'It's alright, I'm ok, I wanna know where you are.'

Just a little side note before I actually do some serious writing. Get hold of Graham Nash (of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young fame)'s 'Songs for Beginners'. It's a wonderful example of '70s pop which had brilliant lyrical and musical skills and managed to make brilliant, poignant pop songs. Particularly of note is 'Better Days', which I discovered, I confess through this video: Dylan as posted by my lovely friend on Facebook. The album also manages, in a way that we've rather lost, to convey the concerns of a generation that really did have something to worry about.

On a lighter note, I have much more travel writing to do. I'm hoping to wrap up Australia in this one, if not begin New Zealand too.

So, we were waiting on the floor of Cairns' Airport about to fly, via Sydney, to Adelaide. Having completed that particular flight, the second shortest of our trip at 4/5 hours long, with a brief stop-over at Syndey airport, we arrived in a shockingly cold (actually cold this time, there was rain!!) Adelaide and found our way to Annie's Place; our lovely little, very hippie-fied hostel at the far end of one of Adelaide's main streets. (That should give you a sense for how small Adelaide is, or if not, know that one can walk the length of Adelaide in 20-25 minutes, comfortably.) Having checked in there, discovering we were, comparatively, far from anywhere of interest, I needed to make myself feel a little more human, not to say anything of warm, so I hopped into the shower while the other three disappeared off to a market we had been told about. A short while later, feeling a whole world better, I went of to meet them and after some searching found them deep in a fantastic food market trying to avoid spending lots of money on chocolate, cheese and other such delicacies.

To just change time, place and people for a moment. I spent a year in France during my degree, specifically in Grenoble, wherein I met two Australians, who live in Adelaide... You see where I'm going with this...

So, having gotten ourselves settled in and adjusted to time difference, climate and lack of sleep, I got in touch with them and we organised to meet up for a drink and a catch up that evening. So, while meandering through Adelaide's very pleasant Rundle Mall; the pedestrianised shopping mall that runs most of the length of Adelaide, we made our way to the Austral pub and met up with said Australians for a much needed catch up. After quite a few drinks and a good long catch up about all that had gone on between the last time I had seen them (May 2009) we parted ways, the four of us heading straight to bed to crash out after a rather long day and them back to their respective homes with a firm agreement that we would meet again tomorrow evening and go to the Tap Inn (prizes if you guess what the theme of the pub is)

Having recovered somewhat we spent the following day exploring Adelaide, which can be done very easily by foot and in a fairly short space of time. Nonetheless, it has a very nice feel about it and I must say, despite the initial shock, I did enjoy being a little cooler and actually being able to wear jeans, jumpers and even a hat in comfort. Once we'd got the car sorted out for our coming road trip, spending the day doing not much more than wander around exploring, taking photos and a bit of shopping was a really pleasant change of pace to the trip. Anyway, the evening rolled around and we met up again with my friends and headed off to the Tap Inn, just a bit further out on the outskirts of Adelaide. The theme of the pub, if you haven't guessed by now, is golf. So it's got a driving range attached to it, which for a not terribly considerable sum of money one can pass the evening on, quite merrily (in all sense of the word), whiling the hours away. Eventually, it got to the point of the evening when, after large quantities of liquid have been consumed, when nature calls and so off Bobby disappeared (I only mention this because it's humorous, don't worry). Now, we had noticed that at the far end of the driving range was a window, with 'Best Seat in the House' written over it. Now, I, in my naivety, had thought it was part of the bar, a cubicle or some such thing, but no no, it was the men's toilent cubicle. So you can sit on the throne, while you watch people hit golf balls at you. Having all had a great time, we once again parted ways and with a new CD to entertain us on our coming trip, kindly put together by a friend of my friends, we headed back to the hostel once again to crash out.

We only had one morning left in Adelaide and had a very specific objective in mind; the legendary 'pie floater'. Now, Cam, one of my Aussie friends, despite living in Adelaide all his life, his parents doing likewise, had never eaten a pie floater, so we made it our mission to find one. Eventually Cam found out that we could get one out on an industrial estate in a cafe there, that people apparently come from miles around to get them from. So, we turned up, were duly directed into a parking space and went inside to queue up to get our 'pie floaters'. It's a this point that I should probably mention, a pie floater is an upside down pie, floating in pea soup, with ketchup squirted all over it, which I'll grant you doesn't actually sound that appetising, but actually is delicious.

Having devoured our pies, we went back to our hostel, rounded up our stuff and piled into our hired car, to begin our three day journey along the Great Ocean Road, to Melbourne, where our Oz Adventure would end.

The first thing of note that happened while on the road between Adelaide and wherever our first stop would be, aside from being dumbstruck by the beauty of the South Australian countryside, was in the middle of nowhere, while driving across some swampy land just in from the coast, the skies opened and for a while it became almost impossible to see while driving due to the intensity of the rain. Then, once we had passed through it, we came found ourselves looking at the most incredible rainbow and so, it being an apposite moment we stopped and took a moment just to marvel at where we were and what we were doing:

We drove on through the Australian countryside, continually being struck by the beauty, variation and sparsity of population all along the Great Ocean Road. Eventually we needed a break from the drive and so pulled over into a pelican colony by the roadside, where we took the opportunity to stretch our legs, see a bit of wildlife, including the now rather mundane kangaroos and a complete lack of pelicans and to just enjoy some time out of the car. By this time it was starting to get late so we piled back in and carried on after a little while, still with nowhere in mind to stop that evening. Eventually we made a decision to stop in a tiny little place called Robe, where we were informed by the guide book that there were various B&Bs, hostels and hotels. So, we checked a couple of B&Bs, found them rather too expensive and so decided to go and check out the Lakeside Manor YHA, Robe which it turned out was a beautiful old 19th century house, complete with library, that had been converted into a fairly upscale hostel. After a little haggling, we all decided to stay the night here and then press on in the morning. It turned out to be one of the most interesting places we stay, with massive halls, wide enough to drive a car down (we didn't try, don't worry), beautiful grounds including, unsurprisingly the lake and a beautiful drawing room, library and bathroom with enormous high ceilings and wonderful bay windows. Waking in the morning to a beautiful clear day, looking out over the lake was stunning and it's somewhere I would highly recommend to anyone doing the route we did. Not least because the owners are so friendly and accommodating.

I'm going to leave it there because I'm exhausted, and I've got quite a lot more to cover.

Bon nuit, tout le monde!

Joe

xxx

More travelling.

So, after Magnetic Island, we had a brief stay in a very battered but equally tranquil Mission Beach. It was just what we needed after the rather hectic few days we'd had and furthermore provided a much needed rest a. in preparation for the lunacy of Cairns and b. after the intense weeks of travelling we had undergone up the coast. A day relaxing, doing nothing more than playing ping pong and chilling out in the very secluded and peaceful hostel was perfect.

It was not to last, however, and we had much to look forward to. Cairns was our next stop and a much anticipated one at that. As promised, the weather was getting warmer the further up the coast. (All things are relative, from the comparatively chilly high 20s of Brisbane Cairns felt scorching!) We also had the pleasure of finding we would be driven from Mission Beach to Cairns by an Aussie friend of ours, so the five of us piled into the rather small car and we set off. The journey it must be said did not pass without incident; the now infamous 'Hat' Incident, which left us all a little shaken. On the other hand, the rest of the journey was very pleasant and a hugely enjoyable change from the uncomfortable jolting of the Oz Experience Bus. So, we arrived a couple of hours later in Cairns, where the group split for the first extended period of time since we had left. Despite the increase in temperature, however, it was raining in Cairns when we arrived, so we parted ways with very little ceremony, not to mention the fact we would be seeing each other again in a few days. Ollie and I checked into the somewhat (in)famous Gilligan's and indulged ourselves by using some of our hard earned Base nights. We soon found ourselves checked into a room with a Norwegian, a Canadian and two other Englishmen and proceeded to see what delights Cairns had to offer us. They seemed largely to revolve around consuming many different kinds of alcohol and taking advantage of the various different night spots i.e. the Wool Shed or the Blue Sky Brewery with its many, many different beers. That or a 'party bus', which we managed to both win tickets to and get onto despite it being apparently sold out. Funny what you can wangle in a town full of backpackers.

To aid our socialising, we met up with various people we had run into all along the coast, not the least of whom was an old school friend I ran into as we walked into Gilligan's on that first raining evening. What a very, very small world it is. Cairns is the inevitable meeting point, starting point and departing point for almost all travellers that come to the East Coast of Australia. It's position as the last serious town, with a burgeoning night life and back packer scene, not to mention geographical location, makes it ideal for these sorts of rendez-vous. One can hardly turn a corner without tripping over someone you met in a hostel in Surfer's Paradise many weeks ago. Owing to the transient nature of the relationships one forms, however, they are always quickly and solidly bound, so the delight in seeing a new/old friend is always palpable.

So, having indulged our inner party animal extensively, we decided we wanted to do something else. So, we rounded up a few other travellers who were interested, hired a car and set off in search of the Innisfail Waterfall Circuit, which, though you may not realise it, is famous for the Millaa Millaa. They feature in Peter Andre's 'Mysterious Girl' video. (Two further points of information 1. he must have been absolutely bloody freezing under there as the water in the pool and waterfall was, well... bloody freezing and 2. in the aboriginal language, I am reliably informed, repetition is used for emphasis, so Millaa Millaa means plenty of water... surprisingly)

The Millaa Millaa Waterfalls, complete with idiots.

