A while ago (well, two years ago if we're being accurate) I posted an old account of the time Mrs Wife and I were travelling around Vietnam.
Because I'm lazy and I was a better writer when I was a 23-year-old layabout than I am now that I'm a 29-year-old layabout, here's an account of when Mrs Wife and I first arrived in Australia in late 2003.
Happy New Year from Perth! Hope everybody had a good Hogmanay despite what I hear were hurricane-like weather conditions on the East of Scotland.
For the record, both New Year's Eve and New Year's Day were scorching here. As this is the start of the Ozzie summer, temperature is steadily rising, so although Xmas Day's 32 degrees seemed pretty darn hot, the temperature is now nudging 40 degrees almost every day, so it can almost seem unbearable - at least until I remember that the alternative is driving home from Aberdeen in the dark during a blizzard - then the ice lollies and sunbathing don't seem as bad....
Anyway, life in Perth is good. It's a lot smaller than I expected, especially after arriving from Bangkok, Kuala Lumpur and Singapore, but it's a lot more manageable than those three cities, and a lot more chilled out. We've been here since the 20th of December, and in that short space of time I have already had three different employers.
Finding work hasn't been that easy, our visas restrict us to three months in a single job, so employers tend to shy away from travellers. My first crack at employment was in a small cafe in the middle of Perth run by a psychotic Chinese woman called Nancy (that was what first set the alarm bells ringing, Chinese people aren't called Nancy, they're called Ng and Chan and things). The place was staffed almost exclusively by illegal immigrants, from places as diverse as Yugoslavia (the mysterious and suspicious Dragan - potentially evading war crimes charges I think), Ben from Taiwan (has now overstayed his visa by three years) and assorted other Orientals with all the warmth and endearing qualities of frozen vomit.
After a four-hour trial spent avoiding Nancy's death stare as much as possible, I was offered the job for $12 an hour, which Nancy assured me was a great wage. Which it is in British terms (almost five GBP an hour) but the minimum wage for waiters in Oz is $15ph. I also knew that if I had to work there for two months, there would either be a raid by the Department of Immigration, or I would end up knocking Nancy's head in with a coffee pot, so I politely declined her offer.
My second stab at earning some cash was scrubbing campervans near the airport. Although it sounds like a pretty crappy job, it paid $14ph (about six pounds), was outdoors in the sun, and the people were pretty sound. But there wasn't enough work to last all the employees, so it was a case of last in, first out, but I at least got three days out of this one.
And now we're both working for a telemarketing company, trying to sell mobile phones. There's a base rate to ensure we don't starve, but most of the money is made through commission, so we'll see how it goes. We're both looking for better jobs though. Personally, I'm just waiting for the job advert seeking an immediate vacancy for a roving music journalist on $100,000 a year....
Aside from the jobhunting, we haven't really done very much since we arrived, partly due to having nae cash, and partly because our time here has been interrupted by Xmas and New Year. We spent Xmas in the hostel, with a champagne brekky by the pool and then a full Xmas dinner and Xmas supper.
It was good to spend the day lazing round in the sun, and generally mucking round in the pool. We were out in Perth on Hogmanay, our hostel is in the 'trendy' area of Northbridge (imagine Camden in London or The Grassmarket in Edinburgh, but with more pissed British people and no rain and you're getting close), so we spent the night at the street party there, walking between the stages and through the huge crowds until the fireworks.
So now we've moved into a flat with a couple of Ozzies, business student Tim and Journalism graduate Leah, and we're trying to save a bit of cash to buy a car and keep on moving. Hope everybody is fully recovered from the festivities and glad to be back at work.
Showing posts with label Travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Travel. Show all posts
Monday, September 28, 2009
Monday, December 01, 2008
Tag-A-Thon
It's been a while since anyone on the worldwide interweb decided I was worthy of tagging, so thanks to Billy The Kid for this one, for which he was tagged by Rantz.
And this one's simple - five things about me.
1. I have no middle name. Mither never liked the fact that hers was her mother's maiden name, which isn't a standard girly-type name, and so decided that Baby Brother and I wouldn't have middle names. Which means that my real name has, in total, seven letters.
2. I've visited 21 of the world's countries (24 if you count England, Scotland, Norn Iron and Eire as separate nations). My first foreign trip was an exchange trip to Germany with the school in 1994, which also took me to Belgium and the Netherlands, sailing into Zeebrugge and out of Rotterdam.
3. The most recent new addition to the list above is Norway, which I visited with work in August. Stavanger reminded me of the town from The Goonies, albeit with more drunk Norwegians and £9 pints.
4. My first football match was Brechin City v Rangers for Dougie Scott's testimonial match in 1991. If memory serves correctly (and it probably doesn't) Brechin won 6-4. Ian Durrant scored a penalty for Rangers as he made his slow comeback from his horrific injury.
5. If I could only watch one DVD on repeat for eternity, I'd probably pick the first disc from the Fawlty Towers box set. Familiarity should really breed contempt, but not in this case. Communication Problems is actually funnier with every subsequent viewing.
Now, who to tag? Like Billy, I'll pick three of my favourite Scottish bloggers - The Tomahawk Kid, Big Rab and Mike Smith from Auld Reekie Rants.
And this one's simple - five things about me.
1. I have no middle name. Mither never liked the fact that hers was her mother's maiden name, which isn't a standard girly-type name, and so decided that Baby Brother and I wouldn't have middle names. Which means that my real name has, in total, seven letters.
2. I've visited 21 of the world's countries (24 if you count England, Scotland, Norn Iron and Eire as separate nations). My first foreign trip was an exchange trip to Germany with the school in 1994, which also took me to Belgium and the Netherlands, sailing into Zeebrugge and out of Rotterdam.
3. The most recent new addition to the list above is Norway, which I visited with work in August. Stavanger reminded me of the town from The Goonies, albeit with more drunk Norwegians and £9 pints.
4. My first football match was Brechin City v Rangers for Dougie Scott's testimonial match in 1991. If memory serves correctly (and it probably doesn't) Brechin won 6-4. Ian Durrant scored a penalty for Rangers as he made his slow comeback from his horrific injury.
5. If I could only watch one DVD on repeat for eternity, I'd probably pick the first disc from the Fawlty Towers box set. Familiarity should really breed contempt, but not in this case. Communication Problems is actually funnier with every subsequent viewing.
Now, who to tag? Like Billy, I'll pick three of my favourite Scottish bloggers - The Tomahawk Kid, Big Rab and Mike Smith from Auld Reekie Rants.
Monday, September 08, 2008
Nae Bather
Recently, I was a passenger on an Aberdeen bus.
Given that I had a hangover and had had only a few hours' sleep, I didn't have the Magic Tune Box pumping its wares into my lugs.
Because I didn't have the Magic Tune Box on, I was subjected to the conversations of the passengers around me.
As the bus passed through the Altens industrial estate, a black man alighted on the bus, a huge white grin greeting the passengers before him.
He was barely in his seat when his phone rang.
It became evident fairly quickly that this latest arrival on the bus was from Nigeria. And that we was deeply religious.
His first word upon answering the phone was "Hallelujah" - he was evidently delighted to hear from the caller, whom it transpired was his pastor from Nigeria, who had returned to Scotland the previous night.
None of this is the reason why the man struck me as unusual - although devout Christians from Nigeria aren't ten-a-penny in Aberdeen.
What struck me was the man's accent. He spoke in a broad, sing-song Nigerian accent - but his speech was littered with words and phrases heard only in the northeast of Scotland.
On several occasions I heard him say "Nae bather" (that's baa-ther, not bay-ther), "bra" (as in good, not over the shoulder boulder holder) and, at the end of his conversation, "cheerio".
I don't know why it's stayed with me since then, but I found the conversation comical, and I only heard half of it. Maybe I was still drunk....
Given that I had a hangover and had had only a few hours' sleep, I didn't have the Magic Tune Box pumping its wares into my lugs.
Because I didn't have the Magic Tune Box on, I was subjected to the conversations of the passengers around me.
As the bus passed through the Altens industrial estate, a black man alighted on the bus, a huge white grin greeting the passengers before him.
He was barely in his seat when his phone rang.
It became evident fairly quickly that this latest arrival on the bus was from Nigeria. And that we was deeply religious.
His first word upon answering the phone was "Hallelujah" - he was evidently delighted to hear from the caller, whom it transpired was his pastor from Nigeria, who had returned to Scotland the previous night.
None of this is the reason why the man struck me as unusual - although devout Christians from Nigeria aren't ten-a-penny in Aberdeen.
What struck me was the man's accent. He spoke in a broad, sing-song Nigerian accent - but his speech was littered with words and phrases heard only in the northeast of Scotland.
On several occasions I heard him say "Nae bather" (that's baa-ther, not bay-ther), "bra" (as in good, not over the shoulder boulder holder) and, at the end of his conversation, "cheerio".
I don't know why it's stayed with me since then, but I found the conversation comical, and I only heard half of it. Maybe I was still drunk....
Sunday, August 24, 2008
North Then South
The week ahead promises to be a busy one, with a spot of jet-setting preceding a weekend of music and pear cider in Argyll.
Tomorrow I fly out to Stavanger with five colleagues for the Offshore North Sea conference. I've never been to Norway before, so the novelty factor alone will make it an interesting trip, although the fact that I have to work while across the North Sea will take a little of the shine off.
Still, it's another corner of the world I'll be seeing for the first time, and it certainly beats three days stuck in the office.
I'm home alone at the moment as I prepare for my trip, Mrs Wife having left Dungroanin' on Thursday bound for Edinburgh and Cardiff, the former to take in some festival shows and the latter to see REM for the first time.
I'll arrive home from Scandinavia late on Wednesday night, and after a day in the office on Thursday, I'll be away to Inveraray for the second Connect Festival, where the bill this year includes Kasabian, Manic Street Preachers, Gomez, Franz Ferdinand and, most exciting of all from my point of view, Elbow.
Last year's festival felt like a well-kept secret, but I would imagine that this year's line-up will mean that a bigger crowd turns out. Still, as long as the weather holds and the pear cider is flowing, I'm sure it'll be another weekend to remember.
