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Letters from the road
Sunday, 15 December 2024
Uzbekistan
Topic: Central Asia
Uzbekistan


Click the pic above for the photos. 
     
         Tashkent, Bishkeck, Almaty, Yerevan, Tbilisi, Baku , Dushanbe, Ashgbat. These are all capital cities, yet not exactly places that ring with the “ Uncle, Bobs, Bar ” in Kuta recognition factor. Bit of a pity actually because they’re great places. A bit off the track, nice people, safe, cheap, sometimes even relatively clean. Any how, I digress, we are getting the band back together. Map boy, the butcher, fashionista, Happy traveller , and the new boy David. So new he doesn’t even have a fancy nickname. I’ll work on one for the end of the story. A month of riding a bike around some place I know sweet fa about. It will be fun they said.  TK 366, Istanbul to Tashkent, let the fun begin.
       Last time I tried to get here, l ended up getting deported from Kazakhstan, a long story, you’ll a find it here some where if you want. This time, no probs, Tashkent airport, stamp in the passport, buy a sim, little man waiting for me with a sign at the exit. Not much English but his Russian is fine. A little thing that you don’t know about me is that I am 100% fluent in Russian. Sorry typo should read 1%.  У тебя ест кошка? Мне нужно купить большой красный карандаш. Где ближайшее колесо обозрения? я в этом дерьмо.  By the time we have sorted that out, we are at the hotel. Tashkent is a large Soviet style town that was rebuilt in the 60’s after being wiped out in an earthquake.  Open spaces with lots of parks, a subway, plenty of monuments to obscure poets, cake shops, and of course the obligatory stray cats. Bit of a tour, Hotel Uzbekistan, for the best in 60’s Soviet style, then a great dinner at a hotspot picked out by the Traveler.  Followed lastly by Magic City. The commies loved their fun parks, every city has one.  Ride the coaster, smash the dogems, chuck some balls, throw some hoops, If you’re lucky you can win the big “ медведь ” to give to the girly. Twenty bucks to relive your childhood. I would have liked to spend some more time here but life is calling.                    
                     The plan is to ride/drive around the joint. Mapboy wants to ride his 300km a day, the fashionista needs twelve coffee shops a day, and the traveller doesn’t eat at any where below two Michelin stars. I did look at the itinerary this time, and my input was more rest days. We have a van, and our driver, Mr Garret, not his name but it sort of sounded Peter Garret from the oils ish, so we stuck with it. So riding Uzbekistan, a few hints. The place is huge, a lot of it is desert, some of the roads are terrible. Food is cheap, there are melon stands everywhere, the people are friendly, and the drivers  are courteous. Mapboy discovers if you eat a whole melon it only stays in your body for an average of 17 minutes. We go with the flow, if the roads are bad we drive, good we ride.  We see lots of girls hitch hiking by themselves, people go to the loo and leave their phones on the table, taxi drivers try to give you the two dollar tip on a three dollar fare back. We stay in home stays, yurts and fancy hotels.The cities are amazing, full of beautiful monuments, rebuilt after Gengis Kan smashed them all, the slaughtered all the inhabitants in the 12th century. The boy sure knew how to party. For a good Muslem nation there are no wowsers here, there is an Alco Shop on every corner. A month later, we’re done. I head to Istanbul, Fashionista to Japan, Mapboy and Maria to the English rain. David the quiet international man of mystery is ducking off to Iran just in time for the Israeli bombing campaign. We will christen him “The Spy”.
Till the next. 007.

Posted by bondrj at 12:01 AM EADT
Updated: Wednesday, 22 January 2025 9:40 AM EADT
Saturday, 30 November 2024
Easy Money
Topic: Undefined
Free Money
How to make 268 euros legally sitting on your arse. No it's not a crypto scam. I was sitting at the gate here in Athens airport waiting to get on a plane when they called and asked for a volunteer to give up their seat for a later flight. They must have stuffed up the numbers somehow, and needed to get someone on. End result €250 cash and a meal voucher for sitting around doing nothing. A job I am uniquely qualified for.  Thanks Ageian .

Posted by bondrj at 12:01 AM EADT
Updated: Tuesday, 5 November 2024 1:15 PM EADT
Wednesday, 30 October 2024
Turkmenistan and The Gates Of Hell.
Topic: Central Asia
Gates of hell

Click the pic

Turkmenistan 

       This  place was defiantly not what I thought.  I’m thinking, Stan’s vibe, with a healthy dose of nutty communist monarchy. Maria has been checking the web, no makeup allowed, all cars must be white, no photos, and a pile of other crazy laws. It’s going to be interesting.