Aside from the Millaa Millaa Waterfalls, there are many others on the very pleasant Waterfalls Circuit and come the end of the day we had definitely been soaked through, gotten cold, warmed up in the car and then with the day winding down, driven back up to Cairns following the edge of the rainforest that covers the surrounding area.

Back in Cairns we decided to venture further up the coast, meet our missing two travellers and then head on up to Cape Tribulation, the first point that Captain Cook came across when he discovered Australia for Britain. We booked ourselves onto what turned out to be, essentially, a coach trip, complete with rather patronising guide and itinerary and a group of other, less adventurous, travellers. Regardless, we made the journey up to Cape Tribulation, through the indubitably tropical rainforest right along the very edge of the coast. This is in fact one of the very few places in the world where rainforest meets reef and within the space of quite literally metres, one can go from snorkelling along a reef to tramping through the undergrowth of the rainforest. While not the most adventurous or exciting of trips, it was interesting to have done it and to spend the night in a log cabin, in the heart of the rainforest before heading back to Cairns the following day.

Once back in Cairns, we once more hopped onto the Party Bus and had another night filled with ridiculous drinking games, excessive drinking and plenty more ridiculous antics, including a strip tease from one of our number, for the benefit of all the revellers at the Wool Shed, in failed pursuit of the much-coveted 'Mr. Backpacker' award. Having recovered the following day, we decided to book ourselves onto a trip out to Michaelmas Cay, which on the surface appears to be nothing more than a tiny sandy island used largely as a bird colony in the middle of the Pacific Ocean (alright, about 30km off the coast of Australia, if I'm honest), but bellow the surface hides some of the best snorkelling in the world, with coral of every possible colour imaginable and fishes in the same rage to boot. Not to mention the odd turtle, shark (the harmless kind) or stingray (again, harmless). Having had a thoroughly enjoyable and utterly relaxing journey out to Michaelmas Cay in the glorious sunshine and absolute tranquility of the Ocean, we arrived at Michaelmas Cay. Our boat came equipped with its own semi-submersible vehicle complete with submerged glass bottom, from which we were able to see even more of the beautiful aquamarine seas and the hugely varied life it held.

Michaelmas Cay in its entirety.

Having spent the entire day larking about on the boat, island or in the water we finally departed Michaelmas Cay, with a sense of really having seen and done something special. This insignificant spec in the middle of blue nowhere really had something special about it, even if it was a little overcrowded and as with much of the Antipodean part of the world makes one wonder what it must have been like to discover it.

That was pretty much the end of our Cairns adventure and so we bid farewell to our friends, new and old-ish and headed out to the airport, where we spent quite a few hours on the floor before boarding out flight for Adelaide, the Great Ocean Road and Melbourne. As well as everything along the way!

Much, much more to tell.

Joe

xxx

I told you I would get round to it eventually... Magnetic Island.

So, when last I wrote, we were just wrapping up the Whitsunday Islands and heading back to Airlie Beach. We spent a few more days here catching up with ourselves and certainly for me, acclimatising to being back on dry land (I seem to take rather longer than usual to adjust to the lack of movement; a most peculiar sensation). After a few days we headed on up to Magnetic Island (Cook apparently believed the island was interfering with his navigational instruments, an effect which has yet to be replicated), where we were to spend three days exploring what this small island off the coast of Townsville had to offer. While on the ferry journey over to the island, Ollie remarked that there was some sort of settlement that looked like 'some swish island resort'. After hopping on the bus and being told where to get off, we felt more than a little smug to find that said 'island resort' was in fact our hostel. While perhaps not as glamorous as it looked from a distance, it was still idyllic enough for us to thoroughly enjoy our time there. Kitted out with a swimming pool in which preliminary diving lessons were given, several hammocks and a whole host of different types of accommodation it was like something from some island getaway brochure. It looked a little like this:

  So we arrived and found ourselves, right on the water’s edge with a lovely quiet beach all the hostel's own and so began to settle in; spending the rest of the day dozing in hammocks, on the beach or just in our assigned hut chilling out.

We decided the next day to go snorkelling and so, kitted out with stinger suits, snorkels, masks and flippers headed out to where we had been informed there was a wreck that we could snorkel around in one of the nearby bays. Arriving there, not only did we indeed spot the wreck, but there were also some wallabies that were obviously used to being fed, so much so, in fact, that there was a pile of plant leaves and grasses in the middle of the little area they were all gathered around. Now, that had either been conveniently collected by them or, left there by the previous snorkelers and as such it seemed rude to break from convention, so Jon and Joe kitted out in stinger suits, flippers, snorkels, masks and ukulele set about feeding them. I’m not sure who was more confused; the wallabies or the tourist group that turned up half way through the feeding to admire the view and be told ‘there’s the wreck’. Either way, it made for some amazing photos:

The next day we headed up to the Northern end of the island and found ourselves winding up steeply (more on this later) over the ridge of hills that run the length of the island before dropping back down the other side towards the main beach of the island; Horseshoe Bay. Upon arriving, it was eminently clear why this was the main beach of the island, but that naturally meant it was a tad overcrowded, comparatively anyway. So, we backtracked up the road until we found ourselves at the col and took the turning off towards ‘Radical Bay’, a name that was just too appealing to pass up. After winding steeply down on a bumpy dirt track and then along the track under bush and jungle, we came out onto the completely isolated Bay. It was perfect, strewn with palm fronds, massive palm trees and a wide expanse of white sand, with rocks and rock pools at each end that could be explored at our leisure. To say that the rest of the day, certainly for my part, was spent doing little more than reading, sunbathing and doing diddly squat, would be no word of a lie. Bobby and a couple of the girls felt the need to climb the rocks and soon found themselves in that classic climbing paradox, the getting down is always harder than the getting up. Nonetheless, minus a couple of bruises and scrapes they were all fine. Ollie wandered off in the opposite direction and did much the same, requiring some solitude. While the rest of us were content to do nothing more than paddle in the water, explore the rock pools and eat the lunch we had brought with us.

By late afternoon, we decided to head back to our hostel, but, realising we had the jeeps until the morning, decided to go to West Point (not, I should add, the US Military Academy) for sunset. Having stopped back at the hostel, grabbed a jumper and changed out of our wet clothes, we piled back into the jeeps and headed out, with the dusk encroaching ever further, down yet another dirt track, this one entirely flat. After what seemed like a long and bumpy, but fun, drive, we found ourselves at West Point, with nothing for company but stone curlews, one retired Australian and Bobby’s guitar, we settled in for sunset. I have to say, this was a real highlight of the whole trip for me. It is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. Not a breathtaking beauty like the Grand Canyon, or an imposing, omnipresent beauty like New Zealand’s landscape, but a quiet, understated and supremely peaceful beauty that is a rare thing in this day and age. We could have been at the end of the world (we were, almost) if we weren’t facing west towards the mainland. Regardless the sunset was something special, even though we were told ‘you ought to come back in the summer, the sunsets are much better then!’ by the aforementioned retired Australian, after he emerged from his evening swim. Eventually, after the sun had gone down, we had grown cold and bored we decided to head back but with this etched in our memories:

On our last day, we decided to spend it in a rather less active fashion. I elected to spend most of the day in a hammock reading or on the beach doing much the same. While Jon did likewise, until his restless nature took over and he had to go off up to a view point to expend some energy. Bobby and Ollie, however, decided to hire bikes from the hostel, which, it should be stated in advance, were in a pretty bad way and cycle large parts of the islands road network. Not least, the road we had driven previously; the steep one. No prizes for guessing what happened. Ollie fell off, mangled his hands, knees, elbow and shoulder and had to be cleaned up by yours truly. Once he was patched up, we took stock of ourselves. Bobby and I had managed to injure ourselves playing bar Olympics (wheelbarrow = eyebrow death for Bobby and blind folded stool pushing = knee death for me. We both still have the scars to prove it), Ollie had mangled himself spectacularly, which just left Jon. Rather than any physical damage, Jon and I damaged our pride somewhat in order to win the dance competition (it had a prize of $250 worth of hostel vouchers!!), I won’t say how, but thankfully it paid off!

On a less dubious note, Magnetic Island is definitely one of the highlights of the trip for me and is undoubtedly somewhere I would urge everyone and anyone who visits the East Coast of Australia to visit. We left Magnetic Island with many fond memories of a visit long extended and with various other memories, some painful, most hilarious. It won’t be the last time, not for me anyway.

Something different.

I will come back to the rest of our travels, I promise. Right now, however, I'm feeling something a little more along the lines of my usual stuff. First, I have various issues musical to deal with:

The new Red Hot Chili Peppers album 'I'm With You', which, I must confess, I have been listening to pretty much ever since I got hold of it just over a week ago. While nothing ground-breaking or particularly astounding, if you are a fan of the Chilis and found yourself desperately hoping for better from the sprawling and rather misguided double album 'Stadium Arcadium', this is the album for you. It features the ever present wondrous bass noodlings and Flea and the improved vocal performance from Kiedis 'dirty laundry, what a quandry' is a lyric that sticks out. So, the single 'The Adventures of Rain Dance Maggie' has a fantastic bassline and a great, simple video shot, in what appears to be a rooftop gig the Chilis did on Venice Beach, much to my chagrin, just a week or two after I was there, in the evening sun with the admiring and rapidly gathering crowds forming over the length of the video. It is also great to see, as ever, the Chilis enjoying doing what they do; entertaining. Even new guitarist Josh Klinghoffer seems content and at ease. So, as state, it's nothing new but it's vintage Chilis enjoying themselves and coming up trumps in my books.

