A Warm Reception

"There is in the world, no greater host than an Australian" (Slavin, 2012).

I've currently been in Australia for two weeks and can say definitively that the above statement is a universal truth and it is one which gives me great pleasure to have learnt and share with you all.

I arrived in Sydney, Australia on the 19th December and met with my family Down Under - the proximity of kinship ties vastly closening when backpacking around the world - and was greeted with my first experience of Australian hospitality. It was wonderous and I thank each one of the Blumbergs for being so kind, generous and welcoming to 'that hairy pommy bloke' who turned up in Lindfield.

After several days of sightseeing Sydney; visiting the Opera House, Cockatoo Island, Bondi Beach, Manly, several museums, amongst a number of daytime and nightime visits to the city's many gems, I left Sydney's wettest and coldest winter in 60 years, took the train westwards and headed for rural Victoria to see how the Victorians were at this whole hospitality, letting-me-stay-for-free-and-giving-me-all-I-could-possibly-ask-for, thing.

Now if you ask anyone from Sydney what to expect of such folk, 'bogan', 'feral' and 'why on Earth are you going there' seem not to be uncommon replies. Yet I'll refute all such terms and say wholeheartedly that rural Victorians are the most hospitable people I've ever met. I arrived in Benalla, waiting to be picked up by the Collins of Coomboona and proceeded to spend the next 4 hours lying on a bench in the 35 degree heat (a cool day down these parts) talking with two very chatty locals. I might as well point out here, that chatting is one thing Australians are very good at. If you're the type of person who likes to sit and read, who likes a brief conversation of polite nicities followed by silence, I would advise you to not come to Australia. If however, you enjoy talking about everything and nothing, sharing anecdotes and witty asides, talking politics and football (that's AFL not soccer), I would recommend you went online, buy at ticket, start some oral exercises (again, no laughing at the back) and switch your brain on for many hours of insightful, varied and continued conversation. 

In the eight days I've been in Victoria, I've spent two days on a houseboat in Echuca, provided with exquisite company, three-storied luxury accomodation, a rooftop hot tub with more beer than I could dream of consuming; multiple days in Bendigo where 'stay for a drink' inevitably seems to always turn into dinner, drinks, accomodation and a further invite to spend New Years Eve together; several lunches, dinners, drinks and day trips to Moama, Kyabrum, Shepparton, Mooroopna and of course, eight days in the superb hospitality of Sally Collins and the ever-generous Collin's household.

I simply can't exagerate when I talk of Australian hospitality, they very much are the reality of all that I've described and more. Sure, there will always be bad eggs, what with rural Australia known for quite a fair few brutal kidnappings and murders of backpackers - just watch Wolf Creek, actually a true story - but I have to say that I have been greeted with nothing but warmth, kindness and generosity. I'll most assuredly be sad to leave.

But travelling is, well just about that, travelling, and in two days time I'll pack my bags again, try and say a thank you worthy of the hospitality I've recieved, hit the road once more, paint my forehead with the label of 'backpacker' and head down to the parochial cafes, bars and beaches of Melbourne.

To everyone who has given me reason to make all the above conclusions, I sincerely thank you for every moment of generosity, every hour of conversation and every beer handed my way... It has all been immensly appreciated and I hope to return all that I've recieved when you find yourself my way.

Many thanks & to everyone a very Happy New Years

- Love -

A regular morning in Coomboona: Loosing a wrestling contest with a 14 hour old calf.

