large circle of sorrowing friends and acquaintances, RIP. NB The body will be cremated and the Ashes taken to Australia."

This mock obituary appeared in the Sporting Times penned by one Reg Brookes. It documented the first in the long line of humiliations at the hands of the baggy greens. It was only when Ivo Bligh led a group of English cricketers over to Oz later that year did a group of Melbourne ladies present him with the historic urn. Aussie's eh? They just can't leave it alone...

The MCG, is huge. I don't need Derry my avuncular guide to tell me that. The final improvements which cost nearly AUD 1 billion, have made the stadium a vast concrete cauldron of sport. Most english football grounds capacity can be held just in it's north stand alone. With a 100,000 capacity, it is mindbogglingly huge.

"When they were doing the improvements, the MCC thought about dedicating a section of the ground to the retiring Shane Warne" says Derry the guide.

" Really, what were they going to call it?"

"Oh that's easy, it was to be named 'The one night stand' " Honk!

Walking around the ground you do get a sense of how much Australians, and in particular Melburnians love their sport. The MCG holds cricket in the summer and Aussie Rules in the winter. It's always busy here. From the top tier of the stand you can look out over the park to the Rod Laver Arena where the Open Tennis is held. Just a few kilometers further south is Albert Park which stages the Grand Prix every year and now includes the shiny new Aquatic centre, built for the Commonwealth games.

These folk are sport crazy, and for a population of only 20 million, the sustained success they've managed to create is testament to their dedication. For a young country Sport is an obvious way to forge an identity. As the gleaming statue of Don Bradman attests, if you can beat England while you're at it, so much the better.

Melbourne, the best British city outside Britain?

2007-05-22T00:22:00.000+01:00

"Winter's only 10 days away folks!" the cheery perma-tanned newscaster said glibbly from Channel 7's studios.
Don't I know it. Leaden grey skies are forming ominously overhead as I walk from my friend Bernie's house to the tram stop in East St Kilda. I'm wearing layers for the first time in months and my sandals are consigned to the wardrobe. Welcome to off-peak Australia!

Why I chose to come to the best city in Australia just when it's getting cold and wet is beyond me. Last time I was here in 2000, it was the most enjoyable of the cities I visited 'Down Under'. Looking around the centre of town yesterday nothing I saw changed that view.

As I meandered through the central area, I felt immediately at home. The bustling cafe's, the vibrant art scene and even the self important parliament building reminded me of, well, Blighty!. And even more of London and Glasgow. Now if any Melburnians read this and start frothing at the mouth, hold on one second and lets go over a few similarities:

A huge newly renovated South Bank of the river arts complex - check!
Inviting pubs on most corners selling European beer - check!
A grid system with cool little alleyways and tiny covered malls to explore - Glasgow check!
Lot's of folk running from the rain in scarfs and hats - check!
An underground train system which loops around the city and you have no idea how to get anywhere - check!
Important overly caffineated people scurrying to work in Skyscrapers - check!
Cool people hanging out in designer bars in interesting neighbourhoods - check! (Just swap Camden town for St Kilda and Hoxton for Fitzroy).
An obsession with local football teams - check! (except it's aussie rules here, annoyingly the umpires don't dress in butchers overalls anymore).
A culturally significant boat just gone up in flames - ermmm......

See?, case closed. I've kind of avoided the fact that Melbourne also has some fine beaches, parks and seems a lot more laid back than the Big Smoke, but that's just nit picking....

Makeover!

2007-05-18T03:33:00.000+01:00

Well if it's good enough for Guardian Unlimited... As i'm in a new year of my life I thought i'd make some changes. So this blog looks a little different than of old. Hopefully it's easier to read and has a clearer layout. It will certainly still have all the top stories and shenanigans as I make my way haphazardly around the globe!.
Cheers M

Blazing Paddles

2007-05-17T04:45:00.000+01:00

May 16th comes around but once a year, and so does my birthday. 32 years young! Thanks to all who sent Birthday messages, they were most warmly recieved here on an isolated volcanic rock in the middle of the Pacific.

To celebrate Phil and I rented Sea Kayak's for the day and went paddling. Sounds tranquil doesn't it? A bit like a boat trip on the Serpentine perhaps? Well you'd be wrong. Our 8 mile trip of the west coast of the island took about 5 1/2 hours. Phil who's daily routine consists of going down the gym and then running up mountains with Kobe the dog, set the pace. I, who's daily routine is wondering which pastry to have with my cappucino, lagged some what behind.

The west coast is full of amazing little bays and coves and we headed south to KauHako Bay were we had swam with Dolphins the day after I arrived. No such luck with Dolphins today but we put our snorkelling gear on regardless, and managed to sea some lovely sea turtles instead. Also we met over lunch a Free Diver called Ted. He regularly dives down 120feet unaided and sits down at the bottom of the bay and plays with Dolphins. Ted can hold his breath for around 4 1/2 minutes under water. Pretty amazing stuff.

We paddled back up the coast and went to check out the Captain Cook Monument in Kealakekua Bay. Captain Cook was arguably the best marine explorer the world has ever known. He landed on these shores on the 10th January 1778. He was met by smiling Hawaiins who thought he was a god. Captain Cook who had been at sea for months escaping the caniballs of Fiji and Tahiti did nothing to quell that view. He stocked up on copius supplies before heading to the west coast of America. There is a white obelisk in his honour at the bay now.

The monument also notes his death a year later when on return from not finding the northwest passage he hit a violent storm off the coast of Hawaii and limped into harbour. The locals realising that Cook wasn't a god on a magical floating island, but instead a jumped up imperialist bagging land for good ol' Blighty, decided to turn ugly. A minor dispute over a stolen rowing boat ended up with Cook being clubbed over the head until his was dead. Really it pays not to piss off the locals, they're huge fellas, and they like a fight.

