Letters from the road

Monday, 21 September 2020

Traveling Within
Topic: Undefined

A guest appearance from Emma about the joys of travelling while not being allowed to travel more than 5 kms from home.

Until Sunday 13 September, Spring had been putting in an appearance in Melbourne, but only for a day or two. Then she would slip back indoors, to be replaced by chillsome, grey scale days. But last Sunday, Spring put on her rainbow coloured party frock, threw open the closet door, thumbed her nose at Old Dad Winter, and went cavorting about the town. And She stopped traffic, including me: I turned the corner from my house and halted under a tree, bursting with new green growth, against a azure sky, being enjoyed by a gang of Rainbow Lorikeets. As I stood there, a cheerful lass called out to me: “Hey, it’s Spring!” We could both sense the usual joy and freedom that Spring brings, but also the specialness of this particular Spring after weeks of Winter and lockdown. When we parted, we were both nearly dancing down the street.

To celebrate this joyous pandemonium of sunshine and rainbows, I did something that I’ve not done for some time: I mounted my trusty steed (bicycle) and went for a ride. It was glorious. My fellow Melbournians were out and about in the same heady state of euphoria.

This brings me to some cogitations on the art of travel. Now I admit that I am disappointed that I did not get to go to the Olympics this year as I was scheduled to do, and no doubt I will be disappointed if I can’t go in 2021. However, I’ve tried to stay positive and see some of the things that we are allowed to do as alternate forms of travel of a sort.

In his book The Art of Travel, the philosopher, Alain de Botton, asks why we don’t apply the same curiosity and wonder to our own locality that we deploy when visiting somewhere new. He also makes reference to the thinker, John Ruskin’s view, that to properly savour a location, one should only ever travel five miles a day. So, during our Stage 4 lockdown (when we are only allowed to travel five kilometres from home), I have been trying to apply these principles. I try to see my neighbourhood as a tourist. These days I have started running again, and have a 5km circuit that I run 2-3 times a week and try to see it anew each time. As for Rainbow Lorikeets, they would stop any tourist in their tracks!

I have always delighted in the travel experience that you can participate in through reading. Each time they lock us down, I pick an epic tome to read. So far, I have been to Tudor England in the sublime The Mirror and the Light by Hilary Mantel. I was able to share the travel experience with my friend Jane who was reading the tale at the same time. Then I went to a destination that my mum had recommended: 1950s-1960s bohemian Australia in The Vivisector by Patrick White. It was definitely worth the visit. Most recently, I have just returned from India during the time of the British Raj in the historical novel, The Far Pavilions by M. M. Kaye, which incidentally is a text that should be consulted if ever one is considering invading Afghanistan. Lesson: Don’t!

Food is always an important part of any travelling that I do, and I have actually had more new local food experiences in lockdown than I have for years. Previously I tended to frequent some old faithful eateries. Since lockdown, my adventurous neighbours have appreciably extended my culinary encounters. As we are allowed to exercise with one other person and get takeaway food, my neighbours and I go out walking and foraging in local eateries: Babka Bakery (Easter European), Bowl Bowl (Sichuan Chinese), Saba’s Ethiopian Restaurant and a multifaceted array of other delicious restaurants and cafes that we probably wouldn’t have tried if we hadn’t been locked down.

I am extraordinarily fortunate to have a number of friends overseas, and thanks to a global pandemic most of us are at home with extra time on our hands. So, while I might have had less contact with local friends, I’ve actually had more with overseas friends thanks to the joys of modern technology: multi-country phone catchups; e-messages ranging from the hilarious (toilet roll earrings – the gift for 2020), to the touching (ducklings being saved by burley German police officers – perhaps that’s just me), to the sublime (Nessun Dorma sung by Italian school children). Technology allows us to travel to our dear ones in these new ways. (Qualification: I do understand that it is not necessarily an effective substitute for those who have close family and friends interstate and overseas who they can’t travel to see.)

