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Letters from the road
Sunday, 8 December 2019
Georgia
Topic: Europe

 
 
      A new passport stamp, driver, guide, language, doesn't matter I didn't understand much in the last country either. Pretty much all I know about Georgia is from watching a 90's movie called powertrip. It was about an American company trying to run an electricity  company in the chaos of the collapse of the Soviet Union. Our new guide shows us Georgia has its priorities right. We speed past a huge old crumbly castle to a bomb proof cave that used to be a cold war base. Seven miles long, drilled through a mountain, and fourteen degrees all year round.  The Khareba wine cellar now uses its seven miles of tunnels to store of wine.  The Azerbaijanis proudly told us the had 29 winerys, Georgia has that per mile. They have been making wine for 8000 years in big clay pots buried in the ground. The export wine all over, and it's pretty damn good. Next stop  more wine.tasting followed by lunch with you guessed it , more wine. We arrive at our magnificent hotel  stuffed. We have just enough time to check out our view of the snow covered mountains before dinner. We don't do it justice. 
    Next stop Tbilisi, via a couple of churches .Somewhere here is the dividing line between asia and europe.  We also have a new alphabet, new money, and a new religion. Georgian kings loved to build churches, and every hill top has four or five on it. Georgia has no shortage of mountains, wedged in between the greater and lesser caucasus mountain ranges with another one splitting the country in two.  The churches are mostly ruins, they have a lot of earthquakes here. The best job in Georgia is being a stonemason, as soon as you rebuild all the churches the next earthquake knocks them down again. Perpetual work with a brief holiday in between. The capital Tbilisi sits on a river, surrounded by hills. Old forts and soviet tv towers sit side by side. There is an old town full of restaurants, and the main streets full of modern shops. Of course we can't miss the huge cathedral of Tbilisi which at only 25 years old still looks a bit like work in progress. The stayfree bridge and the interesting unfinished concert hall round out the tour. The old town is also famous for its thermal baths and beauty treatments, but I delegated  them to Maria. 
           After the big smoke, we headed back to the country, continuing our tour of church relics, fine dining, fine wining ,and a couple of nights in a ski resort. Driving along we pass big mounds of dirt on one side of the road. Our guide tells us they are there to make life hard for the russians during their ocasional bits of road target practice. Things have been pretty cool for the last few years, but there are still large russian occupied bits of Georgia that the exiled locals can't return to.  We didn't quite make it to Batumi which they say is Georgia's classy version of the gold coast on the Black Sea. Always next time. Uncle Joe (Stalin) was born in Gori, and I couldn't miss his childhood home, personal armoured railway carriage, and museum complete with a unapologetic view of his benevolent rule. Pose beside the life sized statue then, head for good coffee just across the  street. On our way back to drop Ern off in Tbilisi we finish with a few more petroglyphs, a cave trip and a canyon cruise. Our guides dump us at the hotel just in time for another dinner. No rest here, tomorrow we are off to Armenia.

Click the pic for more 

Posted by bondrj at 12:01 AM EADT
Updated: Wednesday, 16 February 2022 5:57 PM EADT
Thursday, 21 November 2019
Azerbaijan
Topic: Europe