        Back to reality. Our guide Denis meets us before we get through customs.  This place only gets ten thousand tourists a year, most people who apply don’t even get a visa.  You can’t come here unescorted, guide-and driver are compulsory . Ours is a Russian Indiana Jones style fixer. First cash, we hand over $160 USD for a visa, Covid test, and something else I forget.  Fill out a few forms in some language, just tick the same boxes. Get escorted past the X-ray machine, while Denis chats to the guards. At the bag check he asks us if we have any drugs or guns. Only for Personal use. No need for this then as he waves off the bag checkers, and herds us out the door to our new country..

             Turkmenistan is one of the world’s largest gas producers. Mostly flat desert, the main thing to see in the country is an industrial accident that happened in 1973. The “Gates of. Hell” was created when a soviet drill crew stuffed up releasing a free flowing stream of gas into the air. Can’t have that, we will just set it on fire and it will burn itself out. Fifty years later it’s still going. Funnily enough it’s in the middle of nowhere, and we are only on the edge of nowhere.  More about that later. 

      Köneürgench,  is part of the ancient world, or at least it would be if Genghis Khan hadn’t killed all the inhabitants and destroyed the place in the 12 century. It’s a standard town with some new buildings, Nothing remarkable. That still leaves time to build a few mosques and morsaliums to take some pics of. Maria is happy the ladies are wearing make up, jewellery and showing some flesh. First off we head to a big supermarket to get some supplies. The local currency is Minets. If you are a foreigner you are forced to change it at a rate of 4.5 to the dollar.  Buy any thing on a card or get money from the bank you get the offical rate. There is a dollar black market if you can find it where they will give you 19. That would make most things extremely cheap, but we are not into that. 

      We are starting at one side of the country and driving to the Capital on the other side. The Gates of Hell, more comonaly known as the gas crater  is in the centre. The road there is un drivable, what’s more is it’s the main north south road. It takes all day to get there. Demetri shouts us lunch, some fresh local pies, a couple each, and some for him and the driver. Under five dollars for the Lot. We fill up the tank of the land cruiser. Six dollars. See Australia this is what happens when you don’t give all your gas away for nothing. Back to the terrible road.  Just before sunset we pull off onto a sand side track, Fifteen minutes later we are at our yurt camp for the night, and the crater is just over the hill. The timing is perfect, the sun is just about to set. As we walk over the hill we see two huge drill rigs being set up. Fifty years later gas is worth something, and rumour has it that by the end of the year the gas crater will be no more. I’ve seen burning dirt in other parts of the world but the crater is truly amazing. As you get near it you can feel the heat pouring out. A good healthy dose of Kodak poisoning is applied over the next hour as the sun sets. A thousand pics later we  wander back to our camp, our driver has prepared a fantastic meal from our supermarket shop earlier. We drink some good local vodka, and contemplate the universe while watching the stars. “Gates of Hell” tick.

       Early start the next morning. Our camp is basic, no showers, drop loo. Time to head to the capital. A couple more burning dirt stops on the way. The road has advanced from un drivable, to just terrible, then to good, then to billard table perfect.  We stop and get the car’s washed, no dirty cars allowed in Ashkabat. Also no coloured cars. No coloured buildings either. This place is polished to within an inch of its life. We drive past gleaming monuments, and whiter marble buildings, kept clean by old ladies sweeping the streets with straw brooms. Wide thoroughfares, perfect for tank parades, grand and gold statues of the past dear leader, or Turkmen poet.

      There is a bit of a problem with our hotel. It seems the dear leader has cancelled our booking and,closed all the five star hotels, and they only do five star. Apparently you can do this when you are a god. Another hotel has eventually been found for us, austere, Intourist vibe, with rooms you seem to rent by the hour. The beds good, the shower works, so is the breakfast the next morning. I don’t think they normally do breakfast. We get dumped at the local shopping centre for lunch, Demetri has  to go.  Plenty of fake fashion and flesh on display here. The Melbourne Cafe is good, food here is cheap. Coffee and cake even cheaper. We check out our original hotel on the walk home, it’s magnificent, guest free, and unavailable for the next two weeks. We walk home ,and find a great bar at the rear of our flea pit.  