I love attending a sporting event and have enjoyed travelling to some fun events in recent years. I don’t necessarily understand the rules, but that’s never interfered with my enjoyment as I just love the cheerful atmosphere. When my mum was very sick (pre-COVID days), my lovely friend Miranda invited me to a Melbourne City game and supplied me with coffee and donuts. It was the best therapy I could have wished for! Since COVID, the pickings have been slim and the performance regularly under par, except for the Tour de France. So bless the French, and Michael for organising a Zoom Tour experience.

The philosopher, John Armstrong, once observed that you can participate in the world of ideas wherever you are. He was not referring to social media (which seems to me to foster rigid, opinionated, shallow tripe which only gets worse when people are scared, frustrated and stuck at home). Thinking is an important form of travel for me. Thinking requires time and a want of the distraction and busyness that seem to accompany our usual modern world. I can’t imagine having had the time or headspace to think through the observations and ideas that I am now writing about before lockdown. You may be wishing that I didn’t have the time or headspace to write this now. If so, just stop reading. I won’t mind because I won’t know! J

Which brings me to my thoughts on my future travel destinations. I still very much want to cycle in Vietnam and Copenhagen, go to the World Cup, see my friends in Europe and the UK, and have a Singapore Sling with Tim and his gin in Singapore. However, my current priority destinations are my mum’s nursing home in East Melbourne, my Dad’s nursing home in Carlton, my sister’s home in Anglesea, and my uncle’s magical garden on Mt Macedon just outside Melbourne. Those are the hoped for pilgrimages that are now most dear to my heart.

In the meantime, I am currently researching a new bicycle and new cycling routes in preparation for at least being able to ride further than 5kms from home. Pete B is exploring cycle trails in the northern suburbs, and I am trying to work out a cycle route to Geelong that does not include the freeway. I will keep the cyclists amongst you posted. We will only have to dodge all the other Melbournian’s on the cycle trails enjoying the same sense of freedom and release as ourselves! J

Emma L

Occasional Traveller and Cogitator

Posted by bondrj at 12:01 AM NZT

Updated: Tuesday, 22 September 2020 5:14 PM NZT

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Saturday, 8 August 2020

D.C. SQUAT DAZE 1986
Topic: North America

Frank and Daragh were renting a house in 10th St SE DC. This was an interesting part of Washington, that mainly consisted of boarded up houses, and zero tourists. Its only a mile from the Capital Building but in a rundown part of town. Frank and I had lived in several in a Squats in London, so it only seemed natural with all these empty buildings to move into one. The only problem is the laws are totally different in the U.S. If a building is abandoned, it's owned by the government, and bricked up. What you have to do is find a privately owned building, and move in. Which is trespassing. Fortunately there happens to be two just across the road. So we moved in. Amenities included free electricity, blocked sewer, no water, free trash, and a few broken windows. Rodrigo provides some kittens, Duncan some spray cans, the local building site donated some lumber. What more could you need.

Water. You need water, in DC when you don't pay your bill, they pinch you meter from a hole out in the street. We made a call, unless you could prove you owned the place, no meter. Mmmmmm. Water meters are like potatoes, the ground is full of them. After a bit of late night plumbing we have water, to much water. The pipes in the house have frozen over the winter, so their is a big split right by the front door. Off to the hard ware, for a couple of hose clamps and a foot of plastic pipe. Seven trips later, we finally have sealed all the leaks, and its stopped raining inside. In hindsight it would of been easier to buy 20 ft of pipe. I get to work on the loo, its full, and all the drains are totally blocked. After its cleaned out it's still blocked. I fill it with water, I fill the bath with water, I fill the sink with water, for good measure I fill everything else I can find with water. It's no good. After an hour I'm contemplating what to do next, when there is this sound like a freight train. Unlike corona, the problem has disappeared down the pipe. We sit in the back yard where the guys are building a veggie patch, and celebrate with a couple of Micky's Wide Mouths. A couple of days later the cops turn up. They ask us do we own the place. Umm No. Are we renting it. Umm No. They look around, the place is neat, were not junkies. They smile, they leave. I think we passed.

