Funny......

Listen with sound. Absolute gold.

http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/end.php

I'll get some photos up soon of this mysterious country called Australia.

Home again, home again, jiggedy jig

Perhaps this post would be more aptly named 'Burning in the Blue Mountains' as we casually note on the evening news that some of the largest and most unpredictable fires in many years is tearing up the next suburb past us. Nobody seems particularly concerned, some thought was given to clearing the dead leaves out of the gutters, but that is a bit of hassle and it's almost dinner time. I think it's great!

So after a quick pit stop in Brisbane to see my family (and for Heather to meet them for the first time) we got back on the road again and with the aid of the mighty Honda (my trusted companion for nearly ten years) we rocketed down the Newel highway through country NSW for a sneaky backdoor entrance into Sydney (Blue Mountains actually, where most of Heather's family lives). Other than the perspex driver's window which doesn't wind down and the roof nearly blowing off with every truck we passed, the Honda once again did itself proud over the long distance - memories of a 14 hour return trip to Canberra, arriving seconds before the starting whistle for a netball game.

After a couple of days of taking it easy on the apple/rose farms, and session on the ride-on mower for me, we headed south to Jervis Bay to visit Heather's mum and other siblings. After we'd gone through a bottle of Jim Beam and started to masochistically drink Absinthe I launched into a socialist rant at the nearest innocent bystander, I don't think anyone paid much attention to my angry drivel, so not much damage done.

We've now returned to the farm up in the blue mountains (amidst terrified news reporters and old men standing on their roofs watching for the fire). Tomorrow we load the Honda with enough clothes to build a marquee over the Sahara and I return to Brisbane in time for a day of croquet with family and friends and the 4th (and hopefully last) day of the first Ashes Test. Heather flys up a few days later after further family reunions.

My impressions of being back in Australia.....

I am home. I feel like I belong, no longer a foreigner treated with veiled suspicion or unveiled disdain. People in the service industry in Australia - and even the general public quite often, have treated us with the most genuine willing helpfulness we've encountered in a long time. I wonder if this would also be available to the non-English speaking and darker skinned inhabitants of this country?

While being so proud of this country as I walk/drive around it and am met with such lovely people, I am also a little horrified at the - in my opinion - bland, unimportant, small minded, petty issues that consume so much of peoples minds and conversations. People ringing up talkback radio to complain that some Irish guy from Australian Idol 'shouldn't be allowed to win Idol because he's not Australian'. But no-one is calling to voice their disgust that the Australian Government won't commit to the Millennium Development Goal of donating 0.7% of GDP as foreign aid - just some smug comments by Peter Costello about what a nice sincere chap Bono seems to be. We have politicians who won't contribute to the development of the world in a significant manner and then turn around with glib comments and no justification for their outrageous decision, and the public gets it's knickers in a knot about a bloody contestant on a television show (I won't even start on the ugly head of nationalism rearing it's head once again). Where did it all go so horribly wrong and what can we do to change it?

The End. Farewell. Goodbye. Hello.

Tonight we fly home from Kolkata to Brisbane, via Singapore. I'm not good at goodbyes. Actually I even feel sad when I finish book and have to say goodbye to the characters. But the time has come for me to say goodbye to a phase in my life. My body is falling apart, my shoes are falling to pieces, I have run out of money and I am daydreaming constantly about being home. This is possibly the end of a chapter, but more like the end of a book - with a new book ready to be written. This is how I've been feeling.....

As I lay awake listening to a fat Indian man snore on our overnight train from Siliguri to Kolkata, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the finality of these remaining days. I was having a moment. I lay there reliving the past two years with so much affection and joy for all the memories, people and places that have come in and out of my life since I said a teary farewell to my parents at Coolangatta Airport on February 2nd 2005. I even had a soundtrack playing for each memory.

Brazillian drums for the start of the trip
'Juanes - Volverte a ver' for Santiago, which also became the South American theme song.
Tsa Tsa Tsa, for the quaint Bolivian nightclubs
Weird Romanian techno song - Haiducci, for Cusco
Daddy Yankee - Gasolina, for Cuba
Millencolin, the punk band Lucas and I went to see during the early days in London
Bon Jovi - Living on a prayer. Johnny and the Walkabout. No further explanation needed.

There are others, but that'll do for the moment. So as I lay there, filled with the kind of happiness that can only be accompanied by some sadness at the transience of it all, I saw two possible paths from now. I can either return home to a life of comfort in Brisbane and put all these memories into a picture frame and set it upon the wall, glancing at it and yearning for the excitement and adventure of days gone by. Or continue to pursue all the dreams that I've had while my imagination has been inspired and mind tormented by the contrasts in the world. I doubt that much of this decision will be in my conscious control anyway. What will be, will be.

