Wednesday, 24 July 2019

the winner is...

The blog is almost dead I’m afraid. I thought I was going to keep it going when I moved home, but alas have failed miserably. Thankfully have a Londres reunion planned in a couple of weeks and another Greko sail so may get my groove back thereafter.

Thought I’d fill you all in on my Australia Settlement… or unsettlement instead. I can’t remember where we left off, but the first thing was the decision to move to Sydney. I had a job interview up there and quite enjoyed my time in Sydney so decided to focus a move there. On one of the journeys to Sydney for interviews Ally came up and my mate Cuddles was over from Canada (he may have starred in an earlier blog, whereby we met on Tinder in London and he goes ‘I know you, we’ve met before, you were a real bitch’… anyhow fast forward 5 years and we are still mates). Anyhow turns out Meady was in town so we went out on the town and partied that night. Ally and I got up and did the hike Coogee to Bondi (we attempted to do it on Day 1 and made it as far as Bronte from Bondi as we both had hangovers, so Day 2 with lessor hangover was far more successful). Ally left and I moved to the city to a place with a rooftop pool cos my mate Whitey was in town for Leppards wedding and was in Sydney trying to get lucky  
Cuddles, me, Meady & Ally
with one of his old housemates (I think he ended up getting lucky and touching her boobs). I broke all of KBs rules and caught up with Girthy. At the time I was watching ‘Ted Bundy conversations’, and one of his ex-girlfriends was saying how Ted used to hold her under the water in the pool and she found it unsettling. I thought Girthy was play fighting on the rooftop pool when he did it to me, but was slightly unsettled when I was standing on the balcony of the rooftop and he goes to me ‘have you heard of Gabe Tostie?’… wowsers. I wasn’t sure what to make of it so returned to my old pattern of ignoring it and playing, part of me wishing I’d not broken my promise to KB to resurrect the old ones.   
Me and Trent

After a few more weeks, and a couple of job offers, I flew to Sydney and stayed two weeks with my old mate Trent and his family while I found somewhere to live. Trent has just moved back from Dublin himself so was fun to hang out with someone familiar. His dad Craig baby, his mum Shaz and their pool cleaner Surge, made me feel at home for the time it took to find somewhere to live. We also went to my first rugby union game that didn’t have Kevin playing in it! Obviously I went for the reds, as I don’t like the Waratahs, cos of Izzy Falou. See I hated him even before this latest furore, as now he isn’t allowed to play at all. I recognised old mate Bernard Foley being all off/on with his conversions from watching the Rugby world cup in England when I was bandwagoning, and sat back enjoying my espresso martinis in the members, not really following much, just trying to count the cost of all the checked shirts and RM Williams boots in the crowd. 
My housemates - Nick & Juz


I had some of the most ridiculous and soul-destroying flat showings. My general response was "thanks, i'll have a think and then let you know" then message through later that I was or wasn't interested. I had already shortlisted two places mentally, when I decided not to stand up this chick for a viewing as I had already rearranged it the day prior. Because she was a lawyer - I had figured she had probably left work early. So I looked at her overpriced ugly ambiance place, complete with a single bed! (yuck I’ve not had one of those since I was 7)… Anyhow, she messaged me straight after and was like “I think looking for a place is really important, but so is having a connection, and sadly I had none with you” what an absolute disaster. Even though I’d seen two great places already, I had another commitment, so with my soul destroyed I went to a place in Kings Cross. I was almost in tears, and the girls offered me a wine and laughed at all my jokes. One worked in my least fav ‘women in construction’ job however – a lolly pop person at a construction site. The most mind numbingly boring job that even men don’t want to do it. They offered me the place straightaway but I was still holding out on Redfern who seemed to take forever to get back to me! Thankfully I got offered all 3 of my shortlists and ended up at my number 1 choice with the most raddest humans everrrrr. The second choice was a dude who was overcharging me rent but he lived in the soulless city.

The night we met Berta!
I’ve moved in to rough and ready Redfern with two amazing housemates, one looks like a poodle whippit cross and the other a glorious show dog, contrary to the fact they look a little alike, they are actually non related lovers from the central coast and shire respectively. My neighbour Sean (Portugese Waterdog) who I met through my housemates was my first non-housemate and not pre-known friend in Sydney (before anyone gets offended, i'm the Staffy in the group chat; so its all in good humour). We walk home from work together some nights from work, abit like me and old Gleddas who used to cycle home together, we have a little routine of relationship dump, work dump and I resort to serial killer podcasts for when i’m walking alone. Very early on in the Sydney piece on a midnight walk home from Newtown I also made another friend - a Spanish girl called Berta, who was super helpful translating when I invited a Spanish bumble date to a party at Sean's! Juz and Nick are hoping I turn lesbian because they love Berta so much. We are very sporatic together and do brunch in the mornings and then hit hippie festivals together on random islands in Sydney, or latino music sessions at Maroubra Caves. 

Ang, Me Brandan, Jessie and Sean at the Dees Sydney Game
I’ve had a blast moving in and getting to know everyone – we have a solid Melrose-place esque network and had a killer housewarming brunch around the pool which Justine did an amazing job of organising, starting and 11am and ending at midnight on a Sunday. There was a special guest appearance by someone from Sticky Fingers who I thought looked like a cross between Tony Mokbel and Ali G. Apparently I was the only one that didn't know who this Dylan Frost was. But alas, I was the only one that could sing along to 'Heavy Heart' by You Am I when he busted out the acoustic. Sean and my other neighbour Brandon and I have bonded over our mutual love of AfL- fact that three of my <10 total Sydney friends are Dees fans. The other dee is Ang- from Radeliade, who I played netball with in London. I’ve bloody loved my time with her again, brunching and being injured together – though her ankle surgery was considerably worse than my twice sprained ankle. Anyway deflecting, it would be remiss to forgot to mention my most recent mates, the lesbians that live under me; which together, me , Justine, Sarah and Jules form the Real House Housewives of Redfern. Though we are actually based in Alexandria.

