tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31773700010932739962024-03-04T22:09:53.499-08:00Paper AeroplaneCome fly around the world with me. Locations include: Thailand, Vietnam, Japan, Holland, Western Europe, USA, Mexico, Peru, Chile and Home :)x meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-23531593088549287502010-12-02T21:51:00.000-08:002010-12-02T21:51:52.697-08:00FAQSo, I know I said the last post was going to be my last blog entry, but I decided to do one more with all the commonly asked questions I get since I have returned.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Favourite place? </span><br />
I have been saying Japan because it's the longest I spent in any one country (2 months) and because of all the awesome people I met there. Obviously it's way difficult to choose one favourite place, and it's usually not the place itself but the experiences you have there that make it your favourite.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Favourite city? </span><br />
Amsterdam... not because it's legal to smoke marijuana there, but it was my first European city and I fell in love with the canals and the tall colourful buildings... it just had a cool vibe.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Favourite hostel? </span><br />
7 Hostel, Sorrento, Italy. This was more like a 5 star hotel than a hostel with huge bathrooms, a view from the rooftop terrace to die for and a bar with cheap cocktails. What more could a girl ask for?<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best stretch of coastline? </span><br />
The Amalfi coast in Italy. And scootering down it just made it all the more thrilling.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best beach? </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The one apparently called "Monkey Beach" (despite there not being a monkey in sight) that we stumbled across after a harrowing jungle trek in bare feet in Tioman Island, Malaysia</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Most beautiful language?</span><br />
French. Yes, the French are arrogant, especially about their language, but I could listen to it all day.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Friendliest people?</span><br />
Croatians. They are always so eager to help, and every hostel we stayed at in Croatia was run by some motherly old hen who would make you want to stay forever.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Rudest people?</span><br />
The Spanish. I'm pretty sure they were the rudest people I ever had to deal with, even when I was a paying customer.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best book I read while travelling? </span><br />
It's a toss up between Shantaram and Bill Bryson's "A short history of nearly everything"<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best public transport? </span><br />
Japan wins by a mile<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best airline? </span><br />
British Airways or Qantas... yes I know they've been getting a lot of bad press lately but frankly they have the friendliest staff, best inflight entertainment and I have never had a delayed flight.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best shopping? </span><br />
Bangkok - cheap and varied<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best festival? </span><br />
Oktoberfest with the Dorties, what could top that?<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best National Park? </span><br />
Plitvice National Park in Croatia... the best National Park you've never heard of<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best tour? </span><br />
The Inca Trail, or the river cruise we took in Borneo<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best night out?</span><br />
The night out in Positano, Italy where we rode down the Amalfi coast at midnight on scooters with Italian guys we'd just met and then ended up in a nightclub in a cave and gatecrashed a wedding reception, then got back to Sorrento in time to watch the sun come up while eating fresh croissants from the bakery.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best beer? </span><br />
Cliche, but it's got to be Belgium. Holland is a close second.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best live show? </span><br />
Comedy of Errors at the Globe theatre in London<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best food? </span><br />
Really difficult but it's a toss up between Thai or Japanese... or Greek.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best cultural experience? </span><br />
The tea ceremony in Japan<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Favourite souvenir? </span><br />
My kimono<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Hottest boys? </span><br />
Scandinavians. I didn't actually go to Scandinavia, but I met quite a few while travelling and not only are they nice to look at, but they're not overconfident and cocky like many European boys.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best art museum? </span><br />
Louvre or Rijks museum in Amsterdam<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best religious structure?</span><br />
Gaudi's La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best museum? </span><br />
Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Friendliest travellers? </span><br />
Swedes or Kiwis<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Most handy travel accessory? </span><br />
Pocket knife, USB stick or sarong<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Most worn clothing? </span><br />
My poor little jeans, which were riddled with holes in embarrassing places by the end of my trip.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best nightclub?</span><br />
Babylon, Florence. I hear it's closed down now, but I will never forget stumbling upon this place to find guys dancing on stage in their underwear, being sprayed with champagne at ten minute intervals and being served by bar tenders who were clearly more intoxicated than any of the people they were serving.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best bar? </span><br />
Tracks bar, Hakuba (Japan). This place harbours so many fond memories for me, it was pretty much my home for two months. Introduced me to Southern Comfort and ginger ale, sho-chu and even let me play a few songs on the stage.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best market? </span><br />
Grand Bazaar, Istanbul. Despite getting hassled all the time, the scarf sellers were so funny and friendly and you even get served Turkish tea as you're shopping!<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best ruin? </span><br />
I know Machu Picchu should be the obvious answer, but honestly, the ruins in Palenque, Mexico do give it a run for its money, and have way less tourists.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Safest country? </span><br />
Japan. I am convinced there is no crime in this country... well apart from the Yakuza maybe. There's not even any graffiti!<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Most dangerous?</span><br />
Vietnam or Bolivia... I will never forget how Ash and I were nearly kidnapped and sold into the sex trade by an unregistered taxi at Hanoi airport. Ok, maybe I'm slightly exaggerating, but it was not a nice feeling.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Cheapest country?</span><br />
Vietnam or Bolivia... it just so happens that the most dangerous countries also happen to be the cheapest.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best painting?</span><br />
Girl with the pearl earring by Vermeer; and there were no barriers and crowds of Asian tourists around it! (take note, Mona Lisa)<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best building?</span><br />
Ginkaku-ji, or the Golden Pavilion, Kyoto<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Coldest place? </span><br />
At the snow in Japan or Halong Bay in Vietnam<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Hottest? </span><br />
Seville, Spain<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Coolest looking money? </span><br />
Czech republic, but over all, Australia wins for me. We have the most colourful and most durable money in the world. One Brit even told me that when they came to Australia they kept spending too much money, because they felt like it was Monopoly money.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Dirtiest place? </span><br />
Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Cleanest? </span><br />
Tokyo or Singapore<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Most fashionable? </span><br />
Tokyo. People here are always impeccably dressed... I'm pretty sure they have never heard of tracksuit pants.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Where I felt most homesick? </span></span><br />
Kyoto or Mykonos<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Worst bathrooms? </span><br />
Vietnam or Malaysia. Toilet paper is optional and often there is no flush. Nothing beats the toilets on the sleeper train in Vietnam that were basically a stainless steel floor with a hole and two footprints to put your feet.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best bathrooms? </span><br />
Japan. So high tech, you can warm your seat, play music to cover the sound of you peeing and super clean to boot.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Longest time without a shower? </span><br />
Four days on the Inca Trail<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Longest plane ride? </span><br />
Santiago to Sydney, 18 hours<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Longest bus ride? </span><br />
Mexico City to Palenque, 22 hours<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Best meal? </span><br />
The huge 50 course Korean meal in Malaysia when Beth spilled a bowl of red soup on her beige dress.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Most interesting history? </span><br />
South America... so much is still a mystery<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">Main things I missed about Australia (as a country I mean; things like family, friends, my guitar, etc. are a given)?</span><br />
The friendly people, less crowds, the fresh air, being able to communicate to everyone and BBQ Shapes!<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffd966;">First thing I did when I got home?</span><br />
Shopping at Chadstone! Well, it was my birthday, I had to milk it.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading, hope you've enjoyed my adventures as much as I've enjoyed writing about them.<br />
Megan<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #674ea7;">Make your choice, adventurous Stranger;</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #674ea7;">Strike the bell and bide the danger,</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #674ea7;">Or wonder, till it drives you mad,</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #674ea7;">What would have followed if you had.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #674ea7;">CS Lewis</span>x meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-4456624600372021972010-11-24T22:14:00.000-08:002010-12-02T20:58:42.514-08:00Hook, line and Inca (Peru Part II)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrRH6Vl34CtUpj7_8UYBrKPL9QyK009A0WVOxftHBahoA08UQwie4R81zMqFJzSNx6UP_wWOhpcC96e_uGbh1hKbORwNKMG6KIQok9BN4eMF6TNhpEvMXIKfkIU8NGxVP2GQOwWB9m-_s/s1600/IMG_9412.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrRH6Vl34CtUpj7_8UYBrKPL9QyK009A0WVOxftHBahoA08UQwie4R81zMqFJzSNx6UP_wWOhpcC96e_uGbh1hKbORwNKMG6KIQok9BN4eMF6TNhpEvMXIKfkIU8NGxVP2GQOwWB9m-_s/s320/IMG_9412.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Back in Peru, I decided to find a tour that went to Manu National Park whilst killing time before doing the Inca Trail. I had some bolivianos (the Bolivian currency) left over, so first things first, I went to get my money changed at one of the many "cambio" booths in Cuzco. But as I went to pay for my lunch with one of my nice crisp 50 sole notes (about $16 AUD) the lady informed me that they couldn't accept it because it was a photocopy. A really bad photocopy; I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed earlier, it was so obvious once she pointed it out. It wasn't even the same size as a normal note. In short, a really bad forgery. Not one to take this lying down, I stormed back to the man at the cambio booth and informed him that I had received a photocopied note from him and I wanted a real 50 sole replacement. Of course he denied everything, but I knew it had come from him because the only other money I had was from an ATM. So I threatened to go to the police and to my surprise he offered to come with me. We found a policeman on the street, but he only spoke Spanish, so the he called the "Tourist police" who rocked up in a shiny car and told us to hop in. I don't normally get in cars with strangers, but they were wearing uniforms and the car was clearly an official one. After much toing and froing, the cambio guy offered me 40 soles. I laughed in his face, as to me this was clearly an admission of guilt and told him firmly that I wanted my full 50 soles. Eventually he caved and I got my money... my REAL money. Cambio guy 0 persistent gringo (me) 1! I love when the good guys win. And I still have the fake note as a souvenir. <br />
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So I booked a three day tour of the Peruvian jungle, as that was all the time I had, but of course it wasn't long enough. When the bus picked me up early the next morning, I realised I was in a tour group with six much older people. I had obviously booked with Granny Tours. But they were really friendly, if a little opposed to anything too strenuous. The bus trip to our lodge in the middle of the jungle was interesting, as the roads were awash with rain and the driver and guide had to get out on numerous occasions and dig us out of a bog with a pickaxe. It was like driving with Sam (:P). We then transferred to a boat where we were delivered to our jungle lodge complete with mosquito nets, cold showers and lazy hammocks. It was a cool little place and we all fell asleep to the sounds of frogs and crickets chirping through the mesh windows.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1zyAxzg3BHGMHuiPVzsYX8xF_ZpOg74i7NH8DC_uJ8OwZowZfJ3MEBzAIV3feXvr4rvqC0jqJJo6akOjqINtzb7IBZHGATR1BigXP5x6tuBy9zpJau6fMKOh0l6TyIQFwmftkf2OsUlQ/s1600/IMG_9470.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1zyAxzg3BHGMHuiPVzsYX8xF_ZpOg74i7NH8DC_uJ8OwZowZfJ3MEBzAIV3feXvr4rvqC0jqJJo6akOjqINtzb7IBZHGATR1BigXP5x6tuBy9zpJau6fMKOh0l6TyIQFwmftkf2OsUlQ/s320/IMG_9470.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
The next day we got up at 5am to go "bird watching". This apparently excited the geriatrics on our trip, as they eagerly wielded their binoculars and wide lens cameras. I, however, will not be taking up bird watching as a hobby any time soon. We sat across the bank of the river watching a part of dirt cliff where apparently the birds all hang out early in the morning. But we were out of luck this morning, as the birds obviously enjoyed sleeping in as much as me. We were so far away you could only see birds through their special bird watching telescope anyway. It failed to excite my interest. So after an interesting breakfast of hamburgers on the side of the river, we boated to our next destination where we went on a bit of a walk to see a huge old tree and I tried to get some good photos of butterflies and flowers, which there were plenty of.<br />
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We also went on a "gondola" ride in a river complete with wooden raft and saw some prehistoric birds and woolly monkeys as well as some other weird looking animals. We picked some bananas for dessert and got a crash course in jungle medicine before heading back to camp. The next day we already had to head back to Cuzco. I had one day to recover before starting the Inca Trail, which I had booked three months ago with a company called Llamapath. I had to attend an information session that night and got to meet the group I would be hiking with, a group of 11 of us. Five couples... and me. Ever had to be an 11th wheel? No, only kidding, it wasn't like that at all and everyone in my group turned out to be really lovely. In our group were Kerry and Bruce, a couple of lively Americans from Salt Lake City; Adam and Sarah who were honeymooning medical graduates from Manchester, England; Sindre and Jurenn from Norway; Grant and Anne from New York; and Anje and Camil, the youngest in our group and least experienced hiking-wise, from Poland. <br />
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So day one we left Cuzco while it was still dark (some of you must be wondering how I am coping with all these early mornings on the hikes... the answer is strong coffee!) for a bus to a restaurant for a buffet breakfast of pancakes, eggs, fruit and... strong coffee. Then we drove to the starting point for our hike and after stowing some of our heavier items with the amazing porter team, (affectionately nicknamed "The Red Army" due to their red uniforms and backpacks) we were off. The first day day of walking lulls us into a false sense of security, as the weather is nice and warm, the hills not too steep and the hummingbirds and butterflies guide our path. Lunch is provided by the porter team, who already have a tent set up for us to eat in and all the cutlery and crockery set out waiting for us. We also have warm bowls of water for washing hands and a cold glass of juice. The food is amazing and this is the standard of excellence we become accustomed to throughout the trek. Talk about luxurious hiking! We arrive to our first camping spot at about 4:30pm, where of course our tents are already all set up with foam mattress and all. We all have a celebratory beer as the night sky grows dark and the most stars I have ever seen emerge from the darkness, as well as Jupiter. That night I start to feel a bit ill, headache and a sick feeling in my stomach. I figure a good night's sleep is all I need and fall into bed.<br />
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The next morning I feel alright and I feel even better after drinking the coca tea that is delivered to my tent door early in the morning by a porter. I feel a little tired, but ready to take on the most difficult second day, where we climb from 3300m altitude to 4200m, then down again. We walk uphill through beautiful jungle, interrupted only by a herd of alpacas coming through. Suddenly the uphill becomes much steeper, until the last killer flight of uneven granite steps, which make your thighs and calves ache just to look at them. We arrive to the peak, appropriately named "Dead woman's pass" (not because that's how you feel when you get there, of course, but because there is a rock shaped like a woman's nipple at the top) to a standing ovation from our Red Army. Adam passes around a bottle of rum for a celebratory swig and it warms the cockles of the heart, as it is pretty cold and foggy at 4200 metres. We all get our "Japanese moment" photos (as our guide calls these Kodak moments) and then begin our descent... a very steep descent. I'm feeling alright until about halfway down when I start to feel a little nauseous. We stop for lunch and when I lay down and it is a struggle to get back up again. I eat some lunch, then immediately throw it up again. I sit and drink some tea and then I vomit again (sorry about the ew factor, but I just want to illustrate that I felt more than a little sick at this stage). When it comes time to hike again, I am certainly not feeling up to it. I have no food in my belly, no energy and I am spewing up everything.<br />
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At this stage, the collective kindness of my group almost brings me to tears. Sarah walks with me even though I am lagging way behind the group, Adam lends me his walking stick and Anne even takes my backpack for me, as she doesn't have one. I can't remember ever feeling so ill in my whole trip and top of it all I am being forced to hike uphill when all I want to do is curl up in bed - it seems like an impossible task. I feel as weak as a 100 year old lady so that each step looks like a mountain and I am stopping every 5-10 minutes to take a breather. I try to eat an apple only to throw it up 5 minutes later. I don't think things could get much worse until it starts to drizzle down. Finally, I'm nearly at the top of the second pass, so I muster my last atom of energy, even though I feel like a ten tonne deadweight powered by a little AAA battery that is almost dead. But somehow I make it and our guide finally decides I need an antibiotic and it helps me to continue the rest of the way, which thankfully is downhill. My legs are like jelly and I walk mindlessly. The rest of the group visit an Inca site which is at the top of an extremely steep flight of stairs, but I decide to give it a miss and continue to the campsite alone. Thank God for the porters, they have the camp set up and as soon as I tell them "Estoy infirma", they provide me with some warm water and I crawl into my sleeping bag and get some much needed rest. I wake a few times to loud thunderstorms and torrential rain, but mostly I sleep right through dinner and everything. I wake up at 2am feeling ravenously hungry, so I eat a mandarin, stumble around the dark campsite for a few minutes trying to find the toilet then almost get into someone else's tent. But I didn't throw up the mandarin, so I figured I was feeling better. Then I went back to bed and slept right through to the morning.<br />
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The next day was an easy day, our guides, Raul and Edwin assured us. I was feeling better, still not much of an appetite but I could hold food down, so that was good. I don't remember much about the third day, I guess we were all pretty tired, but after 5 hours we made it to the next campsite. The boys played a game of high altitude soccer and I took a hot shower for 5 soles - I don't mind saying, it was the best 5 soles I ever spent. Even our guide commented that I looked like a new woman. We also went to see a huge Inca site called Winay Huayna (Forever Young) which was a great warm up for the main attraction the next day. That night we farewelled the porters and tipped them generously, as they did such an amazing job of looking after us and smiling the whole time.<br />
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The final morning we got up at the ungodly hour of 3:30am, but I drank my chamomile tea and made a concerted effort not to talk to anyone, especially Raul who was being overly chirpy. The sun came up as we walked through the checkpoint and this time our group was one of about ten others walking in a steady line. We walked at a cracking pace, eager to get there, but the serenity of the journey was sort of wrecked for me by the amount of people. One more flight of almost vertical steps and we made it to the "Sun Gate" to see our first glimpse of Machu Picchu, the lost Inca city. The weather was perfect and clear with just a wispy mist hovering at the tops of the green covered craggy mountains. The granite stone ruins stretched out beneath the sheer mountain which rose up out of the ground like a tombstone. All the hikers took their dorky victory photos and we got the group shots you see in all the tourist brochures. They allow 500 people on the Inca trail per day, and an additional 1500 to the Machu Picchu site itself. So you could imagine, there were a lot of people there and it was really weird after being isolated in the mountains for so long. Raul gives us a 2 hour tour of the ruins, but it is so hot and everyone is fading.<br />
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So we are left to our own devices for a while and we watch some llamas stealing an apple straight from a lady's mouth and then we have a "National Geographic" moment as Bruce calls it as we watch a tiny bee carrying a huge tarantula up a vertical cliff face. I wander around for a while until the heat wears me out and then catch a bus down to the little town of Aguas Callientes to meet the others for lunch. Afterwards we hop on the train for a slooooow two hour ride through the middle of the mountains back to Ollantaytambo, where we started. From there we hop on a Llamapath bus back to Cuzco.<br />