Tomorrow I fly out to Stavanger with five colleagues for the Offshore North Sea conference. I've never been to Norway before, so the novelty factor alone will make it an interesting trip, although the fact that I have to work while across the North Sea will take a little of the shine off.
Still, it's another corner of the world I'll be seeing for the first time, and it certainly beats three days stuck in the office.
I'm home alone at the moment as I prepare for my trip, Mrs Wife having left Dungroanin' on Thursday bound for Edinburgh and Cardiff, the former to take in some festival shows and the latter to see REM for the first time.
I'll arrive home from Scandinavia late on Wednesday night, and after a day in the office on Thursday, I'll be away to Inveraray for the second Connect Festival, where the bill this year includes Kasabian, Manic Street Preachers, Gomez, Franz Ferdinand and, most exciting of all from my point of view, Elbow.
Last year's festival felt like a well-kept secret, but I would imagine that this year's line-up will mean that a bigger crowd turns out. Still, as long as the weather holds and the pear cider is flowing, I'm sure it'll be another weekend to remember.
Friday, August 22, 2008
No Slow Train Coming
At some point yesterday afternoon, there was a landslide that covered a section of the East Coast Mainline between Stonehaven and Montrose.
As I understand things, ScotRail became aware of the problem around 4pm.
I arrived at Aberdeen railway station at 4.30pm, intending to catch my usual 4.41pm train home to Montrose. I was allowed to board the train as normal, and as usual it was fairly close to being full, with only a few seats free.
No announcement was made to tell passengers there was a delay until 4.50pm, and at that point we were informed that this was simply a delay.
At around 5.30pm we were told to get off the train as substitute buses would be running from Dundee onwards, and that separate buses would transfer passengers to Stonehaven, Montrose and Arbroath as required.
The announcements made over the station tannoy system were inaudible, leaving hundreds of passengers milling around the station concourse, joined each minute by new arrivals unaware of the problems.
Finally, all passengers bound for Edinburgh and Glasgow were urged to move outside (into the pishing rain) to queue for substitute buses. Everyone else was informed they should wait in the station.
Having waited until 6.30pm, I went out to seek further information. I asked a ScotRail employee whether any buses were running to Montrose, to be told "Oh, it's just left".
No announcement was made to the scores of passengers inside the station. There were still hundreds of people queuing on Guild Street in the rain, waiting for buses they were assured were "on the way".
I decided to stay in the queue, in case another Montrose-bound bus should appear unnanounced. While waiting, I got talking to the three people beside me, who were trying to get to Edinburgh.
At around 7.45pm, one of the women I was talking to set off to find more information. She returned around 8pm to inform me that a member of ScotRail staff was gathering a group of Montrose-bound passengers to travel in a taxi.
Thankfully, I managed to grab a space in the taxi, which left Aberdeen at 8pm, three-and-a-half hours after I had first arrived at the station, and I finally got home just after 9pm.
It is safe to say that I have never had the misfortune to deal with a company as disorganised, poorly managed and generally useless as ScotRail. At least three members of staff in Aberdeen station were truculent, moody and sarcastic when asked for information.
If the company is stripped of its operator's licence, it won't be a moment too soon.
As I understand things, ScotRail became aware of the problem around 4pm.
I arrived at Aberdeen railway station at 4.30pm, intending to catch my usual 4.41pm train home to Montrose. I was allowed to board the train as normal, and as usual it was fairly close to being full, with only a few seats free.
No announcement was made to tell passengers there was a delay until 4.50pm, and at that point we were informed that this was simply a delay.
At around 5.30pm we were told to get off the train as substitute buses would be running from Dundee onwards, and that separate buses would transfer passengers to Stonehaven, Montrose and Arbroath as required.
The announcements made over the station tannoy system were inaudible, leaving hundreds of passengers milling around the station concourse, joined each minute by new arrivals unaware of the problems.
Finally, all passengers bound for Edinburgh and Glasgow were urged to move outside (into the pishing rain) to queue for substitute buses. Everyone else was informed they should wait in the station.
Having waited until 6.30pm, I went out to seek further information. I asked a ScotRail employee whether any buses were running to Montrose, to be told "Oh, it's just left".
No announcement was made to the scores of passengers inside the station. There were still hundreds of people queuing on Guild Street in the rain, waiting for buses they were assured were "on the way".
I decided to stay in the queue, in case another Montrose-bound bus should appear unnanounced. While waiting, I got talking to the three people beside me, who were trying to get to Edinburgh.
At around 7.45pm, one of the women I was talking to set off to find more information. She returned around 8pm to inform me that a member of ScotRail staff was gathering a group of Montrose-bound passengers to travel in a taxi.
Thankfully, I managed to grab a space in the taxi, which left Aberdeen at 8pm, three-and-a-half hours after I had first arrived at the station, and I finally got home just after 9pm.
It is safe to say that I have never had the misfortune to deal with a company as disorganised, poorly managed and generally useless as ScotRail. At least three members of staff in Aberdeen station were truculent, moody and sarcastic when asked for information.
If the company is stripped of its operator's licence, it won't be a moment too soon.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Art Of Noise
The first thing that struck me when I stepped on Chinese soil for the first time was how quiet it was.
Given that the population of Shanghai is estimated at between 16 million and 25 million people, this may seem a strange admission, but there's a reason for it.
In a piece of bureaucratic genius, all Chinese people take their holidays at exactly the same time.
Which means that, when the holidays arrive, 1.3 billion people take to the roads, rails and skies and trample merrily across their vast country in seek of a break from their day-to-day lives.
It also means, as our host Paul pointed out, that all Chinese transport hubs need to be 10 times the size they would be if the government-approved holidays didn't exist.
And so it was that Mrs Wife and I arrived at Shanghai's new(ish) Pudong airport, where it seemed that our flight was the only one that was arriving or departing.
The baggage reclaim hall was eerily quiet. The queues for immigration control were minimal and efficient in a "why are you coming to China?" way.
But, having cleared customs, we were given our first taste of real Shanghai.
Firstly, the heat blasted through the open doors of the terminal building. I've been in hotter places in the past, but not for a while. I shouldn't need to point out the climatic differences between Aberdeen and southern China.
But a much stronger force hit us as we walked out into the arrivals hall - the racket generated by any group of Chinese people.
From my observations, I think the Chinese may be the loudest nation on Earth. If something can be done, it seems that the Chinese ethos is that it should be done as noisily as possible. If a car has a horn, lean on it while you drive. If your scooter sounds louder if you rev the engine harder, make sure you rev it to its limits, preferably while blasting away on your horn as well.
And this mentality extends to all walks of life. If you're meeting someone at the airport, shout at them from the moment you see them. If everyone else is shouting as well, just shout louder - you'll win eventually.
I'd been to crowded cities before we visited Shanghai, amongst them Hanoi, Bangkok, Singapore, Sydney, Los Angeles, New York and London. None of them are even in the same league as Shanghai.
As I've already said, China is a nation of 1.3 billion people. And wherever you go, it feels like half of them are there with you.
Get on the bus, and you'll be lucky to get a seat (even luckier if someone moves out of your way so that you can sit on the empty seat beside them). Attempt to take the subway and, if it's a busy period (ie between 6am and 9pm), you'll be squeezed against three Chinese guys, all of them fiddling with their PSPs, all with the volume turned up full, all playing different games.
Visit a restaurant, whether a traditional Chinese eatery or a KFC or McDonalds, and you'll fight through a scrum of hungry punters, then find yourself seated next to a party of eight playing drinking games at the top of their voices.
Frankly, Shanghai is bedlam. Practically everywhere you go in the city centre, someone is attempting to sell you something, whether a "long kite", a fake rolex or pirate DVDs.
But despite the madness, it's a place with its own charms - from the futuristic Pudong skyline to the relaxed charms of the French Concession and the good-humoured banter of the antiques market in the Old Town.
There are plenty more tales to come from our Shanghai experience - stop me if I'm boring you....
Given that the population of Shanghai is estimated at between 16 million and 25 million people, this may seem a strange admission, but there's a reason for it.
In a piece of bureaucratic genius, all Chinese people take their holidays at exactly the same time.
Which means that, when the holidays arrive, 1.3 billion people take to the roads, rails and skies and trample merrily across their vast country in seek of a break from their day-to-day lives.
It also means, as our host Paul pointed out, that all Chinese transport hubs need to be 10 times the size they would be if the government-approved holidays didn't exist.
And so it was that Mrs Wife and I arrived at Shanghai's new(ish) Pudong airport, where it seemed that our flight was the only one that was arriving or departing.
The baggage reclaim hall was eerily quiet. The queues for immigration control were minimal and efficient in a "why are you coming to China?" way.
But, having cleared customs, we were given our first taste of real Shanghai.
Firstly, the heat blasted through the open doors of the terminal building. I've been in hotter places in the past, but not for a while. I shouldn't need to point out the climatic differences between Aberdeen and southern China.
But a much stronger force hit us as we walked out into the arrivals hall - the racket generated by any group of Chinese people.
From my observations, I think the Chinese may be the loudest nation on Earth. If something can be done, it seems that the Chinese ethos is that it should be done as noisily as possible. If a car has a horn, lean on it while you drive. If your scooter sounds louder if you rev the engine harder, make sure you rev it to its limits, preferably while blasting away on your horn as well.
And this mentality extends to all walks of life. If you're meeting someone at the airport, shout at them from the moment you see them. If everyone else is shouting as well, just shout louder - you'll win eventually.
I'd been to crowded cities before we visited Shanghai, amongst them Hanoi, Bangkok, Singapore, Sydney, Los Angeles, New York and London. None of them are even in the same league as Shanghai.
As I've already said, China is a nation of 1.3 billion people. And wherever you go, it feels like half of them are there with you.
Get on the bus, and you'll be lucky to get a seat (even luckier if someone moves out of your way so that you can sit on the empty seat beside them). Attempt to take the subway and, if it's a busy period (ie between 6am and 9pm), you'll be squeezed against three Chinese guys, all of them fiddling with their PSPs, all with the volume turned up full, all playing different games.