As we paddling back across the bay, past the burial tombs in the cliff face where important Hawaiian warriors are laid to rest Phil's phone rang. As it was safely in the wet bag on the back of his kayak, he turned around to grab it, and promptly capsized! A frenzy of grabbing insued as we sought to get all the gear back out of the ocean. We thought we had everything safely stored but when we landed and went back to the jeep, Phil's oakley shades were nowhere to be seen.

So if you happen to go swimming by the Captain Cook monument and you manage to find them on some passing Barracuda, Phil would be grateful for their return. Mahola.

I am the god of hell fire, and I bring you....

2007-05-15T03:26:00.000+01:00

After two hours of serious hiking Phil and I finally reached our goal. The rocks beneath our feet fizzed with heat. Orange streaks started to appear around us as the sun dipped it's head beneath the horizon. Steam plumes rose into the sky. Ominous cracking and hissing noises came from past the nearest boulder. We rounded the corner and saw the first fingers of Magma glowing from the jet black lava field. The temperature emitted was like putting your head into a potter's blast furnace. Slowly it seeped out of the rock, glowing irradescent against the darkening night. Helicopters were buzzing over head past the next ridge where lots of smoke was rising into the sky. This was the very edge of one of the most active volcanoes on earth.

Hawaii volcanoes national park is located on the south east flank of the big island. It's almost unique in the fact that you can drive completely around an active volcano, Kilauea. The rim of the crater is accesible from a circular road called helpfully, the Crater Rim Drive. Lively exhibits at the Jagger Museum situated half way along the road inform visitors of the history of the area.

In Hawaiian mythology Pele the goddess of the volcano fought bitterly with her older sister, Namakaokahai. The fight ended up forming the Hawaiian Islands. Starting in Kauai they fought all the way down the chain of islands until they reached the Big Island. Pele's fire stick created the volcanoes. She lived on Mauna Loa before Namakaokahai covered the crater with snow to quell her fire. Pele then moved to Kilauea Crater where she is meant to live to this very day. Girls eh?

Further around the Crater Rim Drive is the Thurston lava tube. Walking through lush rainforest you can explore a 500 year old lava tube. For geology fans, Lava tubes are when a tunnel is formed when the surface of a lava flow cools and solidifies while the still-molten interior flows through and drains away. Who says you don't learn anything from this blog? The first part of the tunnel is lit, but the fun section is through a small gate when you are plunged into total darkness as the tunnel carries on toward the ocean. It's not a good time for your head torch to pack up. Yikes!

But we were here to see magma. To access the lava field though you have to follow the Chain of Craters road down some 19 miles and 4000 feet below Kilauea. The road used to link up to the town of Pahoa but a massive lava flow in 1983 cut it off. Instead of highway you have a field of lava rock heading straight into the sea creating new land. The Big Island is still growing and this is place it does it.

At the end of the road are many warnings about how dangerous it is to hike out on the the lava field. These aren't idle threats either. Earlier that morning 14 acres of lava shelf had broken off and crashed into the ocean. The area was highly unstable. While hiking fissures and sharp lava rocks are waiting to catch you off guard to trip you up and cut your legs, hands and feet. Phil and I packed our backpacks with lots of water and torches and headed off.

The landscape is near to lunar as is possible on earth. If diving at night is the closest senasation to weightlessness without blasting off into the straosphere, hiking on a lava flow must be the equivelent of walking on the moon. Neil Armstrong might have bounced about but did he ever hike 4 1/2 miles on the newest land on the planet? I think not!. The rocks were jet black and alternated between smooth 'Aa Aa' lava and jagged Pahoehoe. All this meant we had a hard hike ahead of us. But we pressed on heading to see the lava flow from the Pu'u 'O'o vent. It is the most active on Kilauea and when the sun went down we saw why.

Heading back in the dark was also a great challenge. With no natural light apart from the glow of the magma we had to use torches to try and find our way back to safety. Beacons had guided the first part of our journey out, but had abruptly stopped a good two miles from the start of the magma. Trying to find our way back to the beacons in complete darkness was a heady experience. The rule became, don't tread on anything which isn't completely black, as the lighter rock was actually large holes 6 feet deep ready to swallow you up.

At one stage I shouted to Phil " What's that noise?"
He replied " Mike, I think that's the ocean!"
We had been disorientated by the gloom and had ended up only 50 feet from the edge of the lava shelf. The most dangerous point, in an already very dangerous place. We turned around and headed inland sharpish. Finally got back to the road long after dark to see more people just heading out. It was 9:30pm the hike takes a good 5 hour. They were completely mad!

The next day the front page of the local paper ran this story. So that's why the helicopters were buzzing overhead. Eek!

Gone Fishin'

2007-05-10T20:46:00.000+01:00

The coastal waters surrounding Hawaii, and in particular the Big Island, contain some of the best game fishing in the world. Expert anglers come from far and wide to take boats out and pit their wits against huge Marlin, Mahi Mahi, Ono, Tuna and for the really brave, Shark. The pier in Kailua Kona sports black and white photos of local fisherman who have caught Marlin in excess of 1000lbs in these shores. There are alot of photos on display.

With that in mind Phil, Kobe the dog & I rose at 4:30am to drive north up the coast to meet Phil's friend Sky, who was going to take us out for a morning's fishing in Kawaihae Bay. This was Sky's third boat and he'd had a lot of success in these waters.

Now first up I have to admit i'm not the world's greatest sailor. When you grow up in the furthest place in the UK from any sea, the options for marine fun are some what limited. Paddling a canoe down the River Leam and trying not to fall off my mountain bike into the Regents canal was close as it got in Warwickshire.

A brisk offshore wind should have alerted me to conditions out in the bay, but as I grasped the boat's wheel in one hand and my first beer of the day in the other, everything was right with the world. Sky hooked up four rods with brightly coloured lures in the shape of small squid. Phil had brought his homemade 'chummer'. It consisted of a plastic water bottle filled with sprats, bloodmeat and other ghastly things likely to attract passing fish to come check us out.

