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A man from Cockshutt.
a travel blog by
olliejohnson
This is the story of my journey to Australia, and the erratic wanderings that followed.
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Seeing the sights in Kuala Lumpur
Kuala Lumpur
,
Malaysia
So, we turned up at 8am to catch the bus back to
Jerantut
, and were subsequently told that we should have reconfirmed as there wasn't enough space on the bus. I put up a storming protest, which centred around blaming someone else (the rep back in
Jerantut
) for the error. After a little debate and a few phone calls, the woman organising things on our end managed to sort out another bus to come and pick us up, only we were told that we'd have to wait a few minutes as the driver was currently in the shower. When the bus did arrive, he drove at speeds approaching my dad's, and made the journey which usually takes 1 1/2 hours in 45 minutes.
KL Tower
From
Jerantut
, me Flo and Marcus took local buses all the way to
Kuala Lumpur
, which still only took just over 3 hours, and disappointingly, there were no weird locals doing crazy things to keep me amused . Using the Lonely Planet as a guide, and with me staying well away from any navigational duties, we made it to our hostel without any problems. Though things did look a little ominous as we climed the stairs to the reception, and saw 5 hippies sat around a table, strumming a guitar and playing bongos. Luckily, this was the extent of the hippy action while we were there.
We spent our short stay looking at really tall buildings and sorting out tickets for wherever we were going next. For me, this meant booking my flight to Bali and finally booking a flight to
Australia
(from Bali.) I get into Melbourne on October 29th.
Kuala Lumpur from the KL Tower
First on the sightseeing list was the KL Tower - which proudly bills itself as the fifth highest tower in the world at 400-odd metres tall. We got tickets to go up it to the observation deck, which gave amazing views of the city and of the Petronas Towers. From here we walked over the the Towers themselves (the second highest in the world at 450-odd metres tall) and took some photos.
Petronas Towers with a tree in front
Apart from that, all we did was spend some on the internet, get our last tastes of Malaysian food, and drink some ridiculously expensive European beer. I also took it upon myself to expand my German friends' English vocabulary. I've made sure that they're going to arrive in
New Zealand
and really blend in; using such pleasantries as "old chap", "I am inclined/disinclined to agree with you"; as well as such basics as what "cleavage" and "morning glory" are. I also taught Flo the "DO IT!" line from Starsky and Hutch, which he's adapted with aplomb into an enthusiastic "f**king DO IT", which he's said he can't wait to use in
New Zealand
. Boys, you're going to be a big hit.
Unfortunately they had to leave for Singapore the day before I left for Bali, which left me on my own again to wander around the city. In the evening I decided to treat myself and have some proper Western food; so I got a rib-eye steak from an Irish bar with a pint of Old Speckled Hen, before heading off to the Hard Rock Cafe for a Fudge Brownie Sundae. It was whilst munching my way through this that a lonely old expat came up to me and asked me if I wanted to join him, as we were the only 2 people on our own. Innocently I went over to his table, but just in case he had any ideas, I quickly mentioned that I had a girlfriend.
It turned out that he just wanted an English person to talk to - he'd lived in
Kuala Lumpur
for 6 years, was the director of some company over there, and apparently recognised something of himself in me. So I had to sit there for just over an hour as he imparted advice on me, and picked my brain on certain issues. As I was getting ready to leave, he gave me one final anecdote, which compared me to Bambi and him to an old stag. Slightly disturbed and confused, I went on my way.
written by
olliejohnson
on October 6, 2006
from
Kuala Lumpur
,
Malaysia
from the travel blog:
A man from Cockshutt.
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The Lava Hunter
Yogyakarta
,
Indonesia
I spent a couple of days relaxing in Bali before making my next move. With another couple of weeks to go before my flight to Melbourne, I'd decided to head into Java - I booked a flight to Yogyakarta, and planned to get the bus all the way back to Bali.
Yogyakarta is a medium-sized city in the middle of Java, and, as much as the visit to the city itself interested me, I was mainly there for the sights out on the city's outskirts. I spent a couple of days wondering around Yogya, (which everyone seems to call it), which turned out to be enough for me. It is one of the few cities I've visited where you can still get a real sense of what the place was like before Westernisation. The place is still headed by it's own Sultan, and his palace (the Kraton) is a major attraction in the centre of the city. Unfortunately, due it being Ramadam the opening hours were made very anti-social (certainly anti-Ollie), and it closed by midday. And lying in a comfy bed, a decision had to be made between sleep and culture. With 3 consecutive pre 5am starts on the horizon, sleep won out. I did get a photo of the front though.