A trip into the Blue Mountains

Yesterday, along with the wonderful company of my new found Australian cousin, Lauren, I headed West of Sydney for a day into the Blue Mountains; an area of forestland, mountains and waterfalls covering an expanse of 10,000km2. After a brief drive and a few interesting anecdotes from our tour guide - which I will momentarily pass on - we arrived on Flat Rock, a sandstone cliff ledge where evidence of Aboriginal toolmaking can be found. Aborigines, although you'll struggle to find such details unless you directly ask, have lived in Australia for over 22,000 years and have left their mark, quite literally in this case, in nearly every pocket of the country. I would, however, not think anything less if you spent a holiday here, a few months here, or even a lifetime without knowing anything more than what I just said, since the 18th century and colonialism sought to enlighten their primitive ways, create the country anew in the image of crown and country and as such 'history' seems to have only began 200 years ago here. Now although Aboriginees seem a largely forgotten people here, forming a social underclass in contemporary society, parts of their oral, story-telling history seems to have been maintained - not celebrated but maintained - in what unfortunately looks more like a tourism scheme than a celebration and appreciation of their way of being. If any of you have been to Uluru, you might understand what I felt when observing the gratuitous, over-commercial visitors' centre overlooking The Three Sisters. Uluru, the most sacrosanct of Aboriginal landmarks is akin to that of the Western Wall, Mecca and the Vatican for other cultures, yet as far as I know, passing tourists are forbidden to climb on such structures and make inappropriate photographs... Yet in perhaps the most metonymic of statements of how Aboriginal culture is thought upon here, you are most welcome to try your hand at both such tasks. And so I found myself yesterday,  looking out at The Three Sisters thinking of all of the above and the vulgarity of touristic voyeurism before me. Once however, Lauren and I took off on a cliff top walk, away from the crowds, the sheer scale and beauty of the park was simply overwhelming and we found our pace slow incrementally with our cameras at hand, the viewpoints before us and the stunning scenery that surrounded us. 


Now folks, time for a little anecdote. Although it pains me to tell it, since it means gratifying the knowledge of the most condescending man I've ever had the displeasure of meeting, it's rather an interesting one - so here you go:


In the eternal debate of whether the left is right or right is right, in matters of automotive transport, I can finally conclude the ongoing battle. So, let me start by saying the left is undeniably the right way to go about driving. Let us start with a little experiment shall we? How many of you are left handed here...? Yep, so we're largely looking at a majority of right-handers if I counted correct - and that seems to be more or less the norm worldwide. So imagine travelling a few hundred years ago, across a dusky mud-track, horses saddled and carts affixed. Now these roads weren't always the most friendly of places. These tracks, not all that wider than a single carriage, would progress on the centre of the road and when coming upon a vehicle travelling toward them in the opposite direction, would often have to exercise caution and determine the threat of the oncoming persons. Given that not all were the most friendly of gents, horseman and carts would cautiously move to the left hand-side, wield their sword in expectancy of attack and all things settled, return to the centre once again. It would seem that before Napoleonic emergence, almost every country and countryman did as above, using the left-hand side. But of course, in opposition to anything British in nature and like all men with height deficiency, a will to leave a lasting mark on all that he touched, Napoleon changed such a system and spread the right is right way of road travel to all corners of his colossal empire. However, one has only to look at Japan - and I remember having the discussion as to why they drive on the left just a few days ago with friends - and note that the country despite British or French influence has always historically utilised the left-hand side of the road. It would seem that logically, historically and apolitically the left is assuredly in the right but with Napoleon's vast reach, the world remains 65% illogical and very much in the wrong. Just another anecdote that leaves us all thinking "damn those frog-faced bastards".

Merry Christmas and lots of love x

G'day Australia

G'day all!


After a remarkably easy flight, I've now arrived in Sydney and all the rumours, to my utter astonishment, are true. They quite literally walk around on their heads here. I didn't believe it at first, thinking it to be some mass flash mob or street act, but - and I can't believe I'm saying this - they really do. Everyone I've so far met has been wearing khaki shorts and a wide brimmed hat, a machete-sized knife attached to their hip and all appear to have an over-enthusiastic attitude to their native wildlife. What's more, in what I again was amazed to discover, the health ministry rather than provide zimmer-frames and walking sticks for the elderly and lesser abled, has given such folk each a didgeridoo to use for balance and I guess in an attempt to maintain aboriginal culture, something to practice upon when they need a break from their strenuous walking.  Put that all together and then when you realise a conversation with an Aussie seems to be an eternal loop of saying g'day and good on ya, you'll quickly realise that stereotypes are in place for a reason, that they're not vicious rumours but are in fact inalienable truths based upon heightened descriptions of reality...


So, I'll try my hardest to stand on my feet, to not let the blood rush to my head, loose my sanity and join these bizarre antipodeans.