 
     The Caucuses, I can't even spell them, let alone tell you where they are. Three small countries jammed between two huge mountain ranges, surrounded by three of the worlds historical great powers.Throw in three distinct, languages, religions, and alphabets , what could possibly go wrong. It may surprise you to learn that they all have had turbulent histories. I the brief moments of time when the Otermans, Russians or Persians were not invading them, they were slaughtering themselves, or their neighbours. God knows why, but I'm spending three weeks here, If I survive that long.
    Twenty two hours via Doha is Baku. It's the capital of Azerbaijan, and I am pleased to find they have an airfield  here, along with a modern terminal building. Already they get more brownie points than Cuba or England. Always nice to find a bloke with a sign holding your name at the airport. A Nice freeway runs past a couple of huge olympic stadiums lit up in pulsating colours. Giant office buildings  built by some of the world's best architects glow in the twilight. The only building that seems derelict is the 40 story Trump tower. It has no lights on and stands in the middle of nowhere. Apparently it's even caught fire a couple of times recently. Presidential stocktake any one.
            My driver, who thinks he is Ayrton Senna, speaks Azerbaijani, me english, we settle for Russian.  У тебя есть кошка? Do you have a cat? My russian is not very useful. When we get into the middle of town it's a bun fight as several of the main roads have been closed off. The place looks civilised, and my hotel is not bad in a sort of golden soviet style. Of  course they haven't got my name, or the name of my companions on the desk but a quick whatsapp call sorts it all out. Mick emegers  like a bear with a sore head from an afternoon lagar frenzy,to rescue me.  
       What do  I know about Azerbaijan. It was once part of the Soviet Union, and it has gas. Lots of gas. There is money here. Doha has money but Baku has style as well. It a bit Parisian, with a nice old town, and a whole pile of new flashy buildings.  Rested, we all meet up for breakfast then start our tour. We have a nice mercedes van with a driver and our guide Naira.  The traffic bun fight from the night before is from the Formula one that has taken over the center of town. We head up to the Flame towers for a view of town, a walk around the memorial park, and a brief history lesson. In a nutshell after a brief fight with Russia in the late 80's the three, states went their own ways. After a couple of days of peace they got bored and started fighting with each other. Armina which stayed close to the Russians, but is divided from russia by Georgia and Azerbaijan, helped Nagorno Karabakh  of Azerbaijan become  an independent state aligned with Armenia, which only they and the Russians recognise. The Russians, who were pissed with losing out, founded another two independent states in Georgia which only they recognise. The whole lot, which flares up from  time to time, is kept oiled by plenty of Russian weapon sales to all sides. All of them are adamant they are in the right. There, is it clear as mud now.
After the avenue of the martyrs, we wander around the old town, The maiden tower, and various other old buildings that all seemed to have some gruesome history. A couple of Church / mosque / synagogues for good measure. Lunch then free time. There are lots of nice bars, cafes and restaurants. Baku boulevard runs along the beach, and is normally a must see, but unfortunately the race has cut it off from the rest of town.   We have an introductory dinner tonight so we make the mistake of eating way to much at lunch. A few beers, dinner, followed by food coma. The great thing about private tours is you can change things up. We swap a couple of days around so we can watch the race. The  Four seasons has an all in drinks, seafood deal with a view of the race, from it's roof. There is a big screen opposite and Tv's in the bar. After that we go out clubbing till two, the result is not good.
        Next day with thick heads we start the tour for good. Bubbling mud, flaming mountains and the obligatory COD (church of the day), or two, or three. We check out life in an traditional village, nothing fake here. Life is hard. The locals are pressing cow pats mixed with straw against the wall to dry for winter heating fuel. We eat a beautiful traditional lunch, Babushka cooked, in a crumbly old village house.  There is a small Museum in town full of stuff from the Soviet times. Ah the good old days. Like everywhere the kids are on their phones. We stop at an old quarry where there are some of the oldest petroglyphs in the world. The soviets thought they made excellent road base. Now they are appreciated for their tourist trap potential. Now I now know more about petroglyphs than most anthropologists.   Every night time Maria finds us a spectacular restaurant to eat at. The local potato dumplings, and khachapuri  are cheap and magnificent, but not low cal. We spend most of the days trying to make  room for more food. A couple more of days of churches, palaces, restaurants, and I'm feeling like I'm being made into foie gras. For our last couple of days we head towards the Georgian border and "Sheki" Naira's home town. The market is a highlight, they have everything except shoes in my size. Naira's mum even sells us some socks. The next morning we say our goodbyes to the guides, and walk across the border. We push our way through the Canadians filling out visa forms, and trying to get Minats out of the non functioning atm. They must of upset someone, because we don't need them. A quick stamp, Georgia here we come.

Click the pic for more, or try the slide show.

Posted by bondrj at 12:01 AM EADT
Friday, 8 November 2019
Tokyo Night Life
Topic: Asia