Borobudur - (A giant buddhist monument constructed in the 9th Century AD)
The first of these early starts took me to a massive ancient buddhist monument called Borobudur. It was built in the 9th Century, and I can only assume it took a bloody long time. It's huge! It has 1,500 narrartive panels carved into the side, and there are 432 man-sized buddha statues sitting there chilling on it. The ones on the top have what look like big upturned laticed bells covering them. Very strange. The views from the top were amaxing though, and I got a good sighter of the place where I would be spending the wee small hours that night; Mount Merapi.
View from the top of Borobudur
Now, I have to admit that I don't have a clue what made me decide to go 'lava hunting' that night, because let's face it, I'm a born coward. Maybe it was just because the poster for it at the tour operators desk looked cool. Maybe because I thought 'lava-hunting' sounded like a manly thing to do. Maybe because I wanted one final excuse to wear my expolorer hat. Whatever it was, I have to admit that if I'd been fully informed about this volcano, there's no way I would have gone. This is what the Lonely Planet has to say: "Merapi is one of Indonesia's most dangerous volcanoes and it erupts with alarming regularity. In November 1994 an eruption killed 69 people; in January 2001, pyroclastic flows and thousands of earthquakes prompted the Volcanology Survey of Indonesia to raise the warning status on the mountain." I don't know what the hell pyroclastic flows are, but I don't reckon they're a good thing.
Mount Merapi from Borobudur
I was the only tourist on this particular trip. It was just me, the middle-aged guy who I booked the tour from (who proudly told me in one conversation that he married his wife when he was 27 and she was 17 - followed by lots of manly laughter and back-slapping. Come to think of it, he did keep on touching my arm all the way on the climb. Hmm.), and his son, who acted as driver. On the way to our viewpoint, we picked up a load of local kids on mopeds who were intrigued by the white guy in the 4x4, and decided to join us for the show. I felt we were going a little 'off-piste' when we started driving around road barracades. We stopped near our destination for some hot ginger tea, and my new fans got an opportunity to chat to me about England and asked if I'd heard of Beckham.
The only tree that survived the eruption
At about midnight we made our final small journey to the viewpoint. The car pulled over, and as I jumped out a cloud of dusty ash enveloped me. It felt like I'd stepped into the Blair Witch Project. Except without the witch and the trees and that. So just lots of darkness really. It was pitch black above, and pitch black underfoot - my torch was only able to shed a small amount of light in the darkness. The only other light given off was from the stars, as the moon was nowhere to be seen. I felt a hand grab my arm, and my guide began marching me uphill, with the fanclub in tow, attempting to avoid the boulders of varying size that dotted what landscape I could make out. We soon reached a small plateau, but when I turned around, there was no-one behind us anymore. I asked my friend what had happened to them. He considered his reply for a second before rapidly patting his heart with his hand. I'd played this game before. "Ok....their hearts are beating faster?...", I looked around for inspiration. Ok, lifeless landscape, massive volcano, and...is that a rumble?
"They're scared?"
"YES!", came the instant reply. Jackpot! The brief moment of celebration at having breached the language barrier was then replaced by no small amount of concern. This was then added to somewhat when my guide shone the torch over to one side. This illuminated a small ditch with a few planks of wood covering the entrance. A closer look revealed a battered-looking door a few feet behind the planks.
"Yesterday," my guide said, motioning grandly at the surroundings. "Eruption, yesterday."
"What! This erupted yesterday?!" I squealed, and was already thinking about how much trouble I'd be in with my mum and my girlfriend for having died whilst visiting an active volcano.
"Yes," he nodded solemnly, "yesterday."
Jesus, Yogya wasn't that far away, but I hadn't heard a thing. Evidently sensing my increasing panic, my guide sought to clarify himself.
"Yesterday.....Juni."
"June?"
"Yes. Juni. 3/4 Months."
"bloody hell mate. Juni is not yesterday. Yesterday is....yesterday," I said gesturing behind me. That should clear it up for him. Still, June was recent enough, and I later found out that 2 people had died in the bunker that he'd pointed out. It'd got buried beneath hot ash and the temperature inside had reached 900 degrees. The whole area where we were (4 km from the crater) had effectively been fairly heavily shat on by Merapi.
A big gazeebo-type thing that was half buried in the June eruption.
I took my place on a 3 month old boulder to watch the mountain for signs of lava. After about 10 minutes my guide shouted excitedley and pointed towards a red hot clump of boulders working their way down the mountain. It did look pretty amazing. And you could hear it too. An intermittant low crackling sound. It was a really unique experience - unbelievably relaxing being so isolated near the top of a mountain in the middle of the night with the most clear sky imaginable, but slightly terrifying too, what with the big pissed-off volcano spitting out red hot boulders in all directions. After 1/2 hour or so watching this, we made our way down, and began the drive back to Yogya.
written by
olliejohnson
on October 9, 2006
from
Yogyakarta
,
Indonesia
from the travel blog:
A man from Cockshutt.