    Next day we move. This is more our style. The reception is dripping gold. It has luxury rooms, all the toys, cheap beer, and open internet.  Google, instagram, facebook are unavailable here. But not at this hotel. We head off with Demteri to tour the town. God is a big lover of the Guinness book of records. If you want to build something here just make it big enough and you will get the cash. We see the Worlds biggest indoor Ferris wheel, the world’s largest poet statue, the world’s largest, monument to the bicycle. I think you get the picture.  At night all the buildings are lit making the austere city wildly colourful. As a sparky, l can only think about the world’s biggest led strip replacement that’s going to happen in the next five years.  The next day while the guys head off to some more big things, Ern, and I hang by the pool with a few beers. I’m mosqued out, and a nice hotel seems too good to leave. Later we get dumped at the airport, which is shaped like the world’s largest bird. They want us out of here. I heard the day after we left Vladimir Putin, and the Iranian president rocked up for a meeting, hence the rush.

 

Posted by bondrj at 12:01 AM NZT
Updated: Wednesday, 22 January 2025 9:20 AM EADT
Thursday, 10 October 2024
Tajikistan
Topic: Central Asia
Tajikistan

   

Click the pic.

 

       This one was a bit of a two day hit and run really. We leave our driver ,and walk across the border. It takes about an hour, standard one bloke stamping passports while the rest watch. Our resident Pom has to pay a hundred bucks for a visa because they don’t like poms. Seems fair. Our new fixer/guide Al, meets us on the other side. Obligatory Mosque, Pile of dirt, old dusty museum stops. The local market is great. We stock up on things for the evening meal, along with sweets, and fruit. Then it’s off to the highlight. The seven lakes.

            Tajikistan is poor, oil poor, gas poor, land poor, people poor. The smallest of the Stan’s, ninety seven percent mountains, even Ghengis Kan  couldn’t be bothered invading the place, didn’t stop the Russians though.  It’s only really exports are gold and electricity. Being mountainous  with lots of snowfall it has the best hydro resources of all the Stan’s. The Chinese are busy building stuff, and apparently Dushanbe  has a good Steak restaurant.  We don’t see it, our path takes us five hours up a rutted mining road through Taliban country. No ankles visible here. At one stage we are attacked by kids selling us locally made jewellery. Maria keeps them happy, while ten of them try to squeeze into the car to make a sale.  

         The lakes are spectacular, and our basic home stay in the mountains just about kept us alive. A quick word about Tajik wine. “Don’t ”.  The next day is the reverse of the first. Al finds us a good coffee in a hotel before we do battle with the border gods again. Two days doesn’t really do the place justice. There is some spectacular scenery to be had here.  Our guide and driver were great, giving us a bit of background to one of the lesser known spots of the world. So Tajikistan  “До свидания” until the next time.  


Posted by bondrj at 12:01 AM NZT
Updated: Thursday, 5 December 2024 8:29 PM EADT
Saturday, 7 September 2024
Why Sweden?
Topic: Europe
Stockholm

And so it goes.

 

How do you know Jesus wasn't born in Norway? You couldn't have three wise men coming from the east.

 

      The Swedes have a kind of Aussie/Kiwi relationship with their neighbours. Early last century most of their neighbours went their own ways. Having been the monarchy of most of them for several hundred years the jokes go both ways.  So why go to Sweden. It’s not exactly known as the party capital of Europe. For me the answer is easy, it’s the last EU country that I haven’t been to. I’m heading to Central Asia, Melbourne is still in winter mode, and Stockholm shouldn’t have too many feet of snow downtown yet. Time to see if Sweden really is the most boring place in Europe.

        Customs at the airport is full on. Big que, everyone spends five minutes at least at the desk. I have to get out the iPad and show, my airfares, hotel booking, Why am I here? Why have I only got two nights accommodation booked? "I’m on holiday, I have no plan's", something immigration agents hate, but they can’t argue with. Eventually a buzz, and the door to the new world opens. The Swedish took a lot of refugees from the Middle East, it’s a hot topic here. I’m coming from Istanbul, they have been making asylum claims harder. I’m guessing there were not a lot of blue eyed Swedish blonds under the burkas on my flight. 

        I’ve been to Norway, it was the land of $400 hotels, $40 burgers, and that was twenty years ago. I’m expecting similar here, but am pleasantly surprised.

I picked a hotel with a great breakfast 20 min out of town on the train for $130. One place I stayed was a twin bed sit, with full kitchen, and a washing machine for $85 a night. None of them were dives. Cafe meals ranged around $20 to $30 bucks. Drink and a pizza type stuff. Buy a SL card, put a week’s transport on it and that’s your transport done. No parking hassles. Stuff even arrives on time.