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That night I had an amazing sleep, before flying to Santiago, my final destination. There isn't much to be said about Santiago; it's a nice enough city, but there isn't a whole lot to do and I find myself just chilling out and relaxing with the guys in my hostel, counting down until my flight home.<br />
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So, there you have it, my final blog entry. Thanks for reading and keeping up with my adventures. I had a blast, but it's good to be home and to be able to tell you all my stories in person.<br />
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Tam biet, sayonara, selamat tinggal, hou doe, au revoir, ciao, elveda, aufwiedersehen, adios, farewell!<br />
(see how many languages you can recognise...)<br />
Meganx meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-4284792840323979472010-11-15T11:18:00.000-08:002010-12-02T20:57:17.007-08:00Livin' la vida loca in BoliviaMy first stop in Bolivia was at a little town called Copacabana, a laid back place perched on the edge of Lake Titicaca, the highest elevated lake in the world. I made friends with two German guys and we found some accommodation then settled in for a delicious lunch of rainbow trout, fresh from the lake. The next day we did a tour of Isla del Sol (Island of the Sun), supposedly the birthplace of the Incas. But I have to say, the Inca ruins were disappointing and the fact that we had to pay each village a fee just to hike through their towns was not cool. But we hiked from the north end of the island to the south regardless. On the ferry back to land, we also stopped at a "floating island" which was basically a floating wooden barge covered in straw with some huts and nets for catching trout.<br />
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That night I caught an overnight bus to La Paz, the capital of Bolivia and a city at the lofty altitude of 3000m. The place was surrounded by mountains and all the terracotta roofed houses were perched on the edge of steep hills. That night I initiated myself at the hostel with a little game of "shot pool" followed by "very tipsy Jenga". My loud claims that I was a champion Jenga player and had won tournaments all over the world were quickly quieted when I felled the tower. I blame the shot pool.<br />
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The next day I did a tour of a jail. It wasn't something that was advertised in the Lonely Planet or something I had really planned on doing, but a couple of Aussie girls from the hostel were going and they convinced me to come along. I am really glad I did, because it's not every day you see the inside of a jail, especially one in South America and it was a truly eye opening experience.<br />
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So here's what happens; tours through the jail are obviously highly illegal, but there are certain people within the jail who like to seize the opportunity to earn a bit of cash. So we loiter outside the jail and within one minute a lady approaches us and asks "You're here to see San Pedro?" We affirm that we are and she asks us to follow her into the jail. It's a weekend so there are visitors queued up outside the door and many prisoners staring through the bars of the gate. We get ushered into a little back room where we hand over some cash and get our cameras taken. Then the lady fetches our tour guide, one of the prisoners who speaks English and we go to another room where we have to sign in. Our guide is Mauricio, a Bolivian guy who seems to be in his 30s and is in for armed robbery. He has two months left of his 19 month sentence and this is his second time in San Pedro. He introduces us to our "body guard" who is going to protect us as we walk through the jail. He shows us the different cells where the prisoners sleep, and we notice there is a hierarchy of which prisoners get the better beds. Apparently the government doesn't put any money into the prison, so prisoners have to make their own income through various means, and how much money they make determines what kind of cell they can afford. I am surprised to see little kids and many women hanging out in the prison; apparently they value family very highly in Bolivia, and the families of the prisoners are allowed to live in there with them. They can come and go as they please and this is often how they are able to make their income, by getting their wives to bring in goods to sell from the outside. Mauricio turns out to be a very informative guide, and I am glad for the body guard, as the prisoners are giving the three of us girls a little unwanted attention. I am also grateful for the body guard when we go into the kitchen where the meals are prepared and Mauricio tells us that the guys who get delegated to the kitchen duties are the lowest scum in the prison, murderers and rapists. I look at the young guys cleaning out the giant pots and shudder a little at the thought. Mauricio tells us prisoners have been killed in the kitchen before by other prisoners. I am pretty glad to get out of the kitchen.<br />
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The tour ends in the prison "bar" where we are offered anything from coke (the liquid kind) to the other kind of coke. We politely decline the offer and pay our tips to the guide and body guard before being escorted back into the real world. We get our cameras back and the ladies are looking a little nervous and frantic about us being seen exiting the prison, as there must have been some police around or something. So we are discretely ushered out and all the way back to the hostel we are just thinking "Did we really just do that?" It was certainly a surreal experience.<br />
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Another surreal experience in Bolivia were the Salt plains, the largest salt lake in the world situated in the south of the country. I booked a three day tour and hopped in a Jeep with Edgar, our driver, who also ended up being our cook and tour guide. We had a group of six of us as we hurtled across the seemingly endless plains in the Jeep. It was so hot and dry, I felt like the sunscreen was burning right off my skin. We got to see a fuzzy cactus plantation, take some odd perspective photos and see a hotel made completely from salt. That night we stayed at very basic accommodation on the edge of the salt flats with no running water, but we did have a table tennis table to keep us entertained and the beds were pretty comfy.<br />
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The next day we got to see some beautiful lagoons, some weird rock formations that looked like they came from a Salvador Dali painting and some vibrantly pink flamingoes. Photos really speak louder than words to describe the landscape, so you should check them out on my Facebook. We stayed in some even more basic accommodation the next night and it was rather cold, but we warmed ourselves up with a nice bottle of red that Edgar surprised us with. The next day was a looooong day of driving in the Jeep back to Uyuni, only to hop straight back on an overnight bus to La Paz. Needless to say, I was exhausted. I spent some time in La Paz shopping and recovering before heading to Cuzco, back to Peru where I was booked in for the Inca Trail. And what an experience that turned out to be!<br />
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Til next time,<br />
Meganx meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-27981923942866708612010-11-04T13:36:00.000-07:002010-12-02T20:56:01.505-08:00Peru Part I<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOGwvsg6GX6-n8o4dI0U9iewkq7DFHMcGcH1JdMZDli2FTfSGiLq-LAMHUEXSobc3jVmepMuVbFE6tbJJGnVUCjGpaUJ-AU-22qiPgVXz6JNB7t0eseJO9HEu0DIrwzVIpmSujMWWJjlw/s1600/buggy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOGwvsg6GX6-n8o4dI0U9iewkq7DFHMcGcH1JdMZDli2FTfSGiLq-LAMHUEXSobc3jVmepMuVbFE6tbJJGnVUCjGpaUJ-AU-22qiPgVXz6JNB7t0eseJO9HEu0DIrwzVIpmSujMWWJjlw/s320/buggy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>My South American adventure started in Lima, the capital city of Peru. I have to admit, I hardly saw a thing of Lima; I was so tired out after my whirlwind trip of Mexico, I just wanted to lie down and watch movies. So that's what I did for one night. The next day I caught a bus to Huacachina, which is a surreal little oasis town near the southwest coast. The place is literally a big lagoon in the middle of a desert of sand dunes surrounded by backpackers and restaurants. But the place was packed with gringoes (that's what Western tourists are called here) mainly because of one thing; sandboarding. So that afternoon I strapped myself into some snowboarding boots, grabbed a snowboard (which felt really weird in such hot climes) and hopped into the big dune buggy. The ride in the dune buggy was fun enough; our crazy Peruvian driver laughed maniacally as we squealed in delight going over the bumpy sand dunes. Every now and then we would stop at a nice looking dune and we would all take turns sliding down it, either on your feet or stomach. All my snowboarding practise in Japan didn't really help that much on the sand... it was a completely different ball game. The only way to get to the bottom without falling off (which I did many times) was to just go straight down. By the end, I had sand in places one should never have sand.<br />
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Afterwards we went for a sandy dinner of pizza, before showering and deciding to hop in on a wine tour with a couple of Norwegian girls, an English guy, an American, a Portugese girl and a couple of Belgians. But this was like no wine tour I've ever been on before. First the taxis took us to the middle of nowhere, which was apparently a winery. From the outside, it looked like someone's old rickety shed, with a nightclub next door. So the guy showed us a big cement pit where they make the wine the traditional way, by squelching the grapes with their feet. Then we went into the shed where there were heaps of stone vats full of wine. There were also lots of stuffed animals looking at us and a lot of dust. Unsure of how hygienic it was, we tasted a few wines and a Peruvian spirit called pisco. I swear I could still taste the dirty feet in some of the less mature wines. They certainly tasted different to any wine I had ever tasted before. So we selected a bottle of one for the group and after a few glasses, we were ready to hit the dancefloor at the "nightclub". I use the term nightclub quite loosely as it was basically a whole lot of young locals dancing to music in a carport type thing with some flashing lights. They all stared at us as we showed them how gringoes dance and after a while, everyone joined in together in a big multicultural dance fest.<br />
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Things were winding down at the winery, so we all hopped in a couple of cabs and went to another bar back in Huacachina, but no one seemed to be dancing, so of course we fixed that. There was a big group of young Peruvian girls just standing watching, so we pretty much made them join in and before long the dancefloor was pumping. Meanwhile, right on midnight, an older lady who had been keeping an eye on the girls ushered them all out the door. We asked her in Spanish how old the girls were and she said 14. Turns out she was their teacher; they were on school camp and they had a midnight curfew. Ha! I'm pretty sure that would never happen on a Flinders camp. I think they had a good night though. I know I did.<br />
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My next destination was Nazca, to see the ancient Nazca lines drawn in the sand in the middle of the desert. I wanted to get a flight over them, but then I heard that three British tourists had died in a plane crash just the week before, and for once I decided to err on the side of caution and just go to the lookout instead. I think I'm glad I saved my money because I spoke to an older lady later in my trip and she said it was the biggest waste of money. The flights are only half an hour and she said they all got sick because the plane wobbles around so much. So I got to see some of the lines and I lived to tell the tale so that's enough for me. For those who have no idea what I am talking about, the Nazca lines are huge pictures in the sand thought to be thousands of years old, drawn by the Nazca people, but it is a mystery why they drew them. There are symbols of a hummingbird, a monkey, a spider and many more, but they are so big you can only really see them from the air. This led many people to believe they were drawn for extraterrestrial beings, but the more likely reason is that they represent some sort of agricultural calendar or offering to the Gods or something.<br />
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After Nazca I caught a bus to Peru's second biggest city, Arequipa. This place was charming, very Spanish-looking with big cathedrals and cobblestone streets. I had another night out on the town with some people from the hostel, then did a three day hiking trip to the Colca Canyon, which depending on who you talk to is either the deepest or second deepest canyon in the world. Our guide thinks it's the deepest. We saw some big condors from a lookout then began the hot, dusty descent into the canyon. The best thing about a canyon hike is that you get the good view before you even start hiking. The downhill stint was pretty taxing on the old ankles and knees, but we rewarded ourselves by dipping them in the nice cool river at the bottom. Then we walked to a little village. One thing that hasn't ceased to amaze me in this trip is the strange desire of people to live in the most isolated places, despite the difficulties arising from such a choice. These villagers were so cut off from the world; most of them looked like their skin had spent just a little too much time being cooked by the sun, so even though they all looked about 90, for all I know they could have been 35. The only way they get supplies into the canyon is via mule, which meant water was expensive. Goodness knows what they do with their day, other than farming... actually, they did have a dusty old soccer pitch and I am told that the people get VERY excited when it's football season. I will have to take their word for it.<br />
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So we left our basic lodging at ridiculous o'clock then continued on to the next place we were staying, a lush little oasis in the dusty canyon with a few cool blue pools scattered around the place. We nearly lost two older German ladies in our group who insisted on leaving before us so they wouldn't hold us up, only they got lost so we ended up having to wait even longer for them. We all had a dip in the pool then lazed away the rest of the afternoon. Early night, as we had to get up at 4:30am again the next day to begin our arduous climb out of the canyon (it's alright, good training for the Inca Trail...) before the sun came up. I have to say, I was grateful for the early start, as the sun was HOT when it got going. Our group climbed the 1000m in two hours, which was a pretty good effort, and I am glad to say we beat the mules, which some people decided to ride to the top. May I point out that they do have the advantage of two extra legs... it only takes them about 1.5 hours, but they left an hour after us, so we still beat them :P<br />
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So we concluded our tour with breakfast of fried eggs at the village at the top and then we went to the hot springs to have a cold beer and soak our sore muscles. I slept pretty well that night, then caught a bus the next day to Puno, my last destination in Peru before crossing the border to Bolivia. But I would be back again for Peru Part II!<br />
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Peace,<br />
Meganx meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-66548088000501242152010-10-16T21:48:00.000-07:002010-12-02T20:54:42.994-08:00Exploring ancient civilizations in MexicoIt was with more than a little trepidation that I flew in to Mexico City. Many travellers had warned me of the dangers of this massive city, and to be careful as a girl on my own. But, as usual, the travellers cautions were overzealous and my experience of this city was a great one. My hostel had told me not to pay more than 127 pesos for a cab from the airport (about ten bucks), so I approached a registered taxi and asked the price: 200 pesos. I don't think so. I persuaded him down to 120, being the savvy and stingy backpacker I was and we were off. The driver was a happy little man who spoke no English and whose mouth looked like someone had grabbed a handful of teeth and just stuck them in his mouth wherever they wanted. My hostel was amazing and new, not the dive that I had been anticipating and the people really friendly. I was sharing a room with a Mexican lady who gave me her email when I left so that I could stay with her next time I was in Mexico. So where were all these lowly bag snatchers, kidnappers and drug dealers I had been led to believe were waiting to get me on every corner?<br />
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I went for a walk and went past what I thought was a church. I took a few photos before the security guard let me in to see it was a library. A really cool library. Every inch of the place was painted with brightly coloured murals and a spiral staircase led up to a cool view. I was getting a bit uncomfortable being alone in a deserted library with an old security guard who spoke no English so I thanked him and he tried to kiss me as I left. I sort of backed away and said "No." and he said "No?" "No." I'm pretty sure that translates in any language. Nice try buddy. I got outta there quick sticks and walked down to the main plaza where it must have been family day, because everyone was out with their kids flying these inflatable crayon shaped balloons and there were some guys playing mariachi music on guitars and a cute little market. There were guys with feather headresses burning incense and calling themselves shamans and one guy with dreads stopped me to talk about surfing in Australia. I was loving Mexico City. My first day certainly put my mind at ease. <br />
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So I wandered around the city the next day, taking in the sights. I caught the metro which is obviously not the done thing with tourists (well, the little tourists that are there... they must have been scaremongered off) as people were staring openly at me. Every now and then someone would hop onto the train to sell anything from CDs to chocolate to leather wallets. The CD guys were the funniest because they walk around with a big speaker on their backs. I went to the Anthropological Museum which is probably one of the best museums I have been to on my whole trip, as it went through human civilization from monkeys through to the Mayans and the Aztecs. Then I hit a few artisan markets which were in the dodgy areas, but found some pretty cool stuff. All in all, I found Mexico City to be very friendly and efficient; people were always ready to help me with translating Spanish or to find where I was going. Although, every day on the front page of the newspapers these guys were selling at the metro stations, there would be an extremely graphic picture of a dead bloody body lying in some street. So I guess there are dangerous things going on somewhere in that big city.<br />
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My last night I went to Garibaldi Plaza where all these old guys dress up in their mariachi costumes complete with boots and hat and play music for anyone who gives them a bit of money. You can request whatever song you want... a lot of couples would go here to be serenaded. It's kinda cute... these guys all walk around like celebrities with their greased back hair and cowboy-like outfits with big double basses or mini guitars strapped to their backs.. "Mariachi?" they ask you with a big grin. It was a great way to finish my time in the city. I then caught the bus to Palenque in the south, for what I thought would be a 13 hour journey. It ended up taking 22 hours because of all the flooding happening around the Gulf of Mexico. Needless to say, we were all pretty relieved to get off the bus at 2pm the next day and me and a couple from Australia and NZ booked into a beautiful hostel in a shady jungle area. I had a much needed shower, then we had a few beers, some ping pong and ended up hanging out with the owner of the hostel all night in the terrace restaurant. <br />
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The next day we explored the ancient Mayan ruins down the road, which were amazing. Being the off season we almost had the whole place to ourselves and we were able to wander through the temples and pyramids at our leisure. Amazing to think all these stone buildings had been there since about 100 AD. The place was so peaceful and tranquil with butterflies and dragonflies fluttering around our heads, until the silence was broken by some howler monkeys. I don't know if you've ever heard these things, but they are LOUD... they sound like dinosaurs, I felt like I had stepped into Jurassic Park. So we walked through the jungle to some nice waterfalls and had some sandwiches for lunch before hailing a bus back to town. <br />
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The busride from Palenque to San Cristobal de las Casas was really cool, although windy. We drove past a lot of cute little villages that didn't even look like they had electricity as we climbed higher and higher in the mountains and ladies with plaited hair walked around in traditional shirts and skirts. When we got to San Cristobal I suddenly found where all the tourists were. This place was crawling with gringoes and pushy ladies trying to sell blankets, shirts, necklaces, anything. They were also wearing traditional clothes. It was a cute little town though, with really brightly coloured buildings, but temperatures were freezing at night. <br />
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On the 18 hour bus back to Mexico City where I would be getting my flight to Peru we got stopped so many times by officials looking for anything from drugs to passports; one even woke me up at about 1am to check my passport, but didn't check anyone else on the bus. And one time we all had to actually get off the bus as they took out our bags and got a sniffer dog to go through them all. There were three nuns on our bus who looked slightly bemused by the whole situation. The guys in army gear tried their hardest to find something, but they didn't. And so we were off again through cactus studded landscapes with a snow capped mountain in the distance. I had my first successful conversation in Spanish (well, close enough to a conversation) with the taxi driver who took me to the airport. So I said adios to Mexico, one week wasn't long enough, but I had to catch my plane to Peru.<br />
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Hasta luego, amigos,<br />
Meganx meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-17694903029310396572010-10-13T12:49:00.000-07:002010-12-02T20:53:46.539-08:00New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkcPPh5__MjStq_HWn0relETfi4OHPbjB10nQcCjGmtWn3N-3MCuNNvcMKYGngplarcH2Xz_1ILv7so49fQukwO1BXFEaDdZNpJkrU5x-OMsfZPwxviPvA641z_5Z91_a1IjcpfolA-a8/s1600/IMG_8285.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkcPPh5__MjStq_HWn0relETfi4OHPbjB10nQcCjGmtWn3N-3MCuNNvcMKYGngplarcH2Xz_1ILv7so49fQukwO1BXFEaDdZNpJkrU5x-OMsfZPwxviPvA641z_5Z91_a1IjcpfolA-a8/s320/IMG_8285.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>But before I get onto that, I nearly didn't make it out of Europe. Due to some "Shengan Agreement" or something, you're only supposed to spend a maximum of three months in pretty much the whole of Western Europe. As if three months is enough for the whole of Western Europe! So anyway, because I was there for about six, I was actually an illegal alien, which the really cute guy at Amsterdam customs was quick to point out. What I don't get is that I have had my passport stamped several times travelling within Europe and nobody picked up on this fact until I'm about to leave the continent? So anyway, he was quite nice about it but I had to go to the cold, grey back room and fill out a form like a criminal and he said he was 99% sure they would let me off, but if they don't I can't go back to Europe for five years! <br />