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Mount Bromo
Probolinggo
,
Indonesia
View of Mount Bromo from the edge of the large crater
The next morning I climbed into another minivan for the first leg of my trip through Java back to Bali. The other passengers were a French couple, a French Canadian, and a short fat hairy middle-aged Frenchman, who did actually smell, and wore incredibly short shorts. Of course, I ended up stuck in the back of the minivan with fatty. The air-con was broken too. On top of this, the floor in front of me was so hot from the engine underneath, that if I tried to take my flipflops off I got scorched. So, we cooked. And I would describe the smell given off by Frenchman, as something akin to when someone stuck a tuna sandwich in the heater in the English demountable at school, after a few weeks in situ.
The bus stopped after a couple of hours, and without a word, we pulled up over a mechanics' pit, and a couple of guys got out a blowtorch and some spanners and got to work. 1/2 hour later, we were back on our way, and eventually got to our hotel in the pitch black and freezing cold (due to the altitude) at around 9:30.
We were visiting Mount Bromo; another active volcano. Only this one was a lot more picturesque, and a lot less volatile - Bromo is quite happy just sitting there smoking away and looking good. So this means that you can climb all the way to the
Crater
's edge and have a peek down.
Close up of Bromo itself
Bromo is actually only one of 3 side by side volcanoes, which are all located inside the
Crater
of an old super-volcano. It was from this super-volcano's edge that we were to get our first peek and photo-opportunity of Bromo at dawn the next morning. And it really was a spectacular sight, with a thin layer of mist covering the massive plain within the
Crater
, only punctured by the 3 peaks in the centre. As the sun grew stronger and the mist began to recede, you could just make out the temple at the foot of Bromo, and it was towards this that our jeep headed next.
View back down from Bromo's crater towards the temple
It took about 5 minutes to travel across the plain in the jeep, just from the edge to the centre. It was a surreal landscape to travel through - completely flat and desolate from
Crater
edge to volcano. No trees, no features, just dusty grey sand underfoot.
A look down into Bromo's crater
We got out by the temple, managed to avoid all the locals trying to get us to use horses for the walk, and made our way to the
Crater
's edge. Looking in, it was a sharp drop down into the centre, but it wasn't that deep. There was a crack right at the bottom, perhaps only a few metres wide, though which the clouds of smoke were pouring. The sulphur in the air here was pretty strong, and after a while walking around the
Crater
you could really feel it getting in your nose and throat; so I only lasted about 15 minutes up there before heading back down.
We got back to our hotel on the larger
Crater
's edge in time for breakfast, and were on our way to Bali by 9. We were supposed to arrive in
Denpasar
in Bali at 7pm. We finally pulled up at the bus station around midnight.
written by
olliejohnson
on October 12, 2006
from
Probolinggo
,
Indonesia
from the travel blog:
A man from Cockshutt.
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End of the road
Kuta
,
Indonesia
I decided that I'd take a few days off from doing anything when I got to Kuta (the tourist/backpacker haven in the south of Bali), and spent the time sleeping, eating and going to the beach. I had 2 weeks in which to accomplish more, and had great plans to travel the Island, and maybe even brave the 11 hour trip to the Gilli Islands just off Lombok. However, I'm ashamed to admit that I haven't even left Kuta these past 2 weeks. I simply couldn't be arsed (plus the fact that I was so pissed off by the constant harrassment from taxi-drivers and moped people offering transport, that I decided I'd start a one-man stand against them). I've been caught in a coma enduced by excess sleep, cheap food, cheap beer and baking hot weather.
The sun sets on Kuta Beach
So, accomplishments during the last 14 days:
-I've kept a pretty regular sleeping pattern
-This has been composed of the main sleep at night, and early afternoon kip (usually just after lunch) and an early evening kip (between 6-8pm)
-I've managed to become a regular at a sports bar. When I arrive, all I need to do is pull up my stool, and a cool Bintang will already be waiting for me
-I've found a quiet restaurant down a back-alley that puts on Family Guy every time I come in
-I've worked on my tan
So, other news from Bali...
Over the past few days Kuta has been invaded by Japan. Luckily for me and my natural aversion to hard work, the invaders are tourists, and as far as I know, have no desire to annex Bali in a violent coup, round up all the residents and foreigners and begin a brutal regime. But that's only as far as I know...
A game of football on the beach
Anyway, the snap-happy little chaps have given the town a little more life, as it's been remarkably quiet until now. Speaking to people that have been visiting Bali for years, I've found that it's been as quiet as this pretty much ever since the first bombing. The second one last year really was a hammer blow. The backpacker party scene has now moved to Thailand.
Symbolism. A final sunset
Well, apologies for the lack of variety in photos. As I mentioned above, I haven't actually seen anything interesting, so I just took a stroll down to the beach for sunset last night and snapped away.
