the last tube from Piccadilly to Heathrow Terminals 1,2,3&5 passes through Piccadilly Circus at 12:32AM. i know this because i have to know this - that was the latest possible time i could get there and still get out here tonight. i made sure i had plenty of leeway, and if i remember right i passed through there at around 11:47PM. TSO headed off on Sunday morning, leaving me to the last of my packing and running around. our last few days together were spent chilling out most of the time, with trips to the pub and a night out watching As You Like It performed at Shakespeare's Globe thrown in. all told, i think we had a really nice time - a lot crammed into a relatively short period of time, but none of it rushed. lots of walking, trips to Cambridge and Paris, nights at the pub and living the London life... it was a good way to finish off my time in this town.
i took a timeout and hung with the Grey Man in Hyde Park for the afternoon, which was probably a poorly considered move, but still something i wasn't going to miss - one last pleasant couple of hours sitting around on the grass sinking the last of the beers from the fridge. i hit the flat to throw the last of my shit into my bags and bolt off to Woolwich and a night crashing on SiJ's couch before the end. i was exhausted dragging all my crap through the bus and train, then up the hill to her place but relieved that at least it was all finally done and spent the rest of the evening sitting around with her and Lisa shooting the breeze until it was time to pass out.
my packing took days - frenzied periods of throwing things into one bag or another interspersed with time spent backing up data and preparing my Eee for 3 months on the road, my 500GB external hard drive full of movies and backups of crucial data (music, photos, that sort of thing) copied onto my 160GB backup drive which was then wrapped deep in clothes and soft things for preservation in case of the worst. i've done runs to the charity bins to throw out clothes that no longer fit and which i have no real need to drag back across the world (can somebody please think of the carbon?), and went into Bite with a bag load of stuff which i gave away in a joke auction... and somehow managed to score 10 quid for my troubles. i've packed and moved so many times in the last decade that you'd think that i'd be an expert at it by now, but i was still astonished by the number of bags of junk i had to run downstairs to the bins. old paperwork for a job i had for 3 days? bin it. this sock has a hole in it. in the bin with you (i stocked up on multiple pairs of identical socks before i left Aus specifically so that i wouldn't lose a pair if i went through the toes of one). small piles of detritus that you seem to hold on to until it comes time to move? gone. somehow, though, everything's got done and i've managed to not stress too much about it.
i got my bond back earlier today and promptly spent it on booking travel at STA - here one minute, gone the next, but i now know how i'm getting around 2/3 of my route with 3 days sunbathing on the southern Italian coast thrown in near the end, plus the best travel insurance i could afford in case something happens on the road. it's been a long day flying around the city, but productive. i was finishing off my last re-pack 5 minutes before walking out the door this evening and saying goodbye to Moonbug and Simono - a sure sign that i gave myself exactly the right amount of time to finish off the laundry-list of things i had to achieve before i came out to Heathrow tonight. in the end my farewell to SiJ came on the street - she was returning home just as i was leaving and i caught her for 5 minutes in the street as we crossed paths.
tonight i sleep at Heathrow Terminal 3. my flight leaves at 7:40AM and from Woolwich Arsenal i knew i'd never make it out there in the morning in time to catch it, so i decided to pull the classic backpacker's trick of trying to sleep at the airport. i'd probably be trying to pass out already if i hadn't met a guy from California called Gardener who was looking for the right terminal for his Singapore Air flight. we spent the last 2 or so hours chewing each other's ears off, comparing notes and generally keeping each other company. right now he's bedded down near a power-point across the hall from where i'm sitting, ear plugs in his ears to block out the beeping noise of the floor-polishing machine as it cruises around the Arrivals lounge (Departures doesn't have any seats). there are more than a couple of people here. the early-birds have scored the seats without arms and are laid out, happily snoring away. others are sitting awake. others still have laid out on the floor in sleeping bags. one thing's for sure - hardly anyone looks particularly comfortable and looking at what i've managed to scrounge i have the feeling i'll be lying here listening to Andy Mckee for quite some time to come before i get any sleep... if any at all.
in around 7 hours i'll walk off a BA flight and into Europe, leaving behind yet another phase of my life. i've packed it all in once more and between now and October 7th i officially have No Fixed Address and my home on my back with a wish-list of destinations that i know i have no possible way of fulfilling with the time and budget i have available. still, as far as ways to head home go, i'm reckoning that there are far worse than falling over at Canberra Airport off the back of 11 weeks in Europe, 2 days in Hong Kong, a wedding and far more reunions than i care to think about right now.
in the meantime, i'm going to pack my Eee back into my shoulder bag which i'll then throw under my head as a pillow and see whether sleep's going to be an option. if anything's certain about the next 3 months, grabbing sleep wherever i can find it is going to be absolutely cruicial...
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
France: one night in Paris...
24/6/09 11:21PM
sometimes you can't help but make a bad joke, no matter how much you know you'll have to pay for it later. that said, a day and a half in Paris was nowhere near enough. i didn't stay in a Hilton, but it was cheap and pleasant and in a decent enough area to get around from. i've been seeing ads posted all over London talking about how cheap and easy it is to get to and from Paris by the Eurostar. hop a train, go through the Chunnel, pull up in Gare Du Nord 2 hours and 15 minutes later. it was something i thought might be fun to do while TSO was in town and since we agreed, we booked it back on her first night in town. we've been active, she and i. on Saturday we went to Cambridge for the day with the Grey Man while really quite hungover... well, he and i were, anyway. i knew we shouldn't have hit it so hard the night before at the Red Lion, but we had such a great night out these things happen. she bounced back like a trooper, the healthy wench. it was a really nice day regardless, wandering around the quaint little town, dodging students earning a bit of extra scratch peddling punting boats up and down the Cam. the night before we headed for Paris, however, i made sure i got a bit of an early one. i got at least 4 hours of sleep, i'll have you know. i still passed out somewhere in the Chunnel though. i'm getting really good at passing out for power naps on the train.
don't believe what people tell you - they're full of shit. i've been hearing for years the the French are rude, particularly Parisiens. this is crap. the rudest person i met in 2 days was the UK Border Guard at the train station on the way back to London. knowing English but refusing to speak it? bah. the number of times we'd go to order food with a bonjour and have them come straight back to us in English was phenomenal. it WAS a good chance to practice my meager French though - i've picked up a little bit here and there, and memorised a couple of new phrases before i left, but i still only stretch about as far as hello, i'd like a white coffee please. no, a big one. how much is that? thanks. goodbye which is... well, about as much as you need as long as you like coffee. still, we were both having a blast butchering the language and by the time we left i was able to conduct entire transactions in French, which made me feel pretty good about things.
we packed a lot into our day and a half, too - a hike across the south-end of Paris to the Eiffel Tower. the queue was there, but broken up into stages, but it wasn't a disgustingly long wait to get to the top where the view is incredible (and there's a Champaigne Bar, if you'd believe it), then across the Seine and through leafy bolevards to the Arc du Triomphe before we had to fly back to our hotel to meet up with a professional friend TSO had run into in Toronto for dinner. it's not often i've spent 47 Euros on a meal, but it was 3 courses, with wine and coffee, and it was incredible. a charcuterie platter to die for and a massive plate of bacon and sausage products on a pyramid of saurkraut, then a berry, custard and ice cream creation with crumbly bits and raspberry puree that was enough for a serious diabetic-nightmare. we ate really very well in Paris - crepes or baguettes for lunch, far too much Tartelette Citron and Flan, even some decent Turkish food at the end of the second day.