Visit a restaurant, whether a traditional Chinese eatery or a KFC or McDonalds, and you'll fight through a scrum of hungry punters, then find yourself seated next to a party of eight playing drinking games at the top of their voices.
Frankly, Shanghai is bedlam. Practically everywhere you go in the city centre, someone is attempting to sell you something, whether a "long kite", a fake rolex or pirate DVDs.
But despite the madness, it's a place with its own charms - from the futuristic Pudong skyline to the relaxed charms of the French Concession and the good-humoured banter of the antiques market in the Old Town.
There are plenty more tales to come from our Shanghai experience - stop me if I'm boring you....
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Perfect Guide
My Chinese guidebook arrived in the mail this morning, and I've been enthralled by it for the past hour.
I love guidebooks and everything about them. Looking at pictures of far-off lands I intend to visit very soon, reading about the history of a culture so alien to my own that it may as well be from another planet.
Everything about the Lonely Planet guidebooks is measured to perfection - from wide-ranging histories of the countries covered down to miniscule details of where to find a vegetarian restaurant or a laundrette in the smallest backwater town.
Although Mrs Wife and I will only be visiting Shanghai, the book I have covers the whole of China, and I can quite imagine that I'll read the whole thing before we head eastwards.
Opening the book at random places, I find ideas for entertainment in Hong Kong's Kowloon area, details on bike tours of Hangzhou and a recommendation to visit the West Street Bar in Suzhou, which is described as a "three storey bar crammed full of Chinese and European antiques. With its homey ambience, eclectic crowd and friendly management, it's a great place to relax with a beer".
Will I ever enjoy a bike ride around Hangzhou or a beer in Suzhou? Probably not. But just reading about them is almost enough to make me jack in my job and head off eastwards in search of adventure, becoming a perennial traveller.
Almost....
I love guidebooks and everything about them. Looking at pictures of far-off lands I intend to visit very soon, reading about the history of a culture so alien to my own that it may as well be from another planet.
Everything about the Lonely Planet guidebooks is measured to perfection - from wide-ranging histories of the countries covered down to miniscule details of where to find a vegetarian restaurant or a laundrette in the smallest backwater town.
Although Mrs Wife and I will only be visiting Shanghai, the book I have covers the whole of China, and I can quite imagine that I'll read the whole thing before we head eastwards.
Opening the book at random places, I find ideas for entertainment in Hong Kong's Kowloon area, details on bike tours of Hangzhou and a recommendation to visit the West Street Bar in Suzhou, which is described as a "three storey bar crammed full of Chinese and European antiques. With its homey ambience, eclectic crowd and friendly management, it's a great place to relax with a beer".
Will I ever enjoy a bike ride around Hangzhou or a beer in Suzhou? Probably not. But just reading about them is almost enough to make me jack in my job and head off eastwards in search of adventure, becoming a perennial traveller.
Almost....
Monday, March 24, 2008
Heading For China
I've seen a fair bit of this wee planet in my near 28 years wandering about its surface, but at the end of this month I'll be able to add another entry to the list of countries I've visited.
Bouyed by a couple of recent bonuses at work, Mrs Wife and I will be heading off to China for the last two weeks in May, to spend time with an old friend in Shanghai.
Back in the days when Mrs Wife was known as Miss Girlfriend, we set off on a year-long jaunt around the globe, a trip that included visits to several of the countries in Southeast Asis. Unfortunately, financial and time constraints meant it wasn't possible to take in China or Japan, and I've been keen ever since to visit both.
It seems the planets have aligned in our favour this time, as never before have we had the financial wherewithal to visit China at a time when we've got a ready-made tour guide willing to offer accommodation into the deal.
In my western mind, it seems strange to contemplate visiting China without heading to the Great Wall, the Terracotta Army or Hong Kong, but the distances to be covered would make such trips unfeasible given that we have only two weeks in China. Therefore, we are effectively heading to China blind, with no idea of what we will see or do once we arrive.
Our friend, who we met on our round-the-world adventure almost five years ago, has already begun working on an itinerary, so we may soon have a fair idea of what awaits us in a city that I have heard is amongst the most fascinating in the world. That Mrs Wife celebrates her birthday and we celebrate our wedding anniversary whilst there will simply add to the festivities.
So, does anyone fancy a blogmeet in Shanghai sometime in late May?
Bouyed by a couple of recent bonuses at work, Mrs Wife and I will be heading off to China for the last two weeks in May, to spend time with an old friend in Shanghai.
Back in the days when Mrs Wife was known as Miss Girlfriend, we set off on a year-long jaunt around the globe, a trip that included visits to several of the countries in Southeast Asis. Unfortunately, financial and time constraints meant it wasn't possible to take in China or Japan, and I've been keen ever since to visit both.
It seems the planets have aligned in our favour this time, as never before have we had the financial wherewithal to visit China at a time when we've got a ready-made tour guide willing to offer accommodation into the deal.
In my western mind, it seems strange to contemplate visiting China without heading to the Great Wall, the Terracotta Army or Hong Kong, but the distances to be covered would make such trips unfeasible given that we have only two weeks in China. Therefore, we are effectively heading to China blind, with no idea of what we will see or do once we arrive.
Our friend, who we met on our round-the-world adventure almost five years ago, has already begun working on an itinerary, so we may soon have a fair idea of what awaits us in a city that I have heard is amongst the most fascinating in the world. That Mrs Wife celebrates her birthday and we celebrate our wedding anniversary whilst there will simply add to the festivities.
So, does anyone fancy a blogmeet in Shanghai sometime in late May?
Monday, March 17, 2008
Carnage and Cup Finals
Apologies to you all for my shameful lack of recent blogging, but the past week has been fairly busy.
Besides my move from car-bound commuter drone to train-bound commuter drone, I've also attended a working lunch on the fledgling oil industry in Ghana, which was as thrilling as it sounds, and been on a stag weekend in Inverness, a gathering that has left me exhausted.
The look of dismay from the passengers on the train when 30 young men got on, one of them dressed as Superman with a bottle of Lambrini attached to his hand with duct tape, was priceless. There can be no better guarantee that your hopes of a quiet and relaxing train journey from Glasgow to Inverness have been ruined than when a stag party sits down and begins to work its way through countless crates of Stella at 10am.
Our weekend in the Highland capital also included the Inverness Caledonian Thistle v Falkirk football match, which I can safely say is the worst I've seen in many years. That the players on show at the match are amongst the highest-paid in the country is nothing short of scandalous.
Aside from the football, I am legally barred from reporting any other details of the weekend away, as it is common knowledge that what happens on the stag stays on the stag.
My journey home unfortunately clashed with the Rangers v Dundee Utd match, so I was unable to witness the Famous Glasgow Rangers win the first major silverware of the season and continue their push for an historic quadruple. But by all accounts, they were lucky.
Still, better to be a lucky winner than an unlucky loser.
Besides my move from car-bound commuter drone to train-bound commuter drone, I've also attended a working lunch on the fledgling oil industry in Ghana, which was as thrilling as it sounds, and been on a stag weekend in Inverness, a gathering that has left me exhausted.
The look of dismay from the passengers on the train when 30 young men got on, one of them dressed as Superman with a bottle of Lambrini attached to his hand with duct tape, was priceless. There can be no better guarantee that your hopes of a quiet and relaxing train journey from Glasgow to Inverness have been ruined than when a stag party sits down and begins to work its way through countless crates of Stella at 10am.
Our weekend in the Highland capital also included the Inverness Caledonian Thistle v Falkirk football match, which I can safely say is the worst I've seen in many years. That the players on show at the match are amongst the highest-paid in the country is nothing short of scandalous.
Aside from the football, I am legally barred from reporting any other details of the weekend away, as it is common knowledge that what happens on the stag stays on the stag.
My journey home unfortunately clashed with the Rangers v Dundee Utd match, so I was unable to witness the Famous Glasgow Rangers win the first major silverware of the season and continue their push for an historic quadruple. But by all accounts, they were lucky.
Still, better to be a lucky winner than an unlucky loser.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Sleep No More
The end of this week also marks the end of my days amongst the poor car-bound souls making their way slowly into Aberdeen each morning of the working week.
With my employer all set to move to a new city centre office in June, the time has come for me to sell Jagger, my trusty automobile companion, and join the ranks of those taking Virgin's red and silver train into the city instead.
Some of you may wonder why my car is named Jagger. Jagger follows on from Jimi, the first car I used for travelling to work in Aberdeen back in 2003, back when I worked for A Major Engineering Company.
Jimi, a small Rover Metro with two doors and four gears, was an idiosyncratic little beast, prone to bouts of unusual behaviour and erratic performances. Sadly, Jimi is no longer with us, gone to the great garage in the sky.
In comparison, Jagger is a more reliable but slightly less exciting individual, albeit worth a lot more than Jimi.
Anyway, names for cars aside, Thursday will see me sell Jagger to a new owner and invest a substantial portion of my annual salary in a year-long rail pass.
Unfortunately, what this also means is that lie-ins, even for five minutes, will be out of the window. If I'm driving to work and I sleep in, I can make up the lost time on the dual carriageway. But if I sleep in once I've become a proper commuter, the snooze button won't be a viable option.
There may be trouble ahead.
With my employer all set to move to a new city centre office in June, the time has come for me to sell Jagger, my trusty automobile companion, and join the ranks of those taking Virgin's red and silver train into the city instead.
Some of you may wonder why my car is named Jagger. Jagger follows on from Jimi, the first car I used for travelling to work in Aberdeen back in 2003, back when I worked for A Major Engineering Company.
Jimi, a small Rover Metro with two doors and four gears, was an idiosyncratic little beast, prone to bouts of unusual behaviour and erratic performances. Sadly, Jimi is no longer with us, gone to the great garage in the sky.
In comparison, Jagger is a more reliable but slightly less exciting individual, albeit worth a lot more than Jimi.
Anyway, names for cars aside, Thursday will see me sell Jagger to a new owner and invest a substantial portion of my annual salary in a year-long rail pass.