I'm off to Melbourne in about 10 hours to begin my mission to make 'birthday friends'. The big day itself is next Thursday, and as of now, I have 0 people to celebrate it with.
So, that's it. End of the road. No sooner do I make it as the posterboy of Blogabond, then my reign at the top is cruelly cut short. Just like James Dean, Jimi Hendrix and Kurt Cobain. Except that I won't actually be dead of course. Having said all that, I'll probably write one more blog in a week or 2 from Melbourne. Just to let everyone know how I'm settling in.
written by
olliejohnson
on October 28, 2006
from
Kuta
,
Indonesia
from the travel blog:
A man from Cockshutt.
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Getting settled in Melbourne
Melbourne
,
Australia
The Yarra - which runs through the centre of Melbourne
I’ve been here in Melbourne just about a month now, so I thought it was about time that I wrote something about what I’ve been up to. The only problem is the complete lack of photos to add to this entry - I keep on forgetting to take my camera out with me when I do go out, and I’ve been too busy/lazy to go on a photo-taking tour of the landmarks. So, sorry about that.
I arrived in Melbourne from Bali in shorts, t-shirt and flip-flops in the mistaken belief that it would be warm in Australia approaching summer. Turned out that it wasn’t. For about the first 2-3 weeks it was actually bloody cold. And to my utter dismay the fates conspired to continue the trend of it always raining on my birthday.
Cathedral with skyscrapers
I spent the first week in the ‘Ritz for backpackers’ hostel, which was ok - the main benefit was that the bar underneath the hostel was the one that hosted the weekly ‘Neighbours Night’ (where you get to meet 3 stars of the show.) It was on my first visit to this, that I met a couple of guys who would be my companions for the next couple of weeks - Rhys and Filipo (the later an Italian with a hilarious Essex accent). Law graduates from Oxford, they were spending a few months travelling before they started their first jobs. This information gave me great hope for the quiz that takes place at Neighbours Night (which we think had a first prize of $200). We came second. Gutted. A few pints of beer and snakebite later and I was in real trouble. Luckily, the stars (Skye, Dillon and Ned) had disappeared by this point, so I was in no risk of making a t**t out of myself in front of anyone famous. Which is surely the main concern on any night out.
The Melbourne skyline by the Yarra
A week later, I had no desire to go again, but the boys assured me it would pay for itself - we would obviously win the quiz this time. We’d go there early, get good seats - not miss a trick. I was encouraged when Rhys randomly bumped into a couple of girls from their course. More Oxbridge intelligence, and being girls, they’d be able to answer questions on Netball and stuff too. I was happy with a team of 5 - $40 each. Then the problems began. The girls each had a drunken bloke in tow, and they had a couple of friends too. 9. $21 each. Then 2 more randoms. And the drunk blokes were on their mobiles, making it bloody obvious to all and sundry that we were cheating. We clearly got busted - we only got a few questions wrong, yet didn’t even figure in the top 5. However, meeting Stefan Dennis cheered me up. Especially when he made an absolute fool of himself asking the audience to sing the chorus of his one ‘hit’ with him to an uncomfortable silence, with the odd interjection of a drunken shout. The others on show were Elle and Stingray.
As I mentioned before, I celebrated my 24th birthday soon after my arrival. I went out in the evening with Rhys and Filipo and managed to score a free meal - a descendant of distant family of Filipo’s lived in the area, and wanted to meet him, so we went out for an Italian meal. This guy had a son who was a promoter of the biggest student nights in the city, so we were taken to one of these and were given free beer for the first couple of hours. Sweet!
I sorted out some proper accommodation in my first week here - I’ve got a room in a house-share. Which seems to be pretty much a bedsit. I get my own room, fully furnished, with all bills included, and have to share a bathroom and kitchen. Only problem is the lack of a lounge. But considering some of my housemates, this is probably a blessing in disguise. There’s 15 of us in the house - with 4 couples sharing rooms. There’s 2 hippy couples, who’ve headed off this weekend to some hippy festival, a big gay Cook Islander (who’s as camp as Christmas) and a hideous pair of middle-aged lesbians (one of whom I actually thought was a bit mental when I first met her, but then I found out it was that she was batting for the other team. Which explained a lot. And I genuinely think she’s an alcoholic too.) The one bright light in all of this is an American girl who works in a pastry shop. Every night that she works, she brings us back a dozen or so pies and pasties. Obviously I make sure I get my fair share, having to compete with the fat Cook Islander and a massive Kiwi bloke who usually snares at least 3.
Federation Square - a collection of strangely shaped buildings in the city centre make up this weird little area
The room is ok once you get used to it - the only problems being the sink which backs up a lot, leaving bits of food floating in it and a strange smell, and the discovery today of a mouse (whom I’ve named Bruce). I’d heard some scrabblings before, but I’d assumed it was from outside. Turns out not. Also, the kitchen isn’t blessed with amazing utensils. There’s now only one bowl to go around the whole house. There was one knife, but that has now disappeared too. I’m having to butter my toast at the moment with the back of a spoon (which actually works pretty well.)