 
 Tokyo, the land of drunk salary men, used school girl knicker vending machines and giant fire breathing radioactive lizards. For a people so polite and reserved there is definitely some weird stuff going on in there. Walk past a doorman, buy a drink,swipe you rail pass at the gate, and you can be sure the nearest official will bow and say Arigatōgozaimas (Thank You) . In Akihabara (Electric town) I walk down a little lane full of shops selling electronic bits, the shops are at the best a couple of square meters. Ones full of thousands of tiny switches, the next lightbulbs, then weird electronic boxes. the walkway is a meter wide at the best, you can touch the roof. Hundreds of them jammed in like sardines. I stop and look at something, the bloke behind the counter who is about the same age as me, and has probably spent sixteen hours a day in that dim 4 square meters for the last forty years bows. " Arigatōgozaimas". I would have gone mad with the samurai sword about 30 years ago. I need to know more.
I'm off to Shinjuku the heart of Tokyo nightlife. First of all I need to catch a train and it's peek hour. The carriage has 500 people in it but it only fits 300. No problems, at the stops the people near the door file out to let the people behind out. Then they turn around and walk in backwards, more people back up to the door and push back til the sardine thing is happening, Just to make sure a few more back in just before the door shuts, then you can breath out. If you breath out before the door shuts someone will take that space. Shinjuku station is home to three quarters of a million passengers per day. It and the ten other stations in the couple of square KMs see three and a half million people through them every day. If I'm going to figure out what makes these guys tick here is a good place. First stop, piss alley, it's a bar street with 300 bars crammed into a tiny space. Here salary men are going wild. Tiny spaces are normal in japan. Most people live in an apartment way outside the middle of town. If you want to hold a party for your friends, A they won't fit in your house, B your neighbours will hate you for generations. Face is important in Japan. Solution. Party out with your friends in a tiny bar where no one will know you. Even the bar man will forget you as he is going to kick you out after two hours. They all do. Just wander off next door for another 2 hour session. Trains stop at midnight, decision time, stay and get hammered, or fall asleep on the train on the way home.
    Feeling unloved, there are clubs where for a bit of financial domination you can be waited on hand and foot. Young girls dressed as Hello Kitty, schoolgirls or your favorite Manga character. Ladies don't feel left out. You too can be pampered by blokes who look like they are straight out of a Japanese boy band. They will sing and pour you expensive drinks until your cash runs out then dump you in the street. Politely of course, this is Japan.
    What do you do when you actually have a romantic friend you ask. Obviously the three square meters surround by the folks, and neighbours with paper thin walls ain't gunna cut it. As per usual the crafty Japanese have a solution. The Love hotel. Rent by the hour, or the night. Choose the Tarzan, Spa, Dungon, or Hello Kitty themed room. (She gets around). In Osaka there is even a golf themed room (WTF) Pay at credit card machine at the entrance, no people involved, and you and your favorite, friend, doll or fluffy toy can go wild. Stop at the 7/11 on the way there, because the beers in the mini bar are expensive, and the locals love a bargain. Japan nightlife 101 you know you want to.

Thanks to Tokyo free walking tours, a great way to find out a bit about town if your ever there.

cheers 007

Click the pic for more

Posted by bondrj at 12:01 AM EADT
Saturday, 26 October 2019
Bondi Beach
Topic: Australia

 
 I have an admission to make, I have never been to Bondi Beach. Home of such TV hits like Bondi Indian Surf Rescue and, Bondi dog poo patrol. I don't know how I have missed it. I'm working in Sydney and have Sunday off, so its time to tick the box. They even had a Sculpture by the sea walk to check out , once you got sick of watching tourists getting sucked out to sea by the rip. 
 