Unfortunately, what this also means is that lie-ins, even for five minutes, will be out of the window. If I'm driving to work and I sleep in, I can make up the lost time on the dual carriageway. But if I sleep in once I've become a proper commuter, the snooze button won't be a viable option.
There may be trouble ahead.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Changing Times
Just as all good things must come to an end, so must all semi-good things.
After a fortnight away from the office, I have returned, the bandages removed from my toes and my butchered feet confined within shoes for the first time since they were sliced and diced by the surgeon's skilled hands.
Undertaking the morning commute for the first time in two weeks meant getting up at 6.15am.
I've said it before, but 6.15am is an ungodly hour to be up and about, even for those of us who don't believe in God.
I mean, Sweet Jesus (hmmm, I should probably rethink my choice of exclamations if I don't believe in God), why do we force ourselves to get up and commute to work when it's still dark?
Wouldn't life be so much easier if we just had a four-hour working day? No early morning or early evening travelling, no waking up long before the cocks have crowed, and no more forcing ourselves to stay awake at our desks.
A four-hour working day without a break. 11am until 3pm. Batter through the work in the time it should really take and be home or in the pub by 5pm.
Well, when I'm Supreme Uber-Leader and Commander of All Earth, that'll be the new rule. Prepare yourselves.
After a fortnight away from the office, I have returned, the bandages removed from my toes and my butchered feet confined within shoes for the first time since they were sliced and diced by the surgeon's skilled hands.
Undertaking the morning commute for the first time in two weeks meant getting up at 6.15am.
I've said it before, but 6.15am is an ungodly hour to be up and about, even for those of us who don't believe in God.
I mean, Sweet Jesus (hmmm, I should probably rethink my choice of exclamations if I don't believe in God), why do we force ourselves to get up and commute to work when it's still dark?
Wouldn't life be so much easier if we just had a four-hour working day? No early morning or early evening travelling, no waking up long before the cocks have crowed, and no more forcing ourselves to stay awake at our desks.
A four-hour working day without a break. 11am until 3pm. Batter through the work in the time it should really take and be home or in the pub by 5pm.
Well, when I'm Supreme Uber-Leader and Commander of All Earth, that'll be the new rule. Prepare yourselves.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Back To School
Tish over at The Kat House tagged me for the Blue Tea Meme. Here are the rules:
“Devise a list of 5-10 courses you would take to fix your life. It’s more fun to be in classes with friends, so include one class from the person who tagged you that you’d also like to take. Tag five.”
Here’s my course schedule:
Car Maintenance - I'll join Tish and her tagger Andrew in the Car Maintenance course. Like Tish, the extent of my mechanical knowledge extends as far as testing levels, changing bulbs, replacing tyres and washing. And I don't do any of those as often as I should. So a course in maintaining my own car would save me a lot of money that I'd otherwise spend in garages.
Guitar - I can play guitar, but very badly. I'm very jealous of those people who can pick up an instrument and rattle off half a dozen tunes flawlessly without having to think too much about it. But maybe the fact that I already think I can play guitar would make me too much of an awkward student.
Singing - If I'm going to take the time to learn to play guitar properly, I should really refine my singing voice so that it is actually a voice worth hearing. Again, my deluded belief that I can actually already sing might be an insurmountable hurdle.
English Literature - When I applied to university aged 18, the two options that most appealed were Journalism and English Literature. Although I chose Journalism back then, and have no regrets about having done so, I'd still like to study English Literature at some point in my life. There are too many great books I haven't read yet, and studying them might give me the impetus to start.
French - I studied German at High School and can still hold a basic conversation. But I'd like to be able to speak another language, so I'll go with French - it would make popping across the Channel a bit less taxing.
I'm supposed to tag five people for this meme, but instead of going down that route, how about I just throw it open to anyone who fancies shot. Just remember to link back here if you do decide to go back to school.
“Devise a list of 5-10 courses you would take to fix your life. It’s more fun to be in classes with friends, so include one class from the person who tagged you that you’d also like to take. Tag five.”
Here’s my course schedule:
Car Maintenance - I'll join Tish and her tagger Andrew in the Car Maintenance course. Like Tish, the extent of my mechanical knowledge extends as far as testing levels, changing bulbs, replacing tyres and washing. And I don't do any of those as often as I should. So a course in maintaining my own car would save me a lot of money that I'd otherwise spend in garages.
Guitar - I can play guitar, but very badly. I'm very jealous of those people who can pick up an instrument and rattle off half a dozen tunes flawlessly without having to think too much about it. But maybe the fact that I already think I can play guitar would make me too much of an awkward student.
Singing - If I'm going to take the time to learn to play guitar properly, I should really refine my singing voice so that it is actually a voice worth hearing. Again, my deluded belief that I can actually already sing might be an insurmountable hurdle.
English Literature - When I applied to university aged 18, the two options that most appealed were Journalism and English Literature. Although I chose Journalism back then, and have no regrets about having done so, I'd still like to study English Literature at some point in my life. There are too many great books I haven't read yet, and studying them might give me the impetus to start.
French - I studied German at High School and can still hold a basic conversation. But I'd like to be able to speak another language, so I'll go with French - it would make popping across the Channel a bit less taxing.
I'm supposed to tag five people for this meme, but instead of going down that route, how about I just throw it open to anyone who fancies shot. Just remember to link back here if you do decide to go back to school.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
The Golden Balls Will Burst
I've never hidden the fact that I think David Beckham is a bit of a fud.
Admittedly, he's a very well-paid fud who has made the most of his limited footballing abilities, honing them so that, at his peak, he was the best right-footed dead ball specialist in the world.
On his day, such as when Beckham booked England's place at the 2002 World Cup with a last minute free kick - to draw with footballing leviathans Greece - he was immense, covering every inch of the pitch and pressing his team mates forwards.
But he's never going to feature in anyone's All-Time World XI.
If the truth be told, I don't actually mind the on-pitch Beckham too much. Despite an irrational hatred of Manchester United (Cristiano Ronaldo and Darren Fletcher excepted) and the deep joy I take from each defeat bestowed upon England's national side, I don't feel the same loathing for Beckham that I do for some other professional footballers (the names Lennon, Bellamy, Thompson and Sutton spring to mind).
It's Beckham's off-field activities that irritate me. For years, he and his real-life, 3D Photoshopped wife have uttered vacuous desires "to break America". Why? Why must they inflict themselves on another country - in fact, another continent? Would it not make more sense for them to continue working in the UK after Golden Balls hangs up his boots, but to live in comparative anonymity in Hollywood?
The simple answer (can there be any other type when it comes to the gruesome twosome?) is no - they cannot rest until everyone on the planet owns a product touched by the hand of one of the Beckhams. Whether a Spice Girls concert ticket, an LA Galaxy shirt or a pair of Police sunglasses, everyone must buy into Brand Beckham.
But before this rant descends any further, the purpose of this post was actually to show some sympathy to David Beckham.
Much has been made of his new trans-Atlantic lifestyle now that he is plying his domestic trade in the United States whilst attempting to recreate his international glories on the battlefields of Europe.
Boo-hoo. Beckham knew what he was doing when he signed his 250 million dollar Galaxy contract.
But when you see the extent of his travelling laid out in front of you, it is pretty formidable. Between September 8 and October 18, Beckham's schedule (presuming he were fit enough to play in all matches, and selected for the relevant squads) is as follows:
Saturday September 8: London
Wednesday September 12: London
Thursday September 13: Los Angeles
Sunday September 16: Los Angeles
Wednesday September 19: Utah
Sunday September 23: Los Angeles
Thursday September 27: Kansas
Sunday September 30: Ohio
Wednesday October 3: Vancouver
Sunday October 7: Houston
Wednesday October 10: Minnesota
Saturday October 13: London
Wednesday October 17: Moscow
Thirteen matches in 40 days, in four countries. For a fully fit professional athlete at the top of his game and his physical peak, that would be a punishing schedule. For a 32-year-old who, after finishing a punishing season in Spain's top flight, travelled straight to America to play for LA Galaxy, whilst also resurrecting his international career, it's impossible. And that's without mentioning the fact that Beckham isn't even really fit enough to finish ONE match, let alone 13. Or the fact that he'd also have training between those matches - ideally at least, although travelling across America, over the Atlantic and around Europe will have a huge impact on that. And on top of all that, he's probably also signed up for countless days of promotional work and advertising campaigns.
For once, I feel sorry for David Beckham.
Admittedly, he's a very well-paid fud who has made the most of his limited footballing abilities, honing them so that, at his peak, he was the best right-footed dead ball specialist in the world.
On his day, such as when Beckham booked England's place at the 2002 World Cup with a last minute free kick - to draw with footballing leviathans Greece - he was immense, covering every inch of the pitch and pressing his team mates forwards.
But he's never going to feature in anyone's All-Time World XI.
If the truth be told, I don't actually mind the on-pitch Beckham too much. Despite an irrational hatred of Manchester United (Cristiano Ronaldo and Darren Fletcher excepted) and the deep joy I take from each defeat bestowed upon England's national side, I don't feel the same loathing for Beckham that I do for some other professional footballers (the names Lennon, Bellamy, Thompson and Sutton spring to mind).
It's Beckham's off-field activities that irritate me. For years, he and his real-life, 3D Photoshopped wife have uttered vacuous desires "to break America". Why? Why must they inflict themselves on another country - in fact, another continent? Would it not make more sense for them to continue working in the UK after Golden Balls hangs up his boots, but to live in comparative anonymity in Hollywood?
The simple answer (can there be any other type when it comes to the gruesome twosome?) is no - they cannot rest until everyone on the planet owns a product touched by the hand of one of the Beckhams. Whether a Spice Girls concert ticket, an LA Galaxy shirt or a pair of Police sunglasses, everyone must buy into Brand Beckham.
But before this rant descends any further, the purpose of this post was actually to show some sympathy to David Beckham.
Much has been made of his new trans-Atlantic lifestyle now that he is plying his domestic trade in the United States whilst attempting to recreate his international glories on the battlefields of Europe.
Boo-hoo. Beckham knew what he was doing when he signed his 250 million dollar Galaxy contract.