       I have a couple of friends here, so one night I go round to Victoria, and Johan, for a barbie. Another night we go out to see some Swedish pop, and check out the Scandinavian animals at the zoo. Trip to the Vasa Museum , a tribute to Swedish marine engineers, and the top rated Stockholm attraction. Throw in a couple of trips to the hot dog stand, and my week is up.

          So is Sweden the most boring place in the world. Definitely not. My vote stills goes to Bruñí. It’s safe, clean, affordable, and everything works, even the weather wasn’t bad.  Five stars from me.



Posted by bondrj at 1:22 AM NZT
Updated: Wednesday, 22 January 2025 9:25 AM EADT
Sunday, 17 March 2024
The South Gippsland Café Society
Topic: Australia
SGRT


        Bike riding, the spreadsheet man is back. Just the word “bike” spreads fear into the hearts of most people. Most think we are doing the Tour de France. In reality it’s more like a michelin star cafe tour. This time the target, is South Gippsland. Not quite home of the blizzard but not quite a tropical island either. We got a group together, and a couple of cars to get us there. Targets, Nyora, Loch, Foster, Yarram, Taralgon. A few dropouts, and Mick pulling a hammy dropped our numbers to five. 

          After a leisurely 9.30 start, we head east to coffee at Nyora. Not normally the start of the trail but recent floods have closed the earlier section. Lunch at Korumburra, here a major spreadsheet conflict ocurres, Mick heads to the bakery while the rest of the crew head to the pub for the seniors meal. After a few schooners , and a bit of car shuffling, we head off to the Versailles Palace of the south . Chateau Fitz in the hills of the Strezleckies. The next morning after a night of fine dinning and a hearty breakfast we hit the road again. Morning tea, Leongatha, Lunch at the ethical cafe in Meeniyan, a few frothies at Fish creek, followed by Curried snags at the Foster pub. We have cut short the tour, after a brief look at the weather map. Up until now the temps have been mild, with a few clouds. Perfect riding weather. Thursdays not looking good, and there’s also a huge hill in the middle of the trail. Port Albert is probably far enough. Toora has a nice bakery, Welshpool has a pub. The spreadsheet says Port Welshpool has a pub too. It’s a bit of a detour but a nice lunch overlooking some where scenic called Snake island sounds to good to refuse. Ten clicks later we are out the front of the late Port Welshpool hotel. It’s been closed for two years apparently. Just as well there is a greasy spoon just down the road. Mmmmm . Cheese deep fried in batter, an excellent addition to any burger. I think I killed about twenty seagulls when I fed them the two thirds I couldn’t eat. After lunch, we can’t ride anywhere. We jam the bikes into the back of the VW. Port Albert will have to wait for another day. Melbourne here we come.
 
Click the pic for the photos 

Posted by bondrj at 12:01 AM NZT
Updated: Monday, 18 March 2024 12:34 AM NZT
Monday, 1 January 2024
The TT and the Isle of Man

 

 

                It's 1985, and five days after I arrived in England, I am leaving it again. My mates had turned up, and I have arranged to do something with him. That was all that I knew.   Dave has rocked up on a dogey looking Honda 550 twin motorbike. One half of an empty pannier on the back for my gear, and a spare helmet. Time to lighten the load, anything but the basics gets left at our friends house. We are going off on an adventure.