Second, the new Radiohead album, which has been out for some time, but I missed due to the adventures I've had over the last six months, but have subsequently listened to several times via their performance of the album on 'From the Basement' and it does indeed seem to be a wonderful return to their older slightly wackier ways. I haven't as yet had a chance to listen to the album repeatedly as all Radiohead albums require. One gets different things out of each different listen and as for the naysayers who dismiss Radiohead as depressing, pretentious nonsense, I can only express my condolences for what you're missing out on. I'll give you a more in depth assessment once I've listened to it five or six times, at least. Oh and on a side note, re-listening to OK Computer, for the umpteenth time, I'm continually struck by how outstanding it is and how, yet again, one derives different things from with each repeat listen.

On the down side, just briefly, the new Foo Fighters album, as far as I'm concerned is a major blot on a, so far, untarnished record. It just seems to lack the fun, soul and enjoyable air their previous albums have had in favour of a rather boring production and a lack of stand-out tracks. Perhaps that's just me though.

Books-wise, I have just finish a great collection of Paul Theroux's journalistic travel pieces called 'Sunrise With Seamonsters', which follows chronologically the pieces he published over a period of about 20 years. The topics range from the various epic railway journeys he undertook on the Subcontinent to the happy, if arduous hours, he spent rowing around the coast of Cape Cod in his lovely Victorian, hand-built skiff, to his memories of happy family reunions and just about everything in between. It's a lovely collection with something for everyone I feel and definitely a good introduction to this author for me. I have just begun reading Eric Newby's 'A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush', which evokes strong sentiments for me, imagining a place I have lived and yet, sadly, have no memories of, not to mention the extra-ordinary undertaking that is the main theme of the book, begun with the simple telegram 'CAN YOU TRAVEL NURISTAN JUNE?' which leads to a fantastical adventure in one of wildest corners of the earth. Having only just picked it up I can't report fully, but I'm confident it will be a rip-roaring read.

I have had some adventures over the last year; a trip to Paris, a trip to Broadstairs, many trips to London, one six month adventure around the world and all that it brought, but perhaps the most unexpected came to pass just over a week ago. I was at a dinner party with some family friends one evening and it would seem, in my absence it should be stated, I was volunteered for a sailing trip from Corfu's Gouvia port to Sicily's Catania over a week. With less than 24 hour's notice, I packed my bag and leapt onto the flight to Corfu to begin a short and rather more comfortable adventure, but nonetheless, at times challenging one.

I am no expert mariner, being only vaguely familiar with terms such as gybing, tacking, beating, loughing and all the other nautical jargon that is both a charming and highly confusing part of any such endeavour, but regardless found myself thoroughly enjoying the time spent on board and on shore at the various ports we stopped at. Not only did I enjoy the chance to do something totally different at such short notice, but I also thoroughly enjoyed seeing a part of the world I had not visited before and in a manner I have rarely experienced. A highlight was definitely seeing Mount Etna from the sea, looming over the South East coast of Sicily. One really appreciated the ease with which the Sicilians seem to live their lives, despite having this 3000m monster looming over them, ready to wipe them out, as it has done at various points in their long and illustrious history.

Anyway, as a result of this weeks exertions I am rather tired and so am going to head to bed very shortly.

As ever, I wish you happy travels, wherever and however you may go.

Joe

A much needed update. Part Two.

So we got back to the main land, spent a night in the hostel with our jeep crews enjoying one lasted revel and then headed further north the next morning. Our destination was Agnes Water and the Town of 1770. No one seemed to be able to explain why they had chosen to name the town 1770 rather than further up the coast where Captain Cook first landed, in 1768. Peculiar types these Aussies. Still, we headed north on the Oz Experience and were soon in Agnes Water and all excited for some scooterooing and surfing; we had been reliably informed that Agnes was the only and the cheapest place to do these things, respectively.

We checked into our rather strange hostel, whose receptionist assured us that the lack of lock on the room door wouldn't be an issue. How right she was. I can safely say Agnes Water is one of the sleepiest and Most unexceptional places I've ever been. It did, however, I should say, provide  us with three activities that we all enjoyed enormously. First and so far the t gaping hole in our Australian adventure; surfing. We booked ourselves onto a beginners course and set off down to the beach ready to ride some waves and show off our surfing prowess. Needless to we spent an awful lot of time coughing salt water and sliding off the incredibly slippery surfboards. To those professionals out there, I take my hat off to you in recognition of your oh-so-cool and no doubt hard won prowess and skill. So having discovered surfing wasn't quite as easy as we might have supposed, we set off in search of something a little more rewarding, namely, the aforementioned scooterooi g. The basic principled being that you are kitted out in leather jacket, helmet and biker tattoos (fake) and then put on a 50cc biKe to cruise around Agnes in search of kangaroos and general quick-as-you-can-possibly-make-them-go thrills on these tiny little bikes. My bike, rather predictably, however, decided to die two thirds of the way round so I got to ride pinion on one of the guides bikes, which really could move. So, all in all not a bad way to spend an afternoon and early evening.

So, that brings me to our last activity in Agnes Water; the Castaway Experience, which we really on discovered on or way up to Agnes itself. The basic principle is that you are flown out to a 'desert' island in a light aircraft and then spent 24 hours there basically enjoying the isolation and sense foe abandonment. In reality you are on the far side of an island that is actually linked to the mainland for large parts of the day and has a permanent lighthouse keeper, not to mention the other groups of castaways around in the next bay. Regardless, it was a lot of fun, not least for the journey out in Bruce's plane (yes that is his real name! At last an Aussie that lived up to the stereotype!) during which time he performs little acrobatic tricks for your enjoyment or displeasure, it doesn't seem to bother him either way! His party piece is, on the return leg, to place a camera from one of his unwitting passengers on the dashboard of the plane and then have it fly across the cockpit, by rising sharply and then dropping even more sharply to induce a brief state of zero G. It's certainly more entertaining and spine tingling than anything you are likely to find a Ryanair pilot doing. All in all, the experience is absolutely worth the money and hugely entertaining all round!

Finally leaving Agnes Water, after what seemed like altogether far too long, we headed on up towards our next big stop, Airlie Beach, but decided t make an impromptu stop at a cattle station in a place called Kroombit for a night. This was a decision literally made at the last minute, before scrambling on to the bus headed out to the station in something of a mad dash. After a couple of hours drive out into the Australian countryside, we arrived at what was palpably a cattle station, complete with the necessary cowgirls and boys wandering around in hats, bandanas, check shirts and even boots with spurs. Opting for an afternoon's horse riding, after a mere ten years since I had last ridden a horse, I found myself on the back of 'Big Red' and setting off for an afternoon's goat round-up, which turned out to be one of the best things we did in Australia, to my mind anyway. As well a this, we did a goat rodeo, learnt to crack a whip, rode a mechanical bull, learnt to toss a lasso and most importantly, ate some of the freshest and best steak I've ever eaten. Passing a fairly cold night in the converted stables, we awoke at some silly hour of the morning to head back into Rockhampton and then on to Airlie Beach.

Before long, the journey had passed, I certainly spent most of it asleep owing to our ridiculously late night and horrible early start. Anyway,  we arrived in Airlie Beach to begin our trip out to the Whistunday Islands, only to find that not only was the weather less than clement, but it was also due to rain on all three days of our trip. This notwithstanding we were excited about seeing one of the most beautiful places on earth and the various treats it had in store for us. Not least of which was Whitehaven Beach, where one can find the purest silica in the world (97%), so much so that one can actually brush ones teeth with it and exfoliate ones skin,should you so desire. So, after a day or two of enjoying being back in a decent sized town with a good nightlife and the like, we set off, on our enormous trimaran; Avatar, crewed by the affable deckhand Dave, the piratical cook Tristan and the lecherous but loveable skipper Kevin. Our first day's sailing took us out to the shelter if a bay just on the other side of the island from Whitehaven, where we weighed anchor and set about filling hungry stomachs and getting to know the crew and fellow travellers we would be spending the next few days with. After a good night's sleep we set off ready to snorkel and beach to our heart's content in our oh-so-attractive stinger suits we were required to wear. Anyway, we soon arrived on Whitehaven Beach, or rather just on the far side of the island and so gained the benefit of the walk through the rainforest to the beach itself. We were suitably awestruck by the beach, it's pristine sands undulated away from us into the distance and before long we were actually on it gambolling about marvelling at the swarms of tiny blue crabs that inhabit it and the stingrays that lurk in the shadows not to mention the fact that we ran into some friends from uni on the beach - of all places on Earth! Not only was the beach itself spectacular, but we also had some decent weather for it, the sun came out for approximately three hours during our entire Whitsundays trip, almost all of which was on Whitehaven Beach, while we larked about. It was to be, undoubtedly, one of the highlights of our entire trip. The following day we snorkelled some more of the Great Barrier Reef (which, written now seems extraordinary, but at the time seemed almost mundane) before heading back into Airle Beach to enjoy a last couple of nights there before moving on further up the coast to Magnetic Island and onwards towards Cairns. 