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But another day, another continent and I couldn't mull over my illegal status for long as I was flying to New York, New Yoooooooooork. What a buzz. Even the fact that British Airways lost my luggage couldn't get me down, especially since the nice guy on the desk chuckled at my lame jokes and gave me a free toilet bag. I was so excited as we touched down on the tarmac of the city I had seen in so many movies and TV shows; seeing New York is like meeting a famous actor in real life that you have seen in heaps of movies. I was staying in a hostel in Brooklyn, but it was like the trendy part of Brooklyn and reminded me a lot of Fitzroy in Melbourne with lots of vintage stores and cute little cafes. I was pretty spent after my big flight, so I didn't see much on my first day, but I was asked to go in a photo shoot. Yeah, well you know, I always knew I would get discovered in New York. It was just a publicity shoot for the hostel, but I got $60 cash in hand and free red wine all night, easiest money ever! <br />
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The next day the sun was shining bright and everything was dandy, so I caught the subway into Times Square and walked around central Manhattan. I smashed all the big sites; Times Square, Central Park, Madison Avenue, 5th Avenue, Broadway, Central Station, Chrysler building, walking past addresses that I had heard muttered to cab drivers in a million movies... "45th and Broadway please". I ran around like a little kid in a huge Lego store full of massive dragons and things made out of Lego, then did... The Empire State Building. I got to the top just as dusk was approaching and despite the paparazzi spectacular, the view was amazing. On the way home I found... Pop Tarts World. Yes, they have a whole store devoted to Pop Tarts! I bought two tasty frosted varieties, then caught the subway home with a big smile on my face. At midnight I went with another Aussie guy to the only Australian pub in New York, and paid $10 for the privilege of watching two football teams end up back where they started, albeit a little more tired. I felt like I was in Australia again for the whole 3 hours. Then I hailed my first cab on the New York sidewalk, with what has to be a record of like 30 seconds. My fame must have been getting around after my photo shoot.<br />
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The next night I caught up with a guy Alex who I had met in Croatia previously in my trip. He was out with some friends after a wedding and generously offered to take me along for the ride. The whole night I felt like I was in Sex and the City. We started at a busy little bar near Central Park where they have those hostesses who decide whether or not you can come in and all the guys are wearing suits. Then we caught a cab to an exclusive nightclub where Alex had booked out a private table on the rooftop terrace which had the most AMAZING view of the New York skyline. Mind you, it cost $120 per person for the privelege! A lot of dancing, a lot of drinking followed by a scrumptious slice of New York pizza ended a fantastic night. And the next morning... bagels! Delivered straight to the door of your apartment! <br />
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I slept in too late to go to a Gospel church that morning, but it didn't matter, because this is New York and of course they have an afternoon service! Now that's my kinda church. So armed with a really crappy map I jumped aboard a random bus heading towards the part of Brooklyn the church was in. A guy who had lived in New York for 42 years chatted to me on the bus and told me how the place had changed. When I got off, he told me to be careful cos of the neighbourhood and all. It turns out I was the only white person in a black neighbourhood. I had heard there were "black" neighbourhoods in New York but nothing prepared me for how extremely segregated it really was. I was getting stared at like I had just stepped out into a remote village in Africa and there were some pretty mean looking guys walking around. I honestly felt so uncomfortable I hopped on another bus so I didn't have to walk. There were some lovely old ladies dressed in their Sunday best, and they directed me to the Brooklyn Tabernacle.<br />
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This place was pumping! They had a choir of at least 150 people, minimal instruments and some fantastic solo singers. In the church body alone there would have been about 1000 people and the music was so moving, I actually had a bit of a tear. I didn't realise how much I missed church until I was in the midst of such an energetic one. The preacher was really good too, wish I could remember his name, but he preached about God commanding us not to worry and to rejoice in him always, even if not in our own circumstances. It was a great experience and even though the place was so big they needed ushers, I felt at home straight away.<br />
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There is so much to see in New York it becomes a little overwhelming. The weather turned bad, but this would not stop me from sightseeing! I walked out of my hostel one morning to drizzle, only for it to turn into a veritable deluge just as I was stepping out of the subway to line up in an outdoor queue for Broadway tickets. My ineffective travel umbrella turned inside out, so I was soaked from head to toe, but I got my tickets to Westside Story. One night I was walking through Times Square and there was a Wagner opera showing on the big screens and people were sitting in the rain watching. It was actually really good, I might have to go see an opera one day. That was the idea of course, advertising. I went into Toys R Us, a toystore so big it had its own ferris wheel, life size dinosaur and giant Barbie dollhouse. I also got to saunter into Tiffany's on Fifth Avenue and spend a bit of cash on mum's behalf... I know what Holly Golightly meant when she said in <i>Breakfast at Tiffany's</i>, "It calms me down right away, the quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there, not with those kind men in their nice suits..." How could you be sad in Tiffany's with all those sparkly things and the Australian dollar as strong as it is? <br />
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On my last day I stupidly rocked up to the ferry port to go see the Statue of Liberty four hours before I had to be on my flight only to find the queue miles long. So I took the cheats way and caught the Staton Island ferry instead... free, no queue and a great view of the lady herself. The only thing was, it took longer than I expected. So I was rushing to the airport for my domestic flight to Miami, got there 45 minutes before the flight only to be told the flight was closed. About five minutes ago. To make matters worse, the staff were unnecessarily rude, and the next flight they put me on was delayed by one and a half hours. So yes, I will name the dodgy airline here for all to see: American Airlines. So that is flight number two I have missed. Well, two out of twelve ain't bad. Actually, that's shocking isn't it?<br />
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So I had about three days to spend in Miami. I was staying at a hostel that was party 24/7, house music thumping like a nightclub at all hours and the common room dimly lit like a strippers. But they provided three meals a day for free and one night we even had a free keg. I just spent my time lazing on the beach which was huge and really nice, although you have to ignore the constant hum of planes flying over your head advertising anything from Miami nightclubs to lyposuction clinics. One afternoon I went for a jog along South Beach only to jog past the one and only The Fonz. He was a little more old and grey than last time I saw him on Happy Days, but I am pretty sure it was him. I was sharing a room with two crazy Romanian girls and together we had a few big nights out in Miami, more girls in underwear dancing on poles (not us!), exhorbitant drink prices and thumping house music. All in all, a good time was had by all, but I was ready to move on to my next destination after three nights... Mexico!<br />
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xo Megx meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-75993540044605622202010-10-07T19:59:00.000-07:002010-12-02T20:51:47.840-08:00Dortmans take over Oktoberfest!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhacPpn98QF6gPJZ-BfCQuyGPiOIpib9iWQweuW0qGBTe9ecSauPRyGa3qZ-YpvwZdGQfGdEhC3tdhSp8Mgkr5Hge1BUd8wGTwmYskvfZlb7pVpgrxSuTFF6uPYW6gJQfvmf1r0TL3MQFk/s1600/beer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhacPpn98QF6gPJZ-BfCQuyGPiOIpib9iWQweuW0qGBTe9ecSauPRyGa3qZ-YpvwZdGQfGdEhC3tdhSp8Mgkr5Hge1BUd8wGTwmYskvfZlb7pVpgrxSuTFF6uPYW6gJQfvmf1r0TL3MQFk/s320/beer.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Beer. That's mainly what this blog is going to be about; German beer and lots of it. But before we get to that, I better talk about Berlin, as that is where I first flew into. Berlin is a strange city and Berliners are even stranger. But I guess that's not such a surprise when you look at the history of the city. It has an alternative/artsy feel about it, everywhere you turn there is technicolour graffiti adorning the grey Soviet-style buildings or some sort of art installation. The first day I got there the sun was disarmingly shining (this tricked me into thinking the weather was always going to be like this...) so I went for a stroll down to the East Side Gallery, which is part of the old Berlin wall and has some of the best "graffiti" in the town, getting political, hippie and abstract all over the place. I also checked out Checkpoint Charlie, which had an exhibition on the history of the Berlin wall. A lot of it was news to me, considering I was 4 years old when the Berlin wall came down. You hear a lot about WWII when you're growing up, but not so much about the aftermath and what happened to Germany and the rest of Europe as a result of everything that went down. I learned even more about this history in the Topography of Terror, an exhibition about how Hitler came to power. <br />
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My last few days in Berlin were rainy and grey, and all the depressing history was kinda getting to me, so I caught a bus to rainy Prague instead and spent a few days kicking around this beautiful old city. I met a funny group of Aussie guys and a couple of girls, and we all decided to hit the town and see what Prague nightlife had to offer. The hostel took us to a weird club which was full of weird robotic lights and everything was decorated with scrap metal. It looked kinda cool, but the music was reggae/dub which is okay for a few songs, then it just gets a bit boring. So we legged it to another club called Mecca. This place had girls in leopard skin underwear dancing on podiums and crappy trance music, so us girls went downstairs to where they were playing 80s and 90s music and we totally got the dancefloor going. Then we went back to the hostel and played Uno for a while before sleep got the better of us. The next day the sun finally decided to make an appearance and we went for an adventure to the Prague Castle, which was basically a huge fortress... we were wandering around asking "Where is the castle?" only to be told "Uh, you're in it". Oh. Fantastic views were our reward as we reclined on a grassy patch in a vineyard and took in our bearings. That night Olivia and I went to see Norwegian singer Hanne Hukkelberg, which was a really cool experience, as I have missed seeing good live music. It was one of those surreal experiences where you walk outside after the 2 hour show and go "Oh, I'm in Prague... I kinda forgot for a while there."<br />
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So after Prague I caught a bus and train to Munich to meet up with the Dortmans crew for an epic Oktoberfest. Nothing can describe my excitement at arriving at the camping grounds to be greeted by Dan, Kate, Ana, Laura and Kate's friend Coxy. It was great to see some familiar faces again. So in true Dortmans style we had a few beers, which were needed to help us sleep in the arctic overnight temperatures in Munich. I didn't even have a proper sleeping bag, so I curled up in a little ball in layers of thermals, pants and jumpers and had a pretty unrestful night's sleep actually. But it didn't matter. Next morning we all got up at some ungodly hour, had breakfast and put on our most German drindles (actually Sam tells me they are called dirndls... we were calling them drindles the whole time!) and lederhosen for the opening day of the 200th Oktoberfest 2010.<br />
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Queues for the showers were phenomonal, so most of us decided to keep our shower tokens (yes, you had to pay one euro for the privelege of 5 minutes of hot water) and go dirty. Then Ana and Kate unveiled a surprise for us all... some yellow and green plastic kazoos. I repeat, some yellow and green plastic kazoos. These were to be our pride and joy for the rest of Oktoberfest, as we played "Guess the tune" and pretty much annoyed anyone else that didn't have a kazoo. After a few steins, we even resorted to communicating only via kazoo ("Uh, sorry Megan could you please kazoo that again, I didn't quite understand..." from Ana). <br />
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So we got a shuttle bus into the fest, to be greeted by a fairground complete with ferris wheel and 14 MASSIVE tents. Calling these thing tents is like calling Uluru a pebble. We picked a table outside the biggest tent, the Hofbrau and then waited until midday for the opening of the festival and the tapping of the kegs. We entertained ourselves in true Dortmans style by buying HUGE pretzels (everything is oversized at Oktoberfest) and playing "How many things can you do with a pretzel?" We were getting very creative and cracking ourselves up, and this was before even having any beers. Then at midday a procession of floats holding kegs and lots of people in traditional dress came through the crowd, even little kids were being weened early on as they hung off the floats with fake steins of beer. Parades of brass bands came through playing German songs and some of those German boys looked very cute in their lederhosen. Finally the kegs were ushered into their tents and the man kicked off the festival by tapping the keg, and fountains of golden beer poured into the steins. Beer wenches crowded around the kegs to fill up the dozen steins they held in their Herculean hands (I still have no idea how they hold so many of these... each stein holds one litre of beer!). And the race was on... each table tried to get the attention of any beer wench that came through the door, and I have never seen anyone get so excited over the arrival of beer. The energy was contagious. Many shenanigans ensued until... the big toilet disaster. Unfortunately, the downside of drinking so many beers is that you and every other beer drinker need to go to the toilet a lot. So, silly me, I left it quite late and got to the toilets only to find they were CLOSED. So Ana and I hurried to another tent where the line was majorly long. I viewed the situation and estimated roughly a 30 minute wait... I knew I didn't have that long, I needed to go NOW. So I farewelled Ana who again laughed at my misfortune (she got her comeuppance when she had to squat under a truck later on...mwa haha) and I ran across the road to where I found a Chinese restaurant. These wily entrepeneurs were charging one euro for the use of their toilets, but I swear it was the best euro I ever spent. No line, clean toilet, plenty of toilet paper. Ahhh. You can sometimes take these necessities of life for granted. I heard later there were many girls squatting under trucks and in parks because the toilet situation was so dire, and a few boys at our table even filled a few steins... eeeewwwWWWW!<br />
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Day two of Oktoberfest, we were up at 8am ready to do it all again. This time we scored a table inside at the Lowenbrau tent with a couple of other people we met. Our beer wench was a character, always pushing us to buy more beer and showing us how to eat a German sausage. We were seated next to a table of Marios and Luigis with cool handlebar moustaches. This time the drinks started flowing from 10am onwards, and the first one went down like nails. We ordered a German platter to accompany our beer, and this ended up being much more entertaining than it was delicious. Apart from ham, we weren't able to identify anything on the platter, so it became a fun game of "Guess what we're putting in your mouth?" There were some things that resembled dog food (I'm pretty sure they were) some black sausages and other weird looking things. The looks on their faces say it all.<br />
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Soon enough, everyone was dancing on tables, shouting "Prost!" and singing along to the German songs, despite not knowing a word of German (cheers being the exception). Beer was everywhere and things were gettin' loose (as Dan would say). Laura was falling asleep on her beer stein, Ana was falling asleep between a guy's crotch and I was ready to never drink another drop of beer in my life. It seems after seven litres in the one weekend I had reached my beer threshold. So we retired after another day of hard work. We had to get some sleep before the DORTMANS ROAD TRIP OF 2010.<br />
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We had a bit of trouble with car hire, but after some negotiation, we got two little cars for quite a good price. These were the honourable vestibules which would be carrying us forth to visit more Dortmanses in Holland. For some of us, this was the last stop in a Euro trip of a lifetime. So we piled into the cars and hit the Autobahn, Dan getting our little Ford Focus up to a cool 190 km/h. We made a pitstop where Laura found some fascinating self-cleaning toilets, which she claims were the highlight of her whole trip. Our fantastic navigation skills got us to Dinther in one piece (who needs GPS?) only my navigational skills were pretty dodgy, as I directed us to the wrong house. And Dan only drove on the wrong side of the road once, which is pretty good.<br />
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We were greeted by that famous Dortmans hospitality to a fantastic 3 course meal of soup, meat and veg and custard. We were beaming afterwards, after living on a diet of pretzels, beer and German sausages for two days. For once we went to bed without having any beer. We had a great night's sleep before sightseeing around Dinther and Den Bosch the next day. The Dortmans girls, Ilse, Noreen (sorry if I spelt it totally wrong!) and Marlies fed us some Dutch delicacies and then we ran around town before going back to the house for delcious pancakes and a party full of Dortmans. Which meant more beer. The next day Laura and I stuck around to catch up with some rellies on Oma's side. To our amusement, we found one of them riding a bike along the main street of Dinther. His name was Fritz and he was 84. After door knocking all around Dinther to try and find out where he lived, watching him cruise past on a bicycle was the highlight of my day. He had a cheeky grin and gave us a wave while doing a u-turn and nearly getting hit by a car in the process. He looked exactly like Oma and just as healthy.<br />
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We also met Oma's younger brother Wim, all of them lived within 5 minutes walking distance in the same town. We probably could have knocked on any door in the cute little town and they could tell us where they lived. Which is pretty much what we did!<br />
Phew! What a long blog. I will have to tell you about New York and Central America another time. Hey, guess what? I will be home in about 5 weeks! Can't wait chicas!<br />
xxoo Meganx meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-25507539359960069252010-09-14T12:05:00.000-07:002010-12-02T20:49:03.411-08:00Inside, outside, puppy dogs tailsIf you measure how extreme an adventure is by how many thongs you go through, then I think my adventure is pretty extreme (except Ash already knew that after our bungee jumping/white water rafting/speed dating adventures in New Zealand...). And to avoid any confusion for any Americans out there reading this, I mean those things you wear on your feet, not any other type of thong (man, that would be scary if I was breaking a lot of those...). I am now up to my fourth pair of thongs. When I am at home, one pair of thongs will last me like five years. Average life span of my thongs on this trip... 63.5 days. And they always seem to break in the most annoying places... like walking in Mykonos when the bitumen road is 100 degrees, or traipsing the streets of Berlin when it's raining (and let me tell you, the ground in the metro there is far from clean). And they were all Havaianas (apart from the ones I bought in Thailand, I think they were fake) which is why I will never be buying Havaianas again. They simply aren't extreme enough to keep up with me.<br />
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So anyway, enough about thongs. My mum also says she can't keep up with me, and I can see why, as I have been in five different countries (Spain, England, Wales, Ireland, Germany, for those keeping score) within the space of about two weeks. I touched down in London town a couple of weeks ago to some rather pleasant weather, actually. I was getting pretty sick of the 40 degree days in Spain, so a balmy 20 degrees was okay with me for a while (be careful what you wish for...). I found Beth working in her pub on Goodge Street (funniest street name ever) then did a spot of shopping on Oxford Street. That night Beth and I lazed around her room and watched movies and ate weirdly flavoured "crisps" with a bottle of rose. Before we went to her room, Beth warned me "Ok, well it's a bit ghetto..." It was a shoebox with four beds in it and just enough room to walk between them. She was living the cliche of a starving artist (or bartender) trying to make ends meet in the big city. It was worse than a hostel, but literally two doors down from her pub. And only temporary. The next day we went to the Notting Hill Carnival, which was actually really disappointing. What I expected was colourful Caribbean floats and costumes and music everywhere, with activities etc. What I got was drunken people everywhere, a few crappy DJs, long queues for the toilets and lots and lots of crowds. The highlight of my day was the African food and this old lady juggling:<br />
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So then I caught up with my cousin Kate, who also happened to be in London (the Dortmans invasion of Europe... it's beginning to gather momentum). We did the touristy thing cruising around Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, getting corny photos in red phone booths and double decker buses. Then we went to Covent Gardens for a beer or two, which turned into an afternoon drinking session watching street performers below and our group kept growing bigger and bigger. After a bite to eat in Soho, I was home in bed by midnight, the beauty of starting in the afternoon. <br />
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I ticked off a few more sights in London, like the Tower of London, Natural History Museum, National Portrait Gallery, Tate Modern, changing of the guard, then at night I went to see Shakespeare's "Comedy of Errors" at the Globe (replica of the original) for five pounds! Only downside being that I had to stand like a peasant for the whole show. But I do think we had the best non-seats in the house, right in amongst the action. The performance was awesome, and actually was hilarious. The next night I rocked up to a West End ticket booth at 6pm, bought a half-price ticket in a great seat to see "Oliver!" (very appropriate for London) and by 7pm was sitting in the Theatre Royal watching a great show. Try doing that in Australia! <br />