But when you see the extent of his travelling laid out in front of you, it is pretty formidable. Between September 8 and October 18, Beckham's schedule (presuming he were fit enough to play in all matches, and selected for the relevant squads) is as follows:
Saturday September 8: London
Wednesday September 12: London
Thursday September 13: Los Angeles
Sunday September 16: Los Angeles
Wednesday September 19: Utah
Sunday September 23: Los Angeles
Thursday September 27: Kansas
Sunday September 30: Ohio
Wednesday October 3: Vancouver
Sunday October 7: Houston
Wednesday October 10: Minnesota
Saturday October 13: London
Wednesday October 17: Moscow
Thirteen matches in 40 days, in four countries. For a fully fit professional athlete at the top of his game and his physical peak, that would be a punishing schedule. For a 32-year-old who, after finishing a punishing season in Spain's top flight, travelled straight to America to play for LA Galaxy, whilst also resurrecting his international career, it's impossible. And that's without mentioning the fact that Beckham isn't even really fit enough to finish ONE match, let alone 13. Or the fact that he'd also have training between those matches - ideally at least, although travelling across America, over the Atlantic and around Europe will have a huge impact on that. And on top of all that, he's probably also signed up for countless days of promotional work and advertising campaigns.
For once, I feel sorry for David Beckham.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
(Not So) Good Morning Vietnam
I recently published a post that harked back to an email I sent to the folks back home whilst travelling around the world in 2003-2004.
The story I posted was that of the exploding Mitsubishi that drained our finances whilst we were in Western Australia and almost forced us to return home just a few months into the trip.
But before that sorry episode (which turned out well in the end), we'd had a far more exciting time whilst in Vietnam.
This email, sent on November 11 2003, had an ominous forewarning of the problems associated with the rain in southern Vietnam:
As Hue is further south than Hanoi, it is currently in the middle of its rainy season. It has barely stopped raining since we arrived here, but when it rains, it is still very hot. The rain can be pretty ferocious at times, and our hotel room is on the top floor of the building, so we are right underneath the roof, and the rain was clattering off the roof and balcony all night.
We were supposed to be taking a boat trip around various tombs and pagodas today, but the Perfume River is too high and fast after the rain last night, so we had to go by car instead. The tombs and pagodas all tend to look the same after seeing 15 of them, but some of them are quite picturesque, depending on the importance of the Emperor buried there.
In the centre of the city is a walled citadel known as the Forbidden Purple City, which was the home of various royal dynasties of Vietnam. The complex is quite large, and was occupied by the Vietnamese royalty until 1945, when they surrendered power to the Vietnamese people (the civil war destroyed much of the city, and the Communists from the north effectively seized power over the whole of Vietnam).
We have one more day in Hue, then we get the train to Saigon tomorrow morning. The journey is almost 24 hours long, arriving 10am on Thursday, which means we only have a day and a half in Saigon before we fly to Bangkok.
But those well-laid plans were threatened when we attempted to make it to Saigon for our flight. The following email was sent from Singapore Airport on November 15:
We have finally made it to Singapore airport from Vietnam, but for a while I doubted we would ever see anything again except the inside of an ancient Vietnam Railways train.
Our train from Hue to Saigon was supposed to take around 23 hours overnight, which we were prepared for. Waking up at 6am to the terrible Vietnamese pop music blasting through the tannoys, we realised that the train was not moving. The train staff spoke no english, so we couldn't find out why.
After two hours, we spoke to a Malaysian-born London man, who informed us that the train was stopped due to water on the tracks ahead. It had been raining torrentially for around two days, in which time about two feet of water had accumulated on the tracks.
After sitting around the train for another four hours, we were informed, again by means of our Malaysian translator, that the train was not likely to move for 12-24 hours.
With flights from Saigon to catch today (we woke up on the train on Thursday) we decided to take alternative measures. Six of us, all from Britain, left the train and walked along the tracks in the pouring rain to a local station, where we managed to ascertain that no taxi would drive through this weather. Instead, we began walking along the main road towards Nah Trang, the closest town of any note, 17km away.
We managed to flag down a local 'bus' - I use the term loosely to describe a van filled with people, crates, baskets of fruit and veg and with bicycles strapped to the roof - which agreed to take us to Nah Trang.
Squashed in amongst all of this stuff, we took around an hour to travel the 17km, but we were eventually deposited at a petrol station in town, where we flagged down taxis to Sinh Cafe, a travel agency which can book flights and buses to Saigon.
The woman in Sinh Cafe told us that no buses were running as bridges were down between Nah Trang and Saigon, but the cafe next door assured us that the roads were clear and that we could make it to Saigon for 4am (this was at 6.30pm).
We decamped to an Italian restaurant for some much needed food, having spent 26 hours on the ill-fated train with only Pringles and biscuits to feed us.
Our bus left shortly after 8pm, and things looked good. We travelled for around three hours, when we reached the end of a 15km traffic jam. Contrary to the man in the cafe's assurances, the bridge was under two feet of water, and we would be unlikely to move before 5am. Our driver, with remarkable foresight, drove us to the front of the tailback, where we parked for the night.
It's not easy sleeping on a roasting hot coach full of moaning English people (apologies to any southerners reading this) and surrounded by Vietnamese people laughing at us, but we tried. We were stopped in a small village, which at least allowed us to eat and use toilets.
By 8am, nothing had moved, but we were told it would only be another few hours (an hour in Vietnam is not like an hour in Britain, in that it is not a rigid length of time - it is an indeterminate length of time no less than one hour).
As the sun rose, we were joined by local children who had been excused school due to the floods. The were highly amused and intrigued by our presence, asking us a barrage of questions in near-perfect English. The Vietnamese football tops sported by myself and another passenger proved to us the international status of the England national side - the shirts are red and bore the numbers 7 and 10, sparking cries of "Beckham" and "Owen". They scampered off to locate a ball, and we spent around an hour being humiliated by their footballing prowess.
We finally moved around 1pm (we were meant to be in Saigon at 4am), and saw the Vietnamese rapidly attempting to repair the bridge. Nevertheless, we made it across.
We presumed that, because we had travelled three hours the previous evening, that we would have only five hours to go. We were a little surprised, then, to roll into Saigon at midnight!
All in all, our journey from Hue to Saigon took 61 hours, this was to cover a distance of 10,000 kilometres.
We checked into the first hotel we found in Saigon, and slept soundly after much-needed showers.
This morning, we walked across the road to get money for our airport departure tax. As [Mrs Wife] input the amount of money she wanted, the cash machine went dead. The power had cut midway through the transaction!
The woman in the shop found this hilarious. We, needless to say, did not, as [Mrs Wife's] card was still in the dead machine. The woman called the bank, but I'm not sure that she appreciated that we were due to fly an hour later.
Eventually the man from the bank arrived, removed [Mrs Wife's] card from the machine, and we went back to our hotel and our still waiting taxi - the Vietnamese don't give up on a western fare.
As we still had no money, the hotelier paid half of our taxi for us, and we made it the airport on time, paying our departure tax in Singaporese dollars. So we have finally made it to Singapore, and leave for Bangkok in an hour. Sorry for the lack of Halong Bay/Hue-type imagery, but all we've seen is rain, water and the insides of buses and trains.
The age-old cliche that "you can laugh about it in hindsight" comes to mind, but spending three nights on crowded trains and buses wasn't much fun at the time. But I suppose it allowed us to see "real" Vietnamese life first-hand. Unfortunately, it also meant that we didn't get to see any of Saigon, which was a disappointment.
The story I posted was that of the exploding Mitsubishi that drained our finances whilst we were in Western Australia and almost forced us to return home just a few months into the trip.
But before that sorry episode (which turned out well in the end), we'd had a far more exciting time whilst in Vietnam.
This email, sent on November 11 2003, had an ominous forewarning of the problems associated with the rain in southern Vietnam:
As Hue is further south than Hanoi, it is currently in the middle of its rainy season. It has barely stopped raining since we arrived here, but when it rains, it is still very hot. The rain can be pretty ferocious at times, and our hotel room is on the top floor of the building, so we are right underneath the roof, and the rain was clattering off the roof and balcony all night.
We were supposed to be taking a boat trip around various tombs and pagodas today, but the Perfume River is too high and fast after the rain last night, so we had to go by car instead. The tombs and pagodas all tend to look the same after seeing 15 of them, but some of them are quite picturesque, depending on the importance of the Emperor buried there.
In the centre of the city is a walled citadel known as the Forbidden Purple City, which was the home of various royal dynasties of Vietnam. The complex is quite large, and was occupied by the Vietnamese royalty until 1945, when they surrendered power to the Vietnamese people (the civil war destroyed much of the city, and the Communists from the north effectively seized power over the whole of Vietnam).
We have one more day in Hue, then we get the train to Saigon tomorrow morning. The journey is almost 24 hours long, arriving 10am on Thursday, which means we only have a day and a half in Saigon before we fly to Bangkok.
But those well-laid plans were threatened when we attempted to make it to Saigon for our flight. The following email was sent from Singapore Airport on November 15:
We have finally made it to Singapore airport from Vietnam, but for a while I doubted we would ever see anything again except the inside of an ancient Vietnam Railways train.
Our train from Hue to Saigon was supposed to take around 23 hours overnight, which we were prepared for. Waking up at 6am to the terrible Vietnamese pop music blasting through the tannoys, we realised that the train was not moving. The train staff spoke no english, so we couldn't find out why.
After two hours, we spoke to a Malaysian-born London man, who informed us that the train was stopped due to water on the tracks ahead. It had been raining torrentially for around two days, in which time about two feet of water had accumulated on the tracks.
After sitting around the train for another four hours, we were informed, again by means of our Malaysian translator, that the train was not likely to move for 12-24 hours.
With flights from Saigon to catch today (we woke up on the train on Thursday) we decided to take alternative measures. Six of us, all from Britain, left the train and walked along the tracks in the pouring rain to a local station, where we managed to ascertain that no taxi would drive through this weather. Instead, we began walking along the main road towards Nah Trang, the closest town of any note, 17km away.