Click the pic for more 

Posted by bondrj at 12:01 AM NZT
Tuesday, 16 July 2019
Iceland
Topic: Europe

    I've wanted to go to Iceland like Foreverrrrrrrrrrr.  I don't know why. Way before  it was trendy, it was on the list. I used to notice flights to  Europe quite often had a stopover in Reykjavik for the same price. Somehow it never quite happened. Game of thrones, world financial crisis, Euro Cup finals, Iceland kept on getting into the news. So one day I find myself sitting in Madrid on a 40 deg day, wondering what I'm doing there. "Bing" Iceland sounds cool.  Quick search, find some cheap flights next thing I'm here.
        Looking at the weather map it looks like I have jumped out of the frying pan into the fire. Europe is going through a mejor heat wave, but here rain and eleven degree maximums are predicted all week. It's wet when I arrive late, but the next day is beautiful. Don't trust weatherman. Iceland has three types of weather, blue, grey, and black. Blue brings out all the magic with the glaciers,moss and rocks. Grey, well everything is grey. Black happens in winter, perfect for the northern lights. Fortunately it's summer here at the moment so it's light twenty four hours a day. My week of rain turned into a couple of grey days.
     Three hundred and fifty thousand people live on a hundred thousand square kilometers of rock. The center is all Mountains, Glaciers, and potentially deadly volcanoes. Two thirds live in Reykjavik, which is still not  far enough from the volcanoes. World's first parliament, smallest nation with its own currency, generates almost 100%renewable energy using hot volcanic rocks and water.  Spent the first thousand years raiding Ireland for wives, and living off fish guts. The're good breeders, 35% of the population is under twenty five. Population control is by the odd volcanic eruption, a Vatican  approved method.
    The place is truly spectacular. Mountains, barren plains, glaciers, waterfalls everywhere. Once you get out of town little farms dot the landscape with the odd sheep, or pony here and there. In between are huge lava fields, wide river valleys, and gorgeous black sand beaches. Swimming without a drysuit is not recommended  The place is built on the transatlantic ridge, so in places you can literally see it being torn apart. Steam pops  out of the ground everywhere.  The only native wildlife is the arctic fox, but there are lots of sea birds, and the odd hungry polar bear who rocks up on an iceberg from Greenland every now and again. In places it almost looks alien.
    I loved my week in Iceland, but it would be amiss of me not to say something about cost. You can fly there pretty cheaply, and accomodation is not to bad by european standards. Food is a killer. If you think $10 coffee, and a $25 microwaved hamburger are a bargain, your going to love iceland. Even cup noodles work out three dollars a serve. Don't even price a beer, unless you want to pay off the entire nation's debt in one hit. Be like the locals. Hit the duty free on the way in, and rent a cheap apartment downtown if your on a budget.  But go, it's worth it.
 
Click the pic above for more 

Posted by bondrj at 12:01 AM NZT
Updated: Thursday, 15 August 2019 11:58 AM NZT
Thursday, 20 June 2019
Camino de Santiago en una bicicleta de segunda mano
Topic: Europe

Click above for more photos
 
The Camino de Santiago on a second hand bike.