Lots has happened since moving here. There is a new local haunt, much like the Rylston, but called the Lord Raglan where I go and get drunk and crack on to the young barman called Christian. He has perfect hair. In fact if he didn’t smoke and one day require a button to speak (and reciprocated my advances) I would envisage a bright future. I also promised I would mention Jamie, so here is that mention. He is hot and single, though unfortunately isn’t interested in vaginas. I manage to piss Sarah off every time I go to the pub with her by telling the bar men I only have three friends in Sydney. She then says something along the lines of “what do you call me, chopped liver!? Or is it choc liver? I don’t know I don’t get it, but I know it pisses her off so I always say it for a great reaction.



I no longer talk to Girthy / he no longer talks to me– though for the life of me I don’t know why I do miss the erratic insecurity he added to my life over the last almost 5 years.  It’s like mourning. Since I’ve moved there has been limited potentials - Tennis BF who was named as I met him at the tennis, though he couldn’t be further from a BF. He is like the hottest guy you could imagine that you never want to meet your parents (though I think Lino might like him). Problem is I met him at the tennis –in Melb… and then moved to NSW, also I know he doesn't really give a shit as I said something like “oh I came home and surprised my grandma, want to see a picture?” and he was like “No”. Charming! 

Anyway...so in addition to my own once a week limit chicken parma limit, Justine and Sarah have put a once a week Thai food limit on me AND they have also made me commit to one date a week. So far i've failed dismally to achieve my quota. I've  been on a few dates. In addition to the dude i met at Sean's house party, theres been an Argentinian. He was lovely, but found it hard work translating. I met a guy in Sydney who claimed to be 34 on Bumble, but after he died after a couple of weeks a short google revealed he played under 20s for NSW in 2018… (insert emoji looking mortified here)! It certainly shows I really haven’t learnt my lesson when it comes to the young ones. But anyone that has been playing along all these years – I’ve also caught up with South America tour non boyfriend Rhys a few times, Farley who I met in Montenegro and starred in the "I go, You Go Slavia blog" and also Lee who I met in London and who brought me the most beautiful bunch of my least favourite flowers when I cooked him dinner in Melbs. For all the expectation however - all three I don't see
Rhys and I
Farley and I
enough of! 
My last date was the most successful so far and he was 20 mins late and I left the place and went for dinner where I wanted to go instead. When he messaged apologising cos he couldn't find a park I grew soft and text him where I was, and he came by. It was great fun so, who knows... maybe he will make the next blog??

Work is full circle all weird again, i.e. working with Multiplex on the new AMP development Quay Quarter Tower. I’m working on a big transaction for a major tenant, that ironically leases the first ever building I built; CBW. The building is one of the largest developments in Sydney CBD at the moment and the little company I work for has a lovely office Barangaroo way which makes for a nice lunchtime view. Sydney itself takes a little bit to get used to. The nights out aren't near as exciting as London and the nightlife is considerably deader due to the lockout laws having a domino affect. Somehow, my FOMO has meant i've managed to keep myself entertained though and my housemates have been rad at keeping me in the loop on all the happenings. 

I joined Virgin Collective – the most luxurious gym membership and I was going great guns, losing the love handles, venturing out, enjoying the dregs of Summer and the mild Winter… until I sprained my ankle and regained the massive love handles almost simultaneously. I was going nuts not working out but utilised the free blow dries at the gym and prosecco on Thursday and Fridays to get the most of my membership while injured and I managed to escape with some sanity, until walking my bike home (because I was too drunk to ride it) and sprained my ankle again. That made me visit the Chiropractor that Ang recommended to me (Dan Gilmore @ Waterloo Chiro). She told me, he used to play footy but I just assumed the Swans, so when in general chat he goes "so in London how did you watch the cats games?" and I said "my friend is a Swans fan, and went halvies in an international membership - but we wanted the cheapest one we could get, which was Freo - but neither of us wanted that so we went for a Geelong one as it was cheaper than the Sydney one... I was well embarrassed when he said "I used to play for Freo!" Face. Palm. 


I’ve been trying to keep up with my pact to myself to travel, so fly back to watch the cats play a few times and flew to RAdelaide to watch the cats lose. I caught up with my primary school friend Jed and Ang’s bestie Kim who I get along with great also, not to mention an old colleague Sheri from my early Multiplex days! I also try and get back to Melbs once a month, to see my friends and fam. I flew back to Melbs to see rents when he was in town and told Sammie unfortunately I wouldn't make her 30th the week after, then thought - yolo and booked a ticket to go back the next weekend. Its much nicer being nearer to everyone and Sophia is the most ridiculously beautiful, independent 2-year-old.  I can’t fathom how grown up she will be at 3! I was lucky enough to get a visit from Bianca, Pettie and Sophia over Easter - Sophia was in her element Easter day simultaneously hoovering down chocolate and the hot chips i'd ordered as I was hungover from the night before as i'd popped my Drain Rave cherry - for those wondering - a rave at some random drain in Alexandria. Anyway, Sophia rarely gets to indulge in sweet treats so she was loving life. She made my day when she requested Spiderman face paint while all the other girls were getting fairies and butterflies!