we filled in the second day with the Catacombs - over a kilometre of corridors lined with the bones of something like 6 million Parisiens, exhumed in the early 19th century and re-deposited in old limestone-mine shafts near Montparnasse. from there we hiked back to our hostel on Rue de Creperie (not its real name, but my name for it. there were something like 7 different crepe stores within sight of out hotel's front door. Paris seems to like having everything grouped together - on our walks we also came across Rue du Bookshop and Promenade a la Petstore...) via the Montparnasse Markets, then spent the rest of the hot, sunny day getting to Notre Dame via Jardin de Luxembourg with a little sit-down by the Seine on the way, then on to the Louvre to sit by the fountains before we took a meandering route back to Gare do Nord for the train out. we got there just in time - we'd not been on the train for more than 5 minutes when it left, so i'm counting it as well-timed.
i really liked Paris... and by extension the French. i threw some bad-French at them, they smiled, took pity on me and helped me out. it's a town with a busy, but chilled out vibe. everyone seemed really easy-going, in a "i don't give a fuck what you think" sort of way. where in London people dress like peacocks, everyone in Paris was... well, elegant. it occurred to me that this must be why people think the French are so arrogant. they literally don't give a fuck about what anyone thinks. if they're nice to you, it's because they want to be. if you piss them off they'll give you the evils. they don't feel the need to impress anyone, so they dress to feel nice, not to show off their plumage. i can't help but like these people more and more as time goes by. they have a rich and extensive culture and kinda appreciate it if you respect that in their country by learning to say Bonjour and not being an arsehole. that's too hard for some people, apparently. make an effort and as nice as anyone i've come across.
meanwhile, i'm going to have to head back to Paris at some stage soon to pick up on a few things i missed the first time round. i didn't get to go into the Louvre, for example. and i didn't get to try a Croque Madame - they looked cool... and i certainly wasn't responsible for the torture and murder of anywhere near enough geese. you know... maybe i just need to book a month or so and try to eat France, starting from Brittany and working my way east...
sometimes you can't help but make a bad joke, no matter how much you know you'll have to pay for it later. that said, a day and a half in Paris was nowhere near enough. i didn't stay in a Hilton, but it was cheap and pleasant and in a decent enough area to get around from. i've been seeing ads posted all over London talking about how cheap and easy it is to get to and from Paris by the Eurostar. hop a train, go through the Chunnel, pull up in Gare Du Nord 2 hours and 15 minutes later. it was something i thought might be fun to do while TSO was in town and since we agreed, we booked it back on her first night in town. we've been active, she and i. on Saturday we went to Cambridge for the day with the Grey Man while really quite hungover... well, he and i were, anyway. i knew we shouldn't have hit it so hard the night before at the Red Lion, but we had such a great night out these things happen. she bounced back like a trooper, the healthy wench. it was a really nice day regardless, wandering around the quaint little town, dodging students earning a bit of extra scratch peddling punting boats up and down the Cam. the night before we headed for Paris, however, i made sure i got a bit of an early one. i got at least 4 hours of sleep, i'll have you know. i still passed out somewhere in the Chunnel though. i'm getting really good at passing out for power naps on the train.
don't believe what people tell you - they're full of shit. i've been hearing for years the the French are rude, particularly Parisiens. this is crap. the rudest person i met in 2 days was the UK Border Guard at the train station on the way back to London. knowing English but refusing to speak it? bah. the number of times we'd go to order food with a bonjour and have them come straight back to us in English was phenomenal. it WAS a good chance to practice my meager French though - i've picked up a little bit here and there, and memorised a couple of new phrases before i left, but i still only stretch about as far as hello, i'd like a white coffee please. no, a big one. how much is that? thanks. goodbye which is... well, about as much as you need as long as you like coffee. still, we were both having a blast butchering the language and by the time we left i was able to conduct entire transactions in French, which made me feel pretty good about things.
we packed a lot into our day and a half, too - a hike across the south-end of Paris to the Eiffel Tower. the queue was there, but broken up into stages, but it wasn't a disgustingly long wait to get to the top where the view is incredible (and there's a Champaigne Bar, if you'd believe it), then across the Seine and through leafy bolevards to the Arc du Triomphe before we had to fly back to our hotel to meet up with a professional friend TSO had run into in Toronto for dinner. it's not often i've spent 47 Euros on a meal, but it was 3 courses, with wine and coffee, and it was incredible. a charcuterie platter to die for and a massive plate of bacon and sausage products on a pyramid of saurkraut, then a berry, custard and ice cream creation with crumbly bits and raspberry puree that was enough for a serious diabetic-nightmare. we ate really very well in Paris - crepes or baguettes for lunch, far too much Tartelette Citron and Flan, even some decent Turkish food at the end of the second day.
we filled in the second day with the Catacombs - over a kilometre of corridors lined with the bones of something like 6 million Parisiens, exhumed in the early 19th century and re-deposited in old limestone-mine shafts near Montparnasse. from there we hiked back to our hostel on Rue de Creperie (not its real name, but my name for it. there were something like 7 different crepe stores within sight of out hotel's front door. Paris seems to like having everything grouped together - on our walks we also came across Rue du Bookshop and Promenade a la Petstore...) via the Montparnasse Markets, then spent the rest of the hot, sunny day getting to Notre Dame via Jardin de Luxembourg with a little sit-down by the Seine on the way, then on to the Louvre to sit by the fountains before we took a meandering route back to Gare do Nord for the train out. we got there just in time - we'd not been on the train for more than 5 minutes when it left, so i'm counting it as well-timed.
i really liked Paris... and by extension the French. i threw some bad-French at them, they smiled, took pity on me and helped me out. it's a town with a busy, but chilled out vibe. everyone seemed really easy-going, in a "i don't give a fuck what you think" sort of way. where in London people dress like peacocks, everyone in Paris was... well, elegant. it occurred to me that this must be why people think the French are so arrogant. they literally don't give a fuck about what anyone thinks. if they're nice to you, it's because they want to be. if you piss them off they'll give you the evils. they don't feel the need to impress anyone, so they dress to feel nice, not to show off their plumage. i can't help but like these people more and more as time goes by. they have a rich and extensive culture and kinda appreciate it if you respect that in their country by learning to say Bonjour and not being an arsehole. that's too hard for some people, apparently. make an effort and as nice as anyone i've come across.
meanwhile, i'm going to have to head back to Paris at some stage soon to pick up on a few things i missed the first time round. i didn't get to go into the Louvre, for example. and i didn't get to try a Croque Madame - they looked cool... and i certainly wasn't responsible for the torture and murder of anywhere near enough geese. you know... maybe i just need to book a month or so and try to eat France, starting from Brittany and working my way east...