It's summer in DC, the best time. The guys are all on break from collage, and picking up summer jobs. Need a driver, laborer, apartment cleaned, painting, Bike couriering, Pizza delivery we do it all. At night we go swimming in the local DC water supply, Daragh driving through red lights, and hiding out when the cops drive past. On off days I grab a bike, go check out the museums, or the cheap IMAX at the Air and Space. Frank coaches soccer and there seems to be an impromptu match on every arvo. D.C. Rap blares out from every corner. Beers on the roof at night to beat the heat. Cool Disco Dan is everywhere. Then it's time to go, I have to meet my friend in Europe. They try to convince me to stay, hell they even offer to pay me more. Its been fun. I've even made more here in six weeks than I made in six months in London. I haven't chucked in to many crap jobs, to go on holidays and done that before.

They stayed there all summer, after they left the junkies moved in. Inevitably, the council kicked them out bricked up the place. There was one final act. One day a couple of years later the whole place just fell in to the street, It might of had something to do with that supporting wall someone removed to enlarge their bedroom. Then again maybe the old building decided it was never going to see as much fun again. Tenth Street S.E. you "SICE".

Click The pic above for more.

Posted by bondrj at 12:01 AM NZT

Updated: Saturday, 19 August 2023 2:33 AM NZT

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Friday, 15 May 2020

The Wild West
Topic: Australia

Who in their right mind would decide to ride a bike two and a half thousand clicks through the desert. I have a mate who is even sillier than that, he is trying to ride all the way around Australia. To cut a long story short, my bro was driving around oz as a grey nomad. He wanted some company, pick me. Matey likes riding his bike, pick him. Cuz wants to look at wild flowers, pick her. Matey's missus likes an adventure, pick her too. Then after a little drive, we all assembled in Broome. Well that was the plan. Madness does not run in the family so bro and cuz are the road crew. That leaves three of us riding. Matey has some last minute work task. That leaves two, if missus cancels it could get lonely out there. Fortunately that didn't happen.

The game plan

Ride south from Broome, with a howling tailwind till you hit Perth a mere 2347 KM away.

Technical challenges.

It's a long way between drinks. If you are lucky there is a roadhouse every 100km, a town every 300km. If you are really lucky they will be open. Even luckier , they will have somewhere to stay. No one is that lucky.

100km is a long way to ride. About 80 KM pulls me up most days.

It's hot.

Day one. The sun isn't even up, but we are on the road. Maria and I head out east . Its 30 km till our first and only bit of civilization. Two km down the road I get my first flat tyre. Why am I here again. Carbs at Roebuck road house. This is it till the rest stop only 90 km to go. The great northern goes south west from here. The first 20 km aren't to bad, but it's getting hot. The the wind kicks in, slowly at first, but quickly winding up so with the heat it's a bit like riding behind a F1-11 at takeoff. My brother who did the logistics, can't read a wind rose. He thinks a southerly wind blows from the north. Only 70 km to go. We are stopping every 10 km to have a drink and a break, sometimes under the only bush we can see. The temp is in the high 30's, and our six liters of water is rapidly running out. This shouldn't be a problem, except our trusty road crew is still buying toe nail polish in Broome, having chosen not to get up early. It's now midday, and 40km to go, We are cooked, with no phone service, and just a little bit of water. We pull up under a bush and wait for Cuz and Bros to catch up. Forty five minutes later, they arrive with cold drinks and munchies. Better a couple of hours late than never I say. Shall I do the last 40km riding into the furnace, na the enthusiasm has gone. The Ramada resort is calling us. We chuck the bikes on the car, and head for the pool. Only 2250 km to go.

This is the set up for the rest of the trip. We get up early and ride. There are three reasons for this. One it gets hot in the afternoon. Two our promised tail wind starts blowing in our faces around about ten in the morning. Three The suicidal grey nomads generally don't start trying to knock you off your bike till about ten. Riding in the morning is great, once you get past getting up in the dark.