   I walked a bit of the Camino backwards about ten years ago. It was way too hard so how could I complete my pilgrimage in a more suitable style? A flight from Pamplona to Santiago de Compostela is under 25 Euros, sounds like my style. I check my pilgrimage rules. Pilgrims must walk at least 100 KM and finish in Santiago. Pilgrims can also travel more than 200km via horse or bike. A pilgrimage must be for religious or enlightenment purposes. Pity, that seems to rule out the plane. Not a lot of free horses around here, so I guess that leaves bike and enlightenment. My trusty steed is a 60 Euro second hand bike from Cash Converters, marginally cheaper than the one they wanted to rent me for seven hundred .
    According to  Google maps the Camino is 719 KM long and you can cycle it in 42 hours. That shows you Google doesn't know everything. My friends have a few weeks, like being organized, so we choose to use an agency that will book our rooms in advance. Our journey is scheduled to take 17 days, with our longest leg 77 km, and most rides about 40 to 60 km a day. They have given us a guide book which describes the walk in detail. Note word "Walk". A day in Pamplona buying Mick a bike, and waiting for the other guys to rock up on their bikes from France we are ready.
    Bikes do not like stairs, rocks, muddy tracks, and steep trails. If we had forgotten, we discovered this on the first day. Day one has all of this as we struggle up to the Camino Del Vento (path of the wind) a ridge covered in wind turbines. The top has a great view, but the trail down looks terrible so we take the old highway into town. It's 4 lanes wide in good condition, and thanks to the new autopista unencumbered with traffic. Fifteen minutes of flying down hill brings us to our accommodation, after taking four hours to get up it.
    And so we settle into our routine. Mick discovered to or horror that our bag pick up is at eight am. The same Mick who when running for the house of reps made the mistake of telling the ABC he never got up before eight thirty. We set the alarm for seven thirty, push stuff into our bags half asleep, then head off for breakfast. Most of the peregrinos start walking early, as they have to find accomodation as they go. When on the path we pass them in the hundreds, mumbling a quick "Buen Camino" to get them out of the way as we go past. Most don't mind, but the odd ones give us dirty looks, as if we are cheating. We don't care, because apart from the odd wierdo walking 60K a day we will never see them again. Michael and Peter start a comp a of guess where they are from. They have about a ten percent success rate. The numerous Italians get grilled as guys both speak Italian, along with the Brazilians as they are generally female and guapa.
     A huge storm is covering France, so it's much cooler than I expected.  I had traded my windcheater for an airline blanket in Doha, they were both the same colour, not a problem in the Caucasus but here I'm feeling it. My fellow cyclists are firm disciples of the cult of the blue line. They have downloaded conflicting suggested bike routes and follow them with a zeal that makes even the most pious of pilgrims look like unbelievers. This is fine until we leave a quite serviceable road for a goat track, then stop for a five minute navigation conference in the drizzle, where it splits into two half goat tracks. Once back on the road they stop again as it starts to rain. I take off and 300 meters over the hill is a bar. I chat to the locals, and do beer, coffee, and tapas as it pisses down. An hour later it stops, the boys are probably still in the jungle, so I spend a pleasant arvo riding the backroads to our next destination. 
   There are all sorts walking. We see pilgrims that look like Charles Manson/David Koresh walking very slowly, one distinct step at a time in a religious rapture, with their little band of followers behind. Many are dealing with some sought of trauma, drugs, breakups, mental illness, loneliness. There are Mothers and daughters, church groups, and lots of solo travelers. Since they all walk at the same speed they quickly make friends after a few days and become little groups.  
    Burgos and Leon are big cities, with night life, and bars full of tapas. Somewhere in the center there are a couple of days of riding though flat boring fields.Somewhere around here I had a vision of Jesus emerging from a church being followed by a brass band. I need to drink more water. Mostly we stay in small towns and live on the ubiquitous "Menu Peregrino". Three courses, for lunch or dinner, with wine for about ten euros. Great bike riding stoge. 
    The last bit is the hardest, my trip description only had a vague mention of hills. We spend four hours going straight up after a 50km ride one day. Then Mick and I abandon the blue line cult only to get lost in the forest and rained on the next. If I had wanted to get wet I would of gone to England. Sarria is one hundred kilometers from Santiago, the minimum walk for a pilgrimage. Here the crowds really pick up, and the trail is covered with school kids and limping hardened peregrinos.
           The last day is not looking good. A bad forecast, the weather radar is showing lots of rain, and there is lots of hills in our path. We get going early (for us) and get a good twenty k in while watching the rain fall all around us. It rains while we have morning tea. When it stops we head off again. Only thirty klicks to go. I'm thinking I could just about handle thirty kilometers riding in the rain, when it starts again. It was a thought not a invitation. A bar appears, more coffee.  We walk outside, its bucketing, we go back inside. A team conference decides its going to get heavier the longer we wait. As I get on my bike it seems to have slowed to a light drizzle, then it stops. Twenty to go I'm still dry, but the road is wet. I'm happy I got the bike with the mudguards. We are riding up ten kilometers of hill. Ten to go. It starts pouring. I duck into a Pandaria and get a torta de manzanas, while the others hide in the bus stop. Five to go It's all downhill.  We get to our hotel after annoying the locals by following the blue line the wrong way down a one way street. It's a miracle, I'm still dry. Must have been something to do with all those churches I visited in the Caucasus. I get my final stamp in my Pilgrim pass.
     If you don't have the time the bike is a good way to go. The up side is it's about twice as fast as walking. The down side is you don't get as much of the people experience that is really what the Camino is all about. Booking your rooms in advance, means you can't choose to ride more or less, take a rest day, stop somewhere that takes your fancy, or avoid the bad weather. It also saves you the hassle of fighting with the hordes to get a room at the end of the day. The upside is they cart your luggage from hotel to hotel.
           I'm at the cathedral, I have completed my pilgrimage. I take the pic and donate my trusty bike to a local charity. Thanks to Mick the organizer, Peter and Michael for the company. Raw travel booked the hotels. For the last time "Buen Camino".


Posted by bondrj at 12:01 AM NZT
Saturday, 25 May 2019
Churches
Topic: Europe

 
     There is nothing better when you are traveling than a good church . Who could forget the Sistine Chapel, or the gold covered La Compagnia de Jesus. The Caucasus, three different religions, in three different countries, this is going to be great.

Click the pic for all the excitement.