I have also started an artsy Instagram called Trolleys_of_Redfern_ which I’d told Sean on one of our walks I was going to do out of my disdain for people who think they are super arty and have bullshit art installations or ideas and call it art.  Ironically, I have grown to enjoy the page. We had a bottomless brunch a few weeks ago and Jules bought me insta followers from a far Arabic land… so I started off with almost 1000 followers, though its rapido taking a dive towards the 800 mark! Not all is lost though I’ve managed a cult following of local businesses!

The Melbourne / London Gang
I went to Trents ladies day and wrote myself off by 7pm. After a can of coke the next day I managed a hike to Watsons bay with my housemates and neighbours. My new resolution is to travel more around Sydney, as I have become to enjoy my little niche and forget how much I used to travel across London to do stuff. I also have the bike here now, and need to get back to it. My time of late consists of work, le tour de France, researching adoptable greyhounds and trying to book my next holiday. Feel free to hit me up if you need a travel buddy or are keen on a Xmas getaway somewhere warm or let me know if you are visiting Sydney – I’m lucky to have had the fam up already and I’m always keen to increase my Sydney friend quota!

To end, here's a pic of mum and dad to show them some love! Though they are currently in Vietnam - Jealous! Cannot wait to see many of you in London in August to star in my next blog! Hoo Roo X






Tuesday, 15 January 2019

You don't need shoes in Darwin.


DARWIN. Named after the Great Charles Darwin. Naturalist, Biologist, philosopher of evolution or/ Charles Darwin, racist flogger of his grandfathers’ ideas who the Poms recently replaced on the £10 note due to his controversial stature? Whichever way you look at it, I’ve always found it intriguing. I personally think there’s a happy medium somewhere in the debate and have always found him to be great only for evolving his Grandfathers ideas on evolution (or transmutation) as his grandfather did not have the gusto to follow through on his findings.  I’ve also found the irony and hypocrisy of the naming of Darwin, a city supposedly founded in 1839 and named in 1869 fascinating. Darwin himself referred to the aboriginals as “savages”. Yet, they lived off the land some +50k years, so maybe he like me just sucked at using words in the right context and was merely using the term to describe the ability to live off the land and hunt alike animals?  

My reasoning for coming to Darwin and this Blog:

1)     I thought it prudent to travel, whilst I am still awaiting work so I don’t fall in to a lull and just decide I’m over it all and return back to London, or move to Hong Kong.

2)     I made a resolution that upon my return I would travel more around Australia and I had not yet been to the NT. 

3)     I have promised a number of you that I will continue my blog having moved home, so here it is, my time in Darwin outlined in a short blog with some accompanying pictures that can never ever convey the beauty of this place.

4)      A veiled excuse for visiting my good friend Candice.

My first thoughts arriving to a humid 100 degrees (true story in Fahrenheit) at 2am after an hour delay at Melbourne airport as I was on the cheapest bum of a time flight leaving Melbs at 9:30pm – OMG poor Candice picking me up and having to work the next day. But there she was in her big vehicle pulling over to give me a cuddle and greet me. We drove back to Palmerston where I was given a short briefing on keys and went to sleep with the air cond blasting. I woke up and had a walk to the local plaza where I discovered my life source for the next few days – flake Shake at the famed Wendy’s then followed it by a float and kindle in the apartment pool and before I knew it, Candice was home and I had met her lovely fiancĂ© Rob and Candice and I were getting dressed in our best fitting flip flops to hit the town of Darwin. 

We Ubered in to the Oyster Bar at the Darwin central beach. Overrated and overpriced, I thought mum’s oysters at Christmas were nicer, but was satisfied with the bottle of RosĂ© we polished off whilst watching the sun retreat. After we headed in to town and to a pub called Rorkes where we had a cocktail and I managed to offend and befriend some new friends. We tapped out and tapped in to Monsoon’s which I was decidedly not drunk enough for. After some trial grinding I was over it, I was force drinking and decided the ambiance akin to the Traralgon Saloon bar sans light up dance floor was too much for me to handle at the tender age of 33. Rather, we walked down the street to Wisdom bar and boogied some more. I may or may not have got a kiss from a Darwin newby called Tim, who phantomed circa 1am as he had work at 6am. After deciding I could not drink anymore as I haven’t been drinking a great deal recently; I bought Candice more and started to drink water as we had a couple more drinks and mourning the loss of my ghosted new found friend we left c. 2am and caught an Ubes home. Our driver Gourav arrived in a Nissan Navarra ute- a certain first from the usual prius and played dance music enroute home. After initially demanding Maccas, Candice became mute and started snoozing. Turns, out as soon as we arrived home Miss G wasn’t feeling too well. I went to bed and passed out, waking up around 11am, with the worlds worst hangover. I thought initially I felt ok, but then having started vomiting, I just couldn’t stop.

We headed to breaky at 2:30pm to a place called Sandbar, while I tried to teach myself to eat again and successfully keep it down, to a big fat fail. When we discovered the local pool was shut we decided instead to head to see the crocs in town at Crocasauras. Considering we are both a little funny about Animals being in captivity, on a hangover seeing the large 5m beasts in action attacking chickens whilst people are in glass cages seemed the best way to see them. I was reminded of the time I wrote a letter to 60 minutes as I was so disgusted viewing a crocodile documentary at a park where they had taped closed the crocs mouths and removed their teeth so declined my initial desire to hold a baby salty for the tape closing the mouth reason also.