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After that I spontaneously decided to go to Ireland and hopped on a train and ferry to Dublin. It wasn't quite the quaint old city I'd been led to believe from the books of James Joyce and others, but a lot to see nonetheless. The sun didn't come out for the two days I was there, so I rugged up in my jeans and jacket for the first time in a while and cruised the streets. That night I went out with some Germans to a cool little pub called "The Stag's Head" where a little three piece band were playing old Irish ballads and the intimate crowd was getting right into it, dancing and singing along. I'd had my first taste of traditional Irish music, and disenchanted by the touristy clubs and bars that were taking over Dublin, I decided to head west, the home of trad Irish music. I caught a bus to Galway and was instantly greeted by Irish music pouring from bar doors and buskers on the street trying to earn a euro. I liked it better already. My first night there I met three hilarious Alaskan guys and a fellow Aussie girl doing the same thing as me, and between the five of us we ploughed through seven bottles of wine and laughed about George Bush, Sarah Palin and the weird things that Colombian men do with donkeys. I don't remember much of the rest of that night, except that I am pretty sure I resprained my ankle trying to wrestle someone and got REALLY lost (in Galway! The place is tiny!) after losing the others in a bar. I woke up the next morning pretty sore. <br />
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I then joined a tour to the Burren and the Cliffs of Moher, which looked like the beautiful magical Ireland you imagine, only crawling with tourists. The cliffs were spectacular and I finished off the day with a hearty Irish stew and a pint of Guinness (yes it does taste better in Ireland... something about the pipes, someone told me) then watched a five piece Irish band at the Spanish Arch, where an old man performed a spontaneous Irish jig on his way out the door, to the joy of all the onlookers. The guy playing the tinwhistle looked like a rockstar, he was very handsome. The tinwhistle is a sexy instrument, don't you think? Then with the accent... well, need I say more.<br />
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I would have loved to spend more time exploring the west, however, London was calling, as I had a flight to catch to Berlin in a few days time. I spent one more night in Dublin on my way through and gave it another chance, and this time it came up with the goods. The sun even came out for a while! I tried to walk to the port to buy a ferry ticket and got a bit lost. An old guy called Lawrence took pity on me standing on the street with my map offered to drive me there (it was so far away, glad I didn't walk!). Then he waited for me to buy the ticket and drove me back to where he picked me up! How cool is Irish hospitality? These random acts of kindness always keep me smiling for the rest of the day. That night I walked into a cosy little pub with a three piece band playing American folk music and started talking to a friend of the band who told me that Guinness had so much iron in it, you could live on a diet of 24 pints a day without eating anything else. I think a lot of Irish people live on this diet. So I hung out with these guys for the rest of the night as we went from little alternative bar to little alternative bar and they decided I was "intrepid" and I almost felt like I could be in Melbourne. <br />
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Then back to London where I caught up with Beth after her first week of having a real job... teaching! She was exhausted, but we reflected on our weeks over some good Indian food and pints of Guinness. The next day we did the London Dungeon, a kitschy mixture of London history and gore... the only time I genuinely got scared was when Jack the Ripper jumped out with a knife... oh and on the giant drop, of which I bought a priceless photo of the look on my face, which I will treasure forever. Then I said farewell to Beth, not knowing when and where we would see each other again, after randomly bumping into each other all over Europe. Sniff. Then I hopped on a plane to Berlin. Three days until Oktoberfest, bring it on Dortos!<br />
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Love Megan<br />
Intrepid travellerx meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-35898641507730280762010-09-05T03:59:00.000-07:002010-12-02T20:47:22.644-08:00I'm a gypsy... are you coming with me?Well it's been quite some time since my last blog, and now it's time to talk about Spain, which is where I flew to after Turkey. (Incidentally, did you know it was cheaper to fly from Istanbul to Barcelona than it was for me to catch a train from Barcelona to Madrid?) Anyway... Barcelona was a nice city, if rather touristy. So I did lots of touristy things... I did a "free" walking tour (hot tip, those things are never free; there is always an awkward moment at the end where the guide asks for tips and nobody knows how much to give) which covered the history of Catalonia (the state that Barcelona is in... they see themselves as separate from the Spanish, they even have their own language) and Picasso and Dali's absinthe drinking days. Then I went to see the Sagrada Familia, which is a cathedral worth seeing for it's unique architecture by Gaudi. I had a wander down La Rambla, a street full of pickpockets and street performers (I saw people doing the weirdest things for money) then bought a strawberry and coconut juice from "La Boqueria", a fruit and fish market that was as colourful as it was crowded. On the metro a lady pointed out that my handbag was unzipped... I always have my handbag unzipped, but she was Spanish and I am sure she knew a lot more about what the notorious Barcelona pickpockets were capable of, so I zipped it up. I also perused the Picasso museum before hopping on a train to Madrid, for which I paid an arm and a leg and a torso too for the privilege.<br />
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Madrid was a city with more character... I consoled myself after the expensive train trip by nabbing a room in an old University Residence for 9 euros a night. I got in late at night and went for a walk to find some food, only to find we were round the corner from prostitute central. There were also these Asian guys sitting on the footpaths with cardboard boxes in front of them selling cheap beer, soft drink, chocolate bars. I think they were probably illegal though, because as soon as a cop car drove by, they disappeared into thin air, like magic. These guys do come in handy, though, when you're walking from bar to bar... you can't beat a one euro traveller! The next day I went to the Museo del Prado, a fantastic collection of Spanish and Flemish art; even after all the art galleries I've seen, this one had a good variety, not just your typical religious paintings of simpering Madonnas and haloed Jesuses. I went to a restaurant for lunch and paid too much for what was basically battered eggplant. It sounded more fancy in Spanish, I'm sure. My whole time in Spain I have to say, I was not impressed with the food... tapas is good, if you're drinking beer and want something light, but they have no good dishes to speak of, apart from paella, which is basically saffron fried rice. So anyway, I met two friendly Indian guys at the restaurant who told me they were driving down to Granada in a few days if I wanted a lift. I got their numbers and said I would think about it.<br />
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That night I went on a "pub crawl" which was basically a group of us drinking in the basement of the hostel restaurant and playing drinking games. There was a very multicultural mix of people which was cool and one absolute moron who certainly didn't need to be drinking, but kept us entertained all night. We went to one "pub", then went to a Spanish fiesta where everyone drinks and dances on the street to some traditional Spanish songs that everyone seems to know. So then the moron spewed all over his shoes and I agreed to put him in a taxi and take him back to the hostel, as I was pretty tired anyway and he passed out in the back of the cab. So I took his last five euros, paid for the fare and went to bed. The next day I met Leah, a friendly Australian girl whose multilingualism made me insanely jealous... she could speak fluent German and pretty good Spanish and French. She asked me if I wanted to go to Toledo with her. We went to the train station and bought a ticket, then had an hour and a half to kill, so we went to the Australian Embassy to vote. They even had little cardboard boxes and a stunning view of Madrid. We went back to the train station, only to find it was the wrong station to get our train, so we missed it, then had a half hour argument with the meanie pants station workers in Leah's broken Spanish, but they wouldn't refund or transfer the ticket. So we had waited two hours for the privilege of not going to Toledo. We consoled ourselves over some greasy Spanish food, then as we were walking through the Plaza de Espana, I bumped into those Indian guys again. Madrid is a big place, so it was pretty uncanny. I took it as a sign and agreed to get a lift with them to Granada the next day. That night Leah and I stayed up until 3am talking to A South African and a Brazilian about the three things that you're apparently not suppoed to talk about with strangers; religion, politics and football. But it was one of the better conversations I have had with people in a hostel, considering you usually never get below the surface of "Hi, my name is Confucius, I've been travelling for this long, my favourite place has been...". I have even considered making up a whole new persona for myself because I get so bored saying the same thing all the time... "Hi, my name is Gertrude, I am a circus freak who can dislocate my own arms and I am currently on the run from the law because I robbed a convenience store..." then watch them back away!<br />
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Ahem, anyway. So I sadly said farewell to Leah and met up with my Indian friends, Reuben and Umesh. It turns out they couldn't hire a car without me anyway, because neither of them had a credit card, so they needed me (or my credit card) as much as I needed them. Oh, and we stopped at Toledo on the way to Granada, so I got there in the end. It wasn't that much chop anyway. It took about five hours to get to Granada, most of which I slept. Granada was a cute little University city, with the massive Muslim fortress of the Alhambra looming over the city night and day. But getting inside that thing was more complicated than it seems... you have to get up at 7am and queue for two hours to even get a look in. It took me four or five mornings of turning off my 7am alarm before I finally made it up there, but it was pretty amazing. It was the last Muslim fortress in Spain at the time when Queen Isabella was killing anyone who wasn't Catholic, and what a beautiful fortress it was. The palaces were ornately carved and mosaiced on every square inch and the view of Granada was amazing. I also went to see a fantastic flamenco show in the gypsy quarter, where the gypsies used to live in caves. I had a chat to the barman who told me a brief history of the gypsies and how flamenco originated, then sat down with a glass of sangria in a front row seat. There were four female dancers and a male guitarist and singer/clapper. I liked that the women ranged in age from 20 up to about 45 or older, and they each had their own style as they furiously stomped, clapped, clicked and twirled their way across the wooden stage. I actually thought they were going to stomp a hole in the floor. Each one would sit down afterwards, dripping with sweat and then I realised why flamenco dancers always have those polka dot fans. The musicians were also fabulous. <br />
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After Granada I caught a bus to Seville, which is the home of flamenco. It is a beautiful old town with little cobblestone streets and flowers hanging over every balcony and a long history. I went to a museum about Spain's discovery of the Caribbean islands and all the piracy etc. that went on during the 16th-18th centuries. It was very interesting and I walked out thinking that maybe I was born in the dullest century in history... why couldn't I have been born in the 1500s when there were still undiscovered corners of the globe waiting to be explored? Well, every day I went out and explored the little nooks and crannies of Seville anyway, even if they had already been discovered by thousands of feet already, but it was so hot I could only manage a few hours before I wanted to lie down underneath an air conditioner and not budge. I swear the mercury never went below 35 degrees the whole time I was in Spain. I went to see another flamenco show (it's addictive) which wasn't as good as the Granada one, but still fantastic. There was a guy and a girl dancer this time. After Seville I caught an overnight bus to Valencia, where I was meeting up with two other Aussie girls I met in Italy for LA TOMATINA, a big tomato fight. We had booked a hotel because everything cheaper was booked out, but it turned out to be a good decision, as you get a little sick of hostels after a while. We all put on our whitest clothes and caught a train to Bunol, where the fight was to begin. We were well prepared with our money in ziplock bags and tucked into our bather tops (or strapped to my arm) and we bought a disposable camera on the way to capture some priceless shots. So, the festival kicks off with people trying to climb a greasy pole to get a leg of ham. Yes, a greasy pole. When someone gets the ham, you hear a loud BANG and then a few minutes later the ominous sound of trucks. About five trucks come through and dump a whole load of tomatoes in the street, and then it is bedlam. Tomatoes are flying everywhere, you're trying to stay on your feet, people are rubbing tomato in your hair and guys are trying to rip your clothes off, everyone is pushing and shoving, guards are trying to move people so they don't get run over by trucks, the smell of off tomatoes makes you dry wretch and basically it is just crazy. Both the girls I was with lost their thongs in the fray and one had her top ripped, but miraculously the camera and our money survived. We pushed our way to a side street at the risk of being suffocated, then got a whole bucket of water on our heads by the friendly locals on their balconies. And that was it. All over. We went back to the top of the hill where a DJ was playing some tunes, so everyone got half naked and started a dance party in the street... I felt like I was in the Real Cancun or something. Then we were exhausted and took our stinky selves home for a much needed shower and I said farewell to my trusty Dunlop Volleys which was indeed a sad moment. The next day we got our photos developed on the way to the Aquarium in Valencia, from the disposable camera that was covered in tomatoes and the cardboard covering the open holes had become soggy and fallen off, so we were sure the photos wouldn't turn out. But they did, and we sat on a deck chair in a department store crying with laughter over some of the photos we had managed to take amidst the battlefield. <br />
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Wow, this was a really long blog, so I might finish there. Next destination: London. Watch out Queen, here starts the Dortmans invasion!<br />
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Thanks for reading,<br />
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Megan <span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span>x meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-60272151518519886652010-08-24T05:26:00.000-07:002010-12-02T20:45:30.653-08:00Gobbling kebabs in TurkeyPrevious experience told me I should fly from Santorini to Istanbul. I wasn't prepared for another two day stint on buses and ferries and trains and the flights were quite cheap. I arrived late at night and found my hostel down a narrow cobblestone alleyway full of little kiddy chairs and tables with people playing backgammon (not badminton, hey Fi), smoking shi-sha and drinking in little cafes with waiters trying to hassle all the passers by. My hostel seemed to be on the busiest street in Istanbul. Lucky I was exhausted and collapsed into bed.<br />
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In the morning I met up with Fi and Shelley to do some shopping at the Grand Bazaar and to go and see a mosque or two. We caught the metro which used these cool little tokens that made you feel like you had won the jackpot whenever you purchased them in the machine. We arrived at the Grand Bazaar and the hassling began. First a man at the entrance asked if he could feel my hair and then just went ahead and did it anyway. We got called everything from "Spice girls" to "Angels" to "Shakira" in the stall owners attempts to lure us into their stores. One of my favourites was "Hey, you wanna come into my store and by some things you don't need?". But some of the vendors were really fun. We spent a while picking out some gorgeous cashmere scarves with a man who showed us a cool way of tying them and then offered up his arm to parade us around his store once we had them on. So cute. At another store they gave us some Turkish tea and gave us a lesson in how to spot the quality scarves while we showed them the new scarf tying technique we had just learnt. <br />
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Then Shelley got her bum pinched in the crowd (lucky nothing else got pinched - apparently there are some expert pickpocketers in the Grand Bazaar) and we decided it was time to bail. We walked around and saw some mosques before deciding it was simply too hot to function any more. The next day we did more sightseeing and shopping, this time doing the Spice Bazaar where walking around you could smell every type of exotic spice displayed in big piled up pots and buy some fantastic Turkish Delight. We also had a Turkish bath, which was certainly an experience even all the onsen in Japan couldn't prepare me for. We walked into the big stone room which was centuries old and these old ladies with huge floppy bellies who were walking around in black underwear simply whipped off our towels and motioned us to lie on our backs on a big stone slab in the middle of the hexagonical room. There were already other girls laying around it, so we did as we were told and they proceeded to scrub us down with big soapy sponges as we lay there in nothing but undies. I felt like I had stepped back in time, as the building was so old and everyone was laying around like sirens from a Greek myth or something. Then they wash your hair for you (I felt like I was 4 years old again) and then the best part - a half hour oil massage.<br />
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That night we went to see a belly dancing show. Of course I got summoned onto the stage by the lady who was acting as the Sultan's mother and ushered out the back of the stage. They put a scarf thing on my head and what they didn't tell us was that we were going to have to go out and dance in front of everyone, to see if we were good enough for the Sultan's Harem. So they played some Turkish belly dancing music and I shook my booty like Beyonce... I'm pretty sure the Sultana was impressed. Fi and Shelley were just laughing their asses off at me. We then went to find a nice bar to drink at. We stumbled upon one that had some cool live Turkish music flowing out the front door, so we sat down for a beer/wine. But we were drawn inside and decided to have a bit of a dance, only to find we were the only foreigners in the whole place, which was fine with us! A song came on that everyone clearly knew and they all got in a circle and joined pinkies (which we were right in the middle of) and we danced around kicking our legs and laughing. Apparently there was some significance of a guy who had a napkin, so we called it "The Napkin Dance". Very fun. Then we sat outside again and an old man started passing fruit out to us, some of it we had never seen before. So random. Then a guy tried to teach us some Turkish - even a simple thank you was beyond us. Shelley thought she had it down pat, then tried it on another Turkish man who replied "Sorry, I don't speak English". Oops, nice try Shelley!<br />
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The next day Shelley decided she needed a belly dancing scarf, so we went back to the Grand Bazaar. Now, Shelley is clearly a natural born haggler, because the lady in the shop was so unimpressed with the price she named, she pointed at Shelley and said "This is bad!" as if she was an evil force that needed to be eliminated. But she gave us the named price anyway, not before Fi had upended a whole hat full of tiny beads all over the shop, which Shelley and I thought was hilarious. <br />
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Then it was time for Fi and Shelley to leave on a plane bound for London, and I farewelled them and set to making some plans for my remaining week in Turkey. Coincidentally, I found out my cousin Ana was flying to Istanbul the next day, so I decided to wait for her. That night I went to see the whirling dervishes, a branch of Islam that go into a meditative state through turning in circles. It sounds a bit silly, but it was actually quite interesting, and a lot of the beliefs outlined in the brochure reminded me of Christian beliefs. I think our religions are closer to each other than most people think. It took us a while, but Ana and I found each other and caught up on things over a meaty dinner of doner kebab, which really is just lamb off a spit with no salad or any other filler to speak of. Mmm, meat. We did a three hour ferry cruise down the strait between Asia and Europe and then rushed around to do some sightseeing. At the Spice Bazaar I was looking for a present for my dad and an old man tried to convince me that he would really like some Turkish viagra. Considering it was just a huge ball made of nuts I was pretty sure it wouldn´t make it back to Australia and decided my dad would probably prefer some Turkish delight.<br />
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The next day we caught a 6 hour bus to Canakkale, the base for tours to Gallipoli. Unfortunately, as I was stepping off the kerb with my backpack on, my ankle decided to give way and for the first time in my life I sprained my ankle. Ana was very sympathetic and was laughing too hard to help me up as I lay sprawled in a ditch with my backpack still on. I was halfway between crying with pain and laughing with embarrassment, as everyone was staring at me. Luckily the guy at our new hostel (who thought he was so Aussie, using phrases that only old men at the RSL would use like "kangaroo loose in the top paddock") was a little more sympathetic and gave me some cream and a bandage to ease the pain. The next day we were doing a Gallipoli tour, so I decided to rent some crutches. The lady at the medical centre didn´t speak any English so she brought in a translator from the shop next door and I had to buy a crutch for ten Lira (about 7 AUD). Ana thought it was hilarious that I was doing Gallipoli on a crutch. I´m glad someone got some joy from my pain :). <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTDN1uwwOGn_qTXRfRNIY2l9o2G52ohFwFi3sruiIHXUyvLkbv3bAUvyTjZW8M44EKgMlQUE-h6ohx8_uf9CI22fGWeEaew9hSxIKr6_sVUGOrBL8UWsBY4q8gErmEmOSMVDfF8wNv_YI/s1600/crutch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTDN1uwwOGn_qTXRfRNIY2l9o2G52ohFwFi3sruiIHXUyvLkbv3bAUvyTjZW8M44EKgMlQUE-h6ohx8_uf9CI22fGWeEaew9hSxIKr6_sVUGOrBL8UWsBY4q8gErmEmOSMVDfF8wNv_YI/s320/crutch.jpg" /></a></div>So we spent the next day travelling on a bus to Ayvalik which seemed like a cute little seaside town. Unfortunately I didn´t get much time to explore it as the only bus I could get back to Istanbul left at 10am the next day! Dóh! But Ana and I had a nice wine by the water and ate some amazingly juicy peaches and stayed in a gorgeous little homely hostel. Then it was time to say goodbye as Ana went on to Greece and I flew to Spain. I hate goodbyes. At least we would be catching up again for Oktoberfest in September. Can´t wait!<br />
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Farewell (just for a little while),<br />