- I'll be in touch soon -
xx

Goodbye New Zealand - I'll see you real soon.

And just like that, I leave New Zealand, say fare the well, bid you all a heartfelt goodbye and vow to see you rather soon. To all the people who have made NZ such an unforgettable place, I can say I already miss you and I thank you for all the happiness you've given me. From Fairy Card readings, to 5 a.m. singing sessions, deep discussions to comical stupidity, I have had a hugely wide and varied experience here - and each and every one of you has made it something I will carry with fondness for the rest of my days.  From those I spent weeks with, to those I only had a few hours, I send the warmest of wishes from afar and await with a smile for the next time we can see each other. I hope it's sooner rather than later.


My journey now takes me across the Tasman Sea to Sydney, Australia and marks further new beginnings and adventures. 


I'm most definitely not yet done with you New Zealand, so expect an arrival back soon. But for now, I'm open to you, Australia, to give your very best shot... So do your best and I'll let you know how you faired in a few months time.


From New Zealand to Australia, I'll maintain my informative writings, witty asides and stunning photography - well I'll do my best - so stay tuned, keep an eye out and I'll try and update as often as possible.

Keep on keeping on,

Peace and love.

xx

Nugget Point to Surat Bay

Hello my little ones,

I thought I'd take you on a little tour through the southernmost bays of New Zealand and throw some history into the bargain for good measure. So, jump onboard all, strap in and we'll get going.

Our first stop takes us to Nugget Point and if you all exit on the left, you'll see the beautiful beaches, cliffs and Fur Seals basking in the sun on the rocks down there. Yep, this used to be a huge Whaling and Sealing station, encouraged by the huge migration of Scottish and Scandinavian seamen - no laughing at the back. It is today, of course, an illegal profession and this area for good measure is now a marine reserve, where you can't even take a little fishy for your fush 'n' chups. Ah, if you guys look to your right, you'll see the area where settlement first grew around here. The early houses were typically made with mud floors and as you can imagine they got quite a fair bit dirty. So, to keep the house in good nick, they'd grab this plant here with the wide leaves, what's called 'broom' - and yep that's a foreign import brought with the Scots as they came over - and they'd used it to brush the dirty out the house... hence the name for those wooden handled bristly ended things. Right that's about it for Nugget Point, so if you jump back on the bus, we'll get some feed and head to Cannibal Bay.

Hope you're all good in the back there. Give us two minutes and we'll park up here and have a look at Cannibal Bay. The story goes that James Hector, a marine biologist, came down here about twenty years back to study what they now call Hectors Dolphins just off the coast and came across human remains stuck in the sand dunes just to the right down there. They did some tests and found the remains to be human, dating a few hundred years ago and with a bit of puzzle solving, realised they date to the same time of a recorded war between two Maori tribes. After a brutal battle, the victorious tribe ate the remains of their vanquished - to absorb their power and strength - and the bay has since been named Cannibal Bay. So yep, rather a gruesome story to this one.

Now a little way on, we'll get to Surat Bay and there's bit of an infamous story to that one too. Surat Bay, was named after the ship which ran aground there on New Years Eve 1874. As the evening progressed, the Captain headed below deck to his quarters to 'entertain' several female guests he had over. Needless to say, he rather neglected his duties - to the boat that is - and they consequently ran aground...not that the Captain was in any fit state to deal with Captaining duties. The 2nd mate took control, called the emergency services and with the chaos above, the Skipper came around enough to surface just as they arrived. In the commotion, he reached for his musket and shot out at the 'invading' emergency rescue, before a sobering expereince of court mashall, imprisonment and public shame... That's one New Years Eve, he'll never forget!

Onwards we go! We'll take a short walk down onto the beach here and see if we can find any of the Fur Seal colony which summers here. A word of caution; the Seals can grow up to 350kg and run at a speed of 25km/h, so let's all keep our distance alright? Ah yep, yep... there's one...let's get a little closer. Yep, this species is native to New Zealand and were almost hunting to extinction a few years back, with their population diminished to 80% of its size. They're now on the endangered list and are steadily increasing in numbers, with a huge abundance of squid and crayfish for them with the coastline also now a marine reserve. They spend most their day fishing, swimming up to 200km offshore for food and 60m deep at times and there we go, here's a nice looking one for you to have a look at...Isn't she just the looker.