After a couple of trawls in the sheltered waters of the bay without sucess, Sky pointed the boat west and to a buoy 5 miles off the coast. We raced another boat out to this marker. Apparently this was a fine spot to find Ono (not the Japenese artist and band splitter, but a long slender fish). As we pulled up to the spot and threw the lures into the ocean a local fisherman was grapling with a Yellow finned Mahi Mahi. This was a good place.

Circling around the buoy nothing was tugging on our lines. At this point Kobe the dog started to feel unwell. Sheltering behind my back the young pup decided to drool over my trousers. This was not a well dog. The offshore winds and swell had made conditions for our little boat interesting. Well I say interesting, try combining the movement of waltzers at a fun fair with the smell of rotting bloodmeat, that kind of 'interesting'.

Consuming beer on a boat is all well and good, until you see it again as you projectile vomit over the side. The combination of our small boat rocking about and a sick puppy on my lap was not a pleasant one. I suddenly didn't feel too chipper. We still hadn't caught a single fish. This was not in the plan. Grasping on to the side of the boat I tried to fix my view on the shoreline and anything that was not rising and falling all the time. Kobe started whimpering and was too sick to even drink some water. I wasn't too far behind.

Still without a single bite, Sky took pity on us and directed the boat towards Mauna Lani and more sheltered waters. Phil's 'chummer' had not produced it's desired effect and the schools of fish we had hoped to attract were nowhere to be seen. Sky changed the lures but I had the feeling that this wasn't going to be our day. Sky then told me of the time that a 12 foot Tiger shark had swum up by the side of the boat to check him out. I suddenly was scouring the sea for dorsel fins.

A further hour pacing along the quieter waters of the coast still did not produce any fish. For one of the most rich fishing grounds in the world they certainly were awful shy. It's just luck of the draw I guess but my dreams of a Rick Stein type feast with the fresh fish we caught wasn't going to materialise. I was fully concentrating on not trying to vomit again. My trousers were now covered with dog drool.

After four hours we finally pulled in to harbour. I was glad to put my feet back on dry land. Not a single fish had come to say hello and I needed a good lie down. As Sky washed the salt water off the boat he cheerily asked if I would like to go out fishing again before I left for Australia.
"Mmmmm eerrrrr ughhhhh" was all I could rely....

Hiking in 'Lost' Country

2007-05-09T02:11:00.000+01:00

For those who follow the maddening TV series 'Lost', repleat with Polar bears, 'others' and fat Americans, will know that the show is shot on location in Hawaii. When the producers were scouting locations in the Pacific for a suitable island that could at once be heart stoppingly beautiful but at the same time mysterious and faintly unnerving, they chose here.

Other islands can boast bountiful reef, searing heat or just fun to get along with cannibals. Here in Hawaii the sheer scope of the environment is mind boggling. 9 out of the earths 10 ecosystems can be found on these islands. The only one they don't have is glacial artic tundra. I'm sure they're working on it.

Go on a drive around the island and you see some dramatic changes in the environment in a very short space of time. On the Kona coast it is rocky lava flow created from the three volcanoes that dominate the sky and shoreline. only a few miles further to the north past the small town of Hawi the wind picks up and scenery changes to lush green. The north end of the island gets a lot more rain than the west coast and it shows in the lush lawns flanking the houses and thick vegitation which looks like second growth rainforest.

With my gracious host Phil and companion Kobe the dog, we hiked down a steep valley to Black Sands beach. Not suprisingly when you get to said beach it's volcanic black sand which greets you. The waves come crashing in and there's a heavy rip tide to catch anyone foolishly enticed in the water for a swim.

Climbing up the other side you get great views of the sheer cliffs which drop 200 feet straight into the raging swell. The waters between the Big Island and Maui are meant to be some of the most difficult in the world with 20 knot currents ripping through the channel. Hapless day sailors are routinely having to be saved from the channel. Not exactly 'Howards Way' here.

After getting a good soaking in a tropical shower, we drove inland and the scenery changed again, to bare moorland and mountain. It's a bit like the Black Mountains in South Wales. Minus the sheep. Wind and rain lashed in to our opensided Jeep as we made our way into the town of Waimea. The moorland fades away into Pasture where many head of cattle are ranched. It's suddenly deep cowboy country.

Stopping off in a bar, panelled with local Koa wood, pictures of herdsmen adorn the walls. The sofa in the hallway is covered with cowhide. It's like Arizona has just been dumped in the middle of the Pacific. I half expected John Wayne (real name Shirley, kids) to walk in wanting to round up a posse to rid the town of some troublesome ne'er do well. At the bar wasn't a local cowhand but a fisherman who regailed us with stories of fishing in a kayak and getting chased by a Tiger Shark.

"I was in a twelve foot kayak, and the shark was about 15 foot" He said grinning over a beer.
"It followed me for a good 45 seconds, I wondered if it liked the taste of plastic or if it wanted me as a meal" He started chuckling.
I started checking to see if he still had all his limbs intact.
"He gave up after a while. You gotta be careful in these waters man. Cos there's stuff in there that wants to eat you"

Gulp! I go fishing tomorrow....

Make a difference, plant a tree!

2007-05-06T22:51:00.000+01:00

'Volunteering is the new travel'. This was the message that I got told countless times when I went to the Adventure Travel show in Earls Court at the start of the year. There are many different options for the traveller who wants to show they, y'know, Care. From teaching English in the Sudan, mapping reef in Indonesia to studying turtle hatches on the coast of Costa Rica, there are many schemes being offered.

It seems you can't go travelling these days unless you're willing to get stuck in. But what if you don't have three months to spare to live in a jungle shack? Well here in Hawaii an Forestry organisation cannily called TREE, needed volunteers to go plant 150 trees in celebration of Earth day.