Thursday, June 18, 2009
in the company of friends part 2: last chance to see...
my aversion to early mornings is well publicised. i fucking hate them. i have a preferred sleep cycle of 2-3AM until 10-11AM. it's always worked nicely for me. fortunately i've managed to learn how to get up early when i have to for important occasions - those early flights, cross-timezone phone calls, or picking up a dear friend from Heathrow T5 when her flight arrives at 6:40AM on a Monday. why didn't i provide the same service for Ondine when she and the Marten arrived? well, being out of town at the time didn't help matters. sometimes things just don't mesh. The Short One, on the other hand, i could accomodate and so i did. sure, i had something like 4 hours of sleep the night beforehand, but these things happen. i'm rapidly getting to the point where i'm getting too fucking busy to sleep properly anyway. hitting the Big Red Button was one thing - now i'm going to be happily running around like a fucking maniac until the bombs hit, but that's another story.
TSO's spending a fortnight in London between a conference in Toronto, Canada and a Research Fellowship in Mannheim, Germany, and will be staying in the recently unoccupied bed in my room. you see, there are plans within plans in most of the things that i do and this is one of them. the main reason i haven't already fucked off into the distance is because i wanted to make sure i was in town when people who were coming to see me were there, so i've arranged my plans and timed the explosions to trigger less than 48 hours after she heads east. anything else would just be rude and while there are plenty of people in this world i'll happily be a fucking arsehole to with a smile on my face, TSO's not on the list. not even close. you don't get the title of one of my oldest and dearest friends for nothing, after all.
so far we've had a seriously fabulous time. my goal for the first few days was to walk the girl until her legs fell off. i've found it to be the best way to see this metropolis, and when the weather's been this stunning i've been taking every opportunity. it helps that it's also the best way i've found to break jetlag - get the fuck out in the sunlight and walk until you fall over, have a nice big meal in the evening and pass out early got a good 10 hours passed out, followed by a coffee served in a mug i can fit my head into... not that this size of coffee is unusual for me. my "regular" size of coffee is a Starbucks Venti mug.
what this all adds up to is that since she pulled into town i've made her walk from London Bridge to the London Eye, then across the Thames and up to Leicester Square via Cleopatra's Needle and Trafalgar Square (including a quick look into the National Gallery, naturally), down Whitehall to Westminster, then across the Thames again, down to Vauxhall Cross and then back to Oval on Day 1, then a day spent going from Victoria to Buckingham Palace, through Green Park to Leicester Square via Piccadilly Circus, up Regent St to Oxford, then New Bond and Bond Streets followed by a quick tube ride for an exploration of Harrods and Knightsbridge and finished off meandering up to Hyde Park Corner to chase squirrels around the grass. today was a tour of Camden Town which included an exceedingly long haircut for her and a short, stabbing pain for me then a quick trip down Tottenham Court Road before hightailing it down to Brixton. most of these haven't been solo missions - we had Jacq and Dan with us on Tuesday with Marta joining us for tea at the Eritrean place (yes, twice in 3 days. it's a great little place!) near to mine, then Jacq and Marta again on Wednesady, winding it all up with Caribbean food then cake at Jacq & Matt's place. i'm killing as many birds with as few stones as possible at the moment. if i ever get really good they'll fall from the just sky just by me wanting it. until then, however, i'm including as many people as i can in any activity i organise so that TSO gets the joy of exploring London, with the added benefit of meeting some of the many people who've helped to make my life interesting in the last 9 months. partly, they're going be hard to explain to people back home (even harder than trying to stuff them into my carry-on) and i know in the back of my head that a lot of them i'll never get to see again beyond Facebook and i want to make the last few weeks count.
it's been a grand few days. the majority of the walking's over for now, and i'm now looking at fitting as many other entertaining activities together like a jigsaw puzzle. there's a play to be seen at Shakespeare's Globe, a picnic at Spiral Hill near Woolwich and a couple of pub nights on the cards, two days in Paris booked for next week, and of course somewhere in the middle of all that i need to pack up my shit and find time to sleep. this is something of a "One Last Hurrah" for me - an opportunity to fly around London and take in all the touristy things i've enjoyed seeing one more time before i leave with no serious likelihood of return in the near-future. if i was bumming around on my own for this last fortnight i know i'd never bother, but having TSO around makes it seem far more worth-while. i won't do it for me, but i'll play tour-guide in a heartbeat and i'm loving it. for just a little while longer i can think of London as my city and remind myself of all the little stories and trivia i've picked up over the months by repeating them, things i notice triggering tales that string the town together like a spiderweb and draw it all together, making it come alive in a way that only standing on the precise spot and seeing it all in your mind's eye can do.
the insane thing is that it's all coming together. i'm done with failure and fighting a losing battle with employment. i hit the Big Red Button and set my world in motion again after months of stagnation, dumping me straight into my element. this is what i do best - we're in my world now, where my goals are reliant on no one but me; twist the throttle back until it stops, become a relativistic blur of motion and ride the phase shift into next week. everything's planned and fuck-all's organised, but the crucial pieces are coming together and i know i'll have all of the critical elements in place in time, even if i'm finishing my re-pack in the last 5 minutes before i have to walk out the door and get myself to Heathrow with a spring in my step and my responsibilities catapulted out the window and into oblivion.
but that's all little over 12 days away now and i have other things to worry about, like how to squeeze as much British comedy as possible into what little spare time we have scheduled and who to invite to the pub for drinks on Friday Night. it's a hard job, but some motherfucker's gotta be hated for doing it...
TSO's spending a fortnight in London between a conference in Toronto, Canada and a Research Fellowship in Mannheim, Germany, and will be staying in the recently unoccupied bed in my room. you see, there are plans within plans in most of the things that i do and this is one of them. the main reason i haven't already fucked off into the distance is because i wanted to make sure i was in town when people who were coming to see me were there, so i've arranged my plans and timed the explosions to trigger less than 48 hours after she heads east. anything else would just be rude and while there are plenty of people in this world i'll happily be a fucking arsehole to with a smile on my face, TSO's not on the list. not even close. you don't get the title of one of my oldest and dearest friends for nothing, after all.
so far we've had a seriously fabulous time. my goal for the first few days was to walk the girl until her legs fell off. i've found it to be the best way to see this metropolis, and when the weather's been this stunning i've been taking every opportunity. it helps that it's also the best way i've found to break jetlag - get the fuck out in the sunlight and walk until you fall over, have a nice big meal in the evening and pass out early got a good 10 hours passed out, followed by a coffee served in a mug i can fit my head into... not that this size of coffee is unusual for me. my "regular" size of coffee is a Starbucks Venti mug.