I noticed that I was constantly overdressed, as most people don’t wear shoes in Darwin. And not only must you be careful you don’t hit a Dingo with your car (we saw one - yay!) you need also to be careful of the indigenous wandering road side. We left there and headed to the world’s hottest pool on the way home in an attempt to cool off and then met Rob at the local Palmerston Club for dinner/ to check out if any of his workmates were of talent and interest to me. The latter was not the case and though the Parma did its best to recede the affects of hollowness from the night before, we decided to fight the torrential rain back to the car and head home. Initially I was awoken at 4am by Rob coming home from his night out then at 5am the honking of a horn that wouldn’t stop. Apparently the rowdy neighbours were having a lovers tiff. Nekminute I’m out on the balcony checking out the shenanigans and a still drunk Rob walks out in the nuddy to checkout the nonsense! I shyly rescinded back to the bedroom and back to sleep.

The next day was a new day, and feeling grateful that I was alive I cooked us a home cooked breaky
and we head off for Litchfield National Park. Two gals in a swim suit, fedoras and swanky shoulder bags and Candice looking very glam, took off in the big Ute vehicle waving hello to everyone we passed.

Litchfield was outstanding, we stopped off at all the little stops before stopping for a swim at the beautiful Florence falls. It was so beautiful, I don’t think a photo would ever do it justice. We stopped off for a couple more lookouts and waterfalls and had some precarious dips in the most pristine water I’d seen since Europe, but with croc warning signs added. We went in via Florence Falls and out via Berry Creek pub where we sat and watched as the rains came in (Marge).

The next day was my final one, and a chill day before my stupid o’clock houred flight home. I chilled by the pool and treated myself to Wendys walking via a petrified cat which had seen its demise some days ago, and now had its guts being eaten by maggots. I stood in wonder with my hand over my nose wondering how the couple on hoarders lived unknowingly with four petrified cats – for those that aren’t akin to indulging in shows such as Hoarders to make yourself feel better about yourself, here’s a sample for reference: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qWY5xfhvjyI . After regrouping, heading home and being super happy for Candice to get home after work, we decided to walk to Coles and I would cook dinner- salmon, and salad, with coconut yoghurt. Very unlike me, but with the love handle growth of late, much required. I left Darwin happy that I had been and seen, but sad, leaving my mate for another period of time. Darwin, what a beaut, I’ll be back one day I think!


Sunday, 21 October 2018

I go You go Slavia



So I nearly didn’t write a blog cos I got pissed off earlier last week and had some shitty news then I thought it would consume the next blog and there would be an underlying tone of anger, except, I’ve decided to just get over it because there is a story here that needs to be told. Having been to Croatia numerous times already, and twice to Slovenia, I thought it was time to explore the wider Former Yugoslavia. On the 9th October, after two days of re-set in Londres to basically wash ALL my clothes from South America and eat at Roxies. I landed in Dubrovnik, a place I’ve been numerous times before. My only goal of the trip was to eat Grilled Octopus every day.


I walked to the AirBnb Margarita (which I can highly recommend), even though I split my jeans unnecessarily jumping up a fence to get to my AirBnb and misconstrued the instructions, attending to every large tree in the vicinity before getting to the right one by simply using Google Maps, I was in high spirits, albeit a little scared my arse was hanging out whilst greeting my host with my Langchump covering the front of me to prevent flashing. . Lunchtime, I achieved my goal when I visited the number 1 TripAdvisor restaurant and accompanied my delicious tentacles with some local wine in my favourite kind of glass that fits your nose in it. I even ignored the fact I’d split my jeans (probably attributed to the additional blubber obtained from South America) and had a chocolate lava cake for dessert.

The weather was super so I walked to the beach and spent all day there and managed a snooze, as again I’d had a 4:30am Uber. After, I stupidly went and had dinner, Gnocchi and even dessert before I lumped my fat arse back for some rest before the bus to Montenegro.

The bus was quite funny. It arrived an hour late and the Croatian guy was this old C you Next Tuesday who yelled at as many people he could for not printing tickets, however it rather settled and after two hours I arrived in Kotor. I googled Thai massage, as my back was sore from first world travelling problems, such as plane and bus rides, and went and spent 4 times what my accommodation cost for the night. This set the trend for the holiday. Here, I stayed at Old Town Hostel and met some new friends at dinner, including an in denial of being Gay Aussie Guy, a young blue eyed couple from Tassie, a lovely young lady Maddie (also Aus) and a few French. Another Aussie guy called Farley was staying in my room, just the two of us, romantic as. My favourite joke when Farley introduced himself was to tell people he was named after the family dog. However he actually was named after his grandma.