Righto, from here if you all pop back on we'll head down to Owaka and have a pie and coffee. Owaka, here, is home to 'Teapotland' and 'Dollyworld' and with a population of 300, things get a little bit crazy here on a Friday night. While you pop in for a bit of feed, do check out the chainsaw art at the front - all native New Zealand birds there - and they're all pretty impressive.

All good? Have a bite and we'll head out here shortly and push on for some more sights.

- Standby -

Sunset at Queenstown

Milfound Sound in photos

A small dose of Kiwi history

How's everyone doing today?


I realised I haven't passed on too much about Kiwi history - so I thought I'd give you all a bitesize portion of European migration and its story here on the South Island.


So we're looking at earliest the 1840s, to about the 1860s - when a whole number of British and Scottish folk were offered the opportunity for a one way ticket to this new land and 200 acres in their own name, all for the sum of £35. Conditions were pretty bad back in the UK at those times and it seemed a very exciting prospect to many - but if you put yourself in their shoes, and please for a minute do, consider the trepidation they must've felt leaving Britain, never to return again, to live in a country they know little about, where most of them were left with nothing, giving all that they have - and many in debt - to pay the £35 price.


After a 3 month journey by sea, where an average of 15% of the migrants died on the way - with as much as 50% of lives lost at times - they arrived, picked up their map detailing their allocated plot of land and set off for a two or three week hike through the bush to find their new abode. When they found their plot and looked up, most were confronted with dense rainforest and swamp and had to go about the teadious task of clearing their land for the next two or three years. Now understand that these brave, or foolish men depending which way you look at it, were entirely dependent on their land for sustenance and accomodation. For the years it took to clear their pastureland, they were therefore at the mercy of the local money lenders, accumulating vast amounts of debt in return for food and supplies. Until they had cleared their land, they had no way to feed themself, nowhere solid to build a home and with the winter temps here, it can't have been a jolly existence. Understandably, many quit upon seeing the vast amount of work needed to clear forest into farmland, and joined the gold mining industry when that erupted around the same time.


However, many persisted, many came over and many mixed the local tribes - where nearly all Maoris today have European decent in their bloodline - and with the Treaty of Waitangi 1840, the Europeans and native Maoris signed a contract to live together harmoniously in one land...

So that's a brief glimpse into European migration - I hope it was insightful and you have a new found respect for the intrepid few who ventured into the abyss and left all behind in search for a better future. Althought the conditions must've been tortourous, life extremely simple and the weather soul destroying, their decendents have, as a result, what I reckon to be one of the greatest countries in the world.

I read recently, that the vast majority of Britons said they held no pride in their own nation. Now although Britain today is largely falling into the proverbial shit, I reckon these brave few expeditionaries are something to look upon with an immense sense of pride. They headed to distant lands in search of a greater future for their subsequent generations, were confronted by seemingly impossible tasks - and what's more excelled - and now have created an island that in many ways seems the Britain we tried to create but never quite managed. Everything here is improved. The landscape is as if some grand architects had an open debate and created a tick list of must-have features for the country, then went about forming every possible variation in environment, one could imagine. With fjordlands, sounds, white beaches, bushland, fertile soil, rainforest, mountains, glaciers, waterfalls, hanging valleys and rivers to name but a few, these architects somehow managed to fill these relatively small islands with a landscape as close to eden as I've yet to experience. And considering they are relatively small islands, it is even more astonishing that all the above details seem so grand in their design, so vast and inspiring, competing with any environment in the world in beauty, awesomeness and wonder.

It's incredibly tempting to join the ranks of those early explorers, like them buy that one way ticket, join the ranks of those fortune fellows who can call themselves Kiwis and continue their legacy...

It is very tempting indeed...