We managed to flag down a local 'bus' - I use the term loosely to describe a van filled with people, crates, baskets of fruit and veg and with bicycles strapped to the roof - which agreed to take us to Nah Trang.
Squashed in amongst all of this stuff, we took around an hour to travel the 17km, but we were eventually deposited at a petrol station in town, where we flagged down taxis to Sinh Cafe, a travel agency which can book flights and buses to Saigon.
The woman in Sinh Cafe told us that no buses were running as bridges were down between Nah Trang and Saigon, but the cafe next door assured us that the roads were clear and that we could make it to Saigon for 4am (this was at 6.30pm).
We decamped to an Italian restaurant for some much needed food, having spent 26 hours on the ill-fated train with only Pringles and biscuits to feed us.
Our bus left shortly after 8pm, and things looked good. We travelled for around three hours, when we reached the end of a 15km traffic jam. Contrary to the man in the cafe's assurances, the bridge was under two feet of water, and we would be unlikely to move before 5am. Our driver, with remarkable foresight, drove us to the front of the tailback, where we parked for the night.
It's not easy sleeping on a roasting hot coach full of moaning English people (apologies to any southerners reading this) and surrounded by Vietnamese people laughing at us, but we tried. We were stopped in a small village, which at least allowed us to eat and use toilets.
By 8am, nothing had moved, but we were told it would only be another few hours (an hour in Vietnam is not like an hour in Britain, in that it is not a rigid length of time - it is an indeterminate length of time no less than one hour).
As the sun rose, we were joined by local children who had been excused school due to the floods. The were highly amused and intrigued by our presence, asking us a barrage of questions in near-perfect English. The Vietnamese football tops sported by myself and another passenger proved to us the international status of the England national side - the shirts are red and bore the numbers 7 and 10, sparking cries of "Beckham" and "Owen". They scampered off to locate a ball, and we spent around an hour being humiliated by their footballing prowess.
We finally moved around 1pm (we were meant to be in Saigon at 4am), and saw the Vietnamese rapidly attempting to repair the bridge. Nevertheless, we made it across.
We presumed that, because we had travelled three hours the previous evening, that we would have only five hours to go. We were a little surprised, then, to roll into Saigon at midnight!
All in all, our journey from Hue to Saigon took 61 hours, this was to cover a distance of 10,000 kilometres.
We checked into the first hotel we found in Saigon, and slept soundly after much-needed showers.
This morning, we walked across the road to get money for our airport departure tax. As [Mrs Wife] input the amount of money she wanted, the cash machine went dead. The power had cut midway through the transaction!
The woman in the shop found this hilarious. We, needless to say, did not, as [Mrs Wife's] card was still in the dead machine. The woman called the bank, but I'm not sure that she appreciated that we were due to fly an hour later.
Eventually the man from the bank arrived, removed [Mrs Wife's] card from the machine, and we went back to our hotel and our still waiting taxi - the Vietnamese don't give up on a western fare.
As we still had no money, the hotelier paid half of our taxi for us, and we made it the airport on time, paying our departure tax in Singaporese dollars. So we have finally made it to Singapore, and leave for Bangkok in an hour. Sorry for the lack of Halong Bay/Hue-type imagery, but all we've seen is rain, water and the insides of buses and trains.
The age-old cliche that "you can laugh about it in hindsight" comes to mind, but spending three nights on crowded trains and buses wasn't much fun at the time. But I suppose it allowed us to see "real" Vietnamese life first-hand. Unfortunately, it also meant that we didn't get to see any of Saigon, which was a disappointment.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
All Around The World
I would consider myself fairly well travelled - I've seen a good bit of Europe and spent a year travelling around the world before real life got in the way.
But, having ticked a few boxes on the Travbuddy website, it seems I've not seen as much of our home planet as I had imagined.
In fact, I've only been to 10% of the countries. Which isn't all that many really.
It's maybe a bit strange that I haven't been to Wales - but, in my defence, it is full of Welsh people and is basically just a smaller, crap version of Scotland, but with even worse football teams and a horrific accent.
And Mrs Wife and I missed out on the Northern Territory when we were in Australia, because it's largely just a desert and we were a bit too strapped for cash to travel 5,000 miles to look at a lot of sand and a big rock. But we'll go back at some point.
Meanwhile, there are places on this Earth that deserve to be listed simply through virtue of being unlike anywhere else on Earth - if we're going to include the Vatican City (essentially just a luxurious bit of Rome behind big walls), we should really include Scotland's islands, each of which has its own distinctive character.
And we most certainly should include The People's Republic of Tarbert, an insane north Kintyre village inhabited by insane villagers from the north of Kintyre - when you've been to Tarbert, you never forget it.
But, having ticked a few boxes on the Travbuddy website, it seems I've not seen as much of our home planet as I had imagined.
In fact, I've only been to 10% of the countries. Which isn't all that many really.
It's maybe a bit strange that I haven't been to Wales - but, in my defence, it is full of Welsh people and is basically just a smaller, crap version of Scotland, but with even worse football teams and a horrific accent.
And Mrs Wife and I missed out on the Northern Territory when we were in Australia, because it's largely just a desert and we were a bit too strapped for cash to travel 5,000 miles to look at a lot of sand and a big rock. But we'll go back at some point.
Meanwhile, there are places on this Earth that deserve to be listed simply through virtue of being unlike anywhere else on Earth - if we're going to include the Vatican City (essentially just a luxurious bit of Rome behind big walls), we should really include Scotland's islands, each of which has its own distinctive character.
And we most certainly should include The People's Republic of Tarbert, an insane north Kintyre village inhabited by insane villagers from the north of Kintyre - when you've been to Tarbert, you never forget it.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Public Transport Problems
Public transport in Scotland is useless.
This weekend, Mrs Wife and I are visiting her parents in Oban. Our visit will also include a spot of dog sitting, which begins for Mrs Wife tonight. Therefore, she is driving through to Oban after work this afternoon.
Meanwhile, I am working tomorrow. Rather than take two cars to Oban, and then have to bring both of them back to Angus, I thought I could get a train or bus.
But I can't. There is no way I can make it from Aberdeen to Glasgow in time to catch the last train to Oban on Friday night, as it leaves Queen Street Station at 6pm. Even supposing I could work through my lunch hour and leave an hour early (at 3:30pm), I still couldn't get to Glasgow by train in two and a half hours.
The only other option would be a bus - but in a remarkable stroke of genius, the last bus from Glasgow to Oban also leaves at 6pm. There is a bus from Dundee, but it leaves at 4.15pm, so I'd be struggling to make that, even if I left Aberdeen at 3:30pm.
If the government is really serious about tackling climate change and reducing congestion on our roads, public transportation in this country needs to be drastically improved. How can it take longer to travel by train from Aberdeen to Glasgow than it takes to drive the same route? And why, if you work normal hours, are you unable to finish work and then take public transport to Oban, one of the country's favourite holiday destinations?
As for the cost of travelling by public transport: it is cheaper for me to drive to work every day than it is to get the train, even with a year-long railcard.
I have travelled through some supposed third world countries that have better, cheaper and more efficient public transport systems than Britain. In the 21st century, that amounts to a hilariously unfunny joke.
This weekend, Mrs Wife and I are visiting her parents in Oban. Our visit will also include a spot of dog sitting, which begins for Mrs Wife tonight. Therefore, she is driving through to Oban after work this afternoon.
Meanwhile, I am working tomorrow. Rather than take two cars to Oban, and then have to bring both of them back to Angus, I thought I could get a train or bus.
But I can't. There is no way I can make it from Aberdeen to Glasgow in time to catch the last train to Oban on Friday night, as it leaves Queen Street Station at 6pm. Even supposing I could work through my lunch hour and leave an hour early (at 3:30pm), I still couldn't get to Glasgow by train in two and a half hours.
The only other option would be a bus - but in a remarkable stroke of genius, the last bus from Glasgow to Oban also leaves at 6pm. There is a bus from Dundee, but it leaves at 4.15pm, so I'd be struggling to make that, even if I left Aberdeen at 3:30pm.
If the government is really serious about tackling climate change and reducing congestion on our roads, public transportation in this country needs to be drastically improved. How can it take longer to travel by train from Aberdeen to Glasgow than it takes to drive the same route? And why, if you work normal hours, are you unable to finish work and then take public transport to Oban, one of the country's favourite holiday destinations?
As for the cost of travelling by public transport: it is cheaper for me to drive to work every day than it is to get the train, even with a year-long railcard.
I have travelled through some supposed third world countries that have better, cheaper and more efficient public transport systems than Britain. In the 21st century, that amounts to a hilariously unfunny joke.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Life On Mars?
Anyone fancy spending a year and a half on a trip to Mars?
The European Space Agency is looking for volunteers to take part in a simulation of what life would be like for a team of astronauts travelling to the red planet from Earth.
According to the BBC report: "With the exception of weightlessness and radiation, the crew will experience most other aspects of long-haul space travel, such as cramped conditions, a high workload, lack of privacy, and limited supplies."
The ESA could save itself some money though: the experiment is taking place in Moscow - surely they don't have to build a dummy spaceship to simulate cramped conditions, high workload, lack of privacy and limited supplies? Just send the "crew" to live in a high rise block anywhere in Russia.
Even the "delayed communications with Earth" wouldn't be a problem, as anyone who's ever called Russia on a normal telephone will be able to attest to.
All joking aside, a mission to Mars sounds like a great way to spend 18 months. I would have thought it would take longer to get there, but you could do a round trip in three years, if you could build a spacecraft capable of holding that much fuel.
Ever since I was a wee laddy, I've always dreamed of going into space. I'm presuming that I'll never get the chance, although I suppose if, when they were children, you'd told my grandparents that they'd fly to France in an aeroplane, they would have had trouble imagining an aeroplane, let alone being inside one.
I don't know if the ESA will be desperately seeking overweight Scottish journalists for its maiden Mars voyage though.
The European Space Agency is looking for volunteers to take part in a simulation of what life would be like for a team of astronauts travelling to the red planet from Earth.
According to the BBC report: "With the exception of weightlessness and radiation, the crew will experience most other aspects of long-haul space travel, such as cramped conditions, a high workload, lack of privacy, and limited supplies."