Posted by bondrj at 12:01 AM NZT
Updated: Wednesday, 16 February 2022 6:00 PM EADT
Sunday, 5 May 2019
Qatar
Topic: Middle East

 

 

 

 

 

    It's another one of those sand pit countries. Doha is not quite as glitzy as Dubai, not quite as straight as Mecca, not quite as exciting as Kabul. Tripadvisor lists many things that don't really excite , drive up a sand dune anyone? The huge gas plants that make the place the worlds biggest gas bottle, they  would be kinda cool, but the're not  really on anyone's itinerary. I'm here on a one day stop off. Least yawn worthy is the brand new museum, I would like to stay awake for another fourteen hours so hopefully it will fit the bill. 

    The West Bay Movenpick hotel is nice and in the business district, on the other side of town. They let me check in 5 hours early and check out 4 hours late, gotta give them a plug for that. Quick shower, and it's off to the mall to buy a bus pass. They have every franchise known to man here making food so bland that you can't really tell the difference between it and the napkins. At least you can find good coffee and cake. Feeling fatter and sicker, I head off to the LG store to buy a bus ticket. Interesting concept, no signs to tell you, but it's the only place apart from the main bus station that sells them.  Air Conditioner, 60" telly, or ten dollar bus pass from under the counter., The museum is 5 miles away and the bus goes right past the front of it. I mean that literally. I start pushing the button 500 meters before the museum, but the bus cruises on till the next stop 1.5KM up the road beside a chain link fence guarding a whole lot of sand..
    The national museum is great. Some one spent a pile of cash, on a great looking building, and an interesting layout. It tells the story of Qatar. Just in case you missed it I'll fill you in. For most of history no one really wanted a 12,000 square km sand pit. The 25,000 locals spent the winters watching their goats freeze in the desert, and their summers getting the "Bends" diving for pearls. Diet mainly consisted of dates  and frozen goat. This went well until someone discovered 51 trillion cubic meters of gas under the place. Add another 3 million Indians, Nepalese, and Filipinos, to look after the locals. Then build a whole lot of big empty things out of concrete for some unknown reason, and you are here.
    Well that killed 4 hours, not wanting to repeat the walk, I ask various guards, shuttle drivers and information desk people where the nearest north bound bus stop is. It's obvious no one here catches the bus. Even the tourist information had no idea there was a bus. I walk out front to the express way, a click up the road to cross it and another one and a half till I spot a bus stop on the other side of the road. The whole time busses have been whizzing past  me. What goes up must come down so they say, I give up cross the road again and catch the bus south past the museum and into town. The center of town isn't that exciting, but it is where the main bus station is. I get off the bus, walk across the station then back onto the same bus. The same guys who built Myki must have been here. Back around more of town, was that the museum again. Up the express way, no stops, then get off a couple of blocks from my hotel. Good points, It's cheap, it's killed a couple of hours, and I have seen a lot of town.
     Next morning I'm awake at five, breaky not for another two hours, so I watch half an hour of American crap, then try to have another quick nap. It works, I wake up at five past ten. Bugger breakfast finishes at ten. I race downstairs, as they are turning the bain maries off. Fortunately they leave all the stuff out for another half an hour. Book, Swim and Shower, it's time to get outa here. The 777 bus stop is right out the front of the hotel. It shoots past the museum, and straight to the airport. At least they have their priorities  right.

There may be other highlights in town. The Museum of Islamic art is meant to be pretty good. For a couple more pics of the place click here.

Cheers 007.

Posted by bondrj at 12:01 AM NZT
Updated: Monday, 6 May 2019 3:16 AM NZT
Thursday, 24 January 2019
Powder Monkeys
Topic: Asia

 You know how I love a family holiday. Not with my family, there is only one of them left, and he doesnt ski to well with a new hip and dodgy knees.  Skiing in Japan with the goddaughter and family, I jumped at it. The fact that I only been skiing twice in twenty years didn't cross my mind. Until I got here.  Madero s two hours  on the train from Tokyo, and covered in meters of powder snow. Two Hundred mm of powder is pretty good in oz, meters of it is unheard of. Throw  in the fact that every time I go skiing, the technology has totally changed, and here I'm a senior citizen. (cheap ski passes).Time to dig out the Sorrells and Ventile Jacket  This could be interesting.
 