We started the next perfect day together with eggs bene at a local restaurant called Astoria, where I saved his life from two wasp stings by tending to him with ice and antihistamine, before we trekked up the castle on the hill – up the local ‘free entry’ way. During this hike, we met an almost 79 year old lady from Russia powering up. It made me remember the strong ladies I’ve had and lucky to have in my life, picturing a determined Nonna and Granny. We also had a third wheel on our journey, an Indian guy, who was barely Indian as he didn’t really talk about cricket. He told us about a place up the mountain that sold fresh cheese so we were searching for the place when I spotted a baby brown snake and realised, the search was more perilous than I’d hoped with the overgrown grass surrounds. We found the  place and were greeted by an old drunk handing us Rakija and cheese and meat platter that was bought from a store, contrary to the homemade statement. I had enough of fake Indian and we set off leaving him in our wake, Farley trying to convince me to go to the steep trail right to the top to see the view ‘opened up’ to which I shut him down saying there was ‘no fucking way’ I was doing more than the bare minimum and we trot off to the castle. We took a few quick snaps and before heading down the usual tourist way which was thousands of steps. I really hated this, but I was grateful for my long legged stride as it seemed to work with pace. Worst part was I kept telling him how awful it was and asking if it would ever end. He kindly laughed before we set off to the bus to head to the beach, which was also my idea. During the bus ride we worked out that we grew up close, he in Lakes Entrance and me obvs in Traralgon, albeit a few years apart. I was super impressed when I found out he had studied Mechatronics, as per my fav first ever housemate Caz Tan (Birdsong).

Budva was beautiful. We spotted umbrellas perched on the edge of the old town and decided to go there for a feed. We arrived to this old dude, taking his time to serve us, realising it was pricey but not really caring, and ordered a bottle of prosecco. We had the place to ourselves and the man told us the kitchen was not yet open. We downed prosecco, olives and cheese and soon, the man returned to take our order. Farley ordered a burger and the man was like ‘only for Russians this shit’ and made him order beef steak, and I had the veal.  The food was incredible and the man was so good though our bill was only 40 or so each, and set off to the beach to chill, before heading back on the bus to join the hostel crew for the dinner boat cruise. Everyone was giving us shit about our couply date but we had such a great day, I don’t think either of us gave two shits. We headed out to the only bar and some random Aussie weirdo called Shaggy from some outback town gave me a massage.  The next day Farley left for Albania and I decided to stay another so I could take advantage of the weather on the booze cruise and get some rays, rather than join him on a hike. I left the following morning after I had a shitty morning with shitty news about people being shitty I then made my day shittier by arriving at the wrong airport for my flight to Belgrade and had to fork out 85 euro for a new flight – so after my short 45 minute 160 euro flight I arrived in Belgrade then caught the wrong bus and had to walk 2kms to Arkabarka the floating hostel. Fair to say I was a hot mess when I arrived. So sad and angry at life I was greeted by nice-ish Serbs and a yoga teacher and promptly booked the morning session to help calm the farm.  

I took myself out for a nice dinner then came back to the hostel to start to read the book I’d carted across South America and hadn’t started and try get an early night. Only problem with my double bed score, was that there was an elderly lady from Germany that snored the house down. Introduce me, world’s worst sleeper and the first of my restless nights. The next day I did the walking tour and heard the Serb side of history. Blamed for the war, the country economy plummeted, the dollar exponentially falling up to 16 % daily, the country was thrown in to despair. The local mafia became rich, whilst everyone else barely fed themselves. I was somewhat preoccupied during the tour as I hadn’t yet organised the car to Sarajevo the next day. There was no doubt Belgrade was awesome and there was an awesome floating nightlife that evening. I will definitely come back again one day and spend more time there. I launched myself across town that night in search to fulfil my craving for thai food. There were only two in the city so I walked 2.8 miles across highways and finally got my pad thai. Although it was almost darkness, and I didn’t feel too unsafe, I thought it best I do their equivalent of Uber home and had to double check when a very youthful tall good looking guy picked me up instead of the old dude in the pic I was expected. The number plates matched though so I got in and hot young man explained it was his dad’s heap of junk he was driving. Hot guy aka son of Namanja was a basketball coach. His mum and sister were architects and that’s all I could remember. He dropped me off and I cursing myself I didn’t get his details. 

That night – old lady informed me she had to get up at 3:30am and hoped she wouldn’t wake me. Hard to wake someone that can’t sleep through ear plugs because she was snoring so loud! But when her alarm went off I had just myself fallen in to a lucid dream and during I was telling her I hadn’t told her off for her loud snoring, so hurry the fuck up and get the hell out of the room, instead of piss farting around packing what only sounded like plastic bags! Finally she fucked off and I was then alarmed myself at 7am for shower and breaky before the 8am transfer. Only they now informed me, it wasn’t coming as there were technical issues and instead booked me on the 5pm. Somehow I managed to book another company for 11am, and I wasn’t 100% sure it had gone through when it was nearing 12 and they still hadn’t come, the lady at the hostel called and was assured it was coming at 12:20pm at the bus stop opposite. I decided to pull the plug and head back to the hostel at 12:45pm, just concurrent to me seeing a car flashing their headlights to pull over. Thankfully this was me and I was lumped In the back, where I could lay out the suitcases and watch a movie. One of the guys in the transfer was HOT, he was Bosnian – his name was Riad and his English was amazing. I had a snooze and was woken up to talk back radio. I asked him what they were talking about and he said recently there were elections. He said his country had three presidents – one Serb, one Croat and one Bosnian and they were all fuckwits. I told him we only had one fuck wit but it kept changing. Super smart, Riad was in Belgrade visiting mates, and had just completed uni in Sarajevo and studied Genetics – specialising in proteins in humans. Refraining from dodgy jokes, I instead grabbed some restaurant names to attend in his home town Mostar, stupidly also refraining from grabbing is details to hang out in Mostar as I was due to arrive Wednesday.