          Ok. A bit of background here. Dave is a motorcycle nutter. His parents are both English, but he was born in New Zealand. This is his first trip with his new British passport to see the homeland. What's on the Agenda, Trafalgar Square, Stonehenge, The lake district. No. No. No.  Day one buy a motor bike, Day two, head off to Liverpool, to jump on a midnight ferry, to some  lump of mud stuck halfway between England and Ireland.
      The Isle of Man, is a town council, pretending to be a sovereign state. God knows why, but people have lived here for 6000 years.   Fifty by Twenty kilometres wide, its home to a big water wheel, a few sus tax avoiders, the Bee Gees birthplace, and you guessed it, a motorcycle race.
         So early one May morning Dave and I rock up at the international capital of Douglas. A pretty little bay town a couple of Km's long, Its population has doubled with the influx of 10,000  bike enthusiasts. Both sides of the main promenade are covered with bikes parked two deep. Nearly every one is dressed in leather, the pubs are full, those that aren't drinking are walking up and down admiring the bikes. Some how we find a Bed and Breakfast.   
       The main race is called the Tourist Trophy, or the TT. Its been held since 1907 on a 60 km loop of the main road around the island. Just about the only road, because when the race is on everything else stops. The courses claims to fame are most of it is fringed by stone walls, and the number of competitors' it kills every year. To beat the course lap record you have to average 220 KM/hour. Not for the faint of heart, most professional bike racers won't even go near it.  
         Our standard day is breakfast, jump on the bike, and head towards a good viewing spot before the course closes. Watch bikes fly past at blinding speeds for an hour or so of qualifying. Move to another posie when the road reopens. More nutters, Lunch, Then watch a race in the afternoon. Check out the bikes in town. Head to the pub for dinner, watch the madness, retire late with a thick head, repeat the next day. The crowds have come from all over Western Europe. There are lots of Germans, and Scandinavians. Considering how much beer they drink, there is no trouble, just a huge party vibe at nights. Bands and lots of singing.
          Over the week there are a pile of races. The crowed favourites are the Dunlop's, a couple of crazy Ulsterman brothers, they dominate the TT for years. Joey Dunlop wins three races in a week, and sets a course record. There's a movie called Road I would recommend you see if you want any idea of how crazy these blokes were. From memory, I think during the week only one competitor turned himself into a pile of mince, a good year for the Ambos.
      Then it was over. The good thing about bikes is you can fit a lot of them on a ferry. Douglas quickly goes back to sleepy hollow for another year. As for us, we are going to play tourist in the 1985 car bombing capital of Europe, Belfast Northern Ireland.  We didn't get blown up, but after ten days of riding around Ireland on a motorbike in constant rain we bailed out for southern Spain.

Posted by bondrj at 6:08 PM EADT
Updated: Tuesday, 5 March 2024 11:38 AM EADT
Monday, 23 October 2023
Others letters
Topic: Undefined

Time for a cat Picture. Those of you that are my Facebook friends know what that means. When i can't get into my garage anymore I sometimes have a clean up. Being a bit of a hoarder, It's full of Junk some of it decades old. One of the things I found was a box of old letters from 85 to 92.  These are ones people have written to me. Some of them are probably only of interest to the people who wrote them. They talk about what they were doing while I was off swanning around the globe. There are a couple of Wizzas from my time in Antarctica, a few from my Mum on her one overseas trip, and a couple from friends I met overseas sent to me in Oz. The last lot are from a friend to me pretty much documenting our failed relationship. Most of them are mundane, I seemed to get a fair bit of ribbing about all sorts of subjects, from penguin sex to my choice of football team. Some are fantastically amusing. They are all one sided conversations, the other half was pretty much what you see in this blog, sometimes a bit more personal. The art of letter writing seems to have passed into history, no 20 year old is going to look back on their WhatsApp texts in forty years on. This may be a good thing, but I enjoyed rereading them. Even the ones that made me a  bit sad.  Click the cat pic or this link to head off there.

Posted by bondrj at 12:01 AM NZT
Updated: Wednesday, 11 October 2023 2:34 AM NZT
Thursday, 21 September 2023
Federation Peak
Topic: Australia

           Federation Peak in southwest Tasmania often said to be one of the hardest bushwalks in Australia. It's generally thought that only one in three people who  start out to get to the top make it. In 1994 we tried. I took the Commodore over on the boat to cart us around. That was the way all of us were going until someone worked out it was cheaper to fly, so I ended up going with all my mates.  To get to the peak you first drive to the middle of nowhere. One you have firmly established you are in the middle of nowhere, or somewhere near farmhouse creek, you then load yourself up with 30 kilos plus of stuff. The first walk is only a relatively easy 18 km to Cutting camp. This bit was pretty boring but we where all knackered when we got there.  A quick note on the climate. South West Tassie has the reputation of being wet and cold, some people walk the whole trip in low cloud and see nothing. Our trip had good weather, it only rained about half the time. When the sun comes out the place is magic, until the flys wake up and carry you away. If you have ever been to Central Australia in summer time you’ll know what I mean.  When it was cooler thousand’s of mozzies and leach’s take their place. The next day is relatively flat, so it’s mostly a day of slogging through mud. Day 3 Cracroft crossing . A relatively short day up a thing called Moss ridge. This involves similar amounts of vertical and horizontal distances. After ten hours of scrambling up through the mud and rain looking for hand holds to to pull your self and your pack up, we hit our campsite at Berchervaise Plateau. It’s here that we got our first view of the peak. By now the sun was out, and this huge slab of rock was looking at us. It seemed so close that you could touch it, but was still a couple of days walking away. The track scrambles up and down along the ridge line. Twenty meters up twenty meters down, hours of it. Hot work in the sun along a hot dry ridge. That night we camped at the Climbers camp on the top of the ridge. It’s right beside the peak.
       When we got up the next morning and the weather had turned to rubbish.  We ate breakfast in the rain, and our little group trudged off. No need to pack up camp, all we need was food, and a bit of safety gear, if it all goes well we would be back in five hours.  We are heading to the top via the direct ascent route. The problem is none of us are rock climbers, or knows what’s up ahead. Here’s a bit of a guide I found.
 