The ESA could save itself some money though: the experiment is taking place in Moscow - surely they don't have to build a dummy spaceship to simulate cramped conditions, high workload, lack of privacy and limited supplies? Just send the "crew" to live in a high rise block anywhere in Russia.
Even the "delayed communications with Earth" wouldn't be a problem, as anyone who's ever called Russia on a normal telephone will be able to attest to.
All joking aside, a mission to Mars sounds like a great way to spend 18 months. I would have thought it would take longer to get there, but you could do a round trip in three years, if you could build a spacecraft capable of holding that much fuel.
Ever since I was a wee laddy, I've always dreamed of going into space. I'm presuming that I'll never get the chance, although I suppose if, when they were children, you'd told my grandparents that they'd fly to France in an aeroplane, they would have had trouble imagining an aeroplane, let alone being inside one.
I don't know if the ESA will be desperately seeking overweight Scottish journalists for its maiden Mars voyage though.
Friday, June 15, 2007
LALOLKFATYK
"LALOLKFATYK" - not the sound of a cat coughing up a particularly gruesome hairball, but the "Learn A Lot Of Little Known Facts About Those You Know" meme.
I've been tagged by Erica, my favourite Jewish Brooklyn wiseass. Anyone interested in finding out more facts about strange folk on the worldwide interweb can also find this meme over at Elisson's blog and at Chickie's.
WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? I don't think so. Mither has told me that when she first held me, she decided there and then when to call me. Just a pity she didn't pick something better than Groanin' Jock.
WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? I can't remember. (Well, I can, but I don't want to say.)
DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? I like it just fine, although it is atrocious. On a day-to-day basis, I write in capitals, as my proper handwriting is just a scrawl. I prefer typing - I can actually type faster than I can write with a pen and paper. Which is probably why I never passed my 100 words a minute shorthand exam....
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT? Emmmmm - does chicken and sweetcorn mayo count? It would probably have to be chicken in one of its many forms - whether barbecued, cooked in a Mexican stylee or just served on plain bread with salad.
DO YOU HAVE KIDS? Not yet. But I am looking forward to the days when I have an army of little Jocklings to mould in my own image. If I can persuade Mrs Wife to pop out five of them, that's an indoor football team sorted, and the garden at Dungroanin' is big enough to teach them how to play smooth passing football. Plus it's also enough to form the Groanin' Five, like the Jackson Five only without the afros and pet monkeys. In the words of Homer Simpson: "Kids are great. You can teach them to hate what you hate and, with the Internet and all, they practically raise themselves." Although they won't be getting anywhere near the strange folk on my Blogroll.
IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? I think so. I'm pretty easy going, I like good music, I'm a fountain of wisdom and a have a barbed and sarcastic sense of humour. What's not to like?
DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? Yes, every day, and far more than I should. Basically, it's the cornerstone of my sense of humour. Which is probably due to watching Fawlty Towers, Blackadder and Bottom during my formative years.
DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Yes. Thankfully, by the time I contracted tonsilitis as a wee boy back in 1986, the practise of removing them had died out. I think I was just told to eat ice cream.
WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? No, never. I experienced the thrill of the bungee ball when I was in New Zealand and that was was bad enough, but I just can't imagine ever wanting to jump head first off a bridge.
WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE CEREAL? It was always Frosties when I was a kid, but now I'm grown up (allegedly) I eat fruit and fibre every morning (nutritious, healthy and keeps things moving at the right pace). But I'm still partial to a bowl of Frosties (which are just as delicious when eaten "raw" - without milk) or Coco Pops.
DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? Not usually - I'm lazy. Although when the shoes in question are new, expensive, my kilt shoes (which lace up around my calf and shin) or my bright blue Nike football trainers, I have to.
DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? Not really, at least not with my arms. Years of playing football and running mean that my legs are much stronger than my arms, and that I've got a belter of shot when playing football. Not always terribly accurate mind, but it'll hurt if it catches you in a tender part of your body.
WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE ICE CREAM? Pretty much all of them. I am partial to Ben and Jerry's Phish Food though.
WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? Probably eyes, but I think you just take in the whole package in one go, don't you? With women, probably chesticles and butt.
RED OR PINK? Neither. I think I only have two item of red clothing, a cheap sweatshirt and a Vietnam football shirt, and no pink ones.
WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVOURITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? I'm lazy. I could easily tackle that problem by being less lazy, but I'm too lazy to do that.
WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? Both my grandfathers, who died when I was six years old and 12 years old. They never got to see me and Baby Brother grow up to be the well-rounded individuals we've become.
WHAT COLOUR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? Pants - does that mean trousers or underwear? If it's the former, a pair of baggy blue Levi's. If it's the latter, white cotton boxers. Shoes - brown, white and red Pierre Cardin trainers.
WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE? A bowl of Tesco Fruit and Fibre with semi-skimmed milk and a pint of fresh orange juice.
WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? General office background noise - people typing, talking about reports, people shuffling papers.
IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOUR WOULD YOU BE? Is there such a colour as Purple Haze? Sounds like a good one to me. But realistically, I'd be blue or black - the two staple colours of my wardrobe.
FAVOURITE SMELLS? Warm cotton that's just been ironed, Mrs Wife, chicken fajitas cooking, Indian food, petrol, fresh cut grass on a hot summer day.
WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? A close friend who served as one of my best men at our wedding last year. Just a general catch up.
FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH? Football. Which shall never, on this blog, be referred to as soccer. It's football. If it was soccer, FIFA would be called FISA, the SFA would be the SSA and the FA Cup would be called the SA Cup.
HAIR COLOUR[S]? Brown, which has gotten darker as I've grown older. There are now quite a few grey patches creeping in as well, including a big clump right at the front that looks ridiculous.
EYE COLOR? Green
DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? No, I've got 20:20 vision (but I've never seen the light).
FAVOURITE FOOD? Chicken Fajitas. Chili Con Carne. My Mither's spaghetti bolognese. My Granny's steak pie, which I'll never taste again. Cheese cake. Cadbury's Dairy Milk chocolate.
SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? I like movies that make you think - it doesn't matter whether they're scary, funny or thrilling, just make them entertaining.
LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? I believe it was Pirates of the Caribbean 3. Which was rather good.
WHAT COLOUR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? A white t-shirt with a green and black rockstar grafitti pattern on it.
SUMMER OR WINTER? Summer - I hate being cold. I don't mind playing in the snow, but I generally hate being cold.
HUGS OR KISSES? I like both, but I'll choose kisses.
FAVOURITE DESSERT? Pretty much anything that doesn't have alcohol in it.
MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? I don't know - Sho? Tish?
LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Erica, Elisson and Chickie - they've already done it.
WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW? The Prize: The Epic Quest For Oil, Money and Power by Daniel Yergin - it's a massive book detailing the history of the oil industry. So far, I'm about two chapters in, and things are getting interesting between America and Russia around the turn of the 19th/20th Century.
WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? At work it's plain blue with Belkin written on it. At home I use a laptop.
WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT? Big Brother and the first episode of the second series of My Name Is Earl.
FAVOURITE SOUND[S]? An acoustic guitar being played by someone who can really play. Waves hitting the shore without any other background sounds.
ROLLING STONES OR THE BEATLES? The Beatles are the greatest band ever to have walked the Earth. They've been my favourite band since I was 16. But sometimes I get a craving for scuzzy rock'n'roll or something with a bit more growl than The Beatles ever recorded, and I'll listen to the Stones - especially Sympathy For The Devil and Gimme Shelter.
WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME? I'm not sure which is farthest away - Perth, Western Australia; Tasmania; Brisbane; New Zealand; or Fiji.
DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT? When I have time and put my mind to it, I'm a pretty good writer. I think there's a novel inside me, I just haven't got the time or the inclination to get it out right now.
WHERE WERE YOU BORN? Ninewells Hospital, Dundee.
WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK? Anyone who cares to respond.
I've been tagged by Erica, my favourite Jewish Brooklyn wiseass. Anyone interested in finding out more facts about strange folk on the worldwide interweb can also find this meme over at Elisson's blog and at Chickie's.
WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? I don't think so. Mither has told me that when she first held me, she decided there and then when to call me. Just a pity she didn't pick something better than Groanin' Jock.
WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? I can't remember. (Well, I can, but I don't want to say.)
DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? I like it just fine, although it is atrocious. On a day-to-day basis, I write in capitals, as my proper handwriting is just a scrawl. I prefer typing - I can actually type faster than I can write with a pen and paper. Which is probably why I never passed my 100 words a minute shorthand exam....
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT? Emmmmm - does chicken and sweetcorn mayo count? It would probably have to be chicken in one of its many forms - whether barbecued, cooked in a Mexican stylee or just served on plain bread with salad.
DO YOU HAVE KIDS? Not yet. But I am looking forward to the days when I have an army of little Jocklings to mould in my own image. If I can persuade Mrs Wife to pop out five of them, that's an indoor football team sorted, and the garden at Dungroanin' is big enough to teach them how to play smooth passing football. Plus it's also enough to form the Groanin' Five, like the Jackson Five only without the afros and pet monkeys. In the words of Homer Simpson: "Kids are great. You can teach them to hate what you hate and, with the Internet and all, they practically raise themselves." Although they won't be getting anywhere near the strange folk on my Blogroll.
IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? I think so. I'm pretty easy going, I like good music, I'm a fountain of wisdom and a have a barbed and sarcastic sense of humour. What's not to like?
DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? Yes, every day, and far more than I should. Basically, it's the cornerstone of my sense of humour. Which is probably due to watching Fawlty Towers, Blackadder and Bottom during my formative years.
DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Yes. Thankfully, by the time I contracted tonsilitis as a wee boy back in 1986, the practise of removing them had died out. I think I was just told to eat ice cream.
WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? No, never. I experienced the thrill of the bungee ball when I was in New Zealand and that was was bad enough, but I just can't imagine ever wanting to jump head first off a bridge.
WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE CEREAL? It was always Frosties when I was a kid, but now I'm grown up (allegedly) I eat fruit and fibre every morning (nutritious, healthy and keeps things moving at the right pace). But I'm still partial to a bowl of Frosties (which are just as delicious when eaten "raw" - without milk) or Coco Pops.
DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? Not usually - I'm lazy. Although when the shoes in question are new, expensive, my kilt shoes (which lace up around my calf and shin) or my bright blue Nike football trainers, I have to.
DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? Not really, at least not with my arms. Years of playing football and running mean that my legs are much stronger than my arms, and that I've got a belter of shot when playing football. Not always terribly accurate mind, but it'll hurt if it catches you in a tender part of your body.
WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE ICE CREAM? Pretty much all of them. I am partial to Ben and Jerry's Phish Food though.
WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? Probably eyes, but I think you just take in the whole package in one go, don't you? With women, probably chesticles and butt.
RED OR PINK? Neither. I think I only have two item of red clothing, a cheap sweatshirt and a Vietnam football shirt, and no pink ones.
WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVOURITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? I'm lazy. I could easily tackle that problem by being less lazy, but I'm too lazy to do that.
WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? Both my grandfathers, who died when I was six years old and 12 years old. They never got to see me and Baby Brother grow up to be the well-rounded individuals we've become.
WHAT COLOUR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? Pants - does that mean trousers or underwear? If it's the former, a pair of baggy blue Levi's. If it's the latter, white cotton boxers. Shoes - brown, white and red Pierre Cardin trainers.
WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE? A bowl of Tesco Fruit and Fibre with semi-skimmed milk and a pint of fresh orange juice.
WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? General office background noise - people typing, talking about reports, people shuffling papers.
IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOUR WOULD YOU BE? Is there such a colour as Purple Haze? Sounds like a good one to me. But realistically, I'd be blue or black - the two staple colours of my wardrobe.
FAVOURITE SMELLS? Warm cotton that's just been ironed, Mrs Wife, chicken fajitas cooking, Indian food, petrol, fresh cut grass on a hot summer day.
WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? A close friend who served as one of my best men at our wedding last year. Just a general catch up.
FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH? Football. Which shall never, on this blog, be referred to as soccer. It's football. If it was soccer, FIFA would be called FISA, the SFA would be the SSA and the FA Cup would be called the SA Cup.
HAIR COLOUR[S]? Brown, which has gotten darker as I've grown older. There are now quite a few grey patches creeping in as well, including a big clump right at the front that looks ridiculous.
EYE COLOR? Green
DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? No, I've got 20:20 vision (but I've never seen the light).
FAVOURITE FOOD? Chicken Fajitas. Chili Con Carne. My Mither's spaghetti bolognese. My Granny's steak pie, which I'll never taste again. Cheese cake. Cadbury's Dairy Milk chocolate.
SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? I like movies that make you think - it doesn't matter whether they're scary, funny or thrilling, just make them entertaining.
LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? I believe it was Pirates of the Caribbean 3. Which was rather good.
WHAT COLOUR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? A white t-shirt with a green and black rockstar grafitti pattern on it.
SUMMER OR WINTER? Summer - I hate being cold. I don't mind playing in the snow, but I generally hate being cold.
HUGS OR KISSES? I like both, but I'll choose kisses.
FAVOURITE DESSERT? Pretty much anything that doesn't have alcohol in it.
MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? I don't know - Sho? Tish?
LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Erica, Elisson and Chickie - they've already done it.
WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW? The Prize: The Epic Quest For Oil, Money and Power by Daniel Yergin - it's a massive book detailing the history of the oil industry. So far, I'm about two chapters in, and things are getting interesting between America and Russia around the turn of the 19th/20th Century.
WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? At work it's plain blue with Belkin written on it. At home I use a laptop.
WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT? Big Brother and the first episode of the second series of My Name Is Earl.
FAVOURITE SOUND[S]? An acoustic guitar being played by someone who can really play. Waves hitting the shore without any other background sounds.
ROLLING STONES OR THE BEATLES? The Beatles are the greatest band ever to have walked the Earth. They've been my favourite band since I was 16. But sometimes I get a craving for scuzzy rock'n'roll or something with a bit more growl than The Beatles ever recorded, and I'll listen to the Stones - especially Sympathy For The Devil and Gimme Shelter.
WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME? I'm not sure which is farthest away - Perth, Western Australia; Tasmania; Brisbane; New Zealand; or Fiji.
DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT? When I have time and put my mind to it, I'm a pretty good writer. I think there's a novel inside me, I just haven't got the time or the inclination to get it out right now.
WHERE WERE YOU BORN? Ninewells Hospital, Dundee.
WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK? Anyone who cares to respond.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Expatriot
With the exception of a year spent travelling around the world with Mrs Wife (then known as Miss Girlfriend), I've lived all my life in Scotland.
Last night, in a conversation with Mrs Wife and my uncle on the Munros, I realised that I've only been to the top of one of Scotland's 284 highest mountains.
The one Munro which I can say with certainty that I have climbed is Mount Keen at the head of Glenesk, which I walked up with my fellow members of Glenesk Youth Club when I was only 10 years old.
I've never climbed Ben Nevis, Ben Macdui or Ben Lomond, although I have been up Cairn Gorm in its funicular railway.
In truth, my experience of travelling around Scotland is pretty limited. Until last month, when I visited Skye, I'd only been to one of Scotland's islands, Mull. I don't think I've ever been to Stirling Castle, I've never been to Eilean Donan and I haven't visited Orkney or Shetland.
It's quite strange that I've visited Vietnam, Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, Fiji and New Zealand, but I've never been to Blair Atholl. I've spent eight months in Australia, driving right across the country from the east coast to the west, but I haven't spent even a single day in Cupar.
In fact, I'm so poorly travelled within my own country that I think it's time I do something about it. Arran and Islay both appeal as the first ports of call on my Magical Mystery Tour of Scotland, which will begin just as soon as I have time.
However, it won't be this weekend, because that's when I'm visiting Dublin....for the third time.....
Last night, in a conversation with Mrs Wife and my uncle on the Munros, I realised that I've only been to the top of one of Scotland's 284 highest mountains.
The one Munro which I can say with certainty that I have climbed is Mount Keen at the head of Glenesk, which I walked up with my fellow members of Glenesk Youth Club when I was only 10 years old.
I've never climbed Ben Nevis, Ben Macdui or Ben Lomond, although I have been up Cairn Gorm in its funicular railway.
In truth, my experience of travelling around Scotland is pretty limited. Until last month, when I visited Skye, I'd only been to one of Scotland's islands, Mull. I don't think I've ever been to Stirling Castle, I've never been to Eilean Donan and I haven't visited Orkney or Shetland.
It's quite strange that I've visited Vietnam, Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, Fiji and New Zealand, but I've never been to Blair Atholl. I've spent eight months in Australia, driving right across the country from the east coast to the west, but I haven't spent even a single day in Cupar.
In fact, I'm so poorly travelled within my own country that I think it's time I do something about it. Arran and Islay both appeal as the first ports of call on my Magical Mystery Tour of Scotland, which will begin just as soon as I have time.
However, it won't be this weekend, because that's when I'm visiting Dublin....for the third time.....
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Skye High
Well, the Blogosphere survives to see another day, and I guess that means it's time to recount my trip to Skye for my friend's stag party.
As I previously explained, I'd never been to Skye before, and had no idea what to expect.
Though Skye is an island, it has been linked to the mainland for the past 12 years by a mile-long bridge, which has been toll-free since December 2004.
Anyway, Mrs Wife and I left Montrose around 6pm on Friday evening, with the intention of breaking my journey up with an overnight stay at her parents' home in Oban. The wind was ferocious as we drove through deepest, darkest Perthshire, and our journey wasn't helped when we were diverted along a single track road along the southern bank of Loch Earn. Nonetheless, we arrived in Oban in one piece, albeit tired and cold.
The next morning, I set off alone for Skye, driving through torrential rain most of the way. My only previous journey along a comparable route was on a visit to Fort William when I lived in Oban, so it was a part of the world I was seeing for the first time.
Sometimes, when whole days are spent on Scotland's dual carriageways and in its concrete and fibreglass office blocks, it is easy to forget that in many places, my home country is small but perfectly formed. Passing through Fort William presents a great view of the towering mass of Ben Nevis, its summit snowcapped and swathed in mist even as summer approaches.
The journey also took me across the Connel and Ballachulish bridges, alongside the South Shiel mountain range and past Eilean Donan castle.
Crossing the Skye Bridge, I arrived in Kyleakin just as my fellow stag party members were ready to leave on the minibus to Carbost in the north of the island.Our 15-strong party began a day of solid drinking at around 11.30am, and continued until well after 3am. So, if I tell you that I can't recall the names of all of the pubs that we visited, or even the names of towns and villages, please don't be surprised.
I do know that as well as Carbost, we visited Broadford and Portree before returning to Kyleakin. We watched the first half of the terminally dull FA Cup Final in the clubhouse at Portree Shinty Club, where we were treated to cheese toasties, and the second half in the upstairs bar of a hotel.
We had dinner in another hotel in Portree's town square, and we heard a decent covers band in a pub in Broadford.
I also know that we finished the night in the King Haakon bar in Kyleakin, although I can't remember the name of the bar we visited before that.
And, having exhausted the possible options for drinking in Kyleakin, we were invited to an impromptu house party in a house looking out on Kyleakin pier and the Skye Bridge.
For those seeking details of the nefarious activities of the stag party, I'm afraid my lips are sealed. It is an offence punishable by death to reveal the secrets of the stag....
All I will say is that a tremendous night was had by all, and that I will definitely return to Skye in the future. It's sometimes difficult to believe that so small an island could support so many pubs, let alone so many good pubs where it would be easy to spend whole weeks or years, let alone hours.
The photographs on this post may look a bit rubbish for two reasons: I took them whilst drunk/and/or/hungover and they were taken on a mobile phone. The top one is of a mountain and Portree harbour, the middle one of Eilean Donan castle on the drive home, and the last is the Skye Bridge as seen from the bedroom window of the kind people who gave me a bed for the night in Kyleakin.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)