In Sarajevo I arrived super tired and went for dinner at the Singing Nettle for dinner. I didn’t love it and it was my second most expensive meal to date, so rather dejected I headed back and was again really happy to realise I was in a room with a Taiwanese snorer this time. I kept daydreaming jumping the 100m from my top bunk to grab ear plugs for awhile before I finally succumbed to reception and begged for some pluggers. My third straight night with a snoring female was getting me down. I decided as she was also staying the next night, I needed to get more drunk so joined forces with some others at the hostel- a rude Norweigan called Janis and a top knotted swede called Jeff. There was also a miscellaneous annoying Kiwi (and made me have a little hatred for my beloved kiwis) and a young American girl. But first that day, I started off with Eggs Bene and a walking tour of the city that began at 10am in front of the old cathedral with the most amazing Pope John Paul statue. Again, I thought of Nonna.


Sarajevo - what a stunning city. The mixture of religious harmony is absolutely breath taking. Much akin to Jerusalem. The old town and the new town, blue eyed Muslims, humans that look like me, speaking Bosnian. The walking tour was hosted by a nutcase guide called Enes. He was however awesome, explaining the wars. We saw where WW2 began, with the massacre of Franz Ferdinand (not the singer), and heard stories of courage, such as when Hitler sent his soldiers to get the Hagada book at the Jewish temple and a Muslim grabbed the book, told the soldier it had already been given to the Nazis and was instead taken to the Muslim Mosque and hidden with the Koran.

We were then told about 1992- 1995 - the city circled by Serbs and the massacres that took place. For such a recent history, I don’t believe we know enough about it and cannot even begin to understand how people of the one race get fuelled by hubris led propaganda machines that call themselves Politian’s and turn neighbours against each other. For one thing was certain, this was not a religious war. Not everyone wanted a Serbia or Croatia, many wanted a Yugoslavia. However, after the prosperity of Yugoslavia and the death of Tito, hatred was bred, and for some reason, Serbia decided to attack. The viciousness of the massacres that took place at Srebrenica under the UN watch is an atrocity. The murder of children, civilians, absolutely heart breaking. You could tell the prosperity of the people, for my by their watches, Longines, Omega’s alongside childrens teddy bears, bloodstained clothes, contained in the museum of Genocide, which we visited afterwards. The US were close to preventing one of the massacres by commencing bombing, but the French called it off (seriously, can the French just give up on politics already?!). Ironically when that bombing did commence, it ended the war, alongside the Croatian army- which I’ll get in to after.

Mostar
I decided to skip more doom and gloom re the tunnels which apparently was a massive fail on my part however I did and instead got drunk with the guys at the hostel – a Swede and Dutchy, downing Rakia and getting a kebab from a blue eyed white guy – a first for me, before attempting a sleep with the Taiwan snoring engine. This time, the sleep again failed me, and with the 5:45am wake up to catch the 7am scenic train to Mostar, I was scared I would miss the journey through sheer exhaustion leading to sleep on the train. The Northern hemisphere lads and I made it and I managed a movie (The Book Thief, great film and has my fav actor Geoffrey Rush in it) and stayed awake for the scenery. The windows were quite dirty, so there was no way you could take photos, though it really pissed me off that people spent their time trying to video or photo it on their phones, rather than look at the view with their eyes. I mean, their footage will be garbage, what you see through the phone is garbage, you’ll never watch it through, how about just use your eyes and enjoy it for you? So that’s what I did.


Maddy, the young Aussie girl in Kotor recommended hostel Majdas in Mostar. I had also arranged a 12-hour tour of Bosnia via email that started as soon as I arrived, so as soon as I got to the hostel, I promptly upgraded to a private and was given some amazing breakfast and shown to my room for an hour prior to the tour starting. I also bumped in to some mates I’d met in Kotor from Tassie that had committed to jumping the bridge – they did and managed to do so injury free. The tour was ran by Majda’s brother Bata, whose name should actually by Batty. He was absolutely nuts! But so glad that I did it. He told us about how after the Serbs came to Mostar and the Croatians then came in and saved them. They then knifed them in the back, and started doing what the Serbs did, massacring them, trying to take Bosnia. He was smuggled out by a Croatian Bosnian in a fake ambulance and sent to Sweden. It was mere fate a Croat from his school recognised him and saved him from a mass grave. Post war, he went to thank the man, but was told his fate was not so good. We were shown how Mostar is divided, strangely even despite the massacres and treatment, Croatia and Serbia still have a stake in the Bosnian parliament, and one half of Mostar is Croatian Bosnian, and is much more advanced than the Bosnian side. He thinks it is a message. I don’t think he is a stupid as his batty behaviour presents. The overarching similarity between Batty Bata and Enes is the same message - both agree – contrary to the world propaganda, this was not a religious war (they have lived harmoniously for over a thousand years, having 50% mixed marriage pre-war), this is not a civil war, this was bigger. War crimes were committed and post war, the politicians responsible including Milsovic, Martic, Babic, Karadzic, Mladic have all been prosecuted. A Bosnian Serb led the Bosnians at the time and saved Sarajevo. This for me had too many similarities with whatever is going on between Israel and Palestine. When you see Jerusalem and Sarajevo and how harmonious the old towns are – Jews, Christians and Muslims, you realise we are all swallowing the same pill, we are all spiders in the same misleading web. The fact that humans threw loaded truck tyres down the hill to the city valleys to murder, the rapes, the murder, the genocide and still, what I will say, is the Bosnians are the most friendly in this Yugonook. Yeah, they are bonkers, but their humour is incredible, their resilience is unsurpassed. 