what this all adds up to is that since she pulled into town i've made her walk from London Bridge to the London Eye, then across the Thames and up to Leicester Square via Cleopatra's Needle and Trafalgar Square (including a quick look into the National Gallery, naturally), down Whitehall to Westminster, then across the Thames again, down to Vauxhall Cross and then back to Oval on Day 1, then a day spent going from Victoria to Buckingham Palace, through Green Park to Leicester Square via Piccadilly Circus, up Regent St to Oxford, then New Bond and Bond Streets followed by a quick tube ride for an exploration of Harrods and Knightsbridge and finished off meandering up to Hyde Park Corner to chase squirrels around the grass. today was a tour of Camden Town which included an exceedingly long haircut for her and a short, stabbing pain for me then a quick trip down Tottenham Court Road before hightailing it down to Brixton. most of these haven't been solo missions - we had Jacq and Dan with us on Tuesday with Marta joining us for tea at the Eritrean place (yes, twice in 3 days. it's a great little place!) near to mine, then Jacq and Marta again on Wednesady, winding it all up with Caribbean food then cake at Jacq & Matt's place. i'm killing as many birds with as few stones as possible at the moment. if i ever get really good they'll fall from the just sky just by me wanting it. until then, however, i'm including as many people as i can in any activity i organise so that TSO gets the joy of exploring London, with the added benefit of meeting some of the many people who've helped to make my life interesting in the last 9 months. partly, they're going be hard to explain to people back home (even harder than trying to stuff them into my carry-on) and i know in the back of my head that a lot of them i'll never get to see again beyond Facebook and i want to make the last few weeks count.
it's been a grand few days. the majority of the walking's over for now, and i'm now looking at fitting as many other entertaining activities together like a jigsaw puzzle. there's a play to be seen at Shakespeare's Globe, a picnic at Spiral Hill near Woolwich and a couple of pub nights on the cards, two days in Paris booked for next week, and of course somewhere in the middle of all that i need to pack up my shit and find time to sleep. this is something of a "One Last Hurrah" for me - an opportunity to fly around London and take in all the touristy things i've enjoyed seeing one more time before i leave with no serious likelihood of return in the near-future. if i was bumming around on my own for this last fortnight i know i'd never bother, but having TSO around makes it seem far more worth-while. i won't do it for me, but i'll play tour-guide in a heartbeat and i'm loving it. for just a little while longer i can think of London as my city and remind myself of all the little stories and trivia i've picked up over the months by repeating them, things i notice triggering tales that string the town together like a spiderweb and draw it all together, making it come alive in a way that only standing on the precise spot and seeing it all in your mind's eye can do.
the insane thing is that it's all coming together. i'm done with failure and fighting a losing battle with employment. i hit the Big Red Button and set my world in motion again after months of stagnation, dumping me straight into my element. this is what i do best - we're in my world now, where my goals are reliant on no one but me; twist the throttle back until it stops, become a relativistic blur of motion and ride the phase shift into next week. everything's planned and fuck-all's organised, but the crucial pieces are coming together and i know i'll have all of the critical elements in place in time, even if i'm finishing my re-pack in the last 5 minutes before i have to walk out the door and get myself to Heathrow with a spring in my step and my responsibilities catapulted out the window and into oblivion.
but that's all little over 12 days away now and i have other things to worry about, like how to squeeze as much British comedy as possible into what little spare time we have scheduled and who to invite to the pub for drinks on Friday Night. it's a hard job, but some motherfucker's gotta be hated for doing it...
Monday, June 15, 2009
Croatia: the most awesome way is often not the most sensible...
you get back from a week of sunbathing and swimming and drinking in the piazza of medieval towns and you kinda want to lie around your room and die quietly - check your email, watch a movie, eat something home-cooked and get your washing done. well... you maybe. my flight got in yesterday afternoon by 4PM i'd cleared Customs and Immigration and was on the platform for the Piccadilly Line into town. by 7:30PM i'd got back to basecamp, thrown a load of washing in the machine, dived through the shower, found some clean clothes and was sitting on the footpath outside the Red Lion in Soho with a beer in my hand. i'm loving this little pub - it has cheap-arse beer and a bohemian/proletariat atmosphere where everyone sits out in the street with plastic cups. somehow i managed to roll on until past twelve, whereupon i promptly turned into a pumpkin and headed for bed.
i'm really wishing i'd made the effort to get sociable with these folks sooner. i'm going to miss them when i go, and that day's getting closer and closer each time i pass out at night and drag my stiff and sore bones out of bed again each morning. i'm amazed i survived going out last night at all - Hvar turned out to be something of a debacle. it's a pleasant enough place with another fortress up on the hill which i wandered off to explore - my addiction to high places and all - before grabbing a a cheap burger at a greasy-spoon, then a couple of dishes at possibly the only sushi bar in Croatia. a little while later i met back up with the Kiwis and we hit the night club built in a converted convent and from there the night just got messy. i wound up having one or two cocktails to many and staggered my way back to the boat. one of the girls was mucking around and fell in the harbor, killing her phone in the process. Reagan almost went in - we were all acting like fools and laughing like drains, playing leapfrog with the mooring posts and he got stuck half-way over, rolling off and almost straight in the drink. i managed to stop him just in time, jumping for him and skidding on my butt across the limestone so i could grab his arm just in time. a couple of the girls got onboard just in time to not get left behind... and we all woke up with hangovers. it was a really very subdued day when we pulled into Split again and there certainly wasn't any partying that night. in the end i fetched up with a couple of the girls out grabbing a quiet bite and wound up getting talking to another Aussie tourist who'd been sitting alone at the next table. she seemed genuinely pleased to have some company.
i was pretty much over exploring by the time i had to get off the boat on saturday so i killed the morning cruising a free wifi connection i'd found the week before and getting myself to the airport where i had something of a disconcerting moment at check-in. it turns out that after a week of eating too much and lying around on deck doing fuck-all i'd managed to lose nearly a kilo and a half. hmm...
today was yet another peaceful afternoon in Green Park with the carnies, which turned into a mission out to my place for jugs of cocktails and Eritrean food. we walked the entire way for the fun of it, and since Jacq had her new stilts she did the entire trek with her knees at my eye-height.
tomorrow i need to be back out at Heathrow to pick up Marcia - she's spending 2 weeks in London between a conference in Toronto and a research posting in Mannheim, Germany. i'm really not looking forward to getting up at 5AM to be at the airport by 7AM, but these things you do. it'll be good to have her around for a fortnight - one last hurrah of playing tour-guide before i pack up my shit and fuck off into the distance, leaving behind this city i've fallen for but have to leave anyway.
damn... that sounds like a really bad habit i've gotten into, doesn't it?
i'm really wishing i'd made the effort to get sociable with these folks sooner. i'm going to miss them when i go, and that day's getting closer and closer each time i pass out at night and drag my stiff and sore bones out of bed again each morning. i'm amazed i survived going out last night at all - Hvar turned out to be something of a debacle. it's a pleasant enough place with another fortress up on the hill which i wandered off to explore - my addiction to high places and all - before grabbing a a cheap burger at a greasy-spoon, then a couple of dishes at possibly the only sushi bar in Croatia. a little while later i met back up with the Kiwis and we hit the night club built in a converted convent and from there the night just got messy. i wound up having one or two cocktails to many and staggered my way back to the boat. one of the girls was mucking around and fell in the harbor, killing her phone in the process. Reagan almost went in - we were all acting like fools and laughing like drains, playing leapfrog with the mooring posts and he got stuck half-way over, rolling off and almost straight in the drink. i managed to stop him just in time, jumping for him and skidding on my butt across the limestone so i could grab his arm just in time. a couple of the girls got onboard just in time to not get left behind... and we all woke up with hangovers. it was a really very subdued day when we pulled into Split again and there certainly wasn't any partying that night. in the end i fetched up with a couple of the girls out grabbing a quiet bite and wound up getting talking to another Aussie tourist who'd been sitting alone at the next table. she seemed genuinely pleased to have some company.