I will, however, have to leave you there as my bed is calling and I can't resist but rest assured that there is so much more to come!

Happy travels, whether they be across continents, countries or even just your own imagination.

Joe

A much needed update. Part One.

Right, so first things first, I must apologise profusely for being so bloody useless at updating this thing. I do realise that it's been over three months and I'm sure you thought I'd all but given up on it. Truth be told, I pretty much had until we arrived in Auckland and discovered our hostel had free internet. So, long story short I sat on the computer from 3am to 4:30am writing a lovely long post for your delectation, only to then have the internet connection die on me and the whole thing be wiped. To say I was unhappy would be an understatement. Anyway, here I am writing a new one for you that, with any luck, will make it onto a computer and then finally into the 'blogosphere'!

So here goes:

When last I wrote we had just arrived in Sydney and were looking for jobs. So after spending a week at my Aunt's house acclimatising to the aussie summer and lifestyle (it didn't take much!) we moved out into a hostel in the centre of Sydney where we began our real antipodean backpacker experience. We spent a week there looking for jobs and sampling Sydney's nightlife. Before long I had secured myself a job at the Sydney Opera House (definitely my coolest job to date) through a friend who had been working there for some time but was leaving soon. The position essentially entailed taking photos of the tour groups the go round the opera house every half hour and the trying to sell the pack to them at the end of the tour. No small part of the reason I got the job was the fact that three times a week there is a french tour and they were in dire need of someone who could speak french to interact with the rather predictably reticent french tourists. So, having secured ourselves jobs we then spent the nexy month in Sydney working and enjoying the benefits of city life - great nightlife, a french patisserie open 24 hours a day (the most refined post-club food you'll ever eat!) and all sorts of wonderful events that occurred in and around the city.

On that subject, one of the biggest benefits of working at the opera house was being able to secure tickets to the various shows, operas, concerts, etc... that were going on while I was there. So, I had the privilege of seeing the Youtube Symphony Orchestra (find them here: www.youtube.com/symphony) perform a wonderfully eclectic selection of music both classical, contemporary and modern for free. I also managed to see an opera at the Sydney Opera House, which, it must be said, was definitely one of the highlights of our time in Australia for me. Not only did I manage to see an opera, with fantastic seats but I also took Bobby along to his first opera (The Barber of Seville, by the way). So, not only did I have a pretty cushy job, but it came with some fantastic benefits.

Anyway, the time came eventually for us to leave Sydney and begin our East Coast adventure. The first leg of it; Sydney to Brisbane, would be completed over ten days by campervan. We got ourselves a Wicked camper, which, it would be fair to say, had seen better days. So, we set off out of Sydney in the direction of my Aunt's Father-in-law's farm at a place called Quirindi, roughly five hours north of Sydney. We found ourselves in Quirindi after dark and following our rather rudimentary directions; 'head out of town 12kms, find the dirt road, head down it, take the first road on the left and it's the first house on the right, opposite the windmill.' We did eventually find the right track after several hilarious exploratory trips up various other farm tracks and then even managed to find the right turning to the left (it really was the first one) and then found what we were fairly sure was the right house, but was conspicuously lacking in windmills. By this time it was around 3am, so we settled down for the night hoping we hadn't parked on some poor stranger's front lawn. We awoke early and upon conclusively discovering there really was no windmill, scarpered off down the dirt track the way we had come. While scarpering I received a phone call from said Aunt's Father-in-law, who informed me 'nah mate, the windmill's gone'. So, rather sheepishly we turned around and wenr back to see what the farm house had to offer in the way of accommodation and entertainment. We discovered little in the way of entertainment until I spotted a cricket bat and a tennis ball, so we settled down to do what any sane Englishman would do; play cricket in the midday sun for several hours.

We moved on from Quirindi the next day, having spent the evening star gazing and relaxing in the almost total isolation, the nearest settlement being over 12kms away. We drove towards the coast through some spectacular scenery and down various roads that were at times a little terrifying in our little campervan, which, by this point, we had dubbed 'Sheila'. Our stop for the night was Coff's Harbour, where we spent one night sleeping in the back of our campervan in a carpark on the beach. I awoke to hear two old surfers talking about 'The Man in the Grey Suit', no prizes for guessing what that is.

Moving on fairly rapidly that morning we pressed on to Byron Bay, whereupon we discovered very quickly that the local authorities were pretty hot on parking regulations and so sleeping in our camper wasn't going to be a viable option. So, instead, we spent three nights in one of the most beautiful, relaxed and fun places I've ever been to. I cannot praise Byron Bay highly enough and would urge anyone and everyone to visit if they are anywhere near.

Pressing on up the coast we hit Surfer's Paradise, which we had very much envisioned as being similar to Byron Bay, but were surprised to find was a lot of more built up and felt more like a mini Miami. Regardless, we spent one night in our campervan in a carpark on the edge of town next to a sexual health clinic and then one night in a hostel. It was around this point that we started to see what people meant when they said the East Coast is a small place. People all tend to do the same things up the coast and tend to stay in the same places and as such you run into the same people time after time, which can make the experience all the more enjoyable if you happen to make friends with the right people.

Sadly time waits for no man and we had to return the campervan to the Wicked depot in Brisbane the following day so we pressed on. We arrived in Brisbane all feeling a little worse for wear and with tempers slightly frayed. Nonetheless we got checked in to our hostel and then set about returning our campervan to the depot on the other side of the city. We spent the majority of our time recuperating from the journey so far during the day and then for the two nights we were there, in the hostel bar having some drinks before we headed out to see what Brisbane had to offer. We were rather disappointed with what Brisbane had to offer, but are reliably assured that it is actually a lovely place and one that under better circumstances is definitely worth visiting again.

From Brisbane we headed north to Noosa. A sort of Byron Bay-esque place with rainforests and a hill. The entire journey there it poured with rain and upon arrival it made no attempt to change, so, with typical British stiff upper lipped attitude we decided to play volleyball in the pouring rain in various stages of undress on the helpfully provided volleyball court in the middle of the hostel. Having roped in various spectators to complete our teams we finally called it a day when we were all soaked through and the light was fading. We spent the following days in Noosa adding to our already growing collection of friends as well as whiling away the hours doing large group sing-a-longs thanks to Bobby 'Chukebox' Chucas and sampling the rather limited nightlife. As with all good things, however, the time came for us to move on and so we said our good byes and hopped on the Oz Experience bus to Rainbow Beach.

Rainbow Beach is a very sleepy little town on the pacific coast that for the Oz Experience serves as little more than an overnight stop and a chance to break up the mammoth journey that takes travellers to their Fraser Island adventures. We did, however, have one very pleasant surprise while we were there; a free sand walk that the hostel puts on. We were lead through a meandering track to the top of an enormous sand dune where we were able to sand board, try our hand at throwing a boomerang and watch the sunset over the swampland behind the town. Our route back from the walk lead us down a steep sand bank striated with different coloured sands owing to the varied mineral deposits in the soil. The colours definitely lived up to the eponymous description and were a beautiful sight in the evening light. We finally wound our way along the beach in the twilight and early hours of darkness before returning to the hostel.

Leaving Rainbow Beach at some ungodly hour of the morning the next day we headed up to Hervey Bay where we were to spend one night before we began our Fraser Island adventure. Having received our briefing on the perils of such activities as sleeping on the beach (don't!), going in the ocean (it will kill you instantly! (There are tiger sharks breeding in the waters off Fraser Island)) and what to do when faced with a dingo (cross your arms and walk backwards away from it) we had one last good night's sleep and in the morning set off in convoy for Fraser Island itself.

Fraser Island is the world's largest sand island. It is over 125kms and has various settlements on it, not to mention a tribe of aborigines and the enormously varied wildlife that exists there. We were in what is referred to as a 'tag-a-long' tour, so while we were all driving our own 4x4s we also had a guide with us to show us the highlights of the Island and take us to our campsite, as well as to help us navigate the challenging elements that driving on sand brings. Each vehicle contained eight people, some of whom had chosen to go together and others who were together out of necessity or by default. We had the good fortune to have met up with a friend of ours from Sydney and to have found three others we liked the look of to complete our vehicle. Our additions were a crazy Ukranadian (Ukranian-Canadian in case you hadn't guessed), a loopy Irish girl and her English travelling buddy. So, we set off bright and early to catch the ferry over to the Island and upon arrival were immediately launched into the fantastic off road driving we would be encountering over the next three days. From the deep, soft sand of Indian head to dodging the swells on the beach to driving the inland tracks that felt more like a rollercoaster than a road, we drove it all and came out the other side in one piece and more than a little exhilarated.