So that's how I found myself fighting off a hangover clambering up a volcanic mountainside in O'oma State Forest, to help plant some Koa trees. About 20 volunteers had turned out early on Saturday morning to help out. We were there to help "reblance the ecosystem" our genial horticulturist Jill Wagner informed us. Koa Trees are native to Hawaii and are fast growing. about 7 - 10 feet in just a couple of years. They were needed to help this section of the forest grow more native species.

Before we could get started though we had a minutes silence 'for the forest' and then Jill read a short poem. Tree Huggers, bless 'em. Once we were in the forest, pick axe at the ready the planting began. I was expecting a jolly little time making easy holes for the trees to go in. What I hadn't realised that this forest is on the slopes of a bloody big Volcano. That means trees needed to find their roots through the volcanic rock. Soon I had a sweat on. This save the planet is harder than it looks! I finally got my first tree in. For some reason I decided to call her "Christine". I hope she has a happy and fruitful life. And the wild goats don't eat her.

We planted 100 Koa trees at 20 foot intervals throughout the forest. We also planted 50 other rare or endangered species to boot. After two hours the group had finished planting. It was a fun thing to do, knowing that long after I've left these islands a product of my visit will still be here (apart from my bar bill).

A musical interlude

2007-05-06T21:46:00.000+01:00

"All Reggae is vile" Morrisey once phlegmatically said.
Well he obviously hasn't spent much time living on pacific islands. If the Salford lad had, he would have had to change his mind, or more likely, move to somewhere more depressing. Like LA.

Spend any time on the islands in the Carribean and the Pacific and you'll hear Reggae blasting out from a shack or beachfront bar. It's the soundtrack to many islanders lives. Burning Spear or more likely Bob Marley are very popular. Here on the Big Island of Hawaii, Reggae is the main music being played on the Radio. Either Roots or a Hawaiian version called Jahwaiian.

I was thinking about this while watching a Roots band called Bamboo Station, who hail from the British Virgin Islands. An enthusiastic crowd was at the Mixx bar in Kona to see a pretty straight up and down interpretation of Reggae. It went down well with the predominently white crowd, mostly dressed in hip-hop or surf threads, with a smattering of Rasta's from the local record shop Conscious Riddims.

So what's the appeal? How has local music been pushed out of the spotlight? I've been in Hawaii for 4 days and I've yet to here Polynesian tunes except for a tinny version of the hula coming from a wind up lamp in a tourist shop. It was the same in Belize and Honduras. Local music Garifuna, takes second place to Reggae. White guitar rock might be the predominant force in Europe, but blokes moaning that their girlfriend has just dumped then in Staines has limited appeal when the view is of clear blue seas and coral.

Reggae certainly fits with the more laid back vibe of living on an island in the middle of nowhere. Not that many people have the energy or inclination to go mental to House or trance when it's 35 degrees celcius outside. Unless you're British and it's full moon in Thailand. Reggae is an easy music to superficially listen to whilst sipping on a strawberry daquiri at sunset. "One love" is a simple mantra to follow. Even though the lyrics of many songs are often as brutal and unforgiving as any country or rap tune, heavy bass and keyboards can mask the rough. Is the artists message getting through?

As I asked one girl as I left the Bamboo Station gig. So did you like the music?
"Yeah I had a great time, didn't understand any of it, though"

Go slow: You better Belize it!

2007-05-01T00:04:00.000+01:00

Walk off the water taxi at the Front Dock of Caye Caulker and there is a motto imprinted into the floor. "Go slow" It lazily states. Well I thought I'd take up the challenge. After a hectic 29 days with the good ship Amber and the Dragoman crew (big up Team Extreme!). It's time to turn down the volume and relax for a while.

This island off the coast of Belize lies close to one of the most vibrant coral reef in the world. It's home to 100's of species of tropical fish, reef sharks, turtles, sting rays, crocodiles and barracuda. Boats ferry eager divers and snorkellers everyday out to play with the abundent sealife.

On my second evening here, a group of local kids excitedly ran passed me going "shark, shark!" I followed them down to the dock where a very proud fisherman had just landed a 3 meter long Hammerhead shark. He explained to a capitavated audience how he had caught the magnificent beast two miles off the reef. After posing for photos the fisherman went to work with his machete. When the belly was cut open the muscles of the fish were still twitching in response.

There are no cars in this small 4 mile island. Eveyone either scoots along on one gear bikes with no brakes, or uses golf buggies to take their shopping home. These are particularly dangerous when trying to walk home from the pub, as they make no noise and can appear from anywhere!

Mostly though people have the time to chat and hang out. The local population take pride in the fact that nothing is rushed. Even the policemen look like genial uncles rather than brute enforcers of the law. Sitting in a hammock could be the national sport of these islands. I bought a beer from the store earlier and a random local guy cheerily came over and opened it for me in the middle of the street before ambling off down the street. Top man!

Blood and Sacrifice, A Mayan Ritual

2007-04-20T23:37:00.000+01:00

WARNING. The following article describes in detail the ritual killing and sacrifice of animals. If you are at all sqeamish you might not like what's coming up...

Rituals are a big part of most religions. In Communion, Mass and Buddhist chanting, there are set practices to follow and rules to obey. The same applies for the Maya. My big book of facts says that their religion is animist - syncreatism. I bet you're none the wiser. Neither was I until I found myself on top of a hill outside the city of Chichicastenango, Guatamala watching a chicken get it's head cut off.

The Maya believe in heaven and hell. They believe in God and the Devil. In Maya religion there are nine steps to hell, and thirteen to get to heaven. Rituals are performed not just by priests but by anyone wishing to make their peace with the Spirits.