i was pretty much over exploring by the time i had to get off the boat on saturday so i killed the morning cruising a free wifi connection i'd found the week before and getting myself to the airport where i had something of a disconcerting moment at check-in. it turns out that after a week of eating too much and lying around on deck doing fuck-all i'd managed to lose nearly a kilo and a half. hmm...
today was yet another peaceful afternoon in Green Park with the carnies, which turned into a mission out to my place for jugs of cocktails and Eritrean food. we walked the entire way for the fun of it, and since Jacq had her new stilts she did the entire trek with her knees at my eye-height.
tomorrow i need to be back out at Heathrow to pick up Marcia - she's spending 2 weeks in London between a conference in Toronto and a research posting in Mannheim, Germany. i'm really not looking forward to getting up at 5AM to be at the airport by 7AM, but these things you do. it'll be good to have her around for a fortnight - one last hurrah of playing tour-guide before i pack up my shit and fuck off into the distance, leaving behind this city i've fallen for but have to leave anyway.
damn... that sounds like a really bad habit i've gotten into, doesn't it?
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Croatia: wow... i can't actually remember the last time i got sunburned...
9/6/09 10:59PM
i have these vague memories of being a kid and getting sunburned. we'd head up the coast for a few days and go camping near the beach at some little hamlet between Perth and Lancelin and i'd forget to sunscreen some part of me (often stupid things like the tops of my feet or knees) or just neglect to put more on half-way through the day, then spend the next couple of days avoiding hot showers. i should have realised that i'd turned into a fucking pom after going through a year of winter. i've been spoiled by the English weather and piss-poor sunshine. i've spent hours in Green Park on sundays with my shirt off and barely gotten a tan. 3 hours on the top deck of a boat sailing the Adriatic and a moment of stupidity where i forgot to wash the salty water off myself and i've gone red as a fucking lobster. i'm amazed no one's tried to revoke my passport.
what a fabulous day that was tho - my first day actually sailing since this trip started turned out to be day 3 of the trip, clear, blue and sunny with crisp morning air which rapidly turned warm as the sun rose in the sky and the white top deck became rapidly populated by reading Aussies and Kiwis in their swimwear. i thought i'd turned both sides nicely. i thought i'd gone into the shade early enough. my biggest mistake was not rinsing off after we stopped for a swim. salt water residue continues to dehydrate the skin long after you've gone out of the sun, turning "a light burn" into "you are destined to peel". it was glorious though - peaceful, quiet, nothing but the flipping of pages, some chillout music over the boat's hifi, thrum of the diesel engines and wash of the sea off the bow.
i'm a little irritated though - we were due to set sail from Split on Saturday at around midday, but were held in port due to strong winds. as a result we got an extra day to wander around split and i'm missing out on the dive i was so looking forward to. i made the most of the day, wandering around with various people from different boats (there are a few different boats and tour companies doing more or less the same route as we are, so we've seen a lot of the same faces in port). on Sunday morning we were picked up by a bus and taken off on a day-trip to Mostar in Bosnia which is famous primarily for its bridge (dating back to sometime around when Jesus rode dinosaurs through Mordor), the Serbian army shelled the fuck out of it during the war back in the 90's. it was rebuilt out of the same materials, using the same methods, almost stone-for-stone and now you can't tell it's ever changed) and its impressive collection of bombed-out and bullet-scarred buildings. we go a good couple of hours wandering around and being shown some of the landmarks, including a "traditional Turkish house". Turkish house in Bosnia? WTF? well it turns out that the Ottoman Empire once stretched well into Eastern Europe, leaving a strong Turkish influence in Bosnia which would explain why so many of the cafes had food i remember my grandmother making in my childhood - halva, chevapi, turkish delight, baklava and that spiral ricotta and leek pie that i've come to love more and more as the years have gone by. we were given enough time to wander around the place before the bus took us back to Croatia, past a couple of old forts and villages, then north up the Dalmatian Riviera to meet back up with the boat at Makarska.
the last two days have been pretty much the same thing: drag myself out of my cabin (there's 14 of us on a boat that can carry 24 so i've managed a cabin to myself which is good since there's fuck-all room in it) and up the stairs into the Saloon where Mate (pronounced Mar-teh) has breakfast laid out. fresh bread, cheese, maybe ham, maybe boiled eggs, terrifyingly bad instant coffee that i've been sinking 2 cups of each morning, cereal go down my throat before i grab my book and head upstairs onto the top deck and into the cool breeze and bright sun which bakes more and more as the day goes by. most of the tourists can be found up there lying around in their swimwear (or less in the case of V, the Maltese Sydney-sider) at various stages of the day. sometime before lunch we'll drop anchor in a sheltered cove somewhere and it's time to go swimming in the cold, clear water, taking it in turns to dive off the top deck, or higher - off the captain's cabin: a 4-6 metre jump depending on your level of commitment, a fraction of a second of freefall before the splash. i've got some great photos - anyone who's not game for the jump's been willing to take rapid-fire photos. after a while the bell will ring for lunch and we'll be fed soup and mains - chicken, beef, fish, all sorts of odds and ends, all if it good (although some of the girls have complained about it being to salty. me: i like salt. i think it comes with the heritage. while we're eating the captain will weigh-anchor and we motor on into a different port.
after Makarska we pulled into Mjlet, a small town notable only for the national park it shares an island with on which there is a lake, in which there's another tiny island with an old monastery on it. we're offered a BBQ dinner that night on the boat - 30 Euros for more meat than we can handle followed by crepes, and all the beer and wine we can get down our throats in 3 hours. somehow i managed to not wake up with too much of a hangover the next morning, which is good since yesterday we pulled into Dubrovnik while we were polishing off our fish and rice.