Dunedin: Speight's Brewery Tour

Dunedin, a city in the southeast of the South Island is home to the University of Otago, Cadburys World and Speight's Brewery. Needless to say, after short tour of the city, its history and sights, I prompty signed up for a tour of the brewery and waiting in anticipation for what I dreamed would be the Willy Wonker experience of beer... I was not let down.

Speight's beer, the true New Zealand beer is the southern man's choice. If you have a look at any of the hundreds of adverts (all variations on the same theme), you will quickly learn than only real men drink Speights and that is simply oozes testosterone. See below for link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1lR1sEn8nMI

With that in mind, I headed to the brewery and was greeted by a Kiwi tour guide with the driest sense of humour I've yet to experience - and if you've met any Kiwis, you'll realise that's a fairly bold statement. The tour consisted a sixety minute tour of the milling process, the factory layout and the history of beer itself - concluding of course with an all you can drink bar with all Speight's brews on tap.

So, here's what I learnt...The factory brews 330,000 litres of beer per week, producing 21 different blends and runs 24 hours per day 6 days a week. The milling equipment they use was British produced (nice), and has been in operation for over 70 years - and considering the amount of beer they make every day, that's pretty good going.

If you were interested to know, Captain James Cook, that explorer bloke, was the first man (or woman for that matter) to brew beer in New Zealand, using a blend of coastal plants to help cure his crew of scurvy. Also, if you every wondered where the word 'booze' came from, look no further, I shall tell. Amongst many different rooms of beer history, we came across a copy of an Ancient Egyptian brewer's tomb and the hieroglyphics found therin. It depicted how the Egyptians discovered beer by allowing bread to ferment for a few weeks in water and a description of the drink's side effects. And as is written, the drink was called 'booza' or 'booze' - so... yeah, there you go. 

After an hour of multiple displays and a whole heap of brewing information from coopers to hoppers we were invited into our own private bar and the eight of us on the tour were kindly asked to 'taste' (not drink) all the different blends which Speight's so carefully brews. Thirty minutes later, and a lot more 'drinking' than 'tasting', I can definitely say, the tour is worth the money, is hugely insightful and is also horrifically endulgent.

Good on ya mate.

A trip even further south

Dear all,

Let me start with some friendly advice and do take heed when I advise each and every one of you to never, and I repeat never, visit the town of Westport, New Zealand. After four days spent on the idyllic beaches of Kaiteriteri and the picturesque landscapes of the Abel Tasman National Park, I headed further south to the small, sleepy and somewhat apocalyptic time of Westport - but I'm getting ahead of myself. The town hardly warrants mentioning and I think you'll struggle to find it noted in any written form - most likely because all that visit are suddenly struck with stupidity and a disabling sense of apathy to carry on - yet for those very reasons I feel it my duty to write, inform and warn all those that find themselves thinking 'oh Westport, I wonder what that's like', to never have to experience its depressive wrath. For now, however, I'll do my best to fill you in from where I left and that winds us back to just over a week, as I packed my bags once again, jumped on the bus from Wellington and headed south across the waters to explore the marvels of that island they cleverly named the South Island of New Zealand.

Right, well for all of you that weren't aware, New Zealand does in fact consist of two main islands. There are also quite a few surrounding blobs of rock that fly the Kiwi flag high, but for now we'll focus on these two. Up until now, all that I've written has taken place on the North Island, with my last post in Wellington being the last stop before heading over the watery gap to the lesser populated, ever-more-dramatic South Island. After a ferry ride that makes the Channel crossing look like a woman's unshaven armpit, I spent the day travelling through the towns of Nelson and Richmond before disembarking for a four day stopover in Kaiteriteri. Kaiteriteri - Mauri for grab food and run really fast, the repetition of a word in Mauri signifying emphasis - is somewhere I would recommend to any that have the opportunity. The limestone cliffs, white sandy beaches and small friendly towns are surrounded by dense rainforest and steep mountainsides, creating a picture-perfect postcard moment in pretty much every spot you find yourself in. I spent the four days in the wonderful company of Amy and Angela, the three of us meeting on the ferry-ride over, and with good company and an idyllic setting, had a rather blissful few days. I took the first day to explore and proceeded on what was a by any account a very long walk, before spending the second shut in by heavy rain, reading and doing our best to bake with the limited hostel supplies we had between us. The third, we woke at 5 a.m. to catch the sunrise and by six, were making tracks toward the national park for another day's walking. After another long days hiking, we put our feet up in the afternoon, sat on the beach and tasted a bottle of red, which grew just a few kilometers away. 