So, we were to spend three days on Fraser Island, during which time we had a packed schedule. Whether it was the drive in to the campsite on the first day or the sandblow and steep sanddunes into Lake Wobby or even the crystal clear warm waters of Lake MacKenzie we never stopped moving or being amazed at what such a comparatively small island could offer us. As well as Lakes Wobby and MacKenzie we also visited Lake Allom where we received the closest thing to a spa treatment that the island had to offer; a tea tree lake where the oils and minerals in the lake leave your skin and hair feeling wonderfully cleansed and replenished. Something we all needed after several days of basic campsite facilities. One of the most spectacular sights on Fraser Island was the SS Maheno, a wrecked ship that sits hull deep in the sand on the main beach of the Island and which everyone drives past. So, suddenly we found ourselves driving past a shipwreck on our way to the campsite on the first day and it would be fair to say that more than a few jaws dropped.

Anyway, after spending three days exploring the Island, watching the moon rise over the Pacific Ocean, bathing in the various lakes on the island and dodging the local dingo population we had to depart. So, we piled into our trusty 4x4s and headed off in convoy again to make the trip back to the mainland. Finally arriving back in Hervey Bay we unpacked, moved into the hostel again and set about celebrating our return with a night out before we moved on up the coast the next morning.

I have much, much more to tell but for now that will have to suffice until I can get around to typing up the rest of it. I hope that keeps you satisfied for a while and once again I must apologise for my awful tardiness. I will, however, write it all up eventually. Although at this rate parts of it won't be done until I actually get home, but you never know!

Happy travels and much love from the other side of the world!

Joe

p.s. I'm in Queenstown at the moment, which is a serious contender for being one of my favourite places in the world. Wish there was a bit of snow though...

A very delayed update.

Right, first things first, my apologies for taking so long to do this. We've been in Oz for over a week now and I've not written anything at all. So, by way of recompense, this will probably be quite a mammoth entry.

The last you heard, we were in Thailand, which was true until the 18th February, at which point we discovered, to our horror, that we had missed our flights by 24 hours. So, after several fruitless attempts to contact the 'travel butler' service we had been promised, we quickly packed our bags and headed to the airport to try and get ourselves on the next flight. We got ourselves onto stand-by for a small sum of money and then found out all four of us had made it onto the flight. Elated doesn't even begin cover how relieved we felt.

So, we made it on to the flight and arrived at 6:10am the next morning at Sydney's Kingford Smith airport, whereupon we were greeted by a series of extra-ordinarily rigorous security checks, including a second scanning of our hand a hold luggage and sweltering heat. Apparently Australia has been the victim of various plagues thanks to people bringing in diseases, animals and food that are not native. The Cane Toad for example, which, if you believe The Simpsons, they have Bart to thank for. Anyway, we made it to my Aunt's house in the leafy Italian (she's not Italian, but pretty much everyone else who lives there is!) suburb of Haberfield. After a couple of hours kip, recovering from the stressful day we had before and the 9 hour flight, we were feeling a little more human and so made ourselves presentable for the party that evening (a large part of the reason I was so relieved to make it onto the flight the previous day). Despite the few hours sleep we had caught up on earlier, we were still rather tired, so we bowed out a bit earlier than might have been expected were we on top form.

The next day I had the chance to catch up with a friend of mine from uni who has been in Sydney for a few months now, which was really nice and through her we found out about an excellent job opportunity that might even see us working in the Opera House (we're still waiting to hear about that, but fingers crossed!). Toby, my cousin, spent most of the day showing us around, taking us to places like Darling Harbour, Circular Quay and showing us the highlights and some of the lowlights of Sydney's City Centre. Then, in the evening, we went to a short film festival, held in The Domain, in the heart of Sydney, called TropFest. It featured 16 short films, ranging from the downright bizarre; the winner Animal Beatbox, to the sublime; Focus, which to my mind, should have won, being an excellent display of cinematography and direction from an up-and-coming director. There were 90,000 people at TropFest and I would heartily recommend it to anyone who is in Sydney at the right time, the atmosphere was fantastic and being able to sit out on the grass under the stars until the late evening was thoroughly enjoyable.

The next few days we spent exploring Sydney, seeing the Opera House and Harbour Bridge properly, taking the mandatory touristy photos in front of them and then getting to know Sydney a little better; where to go out, where not to go out, what the hostels are like, where they are largely located and that sort of thing. All useful stuff for us, but not terribly exciting for you. We were also rather surprised to see that the weather took a turn for the worse, a 'cold change' came in dropping the previously sweltering temperatures by around 5-10 degrees, meaning the temperature was something closer to an average British summer day. For us, however, rain in Sydney seemed alien.

Our next big trip was to Manly, on a day which started out as a rather overcast, boring day, but by the time we had gotten to Manly, was a lovely sunny day. Stupidly we had decided not to bring our swimming stuff, so we had to make do with paddling in the surf and indulging in a spot of sunbathing. This trip also provided me with an opportunity to see another friend who has also been in Oz for some time, since September in fact, which was really nice, if a little brief. Regardless, we left Manly determined to come back and actually go for a swim next time! On our return ferry trip, we suddenly found ourselves coming alongside the Queen Mary 2, which is to this date, the largest ocean liner ever built. She was certainly a sight to behold as she made her way out of the harbour in a suitably regal fashion. Our evening was then spent taking part in a pub quiz with my Aunt and Uncle at the local bowling green, which we ought to have won, but gambled our points and lost at the final hurdle.

The next day, was rather more productive, we first went to Darling Harbour again, to hand in some CVs to the manager of the tourist company that operates at the Opera House, Aquarium, Sky Tower and Wildlife World. Within minutes we had been rung to organise interviews for the next day, which we felt was surely a good sign. While leaving Darling Harbour, we spotted a sign advertising a combination ticket to and from Taronga Zoo, including entry, for a substantially cheaper price than we would have had to pay otherwise. Naturally, we took this opportunity and caught a catamaran ferry across the Harbour, stopping at Shark Island, Goat Island and various other famous sights around the Harbour, before dropping us off at Taronga Zoo. We then spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around the Zoo marvelling at some of the weird and wonderful creatures that Australia has to offer, much to Jon's delight.

The next day we spent relaxing in Haberfield, doing not a lot, before cooking roast lamb by way of thank you to my Aunt for hosting us, feeding us and looking after us.

The following day was a highlight of Australia, for me anyway, thus far, as we went to Bondi beach, something I did 22 years ago on my first birthday. So, I felt a strange affection for the place, despite not having any actual memories of it. It helps that despite it being heaving with tourists, it is still a beautiful beach and one that, again, one shouldn't miss when visiting Sydney. The water was crystal clear, the sand gloriously white and soft and there is plenty to do in and around Bondi if you are not content with just enjoying the water and the beach itself. That evening we were treated to a meal at a delightful italian restaurant in Haberfield called Napoli in Bocca. We ate rather a lot of good food before rolling home to crash out in front of the TV to watch 'Airplane!'. A comedy classic I'm told.

I took the opportunity the next day to go and visit some family friends in Wahroonga, where I spent a very pleasant day at the driving range and seeing some of the more exclusive parts of Sydney; Bay View, Palm Beach, Mona Vale and other parts of the North Shore. I was then treated to a good ol' fashion Australia BBQ in our friend's garden, before being taken back into Sydney by their son to go out with the guys. Not a bad life eh?!

Our biggest milestone in Australia so far came on the next day; we moved out of my Aunt's house and into a hostel in central Sydney, where I am sat currently as I write this. Prior to moving into the hostel, however, I went and had a second, much more informal, interview with a lady at the Opera House, to try and confirm the job at the Opera House. Having moved into the hostel, we went out that evening, before trawling around various bars, which, if I'm honest, weren't that great, we found ourselves in the first club we'd been to in Sydney thus far and the night picked up from that point on.

I need to catch up on the last couple of days myself, it's all been a bit of a blur but I do promise I will update this more often than I have done previously.

On a more usual note, Australia is, by and large, dismally dressed; the stereo-types of shirt, shorts and long socks or cargo shorts, t-shirts and flip flops are altogether too true. Roll on America for that.

Joe

More of Thailand's good times.

Ok, so first, my apologies for the delay in keeping you updated. As you might imagine, when spending six days on the closest thing to paradise this good earth has to offer, hoping on a computer to write down one's thoughts is not the first thing to come to mind. That said, I'm going to make up for it now. Second, it is a 3:22am and I am ridiculously hot, having just come back from a night out and thus unable to sleep.

So, when I last wrote I mentioned we were going to a. head to Kanchanaburi Tiger Sanctuary and b. go to Koh Pan-Ngan. Well, we did one of those and I'm afraid it was the tiger sanctuary that lost out. We took an eight hour bus journey from Bankok's Hua Lamphong station to Chumphon port, before embarking the ferry that took us via Koh Tao to Koh Pan-Ngan. The ferry seemed to take a long time, but I suspect it was largely down to the lack of sleep and the fact that a dutch 'douche' decided to produce a guitar and serenade us with the likes of 'Bad Bad Leroy Brown' and 'Rocky Raccoon', sung to the same chord sequence and chords. Tedious, as you might imagine. Anyway, upon arriving in Koh Pan-Ngan, again dodging the taxi touts and heading towards Ban Thai, where we were reliably informed the Half Moon Party would be taking place, we found ourselves tipped out next to a 7-Eleven at the top of a sandy road that seemed to lead to the beach. This being the direction we wanted to pursue, we wandered down it, trying to look as if we a. knew what the signs for the likes of 'Liberty's' and 'Mac's Bay' were, before eventually stumbling across a One2Dive shop, run by a a behemoth of a Canadian, standing at 6' 5", called Jeff. Who was to become something of a regular feature of life on Koh Pan-Ngan. First, offering to stash our bags, recommending somewhere to stay and inviting us to his BBQ later that evening, we soon became immensely glad we had met him. Anyway, the resort we ended up in was the aforementioned Mac's Bay, run by the affable and invaluable Chaiwat. Who sorted us out with a very nice, four person, air-conditioned room for a more than reasonable sum of money.