Dubrovnik is one of those places i think everyone should see. it's an old, walled city of limestone and terracotta which has been beautifully maintained and, if necessary, rebuilt in the original style with the original materials (i think it's a hobby in this part of the world). broad, elegant streets intersect with tight, stepped alleyways. hanging with the Kiwis, it took us 2 hours to walk around the top of the walls - stops for photos, stops for ice cream, stops for drinks. you'd have to be really talented to take a bad photo in Dubrovnik: it's so achingly and effortlessly beautiful that you just want to fill your memory card. it gets even better when the walls run down the sea-ward side of the town where in 2 different places i saw hidden passages open out onto the rocks at the base of the walls and people have set up bars overlooking the ocean. go for a swim, get in a bit more sunbathing in the baking sun then hop back up the rocks for a beer? yes please! although, i had to forego the sunbathing bit, red as i was from the previous day.
i can't go on about Dubrovnik enough. all i can really say is that you Should Look At Some Of The Photos And See What i Mean. i can't get over how this place was brutalised during the war - i've seen some of the photos of streets i've walked down and buildings i've stood under, debris in the streets, roofs shattered and caved in, and now it's all been restored as if none of it ever happened, the fresh terracotta on you can see from the walls the only sign that anything ever happened.
today we pulled into Korcula (Kor-chu-lah) which is kinda like Dubrovnik's smaller, less developed sibling. what it lacks in scale, however, it makes up for in cocktail bars. i lucked into a quick dinghy-ride with the captain and spent an hour or so wandering around looking for the house where Marco Polo grew up, generally running into various people from the different boats and wandering around with one or another until i got bored of the idea, before joining a couple of the girls for complicated cocktails overlooking the marina. we wound up skipping the big drawcard in the end - a bar on the top of one of the old watchtowers which you can only get to up a ladder and where the drinks are raised up the outside of the wall in a little basket on the end of a rope. we've agreed that tonight's to be an early one in preparation for the Hvar, the second to last stop and a renouned party stop, so i'm taking the opportunity to chill out and enjoy the rocking of the boat.
i have these vague memories of being a kid and getting sunburned. we'd head up the coast for a few days and go camping near the beach at some little hamlet between Perth and Lancelin and i'd forget to sunscreen some part of me (often stupid things like the tops of my feet or knees) or just neglect to put more on half-way through the day, then spend the next couple of days avoiding hot showers. i should have realised that i'd turned into a fucking pom after going through a year of winter. i've been spoiled by the English weather and piss-poor sunshine. i've spent hours in Green Park on sundays with my shirt off and barely gotten a tan. 3 hours on the top deck of a boat sailing the Adriatic and a moment of stupidity where i forgot to wash the salty water off myself and i've gone red as a fucking lobster. i'm amazed no one's tried to revoke my passport.
what a fabulous day that was tho - my first day actually sailing since this trip started turned out to be day 3 of the trip, clear, blue and sunny with crisp morning air which rapidly turned warm as the sun rose in the sky and the white top deck became rapidly populated by reading Aussies and Kiwis in their swimwear. i thought i'd turned both sides nicely. i thought i'd gone into the shade early enough. my biggest mistake was not rinsing off after we stopped for a swim. salt water residue continues to dehydrate the skin long after you've gone out of the sun, turning "a light burn" into "you are destined to peel". it was glorious though - peaceful, quiet, nothing but the flipping of pages, some chillout music over the boat's hifi, thrum of the diesel engines and wash of the sea off the bow.
i'm a little irritated though - we were due to set sail from Split on Saturday at around midday, but were held in port due to strong winds. as a result we got an extra day to wander around split and i'm missing out on the dive i was so looking forward to. i made the most of the day, wandering around with various people from different boats (there are a few different boats and tour companies doing more or less the same route as we are, so we've seen a lot of the same faces in port). on Sunday morning we were picked up by a bus and taken off on a day-trip to Mostar in Bosnia which is famous primarily for its bridge (dating back to sometime around when Jesus rode dinosaurs through Mordor), the Serbian army shelled the fuck out of it during the war back in the 90's. it was rebuilt out of the same materials, using the same methods, almost stone-for-stone and now you can't tell it's ever changed) and its impressive collection of bombed-out and bullet-scarred buildings. we go a good couple of hours wandering around and being shown some of the landmarks, including a "traditional Turkish house". Turkish house in Bosnia? WTF? well it turns out that the Ottoman Empire once stretched well into Eastern Europe, leaving a strong Turkish influence in Bosnia which would explain why so many of the cafes had food i remember my grandmother making in my childhood - halva, chevapi, turkish delight, baklava and that spiral ricotta and leek pie that i've come to love more and more as the years have gone by. we were given enough time to wander around the place before the bus took us back to Croatia, past a couple of old forts and villages, then north up the Dalmatian Riviera to meet back up with the boat at Makarska.
the last two days have been pretty much the same thing: drag myself out of my cabin (there's 14 of us on a boat that can carry 24 so i've managed a cabin to myself which is good since there's fuck-all room in it) and up the stairs into the Saloon where Mate (pronounced Mar-teh) has breakfast laid out. fresh bread, cheese, maybe ham, maybe boiled eggs, terrifyingly bad instant coffee that i've been sinking 2 cups of each morning, cereal go down my throat before i grab my book and head upstairs onto the top deck and into the cool breeze and bright sun which bakes more and more as the day goes by. most of the tourists can be found up there lying around in their swimwear (or less in the case of V, the Maltese Sydney-sider) at various stages of the day. sometime before lunch we'll drop anchor in a sheltered cove somewhere and it's time to go swimming in the cold, clear water, taking it in turns to dive off the top deck, or higher - off the captain's cabin: a 4-6 metre jump depending on your level of commitment, a fraction of a second of freefall before the splash. i've got some great photos - anyone who's not game for the jump's been willing to take rapid-fire photos. after a while the bell will ring for lunch and we'll be fed soup and mains - chicken, beef, fish, all sorts of odds and ends, all if it good (although some of the girls have complained about it being to salty. me: i like salt. i think it comes with the heritage. while we're eating the captain will weigh-anchor and we motor on into a different port.
after Makarska we pulled into Mjlet, a small town notable only for the national park it shares an island with on which there is a lake, in which there's another tiny island with an old monastery on it. we're offered a BBQ dinner that night on the boat - 30 Euros for more meat than we can handle followed by crepes, and all the beer and wine we can get down our throats in 3 hours. somehow i managed to not wake up with too much of a hangover the next morning, which is good since yesterday we pulled into Dubrovnik while we were polishing off our fish and rice.
Dubrovnik is one of those places i think everyone should see. it's an old, walled city of limestone and terracotta which has been beautifully maintained and, if necessary, rebuilt in the original style with the original materials (i think it's a hobby in this part of the world). broad, elegant streets intersect with tight, stepped alleyways. hanging with the Kiwis, it took us 2 hours to walk around the top of the walls - stops for photos, stops for ice cream, stops for drinks. you'd have to be really talented to take a bad photo in Dubrovnik: it's so achingly and effortlessly beautiful that you just want to fill your memory card. it gets even better when the walls run down the sea-ward side of the town where in 2 different places i saw hidden passages open out onto the rocks at the base of the walls and people have set up bars overlooking the ocean. go for a swim, get in a bit more sunbathing in the baking sun then hop back up the rocks for a beer? yes please! although, i had to forego the sunbathing bit, red as i was from the previous day.
i can't go on about Dubrovnik enough. all i can really say is that you Should Look At Some Of The Photos And See What i Mean. i can't get over how this place was brutalised during the war - i've seen some of the photos of streets i've walked down and buildings i've stood under, debris in the streets, roofs shattered and caved in, and now it's all been restored as if none of it ever happened, the fresh terracotta on you can see from the walls the only sign that anything ever happened.