Statue of The Don, outside the MCG
I’d been looking for work for almost a week, money was getting a little tight, when I landed a job doing pretty much the last thing that I’d ever willingly choose to do. Door to door sales. It wasn’t such an intimidating prospect - just trying to get people to change electricity companies. In the 2 days of training, we were told the opportunities would be endless and the money would be awesome. $25 a sale, and we’d be making anything from 6 - 8 sales a day (working a 6 day week). The only thing that would hold us back would be ourselves etc etc. Well, the top-selling rep, an Irish guy with the gift of the gab who’s been doing the job for a year manages 8 sales on a good day, 4 on a bad day. The other reps that have been there for 6 months manage 5 sales. This is all before tax of course. So the money wasn’t actually that good unless you were really experienced and a really good, enthusiastic salesman. Enthusiasm, if you know me well, is something I struggle to bring to the surface much. I think any charm that I have is….well, more of a slow-burner. Personally, I’m quite suspicious of enthusiastic people. Why the hell are they so pumped? Why are they always so happy?? They must be hiding something. Or slightly mental. I just wish I had a tranquiliser gun so I could calm them down when they were around me. So, you can imagine my delight in being trapped in the back of a small car for ½ hour every morning and evening, with the most hyper 17 year-old you can possibly imagine. And this was from first thing in the morning to late in the evening, after a long day of work. After a while of listening to her jabbering on about her life story, we all grew to just sit there and tune her out. Her response to this was to actually sit there and talk to herself. And not just a monologue, but a dialogue. She would ask and answer her own questions. Crazy, crazy girl.
St Kilda beach
I found the job actually not that bad, though I found it difficult to really push people into making the decision to change and sign the contract there and then, which was the only option we were allowed to give them. If we made less than 2 sales a day, we were given a ‘safety cushion’ of the equivalent of 2 sales anyway - $50. Which, after paying for my accommodation, transport and food left me with FA for a day of walking around and taking abuse. So, after almost a week of this, I decided enough was enough, hit the job agencies hard, and have now got an hourly wage ($19.50) working at a call centre. This might sound as bad as door to door, but it isn’t sales, only information from a company the customer is already with. So it should be ok, and it’ll be nice to finally get some money.
Not sure what this is a statue of. But there's a nice palm tree next to it
Melbourne itself is a really cool place. I’m living in St Kilda which is just outside the CBD, and there are lots of really nice bars and shops nearby. Only, I don’t have any money to spend in them. The weather here has definitely improved over this last week, hitting the mid 30’s at one point, and my weird housemates are trying to fire up the BBQ in the yard at any opportunity at the moment. I’m just missing the shrimp at the moment. But as soon as one does cross my path, you can be assured that I’ll throw it straight on the Barbie.
written by
olliejohnson
on November 25, 2006
from
Melbourne
,
Australia
from the travel blog:
A man from Cockshutt.
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Rude wombats and leaving Aus for Christmas
Melbourne
,
Australia
The big Christmas tree in the centre of Melbourne
Two months ago I was sat in an internet café in Bali, whiling away some time looking at flight deals on the web. I came across one from Sydney to New York over Christmas at a pretty good price. Not thinking much more of this than perhaps to give it a surprised ’huh!’, I mentioned it briefly later when I spoke to Angela (my girlfriend), and joked that I could come over to see her for Christmas. It was brought up when we spoke again, and became less ‘wouldn’t it be good if…’, and more ‘should we do it?’. As is the way with these things, the day I went online to book it, the deal had gone. Luckily we both have amazing parents who wouldn’t want to see their lovely children unhappy, so with lots of help from Mr and Mrs Nyhout and Johnson, I’m heading off to Canada on Tuesday - to return to Sydney mid January. So I get to have a proper white Christmas instead of one on the beach with a BBQ (and of course I get to spend it with someone special!) I can’t say I’m too disappointed missing out on the sunny Christmas - like all the other British people I’ve met recently, I have to say that I don’t feel remotely Christmassy yet. The adverts are on, people are talking about it; but I’m just not feeling it.
All the nativity stars together for the final scene
I’ve finally made it out and about with my camera - so I’ve got a few photos of Melbourne at Christmas. My favourite thing is the window display at the department store, Myer. Apparently it’s traditionally a big deal, but I’m not sure if it usually contains the sort of thing that it has this year - a nativity play, but with Aussie animals (though spiders, snakes and crocs are noticeably absent). The story centres around ‘Wombat’, and his attempt to find a role in the nativity play - Possum has already shotgunned the role of Mary, with the Kangaroos taking the 3 Kings, and the Koalas the Shepherds. Clearly the casting director must have been high on the job, as it is only in the penultimate scene that Possum points out that no-one has taken the role of Jesus yet. So, wandering past this scene, you are given the fairly bizarre sight of clothed animatronic marsupials, re-enacting the birth of Christ.