Matey finally manages to join us at Kununurra. To ease the pain we take in the sights with a couple rest days. Beers at the Dampier Boaties, Swimming with the Dugongs at Coral Bay, Cowboy bars in Exmouth, and getting Fleeced at Monkey Mia, killing Bill at Kilbarry. In between we camp at roadhouses and stations. The locals are all characters. In between the tell us stories, and feed us some fine grub. Burgers, Parmas, and chips. The menu might have been a little boring, but it was great stodge to do some k's on. While we are dodging caravans blown across the road, my bro is sipping lates, while cuz takes 5 photos of every single wildflower in the state. Just sometimes I wonder what I'm doing here, most of the time the hours on the road are challenging, but fun.

We call it, a couple of hundred klicks north of Perth. The "trifecta", crap roads, weather, and traffic finally convinces us there are better things in life to do. I ride the last 30 k's solo down the ocean bike path, dodging rollerbladers instead of road trains. When I get to Cottesloe, I find Bro and Cuz sitting at the surf club in the sun, looking west, drinking lates. Time to join them, only the bottom third of the state and ten million wildflowers to go.

Without photos it didn't happen. Click the pic for more.

Posted by bondrj at 12:01 AM NZT

Updated: Wednesday, 16 February 2022 5:48 PM EADT

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Sunday, 19 January 2020

Armenia.
Topic: Europe

When you mention Armenia, most people know two things, Kim Kardashian and genocide. Two words that seem to fit together like Ham and Cheese. I hope there is more. Armenia was once huge. Unfortunately being stuck between the Persians, Ottomans, and Russians has never been a place where you are guaranteed a quiet life. At various times in between rising and falling empires you were left alone, but that was more the exception than the rule. Slip forward a couple of millenia, after everyone has had a bit of a go at wiping you off the face of the earth, we get to now. A small landlocked country, Iran, and Georgia on opposite sides, Turkey and Azerbaijan on the other. By the way your not talking to last two. As soon as you get independence from Russians, you invite them back again to keep your neighbours at bay. Cheap oil and Borsch, is the up side.

Another day another border crossing. We meet our guide, and driver. As we drive through the hilly countryside, huge abandoned factories rust away, and sit vacant beside decaying blocks of soviet flats. Armenia was a producer of high tec products when it was a part of the soviet union. Like all messy breakups, the fun stopped, and the local standard of living dropped like a stone. During the dark years of the 90's people left for anywhere else. Empty houses are plentiful here. It's not long before we get to our first church. It is the world's first christian nation, and has the oldest christian religion. I think there might be a few more on the itinerary. We spend most of the day driving to the capital Yerevan. Being a small country, we are going to spend most of our nights here, doing day trips out. Yay no packing fo a couple of days. Yerevan is a modern safe spacious city, thanks to the odd earthquake and soviet planning. It has nice parks, squares and restaurants. We spend our first day walking around, the best bits being Churchill's favorite brandy factory and the Yerevan Cascade. An unfinished grand statement that runs a mile from the war memorial to the city. Don't worry about the odd unfinished section here and there, the walk down the thousands of steps gives you great views of the city, and Mount Ararat. Modern sculptures, non working fountains, and a museum, are there to check out on the walk down. At night we walk into town to the main square, and it's musical fountains. Followed by beer, and organized dinner with a bit of folk music.

The next couple of days are a blur of monasteries, museums, and mountains. Throw in the odd roman temple, and a 6KM cable car ride built by a rich american to attract people to his hometown. When we get close to Iran we see huge sanction busting trucks selling black market gas on the side of the road. Check out the pics, there was a lot of stuff there. My highlights were the evening barbie that our driver organized with his relatives, the veterans day parade, and our last night where Maria found a great outdoor restaurant. The meal started with a classical orchestra playing, followed by several singers and a band over the next couple of hours. Fine wine and three courses, fifty five bucks, split three ways. We left the locals boogying to doof doof as we had an early start the next day.

On our last day we head back out the way we came in. After all the only other option was Iran, maybe next time.

Posted by bondrj at 10:19 PM EADT

Updated: Wednesday, 16 February 2022 5:51 PM EADT

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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