Immediately above the upper Bechervaise Plateau camping area to the L is an imposing pillar of rock.
1.Uncertain Day105m13(Mild Severe) 
 
Start: the obvious corner on the cliff immediately above Plateau.
1. 24mChimney up, after an awkward start getting into the chimney, until a chockstone.
2. 18mContinue up the chimney and belay on the ledge at the top.
3. 45mMove up the slabs, to the right, until it is possible to scramble to the top.


Peter Heddles, David Neilson, Feb 1968.    




Clear as mud aye. 
Take a look at the photo at the top. This is the so called easy route to the top on a sunny day. We start this in the pouring rain, surrounded by fog, and lightning. It’s only a short 600 meters fall down to the lake. Don’t worry, you won’t hit the lake, there are  plenty of rocks to stop you at the bottom. We start heading up a steep gully which is rapidly turning into a river. Our first couple of climbers decide “Stuff this for a game of soldiers ” and bail out. There are random little piles of stacked stones marking the way, when we hit a dead end we see a pile of stones over to the right. See photo above again. A couple more hit the eject button. It’s getting really wet now. We get to the crux, a two meter face we have to shimmy up. Then there were three. Some how we get up it, and find we are in a rock chute with a nice track running up it. Twenty minutes later we are at the top. Through the clouds we can see the odd glimpses of bays and coast line, on a good day it would be fantastic. Ian, Nick, and I , decide to bail when the rain and lightning start up again. Down the chute, over the two meter drop, with the 50 mm toe hold at the bottom, then the scramble to the path,and back to camp. We made it. True to the stats a third of our party made it to the top.
          The return is the reverse of the way in. Some of the group want to get back for an earlier flight, so we hump it back down moss ridge, and camp beside a stream where the millions of mozzies drive us to bed at six o’clock. The last day is a monster all the way out to the car. Micks knees have never been the same since.  I drop the crew at the airport, but still have another week till my ferry leaves. I take a leisurely cruise back up the east coast to Devonport.
 
Our Crew, Ian Goodwin, Mick Schults, H, Nick , Ian Brewer, Michael Bond, and me.

Click the pic above for my reject photos and a couple of others. “H” begged me for my pics, so she could give a talk at her work then promptly lost them. I borrowed a few pics from the ourtasmania, and Wikipedia websites, feel free to look them up for the photo credits.

Posted by bondrj at 2:36 AM NZT
Updated: Tuesday, 26 September 2023 3:08 AM NZT
Wednesday, 26 July 2023
Golf
Topic: Undefined

Golf,
        a great way to ruin a good walk, and I'm not big on walking at the best of times. As for the game its self, I suck at it. A thirty six handicap after forty years of practice. Someone smarter would have given up years ago. Why once a month do I get up on my day off in the dark and drive to the other end of the universe to hit a bloody little white ball around a cold muddy paddock in the rain?
          For our trip away this year we went to Noosa, stayed in a fantastic hotel, enjoyed a bit of heat, and got wined and dined by the locals. Just to make sure I didn't get too much of a good thing I also had to play golf. First day 136, second day 145, and a award for the worst player, which consists of a trophy containing a horses arse. I also have to wear an orange safety vest on my next round to warn the general public to stand a long way away from me.  At least I only lost about 20 balls. I redeemed my self on the last day by coming third in the Ambrose. For those of you that don't know what that is, it means that someone else hit most of the shots. 
        Thanks to Cheese and Jnr for putting up with us. I can highly recommend Hotel Laguna if you want to stay in the heart of Noosa.  Also a big thanks to Burt, Timbo, and the team for organizing the torture, and the surf club for looking after us on a busy weekend.
           As for the answer to the Question posed above. Click the photo above and look at the pictures. You'll work it out.   

Cheers 007

And for you masochists, here are all the pics I took on the weekend.

Posted by bondrj at 12:01 AM NZT
Updated: Thursday, 27 July 2023 3:10 AM NZT

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