Having gorged ourselves on Jeff's cooking that evening, we then headed into the jungle towards the rhythmic sounds of the Half Moon Party, only to find an enormously set-up worth of perhaps Global Gathering or any other decent sized dance festival in the UK. With people already dancing like lunatics (largely the Germans, oddly enough) and generally having a good time. We proceeded to spend the next 6 hours doing much the same, while running into Chris Nash, another Warwick alumnus and generally making friends all round.

The next day, thanks to a rookie error on the boat, did not start well for me. We had all failed to appreciate that sun+water+no suncream= SUNBURN OF DEATH!! Awaking to agonising sunburn is never the most pleasant sensation, but it is worsened by the fact that you really ought to be out enjoying the glorious azure waters and white sands of the beach, not 10 yards away. Regardless, the day had to roll on, so we made for the sandbar some 50 yards out from our beach and proceeded to relax there for a while before returning to shore and spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing. The evening brought a night out with a mixed group of English, American and Australian guys and girls who were also staying at the hotel, in Hat Rin at a bar called Cactus, which puts on fireshows, competitions, fire limbo and all manner of other ridiculous games and activities one can partake in, should you desire. As well as pounding music to dance to and copious quantities of alcohol. All in all, a pretty good night was had by everyone. I have to add one, rather surprising note, watching the Manchester Derby in the pub before heading to Cactus bar, even I had to conceed that Wayne Rooney's goal was incredible.

Having been out until the wee small hours of the morning, one might imagine that we were in a rather worse for wear state, which, to be fair, most of us were, but regardless, we got up at 10:30am to go snorkelling at Koh Ma, off the north coast of Koh Pan-Ngan; another, much smaller, island adjoined to Koh Pan-Ngan, by another sandbar, which we cross before heading out into the shallows to snorkel. To say the fish were colourful, would be doing them a huge disservice. This trip was organsied by the super laid back Jeff, who laid on a lunch-time feast and then entertainment in the form of an American football, that we spent some hours throwing around in the shallows of the beach. The evening, again, brought a night out at Cactus bar, although we weren't out quite so late this time. Instead making it home by an early 3:30am.

The following day, we had planned on going to Ao Thong Nai Ban, supposedly the most beautiful beach on the island, in the north east, but owing to general sleep deprivation and the unanimous desire to just relax on the beach, we proceeded to do so. I got a Thai massage on the beach, just to add to the all round relaxed nature of the day and then we spent the rest of the evening at Jeff's dive shop watching stand-up comedy, while sat in hammocks. All in all, not a bad day.

The day after, however, we did make it the Ao Thong Nai Ban and it really was a treat. Even more beautiful white beaches and clear water, both in colour and clear of coral fragments, which made for much a much more enjoyable afternoon. We returned to yet another BBQ at Jeff's, this time gorging ourselves on freshly caught and cooked Red Snapper, before, once again, heading out to Cactus bar, for another night of mayhem and chaos.

Sadly, the following day, saw our return to Bangkok, this time by sleeper train from Surat Thani. So, after a further few hours spend dozing on the boat and bus to Surat Thani station, we boarded the train a little after 7pm and began the 12 hour train journey back to Bangkok. Where you find us now, having spent another, rather more active night out on the town. Attempting a 'ping pong' show, but giving up in revulsion unsurprisingly.

Our flight to Australia leaves in a little over 12 hours time, so I will bid you good night and I promise to try and keep you posted more regularly!

Joe

Thailand, taxis and threes.

So, we arrived, as you might have guessed. The flight was long but by no means the worst flight I've ever taken despite its length. Having arrived, dodged the first wave of locals trying to flog you a 200Baht (4pound) taxi ride for 1100Baht (significantly more) and made our way the public taxi rank we were then driven to our family friend's house in the back streets of Bangkok, while listening to classic country & western tracks such as 'Rhinestone Cowboy' (who knew Glenn Campbell had made it the Orient!). We arrived to find ourselves in a 'proper palatial' (thank you Ollie for summising so precisely) house in a compound, similar to those found in ex-pat areas of third world countries the world over. (We have just been informed today that there is also a swimming pool and basketball court, oh the joy!) We decided discretion was the better part of valour and spent the night chilling out, listening to music and for some, drinking a few beers. All in all, not a bad start to the trip!

Day two, rather inevitably brought both many hours of rather aimless wandering and even more predictably, a wander down the surprisingly short Khao San Road. It is a bustling, noise, chaotic and rather charming road however, with travellers of all descriptions converging together to indulging some shopping, Irish bars, fish foot treatments (which we partook of and I must say it is one of the most peculiar sensations I have ever felt, but I'm sure my feet felt immensely improved afterwards) and sundry other ridiculous tourist traps. Having eaten some food at Mulligan's, thai food all round you'll no doubt be pleased to hear, we then proceeded to try and take in some culture and set out looking for the Victory Monument. This turned out to be a rather boring roundabout with an similarly dull monument on it, which we had actually already seen. By this time, it was getting dark, stomachs were beginning to rumble and tiredness was beginning to creep over us. So, having failed to find a taxi who would take us we ended up getting a tuk-tuk, which is a real experience in any country. Having last ridden a tuk-tuk in India, the experience was actually pretty civilised in comparison, despite cramming all four of us into something not much larger than a small golfbuggy, with Bobby leaning out of the side, tongue wagging like a dog.

Today, thus far has seen us consume breakfast at our usual vulture like pace and decide to take it easy again, perhaps going for a swim and Jon and I have one little chore to take care of, but I wont spoil the surprise for you.

The islands call, so I suspect we'll head down to them tomorrow evening, having visited Kanchanaburi Tiger Temple during the day ideally. Island paradise, here we come!


Joe

Travelling transition and the Manics.

It is curiously appropriate that when I sat down to write this at my computer, as ever, the first thing I did was hit the spacebar to continue whatever was playing on my iTunes before I last left the computer and on this occasion it was The Manic Street Preachers' 'Further Away'. Not wanting to further examine the lyrics, the title itself is satsifying enough as a form of 'omen' or 'signal', call it what you like. It just struck me as appropriate.

Anyway, that time has finally arrived and I am off on my travels tomorrow. In fact, in 24 hours I will, with any luck, be about to board my flight to Bangkok, Thailand. Thailand being the first of our ports of call on our seven month, round the world trip encompassing three continents and at least five countries. So, commencing in Thailand, we then move on to Australia, New Zealand, America and Canada over the ensuing six and a bit (seven is so much easier to say) months. Now, clearly, we have a much more detailed itinerary than that, but I will spare you the intricacies.
Suffice to say, we travel around quite a lot in all of the countries listed above and any recommendations for things to do that are off the beaten path or perhaps missed by all but the most savvy of backpackers would be more than welcome. Certainly from my end of things anyway.
I will be posting photos from our travels and reporting, in some detail on what we get up to and where we go, as and when I can. I have no idea, however, how often I will have access to the internet and so you will have to just wait, patiently! So, having said a last few, not entirely easy goodbyes I will put the travelling to one side for the moment.

Not much to report fashion/style-wise to be honest. I have had one or two other things on my mind. Although popping up to London today did give me and always appreciated opportunity to dress up. Involving a combination of Black Watch colours and a chance to get out the good old full-length umbrella and look the true British gentleman, strolling purposefully around, tapping away, even though it wasn't really raining. One can never be to sure in this climate, you know! Oh, that and I found this delightful blog: www.unabashedlyprep.com, which, as you might imagine, is an American blog that focuses on the Ivy League Style, as sported by the likes of JFK and the myriad other Ivy League Alumni. It is always fascinating to open up another world of fashion and particularly one that is so well known and well entrenched in a society that is so close to ours and yet seems to have had surprisingly little, obvious, impact on us.

Musically, I have been enjoying the Manic Street Preachers recently, largely due to the coverage on the BBC Red Button that I stumbled across the other evening, while bored. Given that 'This Is My Truth, Tell Me Yours' was one of the first CDs I ever owned, they have been sorely neglected. Particularly as I appear to have given away or lost the aforementioned album rather foolishly. Nevermind, I am well and truly re-enamoured and enjoying the lyrical highlights and curiously catchy glam-punk(?) and would urge anyone who enjoys the likes of Stereophonics, Ash or, dare I say it, Oasis to check them out or pursue them further if you haven't already. From the Unabashedly Prep blog linked above, I discovered the American band Locksley, whose song 'The Whip, features on this excellent video for Tommy Hilfiger: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ZDW14VxRXM and if you like bands like The Strokes, or any of the British Invasion bands I advise you to check them out.

For the moment, Joe out, but expect many more colourful and envy-making posts in the not-too-distant future!