On top of the hill over looking a bustling market town I observed part of a two hour ritual. There were three Mayan men taking part, there to appease evil spirits. A small alter is made from clay and incense and flower petals are placed on the ground. next to the alter is a circle of candles of varying colours. The main man also has a large incense burner attched to a piece of rope.

From what I could gather the process is this. Once everything is laid out the chanting begins. The main man will keep chanting for the next two hours. The chants are conversations with god, and also conversations with the devil. Incense gets swung back and forth. The candles are lit and burn strongly in the midday sun.

The chanting continues and then after candles are all lit charcoal is added to them to create a fire. Then the chicken appears. This is the sacrifice to their God.

The chicken seemed blissfully unaware of it's fate. It happily clucked and looked around as it was being brought to the alter. The other two men kneel before the alter and are blessed with the chicken by it being placed on their heads by the main man. A knife then appears, and everyone goes quiet. The chicken is placed on the ground next to the fire.

The blade does not cut cleanly through the chicken's neck. The main man has to cut four or five times to severe the head from the body. The head is tossed into the fire as the blood pours out of the chicken on to the ground. The chicken is certainly not docile now. In the throws of death it spasms wildly. The main main has difficulty holding the chicken over the fire. Blood splatters on to his yellow shirt and on his forearm. The flames lick around the feathers of the headless bird as the struggle continues. The other two men look on.

After a couple of minutes the struggling lessens as the flames grow higher around the bird. When certain the bird is dead, the body is thrown into the center of the fire. The air is acrid with the taste of burning feathers and incense. The fire engulfs the carcass. Black smoke billows out across the hill. The process from start to finish takes about 5 minutes. I hope the Gods were appeased.

Then the chanting continues. It is still audible as I walk away back down the hill, with my head buzzing with images of life and death.

Guns don't kill people, rappers and central american juntas do...

2007-04-20T22:40:00.000+01:00

"So where are you heading next?" The suntanned American asks over the side of the bar.
"El Salvador" I reply cheerily while chugging on my beer.
"That's a dangerous place, son" His expression turns a light shade of concern.
"The war is over, I'm sure It'll be fine" I say with fake bravado.
"Hell, I'm a retired Chigago cop, and you'd never catch me there. Too many guns son, and too many wars". He turns his attention back to his Coke. I start to worry that I'm about to cross the border into the gates of haedes.

What actually awaits you on arrival, is not Dante's inferno but the very pretty and laid back town of Suchitoto. Artists hang out in cafes swapping jokes over cafe con leche. A lovely church, painted in brilliant white, dominates the southern side of the neat main square. Kids run around having finished a Sunday afternoon's football game. Some are decked out in Arsenal shirts.

Reminders of the 13 year civil war are easy to find though. Next to the chilled out cafes hang out the police. They are armed with side by side pump action shotguns and kevlar vests. The bank is guarded by a very stern looking pair of men both with an array of guns atached to their belts. Security is a big issue. In a population of 6.2 million, there are 1 million guns on the black market. There are street signs everywhere showing a hand gun with a red line through it. There are murals on the sides of buildings dedicated to the FMLN fighters who used the town as a stronghold before being overrun by the Army.

Apart from Costa Rica, every country in Central American has been affected by Civil War. In El Salvador over 300,000 fled to escape the conflict. Many are now in Calafornia and Texas. Guatamala'ps civil war lasted 36 years, killed 200,000 people and displaced over a million citizens.

Dry facts are one thing but Miguel's story brings the civil war history some immediacy. In 1978 Miguel was captured by URNG fighters in Guatamala and taken into the mountains.
"I was kept there for 19 months". He was 17.

He was trained to shoot on sight any Army soldiers, often men from the same Mayan tribe. In that time he was given missions to hijack trucks for supplies.

"I was given a shopping list of say 100lbs of corn, 100lbs of rice and that was my mission, I could not fail. If I came back without the supplies I would be shot".

His family didn't know what had happened to him. If the army finds out a gorilla fighter is hiding in a village they will toture the locals to find out. A favoured method was to bury people alive up to their necks until they talked. As Miguel's family didn't know what had happened to him, they presumed him dead and held a funeral in the main street of the village.

Finally Miguel was set free and was smuggled back to his village in the dead of night, to his suprised and delighted family.
"Even then, I had to go to the mayor with a made up story as cover for me being away fighting. I said I was trying to get to the US and got thrown in jail in Mexico for being an illegal".

The after effects of conflicts still rumble on. The poverty of some of the towns is all too apparent. Earthquakes and tornados wreck havoc and hold back recovery. But at least the countries are enjoying relative peace. Except for all those guns, son.

I am King Smoke Monkey

2007-04-14T20:16:00.000+01:00

Here's a quick blast of History. The Maya world ad250 - 900 covered a large part of Central America. From Southern Mexico, Belize, Guatamala to here in Honduras. The Copan Ruinas is one of the best preserved and largest Mayan sites still surviving. And it's bloody ace.

Think back to Harrison Ford in the Indiana Jones flicks, or 'Mysterious Cities of Gold', it's just like that. Temples strech into the blue sky from a large flat grassy central plaza. Trees have burrowed through the side of the buildings and give the stone figureheads tails in the form of twisted roots.

The Maya people are the most interesting aspect about the place. There are about 4 million decendents of the original tribes living today in Central America. Back when Copan was a bustling town there was only 27,000. If you lived then you definately wanted to be part of the elite. 1,500 royalty, nobles, warriors and priests ran the place and got all the perks. From the freshest crocodile and chocolate, which was belived to be an afrodisiac, to their own swanky part of town overloooking the central square. The poor had to make do with shacks up on the hill. Much as they do today.

The best gig in Copan town was to be the king. Firstly you get to have a really cool name. King Smoke Monkey was my favourite. There was also a King 18 Rabbit. Not only do you get to have lots of statues built in your honour but you got to have 18 wifes to boot. Being a just king the wifes worked on a rotation system so if you got bored of one, you only had to wait twenty days to move on to the next. Apparently it was to keep in sinc with the lunar calender but I believe the bloke just didn't want to get nagged at for too long.