Flinders Street Station - the historic train station in the centre
Last time I wrote, I’d packed in the door-to-door job, and was just about to start work at a call centre (another job that only financial desperation would force me into.) It actually wasn’t all that bad - and I got a good few weeks work out of it. It was at a company that gave information to shareholders in various companies - I saw myself as a bit of a Charlie Sheen - in Wall Street type character. But without the sharp suit and mountains of cash.
Wombat attempting to be the Archangel Gabriel. Unfortunately, he was too heavy...
In the past couple of weeks I’ve seen the first familiar faces for a few months - Nina and Andy. Had a really nice week catching up and getting fed the much-hyped Tanner risotto. And today, another meeting of note - finally caught up with Murph Jr, Tay, Colly and Erin for lunch, and a chat about their travels. It was great to catch up girls, and I hope the rest of your travels are as much fun as they’ve been up to now. I was delighted to see Murph Jr waking Murph Sr up in the middle of the night to speak to me on the phone - though, ideally, this would have been done on a week night. Murph Jr also informed me that the Wombat nativity play has been slightly controversial in Melbourne, as apparently it’s a bit too sexual - the animatronic animals look, to certain strange observers, as though they’re humping each other. Hmmm.
Oh yeah - the Ashes. Can’t say I’ve been enjoying it that much so far. The only thing that brought a smile to my face - apart from KP’s superhuman exploits, was when Warne was picked up on the stump microphone calling Bell ‘the Shermanator’ (as in American Pie).
So, I need to get off to start packing for my next international travels. I set off from the hostel on Tuesday at about 7:30am, and I’ll finally be with Angela 2 ½ days later when she picks me up from Buffalo train station. So, I’ll hopefully be writing my next entry from Canada. I’d like to take this opportunity to wish all my family and friends a very happy Christmas!
written by
olliejohnson
on December 17, 2006
from
Melbourne
,
Australia
from the travel blog:
A man from Cockshutt.
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A bloody long journey
New York
,
United States
The Stock Exchange gets into the patriotic Christmas spirit
Having taken my own sweet time to get to
Australia
from home, the journey from Melbourne to New York was something of an eye-opener. After the short flight from Melbourne to
Sydney
came the 13 hour behemoth to L.A. The 4 movies shown during this time still left 5 hours to fill with many failed attempts at sleep. Arriving in L.A. a little disorientated, I was knocked sideways by the full-on Christmas cheer at the airport. Strangely, it reminded me of Die Hard 2 (Die Harder). Without being led by the hand to the gate where I was supposed to take my transfer flight to New York, I soon found myself walking out of the airport, where I was accosted by a tramp. Does anyone else understand why tramps always manage to find themselves Santa hats at Christmas? Anyway, this tramp wanted to help me out. Too confused to fob him off, I had to accept any help I could get. Even if it was from someone too drunk not only to walk straight, but to form coherant sentences, and who smelled like he'd been rolling around in raw sewage. Sadly, even in this state, this man was more reliable than my own sense of direction. After pointing me in the right direction, he, of course, expected payment. Unfortunately for my Christmassy friend, I had no dollars on me. He assured me that he would be happy to accept any currency I had on me. Judging by his reaction to my stuffing several notes into his palm, I can only assume he's not aware of the current
Laos
Kip - $ U.S. conversion rate.
The Empire State Building
I caught the flight to New York without any trouble, and got to my hostel in Manhattan by the late evening. Woke up fairly early the next morning, and with the train to
Buffalo
not leaving till the mid-afternoon, I had a few hours to take some photos of the better-looking landmarks. After 8 hours on the train heading up alongside the Hudson, I got to
Buffalo
, and finally met up with Angela, and met Mr Nyhout (Angela's Dad). I was smuggled over the border (well, the guy assumed we were all Canadians and didn't check our passports), and we arrived in London,
Ontario
at about 1am.
written by
olliejohnson
on December 19, 2006
from
New York
,
United States
from the travel blog:
A man from Cockshutt.
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The other London
London
,
Canada
Me and Montreal from Mont Royale
In South-western Ontario, nestled halfway between Toronto and Detroit, and in one of the most southerly points in all of Canada, lies a little city called London. Only it's not all that little - it's home to roughly 350,000 (proudly laying claim to being Canada's 11th largest city), and one of the biggest and best uni's in Canada. But, like (I expect) most people on the other side of the Atlantic, I'd never heard of it until a year ago. So, some more London facts: it wasn't founded until 1823; has the most thunder and lightning storms of any area in Canada; the 'London Ribfest' is the second largest rib festival in North America; and last but certainly not least, claims 2 Miss Universes in the last 25 years! Oh, and a famous son, Ryan Gosling, is up for Best Actor at this years Oscars.