Orange trousers, travels and Temper Trap.

Yes, I confess, I bought a pair of orange trousers today. Controversial and just a tad ridiculous I realise. I have, however, been looking for a pair of trousers that range outside the normal blue/black/grey/beige/khaki spectrum. As many colours as that is, they're not the world's most exciting trousers. I was specifically, if somewhat passively, looking for a pair of red trousers, which are something of a sartorial dichotomy. Or so I'm told. I've always thought that, provided one didn't wear them with a blue blazer and call oneself 'The Captain' (thank you How I Met Your Mother for that), they probably were ok. So, when wandering past H&M today in Windsor, what did I spy, but what I thought were a pair of red trousers. It didn't take much for me to not-quite-run into the shop and head straight to the menswear section to find these illusive trousers. Upon picking them up, I discovered, to my (initial) horror that they were orange. Yes, bright orange. Now, having shown them to the guys I was with and had the retorts 'I think they're hideous, but they are very you' and 'Yes, they are very you' any sane person might decide against it. I appear not to have listened to my sanity and went ahead and bought them. Here they are:

Now, there is a certain logic to my buying them, twisted though it may be. 1. I wanted, as I said before, a pair of trousers of more interesting colour and 2. I'm going away for six and a bit months to hot countries where bright colours are very much de rigeur, in contrast to grey, rainy Britain (much as I love it, it's not the most interesting palate of colours) where such things are greeted with disdain and disbelief. So, there is, as I said, a logic to it, after a fashion...

I have also just read this article on the Telegraph website: http://fashion.telegraph.co.uk/news-features/TMG8296752/Meet-Bill-Cunningham-the-original-street-style-photographer.html which shines a light on a man I had heard of, vaguely, but really knew nothing about. So, sartorialites, street style photography goes way, way back beyond him. Albeit in a rather less well known and rather less well publicised guise. It sounds like a fascinating documentary and I will be sure to catch it when possible.

Musically, I have been on a bit of a Guns 'N' Roses kick recently, listening to most of Appetite for Destruction and both the Use Your Illusion albums on my journey back from London today. If you either don't know or like Guns 'N' Roses, then more fool you. There's a reason that Appetite for Destruction has gone platinum 18 times. Not to mention VH1 naming Welcome to the Jungle the greatest rock song ever. Also, I want to bring to your attention the Temper Trap's album 'Conditions'. While you may not know the name of the band or indeed the name of the album, you will certainly know their first single from it; Sweet Disposition. Used on a multitude of adverts and trailers, it is an instantly recognisable song that has permeated the subconscious of the public, whether they know it or not. Go on, listen to this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jxKjOOR9sPU and tell me you don't know it. My point, however, is that the rest of the album is of a similar calibre and definitely merits further listening. The instrumental Drum Song is brilliant, while the song Science of Fear, pops into my head, unwarranted, at regular intervals. In other words, get it!

Now to the subject of the impending transformation of this blog and my impending departure. This Sunday I leave on the aforementioned 6 and a bit months' travels. So, expect lots of photos of sickeningly white beaches, sunny skies, beautiful sunsets and me and my friends making general tits of ourselves while on the other side of the world. Naturally I will endeavour to keep you posted on anything that I find of stylistic/musical interest, but rather predictably my travels will be my main focus. I'm sure you wont begrudge me that.

Two summers on the trot... It's going to be incredible!

Joe

Weather for lovers, or it's vintage daaaahhhling.

I am by no means immune to the charms of the hipster's favourite genre of clothing; vintage. In fact my vintage Italian army satchel arrived from ASOS Marketplace (ASOS itself wasn't dangerous enough?!) just this morning and is pictured below:

I am also the proud owner of a 1940's French marine nationale  peacoat, which I picked up in a market in France for the very reasonable price of €50.
I did, however, find myself flabbergasted when wandering into The Vintage Showroom in the Seven Dials area near Covent Garden, I was browsing the military shirts and looked at the price tag of a very taggarty old one - £95. Now, really this was just out of curiosity as I have recently been looking at them on ebay (still, to my mind, the best, most convenient place to buy 'vintage' clothes), but when one finds oneself being charge nearly ten times, yes, 10x, the price of a virtually identical shirt on ebay, it does rather bring to mind the 'money for old rope' adage. I will not be parted with the best part of £100 for anything less than something seriously wardrobe changing/augmenting, which I'm afraid said shirt fell substantially short of. Dream on Messrs. Hipster. Vintage, is dead? Probably not, there are people out there who will undoubtedly fall for it. Poor fools.

More interestingly, the reason I was in London was a. to meet up with two dear friends, one of whom I have not seen in far too long and b. to go to the Royal Opera House to see Il Barbiere di Sivilgia. More on that later. Now, going to London alone provides me with an excuse to dress to the nines, but going to the ROH, even more so. I decided to go all out and wear suit, shirt, tie (as is only fitting), contrast waistcoat, boots and complimenting pocket handkerchief:

 

The first, demonstrating the complimenting tie and pocket handkerchief and the second the complete ensemble. Admittedly looking a little tired, but I had just been to London for the day and back! Allowances must be made.
I have also been following with keen interest the photos come in from the Paris and Milan menswear shows and am still enjoying the layering that has been so prevalent recently. Ideal for the British weather all year round. One's choice of material and colours is vastly enhanced by this effect and I for one will be glad to see it continue. I was disappointed by the Jean Paul Gautier show, however, the supposedly Bond inspired show seemed to be just that little bit too French for my tastes. As Mr Le Sartorialist said, the shows this year were rather disappointing, even his strongest choice at Milan; Bottega Veneta, seemed rather staid and dull. A little too much leather, a little too much monochrome and not enough variety to my mind. Ermenegildo Zegna, however, I did rather like, a good use of subtle autumn colours and complimentary checks on various different items of clothing and a lot of red bode well for the coming Autumn.

On to the evenings main event; the opera. It was a delightful opera buffa, a comedic opera, brilliantly sung, acted, choreographed and directed. One highlight was the earthquake scene when the entire stage was tilted from side to side with the entire cast on it flung from side to side while singing in a brilliant comedic performance. It was a wonderful first time for me at the ROH, but one I will certainly be repeating and one I cannot urge you to try too. Opera is a music form that has an unjustly earned reputation for being fusty, boring and elitist. Granted we were in a youthful minority, but that is no obstacle to enjoying oneself. Glyndebourne next? Who knows!

Now, a day in London is hardly complete without a good meal and particularly when going to the theatre/opera it is a part of the experience that enhances it enormously I think. So, we went to Brown's and in a rather shorter period of time that I would have liked, I consumed a  wild boar and chorizo burger while my friend had a rather tasty looking pasta dish. All in a all a restaurant I would highly recommend for its excellent food, warm ambiance and highly professional service.

 Aside from the opera,  I have been enjoying a rather rocky kick in the last couple of days. Largely owing to watching BBC Four's documentaries on Thin Lizzy and Iron Maiden, both of which make for fascinating, entertaining and informative viewing. The first major metal gig in India with its thousands of screaming fans is a sight that truly warms the heart. Rarely does one see such honest passion nowadays in western audiences. The Lizzy documentary, while largely of a more sober not, was just as enjoyable and as a result I am currently listening to one of Lynott's lyrical masterpieces; Cold Sweat. Other than that, not much to report musically, except if you haven't heard Thin Lizzy's 'Live and Dangerous' go out get hold of it now, it is the greatest live album ever, no argument and magically captures the band's live energy on record.

Plans for my dinner party are coming together nicely, I will be cooking the ham recipe and I will be sure to report back to you on how it goes down!

Bon App a tous et a toutes!

Joe

Moncler, my new favourite fashion blog and military shirts.

I spent a large part of today perusing a blog I just discovered, quite where I discovered it escapes me, but it is fantastic. It is the wonderful jakandjil.com run by one Tommy Ton, which seems to overwhelmingly feature women's fashion, which is of less interest to me, but occasionally comes up with some incredible men's fashion shots, par exemple: http://jakandjil.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/pittiman.jpg. This photo seems to be doing the rounds from Pitti Uomo, but it deserves it. This old boy shows an incredible flair for textures, patterns, colours and all round sprezzatura, that much sought after magical element that a. allows someone to get away with wearing something that should never work on a normal human being and b. do it with such aplomb that it makes one gasp and wonder 'why on earth didn't I think of that?' Anyway, the blog is well worth checking out for anyone interested in fashion, particularly if you are a fan of Anna Dello Russo as he seems to be rather chummy with her.

Thom Browne's show for Moncler seems to be the  talked about show of Pitti Uomo, it's remarkable use of red, white and blue on the dressage kit and throughout the collection itself (which is also filled with wonderful tweeds, hunting breeches, riding boots and all manner of country-esque wear, all given the Thom Browne treatment - although with very few too-short sleeves and cuffs in sight), had me enraptured from start to end. Even if the music was a little too much for my tastes. Worth having a look though if you like Mr. Browne's work or like the recent trends in field and farm chic

Also, having spent so much time perusing the aforementioned fashion blogs, it has been come to my attention that military is still very much in  and on top of that, the must have item is the military shirt. This seems to be an extremely versatile piece of clothing, worn over t-shirts, under shirt jackets and with a shearling jacket for example. Or worn over another shirt, perhaps red, black and yellow plaid and then under a peacoat with a different check scarf perhaps. Either way, it seems too good an item of clothing to ignore, not to mention it being extremely hardwearing and useful. I shall have to invest in one soon, once I find one I like. I am also, alarmingly, coming round to the idea of a denim shirt, perhaps in a light stone wash. Where once I would have sworn blind never, ever to have worn a denim shirt, I now find the idea rather appealling and have, finally, it must be said, realised the fashion potential of said item. About three years late I know, but that seems to be my way. Dragged kicking and screaming into the now when it is about to be the yesterday and everyone else has know for some time, when the evidence is planted firmly in front of my eyes by a source I trust. Tant pis.