There's only one downside to this and that's the Mayan version of beauty. A long nose was considered very attractive as was a high forehead. More worringly women being cross eyed was a sign of virility. Then to cap it off they put pieces of Jade in their teeth. Hmm don't fancy yours much......

We all live in a Yellow Submarine

2007-04-11T23:30:00.000+01:00

Roatan, Bay Islands, Honduras:

Karl Stanley has a hobby. He likes to build stuff in his shed. Being a dab hand with a welding torch and knowing a way around a motor helps him in creating rather unique machines. Unlike most tinkerers who play with old Ford cortinas or motorbikes, Karl builds submarines. Then takes people like me down to the bottom of the carribean sea in them.

His latest creation is 'Idabel'. It cost 250,000 dollars to make, by bashing bits of metal together, and I am her 420th dive. And guess what? The guy has painted the damn thing yellow. Why the hell am I going 1000ft into the ocean in what is basically a water version of a kit car based on a cheesy Beatles Song?? I think the heat is getting to me.

Myself and Dragoman's SpannerMonkey Aussie Mike, bravely squeeze into the viewing chamber at the front of the sub. It's 'comfortable' enough for two but can sit three if you're small enough and don't go over the weight restrictions. Worringly there doesn't seem that many dials or switches. There's a guage to tell you how deep you are and a themometer. Karl stands up in a seperate area at the back and drives the thing. Probably using string. Weight distribution is done by sandbags thrown on the floor. Hmm..

On the way out to the Caymen Shelf, a vast ridge stretching down 25,000 feet, we pass Karl's first creation built when he was a teenager. It has now been layed to rest and is a playground for parrot fish and is starting to grow coral. I hope that isn't a bad sign.

Once we start to dive, things get interesting. We plummet down to 1000ft, in about 15 minutes. It gets dark. The rock starts to turn black. You can go down into the abyss and play with weird monsters at 2000ft ( for a lot more dollars) but I think this is enough. Scenes from 'Das Boot' flash before my eyes. Aussie Mike starts to get motion sickness. Our tiny fan isn't keeping us very cool. We start to sweat. Alot.

After the submarine levels out, we start to relax and enjoy ourselves. Karl turns on the head lights (they look suspicuosly like ones from an old mini) and gets out a lazer pointer and points out different types of coral, fish and weird urchins. We see tiny lobsters, butterfly fish in resplendent purple, blue blackjacks, delicate starfish crabs and dancing orange roughy's.

The sub manouvers on a sixpence and we spin in and out of the shelf wall. We pass the spot where a man who's girlfriend had split up with him took one final deep dive into the sea. He kept going until he passed out. We see the remains of his scuba gear next to some black coral.

Near to the end of our 90 minute trip we reach a whole bank of coral teaming with life. shoals of fish dance around the limestone rocks, and every colour imaginable comes into view. All worries of disaster have now left our minds and we concentrate on the amazing display. This is such a rich habitat for marine life, I'm priveledged to see it before the joys of global warming heat the water to an extent that the coral will start to die. It is an animal after all.

When we get back to base. we grin from ear to ear and the absurdity of it all. The machine worked, we saw a whole different world and most importantly we came back alive. I am now a submariner folks. All together now...Dive! Dive! Dive!

Fiestas and TVs

2007-04-07T21:18:00.000+01:00

How do you celebrate Easter? If you are Christian it is the most important week in the religous year. Starting with Palm Sunday and ending with resurection, it is the underpining of your faith. Everything about that religion is encompassed in Holy Week. The passion, the sacrifice and the eventual rebirth.

And the giving of lots of chocolate eggs, by oversize bunnies. How did that bit not get into the gospels? Surely someone would have noticed?

Here in Granada, they celebrate by having a huge fiesta down by the lake, the biggest in Central America. There is lots of sun, food and music. The whole family sets up for the day under a shady tree, eating fried papaya and rice from a banana leaf.

A big part of the fun is the acting out of the Easter story. This is done by three actors who dress up and a bloke hitting a drum. The first player is wearing a 10 foot dress and dances around a bit. Then the second player who is about 3 foot, dressed in what looks like a matadors costume then dances some more. Then the finale. A 6 foot 6 Transvestite who looks like a prop forward, dances around and then pounces on the nearest unsuspecting onlooker (oooh say,... me) . And grinds your head into her/his chest for the amusement of the locals. This is the true message of Holy Week!

Happy Easter one and all. I am off to find some chocolate.

I love ecotourism

2007-04-03T17:41:00.000+01:00

Arenal, Costa Rica. I'm typing this just a few miles from the base of one of the most active volcano's in the world. The last time it erupted, the force of the blast wiped out three villages. I'd like to describe it's perfect conical shape and glowing lava fields, but I can't because the damn thing is covered in cloud. Grrr.

The Hot Springs near by are brilliant though. 20 odd pools of differant temperatures, carved into the hillside. The hottest is 67 degrees celcius. Imagine going for a swim inside a kettle. That Hot. They also had a bar which is nice.

For those culture vultures amongst you I attended a football match in San Jose. Saprissa the local team played a near rival. In a dual to the death of play acting and fancy footwork it was a close contest. The game ended nil nil but I ca report the half time pies were excellent.

Do you know the way..?

2007-04-01T19:07:00.000+01:00

...to, yup you're ahead of me.. San Jose. Greetings from the capital city of Costa Rica. It looks like a gone to seed Coventry. Hmm that good. We've just come from a national park where we got to hang out with howler monkey's sloths and boa constrictors.

Here's also a photo of me with a Fairfax C -123 in Manuel Antonio, one of a few planes brought with dodgy American cash to fund the fight in Nicaragua. It's now inside a bar by the way. Good cocktails!