Me and Joey the kitten
I arrived here a few days before Christmas to a very warm welcome in a very festive house. I could not have been happier. After the lack of Christmas build-up in Australia, it made a real change arriving somewhere with not only a decent amount of decoration, but also the appropriate weather for the time of year. And arriving in the house a couple of days after me was Val's (Angela's little sister) 'secret' Christmas present to the family - an 8 week old kitten. Naming it that night, Val had to be dissuaded from naming it after a helper at her school and local Ice Hockey Star, Jordan Forman. Not just calling it Jordan, but the full 'Jordan Forman'. After Val turned down several alternate suggestions point-blank, she came up with the inspired choice of "Joey from friends", which was shortened to "Joey".
Bastien the New Year Turkey - dressed to kill.
The only problem was the lack of (promised) snow. But, even though I missed out on a white Christmas, I still ended up having an infinitely better one than I had anticipated when I left home last August. I had a proper traditional Christmas week - meeting lots of (Angela's) relatives and friends, opening lots of presents, doing the last minute Christmas shopping, and even having a chat with Him upstairs for the first time in years, with a Christmas Eve visit to church. And I even got a shout out from the vicar at the start of the service.
After seeing in the New Year in London, me and Angela headed up to Montreal to spend a few days observing the French, and chasing the snow. However, Montreal was in the midst of one of the warmest winter spells in ages, with temperatures up to a relatively mild 11 Degrees C. It took a hike up Mont Royale to discover my first Canadian snow - though it was old, iced-up snow that looked as though it could do with a bit of a clean, it satisfied my snow-lust at least temporarily.
Me revelling in my first sighting of snow in Canada
On top of Mont Royale, which overlooks the city, in between the patches of dirty snow, was an outdoor ice-rink. Having ticked 'seeing snow' off of my Canadian to-do list, I decided it was time for another challenge. So, strapping on the skates, I swallowed my pride and set out on to the ice, knowing that there were few places on earth that I would be shown to be an outsider quite so easily and made to look such an idiot so effortlessly. Happily, with my human stabiliser in hand, I only actually fell over once. And with the appearance on the ice of toddlers that could barely walk, having to push midget-sized zimmer frames in front of them to prevent them from falling over, I at least was able to get the better of someone on the ice. Though that still left everyone capable of forming a sentence to fly past me. And some that weren't.
Angela in a snow storm
Returning to London, my due date to fly back to Aus was rapidly approaching, and never one to be aware of outstaying my welcome, I jumped on Angela's suggestion that I try to rebook my flight - delaying it by another couple of weeks. This would also give me the chance to experience a proper snowfall - and for the last week or so we've had some on pretty much every day. I hadn’t really realised before that there were different types of snow. As far as I was aware, there was snow , and ice, and if you really wanted to break it down even further, there was snow that ‘stuck’ or ‘settled’, and snow that just melted. Judging this later category was an inexact science though, and was usually done in the past tense ie. “looks like that was settling snow”, or “turns out it wasn’t settling snow”. Well, apparently that list isn’t exhaustive - I’ve discovered ‘packing’ and ‘powdery’ snow. Eager to get outside and build a snowman, I’ve had the news broken to me that the snow outside is powdery snow. Apparently, the sort of snow I need is packing snow. If I’m going to do it properly, it seems my snowman is going to have to wait awhile.
written by
olliejohnson
on December 20, 2006
from
London
,
Canada
from the travel blog:
A man from Cockshutt.
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Crazy Old women
Niagara Falls
,
Canada
The Canadian (better) Falls
Last weekend, Angela and I headed off to Niagara Falls, which is only a 2 hour drive away from here. I thought it would be nice to see the Falls in Winter, which it was, but it was also bitterly cold, and snowing heavily. Luckily our hotel was just a street up from the Falls themselves, and right next to the Rainbow Bridge (which takes you over the river into America), so our time outside was fairly short, though we still got to walk up to the Canadian Falls, and over the bridge for a few minutes in the USA. The main highlight of our trip however, was not one of the wonders of the natural world. It was, in fact, an old lady in a casino.