Meganx meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-72190774878808707582010-08-06T13:37:00.000-07:002010-12-02T20:44:04.717-08:00Riding on scooters with boysNaples was grimy, it's true, but when I got there I felt like I had finally found the "real" Italy. Everywhere you looked, the streets were full of life; men with pot bellies sitting in front of fruit shops, scooter and taxis zooming down cobblestone streets, fat old ladies dangling buckets over balconies covered in washing and pizzerias making dough for amazing pizzas. Naples is the birthplace of pizza, and they like to keep it traditional; their dough is not too thick, a litle bit doughy and the Margheritas have the perfect ratio of tomato to cheese to herbs. I ate a whole one for 3 euros and it was delicious. People had warned me that Naples was full of pickpockets and thieves, but when I arrived I had about 4 people gather around me at the bus stop to guide me to my hidden away hostel using a mixture of sign language and broken English (and my bad Italian). <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9QrP7y6GgnDtLisJ7wkMRfuKGFoGFPKQVmfKIJuI7hXFRUMKYEdDLsxKUH4GdxQsd6xQVVZBCwoSaFt7YFqiw8n1ZCoHtOgyQE2BCyoldHvNG_S2ktz6XlNyI73O8lvo-sypISFpryR8/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9QrP7y6GgnDtLisJ7wkMRfuKGFoGFPKQVmfKIJuI7hXFRUMKYEdDLsxKUH4GdxQsd6xQVVZBCwoSaFt7YFqiw8n1ZCoHtOgyQE2BCyoldHvNG_S2ktz6XlNyI73O8lvo-sypISFpryR8/s320/1.jpg" /></a></div>The next day I hopped on a bus to Pompeii, an ancient town, an archeologist's dream and a fascinating if really hot way to spend 3 or 4 hours. All thanks to a big volcano called Mt Vesuvius which exploded almost 2000 years ago. I felt like I shouldn't be allowed to walk around the dusty streets, like I was violating some UNESCO heritage law or something, but it was pretty cool to see how much was still intact. Especially haunting were the people petrified in lava who were curled in the foetal position or hands in the air with a look of terror on their faces.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitO314DSdWLYCi30CIRJjTuNYgWQubc3uaetx5jqhvLalHJK5cFlWWbEe6I74A1QyLbwa0kzpW_JSuknSGahs2F9keIkvQMDMV_Ue1k-d0jUrXl5c8otfn7h5rXjj8YH9k7wH6cW4SnnU/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitO314DSdWLYCi30CIRJjTuNYgWQubc3uaetx5jqhvLalHJK5cFlWWbEe6I74A1QyLbwa0kzpW_JSuknSGahs2F9keIkvQMDMV_Ue1k-d0jUrXl5c8otfn7h5rXjj8YH9k7wH6cW4SnnU/s320/2.jpg" /></a></div>After Naples I decided I needed some beach time, so I caught a stiflingly hot train to Sorrento, on the west coast of Italy. I was staying at a hostel with a terrace with 360 degree views of the surrounding area and the place was more like a 4 star hotel than a hostel. I was pretty hot after being squished between sweaty bodies and my backpack on the bus in Naples, so I walked down the stairs cut into the side of a sheer cliff to the beach. I was minding my own business, reading a book on the rocks when a guy called Rafael decided he would like to chat me up. However, he hardly spoke English and kept asking me "Rafael, beautiful?" and these things did not work in his favour. He decided to give me his number anyway.<br />
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I went back to hostel and had dinner with two lovely French Canadian girls (who it turns out were young enough to be my students... funny how age doesn't seem to matter when you're traveling) then had a few drinks at the hostel which was overrun with the cast of Laguna Beach, the most typical loud and insincere American girls you could imagine. I was the celebrity for the night because they simply couldn't imagine how a girl could be traveling on her own for like a whole year!<br />
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The next night I caught up with two Australian girls I met at a hostel in Naples and we were in the bar at the hostel at 2am enjoying a cocktail when the manager of the hostel asked if we would like to go to a nightclub in Positano, about 30km down the coast. We decided it would be an adventure, and the next thing you know we're each on the back of a scooter with an Italian guy zooming down the Amalfi coast by moonlight with sheer cliffs on either side. We approached Positano which looked like a sea of stars perched on a cliff and went to a nightclub which was in a cave in the side of a cliff. There was an expensive cover charge, but the guys knew the owner so we got in for free. Then we discovered that any drink was ten euros to buy (about 15 AUD), even a beer. We thought we got a good deal when we asked for 3 small glasses of beer for 10 euros, but looking back I am pretty sure it was just one beer poured into 3 glasses. So we stayed out until about 4am when we rode back to Sorrento in time to drop into the back door of a little bakery for a very fresh chocolate croissant and watch the sun rise over the cliffs. What a crazy night.<br />
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Then up again at 9am the next morning for a boat tour to Capri Island. This seemed like a good idea before we had stayed out all night, but unfortunately the three of us got "seasick" and ended up spewing over the side. But, once we got that out of our system we swam through some neon blue waters in some grottoes in the side of the cliffs and did some Jack Sparrow diving off our boat. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvUmawidHYie8Hpcn2fq13-Ur_8dClqgD7Tc1eiW5lmiIsirRSvVXvz9UlEgCIAMiD7Jl9GYgGUCG03RkfVTyNoz7_nUuJcOPzMRsya4Nzy81RT_EkHCHJ1y3s3zyqnCFkYM7tAb7QLbY/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvUmawidHYie8Hpcn2fq13-Ur_8dClqgD7Tc1eiW5lmiIsirRSvVXvz9UlEgCIAMiD7Jl9GYgGUCG03RkfVTyNoz7_nUuJcOPzMRsya4Nzy81RT_EkHCHJ1y3s3zyqnCFkYM7tAb7QLbY/s320/3.jpg" /></a></div>That night we met some crazy aussie boys on the rooftop terrace and agreed to hire scooters with them the next day to do the Amalfi coast by daylight. So we took off on scooters the next day with reassuring comments from the boys like "I've never driven a scooter before" and "I like to cut corners". For us girls, it was ideal because we could enjoy the view without having to concentrate on the road. We stopped at a few beaches, rode through Positano (even more stunning in daylight) and Amalfi then stopped for lunch. No sooner had we jumped back on the scooters when big grey storm clouds rolled in and out of nowhere came freezing cold rain. We took refuge in some old man's garage before embarking on the journey back to the hostel. Another fantastic day, finished off with Tim Tams and beer watching the sun set on the rooftop terrace (the Tim Tams were a delicious gift from my mum). <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZhq75EkUFY4OrTLHkaBJ4pKelTGIENdyY0FyhVEC4rYBwPX4JhpmVpyfBqR4cvkidg6JZ4qwbqGf2KNx8zk9UYIkQXCSaTFhEyV0er55LYizwQK79Ylj55enxmyp3seGyieFHvdujE0I/s1600/pos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZhq75EkUFY4OrTLHkaBJ4pKelTGIENdyY0FyhVEC4rYBwPX4JhpmVpyfBqR4cvkidg6JZ4qwbqGf2KNx8zk9UYIkQXCSaTFhEyV0er55LYizwQK79Ylj55enxmyp3seGyieFHvdujE0I/s320/pos.jpg" /></a></div>The next day was not so fantastic. I won't go into detail only to say I had 38 hours of non-stop travel on sweaty buses, trains and ferries to get to a little island in Greece called Mykonos, where I was meeting Fi and Shelley. Mykonos was not my favourite place in the world to say the least and it was made worse by the fact that I spent my whole first day there alone because I couldn't get onto the girls, the whole reason I even was there. I did find them at about 9:30 that night after some tears and a homesick call to my mum. Of course they had been oblivious and had been lazing by the pool all day. But all was forgiven as we went out and danced the night away. The main reason I didn't like Mykonos was because it was a major rip off and crowded with silly people; it appears the only reason you go to Mykonos is if you like to get off your head and dance until 10am, spend ridiculous amounts of money or you like to grope girls in the dark. Since I am none of those three, I didn't enjoy it so much. But the houses were cool with their plaster white walls and blue doors and shutters and the Venice windmills were pretty. We also got into the Mediterranean habit of eating lunch at 3pm (a yummy 2 euro souvlaki if you please) and eating dinner at midnight. Greek food by the way, is delicious. I only really knew about souvlakis, but there are so many more delicious meat dishes and tomato fritters, cheese balls, greek salads, yum yum YUM.<br />
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After Mykonos I caught a ferry to Santorini, and this island fully deserves its reputation as the jewel of the Greek Islands. The place was spectacular with clean white plastered houses with blue domes perched on top of rocky cliffs like snow and amazing sunsets and lava rock beaches. My first day before Fi and Shelley arrived I hired a quad bike and zoomed around the island (top speed of 50km/h whoa!). I even got lost one time and got waved down by a 12 year old hitchhiker who jumped on the back without even asking then put his arm around me. I just laughed and kicked him off at the next intersection. He was weighing me down anyway. The second night was a full moon and I got some spectacular photos of the moon reflecting off the water with the lights of Oia, the old white town, glimmering. So romantic; I think I found my honey moon spot. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Hbz4xoOgk7zTST86JeRUrjTenv-4WIEfv1tUoCWZzrUk1jPaJnLo4BwmQCxo7hEbLtWvoXR3vok5TIPOf_9mIOfdBQxls7TIPpjWTaQL0w-GrCAMK9VpJLEFwrZAfA9yk6P_p_nAHDE/s1600/sant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Hbz4xoOgk7zTST86JeRUrjTenv-4WIEfv1tUoCWZzrUk1jPaJnLo4BwmQCxo7hEbLtWvoXR3vok5TIPOf_9mIOfdBQxls7TIPpjWTaQL0w-GrCAMK9VpJLEFwrZAfA9yk6P_p_nAHDE/s320/sant.jpg" /></a></div>Fi Shelley and I went on a tour to Volcano Island the next day, a little island next door which is basically just a volcano which erupted ages ago and caused the amazing cliffs and lava beaches of Santorini. Now because the shores of Santorini are all vertical cliffs, we had a lot of steps to walk down to the port. And it was hot. And we were running late. So we're speeding down the steps when a big fat donkey decides to step in our way and like the stubborn mule he is, will not budge. We tried patting its bum, we tried politeness ("Please move donkey") and we even called out for the donkey man to move his donkey. None of this worked so we managed to edge around the group of donkeys and continue. We climbed the volcano and heard an interesting phone conversation ("Sorry, I can't talk now, I'm standing on top of a volcano") then the boat took us too some "hot springs" which were really lukewarm, which was ok because we were pretty hot anyway. <br />
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The next few days we spent watching more great sunsets and relaxing on black stone beaches watching people run to the water like they were walking over hot coals (which they almost were) and eating more souvlakis. I swear I didn't want another piece of meat after Greece, delicious though they were. Little did I know, things were going to get even meatier in Turkey!<br />
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More on that next time :)<br />
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Meganx meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-85240920130143230962010-07-28T14:45:00.000-07:002010-12-02T20:42:34.333-08:00Sound of Music, Salsa dancing and SculpturesWell, I have had a lot of adventures since my last blog. So where was I? Well, I believe last post I was bored out of my brains in the middle of nowhere in Austria. I left this place refreshed and ready to take on the world and headed straight to Salzburg, the home of the Sound of Music and classical music. The city was beautiful with huge baroque buildings surrounded by mountains; I felt like I had stepped into the 18th century, or some time around there. I also found out this stage, after not using it for 3 weeks, that my bank card had expired. It seems no matter how prepared you are, things like this will always pop up. I think I need to interrupt this blog to say that I have the best mum in the world. She jumped into action straight away at home and made sure that I wasn't without cash for too long. That night I had to find somewhere to watch Holland play Uruguay, so on a recommendation from the hostel I found a huge Oktoberfest-style beer hall inside a monastery with huge steins of beer and a massive screen. I met a friendly group of Israeli guys who bought me some massive beers, and then after the fantastic game (which Holland won) we found a salsa night club. Yes, I went salsa dancing in Salzburg with some Israelis. Just another day in the world of backpacking.<br />
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The next day I did the Sound of Music tour, since everyone on Facebook told me it simply had to be done. The tour was led by a lady wearing a Julie Andrews style hill-twirling costume who took us to many places where the movie was filmed such as the huge house they lived in, the lake they fell in, the gazebo where Liesel fell in love and the gardens where they sang "Do re mi". We had a good singalong on the bus to the soundtrack and that night I watched the movie itself so I could recognise all the places. I really forgot how much I love that movie. I swear for the next week I had all the songs on repeat in my head.<br />
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Next stop was a town called Innsbruck right in the Austrian Alps. I arrived at this town and it was the first time I had arrived anywhere without pre-booking. I think it will surely be the last. Apparently there were some medical exams going on, so the whole place was booked out by students. Just my luck. So I spent 3 hours frantically calling place after place on the Internet before I finally found a rather expensive room a little out of town, but conveniently located at the foot of the alps. Relieved that I wasn't going to have to spend the night sleeping in a train station or park bench, I had a well-earnt bath and then collapsed into my large and expensive double bed. The next day I caught a cable car halfway up the mountains, then hiked to the summit. The view was well worth it. I felt on top of the world and even spotted a wild mountain goat. As I was descending, however, I went a bit off the beaten track and ended up almost rock climbing, but without the safety of a harness. There were a few hairy moments where the rocks got a bit slippery and as I watched some loose rocks fall the 600m or so down the mountain I decided it was time to go back the way I came. I don't think my travel insurance covers stupidity. <br />
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So from Innsbruck I caught a long overnight train to Rome, back to Italy, where I would be meeting up with Fi and Shelley. I was excited but completely exhausted, yet somehow I couldn't seem to get any sleep on the 10 hour train ride. Maybe it had something to do with the school and scout groups that were all over the train. But I made it to Rome and checked into a camping site about 20 minutes out from the city centre where a friend of Fi's welcomed me and I gratefully fell into a deep sleep under a tree by the pool. That night I had dinner with Katrina (Fi's friend) and her family, a good old fashioned aussie BBQ with sausages and kebabs. It was pure bliss. The next day I awoke to find that Fi and Shelley had arrived and we kept hugging because I simply couldn't believe they were really there. We caught the train into town for Fi and Shelley's first Italian meal, during which a pigeon thought it would be funny to poo on Fi's head and in our drinks. Well, they do say it's good luck. Welcome to Rome. We then did a bit of shopping, as girls tend to do when they get together, especially when every shop window is shouting "Saldi!" (sales). We threw our coins into the magnificent Trevi fountain, then we went back to laze by the pool and get ready for the World Cup final between Holland and Spain. Unfortunately it was a ridiculously boring game and the outcome was disappointing and Fi and Shelley were struggling to keep their eyes open, so we went to bed, as we had an early start in the morning to get to the Vatican. <br />
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We had a booking for 8:30 for the Vatican museum. So we left at 7:30 to catch the train. But the train had other ideas. Let me tell you a bit about public transport in Rome. They consist of rickety old trains covered in graffiti and with no air conditioning and they are usually so packed that you can't get a seat. This is an issue when every day is 40 degrees. And when the train decides to stop for 10 minutes at every stop and then even in between; which is what this train did. Everyone was looking pretty frazzled, fanning themselves and then finally someone knocked on the train driver's cabin and asked what the deal was in Italian. Only then did an announcement come over the speaker, and it mustn't have said anything reassuring because everyone groaned. I asked a man what it said and he replied "They are having technical difficulties". Well duh. So what should have been a 20 min train ride took us an hour and we didn't get to the Vatican until 9:30. Luckily our booking still held, because the queue was already about 1 kilometre long as it weaved around the city walls in the hot sun (I am not even exaggerating). I was definitely glad to pay the extra 4 euro booking fee to skip that queue. I felt a bit like VIPs getting into an exclusive club. Except that this club was full of sculptures and religious artwork and the Sistine Chapel. Amazing yet totally overwhelming.<br />
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We then went to see St Peter's Basilica and climbed the 320 steps to the top for an amazing view of Rome. The church itself was by far the most amazing I have seen, with such intricate detail in every square inch of wall and you sort of had to wonder at the decadence and power of the Catholic Church. Shelley and I got a photo with the Swiss guards who made sure we kept a healthy distance and then we decided it was time for some of the best gelati Rome had to offer. Katrina took us to a place which was so packed you couldn't even read the flavours, but it was definitely some of the best gelati I've had.<br />
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The next day Shelley and I went to see the Colosseum and Roman Forum. We got a summary of over 2000 years of Roman history in about ten minutes and we stood at the top of the Colosseum just staring at the very place where years before people watched as slaves were eaten alive by exotic animals. And I thought human kind was messed up nowadays. That night we went out for dinner with Katrina and then went out for a few drinks. We met a very interesting character as we were downing our Mojitos... he looked like he was trying to be Axl Rose from Guns n Roses and he was surely wearing more make up than the 3 of us combined. He was also generously tattooed and kept us entertained all night with his anecdotes. On the way home, I suddenly became very fluent in Italian and chatted to our taxi driver all the way home in what I thought was perfecto Italiano.<br />
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Soooo, we shopped, ate and drank our way through the Rome heat, but after 3 days, it was time to part ways with Fi and Shelley again and move on to my next destination; Naples, then the Amalfi coast. Stay tuned for more adventures... it only gets more exciting. :)<br />
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xxxxxooooo Megx meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-66981247446512041632010-06-28T14:29:00.000-07:002010-12-02T20:40:42.768-08:00The hills are alive... with the sound of cow bells (oh ohoh ohhhh)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh58mWAsFeOvxS5IdNqYmrhwH-vhozBqCxGVpzkw-fl4pOt8v1GZbHe2g3gEvYCETzZBIb_BjSQPI7ObPogt8edZfqCB0lXOwVtO_08IBWRRJ7RadQm40OJ63fh108frTyi4ZqkSsQBUZY/s1600/IMG_6078.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh58mWAsFeOvxS5IdNqYmrhwH-vhozBqCxGVpzkw-fl4pOt8v1GZbHe2g3gEvYCETzZBIb_BjSQPI7ObPogt8edZfqCB0lXOwVtO_08IBWRRJ7RadQm40OJ63fh108frTyi4ZqkSsQBUZY/s320/IMG_6078.jpg" /></a></div>When I first landed myself in the southern Austrian Alps, I must admit, I thought I was on another planet. And all I wanted to do was get back on that eight hour train and ten hour overnight bus right back to the tranquil waters of Croatia where the sun always shines and the people are friendly. When I arrived it was rainy and cloudy, I swear I didn't see the sun for the first 72 hours. And my first encounter with the locals was at the Grünhütte, a bar/cafe atop a mountain where a dirty old drunken farmer obviously well on his way to paralysis slurred some words in some weird dialect of German in my face and tried to put his hand on my knee. Needless to say, I put it right back where it came from and informed him that "Ich spreche nicht gut Deutsch", which in English means "Please stop talking to me, you dirty old farmer (figuratively speaking)". I was pretty glad to get out of there. So why did I bring myself to this strange land you might ask?<br />
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Well, it is all in the name of saving money. Same as I did Workaways in Italy, I decided leading some hiking tours in the Austrian Alps wouldn't be so bad. And it isn't. As I'm finding as I travel, when you tough things out, they only get better. Sometimes they can even be a highlight, as my sister Beth would say. This probably isn't a highlight, but it's not so bad. A few days later the sun came out and I even got to lead a couple of people on a hike (despite not even having walked it myself... it's okay, I can read signs). One of them turned around and went back a third of the way through, so the two of us remaining toughed it out, even though it was kind of rainy and it was all uphill. So the deal is I get 2 euros 50 for every person I take on a hike, and then at nights I work about 4 hours behind the bar at the Hotel. For this I get meals, a bed and unlimited beer, wine and soft drink.<br />
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Yesterday I had to map out a new hiking route. This new hiking route should probably take 4 hours, round trip. For me, it took 6 and a half. Now, before you think I am extremely unfit and ridiculously stupid, I was armed with a really crappy map (which I subsequently dropped in a creek when I bent down to get a drink of water... I nearly fell in trying to retrieve it, but in the end I got my soggy map) and there was a big chunk of the walk which was through a paddock and really badly marked. Then I tried to take a shortcut back to the hotel because it was getting late and I had to scramble through the bush getting stung by nettles and falling off rocks and logs (and can I just quietly say, THOSE NETTLE STINGER THINGS HURT.) I came out onto the main road, and I am sure I must have looked like Jane from Tarzan with dirt on my face and twigs in my hair... but I made it. And achieved my objective... to map out a new trail where no (wo)man has gone before. Sometimes I feel like I'm in <em>Lord of the Rings</em>, other times I feel like I'm in Enid Blyton's <em>The Faraway Tree</em> (the trees even make that <em>wisha wisha wisha</em> sound... am I showing my age here?), sometimes I feel like Maria Von Trapp, but mostly I just feel a bit bored. <br />
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Another plus to being stuck out here with nothing to do is that I have finally opened my Bible. After carting it around for six months and opening it probably only once (in Vietnam on a sleeper train when I thought we were going to contract a disease from the beds) I have decided to read it from front to back. I realise I have never done this before in my life - all the stories seemed so familiar to me since being drummed into us in Sunday School and high school,etc. But to read the Old Testament in order and with fresh eyes is fascinating. In fact, I have found a lot of things in the Old Testament which really concern me, and I can't believe I have never questioned some of it before. I could write a whole extra blog on what I have found reading it, but I won't bore you all. If anyone has any insight into this, feel free to email me, because I find the God that exists in the Old Testament seems contradictory to everything I am led to believe about him in the New Testament and beyond. How could the Israelites trust in a God who turned on them all the time and condoned stoning, burning and stabbing people to death for some seemingly minor offences? And some of the justifications for making war with their neighbours seem similar to the excuses you hear come out of the mouths of fundamentalist religious people who think it is holy to blow themselves up. But anyway, it is certainly interesting reading. I found once I started, it became like one of those novels you can't put down, except that it's actually real history and really small writing and heaps and heaps of pages. Heaps and HEAPS of pages...<br />