Beach Life, an Overland tour begins

2007-03-28T23:55:00.000+01:00

Playa Santa Clara, is a wide expanse of sand over 2 miles long, dotted with beach huts, wooden shelters and bars selling beer at 80 cents a pop. Only a few people are around and after dusk our group are the only folk around, apart from some inquisitive dogs.

So thus starts a month on the road on a big truck and 13 other ´travellers´. You can´t say tourist. oh dear no. and apparently we´re responsible travellers to boot. What exactly is an irresponsible one? Oh yeah, Lisbon last year springs to mind...

Anyhoo everyone seems cool and relaxed. We´ve a wide age range 24 - 55 and split 50-50 boys and girls. Everyone has to pitch in and cook, clean and generally help out. I have the glam task of loading and unloading the bags every day. I might get fit yet.

We also checked out the Miraflores locks on the Panama canal. If you want to take a cruise ship through, make sure you have 250,000 dollars in your sky rocket. Next stop is over the border into Costa Rica. Hopefully by then i´ll have worked out how to upload photos. Ha!

You know what is in this year?.. Hats!

2007-03-26T19:46:00.000+01:00

Flying in over Panama, you get a great view of the single most famous thing about this country. The Canal is the only waterway between the Atlantic and the Pacific. Container ships queue up in the harbour to wait their turn, thus cutting out a nasty trip all the way south to the tip of Argentina. Think of the Manchester ship canal writ large. The dangers though in building it were Dengue Fever and bandits instead of Scallies and Boddingtons.

Because of the canal, there is a lot of money floating around Panama. Sleek tower blocks rise into the sky. German 4x4s cruise down Avenue Central, the main drag through the city. The Yanks used to have a big army base on the edge of town.

Now the base has been converted into one of the biggest shopping centres in Central America. GIs have been replaced with Sports stores. Kit centres are now shops selling the ubiquitous Panama hats. Military imperialism seems to have been replaced by a cultural one. There is a big multiplex in the mall, where you can see the latest Ben Stiller effort for 4 dollars. And it is an effort by the way...

I head out of the city tomorrow, heading north and camping on a beach. Time to get the feet dirty.....

Ultra music Festival

2007-03-24T20:23:00.000Z

Festivals in the city. There's something not right about saying that. Surely they should be in the middle of rolling hills with views of cattle and annoyed farmers. Well what with Download last year in Hyde Park and T in the Park in Glasgow, city festivals are all the rage.

Miami is having a stab at it too. The Ultra Festival is over two days this weekend. Primarily Dance orientated to tie in with the Winter Music Conference, it gives a good go at packing a lot in. They managed to hire in the stilt walkers, but annoyingly I didn't see one juggler. Still some stuff to learn, these Yanks..

Last night I managed to see, in no particular order; Miss Kitten, Deep Dish, Princess Superstar, Tiesto, Tommy Sunshine, Shiny Toy Guns and, er, The Cure. With no album to promote Robert "bob" Smith and chums played as close to a greatest hits set as possible. everything from 'Friday i'm in love', 'Let's got to bed', 'Lullaby', 'A Forest' to the double encore of 'Close to me' and 'Boys don't cry'.

Everything was upbeat and the rain of earlier in the day gave way to a lovely sunset over the causeway. It isn't Glastonbury but after a few vodka's most punters there didn't seem to mind...

Are you dancin..? Miami Winter Music Conference

2007-03-21T20:12:00.000Z

There's a saying in Shoreditch that you're only ever 10 feet away from a DJ. Here in South Beach it's actually about 5. Everywhere you turn there's somebody with a box of vinyl under their arm. The dress code is oversized jeans and stupidly trimed beards.

This is the Winter Music Conference, an annual back slapping convention for socially awkward men to look important whilst playing other people's records. Lot's of parties and club nights are happening throught the city. All culminating in the Ultra Dance Festival on Friday and Saturday. Headlined by the Cure. Huh?

Everyone in this town is a DJ. Talking to a friendly postman when buying a bagel this morning; "Oh sure, this is the day job, but at night I like to drop some tunes" Dear god. Can't get to the bar? That's because Pete Tong is in front of you. Waiting in the queue at the post office, John Digweed is sticking stamps on some postcards. Fat Boy Slim is looking for more loud shirts in a clothes shop. They're everywhere, like a post rave virus.

Other than that, South Beach is lovely. Lots of Pastel shaded Art Deco Hotels, hundreds of cafe's restaurants and bars. The beach is long and wide patrolled by hyperactive Life guards. Go in to the ocean above your waist and their horns start going and the frantic waving starts. I'm not sure why, It must be their exercise program....

On Leaving..part 2

2007-03-18T22:43:00.000Z

The only way that a sane person in the modern world can recover from 14 hours of drinking... is to go down the pub. Well, if it's good enough for Freddie "pedalo" Flintoff, then i'm there.

The Comedy Cafe in Shoreditch was the venue for my friend and, "internet worker" Pete's 35th birthday. Here's a tip, never mention the 'net to a stand up, the conversation will only go one way.

Here's some photos;

So I fly tomorrow. I'm almost prepared. If prepared means turning up at the airport with the contents of your life in various plastic carrier bags. Well at least the security search will be straight forward. Hup!

On Leaving..

2007-03-17T16:15:00.000Z

Thanks to everyone who came out on my leaving do. I can't believe i'm still alive after 14 hours of drinking.

MD Nick gave a nice speech and then it was off to the pub. Or several pubs as it turned out. We'll quickly skip England's woeful display in the World Cup Cricket. It was a day of celebration! Herschelle Gibbs hit 6 sixes in an over in my honour! And I've never been to South Africa. Though my friend TimTim say's it lovely.

It all ended up at Ian/Pootle/Prolix's Friday residency at The Eagle, Hoxton. Lots of dancing and merriment all round. Photos of the night can be found here. But here's a taster...