today we pulled into Korcula (Kor-chu-lah) which is kinda like Dubrovnik's smaller, less developed sibling. what it lacks in scale, however, it makes up for in cocktail bars. i lucked into a quick dinghy-ride with the captain and spent an hour or so wandering around looking for the house where Marco Polo grew up, generally running into various people from the different boats and wandering around with one or another until i got bored of the idea, before joining a couple of the girls for complicated cocktails overlooking the marina. we wound up skipping the big drawcard in the end - a bar on the top of one of the old watchtowers which you can only get to up a ladder and where the drinks are raised up the outside of the wall in a little basket on the end of a rope. we've agreed that tonight's to be an early one in preparation for the Hvar, the second to last stop and a renouned party stop, so i'm taking the opportunity to chill out and enjoy the rocking of the boat.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Croatia: yes, there really is a place called Split...
there's a pervasive stench of smoldering rubber as i walk through the entry of the terminal. the bearing on someone's roller luggage has gone and the friction of the wheel dragging has it hot enough to burn skin if i'm any judge. i should know - i've tasted this smell before. my fault for buying cheap-arse luggage in Singapore a long time ago and a suitcase i left far, far away. at least the trip out to Gatwick was painless - in fact it was so easy it barely even registered until i was already there. there's sod-all queue at the check-in counter for Croatian Airlines and i wind up getting chatty with the attendant who's keen to know the secret to my weight-loss (i take the opportunity while we're chatting to hop up on the luggage-scales, to find out that i currently weigh in at 84.5kg while fully clothed and with my pockets full of gadgets) and in the doing i manage to get an aisle seat in a row of 3 with an empty seat in the middle. score!
20 minutes and the standard security procedures later (you don't seem to need to emigrate from the UK - i've only been stamped out once and that was when i was leaving by ferry of all things) and i'm killing time with the zombie hordes in the dead-zone of the departure lounge at Gatwick Airport. an unadvertised upgrade made to the security scanners in the late-80's was a psychic hack which turns your brain to mush, making you pliable and obedient until you walk through the magnetic coil at the other end which reinstates your free-will. this is why they always ask you to remove your headgear when you go through security: it stops you from hiding a tinfoil hat under your fedora. unfortunately this security feature can be counteracted by being particularly stupid and possessing no discernable imagination, being nicely brainwashed in advance or by reciting particular passages of religious verse to yourself backwards in Sumerian. i swear this is why everyone i see waiting around an airport looks like they're moments away from going Resident Evil on my arse.
i count 3 different WS Smith bookshops, all with more or less the same collection of crap. there's a Buy-3-Get-4 deal going and i can't find more than 2 in any of the 3 stores that i'd want to read, much less spend money on... and they're all marked up by a 3rd anyway. i should be fairly well stocked for books on this trip - i'm packing a Charles Stross book that i know i can read twice if i have to, and a copy of Orcs that The Grey Man threw me the other day that looks big enough to use as a life-raft in case the boat sinks.
aeroplanes traditionally have the worst coffee on the planet and Croatian Airlines might actually be the worst i've ever had. that said, no matter how bad the coffee is on the flight i'm always compelled to have a second cup, or third if i'm on yet another of the Qantas post-Red-Eye-Horror connections i used to take far too often on my way from Perth to Canberra and back in years gone by. it's not a desire for the flavor... or even the caffeine, i think. it seems to satisfy some metaphysical need in my soul that craves recycled coffee grounds that've been cut with sump oil and mud harvested from the Glastonbury Festival, cursed in the name of an elder-god for good measure and had a thimble-full of plastic UHT milk stirred in, served in a plastic cup by an Air Hostie Barbie with a Slavic accent.
the plane was only an hour late in leaving and the food would be best-described as a crime against gastronomy, but i had more leg-room than i think i've ever had in economy short of being in an exit-aisle. the seats are of an older design and you can see the fabric starting to fray but i'd trade all the built-in cushions and plush faux-velour for having the ability to stretch out like this next time i'm flying long-haul. today i'm not - it's a little over 2 hours flight from London Gatwick to Split but for once i was comfortable in an A320-100 and that in itself was golden. the pretty-boy sitting in the window seat has tracks shaved in the the sides of his hair. he looks like a reject from this year's Eurovision, but he offered me a mint after massacring his meal so he's obviously friendly enough.
i'm through immigration and customs with a nice new stamp filling in some of the blank-space on page 4 of my passport (and completely throwing out the chronology - the next free page is 13, dammit) and throw 5 Euros at the bus driver to take me into town. it would have been nice to get here with a bit of daylight to spare because it's a lovely little place, even if it's a pigwhore to navigate. white limestone streets and buildings breaking into tight alleyways lead all through the centre of town. the main bus/ferry port is at one end of the Riva - a long, brightly lit promenade neatly laid out and built into buildings that look like they've stood since the Schizm, lined with palm trees and walked by well-dressed Beautiful People. i'll be here for an evening again in a week so i should get the chance to find somewhere to hang out where i don't stand out like a sore-scum.
i have some directions fossicked from the web last night at somewhere around 3AM, but without a printer i wasn't able to print out the Google Maps output so i'm reliant on finding people who a) speak english and b) know the streets. an english-speaking local with (amazingly) more technology hanging off him than me pulls out his GPS-phone and shows me the way, but it's still half an hour before i find the hostel i managed to book into last night. Meri, who owns and runs the little guest-house, lets me in and even takes me down to find somewhere to get a quiet bite at 10PM, which is how i've fetched up sitting in an open square outside a little cafe playing dance hits from the 80's. a quick glance at the menu gives me the feeling that i'm going to be OK here - coffee costs the equivalent of a pound, pints come in at around £2.50, which is what it cost me for a couple of massive slices of pizza down on the Riva.
at least my street-smarts haven't failed me. they've been developing nicely in the last few months, but i reckon i'm going to need all of them and more in the next little while as i venture out of the UK and out into Europe. that said, it feels really good to be a little off the beaten track, in a place i'd only ever heard of in "Where in Europe is Carmen Sandiego?" before a couple of months ago. i think i'm going to have to see if i can find someone who'll make me a coffee and sit around in this little square for a while, listening to the group of guys a couple of doors down who've just started singing in close harmony - a song i've never heard in a language i don't understand in a place i can barely point out on the map.
life is good. travel is better. Split, on the other hand, is fucking gorgeous.