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So anyway, this is what I dedicate my days to, I'm also getting better at speaking Dutch and German, although I always get the two confused. Oh, and Australia finally made the news here with our new Kath & Kim-like Prime Minister. I watched Rudd's speech on YouTube and it nearly made me cry... poor Rudd! And I watched Gillard's speech and it made me laugh because of her accent and the chicken head bobbing. But I think she might be ok, only time will tell. Although if she holds an election while I'm overseas it's kind of annoying because I have no idea how to vote... ah well.<br />
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Do do do do...<br />
Megan<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPfWflWnwtXiaiWbXJ0rPLamKHq6ESXk_Bs2tsfj2UOCpK0VLgkssAEHBIjeZExUFB8_IASlxx_lT42GDkRoxFv5zvZN06rAJQKvatjCCrryARZSi05IA-HupxsfWF1E4kZVwXtniQw0s/s1600/IMG_6137.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPfWflWnwtXiaiWbXJ0rPLamKHq6ESXk_Bs2tsfj2UOCpK0VLgkssAEHBIjeZExUFB8_IASlxx_lT42GDkRoxFv5zvZN06rAJQKvatjCCrryARZSi05IA-HupxsfWF1E4kZVwXtniQw0s/s320/IMG_6137.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Look at the way these weeds and prickles taunt me... surely there is no way through this wilderness...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqut6r2Owl-goWoIGN9s09ecD2LRGPZ0C5aLCDU7cf5Jfu0-WXIDmN_fdUlhODS_yQwSIARSTO1YygAEwgsVx1gPWtcoQ1SHE3E5wxXGv0a_RzUT8Hwv2PeVXxqsLCs_I-zZS_fym13XU/s1600/IMG_6152.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqut6r2Owl-goWoIGN9s09ecD2LRGPZ0C5aLCDU7cf5Jfu0-WXIDmN_fdUlhODS_yQwSIARSTO1YygAEwgsVx1gPWtcoQ1SHE3E5wxXGv0a_RzUT8Hwv2PeVXxqsLCs_I-zZS_fym13XU/s320/IMG_6152.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">But nothing is impossible for Megan, Weed Warrior! Fear me, oh weeds and stingers (did I mention earlier that those things hurt!). Armed with my Scythe of Carinthia (I left my machete at home, unfortunately...) I will slaughter you mercilessly! Feel my wrath.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinjPQlAnilLz99qya_P6vaIRkLtG1QMX3Syi4pIykQtFhmYPtY2os34JH7ars_SyBWtCmqyZjTS3Z3YOty3iUowRuJKCfZrgv54D6J3BgNGhspzBJKwIO7zYCNRqsGVgXES5xpt6J9b5E/s1600/IMG_6150.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinjPQlAnilLz99qya_P6vaIRkLtG1QMX3Syi4pIykQtFhmYPtY2os34JH7ars_SyBWtCmqyZjTS3Z3YOty3iUowRuJKCfZrgv54D6J3BgNGhspzBJKwIO7zYCNRqsGVgXES5xpt6J9b5E/s320/IMG_6150.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Check out the path I made. Suck on that stingers. Goodness wins again! Who needs a lawn mower? (or a real scythe, or a machete...)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">By the way, before the comments flow in, yes I have been reading too much Old Testament, yes, I did enjoy that just a little too much and yes, I do have too much time on my hands :)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Stay tuned for more adventures of Megan, Weed Warrior.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>"Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail"</em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>Ralph Waldo Emerson</em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>x meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-50469683983639562202010-06-17T11:03:00.000-07:002010-12-02T20:39:42.283-08:00Dobro Došli u CroatiaYou may want to get a tea of coffee and get comfortable for this one, it's been a while between blog posts.<br />
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After finding my green thumbs in the Umbrian soil and farewelling my kind hosts, I ventured up to Verona to reunite with my long lost sister Beth. The city that inspired Shakespeare's tale of two households was an old and beautiful town and we visited the alleged balcony where Juliet allegedly called out to her Romeo. We were met at the hostel by a lovely and enthusiastic Italian lady who looked after us for the two nights we were there. After Verona, we both decided we wanted to get out of the cities for a while, so we randomly caught a train up to Bolzano, a small town at the foot of the Dolomites in Northern Italy. In fact, it was so northern it pretty much felt like Austria. We did a walk in the mountains after catching a cable car up and we half expected to hear someone yodelling or Julie Andrews twirling around in a grass field. The rocky Dolomites themselves still had snow on top, so we couldn't go right up there, but they looked cool, kind of scary and misty like something out of Lord of the Rings.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrbilFVmYe2fUV4mwljmXdbcfTg78qFJIAfIZI22jdpoOvHPXt3PfpJCDog5eLs_p2AnlULiH9O-JaEol8r_t8wsdhxYp99lrj-vIU5cZhBLDCF-tyk2FqRWY0lEv-U8TU5_tj5QlmOj8/s1600/Picture+278.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrbilFVmYe2fUV4mwljmXdbcfTg78qFJIAfIZI22jdpoOvHPXt3PfpJCDog5eLs_p2AnlULiH9O-JaEol8r_t8wsdhxYp99lrj-vIU5cZhBLDCF-tyk2FqRWY0lEv-U8TU5_tj5QlmOj8/s320/Picture+278.jpg" /></a></div>We then caught a train to Venice, a labyrinth city of crazy canals and narrow alleyways. It was a little surreal walking around the city you've seen so many times before in movies. It was our last stop in Italy, so after wandering the streets (getting lost more times than I can count), testing out the bar scene, eating our weight in pizza, calzone and gelati and scamming a few free rides on the waterbus (not to mention a "free" night at the hostel), Bonnie and Clyde aka Beth and Megan boarded a bus to our next adventure: destination Croatia.<br />
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I really didn't know much about Croatia before getting there, just that heaps of travelers had told us it was beautiful. So we disembarked at Pula not quite knowing what to expect. We walked for what seemed like forever to our hostel with our backpacks, getting accosted by old Croatian ladies who barely spoke English to see if we wanted to rent a room from them. We walked past an old Roman colisseum then up some gruelling steps to finally be greeted warmly by the lovely Croatian lady called Gordana who ran the hostel. After the tourist circus that is Italy, it was nice to stay somewhere relatively quiet and with the most motherly lady - she was so hospitable and welcoming, we didn't want to leave - "For me this is not job" she says "This is my passion, I love to meet the young people". So we booked three extra nights and proceeded to lie on the beach, sunbake, swim and lie on the beach every day. We also did a day trip to Rovinj, one hour north to lie on the beach, sunbake, swim and lie on the beach. Although, in Rovinj it was a little harder to enjoy the view of the islands and crystal clear waters as we were kind of distracted by all the nude people sunbaking, fishing and lying on the beach. Apparently there was a nudist island nearby, but I think some people had lost their way.<br />
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So then we farewelled Gordana ("I will miss you so much" she said) and moved on to Zadar, a lively student town with more crystal clear water. We were fascinated by the "sea organ" which was a set of steps with holes in them and somehow the wind and sea made a sound like a huge wood pipe crossed with a whale call... it was such a cool sound, but it took us a long time to figure out where it was coming from. We had the best gelati in all of Europe here (well, maybe) and watched the worst movie in the world (Sex and the City 2). Coming out of the cinema we nearly forgot we were in Croatia for a while. There are times like that where I have to pinch myself and remember that I am actually in Europe and all my family and friends are over the other side of the world. It's a bit crazy.<br />
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Next was Plitvice National Park, a place that could have come out of a mythical land like Lord of the Rings or something. Massive waterfalls, green moss, trees and bushes everywhere and the clearest bluest lakes you have ever seen. Unfortunately I forgot my camera, but Beth took heaps of photos. That night we went to a Croatian music concert in "town" where people were crowded around to watch geriatric rock bands and barbie doll girls lip sync their way through the night. They weren't even convincing... the guitar and bass weren't even plugged in. But it was a great experience nonetheless. An accordion player was the highlight of the night, playing his way through a medley of rock songs with a cheesy smile on his face the whole time. Beth and I decided it was official: accordions were now sexy.<br />
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We then missed a bus to Split... actually, the bus missed us, just deciding not to stop for some unknown reason... from where we caught a ferry to Hvar Island. Here we got some more chillout time and met some cool people to watch the World Cup with. Unfortunately, the Australian vs. Germany game was just embarrassing, so we went to some bars to drown our sorrows. The next day a group of us hired a little boat with a motor tacked on the back to explore another island. The guy who suggested it had never driven a boat, but the owner of the hostel agreed to hire it to us anyway. But the smile faded from his face as he watched our Captain crash into two moored boats and the jetty before getting out of the harbour. He seemed very relieved 6 hours later when we pulled back in without scraping anything and with the boat in one piece.<br />
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So now I am in Dubrovnik, a nice little town with some more beautiful beaches and islands. The hostel is once again the epitome of Croatin hospitality with a motherly woman named Milka who serves us all breakfast every morning and calls us her beautiful children. I really do love Croatian people. Yesterday we did a day trip to Montenegro - you know, another day, another country - and did some snorkelling and cruising around. But once again I am parted from my sister for a while. She goes onto Greece and I am about to board a bus to Austria, where I have lined up some volunteer work at a hotel in the Alps. They need someone young and fit to lead some hiking tours and serve some food. And I need to stop in one place and relax for a while, as I am feeling a little burnt out and am starting to take some of these amazing sights for granted.<br />
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Halfway home,<br />
Meganx meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-80248763652125036232010-05-27T12:33:00.000-07:002010-12-02T20:37:53.556-08:00My House in Umbria<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBNdtA0zzUFdXvvTy_QKAvGhQOhI_xy7VVH_R54gvUaxCAUv9EdeQjz6YHPAjXsV35JboQ4y3FSN_qloVWUmataTxO24q47eb3JMUWsleNlkOZu0MC1WtwIkq2xL3VMfktZR3EMdZQyGA/s1600/IMG_5305.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBNdtA0zzUFdXvvTy_QKAvGhQOhI_xy7VVH_R54gvUaxCAUv9EdeQjz6YHPAjXsV35JboQ4y3FSN_qloVWUmataTxO24q47eb3JMUWsleNlkOZu0MC1WtwIkq2xL3VMfktZR3EMdZQyGA/s320/IMG_5305.JPG" /></a></div><br />
When a backpacker from Hawaii first told me about Workaway when I was in Amsterdam, I was slightly dubious. I mean, it sounded like slave labour... working half the day just for some food and shelter... it sounded a bit medieval. But I met the backpacker at a Christian hostel and I thought maybe it was divine intervention... so I signed up.<br />
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Basically there are heaps of organisations and families who put advertisements online for volunteers at their farm or hostel or hotel and poor backpackers like me hoping to save a buck and soak up some language and culture get in touch with them to help out for a few weeks. So I contacted a family that sounded friendly who were living in an old farmhouse right near the border of Tuscany and Umbria in the countryside in Italy. I had no idea what to expect.<br />
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Beth and I parted ways as she went on to Rome to continue her adventures. I was met at the station by Alex, an Englishwoman who immediately seemed friendly and hospitable. It was with her I would be spending the next two weeks slaving away in the garden strimming, mowing, weeding, composting, digging and planting. Now don't faint people, I haven't done a whole lot of gardening in my life, so most of this was quite new to me. But I found it to be quite enjoyable when the sun was shining down and it felt good to see the garden take shape. I thought hauling a 20kg backpack around was good for my muscles, but gardening has definitely given me a workout. However, it hasn't all been hard work.<br />
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The day after I got there we went to some natural hot baths in the middle of nowhere to soak our muscles, which was great. On the hot days we have also made afternoon visits to the outdoor swimming pool that sits in the middle of a grass field with a great view out over the hills and towns. Alex and her husband (who is currently in America visiting family) also have two gorgeous little girls, Thomasina (10) and Isolde (8). My second day in the garden Thomasina didn't go to school because she had a "tummy ache" which turned out to be a guise so that she could spend the day gardening with us and listen to me tell her stories all day. Funnily enough, Isolde had a "tummy ache" two days later and I had to dig deep (pardon the pun) into my story bank to entertain her for the day. These kids are pretty well-read... I had to think outside your regular fairytales and greek myths, because they had heard them all. "Can't you stay forever?" They asked me. I'm pretty sure I would run out of stories.<br />
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The house itself is a beautiful old two-storey orange-brick thing surounded by lush garden and grass with wild poppies and other such flowers growing everywhere. It's a bit of an explosion inside as they are in the proces of rebuilding parts, but it has a certain charm. The view of the surrounding country is amazing. I often enjoy it as I am having a shower outside with the sun shining down or sitting in a deck chair in the front yard.<br />
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Last weekend we did a day trip to Assisi, which is really only famous because of St Francis who stuck it up the Catholic Church by telling them they were becoming greedy and not helping the poor enough in the 15th century. But it really is a beautiful city in its own right. We took a long walk to an old fortress that looked out over half of Umbria, visited Francis' tomb and ate some world class gelati before driving home for a delicious dinner of mussels in tomato, garlic and olive oil wth salad.<br />
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I love travelling around, but the last two weeks have been good to be still for a while, to sit back and relax with a beer and a book as the suns sets over the countryside and think about where I'm heading next. Maybe Croatia if I can get in contact with Beth (who wins worst traveller of the year award... yes, Beth, it's official). I've made it halfway, but I swear it already feels like a year has passed. I can't wait to see what the next half has in store for me. I definitely think I will be giving Workaway another go.<br />
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Love Meganx meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-27134388070566142902010-05-17T12:20:00.000-07:002010-12-02T20:36:44.277-08:00Nudity in Florence<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Hw1C8_M61u747FzC77lcHTZOmg2MXGN7eAkivn8znvtbVbA1_Wxcc86Fe4P8JIGAFfcirLN-c89-NtbwLHmUn51Qgg_vEj7mZUp_tIb90Kz3O6bk9LzXD-Ql5GVMGu84LhQIkla5NsA/s1600/Photo+412.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Hw1C8_M61u747FzC77lcHTZOmg2MXGN7eAkivn8znvtbVbA1_Wxcc86Fe4P8JIGAFfcirLN-c89-NtbwLHmUn51Qgg_vEj7mZUp_tIb90Kz3O6bk9LzXD-Ql5GVMGu84LhQIkla5NsA/s320/Photo+412.jpg" /></a></div><br />
After Paris I felt like I needed a good bath. So I caught a 5 hour train down to Nice, on the southern coast of Spain. And after a few days of straight rain, the sun once again showed its face for a beautiful day in Nice. I did some much needed laundry then walked around the coast where people sunbathed on a pebbly beach beside azure water without a wave in sight. I climbed a big cliff to look out over the view of the city with its terra cotta houses jutting out of green hills. This must have been the better part of France. That night I caught a train to Cannes for the red carpet opening of the Cannes Film Festival. I snuck into a restricted area with all the stalkers with step ladders and craned necks waving their cameras over the heads of the people in front to get the good paparazzi shots. It was funny to see what goes on around the red carpet, the parts you don't see on TV. The atmosphere was awesome with music and excited people everywhere, wannabe celebrities walking around in suits and glittering dresses... or maybe they were famous, but I certainly didn't recognise them. One Australian guy I met snuck onto the red carpet right at the end in his tuxedo with bow tie and then started pretending he was famous and signing autographs afterwards. I got a photo with him and then all the French girls were asking "Excuse me, but who is that?" I got my paparazzi shots of Tim Burton, Cate Blanchett, Salma Hayek, Russell Crowe and Eva Longoria (just to drop a few names) and then went to watch the Gorillaz play on a stage on the water. <br />
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The next day I caught another 5 hour train to meet my sister Beth in Pisa, a town really only famous for one thing; a tower that defied the laws of architecture and physics. The highlight, however, was not the tower but the awesome hostel we were staying at. It was in an old monastery with 300 year old stained glass windows and an enigmatic owner, Marco who mad our stay very comfortable. Him and his Thai wife cooked us dinner which consisted of three different types of pasta cooked Tuscan style and some bruschetta washed down with some Sicilian red wine. We were like a big Italian family all sitting around the dinner table and after dinner Marco showed us his pet ferret. So that day Beth and I got some dumb tourist shots of us leaning against the tower and hugging the tower (I can't describe how stupid people look when they do this - see below and that was Pisa.<br />
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The next day we went to Florence, an old city most famous for Michelangelo's David, but there were plenty of other things to see, including a lot more nude Italian men in the form of marble sculptures. They really were amazing, but David did top the lot. He was massive and so perfect in every way and the expression on his face is so mysterious. It was hard to peel our eyes off him, but we braved the cold rainy weather (what the heck? this is supposed to be sunny Italy) to see some art and history in the museums then walked to a lookout to see how big Florence really was. On Saturday night we decided to test out the nightlife at a nightclub after having some dinner. Sounds simple, but in reality getting a good cheap feed on a Saturday night was near impossible. There were so many queues and after trawling the streets for ages getting hungrier and grumpier we scoffed down an expensive meal at almost 11pm. This was after Beth had been basically sexually assaulted by a crazy Italian guy who groped her on the street yelling "Ooh, Americano". We weren't sure what was more insulting; being considered American or being considered a sex symbol. We then met 2 Italians at a gelati stand who walked us to a nearby club. We weren't really that impressed with it, so we walked to another club called Babylon and this is where we really got a taste for how Italians party. The dancefloor was crazy. There were half naked DJs on the podium and other guys in nothing but jocks and sunglasses dancing next to them, while the barpeople sprayed everyone with champagne at regular intervals. In fact, the bartenders were so drunk I managed to score quite a few drinks for "free". After getting quite a lot of Italian male attention, Beth and I decided to escape back to our hostel before we got groped again.<br />
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</a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC49scxrohVUyj94OcucQ5qfowrNLVPN1ahHANCAfXLe7BfnfKMA20PeSNzmy-sP04kx_DZ-7SJbw6t-a8q4sUebSKTKBpl6ZYZt2raULaKR211IC6yNkQFjTaOR2PIxzWioW-jkkYgAg/s1600/IMG_5215.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC49scxrohVUyj94OcucQ5qfowrNLVPN1ahHANCAfXLe7BfnfKMA20PeSNzmy-sP04kx_DZ-7SJbw6t-a8q4sUebSKTKBpl6ZYZt2raULaKR211IC6yNkQFjTaOR2PIxzWioW-jkkYgAg/s320/IMG_5215.JPG" /></a></div>The next day we had a stressful morning dealing with banks and phone companies (both of which are evil) before finally boarding a train to Siena, which was gorgeous. There was a major soccer game going on there, so the streets were eerily empty of tourists and people, which was a nice change. Crowds of people who obviously couldn't get tickets to the game were sitting on fences and at the gates trying to watch. At one point people went absolutely crazy with flares and cheering, jumping up and down. I'm pretty sure their team scored a goal. I have never seen Aussies so passionate about football, it was contagious. So in better spirits we walked around the stony streets of Siena with burnt brown houses jutting every which way and a big cathedral on the hill.<br />
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But yesterday Beth and I parted ways as I was scheduled to meet a family who live in an old farmhouse in Umbria and Beth was off to Rome. I am going to help them with some gardening and entertain their two daughters for 2 weeks while they give me a place to stay and some food. Sounds good to me. Now if only the weather would clear up, it will be just like a scene from <i>Under the Tuscan Sun </i>(technically I'm in Umbria, but it's right on the border with Tuscany).<br />
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I will tell you all about it next time. Now I'm off to bed.<br />
Buona notte,<br />
Meganx meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-90388422316365977332010-05-10T13:31:00.000-07:002010-12-02T20:52:35.857-08:00The Trouble With Paris...Have you ever had that feeling that even though you might be miles away from home, you still feel like you're competely at home? Well I was starting to feel that way after two weeks in Vorstenbosch. The sun had shined his smiling face on my visit so the Spring weather was beautiful for exploring (and maybe sometimes getting lost in...) the area by bike. My relatives are also possibly the most hospitable people in the world and they made sure my days were filled with plenty of things to do and people to meet. I stayed around long enough to see my cousin Eefje's beautiful baby girl, meet an old guy at a farmhouse museum who knew my Opa, celebrate Queen's Day and I think meet almost everyone in the neighbourhood. I certainly met nearly all the Dortmans in the area, including the guy who owned "Dortmans Music Store" who claimed we all came from a French soldier during the time of Napoleon.<br />