We went to the Kravice waterfalls, which were picturesque but too cold for me, I lapped up the sun, had a beer and read a book from the bank rather than deal with the numbing cold water to climb a waterfall which I am almost 100% sure I would hurt myself. We left there and headed to a village called Neretvanski which was an old village and went for tea and syrups at a local old ladys house. We overate there, before heading to our final stop a town about 12kms from Mostar called Blagaj where we agreed to head back should I stay another night in lieu of heading to Split for my flight a night early, and then back to the hostel. 
The next day we got up and was served an amazing breaky. After I joined forces with my new mate the American brother and sister due Liza and Nick, the Swede and the Dutchie (and some other American chick I didn’t really get to know), then we headed back to Blagaj by bus to do the hike up the mountain to the last Bosnian Kings castle. After we donned head scarf and a wrap dresses we were allowed to visit the Monastery which impressively sits adjacent to the cave, under the clifftop. The cave is a mystery in itself, a pilgrimage for many, the water source isn’t immediately known, however it has since been revealed to be deep and some 19kms wide. I had some water and made a wish. What a blessed place. I hope it knows peace in my lifetime and many more. I hope it returns to the former 50/50 marriage it was and Yugoslavia remembers Bosnia. Sadly, having seen Palestine and knowing our government locks up innocents abroad, I don’t think we ever will stop behaving badly, but I hope we do. I will come back and do succeed in my quest to eat Octopus every day... what an amazing place.









Thursday, 11 October 2018

You told me it was Chile in South America, but I don't Bolivia

BOLIVIA

I must say, I really liked Bolivia from the outset. The vibe, the streets. The roads also seemed more complete than in Peru. We had team dinner with Bec’s ring in Norwegian flame Marius, who we are certain introduced himself as Maurice and put ourselves to bed for our again monotonously early wake up pre 6am to do the Death Road. 

BJs Cousin Eddie
So, I certainly didn’t tell Mum I was doing Death Road, but having spoken to my trusty old mate Girthy who informed me he had done it on no sleep, I decided to follow the beacon – Phoebs, and have a crack. Our group was 14 young somethings from all over, led by a loose as Kiwi called Tim. Our little cycling fam of speed demons Phoebs and Rhys, middle pack Mones + Bundy Rin bringing up the rear met some new buddies, including a small world reunion when I realised the guy I got the perfect selfie with Eddie was my Cousin Marc’s wife’s BJ’s cousin!

We took off for the first 20km test on our awesome mountain bikes and instantly I felt quite unsettled. I consciously tried to relax, as I felt myself gripping as the wind ripped in to me flogging it down the scenic pre-death road, road. The stress and concentration balanced out, and for some reason I momentarily forgot that I was legging it on rocks, on the world’s deadliest 30km road, 300m above the valley. We stopped along the way to be briefed on what was coming up – pot holes, water fall crossings and steep slopes and hairpins. We were told stories about the thousands of slaves who lost their lives building the road, hundreds of buses and cars that were lost along the way due to slipping off the edge and mentally for me there was so much concentration, that I forgot I was scared of heights.
Me on Death Road

Phoebs bloody killed it, and so did Rhys, setting the pace up front. I was happy to chill at the middle of the group without any heroes up my clack. Our stops were breath taking which made everything worth it. Only one minor injury when a large rock kicked up in the wheel and hit my shin. 

Finally, we made it to our final stop, an animal sanctuary at the bottom of the hill, but not before being told about the worlds saddest love story – when a man lost his whole family off the side of death road. He then spent the next 15 years guiding the traffic through the narrow one-way track, and as a thank-you had been gifted a home for his efforts. He was standing at the bottom of the town.

After dinner and beers at the sanctuary, we then jumped in the van to go back up Death Road. By this stage I decided more beers sounded better than being sober, and thankfully Phoebs bartered with the shop keeper to get 2 beers for the bargain price of 40 Bolivianos (basically all we had left) instead of 50 or getting just one to share! The next funny thing was the toilet stop on Death road. I was losing my shit laughing, as Phoebe managed to find some concrete cavernous ruins to pee in between, while I was perched behind the world’s smallest rock and tree.

Day 9 of our tour we had a day in La Paz. We did a City Tour in the morning where we went to the
Rhys and I in our Alpaca Jumpers
moon valley and I nearly shit myself on the Cable Car yellow just after I had said to Phoebs I think I was conquering my fear of heights! The cable car system is the Bolivian equivalent to the tube, it is super impressive, spanning 30 KMs and reaching a height of 12k ft. I hated being so high up, even though I had bragged to Phoebs in the AM that I felt I had conquered my fear of heights, between Macchu Piccu and the Death Road. The afternoon we came back to town and did some shopping. I bought a Llama and a couple of synthetically real Alpaca jumpers. We left for our flight to Uyuni at 7pm and arrived that evening to be reunited with Rhys who had in earlier in the day and by this evening his high-altitude constant illness had set in and he had short vision and a puffer fish face.

The next day we woke up to our driver telling us to have everything we needed in our day bag.  So of course, I left the fly swat I was going to use at the salt flats in my big bag so instead had to settle for Shrek, a wine bottle and a Pringles tin as apparatus for pics. We also used Rhys Akubra as a prop, but the new group dickhead Ashton Chivers (who has the same last name as Girthy yet lacks any form of personality and charisma I would probably stop talking to Chris if I thought this sociopath was related to him) fucked up the video by jumping off the high side of the hat brim.