After what were an almost perfect few days, we headed to the aforementioned town of Westport. Arriving around six in the evening, we were confronted with a stark contrast to the blissful days of Kaiteri and were abruptly faced with a town that by all measure was plain and simple horrible. Shortly after arriving, a few of us took the streets to stretch our legs and see what Westport had to offer. As you might have guessed, we were inordinately disappointed. It once was, as you can quickly tell from the many sculptures and single museum, a coal mining and a reasonably influential town in the surrounding area. Those days have long since passed and what's left is an overwhelming feeling of decline, decay and depression. The town resembles that of Scooby-doo episode, where no matter how far you walk, the same three houses repeat over and over without exception, finally concluding with a ghost-like figure revealing itself mumbling nonsensical rubbish under its breath, in fashion with the rest of zombie-residents that dwell there. Its parochialism does lend to humour for the casual observer and as such Westport, for me, wins 'Best Noticeboard of New Zealand 2011'. Walking into the only open shop at 7 p.m., I bought a coke to raise my sugar levels above the zombifaction which appears to have taken hold of all that live there and stumbled across the following hand-written note mixed in with 'car for sale' and 'small cosy room for let' cheap print outs that littered the noticeboard. It read as follows '4 year old girl wants 2 lambs for Christmas. She will be spoilt.'...Only in Westport. Yet with that as my only source of amusement, I headed to bed early and was glad to leave early the next day, vowing never to return again.

After another small-town stopover at Lake Mahinapua, we headed for Franz Joseph and the snow-capped mountains of the Southern Alps. The views on arriving were utterly spectacular. We were immediately confronted with the grandeur of the South Island and with snow-topped mountains in the background and a welcoming town in the foreground, I felt an overwhelming sense of contentedness to be there, a feeling most definitely added to by the knowledge I was now a long way from Westport shudder. After spending the evening in hot pools and relaxing, we awoke the following day for another early start and a day on Franz Joseph Glacier. The glacier is the fifth largest in New Zealand, with its tongue stretching over six kilometers and its basin covering an area of twenty-five square kilometers. In other words, it's pretty damn big. In addition to being vast, it's also one of the fasting moving glaciers in the world, reaching speeds of ten to eleven metres per day. My words can only paint a limited picture, however, so below for reference, is the view I first saw when approaching the glacier - pretty breathtaking. 

After an hours walk over rock, we hit ice, fixed our crampons and started our way through the maize of glacial tunnels, waves and arches. In total we spent six hours hiking on the glacier, reaching at most, half of the way up the tongue (what you can see in the photo). Movement on the glacier is impossibly slow and disorientating and walking the length of the tongue takes some nineteen odd hours to complete - quite a mean feat. So, I was content with our effort and to be honest, I didn't really care what distance we covered, since as you will shortly see, the beauty was to be found in the hidden crevasses, pathways and tunnels, in its secluded secrets and marvels, not only in its overall grandeur. Anyhow, enough talking, here's some photos for you.

Six hours and one hundred and fifty photos later, we detached our crampons, walked into town and spent the evening celebrating a friend's birthday in a local restaurant. As far as days go, it ranks pretty high and I was sad to leave the quaint and scenic town. From there, we headed through the Haast Valley - again jaw-droppingly beautiful (the South Island has a habit of doing that to you) - to our destination for 3 days, the lakeside town of Wanaka. I've been here for one day so far and I can honestly say I've yet to come across a place I like more. It really comes as close to perfection as I have so far experienced - but I'll wait until next time to detail everything that makes this place so incredible.


Well, I think that's enough for now. I hope the combination of text and photos were to your liking and I'll be on again soon to keep you all updated. So until next time, I wish you all the best and pass on the following words of wisdom...

when you want to look cool - pose with a pick-axe.

Until next time all, keep on keeping on.

Kia Ora.