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</div><div style="border: medium none;">Now, I have been quoted in the past as saying "I would rather have a hernia than have a baby" but I have to admit when I saw Eefje and her husband Tom smiling down at the cute little baby girl they had created, I may have found just a little hint of maternal feeling stir deep down inside. Only a little. Don't get too excited mum, I still find them a little scary (my mum is totally jealous of the new Opa and Oma).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjtGCinyWq_Vz2bLZR-o_gw7voyLenMPEu8AfmEC8ZHCCVIGedKLTudDFYXJcy-YBwq5MMo_N2fcQ6bVsNG0tRUgxQpJnpPQpBvx0t5FJJBLFo3edQnrrOo7agRcrfW_pQ3vOd-S3jtCE/s1600/Guusje+042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjtGCinyWq_Vz2bLZR-o_gw7voyLenMPEu8AfmEC8ZHCCVIGedKLTudDFYXJcy-YBwq5MMo_N2fcQ6bVsNG0tRUgxQpJnpPQpBvx0t5FJJBLFo3edQnrrOo7agRcrfW_pQ3vOd-S3jtCE/s320/Guusje+042.jpg" tt="true" /></a></div><div style="border: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border: medium none;">Another party worth sticking around for was Queen's Day or <i>Koningendag</i> as they call it. Basically, it's the Queen of Holland's birthday, but no one really gives a hoot about that because it's a day off which here means let's chuck some big stages in all the cities in Holland with DJs and just let everyone drink on the street for a day. All while wearing as much orange as possible (it's like their version of green and gold). It was crazy. I went to Eindhoven, a relatively big city where there was just a sea of orange people drinking and dancing in the city centre and every street was full too. Every trip to the toilet was an adventure... you needed to allow at least 45 minutes, because the queues were so long. At least guys could use the he pees which were located right in the middle of the street. I'm not sure if underage drinking is a problem here, I mean kids can drink at 16 years old anyway, but I'm sure I saw younger cruising the streets with cans of beer. I tried out some local cuisine such as oliebollen (a familiar favourite from home), krokette (also same as home) and the Frickendel Speciaal, but I've been assured that I don't want to know what's in it (sorta like our sausages I guess...). In Amsterdam some of the street cleaners were going on strike the day after Queen's Day. After seeing the mess on the streets, I can undertstand why. I have never seen so much rubbish in my life, just piles of it everywhere.</div><div style="border: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi85Ed1jGZrqp8FhT5WumRNmcwUHdpO6wM0oa9nUho9BlaBH-4XCVJNhKrl5n_ywhgiwPxTZXzo5LO7wOpNsn2_jrtx7NPLrsxG9uOgeJYOUOrd65NKswxwYWZi_XyagNWa2VK4tZLEuM4/s1600/Koningendag+078.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi85Ed1jGZrqp8FhT5WumRNmcwUHdpO6wM0oa9nUho9BlaBH-4XCVJNhKrl5n_ywhgiwPxTZXzo5LO7wOpNsn2_jrtx7NPLrsxG9uOgeJYOUOrd65NKswxwYWZi_XyagNWa2VK4tZLEuM4/s320/Koningendag+078.jpg" tt="true" /></a></div><div style="border: medium none;">Now, my relatives Jan and Ine are so hospitable, they even organised a ride for me to Belgium, tour guide included. Who needs Lonely Planet? It was actually the son of the people who live across the road who was selling a house he owned in Gent, Belgium. He is also the brother of my brother's ex-girlfriend. And he offered me a lift to Gent, accommodation at his apartment there where four students live and to show me around the city the next day. So we hopped in his car and drove the one and a half hours to oh, another country. Crazy. There I stayed at his house where I met the four uni students and they were the loveliest girls and helped me to find my way around Gent. It is a really old city with big cathedrals and old buildings and a big medieval castle smack bang in the middle of the city. It was nicer even than Bruges I think, because the next day I went to Bruges and it was a tourist circus, which kind of took away the charm of it all. But I bought some delicious Belgian chocolate and cruised the cobblestone streets anyway. The girls also introduced me to a game called 'Molkee'. All you Dortmans at home would love this game, it reminds me a little of Kubb. I will have to get my hands on a set. So we were in the park eating frites and drinking red wine and playing Molkee and it was fun. So that was Belgium.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_wUY13lSWr8yEUP78jX9NWHSEQYCRbtoEOYrKSBJkJ02OQMM-ndbDD1M078BL7iPRaxHMvfZIN55w_C4Wh2wGiVK5GIjs-AHUvLU0vESlY-M8Vm7ZIMt7DvCtiUE1lIHlrcOcojkqJY/s1600/Photo+059.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_wUY13lSWr8yEUP78jX9NWHSEQYCRbtoEOYrKSBJkJ02OQMM-ndbDD1M078BL7iPRaxHMvfZIN55w_C4Wh2wGiVK5GIjs-AHUvLU0vESlY-M8Vm7ZIMt7DvCtiUE1lIHlrcOcojkqJY/s320/Photo+059.jpg" /></a></div><br />
But another day, another country and Paris was calling. Paris is not the dreamy city everyone thinks it is though. It has some great history and the Notre Dame Cathedral and The Louvre were amazing, but it's not like a scene from <i>Amelie</i>. Actually it is just another big dirty city with not so friendly people and lots of tourists. But still a lot to see. I hired a bike and rode around town only once riding on the wrong side of the road and once getting burped right in my face as I rode past. If I wasn't so disgusted with how filthy the city was already I might have laughed. The Louvre was too much to take in, so overwhelming. The Mona Lisa wasn't even the best; she was surrounded by people and you couldn't even get close. I liked the sculptures the best. The Arc de Triomphe was cool, but walking back along the Champs Elysees alone at night was a mistake... I kept getting hassled by Africans asking me to go to a discotecque. I had to get brutal to shake one of them off who followed me for ten minutes. The Notre Dame was beautiful and the view from the tower (which I queued for like two hours for) was great, especially as the sun was setting. I saw the Eiffel Tower but I couldn't be bothered climbing it after waiting in the queues at the Notre Dame towers.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ8RXQ07YLNL_-6erWH32eBFhBDx8JFYQakKBFAiY5d29FA8b2MjnvWbrkZVcG2S3nX7Ai7MehjlDa6326OY8VboPSqahzAj0Ze-fhrT8V10QYwuK99g9yk6n58FgmNi1TNuyyXXfGo1E/s1600/Photo+261.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ8RXQ07YLNL_-6erWH32eBFhBDx8JFYQakKBFAiY5d29FA8b2MjnvWbrkZVcG2S3nX7Ai7MehjlDa6326OY8VboPSqahzAj0Ze-fhrT8V10QYwuK99g9yk6n58FgmNi1TNuyyXXfGo1E/s320/Photo+261.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Now I am catching a train tomorrow to Nice along the French Riviera where I hope to do some star spotting at the Cannes Film Festival. Hello paparazzi!<br />
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Megan xox meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-12308636553277302132010-04-21T16:09:00.000-07:002010-12-02T20:52:20.033-08:00I Amsterdam<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqoEmBYFiHaz5rf6brkkaSl6j5rXu_e3JTRQBX_5ETU3kY3WW990dGn9dcLewPadrtgV8DykkYISG8EnuPA-BmjMrbPUi7SL2pfUxB9nnbXXU7vk2Zl8KrxaBr9nIcwtJDcoWbsx6qBQw/s1600/Holland+633.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqoEmBYFiHaz5rf6brkkaSl6j5rXu_e3JTRQBX_5ETU3kY3WW990dGn9dcLewPadrtgV8DykkYISG8EnuPA-BmjMrbPUi7SL2pfUxB9nnbXXU7vk2Zl8KrxaBr9nIcwtJDcoWbsx6qBQw/s320/Holland+633.jpg" wt="true" /></a></div>I missed my first flight. And hopefully it will be the last. After waving goodbye to Jacqui and Sam at the border of Malaysia and Singapore, I thought the 3 hours I had allowed myself to get to Changi Airport in Singapore was a pretty generous margin. Turns out I was wrong. The bus took an eon to get there, and then about ten eons to get to the train station. I then had to catch a train, fretting all the way only to arrive at the airport at 10:15pm (my flight was at 10:55) at which time I had to catch a shuttle bus to another terminal. Running through the airport with 18kg on my back and probably about 6kg on my front I arrived breathless at the desk only to be told "Sorry, that flight closed about 30 minutes ago". Major bummer. But the ladies at the desk nicely arranged for me to get on the midnight flight to Heathrow (no extra charge) and after a 5 hour layover I arrived in Amsterdam, city of canals, coffee shops and one other thing starting with c...<br />
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I was set to have an early night, I really was. After roughly a 13 hour flight (not including the layover) and not so much sleep and another case of cankles (why does this always happen to me on long flights...) I thought it inevitable I would have an early night. But then I met these friendly Texans who insisted on buying me Jagerbombs and beers all night and of course who can refuse a friendly Texan (they probably have a gun...) so I had a massive night discovering Amsterdam. Yes, I went to a "coffee shop". No I didn't have any coffee. Yes, I walked through the red light district. No, I did not particularly enjoy seeing beautiful, young girls standing in red-lit windows with nothing but underwear on. There was something a little unsettling about girls being put on display in shop windows like merchandise. Not cool. <br />
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So after my big night out, I was wrecked for the next two. So I hired a bike and did my own little tour of Amsterdam's cobblestone streets, canals and museums. All the buildings are so old and quaint, tall skinny brick things poised on the edge of canals crossed by arched bridges, it's everything I imagined a European city to be. I have had more art education since I arrived in Holland than in all my years at school and university. I have seen paintings from the best that Holland has to offer, from Vermeer (yes, I saw the Girl with the Pearl Earring and she was more beautiful than Scarlett Johanssen) to Van Gogh to Rembrandt. And I've already had a taste of the European male attention... just walking down the street, guys will call out to you on their scooters or just strike up random conversations with you outside shops, hoping it will lead to you spending the whole night at a bar with them... this doesn't happen to me in Australia. Well, apart from wolf whistling from construction workers... I think guys here are just a little too confident. It's an expensive place though, I think I spent more in a few days in Amsterdam than in two weeks in Malaysia.<br />
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So after exploring every nook and cranny of Amsterdam I hopped on a train down to Rotterdam, which is the modern sister of Amsterdam. The whole place was bombed flat in the war, so now they have gone crazy with all sorts of weird architecture. I stayed in these "cube Houses" which were basically big Rubiks Cube looking buildings poised diagonally in the air. I did a day trip to Den Haag (The Hague) which was also a nice quaint old city with the palace where Queen Beatrix lives and some more art museums. Everyone was outside drinking al fresco, as it was a beautiful Spring day. How very European. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix9XFx-myEOyWutweXOLf49VNoxiMJoDNJCSvMRtkPpCk5k2GIrhxiu7oalrIot29dwiWMpEyni9UMp7xDV29L2NwmQPa1Mh-Z31LLhux6JeQYbkoUW_XzX_Z-vmI5HrAKr8Qy9QlUDuc/s1600/Holland+505.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix9XFx-myEOyWutweXOLf49VNoxiMJoDNJCSvMRtkPpCk5k2GIrhxiu7oalrIot29dwiWMpEyni9UMp7xDV29L2NwmQPa1Mh-Z31LLhux6JeQYbkoUW_XzX_Z-vmI5HrAKr8Qy9QlUDuc/s320/Holland+505.jpg" wt="true" /></a></div>So the plan after Rotterdam was to head down to Vorstenbosch where my relatives live. Then I get this email from my crazy cousin Paul saying he was in Amsterdam; I didn't even realise was in <em>Europe</em>, let alone <em>Amsterdam. </em>Naturally I couldn't let this opportunity slide, so I went back to Amsterdam for another crazy night. The place was packed with people catching international trains after the volcanic eruption in Iceland. Nature wins again.<br />
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Saturday, I catch a train to Den Bosch to see my relatives. One hour on the train is all it takes (to pretty much go from one end of Holland to the other, haha... well almost) and I am met at the station by my very pregnant cousin Eefje. Her baby is due in just over a week. I arrived to a warm welcome from my relatives Jan and Ine, with the assurance that I really will only be staying for a week or two, and had my first delicious home cooked meal in a while. So now I have been doing a round robin of dinners and outings with relatives and various other people in the neighbourhood. What a hard life! The countryside here is very picturesque and green, but it's not like Australia where you can drive for 2 hours and not see a town, there is a town every 2 minutes. The people here are so lovely, everyone knows everyone and they are so welcoming. <br />
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Yesterday Jan took me on a tour of Dinther, the place where my Oma lived and where my dad was born. The old farmhouse they lived in is still there, albeit a little changed (it's all renovated inside and the stable is now a car dealer). For those of you who don't know, a quick rundown on family history: my Opa and his wife lived in Dinther with seven children. During World War II, a bomb meant for the Germans exploded in the farmhouse and killed his wife and 3 of their children. My Opa then married my Oma and they lived there for another few years (during which time they had my dad) and then when he was 4, they migrated to Australia for a better life.<br />
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So we knocked on the door and the nice people who live there let us come inside and look around. The spookiest part was going under the house into the cellar... you can just imagine the family huddling under there while bombs exploded above ground. They then made a fatal decision to run to the bomb shelter in the backyward, which was when the bomb hit. The bomb shelter is filled in now, but it was surreal being there in the very spot. We then went to the church where my Oma got married and next door was a cemetery where the grave of my Opa's first wife and three kids were buried. <br />
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The Catholic church just made me sad. People used to put so much value in religion, as you can see from the massive amount of time and money they have put into their places of worship. I'm not saying the size of the church is a measure of your faith, but it was obviously a big part of their daily lives back in the day. You can't go anywhere here without hearing the church bells ring or where you don't have a view of the church steeple. It was the centre of every town. But every day in the paper here there is talk about the demise of the Catholic church. Not many people actually attend church here, especially not young people and a lot of the churches are closing down. I guess religion isn't so relevant to people any more. I don't find the Catholic church all that relevant either, but man they built some fantastic buildings and funded some amazing artwork. I almost feel like we're coming to the end of an era. I just hope that God doesn't get lost in the confusion.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGB6S60_WPzZRYUqYlFEzdDrueRXIt96td_bMPZYfGWKXa6X89oeiqUZBKDryVC2Z9A_7XpfjwVu5P1jEO2CXdBVqJZVTnpt6i70cEyGroSMP1iQnOso15L5Xoq1Yrg9snUWWl0LM4X7w/s1600/Holland+639.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGB6S60_WPzZRYUqYlFEzdDrueRXIt96td_bMPZYfGWKXa6X89oeiqUZBKDryVC2Z9A_7XpfjwVu5P1jEO2CXdBVqJZVTnpt6i70cEyGroSMP1iQnOso15L5Xoq1Yrg9snUWWl0LM4X7w/s320/Holland+639.jpg" wt="true" /></a></div><br />
I visited my first Dutch school on Monday, as I went to Jan's class (10-12 year olds) to talk about Australia. They bombarded me with questions for one hour, which was fun, especially ones like "Do you have a boyfriend?" and "Do people eat cactuses in Australia?" and "Do kangaroos really box?" Haha. Tomorrow I go to another school where they are learning about Australia and want me to talk about it. I'm like a touring circus act. <br />
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Today my cousins Ilse and Mieke took me on a tour of Den Bosch, an old 17th century town near here. We did a boat tour of the canals that go underneath the city, did a historical tour and I got to eat the famous Bosche Bolle that everyone keeps talking about. It was a delicious combination of chocolate, cream, custard and pastry. Lekker! Then I went to the windmill in Dinther and got some obligatory photos of a windmill in Holland. Come on, it's like getting a photo of a koala in Australia - it has to be done! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnZ8hyZJ7MWbgMLO-AaUXb9zbfIjHb8NkjR9VcXekRFryyhWaWikedkL0EYXVrBLfr_9Hb9RptZA4ar0yoKQmtPSOH0LFYED5AIx_uO0DYWImXGDvAqKpFFExQdm13pspy74UCfgfVB_4/s1600/Holland+607.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnZ8hyZJ7MWbgMLO-AaUXb9zbfIjHb8NkjR9VcXekRFryyhWaWikedkL0EYXVrBLfr_9Hb9RptZA4ar0yoKQmtPSOH0LFYED5AIx_uO0DYWImXGDvAqKpFFExQdm13pspy74UCfgfVB_4/s320/Holland+607.jpg" wt="true" /></a></div>Trying (very hard) to learn some Dutch while I'm here, but every time I try to make a g sound (you know, the sound like you have some phlegm stuck in the back of your throat) I sound ridiculous. But I will persist! <br />
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Groetjes! (YOU try pronouncing it - it's easy, [phlegm sound ]+[rolllling rrr sound] + oot + yez)<br />
Meganx meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-72976720495184753552010-04-09T12:57:00.000-07:002010-12-02T20:31:28.594-08:00Borneo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtKnN2YWKS4ehefBfkjPQs1VzN0xcLROhXaF2EeB2AfgU3Xd-6k6melvHvaHJBF4XbyFKqXLsjdD6rjrOFupzSitpQDzA0gYXrRry8Zh2KAP7P48HC_GTUcihS4WPX_5VeRVXvVpSTn4/s1600/malaysia+554.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtKnN2YWKS4ehefBfkjPQs1VzN0xcLROhXaF2EeB2AfgU3Xd-6k6melvHvaHJBF4XbyFKqXLsjdD6rjrOFupzSitpQDzA0gYXrRry8Zh2KAP7P48HC_GTUcihS4WPX_5VeRVXvVpSTn4/s320/malaysia+554.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I'm just going to say from the start, 6 days was not nearly enough time in Borneo. Beth, Jacq and I flew into a hole of a town called Miri without a plan and a purpose and from the start it was our downfall. It seemed everything we wanted to do involved booking way in advance, getting a permit or paying ridiculous airfares.<br />
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When we gave the name of the backpackers we had booked in Miri to our taxi driver he dropped us off outside a bustling pub with loud music blaring. Next door were some stairs. We went up the stairs to find a dingy backpackers infested with cats and we were greeted warmly by the Chinese proprietor with "Shoes off please!" After a late night trying to book the first flight out of Miri, we went to bed only to be kept up until 3am by the pumping music coming from the pub downstairs. Beth had to stuff her ears with toilet paper and all we could do was laugh because of the crazy situation.<br />
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So not a fantastic start. The next morning we also spent the whole day travelling - a flight to Kota Kinabalu and a nail-biting, gut-churning 6 hour drive to Sepilok. The roads were very windy and wet and our bus driver clearly was impatient, as he would overtake around bends, pretty much anywhere he wanted and tailgated and honked anyone that got in his way. He even overtook the bus that left for the same destination 30 minutes before us. We arrived in Sepilok to a beautiful oasis of a place hidden in the bush with friendly staff and massive dorms. We had a few much needed beers then fell asleep to the sound of jungle insects and animals coming through the mesh walls.<br />
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The next day we went down to the Sepilok Orang Utan Rehabilitation Centre where they rescue orphaned orang utans from the wild and raise them in the reserve until they set them free in the wild. They were gorgeous, and after feeding time one cheeky monkey dropped down onto the boardwalk right in front of us and stole someone's water bottle. The rangers had to lock all the buildings so he didn't go inside and trash the place. That afternoon we went to Sandakan for dinner on the bay before a very interesting taxi ride home with a driver who made us laugh, offended us then nearly killed us by overtaking at the wrong time. Crazy man.<br />
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The next day we reluctantly left our jungle haven to hop on another bus to Bilit where we had booked a tour for a 3 day cruise down the Kinabatangan River where a lot of cool animals hang out. Unfortunately this is because surrounding the jungle on all sides are evil money-making palm plantations that have confined the animals to the thin strips of jungle still standing by the river, which is great for snap-happy tourists like us, but sucks for the animals who would probably like to have their homes back. It makes me think humans are the worst animals of them all. But we did get to see some really unique wildlife such as proboscis monkeys (ugliest monkeys ever, they have pot bellies and massive noses), hornbills, a freshwater croc (when it slid into the water and disappeared right near our boat I thought we were all going to die like in that movie Rogue), a western tarsier (little possum-like nocturnal creature which looks a bit like a gremlin/furby; its head rotates 360 degrees which makes it look like something out of the Exorcist), and too many species of bird and macaques to mention. It was amazing. And every cruise on the river was all the more entertaining thanks to an old British couple who reminded me of Hyacinth and Richard Bucket from Keeping up Appearances. An example of the type of thing you could expect from these two - during a night hike, the woman grabbed a young guy she had just met and said "Come here, I need a tripod!" and rested her camera on his shoulder to take a photo of a sleeping bird. Thus she had her arms around his neck to keep the camera still. So Jacqui says "Oh, was she taking a photo? I thought she was getting a leech off his neck or something!" to which the woman's husband replied "<i>She's</i> the leech". Classic.<br />
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After the tour we eventually caught a bus back to Kota Kinabalu after a run-in with some crazy entrepeneurs at the bus stop who felt they were entitled to charge us extra for the bus because they "helped" us to catch it. Beth described the bus ride as "being stuck in a portaloo on wheels for 6 hours" because the bus had a toilet which emitted some pungent smells every time someone went. Then that night we went out for dinner at a Chinese place where Beth knocked a whole plate of bok choy on the ground. Considering we were the only whities in the place we were already getting funny looks, but you could imagine what it was like after that. Hilarious. Beth has been an endless source of amusement the whole trip because of her clumsiness. She's always bound to trip over her own feet or knock the runniest plate of food into her lap/the ground.<br />
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So now we're back in Johor Bahru. Tomorrow Beth leaves for Laos, and I leave for the Netherlands. I am sort of ready to leave Asia now... although I have been here for 3 months, frankly I am getting a little over rice and the delightful aroma you get every time you pass a dirty drain on the street. I will miss the cheap, delicious food and the friendly people and scenery. But Europe, bring it on.<br />
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Until next time,<br />
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Megx meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-6310454291050885062010-04-02T21:40:00.000-07:002010-12-02T20:30:24.635-08:00Malaysia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwgMfVWMz13eJIXtdoB8FDYuAQiArmLMfcHTlgtLCeBU2eIigadi9IQTAyRUnOM4xt4t0JW3FtvAyu__UBqyFykTLX3aXNIGKTD8TFkuD5Pu_gVA-PDejX19ll64awRK6gf6OYIphKBSA/s1600/IMG_1426.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwgMfVWMz13eJIXtdoB8FDYuAQiArmLMfcHTlgtLCeBU2eIigadi9IQTAyRUnOM4xt4t0JW3FtvAyu__UBqyFykTLX3aXNIGKTD8TFkuD5Pu_gVA-PDejX19ll64awRK6gf6OYIphKBSA/s320/IMG_1426.JPG" /></a></div><br />
I flew into Singapore about a week ago and after a long day that involved train + shuttle bus (because I got off at the wrong terminal) + plane + train + bus + bus (because I got off at the wrong stop) I finally made it to Johor Bahru to see both my sisters and my brother waiting for me. It was about 9pm, so we all went down to a hawker street food place and I had my first introduction to Malaysian food... in case you didn't know, Malaysian food and drink is delicious and at $2 for a decent sized meal, you can afford to eat everything on the menu.<br />
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Johor Bahru is quite a large city in Malaysia and compared to other cities I've been to in South East Asia, quite developed. Everyone says hello as you pass and most people are quite friendly, even the taxi drivers for a change. That weekend the 4 of us decided to spend the weekend in Tioman Islands, which is a 3 hour bus and 2 hour ferry from here. But we got a taste of Malay "island" time here, because the ferry left 2 hours late and ours was the last stop. But we saw a nice sunset as we came in and had a nice meal and game of 500 by the beach. The next day we did a hike through the jungle to Monkey Bay to do some snorkelling. The hike was fairly steep and after 5 minutes we were all dripping with sweat. Thongs was not a good choice. So we turfed the thongs and stripped down to bathers like real jungle people and made the two hour walk. It was definitely worth it - we came upon a glistening, deserted beach full of colourful fish and coral and a few turtles. We snorkelled for a few hours before embarking on the journey back, followed by monkeys. It was just getting dark when we finally got back and we were all exhausted.<br />
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We have spent the last few days back in Johor Bahru, sampling the local cuisine and shopping. We also spent a day in Singapore where we rode on the largest observation wheel in the world, ate the best Indian meal I have ever eaten in Little India (which was almost enough to convert me to vegetarianism... almost), did some shopping on Orchard Road, then did a Night Safari at the zoo. Another exhausting day.<br />