That night was the first of our basic accommodation, which made me take away my initial assessment of Bolivia being the best and instead I decided, apart from La Paz it was a shit hole. Here I finally had a go at the rude Frenchie’s and informed them that we were on holidays too so there was no need to be a rude arsehole and ruin everyone else’s holiday. Fair to say like in the war he avoided confrontation for the rest of the trip, which suited me. We gained a couple of Germans in our 4-wheel drive back in Uyuni however, and one said on this day she was claustrophobic in the back, despite the rest of us being 5’9 and above, apparently the shortest chick in the Cruiser was claustrophobic, forcing Phoebs in to the back for the perilous 7-hour journey which was shit house. I sat in the middle and played bangers whilst kept getting told off by Beymar for trying to put my feet up and slamming the door.

We stopped at random coloured lagoons, and saw random stacked stones which I didn’t really see any beauty in before arriving at our camp for the eve at Laguna Colorada. If I thought last night was bad, I was assured that the next night was worse. Forgetting there were Germans in the cruiser I compared the initial visual of camp to Auschwitz (insert emoji of me slapping head in shame!). That night the pub was like your dad’s mates shed, we spent the night sinking beers and pool shots with the drivers Beymar and the 4’0 tall Sharky on the slanted table, as well as some table tennis.

The final morning in Bolivia had us seeing yet another lagoon and stacked rock tree, plus a Volcano which bordered Chile, which by now I was very much looking forward to as I’d been told that the accommodation was really nice. We left the bumpy dirt roads and broken boom gated border crossing of Bolivia and entered what seemed like the Hunger Games equivalent of the Capital with asphalt roads and a luxurious drive in border crossing drive thru shed where the security played table tennis and bangers. This started the precedent, with all the music played throughout Chile far surpassing both Peru and Bolivia’s flutey music. 

CHILE

We arrived to the luxury of a 30 second warm shower in San Pedro de Atacama and had a posh team dinner and some Chilean Syrah before settling for the eve.

Finally, a sleep in the morning, followed by breaky and a wine tour. We didn’t have Ashton as he lonered himself sand boarding the dunes. Instead we were greeted by the world’s nicest smiliest man- a Haitian man called Noel (like the Christmas carol) and donned dresses and stepping out shirts and went on a pretty boring wine tour, followed by tasting. I realised at this point, I should always book ‘wine tasting’ and not ‘wine tours’ as I really don’t care how it gets to my local Majestic Wine carton for 10£ a bottle. The afternoon we were ill informed by Wilson, to just wear good shoes, and failed to tell us/ me that a short dress and g-banger was not appropriate for the cave crawling and climbing. We were the best dressed at the Chilean Moon Valley by a rolling mile. We bunkered in to the bus post sunset and were just about to take off back to town before realising that Ashton wasn’t there. We contemplated leaving him, but decided we should probably wait. He unapologetically boarded and we headed back to town, where we again disassociated with him and headed for team dinner which was average, before retiring.

A wake up the next day followed by another flight to Santiago. We landed at the airport to a reunion party with the Pommy guy from reading and old mate Ashton’s fling he had met sandboarding. I hadn’t seen Mr Personality Ashton Kutcher talking much until this time, so it was apt that upon arrival he left our group without saying bye.

We had lunch at Japanese and I disgusted Rhys by failing with chopsticks. He made such a big deal that I became shitty and declined his offer to teach me. I decided I would instead YouTube how to do it as a surprise preparation for our future wedding. That afternoon we headed off exploring. Only though by now I was over it so I decided to ditch and the group cable car / funicular ride and instead wait for them at a pub. It was here I met two dudes- English Mark and Venezuela Marcos who were having brewskies before hiking to the top in lieu of the cable car. I was again reminded my gaydar was off when Mark went all D&M and informed me that his wife and kid hadn’t been satisfied with moving to San Pedro and instead he was doing it alone, mind you- working one week on and one off didn’t sound too bad. He had met Marcos on a social man date website. Anyway, Mark had the day off tomorrow so we decided to hang out. Everyone was laughing by the time they reached me and I was already pissed! Of course, I had made friends. We had a boozy final night with take-away brewskies and hangs at Rhys’s before farewelling my holiday 10 and calling it a night.

The next morn I farewelled my PIC Phoebs back to Oz and consoled Patrick who was mourning the loss of Rhys by this stage, and quoting Derek to me to no avail. I have since watched a couple of episodes so can probably maintain some future conversation relating. I checked out of the rank poor businessman stale smoke hotel, and met Mark who had taken the world’s longest drive in and concurrent I noticed his WhatsApp pic had changed from his wife to his kid... interesting. I checked in to my luxurious hotel and checked out the pool deck before deciding to hit town and grab a bite. Somehow, we ended up at a Barber shop drinking espresso martini and again I was drunk. Not drunk enough to fall for his scorned love affair just drunk enough to piss him off when he realised he couldn’t have his cake and eat it to. We went back to the pool deck and had more cocktails- the
girls joined us to say farewell too and after dinner at one of the best Pizza restaurants in the world La Serrana he apparently had to charge his phone in my room for an hour until it got to 20% (eye roll emoji) and then it hit midnight and I was fucking tired and not impressed and told him Cinderella was kicking him out. Next morning, I woke up early for my flight to a message telling me he had got home safe and thanks for a great day, no surprises the wife was back in the WhatsApp profile pic. Delete.

Transfer to the airport to end the holiday. The Air France flight wasn’t that bad this time, new screens with more than 4 movies and more leg room. Two days recovery back in Londres before the former Yugoslavia tour. I’m most looking forward to drinking tap water and throwing the toilet paper in to the toilet. Adios friends hope you are still coherent after such long two part bloggage. Less than a month before I am back in Oz!