Angela and the American Falls
After we’d managed to gamble away the tiny amount that we’d decided we could afford, we grabbed dinner in a restaurant inside the casino itself. As we came out, there was a live band playing covers of loads of old songs. We stopped to watch them for a short while, and only after we’d been there for a couple of minutes did I notice a tiny hunched bundle of clothes, swaying in time to the beat at the front of the stage. Only, on closer inspection, it turned out to be a little old lady (who looked as though she was at least in her late 80’s), perched on the front of the stage with her little legs dangling down in front of her. She was wrapped up unnecessarily snugly in the heat of the casino, refusing to do so much as ditch the headscarf. To complete the old Granny look, she had her knitting to one side of her. The only thing that made her stand out quite as much as she did, and that had led to a fairly sizable crowd to form in a semicircle around her, was the fact that she was playing along with the rest of the band. On her walking stick. That’s right, a little old lady, knitting to one side, was perched on the edge of the stage playing air guitar on her walking stick. And it wasn’t something that she’d decided to do just for a second or even a minute. She spent the next half an hour strumming along to the music, with jaw set and a steely glint of determination in her eye.
An icy tree and the American Falls
After the band took a 10 minute break, they returned with even cheesier songs, such as “Hey Mickey“, and “Like a Virgin”. The little old dear could no longer keep seated. She had to get up and dance (though still playing air guitar on the walking stick). And she wasn’t prepared to do this on her own. She started stalking the crowd of onlookers, turning like an oil tanker before setting course and approaching her pray with an uncomfortably slow sense of inevitability, and pulling her victims in to dance with her. It was while she was in the midst of this crowd interaction that I saw her slowly turn to where me and Angela were standing, and ease on the accelerator. Like in that scene in Austin Powers where the guard gets run over by a steam-roller, I saw this coming from a long way off, had plenty of time to act, and yet felt rooted to the spot. Snapping myself out of this trance, I tried to dart around the corner, only to feel Angela holding on to my arm, tugging me back. “She just wants to dance with you!” My eyes must have shown my blind terror at the thought of not only having to attempt to dance sober, but having to do so in front of a massive crowd of people with a crazy little old lady, who would just stand there playing the air guitar on her walking stick.
A frozen bush and the American Falls
With hindsight, perhaps I should have explained this at the time to Angela. It certainly wouldn’t have been hard to at least have given a slightly more eloquent response than the one my terrorised mind came up with: “F**k that!”. I yanked my arm back and ran to hide behind a slot machine. Yes, a large group of people had just seen me run away from a little old lady, but at least here, crouched behind a slot machine, I was safe. I gave it a couple of minutes before I slowly peeked around the corner. And there was Angela, with a couple of other girls, dancing with the old lady. Feeling slightly ashamed of myself, I crept my way towards her around the back of the crowd. She soon spotted me, and started edging her way away from the old lady. Luckily she didn’t seem remotely pissed-off at me for deserting her. “I just couldn’t run away from her and leave her like that.” I shook my head, and said, “Canadians,” as if that explained it all. We watched a few more victims get sucked into join her ladyship, and then made our way back to the hotel.
written by
olliejohnson
on January 20, 2007
from
Niagara Falls
,
Canada
from the travel blog:
A man from Cockshutt.
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Around the world in 180 days
Cockshutt
,
United Kingdom
The first proper snowman of my trip
Due to staying in Canada and missing my flight back to Sydney, I suddenly found myself without any travel plans. Flights between Canada and Australia are bloody expensive round trip, but one way are even more so. Another consideration was that I needed to return to England at some point before next September in order to get my working holiday visa for Canada. So, it seemed to make quite a bit of sense for me to do that now, and then head back to Aus. I found a cheap flight from Toronto to London (check airtransat out for good deals to/from Canada) and arrived back in the middle of last week. Having escaped temperatures of -15 C (-28 C with wind chill) in Toronto, I brought the cold weather back with me, and a big snowfall arrived during my first night back in the country. This finally gave me the opportunity that had been cruelly denied me for the entire time that I'd been in Canada; to build a proper snowman. I was staying with my brother at the time, and we headed out first thing with his dogs to take advantage of the snow before it melted. As I began rolling up the first ball, I was delighted to find that I was using the only type of snow I'd ever known until my recent excursion in North America: good old British packing snow. Unfortunately, coal was in short supply, and searching our pockets for suitable replacements, we had to rely on dog treats for the snowman's features; but a fine figure was created none the less.
Back in the Cock
That weekend, I finally saw Mr and Mrs J again, about 8 months before they were expecting to see me. Clearly, both were delighted, if a little confused, and I'm now taking full advantage of the goodwill back home in Cockshutt. I'll be here for the next 6 weeks or so (which is about how long the visa process takes,) before heading back off to Australia.
So, after just over 6 months, I'm back where I began. The first part of my travels is over, which will, of course, mean the end of this particular blog. In a couple of months, if I've found anything interesting to write about, then I might just start a new one.
For now, the length of time I'll be here makes getting a job an unfortunate necessity. Working 9-5 back in the Shrews. Back to earth with a bang.
written by
olliejohnson
on February 9, 2007
from
Cockshutt
,
United Kingdom
from the travel blog:
A man from Cockshutt.
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1 comment...
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