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Yesterday was Sam's birthday, so when he finished uni we did a tour of the hospital with him (massive place, pretty old and run down though) then went out for dinner at a seafood restaurant on stilts over the water. Then we came home and had some cake and watched a movie. The other night we also heard a massive BANG as we were sitting in Sam's apartment and rushed out to the balcony to see a cloud of grey smoke rising in the air a few kms from the apartment. We weren't sure what it was (Beth: "You don't get bombs here do you?) but the next day we were in a taxi and drove past a burnt out oil tanker which explained that. <br />
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So tomorrow Jacqui, Beth and I fly to Borneo to do some jungle treks and see some orang utans. Sam will probably be grateful to have a break from us for the week, as we have made a fair mess in his apartment and our 3 strong personalities have sometimes clashed... I hope we don't kill each other on this week in Borneo... <br />
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Love Meg... xox meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-13702295730152242642010-03-24T09:00:00.000-07:002010-12-02T20:29:38.546-08:00Sayonara Japan!So tonight is my last night in Japan. In the morning I jump on a plane to Singapore to meet up with my brother and sisters in Malaysia. I can't wait, as I've seen their photos from the 2 weeks they've been there already, and lets just say I am sooooooooooo ready for some sun. It's been raining here the last few days.<br />
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My last few days at the Tsujimura family home were awesome. They were the warmest and friendliest family, so much so that the few days I was going to stay there turned into a week. We did girly things like watch movies and go shopping, and I also went to a stone spa, which is like a big sauna where you lie down on a slab of stone for 90 minutes and drink water and sweat all the bad stuff out. Kinda weird, but I felt good afterwards. Before we left we gave gifts to Mayumi's family, and we all got a bit teary when we presented Mayumi with a photo album with photos from our time in Japan. I guess you get pretty close to people when you share a room and work with them for 2 months. We finished off with a picnic in the park next to a cherry blossom tree that has just bloomed. Beautiful!<br />
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Amanda and I then went to Kawaguchi-ko, a town at the foot of Mt Fuji. Unfortunately it was pretty overcast, so we couldn't see Fuji-san all that well, but we did a nice hike and went for a bike ride around the lake and got to see some Icicle Lava caves (sounds cooler than what it is, actually). And now here I am back in Tokyo where I began, almost exactly 2 months ago. Back to the city of neon lights, vending machines and lots and lots of people. So to reflect on my trip, I thought I'd do a little list of top 5s:<br />
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Top 5 Highlights<br />
1. Doing a tea ceremony in kimono, especially the part where Amanda ate a clove of garlic right before going into the ceremony to kill the germs from her cold and stunk out the elevator.<br />
2. Snowboarding in Hakuba - the mountains were amazing and so was snowboarding once I stopped falling over. Thrown in with that is all the fun nights spent at Tracks and at Aqua Alpine too.<br />
3. The whole weekend in Kanazawa - Kenrokku-en gardens, the art gallery and the friendly people. Loved it.<br />
4. Hiroshima and the Peace Memorial Museum<br />
5. Onsen - once you get over the naked part, this is by far the most relaxing and cleansing way to end a day. <br />
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Top 5 Things I Will miss<br />
1. Being able to get anything from vending machines that are situated every 200m... beer, hot food, hot drinks, tickets...<br />
2. Feeling extremely safe... I never felt in danger once in Japan. And also the cleanliness of everything... even train station toilets were good!<br />
3. The extremely efficient public transport system (althought not the extremely high price for tickets). I love that you can ride a Shinkansen (bullet train) from Tokyo to Kyoto in 2 hours.<br />
4. The food! So good for you and so tasty.<br />
5. Of course, all the people I met here... especially the Tsujimura family and all the Hakuba regulars.<br />
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Top 5 Food/ Drinks<br />
1. Okonomi-yaki! <br />
2. Sushi<br />
3. Soba and Tempura... yum yum.<br />
4. Calpis - it's a flavoured drink that's a cloudy white colour and tastes sort of like creamy soda, so good with some Sho chu (Japanese alcohol)<br />
5. Suki-yaki<br />
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3 Things I will not miss (I couldn't think of 5)<br />
1. The constant stream of recordings and midi music that blares from speakers EVERYWHERE. That sweet ladies voice gets so annoying after a while.<br />
2. The coldness... it's bearable, but I am hanging for some sun.<br />
3. Not being able to communicate properly... I got good at it by the end, but I guess I thought more people would speak English here.<br />
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So that's it. See you in Malaysia!<br />
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x meg xx meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-68502337269789955792010-03-17T19:54:00.000-07:002010-12-02T20:28:13.836-08:00Goodbye Mountains<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxiHTfBGeWr7vJRlb7_896ezgMKJRH6YGSl9o_S9ip89X-pw4HLuZHnm45xymeiBrz6HcxYKhYrxJdk9O9ZdtMfj45hgJ4BQedd8EHNPHKtytYWzGgH8sz4jEMQbMrvZKKFss7nBQnl1g/s1600-h/P1000918.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxiHTfBGeWr7vJRlb7_896ezgMKJRH6YGSl9o_S9ip89X-pw4HLuZHnm45xymeiBrz6HcxYKhYrxJdk9O9ZdtMfj45hgJ4BQedd8EHNPHKtytYWzGgH8sz4jEMQbMrvZKKFss7nBQnl1g/s320/P1000918.JPG" vt="true" /></a></div>It's been 2 days since I left Hakuba and I am just beginning to realise how that place is its own little world up there in the mountains, so isolated from the rest of Japan and so different from the rest of Japan. I worked my last shift on Saturday morning and although it was sad to say goodbye, the snow was quickly disappearing and most of the friends I had made were leaving, so I was pretty ready to move on. Besides, my friend Mayumi had invited me to her home in Nishio for a few days and I couldn't wait to meet her family and experience Japanese food and culture for a while, as you don't get too much of that staying in a hotel owned and frequented by <em>gaijin</em> (foreigners).<br />
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Having said that, my last few weeks at Hakuba were so much fun. One weekend I had off I took a few trains to Kanazawa, a largish town on the west coast of Japan. I pretty much just picked the location from my Lonely Planet guide and said "I wanna go there". It was well worth the 4 hour 4-train journey to get there. I stayed at a gorgeous little backpackers which was in a 100 year old building on the canal and owned by the nicest man who made sure I was looked after and recommended a little sushi place for dinner. So I walked there and was greeted by "Mama" a lovely lady in a kimono who spoke great English and her husband made me the best sushi I have eaten. It was a tiny place, but was filled with people, and I met three lovely History teachers who practised their limited English on me and kept feeding me more sushi and sake. They were very funny and were amazed to hear I was also a teacher, because they thought I was 18! After one of them began to tell me "I love you!" after maybe his 5th glass of sake, I decided it was time to call it a night, but it was one of those great Japanese nights, where I was walking around the Kanazawa Scramble afterwards with a big stupid smile on my face. Or maybe that was just the sake. The next day I went to see the sights, walking through Kenroku-en gardens which were absolutely gorgeous despite the overcast day with plum trees and Japanese pine trees and picteresque lakes and panoramic views of Kanazawa, which put the Botanical gardens to shame. I'm sad to say my camera went flat halfway through, which was a shame. I also went to a Contemporary Art museum which was amazing and an old Geisha house in this cute little Geisha district. I also went to a gold leaf factory where an old man somehow explained the whole process to me using no English at all and visited a Samurai house. All in all a great weekend and it was good to get out of Hakuba for a while.<br />
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The last week at Hakuba was spent partying with all the friends I had made during my two month stay at Hakuba, where else but at the local Tracks Bar. I performed a few songs on guitar during a gig with two other Australian boys I befriended and it went down pretty well. The week before the place had a group of African drummers and dancers perform (well, they were Japanese, but the style was African) and it was amazing. I don't think I could compare, but I gave it my best shot, haha. I also spent my last week snowboarding almost every day, as we had a good dump of snow the week before, probably the last for the season. I was doing intermediate runs by the end and even attempted a few little jumps. Once you finally get the hang of this stuff, I can see how it could be so addictive.<br />
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So now I'm in Nishio, a small town by Japanese standards about one hour from Nagoya. We were met by most of Mayumi's extended family and sat down on the floor in the lounge room to a massive feast of sashimi (raw fish), suki-yaki (beef, cabbage, mushrooms, etc, cooked in a big hot pot on the table), kani (crab), mussels, sushi and Asahi beer. Despite not speaking much English, the family was soooo lovely and I spent the night being plied with sake by her father and helping her niece with her English. The next day we went to a public pool in Nishio for a swim, which was similar to a pool experience in Australia, except they have little rules that are different. For example, every hour we had to get out of the pool for ten minutes to rest, then before getting back in, we all had to do some aerobics stretches to funny music. Everyone would be just standing around in their bathers doing the stretches which everyone seemed to know off by heart. I was laughing so much I couldn't do them properly. That night we had dinner in Nagoya at Shooters, an American-style restaurant owned by the same people that own Aqua Alpine, the hotel I worked at in Hakuba.<br />
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Yesterday four of us girls and Mayumi's mum and her friend got dressed in kimono and went to a tea ceremony. Now, I say "dressed in kimono" as if it was as easy as just putting one on, but man is there a process involved. It's like wrapping a really, really, really fancy and intricate present. So many layers and ties and everything. Her mum was also nice enough to do our hair for us and supply some special shoes and socks (I forget the technical names). It took us a few hours to get ready, then the tea ceremony lasted about 20 minutes. The tea ceremony was full of old ladies, and a couple of old men who were all fascinated by the <em>gaijin</em> in the kimono. We had to kneel on the floor (which by the way, really hurt after a while. I couldn't feel my legs after about 5 minutes, but looking around at all the Japanese ladies who were 3 times my age, they seemed to be fine, so I just endured it. Japanese people must have bodies made for this stuff...) while ladies in kimono served us rice sweets and green tea in bowls. It was fun. Then we showed off our kimono at a sushi train restaurant where we stuffed ourselves full of sushi delivered by bullet train. I understand how Japanese people stay so thin - the <em>obi</em> (the band around the kimono) is so tight on a kimono that you can't eat too much. That night, after another feast on the floor in the lounge room of okonami-yaki, Mayumi's dad took us to karaoke where we sang English and Japanese songs in a private room until 12:30.<br />
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Mayumi's family has been so hospitable and lovely since we got here on Monday night, it makes me a little sad that my time here in Japan is soon coming to an end. But I am so glad I have had the rare opportunity to experience every day Japanese life and the kindness and hospitality of these people who have made me realise that my first impression of Japanese people as being introverted and shy was just that, an impression. <br />
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Just one week to go....<br />
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Love Meganx meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-50268280020395643012010-02-25T19:05:00.000-08:002010-12-02T20:26:36.175-08:00My Hakuba Home まあい はくば ほむ<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdsqTLg9Q2o0zpA_PtZWdZJ7wfvGCb08EsYUii8eJNhPUdTCz5q-_vj_OmRD_jtaaPF3KSn4qh3SKDUI6tMMeoJUm0mMjjMsQ-o1IhMHfH_08v9PK2myiZsj8odubjOA9yj6BhEQNQam4/s1600-h/snow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdsqTLg9Q2o0zpA_PtZWdZJ7wfvGCb08EsYUii8eJNhPUdTCz5q-_vj_OmRD_jtaaPF3KSn4qh3SKDUI6tMMeoJUm0mMjjMsQ-o1IhMHfH_08v9PK2myiZsj8odubjOA9yj6BhEQNQam4/s320/snow.jpg" /></a></div>It's been a while since my last confession... I mean blog post... because I've been fairly "snowed under" (aah terrible pun, I know) with work and other fun things. The last two weeks have been quite busy at the hotel, so I was working ten hour days, breakfast from 6am to midday, then dinner from 5pm to 9pm. It was actually ok, because I still had the best part of the day to snowboard, although often I was too tired. <br />
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I have definitely carved my own little niche in the mountain here though. When I go to the local pub or walk to the mountain or ride around on a bike, I bump into people I know. I feel right at home in this little alpine town, despite being a foreigner. I guess the main reason is because there are so many other foreigners here. The snow is amazingly beautiful, however, since that first week I came here, the snow has never been as good. Everything was covered in a two foot layer of snow, like piles of meringue or marshmallow and it was raining soft little snowflakes every day. There were icicles hanging from the hotel balcony like some kind of Ice Palace and this may sound stupid, but the snow is SO white. All the dirt and filth that humans create is just buried and hidden away under this pure, white, sparkling snow. I love it.<br />
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The last few days have been really clear and sunny, which means fantastic views from the summit, but icy runs down the mountain. And believe me, I have felt the full brunt of that ice on every part of my bottom. But I had a great run the other day where I made it down the mountain several times without falling over once and manipulating some nice turns. I don't know if you've heard, but people are saying I'm the next Torah Bright :P<br />
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The last few days I got to catch up with some friends from home, which was good to share some experiences and sample some Japanese food together each night. I was able to teach them some Japanese words too! I have been trying to learn Japanese while I'm here, thanks to the girls that work here, Mayumi and Tomoko. They have a lot of patience with my pronunciation and questions. I finally feel like I can almost hold a very basic conversation, although I know a whole lot of words and not necessarily how to string them together in a sentence. But when I listen to people talk in Japanese, I can pick up a few words and that's exciting. My favourite words so far are<br />
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1. <em>Bakchikku</em> - means fireworks, and I love it because it sounds like what it is<br />
2. <em>Sukebe Jiji</em> - pronounced like "scabby jiji" and means dirty old man<br />
3. <em>Kombanwe</em> - means good evening and I like it because it sounds african<br />
4. <em>Sugoye</em>! - means awesome or great.<br />
5. <em>Gambatte</em> - means go for it!<br />
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Yesterday I also learnt how to read Hirigana in one lesson, and found it is actually easier than I thought. But most things are written in Katakana, a more complex written form, so I can only read some things, and even then I need to know the English translation. But it is fun. I have been amusing the girls by trying to read anything and everything from labels on drink bottles to pamphlets.<br />
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Last night I also had my first <em>onsen</em> experience. An <em>onsen</em> is like a big communal hot tub where you have one for females and one for males and you go there to relax and bathe, sort of like a sauna and spa. The difference is you are naked. I went with two of the girls I work with and at first, it is a little daunting. But there is something liberating about not giving a damn and by the end you are so relaxed you don't care. It' all very hygeinic because you shower and scrub before you get in. And when you get out, your skin feels so soft and you are so relaxed and clean, it was <em>sugoye</em>. This one had an indoor and outdoor, but you don't stay in for more than half an hour because it gets pretty hot after a while. <br />
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They also bought a cheapo guitar for the hotel, so I have been able to get some singing and playing time in, which is so good, because I was missing my guitar immensely. Some guys down the road also have a jam session every Sunday night which I try to go to, becuase one of them has a guitar exactly like my Cole Clark at home - yes, I am blatantly using him for his guitar, haha. <br />
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So that's how things are going at the moment, I will try to do like ET and phone home eventually, I miss you all, all the time, but things get a little easier every day. I will be sort of sad leaving this little family here, but can't wait to get to Malaysia and see my real family too! I have a bit less than 4 weeks to go.<br />
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Lots of hugs and kisses,<br />
Megx meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-86021637353370680532010-02-06T20:45:00.001-08:002010-12-02T20:25:36.483-08:00Shinkansen<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><object height="350" width="425"><param value='http://youtube.com/v/SJY2Mq8hkdw' name='movie'/><embed height='350' width='425' type='application/x-shockwave-flash' src='http://youtube.com/v/SJY2Mq8hkdw'/></object></div>x meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3177370001093273996.post-39022581393084295162010-02-06T19:34:00.000-08:002010-12-02T20:25:03.283-08:00Alpine Country<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6wx_fv02drz462Qf8QDiC-hshVRAcqqfjMm88slRb8etGULvGM-n20UgygefWOPGxP8DRy3LbYurT3PeuFg2RVJbH6k22pofndXV6jM54vyPqxNKPVLpIAkkTTXT_mcRcESx_IVmunto/s1600-h/%C3%A7%E2%80%9D%C2%BB%C3%A5%C6%92%C2%8F+222.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6wx_fv02drz462Qf8QDiC-hshVRAcqqfjMm88slRb8etGULvGM-n20UgygefWOPGxP8DRy3LbYurT3PeuFg2RVJbH6k22pofndXV6jM54vyPqxNKPVLpIAkkTTXT_mcRcESx_IVmunto/s320/%E7%94%BB%E5%83%8F+222.jpg" /></a></div>If any of you talked to me last week (on Facebook or wherever) you will know that I was feeling particularly homesick. I was staying at a place where virtually no one spoke English, I had no luck getting a Visa and I was feeling a little alone and pointless in this alien world called Japan. One night I spent about 40 minutes trying to get a phone card to work to call home, then I finally got it to work only to find it would only last 7 minutes. I was standing in a phone booth in Kyoto in the middle of the night blubbering into the phone to my mum. She said it would be a good story to tell my kids. <br />
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But after that, all the job offers started flowing in. I got two offers of work at the snow and two working in Osaka teaching English. I ended up taking the one in the Japanese Alps at a ski lodge in Hakuba called Aqua Alpine. I get to wait tables and pour drinks at the bar, get cheap accommodation and food and then in the afternoons I get to hone my snowboarding skills. But more about that later.<br />
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Before I took the job I travelled down to Hiroshima, a pretty cool city in its own right. On the way I stopped at Himeji to see Himeji Castle, a cool building that the whole city basically grew around back in the 1800s. People are so much nicer in these smaller towns! I hadn't walked 200m from the station when an old man struck up a conversation with me about Australia. In Hiroshima I went to the Peace Memorial Park where there was a building still in the condition it was in on August 6th 1945 when the Americans blew Hiroshima off the map by dropping an atomic bomb. I went through the museum and unlike the Vietnam War Museum, it was very balanced and presented Japan as being just as responsible as America in the events that lead up to the dropping of the bomb. The museum was more about trying to stop the development of nuclear bombs and trying to achieve peace. It pretty much dobbed in all the countries that still possess nuclear weapons (you could imagine which ones they would be) and had a lot of stuff about the after effects, etc. While looking at the Children's Peace Monument I got hassled by some lovely ladies from Jehovah's Witness. You can't escape them.<br />
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Then I caught a ferry to a little island called Miyajima which was a cute little place. There were deer everywhere hassling people for food and a floating temple on the shore. I wanted to do a hike to the top of the mountain on the island, but I ran out of time as it takes 4 hours. That night I had the best meal in Japan so far. Hiroshima is famous for its <em>Okanami-yaki</em> which is a type of savoury pancake cooked teppanyaki style. They cook the pancake then just heap a whole lot of stuff on top - cabbage, noodles, squid, prawns and bacon all with delicious sauces and spices. It was so good. And the guys who cooked it were a lot of fun, trying out their English on me. I washed it all down with a glass of sake for a perfect Japanese meal.<br />
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The next day I went back to Kyoto, before heading up the mountains to my new job. The train ride was amazing, as was the fact that trains even go out there. They must have to clear the tracks of snow ten times a day. It was snowing when I arrived and everything was covered in a thick layer of white powder. When I woke up the next morning and looked out the window, it was cool to see the snow falling down, and I felt like a little kid waking up on Christmas day, even though I've only ever known hot Christmases. This place is owned by Aussies and partly by Steven Bradbury, the guy who famously won a gold medal at the Winter Olympics by letting everyone else fall over. Most people that work here are also Aussie, apart from two Japanese girls I am sharing a room with. I help them with their English and they help me with my Japanese :) Not that I need it up here, the place is overrun by Aussies. <br />
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I went snowboarding for only the second time in my life yesterday and it was amazing. Everyone at the hotel rallied together to lend me some gear and I got out there and did the Beginners run about 5-6 times. By the end I wasn't falling over quite so much and was pulling off some nice turns. I could get good at this by the end of March! <br />
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So that's where I'm at right now, and I will probably stay here until the end of March before flying to Malaysia. I will have to upload some snow shots onto Facebook at some point.<br />
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Keep the messages coming, I love hearing about what you're all up to!<br />
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x meg xx meg xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250440130374474761noreply@blogger.com5