Click the pic for more  

Posted by bondrj at 2:44 PM EADT
Tuesday, 1 January 2019
Bali By Boat
Topic: Asia

    A week before christmas and I've got  it sorted. A couple work break ups, games of golf, breakfasts, a family pre xmas feast, and  one pissy little job. In three hours I'll be doing cocktails and horderves. Then the phone rings, "Muz here, how do you feel about flying to WA this arvo, then sailing to Bali. Me," Mate, I'm a bit busy, it's like the week before X'mas, and I've got stuff on. Sorry". What about a round trip to WA, we need a new Autohelm ( Thingy that makes the boat go straight so you don't have to steer it), and there's one in Melbourne. Mate, I've got a dinner on tonight, give me an hour to think about it. Think.  Work/unimportant, work dinner tonight/necessary, Family pre xmas at my house/well the've done it before without me/would like, golf unimportant. Two/Two, Ring back, can I leave tomorrow morning, and will I be back for Christmas day, "yep". Three/two, I'm in. Packing list, Socks, Jocks, Satellite tracker, passport, credit card. Better head to the chemist to get some more meds, Then over to Darebin to pick up the new bits, "there should be 5 boxes and a bunch of cables, make sure they give you everything you need". Here I must admit, I know very little about boats and nothing about auto helms. Show me a 20 ton chiller or a server rack, no probs, boats Huh. Four grand later and I'm the proud owner of a box with a few little boxes inside. Someone is making a buck out of this somewhere. I drive home through a big storm.
Next morning, thick head, bowls club, washed out, nice restaurant, washed out, we still found enough pizza and wine to make my head feel washed out. Vague feeling I have to be somewhere, Yer the airport. Thankfully I packed last night, Shower, airport bus, Airport, plug flight number into check in, and we have a winner. Karratha, I know that's somewhere north of Perth, or was that Kununurra. At least Qantas has a meal and some red to ease the pounding head. Quick stop in Perth and by four I'm there. Muz and Nicolas, meet me and my box at the airport. On the way to Dampier I get a quick catch up on what's happening. In the past brother one owned the boat, sold boat which then had an adventurous life. Ten years later brother two sees boat for sale and buys boat in good working order back. Brothers and son head to Dampier to sail boat to Bali. Boat in not quite so good working order, phone call, you are here. Today is the 15th of December, and its 700 Nm to Bail, about 4 days sailing all going well. Plenty of time for us all to get home for Christmas. 
At Dampier dock I see her, a beautiful steel hulled 56 foot Ketch. No problems with this sinking, it's built like a tank. Lots of room inside, huge main cabin/kitchen, three big suites, two bathrooms, sail locker and a tool room complete with bench and vise. Three sails, two masts, and a sixty year old Fordson tractor engine pushing the prop. On the down side, it needs a bit of love. Half the electrics don't work, the steering leaks, the motor chews oil, everything is covered in red Pilbara dust. 
Day one, try and fix old autohelm, hydraulic guy checks steering, Day two wait for auto elec to fit new autohelm, Day three wait for auto elec to fit new autohelm, turns up late in day, pipe falls of steering, Day four Elec installs autohelm and AIS, new hydraulic guy fixes steering, AIS people say we need a boat radio licence to get AIS number. Customs say we need AIS working and boat title transfer cleared before we can leave. Good people in Canberra say they need original documentation not copy to process title. They have had their best on this for a week. Every night, after a big day of fixing other stuff, we retire back to the Mermaid hotel for a few beers and a meal, by now we are almost locals. Day five "D Day", the wind has finally stopped howling from the west. This would have been great if we had of been sailing, but makes life hard out on the bay if you are just trying to fix stuff. If we don't leave today, we don't leave. Morning starts well with a test run, engine only stops once near rocks in main channel, near large ore carrier, but starts again after we remember to turn the fuel cock back on. Autohelm only drops out when we tell it to do a 360. Canberra guys decide certified copy of change of ownership will do, so the guys race into town get that on the move. Later head back to the Mermaid for a counter lunch with the old owners. Nicolas checks out the two pm flight home to Brisbane but decides to hold off for another hour. In the next hour the Aussie government steals some cash out of his account, good sign, then we get the call. The title is cleared, Nicolas is now a proud boat owner. Customs is ready to go. I drag my washing off the line in the marina, and by the time I get to the boat we have four customs guys looking for me because the paperwork says four and their are only three there. We shake hands they say goodluck and by Four Fifteen we are on our way.