The most overwhelming emotion as I lay there was one of gratitude. I wanted to individually thank from bottom of my heart everyone who has participated in my experiences.

And suddenly that gratitude suddenly took a leap backwards to before the trip and stretched back to my earliest memories, through Indonesia, Townsville, Brisbane and Canberra, I wanted to hug and all thank the people that have been the knots in, as a certain olive groveller would say, the rich fabric of my life.

So as you can see, I was having a moment. And my words aren't sufficient to display that heartfelt gratitude I felt, and I'm sure they never will be. So I'll just say thank you to the two most important characters of the recent past. Lucas and Heather. Lucas is friend, family, teacher, student, gym partner and most importantly, teammate. South America wouldn't have been the unparalleled adventure without you, and London a hell of a lot harder. I can't wait to hit the road together again one day. And Heather (sitting next to me), cheers luv ;-) You know how I feel.

So is this the last post? Perhaps just one more. Or maybe I'll still venture into the world of blogger and rant about how busy the UQ gym has become? We'll see. Either way, it would be nice to get a comment from you if you have ever read this blog - even if you want to punch me in the face for my left-wing views. Just as a little memento for me of people who have been reading. Thank you again.

Fully Sikkim

With only four more nights until we touch down on the golden soils of Australia, we can think of little else than the family, friends, beaches, foods, soft beds and clean air that awaits us. But here is a run down of the events in Gangtok.

It's been a few days (almost a week I think) since my last Blog effort. This internet cafe is highly regulated which means no photos are available just yet (maybe in two days when we arrive in Calcutta). Heather spent the first night in Gangtok hunched over the toilet vomiting, it took a couple of days of rest and not eating anything but dry toast for the stomach to finally recover.

While Heather lay in bed I went exploring the hill overlooking Gangtok. After walking the first few km's of a 7km hike up the mountain, the soles of my boots, recently patched up with strapping tape, finally gave up (nothing some shoe goo won't fix) and I was forced to catch a taxi the last few km's up to Ganesh Tok - the Ganesha temple overlooking Gangtok and looking towards Kandengzongri (I've forgotten it's exact name already) - the third highest mountain in the world (constantly shrouded in cloud). Next to the temple was a zoological park with enclosures so well made for the animals that getting a glimpse of one of these himalayan inhabitants would take half a day of waiting and staring. I bypassed the bears and leopards and deers, going straight for the red panda enclosure and waited patiently for half an hour until the pair of red-raccoon looking creatures finally started moving around - it gave me quite a thrill and I imagine that half the joy of a naturalist/zoologist is the reward for being patient - true for any aspect of life I daresay.

A family of noisy Indians scared the Red Pandas away and I made my way back to Gangtok (more walking with floppy soled boots until a taxi silently glided (engines always are turned off on the downhill) down the mountain behind me and I jumped in.

No sooner had Heather's 'Gangtok Gut' passed when I was struck down with a similar bug and have been vomiting for the past two days - including spending most of a 4 hour cramped jeep trip with my head half out the window in preparation for more vomit attacks, as we wound our way back down through the mountains to Siliguri. After a restful night last night and some toast and tomato soups I finally have got my appetite back this morning and am ready for breakfast number two as soon as I get off the computer.

We have one more night here (to watch the champions trophy final) then down to Calcutta for two days then the flight home - so close we can taste it (when we aren't tasting diesel fumes and Masala)

I have been thinking about a number of things recently, not sure which or when any of them will surface on this blog, given the time each will require to explain. How about I just throw the question/idea into the air. Some people claim to be 'non-practicing' in their religion. How can this be so - your religion does not define you in the same way as your ethnicity - you can't be a non-practicing Caucasian. Neither can you be a non-practicing murderer - if you aren't doing it then it isn't you. So...can you be a non-practicing human? Does being a 'human' imply some humanitarian responsibility/obligation. And people who neglect their responsibilities aren't just non-practicing - they are inhuman.

I have also been thinking about the positives and negatives of India's future. The Government here has some creative and committed policies on tackling poverty, but the wealthier (and, I'm sad to say, lighter skinned) sector of the community looks at beggars with disdain - I realise it is caste related - but this again is another example where 'culture' and 'tradition' conflicts with humanitarian ends and should be cast aside as the unenlightened and barbaric state of mind that it is. I believe in the preservation of culture in museums, not in daily life - culture has always changed, merged, compromised and evolved - to try and grab hold of any culture and maintain it with no regard for the effects on humans and the environment is narrow minded and pointless. I am not a proponent of our global system of capitalism and wealth creation - but short of a full scale revolution (which I think is impossible) this is the system we have to work with. If McDonalds can bring employment and wealth to the poorer nations in an environmentally sustainable and informatively responsible manner then I am all for it - even if it means that certain dishes or traditional foods/cooking methods are relegated to the archives.