T - 7 Days

2007-03-12T21:01:00.000Z

So one week till I leave London. Miami beckons but I'm too busy on hold to call centres to give it much thought. Try cancelling anything from phones to DVD rentals and it's a maze of push button technology. It's made all the more fun remembering to tell the 'friendly' representitive your three unique passwords. Except you can't remember because you set them all when already half way through a bottle of red.

In the midst of this whirl I managed to see the family back at the Warwickshire homestead. We're all spread far and wide across this land now, so it was a unique occassion to have everyone sitting around together at a restaurant table.

What wasn't such a top idea was sitting down with the folks that evening in front of the telly to watch this guy. Bear (who on earth is ever called Bear?) is a combination of Ray Mears and SportBilly on tartrazine. A complete nutter who parachutes into jungles with only a penknife and flask of luke warm tea for company. That probably won't assuage their fears that I'm off to Costa Rica to wrestle Jaguars and spit out venom from poisonous snakes...

BTW: I meant to put this link up last week, but better late than never. My friend Lee is running the London Marathon this year for the very worthy Macmillan Cancer Support. If you have a spare fiver you could do a lot worse than give here. Cheers.

Seek professional help

2007-03-01T22:45:00.000Z

"Who am I..? You know who I am - I'm your worst fucking nightmare!"

The whole class takes a collective intake of breath. The eyes of Matt, our tutor, have just doubled in size. It's possible to see the veins in his neck pressing against the skin. He's just told us how not to pitch to a commissioning editor. I believe him. We're all just a bit afraid.

How did that happen? It's the first day of a weekend course for budding travel writers. Twelve of us have given up a precious weekend to sit in a classroom at King's College, by the South Bank of the Thames. Surely this should be about describing gin-clear lakes, majestic mountains, breathtaking vistas and the ubiquitous land of contrasts? (Btw: that's the only time in this blog you'll read those cliches, honest). Instead we're being shouted at by an Andrew Lincoln look-a-like with anger management issues.

I'm here seeking professional help. I want to write about more than just 7 car pile-ups on the M25. So the purpose of the weekend is to try and gain the wisdom of three experienced writers. Between them they have written for most of the newspaper and magazine travel sections you've idly browsed through on a Sunday morning. Their life seems impossibly glamorous. Another one of our tutors, Ian, has just flown in from the Arctic Circle after observing the Northern Lights from a deserted mountain. Sophie our third sage, casually recounts tales of meeting heart-stopping Frenchmen while Camel Riding through Rajasthan.

Over the course of our two days, we cover everything to do with travel writing. From how to spot a good idea, researching a story, pitching to editors (hopefully less scary than Matt), to proper interview technique and how to avoid being sued. The vibe is fun and relaxed. Everyone has an anecdote to share or a pertinent question to ask. After both days we decamp to a near-by pub for a well earned pint or three.

Through a number of practical sessions I meet a few of my fellow class mates. It's pretty inspiring stuff, and everyone wants something different from the weekend. There's Aussie Mike who's setting off on a mammoth tour of Europe with his trusty dog, Bondi. He's here to get tips for his excellent blog
Catherine is about to set off on a one woman tour of the Trans Siberian Express and is fitting this course in whilst also learning Chinese. Laid back surfer Gary wants to document his trips to the reef. Jane wants to break out of profiling inane celebs for women's mags, into weighty double page travel features for broadsheets.

So what did I get out of the course? Well apart from being on permanent cliche-alert, and avoiding overblown adjectives, I've discovered it is possible to turn your travels into engaging stories. Hopefully that will show through in this blog. Also If I can conquer my new found fear of commissioning eds, maybe a story or two will appear in your next Sunday paper.

PS. Matt Potter is actually a lovely bloke, who buys you drinks down the pub. This entry is a direct steal from his template of how to use a strong quote as an intro... cheers Matt.

For more info on this course click here.

Where to guv?

2007-02-26T10:43:00.000Z

I'm getting rained on, hard, trying to cross the Strand on a busy February morning. A taxi beeps loudly as my foot steps off the curb. It's one of those days where everyone looks like they've got out of the wrong side of the bed. 7 million londoners wishing they were somewhere else.

"The first day of any tour is just pissing about"
Andy my genial , pin-strip suited travel consultant isn't pissing about. We're working out the best way to get into Panama City, and he's just a whirl of airport codes and routing info. New airlines I didn't know existed until five minutes ago are now imprinted on my mind. Not sure this could all be done on Expedia...

Well the route is pretty much nailed down now. What started out as a visit to some far flung friends now reads like this;

London - Miami - Panama - Costa Rica - Nicaragua - Honduras - El Salvador - Guatamala - Belize - LA - Hawaii - Australia - Bali - Lombok - Hong Kong - London

I leave on the 19th of March. We are go for launch.

Welcome to No More Jam

2007-02-21T23:25:00.000Z

Hi,

After almost five years of working as a UK travel news journalist, it's time to dust off the backpack and go see more of the world. I've reported on far too many traffic jams, delayed trains and cancelled flights.

If you've heard, read or seen my work it's probably brought a downer to your day. You're going to be late for work, miss the start of the game or not make that movie. Being a harbinger of doom is not always fun. When you find yourself only waiting for the next travel catastrophe, it's time for a change.

Most blogs are egotistical, narcissistic and self-absorbed, and so I feel i'll fit right in. This blog will hopefully capture the highlights from the next six months of travelling through thirteen countries and four continents.

This isn't a diary. Unless you're Samuel Pepys, Alan Bennett or even Alan Clarke, day to day life isn't that interesting. If you ever kept a journal, how often do you go back and read them? Probably a lot less than the latest copy of Heat. This space will contain brief snapshots of the trip. Conversations, sights and sounds experienced along the way. Probably a photo or two aswell.

So here's to life back on the road, and no more jam(s).