20 minutes and the standard security procedures later (you don't seem to need to emigrate from the UK - i've only been stamped out once and that was when i was leaving by ferry of all things) and i'm killing time with the zombie hordes in the dead-zone of the departure lounge at Gatwick Airport. an unadvertised upgrade made to the security scanners in the late-80's was a psychic hack which turns your brain to mush, making you pliable and obedient until you walk through the magnetic coil at the other end which reinstates your free-will. this is why they always ask you to remove your headgear when you go through security: it stops you from hiding a tinfoil hat under your fedora. unfortunately this security feature can be counteracted by being particularly stupid and possessing no discernable imagination, being nicely brainwashed in advance or by reciting particular passages of religious verse to yourself backwards in Sumerian. i swear this is why everyone i see waiting around an airport looks like they're moments away from going Resident Evil on my arse.
i count 3 different WS Smith bookshops, all with more or less the same collection of crap. there's a Buy-3-Get-4 deal going and i can't find more than 2 in any of the 3 stores that i'd want to read, much less spend money on... and they're all marked up by a 3rd anyway. i should be fairly well stocked for books on this trip - i'm packing a Charles Stross book that i know i can read twice if i have to, and a copy of Orcs that The Grey Man threw me the other day that looks big enough to use as a life-raft in case the boat sinks.
aeroplanes traditionally have the worst coffee on the planet and Croatian Airlines might actually be the worst i've ever had. that said, no matter how bad the coffee is on the flight i'm always compelled to have a second cup, or third if i'm on yet another of the Qantas post-Red-Eye-Horror connections i used to take far too often on my way from Perth to Canberra and back in years gone by. it's not a desire for the flavor... or even the caffeine, i think. it seems to satisfy some metaphysical need in my soul that craves recycled coffee grounds that've been cut with sump oil and mud harvested from the Glastonbury Festival, cursed in the name of an elder-god for good measure and had a thimble-full of plastic UHT milk stirred in, served in a plastic cup by an Air Hostie Barbie with a Slavic accent.
the plane was only an hour late in leaving and the food would be best-described as a crime against gastronomy, but i had more leg-room than i think i've ever had in economy short of being in an exit-aisle. the seats are of an older design and you can see the fabric starting to fray but i'd trade all the built-in cushions and plush faux-velour for having the ability to stretch out like this next time i'm flying long-haul. today i'm not - it's a little over 2 hours flight from London Gatwick to Split but for once i was comfortable in an A320-100 and that in itself was golden. the pretty-boy sitting in the window seat has tracks shaved in the the sides of his hair. he looks like a reject from this year's Eurovision, but he offered me a mint after massacring his meal so he's obviously friendly enough.
i'm through immigration and customs with a nice new stamp filling in some of the blank-space on page 4 of my passport (and completely throwing out the chronology - the next free page is 13, dammit) and throw 5 Euros at the bus driver to take me into town. it would have been nice to get here with a bit of daylight to spare because it's a lovely little place, even if it's a pigwhore to navigate. white limestone streets and buildings breaking into tight alleyways lead all through the centre of town. the main bus/ferry port is at one end of the Riva - a long, brightly lit promenade neatly laid out and built into buildings that look like they've stood since the Schizm, lined with palm trees and walked by well-dressed Beautiful People. i'll be here for an evening again in a week so i should get the chance to find somewhere to hang out where i don't stand out like a sore-scum.
i have some directions fossicked from the web last night at somewhere around 3AM, but without a printer i wasn't able to print out the Google Maps output so i'm reliant on finding people who a) speak english and b) know the streets. an english-speaking local with (amazingly) more technology hanging off him than me pulls out his GPS-phone and shows me the way, but it's still half an hour before i find the hostel i managed to book into last night. Meri, who owns and runs the little guest-house, lets me in and even takes me down to find somewhere to get a quiet bite at 10PM, which is how i've fetched up sitting in an open square outside a little cafe playing dance hits from the 80's. a quick glance at the menu gives me the feeling that i'm going to be OK here - coffee costs the equivalent of a pound, pints come in at around £2.50, which is what it cost me for a couple of massive slices of pizza down on the Riva.
at least my street-smarts haven't failed me. they've been developing nicely in the last few months, but i reckon i'm going to need all of them and more in the next little while as i venture out of the UK and out into Europe. that said, it feels really good to be a little off the beaten track, in a place i'd only ever heard of in "Where in Europe is Carmen Sandiego?" before a couple of months ago. i think i'm going to have to see if i can find someone who'll make me a coffee and sit around in this little square for a while, listening to the group of guys a couple of doors down who've just started singing in close harmony - a song i've never heard in a language i don't understand in a place i can barely point out on the map.
life is good. travel is better. Split, on the other hand, is fucking gorgeous.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
in the company of friends...
it can be kinda odd seeing people you know from home when you're distinctly Away From Home. i have friends i've met in Perth, Canberra, Melbourne and here in London... it's just a little offputting when they start to mix themselves up. it took a bit of getting used to when Moonbug moved to Canberra. now through amusing happenstance we're both on the other side of the planet, living an hour's bus ride from each other. when Julia moved to Perth from Canberra and came back telling stories of her adventures in some of my old haunts it was strange hearing her perspective. now i've just spent the last week hanging with Ondine and The Marten and somehow it wasn't weird at all. there wasn't even a period of "what have you been up to talk", but then with Ondine there never is. the conversation picks up again like it's only been a day and the rest fills itself in over time after we've finished our okonomiyaki and headed off down the road.
it's been a pleasant time playing tour guide, running them around Camden and Borough Markets, through the touristy areas around Trafalgar Square and generally breaking her by making her walk too damn far. it's been quite civilised as well with lunch at a Michelin Star Chinese restaurant just off Tottenham Court Road one day, and High Tea at the Dorchester Hotel on another followed by the feeding of squirels in Hyde Park. now, if only the Depeche Mode concert they'd come all this way to see hadn't been cancelled i think this would have been an altogether flawless trip for them.
meanwhile, i've been on the cusp of buying my homeward-bound tickets for the last few days. i'd have done it tonight if i'd not received a call about a promising-looking job completely out of the blue yesterday. i'm not excactly holding outv much hope for it. to be honest, i don't really want it. i've been spending my quiet hours with Google Maps open to a full view of Europe, my finger tracing lines on my screen of destinations and investigations of how i'm going to reach them. getting a job now would just get in the way of me wearing the soles of my shoes down to nothing on medieval cobbles and filling my hard drives with photos. that said, if they offer i'll take. i can always get back to Europe another time, whereas arriving back in Canberra penniless would be less than ideal. i'll know sometime next week, and when this job falls through like all the others i'll be able to wash my hands of the entire "working" idea and focus on blowing my slush fund hitting as many countries as i can before i run out of time then go watch my kid brother tie the knot.
it's been a pleasant time playing tour guide, running them around Camden and Borough Markets, through the touristy areas around Trafalgar Square and generally breaking her by making her walk too damn far. it's been quite civilised as well with lunch at a Michelin Star Chinese restaurant just off Tottenham Court Road one day, and High Tea at the Dorchester Hotel on another followed by the feeding of squirels in Hyde Park. now, if only the Depeche Mode concert they'd come all this way to see hadn't been cancelled i think this would have been an altogether flawless trip for them.
meanwhile, i've been on the cusp of buying my homeward-bound tickets for the last few days. i'd have done it tonight if i'd not received a call about a promising-looking job completely out of the blue yesterday. i'm not excactly holding outv much hope for it. to be honest, i don't really want it. i've been spending my quiet hours with Google Maps open to a full view of Europe, my finger tracing lines on my screen of destinations and investigations of how i'm going to reach them. getting a job now would just get in the way of me wearing the soles of my shoes down to nothing on medieval cobbles and filling my hard drives with photos. that said, if they offer i'll take. i can always get back to Europe another time, whereas arriving back in Canberra penniless would be less than ideal. i'll know sometime next week, and when this job falls through like all the others i'll be able to wash my hands of the entire "working" idea and focus on blowing my slush fund hitting as many countries as i can before i run out of time then go watch my kid brother tie the knot.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