Otherwise, I have been enjoying Bardo Pond's latest opus, featuring their usual blend of tripped out hippie ambiance and psychaedelic rock, even at its longest (21.02 minutes) it still draws you in and, I imagine as it is supposed to, entrances you. One for listening to in a dark, candlelight room when lying on the floor, volume turned up just that little bit too high to really enjoy it. Not all that much else to report musically, I have just heard the first track from the new Flogging Molly album, which seems to lack the vim of their previous albums, but we shall see. One can't always be a punk I suppose.

As a result of having spent so much time looking at brilliantly composed photos I find myself once again wanting to get out there and take photos of everything, everyone and everywhere. Soon I hope to be able to. Once on my travels I shall get properly snap happy and you will get sick of them! Mwhahaha! Something for you to look forward to.

Gastronomically, not much to report, I am no closer to making a decision about my upcoming dinner party, except perhaps doing a glazed ham recipe from Mr. Fearnley-Whittingstall's cookbook, with spiced figs and parsley sauce. It all depends on what the butchers have got in and what takes my fancy whilst I'm there. A trip into town will reveal all.

For now, I shall leave you, but until the next time dear readers!

Joe

p.s. It also dawned on me today, that I look forward to being able to move out of chez les parents (not that it doesn't have its advantages) largely so I can really dress it up and have an excuse to do so (living in London and wandering its streets, one can hardly do otherwise). How funny.

4 x 4 = 12.

So there I was, attempting to read Houellebecq's 'Atomised' (no, again, I can't be bothered to read it in French), sprawled on the floor by my radiator listening to The Mead's of Asphodel (don't ask) when all of a sudden I've dozed off only to wake up groggily and immediately regret it. Ah well, I am getting old - one night out 'til 4am and I'm still feeling it 36 hours later! Shameful.

Anyway, so I finally got around to poring over GQ's 50 Best-Dressed Men List 2011. As I stated before, I'll spare you an in depth analysis, but suffice to say, as ever, there were some surprises and some less so... Simon Cowell at 43, I can hardly credit. Even if he has ditched the too-high jeans and t-shirt look. Mark Ronson at 34; well I've never been a fan really. Particularly with that shock of white blond hair. Ray Winstone at 28; pleasantly surprised. He does always look dapper. Even in those orange speedos. George Lamb, despite being hugely irritating is well dressed at 19. David Gandy at 17, nothing more need be said really. The rather loathsome David Walliams at 11, even in Tom Ford he looks like a lecherous old man. Tom Ford at 7, he's in a rather different league and as such 7 (777 being the number of God in Hebrew numerology) is both appropriate and not good enough. And Aaron Johnston at Number 1, which is a rather predictable choice given his position as winner of GQ's Best-Dressed Man Award last year, but not entirely unfair either. Overall, not a bad selection. Only one glaringly absent entry; Daniel Craig, who, for my money, is consistently the best dressed man on the circuit.

More importantly, Pitti Uomo, the world's largest men's fashion show, has come and gone. I fully intend to examine it closer, as well as awaiting anxiously The Sartorialist's coverage of it. I think I shall possibly investigate going next year also. I can think of few places I would like to be more, particularly with camera in hand and dressed to the nines all day every day.

I have given my travelling wardrobe a little more thought and have come to the conclusion that one of the essentials of any travellers wardrobe ought to be an unlined jacket, as sported by yours truly here:

It is both light and easily foldable meaning it is ideal for those seeking to travel in style and also adds some of the formality of a regular blazer/suit jacket, while maintaining the relaxed nature one tends to adopt when travelling. All in all, a must have. I think it goes especially well with summer clothing and colours, the light colours all compliment each other and when paired with a dash of colour, for example a brightly coloured belt, it makes for a very pleasing outfit.


Musically, I am currently enjoying a bit of a curveball, Deadmau5's new album; '4x4=12' (no, my mathematical skills are not THAT bad!), which features some seriously sick bass lines and some tracks that are sure to be huge club hits, listen to this if you don't believe me: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zuAdd1Ih-qY. On a totally different note, thanks to a review of the latest Earth album, I have discovered The Dirty Three. They are an Australian three piece, composed of drums, guitar and violin who somehow create instrumental pieces that are both droning and fascinating. Not something that can be said to happen everyday.
Continuing my preparation for my upcoming opera outing I have recently listened to both Tosca and Nabucco, both of which are extraordinary. Tosca I would say is particularly sublime, offering a listening experience that is equalled by very little else.

I am, as I mentioned above, reading Michel Houellebecq's 'Atomised' (Les Particules Elementaires), although I have only just started reading the first few pages, so I shall refrain from casting comment just yet. My expectations are, however, high, given how much I enjoyed 'Lanzarote'.
I shall be giving some serious thought to what to take away with me in terms of reading material over the next fortnight. I shall need something that can be re-read and re-read endlessly. Not an easy task. I suspect it will have to be a collection or two of poems/short stories.

Recommendations are welcomed.

Joe

'Wednesday night and I'm at home alone again...'

Leaning against the window of an m&s in mayfair two things become clear, the first; it is definitely a case of location, location, location when it comes to style - come to London and one will see more people, better dressed than anywhere else in Britain I have been to. And second; capes are on their way back in. Now, anyone who attended pitti uomo last year will, I'm sure be able testify to that fact, but to actually see evidence of it with my own eyes and more importantly, in everyday wear, is satisfying. I have just seen two gentlemen wearing them. One a black gentleman (when talking about capes is there really any other acceptable epithet?) Who was wearing matching, loud tweed cape and jacket with a tan pair of trousers and brogues - looking none too dapper and the other a chap who looked as though he had just walked from the Austrian Alps, complete with robin hood style hat with feather and a dark green cape that hid his arms. Rather dashing I should say.

There is, however, a negative: the omnipresent 'trainer'. When people watching in London, which I can't recommend enough, this particular piece of footwear is altogether too common.
If you are incapable of finding comfortable and vaguely stylish leather shoes, you simply are not looking hard enough. The trait is particularly unbecoming in women, worse still when they are wearing a well cut jacket and trousers/skirt. The contrast between the uniformly dark colours of the british working wear and the invariably garish white acrylic and nylon is most unpleasant to the aesthetic eye and ought really to be verboten in my humble opinion.
As for men wearing them, if you plan to run or cycle home, wear them with suitable sports clothes and all is forgiven, but all too often they are seen with the scruffy, middle-aged backpack-carrying business man who has usually either unbuttoned his top button and pulled down his tie, or more likely now isn't wearing a tie at all and instead has opted for the drooping, stained, yellowed formely white collar that displays his second and third chins for all to see. I realise that not everyone's feet or budget are suited to hugely expensive shoes, frankly my budget is well shy too, but that doesn't stop me from wearing leather shoes everyday, all day and furthermore succeeding in finding comfortable AND stylish shoes. If I do say so myself. I recommend you try Fly London and Dune to begin with and if you still come up shy, try going to Office, Jones, or some other highstreet shop. There is a pair of shoes out there that will be comfortable and make you look like you care a little about appearance.

In happier news, my espadrilles arrived yesterday and I am currently sporting the red and white striped pair as casual house shoes in an effort to decide a. if I like them and b. if I can wear them for extended periods of time. I am decidedly in the positive on both counts so far. Excellent news for travelling in style.

Musically, I have been enjoying a few different kicks recently. I am, as I write, listening to Patrick Sweany's album 'Every Hour Is A Dollar Gone'. It is a wonderful piece of Black Keys-esque (it is in fact produced by Dan from the Black Keys) blues rock, that has everything from the up-beat instrumental Burma Jones to the ultra laid-back Hotel Women - a lament for the 'hotel women' that have come and gone from our songsters life. On a similar-ish note, I have also been listening again to William Elliott Whitmore's 'Animals in the Dark', which is a fantastic, foot-stomping album full of vitriolic lyrics, cracking choruses and brilliant song-writing. I can't really recommend him enough. Have a listen to his performance of 'Old Devils' on Later with Jools: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dLoTLq_ArHY. The other kicks are largely focused around metal, thanks to the slightly unusual composition of my current workplace I have found myself surrounded by metalheads and have been revelling in working to the sounds of Lamb of God, Judas Priest, Iron Maiden and Pantera. Perhaps not to everyone's taste, but if you are at all inclined to the harder end of the musical spectrum then a. you ought to have already heard all of the above and b. if you haven't, why the hell are you still reading this?!

I have got a couple of other things I wish to discuss, but I am tired having just played squash and not having stopped moving for the last three days, so you will just have to be patient.

Bon nuit!

Joe