The old fordson does five Knots, 700/5/24 = 5.83 days. Not good enough, we will arrive late christmas day.The good thing is Murray owned this boat for 15 years so he knows how to sail it. Pity about the wind which has been perfect for the last week but has now dropped out. Fortunately the forecast looks good, I'm not a great believer in wind forecasts especially around Christmas when all the weathermen are on break. Who knows maybe that will make them more accurate. After a couple of hours it turns dark and we get out into the ocean. There is a bit of wind, so we put up a sail. Six knots, better. Nicolas discovers he is not a natural sailor. I do my four hour watch and head to bed about ten. Next morning Nicolas is still flat out on deck, the sails are all up, the wind is better, and I get breakfast of bread and soup. This becomes the routine. A couple of hours on watch, fix some stuff, make tea, chat, make more tea, steer some more. Every four hours the guys stop and check the oil in the Fordson. It generally needs another liter. Over the next couple of days we fix the stove, get the batteries charging, fix some cabin lights, play with the sails and generally try to figure out whats going on.
If you look at the map between Dampier and Bali there is nothing.to hit, this is a bit deceiving. There are lots of two hundred meter long cargo ships carting iron ore, gas, containers, and Bali is the gateway north. At 17 meters in the dark, with only a couple of lights on, we would be easy to miss. This is were the AIS comes in.  It broadcasts our location to all the other ships, and displays theirs on the map. A neat little triangle shows their direction, and if you click on it you get their name as well a whole pile of other stuff like where they are going to and importantly you nearest approach. You can only see a boat about 20 kms away at sea but with this we can see them 100 kms away. If you get too close it also sounds an alarm. As a sailing boat they generally adjust their course stay well away from us. It even has a big red button under a cover that should say "Don't Panic" but boringly just says distress. 
The wind picks up, now we are doing 8 to 9 Knots. The sea is still good running behind us. Just past the halfway mark the old Fordson stops. This is not good, fortunately we have a 100% backup propussion system called sail. We actually have three of them, even one of them would get you there eventually. Muz descends into the bowels, lights,tools, fuel filters, gasket off old filter because the new one doesnt fit. Several goes at starting, finally a bit of a kick, eventually the old girl rores into life. It doesn't stop again. Muz emerges covered in diesel and oil, the joy of boats. Less than 24 hours to go, and there is one more trick left.  The autohelm blows a fuse, we did not change the old Hydraulic drive . We have a new one but changing it would be hard work and involve bobbing around in the ocean for a couple of hours. We decide to hand steer for the last bit. This is a good workout. The ocean is still running behind us with a meter of swell, so every time a wave hits you have to throw the wheel from one side to the other, sometimes a couple of turns. I take a break at 9 and when I get up again at four I can see the lights of Bali. Nicolas is looking better. We dodge a few more ships, and by eight we are pulled up in the Marina.
Benoa marina would not get much work if it was in Monte Carlo, but it is cheap and cheerful.The plan is to leave the boat here, and get some maintenance done on it. Now we wait, Nicolas and Murray have to get home with Nicolas on a two o'clock flight. Our customs agent is on the way. She is our fixer, over the next couple of hours, the pest inspector, police, and finally customs turn up. Passports and multiples copies of all sorts of things are produced, and the ships chop (stamp) gets a good workout. Finally we are allowed to stand on the Marina. Nicolas bolts for the airport, great life being a boat owner.  There is a big shiny motor cruiser docked up beside us. The owner is probably off working to pay its $500 an hour running costs, but the crew are relaxing and getting ready to fly home. We have been chatting to them while we wait. We all head off for lunch in the marina restaurant, Nasi Goring and Bintang all round. Back on the boat, they hand us over a whole pile of gourmet delicacies like Bacon, Icecream, and unopened jars of Caviar from their fridge. I could get used to this.
Muz heads off shortly afterwards. Colin and I hang around, and for christmas day we swap out the old autohelm pump. It's not all work, we stay at the Jakarta. It's in town, has a nice pool filled with bogans, lots of laundries, and restaurants around it. Things I need. I have a hot shower, and a shave. Colin get his first decent sleep for a week. Then there was one. I hang around another day, and jump the Jetstar flight back home. It cost $1100 plus to get to Karratha, just $187 to fly twice the distance home. Gotta love Australia.


Posted by bondrj at 12:01 AM EADT
Updated: Wednesday, 2 January 2019 12:27 PM EADT

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